#but how heart-wrenching her last day on earth must have been

[annabolinas]

May 18, 1536 - Anne's Last Confession and "A Little Neck"

"This morning, she [Anne] sent for me that I might be with her at such time as she received the good Lord [i.e. the Eucharist], to the intent I should hear her speak as touching her innocence … In the writing of this, she sent for me. And at my coming, she said, 'Master Kingston, I hear say I shall not die before noon, and I am very sorry therefore, for I thought then to be dead and past my pain.' I told her it should be no pain, it was so subtle. And then she said, 'I heard say the executioner was very good, and I have a little neck', and put her hand about it, laughing heartily. I have seen many men and also women executed, and … they have been in great sorrow. And to my knowledge, this lady hath much joy and pleasure in death." - William Kingston, Constable of the Tower, to Thomas Cromwell, May 18, 1536

"She confessed and took the Sacrament yesterday. No one ever showed more courage or greater readiness to meet death than she did, having ... begged and solicited those under whose keeping she was to hasten the execution. When orders came from the King to have it delayed until today, she seemed sorry and begged and entreated the governor of the Tower ... for God's sake, to go to the King, and beg of him that, since she was well disposed and prepared for death, she should be dispatched immediately. The lady in whose keeping she has been sends me word, in great secrecy, that before and after her receiving the Holy Sacrament, she affirmed, on peril of her soul's damnation, that she had not misconducted herself so far as her husband the King was concerned." - Eustace Chapuys, May 19, 1536

[azzysmate]

Back From the Dead - Part 1

Azriel x RhysSister Fanfic

Summary: Rhaen, sister of Rhysand, was supposedly dead for centuries, but what if she wasn’t? What if she was only trapped by something no one ever dreamed of being so dangerous? And what will happen when she appears at the border of the Spring Court and human lands barely alive?

1st Person POV - Rhaen

I wonder how long I've been gone for. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it's been more than a hundred years, but when you spend your days as I have in an entirely different plane of existence, you begin to stop counting the days since you last saw your family. You stop hoping there will come a time that you will see them again. All you can do is pray to the Mother that your time will come soon and that the people you love have moved on with their lives without you.

The misery I have witnessed plays in a loop behind my eyes. Not just my own, though I have certainly felt more than my fair share, but that's not what haunts me. No, the screams of agony that live in my nightmares are of other females who were trapped with me. All shapes and sizes. All ages. All types of fae and human kind. And one in particular.

Dahlia.

My poor, sweet, innocent flower. I see her tearful eyes widened in death beneath me. There's blood everywhere. Her blood everywhere. In her hair, staining her clothes, pooled on the earth under her, all over her face and my hands. Just a child, dead, because of my idiocy.

Her blood. On my hands. I'll never be able to rid myself of the scarlet color in my ledger. Not hers.

I feel my breathing become shallow, coming in as gasps, going out as pants. Then the rest of the defenseless women around me go silent. It's only my voice I hear now that bellows a cry of rage, of grief, of vengeance.

Someone grabs my wrists, pulling them away from Dahlia. I fight them, yelling for them to let me go, to let me seek my revenge, to let me slaughter every last one of these beasts who have damned me.

If they think me a monster, then so be it. I will be what they fear me to be.

But when I wrench my arms out of the unknown grasp, I wake up. I'm sitting up in a bed with a fae female staring wide-eyed at me. Sweat soaks through my clothing, and my left arm is tangled in wires. My throat is raw, my heart is pounding, and whoever this girl in front of me is, she must be strong considering she held me back for as long as she did.

"It's alright," she speaks, "You're safe. Nothing is going to happen to you, Rhaen."

I blink at her, trying to steady my breathing as I ask, "Who the fuck are you?"

"My name is Feyre," she replies softly and places one hand on my calves, as if attempting to keep me from spiraling further.

I wince at the touch, not from pain, but from distrust. She pulls away as I say, "I don't know you. What do you want with me? Where am I?"

"We're in Velaris. In Madja's clinic." She pauses for a moment, studying my face in awe. "I don't want anything from you, but you need to remain calm. You were very badly hurt, I don't want you to be any more uncomfortable than I'm sure you already are."

"Velaris?" I repeat, knowing if she knows of my hidden home in the Night Court, we must be safe like she says.

She gives me a small smile. "Yes, you're home."

I let out a sigh of relief at her reassurance, trying to shake off the remainder of hellish recollections. She stares at me for a moment, taking in my face like she's seen me before, and I notice that the rims are slightly wet, like she's been crying for me.

"I-I'm sorry..." I tell her, "Do I... know you?"

"No," she answers softly, a bit of amusement appearing in her tone, "but I've heard so many stories, I feel like I sort of know you. And you just look so much like your brother..."

"My brother?" My throat tightens again. "You know Rhysand?"

"Very well. We're-"

"Rhaen..." another calls my name, and we both look towards the door.

And despite everything I've been through, despite how hard it is to breathe without my chest aching, I smile at him. "Speak of the devil."

He chuckles through a sob and drops the bags hanging off of his fingers to come strutting to my bed and wraps his arms around me. I groan because of the tenderness of what I'm sure are thousands of bruises, but I return his gesture, clinging to him for dear life.

I ball the material of his shirt into my fist and let teardrops flow freely down my face. "Rhys..."

"Rhae," he breathes out against my hair, "I can't believe this is real."

"Me neither."

He pulls back abruptly, making flinch once more. He holds my face in his hands and asks, "Where have you been? What happened? Tamlin told us you were dead, that he had your wings for proof. How is this possible? How did you end up back in Prythian? Who the hell hurt you?"

"Take a breath, brother," I remark, "We have time for explanations later. For now, I'd just like to take some time to heal and enjoy seeing my family again."

"I know, I... I'm sorry, my mind is reeling, little one, and I can't seem to get a grasp on any of it."

"So how about we put a pin in the heavy stuff for now, and you tell me what's been going on here."

Feyre lets out a little laugh behind him, catching my attention again. "If you're looking to avoid a complicated topic, you may want to be more specific. A lot has happened in Prythian, in the last ten years alone."

"Never mind that," Rhys dismisses gently, climbing off the bed to go stand next to Feyre, "You're right, we should let you acclimate a bit first, so we can start with introductions. Feyre Darling, this is my sister, Rhaen. Princess of the Night Court. Little one, this is Feyre. My mate."

"Mate?" I exclaim with eyes and mouth opened wide, "You have a mate? And here I was practically interrogating the poor girl."

"That's alright," Feyre says kindly, "We weren't expecting you to wake up for another hour or so, Rhys was getting us something to eat."

Rhys glances down to the bags he dropped, wrinkling his nose a bit at the mess he'd made. "And it looks like I'll be going back for more."

"That can wait," I wave him off, "Feyre, tell me how awful it is having to be tied to him for the rest of your life. Is he still the biggest, most arrogant Illyrian prick ever?"

"Hey," he whines while she giggles, "That title is, was, and always will belong to Cassian, little sister, and you know it."

"Oh, Cass," I coo, "Gods, I've missed his hugs. How is he?"

Rhys smirks. "Doing pretty well for himself. The Lord of Bloodshed is now my General."

"What?" I laugh and immediately regret the sudden act as another wave of sensitivity throbs inside of me. I lean back against the pillows to try and get the pressure off my torso, then continue, "Wait a second, your general? You're telling me, not only is that brute the commander of armies, but you're High Lord of the Night Court?"

"Most powerful in a millennia," he confirms smugly, and Feyre rolls her eyes. "You can act annoyed all you want, Feyre Darling, but if it weren't true, would you be my High Lady?"

"High Lady?" my jaw drops, "Cauldron boil me, was I gone that long?"

"It's a very long story," Feyre exasperates, "Another that we'll have to put a pin in. However, it will not be one that your brother takes credit for." She lifts a brow in challenge, daring him to argue.

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. She earned it. But the even bigger shock? Cassian is mated to her sister, Nesta."

"No way... Cassian has a mate?" Rhys nods in amusement. "She must be a firecracker, and I'll bet she has him wrapped around her little finger."

"Nesta is something, alright," Rhys mumbles, "but they're perfect for each other, that much is certain."

"And Mor? How is she?"

"As cheerful and vain as ever."

"Amren?"

"As terrifying as ever. Although, she is high fae now, no longer whatever god-like creature she was trapped in a fae body."

"Really? I assume that's another added to the list of conversations for later?"

They share a hesitant look, one that I don't prod for clarity on, and then nod at me slowly.

I take a breath, knowing that there's only one other curiosity to satisfy. My stomach knots up when I think of my next question. The one person I'm dying to ask about, but also the most terrified to hear of finding a mate.

I clear my throat, and as I muster up the courage to finally get my query out, I feel my face burn bright, "And what about Azriel?"

"You could ask me yourself," a gravel filled voice comes from the doorway, and when my eyes meet his, all my worries fade far from my mind.

I swallow heavily under his scrutiny, the gold irises drinking me like he's scared I'll disappear right under his watchful gaze.

Did I imagine that he was the one to find me? Was it only my mind playing tricks on me, making me believe he lifted me up into the air and told me to stay with him?

No. With the way he's looking at me now, I know it wasn't all in my head at all. The Shadowsinger saved me. He saw me half dead and pleaded to the Mother for me to live.

"Azzy..." I croak out.

He takes a deep breath. "Princess." He takes a few steps in and lifts one eyebrow. "If I hadn't just found you barely breathing, I'd be so pissed at you for waking up before I got back."

I let out a breathy laugh, trying to fight against the tears that threatened to fall. "Yeah, lucky me for almost dying. Again."

"Hey, don't feel too bad, Az," Rhys chimes in, "I was out getting food for Feyre and I when she woke up."

The Shadowsinger's eyes don't leave mine as his lips turn upwards ever so slightly. "I see you still enjoy giving people a hard time."

"Don't think I'll ever get over that," I reply with a smirk.

He sighs and playfully rolls his eyes, and I see Feyre tilt her head in confusion and then share a look with her mate.

I look between them before asking, "Is this going to happen a lot? You two having secret conversations in your head? Because I can play, too."

"See?" I say to both of them with them daemati powers.

Feyre's gaze widens at me. "You're daemati, too?"

"And she'll never let anyone forget it," Rhys answer for me, causing me to let out another weak laugh, "In response to your question, yes. As High Lord and Lady, we often have private discussions in front of everyone."

"Oh, and I'm sure it has everything to do with the safety of the Night Court and never inappropriate?" I tease them. I see Feyre's cheeks pink.

Rhys closes his eyes and tucks in his lips. "I have to say, while I'm glad you're still your old, troublemaking self, I did not miss how uncomfortable you could make me at times."

"I've got a lot of time to make up for," I smile brilliantly.

Amusement flashes in Azriel's gaze before he makes his way to my side. "Has Madja been in to check her out?"

"No," Feyre states since she was the one her when I opened my eyes, "She seems to be acting normal though."

"That's quite the understatement, Feyre Darling," my brother inserts.

"I'm sore, that much is certain, but other than that, I feel fine. I would like to go home if she doesn't notice anything alarming."

"I'll go find her," Azriel declares.

Rhys walks towards the door as well, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll join you."

Feyre gives them a bewildered look as they leave, and this time, I don't hold my tongue.

"What's the matter?" I inquire of her.

She looks to me, then the door, and back at me. "I've never really seen him act like this before."

"You mean Az?"

"Yes," she confirms with a nod, "It's almost as if he's... flirting?"

I scoff, then rub my chest to alleviate the irritation it caused while checking, "With me? No way."

Humor passes through her features before she schools them back to neutrality. "Right. He must just be happy you're back."

Although I don't believe her assumption is accurate in anyway, I find my stomach flurrying with butterflies at the thought.

But there's absolutely no chance that Azriel is, was, or ever has flirted with me, his best friend's little sister, someone he views as his own little sister. Even if I might wish he did...

