#brilliant declarations of love and where to find them

[lostinpages-99]

“I have waited an eternity to meet you, Signa Farrow.” […] “To me, you are a song to a soul that has never known music. Light to someone who has only seen the darkness.

You bring out the absolute worst in me, and I become vindictive toward those who treat you in ways I don’t care for. Yet you also bring out the best in me - I want to be better because of you. Better for you. In all my existence, I’ve asked only for one thing - for one person who might understand me, and whom I could let myself touch […].”

“You are what I want.” […] “I know I cannot force you to want me in return, but say that you do, and I promise that I am wholly and unequivocally yours. Say that you do, and I will make this world everything for you.”

Adalyn Grace, Belladonna, p. 331-332.

[luveline]

You are such an awesome writer 🥹 I love seeing you show up on my timeline!

I'm not sure if you are taking requests rn and totally ignore this and I'm so sorry if you are not and sorry to bug you.

I am so obsessed with bombshell bau reader with our boy Spence. I was thinking like maybe established relationship this time where the team goes out to the bar again only this time her and Spence are actually together so she's just really cute and even more cling. Maybe her and Emily or one of/all of the other BAU girls are being wild goofy drunk girl and reader is extra flirty with Spence but not at all smooth and Spencer is just like “you're a menace” ? But like in a sweet adoring way 😂?

Again no pressure at all and I hope you are feeling better from the rude requests and enjoying your time off school, lots of love xxx

thank you love, and thanks for your request!! ♡ drunk!reader

The last time you'd been to this bar in particular, you and Spencer were strictly friends. He was still styling his hair straight and wearing sweater vests, and the idea of being your boyfriend was a fantasy. A brilliant, never-going-to-happen work of fiction. 

“My boyfriend is the prettiest man alive ever in the history of planet Earth!” you declare, climbing up on one knee in the booth beside him, your cherry spritzer tipping over the glass’ rim. It races down your naked arm to your elbow and drips from there to his thigh. “Have you seen him?” 

“Sure, I've seen him,” Morgan says, rolling his eyes. 

You wrap your arms around Spencer's head from the side and kiss his forehead. You shift as you do, forcing your lips up into his hair, leaving behind an accidental raspberry smear of lipgloss. “Then what's the problem?” you ask. 

“I don't know,” Morgan says. 

“I know what it is,” Emily says. 

“Me too. Rhymes with indoctrination,” JJ laughs. 

You put your glass down hard on the table, arm still held proudly behind Spencer's neck. A lot has changed since the last time you were here, but the way he looks up at you hasn't budged. He has a sick, all encompassing crush on you, and seeing you now turns it into a dizziness he can't shake, almost like he's had a few too many drinks with you. Your eyes are glassy, grounded but wet, and your eyelashes pinch together in the corners as you bring your gaze down to his. “It's love,” you say. 

Everybody laughs. Spencer just keeps watching you watch him, his palm to the small of your back to prevent a fall. 

“It's love!” Penelope echoes, shepherded by Hotch, too many drinks between them both. “My favourite lovebirds! I brought your drink, beautiful.”

“Thank you, gorgeous.” You take it eagerly. Spritzer sloshes over the bumps of your fingers. 

“Sit down,” Spencer suggests. 

You give him brief googly eyes and sit down. The booth is a three sided square, with you and Spencer on one arm, Rossi, JJ and Emily against the back, and now Morgan, Penelope and Hotch opposite. It's a full troupe tonight, a rarity, and you and Penelope decided early on that the best way to celebrate would be to drink whatever you liked and in egregious quantities. 

Hotch is perhaps doing the same. Spencer can't tell. But all in all, everyone's having a good night, especially you. 

“Did you hear that? He's so nice to me,” you say to no one in particular, your fitted blouse sparkling in the light as you lean back, your hand finding his thigh. “Spencer, what's on your pants?” 

“Oh, I wonder?” 

“You're not blaming me, are you?” Your voice is as stickying as you can make it, and drunk as a skunk you may be, but you maintain your talent for flirting. 

“Did I say that?” 

“Because that wouldn't be very, gentlemanly of you…” You lean in too close. Your talent remains. Your subtlety suffers a different fate. 

He leans in like he might kiss you and says, “You're a menace.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

In front of all your friends and coworkers. “It means I'm cutting you off,” he says, sliding his hand between you and your glass. 

More laughter. You throw hurt looks at them all and Spencer picks up your cherry spritzer. You're baffled, but a smile dripping in sickly sweet love spreads over your lips as he drinks it. “Fine, I'll share,” you say. 

“Thank you,” he says, putting it out of your reach as he leans in to kiss you, cherry lingering on his lips. 

You kiss him back gently, and then a little harder. He eases you away. Arms snuck once again around him, you squeeze until his ribs cry out in protest and make yourself comfortable on his shoulder.

“You're not mad at me, are you?” he asks, head angled down to offer a tender smile. 

“I love you so much I've decided not to care.” You lift your head. “You're too nice to be mad at you,” you whisper. “And I love you.” 

“Yeah, you've mentioned that.” He rubs your arm. He's so in love with you, he doesn't think to blush at his part in your PDA. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Scorched Earth.

A Grab Bag For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Warrior x Reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of War/Death, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Kidnapping.

You saw the torchlight hours before he reached your cottage.

Bright and brilliant, a red stain ebbing through the trees and bleeding into the dark sky. The forest was dense, the canopy stifling, yet somehow, the light he and his soldiers carried was awful enough to pierce through it all, to burn away every behind them and fill the open air with thick, choking smoke. You could’ve tried to flee, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t guess what was coming for you, but you didn’t keep a horse, and you knew better than to stave off the inevitable. He’d catch you, no matter how far you ran, no matter how many times you refused him. He’d promised as much, the first time he declared that you’d be his.

Rather than escape, you stayed where you were, perched on the rotting wooden steps leading up to your door and watching the oncoming flare. His scouts, dressed in black and prone to circling your meager home like vultures, reached you before he did, then sergeants, piling in by the dozen, well-armed and jeering and carrying his insignia with a sort of heady arrogance. Finally, he emerged from the growth, surrounded by his lieutenants and mounted on a sleek, grey steed larger than any you’d ever seen before. He was a far cry from how you’d seen him last – his bandages gone, his pitch-black hair grown down to his shoulders, the rags you’d been able to lend him traded out for shining armor clean enough to catch the torchlight and glow scarlet. A great-sword sat at his hip, two more curved blades crossed over his back, but you couldn’t seem to find much joy in his fortune. Not when you’d soon be counted among one of his many, many precious things.

As he dismounted, the movements practiced to the point of thoughtlessness, you rose to meet him, hyper-aware that this would likely be the last time you’d be able to stand on equal ground. “Wren.”

It wasn’t his name. You’d misheard him, the first time you asked; made what you could out of the slurred syllables he’d been able to spit out and never found the time to look back. Even when he started to recover, when he was able to hold onto consciousness for longer than a minute at a time and more than just your clumsy stitching held the jagged cut stretching from his shoulder to his hip shut, he always failed to correct you. His real name – Wyvern, given to him as an unknown orphan after he slayed his namesake and delivered its head to a king who’d let him massacre armies and rampage through the countryside as he pleased – was something you had to learn the day he left, the day he told you who he was and why you’d found him bleeding out in a stream all those months ago. He’d asked you to come with him, back to the castle, and through tears, you’d told him that you wouldn’t have helped him if you’d known you were saving the life of a murderer. He’d tried to kiss you, and you slapped him and told him to get out of your cottage.

It wasn’t his name, but he smiled like it was, taking a step toward you. His soldiers started to close in, but he held up a hand, keeping them at bay. “Beloved.” It was a familiar petname. It used to make you blush, stammer, want to make flower crowns and kick your feet and learn to play some ridiculous stringed instrument. Now, it just made your stomach turn, your vision dim at the edges with rage. “I’m sorry I took so long to return to you. I had to gather a few friends – thought you should meet the future guests of our wedding.”

There was cheer from his soldiers, a flash of a grin from Wren. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders, but he remained unaffected, his expression only softening as you forced yourself to respond. “I meant what I said. I could never love a man with blood on his hands.”

If he heard you over the milling of his soldiers, the crackling of his torches and the distant sounds of the forest’s nightlife, he clearly wasn’t listening. Rather he closed the remaining space between you and him and took you in his arms. Your feet were off the ground in a moment, your chest against his chest in another, being spun idly as he let out a throaty laugh. “God,” he sighed, when he finally came to a stop. The sharp corners of his plated armor dug into your skin at odd angles, and his hold on your waist was tight enough to bruise. You’d had to ask him to be gentle before, to mind his inhuman strength when he touched you, but it was a lesson he just couldn’t seem to take to heart. “I missed the sound of your voice. I’ll have to take you with me on my next campaign - I don’t know if I could stand to leave you at court for all that time.”

“Put me down,” you hissed, hitting his shoulders with as much force as you could manage. He abided you, but didn’t let go of you – just moving his hold from your hips to your hands, taking them in his own before you had time to pull away.

“I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. Most of the knights are absolute bastards, and you’re too sweet – they’d try to take you for themselves in a heartbeat. No, I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, can I?” He paused, his face lighting up with apparent zeal. “You’ll adore the castle. I’ve already secured a cottage on the edge of the grounds, and you’ll have full reign of the gardens. We won’t have to—”

“Stop.” You attempted to wrench yourself out of his vice-grip, and when that failed, let out a ragged groan, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s not true.” His smile didn’t so much as waver. “You saved my life. You told me that you loved me, and I love you, too. How would either of us ever be happy if we were seperated?”

Something deep in your chest ached. It was impossible to look at him and not picture the countless mornings you’d woken up by his side, the countless days you’d passed teaching him how fish and tend to a garden, the countless nights you’d spent bundled beside a fire sharing stories with a man you thought you’d loved. It was impossible not to think about what he’d done and wish you’d driven that knife into his stomach yourself.

“I can’t love someone like you,” you said, finally, because you couldn’t bear to say anything else. “And I’m not leaving my home.”

At that, you could’ve sworn you saw something register in his dark eyes. He was quiet, his enthusiasm fading, and for a second, you thought he might’ve understood. For a second, you thought he might call away his soldiers, get back on his horse, and leave you to your quiet suffering.

Then, he leaned forward, his lips coming to rest against the top of your head. “Beloved,” his voice was low, stifled your skin. “You don’t have a home. Not without me.”

Abruptly, he pulled away from you, raising a hand and looking toward his soldiers. While you were left in the dark, they knew their signal, surging forward in a chaotic wave of yelling and footsteps. You pressed your form against Wren’s side, clenching your eyes shut and bracing yourself, but there was only a burst of heat, a sudden visible even through your eyelids. Another kiss, this one pressed into your cheek and chased with a soft chuckle.

When you could bring yourself to look, you found not a volley of arrows or a hundred swords all pointed at your neck, but your cottage engulfed in flame, shining golden in the oppressive night. Your shoulders fell, your mouth opening, but you failed to make a sound. Wren wasn’t as stunned, grinning as he pulled you close and pressed his lips into yours, the kiss delicate and tortuous all at once.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered as he pulled away, his tone so soft and so gentle, you could almost tell ignore the blood-soaked cruelty lingering just underneath it.

“The only home you need is with me.”

[christinesficrecs]

Happy Saturday! Enjoy these brilliant fics. 🩷

I don’t know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 17.8K

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

His Only Defense by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 78.7K

Stiles had just accidentally challenged an alpha.

Oh God, and Scott had just stood by and let him do it. He was the worst best friend ever. Stiles was going to kill him. Except, oh right, the alpha was going to kill him first. Like beyond dead, ripped into tiny little pieces dead. So far dead that his dad would not be able to identify him, dead.

Laying Groundwork by  LunaCanisLupus_22 | 10.9K

The one where Scott and Stiles go clubbing and there’s this broody Bouncer out to get Stiles-

Or get into his pants. Thank God it’s the latter.

Give you that thing you can’t even imagine by  LunaCanisLupus_22 | 10.9K

The one where mateless Derek thinks no omega can affect him like they do other alphas and he’s about to find out he’s very, very wrong.

Shot Through The Heart by  LunaCanisLupus_22 | 64.8K

The one when Stiles and Derek work for rival assassin companies and are sent to kill each other. It definitely doesn’t go as planned.

Foolish devouring things, build your castle in me by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 23.1K

“I will marry you,” he declares. “But should any more harm come to my father or my people, I will raze the earth itself until I feel the lifeblood drain from your corpse and paint my skin with it.”

It is not an idle warning, but from the princeling it has none of the desired effect. Derek feels no fear, but in this instance at least diplomacy triumphed over the spilling of more blood. It is all the same to him anyway. But Regent Peter was most insistent they avoid a drawn-out, gruelling war.

“Then we have reached an accord.”

Oh baby give me one more chance (to show you that I love you) by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 54.7K

“You like Derek,” he says slowly. “Derek Hale.”

His father grimaces at the accusation there. “Look, Stiles it’s complicated-“

“So when I was married to him,” he continues, voice rising. “He wasn’t good enough. He was taking advantage of me. ‘He’ll never be able to love you like you want, Stiles’. That’s what you said-“

Or the Sweet Home Alabama AU that nobody asked for.

