#readers I put my much greater trust in you not to judge me too much for 2am errors

[youvebeengalindafied]

Dialogue prompts: “What hurts?” “Everything.”

And

“Shut up and let me take care of you.”

....you sent this ask seven hours ago and I have been writing/editing it nonstop ever since. WHOOPS.

Also this turned out a little longer than a drabble. DOUBLE WHOOPS.

READ HERE ON AO3

Gillikin Fever (5070 words) by galindafied Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked (Movie 2024), Wicked - Schwartz/Holzman Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Fiyero Tigelaar Characters: Elphaba Thropp, Fiyero Tigelaar Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Fever, Hallucinations, Caretaking, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, It's a sappy messy sickfic being posted at 2am on a Tuesday what more do you want me to say, Background Thropple, No Beta We Die Like Fiyero Summary: Fiyero looked up from where he was reading their latest letter from Glinda at the kitchen table. “May Lurline bless you.” “I’m not sick,” Elphaba said flatly, without even glancing at him. He smirked, setting his mug of coffee on the table. “Did I say you were?” “You were thinking it.” Fiyeraba Sickfic.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fated Epilogue

Epilogue

Ares x reader

Word Count: 2041

Summary: Time skip to Zag running around trying to fix everything; then he gets a weird message from Ares.

The affair known to most of the Underworld’s population as The Confusion of Zagreus started as most things in his life did, on a run through the place as he tested the defenses against an escaping entity for what felt like the thousandth time. He’d had Ares’ vial with him, so naturally he’d gotten a fair few of the war god’s boons. Nothing too unusual, right? That’s what he thought right up until Ares said the most curious thing.

“When next you see Thanatos, tell him that his sister wants him to visit more.”

Sister? Zagreus wondered. Than doesn’t speak to his . . . Wait, Nemesis . . . But why would Lord Ares have messages from her?

When he mentioned it to his lover, Thanatos just chuckled. “I suppose it has been a while since I last saw her,” was all he had to say on the matter.

And that set the trend that continued for a while. He’d get a message from Ares to Than, pass it on, and get some cryptic non-answer in return. It was absolutely maddening. Even when he asked others, all they had to say was that it wasn’t any of his business, which was fair, but that didn’t aid his curiosity.

Finally, all that started changing when he managed to squeeze a drop of information out of Than when he asked, “So why does Ares see your sister more than you?” while they were dining together one evening.

And without really thinking, Death Incarnate reflexively replied, “Because she lives with him in Thrace instead of here.” Of course, immediately after that, Thanatos realized what he’d just admitted and promptly clammed up, but it was something at least.

Then Demeter let slip something else in one of her messages after he’d accepted several of Ares’ boons yet again. “Ares is aiding you when you get injured, is he? I’d be surprised if Nemesis didn’t have a hand in that sort of attack.”

And that set him thinking. Revenge was her area of expertise, after all. And many of Ares’ such boons were noticeably more powerful in dealing direct damage instead of causing various other effects. Could Than’s sister have been indirectly aiding him through Ares all this time?

Then came another piece of knowledge, this one from his mother upon inquiring why Thanatos and Lord Ares seemed to be so close. 

“Well War and Death were always bound to meet frequently just from their natures, I suppose, but it could also have been because of that mess where he saved poor Thanatos from being chained in a box. I’d wager that was a big help to making their friendship grow.” Before he could ask just what that was about, she continued, “Though it could have also started back when Lord Ares almost passed away, too. I remember Thanatos being quite concerned for both him and Nemesis during all that.”

“What do you mean Lord Ares almost died? He’s an Olympian!”

“He is, but the day Hermes found him was a day that stoked fear in the heart of every Olympian,” Persephone said gravely. “They all worried about Ares’ fate despite how they regularly ridicule the man, because if he could die that meant any of them could.”

Zagreus suddenly found his mouth extremely dry and couldn’t form a response.

“Yes, that was definitely the start of their friendship now that I think on it. It was very kind of Thanatos to linger without threatening the poor dears. From what I heard, he was very calm during the whole affair even in the face of such shocking news.”

“Yes, I suppose learning even the great Olympians might die would be quite dramatic,” he murmured, shoulders sagging.

“No, that’s not--ah! You don’t know, do you?”

He perked back up. “Know what, Mother?” he prompted innocently.

She smiled kindly as she patted his forearm. “It’s not my place to tell you if they haven’t already; I’d forgotten how much they value their privacy when they can get it.”

Who is ‘they’? Zagreus wanted to scream while yanking his hair out. Thanatos and his sister? Her and Ares? Thanatos and Ares?? But he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled stiffly and nodded.

It wasn’t until he managed to broker a peace between the Chthonic gods and the Olympians that he finally got answers.

~

There was a party you were supposed to be preparing for, but you were having a hard time working up the gumption to move from your current position. Because of said celebration, you and your husband--how you’d never tire of calling him that--had arranged your schedules so that they aligned, which of course was the reason you found yourself lying in bed perpendicular to the man, using one arm as a pillow under your head on his chest while the other hand played with his hair.

His gleaming red eyes flicked over to the open, brightly illuminated window where sheer white curtains swayed softly in the breeze. “We really should be dressing; I have a feeling your brother-in-law wants to meet us sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, but it’s so rare that we get time like this to ourselves.”

His hand found the one you’d been carding through his hair and brought it to his lips to kiss. “You and I have an eternity full of moments like this ahead of us; we can spare an evening for the boy.”

You huffed dramatically. “Let it never be said that you’re not a man of your word.” A sigh left your lips, but still you pried yourself out of bed without further complaint. “Are we doing full regalia or casual?” When there was no answer, you glanced back to see that he was transfixed by the sight of your naked form heading towards the shared closet. “Ares!” you laughed, snapping his attention back to reality.

“Darling, I take it all back; you must come back to bed at once. There’s a rather pressing matter that needs your attention at once.”

Now, you rolled your eyes. “Well that pressing matter can wait until we return. Are we doing armor or not?”

From there, there were a lot of kisses, gropes, and laughter between that moment and being fully clothed--in light leather greaves and cloth chitons rather than the usual full armor, after all, Ares so hated to be unprotected or unarmed--but neither of you were really complaining.

“Boys!” Ares called down the hallway with you tucked under his arm.

Two heads of wild silver hair just like their father’s appeared from the same doorway. “Yes, Father?” they chorused.

“We’re leaving. I trust you can manage things until our return?”

“Of course, Father.” And then they were gone from sight, their snickering still echoing in their absence.

Ares chuckled as he shook his head. “Little terrors, the both of them.”

Though they weren’t yours, you’d grown to love both of the twins the moment you met them. With Aphrodite being so absent in their lives, you’d taken up the role of ‘mother figure’ quickly, and the two were practically your own by now. “Well, to be fair, one of them is Panic.” 

~

You were unsurprised at the Olympian turnout at the party; most arrived near the time when you did, but none stayed particularly long. As fond as they were of Zagreus in theory, their detest of the Underworld would always be greater. Only Ares and Demeter attended from the mountain and stayed past the pleasantries and feast. Otherwise, it was entirely the subjects of the House of Hades that were present. Fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying themselves nonetheless judging from the way Meg and Dusa had quickly roped you and Ares into conversation.

Zagreus hadn’t seemed to notice your arrival yet--too wrapped up in getting to know his mother and grandmother, you assumed--but you caught sight of Hades glaring at Ares every now and then. Every time you caught him, the harsh threat he’d delivered to Ares rang through your ears once more. 

“Set foot outside this house, boy, and you shall find yourself in a fate worse than death.” Neither of you were surprised by the warning. He was, after all, still angry about the whole ‘bursting into the Underworld without permission to save Thanatos’ fiasco.

Eventually, you and Ares found yourselves alone for a moment once Achilles and Patroclus excused themselves. You tugged the glass from his fingers to steal a sip of his ambrosia, something that’d been quite hard to find the last time you’d visited. You didn’t want a full glass, and Ares never complained about sharing.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, clearly worried about you partaking in a drink you’d never really managed to develop a taste for. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly. The drinking coupled with the knowledge of how much you hated being dragged to these things had likely set him on edge.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a genuine smile. “These are my family, remember? Much nicer to be around than yours.”

“That’s quite true,” he murmured. No doubt, he was remembering when he and Aphrodite had been paraded around and humiliated as the entertainment at one of his family’s gatherings. His gaze flickered up as he noticed something before you did: Zagreus approaching at last. “And there’s the man of the hour!” he greeted warmly. It was hard to mistake the boy for any other given his attire was his family’s colors and the way he absolutely looked like a mix of his parents.

“Lord Ares!” Zag’s face was alight with happiness. “I’m glad you were able to make it; it’s an honor to meet you properly.” His eyes shifted to you. “You must be Than’s lovely sister I’ve heard very little about.”

You laughed lightly. You like this kid already. “I suppose that’s me, yes.”

“Frankly, I’m amazed I haven’t seen you around the House before now,” he probed curiously.

You decided to indulge him; it was a celebration in his honor after all. “I pop by to visit Mother and Hypnos from time to time, but I see Than enough that lingering isn’t worth it. I’ve gathered that you’re usually gone from the House as much as he is.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he chuckled. “Makes sense you wouldn’t just lurk around when you put it like that.”

“Have to budget that precious time off somehow.””

“Plus, it’s sort of my fault that she resides in Thrace since I stole her all those years ago,” Ares teased.

“Stole her, sir?” Oh, how the poor boy looked so confused at those words. You were willing to bet his mind was just running back over Persephone’s situation and comparing it to yours.

Your brows furrowed. “Zag, has no one told you about Ares and I?”

“No!” his voice was laughing but had a manic edge to it. “Everyone keeps hinting at there being something going on with you two, but no one wants to clue me in! I’ve tried to respect your privacy by not asking directly, but it’s driving me crazy!”

“Oh, for Father’s sake.” Ares rolled his eyes. “I’m going to have a word with your brother about this,” he announced as he started pulling away from you.

“Wait! You’re not mad at Than are you?” Zagreus fretted. “Because I’d hate to cause strife between you because of my own curiosity, and--”

“Relax, Zag,” you soothed.

“Thanatos is the only being I would ever call my friend outside of her,” he gestured toward you. “I thought it went without saying that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you for my benefit, but apparently that isn’t the case. I’m simply going to tell him that. I’ll be right back, my darling.” With a kiss to your temple, he stalked over to where Than was loitering with his sleeping brother at the edge of the room.

When you looked back at Zagreus, he was staring at you absolutely slack-jawed, probably at Ares’ display of affection. “Blood and darkness, my Lady,” he managed to wheeze, “what is going on?”

You snorted a little, amused slightly by his turmoil. “Zagreus, Ares is my Fated. He’s my husband.”

His eyes went a little crossed as he realized it was just that simple. “Oh, is that all?!”

[roger-that-cap]

gold rush

everyone wanted steve rogers. as much as you liked to pretend that “everyone” didn’t include you, it did. but even thinking about being with a person that everyone wanted was more dangerous than everyone else thought, and you seemed to be the only one worrying about it. 

steve rogers x fem!reader

word count: 5k!

warnings(not warnings at all): college!au, blink and you miss him charming!steve, very sweet!steve, meddling!wanda, dumbass!reader, this is a fluff show! have fun because i did! this is probably my last song fic for right now lol

all mistakes are 100% mine!

There was nothing about Steve Rogers that was a turn off, or anything about him that was a red flag. He was helpful and considerate. He took himself and others seriously and had a sense of responsibility. He had a great face and an even greater mind. He had the perfect group of friends and the perfect smile. He was a genuinely kind man. Nothing about him was unappealing.

Besides the fact, of course, that there was nothing about him that was unappealing.

The man was perfect. He was a perfect person who had no visible faults, so that naturally brought everyone to his feet, even if he didn’t want them there. There was no shortage of shameless suitors that wanted Steve, and that was the problem.

You didn’t like that, at all. You were never the type to run after someone just because other people wanted them, and you certainly weren’t the type that wanted to chase someone just for the thrill of it, and to maybe be picked by them. You weren’t someone who wanted to be picked, and you weren’t one who would think that you were special for being the one to be chosen over the absurd amount of people chasing him. And, his perfection frightened you a bit. 

You and Steve hardly knew each other. You had seen him in passing, just as everyone else had seen him. Your absolute best friend and also roommate, Wanda, was close with some really pretty girl named Natasha, who was from Russia. Natasha happened to be close to Steve’s best friend, James—Bucky—Barnes. Which, by extension, meant that Wanda hung out with Steve all the time.

Wanda just so happened to really want to go to a small get together that Steve was having at the bar down the street. She invited you like she did all the time, and like you did all the time in return, you opted out.

“I’m starting to think that the reason you say no all the time is because you’re avoiding someone,” Wanda sang your way, brushing her hair as she stood in her towel and looked at the vanity. “And I’m usually right.”

“Well, not this time. I don’t avoid anyone.” That was a total lie. You avoided Steve Rogers and his little group like they were the plague, and you weren’t planning on stopping any time soon.

“Did one of them say something to you?” Wanda asked, her brow quirked upward. It was unlikely for any of her friends to be anything less than mild mannered and kind, especially to strangers. Wanda was the company she kept, and Wanda was probably the kindest person you knew.

“No, no, that’s not it.” Damn. You cringed at the indirect admittance of there actually being a problem.

“So…?”

She wasn’t going to leave without an answer. You bit your lip before answering, debating on telling the truth or not. Evidently it didn’t matter, because the word vomit did the work for you. “The people that flock around Steve make me sick.”

Wanda didn’t even wait a moment for courtesy. She bent over at the waist, cackling at the words that escaped your mouth. “Y/N, huh? Flock?”

“They literally surround him like he’s some wizard or something, it’s weird!” You defended yourself, not wanting to back down. “He’s nice, but it’s like he’s a flame and they’re all moths. He’s the sheep herder, and they are loyal sheep. Why does everyone want him?” You knew why.

“I don’t.”

You rolled your eyes at her. Of course she wasn’t a t Steve, not when she had her oddly robotic and smart boyfriend that insisted on being called Vision. He was nerdy and sweet, just Wanda’s type. “Yeah, of course not, but I don’t trust something that everyone wants. It’s weird.”

Wanda made a face at you, looking you up and down twice. You almost grimaced when you realized that she was seeing through you. “I’m starting to think that you’re one of them.”

You made a face that told her that she was way off, even though she was far too close for comfort. “Wanda, no. Don’t suggest that ever again, yuck.”

She cocked a brow at you. “So you think Steve is unattractive?”

No. Of course you didn’t. You found Steve very attractive, actually. Everyone knew Steve was attractive, but that was the damn problem! You couldn’t let yourself be drawn into that, not when you had so much work to do. You had been avoiding being stuck to him like a fly to a web since you first saw him, and you weren’t stopping now. It was almost like a game after doing it for so long, and you weren’t going to lose.

“I know you think he’s hot.”

“So?” Wrong thing to say, totally the wrong thing!

You were worried that you were about to get teased until Wanda just looked at you with a look of minimal pity. “Why don’t you talk to him?” You shook your head hastily. “You might have a chance.”

“A chance,” you rolled your eyes. “Why would I want to be chosen to be with someone? Ever thought about the way people fight over his attention like we’re on The Bachelor? Why the hell would I want to be in line behind people for the attention of one person?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Wanda said teasingly, pulling out her blow dryer and politely waiting for your response before starting it.

“I just don’t see why I need to meet him and be enamored by him.” You knew that you would be. Even from afar, you couldn’t help but look at him and his hair, his eyes, his back muscles. Being close to him would be asking for the one thing you had been avoiding for so long.

Wanda gave you a long look, one that reminded you of one that a knowing mother would give her children when she knew how something would play out. You expected to get a lecture from her about judging people, but then she was turning her back to you, looking at you via the mirror. “Hm.” When she realized that you were still looking at her, she gave you a glance and playfully jumped at you. “Finish your newspaper column, nerd.”

§§��

You were in the café, looking like you had just came out of your dorm and like you didn’t want to be seen. You had your arms crossed because the vents were kicking in there like always, and you were shifting from left to right as you daydreamed.

You moved up in the line and looked behind you when you heard the squeaky door opening, not at all expecting to lock eyes with Steve Rogers. He was next to his best friend directly behind you in line. Bucky was whispering right in his ear. Steve’s blue eyes widened once you turned around and saw him already watching you, and then you gave him a sharp nod before turning away and facing forward again.

How did you not hear Bucky Barnes’ loud ass mouth anyway? He was always the first thing you heard when they were coming, and where he was, Steve was. If Bucky was doing things off campus, Steve was sure to be not even ten paces away. If Steve was doing something four states over, Bucky was probably there, too. They both followed each other like they weren’t allowed to be more than a mile apart before combusting. It reminded you of the way you were with your best friend back at home before you left.

You swiped your card when it was your turn, flashed the cashier a thankful smile, and then walked over to an empty table, opening your laptop and clicking away at the keys once you got into the right mindset to start. This week, you were charged with writing a piece about the swim team and their win, and it would be on the front page of the paper if it was good enough. You were going to make it good enough.

Ten minutes in, you noticed someone’s stare right on your face, burning red hot. You stopped typing and looked up, brows already raised at whoever was looking at you. You connected with Steve’s line of sight again, and he fumbled with his drink at the table he was at and looked away quickly, cheeks starting to glow pink. You saw Bucky laugh before rolling your eyes and mumbling under your breath, cracking your fingers and getting back to work.

You felt his gaze a few other times, well aware of it coming and going, and you were handling it just fine until you finally groaned and shut your laptop, putting it in your bag and rolling up your trash. You stomped towards the trash can than happened to be near Steve and Bucky, threw your trash away, and then went out of the double doors of the café.

The second you saw Wanda, you wanted to ask her what Steve’s problem was with you, but she was actually studying when you walked in. Wanda didn’t study unless she was in deep shit, so you just made a nervous face and sat down, quiet as a mouse out of respect your friend.

An hour passed with you just on your phone before Wanda’s textbook shut. She looked up at you, her face slightly exasperated. She blew a piece of hair out of her face and gave you a tight smile. “You wanted to say something when you came in, I can tell.”

“Yeah,” You said, leaning off of your bed a bit. “What’s Steve’s deal?”

She looked confused. “What about him?”

“He won’t stop looking at me,” You said with disdain, hating the way that your voice was bordering on being a whine. “I couldn’t even write anything good because he was staring holes in me.”

“Well, did you talk to him?”

You made a face. “Why the hell would I have done that?”

“So you wouldn’t have to rely on me telling you the answer to something I don’t know,” She pointed out, and you had to stop yourself from nodding. “Steve’s a really sweet guy. Just talk to him the next time you see him.”

“That would be the opposite of avoiding.” When Wanda made a face that said duh, you rolled your eyes. “And that’s what I do. Avoid.”

“Well, don’t avoid him. It’s mean, and… he thinks you’re… cool.” You couldn’t deny the way that your heart skipped a beat at him thinking about you positively, even if it was a lame adjective like cool.

But, you still hoped that you didn’t see him any time soon. You were certain that he was staring because you weren’t all dressed up and because you looked like trash in a common area, not because he thought you were cool. It wasn’t even that you thought that you weren’t cool, it was just that you definitely weren’t his type of cool.

“He thinks I’m cool?” You repeated slowly, and Wanda blushed a bit as you subtly mocked her. “Did he tell you this?”

She made a noise that meant exactly what she said next. “Not exactly.”

“Hm.” You turned your back to her, gathering papers from a binder and trying to forget about everything that had Steve involved.

“Look. You should just talk to him, it’ll be fun. You might even make a new friend around here.”

“Who needs another friend when I’ve got you?” You asked somewhat sarcastically, but both of you knew that you meant it. Wanda was the best friend anyone could ever ask for. She was protective, kind, understanding, and she could match anyone’s energy.

“Fine. The next time I see him, I’ll talk to him.” You knew that this was most likely a lie, but you had to say something to get Wanda off your back.

§§§

You were reading at the library intently, heavily immersed in the world of fantasy instead of the world of old authors who were already long gone. You had gone for an English assignment, but the Young Adult isle called your name, and it called it loudly. Your book was on the table as you leaned over it and scanned with your eyes, your mind long gone from reality.

“Is the book good?”

You nearly jumped out of your chair at the male voice behind you, and you sighed before turning around to see who it was. “It’s phenomenal,” you drawled, annoyed by the interruption.

Steve Rogers was standing right there in front of you, with his stupid, gorgeous smile and his naturally kind and inquiring yet never pushing eyes. He was standing in front of your sitting form, arms crossed but looking quite the opposite of hostile or standoffish. His hair was perfectly styled despite the way that he was dressed down, the way a college student typically dressed to go read a book at the library that was filled with peers that didn’t give a damn about anything but passing.

“What’s it about?”

Why were you talking to him? Why was he talking to you? It made no sense. He had no reason to approach you with all of his faultlessness, especially not while you were doing something that he no doubt found boring. Why was he even in the library?

You refused to be dumbstruck by him so many times, but there you were. “I- Yep.”

It was his turn to be confused. “It’s called “yep”?”

“Nope.” When you realized that he was actually asking a question that had an open ended answer, you shook her head from the cobwebs of nervousness. “It’s about two girls that fall in love during an apocalypse.”

You applauded yourself for getting out more than ten words in your stupor, and then frowned when you saw him walk around the table that was empty save for you and your things.

“Nice,” He said, and to your complete displeasure, he sat down at the chair right across from you, his kind smile never leaving his face. “Can we talk?” So that meant that he wanted to actually talk to you, not just small talk. Which meant that he had most likely looked for you.

“How’d you find me?” You cursed yourself for your lack of tact.

“You’re usually in the same three places.” It was true. You were either in the library, the café, or in your dorm. “I picked the lucky guess my first time.”

“Uh,” you couldn’t form a correct sentence. “Yeah. What’s up?” You were about to kick yourself.

“I just wanted to make sure that I haven’t done anything to you.” When you furrowed your brows, he dropped the smile and sent you a sincere look that melted your heart. “Wanda told me that you didn’t like me much, but I don’t remember formally meeting you. Have I done something that I don’t remember?”

Was he really asking that? Did he truly care about what a girl he had never had a full conversation with thought about him? And why did you feel like it was more than him just caring about the image that everyone in the small school had assigned to him?

How were you even supposed to answer him? He looked genuinely troubled by the way you had been avoiding him and what you said to Wanda. His concern almost made you go wild. “No. You didn’t do anything. It’s not you.” You scrambled with your book as you stood up fast enough to startle him. “Sorry. Gotta go.” You ran to the check out and checked out the book that you were reading, regretting leaving Steve there with every step you took.

He was too perfect.

§§§

“So don’t be mad, but I got you a date.”

Your head jumped up from your laptop. “What?”

“Yeah, I totally got you a date.” Wanda looked genuinely proud of herself, completely ignoring your horrified expression. “You get to pick the place and time.”

“Um, Neverland and at twenty- five o’clock,” you started, saving your work and closing your laptop. “Wanda, you can’t just get me a random date.”

“It’s not as random as you think.”

“You didn’t ask me,” you countered, giving her a pleading look. “Please cancel it.”

She winced. “About that. Uh, I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I said that you agreed. It took him a minute to believe me, but he said that he was excited.”

“I- why?” You stuttered, shaking your head. “I don’t like dates, Wands.”

“You’ll love this one. It’s basically like build your own date!”

“Yeah, I can choose everything but the person,” you scoffed, going to open your laptop again and sighing. “Please cancel it.”

“What if I told you that this person has had their eye on you for a long time?” Wanda’s words had your hand stopping right where they were. You hated that her words made you curious. She saw that you took the bait. “And has been trying to talk to you?”