Thank you guys so much for liking the prologue! You have no idea how much the support means to me… I hope you guys continue to stay tuned for Rhaen’s journey. These first couple parts are basically just going to be her reentering Velaris and acclimating as best as she can. Again, leave a comment if you want to be tagged for the next part. Ilysm🤍

@projectcampbell @acourtofsmutandstarlight @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @anainkandpaper

[saphirered]

I saw that your requests were open and because i loved the last one i sent in here's another one.

I hope this is good with the rules, if i need to explain something about it you can hit me up via messages.

This basically plays in the last episode of Critical Roles Vox Machina. Where Vax goes with the Raven Queen to become the next Champion Of the Ravens. Instead of Keyleth being Vax's lover how about it's the Reader they say good bye and years in the future the reader is on their deathbed and sees Ravens around them before Passing and Seeing Vax again.

I just want some Hurt Comfort because I've been crying my eyes out over the last Episode after watching through VM again.

Hurt/comfort it is! Thank you for requesting and hope you enjoy! 😘

He knew this day would come. The Matron of Ravens had given him the gift of a goodbye. He didn’t know whether to curse or bless her for it. Not when Vax saw your face, the tears you held back, the way you bit the inside of your cheek to keep your lips from trembling, and the tightening of your throat. It’s heart wrenching. Worse. Because he knows if he goes- no when he goes he leaves behind his heart. It belongs with you. It’ll always belong with you. The further out of your reach he is, the more he feels he’ll lose himself, lose sight of who he used to be in the mess that is this divine game of chess that goes beyond even the heroes of Tal’dorei. Never did he think he’d be able to love someone so much as you. When he flies you give him a reason to return to the ground, to remind him of the world around him but once he’s gone, once you’re just out of reach, what then? Will he be flying until he can no more? He needs you, and you can’t follow where he goes. 

You’ve been trying to stay strong. On the one side you hoped that battle never ended, that you’d forever spend those moments with him, that the raven bitch would never be able to lay claim to him for the bargain made. You hoped for a loophole, for some kind of justice in this world but you know you would find none. You did what you could with the time granted to you both. You don’t know what’s worse; knowing time would run out or having him suddenly torn away from you. You don’t want to find out. You feel as if you’re being left with the pieces, to reassemble the ones that’ll never again fully fit right and forever be out of place. You’ve had to make your peace with that together and you did, but that doesn’t make this hurt any less. 

Vax stands in front of you. The others have given you a moment, one moment for a final goodbye. You don’t know if you’ll ever see each other again. You simply don’t know. With a shaky breath he holds your hands in his, runs his thumb over the backs, still littered with the remaining signs of battle and conflict. He knows he will see you. He’ll keep an eye out whenever he can, should that goddess let his tether allow him to go that far, but you won’t know he’s there. His fear is perhaps one day he won’t even remember you but how could he forget the one that holds his heart, guards it for the rest of your life and beyond. It will always belong to you. He’ll always belong to you. He loves you. That is a simple truth not even a goddess can change. 

“You have no idea how much I love you.” His voice cracks as he speaks and he watches the silent tears collect in your eyes. You squeeze your eyes shut. The tears spill and you hold on tighter; a grip that grounds him to this earth and reminds him this is real. 

“Why must it hurt so much?” You manage to speak as you open your eyes once more. Vax brushes away your fallen tears. He takes a deep breath. 

“Because this was real. It’s unfair but it’s really. And long after I’m gone, it’ll still be real. I’ll love you to the end of these worlds and beyond. Even when I’m not there to tell you. I want you to remember; I love you.” He carefully repeats those last three words with as much confidence and reassurance he can, despite the tears falling from his own eyes. He has not the care to wipe them away, or stop them for that matter. You take a deep breath and nod more to yourself than to him as if you’re reassuring yourself. You cup his cheeks, following each mark and feature as if committing them to memory, as if you’d forget them. 

“I’ll love you through this world and the next, until they come falling apart. I’ll love you and in my heart I know we will meet again. One day, I promise you, we will meet again  and when that day comes, I will never let you go.” You have never made a vow more true in your life. Vax knows it too. Not even his mind can counter the implications of those words. They are a simple fact. Though he wishes he hopes, he feels as if hope is not involved in this matter at all. Not when you made this vow. You will keep it. He is unsure if it’ll hurt him beyond measure, or if it is another blessing, to see you one last time, to know he’ll see you, and be reminded of his heart. 

“You are my heart.” He guides one of your hands to his chest. “Forever it is yours.” 

“And I will keep it safe. For as long as you keep mine.” You entwine your fingers with his and gently lean in. Your lips meet his in a soft kiss; one of intent and one binding like a true promise, like a bargain struck or a deal made. He’ll make any deal when it comes to you. He’ll offer up all he has to bargain with, for you. Even though he has nothing left but you and the memories of you and those he will not part with. He belongs with you as you belong with him. Whether it be a decade or a century, he will wait an eternity if he must. 

When you finally part, and he steps away, into the embrace of raven feathers you weep your silent tears, as does he, as do your friends. Vax knows you’ll be in good hands. You’ll have them. He’ll watch over you, he’ll watch over you all and be your guardian. You will find him in the feathers of the raven’s black, and the wings upon the wind. You will find him in the knife sharp and the kindness of heart. You will carry him with you always. Your paths will cross again even if it will be in pain and heartache. 

————

Many years have passed. They in and of themselves seem like an eternity, no matter the happiness shared, a part is always missing. You have seen your friends find love and happiness and build their families, achieve greatness and change the world. You’re happy for them and happy to be part of their lives, you’re happy to be part of that change. Change comes with risks. And the world changes fast. Enemies rise and fall but the larger underlying schemes and plots reveal themselves slowly, centuries in the making. Not all are enemies that can just be fought, or at least not without consequence and risk. New heroes rise. Their era has come and they must shape this world into the next, to leave it better than they found it. You intend to keep that circle going. Fight today for a better tomorrow. Your friends do too but they cannot afford to make the same sacrifices they might have made in the past. They have other paths now. You would not let Vex and Percy leave their children orphaned or abandoned like they were. You would not send a people into chaos through the loss of the Voice of the Tempest. 

You would not let the closest of friends lose each other. You are part of that too. Should any of you fall, you would be mourned but as opposed to you they choose to live lives outside of adventure and the looming risk of death at every corner. It was no surprise for you, to do these things, to live this life, and compared to them the only thing you had to lose was them, the only thing they had to lose was you. Should you meet your demise you know it might affect them, hurt them even but they could live on. You would not stand in the way of their happiness and you could meet your end peacefully and fulfilled you’d have done everything in your power to make this world a better place for them. That is your legacy, your life and your promise because no matter what, you know where your promise leads. 

And that day finally comes. With enemies grown too bold, you joined the forces that fought against them. Another end to the world as you know it will not serve anyone well. They are willing to shed the blood of many to achieve this godless world, but that is not a price you’re willing to pay. You fought them, proved to be a liability and when that cut of magic hit you, that final blow, when your vision faded on the colour of pale silvery blonde and a cold stare, you knew the end would be there. You delivered one final blow. You managed to give an opportunity to those who needed it. Your life bought them time and you hope it is enough for their road to success. You have paved it, now they must take over. You have done your part. 

And as you lay there on the ground among the rubble and ashes, among the chaos, you do not feel the pain, you do not hear the noise or see the sky. You see the creeping darkness, hear the muffled words over the beat of wings. You feel a cold touch reach for you, caress your cheek. 

“I’m sorry it had to end like this. I wish you could have said your goodbyes.” You know that voice. You’ve not heard it in decades but you know it well. Despite the fact you take your last breath, you feel more alive than you have in a long time. You see the golden strand that connects you to the feathered half-elf above you. Your fingers wrap around his wrist and for the first time you feel him, you feel his touch and he feels yours. 

“So do I.” You breathe and expect the ache in your chest but find none. There is no pain in your heart and you feel as if you’re floating. You sit up as he kneels beside you and it takes you some time to realise you’re not among rubble and ruin but instead find yourself on the black marble hall of a place you have only ever been able to imagine; every bit as macabre as it is beautiful. 

He sees you, truly sees you. He touches you, to remind himself this is not some sort of dream, that you are real and this is true. His heart aches for the first time in decades and while he does not particularly likes the feeling he remembers you and for you he’ll endure. You brought his heart back to him and despite the circumstances he is glad to be the one to receive you here. He doesn’t know what comes next, he doesn’t know if you’ll be able to stay of if you’ll move on but for now you have this. You share this and this is real. He has changed and so have you. You are still as beautiful as he remembers you, still as bright as he has seen you and despite your previous pain you smile. You cup his cheek and press your lips against his as if not a moment has passed. All these years he’s felt so dead, and all it took to be reminded of what life was like was for you to show him. He won’t let you go this time around and he dares bet you won’t let him slip between the cracks either. 

[fantomcomics]

What’s Out This Week? 3/1

Marching into March with a bevvy of b-e-a-utiful new books!

All Night & Every Day #1 One-Shot -  Ray Fawkes & Andrea Frittella

It's time to party! While celebrating is the last thing grief-stricken introvert Michaela wants to do, her friends drag her out for the night and end up trapping her in a hellish curse: a party that never ends, with no way to escape...not even by dying!

Now she must navigate the labyrinth of the legendary Banquet Hideous all on her own and learn its terrible secrets before she is consumed forever!

And We Love You #1 -  Fell Hound & Angela Wu

In the throes of a violent dystopian war, a young soldier perishes on the battlefield and begins to bleed out all her memories. Mixing heart wrenching emotions with stunningly gripping visuals, this is the tale of one woman's life, death, and the love which transcends both. A brand new epic from the world of the Ringo-nominated Commander Rao!

Buffy The Last Vampire Slayer Special -  Casey Gilly, Joe Jaro & Ario Anandito

It's been 4 years, and Buffy, Angel, and Thess have been living in relative peace as a dysfunctionally cozy family. But nothing can last forever... Tara might not be dead, but they're losing hope for her staying among the living, and strange new vampires have been sighted.

To get to the bottom of these unfolding horrors, our gang will have to head underground... and face the horrifying true cause of the decline in vampire activity!

Deadfellows #1 -  Kody Hamilton & Ramiro Borallo

Pete Miller has just gotten out of his two-year relationship, reeling from the chaos of it all without friends or family around. As he moves into his new awful, one-bedroom apartment Pete attempts to take his own life, but is stopped by a benevolent ghost. Moved by the kindness of this supernatural stranger, Pete sets out to bond with this ghost at all costs-but he quickly learns he doesn't understand the paranormal or their intentions.

Demon Slayer: One-Winged Butterfly GN -  Aya Yajima & Koyoharu Gotouge

Shinobu and Kanae ask Himejima to teach them how to slay demons. After he refuses, they must complete the impossible task of moving a giant rock to convince him to introduce them to trainers. In other tales, Zenitsu tricks Inosuke into helping him dig a hot spring under Uzui's training, Mitsuri grapples with her reason for becoming a Demon Slayer, Genya discusses his family with Sumi, the Hashiras try to make Tomioka smile, and Kimetsu Academy forms a rock band-much to Shinobu's chagrin!

Hunt. Kill. Repeat. #1 -  Mark London, Francesco Archidiacono, & Marc Deering 

It's Kill Bill meets Clash of the Titans in Hunt. Kill. Repeat. The all-new, action packed series by Mark London (Battlecats, Knights of the Golden Sun). When the Greek gods invade Earth, society is quickly forced to comply with their new rulers.   However, one god, Artemis, rejects her brethren's ideology and has found solace in the love of a mortal. When she is called to Olympus to answer for her betrayal, the gods strip away her godly powers and leave her for dead. Now, ten years later, Artemis is on a quest for revenge to confront her father, Zeus, for taking away everything she ever loved.

Phantom Road #1 -  Jeff Lemire & Gabriel Hernandez Walta

Dom is a long-haul truck driver attempting to stay ahead of his tragic past. When he stops one night to assist Birdie, who has been in a massive car crash, they pull an artifact from the wreckage that throws their lives into fifth gear. Suddenly, a typical midnight run has become a frantic journey through a surreal world where Dom and Birdie find themselves the quarry of strange and impossible monsters.