I'm at one, and I've been quiet for too long by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 11.4K

“All in favour of Derek not dating for a full year so he can get his shit together and stop romancing people who want to kill us?”

Everyone raises their hands. Every single pack member.

Or the one where the pack insists Derek can't date anybody for a year but he ends up finding romance much closer to home anyway.

I know that you love me, even when I lose my head by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 135.5K

“We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“

“Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.

“He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.

When sparks fly by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 87.5K | Abandoned

“Derek,” Stiles thunders. “Were you ever going to tell me your house is trying to hook us up?”

Derek’s head snaps up, eyes wide and scenting the evident crackle of magic in the air.

I'll wrap up my bones, And leave them by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 65.1K

The sign on the cage actually reads Beware: The Beast! in that crappy horror movie red paint that trickles down the paper in a failed attempt to appear like dripping blood.

And it would seem stupid if not for the living supernatural creature currently trapped behind its bars. Little hard to dismiss the big, hulking werewolf as a poorly constructed horror movie prop.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. Dude, cannot catch a break.

How long have I been on the hunt for you? by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 20.3K

“Well I guess accidental kidnapping is not so bad then,” Scott decided brightly after the others had finished describing their ordeals. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

“HAHA,” Stiles practically shouted, loud and unsettling enough that everyone turned to look at him. “I mean, yep. For. Sure.”

[unseededtoast]

We'll Be Alright | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: In which you discover that the line between love and hate is quite fine. Your actions are done out of love, but they only make you hate yourself more and more. Inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

WC: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst, pining, mention of Ed Gein, mention of blood, use of guns, that sorta thing

a/n: Back at it again with another Spencer Reid oneshot. I hope you all like it, I think this is one of my favorites so far.

"I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you."

With a smile on your face you listen to Spencer ramble on about how he put the pieces together to find the unsub while you two ride to the scene together. He speaks with such passion and you don't think you'll ever get tired of listening to him, his mind is a brilliant thing and you make sure to remind him every chance you get. You can tell that sometimes when he gets fired up about something he starts becoming insecure, fearing that the others will make some snide comment or dismiss his thoughts. But not you, you listen intently every time, hanging onto every word.

Spencer has played a very vital role in developing you into the analyst you are today. Where the others were satisfied with letting you learn on your own, and showing you pointers here and there, Spencer took the time to explain nuanced ideas to you. He showed genuine interest and care, and you gave him your undivided attention. This dynamic created a tight bond with the two of you, allowing you to work together seamlessly and at times, it's like you read each other's thoughts.

"I knew you could do it." You tell him as you pull onto the scene. He utters a thanks as the two of you get out of the car and join the rest of the team.

The unsub is nearby and the team is just waiting for him to show up; Garcia had been able to track his phone and his movement aligned with the area you and Spencer had narrowed down as the next area of interest. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily give you both a nod of acknowledgement and the five of you begin scouting out the area to look for any signs of the unsub, he should be here by now.

This particular unsub sent a chill down your spine, and not much gets to you anymore. His modus operandi was always to kill his victims, skin them, and use their flesh for various purposes. It's like he was trying to be Gein's prodigy, except he never dug up a grave, he preferred to kill them all himself. The team had found his workshop early in the investigation, but the unsub was nowhere to be found, until now. Seeing household objects made of flesh isn't going to soon leave your memory, you're sure of it.

"There he is!" Morgan yells and points to a man crossing the street with a paper bag in his hand. Everyone takes off in a sprint towards him and you pull your firearm from the holster strapped to your thigh. The unsub takes off, trying to evade you all.

Emily and Hotch split up from the rest of the team to try and cut him off up ahead, leaving you, Spencer, and Morgan trailing him. The little man is fast, you'll give him that much. Eventually, he ducks down an alleyway, unaware it's a dead end, and turns back to look at you all with wide, stunned eyes. You see the panic in his eyes and as Morgan shouts instructions at him, you see him reach inside of his jacket.

The unsub pulls a gun of his own and aims it right at Spencer. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Spencer puts his hands up in surrender while you and Morgan keep your sights trained on him.

"Put the guns down or I'll shoot him, I swear I'll do it, just like the others!" The unsub declares while switching the safety off of his gun. Your hands begin to shake with adrenaline, but you don't put your gun down. Faintly, you can hear Morgan informing Hotch and Emily of the situation via radio but it's like you have tunnel vision on the man in front of you.

"Do it now!" He screams erratically and you see his finger dance on the trigger, just about to pull it.

An internal battle wages itself inside your mind, trying to quickly assess the pros and cons of listening to the man. Just as you go to lower your gun, you see the man grin sickeningly at Spencer with an evil glint shining in his eye; you've seen that look before. Without thinking, you turn and knock Spencer out of the way just as you hear the shot go off. Spencer slams into the brick wall beside him, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Behind you, you can hear Morgan yelling something but his voice sounds miles away.

All you feel is a blinding, white-hot pain.

Blinking rapidly, you look down and see that your shirt is quickly becoming stained a deep scarlet red. Your heart is pumping at an alarming pace, you can feel your pulse in your neck. The red stain keeps growing but your mind can't comprehend what's going on. Large hands obscure the stain from your view, and you finally look up to see Spencer's hazel eyes, wide and afraid.

He gently brings your body to the ground, leaning you against the brick wall you had shoved him into. His hands apply pressure to the wound, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. It feels like you can't catch your breath, you fight for oxygen every few seconds and even that makes your body feel like you've just been set ablaze. The edges of your vision start going black, and you can't really see anything clearly anymore. Your mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts that just sounds like static.

"Hey, hey look at me. Come on now. Stay with me. Please." You feel a tap on your cheek and your blurry vision can make out Spencer's form, his fingers coated in red. A wave of nausea and pain racks through your system, and you try to reach out for Spencer, but your arms are just too heavy, and words take too much effort. It's easier to just close your eyes.

-----

A constant beeping sound stirs you awake. You don't even remember falling asleep. Trying to open your eyes feels like an impossible task, like they've been bonded shut with super glue. Your throat feels like a desert, and you start to panic, not remembering where you are. Mental images of the unsub's flesh creations flash through your mind and you start panicking, thinking that somehow he got you.

The panic is enough to make your eyes open, and you're greeted with bright lights. Flinching, you squint your eyes and look around. This isn't the unsub's workshop, no, this looks like a hospital. Your eyes travel down your body, seeing lines embedded in your arms, a plastic piece clamped over your finger, and a large white bandage wrapped around your stomach. As if on cue, your stomach starts to burn like hot coals had just been placed there. An image of Spencer's hand covered in bright red flashes behind your eyelids.

A nurse walks through the doors and smiles when she catches your eye. She comes to your bedside and sets down an IV bag full of clear liquid.

"Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?" She asks and you go to answer her, but your throat is too dry, so you just end up coughing. The nurse crosses your room and returns moments later with a plastic cup half full of water. Greedily, you take it from her and drink the water, a lone stream wandering down your chin. Once the cup is empty, you decide to finally answer her.

"Not great." You admit, trying to reposition but unable to do so because of the pain. The nurse nods as she hangs the new IV bag from the metal rack beside your bed.

"I imagine so. I'll give you something to dull the pain." She tells you, resting a gentle hand on your upper arm. Your eyes are glued to her hand and you nod, anticipating the relief of pain medication.

"What exactly happened?" You ask, only able to remember tiny bits and pieces. The image of Spencer's hand refuses to leave your mind but you just can't remember what happened before, or after, that moment. The nurse looks down to the bandage covering your torso.

"An ambulance brought you in last night. You got shot through the abdomen and had to be rushed into surgery. There was sustained damage to your liver and other intestines, but nothing life-threatening. You gave your coworkers quite the scare though, they didn't want to leave but we had to send them home." Her voice is soothing despite the words leaving her mouth, like she was used to delivering this sort of news. Which she probably is. You stare down at the bandage on your stomach, trying to remember anything else, but being unsuccessful.

"So when can I leave?" You ask, knowing that there's an incident report or two waiting for you on your desk. Truthfully, you'd rather do anything but those reports right now, seeing as how you can't even remember a major event, but you know the job doesn't allow for much downtime.

"Probably tomorrow or the next day depending on how well you're doing." She reassures you, and you can live with that. If the team wants the paperwork done that badly, they can bring it to you. Otherwise, you're perfectly content to stay here for a little while. The nurse exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

From what you can remember, Spencer was definitely there when you got shot. His hands were covered in your blood, that part you can vividly remember. Your heart sinks as you are able to recall the look in his eyes, how scared he was. You hope he doesn't blame himself for what happened, you know it isn't his fault even if you can't quite remember how it all went down. If the roles were reversed you can't even imagine the wreck you would be; the thought alone makes you sick.

-----

The next day your doctor clears you for discharge, and you call Hotch to come pick you up. You have no family to call to get you or take care of you, Hotch and the team are the closest thing you have. You had almost called Spencer, but decided against it because you're not sure if you're ready to see him just yet. Hotch's car pulls up to the curb and he hops out to help you in the car but you wave him off.

"I got shot I'm not immobile." You try to tease as you grimace, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. Hotch closes the door once you're in and quickly returns to the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He starts the route back to your home without a word, but you can tell something is bothering him.

"What's up?" You break the silence, the curiosity of what he's thinking becoming too much. Hotch glances at you from the corner of his eye before training his eyes back on the road.

"You're off of field duty for the next few months. Technically, you should be on a leave of absence for a while but I know you won't abide by it. But, you have to promise me you won't overwork yourself. You got shot, you need to take care of yourself." His words come out slow and even, which contradicts his body language. There's something else going on, but you know him well enough to know he's not going to tell you.

"No field work, got it." You agree, knowing it's the best deal you're going to get. When another agent was shot on the job about a year ago, they made her stay out of the office for four months. You'd go crazy under those restrictions.

The two of you ride in silence until he pulls up outside of your quaint home. The lights are all off and the mail has gone unchecked. Dark clouds in the sky start emitting light sprinkles, likely to turn into a storm. With a sigh, you look to Hotch, whose eyes are already on you and you smile weakly at him, trying to mask the pain shooting up your spine.

"Thank you, Hotch." You say and open the door despite your body's protests.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He tells you with a father-like authority. You nod your head, knowing he means it.

"I will." You confirm and close the door. Hotch drives off and you check your overflowing mailbox before heading up the short stone walkway to your home. You're thankful for the stair railings as you have to pull yourself up each step to reach your front door. From what should be a simple, few-second task, it feels like you've run a marathon. The keys fumble around in your hands but you're able to unlock the door after a few attempts.

Your home is unusually dark and cold inside. The mail finds itself scattered across the dining room table and you go around turning on a lamp or two to bring some life back into the space. Clutching the back of your couch, you catch your breath and look down at your torso. With careful hands, you lift your shirt and look at the bandage. Thankfully it doesn't look like the stitches have broken, it's just a lot of pain. The doctor had given you two prescriptions to fill, but you probably won't go pick them up, you can't imagine how painful it would be to drive a car right now; moving your arms and legs, straining your abdomen. It's just not worth it in your mind. And you're surely not going to inconvenience anyone to pick it up for you, they probably couldn't anyways seeing as how one of them is a narcotic.

Instead of doing anything else, you go around and lay down on your couch, propping your head on a throw pillow and pulling the blanket draped over the back overtop of you. Thunder sounds off overhead, and you know the rain will put you to sleep if the pain doesn't do it first.

The plush material of the blanket soothes you somewhat, it definitely feels better than the hospital blankets. Thick raindrops start pelting the window situated on the wall perpendicular to the couch, giving you the perfect view through your sheer curtains. Your eyes droop as you watch the droplets race each other to the bottom but you don't want to sleep, it's pretty much all you've done the past two days.

While your eyes concentrate on the raindrops pelting the window your mind races with all the thoughts you've slept away in the hospital. Since first waking up, you've been able to recall most of what happened, the doctors told you it was a normal thing to experience, but it freaked you out as you just kept remembering what happened. You can hear Spencer's voice begging you to stay awake and you remember shoving him out of the way so he wouldn't be shot.

While the pain of being shot is like nothing you've experienced before, you know you'd do it all over again to save Spencer. And that terrifies you. It's for that reason you haven't contacted him yet, but you see the messages he's left on your phone, asking if you're okay and if he can do anything for you. If it had been him that got shot, and he didn't pull through, you know you'd crumble, you'd absolutely lose yourself. And that shakes you to your core. You knew you and Spencer were close, but you never realized just how deep your love for him runs.

Being shot made you understand that in this line of work it's not smart to form these personal ties, for reasons such as this. If the roles were reversed and he did die, you know you wouldn't be able to continue doing your job. It's been made abundantly obvious to you during your time on the BAU that these deep connections could pose a threat to your safety, and that's never been more clear to you than it is right now. It's precisely the reason you don't answer Spencer at all. You feel guilty, but you know it's better like this in the long run. You can't stomach the thought of him taking a bullet for you, so you have to distance yourself, for his safety.

-----

Five days later you decide to return to the office. You're feeling slightly better, the pain is still strikingly difficult to deal with, but you can't stand another day being cooped up in your house. Plus, you know there's at least one incident report waiting for you.