You frowned at that. There was no one on the entire campus that was trying to talk to you, so now you knew it was horseshit. “No one tries to talk to me, I’m always in here. On purpose.”

“This guy has,” she insisted, her voice bearing desperate. “Please. He’s really nervous and he just wants to get it right this time.”

Nervous? You were making someone nervous? You were almost embarrassed with how flattered you got at that. “Wait, this time?”

“Yes,” Wanda breathed out. “He’s tried before.”

You went through your memories for a man on campus that tried to slide on you for a few seconds, and Wanda waited patiently. You couldn’t think of a damn one. “I don’t think so, Wanda. I don’t date people on campus. Or at all right now, honestly.”

“No,” Wanda dragged out dramatically, still not giving up. “Please, please, please! When have I ever steered you wrong?”

She was right, dammit. In every instance that Wanda forced you to do something extremely out of your comfort zone, you ended up loving whatever it was. She had you try food from a dirty gas station, something you’ve always been skeptical of, but damn, if that fried fish wasn’t amazing. She made you try a painting class where you drank wine at the same time, and you were afraid that you weren’t going to paint well enough. You ended up getting a membership at the place. She made you try salsa dancing. She made you try a Russian beer that nearly knocked you out of commission, but you still liked it.

There were many other things that Wanda made you try, but she was right. You never disliked what she had forced you to do, and she always forced your hand out of love. She had never steered you wrong once. That thought was made your scale of doubt tip.

“I- can I at least know his name before I go?”

She squealed.

§§§

You were not allowed to know his name, apparently. Not even on the day of the date. It was all a part of the mystery that Wanda set up for you, and she claimed that knowing who it was would spoil the entire thing. Because you were secretly so excited about going to find out who it was that had asked Wanda about you, you asked for the date to be sooner than later.

You were nervous, though. You hadn’t been on a date since high school, and that was just to the movies. You held the girl’s sweaty hand for two hours and kissed in her car until your mom told you that you had to come home. To make it even worse, you weren’t out yet, so you had to pretend that the girl who drove you home was just a friend.

You told Wanda that you wanted to meet the mystery man at a coffee shop. In your head, it was the perfect place. It was a place that you could leave early if the date was horrific, and a place where you could extend it if it—by the grace of God—went well. It also called for casual wear, and you believed that you could tell a lot about someone by their coffee order.

You didn’t even drink coffee. You drank hot chocolate.

It was the day of the date, and it was kind of cold outside. You grabbed a yellow sweater that was near the color gold and some jeans and cute boots, and made an outfit out of it. You were in the middle of leaving when Wanda was entering.

“Ah, you’re leaving!” She clapped her hands twice. “I can’t believe it. Thank you so much for agreeing to go.”

“You know, if this bombs, you’re gonna have a negative one on your record,” you teased, grabbing your small black purse and giving her a look.

“Negative one? Please. It’ll knock me down to like a fifty nine, if anything. But it won’t, because I know it’ll be great.”

“I hope so.” You were on your way out when Wanda called your name again, a hesitant look on her face.

“Just, give him a chance, alright?”

You stared at her for a few seconds. You knew she would never set you up with anyone bad, but that sentence made you hesitate. “Thirty minutes.”

A small smile grew on her face, like she knew that it was enough time. “Thirty minutes.”

It was a little colder than you thought outside, and it wasn’t even dark yet. You cursed yourself as you walked to the coffee shop, wishing you had brought the scarf that matched your sweater. You breathed out and watched your breath turn into smoke, a smile on your face as you pulled the door open and walked into the warmth of the coffee shop.

Everyone there was on their phones or laptops, working diligently. You assumed that he wasn’t there yet and sat down at a back table, so that whoever came close would be the one. You wouldn’t have to look up pathetically every time a person walked past you, and you grinned at the thought and tapped your temple, thinking in your head, smart bitch.

A few minutes passed in the quiet shop while you tapped away on your phone, playing a painting by numbers game that you were obsessed with, and that you had gotten Wanda obsessed with. You were thinking about hot chocolate while you finished coloring in the intricate flower. The chimes of the door went off, twinkling straight out of a fairy tale, and you looked up briefly.

Steve Rogers was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking around the shop nervously until he looked you right in the eyes. You held your breath. No way.

And then he took a step forward.

You kept your breathing as leveled as possible as he approached, walking past everyone else to stand near the table that you were at, eyeing the chair. When you said nothing, a pink flush worked up to his cheeks. “Can I sit?”

You were out of words. All the reading and writing you did was suddenly useless as you stared at him in complete and utter shock, finally closing your mouth again as you grappled for something to say that wouldn’t make you embarrass yourself.

“Yeah, of course.” The words left your mouth and he quietly pulled the chair out, sitting down rather sheepishly right in front of you. You swallowed at seeing him up close again. “Wow.”

“I know the whole one sided blind date thing was weird,” he blurted, some of his words a little rushed as he spoke. “But Wanda and I thought that you were most likely to show up if you didn’t know it was me.”

“Why?”

He took a second before answering. “I don’t think you like me very much,” he admitted quietly, a disheartened look on his face. “I don’t know what I did, but I want to fix it.”

So was this a date or an intervention for your own unstable feelings towards him? “I don’t dislike you.”

“You don’t?”

“No, you’re just…” you prayed that you wouldn’t use a word that was stupid when you stopped to think. “You’re very perfect.” You blurted, and when you saw the slightly startled look on his face, you tried to backpedal. “Not in a weird way. You’re just very um, the opposite of me, and everyone wants you. It’s kind of discouraging.”

“Discouraging?” He repeated, a confused look on his face as he tried to understand your babbling.

“There’s just-” you weren’t going to admit a thing until you heard what you needed to from him. “Wait did you ask me to come here because you wanted to clear the air, or…”

He cleared his throat. “I wanted you to come here because I think you’re cool.” You couldn’t help but laugh. So, he had said that. You smiled at him, a smart retort on the tip of your tongue, holding back the fact that you thought he was pretty cool, too.

But he kept going. “Yeah, I think you’re cool, and that your smile is gorgeous, but I also think that you’re incredibly smart. I like the articles that you write for the paper and that you’re really good with words. I think it’s nice that you tutor people for free around campus even though you could charge a lot. I think it’s cool that you didn’t rat Bucky out about the graffiti even though you saw him do it. I think you’re pretty awesome, and I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now,” He admitted, talking even though your jaw dropped.

You couldn’t believe it. You physically could not believe it. Steve Rogers, the apple of everyone’s eye and honestly the one and only of yours (no matter how much you previously denied it) just gave you more compliments in thirty seconds than you gave yourself all year.

You supposed it was your turn to talk. “I thought you were looking at me because you didn’t like me,” was all you could say, forgetting all about your craving for hot chocolate.

He looked mildly appalled? “No, not at all. It’s just… I always wanted to talk to you, but you’re always so focused, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I felt wrong every time I came up to you.”

The golden boy of the university really liked you? It was too perfect. It was impossible. But apparently it wasn’t. Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest as you registered it all, and then one thought was in your head as you cracked a smile. Screw you, Maximoff.

“Steve I… honestly, you intimidate me.” He frowned. “You’re so- I guess I can admit this now that you said all of that, but you’re perfect. It scared me, and it kind of still does.”

“I have flaws,” he disagreed lightly, tapping his fingers on the table.

“What’s that?”

“I have really bad social anxiety-”

You gasped. “Liar,” when he looked at you like he was offended, you grimaced. “I’m not calling you a liar, I’m basically just saying no way, me too.” He brightened up.

“Really?”

“Why do you think I only go like three places on campus?”

He looked around the coffee shop with a small smile on his face and then looked back to you. “Make that four,”

“Make that four.” You repeated, smiling at him softly. You took a look at your surroundings and noticed that you still hadn’t gotten your drink yet. “Oh, yeah. What kind do you like?”

He grimaced a bit, looking at you from across the table with his pretty, blue eyes. “It’s um, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

You shrugged. “Don’t be embarrassed, I just get hot chocolate.” He leaned forward with a smile and lifted brows, sincerely excited about what she said.

“Me too.”

The rest of the date was nothing short of amazing. They drank two hot chocolates each, he paid for the first, and she the second (even after all of his insisting that he would rather pay). You talked about anything and everything, and you realized that Steve Rogers was actually really smart. He wasn’t as book smart as you were, but he knew a little about everything, and he was apparently a jack of all trades (but he didn't want to admit it, because he hated bragging).

He was nothing short of perfect. The good kind.

You extended the date to about three hours, and when you finally had to head home, it felt like three minutes in his warm presence. He opened the door for you, and you were slammed by the cold.

“Damn,” You breathed out, and he immediately shrugged out of his brown leather jacket and put it on your shoulders. You looked at him incredulously, trying to hide your surprise and the butterflies in your stomach with a question. “You’re not cold?”

He grinned at you. “I don’t really get cold much.” You slowly shrugged into it, and you melted at the warmth.

You walked together to your dorms, picking up conversation from the coffee shop. You couldn’t get over that it was all so natural. It felt so right and so easy to talk to him after that first awkward hump that you two had placed yourselves. It felt like you just, linked, all of a sudden. You adored it. You could see that Steve did, too.

He was standing in front of your door with you when you finally stopped talking, slight disappointment coming when you realized that this was it for the night. Maybe for forever. What if it hadn’t gone as well as you thought it had? Would he want to do this again? You sure did, after all that resistance.

You shrugged his jacket off, but only got halfway when he held his hand out, smiling down softly at you. “No, keep it.”

You felt the whole zoo come out and into your stomach. “A-are you sure?”

“Mhm,” He said, an innocent grin that you were coming to love way too fast on his face. “You look cute.”

Your head shot down as you felt yourself get flustered. “Thanks,” you murmured quietly, smiling again when you heard his hearty laugh. You looked back up at him. “Thank you, for tonight. Thank you for asking.”

“Thank you for agreeing,” he countered, soft voice somehow still echoing in the halls. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date like this.”

“I know I haven’t.” And then, he did what would have made your heart stop, if it would stop beating so fast in the first place.

He took your hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of your palm gently, a fleeting touch that was just enough to make your brain have a malfunction. You swore that you saw a smirk on his face for the smallest of moments, and then he was stepping back with his typical smile. You loved that smile, now.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“G-goodnight!” You replied a little too loudly, causing him to laugh again. You did too. “Goodnight,” You repeated, this time in an exaggerated whisper as you unlocked your door and let yourself in, casting a glance at him one more time before shutting the door behind you.

Wanda’s reaction was immediate, and expected. “Oh my god, you’re wearing his jacket!”

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 2/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU (chapter 1 tumblr | AO3) with all the shenanigans. And some fake marriage. Because why not.

This Author has long been of the opinion that there is nothing so dangerous during the season as a mother desperate to make a match for her daughter, especially when that daughter is plain, or comes without a substantial dowry. But this season may bring a danger even greater than a desperate mother of daughters: desperate mothers of sons, unable – or unwilling – to seal the deal.

While certainly families with daughters, no matter how titled or landed, stand to lose much if they are unable to find a suitable marriage, the prospect of title or land passing out of the family without a suitable heir is enough to drive even the most respectable of families to desperate measures. Especially in the case of the Marquess of Enjolras, who is approaching thirty without a suitable marriage match in sight.

It is rumoured that the Dowager Marchioness is at her wit’s end and determined that her son shall marry by the end of the season. She is even accused of going so far as to negotiate terms without her son’s knowledge. There were several reports of a great row coming from the elder and younger Enjolras earlier this month, with son and mother shouting at each other for the entire park to hear. 

The Dowager Marchioness finds herself in good company, at the least: the Duchess de Courfeyrac has long despaired to any who will listen that her eldest will never settle down, and the rumour is that the Baron of Pontmercy has proclaimed he is refusing to marry any girl save for young lady he caught glimpse of for but a moment at the Thénardiers’ ball (and whom he has never seen since, assuming she does exist). And of course, the landed gentry without titles find themselves in similar straits. Just take Mr. Grantaire, who, despite owning one of the largest houses bordering the park, has yet to find a wife, and as he is well past the age one would expect, his father has all but given up on him and retired out of the country.

Of course, with the exception of Baron Pontmercy, it is well known that neither Lord Courfeyrac nor Mr. Grantaire, nor most other young rakes who have yet to settle down, finds himself short of unsuitable women, but our gentle readers will know that unscrupulous women might warm a bed but will rarely walk down an aisle. And on a contrary note, the Marquess may well be a monk – there is not a single rumour that this Author has heard of any woman, suitable or otherwise, who has warmed his bed.

Then again, there is none who would ever think to bat the term ‘rake’ in the direction of Lord Enjolras.

But speaking of our notable rakes, this Author has learned that the Marquess of Enjolras has called upon Mr. Grantaire this past week. And our readers may remember that despite several seasons’ worth of acquaintance under their belts that neither man would consider the other friend, which causes this Author to wonder just what those two have to discuss.

Whatever they may be up to, this Author is certain it will bring nothing but more despair to their poor guardians. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 18  APRIL 1831

Grantaire blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he said, and Enjolras thought it was too his credit that he sounded only mildly baffled.

Still, Enjolras could not help the flush that rose in his cheeks at the absurdity of his request. "I am fairly certain that you heard me perfectly well," he said, a little stiffly.

"Heard you, certainly, but..." Grantaire trailed off. "You wish for me to help you get married."

"Correct."

"But you need that marriage..."

Again he trailed off, and Enjolras cleared his throat delicately. "To not be real, correct," he finished in what he hoped was a helpful way.

Judging by the look Grantaire gave him, it had not been. Still, Grantaire was silent for a long moment, taking several sips of whiskey before telling Enjolras, "I will not claim to be anyone's first choice to ask for help with any variety of matters, but I still never thought I would see the day when I would be asked by a marquess to assist him in committing fraud."

"And yet if memory serves, once upon a time, you offered me your help with anything," Enjolras said. "You even offered to black my boots."

Grantaire looked momentarily surprised. "I did not think you would remember that."

Enjolras shrugged. "It was not I who drank my weight in wine that evening."

Grantaire smirked. "True enough." His smile faded slightly and he finished his second glass of whiskey before standing and crossing again to the drink cart. "While my offer of assistance still stands, there is something I must know first."

Enjolras eyed him warily. "What's that?" he asked.

"Why," Grantaire said simply, pouring himself another glass. "If you wish for my help, I need to understand the circumstances that have driven you to this most desperate – and patently absurd – endeavor."

Enjolras scowled, though he had certainly assumed that Grantaire would not just blindly assist him without asking why. "Fine," he snapped. "If it will move this conversation along, then I will tell you." 

He waited for Grantaire to return to his seat with his whiskey before sighing and telling him grudgingly, "It's my mother."

"Your mother," Grantaire repeated.

"Yes," Enjolras said stiffly. "Do you intend on repeating everything I say? Because if so, this tale may never be finished."

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. "Forgive me, my lord," he said coolly. "Your statement merely took me by surprise, as I did not expect you to be a man who is cowed by anyone, let alone his own mother."

Enjolras sighed and drew a hand across his face. "No, it's you who must forgive me," he said, even more grudgingly than before. "I should not have snapped at you, but my mother..." He sighed again. "There is none who vexes me like she does.
"

"Not even I?" Grantaire asked, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Well," Enjolras allowed, "perhaps one other who vexes me like she does." Grantaire smiled, but it was too soft to be his usual smirk, and there was something in his expression that Enjolras could not quite place, but made him flush again, and he looked away, busying himself by pouring another cup of tea. "In any case, my mother is insisting that I get married so that my future bride's dowry can support the lavish lifestyle to which she has become accustomed."

Grantaire took a sip of whiskey. "And I suppose telling her no is off the table?"

"I have told her no many times," Enjolras said with a sigh. "And cut her off from the money I control to boot. But her only other assets come from some land she inherited in her own right, and she is threatening to raise levies on the poor people who work that land if she does not receive any additional funds."

"Like the fiefdoms of old," Grantaire murmured, a dark looking crossing his face. 

Enjolras nodded. "Precisely."

It took a moment for Grantaire's expression to even out, and he gave his head a swift shake. "So then, give her more of your money," he suggested.

"I cannot."

Grantaire's brow furrowed. "Why ever not?"

This, honestly, had been what he had been looking forward to least about having this conversation with Grantaire, in large part because he knew the man was liable to mock him with the reminder that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. "Most of my money is tied into trusts and investments to maintain the houses and lands, and to support infrastructure improvements in the village," Enjolras said. "And what remains is held in a trust by my solicitor that only I can draw on, and for specific purposes only."

"And let me guess, supporting your mother is not one of those specific purposes?"

Grantaire's tone was wry, and Enjolras sighed. "Indeed it is not. In fact, when I wrote the trust covenant, I deliberately chose to strictly forbid that type of use."

It looked as though Grantaire was trying very hard not to roll his eyes, but for once, Enjolras couldn’t really find it in himself to blame him. “So if you can’t use the money already under an existing trust, then you need new money, and the easiest way for that is…”

Grantaire trailed off and Enjolras nodded, relieved that Grantaire had finally caught up. “Some poor girl’s dowry,” he finished.

Grantaire pursed his lips, his expression skeptical. “You truly believe your mother would not just sell some jewels or something if the situation were truly that dire?”

“She might eventually,” Enjolras allowed, but his tone turned grim. “But I know my mother, and purposefully cruel is the kindest way to describe her. She would sooner squeeze every cent from her workers than suffer even a minor inconvenience, no matter the pain or destruction she leaves in her stead.”

“And you’re certain this is not simply a ploy to try to get you married off?” Enjolras looked affronted at the question and Grantaire held his hands up defensively. “I beg your pardon, but it had to be asked. Mothers are known for resorting to extreme measures in their desperation to see their children married off...or so Lady Whistledown would have us all believe.”

Enjolras wet his lips with his tongue as he contemplated his answer. “She might,” he said honestly. “I certainly wouldn’t put it past her. But I believe that if that were her true motive, she would’ve tried to force me into marriage through guilt over wanting grandchildren or a daughter-in-law, not going straight to the money angle.”

Grantaired nodded. “Well,” he said, “it’s good to know that you come by your manipulation tactics honestly, at least.” Enjolras gave him a withering look that Grantaire blithely ignored, asking instead, “What if you used some money from your trust to make a large purchase, a house or a tract of land, and then sold it quickly? Surely the profits from the sale would not fall under the terms of the trust.”

“They would not, but the trust—”

Grantaire groaned. “Do not tell me that you set up the trust so that you could not use it to expand your lands or holdings.”

Enjolras threw his hands up in frustration. “You know damn well I wish to be rid of these things!” he half-shouted, his irritation at the entire situation getting to the better of him. “Why would I allow myself the right to purchase more of that which I wish to depart from?”

“Because you really should have foreseen this becoming an issue,” Grantaire sighed, rubbing his forehead. He drained his glass of whiskey but to Enjolras’s relief, set it down on the table instead of getting up to pour himself another. “May I ask a question you will certainly find foolish?”

“Have you ever asked for my permission before?” Enjolras returned.

Grantaire half-smiled. “A fair question,” he said. “And I suppose I should not get in the habit now. Very well.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why can’t you just get married? Most marriages of your social strata are loveless, or at least start out that way, more business arrangements than unions, and most if not all have at least financial motivation.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I would not do that to any poor woman,” he said, his voice low. “Even if they imagine they would be stuck in a loveless marriage, I would not take from them the chance at one, or at having a family of their own, neither of which they would get from me.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s expression was almost soft as he gazed at him. “I see,” he said slowly, and Enjolras frowned at his sudden change in tone.

“What?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Here I thought you might be waiting for true love.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “Hilarious,” he said dryly.

But Grantaire just gave him a small smile. “I would suggest you do not dismiss the idea until you have tried it.: 

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’re not wed?” he asked snidely. “Are you waiting for ‘true love’?”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as twitch but Enjolras still immediately regretted his words, or at least the tone with which he delivered them. “I am not wed because I do not wish to be. Now forgive me, but I believe we were here to talk about your nuptial problems, not my own.”

Enjolras nodded stiffly, not quite willing to apologize yet again for the crime of sticking his foot in his mouth, but luckily, Grantaire moved on quickly. “So then borrow money from one of us,” he suggested, tracing a finger idly over the brocade fabric of his chair. “Certainly I can give you the equivalent of a good dowry.”

“And explain it to my mother how?” Enjolras asked. “A dowry is a one-time cash injection that my mother knows will not come again, and she can plan accordingly. If she knows or suspects that I have borrowed money, she will not stop until I have bled my friends dry.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I did not know that I was counted as one of your friends.”

“Do you really think I would ask this of someone I did not consider friend?”

Grantaire looked away, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he said, his voice a little strange, “in fairness, you do let Marius join us at the Musain, so.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he snapped. “I will not let my mother bleed dry my friends, acquaintances and occasional nemeses, then.”

Grantaire looked back at Enjolras, his usual smirk back in full force. “Occasional nemeses,” he repeated. “Oh, I do like the sound of that.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Enjolras asked impatiently.

Grantaire stood abruptly, but he didn’t return to the drink cart. Instead, he wandered over to the window, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stared out the window overlooking the park. Enjolras knew him well enough to know that he was thinking, and he stayed quiet despite everything in his nature wanting him to ask what was going through Grantaire’s mind.

After a long moment, Grantaire gave his head a little shake, still staring out the window. “It’ll be tricky,” he murmured, almost solely to himself, as if he had forgotten Enjolras was in the room. “We will need a plausible explanation, a suitable scandal...and of course, long-term…”

He broke off and stared out the window in silence for one long before turning back around, his troubled expression replaced by something like resolution. “Adélaïde,” he said, and Enjolras stared at him.

“I’m sorry, who?” he asked blankly.

“My sister,” Grantaire said firmly. “She is the solution. You will marry my sister for her dowry.”

Enjolras opened his mouth and promptly closed it again, completely taken aback by how this conversation had suddenly turned. “And dare I ask what you will say if I tell you that I have absolutely no desire to marry your sister, for her dowry or for any other reason?”

Grantaire didn’t look remotely deterred. “I can’t imagine she’d be too thrilled with the match either, but seeing as how she has no say in the matter…”

He trailed off as Enjolras recoiled, his expression darkening. “I did not think you the kind of gentleman who would think so little of his own sister’s consent.”

To his surprise, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I think a great deal of her consent,” he said impatiently. “But she gets no say because she has been dead for almost twenty years.”

“Oh.”

Enjolras barely breathed the syllable, the word more an instinctive response less to what Grantaire had said and more to the pain he could see painted across Grantaire’s expression, even as his brusque tone tried to hide it.

Grantaire just jerked his head in what may have been a nod, a muscle working in his jaw, and Enjolras hesitated before saying, tentatively, “I am sorry. I did not know.”

“No one does,” Grantaire said quietly. “I…” He trailed off before shaking his head. “She and I were quite close when we were children, and after she died, it was simply easier to not speak of her.” He did not wait for any additional sounds of sympathy from Enjolras, instead straightening his shoulders as his tone turned businesslike. “But that works in our favor, as it means that no one in London knows that she is dead. It will not be difficult to tell a few key people about her, that I indulge my sister for nothing and that she has fallen in love with someone back in the country, the vicar’s son or something. And why should I subject her to the marriage market when her hand is already spoken for?”

He delivered this scenario as if it was one he had thought about before, and Enjolras shook his head slowly. But Grantaire did not let him interrupt. “Then you can come visit me,” he continued. “Just a friendly visit out to the country for a few days, mid-season. But we can stage a scandalous encounter between you and my ‘sister’ and leak the details to Lady Whistledown. A quick marriage without any of your family in attendance will be the best way to settle the scandal, and you can be ‘married’ with none the wiser.”