Nayra & The Djinn GN -  Iasmin Oma Ata

Nayra Mansour feels anything but at home in her New England boarding school. There's the constant pressure from her strict family, cruel bullying from her classmates, and exhausting friendship demands from Rami, the only other Muslim girl at school. Nayra has had enough. Just when she's considering transferring schools to escape it all, Marjan appears. As a djinn, a mythical creature in Arab folklore, Marjan uses their powers and wisdom to help Nayra navigate her overwhelming life. But Marjan's past in the djinn realm is fraught with secrets, guilt, and trouble that have a way of following them all the way to the human realm. And so they must face what they've done before Nayra is pulled into the mess they've made.

Muros Within Magic Walls: The Case Of The Cemetery Girl GN -  Paolo Chikiamco & Borg Sinaban

Manila-the walled city recently freed from a dictator's iron-fisted rule-is a magical metropolis where monsters flit and feed along neon-lit streets. In this noir-tinged dystopian graphic novel, the capital exists in an alternate reality where myth and fantasy collide. A one-armed Taga-Sagot-a gatherer of information, an answerer of questions, a fount of knowledge-is charged with finding the missing "daughter" of a small-town mayor lost amidst the temptations of the open city, now a den of pleasure districts and corruption. In a city now governed by the mysterious Societies, tensions between the human and nonhuman inhabitants are about to hit a breaking point.

Why Are You Like This: An ArtByMoga Comic Collection - Meg Adams

Finally, comics that answer life's most pressing questions: Is my partner actually upset or just hangry? Whose turn is it to remember the reusable shopping bags? Is it appropriate to put up Halloween décor two months in advance? (Spoiler alert: Yes. Yes, it is.) From the joys of marrying your best friend to the bizarre musings of a twelve-pound pup to the humor and heartbreak of anxiety, Meg's all-too-relatable comics leave no stone unturned.

We’re All Just Fine HC -  Ana Penyas

This heartfelt graphic biography is a tribute to the artist's grandmothers and a generation of women who quietly soldiered through over forty years of Fascist rule in Spain.

Artist Ana Penyas's grandmothers Maruja and Herminia live alone in their respective Spanish towns, largely neglected by their children and relatives, who never visit. But when Ana comes to see them, she realizes that these women, whose day-to-day existences now seem mundane, experienced firsthand an incredibly tumultuous and fascinating period of Spanish history.

In We're All Just Fine, Penyas weaves the memories of her grandmothers to craft a narrative quilt that pieces together what it was like for women to assimilate to Spain's dramatic political and cultural shifts in the late 1970s and '80s. The sudden transition from the authoritarian, repressive Franco regime to lively and liberating democracy was at once incredibly freeing but also destabilizing for women used to their traditional roles as dutiful housewives.

Through this intimate lens into her grandmothers' daily struggle - of their silence, the small acts of rebellion, and great gestures of resilience - Penyas gives voice to an entire generation of "invisible'' women whose stories have rarely been told. Combining collage and rough-hewn pencil drawings, and mixing past and present, Penyas offers a decidedly feminist tribute to the forgotten lives and legacies of her grandmothers.

We Live HC Vol 1 -  Roy Miranda & Inaki Miranda 

The year is 2084 and the world has changed. Wracked by calamities and crawling with monsters, the last remaining humans face a dangerous existence. And now, the Earth has been sent a message from the deepest reaches of space - a dark countdown to the extinction of all humanity. But there is hope! Five thousand children will be rescued by these mysterious message-senders. This is the journey of Hototo, one of the lucky five thousand - but only if his teenage sister, Tala, can safely deliver him to the nearest Beacon before time runs out.

Storyboarding For Visions Of Wim Wenders HC -  Stephane Lemardele

In 2014, storyboard artist Stéphane Lemardelé began work with legendary filmmaker Wim Wenders (Paris, Texas; Wings of Desire) on his newest project, the emotional Every Thing Will Be Fine. The opening scenes Stéphane worked on would become some of the most renowned of the film, but it was the relationship he built with Wenders that would truly change him. Through this graphic novel memoir, Stéphane captures not only the production of this film but moments of artistic reflection from Wim himself as he ponders the trajectory of his career and evolution as an artist, and the use of film as a tool to examine our own humanity. This book is a rare peek behind the curtain for all fans of cinema, featuring actual storyboards from the production.

Red Zone #1 (of 4) - Cullen Bunn, Mike Deodato, Lee Loughridge & Razzah

Randall Crane, an unassuming American professor of Russian and Slavic Studies at NYU, is called in by the US government for a secret international mission back to Russia, where his long-buried secrets come to light. When his support team of commandos is ambushed and killed, it's up to Randall to fight his way out of Russia using his "particular set of skills."

Wildheart: The Daring Adventures Of John Muir GN - Julie Bertagna & William Goldsmith

The exciting life story of John Muir-who sailed to America as a boy and ended up changing the world; told for the first time in a graphic novel. John Muir led an adventurous life, starting with his wild and playful boyhood in Scotland to his legendary exploits in America, where he became an inventor, a global explorer, and the first modern environmentalist; and even became friends with a president! His heart was always in the outdoors and he aimed to experience all he could. Most importantly, though, John Muir told the world about the wonders of nature. His words made a difference and inspired people in many countries to start protecting planet Earth-and they still do.

Whatcha scooping up to start the month, Fantom Fam?

[wren-kitchens]

hi I made a thing because I am So Very Normal about joel smallishbeans and also the end poem so I combined them because why not

this is on my ao3, hoaxtheghost!

cw: death (everyone dies but apart from lizzie joel scott and joey it’s just mentioned), graphic injuries (for scott and joey, but it’s not touched upon much other than a paragraph), blood, amnesia

joel has scoured the ocean, screamed her name until he felt his throat would bleed, searched every nook of every empire. nothing. 

such a painful, empty nothing it is too. not even a body to bury, a last look at his wife’s face. 

he’s found other emperors, oh yes. scott laying on the floor, sword through his chest will haunt his nightmares forever. the remains of joey, burnt—in some places—to the bone, caught up in the raging fire his kingdom was overcome by.

pearl, like lizzie, is nowhere to be found. pixl had been missing for a while, will he ever come back? what will he think, of this burning wreckage of their world, if he does?

joel travels back to his own broken empire. the sight of what used to be the materal palace makes him want to cry. he spent so long on it, so much time and energy destroyed just like that.

he collapses on the sand by the drained ocean. jimmy, lizzie, everyone. gone.

and he’s not crying. he’s not. if he doesn’t cry, he can bottle it up, and push it down, and never have to feel it.

so he sits, and doesn’t cry, and looks over the barren, stony bottom of the newly exposed seafloor and he doesn’t feel it.

he’s shaking, whole body trembling. he doesn’t know when that happened. his chest feels hollow, as if someone stole his mortal heart right out of his ribcage.

it’s not raining. it doesn’t rain in the mesa. the sky is dark and cloudy, occasional flashes of lightning forking above him.

it should hurt. he won’t let it.

joel must have sat there for hours, limbs growing numb, red sand slowly covering his trousers and boots, not crying. his misted-over eyes miss it at first.

the figure, walking across the ocean floor. 

joel jumps to his feet, joints aching in protest at the sudden movement. no, he didn’t imagine it. 

there’s someone walking towards him. someone alive.

his own citizens are gone, no trace of them. he saw either the bodies of citizens or the remnants of their belongings strewn across the towns as an eerie reminder of what used to be. he’s seen no one in days, not since they split up at the campfire. he should have said goodbye.

but this- this is a living, breathing person. not lost to fire or drought or swept away by the wind. clear as day, here.

joel stumbles down the beach, sprinting across the stone. it’s bone dry. even the seaweed is baked to a crisp.

as he gets closer, his chest floods with emotion. because the figure has pink hair. a blue sailors outfit. it’s-

“lizzie!” joel yells, arms spread as he reaches her.

he almost hugs her before he realises. she’s.. human again.

lizzie is looking at him with a politely confused expression on her face. her colourful gills are gone, the blue hue of her skin now replaced with peach again. 

“lizzie?” joel hardly dares to say it. it comes out so quiet.

“I think you may have the wrong person.” lizzie says gently. “are you looking for someone?”

“i’m-..” joel can’t seem to take it in. 

lizzie doesn’t know who he is.

somehow, this is even worse than not knowing. he wishes, suddenly, that he’d stayed in the city, away from the ocean.

“it’s okay.” lizzie says. “I can help you find them.”

lizzie doesn’t remember him.

joel feels a wrenching kind of pain in his chest. if his heart was broken before, it’s shattered now.

“no, it’s okay!” lizzie is trying to comfort him, he realises distantly. “it’s okay, we can find them!”

joel sinks to his knees. his wife, the love of his life, the one he cared for most in this godforsaken world.

he can’t bear it.

“where did you see them last?”

how is he still alive? when everyone he cared about doesn’t even know who he is, or are gone, wiped from the face of the earth with barely any indication they were here in the first place.

why should he be forced to remember, to see, to know, when that so-called liberty has been stripped from everyone he held dear?

there’s a rushing sound. is it just the blood in his ears?

they’ve gone, gone to a place joel cannot quite reach, just slipping out of his grasp.

lizzie has started to shake his shoulder, tone more insistent now. joel doesn’t bother to look, the hollow thing in his chest that used to be his heart aching and aching at every incomprehensible word.

the rushing is becoming louder, blocking out the screaming of whatever gulls survived.

“please, look!” lizzie’s words cut through the noise, and joel does.

he barely has time to register the terrified panic on her face before the waves crash onto them.

the rushing hadn’t been his blood after all.

joel forces himself not to gasp at the sudden cold, and manages to dodge a large chunk of what looks like coral as it whirls past him. his lungs are burning, and he’s trying to reach the surface, when he sees her.

lizzie’s body is limp, tossed around by the swirling currents, scarlet blood from her forehead staining the water. the coral didn’t miss her.

he screams out any breath he had left, desperately fighting his own buoyancy as he tries to reach her. but he doesn’t have her powers, can’t survive without oxygen for long enough to save her.

the last thing he sees before his vision fades to black, is the lifeless body of his wife, terror still etched across her features.

joel had heard stories of people’s lives flashing before their eyes at near-death experiences. he’d been briefly told by pixl about how the brain can sometimes show nonsensical images as it starts to break down. he’d seen children scaring each other, saying that your brain plays your life back to you as you die, how do you know that’s not happening to you right now?

this, is most certainly none of those things.

he feels weightless, suspended in something lighter than air. he can see nothing, can’t move a muscle, can’t speak a single word.

but what joel can do, is hear.

two voices, impossible to tell what gender either are, discussing what seems to be.. him.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

he’s flitting in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of the conversation.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

joel thinks distantly that these two (people?) cannot have seen the last day.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

the voices are loud, and speak of kind things, but joel doesn’t have the stomach for kind things right now. all he wants are his wife, and his friends, and his people. 

but there reaches a point where he’s almost forced awake. joel hears as the voices tell him what seem like their final verse.

and the universe said I love you

there’s something in his chest.

and the universe said you have played the game well

something.. warm.

and the universe said everything you need is within you

it’s gentle, and soft, and warm.

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

the something-warm is starting to spread across his chest.

and the universe said you are the daylight

it’s like his blood is warmer than usual.

and the universe said you are the night

it’s travelling down his bloodstream.

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

he feels somehow.. stronger.

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

his memory is starting to go a little fuzzy around the edges.

and the universe said you are not alone

the hollow aching in his chest is gone.

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

he feels like he’s slowly drifting downwards, no longer suspended in the air.

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

his clothes feel looser, hair shorter.

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

there’s something else, on his face.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. 

he hears the faint tweeting of birds. 

And the player began a new dream. 

he can’t quite remember where he started.

And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. 

he feels like he’s forgetting something important.