You leave early to give yourself enough time to get there, and you find out that you were right about driving, it definitely does not feel good. You reach the office later than you usually do, but you don't really care. The team isn't even expecting you for another two days, so there's no punctuality expectation. After you get out of your car and make your way across the parking lot you find that a pit of dread has taken residence in your stomach, right next to the aching pain; and you're nervous to walk through the doors that have become so familiar. But the elevator ride is too short for your comfort and you find yourself staring at those very doors before you're truly prepared.

With one hand lightly resting on your abdomen, you force yourself into the office, where everyone is busy with their daily duties. Maybe you can just slip in here without anyone noticing you. Your steps are drastically slower than normal, and you make it halfway to your desk before you hear someone calling out your name.

"What are you doing here? Thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday." Morgan asks, tossing a file on top of his keyboard. You clear your throat and try your best to smile.

"Just couldn't stay away I guess." You say and finish the journey to your desk, feeling your legs start going weak. Within the days you've spent at home, you couldn't bring yourself to exert much energy getting food, you mainly just spent time wrapped up in a blanket on your couch. Your body is weaker than it ever has been, from both malnutrition and the gunshot, but nobody needs to know that, then they'd start to hover. You'd much rather just suffer in silence and take care of yourself. Morgan follows you over to your desk and you're hypervigilant to keep up a good appearance.

"We've been worried about you. Nobody's heard from you since Hotch picked you up." He says and you glance over to Hotch's office, seeing the door closed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been trying to rest and heal up." It's not a total lie, just not the entire truth either. You meet Morgan's eyes as if to seal the deal, and thankfully he doesn't push you further on the matter, he just puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Well it's good to have you back." He says before departing back to his own desk.

You open the cover of the file that's sitting on your desk, seeing blank pages waiting for you to fill them out. Grabbing your favorite pen, you start jotting down your notes of the incident report up until you get to the part where you were shot. The pen hovers over the page for minutes, and you can't seem to find the right words. The opening of Hotch's door distracts you and you see him and Spencer walk out. Spencer's eyes lock with yours immediately and he wastes no time abandoning his conversation with Hotch to come over to you. You knew this time would come, you were just hoping to avoid it for a while longer.

"How are you? Are you okay? You weren't supposed to be back until Monday." A flurry of questions gets thrown at you while Spencer looks you over as if he's expecting to see another bleeding wound on you.

"I'm fine, thanks." You keep your answer short, too short for his liking and you know it. Guilt sits heavily in your heart, but you remind yourself that this is for his benefit and wellbeing. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't deal with Spencer dying and that's why this is necessary. His eyebrows scrunch together, confused about why you're acting so strangely.

"I tried to text you." He says, lowering his voice, eyes tender and full of worry. If only you could reach out to him, to feel his soft skin under your fingertips and tell him about the hell you've been going through. Instead, you lick your lips and nod shortly,

"I saw. I just, I wanted some time alone." You lie straight to his face and watch as he buys it so easily. Disappointment paints itself all over his face, but he nods anyways and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Right. Sorry, well, um, you know where I'll be." He says in a hushed voice before turning and walking to his own desk. Your eyes clamp themselves shut and your fists clench, leaving crescent-shaped indents in your palms as you take a deep breath and fight away the tears that threaten to spill.

Once you've regained control of yourself, you pick your pen back up and focus on nothing else but getting this report done. You force yourself to write robotically, stating only the concise facts of what happened and not a detail more. You're sure the other agents' reports will make up for yours, you just need to get this done and filed so you can leave. The air in the office space is suffocating.

After what feels like a short eternity, you've finally completed the report and you shut the front cover of the file and push yourself out of your chair, gritting your teeth the entire time.

"Need help?" You hear Morgan's voice behind you, and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." You say as you stand as straight as you can, grabbing the file off your desk with one hand, the other rests over your wound, which feel unusually warm. Fearing the worst, you make your way to Hotch's office, biting your cheek the entire way there.

When you enter his office he looks at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He waits for you to make the first move and you put the folder on his desk, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He opens the folder and reads over your work before tossing it on top of a pile of other folders.

"What's going on with you?" He asks and stands to shut his door. Hotch closes the blinds on the office windows as well, so that the other agents can't see into the room and you're thankful. Your bottom lip quivers as a sharp hot pain radiates from your wound and you feel your throat constrict. Grasping the back of a chair situated in front of his desk you lean your weight on it to try and alleviate the pain, but it isn't working.

"Let me see." Hotch stands from his desk and stands beside you. Once you feel you can stand on your own you lift the edge of your shirt up, exposing the bandage wrapped around you. From your vantage point you can see the warm red skin peeking out from the bandage.

"That's not good, that looks like it's becoming infected." Hotch's voice is thick with worry and he delicately peels back the bandage to examine the wound and you bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The air coming into contact with it feels like he just pushed a fire poker right through the stitches.

"We're leaving right now, that's definitely infected." Hotch secures the bandage back and you shake your head.

"I'll be fine, it's just part of the healing process." You try to downplay the situation. In reality, you know that it's not good for your wound to be that red or warm, but if the two of you leave right now the others are going to know something's up. And that will inevitably lead to them hovering over you.

"No, it's not. You're going to come with me or I'll call the squad." Hotch threatens and you see no trace of a lie in his eyes or in his tone. Relenting, you agree to go with him. He leads you out of the office and you keep your head down, compelling yourself to not look at Spencer, who's undoubtedly tracking your every move.

Once you reach the parking lot Hotch begins questioning you. He helps you into his car and you let him, not having the energy to fight him.

"Have you not been taking the medicine prescribed to you? I know they gave you an antibiotic." He scolds, knowing the answer. If you had been taking them, you wouldn't be showing up to the office with an angry gunshot wound.

"Hurt too much to drive and get them." You keep your answer short and he huffs in annoyance, but starts driving somewhere to get you the medical attention you need. Deep down you're thankful Hotch cares this much, he's the closest thing to real family you have.

Last Thanksgiving the team found out that you have no family to spend the holidays with. You had never meant to tell them, but holiday plans came up in conversation and yours were painfully dull and lonely compared to theirs. But Hotch invited you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. At first, you had declined, not wanting to intrude on his family time away from work, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Now you're glad that he persisted and you went. His wife, Haley, took you under her wing and everything just fell into place; you're practically their surrogate daughter at this point.

After Hotch makes sure that you get looked at by a doctor, and that you actually have your intended prescriptions, he drops you off at your home and makes you promise that you'll send him a video of you taking your medicine on schedule. Knowing that if you don't, he will most definitely drive over here and count the pills, you agree. And as a punishment for not taking the medicine in the first place, he makes you agree to stay out of the office for another week.

-----

The week passes too quickly for your liking. Each day Spencer had texted you, asking if you're okay, that he's worried about you, and that he misses you. It broke your heart to not reply to him, every fiber of your being yearned to text him back, to let him know that you're okay. The temptation to abandon your decision of distancing yourself from him grew stronger each day. It became so tempting that you forced yourself to let your phone battery die and then you buried it underneath the clothes in your dresser so that it would stay out of sight.

But now, as you stare up at the office building from the parking lot, you know that you won't be able to avoid him today and you know that you're going to have to not give into temptation. Every time you want to slip, you're going to have to remind yourself that this is for his safety. You remember that you can deal with the heartbreak, the possibility of him hating you, but you'll never be able to go on if he dies. So you have to do everything in your power to make sure he will never have a reason to make a decision to take a bullet for you, like you did him.

Eventually, you walk into the office, admittedly in a lot less pain than last time. Who knew that taking your prescribed antibiotics would make your life easier? As soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the door, you feel like everyone's eyes are upon you. Instead of looking around to confirm your suspicions, you make a straight route right to your desk. But, of course that doesn't stop people from coming over.

"Back again. You look better this time." Morgan smiles and slides to sit on the edge of your desk. You smile back at him, feeling refreshed and healthier than last time.

"Feel better too. Any new cases?" You ask, hoping to establish some normalcy back into your routine. Typically, you and Spencer carpool to work together and his missing presence from your morning routine didn't go unmissed. Morgan licks his lips and nods,

"Yeah we just got back from one out in Colorado. I think there's another briefing at ten." He tells you, taking a sip of his coffee. You know you won't be let into the field yet, but you at least want to sit in on the briefing. More than likely you'll be paired with Garcia, and you're fine with that.

Morgan slides off your desk and as he moves you see Spencer staring straight at you. His eyes look bloodshot, there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep for a month and his hair is a mess. His lips fall open as you two make eye contact, but you're quick to look away before you go over to comfort him. The inside of your cheeks burn from how hard you're biting them.

Once ten rolls around the team files into the conference room, and you're careful to stand in the back instead of taking your usual seat. Prentiss gives you an odd look but she doesn't say anything. It's glaringly obvious to everyone that something is off, but you assure them you should stand to help your blood circulation. As Hotch starts going over the next case you feel a familiar pair of eyes lingering on your face, but you stare right at Hotch.

Soon enough, the rest of the team is off to work a local case, and you stay in the office to help Garcia. She pulls up a chair for you to sit on, and the two of you get to work without saying a word. It's weird for there to be a silence so thick between the two of you, you two always work so well together and you love Penelope. As she waits for something to load, she taps a pen on her desk and takes a deep breath.

"What's wrong?" You ask, not being able to take it any longer. The tapping pen stills and she looks over to you with an uncertain look on her face.

"What's wrong with me? Nothing, I'm perfect as a peach." She tries to lie, but you can read her too well. Your eyebrows raise, and you push her further.

"Come on, Pen. I know you better than that. Tell me." You implore and she bites her lower lip, conflicted with herself as if she should say anything or not. But eventually your staring gets to her and she breaks.

"Fine. Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. Spencer thinks that you blame him for getting shot and that's why you've been dodging him." You've never heard such ridiculous words come out of Penelope's mouth, and you've heard her say a lot over the years. Taken aback, your mouth falls open and you blink, trying to come up with something to say.

"No. Of course it's not his fault. I pushed him out of the way, he didn't pull me into the bullet's path." You say, wanting to set the record straight. Your heart aches at the thought of Spencer beating himself up, thinking that you blame him for your own actions. You know you won't tell him this directly, but you're certain Garcia will relay the message. And that will have to be good enough.

"What's going on with you two then?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. You know you can't tell her what you're really doing because you know she'll fight you on it and try to dissuade you. So you choose to dodge the question altogether.

"There. The victim's information loaded." You point at her screen and she scowls at you, but turns in her chair and resumes her job anyways. While she does her research you busy yourself with putting pins on a map, trying to figure out where the unsub is going to strike next.

Later, the team returns to the office before going home for the day. You're at your desk, shutting down your computer and making sure your file drawer is locked, and when you grab the jacket off the back of your chair, you see Spencer talking to Morgan at his desk. He catches you out of the corner of his eye, and you brush past the two of them before either one of them can say something to you. Your heart shatters a little with each step, but you remind yourself why you're doing this. If you didn't, you're convinced you would have turned back and never let Spencer go.

-----

Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub basically handed the team a map right to himself and chose not to lawyer up when Hotch questioned him. It's almost like he wanted to be caught. You don't dwell on the thought too much, you're just glad another murderer is off the street. While everyone else cheers about the victory as they fill out their reports, you keep to yourself at your desk. Unlike the last report you filled out, you make sure this one is extensively detailed.

"What does everyone say? Celebration drinks tonight?" You hear Morgan's voice, eager and happy. The man loves to celebrate sometimes. The rest of the team agrees, and you finish your sentence, hoping they keep you out of it. If you stay quiet enough, you're sure they'll forget you're even here.

"Oh did someone say drinks?" Penelope walks into the bullpen to give Hotch something. Morgan fills her in on the details and of course she agrees.

"I'm assuming you're coming too, right?" You hear her voice but choose not to look up, hoping that she's talking to someone else. Unfortunately, she was not talking to someone else, and taps on your shoulder to make you look up. You see Spencer standing in the background with everyone else, but you keep your eyes trained on Penelope like he doesn't even exist.

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of calling it an early night." You admit, knowing full well that you had planned to sit on your couch all weekend binging some trashy reality show to distract yourself from your reality. Penelope frowns,

"Come on, you've never turned us down before. It'll be good for you." She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to take no for an answer.

"Fine, I'll be there." You relent, with a tight smile on your face. She cheers and goes back to talking with Morgan, and you swivel around in your chair to finish the report. While you scribble words, you're already forming your escape plan for the night.

You'll stay for about an hour, after everyone has already had a few and then you'll excuse yourself. If you have to, you'll use your gunshot wound as an excuse; and yeah it's a cheap cop out, but if that's what it takes you'll do it. And then once you're out the doors you're free. It's a simple, yet effective, plan.

Hours later the team huddles around a table in a crowded bar. Usually you're all over celebratory drinks, you use it as an excuse to remind your coworkers of just how brilliant they are. But tonight, while the rest of them are chatting away happily, you sit on the edge, nursing your drink and looking out of the bar's front window. Spencer is seated across the table from you and you keep accidentally meeting his eyes, which makes the alcohol in your system warm your skin even more.

Spencer sure does make it hard for you to ignore him. After all, his puppy-dog eyes practically plead with you, silently begging for you to say something to him. You can see how hard he's being on himself, still probably convinced that you blame him for your wound. Even if Garcia told him otherwise, you know he will have a hard time buying it considering your actions completely contradict what you had said. While the others might not notice how miserable he is, you can tell. He hasn't gone on a random knowledge tangent since you've been back and he's been reusing the same coffee cup without washing it for the past few days.