“Save for you,” Enjolras said faintly.

Grantaire considered it and nodded. “Myself, and likely my butler and housekeeper. I cannot imagine pulling this off without their assistance.” He looked at Enjolras expectantly. “So what do you think?”

Enjolras shook his head again. “It seems almost insane enough to work,” he said slowly, because he could not think of anything else to say. “But it’s also a ruse I cannot imagine keeping up for long, and while I might pray every day that my mother drops dead, I doubt this ruse would outlive her.”

“Ah, but you are missing the beauty of it,” Grantaire said. “As my sister is already dead, it’s easy enough to stage an illness and then her death.” Enjolras made an unconvinced noise and Grantaire added, “And besides, because of the nature of the scandal, it would make it only natural that she would not wish to subject herself to London, giving you plenty of time before she needs to grow sickly for you to carry on without any concern.”

“It certainly seems like you’ve thought this through,” Enjolras said, scrambling for some protest that would make Grantaire stop and listen, that would get him to reconsider this almost certainly asinine plan.

Grantaire smirked slightly. “I have,” he said simply.

Enjolras gave him a look. “Then I know beyond doubt that it will not work.”

Grantaire just shrugged unconcernedly. “It may not,” he said. “But what have you to lose in trying? And what other options do you possibly have?”

None, was the answer, and it was all that Enjolras could tell Grantaire, a little helplessly. “None. And I have nothing left to lose.”

“Good,” Grantaire said. “Then we have a plan.”

[catxsnow]

AFTER HOURS chapter eight

Summary: Enemies to the public, friends to their close ones, friends with benefits between them. Rival companies and an attraction that can’t be ignored.

Tim Drake x reader

Warnings: swearing, mature content, smut, 18+ only, mention death of parents, car crash mentions.

A/N: a little earlier than my usual posting time but I didn’t get the chance to post last night so! 

Word count: 3.5k

"What?"

Fuck.

Fuck, she hadn't meant to say that out loud. (Y/N) didn't know what came over her to blurt the words out. Hell, she didn't even know if she meant them. It was only two weeks ago that she realized that maybe there was more to their relationship than fucking. Then again, her feelings were probably there for a long time and she just couldn't accept them.

It was easier to push people away than it was to be hurt by them. Pushing Tim away was so easy for so long. It was easy to say that any feeling she had for him was simply just lust. They're long chats were always supposed to be 'just business' but the more she thought make, the more she realized they weren't.

They were about family, hardships, dreams, aspirations. Their chats were filled with so much knowledge of one another that she forgot that everything she knew about him wasn't just common to everyone. Tim opened up to her more than he did to anyone else - including Bruce, or Kon, or even Steph.

"Fuck," She muttered. (Y/N) pulled herself off of Tim, ignoring the sticky layer that covered them both from just having sex. She pulled a shirt of hers over her head and aimlessly searched the floor for some pants. Tim was still in shock by what she had just said to him. She loved him?

The same kind of love that he had in his heart every time he thought of her? The same love that kept him up at night wondering, hoping, that one day it would be reciprocated? 

He finally snapped out of his daze and stopped her frantic movements. Tim gripped her biceps, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glossy as she tried to hold herself together from this utterly embarrassing moment. How could she say something like that too him at a time like this?

Tim's jaw was tight as he thought. She couldn't guess what was going on inside that head of his. Judging her. Trying to figure out a way to let her down easy. Ways to escape and never see her again. Maybe he was wondering how she was stupid enough to fall in love with her fuck buddy.

Fear of losing him - not the same kind of fear that she felt only an hour ago. This loss would hurt far worse. Knowing that he was within arms reach and never being able to grasp him again. Fuck, that hurt more than any other loss she could bare with him. 

She was shocked when he harshly crashed his lips against hers. He was so rushed that their teeth and noses clanked together - something that never happened with them. They were always so perfectly in sync, knowing the movement of the other person before they even did it.

Tim pulled away as she never reciprocated the kiss. Truth was, she was far too surprised to even move. She expected harsh words and abandonment. Even after all his promises, she still found it hard to believe that he would keep them true. Not because she didn't trust him, but because she knew herself, and that people tended not to stick around.

He slid his hands up her arms until they cupped the base of her neck, thumbs against her jawline. For the second time that day, he wiped the tears that spilled down her cheeks. While before she was scared that he had left her, now she was petrified he would leave her for good.

"I love you, (Y/N) (L/N)," Tim confessed. His voice was barely above a whisper but it was clear as ever. Her bottom lip trembled at the sudden change of emotions whirling. She went from frightened to complete adoration. Tim loved her. She felt her heart swell with every feeling she had been bottling up.

She broke out into the biggest, happiest smile he had ever seen her give. Tim Drake wasn't the man that she thought she needed in her life, but he was the one that she was sure as hell lucky enough to have. He built her up without giving her false hope and was there for her when she couldn't achieve something herself.

Tim tilted her chin up. He brushed his lips against hers, testing to see if this was what she truly wanted. This wasn't a game or a joke, this was his heart on the line. As much as he trusted her, the sinking feeling of weariness and doubt always struck in the back of his mind. He couldn't get his heartbroken again, not by her.

She found herself reaching towards him as he pulled back. She didn't crave his lips, she need them. His kiss was soft at first, until the intensity of all their feelings finally exploded. She held onto him like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing in the whirlwind they were caught in.

"I love you, Tim," She never wanted this kiss to end. Being in his arms, filled with the love she never thought she'd feel again, it was life changing. Tim pulled her back again, unable to stop. His need for her kiss was greater than anything, more powerful than the sun. He needed her like he needed air.

"Why now?" Tim blurted out. After all these years, why was now the time that she finally admitted that she had feelings for him? What had caused this shift? (Y/N) sighed as Tim dropped his arms. She ran a hand down her face and sat on the edge of her bed. Tim grabbed his pants from the floor and tossed over hers before joining.

"A month ago you told me that we've been doing this for years and that ruining it by letting emotions take place was unacceptable," Tim thought back to that night. She was so head strung about not attending his gala. "What could have possible changed over a single month?"

"Everything," she looked over at him. Truth was, she couldn't pin point the exact moment of change. She didn't know when she truly cared for him as more than a companion - but she knew when she realized it. The day of that stupid gala. The stupid gala that led to their picture being everywhere and hearing him say that she was nothing in his life.

Feeling that hurt made her realize how important he was to her.

"You're the only person that's always been here for me, Tim," she played with her fingers, trying to calm her nerves. It didn't work. "My parents, my company struggles, self-doubt. Every time I'm on the verge of giving up, it's you that's there to help me back up. You've supported me for so long and... and I was never able to give that to you.

"I'm sorry, for being so cut off for so long. I'm sorry that for the entire time that I've known you that I've been so held back by fear that I wasn't able to realize what you mean to me. You deserve better, you deserve the world. Everything changed when I saw the way you lit up because I went to your gala after four years. I didn't realize how much it meant to you.

"I'm sorry that-"

"Stop," Tim cut her off. He grabbed her hand to stop her from fidgeting. "Stop apologizing. I know why you were the way you were, and I'm not upset at it. I understand the struggle of not being taken seriously and I don't want you feeling guilty over something like this. I had my part to play as well - I could have told you long ago how I felt and I never had the guts to."

"How long?" she asked, suddenly curious. She might not have been able to remember the time she looked as him as more a fuck buddy - but he might have. Maybe his answer would have sparked her own memory.

"Two years ago," he chuckled to himself. His cheeks were tinted pink with embarrassment at just how long he had been keeping this to himself. "The night that you told me your favourite memory with your parents. Seeing your face light up with pure happiness and the way you spoke of them so highly. It reminded me of my own parents - and how much they would have liked you."

"We ordered Chinese food and stayed up till four in the morning talking about how easy life was when we were kids," she remembered that night. Tim nodded - it was the first time that she had stayed for hours. "I got scared by a bird hitting the window and dropped my entire plate of noodles on myself. You laughed so hard that you started snorting."

"It was the first time I got to see you wear my clothes," Tim smiled. He didn't realize how hot she could wear one of his shirts and a rolled up pair of basketball shorts. "After you left I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop seeing your smile or hearing your laugh. I realized in those endless hours of staring at my ceiling that I wanted to spend my life with you."

"Why didn't you say anything?" She asked.

"You never wanted anyone to know what we did - much less if there was anything more between us," Tim shrugged. To be honest, he still didn't. "I didn't want you to feel pressured and I certainly didn't want to risk losing you. The wait was worth it."

She smiled at how lucky she was to have Tim. He was so patient with her that she felt like she didn't deserve someone as good-hearted as him. Tim kissed the back of her hand, followed by her forehead, and lastly, her lips. The wait was well worth it. He'd wait a thousand lifetimes for her.

"What now?" He asked. What was going to happen between the both of them? A hidden relationship? A risk that Gotham would spread hate because the CEO's of rival companies loved each other? Things were complicated in their lives, and he wasn't sure what she was willing to put on the line.

"Now... Now I stop living my life in fear."

><

"We don't have to do this."

(Y/N) paced back and forth trying to calm her nerves. Tim sat on the edge of his bed watching her movements. She was nervous, but that was to be given. After years of working hard to make sure that she was going to be taken seriously, she was just going to tear it all down. Today was going to be the make or break of Gotham's faith in her.

It was a simple plan. Go to a coffee shop together, let the paparazzi's take their pictures, see what the media was going to say. It was the best way to dip their toes in the water to see what the people of Gotham would think of their 'new relationship'. There had already been speculations since the gala - this would just confirm some of them.

She was scared. Horrified. Not because the people would react badly, but if they reacted well to the news. For over four years she felt as if she needed to cut herself off from anything personal - these were the best years of her life and she had put all of her energy into her company because she felt like it was needed.

What if it wasn't? What if she had wasted all these years for some bullshit stigma the city made her believe? She didn't know if she could live with that guilt. Her parents wanted her to experience her best life, she would have let them down if she had deprived herself of love for years.

"Yes we do," She stopped her pacing to look at him. The cuts and bruises on his face had finally healed over, but the ones lacing his body still held him back. Tim still refused to tell her what really happened. "I've been lying to myself for too long about these feelings, I can't lie to the public anymore too."

Tim patted the spot beside him. She reluctantly sat, though her leg wouldn't stop bouncing. He grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips before setting them back down on his lap. (Y/N) had every right to be nervous. This wasn't just her own life on the line, it was her company's - and his.

Just as she was worried for her own company, Tim was nervous for his. Bruce entrusted him to keep it going, and he couldn't let him down. They needed that money to fund their activities, they needed Wayne Enterprise to keep at it's highest potential.

"Whatever happens, we're in this together, okay?" Tim assured her. "I'm not going to leave you. I promised you that already and I'm sticking with it. Vicki Vale can say all she wants, she doesn't know the truth unless we want her to know the truth. We've got a plan, right? Start off easy and go from there."

"You're right," she nodded. They were in control of this situation, no one else. With Tim by her side, she could accomplish anything. When she was with him, she always felt in control of her life. He had a way of making her feel confident in herself without even realizing it. "We can do this."

She looked over at him, the nervous smile still on her face. It melted away with his kiss. His kiss that always made everything better, that always felt so right. Being with him, actually being with him, she felt as if she was on the clouds. These past few days had felt so surreal that she couldn't tell when she was dreaming and when she was awake.

Nights together, mornings in each others arms. Cooking meals with each other and being able to relax at the end of a long day with shows that neither of them knew they both liked. Mundane tasks that made her feel like a normal adult, not one with the weight of a billion dollar company on her shoulders.

It was a life she didn't know she needed until getting a taste of it.

Tim Drake was her life, for a long time, she just didn't know it at the time. He was the one that was there for her no matter what. She just hoped that when the time came, she could be there for him as well. Tim was a strong man, he didn't emotional easily and she feared that when he did, it would be when he was truly broken.

><

"Everyone's staring."

"Let them."

To no surprise, as soon as one person saw them together, everyone crowded around. Whispers from tables beside them. Camera flashes from inside and outside the coffee shop. Stares and not so secret glances. People were shocked to see them together - and everyone knew damn well who they were.

From the moment he opened the door for her until now, they had all eyes glued to them. She felt the pressure to act like the people always wanted to see her as - prim, proper, and professional. It was Tim that kept assuring her to act like herself, to show the real her for once.

The barista wasn't sure what she was more shocked by - Tim buying himself and (Y/N) coffee or the one-hundred dollar tip he left. Either way, she served them with a smile on her face and a whisper of 'I knew it'. She didn't sound judgmental - she sounded supportive.

More people accumulated but no one dared to interrupt.

Tim reached across the table to grab her hand. He could feel the tapping of her foot and the nervous shake that she had. This was the most horrifying thing she had done in her life and it should have felt so easy. She was spending time with the one she loved, and it was still petrifying.

"Hey," Tim called. "We're in this together. No one else here matters. Whatever comes next, we're going to get through. I promise." She nodded her head at his words. He was right. There was no need to worry when she had him by her side. Her parents would be proud of her no matter what and she was still making Gotham a better place.

He suddenly drew a small heart into the back of her hand, silently telling her that he loved her. She smiled at the action.

The same barista from before came back with a hot pot of coffee in her hands. "Refill?" They both nodded at the same time. She poured them each another full mug, but hesitated before leaving. Tim looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to spill what she had to say. "I know this isn't my place - like at all - but, I always thought you guys would be good for each other."

Tim looked between both the women. "Thank you," he smiled. The barista matched it and headed back towards the counter she was stationed at. "See, there's nothing to be worried about." Tim squeezed her hand while sipping his coffee with the others. He shot her a wink over the lip of his mug.

There was that stupid flutter that filled her chest again. The one that only happened when she was with him and the one that she brushed off for years thinking that it was nothing but lust. God she felt so stupid for pushing him away for as long as she did.

Tim always filled her heart with emotions. Fear, anger, lust, love. It was always easy to clump it all into one emotion that she knew how to control. She knew that sex with him always seemed to fix her problems when in reality, it was just making everything worse. 

Her heart dropped at the sight of an unwanted, familiar face. 

"You spoke too soon," she muttered, watching as the person she dreaded most walked up to them. Vicki Vale had a snide smile on her face and a notepad in her hand. There was no hesitation in her eyes as she approached them, fully ready to impose on their date and turn it into an interview.

"Mr. Wayne," Vicki looked over to Tim, not even meeting (Y/N)'s eye. He slowly retracted his hand from hers - hoping that it wouldn't upset her. The movement went unnoticed by Vicki. "A pleasure as, always. I was hoping to ask you a few questions."

"Actually-"

"Actually, Ms. Vale," (Y/N) cut Tim off. Her voice instantly went from nervous to assertive. She sat up straight and narrowed her eyes as Vicki looked over to her. Tim bit into his bottom lip to stop the smile from spreading on his face for what was about to happen next. This was the moment that she dreaded most and she was taking it so well.

"Tim and I are in the midst of a date," she emphasized using his first thing - something that she had never done in the media before. It was always Mr. Drake - or Mr. Wayne. "If you have any questions about either of our companies, feel free to stop by during business hours."

"Personal questions.... actually," Vicki pursed her lips. Her hand was on her hip. If looks could kill, she'd be dead ten times over already. "And I was asking Mr. Wayne."

"That's a shame, Ms. Vale," Tim coughed, catching her attention. "You could have gotten the story of the year if you hadn't been so rude to my lovely date." He stood up suddenly, ushering her to do so as well. They walked past Vicki, her eyes latched onto them and their joined hands. "Have a nice day."

It was the fakest smile that she had ever seen him make. The two left the coffee shop without another word, waving to the barista as they passed. She held his hand with a death grip, worried that they might have been too rash against Vicki - she had lots of influence over the city, enough to make her worried.

"Holy shit, Tim," she breathed out as soon as she got a breath of fresh air. Her heart was racing from the confrontation. The strictness in Tim’s tone and the way that his hands bundled into fists from how rude Vicki Vale was being. "That was so hot."

"Glad you think so," Tim hid his grin. Her grip loosened as she became more relaxed. The distinct sound of camera's shuttering behind them could still be heard, but that was to no surprise. "What do you say, should we give them a real show?" He raised an eyebrow, referring to the paparazzi's behind them.

"Why not?" Tim stopped her, cupping her cheek with one hand and getting his hand firm against her waist. His lips were hesitant against her for the first time since they had met. He didn't want to give the cameras too much, but if they wanted to prove a point - that was the best way how. "I love you," her voice was so quiet he barely heard.

"I love you."

Taglist:  @unknowntoanyone @willieoo @kindashittywriter @subtleappreciation @yandereforyou @pricetagofficial @because-icanhide @magicisabluewish @hyp-oh-critical @littleredwing89 @boy-georgina @sparkleofpizza @craptainlou @timtimmersdrake @hauntingsonofrobin @anothertimdrakestan @idkmanicantenglish @vvipgot7be @psych0crybaby @theconfusedpansexualbitch @spiitfiires @calcatss

[unstoppableforcce]

dark side

—CHAPTER TWO: complicated

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

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a/n: this part may not flow the best but I think the next chapter is where a lot of it is going to come together. I just really love these two but to show y’all why, I have to get to the next chapter so bear with me here

There’s more to Colombia than drugs and communists.

He’d been in deep in this game for longer than he liked to admit, but he had never once heard a single soul at the Embassy acknowledge the country for anything more than America’s playground as moral authority. The United States government wanted to protect their interests, they put the DEA on the ground to stop the coke influx stateside and they put the CIA there to make sure their precious capitalism was protected.

That was drugs and that was communism. So what the hell did you mean when you said there was more?

He understood the greater sense of the sentiment, that it’s a real country with real people and real culture, but he figured that wasn’t what you had meant. When you said it, you meant there was another reason for you to be in Colombia.

Not something as big as coke and communism, otherwise Stechner would have never pulled you off of it, but clearly something big enough to piss you off about the new position you had in his bullpen. He just didn’t know what.

What he did know was that Stechner, for all that he was, was not lying when he said you were good at your job.

Javi spent the majority of his days trying to keep his head down in budget meetings and strategy discussions with the Ambassador, the Colombian government, and more men in suits than he cared to count, but you sat at your desk, and against every grain of rational thought you surely possessed, did work as you were ordered. Reviewing intelligence reports from the police that gave up nothing because the police were paid to give up nothing, transcribing summaries on useless movements of underling cartel members, making phone calls for tips that turned out to be nothing 99% of the time and most of all, leaving the room whenever he wanted to talk without CIA ears around.

In all honesty, he had never, in a million years, expected you to have been telling the truth when you said you didn’t want to be the spy you were placed there to be, but each and every day, he showed up to the office and there you were, already there before him, head down and doing work that wasn’t close to worth your time.

He just didn’t get it. He didn’t get you.

But against as better judgement, he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe you, to trust you.

So when the reporter outside all but told him explicitly that the accidental gas leak in Cali was a coverup, he got stuck on an idea he knew was bad the second it hit his mind.

“Can we talk in my office?”

Standing at the front of your desk as you listened to tapes through headphones, at first all he got was a finger held up to his face, asking him to wait while you tried to hear the last of the recording. From the looks of the files scattered across the top of your desk, it looked like it was probably a tape from a cornerstone interrogation in Miami.

However, from the look of the empty pad underneath the tip of your pen, it wasn’t yielding much in the way of information.

After a few seconds, you stopped the tape and pulled the headphones off, looking back up to him, “yeah?”

“My office?”

You nodded, following him in through the sliding glass door and waiting by his desk as he slowly shut it behind him. “Is there a problem?”

“What do you know about this gas leak?” He asked somewhat mindlessly as he slid around you and sat back at his desk. If this whole ‘putting a plant on his team’ thing was under the cover of interagency cooperation, shouldn’t he be getting something out of it too?

Judging by the way your brow quirked, he figured maybe not.

But after a second to steal a glance to the bullpen then to scan over him, your face returned to the look before the shock and you took a step closer with a shrug of your shoulders. “What do you know?”

“That there was a gas leak.”

You scoffed at that, shaking your head. “Amazing detective work there—“

“What do you know?” He was quick to cut you off before your sarcasm could make a full appearance but you merely shrugged again.

“They’re calling it an accident.” You took a step forward, resting your hands on the back of the chair across from him, “I think anyone with the ability to think for themselves know it probably wasn’t, or at least, not the kind they are going say it is.”

“You have more information that we do?”

“The CIA has guys on the ground in Cali, you don’t.” Everything sounded so matter-of-fact when you said it, like you had this infinite knowledge and his questions merely bored you. He hated that he wanted to know what you know, he hated it because he knew how you knew it.

Looking at you, he didn’t see you as the enemy anymore, but you certainly weren’t an ally, not as long as you were CIA. He couldn’t ignore that.

“I kind of got shit on the last time I had guys in Cali.” He tried to play off casually, like the weight of the mistakes made wasn’t still sitting on his shoulders, like he didn’t have to send two perfectly good agents back to the states to appease the absurdity of the situation...

But it got you to chuckle, a break in your serious disposition he had yet to see from you until now. And he really didn’t mind it. If anything, he wanted more.

“You have to play by the rules.” You smirked, “until you can’t.”

He quirked his head at that this time, “What do you know that I don’t?”

Another chuckle. He was in much deeper than he thought if you were going to keep doing that.

“The total tonnage of what I know that you don’t...” you shook your head as you trailed off, patting the chair gently before standing back up to full height. “You trust your people more than me anyways, right?”

He gave a curt nod.

“Then put some of them on the ground in Cali.”

With that, he gave you another nod and watched you leave, back to your desk to do more work that was so far beneath your skill level it wasn’t even funny. And that night, long after he noticed you leave with a stack of files under your arm, he turned on his TV to watch the news call the leak in Cali an accident, and like you said, it didn’t feel right.

He needed people in Cali, despite everything the ambassador wanted from him and Stechner expected of him, he knew what he wanted from himself.

He wasn’t so much as sleeping these days as he was laying in bed, threatening to succumb to the hellish weight of guilt on his chest. Both from the past and from now. And it certainly didn’t help that every time he fell to his bed even slightly sober that he was enraptured with thoughts of you and that one idiotic night.

The days of using woman as sources were over now that he was dealing with Cali and not Escobar, so his days of going home with anyone else had really ended the night he was with you and getting off to the thought of you, the CIA agent, and his hand certainly wasn’t helping his conscience.

He knew what he needed to do, he knew he needed to be a real agent again, supposed surrender or not.

So that night, before he left the office, he ordered Fiestl to Cali with his partner, and by the time he made it home, he actually caught an hour of real sleep.

Turns out you gave good advice.

Not just on putting men in Cali, but two days later, when he found you lingering by the coffee pot, you silently encouraged him to “follow the money”, and you were right then too.

The combined wit of himself, your sly commentary, and the ample help of the reporter and he found himself thanking Bill Clinton and knowing the name of the cartel’s money man within a matter of days. It was luck he hadn’t had in a very long time, so long that it felt way too good to be true.

He was getting back into the rhythm that reminded him of working on Escobar, doing real work, working towards real answers. He lacked good men to bounce ideas off of, missing Murphy and Carrillo more and more everyday, but he was doing good work. For the first time since he had been back in Colombia, he felt like he was doing the right thing.

He should’ve know the second he moved for a plane to Panama that nothing could ever work this perfectly for him, he just didn’t deserve it.

But you looked good in fatigues.

He wished he could’ve done more looking at the way you were practically highlighted against the drab airfield by the sharp cuts of your black tank top and the stilling army green of your cargo pants. He wished he could’ve taken a dive head deep into that distraction but he couldn’t.

As with every time he almost got caught staring at you, he was painfully reminded of exactly who you were. This time, it was you arguing with Stechner to pull him back to reality.