And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

he hears a campfire crackling.

You are the player.

his feet land on something that feels like grass.

Wake up.

joel opens his eyes, and suddenly, he’s in a circle of people. stood around a campfire. everyone feels like they’re waiting for something, all glancing around at each other eagerly. and it feels.. 

familiar.

[iambic-stan]

Portobello gills

Another Star Trek-themed heart story, featuring Voyager's Doctor and an Ensign/former member of the Maquis. These stories are all very silly but I hope someone enjoys them. :) And here's a sorta related gif of The Doctor and Kes.

This is the moment I built myself up to, but now I’m worried that I read it wrong.  My assumption was incorrect—the EMH did not have stethoscopes entered into his database already.  They must be such outdated medical tools that his programmers saw no need for him to be even tangentially aware of them.  I’ve just spent the last twenty minutes explaining what mine is, what it’s for, and trying to eloquently describe what it all means to me.  He has become so still that I’m almost afraid he’s malfunctioned somehow and deactivated without either of our commands.  “Doctor,” I say a little loudly, reaching across the couch to touch his shoulder.  I know he’s photonic energy, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t feel like flesh.  He stares into my eyes, but it's like he sees nothing. “Please state the nature of the medical—just kidding, Ensign,” he laughs.  I shake my head and smile, glancing down at my shimmering pastel stethoscope sitting between us.  My vision blurs slightly, my astigmatism causing the glint of the glitter to expand in an odd way.  It takes me a second longer than it should to focus.  Maybe I’ve had too much to drink, but at least I haven’t inadvertently activated some subroutine I wouldn’t understand how to deactivate.  Somehow, in the last couple of hours of candor, something clicked for me. I’ve told him about my house on Earth, my partner, my cats, and my job as a freshman composition instructor, before I joined the Maquis.  I’ve heard his stories about sickbay challenges, his growing fondness for Kes and revelations about her species, and his fantasies about taking command of Voyager and demanding the same respect and admiration Janeway enjoys.  Now I’m asking him to listen to my heart, and this has somehow put a wrench in what was an enjoyable evening, a distraction from the dullness of waiting to get home.  Is it a step too far?  How do you know when you and a hologram are on the same page, emotionally?

“So you’re anxious about something?  What are your symptoms?” he asks.  “It’s nothing like that!” I say, laughing, wishing at this moment I’d tabled this until later, or maybe never.  “I just think it’s really cool,” I say, immediately realizing my mistake. “Is it warm in here?" He asks sarcastically.  "Maybe you had too much synthehol?”  I have to look at him for a second to realize he’s joking again, and at my expense, really. “You realize I use a much more efficient instrument to scan multiple vital signs for multiple crew members all day?  What about this is different, other than it being less comprehensive and less efficient?  At the risk of sounding like a Vulcan, is this logical?”  I take in a deep breath.  I know he's well aware that I'm not asking him to be my doctor, at least not at this moment.  I was obviously unprepared for this conversation, and I can feel my heart pounding away in my chest--a circumstance that, unfortunately, makes me yearn to be listened to even more.

“It’s more intimate,” I explain.  “And I brought it up because I feel close to you.  I want to share my heart with you.  I mean…metaphorically.  It’s been great…being one of the humanoids you connect with.  I hope that we can still be friends after we’re back home.  Keep in touch somehow, if you decide to stay aboard Voyager?  So yeah…I’m fond of you, I love seeing you develop into someone more complex than the guy I first met.  I don't know if you've thought about it this way, but that is very relatable to me, as a human who is also continually changed by my own experiences, as that's practically unavoidable.  And I would just love it, if you listened to my heart."  The last five words tumble out of my mouth almost as one jumbled mess, so difficult to say out loud.  I have to get better at that, I think.

I grow silent while he considers what I've said.  "I greatly enjoy your company," he begins.  Then, with some hesitation: "I'm just not sure how that is connected to your request."  He throws his arms up in the air, a little exasperated, or at least appearing to be.  I know that the human doctor he was programmed to simulate, a Lewis Zimmerman from New Jersey, was notoriously ill-tempered, stubborn, and condescending, and our EMH did not stray from that programming easily when he was first activated full-time.  It was only when Janeway agreed to expand his programming--both out of necessity and later at the Doctor's request--that he developed a personality all his own.  My hope for him when we reach the Alpha Quadrant is that the Federation will grant him personhood on the basis of his sentience, because I'm finding the differences between us continually grow smaller. A precedent has already been set, if not for holograms, then sentient androids, I believe, with Data on The Enterprise.  Whatever happens, I like to think I've helped him figure out his individuality, just as he's helped me feel much less lonely on Voyager.

“Am I bothering you with this?  Was it a mistake to bring it up?  I’m having a nice evening and I’m not trying to ruin anything,” I say.  “You’re fine,” he assures me.  “I’m simply curious.  I want to understand and apparently, I just don’t.  I have researched human bonding activities rather extensively.  In the context of friendship, at least when it comes to Americans like yourself, evidently there’s little physical contact involved.  Humans enjoy hunting for sport, drinking—like you’re doing, dining out together (except I don't consume food), and this game that involves throwing or kicking a sort of oval-shaped leather ball over a goal but is also rather violent...”  I’m trying not to laugh at the poor man as he describes American football as no one from my hometown has ever heard it.  “But this is not a romantic gesture of some kind?  I’ve read about those, too, and—“ I have to stop him.  “No, it’s ok—it’s not meant to be a romantic gesture.  I still have hope that I’m going to get home to my partner, you know?  But it's very emotional.  I have strong feelings about it.  If that's not obvious.”  He sighs.  “Well, despite all of my research into social skills and relationships, I’ve never found a reference to this outside of a medical setting.  I don’t know what you expect me to do, if not behave as a trained physician.  Perhaps I should be advised on how to act and what to say.”

It dawns on me that it is confusing to his mind to be asked to do something for which the only context he has is the wrong one.  And there was no prior reason for him to deviate from the parameters that were programmed into him.  “So the thing is,” I explain slowly because my heart is pounding in my ears and I’m beginning to feel so embarrassed that I want to hurl myself out of an airlock and into the Delta quadrant void.  “I really like being on the other end of a stethoscope.  Like, a lot.  It makes me feel loved and safe.  It's very sensual.  I understand that hearts are organs that don’t have opinions, but I feel like my heart lives for being listened to.  That’s my thing, admittedly—but I thought you might get something out of it, too.  You know how to read a medical tricorder; you know everything that might cause a minor fluctuation in any given reading of the dozens or maybe hundreds that your device can keep track of.  But have you ever actually just listened to someone's life force, in real time, with them sitting beside you?  An unusual shared experience, right?  Just permitted yourself to exist in that moment, outside of anything in your life that's causing you stress?  And pondered that for all it represents?  I can't tell you what to say or how to act.  It just depends on what comes to mind for you, what you feel.  Maybe you'll never want to do it again, or maybe you'll enjoy it and then you can just say whatever you want to say.  Or keep that to yourself if you'd rather, you know?  It would mean a lot to me, anyway, but it's up to you," I add sheepishly.

"No one has ever said that," he says, appearing dumbfounded and...impressed, is it?  "Which part?" I ask nervously.  "You said 'anything in your life that's causing you stress.'  You acknowledged that I could experience stress.  That I have a life.  I haven't even been active for more than two and a half years."  "Well, we all have to start somewhere?  Why wouldn't I refer to that as your life?" I ask.  He doesn't reply, but takes the stethoscope and affixes it in his ears, uncertainly.  “Do I look like a 21st century doctor?” he asks, smiling almost haughtily.  “I wouldn’t know firsthand, but yes?” I offer, shrugging.  He moves closer to me on the couch and places the chestpiece in the middle of my chest.   Immediately he blurts out an, "Oh!" and then "I didn't know it would be so loud.  And so fast."  "Yeah, I didn't realize you'd just like, go for it just then," I say, staring at the floor, giggling.  "But I'm glad."  Slowly, he starts to move the chestpiece around, listening everywhere: pulmonic, aortic, tricuspid, mitral.  He does know anatomy.  I find myself wondering if this is the first time anyone--human or otherwise--has enlisted an emergency medical hologram to have a friendly auscultation session with no medical purpose involved in any way.  Is this novel to me, or is this altogether novel an occurrence?  I look up and our eyes meet.  "Still fast, I guess?" I ask, smiling.  "Less so," he tells me.  "It's a bit slower, and steady."  "I like having you listening to it," I tell him softly, though I wonder if he understands me, in more ways than one.  I wait a few breaths, then reach for his other hand to hold it for a moment.  I look into his eyes, deeply brown like portobello gills--a pretty organic comparison my mind has conjured for someone computer-generated.  They seem inquisitive, and I tell myself (or lie to myself?) that there's also a hint of emotion, of affection, he's associating with this act.  I close my eyes while he listens a few seconds longer.  

"Well, you are alive," he finally says, handing me the stethoscope, the grainy glitter on its tubing grazing my hand.  "That much is certain.  As far as standards for humans go, judging by the fact that you clearly have synaptic activity taking place.   What I heard indicates that you have four functioning heart valves, as is expected," he continues.  "Alright," I say kind of dismissively, holding up my hand that's still clutching the binaurals and grimacing.  "You don't have to do that.  I mean I guess if that's what you wanted to say.  But I mean...this is a sweet moment.  I mean, speaking for myself, anyhow.  Thank you.  You made my night."  He cracks a smile and  I reach over and put my arms around him, something I've never done before.  He seems startled at first, then returns the embrace.  He feels surprisingly warm and human himself.  For one of the few times in the past two years, I don't mind that I'm stranded in an uncharted part of the galaxy if I get to be surrounded by amazing people.

[j-a-nuary]

Carrier

A Perfectly Respectable Murderous Creature of The Night

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Stray Kids Urban fantasy AU (feat. Ateez from time to time) | A “carrier service” exists, seemingly only to get people (usually women) home safe after the trains stop running.

Heavy on bad boys with hearts of… some kind of shiny metal, probably.

Warnings: Sex off screen, the gay agenda (y’know, like existing?), blood/blood drinking, an NPC gets beaten to death off screen, apathy,  Changbin continues to struggle with his emotions, Minho still has a superiority complex

-----

Tempawan felt cold again, but by now she had enough experience that she was sure that her skin was hot to the touch. Sweat glistened on every inch of her exposed skin. Her pores were working overtime to mix with the moisture coming off of whoever the man in front of her was.

"I'm going for some fresh air."

She nodded. The man leaned in, speaking through her hair.

"Come with me."

She smiled and let him lead her to the poorly lit patio. There were a few others outside, which seemed to throw a wrench into his plans. The heat from inside began to ebb as he made small talk. When he asked Tempawan what she did for work, she decided to take the lead.

"Why don't you ask me something you actually want to know?"

Had she always been so bold? Not that she could remember. Not before the last month or so. She felt like her sister’s words earlier that day had opened her eyes a bit. She hadn’t exactly been holding back from her extracurriculars recently, but she decided that she needed to up her participation if she was going to push Bin out of her mind.

His smile was playful. Tempawan felt a little relieved. We’re back in business.

A gratuitous sweep of his eyes over her body seemed to spark an idea in his mind.

"How do you get into such tight leggings?"

-----

Changbin’s blood was near the boiling point.

She's not mine. She's not mine. She's not mine.

Yet.

Little Turtle giggled and stretched out a leg, pulling her skirt upwards slightly in the process. The man she had been dancing with reached out a hand and ran two fingers along her outer thigh. It was a small move, a brief move, a light move, a forgivable move.

But then she grabbed his wrist and moved it higher on her leg. She leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. If it weren't for the damn noise of this place Changbin was sure he would have been able to hear it.

As it was, his only option was to watch.

Her lips found the line of veins and arteries in his neck. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Changbin could feel the arousal pouring off of her, completely convinced he could smell it in the trees and damp earth of her smell that wafted from across the club. It was pumping through his veins. He dug the tin of pills out and popped two into his mouth.