You hate how hard Spencer makes it to actually dislike him, you hate how he's such a kindhearted person because it makes all of this ten times more difficult. If he had at least one dislikable trait then this would be easier, then you might have a chance of convincing yourself that you can't stand him, that you never liked him to begin with. Though you're not sure you could ever convince yourself of that, truly. As you take your last drink, you come to one reasonable conclusion: You hate that you love him.

Suddenly feeling like the room is closing in on you, you stand from your seat and make your way to the bartender to close your tab out for the night. Maybe you can just sneak out of here and nobody will notice. The bartender hands your card back to you, and you start heading towards the door. But of course a team of FBI agents noticed that you had left, and are now heading towards the door. Morgan is the first one to confront you.

"Going home already? It's not even nine yet!" He teases and you give him your best smile.

"Just starting to hurt a little." You ghost your fingers over your healing wound for extra measure, knowing they won't chastise you about that. It seems you've taken the low road after all.

"Want someone to take you home?" Penelope asks, and you're quick to decline, knowing exactly what kind of plan she has in store.

"No, thanks. That's alright, I don't live far. Have a good night everyone." You smile at Morgan, Penelope, and Prentiss before you leave. As you walk to your car you notice that everytime you turn away and leave Spencer, your heart fragments more and more. But you remember what's at stake, and you pick yourself up, the best you can, and keep moving forward. You know that the pain and turmoil you're feeling now will amount to nothing if something ever happens to Spencer.

-----

Months later your gunshot wound is practically completely healed. There's a scar that's going to be left behind, but you don't mind it. You're one week out from being cleared to go back into the field, and you're undergoing your evaluation now. You thought that you'd be happy and eager to get back out there, but instead you find yourself hesitant and nervous about it. Working with Garcia had made you feel safe and secure. So now, as you sit in Hotch's office, you try to find the words you're looking for. He's staring at you expectantly.

"I just. Hotch I don't know if I can go back out there." Your voice is shaky, and you're afraid this admission will get you dismissed from the team. He leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.

"You're saying you don't want to return to the field?" He tries to clarify. You take in a deep breath,

"I want to return to the field, I just don't know if I want to do it right now. I mean, I still get nightmares about being shot and it feels so real. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how well I'd react in stressful situations right now." You tell him, hoping that this makes more sense. In a way, you're figuring out what exactly it is you want. His eyes narrow, trying to get a read on you. Hotch writes some words on the paper in front of him and sighs.

"I can give you another month. And I want you to start seeing a therapist." He says and you scoff immediately. Hotch holds his hand up to stop your protests before they even start.

"Listen. I don't know what's going on inside your mind since this all happened. But you haven't been yourself. And you haven't spoken to Spencer once. You two used to be the best of friends. It's none of my business to know, but you need to tell someone about it. Being shot like that is not something that someone gets over easily and without ramifications." He explains, and deep down you know he's right. You just don't want to confide to anyone about your issues.

"Sure." You agree, knowing that he's going to force you to see a therapist one way or another. If you tell him no now, you're sure someone will show up in the office next week to conduct some sort of "random psych evaluation". Hotch dismisses you from his office, and you make your way to the break room for some much needed caffeine.

The coffee in the pot is hot, like it's been freshly brewed. You pick a mug at random and fill it, then you sprinkle in a modest amount of sugar before tasting it. It's warm and comforting, like a hug from the inside. You close your eyes to help yourself destress from what happened in Hotch's office, but when you open them you see Spencer standing in the doorway. His hair is still wildly curly, there are still circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation. Even his clothes are wrinkled now, it looks like he doesn't take the time to iron them out anymore.

You two stare at each other with so much left unsaid, and you make a move to leave the room before you fold under the pressure. Your shoulder brushes his on the way out, and you hear him speak.

"Please. I'm sorry." You hear him plead with you and your steps falter, wanting so badly to just stop and turn around. To hold him close to you and apologize, to tell him you miss him so bad it makes your chest hurt and how life is dull without him. But instead, you take a scalding sip of coffee and keep moving forward like you never heard him. Each day that passes you find yourself hating how deeply you love him more and more, it's almost a constant burn in your veins.

You spend the rest of the day tucked away in Penelope's office, nose buried in a screen, doing the most menial research as if the fate of the world depends on it. Penelope doesn't say anything. She just sighs and helps you with the research.

-----

A few more weeks pass, and fall is now in full swing. There's a crisp chill to the air, the leaves are all turning colors and falling to the ground. And with fall comes your birthday. You have no real plans to celebrate, Hotch had given you your gift in the parking lot before work this morning, knowing that you don't like a lot attention being drawn to you, but it is nice to get a simple "happy birthday" from your friends.

The team packs up for the day, and your heart sinks with disappointment. It seems that nobody but Hotch had remembered your birthday. You convince yourself that this is a stupid reason to get sad, that they all have busy lives to keep up with. Plus, it's not like it's a milestone birthday anyways. Grabbing your jacket, you leave the office for the day with a heavy sadness taking residence in your chest.

When you arrive home, you turn some lamps on and toss your jacket over the back of the couch. You put Hotch's gift on the table, and go to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. You don't bother pouring it into a glass, straight from the bottle will suffice just fine. Taking the bottle with you, you go to your room and change out of your work clothes. As you rummage through the drawers, you find your phone still sitting in the bottom of one of them.

You had never found the courage to charge it back up, afraid to see what words had been left for you. But tonight, you figure it's about time you confront your own feelings. You plug the phone in and set it on your nightstand, taking another swig of the wine and waiting for it to charge.

After what feels like hours, the phone finally turns back on. And within minutes, the notifications start pouring in. Text after text after text rolls in and the missed calls start to pile up. With another drink, you take your phone in your hand and read over the messages. There are exactly fifty seven messages from Spencer and thirty missed calls.

Your eyes scan the texts he sent you, his words sinking into the fibers of your very being, and you're saddled with an intense sorrow. Tears fall from your cheeks onto the phone's screen and you stop reading, not being able to take it anymore. All of his texts were him apologizing to you, begging you to please talk to him. You listen to the voicemails he left, hearing his voice crack and listening to him sniffle as he pleads for you to please just say something, anything. You can almost visualize him in your mind, wiping his tears as he tells you how sorry he is and how he misses you more than anything. He's begging and apologizing as if he's the one who has done anything wrong here. You hate yourself more than anything for letting him suffer like this.

You leave your phone on your nightstand and grab the wine, returning to your kitchen table, where Hotch's gift sits perfectly wrapped. Taking it in your hands, you unwrap it and look inside the box, heart stilling as you see what's inside. With trembling fingers, you grab the frame and hold it in front of your face. Hotch had given you a framed photo of the team, a picture in which Spencer is holding you tightly against his side, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The frame slips through your fingers and clatters onto the table.

You support yourself on the back of a chair, and you finally let yourself feel everything you had suppressed over the last few months. Sobs shake your body and the tears fall onto the photo. Your hands clutch the back of the chair until your knuckles turn white, afraid that if you let go you'll collapse to the ground.

A knock at the door catches you off guard and you try to level out your breathing, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You aren't expecting anyone, and you almost consider just leaving it be, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Knowing that you probably look deranged and pathetic, you open the door anyways.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a small box in his hands along with a bouquet of your favorite fresh-cut flowers.

Your mouth falls open, and you think your heart might actually jump out of your chest. He looks you over, an obvious concern coming over his face. You should shut the door on him, tell him to go away, but your resolve has crumbled, like dust in the wind.

"Can I come in?" He whispers, and you nod, letting him inside your home, where he's been so many times but now it feels like the first time all over again. Your house is in a state of disarray, and if you hadn't just been sobbing over a photo of him, you might care more. You wipe more tears from your eyes and you clear your throat, not exactly sure what to say or do. But thankfully, he speaks up again.

"Happy birthday." His voice is soft, and he gives you a small smile, but the sadness is evident in his eyes.

"You didn't have to get me anything." You say, looking at the beautiful flowers and carefully wrapped box, topped with a ribbon of your favorite color. He takes a step towards you, and hands you the flowers first. As you take them, your fingers brush his and it feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs.

"I know, but I wanted to." He says, meeting your eyes. You catch the scent of the flowers, appreciating their freshness and the life they bring to your otherwise sad home. Making your way into your kitchen, you find a vase to put the flowers in and then you set them on the table. Spencer's eye catches the photo, and you know he can see the wetness that still adorns the frame. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.

"Thank you, Spencer." You say after you position the flowers just right. Willingly, you catch his eye and you know you can never go back to ignoring him after this. He glances from you, to the photo, then back to you before he hands you the box. Lifting the top off, you see a beautiful gold chain inside that has a beautiful gemstone pendant hanging from it.

"I picked the stone because it reminded me of your eyes." He sheepishly admits, and you look up at him through your lashes with the purest and deepest love flowing through you. But through that love, the guilt eats you alive.

"Spencer, this is too much. I've been horrible to you lately, I don't deserve this. And I definitely don't deserve your kindness." You say, looking into his gorgeous, kind eyes. The tension is noticeable between you, and you wish it would melt away and that you two could go back to how things used to be.

"I've missed you so much." Is all he says, voice cracking and you see tears gather in his eyes. Unable to help yourself, you set the necklace on the table and close the gap between the two of you, resting your hand on his cheek. Your bottom lip trembles,

"I'm so sorry Spencer. I'm so sorry." You say, tears once again flowing down your face. He sniffles as a tear runs down his cheek onto your thumb.

"Why?" Is all he asks but you know exactly what he means. You decide to come clean to him, there's no use of lying now.

"When I got shot, I realized that if you had been the one who got hit, and you didn't make it, that I wouldn't be able to live. The thought of living in a world without you is too much. So I had to make sure that I didn't give you a reason to make the same choice I did. I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you. I wanted you to hate me so that you wouldn't risk your life for me." Your thumb gently brushes his cheekbone, trembling with your words. He closes his eyes as tears keep falling down his cheeks. One of his hands comes up and grabs yours that's on his face, and he grips it tight.

"When I realized you had taken the bullet for me, I knew that nothing would be the same between us. I thought I was going to lose you. Your blood was on my hands, and it's the only thing I have nightmares about anymore. And this made me realize that I can never stop loving you, no matter what happens." He admits, causing you to cry harder. The remorse you feel for putting him through so much torment feels like it's eating you from the inside. You should have been there for him.

"I'm so sorry." Is all you can say, it's all you can express to him right now. He needs to know that you didn't mean any of it. Spencer pulls you in for a hug and holds you tight against him. One of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other is secure around your waist. Your tears stain his sweater, and the two of you let out everything.

When you finally pull back from the hug you grab his face with gentle hands, making him look at you.

"Spencer, I love you so much. I need you to know that I did what I did because I love you too much to lose you." You admit to him and he smiles. A genuine smile that you haven't seen in months. Through the tears and emotions, you two smile widely at one another.

Spencer closes the gap between the two of you, and tilts your chin up. Your lips connect with his ever so softly, and you pull him closer to you, your hands trailing down his torso, collecting fistfuls of his sweater. One of his hands rests on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone and the other keeps you close to him.

Everything that has gone unsaid is spoken loud and clear as you kiss one another. When your lungs start burning, begging for air, you break away and lean your forehead on his chest. He brushes your hair with his fingers and you feel him press a tender kiss to the top of your head. You stay entangled with each other in a comfortable silence before you look up at him,

"We'll be alright." You tell him, knowing that the two of you will be able to mend each other in time. And things may never be like they were, and that's okay.

"We'll be alright." He confirms, kissing your forehead.

Eventually, you two move to the couch and you ask him to clasp the necklace around your neck. In the soft, warm glow of the lamps you look into his eyes and can see all of the love he holds for you. You take one of his hands in yours and he positions himself so that you can lay back against him. He's warm, and being held by him feels like home.

Laying in his arms, you decide you don't want to return to the field. After all, if you're not in the field he won't ever be faced with the decision to take a bullet for you or not. As long as he's in your life, and you're in his, things will be okay. Before you drift off to sleep, you lean up and press a kiss to his temple.

You have everything you need right here in your arms.

[togglesbloggle]

In Defense of Bad Things

'Bad' here meaning mostly 'amateur'; stuff made enthusiastically by people at an unprofessional level. Art with visible gaps between what the artist imagined and what they achieved, products of flawed craftsmanship. I suppose everybody can appreciate them to some extent, it's a rare parent that doesn't put up their kid's drawings on the fridge in one way or another. But it turns out to be a fully general skill you can cultivate, and the more I do, the more I'm glad I did.

Partly, it's the teacher thing; finding delight in amateur work is one of the ways to find delight in the process of learning. Cultivating a love of striving-qua-striving can help make you a force for good in the world, as people start to feel safe trying to do things when you're around, even when their efforts are wobbly. You get to participate a little more in the process of atoms spinning themselves into ideas, even when there aren't any illusions about whether you're helping cultivate some revolutionary genius in the field.