He didn’t hear the argument, he could just see the two of you were locked in it as he approached. By the time Stechner spotted his approach, he dismissed whatever you were saying and ended the conversation before Peña came close enough to hear.

He caught your stare briefly, noticing what he almost tricked himself into thinking was a blink of apology in your sincere stare, but he knew now that he didn’t have that kind of luck.

“What the fuck is going on?” He turned to the CIA station chief, trying to figure out if he really knew the definition of smug until he met him.

“Orders are orders, you heard the ambassador.” Stechner responded simply, the same kind of simple he always got from you, but at least a thousand times more superior in every way as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave a minuscule shrug. “Our friends from the senate want the down low from a real life hero.”

He heard your scoff from where you leaned against the helicopter, even as you tried to muffle it.

“Guess that’s you.” Stechner continued on, gesturing with a turn of his shoulders to the senators he had met earlier in the week, suiting up in vests and boots. “You got somewhere better to be?”

With that, he turned away completely, leaving just you, still leaning against the helicopter colored in the same shade of camouflage green as your fatigue pants were.

“You’re wearing the wrong shoes.” You tried to joke out but it was clear even through the heavy sheet of tension between the two of you that he didn’t find it very funny.

He let out an exhausted sigh and reluctantly loaded into the helicopter with you, Stechner and the two senators, pulling out his tie as he did. Unfortunately, as you moved for the empty seat next to him, Stechner grabbed ahold of your hand and redirected you to the seat next to him, leaving the prime real estate next to Peña wide open for the desperately chatty senators.

You tried to offer something of an apology in your stare as you pulled your headphones on and strapped in, but either he wasn’t reading into it what you were putting into it or he was just too annoyed to care. You certainly had no problem reading the frustrated annoyance in his stare, especially as the senator next to him tried to ask some question you couldn’t hear over the noise from the helicopter.

After a while of traversing over the seemingly endless green landscape, you felt the acceleration shift as the chopper began to land, but as you hopped out behind Stechner and tried to steal a glance back to Javier, he was back to ignoring you, stripping off he jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

He was terribly overdressed for a day in the jungle, which was a shame, it was a good suit on him.

As Stechner began his lecture for the Senators, you specifically hung back to be only a step in front of him.

“You were out, otherwise I would have warned you.” You offered over you shoulder once you were convinced the senators were entranced by the demonstration.

He was out tailing the king of cartel money laundering, he was making real progress... he couldn’t help but roll his eyes, no matter how genuine you sounded.

“I’m being serious—“

“I’m supposed to trust you?” He spoke in more of a whisper as he crunched through the jungle on your heel.

“Some things do exist outside my range of control, Peña.”

He starts making real progress and he gets detoured like this? No matter what you argued, mo matter what he thought about his own bad luck, coincidences like this didn’t just happen. He wasn’t needed here, ambassador’s orders or not, what the hell did the senators need to come out here for anyways?

Then came the smell.

The jungle had its own smell, but coke and dead bodies always managed to shine through.

“FARC or traffickers?” The senator asked.

“Both...” he heard Stechner say as he continued his explanation.

A blatant lie. All of this was a big fucking lie, one you seemed to have a personal hand in telling now that Stechner turned to you and easily coaxed facts from you, he couldn’t stand it.

He peeled off from the group, just trying to get out of his head but by the sound of crunching jungle beneath boots from behind him, he knew you were close following. Turning back towards you, he threw his hands up by his sides and let a scoff slip out, not expecting you to flinch but in no way comforted by your near robotic stare directed back his way.

Glancing behind you to be sure the senators and Stechner were out of range, he blew out a breath and turned back towards the jungle, “this whole thing is staged.”

You didn’t respond though, you just maneuvered around him, coming face to face with him.

“These aren’t traffickers.” He would kill for a cigarette as he stared you down, “they’re strapped with AK ammo and those fancy guns Stechner had you modeling are M-4s.”

“You know your guns...” you mused carefully and he purposefully scoffed directly in your face this time.

He was so far from amused, your comment barely registered with him before he continued on, “He’s using you as what? The pretty face behind all of this?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, like you’re the hero who brought down Escobar.” Shooting back, you took a challenging step up towards him. “He’s using you too.”

“You think I don’t know that?��� He didn’t raise his voice, but his low shift in tone was just enough to send shivers down your spine.

But you weren’t one to back down, “Well you could’ve fooled me—“

“You’re the one who plays along—“ he was just as quick.

“It’s my job to play along, what the hell is your excuse?”

He stopped for a second, realizing just how close to argument brought him to you and took a step back, scratching at his brow as he did. He didn’t know why he let you get him so riled up, he didn’t know why you had the effect on him that you did.

Part of him figured it was because he liked you, that the determination and ability you demonstrate when you work as hard as you do is enough to distract him from who you are just long enough to let you in under his skin. But then he remembers why he isn’t supposed to like you, he remembers what you are a part of and it infuriates him. He can’t blame you for being what you are, he can’t even blame you for lying about it. Everything you had done up to this point was honest...

He could only blame himself for letting it get to him and he was pretty good at blaming himself for things.

“You have a cigarette?” He muttered as he turned back to you.

With your arms crossed over your chest, practically drawing his eyes to the low neck of your tank top, you shook your head, snapping his gaze back to yours. “I don’t smoke.”

He kicked the dirt beneath his shoes, the wrong shoes, and let out another hefty sigh.

“Were you lying about being in Colombia for something other that drugs and communism?” He eked out with a voice weaker than he could be proud of.

“I haven’t lied to you since I met you, Peña.” You were quick to retort, your voice never dropping in strength. “Why?”

He shook his head, settling his hands to his hips, “if you’re not here for this, why the hell do you let Stechner use you as a prop? Why do you let him get away with these lies for fucking fundraising?”

“It’s politics.” You scoffed back to him, taking a step closer. “You didn’t come to Colombia for it either, but here we both are.”

Great, he thought, another similarity between the two of you.

He hated that he couldn’t out-argue you, not that he was used to outsmarting the women he worked with, but most of the women he worked with were secretaries and assistants who were almost eager to bend to his will. You were smarter than him and he could tell the first time you opened your mouth in that bar.

He just wished he had realized then the shit he was about to bring down on himself and stopped before he even started.

But you were smarter than him, and he had to deal with that now.

“What did you come to Colombia for?”

You twisted your head, having not expected the question, but before you could open your mouth to give him the answer he was looking for, another voice called from behind the two of you.

“Agent Peña?” Both of you turned to see Stechner stood with his hands on his hips, “the Senators want to speak with you.”

He stole a glance back to you and you gave a heartless shrug, “good luck.”

A laugh nearly bubbled to the surface of his frustrated demeanor, like a joke the universe was playing. He had never had an ounce of good luck in his life, not before Colombia and certainly not now, as he scanned you over one last time.

You were his type, almost too perfectly his type. He couldn’t help but wonder if Stechner grew you in a tube just to mess with him, he certainly wouldn’t put it past the man. A beautiful woman, standing strong in army fatigues and a member of the CIA. He was shaking his head a lot more these days then his last time in Colombia, or at least it felt like he was.

Good luck...

He didn’t have any of that. All he could hope was that maybe Fiestl and Van Ness did.

-> tags: (let me know if you’d like to be added or if I missed you! I’m not great at tagging lol)

@the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @leo-moon @tiffdawg @readsalot73 @way-too-addicted-to-anime @keeper0fthestars @adikaofmandalore @opheliaelysia @magneticbucky

[hinamesh]

“Prince Aegon is a man grown, Princess” (Spoilers)

This post that I made on Reddit but I decided to share it here as well.  For those people who think Young Griff/Aegon was just a stupid boy.

It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You [Tyrion] were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad [Aegon] forbade it.

Here we've seen a glimpse of his compassionate side. Do not think of him like Joffrey, he gives Tyrion a chance to live on, showing him mercy.

Perhaps you should be the fool instead of me. Trust no one, my prince. Not your chainless maester, not your false father, not the gallant Duck nor the lovely Lemore nor these other fine friends who grew you from a bean. Above all, trust not the cheesemonger, nor the Spider, nor this little dragon queen you mean to marry. All that mistrust will sour your stomach and keep you awake by night, ’tis true, but better that than the long sleep that does not end.”

Meeting Tyrion is truly the turning point of his life. Because of Tyrion he learns to be doubtful and wary of the people around him, he stopped being the naive boy that he once was. As you can see in the future passage after Aegon met with Tyrion, he started to changed.

"I like the sound of that. My army.” A smile flashed across his [Aegon] face, then vanished. “Are they, though? They’re sellswords. Yollo [Tyrion] warned me to trust no one.”

He is not stupid and that naive anymore. He is starting to question stuffs. He didn't ignore Tyrion's advise and actually listen because his advise actually a good one. Showing a bit of his capability as the judge, a skill that needed for a future leader like him.

That dwarf had already planted enough doubts in his young head. “Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary … but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful.” King Aerys was one such. By the end, even Rhaegar saw that plain enough. “You would do best to walk a middle course. Let men earn your trust with leal service … but when they do, be generous and openhearted.”

The boy [Aegon] nodded. “I will remember.”

Fortunately JonCon was on his side, he gave him a wise advise to walk a middle course. I don't think Aegon will walk on the path where he will be distrustful towards everyone like Tyrion's advise, but he will try to be in the middle following JonCon's advise as he said that he will remembered that. This is showing his grown from a boy to a man grown. He has good skill of listening to what is good for him.

This proof with his next action in ADWD, to earn the men's trust.

“The demon road is death. We will lose half the company to desertion if we attempt that march, and bury half of those who remain beside the road. It grieves me to say it, but Magister Illyrio and his friends may have been unwise to put so much hope on this child queen.”

No, thought Griff, but they were most unwise to put their hopes on you.

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

He is starting to take charge of his own path. The golden company did not just give their allegiance towards Aegon easily, it was Aegon who actually pursued their trust and won it himself, using his words. But some of you quick to dismissed this skill of his.

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.”

“I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Yes, some of you would say he was just being a brat here, but he was not. He was trying to recruit them onto his team, showing his confidence and claim. A bit of pride that a leader must have. And this was actually work. One of the golden company squires, Franklyn Flowers actually bite the idea.

Franklyn Flowers laughed. “I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.”

Aegon is actually earned the man interest and manage to impress him in the process.

“Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had.”

“Which plan?” said Tristan Rivers. “The fat man’s plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver’s Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

He did not received a full approval of the idea immediately from the group, some did counter his idea, but the other started to question their original plan. Considering Aegon's idea more seriously.

“Prince Aegon,” said Tristan Rivers, “we are your men. Is this your wish, that we sail west instead of east?”

“It is,” Aegon replied eagerly. “If my aunt wants Meereen, she’s welcome to it. I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance. Move fast and strike hard, and we can win some easy victories before the Lannisters even know that we have landed. That will bring others to our cause.”

These words of his manage to bring the golden company to his cause. He managed to pursue them, they approved his idea, not Varys/Illyrio's plans. An important note that people often forget. It was Aegon who gave the decision for the path to Westeros not someone else.

When all of them began to speak at once, Griff knew the tide had turned. This is a side of Aegon I never saw before. It was not the prudent course, but he was tired of prudence, sick of secrets, weary of waiting.

The side that JonCon himself never have seen before, Aegon capability as a leader who manage to bring men follow his wishes and idea. The tide had turned because of him, he was the one who responsible for the changing plan not JonCon/Illyrio/Varys. I think that was an impressive side of him that we must take note for the future books.

One by one, the men of the Golden Company rose, knelt, and laid their swords at the feet of his young prince[Aegon]. The last to do so was Homeless Harry Strickland, blistered feet and all.

When they knelt before him, it was Aegon's succeed, he earned the men trust. He didn't even ask nor order them to bow and kneel at him, they were doing it because they wanted to.

A solid man, and true, Connington thought as he watched Duck dismount, but not worthy of the Kingsguard. He had tried his best to dissuade the prince from giving Duckfield that cloak, pointing out that the honor might best be held in reserve for warriors of greater renown whose fealty would add luster to their cause, and the younger sons of great lords whose support they would need in the coming struggle, but the boy [Aegon] would not be moved. "Duck will die for me if need be,” he had said, “and that’s all I require in my Kingsguard. The Kingslayer was a warrior of great renown, and the son of a great lord as well.”

This passage again shows that he isn't just a stupid boy, he learns from history and not that naive anymore. He knows what will protect him and not. A man grown who has his own belief and thought of what's right and wrong.

No, I want Duck to stay.” The prince sat. “We’ve been talking with Strickland and Flowers. They told us about this attack on Storm’s End that you’re planning.”

Jon Connington did not let his fury show. “And did Homeless Harry try to persuade you to delay it?”“He did, actually,” the prince said, “but I won’t. Harry’s an old maid, isn’t he? You have the right of it, my lord. I want the attack to go ahead … with one change. I mean to lead it.”

Again, he is not Joffrey who cowardly hides himself behind his army, Aegon takes the initiative to lead himself, ready to risk his own life. (Spoiler TWOW) He does sucessfully doing so based on Arianne II TWOW, where they manage to take Storm's End. I think Lysono Maar has seen his bravery to the point he quicks to defend him from her insult by saying "Prince Aegon is a man grown." which I think as a reader should not dismissed it easily and give him some space to develop as a character.

Bonus, a chapter that showing a glimpse of his fighting skill..

When they fought with mace or blunted longaxe, Ser Rolly’s greater size and strength would quickly overwhelm his charge with swords the contests were more even. Neither man had taken up a shield this morning, so it was a game of slash and parry, back and forth across the deck. The river rang to the sounds of their combat. Young Griff landed more blows, though Duck’s were harder. After a while, the bigger man began to tire. His cuts came a little slower, a little lower. Young Griff turned them all and launched a furious attack that forced Ser Rolly back. When they reached the stern, the lad tied up their blades and slammed a shoulder into Duck, and the big man went into the river

So stop saying he was just a stupid feign boy, he is a character that still growing and hasn’t shown his full potential yet. So please give him a chance to show that in the next book. This person is Dany’s future rival and do you think GRRM will write him as just a lame character? No, I think he won't just throw this chance easily, he will sure use this to make the plot more thicken.

[heartsloving]

As Long As You’re Safe

Spencer Reid x Reader (spouse)

Summary: When an unsub targets Reid, the team struggles to find a way to get him out of the situation before things get out of hand and the only way for things to end is for him to talk to the unsub and try to reason with them. The reader, however, is having none of it. 

A/N: with this being the first fanfic I’ve ever written, please be nice. I know it might not be good but I’m doing my best. there’s a saying that the more you write, the better you’ll get. I’m getting there. I hope it’s at least somewhat enjoyable :)) 

Warnings: None, really, some violence, angst, but not much

Word Count: 3,535

Edited? Slightly

* credit for the gif goes to the person who made it *

As Long As You’re Safe

“To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.” - George MacDonald

You can hear the distant sound of speeding cars as you sit on a park bench. While you watch the children play on the playground, you can smell the damp ground from the rain and the smell of apple cinnamon from the food cart that parks nearby the park. The sky is dark when you look up, dark clouds surrounding the park. When you look straight ahead, you can see the sun about to set, the sky illuminating an orange and red color. You let out a sigh as you watch the children run around, wishing you can feel more carefree like the children do. The case that you are working on is extremely difficult, especially when it involves a member of the team putting themselves in more danger than they really need. You understand that it’s part of the job, but there are other ways to approach the case. This case, however, doesn’t have another way that doesn't involve hurting the victims, much to your dismay.

The unsub, which you and the team found out to be twenty-nine year old Nicole Renner who worked at a retail store before she got fired by her own mother a couple of weeks before the attacks, requested to see one of the members from your team in person otherwise, the woman she was holding captive would die. The team eventually agreed to meet her tomorrow afternoon and that was that. The team agreed, you didn’t. Under different circumstances, you would agree but having the one person that you truly love meet up with the unsub, unarmed and vulnerable, that was something you didn’t want to agree with. Not that you wanted another member of your team to go instead, you wanted to find another way. But there was just nothing that could be done to change Nicole’s mind. After the deal was made, you left the room in a hurry, ignoring the worried looks the team was giving you as you walked out.

Now, you’re at the park that you went to as a child, watching kids run around and laugh with no worrying thoughts crossing their minds. You frown as you feel tears gather in your eyes and you hastily wipe them away when you hear footsteps behind you. You feel the person sit next to you and glance up briefly and make eye contact with JJ before dropping your gaze to your folded hands in front of you. 

“Hey,” JJ says gently. “I thought I would find you here.”

You sniff. “Does the team need me?” You hate the fact that your voice cracked at the end.

JJ smiles softly. “They’ll be fine. How are you holding up? I know this is hard for you.”

You start fiddling with the wedding ring you had on your left hand. You smile at the thought of your wedding. That was the day you married your best friend. Letting your smile fall from the thought of what may happen tomorrow, you shrug. JJ notices but doesn’t say anything. “I just--what could the unsub want with Spencer?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that we’re not letting him go alone.” She grabs your hand. “Y/N, I know that you’re worried. We all are. We don’t know what to expect. But we’re family and family doesn’t leave each other behind. We’ll be there.”

You think back to what Nicole said. “I know, I just don’t want him to get hurt because of it.” You shake your head. “I know he’s been through situations like this, but I just can’t help but feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“That’s the thing about this job. It’s never easy. Bad things happen. It happens all the time. But you just have to find the good in every situation. Things don’t always turn out the way we want it to, and we need to learn how to adapt. We find ways to cope and we do our best to make the next situation better. Most importantly, we’re all here for each other. We have each other’s back.” JJ pauses to let her words sink in. “I’m sure Spence will be fine, Y/N. He’s smart, he’ll find a way to bring Nicole in and bring the hostage to safety while making sure he stays safe as well. And we’ll be around the corner. Once we believe things are out of hand, we can jump in. But you and I both know that he’s got this.”

You nod because of course, you know that. He’s been in the BAU longer than you have and you’ve seen him in action. You know he’ll be fine. It’s just your thoughts nagging at you and you worry. You try to smile but you’re sure it looks more like a grimace. “I know. Thanks, JJ.”

JJ squeezes your hand. “You don’t need to thank me.” Just then, her phone buzzes, and she pulls it out and reads the text. “Duty calls. You coming?”

“I’m just going to stay here for a little while longer if that’s okay. I just need a minute.”

JJ nods knowingly, standing up. “Of course. I’ll see you later.”

She puts a hand on your shoulder for a moment before walking away. You sigh as you again watch the children, deep in thoughts.

You become so lost in thought that you didn’t realize how late it is until you look up from the silence and see that everyone has gone home. You decide to text JJ that you are heading home. You are no use to the team when you’re worrying too much of what could go wrong and you can already picture yourself protesting with every idea the team proposes, so you decide that it is best for you to get some rest. Putting your keys on the key hook by the door, you take off your jacket and hang it in the closet next to Spencer’s black jacket. You can vividly remember Spencer surprising you with your first house together after you got married. It was a special day, something that you know you’ll always remember, and a picture sitting on the table beside the closet is proof enough. You stand there for a moment before closing the closet door and making your way towards yours and Spencer’s room. After getting ready, you lay in bed and close your eyes, but you know that you’re not getting sleep anytime soon. Too much is on your mind and you can feel tears starting to form.

You don’t know how long you’ve been laying in bed, but you can hear the front door open and close and you know it’s Spencer. Your eyes -- that’s still wet from unshed tears -- remain closed, but you can hear his footsteps come closer until it stops. You are laying on your side and you almost jump when you feel his hand brush a strand of hair out of your face. You can almost picture the small frown on his face, considering that you left so abruptly. His hand lingers on your head for a moment before he removes them. You hear the bathroom door closing softly and you quickly move your hand up to wipe the tears, relieved that it’s too dark for him to notice the tears that were falling when he was standing at your side of the bed. The sound of water running fills your ears and you let the soothing sound almost rock you to sleep. After a while, you feel a pair of lips on the side of your head and you can faintly hear Spencer saying, “Good night, Y/N, I love you,” before sleep overtakes you.

++++++

The sound of birds chirping outside wakes you up and you slowly open your eyes. Sun peeks out from the curtains and you move your hand up to close it. You lay back down and turn your head to the side and see your husband, Spencer, sleeping soundly on his back. He looks peaceful, all the worry lines on his forehead are gone. You know how tense he gets sometimes in some cases and you just wish you could take away the stress. You also know that he hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep lately, so you’re glad that he was able to get some this night. You’re watching his eyes fluttering from his closed lids before you remember what is to take place this afternoon. Laying back, you again feel tears gather in your eyes and you scold yourself for being so weak. You know he’s going to be fine. You know it deep down. You just can’t help worrying about what could happen if he took one wrong step. You manage to stifle your sob but you can’t help the gasp that falls out of your mouth. You cover your mouth and sniffle, closing your eyes as you groan internally. He for sure heard that.

And he did. You feel his hand on your arm, but you don’t open your eyes for the fear that he might judge you. “Y/N?” You feel the bed shuffle, most likely him turning to his side to look at you better. You open your eyes and sure enough, your eyes meet his. “You’re crying. Why are you crying?”

“I-I’m sorry for waking you,” You whisper. You try turning away but his hand on his arm prevents you from doing so. “I-I’ll be okay. Just go back to sleep.” Your voice cracks. Great, he for sure won’t leave you alone now. You glance at the clock. Six am. “It’s still early.”

“I know you say that you’ll be okay but after being with you for four years, one hundred and fifteen days, twenty-one hours, and thirty minutes, I know you tend to say you’re okay when you’re not.” He looks at you, pauses, and moves his hand that was on your arm up to wipe the tears that managed to fall from your face. “Now can you tell me what’s really wrong?” After a long pause, he adds, “Please?”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes to brace yourself. You feel tears escape your eyes, but Spencer wipes them away before they can fall any further. Opening your eyes, you turn and face Spencer, who is looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.”I, um, It’s--sorry.” You look up to prevent any more tears from falling. Spencer waits patiently like he always does. “It’s just--I’m scared that something bad will happen today. I know that I’m overthinking things, I know I always do, I’m just scared I--”

“Hey,” Spencer says softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. He pulls you in a hug. It took a while for him to be more accepting of any kind of touching but after some help, he eventually opened up more. “I’ll be okay. You got my back, right? You’ll be there?” You nod. “Then I’ll be alright. Trust me, with you and the team behind me, knowing that I have people I love and trust there watching my back will help a lot. Besides, I already talked to her once, I think I can talk to her again.”

You pull back, your eyebrows lowering. “What?”

“All I’m saying is, I’ll be fine knowing that you’ve got my back. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Honey, you know I will always worry about you. We swore an oath at the altar where we’ll look after our well-being. I wouldn’t break it then and I’m not breaking it now, but that’s not the point.” You look at him closely. “You talked to the unsub before? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Spencer frowns. “She wasn’t an unsub the first time I talked to her. She was fine, she acted as any other people would. She helps the homeless, she cares for her siblings, she was never violent towards anyone. We talked about microbiology, surprisingly, and how it helps the world. Normal conversation.” He pauses. “Maybe I can bring her out again.”

“You’ve always wanted to help others when they don’t realize they need it. That’s what I love about you. But you know you can’t save everyone, right? I’m glad you’re trying, honestly, I’m happy you’re trying. I just don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

He brings you close and plants a kiss on your lips. “I love you too. And you won’t lose me. I know what I’m doing. I just want to try.” You see him bite his lip. 

You move your hand and use your thumb to move his bottom lip away from his teeth. You leave your thumb there for a second before letting your hand fall to his chest. “What? What is it?”