-----

Changbin watched them enter the tacky establishment. He shot a text off to Seungmin, telling him which hotel she was at, before heading back to where he had parked his bike.

Changbin Crystal Cherry.

Seungmin Pulled up. I’ll tell her 17 minutes after she calls.

It was, unfortunately, more time than he would need.

-----

Seungmin had been expecting her call. Even without Changbin trailing her, he would have been expecting it. It was, after all, a Wednesday night.

"Little Turtle?"

"Who else?" Her voice was lilting in his ear. She must be feeling good.

"Pulling up your location. How're you feeling?"

"Dizzy. Gonna haul me in for a check-up?"

"Not if you don't want to. I've got a driver seventeen minutes out, if you don't mind the bike."

Silence on the phone. Seungmin saw her biting her thumb on his screen.

"If you'd prefer a car..." he half offered.

"It's fine,” she shook her head, “you said seventeen?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Thank you Operator-oppa."

She popped the last word out. Seungmin felt unsettled. Was she... no... she couldn't be flirting with me. He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

Part of Seungmin didn't want to disconnect. One of the safety features of his system was that the video feed would automatically close when he hung up. It had seemed like a good idea when he had built it. Personal privacy and all that.

It only took him a few seconds to find her again. But he had learned early on just how much you can miss in a few seconds.

-----

Seventeen minutes. A fake time to make it seem like Changbin wasn't...

Stalking her?

Trailing her. Stalkers have malicious intent.

Stalking her.

Changbin popped another tablet into his mouth.

Fifteen minutes later he started his engine. Two minutes after that, he pulled up in front of the hotel.

Bin spotted her immediately. Somehow she looked even better than when the night had started. The pink and blue neon lighting played in his mind. Part of him wanted to bring her back inside and get a room.

"Little Turtle."

She could feel Bin judging her through the helmet, she just knew she could. She couldn't stand to look at him.

She bit her lip. It was obvious she was uncomfortable. She didn't look at him.

"Bin."

He held back a sigh.

Would it make her more or less uncomfortable if she knew that I was too busy trying to take in her scent to judge her?

-----

This is stupid. Why do I care what he thinks? He's just a driver , Tempawan reminded herself. Sure, he's the driver she got most often, but he was just a means of getting home from mistakes. Nothing more.

He unclipped the extra helmet and held it up.

"You..."

"I know the drill," she cut him off.

She took it and pulled it over her head. His hand seemed to float in the air for a second. Her gaze got caught on those rings he wore again. Slender fingers, black band. Only one this time. If her sister hadn't gotten all of the artistic talent in the family, she would want to draw his hands.

He tapped the helmet, and Tempawan heard the familiar click.

"You're not wearing the good luck charm."

With the double-barricade of both of their helmets, she looked up at the approximate location of where his face was.

"It doesn't match my outfit."

His helmet bobbed, a nod.

"I had hoped you would wear it."

Tempawan scoffed, not sure how that would translate through the speakers.

To Changbin, it was unmistakably derisive. He had noticed that she had been a bit colder towards him for the last few rides. He wanted to reach out and shake her, ask her what was wrong. He wanted her to explain why she was putting this barrier up between them.

By what right ? He thought to himself. He was a carrier. She was a package. It was clear to Changbin that anything he felt between them was one sided. If anything, he thought he probably came across like…

A stalker.

He swallowed, then spoke aloud.

"Let's go."

The ride itself was great. Tempawan felt herself finally relaxing as they wove between cars. The temporary damper on the thrill of the night lifted. This bike, this ride, this was the perfect way to come down.

Almost. Fuck . That insurance clerk from the bar had been... hard to please. Not in a demanding way. More in a self-effacing, trying too hard way. The ride was a good relaxant, but she still felt that coldness. Instinctively seeking warmth, she wrapped her arms more tightly around Bin.

Feeling the stiffness fade, and the way she pressed against his back grated on Changbin's already frayed nerves. He barely resisted veering off track, out of the city. For a moment he thought about going somewhere with trees and sky. Somewhere open. Somewhere they could talk. But what would I say? How could I fix this?

Do it anyway. See what happens.

Changbin swallowed, and started mentally counting down the blocks until they reached her apartment.

Tempawan couldn't help but feel the heat between her and Bin. She shifted even closer.

-----

Seungmin, taking his new role as security watch very seriously and professionally and not at all like he was watching a reality TV show, saw Changbin's bike roll up to the entry of Little Turtle's apartment. He leaned in closer to the screen to watch.

Little Turtle let Changbin help her off the bike. Seungmin couldn't tell who was causing it to be such a slow process, but it was taking much longer than necessary. She unclasped her helmet, but Changbin was the one that pulled it off of her head.

Seungmin realized this might be some sort of personal moment. Something that he maybe shouldn't be watching. If Changbin took his helmet off he would have no option but to inform Chan.

Seungmin lowered his eyes for a moment. He couldn't report something if he didn't see it, right?

He glanced up at the screen to see Changbin looking up at the building. His helmet was firmly in place. Letting out a breath, Seungmin turned his attention to an article in one of his magazines.

-----

At Tempawan’s apartment, Changbin sighed. It was just his luck that he'd start falling for… what, exactly? He didn't know how to accurately describe Little Turtle. Emotionally unavailable? Physically unobtainable? Complicatedly out of reach? It didn't matter, really. He was falling and she was not. That much was obvious to him.

I can wait. He hauled himself back onto his bike. Knowing that she was somewhat safely tucked into her apartment, he was free to leave.

I will wait.

-----

Across the city, Chan was dealing with a different sort of relationship issue.

“I want you to come with me next Friday.”

Minho, lying next to him, separated only by the bit of bedsheet that he always tended to cover himself up with, shifted so that he could look up at Chan. Lines of worry creased his face. Minho reached up and pressed his finger against them.

“Stop that. You'll get wrinkles.”

Chan smiled, brushing away the hand on his brow.

“You'll get them before I do. Will you come?”

Minho grumbled and burrowed his head against Chan's chest.

“Minnie... Please? I want you to look this guy over before I offer him the job.”

Chan pressed a kiss against Minho’s head as he spoke. Not quite satisfied, he slid his hands under Minho’s chin, pulling him up to get access to his lips.

Unfair , Minho thought as he let Chan kiss him. The chill of the room quickly dissipated. Or at least, Minho felt like it did.

“I'll think about it.”

Chan knew that Minho didn't like going out in public unless he absolutely had to. He also knew he'd do it because he had asked. But they had their rituals. Chan had to ask, Minho had to refuse, rinse, repeat, until eventually Minho would "give in".

Chan allowed himself a moment to marvel at his luck in being contracted to this man. It was easy to forget their agreement. In fact, at times, he felt like Minho was the one who held all the cards rather than himself.

Chan turned, leaning Minho back. His body lingering over the man as he leaned down to his neck and shoulder, kissing the scarred stitches there.

Unfair , Minho had to bite back a sigh. Chan wasn’t the only one who seemed to willingly forget their deal. Sure, Minho had originally pledged his services in return for protection, but over the many, many, many , years he had grown attached.

So unfair.

-----

Jeongin looked down at his shirt. I should really stop wearing white . His gaze fell back to the now motionless lump on the pavement before him.

What a hassle . This should have been a normal delivery. The package was in his possession. Jeongin would still make the delivery.

He should probably report this though.

But first... The shirt was already ruined. And the way Jeongin saw it, it wasn't likely that this guy exactly needed his blood anymore.

He knelt next to the man's body. The man was still alive, but not for long. Reaching forward, Jeongin tore the man's shirt open, sending buttons skittering across the pavement. He scanned the man's chest, looking for any pre-made opening that he could use. There was none.

The man coughed, blood sputtering between his lips. Haemoptysis. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough for a quick taste.

Jeongin was sure that the man was confused. The person that had just beaten him was now leaning down and locking his lips over his own. The man started struggling again, his latent homophobia triggering a last ditch effort to escape.

"Hold still," Jeongin told him.

The man's struggle stopped. It had gone on long enough that more blood had welled up in his mouth before Jeongin had used his voice. This guy was going to drown in his own blood soon. Jeongin clenched his hands on his arms, pinning him despite not needing to.

Every swipe of his tongue brought more of the man's taste into his mouth. Idly, Jeongin wondered if this was why there was a trend of homosexuality in vampire fiction. He didn't feel particularly turned on himself, but to an outside observer...

The man went even looser in Jeongin’s hold. He was almost done. Pulling back, Jeongin looked him over. He might not have needed more, but he certainly wouldn't say no.

Jeongin patted down the man briefly, quickly coming across a pretty little knife. Sliding it open, he looked him over again. There was a bruise under his ribs. That would do nicely.

The man let out a small noise and jumped again as his own knife was thrust into the middle of the bruise. So he wasn't quite gone yet . Blood immediately started pouring out of the wound. Jeongin was running out of time. He dipped his head, and latched onto the opening.

-----

Jeongin dropped the package off on time. Hongjoong wanted to seem unfazed by his blood soaked clothing, but Jeongin could tell he was a little concerned. Wordlessly, Jeongin handed Seonghwa the package, complete with a polaroid of the dead man's face placed on top. It wasn't Jeongin's problem anymore.

-----

"What happened to you?"

Felix was buffing out an imaginary scuff on his fender. Jeongin looked down at his shirt, again thinking of how much laundry he needed to do.

"Interruption. Someone wanted the box for themselves."

Felix paused, looking him over slowly.

"And...?"

"And he didn't get it. Don't worry," Jeongin headed towards the office, "it will look like a mugging gone wrong."

Felix watched him retreat. Biting his lip, he frowned. It was clear to everyone that Jeongin was better suited to a certain type of delivery - actual packages of indeterminate legality were more his style than passenger packages. He was quickly assigned as the go-to guy for the side of business that actually brought in money.

But he had changed. It was unnerving to some, such as Felix and Jisung, to see him return so casually covered in someone else's blood. Felix was beginning to suspect that Chan was pulling him into a more specialized field. He didn't like it, but what could he do?

He looked back down the hallway that Jeongin had left through. They all have skills, he supposed.

-----

A whiny engine pulled in soon after. Changbin. Felix smiled up at him.

"How's our princess?"

He dismounted and practically tossed his helmet aside.

"No jokes tonight Lix."

Felix pouted.

"What's wrong?"

"Shit..." He took a deep breath and pushed his hair back. "Everything. Where's Chan?"

"Out."

"Fucking hell. Alright. The doctor around?"

Felix had to laugh at that.

"Where else would he be?"

-----

Not raising his attention from the circuit board in front of him, Minho called for whoever was knocking to come in. Changbin grumped himself into the office and slumped into his spare chair. Minho waited.

"She's not wearing the ring."

Ah.

"Good thing you're tailing her then."

Changbin huffed and leaned forward.

"Any ideas on her double?"

"Sure," Minho carefully pressed a braid of copper against a particular chocolate chip shaped mound of metal, "plenty of ideas. Too many," he pressed the soldering iron against the braid, effectively disconnecting a particular overloaded resistor from the board, "that's the problem." Minho lifted the braid from the board and looked it over carefully. Satisfied, he finally spared a glance towards Changbin.

"No insight from watching her?"

He shook his head. To Minho, the conversation seemed to be over, but Changbin was obviously reluctant to leave. Minho sighed, placing his iron into its stand.

"Tell me."

Changbin’s nostrils flared and he shook his head. Minho waited, not saying anything, knowing that Changbin wouldn't be able to handle sitting in silence. Not for much longer.

"It's just…" Changbin sucked air through his grit teeth, "she goes out, gets drunk, and lets the greasiest losers bring her back to hotels. An hour or two passes, then I go pick her up." He snorted a rough laugh and shook his head.

"What's the appeal? Why doesn't she... I mean... Why not..."

"Why settle for a series of flings when there's a perfectly respectable murderous creature of the night that's desperately in love with her?" Minho asked dryly.

One of his spools of solder was flung in his direction.