And partly it's a fabulous way to build community. By necessity, our professional-level skills tend to be at the service of other people, performed for economic benefit; that's kind of how you get professionally good at something in the first place. When we're acting for our own sake, and among friends, most of what we do with one another is amateurish. I only cook middling-okay, I can't hold a tune that well, I'll never be a speed runner for anything. If you can only enjoy singing from the hundred best singers in the whole world, manufactured and polished by major studios, then you and your friends will sit shoulder-to-shoulder and passively listen to music. But it's so much richer an experience to sit face-to-face, actually singing together, even badly; you expose yourself to so many new ways to appreciate and respect one another, building relationships on what you've accomplished and not just by witty criticism or liking the same things.

And partly it's because some of the most powerful and innovative artistic experiences are in high-churn environments with low expectations and low barriers to entry, if only because those catch the passionate and driven young people that have been otherwise overlooked by our systems. The golden age of webcomics meant that a ton of the actual art involved was pretty lousy, but it also produced work that people still talk about today. D&D began as a profoundly unpolished collection of handmade rulebooks sold at cons in a plastic baggie. By the time these products of enthusiastic amateurs filter themselves through various levels of popularity and absorb mainstream cash influx, they're often risk-averse and missing a lot of the bold spark that inspired their fans in the first place; others will simply never drift towards the mainstream at all. I'm not saying you should be the person who goes out to dig through the slush piles of the internet looking for overlooked art, unless you want to be-- but sometimes a work of actual staggering genius also happens to be a Supernatural fanfic by a first-time author who's a little hazy on commas, and if that's a dealbreaker, you're going to miss out on some profoundly valuable experiences.

And hiding behind all of these things is, like...

Our appreciation of beauty has an odd structure, right? When things are done very skillfully, by brilliant artists with years of training, we can usually appreciate those accomplishments. And when we're looking at nature without human influence, and especially when we think very deeply about natural processes and understand them in context, we often rediscover that sense of beauty. There's just this bizarre hole in the middle where we declare things 'ugly'; as if a little skill is worse than none at all.

I really don't trust that gap. It feels like a trick my brain is playing on me, you know? It has me suspicious that a lot of what I consider 'ugly' or 'bad' is not a very direct experience of the world at all, or an informed judgment. That it is, rather, a declaration of (self-, social-) identity; a desire to be seen as a person of good taste, or as somebody who does things well, or just more primitively as one of the monkeys who is in the good-stuff-tribe and not one of the monkeys who is in the bad-stuff-tribe.

[petrichorium]

he doesn’t expect to see you when he does. of course he knows you’re the queen’s right hand (he remembers the first time he’d heard of it, the pride that welled up within him. not surprise, though; he’d always been enamored with your vicious, angry ambition and combined with your brilliant mind it had been plain to see even then just how far you’d rise) but he had thought you’d be back at your home estate for the winter—it’s southern, a far more pleasant climate in the colder months, and your mother tends to fall ill.

but then you come hurrying out of the corridor, hand held by the queen like a lifeline, and he can’t find it within him to care that he hadn’t intended for you to witness the violence of his coup. he hasn’t seen you in years. you’ve grown; your skirts graze the floor with length that would have tripped you in your youth, the neckline is lower than your mother ever would have allowed. you hold yourself like a court lady, the very picture of regal grace, and when he lifts his blindfold to see you clearly your eyes widen with immediate recognition.

he’s always loved your eyes, expressive but only to him. he’s happy to find that he hasn’t lost the ability to read them; there’s fear, certainly, but that hunger you’ve always held is still churning within them, and it rears its lovely head the moment he sees the pieces click into place in your mind—that he is the leader, that he remembers you, and that he is staring right at you all but openly declaring his intent. it’s only when the queen moves that he tears his gaze away, and he only does it because she breaks the line of sight with herself, eye contact impossible with her hiding you behind her body. it’s maternal; precious, he’d think, if he weren’t so irked by an inability to see you.

(he holds little affection for his aunt but of all his remaining family she likely is his favorite, and the least culpable in the plot to murder him all those years ago. he’s inclined to attribute it to the fact that she’s married into the family, warped but not formed by its toxic nature. he doesn’t intend to kill her—never had—but you’re beside her, and she’ll have to forgive him for how he hasn't much mental capacity to focus on anything else the moment he lays eyes on you)

he wishes he could speak with you now, wishes he had the time. but he can’t, because he doesn’t, and he knows that he wants you alone as soon as possible so he orders his men to take you to the queen’s quarters. then he realizes you’ll have a room there—he specifies that he means the queen’s bedchamber, leaving no room for ambiguity in his intentions.

he’s distracted in the hours afterwards. there’s much to do, he hasn’t even found his uncle to relieve his head from his shoulders, yet his mind can’t stop straying to the thought that you’re up there pacing and wondering.

it’s a long night. by the time he’s taken care of everything and finally has the opportunity to ascend the steps to where his men have locked you up, it’s nearly sunrise. he has little doubt that you’ll still be up anyway; it’d be a miracle if you were able to sleep for even a few minutes.

he’s thought about this moment for a long time. seeing you again for the first time, that hadn’t been so clear; he’d anticipated having to search for you, anticipated you hiding from him. but he’d known the whole time that eventually he’d be able to have this conversation, at least once, no matter what.

you still take him by surprise by hitting him when he enters.

you’ve managed to find the queen’s crown—why it’s in her bedchamber rather than safely locked away he doesn’t know, though in the fleeting millisecond he witnesses it in your hand he thinks it belongs there. a point hits his forehead with enough force to maim, slamming his head sideways, and he’s thankful he thought ahead enough to dismiss his guards before entering. he’s so shocked it takes him a moment to turn back to you, finding you standing there with the same amount of shock on your face as he’s feeling. his lips part in a grin as he reaches up to press his thumb against the split skin now bisecting his left brow, already bleeding profusely.

“wow, suddenly i’m very glad we locked you up.”

“are you insane?” you yelp as he takes a step towards you, stumbling back a step of your own and dropping the crown out of shock. “don’t come any closer.”

“aww.” he pouts. takes another step.

you step back again, eyes frantic. “i’m not joking, gojo, don’t come near me, at least not until you explain—”

“the assassination failed, years ago.” he obeys you, mostly because he thinks you might escape into the bathroom if he pushes you too far. “but with my parents dead, it was safer for my attempted murderers to think otherwise. i bided my time until i was strong enough to retake my throne, and ah… get revenge upon those murderers, i suppose. you were a bit of a surprise, i’ll admit—a fortunate one, to be fair. i’d been preparing to search for you, but here you are. right before me.”

“what did you do with her majesty,” you demand, ignoring the ending that he’s tagged on as you take another step away so that you’re out of his wingspan as he reaches out to touch you, and the sentiment is so sweet that he can’t help but smile.

“no concern for her husband, hm? the king? haven’t heard of him?”

your sneer makes him laugh outright. it's instinct to lean in and flick the middle of your forehead like a schoolboy. it stuns you; you blink in surprise, then again in indignation, but he’s giving you a real answer before you can voice an opinion.

“auntie’s fine, she’s hours away from the castle by now. headed back to her kingdom—that’s where you were going to go with her, yeah? lucky i found you before you slipped away, would’ve been a real pain to court you from there.”

“court me?”

“uncle’s well and truly dead, though. with no sons it’s far less messy, i am the most blatant heir to the throne. of course any number of my cousins—the living ones, anyway—could dispute my claim but that would certainly take a level of backbone i don’t believe any of them possess.”

“gojo, do not ignore me—”

he snickers. “that’ll be hilarious once you bear the name too.”

you let out a strangled noise, “you are—too presumptuous, you fiend!”

“fiend, you say! oh, that’s a new one. i like it, say it again.”

“you brute.” it’s quieter this time, accompanied by a quiver in your lower lip—he decides he’s toyed with you enough. the night has been harder for you than him, and the morning won’t be much better.

“brute, is it? i’ll have you know i spent hours in the garden picking flowers before coming to you.”

he watches the realization dawn on you. you take a step back, heel hitting the bed—he doesn’t follow anymore, but he does finally reveal the bouquet he’s been hiding behind his back. your jaw drops as your eyes fall on it.

he’s never been one for tradition. if you weren’t you, he probably wouldn’t have bothered with the customary manner of proposal. nothing else about the situation is traditional, though, so he considers it more a favor for you; a betrothal gift, a little bit of normalcy. and though he thinks his lineage is little more than a curse, he can’t help but think the blue morning glories of his family and the deep purple ones representing his status as reigning monarch look striking sitting next to your family’s dahlias.

your movements are slow and dreamlike as you take the flowers from his outstretched hand.

“you cannot be serious,” you say, falling to sit slumped on the bed with the bouquet in your hands.

“you wouldn’t believe how difficult it was to find dahlias on those grounds, couldn’t your ancestors have chosen a different one? couldn’t the gardeners have grown more?”

“i grew them.” it’s little more than a murmur, dazed, as your finger comes up to stroke at the petals of the pale pink flower. “for—for whatever match the queen would give me.”

there’s a rushing fury that fills him at that. it’s foolish; he’s won, and he’s the best suitor in the kingdom now if there even had been competition (or will be, once he’s coronated in the morning), there’s no reason to feel jealousy over someone who doesn’t even exist.

yet it’s that burning which bids him to pull the blindfold off quicker than he can truly think about it—compels him to drop to his knees before you even faster, drawing your attention as he lays his head in your lap and wraps an arm around your covered thighs under the pretense that it’s for support rather than to feel you. if he weren’t well aware of how you’d react, and less than eager to be shoved away, he might have lunged up and kissed you when your eyes lifted from the flowers to his uncovered gaze.

“you’re not serious,” you repeat. your eyes are wide as they stare down at him, terrified yet ablaze with that hungry fire he thinks he’d let consume him if it would make you happy.

“everything i’ve wanted,” he tells you again, as if that could possibly get across how desperate he’s been to make you his queen. “for so long.”

usurper!gojo masterlist

[clubforfrogs]

Something That Will Last (James Potter x Reader)

Heyyy so it’s been over a week… whoopsie. This fic took so incredibly long for no reason. Send in requests if you got em!

Kind of an enemies to lovers type beat, except the reader just hates James at first.

3.7K words - enjoy!

•

You moved swiftly down the halls of Hogwarts, your robes catching air behind you. You walked quickly, with purpose, and watched with satisfaction as scared first years scrambled to get out of your way. Now, you weren’t actually angry, in fact, you were in a great mood. But you had built up a bit of a reputation for yourself during your time at Hogwarts. You were a terrifying Slytherin, who chose to not align herself with anyone.

Everyone had receive your message: Stay away from me and I’ll leave you alone. If not, watch out. Well, almost everyone. The only exception? James fucking Potter. He was the only person who seemed to find your taunts empty, funny even.

James delighted in pushing your buttons and winding you up. It started in your second year when Slytherin and Gryffindor had potions together. He’d taunt you by shouting borderline declarations of love at you. It was disgusting, and you’ve loathed him ever since. It also seemed as though the universe loathed you, because James was in almost every single one of your classes. The only peace in your day was Muggle Studies. Absolutely boring class, but there was no James Potter making snide or flirtatious comments in your ear, so it became your favorite.

You were daydreaming about that very class as you walked into History of Magic. You took your usual seat in the back of the class, and James smiled widely at you as he took his usual seat right in front of you. You rolled your eyes as you took an inkwell and parchment from your bag, preparing to ignore him and focus on your notes for the rest of class. That’s when the professor decided to announce something that made your heart sink, “Alright students, we’re going to be partnering up for a project. Choose carefully, this will be a significant part of your grade.”

You quickly turned to look at Remus Lupin. Although he was associated with James, he was kind and smart, and your go-to partner. At least he was. You saw Remus already buddied up with Sirius. Both boys shot you a satisfied look, and you saw James waltz up to you, “Seems like we’re the only two not partnered up yet, a dazzling coincidence if I ever did see one.” You realized that Sirius and Remus definitely set the both of you up for this, or more likely, James told them to do this. You mouthed the words, traitors to the boys across the room, and they shrugged innocently and looked away to get started.

You rolled your eyes and sat back down at your desk. James sat in the seat next to you happily. “Sooo, partner, how do you want to do this thing?” You gave James an annoyed look, “I think we’re going to have to wait and figure that out after the professor explains what this project is about.”

James’ happy look didn’t falter, instead, his eyes brightened, “Right you are! Wow, I’m so lucky to have the most brilliant partner!” You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure they were going to come rolling out of your head, “Stop taking the piss, Potter.” You turned back the front of the classroom where the professor had started to explain your project. Each pair was going to be assigned an important magical figure from one of the lessons you had learned previously. Then, you would have to make a presentation about their life, and explain their contributions to magic. You and James were assigned Godric Gryffindor himself, much to your chagrin.

“Ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck with you for who knows how long, learning all about a guy that built a house full of James Potters.” You complained. “Oh don’t pretend you don’t love this. I know I do.” Instead of replying to his jokes anymore, you decided that the most painless way of getting through this project would be putting your head down and getting the work done. “I’ll start researching into his life from birth into early adulthood. You go from adulthood to death. Got it? Good.” James looked a bit stunned at your sudden change in attitude and pouted at you. “Alright, meet in the library at 7:00 tonight. We’ll get more done if we work together.” Before you could argue at his illogical and utterly idiotic words, the bell rung. He shoved all his belongings into his bag haphazardly and shouted as he left the room, “It’s a date!”