He looks at you, his eyes moving between yours. His hair is still a mess and in the morning sunlight that manages to escape from the curtains, he looks at peace despite what is about to happen in a couple of hours. “I guess I’m asking you to trust me,” he says. 

“Spen,” You say softly. “You know I’ll always trust you.”

Spencer clears his throat, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know. But I want you to trust me with this. I’ve run the probability of getting the hostage to safety while making sure her weapon never hits me or the hostage. I know what I’m doing. You won’t lose me,” he reassures you. “I know I can’t promise anything, but I can promise you one thing. I promise I’ll be careful. You just have to trust me on this one. I’ll be fine.”

You sigh. “Okay. I trust you, but I’m coming in if things go south.” You raise a brow. “And you can’t stop me.”

He lets out a small laugh. “I know I can’t.” He sobers up, looking at you intensely. “Thank you.” 

You nod. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Always.”

++++++

“Everyone in position?” You hear Hotch say in his earpiece. He looks at the distance and you look with him. From here, you can see Nicole with a woman being held at gunpoint. You and the team are close enough if you need to step in but far enough to respect Nicole’s request. 

Before you left the FBI Headquarters, JJ made sure you know what the plan is. You and the team along with a few police officers will stay a good distance away from the situation with guns in hand while Spencer goes and detains the unsub as soon as he gets the chance. There was no way to hide an earpiece, so the team needs to look more closely at Nicole’s actions. It’s not ideal, but that’s what they have to do if they want to stop Nicole from killing anyone else. Should things go south, the team will step in. Otherwise, it’s all Spencer. 

After hearing everyone say their affirmatives, Hotch turns to Spencer. No one mentions the small amount of concern in his eyes that he didn’t manage to hide fast enough. “Reid, you ready?”

Spencer turns to look at the team. “Yeah.” His gaze falls on you and smiles reassuringly. He takes your hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “Yeah, I am.”

“Remember,” Rossi says, leaving his hand on his shoulder. “Try to sympathize with her first, give her a reason to trust you. We need to make sure that her attention is on you and not the hostage. Get the hostage away from her the moment you can.”

“And when you do,” Prentiss adds in, “Talk to her, reason with her, whatever you can. We need that gun away from you as much as we can. From what we could gather, she won’t hurt you unless she feels threatened. We know that her mother would constantly say hurtful things. Let her know that you don’t want to hurt her.”

“We’ve got your back, Spence,” JJ says firmly. “All of us here, Garcia too. We won’t let you get hurt. Not if we can help it.”

“Good luck, kid,” Morgan says, concern still clear in his voice. “Let me know when you want me to jump in. Because I will.”

Spencer nods. “Thanks, but I think I got this.” He turns and begins to walk towards Nicole, his hands clearly in the air. 

You glance at your team to see them watching Spencer with the same worry in their eyes as you. 

Please, you think to yourself, hoping someone, anyone, is hearing you. Please keep him safe. 

You watch as Nicole glances around. You swear her eyes meet yours but you think it’s just the trick of the wind. She’s yelling. About what? No one knows but Spencer. You can’t see what he’s saying but whatever it is, it seems to calm her down a bit and her hand that’s holding the gun begins to shake. After a moment of tense waiting, you see Nicole push the hostage aside and the hostage takes a chance and runs towards you. Prentiss meets her a quarter away and leads her to one of the paramedics that arrived on the scene a couple of minutes ago. 

Turning back, you watch the unsub wave her hand wildly around her, gesturing to you and the team. Spencer’s hands are in front of him and you know he’s speaking softly. You can almost imagine his voice. It has always calmed you down. From the looks of it, it was calming her down as well but barely. You feel yourself move forward when she raises the gun, but JJ stops you before you can go anywhere. She tells you to wait and after a tense moment, you finally relax — not fully, only slightly — when Nicole drops her gun and puts her face in her hands. 

Spencer steps forward slowly and gently moves her until they’re walking toward the team, no handcuffs. You assume that it is to prevent her from feeling threatened. You wait anxiously as they get closer. She is looking down but when she gets close enough, Nicole looks up and meets your eyes. A moment passes before fury crosses her face and she moves before anyone could stop her. She grabs the front of your shirt and slams you on the side of the car. Her face is close to yours and you lean your head back to get away from her. But Morgan pulls her off the moment your head slams on the window, shattering it. He struggles to get her hands behind her back but eventually manages to get her hands cuffed. 

“You’re next,” she growls at you as she is moved to a police car. “Just you wait.”

The moment she’s gone, Spencer rushes over to you and gently holds your face in his hands, examining you and making sure that there aren’t any more injuries. The team comes in shortly after, making sure that glass wasn’t stuck on you. You tell them that you’re alright and it’s true, but they don’t stop coddling until they’re satisfied that you are indeed alright. Once satisfied, they finally step back but Spencer still remains by your side. The team eventually moves away, some to where Nicole was standing and some to the news broadcasters standing a few feet away from the crime scene, leaving you and Spencer. 

He turns to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? Or are you just saying that to get the attention off you?”

“I’m fine, I promise.” You smile at him. “You did it. Like I knew you could. My mind just didn’t let me see it until it knows that you’re safe.”

He returns the smile but you know it isn’t genuine. You can see the guilt in his eyes. “I-I knew I should’ve handcuffed her but I didn’t want her to feel threatened. And look where that got me. Y/N, I’m so sorry. You trusted me and you got hurt. If I-”

You cut in. “You didn’t know. And for the record, I trust you. I trusted you in the past, I trust you now, and I’ll trust you in the future. You got her, Spen. And whatever happens, happens. It’s part of this job and part of life. Nothing is ever known. It’s okay.”

Spencer looks in front of him before moving his gaze back to you. “I do know one thing though.”

“And what’s that?”

You see his gaze harden slightly. “I won’t let her touch you again. Or anyone else.”

You wrap your arms around him and lean your head on his chest. You hear the soft thumps of his heart and that’s when you finally feel your body relax. He’s safe, you’re safe. Everything’s good. He tightens his hold on you and you feel him kiss the crown of your head. You smile. You may not know what the future holds, and that’s okay. What matters is what’s happening now and now, you’re in the arms of your husband. And that’s all you can ever ask for. 

“The point of power is always in the present moment.” - Louise L. Hay

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 66

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 66: Without a Proposal

Your brain was rather foggy when you felt a familiar pressure behind your ear. He continued down your ear and kissed you. You felt the weight of his body above yours, “Good morning Kitten, I’ll be leaving soon.” Another kiss fell on your lips. “Please wake up, I would like to see your beautiful eyes before I leave.”

You opened your eyes and were greeted by his dark cauldron eyes, scanning your face as he looked at you. Once you held eye contact long enough he resumed peppering your face and neck with kisses. Marking your collar bone with more love bites before meeting you for a deep kiss. “I have to go Kitten, but I will try and holocommunicate with you when I can.” He gave you one last kiss before he stood up.

You watched him leave, taking your heart with him as he left. You knew that he was leaving you for the greater good. To protect you, but that still didn’t mean you were fully ok with him leaving. Your protective hound was about to go out and fight while you were to stay behind. You also did not feel ok with him facing Rey, the scavenger, who wanted Ben to come home. You knew Kylo did not feel the same about her, they were connected through the Force but you were his match. He wouldn’t leave you especially with you being so close to being Empress, to being fully his. His mother was another thing that made you worry a bit, you didn’t have the best relationship with your family, but you could never imagine killing them. But they threatened your existence by wanting Ben Solo back.

Adlez and Olivia-Rose appeared around the corner and got you out of bed. You made your way to the dressing room where you sat down in front of the vanity. Adlez gave you a look as she worked on your hair, “How are you feeling?” There was a tone in her voice that seemed to judge you. “Good. Why are you asking?” You knew she suspected something but you didn’t know what yet. “You weren’t feeling well yesterday. We called the doctor, you did something with him and the Supreme Leader. We were told to put you back together. You went off to a meeting and when you returned we were ordered out. You spent the night alone with him and he leaves this morning and will be gone for who knows how long. I don’t like it,” said Adlez. “I would like to know if you are all right.”

“I am fine, there were some complications that are fixed now. The Supreme Leader needs to do some things in order to protect me, once it is done I will be Empress.” You met her eyes in the vanity, trying to reassure her and yourself at the same time.

They finished getting your ready in relative silence. You could tell neither of them liked the situation you were in. They knew you weren’t really telling them the whole truth. But you had other things occupying your mind. As you stepped out into the hall you were greeted by Dr. Dabrini.

“Good morning m’lady I am here for our follow up,” he gestured for you to follow him into the bedroom as Adlez and Olivia-Rose headed into the dining room. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is a bit foggy but I did not dream last night, at all.” “Good, good. I believe this may be what you need until the Supreme Leader gets back. I will be monitoring your doses closely for the next few days just to be sure. But if you feel any nausea or feel anything other than normal please contact me immediately.” After receiving confirmation from you he left and you joined the others in the dining room to eat your breakfast.

“Would you like to go over your schedule this morning m’lady,” asked Captain Mitaka.

“Yes, please.” You were wondering what Kylo has left you to do while he was gone.

“This morning the Allegiant General will be joining you to plan your ceremony to become Empress. You will then have a luncheon with members of the High Command. Then you have your lessons, and then a dinner of your choice.”

It dawned on you that this would be the first time in weeks that you would be eating dinner without Kylo, sleeping without him for the night. You also remembered he tended to take the knights with him when he left. “Who is guarding me with the Supreme Leader gone?”

“There will be a rotation between Captain Phasma and Commander Pyre with Knights Trudgen and Kuruk. They will be rotating 12-hour shifts and will switch over during your lesson time,” responded Mitaka.

Your staff tended to stay quiet as they were still getting used to you, and their first few days haven’t been the greatest as you have been affected by a number of different things.

“Shall we go wait for the Allegiant General in the lounge,” you ask the group, who all just nodded in agreement. You then proceeded to meander upstairs as you waited for Hux to arrive. You answered various questions from the staff as you watched him enter.

“Good morning m’lady, I hope you’re feeling better,” said Hux.

“I am thank you, so we are to plan my ceremony,” you ask him as he takes a seat across from you.

“Yes, there is a list of things we need to plan right away, one of them being your dress.”

“My dress,” you ask curiously. You assumed that there would need to be some sort of regal gown, but you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal that it would need to be planned first.

“Yes, I believe the customary color in your culture is white,” said Adlez.

You turned to look at her as curiosity took flame, “So like a wedding?”

“It is a wedding,” said Adlez with confusion on her face. “Did the Dark Lord not inform you as to what the ceremony is?”

“No, he didn’t.” You turned back to Hux. “So you're telling me he just up and left and is making me plan a wedding, without so much a proposing? I assumed I was just going to be crowned Empress or something, like that type of ceremony, Not a wedding.” You were now getting angry but reasonably so.

“I was unaware that he did not tell you what the ceremony is. Right now, unmarried you can only take the title of First Lady. But within marriage, you are allowed to take the title as Empress,” responded Hux. You knew he was telling you the truth there was no need for him to lie to you, especially about this.

“Now I can see why you suggested that I would want this to happen on Earth.”

“Would you like to change venues m’lady,” asked Mitaka.

“No, no I already agreed to Mustafar, a planet that is important to the Supreme Leader. So I will just have to deal with it. But if this is really a wedding I would like a white dress, is there any place I could look at designs or anything?”

“I can have a dressmaker come in and design something with you,” said Adlez. “That would be preferable, can you find examples of some of the most important dresses in the galaxy? So we know what we have to hit as a goal?”

“Anything you wear will be considered the most fashionable thing in the galaxy. After the ceremony, people across the galaxy will be asking for replicas, and you will be seeing similar dresses for years if not decades,” replied Adlez.

“I know but I only have Earth fashion to really base anything off of, I would love to be inspired by parts of the galaxy too.” “I can arrange for that, something inspired by his grandmother might be preferable. Although I would suggest less heavy makeup and not so intricate hair,” said Adlez, there was a giggled shared around by your staff members.

“Is there something odd about his grandmother’s fashion,” you ask not understanding the odd amusement.

“Naboo isn’t known for its simple fashion. They can be rather…,” said Hux.

“Avant-garde” jumped in Olivia-Rose.

“I see. I trust your judgment Adlez, send over sample ideas to beat, and then the dressmaker has a good idea where to start.”  

After that decision was made everything went rather smoothly. The luncheon with members of the High Command went quickly, nothing too out of the ordinary. And soon you were off to your very topical lesson with Hux. “I technically haven’t been given the go-ahead by the Supreme Leader, but seeing as you now already know we can finish your standard lessons.”

Ch. 20: Engagements

Ch. 21 Part 1: First Preparations before a Wedding (para. 1-50)

Ch. 21 Part 2: First Preparations before a Wedding (para. 51-114)

Ch. 21 Part 3: First Preparations before a Wedding (para. 115-end)

Ch. 22 Part 1: The Day of the Wedding (para. 1-57)

Ch. 22 Part 2: The Day of the Wedding (para 58-108)

Ch. 22 Part 3: The Day of the Wedding (para. 109-end)

After your lesson, you decided to take dinner alone. Not wanting to be disturbed by anyone as you have yet to be really alone for a long while. You have been constantly surrounded by others 24/7, you were surprised you could even go to the bathroom by yourself honestly. The peace and quiet were refreshing. After dinner you let Adlez and Olivia-Rose help you get ready for bed. Dr. Dabrini delivered you your sleeping pill, and Adlez insisted on staying until you fell asleep. Once again you were greeted by blackness, no dreams, no surprise visits. Only calming blackness.  

A/N: Check out this post for my fic recommendations. I will be recommending a few fics every Friday. Some Kylo Ren related and some not. But if you need something else to read before my next chapter go check it out. 

[rosiethorns88]

Queen of Nothing Thoughts / Reflection on the Series

Many people are asking me, so I’m pooling them here. I’m not a writer or a reviewer, just a reader. :)

SPOILERS AHEAD:

First, an expectation summary:

- Overall, the book hit all of my high notes and succeeded in its story telling to me, personally. Holly has a pattern with climax building reflected in all three of her books that I really enjoy as a reader. There are shocking moments about two-thirds of the way in each book that feel like climaxes, but after the sudden burst and fall out, it slowly builds up again to another and greater peak. I find the early upsets and expanded conclusions of the final acts to be really satisfying to unfold, page by page. Cardan and Jude are two fascinating characters and the friction their personalities cause with one another make for some satisfying sparks. The whole cast of characters are colorful and the world building is rich, and I enjoyed the escapism the entire series brought to me with each visit.

- I was completely satisfied with the pacing, because it worked for the story at hand. Madoc was making his move and allies from all over Faerie were seeing Cardan’s control over his court wane in his wake. Both Jude and Cardan had to move and move fast to get themselves in a position of defense. In fact, the one act that I feared may have dragged on the longest, Jude’s ‘entrapment’ at the camp, actually moved forward quite quickly and kept my interest once Grimsen and the Ghost entered the mix. To spend time tying up every frayed thread with other non-player characters before the end would have lessened the urgency of story’s impending conflicts. Let’s get Jude and Cardan settled and to their honeymoon first before we chat about Nicasia’s love woes over tea.

- The Jurdan reunion was great, I love how it reflects the previous books with them having to first play act with each other again. Though I was hoping for it to last a bit longer with Cardan stringing Jude along in her disguise. I was really excited for Jude to play switch-a-roo as Taryn, but didn’t expect it to end so suddenly. It would have been a great call back to the circumstance of Cardan’s being tricked at the end of The Wicked King.

- The fact the Cardan was so involved with Jude’s runarounds: the rescue attempt from the palace, the actual rescue from the camp, his tag-alongs with her questing. It made all of their interactions very satisfying as it was expanding beyond the verbal throw-downs they only had before. I’ve seen many people complain there were not enough Jurdan scenes, but y’all. We barely had a breath of their interactions from the 1st and 2nd books compared to QoN. I was thoroughly pleased.

- The fact that Cardan indulges in Jude’s political nature and wears it proudly like a brooch when he’s addressing his court. He’s basically like, “I’m here to be my witty and sarcastic self; she’s here to be her just and vicious self. We complete each other.”

- CARDAN REUNITES WITH HIS DOOR! This was my favorite reunion scene as it was one of the many world building elements I enjoyed from the first book. Cardan’s playful and endearing greeting to his door at Hallow Hall was such a thought provoking element - I could only imagine as he grew up at the hall, he had little things or persons to befriend. And with the revelation of Cardan sneaking out human servants in the night, it makes sense he could get away with it with this unique friendship. I’m so glad this was a payoff.

- Madoc - I love Madoc. SO MUCH. He’s such a rich character, it’s so hard to call him morally grey when his character is so colorfully rich. Every chapter I either put an extra tick on his ‘I hate you so much’ or ‘I love you so much’ tally. He’s so true to his nature as a red cap, yet still so loving and caring for his family. He truly shows his hurt and conflict in his anger towards Jude after he finds she has betrayed or outwitted him. I reflect back to The Cruel Prince, when Jude was reminiscing how she and Madoc would play a board game of strategy (like chess) and have to interrupt it. All day, Jude would think about her possible moves and his possible moves, so when they returned to the game, the entire strategy had changed. This is how they interacted all through out the novel. Every thought and move was predicted, then challenged, then overturned before they could even meet face to face again. It’s amazing how there are no villains or heroes in this story; Jude and Madoc’s conflict were just an ever spinning tornado of their own morals and loyalties and ideals.

- Ghost & Taryn redeemed! I must admit, I was completely shaken by the Ghost’s betrayal in TWK, and did not expect him to be a redeemable character, though I did expect him to be involved somehow. I’m a little less satisfied with how quickly Taryn changed her spots back, especially with the build up from The Lost Sisters novella, and wish that Locke wasn’t killed off-screen. I can believe what she said happened, and that she was unhappy with the situation, but for it all to be delivered in one sitting as a monologue, it didn’t sink in for me for a while. I didn’t expect to have a redeeming arc for either of them, nor expect hints at their possible relationship, but it all fell into place nicely. At the end, I felt that the Ghost deserved to have his freedom, and that Taryn was appropriate to hold him to it.

- The Bomb and The Roach! I was happy for them to find their happily ever after, but Noooooo I didn’t want the Roach to be fridged! The Roach x The Bomb x Jude x Cardan interactions produce the best lines in the entire series and I was super sad to see the Roach exit so early. But from the little we received, it was a delight.

- Nicasia, Valerian (his curse), Locke - to me these three didn’t have the conclusions I was hoping for, but there may be open lore left to explore for Holly. I do understand why others insist that the last book be split into two and expanded upon, but the book was sharply focused on Jude and Cardan’s predicaments. Nicasia, Valerian and Locke all had unfinished stories and conflicts with both of them, but they were past issues that weren’t actively affecting the plot, and so I wasn’t troubled by their absence. But I’m hoping short stories or expanded lore in other Holly-verse novels may touch upon them.

- Vivi / Heather - This side plot got a little more attention than I expected, even though I didn’t appreciate the decisions both Vivi and Heather made (just as Jude didn’t).  I was actually expecting Heather to take the route that she did, but just a little bit further than where she ended up. I love that she went completely Hermione on the group, but really wasn’t helpful in the end (which is ok). However, I think the true recourse for Heather’s involvement was intended solely for Vivi. By Heather experiencing Faerie a second time with the expectations of the terrors it offered, she was able to see other facets of the world Vivi has ties too, which is why she gave Vivi the second chance to reintroduce it to her in a better light.

- Oak / Oriana -  I find Oriana such a delight as a character, but I don’t know why I always forget she exists until she appears on page. Which is appropriate, as she makes herself seen and be heard when she wants to. I love how helicopter parent she is with Jude even though she’s made it clear that she barely tolerates their familial ties. Still, her ability to parry Jude’s rebellious and un-lady-like behavior with her witty retorts gave us some of my favorite scenes from the previous books, and I enjoyed their brief reunion under the same circumstances at the camp. Oak, on the other hand I felt was underused as a character, and instead, justifiably used as a political object. Oak and Oriana’s relationship made for an interesting divisiveness between Team Madoc and Team Jude, that I think was an important factor, but ultimately Oak didn’t have much to do in decision makings in the QoN like he did in TCP. However, I feel this is because his character arc begins at the end of this novel with the new character ex-Queen Suren. And whether or not that story makes it onto a page, I can accept that his story was left open-ended to begin here.

Regarding Jude:

I think it’s important to highlight Jude’s development with her feelings toward Cardan - specifically with her reaction toward her exile. I wouldn’t say she’s an unreliable narrator, more so, she’s an unreliable romantic. Jude is the ‘DON’T Notice Me Senpai’ main character who throws red flags up for every action Cardan does.

A very popular theory about Cardan’s exile was that Jude would be able to pardon herself since she is part of the crown as queen. When that turned out to be true, I saw a lot of disappointment from readers with the obviousness of it - but that’s because it was obvious to ourselves, and it always has been. Cardan’s wordplay is a defining trait for his character and there have been several scenes where we the reader are completely in the know when he’s doing it and are charmed by it right along with Jude. During the exiling, Jude is not in the know and is blinded at first by her stupor as a newly wed and then later with her doubt in Cardan’s feelings for her as she flat out admits to herself that the crown pardon could be a loop hole.

This is what makes the rose garden scene such a great turning point - because they both realized they fooled each other without knowing it and are both distressed by each other’s reaction. Their trust in each other was becoming more brittle as it grew, until they realized they both could no longer play their old schemes against each other without risking that trust breaking.

All throughout, Jude has been judging and second guessing everything he does while she scrambles across this political chess board. Deny his feelings, manipulating her own feelings, pushing and pulling and advancing further to the top before her desire for power and her desire for Cardan meet at the peak. And here, between the possibility of losing the power she gained or condemning the feelings she found, is when she finally has to make that choice for herself, when she had viable reasons to go either way. With the way she struggled for both, she earned that right to choose.

Favorite moments / quotes:

- Cardan flinching at Jude’s indirect confession while she was disguised as Taryn - and Jude wholly unaware of the implications.

- Cardan relishing in his cleverness about the exile, while Jude is like WTF and they’re completely clueless about each other’s reaction until in the later rose garden scene. - Cardan’s ‘Jude, DON’T!’ - seriously, listen to the audiobook, you can hear the fear in his voice as his murder wife runs off to battle. And because we the readers can hear that fear, while Jude doesn’t, makes it more heart breaking.

- Madoc alluding to Jude (as Taryn) about Cardan’s berserk mode when he tried to prevent Jude’s capture at the palace. And of course, Jude denying it (psh)

- Cardan doing the grunt work in Jude’s camp rescue, and getting socked in the stomach for it - hah! And of course, The Roach preening he warned him.

- Cardan subconsciously protecting Jude from the arrow trap

- Jude scaring off a faerie guard with mortal menstruation.

- “Do not touch her. She is my wife.”

- How LONG have I waited for Cardan to finally witness how much Jude mutilates her body from her fights, and then for him care for her himself in his bed was just an extra mountain of whipped cream with sprinkles on top. (remember, she hid from him her hand stabbing, her self-poisoning, her leg injury from Locke’s attack, the details of Valerian’s attempt to murder her TWICE, the details of her torturous time in the undersea, etc. Let him know your WOES, woman! Y’all need to cash in some empathy points!)

- Jude having no choice but to wear Cardan’s clothes

- SLAP

- “Maybe he’d like to hear me scream.” exchange. And the hair touch!

- MY DOOR!

- The Ghost spider scrambling up the wall towards Cardan, and Taryn whiplashing him. Poor baby!

- Cardan intrigued by Slushies and Gummy Worms

- Cardan privately reprimanding Randalin about Jude and him scurrying out of the room in a panic. WHAT WAS SAID? CARDAN WAS SMILING.