"Shut up! Maybe not me but," Changbin groaned, letting his head fall backwards, "aren't relationships better? Having someone who cares about you for more than a little time with your body?"

Minho watched him huff and settle deeper into his chair. Pushing his glasses up, he cocked an eyebrow at Changbin.

"Have you not noticed any patterns?"

"What patterns?"

How would anything get done around here without me? Minho heaved a long-suffering kind of sigh.

"Haven't you considered that maybe this sort of behavior has something to do with her getting dosed?"

[pagebypagereviews]

30 Essential Reads of the Last Decade The last decade has been a golden era for literature, with a diverse range of voices and stories coming to the forefront. From groundbreaking novels that challenge societal norms to memoirs that offer deeply personal insights into the human condition, the literary world has been enriched with works that will be remembered for years to come. This article delves into 30 essential reads from the last decade, offering a glimpse into the books that have shaped contemporary thought and culture. The Power of Fiction Fiction has the unique ability to transport readers to different worlds, allowing them to live vicariously through characters and experiences far removed from their own. The last decade has seen a plethora of novels that not only entertain but also provoke thought and conversation about pressing global issues. "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt (2013) - A mesmerizing tale of art and obsession, Tartt's novel won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and captivated readers worldwide. "Americanah" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2013) - This powerful novel explores themes of race, identity, and love, offering a poignant look at the immigrant experience in the United States and the United Kingdom. "The Underground Railroad" by Colson Whitehead (2016) - An imaginative and harrowing account of a young slave's bid for freedom in the antebellum South, Whitehead's novel is both a critical and commercial success. "Normal People" by Sally Rooney (2018) - Rooney's exploration of young love, friendship, and the complexities of social class in contemporary Ireland has resonated with a generation of readers. "The Testaments" by Margaret Atwood (2019) - The long-awaited sequel to "The Handmaid's Tale," Atwood's novel is a testament to the enduring power of dystopian fiction to comment on present-day issues. Non-Fiction That Shapes Our Understanding Non-fiction works have played a crucial role in shaping public discourse on a variety of topics, from technology and politics to personal development and social justice. The following titles have stood out for their insightful analysis and compelling storytelling. "Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind" by Yuval Noah Harari (2014) - Harari's sweeping narrative of human history has become a must-read for understanding the forces that have shaped our society. "Between the World and Me" by Ta-Nehisi Coates (2015) - Written as a letter to his son, Coates's book is a powerful meditation on race in America. "Educated" by Tara Westover (2018) - Westover's memoir of growing up in a strict and abusive household and her journey to Cambridge University is both inspiring and heart-wrenching. "Becoming" by Michelle Obama (2018) - The former First Lady's memoir offers an intimate look at her life, from her childhood in Chicago to her years in the White House. "The Age of Surveillance Capitalism" by Shoshana Zuboff (2019) - Zuboff's analysis of how tech companies exploit personal data has sparked important conversations about privacy and democracy in the digital age. Genre-Bending Works The last decade has also seen a rise in books that defy easy categorization, blending elements of different genres to create entirely new reading experiences. "Lincoln in the Bardo" by George Saunders (2017) - A novel that combines historical fiction with a ghost story, Saunders's book is an innovative exploration of grief and loss. "Circe" by Madeline Miller (2018) - By reimagining the story of the witch Circe from Greek mythology, Miller's novel blurs the lines between myth and reality. "The Fifth Season" by N.K. Jemisin (2015) - The first book in Jemisin's Broken Earth trilogy, this novel is a groundbreaking work of fantasy that addresses themes of race, oppression, and environmental collapse. "Gideon the Ninth" by Tamsyn Muir (2019) - Muir's debut combines elements of science fiction, fantasy, and mystery in a tale of necromancers and sword fights. Books That Broke the Mold

Some books defy expectations and stand out for their unique approach to storytelling, structure, or subject matter. These works have challenged readers to see the world in new ways. "A Little Life" by Hanya Yanagihara (2015) - Yanagihara's novel is a deeply emotional journey through the lives of four friends, dealing with themes of love, loss, and trauma. "Autumn" by Ali Smith (2016) - The first in Smith's seasonal quartet, this novel is a meditation on the passage of time, art, and the nature of storytelling itself. "Exit West" by Mohsin Hamid (2017) - Hamid's novel uses magical realism to explore the global refugee crisis, telling a story of love and loss that transcends borders. "My Year of Rest and Relaxation" by Ottessa Moshfegh (2018) - A darkly comedic novel about a young woman's attempt to hibernate from the world, Moshfegh's work is a critique of contemporary society's obsession with productivity and self-improvement. Conclusion The last decade has been an extraordinary period for literature, with writers pushing the boundaries of genre, style, and subject matter. The 30 books listed here are just a starting point for exploring the rich and diverse narratives that have captivated readers around the world. From novels that reimagine history to memoirs that offer a window into the author's soul, these works are essential reading for anyone looking to understand the complexities of the modern world. As we move forward, it's clear that literature will continue to play a vital role in reflecting and shaping our collective experiences.

[lubdog]

today the vet told me that my dog has a heart arrhythmia.

the diagnosis of cause could be a variety of things, but the end result is the same in every prognosis:

she is going to die.

I remember I used to wonder why people got pets.

I told my best friend that I wouldn’t put myself through the pain of loving something so much, just to know I only had a small fraction of my time on earth to give to it; even less, considering normal, daily things that require my presence or attention.

And then I got a dog.

and a cat, and another dog.

and every single one of them is going to die.

it could be in a year, or five years,

or I could get lucky with them, and they could live until they’re seventeen, or thirty-one-and-a-half, like the oldest living dog in the Guinness Book of World Records (if you ignore the possibility of that being a false claim).

but regardless of how long (or short) I am blessed with their presence and unconditional love,

I am reminded of how I sign up for devastating heartbreak without much consideration, nearly every day.

I read books and watch films where my favorite character dies, and I can see it coming long before I’ve closed the last chapter, or the credits roll.

I make friends with the knowledge that we may one day outgrow each other, and never speak again.

I watch an elderly neighbor feed stray cats in his spare time,

who tells me he was feeding a group of them once and noticed there was a single, pure white kitten of whom he was particularly fond,

whom weeks later, on his drive home from work, he saw lying on the side of the road after being struck by a vehicle;

its white fur striking against the monotone grey of the pavement.

He tells me about her, as he feeds this new group of kittens; tells me he spotted another pregnant mama the other day,

that there’s more on the way.

he tells me that the cats won’t come up to anyone else, but he can stand there amongst the kibble and cans and watch them eat, and every now and then one of them will approach him.

That white kitten died, to my knowledge, about nine years ago.

I just saw the man yesterday with his bag of kibble underarm,

and I recall he was a fairly heavy smoker a while back,

but I haven’t seen him pull out a cigarette in years.

When we give our hearts as fair game for the breaking;

in whole, and without attempt of cheating the rules

or manipulating the boundaries,

only then, are we returned something of sanctity.

something abstract that cannot be measured in word or equation or form; something that has only one rule: it must, and can be, alone, felt.

We are given one piece of unchallenged knowledge when arriving to this existence:

every piece of it is temporary.

every single parcel of it all is Sugar Cube Purity.

I asked the vet for information about warning signs that my dog was nearing the end,

“the last thing I want is to unknowingly allow her to suffer” I told them.

I will make the choice, whenever that time comes, to gift back to her a small fraction of what she has given to me, throughout every moment she has been mine.

I will help her go, I will give her back to the earth and God, and whatever else it was that graced me with the gift of her existence.

I will bear the pain that comes with the choice of loving,

and as much as I hate to see it,

so will she, even if it’s just momentarily.

“People have held their dying children” I remind myself,

a last ditch effort to remove myself from some of the suffering;

to build a wall in my heart against the inevitable products of love.

but eventually I will return, after dismantling my imagined protection, brick by brick,

to this fundamental truth:

This love was never meant to be measured against its various other ‘selves’-

for Christ’s sake, I cried when my pet tree frog died,

and I still think of him-

And while I have never had to bear the extraordinary weight of loving and losing a child,

I am convinced that every manifestation of this beautiful, heart-wrenching gift

stands alone as its very own intrinsic experience,

that can only be measured alongside, not in comparison with, its innumerable other manifestations.

We cherish, and we are cherished.

we fear, and we are feared for.

we give, and we are returned gifts.

we are substantially changed with every experience of love

and its subsequent, and less welcomed friend, grief.

we are challenged to learn the value of our existence, through the eyes of those we value.

Love never fails, not because we are incapable of “failing” in our endeavors of love-

but because it is inherently reciprocal

and it always gives exceptionally more than it takes.

My dad tells me that upon learning the news that my grandmother was pregnant with him, her firstborn;

my great-grandma vowed to never smoke another cigarette, for as long as she lived.

and she never did.

We are instilled with the most powerful ingredient in the making of living,

right from the beginning.

we only choose to quiet its voice when those around us have forgotten how to let it burst loudly from within them;

when they stifle parts of it in themselves, and by association, in us.

When the time comes, I will get another dog.

I will go in with all the intentions of imagining that the painful second-phase of love is far off;

for it will be barely visible at the time.

but I know that I will allow it to arrive when it’s ready.

And for the time being, I will both bear and enjoy

the difficulty and intentionality of staying in this current, present manifestation of love with my dog,

for however long I am granted.

“To be loved, is to be changed.”

[blutea]

today the vet told me that my dog has a heart arrhythmia.

the diagnosis of cause could be a variety of things, but the end result is the same in every prognosis:

she is going to die.

I remember I used to wonder why people got pets.

I told my best friend that I wouldn’t put myself through the pain of loving something so much, just to know I only had a small fraction of my time on earth to give to it; even less, considering normal, daily things that require my presence or attention.

And then I got a dog.

and a cat, and another dog.

and every single one of them is going to die.

it could be in a year, or five years,

or I could get lucky with them, and they could live until they’re seventeen, or thirty-one-and-a-half, like the oldest living dog in the Guinness Book of World Records (if you ignore the possibility of that being a false claim).

but regardless of how long (or short) I am blessed with their presence and unconditional love,

I am reminded of how I sign up for devastating heartbreak without much consideration, nearly every day.

I read books and watch films where my favorite character dies, and I can see it coming long before I’ve closed the last chapter, or the credits roll.

I make friends with the knowledge that we may one day outgrow each other, and never speak again.

I watch an elderly neighbor feed stray cats in his spare time,

who tells me he was feeding a group of them once and noticed there was a single, pure white kitten of whom he was particularly fond,

whom weeks later, on his drive home from work, he saw lying on the side of the road after being struck by a vehicle;

its white fur striking against the monotone grey of the pavement.

He tells me about her, as he feeds this new group of kittens; tells me he spotted another pregnant mama the other day,

that there’s more on the way.

he tells me that the cats won’t come up to anyone else, but he can stand there amongst the kibble and cans and watch them eat, and every now and then one of them will approach him.

That white kitten died, to my knowledge, about nine years ago.

I just saw the man yesterday with his bag of kibble underarm,

and I recall he was a fairly heavy smoker a while back,

but I haven’t seen him pull out a cigarette in years.

When we give our hearts as fair game for the breaking;

in whole, and without attempt of cheating the rules

or manipulating the boundaries,

only then, are we returned something of sanctity.

something abstract that cannot be measured in word or equation or form; something that has only one rule: it must, and can be, alone, felt.

We are given one piece of unchallenged knowledge when arriving to this existence:

every piece of it is temporary.

every single parcel of it all is Sugar Cube Purity.

I asked the vet for information about warning signs that my dog was nearing the end,

“the last thing I want is to unknowingly allow her to suffer” I told them.

I will make the choice, whenever that time comes, to gift back to her a small fraction of what she has given to me, throughout every moment she has been mine.

I will help her go, I will give her back to the earth and God, and whatever else it was that graced me with the gift of her existence.

I will bear the pain that comes with the choice of loving,

and as much as I hate to see it,

so will she, even if it’s just momentarily.