Walking to the library, you did realize that you had the choice not to go. You almost turned around and walked back to the Slytherin common room, but you decided that remaining somewhat civil with James would go a long way for this project. You spotted James not long after entering the library, sitting at a table and scribbling hurriedly in a book. You wondered briefly what he was writing, but then decided you didn’t care. You could have no distractions while working on this project; everything had to be done promptly. This would assure that the least amount of time possible was spent with James.

James didn’t notice you until you sat down next to him. He looked up from his book at you with his usual enthusiasm, “Ah, I was wondering when my beautiful little ball of sunshine would join me!” You glared at him, “Fuck off, Potter.” Well, there goes your civility, not a great start. Either way, your words did nothing to deter him, in fact, he seemed to like this “game” the two of you were playing, “Poetic as always, my dear.”

You scoffed and opened a book about the history of Hogwarts that you’d bought in your second year. It had plenty of information about all the house founders, perfect for this project. James had also seemingly found a book to gather his information from. The two of you worked silently for a bit, until the hushed voice of Sirius spoke from behind, “James! We’ve been looking all over for you!” You jumped in your seat, nearly falling over. James reached out and grabbed your waist, effectively stopping your descent. You felt yourself flush when James kept his hand around your waist as he spoke to Sirius.

Apparently, the marauders were supposed to go out and pull some stupid prank that night, and James had forgotten. You honestly weren’t paying much attention. Instead exchanging a desperate look with Remus, who glanced back at you amusedly due to your situation. You tuned back in when you heard Sirius say your name, “You don’t mind if we steal James, do you Y/n?”

You definitely weren’t going to object to that, “By all means, take him. Just make sure he starts on our project tonight.” James looked at you with a pout, then turned to Sirius, “She clearly doesn’t mean that. She’ll be devastated to be left here alone!” Sirius rolled his eyes and was about to respond, when Remus spoke up, “You know Pads, working on our project as well wouldn’t be the worst idea. What if we joined these two?”

James and Sirius made various sounds of dismay, as you excitedly squealed, “Yes! Study date!” James looked scandalized by your proclamation. “Oh, so NOW it’s a study date? You adamantly refused to say it earlier, but now that Padfoot and Moony are here…”

It was almost comical how the roles reversed as James (sort of) fake pouted, and you beamed at him, “Exactly, my two favorite people are here now, Sirius and Remus!”

That made James cross his arms and look squarely away from you. Sirius let out a laugh and cooed at James, “Aw cmon James, I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” The aforementioned boy looked at you with a coy look of hope in his eyes. You scoffed, but before you could say anything, Remus pinched your arm. “Be nice,” he warned. You scoffed, rubbing your arm, “I’m always nice, dickhead.”

You turned back to your book, hoping to get some real work done. Remus seemed to get the hint, but you couldn’t say the same for the other two boys. James and Sirius luckily only seemed to want to annoy each other. Shoving each other randomly than looking away as if you or Remus had done it was their go-to move. After the tenth time they’d done it, you looked up at the two of them, gave them your hardest glare, then pointed towards two books. The two of them looked terrified, and quickly picked up their respective books.

Much to your astonishment, they didn’t immediately go back to their tomfoolery. You had actually gotten a decent amount of work down the next time you heard James speak. “Y/nnn,” James groaned, dragging out the last syllable of your name. You glanced up at him, which he took as a sigh to keep taking. “Why don’t we call it a night? It’s Friday, and Gryffindor’s got a great party planned. Why don’t you come with us?”

The invitation caught you off guard- you had never really enjoyed the party seen, and to be honest, this seemed like a pity invite. “Oh I’m alright, I’ll just keep working on our project.” You said dismissively, expecting that to be the end of it. Instead, you were met with Sirius and Remus on either side of you, both whining out, “Pleaseeeee.” You looked back and forth at them while raising an eyebrow at their behavior. “I’ve got a lot of work left to finish, besides you guys will still have a great time without me.”

You finally turned your back to them, but didn’t hear any footsteps walking away. As you turned to investigate why this was, a strong set of arms lifted you up and slung you on their shoulder. “James Potter put me down this instant!” you whisper-yelled. Sirius and Remus giggled at the two of you like school girls. You sent them a withering glare, but their laughter only increase in volume.

Once James exited the library into the empty hall, you pounded on his back, “You big oaf, put me down!” He did nothing but keep walking calmly, as if he had no care in the world. “No can do, darling. You never come to our parties, and you’re practically working yourself to death!” You rolled your eyes, only James Potter would consider finishing an assignment a near-death experience. He continued, “You’re coming for a night out with the Gryffindors, and you’re going to have an amazing time.” His tone of voice was surprisingly firm.

The longer that James had you over his shoulder, the more you appreciated your situation. You had an amazing view of his… assets, and you could feel his hands on your thighs, though he was low enough to be respectful. Sirius had apparently noticed your wondering gaze, and snapped playfully, “Oi! Keep your eyes up. Prongs isn’t just a piece of meat for you to lick your chops at!” You snapped your eyes up after getting caught. You felt James’ shoulders shake as he chuckled, “I don’t mind, I know what I got going on back there.” His sheer confidence made you blush madly, and you said nothing. Luckily, the Gryffindor common room was now in sight. James set you down as you reached the portrait, and you half considered making a break for the Slytherin common room. Unfortunately for you, Sirius and Remus blocked your way and smiled innocently as you grumbled and crawled through the portrait.

You were quickly ushered up to the boys’ dorm, where Sirius sat you down on his bed and started throwing various items of clothing at you. “Sirius what the hell-“ your protest was cut short by a shirt being thrown at you, thus covering your head. You peeled the shirt off and heard the stifled laughter of James and Remus. Sirius chose not to acknowledge your displeasure, and instead started holding up various shirts, as if trying to picture you in each one. “Ok Sirius, what are you doing?” The boy just tutted at you. “Just let him do his thing,” Remus said from his own bed, where he sat with James. You grumbled , not wanting to be left out of the loop, but soon Sirius threw a few clothing items at you. He pushed you toward the bathroom while saying, “Go now, put that on and show me my genius.”

You gave him an almost worried look, but chose to appease him and change. Sirius had given you an old pair of jeans (presumably his) and a cropped t shirt of some muggle band. You looked at your self in the mirror, and were shocked at how flattering the outfit was. It was definitely simple, but the combination just worked. You walked out of the bathroom and spun around once. You were met with a chorus of praise from the boys. A grin spread out on your face as Sirius commented, “Oh Merlin have mercy, I’ve done it again!”

James let out a quiet “Wow,” that made your heart flutter in your chest. That confused you. You had never liked James, he had always been a nuisance to you. Yeah, that’s all he was. Nothing more, nothing less. You chose to focus on Sirius who was wiping away fake tears, “Sometimes I just can’t believe my own genius.” You pushed him playfully and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. When is this party starting. I need firewhiskey stat.”

Remus wordlessly handed you a flask, and you shrugged, taking a generous sip. It was James who answered your question, “The party should be in full swing now, but I think Remus and Sirius still need to get ready. I can take you down if you’d like.” Sirius looked as if he was about to butt in and complain about the falsities of James’ statement, but Remus put a hand on his shoulder, “Yeah we’ll be down in a bit.”

You gave them a questioning look, butsighed and looked at James. “Yeah I suppose that will work.” James looked thrilled, and offered you his arm, “M’lady.” You couldn’t help but grin at his antics. You took his arm and replied in the same posh accent he had put on, “What a gentleman!” As the two of you made your way down the stairs, you realized that maybe your disliking for James had been a bit unfair.

Yes, he was annoying. But he was also really sweet, and funny, and you couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous. You decided right then and there that maybe you’d start giving him a bit easier of a time. The music got louder and louder as reached the main common area. It was already full of students from various houses. They were all either drinking, dancing, or talking. A new song came on, and you gasped, looking at James.

“Holy shit I love this song!” You dragged James by his arm to this dance floor, failing to notice the deep red hue of his cheeks.

You started twirling and moving your body with the music. James did the same. Your exaggerated movements garnered a bit of attention, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. James grabbed your hand and spun you, before dipping you low. You giggled and blushed a bright pink. He smirked at you as he picked you back up with ease and continued dancing. This went on for a few more songs, until you noticed Remus and Sirius walking down the stairs. The pair of you walked off of the dance floor, and waved them over to where you stood.

“Moony! Padfoot! Over here!” James called. Remus spotted you two first with his higher vantage point, and made his way over, Sirius trailing slightly behind. Once they reached you, you spoke, “None of you lot told me how good of a dancer James is.” James blushed and pushed you gently, “Oh sod off, now you’re just making fun of me.” You looked up at him with genuine eyes, “No I’m not! Do you know how many guys would have been afraid of looking silly while dancing with a girl? You didn’t care and it made everything so much more fun!” A smile spread across his face, he looked as if he was going to say something, but Sirius got to it first, “Oh! A game of truth or dare is starting, let’s go join!”

All four of you walked over and joined the small circle. Already in it were Barty, Lilly, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas, and Regulus. You knew all of them from various classes, and they already seemed well acquainted with the marauders. You walked over to Barty whom you were partnered with in Herbology. “Hey! Can we join?” Barty smiled up at you and gestured for you to sit next to him, “C’mere N/n! There’s always room for a few more.” James also walked over and sat on the opposite side of the circle.

The game started pretty mellow. Sirius dared Lilly to dance with a random fourth year, Remus made Marlene recount the harrowing tale of her first kiss, and innocent things such as that. Evan had just gotten done listing his too three people he’d want to date at Hogwarts (Sirius was offended he didn’t make the list), but then he turned his sights to you. “L/n! You haven’t been asked yet, so: truth or dare?” You considered playing it safe, but that seemed far too boring. So you made direct eye contact with Barty as you said, “Dare.”

There was a chorus of “oohs” heard from around the circle as Barty thought about what to say. He pondered for a moment before smirking at you. You felt a little nervous, knowing that the boy had about zero shame. “Kiss the person you find most attractive in this circle.” You wanted to scream. Daring someone to kiss someone else? It was so cliche. But, you didn’t want to be that person, the one who ruins the game for everyone else. You took a deep breath, and looked straight at James.

James’ expression was confused. He didn’t want to get excited, think that you were looking at him because you were going to kiss him, and then becoming heartbroken as you kissed Sirius or something. He held his breath as you slowly got up and walked in his direction. You got closer and closer, while James tuned everyone out but you. You eventually stopped right in front of him, and leaned down. James’ heart was pounding in his chest, and yours was doing the same.

You started to close the distance between the two of you, but James decided he couldn’t wait even a fraction of a second longer. His lips surged to meet yours. You let out a surprised sound, but wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. There was the faintest taste of alcohol of his lips, and you were desperate to taste more. The kiss definitely lasted longer than would be appropriate for a game of truth or dare, but that didn’t bother you. Not right now, not when the lips of James Potter were all over yours.

The two of you would have been content staying that way for the entire night, but a loud cough brought you back to reality. You pulled back, with a sheepish look, and saw that everyone else in the circle was grinning wildly. You started to get up, but James gently pulled you down and sat you next to him. Remus leaned into you and whispered in your ear, “I gather that you’ve gotten over your little hatred for Prongs then?” You shoved him into Regulus, who looked utterly offended at the action.

The game continued on, and your thoughts were running rampant. Did you just screw up your shaky friendship? James seemed like he was into it, but what if he just didn’t want to embarrass you? A large hand gently placed itself on your thigh. You looked to find James looking ahead, laughing at Sirius having to give Barty a lap dance. (The latter was absolutely loving it, but the same could not be said for the former.) There were only a few more dates before you decided to call it a night. Despite all of the signs he was giving you, you still didn’t want to let yourself believe James might like you back.

You excused yourself from the group, and slowly started to make your way out of the Gryffindor common room. Just as you were about to reach the portrait, a gentle hand came and grabbed hold of your wrist. You were about to slap some sense into whoever thought they could touch you without permission, but you were met with the nervous face of James. “Why did you decide to head out so early? Did I make you uncomfortable? Oh Merlin I did! I’m so sorry. Look I’ll leave the game and you can go back in and join. I really don’t mi-“

“James.” Your interruption made his rambling come to a halt. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I’m just a little tired. Parties aren’t really my scene anyways.” You decided to settle on a half lie. James really didn’t make you uncomfortable, but you were leaving because your own head told you he didn’t like you. James somehow seemed to detect that you weren’t telling the whole truth, “You’re lying. Why are you really leaving. Was I that bad of a kisser?”

His fake pout that accompanied his question made you giggle. The tension between the two of you eased slightly, and you decided to just tell him. If he seemed mortified, then you would hop through the portrait and drop out of Hogwarts. That seemed pretty reasonable to you. Before your courage had the chance to disappear, you laid it all out, “James, I really like you, and I really liked the kiss. Probably more than I should have. I don’t expect you to reciprocate this, so I’ll just leave. I can finish our project and everything don’t even wor-“

This time it was James who cut you off. His lips met yours softly, almost hesitant. You once again heard the hooting and hollering of your friends, who definitely hadn’t been watching the two of you since James walked off. You shrugged off all of the worry that had been mounting on your shoulders. He leaned into you more, and let out a slight groan. You smiled into the kiss, before parting. “So I take it you might like me back?” James smiled right back at you, “Yeah maybe just a little.” Your lips met again, and you knew that this could last.