- Freakin Cardan confessing and cutting her off at the door.

- Jude taking the time to panic, to mourn and to plan after the transformation. I felt giving too much haste toward a ‘Disney-true-love-spell-breaking ending’ would have ruined the direness of Cardan’s sacrifice.

- That fingers-digging-into-her-back hug.

- Tight pants, t-shirt and a Lopsided paper crown.

[galaxy-notes]

a few notes on reading for leftists and radicals

I notice a lot of young and/or emerging leftists and radicals who want to read more. One recommendation is to read for curiosity, connection and greater understanding — not because there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to read. What kind of wisdom, knowledge and insight are you hungry for? 

Consider what feminist, anti-oppressive ways to read could look like, and how that ties into the other kinds of learning you are already doing. What have you been taught about how or where learning happens? Where did you first learn to read, and how did that make you feel? Has it ever felt complicated or yucky for you? Why do you think that was? It could be that for some of us, it’s the fact that we began reading in school — where reading became riddled with oppressive and authoritarian practices like isolation, force, hierarchies, rule and testing — that makes it difficult for us to love reading as an adult. 

Unless your heart is really calling for it, you don’t need to start with the Communist Manifesto. There’s no “rule” on how you should read (i.e. read every chapter, finish a book or essay to move onto another one, read in order / linearly), and reading is not the only source of learning. 

Here is one helpful way to understand why we’d read in the first place: to investigate a topic or perspective that you can’t find anywhere else (and perhaps there is a reason why it needs to be expressed in writing), to have an internal conversation with an author that you normally wouldn’t be able to have in person, to share your newfound insights with trusted friends, family, loved ones, etc. in order continue the process of learning. 

Once you find what it is that really sparks curiosity, you can look for the kind of writing that interests you too. I don’t usually read dense theory, but that’s just me. I mostly prefer to read autobiographies, stories, etc. Again, there are no rules to reading and if theory speaks to you, then go for it! You can also question what is considered “theory” in the first place, as many feminist and anti-colonial comrades might tell you lived experience itself is theory. 

It’s important to note that just because someone wrote something, it does not mean they are an expert. This allows us to remove hierarchies between author and reader, teacher and student, and so on. That goes for any other medium (podcasts, videos, workshops or panels, etc). Let us end the colonial, capitalist and patriarchal idea that we have to passively "consume" formal knowledge. We are all already participants of knowledge and culture making. Each one of us has just as much wisdom to offer as anyone else — and reading is one way to bring new knowledge into existence through conversation between you and the author, your own self-reflection, and the conversations you have with others. This can, in and of itself, be a very creative process. 

What are other liberatory, relational and community-oriented ways of learning by reading?  

My first dive into reading “theory” was around the issue of global capitalism through a feminist lens. I didn’t always read everything, but I would underline, emphasize and take notes on the side to keep myself engaged, and then look up the citations in order to search for what I needed. I still do this today when I have no other choice but to read academic papers if I am looking for something very specific. When you flip through the citations and/or share and discuss perspectives with others, it becomes easier to find what it is that you needed (whether that’s another author or another topic), curate your favorites and offer recommendations.

Try to find authors with writing styles you like. One of my favorite authors is Harsha Walia — her writing is so clear and she is able to map connections so ingeniously. Look up what readings your favorite authors cite and reference. Maybe their writing styles are similar. Or maybe you want to dig into a different topic that came up in their writing. 

If there’s an area of interest but the writing is boring (for me it was Spivak), it’s okay to put it down and move onto another writer. You might return to it when you’re ready, or you might not. Pace yourself according to your need. It’s also okay to put a book down and move on, even when you didn’t have any issue with the writing. Sometimes you just wanna read that one chapter or find out where that quote came from, and that’s okay. There’s no shame in that. Nobody’s watching, judging or testing you. Honor what your mind/body is trying to communicate in the moment. 

Reading for fun is about self-interest. It is never about what someone or some academic entity is telling you to read. It’s according to your interest, your drive and your desire. I love reading out of curiosity — for me, it’s about meeting a deep longing for something I’m not finding anywhere else. Try to figure out what topics and writing styles fuel your curiosity. What makes you feel alive? 

[aisling-beatha]

Words are for children [SFW]

A standalone story #4

The Walking Dead | Merle Dixon X Reader

Warning: Swearing

The Dixon brothers and you were inseparable. You were just a few years older than Daryl, but it always seemed like you were their little sister. For as long as you could remember the three of you, you always had each other’s back. Merle used to stand up for you in school when older boys tried to make fool of you, then Daryl used to miss his classes only to walk you safely home and you would always make up for them than your neighbors or Daryl’s teachers got particularly suspicious of his or Merle’s activities. Every once in a while the brothers would climb a tree next to your house to get into your room unnoticed. Well, firstly it was only Merle. Then, Daryl grew up and carried on with his brother’s routine. You didn’t really know how it all had happened and why, in the first place, but there you were, friends with the famous Dixon brothers.

When the outbreak started you stuck together, making your away out of the city. Merle and Daryl were skilled enough to hunt and orient themselves in the woods and there were no other people you’d trust your life to but them. Then, the quarry group happened. Merle and Daryl wouldn’t be themselves if they didn’t want to rob those poor people and leave for the greater good. But you insisted on staying.

“Power in numbers,” you said, folding your arms and eyeing both of them.

They fought but eventually gave in, huffing and puffing. And that’s when the real problems began. Not like you didn’t know Merle’s or Daryl’s temper but it was literally impossible to make them nice to anyone in the group. Merle was making comments about every single woman in the quarry, bossing around, getting on everyone’s nerves, and Daryl was… Daryl was his usual himself. He glared everyone down, scowling and sneering whenever anyone tried to approach him. You didn’t expect him or Merle to greet everyone out there with open arms and hearts, but, damn, if they could at least try.

Soon enough though you had to do something about the brothers because them giving no shit about anyone else but themselves and, well, you, was simply disrespectful, keeping in mind that those people let you join them despite boys’ behavior. Your nerves failed you when Andrea told Shane (loud enough for you to hear) that she no longer could stand the three of you, especially “that damned pervert” around. And that’s when you couldn’t take it any longer.

“Hey! Watch your language!” you snapped at her. “Merle might be an asshole but he ain’t a rapist. He never laid a hand on a woman without her say-so. And he sure as hell never left anyone behind which is exactly what you’re trying to do!”

Andrea’s eyes went from you to Merle behind you, who froze in place mouth open, staring at your back. “He’s rough, but he and Daryl are what keeps you, people, alive, so goddamn respect that!”

“Why you’re trying so hard? Aren’t you… Aren’t you scared of them?” she asked cautiously.

“They’re the only family I left,” you shook your head, voice stern but no longer angry. “No longer gonna let anyone take that from me.”

“And what happens if they decide to take advantage of you?”

“Then that’s gonna be my fucking problem, not yours,” your hard eyes met hers. “And I’m gonna deal with that myself.”

And that’s how it went. You stayed. Merle talked to you the same evening in the tent the three of you shared.

“Hey, Bunny?”

The nickname he had given you when you had been in school stuck with you even in your adult life. You were so used to it that it almost felt like home.

“Ya didn’t hafta do tha’ today” he mumbled, looking for your eyes.

“Of course, I did” you grumbled, untying your boots, not really looking at him.

“Nah, could’ve handled that m’self.”

“Yeah, sure,” you scoffed.

Arguing with Merle was as pointless as trying to catch a bird with a shovel. The man had the most stubborn ass you ever heard of.

Merle was lying on his back, hands under his head, when he eyed you carefully. He had one of those expressions on his face that you couldn’t particularly read.

“Why ain’t ya scared?”

His question caught you off guard as you stopped fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. You looked over Daryl looking for some kind of explanation but he lowered his eyes, pretending to be extremely interested in a particularly green spot on the ground. You knew that expression of the younger brother too well. Whatever it was, it made Daryl annoyed and insecure, and you hated seeing him like that.

“Da fuck?”

“Wha’? The bitch had a point. Don’t know how ya still put up with us” Merle shrugged trying to look indifferent.

“Don’t you dare, Dixon!” you growled, clicking your fingers to catch his attention. “You ain’t never laid a hand on me, neither did Daryl,” you nodded toward him, receiving a small nod of his in response. “We’ve been together for ages. Don’t you start that shit again.” You shoved his shoulder hard enough to prove your point.

“Whateva ya say, sweetheart,” Merle grinned, lifting his hands in surrender. He turned on his side, facing you, but before he could grab your hands, you took a step back, eyeing him seriously.

“I’m not scared of you. But you gotta stop it, Merle. I don’t want to lose you or Daryl just because you can’t shut your mouth.”

The man sobered up, sharing a long look with his brother before he nodded. “Ain’t gonna promise ya nothing but ‘m gonna try.”

*** Everything was going too fast and you barely had time to reflect on whatever was going on. When the CDC building blew up, you felt both of Dixons covering your body with theirs. The impact-wave was too strong and you were too close, so even being buried under the men’s bodies you could feel the wave of heat burning your skin. You wondered how the brothers could stand the same heat burning their backs and arms. Neither of them complained and it made you feel weak. After all, you were supposed to take care of them too.

Then on the road, you could have and you most certainly would have died if it wasn’t for them. Leaving the Greene farm with Merle on his bike, you were clutching into his shirt, holding for dear life, praying to whatever God to keep the three of you and the others alive. Daryl made it out on the truck, following suit. The brothers didn’t let you go after that night. One of them was always by your side, keeping an eye on you, watching. The three of you were like an anchor to each other, keeping the other two from falling to pieces.

It was so much like it was before. The three of you against the world. Well, against the dead now. And you weren’t exactly alone. The group slowly got used to one another, creating strong and lasting relationship. You became friends with all of them. And truth to be told, it simply couldn’t have turned the other way. Back on the road, you had to have each other’s backs more than once. It was «one for all and all for one” kind of shit. And you couldn’t be happier than you found the prison. Except, well, Merle.

He couldn’t get used to people around him, which was understandable. Dixon had a temper. The man deserved some credit, he was trying, but it turned out not to be enough. He was scaring the shit out of most of the group, let alone having constant trust issues. Everyone expected him to come swinging a rifle one day, frightening or, worse, killing people. It hurt you too. You tried to prove people wrong but what was the point if Merle did exactly the opposite, starting another heated fight over and over again. The man was under no control. Daryl, luckily, turned out to be okay. He got himself close bonds with Rick and Glenn and no longer looked like a beaten dog, thrown out on the street. The man was socializing, which made you feel proud of him. Daryl was more reserved than his brother, but he wasn’t as rough. And you’d be damned if you didn’t feel happy for him. Finally, your friend was finding his place in the world. Daryl was no longer a boy but a man. Not like you ever treated him differently anyway.

Those changes didn’t mean you drifting apart from one another. You were still stuck together but giving the other one enough freedom to be on their own. And that’s what Merle seemed to love the most, once the group had arrived at the prison. Being alone. He became rougher, snapping at you with and without a particular reason, still glaring everyone down, and scowling. You knew the symptoms. He distanced himself and it was on you to bring him back.

During the dinner time, you’d join him out in the open, sitting in the bed of his truck, silent for most of the time. Not like he minded or anything. But you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. You could feel it.

“Stop it, Merle. You’re thinking too loudly” you snorted, nudging him.

But despite your trying to ease the air, the man would remain tensed up. He was like a wild animal, trapped in the corner, ready to fight to the death. It was painful to watch him and neither you nor Daryl could make him open up. Weeks later, though, he showed up in your cell (it was the closest to the porch where the brothers slept).

“Bunny?”

And you talked. Well, Merle was talking while you were listening to him. The man talked non-stop about everything and nothing at the same time as if he needed the moment like a dying man needs air. He was trouble. That’s what he told you. Not only the place made the darkest memories of his life come flooding back but the people were judging. Again. It just became too much to bear. He was a damn mystery to himself, and he felt like he had let both his brother and you down. Which couldn’t be any farther from the truth. Merle saved you. How could you ever ask for more?

When you brought him to sit next to you among the others at the dining table for the first time, everyone fell quiet. Merle stiffened, jaw tight, glaring at everyone with hatred as if he expected the worst. You hand on his hip, and a tight nod was all that kept him away from storming off of the room. But slowly, minute by minute, the conversations were back, everyone acted like nothing was off. Though, you could still feel Merle tensing up under you soothing touch, side-glancing you every once in a while. But he was trying.

“He ain’t gonna change,” you were telling Rick later. “Unless you change the way you treat him. Merle and Daryl had a tough life, they saw shit. More than you could think of. They had shitty past but that don’t mean they’re bad people. Look at me, Rick. I’m alive because they were there, with me. Because Merle was there for me. You may not know how hard it is for him, but I do. Man, he’s trying. So why don’t you try too?”

It took another few months for your people (as you referred them to) to find common ground with the Dixon, and for Merle, well, to gain some trust. He was doing his best, learning to actually communicate instead of fighting. Even Andrea, who was the first in line, demanding to send him off, started to tolerate him. Slowly but surely the man in front of you was changing.

*** Merle opened the gates letting the car in, before closing them back before any walkers could find their way in. Georgian sun had disappeared a long time ago, the days turned out to be grayer with every passing week. The prison was short on supplies, which required another group of four going out that morning. He stole the last glance at the forest, hoping his little brother would be smart enough to find his way back before the rain when he heard crying from the prison yard. Glenn was leaning on both Maggie’s and Tyreese’s shoulders, barely moving his legs. The three of them looked like they’d been through a blood bath or something.

Merle’s eyes frantically looked for you. You weren’t in the car, and something in the look of those three made his heart fall to his stomach.

“Where’s she?” he growled, looking from one to another. “Where’s she?!”

“Th-there was a…” Maggie started but Merle’s roar made her close her eyes as she tried to suppress her sobbing.

“Ain’t giving a shit wha’ happen’. Asked where’s she?!”

“There was a damn herd coming at us! She got separated. We tried to look for her but there were too many of them,” Glenn blurted out, voice becoming quieter with every word until it was no louder than a whisper. “I’m sorry, man.”

His heart stopped. Merle stood there, frozen in place, running his hands up and down his face, trying to shake it all off. Maggie’s cries became muffled when she pressed her face into Glenn’s chest. Though Merle thought his ears were stuffed.

He made his way to Glenn, barely holding himself from killing the damn kid. Instead, he came closer, his eyes never leaving the car behind the trio.

“Give me that gun!” he barked out.

Glenn was probably too shocked by a sudden change in man’s demeanor to react on time. But it was too late when Merle yanked the gun from the holster, shoving it behind his waistband, turning on his heels only to make his way back to the car.

“Merle!” someone shouted at him, but he’d be dead if he cared. His blood was boiling, resonating somewhere in his head, making his vision blurry. Or maybe it wasn’t just the pain.

Someone shouted about his bike, that was faster or something, but Merle was too occupied turning the old Nissan around, pushing the gas pedal to the ground, making his way to the gates. At that point, he wouldn’t really care if he rammed the gates.

At some point, he heard Glenn’s voice giving him the route. But the only thing that was going through his mind was that no way would he stop.

***

He hit the brakes so hard that the deafening whizzes of the wheels could probably be heard miles away. Not like he cared, again. Merle looked around, paying no attention to the walkers wandering nearby. He was looking for a mall, you had to be in when the herd had caught up with your group. It took him another five long and agonizing minutes to find it. The herd must have gone through, as there was no single soul, dead or alive.

For the second time in a day, Merle felt like suffocating on his own air. His heart was beating so fast, it was ready to explode in his chest.

The man made his way to the blockage at the end of the hall. It seemed that the beams had collapsed on the stairs, that couldn’t withstand the pressure. The bodies of the dead were scattered all over the floor, smeared and crushed by the fittings, some of them were still hissing and banging their rotten teeth, their dead eyes looking into the void.

A huge hole in the floor gaped in the middle of the room. Merle had to go to the very edge and squat down to see the remains of the bearing walls and the horde buried beneath them. His eyes fluttered restlessly over the ruins of what was left when his gaze accidentally caught hold of a painfully familiar shirt. He had given you this shirt on one of the cold nights, and he didn’t dare to take it back. Something was about seeing you wear it every day.

Merle jumped down, at the last minute thinking that he wouldn’t be of any use if he broke his limbs on these ruins. As soon as he came closer, even greater fear seized him, forcing him to freeze in place. A mixture of blood, rot, skin, and clothes covered your body and a soft growl from somewhere below iced his skin. It took him too much time to overcome the fear that sat somewhere under the ribs to climb down.

“Y/N?”

The growl didn’t stop, but something stirred under a pile of bodies. The walker lying on top plopped down on his side with a muffled clatter. Merle seemed to be doused with cold water. Your hands were covered with a layer of dirt, and your clothes were soaked in blood.

“Mer-Merle?”

Your voice, your gentle, but at the same time strong voice, which he so loved to listen to, was now no louder than a whisper. You opened your eyes with obvious difficulty, which inexorably started to ache from the dust that got into them. Pain fettered the body. You tried to turn your head to the sound of a familiar voice, fearing that that was just another game of your mind. However, rustling and chaotic curses proved the opposite. After a couple of seconds, Merle's face appeared in your field of vision. You called him again, feeling your body seizing with a tremendous tremor.

“Merle!” you cried, feeling hot tears burning your skin when the man placed his hand on the side of your face. He was kneeling down beside you, eyes wide in shock.

“Y/N… Shit, girl. Ya hurt? Ya better tell me ‘s not yer blood…” he mumbled, and you caught a hint of unhidden panic in his voice.

“No. it’s not. I-I had to cut it open so that they wouldn’t find me” you motioned to the walker next to you.

“Shit,” Merle cursed again. “Can ya stand up?”

You had to close your eyes and bite your lip, so as not to scream when you tried to rise, leaning on your forearms. A sharp pain pierced the spine, which immediately went to the numb arms and legs.

"I ... I don’t know. I tried to hide from the horde when the concrete flew down. I don’t remember what happened then, but I woke up here with walkers around. I must have fallen on my back ..." you sighed unevenly, trying to catch Merle’s eyes. “Don’t… Don’t leave me, please. God, Merle, just don’t leave me here.”

You were crying not really registering anything around when Merle started shushing you down. His hands went to grab your face, making you look at him. You stared in his ocean eyes, your own eyes red from both crying and soreness at the same time.

Merle wasn’t smiling, wasn’t talking, he just looked back at you, before whispering. You couldn’t remember his voice so soft and uneven, as he leaned closer to you, whispering, never looking away. “I’m sorry. Fuck, girl…”

Merle stood up, but only to grab you by your shoulders and stick his hands under your knees. He intended to bring you back no matter what it cost him. But he wasn’t ready for your painful moan escaping your lips when he lifted you from the concrete slab. You grabbed his broad shoulders, nails digging into the skin. It took Merle himself a minute to calm his frantically beating heart and suppress the urge to scream at the hopeless feeling in his heart. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he simply had no choice.

His every step was sending flashes of pain throughout your body. Merle saw the pain settle in your facial features. You were on the edge. The pain was so unbearable that you were afraid to lose consciousness at any second. The man’s hands pressed your body to his chest more and more, and he never stopped whispering. At some point, one his careless movement made you cry out from the renewed pain, and you had to press your face into his shoulder to at least somehow muffle your cry. There were still walkers in the building, and by the way Merle quickened his pace, you realized that some of them got too close. The two of you were vulnerable now. And Merle wouldn’t be able to shoot unless… Unless he dropped you to the ground.

“Merle,” you pleaded quietly, looking behind him. “Get out, I-I’m… I’m slowing you down.”

Another low growl was his answer. He stopped for a second but only to have a better hold of you. “Ain’t happening.”

When he finally made it back to the car, your body felt too numb and too small in his arms. Your eyes were closed.

“Shit, girl, come on now. Open yer eyes, sugar.”

Merle carefully laid you on the back seats, starting the car, looking behind every once in a while. He hated that though but damn if he was glad that you’d passed out. The ride back home was rough and he tried his best not to go too fast so you wouldn’t fall from the seat but at the same time trying to get the two of you back to the prison as soon as possible.

The onset of the storm only worsened the situation. Behind the impenetrable darkness of the road, Merle can hardly see the holes. The probability of flying into a ditch was too great. The downpour began, mercilessly eroding gravel; small rubble flew into the windshield. Merle, no matter how much he was afraid for your life, was glad that you hadn’t seen this whole nightmare.

He only made it back hours later, and you still hadn’t opened your eyes. Merle was standing in the yard when Rick and Daryl took your pale, almost lifeless body from him. The rain was mercilessly beating in his face, but he didn’t care. He heard his brother calling him in but his voice seemed too distant. Strong gusts of wind carried raindrops in his eyes, and his clothes were wet to the skin. But then again, not that he cared. He was still standing; his eyes fixed in the dark sky above his head, and in his head was your voice, again and again, the voice full of pain and despair. His hands were covered in blood, and for some reason, the realization that this same blood was on your body hit him in the chest.

Merle closed his eyes, letting the heavy raindrops wash away all the anxiety and dull pain under his ribs. And a thunderstorm lit the western part of the sky.

*** You walked down the stairs leading outside the building, breathing in the frosty air. The prison yard was covered with a thin layer of snow that was glistering in the sunset light. Rainy days changed to cool late-autumn days, the weather finally giving in.

You shivered under the blow of wind creeping under your sweater and readjusted the tight bandages under your chest. You looked about, sneaking from the stairs, heading to the lonely figure at the fence.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Bunny? You’s gonna catch a cold.”

Merle must have heard you by the snow crunching under your boots. He turned to meet you with a deep frown. You smiled uncertainly in response, leaning on the nearest wall to ease the pulling feeling in your tailbone. Herschel performed a real medical miracle, practically pulling you out of the other world. The impact of falling onto the concrete was too strong. You were incredibly lucky to stay not only alive but also with normally functioning limbs. Damaged caused by such a fall could not only lead to numerous fractures, but also paralysis.

“I won’t. Just needed some air,” you murmured, breathing in the fresh air.

“Hershel’s been keeping me locked inside for over a month now, I’m getting sick of those walls.”

The man’s eyes remained just as cold as he turned away from you, looking into the distance.

“Ya catch a draft and that back of yours ain’t gonna heal.”

Merle turned his back on you. There was something in his pose that made you nervous. For over a month, he was cold to you, getting away by a few words and grunts, which made him look a lot like Daryl. But if the latter spent more and more time with you while you were literally bedridden, talking about hunting and supply runs into the city, then Merle limited himself to visiting you in the morning, asking about your well-being and disappearing for the rest of the day. The rest of the group soon helped you to catch up to what was going on by telling that the elder Dixon was not his own self when he had returned with your body in his arms. He shut off. His ocean eyes suddenly turned gray and dull, as if on that fateful day for you a piece of himself died. There was an emptiness, devouring him from the inside

“Hershel said I’ll be able to get to work in less than two weeks,” you said out loud, hoping that Merle would hear you.

Before you managed to somehow react, the man was there. His hard eyes met yours, and perhaps for the first time in all the time you had known each other, you saw cruelty in them. Cruelty and pain.

“Like hell you are!” he snapped, leaning closer, making you gasp. “Ya ain’t doing shit without me!”

You quietly called his name, but Merle didn’t seem to hear you. He seemed to be in some kind of trance, almost in a comatose state. He jerked back violently when your palm fell on his chest, pressing gently where his heart was beating. His eyes softened a little, and Merle dropped his head helplessly on your shoulder. His hands clung to the wall behind you, and for a second it seemed that you could distinctly hear the thud of a blow when his fists connected with the surface.

“Gotta take care of ma woman,” he mumbled.