“People have held their dying children” I remind myself,

a last ditch effort to remove myself from some of the suffering;

to build a wall in my heart against the inevitable products of love.

but eventually I will return, after dismantling my imagined protection, brick by brick,

to this fundamental truth:

This love was never meant to be measured against its various other ‘selves’-

for Christ’s sake, I cried when my pet tree frog died,

and I still think of him-

And while I have never had to bear the extraordinary weight of loving and losing a child,

I am convinced that every manifestation of this beautiful, heart-wrenching gift

stands alone as its very own intrinsic experience,

that can only be measured alongside, not in comparison with, its innumerable other manifestations.

We cherish, and we are cherished.

we fear, and we are feared for.

we give, and we are returned gifts.

we are substantially changed with every experience of love

and its subsequent, and less welcomed friend, grief.

we are challenged to learn the value of our existence, through the eyes of those we value.

Love never fails, not because we are incapable of “failing” in our endeavors of love-

but because it is inherently reciprocal

and it always gives exceptionally more than it takes.

My dad tells me that upon learning the news that my grandmother was pregnant with him, her firstborn;

my great-grandma vowed to never smoke another cigarette, for as long as she lived.

and she never did.

We are instilled with the most powerful ingredient in the making of living,

right from the beginning.

we only choose to quiet its voice when those around us have forgotten how to let it burst loudly from within them;

when they stifle parts of it in themselves, and by association, in us.

When the time comes, I will get another dog.

I will go in with all the intentions of imagining that the painful second-phase of love is far off;

for it will be barely visible at the time.

but I know that I will allow it to arrive when it’s ready.

And for the time being, I will both bear and enjoy

the difficulty and intentionality of staying in this current, present manifestation of love with my dog,

for however long I am granted.

“To be loved, is to be changed.”

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

           That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

-

-

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin @moon-light-jukebox​ @whxt-to-write @calm-and-doctor @jessalyn-jpeg @pinkdiamond1016 @itsametaphorbriansblog @eldahae @itsmytimetoodream @kasaikawa @shadyladyperfection

[lunaastoir]

“maybe someday”

childe x gn! traveler! reader

i had this little idea stuck in my head and i had to get it down,,, i’ve been having sm childe brainrot recently and i’d like to chalk it up to the fact that it’s due to his banner but i’m 99% sure it’s bc im a simp 😔🙏

anyways!!! angst down below - enjoy <3

this is set before childe’s story quest

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

it wasn’t supposed to go like this. it was a simple errand - the tsaritsa wanted him to check up on things in mondstadt, so he decided to visit zhongli on the way. simple. so, so, simple. right? 

then why was he up on the rooftop of bubu pharmacy, frozen in place, while he watched you laugh merrily down below. he hated to imagine what he must have looked like in that moment; lips parted, azure eyes widened, cheeks softly flushed. the chill of the night air harshly snapped him back to his senses as he mentally chided himself. if he was caught in liyue, he was as good as dead. he couldn’t afford to be distracted, he’s a wanted war criminal after all. quietly cursing, he softly padded his way across the tiles, mentally counting down the distance to the edge of the building. just a little more and he could blend into the mountains while sprinting toward wangsheng funeral parlor. he kept his eyes trained in front of him, refusing to take a good look at you. idiot, idiot, idiot he cursed internally. just a foot more and he would be free. the urge to run at you wouldn’t be so heartachingly strong if he could just cross that foot of distance. 

another loud laugh and he immediately stopped. loudly exhaling through his nose, he struggled with his desires. one last time he whispered. i’ll give myself one last time. his head turned towards you in defeat. azure eyes greedily took in your features, the sweet curve of your lips, the gentleness of the wind against your hair, the twinkling eyes that seemed to reflect the brightness of stars while glistening with mirth. despite the way childe felt his heart wrench, he subconsciously felt the corners of his lips tug into a soft smile. you balanced qiqi in your arms, the little girl softly cuddling into you while holding a bouquet of freshly picked qingxin flowers. the peaceful expression adorning her face as she burrowed into the crook of your neck prompted you to gently run a hand down her back, lulling her to sleep. his smile only grew when he saw how you cared for the girl. you were happy he concluded, from the look of peace on your face. you were whispering in hushed tones to a woman, keqing was it? the wind carried some of your words as he made out “qiqi...qingxin flowers...xiao...was happy...picked more...back” ah. so that’s what happened. a soft giggle left your lips and he watched you slowly start walking back into the bustle of the city, leaving him alone on the rooftop.

the serene expression on his face melted, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest. when he went back to snezhnaya following the acquisition of the gnosis, he couldn’t help but feel... distressed? perplexed? uneasy? no, no those weren’t the words. guilty. that’s what he felt. the guilt gnawed at his insides, growing in size whenever word of liyue reached his ears. not guilt for what he’d done to liyue - don’t mistake him for a righteous man. guilt for what he’d done to you. paimon’s words echoed in his mind, “that’s not how most people make friends is it?” no, it isn’t. he admitted he was unconventional. as a harbinger, it’s his duty to sweet talk others and exploit them to fulfill the tsaritsa’s will. yes, he does occasionally feel bad when something nasty transpires, however, he comes home, wipes the blood off, and does it again the next day. he’s found that not dwelling on the sins of his past keep him sane. but that day, in the icy coldness of his homeland, he felt a different ice than what he was accustomed to. it settled into his bones, and wormed it’s way into his heart. he remembered saying, “i hope we can still be friends” along with the expression on your face when he uttered those words. the betrayal etched with reigned in fury burned it’s way into his mind, searing the consequences of his actions forever. you never were just a friend to him, were you?

childe is many things - a war criminal, a liar, a manipulator, the list goes on. however, dense is not one of them. the minute he could feel himself thinking of you outside of the times you met - when he was doing paperwork at the northland bank, when he got dinner and realized he got your favorite dish, when he picked out a trinket he might like to give to you - he knew he was in over his head. the pit of dread that formed in his stomach only grew with every passing day as he told his subordinates to watch your every move - he needed the location of the exuvia after all. he felt his heart break with every relaxed gesture you made. the roll of your eyes, the hint of a smile when he teased you. he was breaking down your barriers while slowly getting you to trust him - he was accomplishing his goal. but with every “i can’t eat with chopsticks ojou-chan, will you help me” and “i saw this, it reminded me of your smile” he wanted to scream at you to push him away so the inevitable betrayal would hurt less. so he wouldn’t have to live with only the memory of your anguished face forever.

the truth is, it never would have worked out. you wormed your way into his heart in a matter of a few short weeks, where you would reside there for eternity. even if he had broken your walls to the point where you perhaps might have felt the same way, it was over before it began. you were on the tsaritsa’s wanted list, and he was her favorite soldier.

as he finally makes his way over to the edge of the building, tracing his steps onto the mountain, he wonders if you would give him a second chance. if things might be different if he tried again. if you would let him into your life once more, just so he could see you sometimes. 

but he knew, no matter how much he wanted to be yours, he could never have you. for you were the earth, and he was the moon who would always darken your days. 

[dameronology]

love in the time of p.t.a meetings {marcus moreno} - 2/5

summary: your kid has taken a liking to marcus moreno - and frankly, so have you {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of divorce & very brief mentions of his wife’s death 

i don’t normally update series this quickly but this was originally one imagine that reached about 11k words lmao so it’s all written, just being split up. i’ve also decided it’s gonna be 5 parts instead of 3, cos i reread the ending and realised i was not done by a longshot. enjoy!

- jazz

Mondays. You hated ‘em.

Everything just seemed so...amplified. The peace and relaxation of the weekend was over and everyone had to go back on the grind. The traffic always seemed worst, the clock seemed to tick backwards and you just wanted to be at home, in bed. After an incident involving the dog, a toaster and a small pan fire, you were already running twenty minutes late and you knew in your soul that your child’s shoes weren’t on the right feet. That, and also he was wearing a Chewbacca onesie to school. It had been a compromise. As in, he was refusing to go to school unless you let him wear the damn thing. It was a compromise. You’d lost. 

On the bright side, the past weekend had been the best you’d had in a long time. Jack had spent all of Saturday afternoon at the Heroics headquarters and he was so worn out, he’d slept through all of Sunday. Marcus Moreno must have a been a fucking wizard, because you’d been trying to tire the kid out for five years. You made a mental note to do something in return, though you sensed there was nothing on God’s green earth that could possibly amount to babysitting the world’s most exhausting child for six hours. You were allowed to say that, because Jack was your world’s most exhausting child and you wouldn’t have changed him for anything. 

‘New week, huh buddy?’ You glanced at Jack in your rear view mirror. He was sat on his booster seat, legs dangling back and forth and a power ranger action figure in his hand. ‘A fresh start.’

‘Can we listen to the song from Cars?’ Jack ignored your comment.

‘You gotta try and behave yourself this week. You’ve seen what happens to people who do follow the rules, right? They get to go work at the Heroics-’

‘- I wanna listen to the song from Cars!’

You wanted to have a deep conversation. Jack wanted to listen to Life Is A Highway. That was...actually, it was exactly how you’d expected that to go. It wasn’t that off of the time you were trying to explain your divorce to him and he’d interrupted you to demand that you put Toy Story on. 

‘Sure thing, kid.’ You rolled your eyes, reaching across to hand him on your phone. ‘D’you know how to spell it-’

Your sentence was cut off by the sound of guitars blaring from the speakers. At least he could work out Spotify.

By some miracle, you managed to make it the school with a few minutes to spare. Because most people had dropped their kids off earlier (see: on time), the lot was pretty empty. That meant you could once again dump your car without regard for the painted white lines -- who had time to park properly on a Monday morning? That was for people who had their shit together.

Leaping out the car, you almost cursed when you tripped over your heels. You didn’t have to wear them, but since you’d started working in a managerial role at your office, you figured it made you look a little more professional. And what was the harm in being a few inches taller? It made you feel powerful.

‘C’mon, J.’ You pulled open the back door, helping Jack leap out the car. 

‘You know, I’m starting to think you can’t park your car at all.’

‘Marcus!’ Jack practically flew out the car, his tiny body suddenly jolting with excitement. 

‘Morning, buddy.’ He replied; he then moved his brown eyes to gaze at you, offering a smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, how you doing?’ You greeted him. ‘I don’t normally see you here in the mornings.’

‘Yeah, I normally drop Missy off at the front but it was one of those mornings, you know? She was taking a little more convincing than usual to go in.’

‘My kid is in a Wookiee onesie and backwards Thomas the Tank Engine shoes and you have the audacity to ask me if I know those mornings? I am those mornings.’ You replied.

Marcus chuckled. ‘I think it’s a look. I especially like the Lightning McQueen sunglasses.’

‘Do you have a super suit?’ Jack asked. ‘Can I try it on?’

‘C’mon, Jack. You’ve already managed to get a tour of the HQ.’ You ruffled his hair. ‘And we gotta get going to school.’

‘But I wanna ask more questions.’ He muttered. ‘I have over a hundred.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ You murmured under your breath. ‘But school is more important.’

‘I don’t wanna go anymore.’

‘I let you wear the onesie. That was our agreement, remember?’

‘All good superheroes have to get an education.’ Marcus reasoned. ‘And if you go in, maybe I can show you my suit at some point?’

'Okay!’ Jack grinned. He wrapped his arms around your waist in a quick hug, before peering up at you with a toothy smile. ‘See ya later!’

He turned on his heel and ripped his backpack from your hand, suddenly speeding up the path and towards school. Had...had that just happened? For once in your life, had you not had to wrench him from the car and wrestle him through the school gates? Move aside, Harry Potter, because Marcus Moreno was the new wizard in town. You might have been a little jealous that he was so good with your son but at the same time, it made you like him even more. He was the first parent at the school that had leant into Jack’s wild tendencies. And, whilst you tried not to think too much about it, even his own dad had struggled to do that. It made your heart warm a little. 

‘You are seriously my favourite person.’ You chimed, leaning back against your car. 