[malaks-perch]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬

asra alnazar, portia and julian devorak (all separate)

what your lover thinks of sending you love notes and what they send to you

minors + ageless blogs do not interact

𝘈𝘚𝘙𝘈

- if theres anything he loves more than pillows its taking the time out of his day to write a little love note to you

- can you imagine him locking his ankles in the air while he writes a love note to you while he’s away from home, away from you because he’s thinking about the smile on your face when you get to read his notes

- adores telling you about how beautiful, fantastical, brilliant things could never amount to you

- he puts his heart into every word and occasionally sprinkles bits of poetry in there because he can’t help sharing the lovely sonnets and odes that remind him of you

- his chest fills with so much love seeing you sent him a love letter, keeps every single one tied together in a special place in his shop as if a thief will come in the night to steal your lovely words away

asra's love letter gift includes :: raw crystals, shiny foreign currency, and feathers

𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛𝘐𝘈

- the idea came to her when she’s too busy with work at the palace when there’s not much time to see you, but she wants to express how much she misses you and adores you

- she writes a lot of love letters to you only because she finds these moments in her day where she has time and really it’s shifted from hobby to art form in which she comes up with new ways to describe how she feels in the moments that you’re not with her and honestly she gives asra a run for his money with how she can make you tear up

- she has a little journal she brings around with her so when she’s daydreaming of you, she can jot down the little spark of love that blossoms in her chest

- portia is a talented writer and she has the countess to thank for that, but the countess couldn’t have possibly taught her ‘my heart lingers in my eyes vying for a chance to give itself yours’, lines like that have anyone tearing up

- she cheers a little whenever you sneak a love letter to her, either in a book or at the doorstep of her cottage, she’s sighing because she loves you more and more each day

portia's love letter includes :: seed packets, soft textile and ribbon from the market, and heart folds with messages inside

𝘑𝘜𝘓𝘐𝘈𝘕

- now this one, don’t even get me started with love letters, don’t you dare miss returning one to him without telling him you’re busy or you’ll surely have him pouting the next time you see him

- he loves sending you love letters as much as he loves receiving them because it’s blatantly obvious that his love language is words of affirmation and if he doesn’t get those through your letters then there’s a fair chance he’s taking this to heart

- aside from that, julian is the king of poetry, where do you think portia got it from?

- mazelinka has caught his distant eyes and worried why he’s so serious and he’ll twirl a quill in hand and explain how he’s considering what he’ll put in his next love letter to you (drama king 2.0)

- his smile is so melancholy when he receives another love letter from you, tears prick to his eyes sometimes because you really are his treasure and the best ways he can express how much you mean to him are through these passages where he’s free to declare his love and free to tell you that he loves you without the stress of consequence when it’s only him, his pen, and needlessly expensive paper

julian's love letter includes :: sea shells, topographic maps snippets of where he is, and small sketches

<333 𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌 𝘙𝘌𝘉𝘓𝘖𝘎 𝘖𝘙 𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘝𝘌 𝘈 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘔𝘌𝘕𝘛!! <333

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Hi hon, I've been reading your work for our lovely Jethro Gibbs, and I had a lil fic/drabble idea of my own- if you have the time

Lets say you and Gibbs are on vacation, and you convince him to go biking with you. He grudgingly agrees, and when he sees you happy and looking back at him smiling hes just so whipped- maybe thinking about how he got so lucky and just tooth rotting fluff, yk? (He would def try to race you) ♡

I’m so sorry this took me so long to get to 😭 But this request is too cute 🥹 I hope I did your idea justice!

—————

“Come on, Jay,” you groan, “When’s the last time you rode a bike? 1914?”

“A little earlier actually,” he fires back, barely repressing a smile, “before we boarded the Titanic.”

Dropping your phone in the wicker basket attached to the handle bars, you make your way over to your husband of 4 days and 16 hours, give or take a few with the time difference in Italy. You slide his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and settle them in his hair before lovingly running your thumbs back and forth over his cheeks. “You look downright fabulous for your age. What’s your secret?”

He gently brings your left hand to his lips and kisses the band adorning your ring finger. You can’t help but smile at the gesture. “I marry younger every time.”

Your smile drops immediately, and you playfully glare at him. “Ruined it.”

Jethro barks out a laugh, tugging you closer and pressing his lips to yours until he feels them twist upwards into a grin again. “Better?”

“No,” you answer cheekily, pulling away to get settled on your seat. “As punishment, I hereby declare you enjoy a leisurely bike ride with your wife down to the coast.”

He shakes his head with a smile as you take off down the road, ringing the little bell and taunting him over your shoulder. Jethro swings his leg over his matching bicycle and readjusts his sunglasses before pedaling to catch up. He’s admittedly a little wobbly at first and he feels the tiniest bit ridiculous, but when you turn to look at him with a brilliant smile, all of his insecurities melt away.

You’re positively glowing in the Amalfi sunshine, your nose crinkling in delight and a laugh bubbling out of you when you narrowly avoid a street vendor selling flowers on the sidewalk. Jethro slows to apologize to the vendor, surprised when he shakes his head and offers a single flower to the older man before pointing in your direction. Your husband angles his head in thanks, then doubles his efforts to reach you again.

“What happened to ‘leisurely’, you little speed demon?” Jethro calls, and you crest to a stop to wait for him.

“Sorry, slowpoke,” you tease, your face lighting up when he presents the vibrant red rose to you. Your eyes flutter closed as you inhale deeply, and when they open again, Jethro feels his heart skip a beat at the pure adoration swimming in them. “It’s perfect,” you declare, sweeping your hair into a low bun and tucking the stem behind your ear.

“You’re perfect,” your husband croons, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. He says it almost subconsciously, but the meaning behind the words is genuine. He can’t help the slow smile that spreads across his face as he takes in your beautiful features, the way your head is tilted just slightly while you study him in kind, the delicate wisps of stray hairs framing your face, the twinkle in your eyes. A soft dusting of pink colors your cheeks under his intense gaze, and you turn away bashfully with a quiet, “Stop looking at me like that or I’m gonna melt, Jay.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and nudges your back tire with his foot to get you moving again. You start pumping your legs to continue down the street, and when you turn back to see where Jethro is, you find him looking up at the sky with a small smile on his face.

“What was that about?” you ask gently when he’s by your side again.

“Oh, that?” He places his hand over yours on the handlebar and gives it a squeeze. “Just thanking Shan for sending you to me.”

Tears spring to your eyes at the raw emotion in his voice, and you think about how far you’ve come since the day you first met Jethro. Your reminiscing is short-lived, the cheeky bastard taking advantage of your pause to get ahead of you and yelling, “Race ya there!”

You laugh in surprise, hastily swiping at your eyes before kicking off from the street. “Get back here, old man! You’re supposed to let me win! You’ve been married enough times to know about happy wife, happy life- hey! Cheater!”

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Sir Pentious perhaps?

Certainly, my dear!

Send me a character and I’ll list:

Favourite thing about them: His dorkiness! I like how he starts out trying to be intimidating so he'll be thought of as a formidable foe, and then learns to embrace his naturally dorky self and be a better person. Maybe there's a message there about toxic masculinity? Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.

Least favourite thing about them: That so-called 'joke' in Episode 6. You know the one. I mean, you can't have a whole episode taking sexual assault seriously when it happens to Angel Dust and then turn it into a joke when it happens to Sir Pentious. I'd have preferred it if, instead of Pen being dragged into the sex room, Valentino overheard his "sex with everybody" line and started offering him a job at the porn studio and making him flustered, and that was what motivated Angel to stand up for his friends.

Favourite line: "The only cool thing here is to say 'No' to drugs! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to not have sexual intercourse before marriage!"

brOTP: I like the enemies-to-friends thing he had going on with Angel Dust! My favourite moment is in Episode 5, when Pen is trying to shield his cookies for Lucifer from Angel's grabby hands, and then he has to stand up straight to salute Lucifer with a quick, "Your majesty!" before he goes back to shielding the cookies, but it's too late because Angel's taken one, but Angel doesn't make a big deal of it, he just says, "Heya, short king," to Lucifer as if there's nothing out of the ordinary going on. They're like brothers! Pen is the responsible one and Angel is the naughty one, but at the end of the day, they've got each other's back. It's fun to watch!

Also, now that Sir Pentious is in Heaven, I love the thought of Emily becoming his new best friend! She could show him how Heaven works, and he could teach her what he knows about Hell, and together they could try to find a way to let Charlie know that redemption actually works.

Plus, there's the angst potential of Sir Pentious interacting with Molly - he knows who Angel Dust is, and she knows who Anthony is, but they don't know they're talking about the same person... I'd love to see a Pen/Emily/Molly trio going on escapades in Season 2!

OTP: CherriSnake! I wasn't sure about the ship at first, but it's grown on me. It's a neat example of the enemies-to-lovers trope, where Sir Pentious' admiration for Cherri as a worthy opponent turns into something more romantic. And they could have bonded over being inventors - Pen with his gadgets and Cherri with her "brilliant explosive contraptions". Too bad he only confessed his love a few seconds before his heroic sacrifice...

I think I like this ship for its potential. What will Cherri do now that Pen is gone? Will she find out he's in Heaven? Will that motivate her to stay at the Hazbin Hotel, to get redeemed herself and be reunited with him? It's rife with story possibilities!

nOTP: Sir Pentious and Vox (StaticSnake?). Mainly because Vox told Pen to kill himself in Episode 2. That was unacceptable.

Random headcanon: Sir Pentious has a son! Remember that moment in the pilot when Angel said, "Harder, Daddy!" and Pen replied, "Son?!" I think Pen did actually father a child when he was alive, and he'd been scouring Hell trying to find him again. (And for a moment there, he thought Angel was declaring that he was his son.) Pen never found his son in Hell, but now he's in Heaven, maybe he'll have better luck...

Unpopular opinion: I actually quite like Sir Pentious' singing voice! It's nowhere near as bad as people make it out to be. And I much prefer it when characters' singing voices match their speaking voices, instead of being wildly different. (Looking at you, Vaggie.)

Song I associate with them: @hazbinned made a video of Pen being kept awake at night by Angel blasting out "Made You Look" by Meghan Trainor, so now I associate that song with Sir Pentious! LOL!

Favourite picture of them:

[redheadspark]

can you do 14 with joseph quinn as b and reader as a 🥺

A/N - Awww I love this for Joe! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Confident

Summary - Joe finds his confidence all thanks to you.

Warnings -Just some fluff

“Come on now, I wanna see!”

“I don’t know if it’s gonna work, luv,”

“Please?  For me?”

You heard a long almost dramatic sigh from the otherwise of the closet door, you were sitting on the bed and waiting with a hint of excitement and some nervousness.  Why were you nervous when you weren’t the one who was going to be trying on a new swimsuit for the upcoming summer holiday.  Your boyfriend was nervous which may have been strange to others, but not to you.

Joseph Quinn was one of the hottest rising stars, ever since he appeared on Stranger Things, he was getting so much attention it was making him dizzy for a brief moment in time.  You saw all the compliments, accolades he was received, and there were all true in your opinion.  You thought he was amazing to begin with, and to see him finally get the recognition that he desired after years of being on shows or in plays.  He fought hard with everything he had to get where he was, and now he was going to reap the rewards.  

One of the rewards as a vacation, out of Great Britain and in the sun for a few days.  A proper summer holiday, away from the gray skies in England. It was going to be out in the Maldives, Joe got connections and a great deal through his agent to go out at a villa for a few days, wanting you to come not just because you were his girlfriend but as a thank you for being his number one supporter.  Plus it was the one time he had a few days off from a schedules or appearances.  

“Joe, I bet it’s okay.  Let me see, please?” You tried again, folding your hands in your lap and being as patient as you can, “I just want to see if they fit or if we need to take them back to get another size,”

“The size is not an issue, luv,” The door opened and you finally saw him, the board shorts that he was wearing was perfectly on his hips and going halfway down his thighs. You could see how Joe got some muscle when he was training on his recent projects, including Stranger Things.  Although he was skinny, you could tell he did some endurance and strength training just to keep up and stay active.  Now that he looked great, muscles and all, you never minded having your eyes linger a bit longer.

Joe quite liked that actually, giving you a wink when you gave him the first look over in the shower.

“You look good!” You voiced as Joe was still looking uneasy about it, looking down at himself as you got up and gestured to the shorts, “The color looks good on you.  And you can totally tell you were working out?”

“You can?” He asked, looking down at himself again with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes!  What, you don’t believe me?” You asked him with a smirk, Joe looking up at him and seeing how you weren’t phased in what you said.  Joe was confident in himself most of the time, not always, but most of the time.  He was used to people telling him that he was amazing, an excellent actor, handsome and with humor.  But you knew deep down he had those moments of insecurity, just like any other person in the spotlight would.  

That was where you came in.  You knew he was brilliant and talented, you knew he was kind and sweet, and you knew he was handsome in his own right. No need for the lights and makeup to alter his face or appearance, his own beauty was unique and rightfully his.  So you would tell him all time how great he was, how wonderful he was, and how beautiful he was to you.  It may have been sappy to others, but Joe loved it.  He felt better and felt more confident when you would praise him for anything and everything he did.  

It helped him grow, 

“You are beyond handsome, Joseph Quinn,” you said to him, almost like a declaration as you got up from the bed and walked over to him, seeing him watch you with his own small smile.  You stood right in front of him, gesturing to his body, “Personally, I think this swimsuit does not do enough justice in how you look.  You’re a rockstar!”