“Is that what I am?” you asked softly, pressing him tightly into you, looking in front of you.

“Huh?”

“Your woman?”

Merle moved away, shifting awkwardly, looking away. You saw him biting his lip hard, looking away before he finally looked back at you. He lifted your chin with his index finger and cupped you face, watching you nuzzle into his touch.

“Listen, sugar. I know I ain’t a good man fer… Don’t –“ He cut you off when you tried to protest. “ – Listen. I know I ain’t a man ya deserve. Shit, girl. Ya’ve been putting up with our crap longer than I dare to remember and I ain’t never thanked ya. I’s no good fer ya, never been. But I know I’m better with ya around. Ya make me a better man. ‘s what they say, ya know…” he trailed off, looking away. “And I… I can’t promise ya nothing, sweetheart, but I wanna try to be a better man fer ya. If ya let me…”

He watched your eyes fix on him, before you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his and closed your eyes.

“Dixon…”

He didn’t dare to move closer, feeling himself go numb. Merle closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, letting the heat radiating from your body engulf him. All the anxiety penned up for the past month finally found its way out as he let himself be absolutely honest and vulnerable in front of you.

“Had I known that shit would make you open up, would have gone missing sooner.” You soft chuckle actually made the man in front of you blush.

“Ya know it better, sugar,” he mumbled. ”Ain’t good with ‘em words.”

“Words are for children, Merle.” You moved away, looking into his eyes for the last time, before turning and heading back to the prison. He followed you with a worried look, not knowing how to read your reaction.

“You gonna stay there and freeze your ass off? Come on, Dixon, take my hand,” you snorted at him.

A stupid smile crept across his face as he stared at the hand you held out to him. Well, now, he definitely was going to try harder. He’d just got a reason to.

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Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 02 “Lovely Day For A Riot”

Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 here. For some context, I´d advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.

Chapter warnings: typical TO violence (and the reader is enjoying it a little too much in this one tbh), blood, murder, and some more subtle foreshadowing

Word count: 4779

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming.

Open Coffin 2 Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

The written word was everlasting. King to Beggar, Poets to Wallflowers, Monsters to Saints - they all had the opportunity to be immortalized, to be remembered once they´ve turned to bone or ash.

That, you always thought, was why your brother Stefan resorted to writing in his diary and why you chose to write letters to Kol when you were last here in 1914. To leave something behind in case your almost immortal life ended sooner than you thought. Now those letters served as a reminder of what might never be again. Yet, with uncertainty came the need to check on them in their hiding spot. 

So that's what you did. 

And it was as if you ́d stepped back in time. The cemetery was untouched in almost every way. Only the weathered stones and visible marked lines of the flooding after Katrina were reminders of how much time had actually passed. 

Another change that was eerily unnoticeable once you reached the older part of the cemetery, was the relocation of gravesites the City council had ordered. You thought it macabre to relocate someone's resting place as if they were nothing but a waste of space. 

What was once the Voodoo Queen ́s Laveau’s tomb was now only a monument in her honour. But what the tourist who resorted to smearing words with permanent marker on that very stone didn't know was the hidden compartment in the back. It was sealed with numerous spells, followed by a specific order of bricks you had to push in. 

Panic filled your senses when you saw the bricks already pushed in and the secret compartment opened wide. There was a dirt film on the stone surface and nothing but empty space in the compartment beneath all the dust. 

You reached in, hoping they just shifted back, but all you grasped was a layer of leaves that found their way inside.

The letters were gone. 

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

You could not wrap your head around who could have had access to your letters, and who would even care to steal them from you. They were not just letters, they were confessions of loneliness, frustrations, confessions of love. Whoever had them now, they knew your deepest emotions, some buried six feet under others worn on your sleeve - but all secret. 

Even now staring at the grimoire in front of you, surrounded by Kol's hideout, you couldn't think of anyone who knew about them. The only one you told was Kol back in Mystic Falls when you thought you were dying. But there was no time to dwell or be embarrassed by your secrets laid bare. 

You had work to do, and you had to focus. Unfortunately, focus was hard to come by when you had someone breathing down your neck. 

“How frustrating. A novice trying to interpret the work of a master.” Mikael paraded around, sighing dramatically. 

“Can you shut for one second?” You glared at him “I´m busy here.” 

You had summoned him back in New York with the promise of delivering Klaus on a silver platter. He was another part of your plan, one that was - by a longshot - the most dangerous. But you had to have an insurance and Mikael was the only one who knew Esther better than anyone else. If Esther would trick you into a wrong spelling, Mikael would be able to tell. 

“It's a simple de-linking spell,” You explained further “It's not that hard.”

"Simple? You're trying to erase the link between Klaus and every single vampire he's sired.

"No. All I care about is Marcel and my brothers. You kill Klaus? They die, too. I can fix that. I have Esther's grimoire, it's just a matter of time." 

“Perhaps I can help you solve the riddle.” He offered.

You flipped the book closed and looked at him “Do you think I´m stupid? You ́ll just trick me into a spell that will free you from my control.”

“You know, for somebody who despises Klaus so much, you certainly share his paranoia.”

You didn't like the comparison, but he was right. And it pissed you off. 

“And for somebody who wasted years hunting him, you don't know him at all. He won't just come here if I ask him to. I have to gain his trust, offer my help until he takes the bait. And that takes time.” 

He seemed satisfied with the answer. "The sooner you perform the spell, the sooner I'll be free to kill the bastard." 

"I'll bring Klaus to you when the time is right. It's not right yet. I have to save a few people first."

"I assume my son included. Let me ask you this, why have you resurrected me instead of him?"

"I tried, but I couldn't find him on the other side before it collapsed. By the time I had enough power and knowledge, it was too late.”  

Thinking back to the countless hours spent searching, consulting with witches on the other side and reading page after page of all grimoires - it hurt producing failure upon failure. 

Mikael went quiet when you pulled out your phone, sending a text to Klaus number. 

Y/N: Still stalling Esther. Let me know if you need help kicking some ass. 

Klaus: Meet me at the Compound in 30 minutes.  

"I'll be back soon.” You informed him” Don't go anywhere. Oh wait, you can't." 

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

“Okay so let me get this straight;" You said, looking between Elijah and Klaus. "A resurrected witch you knocked around with put some sort of spell on you that sucked up all your hybrid slash original power to juice up moonlight rings? And those moonlight rings were given to the Guirrerra wolf pack?"

"That about sums it up, I'd say." Klaus shrugged, leaning back on his office chair. 

"You and your bad taste in women, I swear." You shook your head.

"Well,” Elijah that leaned against the fireplace´s mantel said, “Niklaus is renowned for choosing strange bedfellows." He grinned and dragged a finger along the mantel´s surface, flipping the dust of his fingers in disgust. He probably had to arrange additional meetings with the maid.

"Yeah, you can say that again." You snorted. You could not count on one hand how many times a fling of his screwed him over. And not in the good way. 

Klaus rolled his eyes, "Can we please return to the task at hand?"

"Right" You sighed, hating to get back on track so soon "Moonlight rings. How many do you think are left?”

"We successfully retrieved all but a small group which deserted the fight," Elijah informed.

"So we ́re fighting cowards.” You concluded. ” Easy. Do you know where they're hiding?" 

Elijah walked up to the map placed on the table, resting his finger on "They remain in public, hoping we won't retaliate out in the open."

"Which we don't give a shit about right?"Elijah glanced at Klaus who returned a look of hesitation."Oh, come on, really? I expect Elijah to go according to the rulebook, but you too? "

"There are certain rules we must abide by in this city." Klaus returned. 

You could not believe what you heard. Klaus following rules was something entirely new "You ́ve lost a few steps over the years. But works for me either way. ́ll just do it myself."

"You alone against a pack of wolves?" Klaus dismissed as if he'd forgotten that you were able to handle a much greater threat than a few moon howlers. 

“A few wolves are nothing. You forget I have some new tricks up my sleeve. And I really really need to kill something.” You were ready to leave, ready to deal with those wolves out in the open. 

But Elijah had other plans.

“Before you go, a word please." Elijah looked at his little brother, asking him without words to leave the room. Klaus seemed surprised, perhaps even insulted that Elijah wanted him to go. 

"He can stay." You reassured him, much to their surprise, "Whatever you have to say to me he can hear. We ́re a team, right?" 

Elijah hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in."Given your past grievances, I cannot help but question your Intentions regarding your alliance with us."

And there it was. The usual patronizing tone that made it obvious that he thought himself still superior and you lesser than. You could move mountains and he'd still question your intentions. In this case, it was not far fetched to assume the worst, but you thought at least he ́d give you some leeway. 

"If you think I want to kill him again, don't ́t worry.Been there, done that, got the shitty fridge magnet."

“Judging by the company you keep, I cannot help but doubt the truth of your words.”

“Not really my problem is it? I can only say what I want to say, I have no control how you perceive it.” You shrugged “And my company was once a part of your family, but we all know that writing them off is one of your specialities.” 

Klaus laughed out loud, amused by the way you dared to talk to his older brother.  

“It is your problem if you wish to stay in my good graces” Elijah replied, unfaced by your comment. 

“No offence, but I don't give two shakes of a rats ass if I ́m in your or anyone ́s good graces. I ́m here to take Esther down and bring Kol back, that's it. I don't expect you to like or agree with it.” 

Elijah raised his eyebrows and cringed at your nonchalance. He wasn´t used to someone speaking to him in that way. He clenched his jaw and reacher for the button on his suit jacket and forced it through the Buttonhole. He would always do that before he got into a fight, a physical or verbal one.

Klaus ́ amused smile fell and he chimed in before the situation escalated “Brother I think that's enough.” 

“I agree." You glared at Elijah before looking at Klaus, directing your next words to him “If you want to join me now's the time.”

"I'll meet you there," Klaus replied and you left the room, ready to fulfil the plan. 

“She seems well,” Klaus said once you were out of earshot. 

“On the contrary, brother. Heed my warning, she does not have our best interest at heart."

“You must not remind me of the danger she now bleeds out into the world. Which is precisely why I intend to give her my trust. For now.” Klaus stepped forward, ready to follow you but Eliah held him back once more.

“She cannot know our secret.”He shakes his head, demanding eye contact “Not while mother and Finn still breath air.”

"She won't. I'll see to that personally.” Klaus reassured before he too disappeared out of the room. 

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

You parted the crowds unintentionally heading to where the pack frequented. 

Looking at the people that passed you by, you wondered what stories they desperately needed to hide, and how they would react when those secrets were now known by someone hidden in shadows. You felt uneasy, knowing that there was someone out there who knew what was only intended to be read by the only person you trust. Now they were out there, ready to be used against you. 

Entering Rossiuss, you kept your eyes sharp, searching the crowd for the wolves. But besides a few afternoon drunkards, college kids and a group in the back there was no sign of your target yet. 

You settled for your booth in the back with a drink in your hand. As you passed by tables and people recognized you, they retreated to the front. Some chose the bar, others on the other side of the room, only in an attempt to be as far away from you as possible.  

Soon, the whispering began, as it always did.. Ah the whispers..how you wanted to silence them all. 

You sat there for a good hour pretending to read the book you bought, checking the time every few pages. There was absolutely no sign of the pack, nor of Klaus.

He was late, as always. He said he had to deal with something else first, but promised to be back for the action. But he wasn't. Who arrives to a good ol ́ slaughtering too late? A thousand-year-old vampire, with so much blood spilled he got bored of it, that's who.

It was unbelievable. What were you supposed to do until he decided to arrive? Sulk in the silence you despised until the wolves showed up? 

Pfft. Nobody valued punctuality anymore. 

The door rattled again and a few more stepped into the establishment. Among them was a tall guy that seemed to steal the attention immediately. He was towering over most with his height and radiated confidence with how tall he stood. Although his appearance seemed somewhat juvenile, his calm and unhurried nature made him look quite composed. In this city, and especially in the tense situation it has been in for months, he seemed out of place. He was too happy to stay alive here.  

You watched him observe the cowering crowd on the left side of the room, then your side, then back again before he was headed straight into your direction.  You pretended to read the lower lines on the page, hiding your face behind as much book as you could without looking like a complete idiot. What was he trying to prove talking to you?  

His heartbeat was erratic when he sat down, so much so, you saw his fingers rising and falling with his pulse. You observed him, glancing over the edges of the book. 

He had slightly curled brown hair and what looked like grey to blue eyes. You were unable to tell in the dimmed light. He had something familiar about him, but you could not put your finger on it. Perhaps you've crossed paths somewhere before. Or perhaps he had just a face you easily mistaken for someone else. 

After a few moments of silence, you decided to speak “You sure you want to sit here with me?” 

“It's the best seat in the house. And I like to piss people off.” He said, his British accent trickling through his speech. He looked over his shoulder, scoffing at the people that stared at him “Look at them, knickers twisted in a nod already.”

"What, are you some against the stream type of guy?"

"You have no idea." He smiled. It wasn't the kind of smile you ́d see every day, it was drunk with stories untold and probably on the defiant side "Or maybe you do." 

He watched you intently, as your eyes drifted on the table and the book still open in your hand. 

“I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad.” 

“What?” You asked, and he lifted his head to nod to the book. “Oh. You ́re a fan of Wuthering Heights?”

“I ́m a witcher with remarkable taste.” He shrugged "In books and company." 

Ah, a witch. You knew there was something he was hiding. There was something in the way he held himself that bled familiar secrecy. You were an expert juggling several secrets at once, figuring out if someone else carried them was easy. 

“Brave of you to admit that.” You replied, “It's not really save for you here right now.”

Despite your warning, he did not look like he would leave any time soon, “What can I say, I ́m a thrill-seeker.” 

The door rattled once again, this time it fell into the lock with a loud banging. You looked over and recognized the Guerrera wolf pack immediately.

“Yeah well, it's about to get really thrilling here.” You said and the stranger next to you roamed your face with an intense stare you shifted uncomfortably on your seat. “You should probably leave if you want to keep your limbs attached to your body. They´re not fucking around.”

 “Nonsense.” He shook his head slightly. ”They ́re nothing but rabid dogs that need to be put down.”

You expected him to run, or to look at you as if you lost your mind, but instead, he hopped on board of the murder train.  Not that you were complaining. 

“I don't ́t know who you are, but you're definitely speaking my language now.” You said “What's it gonna be? You ́re up to cause some trouble?”  

“Well, it's a lovely day for a riot, isn't it?” He replied.

“A riot, huh? Not a bad idea.” 

He scooted closer and lowered his voice, “Do you see the group in the back? A rival werewolf pack with a score to settle.”

“You gotta love coincidences sometimes.”  

All you needed was a little push. A shoulder colliding, a hateful glare or - god forbid - an insult. That would be all it took to start a fight. They were so easily manipulated, it was almost comical.

You looked at the group on the other side of the room. They were heavily engaged in a conversation, and all but one listened eagerly. One girl was off to the side, quietly listening to groups meaningless chatter, while she stared holes into the other pack´s backsides.

The quiet ones were a breed of their own. They were the ones observing when the rest was talking their life away and that made them dangerous when they finally spoke. They saw what others overlooked. And that was always the perfect target to rile up. 

You gave her a little magic courage by whispering a spell into your hand before you let your breath carry it over to where she was sitting.

She slammed her glass on the table, the malty liquid spilling over the edges. Her companions looked at her briefly, before they returned to their conversation.

She walked over and knocked the drink out of one guy ́s hand with the force of her shoulder colliding with his much larger frame. He turned to her and recognized her face - his packs rivals - instantly.  

There was stillness first before the girl threw the first punch, then there was suddenly movement. Both sides rose from their seats and clashed together. Screams broke out. Furniture ripped. Bones broke. Blood was spilled.

It was magnificent chaos.

One of the participants on the sidelines decided to head for your table, dodging a broken off table leg that flew through the air. You shared an unimpressed look with the stranger next to you before he leaned back and gave you free rein to do what you wished to him.

With a look that bled concentration and the rubbing of your index finger with your thumb, you magically splintered every single bone in his body. The sound was drowned in the backgrounds happenings that included shattering glass, growling and howls of pain. He continued to scream bloody murder, and then, suddenly his face grew stoic as if made of stone, and he fell forwards, his jaw colliding with the edges of the table.

“Wrong table to squabble with, mate.” The stranger snickered. He leaned back, dodging a scrap of wood that came flying in his direction.

His amusement was short-lived, however, when he failed to sense a second, much larger piece of wood - a broken off table leg knocked him square into the back of his head, and he slumped forward, his head colliding with the table surface. 

"Shit." You whisper under your breath. You listened for his pulse, hoping he hadn't just broken his neck, but his heart was still drumming along just fine. 

Something peaked out of the bag hung over his shoulder, a written letter it seemed. On a second look, you couldn't believe what you saw. They were in your handwriting. 

You did not have the time to ponder about how the stranger got them, because someone rapidly approached from behind. You moved just in time, and the makeshift stake pierced through your shoulder instead. 

“Ah, the free stake for my drink. How nice.” You forced the guy off of you, and you gripped the stake and pulled out from the front. “Can I keep or do you want it back? You want it back, right?”

It was slick with your blood when you hurled it towards the attacker. It flew through the air and landed in his eye, piercing the iris like a bullseye.

“Damn my aim is good.” You congratulated yourself. The attacker, though now most likely blind on one eye, growled and you knew you´d finally had someone almost equal to fight against. “Come and get me.” 

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

You held the letters in your bloodstained hands when a set of heavy footsteps echoed through the now lifeless room. You looked over your shoulder to see Klaus standing there, taking in the chaos you created. 

One wolf was impaled on the wall, others stained the floor with blood that came out of their eyes and some had gaping holes in their chest where their hearts had been. 

“What is this?” He asked, counting the casualties to more than a dozen. Both supernatural and human.

“A party gone wrong. Or right, depends how you look at it.” You laughed and gave him a glance in the hopes he would reciprocate your joke, but he wasn't laughing. 

Instead, you saw how dishevelled he looked. His dark jacket had a gaping hole with what looked like dried blood on the edges. 

“Looks like I ́m not the only one that got staked.” You said and brushed your fingers over the same spot. 

His eyes flickered from your wound to his own, and judging by his face he discovered something close to an epiphany. "It appears so." 

You went back to counting the moonlight rings by throwing them in a make-shift bag out of some dead guys shirt. “But look, I made it look like a very deadly bar brawl, it's fine. Nobody saw anything supernatural. ” 

“Though you did achieve what we discussed, we also agreed to be discreet. This is far from it. ”

You could not believe what you heard. Klaus and discretion was like war without casualties - simply not possible. 

“Seriously, what happened to you? Where's the big bad wolf I know and loathe?"

“At lost has happened.” He replied quietly. You expected him to reply with usual sarcasm, but when you turned an utterly different version of the mighty Klaus laid before you. A broken man, torn apart by the love and loss of his child. Once fueled by rage, he now ran on guilt and grief. 

You felt pity for him, you did, but this was still Klaus. But however morbid and unfair it might have sounded, it could have happened to someone less deserving of such grievances. 

"Losing the only person who'll never see you as the monster you truly are hurts, doesn't it?" You finally said, “Especially if you're to blame.”

His face was hard, but regret slipped past his stoicism, and you knew he understood that what just slipped past your lips was directed mostly at yourself, rather than him. 

“This one is still alive.” Klaus diverted the topic to the stranger that was still passed out on your table. 

"Leave him."

“Friend of yours?" He asked with a slight smirk that tugged on the corners of his mouth. 

“I don't know yet.” You replied, before tying a knot in the shirt “Catch.” 

You threw the bag to him, and the silver rings clacked together when Klaus balled his fist around them.

“Listen, I have to report back to Esther soon, and you ́ll hear things that ́ll probably piss you off. Just remember that I am not working against you. You'd be the first to know if I did."

"Well, you do look quite trustworthy kidnapping that lad. How could I not trust you with the person I loathe most?"  

“I guess you have to put your paranoia aside and trust me for once.” 

The irony of what you just said, almost made you laugh. If Klaus knew you had the person he feared most trapped only a few miles away. If it ever came to him knowing about your involvement in reviving Mikael, you ́d be on a real warpath with Klaus. Not the cat and mouse game you used to play, a real war where your odds less than optimistic.

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

No passport, no driver ́s licence, no name - you found nothing to identify the stranger you dragged through the French Quarter. How did a Noname like him get to your letters? How could he have possibly known? If he knew about that hiding spot, what else 

All these questions ran through your head, staring at the French Quarter streets below you. You chose this building because it was small, unconscious and out of the way. It had somehow managed to elbow it ́s way between a block of apartments and was longer than it was wide and the rooms were stacked on top of one another like a house of cards.

Ambulance sirens rang through the narrowed streets, heading to Roussous. Finally, someone found them. You always found it amusing that, after a massacre or any life-ending violence they chose to send ambulances instead of coroners as if someone was still needing it. They lived amongst creatures that were death walking on two feet, and even then they chose to remain hopeful, that somehow they too were able to cheat death. 

Unwavering hope ....yeah no, that ship had sailed. 

Your ears picked up stirring and a pained groan from inside, and you went inside. He was sitting up on the couch in the middle of the room, looking around to orientate himself. You thought about chaining him to the radiator, but it would have been overkill. 

“Kinky.” Noname chuckled, inspecting the witch shackles you put on him when he was unconscious “Under different circumstances, I ́d say this is bound to be fun. This isn't quite it.”

“If you ́re thinking about strangling me with those chains, forget about it. You wouldn't succeed.”

“Oh, I know I wouldn't. You ́re Y/N after all.” He said, and grinned when he saw the surprise flashing over your face “Though I have to say, you ́re way prettier in person.” 

Was this guy serious? 

“So you know who I am.” You said, glancing over his flirtatious attempt to gain your sympathy. 

“Well, you're practically famous around here.”He shrugged “ I ́m a lot like you, you know? Don't really believe in authority. We ́re.. kindred souls.”

You let out a huff. This guy was killing you with his endless chatter.

“Listen, there's only one thing I need to know before I decide what to do with you.” You picked up the letters on the table in front of him “Who the fuck are you, and how did you get these?” 

“Well, that's a rather long story. But let's start at the beginning.” He said and stretched out his hand as far as he could, “My name is Kaleb.”

-------

A/N: And we´re back with another one ^^ If you´re still reading this when I post it, you´re probably used to me being slow as hell, so sorry once again. Uni, work and life just get in the way of my writing even more than it has months ago. So feel free to wait until more chapters of this are done, I won´t mind. 

Anyway, what did you think of this one? Did you like it? Was there anything that stood out to you? Anything that you liked or disliked? Whatever it is, let me know! I would love to hear your thoughts.

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[unnursvanablog]

I was a bit disappointed when I saw the promo stuff for Arthdal. It wasn’t really what I was expecting when I heard about the show not long after Six Flying Dragons ended. It felt maybe a bit less historical epic and more just a fantasy show. And after watching it it feels kinda fantasy like. Very low fantasty, if I were to put it into a fantasy subgenre. Which I don’t mind, as of now. I am a sucker for fantasy. And I am going to avoid comparing it to GOT, even if I know people find it similar cuz that is the most recent and most popular fantasy show out there so it's the only source of refrence to another fantasy show, cuz there is more to fantasy than just GOT and I really need Arthdal to deliver on some good fantasy with some politics intigue. But I don't expect a whole lot from the fantasy aspect - it feels so like such low fantasy. I am not sure magic or any of that will play a huge role.

A good portion of my reading list is fantasy and I almost exclusively write in that genre.

It is always a bit hard to judge a sageuk from it’s first episodes. Especially when it starts with a backstory / childhood portion and some heavy introduction to things. Arthdal Chronicles is not the only show guilty of that.