“Come off it,” Joe said as he was trying not to grin so big to make you laugh.

“Seriously!  You’re going to have to beat ladies off with a stick at this point,” you joked, seeing him roll his eyes as he wrapped you in his arms and hugged you tightly.  You hugged him back, feeling him breathe out a big sigh of relief and content.  

“I only have one lady I wish to impress,” He whispered in your ear, making you blush as he pulled away sightly to kiss the tip of your nose, “Thank you, luv.  You make me happy by simply loving me, my weirdness and all,”

“Oh, you’re not weird, Joe,” You reminded him, “Clinical insane, yes.  But not weird,” 

Joe then pinched your side, having you laugh and try to squirm away as he was tickling you and keep you wrapped in his arms while doing so.  That confidence that you knew he always had was back one again, all from your won confidence in him.  

The summer holiday in Maldives was a hit, you and Joe enjoying your time under the sun and Joe getting tan line from the suit you got him.  

The End

June Summer Prompts

[russellsppttemplates]

All the kids having huge meltdowns because they wanted to build homes for the bees with uncle Seb too!

Tw: mentions allergy to bee stings

How could uncle Seb not invite them to his activity? I mean, it involved painting and drawing and being around uncle Seb? Obviously, the kids had a meltdown, but luckily, their mothers know just how to save the day (after many cries and arguments with little ones, which can honestly be the trickiest ones one can face).

Gasly household

In the Gasly household, the kids were all getting ready to make their own bee homes, "Papa had hay in the video, mama! We need hay!", Alexandre called for you, making you write the word on the paper, "so, so far we have hay and wood rolls? What are wood rolls, darling?", you asked your oldest, recognising his scribble, "they had it in the video, mama, so I'm sure papa will let us know what to do with them", Louis simply stated, "do you think we should ask him though? He didn't ask us to go with him", Alexandre said, "it's only fair we do this alone", he stated.

"NO!", Élodie declared, "papa was there with uncle Seb, so he knows how to do it, we can do it with him", her protective side came out, willing to do anything as long as her father was with her, "Oh, we could also paint them all colourful!", Louis announced, that way even Celeste can help!", he pointed out, smiling at his brilliant idea.

"Figures your brother would be the one to have the idea where the four of you get covered in paint from head to toe", you tapped Celeste's nose, earning a giggle from the little girl attached to your hip.

Schumacher household

"I wanted to be there, too! I want to see the bees happy in their new homes! Can we go there and see them?", Sebastian asked, looking at the photos you were showing on the iPad, hopeful. Chuckling, you brushed his hair, "maybe now it's not the best idea, my love. You remember how the last time you got stung by one and your hand got really big?", you recalled, "yeah, because of my allergy?", he struggled the last word out, "yes, my love", you confirmed.

Russell household

"Still, mama! Just because my body gets angry when they bite me, it doesn't mean that they don't get a comfy house to live in and that I couldn't help", he reasoned with you, sitting on your lap, "I know, Seb. You're too pure for this world", you kissed his head, "maybe we can get papa and uncle seb to give us a tour if we go next year, or maybe he can build one somewhere else", you suggested, "mama, can I have your phone, please? I'm going to text uncle Seb to see if he wants to build another bee neighbourhood!", Aurora excitedly said.

Angie has an encounter with a bee

"I hope he invites us next time, but I understand that it was very far away", Olivia said as she looked at the shopping list, "Oh, mummy, daddy told me they put some boxes in there, like these ones. But his boxes had holes in them", she pouted, facing the first hurdle in building a home for the bees.

"We can make holes with the drill!", Arthur suggested, "I saw grandpa do it once, I can do it!", he said excitedly.

"I think it's best if we leave it do daddy when he comes back, okay? I can attempt at it, but none of your little hands are going near the drill, okay? It's bad enough you're trusting me to build this before daddy gets back", you looked around the shop, hoping to find rhe easiest way to this craft project.

"We need to show daddy we can do it on our own, so he won't think we didn't like that we were not invited", Olivia stated, grabbing some wood glue, "but you cried when you saw uncle Seb and daddy on the TV", Arthur pointed out, "daddy doesn't need to know that".

Ricciardo household

"Do you want to make one too, daddy?", Sophia asked, cuddling up to Daniel as they watched Natalie report about the event Sebastian had organised, seeing some familiar faces she recognised from the races, particularly Sebastian, Max, Lando, Yuki and Charles, and of course, Natalie herself, "That's a great idea, bug", he smiled, already planning their afternoon together.

"I know you're sad because you're not doing this with your friends and uncle Seb", Sophia said as she painted what looked like a rainbow on her side of the wooden material, "hey, Soph", he set his brush down and helped his daughter sit on his lap, "you're the best company I could ever have, besides, I think uncle Seb is the one who's losing here. I mean, look at this work of art", he pointed to their whole set up, "our bees while be really happy here, too", he kissed the top of her head.

"It's prettier than the one uncle Max made, that's for sure, but it's not like it's a difficult thing for it to be better than his", Sophia added, grabbing her brush again and dipping it in the purple paint Daniel mixed for her.

Leclerc household

"Why is Amélie inside and not here with us?", Thomas asked, not understanding why his sister preferred to stay inside sitting on the sofa while her brothers painted bees on the wooden material.

"She's upset still, I think", you explained, seeing Hervé swirl the brush around his cup of water to clean it, "you know, I don't think he didn't invite us because he didn't want us there. I mean, there would be a lot of people", your eldest offered, "I'm sure he didn't mean it to be a hurtful thing", he concluded, "I'm sure it wasn't, uncle Sebastian wouldn't do anything to purposefully hurt you. You're right, imagine if everyone else was also there, uncle Pierre alone has four kids!", you exclaimed, hearing little footsteps approach you.

"I'm done!", Amélie announced, "You're done what, chérie?", you wondered, "I'm done being mad at uncle Sebastian, mama. I want to paint one too! And it's going to be really pretty and then we can send it to uncle Sebastian so he can use it too!", she smiled, her temper turning around from her meltdown just half an hour before, "so you're not going to tell uncle Seb that he can't do those things anymore?", Hervé joked at her earlier conversation, stating her "punishment" for whenever she first saw the German driver, "I will, but I will show him my painting so he knows I'm not too mad at him".

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[capriciouswriter207]

I see you're curious about the statue there? Yeah, it's a little weird how he faces the Depths and not the rest of the kingdom. Or how it looks pretty well-kept, too, when you compare him to the rest of these ruins.

He’s another relic from the Rapture, you see. You're too young to remember, but I'm not gonna repeat all the stories you must know by heart at this point.

Are you familiar with the King of Mezalea? A very long time ago, the king had no heirs and thus built one himself. When the king passed, his title was transfered to his construct - a small clay golem that then constantly repaired himself. And, if the body was too worn, he'd make another of himself to continue on. Indeed, that's the reason why early in the kingdom's history, all of them kings started to be called by the same name and nothing else.

One of the earlier versions of this king, so to speak, is said to have overlooked the ocean. Imagine the water in your waterskin when you peer into it. Can you picture that surface of water? Well, think of that, but a billion times wider and all-encompassing. Everything you know as the Depths was once the bottom of such an ocean. So, yeah, he stood on the cliffs and looked over the water when he spotted something moving in the water.

Turns out, it was one of the largest sea creatures he's ever seen. Doesn't surprise me - she was the goddess of the sea. Not only that, but she was said to be the most beautiful, with pink hair like coral and brilliant blue skin. Just one glance, and the king was smitten. Every day, he would go out to the cliffs to catch sight of her from a distance. Until one day, he didn't - because he took a ship and sailed to where she always appeared.

She nearly capsized his ship. Yeah, couldn't really appreciate the gesture until she heard him declare his undying love for her. And there, looking down upon him for the first time, she decided that she loved him, too. They married shortly and remained happily married for many centuries.

What thwarted this marriage was, of course, the Rapture. You see, when the waters receded… well you can imagine a goddess of the sea wouldn't thrive when there's no sea to speak of. She vanished, and her disappearance maddened the king. He walked to the cliffs from where he used to spot her and stood there. Watched all the water drain completely, and even then remained. Waiting for a phantom, but even as people asked him for advice or asked him to move away, find safety, he didn't respond. Didn't react to anything people said or did. He deactivated himself, some assumed, until the love of his life would return.

Is that selfish? Well, might be. He's quite literally standing with his back to his kingdom to wait for someone who's gone and never coming back. Then again, when heartbreak's involved… wouldn't you abandon everything for your loved ones? Wouldn't it eat you from the inside out, unwilling to do anything but languish?

[merakimoonglade]

Shadowlight

Summary:

Soft. Quiet. Fragile. An ornament to be displayed.

That's how everyone viewed Elain Archeron. It’s how she viewed herself before she realized she wanted, and could be, more.

After being taken and Made High Fae against her will, granted powers and a mate she did not want, Elain thought she’d finally found her footing in her new life with a newfound family and friends. She found the love she always dreamed of in Azriel, the feared shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court. She thought he returned her feelings until he declared their near kiss a mistake and almost completely disappeared from her life, unaware that their chosen brother Rhys, High Lord of the Night Court, forbade Azriel from pursuing her.

Equally, quietly devastated by their forced separation, Elain and Azriel remain inexorably drawn together as the world shifts around them again. War with an immortal death god, humans, and perhaps other Fae looms and Elain is at the center of it. To protect their family, Court, and each other, Elain and Azriel must navigate love, politics, and all that they thought possible of themselves.

Excerpt:

The brightness seared her eyes shut.

Elain squeezed them tightly then blinked slowly, shielding her eyes until they adjusted to the brilliant white light. Her lungs seized and she shook.

She had no idea where she was.

The room was immense, at least half the length and width of the river house. Floor to ceiling windows covered most of the two long walls, the light flooding through them reflecting off a room made entirely of white marble. There were no decorations or furniture, only two lines of pillars that ran parallel to the windows.

Elain’s breath turned shallow and quick and impossibly loud in the barren space. Her muscles tensed with the urge to run, to crouch low behind a pillar and make herself as small as possible. Instinct kept her frozen in place. The pillars were spread too far apart; their closeness couldn’t be used to trick the eye and she was sure she'd be spotted if she tried sneaking between them. The massive windows could reflect her location and guaranteed anyone outside saw her. There was nowhere to hide and she needed to find a way out. Remaining where she was in the center of the room gave her the clearest and quickest way to find a door.

She studied the wall in front of her then forced her feet to move. She turned a slow circle.

She didn’t want to alert anyone, or anything, to her presence.

The full chapter can be found on A03.

Image by Freepik

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 1/23

Happy Friday everyone!! And Happy December!!! Let's start off this month and weekend with some great fics for us all to read! AND PLEASE CHECK OUT THE BOOSTED FIC THIS WEEK!!! It's my gift fic for Fandom Trumps Hate!!! Hope you guys enjoy!!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

RECENT JOHNLOCK MFLs

Just Our Hands Clasped So Tight by MythAnd (E, 11,460 w, 1 Ch. || Platonic Petting, Friends to Lovers, Anal Sex, POV John, Minor Violence, Smoking, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – In which John Watson makes a brilliant discovery - namely, if you pet Sherlock's hair, he shuts up. Now if he can only find a way to make him eat three square meals per day....

We Go Anywhere But To The Ground by geordielover (M, 24,623 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death) – Every second that ticks by is a reminder of the deafening quiet Sherlock has left behind. John feels his soul slip out of his fingertips, inch by inch, with every passing day. At some point, he stops trying to hold on. [TRANSLATION: Italiano]

Only You by urfavv_strawwberrywinter4 (E, 72,901+ w., 21/? Ch. || WiP || Vampire AU || Human / Vampire Relationship, Vampire Bites, Mutual Pining, BAMF John/Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Behaviour, Friends to Lovers, Non-Con Elements, Eventual Happy Ending, Cuddling/Snuggling, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied / Referenced Suicide, Abusive Relationships, John Whump, John / OMCs) – Marcus Maverick is one of the most feared vampires in the city of London. He is known for taking down what was known as one of the most powerful families among vampires, the Holmes. Sherlock Holmes was out of the way, and that meant Maverick had the privilege of taking his dedicated lover and partner, John Watson. John Watson was the most wanted human of all vampires due to his wealthy background and connection to the Holmes Family. Maverick kept John Watson as his partner for three years until his death on a rainy, cold night on December 31st. Right after John’s death, Maverick demanded his many sorcerers and doctors bring him back to him. Years later, after doing much assiduous work and using a bit of forbidden magic, Maverick’s followers found a way to give him his John back. Well, not exactly his John, but certainly someones.

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED LOKIUS

all the lights have turned down low by RunnyYolk (T, 2,839 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || S01E03 Canon Divergence, Lokius, POV Loki, Roxxcart Divorce AU, Pre-Relationship, Protective Mobius, Canon-Typical Violence, Trust Issues, Catharsis, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture) – Loki slowly lifts himself up on an elbow. Shakily, he brushes back some of his wayward hair as he considers the agent's extended hand. It remains still, ever patient. Once more, chaotic agitation meets unflappable regard. There's a desperate yearning within to be valued, appreciated, soothed. Chaos capitulates. Part 1 of where the edge began