Even with Six Flying Dragons I struggled a bit with the childhood portion and the show truly didn’t come into it’s own (for me) until the adult characters of Lee Bang Won and Boon Yi.

The first episode was just over an hour of prologue that just dumped information on you and left you a bit confused. There was an awful lot of info dump and introduction to characters, a bit of world building that might not really matter all that much to the main story in the first episode. 

I get that you sort of needed to explain why these tribes where fighting each other, setting up the world and it’s dynamics and why Eun Sum’s mom had to cross the sea of tears (or whatever it was called) and go down that big mountain that took her ten years. But the way they went about it was a bit heavy handed. It could have been done a bit more… sparsely?

I understand the need to wanting to set everything up, I have myself written a prologue that was kinda big info dumps and explaining and sort of things. But I also know, and that was also pointed out to me, that it can be very frustrating for the reader (viewer) and a lot to take it.

We could have easily started the ep with Eun Sum’s mom just telling him the story of her people and why they had to leave while they were going down those caves and then went on with the show. Or that is how I see I see it.

Now, the second episode was a lot more promising, which is why I feel like the show should have given us that plot a lot sooner since the rest was just sort of backstory for the main character. Which I fee like he could easily have learned about via talkes from his mother or later in the show.

Not all of it, we had to establish who Tagon is and that whole thing as well.

Eun Sum’s story falls a bit into the standard fantasy protagonist trope of this young person not fitting in his/her tribe and is obviously destined to be something greater. His easy, yet maybe a bit lonely life, is disrupted when. I have seen that before, but I also sort of like that standard fantasy story so I am not complaining too much. The writers are also skilled enough so they might do something fun with it.

Song Joong Ki and Kim Ji Won have also kinda won me over by now. Their characters are both quite earnest and nice but maybe a bit naive to the world. I liked them sort of immediately as the story started to focus on them in the second episode. They are the heart of the show for sure.

My biggest problem with the show, aside from how heavy and confusing the first episode was (we can only go up tbh) is the length of these episodes. One hour and twenty minutes is a LOT. No episode should be over an hour. That should be against some rules. I am very ready to tap out after an hour, thank you very much.

But after episode two I am kinda excited about how it will go. I do trust these writers and I am kinda ready for some fantasy tbh. I don’t think kdramas have really tried anything like this story before, so that could be interesting to see.

[austenpoppy]

When fanfiction begins to be worrying

Warning : Ron-lovers, if you read this it is at your own peril. I am already suffering from long-lasting damage. Vivi, don't read. Really. Don't. Trust me.

We won't even talk about incest and other criminal and sickening fanfictions, which are mostly rejected by the fandom with the utmost disgust - fortunately.

No, no, what I'm going to talk about is admired by a - sadly - large part of the fandom. I was just looking for a cool fanfiction about Ron during my break when I found this, on the first page : "101 ways to kill Ron Weasley."

I know, I shouldn't have clicked on the link, but I couldn't help myself. I had to know.

This is the Author's note :

"This story is inspired by Crys' 1001 Deaths of Lord Voldemort on

For many of us, we hate one character in canon more than any other. No, not Lord Voldemort. I am, of course, talking about Ron Weasley.

Ron is lazy, stupid, annoying, and, in my opinion, mentally retarded.

Now, many in the fanfiction community hate Ginny much more than Ron; however, I find that to be more based upon their experiences with fanfiction than Ginny's actual roll in canon. Let's all be honest, outside of CoS and a cameo in OoTP, Ginny has very few lines and almost no involvement in the plot while Ron plays the role of a giant douchebag throughout the books.

This story, which I hope people will enjoy, is my way of killing off the dumbass in as many colorful ways as possible.

In case you can't tell, expect major Ron!Bashing."

...

I should have stopped as soon as I read this. I didn't, pushed by a morbid curiosity : I wanted to know how far people were ready to go. Useless to say that I bitterly regret it.

First, notice here that Voldemort and Ron are the only characters that I know of who have entire fanfics dedicated to kill them.

Voldemort and Ron are put on the same level. A teenager, the best friend of the hero and a hero himself, is compared to a psychopath and a murderer.

Moreover, I have to underline that the author judges Ron as "mentally retarded". I find it worrying. Just because a teenager have not the same grades as the best student in his year, just because he does not display the same way of thinking as his clever best friend does not mean he is stupid. Far from that.

That is a judgement on intelligence that I think is horrible. You have to know that intelligence, despite what tests such as IQ's claim, can not be really measured. It depends on so many factors. The results of IQ tests depend themselves on so many factors.

Furthermore, having real problems to understand things should be seen as a disability, a handicap and not an insult. It is a very difficult situation to deal with.

Also notice that the intellect is one the major criteria differencing the characters for those people. Intellect is practically above everything else.

I read the fanfiction, constituted of two chapters and multiple drabbles.

First reaction :

First one : Ron dies from eating too much. He chokes on his food.

Second one : In first year, wanting to prove a point to Hermione, Ron willingly mispronunces a spell and conjures a buffalo which crushes him

Third one : In Deathly Hallows, Ron takes the locket with him when he leaves. Harry and Hermione try to stop him and splinch him (he is split in two), but they don't recover the Horcrux. Last sentence : "Even in death, Ron Weasley found a way to be a pain in the ass."

Fourth one : Ron, charged by Harry to give Hedwig her treats, eats them in front of her. Hedwig, with the help of thousands other owls, avenges herself by attacking and killing Ron. Reminding of "The birds" by Hitchcock.

Fifth one : Ron, jealous, accuses Hermione of loving Harry and calls her "a Mudblood". She kills him. Harry and her hide Ron's body before they have sex. Petty remark about the length of Harry and Ron's manhoods. Note of the "author" explaining that it was a summary of another fic.

Sixth one : the Trio enters Bellatrix's vault. Ron is immediately fascinated by the amount of money and begins to steal it despite his friends' warnings. He burts into flames and jinxes his friends. Particularly petty sentence : "He never knew, or cared, that his greed had doomed them as well."

Seventh one : Ron speaks proudly about the unbreakable vow he made when he was five. Hermione asks him what it was about, he says he had sworn he would never say he wasn't a jobbernowl, he dies. Worst thing : use of a real passage of the book.

Eighth one : Ron dies on the chess set. His sacrifice is presented as stupid because it 'had to be another way.'

Nine : Harry uses Sectumsempra on Ron while he is sleeping. Ron dies. Harry transforms his corpse into a sock and burns it.

Last one : after Ron is made prefect, Hermione refuses to have him as a partner, jinxes him and kills him "for the greater good." Particularly nasty sentences : "Harry looked at the badge and fought the urge to go downstairs and ask McGonagall and Dumbledore if they were high when they selected the male Gryffindor prefect this year." / "'Sure', Ron said, completely shocked. 'I was positive you would get it, Harry.' 'You and the rest of the world,' Harry thought darkly." / "I can already see Ron not taking his duties seriously and flaunting the privileges that prefects normally deserve."

I won't comment all of them, but I really want to say something about some of them.

The first one uses a trope overused in Ron-bashing fanfiction : the fact that Ron eats a lot and sometimes speaks with his mouth full. Obviously, the author has forgotten what it is to be a teenager, and especially a thin teenager. Their metabolism needs food, and loads of food, because they are growing up and thin people tend to burn off energy more rapidly.

The fourth makes me sick. (Not that they don't all make me want to throw up.) First since it uses the overused trope I have already mentioned. Moreover for Ron would definitely do what Harry asks him to do, and for Ron is definitely not cruel. And thirdly because... THE BIRDS ! Does it ring a bell, a physical assault on Ron with birds ?

The fifth one. There is absolutely no universe where Ron, I'm-going-to-kill-Malefoy-with-my-bare-hands!Ron, would call Hermione a Mudblood. No. Way.

The sixth. Just because Ron said once something like "It would be nice to have galleons for a change", once "I hate being poor" (ONCE !!!), "Lucky you" (referring to Harry not noticing the difference on his amount of gold when the fake money disappeared), "Where's mine ?" (asking Bill where his money was because Bill has just given Harry a purse full of gold), that's it, Ron is greedy. Just because he doesn't want to be in need. Although he never complained that much.

These people hating Ron for he does not like to be poor are just self-righteous and have very probably never lived in the same situation. They have never been homeless, have received all the gifts for Christmas they wanted, have lived in a warm and comfortable house. It's easy to think about morals when your stomach is full, your health is perfect and well taken care of, and your basical material needs are fulfilled.

I remember a story my dance teacher told me : there was a poor woman in Africa who had lost a husband, a son and a leg in a war and still considered herself luckier than a French homeless person because she had a roof above her head.

I'm not saying that losting a loved one is less terrible. Nothing is more terrible.

Just that hating a fourteen-years old boy who never received another Christmas gift than a maroon jumper he hates but still puts on without really complaining because his mother made it, because he would like to have clothes that fit him or galleons he could spend to offer things to his friends is stupid. Really. And shows a lack of empathy.

Moreover, it's not as if Ron was not generous. All he has he shares it. His galleons, he mostly spends it on gifts for his friends. He gave his Christmas gifts to an house-elf. Ron has a really big, big heart and nothing is more important to him than his friends and family.

Eight. Just. How dares he / she ? That's what I hate with this fandom. Everything is twisted to correspond to the views of people.

Last. The prefect badge. My god the prefect badge. Maybe the most disgusting one, because Harry and Hermione are depicted as thinking the worst of him and somehow echo the 'No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect'. The fact that Ron is often belittled by the fans who don't think he deserved the badge is reminiscent of the fact that Ron didn't either. Ron didn't think he deserved it. That makes me soooo angry.

Pansy Parkinson deserved her badge, but Ron ? Nooooo of course.

The question of worthiness in Ron-bashing is central. People operate a grading : some characters are better than others. The worst is to think that they do it in real life.

I am really naive. I thought that most readers would be inflamed by such display of stupidity. How wrong I was ! This story had 242 reviews, whose only 12 were critical. On the twelve crital ones, 4 were saying that Ron was just an ordinary teenager with no talent, but that it was a shame to dislike him for that.

The rest ?... At this point I don't know if I want to cry or burst into flames out of rage.

I have warned you before. I warn you again. Be aware of the violence of what will follow.

"More!

In order to get a good nights sleep, I need to read about Ron dying in horrendous and funny ways, due to his folly and vices."

At this point it looks like a caricature, doesn't it ? We can notice, however, that people vent out their frustrations and violence on fictional characters. It's up to you if it is good or not. I think it is sick to post it on the Internet, on a personal level.

"A note to a couple of Ron fanboys that posted. First, don' t like? Don' t read. You can tell it is a bashing story from the summary. Second; each person can interpret the canon events the way he wants. Personally, i see it like this: Ron betrayed and abandoned his supposed best friend when he needed help the most. Twice. And he never even apologised properly! It is not our best moments and actions that show us who we really are, but our worst ones. Because, usually, that is when one lets his true self show. Ron is not a bad person, but he is an idiot in canon."

It actually reflects a way of thinking. Ron is defined by the moment he felt betrayed and argued against his best friend - and he tried to apologize, though didn't make Harry apologize for hitting him - and the moment he left under mental torture - the first one who tells me Ron isn't strong-willed will have to run really fast from my anger, because Ron resisted possession and once rebelled against a thought mass murederer on a broken leg and they know nothing about torture -. For this kind of people, you can't have flaws. You can't be faulty. You have to be perfect. You can't ever be forgiven. This is unhealthy.

"*Insane laugh* I love this story! I've always hated Ron. *Sigh* If only he died in cannon, then my life would be complete!"

Once again I am amazed by the VIOLENCE of such a statement.

"I just love the first one where Ron dies while stuffing his face. I have often thought that he had either Bulima or a tapeworm. I have actually seen someone eat like him. It turned out that this person was Bulimic. How else does someone stuff himself and remain skinny?"

It displays a total lack of understanding of what eating disorders really are. Those are disorders which are really extremely difficult to deal with on a daily basis. They are mistaken here with bad eating manners.

"Are you in middle schoolers? Because that's how they teach you how to write in middle school. Also, Ron IS stupid. His grades show that. And Hermione is always caring and helping Harry, even when Ron is off sulking, jealous of Harry. And who cares if Ron came back after leaving? He still left! And getting his ass off of bed is not an excuse for Ron. He only goes along with Harry because he needs to! To keep being Harry's friend, that is. You're actually as mentally deficient as Ron is, and I hope you learn some proper fucking grammar."

Once again intelligence is confused with good grades. That's how you end up with teachers telling students who don't have good grades that they are too stupid to do anything of their life. Ron is here considered as an opportunist. As if he had chosen to be friends with Harry for fame -internal scream. As if being friends with Harry was easy. As if he had not commited his life to help his friends. Notice that once again someone is judges according to his so-called bad actions (to me, Ron leaving is not a mistake Ron did, as I said multiple times already).

"Oi weasel!, for the first and final time, there will never be an Hermione and you, so stop dreaming about her; she's way, out of your league, otherwise l will make you into an weasel patty..."

Love is seen as a question of worthiness.

"Can the Basilisk eat him? please please let the Basilisk eat him"

Once again the violence strucks me.

"ugh i hate him 2 he always runs away or gets jelous. The one thing he did was play stupid chess. Like geez. I love the owl 1".

Chess is considered stupid. CHESS IS CONSIDERED STUPID, BUT WRITING AN ENTIRE FANFIC TO KILL A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IS NOT. Those people are sickeningly judgemental and self-righteous.

"Thank you, I really needed a good laugh and nothing is more funny than Ron dying in horrific, nasty ways."

*throws up*

"Hilarious. Keep updating. I can't stand Ron. The flaws of Snape, Albus, Remus, Sirius and the rest makes them interesting characters. The flaws of Ron make him a putz."

Notice that Ron is the one character that apparently can't be forgiven for his flaws. Ever.

"Lol, Keep killing Ron, it's enjoyable. It's a good stress reliever to read these. :)

See ! Ron is nothing more than a punching ball to those people. I'm scared, really. Their immaturity is worrying.

"I agree with you about Ron he really is a good for nothing person in canon."

*sees red* That's what I'm fighting against in real life. People telling teenagers (and here one of the most admirable fictional teenagers I've ever seen) with a crippling lack of self-esteem that they are worthless. DON'T LISTEN TO THEM !

"this is so funny. i love the owl treats one. my favourite so far. anyone who dares say this is rubbish will face my anger, dont worry. just because it wont happen in canon dosent mean its not good."

Well, sorry to break it to you, but this is rubbish.

"Harry could have been the next Voldermort or Dumbledore if Ron hadn't infected him wi"

Ron and his friendship with Harry are seen as DISEASES.

"Weasley must die! Weasley must die!"

"I actually don't mind Ginny as a character, but Ron has always severely irritated me. The ending to Deathly Hallows was disappointing - how could JKR stick Hermione with a git like that? Ron's been nothing but awful to her since day one, and let's not even get started on how he's treated Harry...

Not really such a "loyal" sidekick, is he? When it all comes down to it, he's a selfish prat, thinking of nobody but himself. The PoA incident with Crookshanks, then GoF when he accused Harry of putting his name into the Goblet - there's been numerous occaisions in which that red haired git has allowed his jealously to get the better of him and abandoned his friends all because of his own petty insecurities.

Halfway through Deathly Hallows, I was ready to strangle him. I know the locket probably brought most of it on - but I don't see that as an excuse for him to throw a childish temper tantrum and blow up about Harry not knowing what he's doing. Okay, so you miss mummy's cooking, and living your life as a lazy sloth..

No reason to take it out on your two best friends. At least your parents are still alive, you ignorant MORON. I was rather pleased when Harry told him off, though. :)

All in all; Ron has always been an annoying, pain in the butt character to me. Utterly useless, really.

I can't wait to see what other creative ways you come up with to kill him.

*adds story to favorites*

Weasley is NOT my king."

So many things wrong.

Ron has been nothing other than awful to Hermione ? What about 'You're the most wonderful person I've ever met ?' 'She's been perfect, as usual.' ? What about getting detention several times (and one washing bedpans) for defending her ?

[kylosupremeimagines]

Kylo Ren X Reader: Only Everyone Can Judge Me {Part Four}

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Summary: You can’t stop reminiscing about the words of Kylo and his question as to why you still hold your old lightsabers. You start to question it yourself, and as your emotions start to take over, a disembodied voice seeps into your mind.

Word Count: 1807

Warnings: Aggressive emotions/overthinking (Can be a trigger to some?), Angst

No matter how much you tried to force the stirring emotions and thoughts to the back of your head, your mind wouldn’t let you. Everything that happened in such a short span of time came crashing back to you, holding onto you as if it never wanted to let go. You could feel it all looming over you, the darkness slowing pulling at you, trying to crack the wall you had built up around your mind. It worked as you questioned everything that you knew.

Your eyes were fixated on the lightsaber you gripped down on, the metal hilt warm against your bare skin. Kylo’s words stuck with you, how he questioned why you still had them. They had become a part of you, an aid in battle to protect yourself and others with. But over the years, they had come to be reminders of things you wanted to keep locked in the deepest depths of your mind.

Only now had you finally accepted it, that the very crystal that resisted inside had no meaning to you. You had lost your connection to it as time went on, you could even feel the crumbling bond. You clenched your jaw as you focused your energy on the Kyber Crystal, tightening your eyes shut in despisement.

What were you supposed to do? You could not simply dispose of your weapon. No, it still was a part of you and your power. As you meditated through your anger and hatred, the darkness loomed around you further, being the closest it had been in ages. Embrace your hatred, child. A disembodied, hoarse voice spoke to you in an whisper. Your eyes shot open as you looked around. Don’t deny the truth that you hold such potential, my blood.

For a moment you thought you were going crazy, but who were you to speculate with the things you knew of the force? I can sense your confliction, your broken connection. It told you. You coincide with your Crystal no longer, and so it weakness you. That can be no more. You felt as if a grip tightened around you. It was more so one to lure you in, to take you by the hand than to overtake you. As if it wanted to guide you.

“What do you want?” You breathed out to the unknown force. It’s time that it becomes a part of you and you a part of it. The voice told you. To control it. . You froze as your eyes stared down at the ground and hands gripped the sides of your head. “what do you mean?” You couldn’t figure out where it was all coming from.

The crystal can not withstand the darkness within you, you hold too much power for it. You must bend it to your will, to make it accept the darkness. It was as if a pair of deep eyes were piercing into your own, but still, it was merely you sitting there. Make. It. Bleed.

As you listened, your head shot up in realization. To make a Kyber Crystal bleed, an ancient Sith practice that you had heard about from Luke when you were still under his wing. You never quite understood the process, as you hadn’t intended on it. “Why are you telling me this?” You begged the voice to tell you, rubbing your hands together in a fist.

When a crystal is unbalanced with its owner, the light against the dark, it is prone to crack. No matter how powerful the crystal, it shall only merge with one if corrupted like them. You pursed your lips together as you took in everything that he was telling you. You must purge the flicker of light in it with your anger, hatred, and pain. Make it one with your force.

The corners of your mouth twitched as you shifted where you sat, looking up as if you expected to see someone standing before you. You could feel their presence, in the force around you, in your mind and thoughts. But you did not unwelcome it. The aura gave you a sensation of contemptment, as if it was pulling you into the land of the unknown or trying to guide you to something greater.

Part of you couldn’t push the power away, it wanted to listen to the voice as it spoke to you. The grip around your saber tightened once more, biting down on your lower lip. “Then my worries are not wrong,” you muttered to yourself under your breath. You could feel the connection between you and the very Kyber Crystal that pulled you in years before had been deteriorating. It wasn’t because of a shift in the force, a change. No.

It was a change in you.

The darkness would not let go of its grasp around you, and you weren’t sure you wanted it to. The moment you attacked Luke, your old master, it had finally broken from the barrier around your mind and heart to seep into your inner thoughts and emotions. All it took was the trigger of the blaster to set you off, and here you were, accepting what you could not deny.

“And so, I make you bleed,” you spoke, almost as if it were directed towards the crystal itself. As you stood from the foot foot of the bed, you walked to the center of the room, kneeling down to the cold floor below. You placed your light saber in front of you, closing your eyes to focus your energy on the weapon.

Hands focused around the hilt, your force energy engulfed it as you began to deconstruct it. The pieces carefully disconnected from one another as they floated around you, placing neatfully on the ground once more.

Your blue Kyber Crystal stayed by you as you extended your hands out to it, letting it float into your balled palm. You sighed and opened them again, allowing it to float up once more. If I am to embrace the darkness, then you shall bathe with me. You said in your mind, as if to the crystal.

You could feel the force as it flowed between you and the crystal, almost connecting you to it. It was as if the darkness knew you were calling for it. Your emotions stirred within you as you allowed your mind to be consumed with the building disdain and rage, tightening your hands into fists.

Never before had you felt so tense, like a hand gripping down on your chest. Your furrowed your eyebrows as you fought against it until you could feel your emotions deepening into your aura. It conflicted with the crystal, but you kept your hold on it and refused to let go.

Grief. You had mourned the loss of those you had once called friends during the raid, the slaughter of all the eager padawans who trained beside you. It still haunted you to this day, it was something what was forever etched into the back of your mind, to forever remind you of all that had happened.

Abandonment. You had yet to forgive Luke for leaving you after the downfall of the new Jedi Order. He shouldn’t have abandoned you as if he had already lost everything. He had, and he should have protected you as if you had been all he had. Because you were all that was left. And yet, you were thrown away as if you didn’t matter, that you had failed him just as much as his turned students did. The Knights Of Ren and Kylo.

Betrayal. The grudge you had formed against Luke was all because of the sensation of betrayal that it had left with you. He should have been there for you, and not leave you with the resistance. It was like a stab in the heart to know that he had no faith in you. If he had seen value in you, he would have fine back. Not suppress himself into a long exile to never be heard from in years.

Disdain. For your master. The one you looked up to for guidance for years had left you, and it had rid you of any respect you had left for him. When it was just you and him, you had hoped he would be there for you and protect the last of what he had built. But no. You split and gained a loss of respect for him. He did not deserve it, not after the pain he put you through when he should have kept you close.

Loneliness. The sense of abandonment and years with the resistance lad left you and a place of confusion. You did not know who you could trust anymore, as the ability had been diminished the moment the Order had crumbled. You didn’t know who was really your friend, so you cut yourself off from many connections, only allowing for Leia - mother of your dear childhood friend - to be close to you. She had been the only thing close to your old Ben. The only thing to remind you of everything you loved. And even then, it was never enough.

Hatred. The strengthened spark of resentment for him, Luke. The moment he refused to train you once more, the moment he demanded you off of his island. And the unexplainable pleasure you took in attacking the man. It had been the first time you had used the force in anger, at least on another living creature.

Longing. The feeling in the middle of your chest the moment you saw Kylo in the Woods. You felt the instant connect to him, as if it had began to repair itself after the damage that had been done to it. And your longing to see him once more. To be near him. To hold him in your arms. To have him with you.

Frustration. What came with the stirring emotions. You couldn’t quite understand how to handle it all, what to think of it. Never before had you embraced it at once, willingly let the darkness seep into your mind.

Anger. The final step towards the dark, the last spark needed to ignite the fire that was bound to burn everything to ashes. Everything that you had known came to bite you, to taint your mind and everything you had once believed. It was all a lie, or failed you.

As the Kyber Crystal made one last attempt to shut you out, hot tears streamed down your cheeks and your muscles tensed up. It was as if a fire bursted through your veins, an unbearable pain taking over you. You let out a scream as you reached out for something unknown, falling forward. In a failed attempt you stand, you felt your vision blurring until you crashed to the ground, being consumed in darkness.