‘Kids with character are way more fun than kids who are well-behaved.’ Marcus replied.

‘I spent forty-five minutes scraping string cheese out the USB port of my computer yesterday, but sure.’ 

He chuckled. ‘No, I’m serious. I don’t encourage Missy to misbehave but she does get herself into some situations. I choose to see it as a testament to her intelligence rather than disobedience.’

‘I refuse to believe for a second that Missy ever misbehaves.’ You shot back back. ‘She seems so well-behaved.’

‘What you see in the parking lot is not a reflection of our whole lives.’ He reminded you.

‘Right, because despite appearances, I’m actually a very put together parent.’ You snorted. ‘But I get what you mean.’

‘I gotta get to work now, but it was good to see you.’ Marcus pulled his car keys out his pocket. ‘I was serious about that suit thing, by the way. He saw my katanas on Saturday.’

‘Katanas?’ You spluttered. ‘My kid managed to start a fire last week out of nothing and you want to give him katanas?!’

‘Maybe I can show you how to use them.’ He flashed you a smile. ‘And then you can pass on the knowledge.’ 

‘That’s probably an even worse idea.’ You shook your head with a laugh, pulling open your car door. ‘I’ll see you around.’

‘You as well. Have a good day, pretty lady.’

--

Did you stop thinking about your exchange at any point during the day? Absolutely not. In fact, you’d already written an email to the local deed poll office to change your legal name to Pretty Lady. 

No, but in all seriousness, you’d been a little giddy about it. Had he been flirting? That didn’t seem like a long shot. You got on well, you’d hung out a bit over the weekend and not to toot your own horn, but you were by no means bad looking. Tired and a little frazzled, sometimes? Yeah. But anyone would have been lucky to have you and you were doing a better job at recognising that, especially since your divorce. 

You were almost ecstatic when it got to 4PM and you hadn’t received a single call from Jack’s teachers. That meant that he had behaved, and what Marcus had said had worked. Because you worked past his finishing time, he usually went to the after-school club till you could come to collect him - it had been a lifesaver, especially since you couldn’t always leave early. He usually came home with some kind of weird arts and crafts. Last week, it had been an unidentifiable item made of dried macaroni and glitter. He’d placed it pridefully on the old fireplace in your lounge. 

After saying goodbye to your co-workers, you headed out the building. Your office was right in the city centre and not too far out from the school. It was a nice place to be; your lunch hour, when you could head out to a street cart and eat your food in the local park, was usually the highlight of your day. It was when you could exist just as you. When you were at work, you were in charge on your entire department. When you were home, you were a parent 24/7. That time to yourself was vital.

As you were heading to your car, your phone began to ring. Your heart almost jumped out your chest when you saw Marcus’ name - he hadn’t called you before, only texted to sort out the previous weekend’s plans with Jack. You quickly organised yourself (he couldn’t see you, dumb ass) and cleared your throat.

‘Hey, everything alright?’ You brightly greeted him.

‘Hey! Are you out of work now?’

‘Yeah, I’m literally just leaving. What’s up?’

‘Look, I hate to do this but I’ve had an emergency at work - superhero related, you don’t wanna know - and I’m not gonna be out for hours.’ Marcus sounded stressed. Yeah, I feel that you thought. ‘Would you be able to pick up Missy and possibly have her for a few hours? If not, that’s totally-’

‘- I’d be glad too!’ You interrupted him. ‘I owe you one anyways for the weekend. And this morning, actually.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’ He sounded surprised that you’d even imply it. ‘But I will definitely owe you for having Missy.’

‘Hey, it’s cool!’ You insisted. ‘Do you want me to drop her off at yours later?’

‘I can come and collect her if you text me your address?’

‘Perfect.’ You smiled. ‘I’ll see you later then?’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Marcus said. ‘I’ll text Missy to let her know to find your car instead of mine. I would ask for your plate number, but your car is...’

‘...bright red, covered in dents and hard to miss?’ You finished his sentence.

‘Exactly.’

You’d been in the same situation before; pulled between work and parenting, with Jack stuck at school and an important meeting that felt like it was never ending. It was hard to get a sitter on such short notice - or afford one, sometimes - and it was just another one of the million, stressful situations that single parenting could get you into. If you could help Marcus even a little bit, of course you were going to. You knew he’d do the same for you. Heck, he had done the same for you.

Jack and Missy were both chatty on the way home. Given that she was a little older than him, her conversational skills were strikingly better. It was nice to ask someone about their day and not get where are my Cheetos? as an answer. From what you gathered, she hated science class, enjoyed gym, and her favourite subject was lunch. That didn’t come as a surprise to you - her dad was a literal superhero and probably encouraged physical activity.

(You’d seen his arms, okay? They were more than enough to go on. I digress).

The only thing that made you wish you’d had a little more notice on having her for the evening was the state of your apartment. The place wasn’t bad; you’d lived there for the better part of eight years, and it was crammed with soft furniture and millions of blankets, as well as photos of you and Jack and his questionable art projects. It was just that you hadn’t done the dishes that morning, there was a mountain of shoes by the door and the pancakes from the previous night were still stuck on the roof.

Missy barely blinked an eye; the minute she saw your dog, she’d abandoned her bag and was playing with him. 

‘Hey buddy!’ She grinned. ‘What’s he called?’

‘That’s Oppy.’ You replied, hanging your jacket up. She didn’t need to know that it was short for Optimus Prime. No guesses on whose idea that had been. 

‘He’s so cute!’ Missy continued. ‘I’ve been asking dad for a dog for ages but he won’t budge.’

For some reason, that surprised you a little. Marcus might have been the leader of a super-hero team and a public figure, but you could tell he would do anything for his daughter. You knew because it was the same for you with Jack. He might have ruled your whole life but you would have hung the damn stars in the sky for him if he asked 

‘They’re a lot of work.’ You reasoned. ‘I have to wake up every morning at 6AM to make sure he gets a walk. Then there’s the matter of-’

‘- mum! Optimus Prime pooped in the bathroom!’

‘The matter of that.’ You murmured under your breath.

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. You fed the kids some leftover takeaway and between the dog and Netflix, they were easily entertained. Jack seemed to take a liking to Missy, which was good because it meant he wanted to sit with her the entire time instead of bouncing off the walls. She had the same patience as her dad, especially when he asked her a million questions about superheroes. It took her twenty minutes to convince him that Batman wasn’t her uncle, and a further fifteen to make him believe that she hadn’t met Captain America. 

Jack had asked you a few times about whether or not he would get siblings. Of course, it would be different to any interactions with Missy because he would have been the oldest, but it did get you thinking. You were finally in a place where you were moving past your former relationship and healing from the wounds. Time wasn’t much of an issue either - you’d had Jack when you were young and barely out of college. You couldn’t possibly imagine having any more kids right now, not when it was just the two of you, but in the future? You’d never rule out meeting somebody new. If anything, you were hopeful. Your first relationship had been your only one, and it had ended badly. You wanted to experience love for what it actually was, and not what you thought it was supposed to be. 

Not long after 7PM, there was a knock on your door. By that point, both Missy and Jack had passed out on the sofa with Star Wars playing quietly in the background. It had been her idea to watch it - she had good taste. Marcus had clearly done a good job.

‘Hey!’ You greeted him as you pulled open the front door. ‘Come in quick, it’s fucking freezing out there.’

‘Thank you.’ Marcus came inside, dusting a few snow flakes out his hair. ‘Seriously, I can’t say it enough-’

‘- it’s fine!’ You shook your head, offering him a smile. ‘Missy’s been great. She’s really chatty and it was nice to have a coherent conversation with someone that isn’t about Paw Patrol. But was everything at the office okay?’

He was quiet for a minute. ‘Yeah. We uh, we lost someone. A hero.’

‘Shit, man. I’m sorry.’ Your voice fell quiet. ‘You wanna come in? You look like you could probably take a moment.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course! Missy and Jack are both asleep on the couch anyways.’ You pointed through to the living room. Marcus leant over to have a look, smiling slightly at the sight. 

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

He took a seat at the kitchen counter. Your old bar stools were a little old and wobbly, but Marcus didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he admired the place. It was cluttered as hell and filled with useless, old items - cook books you didn’t use, random magnets, assorted toys - but it was nice. His house always felt a little cold and clinical. He’d moved a lot over the course of Missy’s life and now that he was retired from the field, he’d sworn to her that their current house was going to be permanent. Whether or not it felt like home was another question entirely. 

‘I would offer you a drink but all I have is..’ you paused, opening the fridge. ‘Nesquik, vodka or apple juice.’

‘You know what? A Nesquik doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘I like your thinking, Moreno.’

After quickly fixing up the two drinks, you slid into the seat beside him and handed him one. You had never in a million years imagined a situation where Marcus Moreno would be in your kitchen drinking chocolate milk, but here we were. It had clearly been a long day for him and you had enough of those to last a lifetime, so you knew how it felt. Coming home after a day that had beat your ass into the ground and having to put on a brave face for your kids was difficult at best. 

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ You gently asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll be okay - it just always fucks me up a bit.’ Marcus murmured quietly. ‘Hits a little too close to home.’

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you knew what had happened to his wife. You knew why he’d retired, and why he and Missy had moved away from their original city six years ago.

‘Sorry, that was too deep-’

‘- it wasn’t!’ You quickly cut him off. ‘I’ve had random women come up to me at pick up time and say they’re sorry to hear about my divorce. People I don’t even know. So really, after that, nothing is too much.’ 

He smiled slightly. ‘They always say they’re sorry but why would you bring up a subject if you have to apologise for it?’

‘Exactly!’ You replied. ‘Especially when I’ve moved on. It’s been a year.’

‘It’s the same with me. Missy and I miss her everyday but we don’t mope about it. We just...we look back with fondness on the good memories we have. You can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past, no matter how much it sucks.’

‘That’s...that’s wise.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘S’pose that means I should take down the dartboard I have with my ex’s face on.’

‘From what I’ve heard, he seems like he should have more than a dart board.’ Marcus snorted - then he froze. ‘Wait, not that I’ve heard stuff, I mean...I don’t listen-’

‘- Marcus!’ You whacked his arm. ‘It’s fine. One of the other kid’s mums started telling me about the terrible divorce someone was going through but she realised she was gossiping to the one who was going through it.’

‘I don’t know how much of what I’ve been told is true, but it sounds like it was bad.’ His hand hovered over where yours was rested on the counter. 

‘The rumours pretty much get the gist of it.’ You replied. ‘But we were talking about your thing, so I don’t wanna take away from that.’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He finally moved his hand, fingers gently curling underneath yours to intertwine them. ‘If even half of the whispers are true, he sounds like an asshole. You and Jack both deserve better than that.’

Whatever people had said, it had sort of covered the gist of it. You’d married too young and had a kid too young - your ex had been a terrible husband and an even worst husband. He’d chastised Jack for being...well, being Jack. He’d stay out late with his friends, spend money on things neither of you needed and tried to make you take the blame for it all. After giving him a few too many chances, you’d finally reached breaking point and kicked him out. Filing for divorce and taking on being a single parent was single-handedly the hardest and bravest thing you’d ever had to do. In a way, you were glad you’d done it when Jack was still so young - he didn’t really understand any of it, even when you’d try to explain it in child friendly terms.

‘I think people judge me for it a little sometimes.’ You confessed. ‘They see me struggling but they know I made the choice to separate from him, like I brought it all on myself.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ Marcus plainly stated. ‘Parenthood isn’t a dependent thing based on whether or not you’re still married to the other parent. It’s unconditional and permanent.’

‘I should tell him that, but I also don’t want him back in our lives.’

‘I know it’s none of my business, but he doesn’t deserve Jack. He’s one of the best and brightest kids I’ve ever met.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad he doesn’t seem like a complete lunatic.’

‘He doesn’t deserve you either.’ Marcus continued. ‘Again, I might be out of place saying this but you are...you’re amazing. I was a wreck when I was suddenly on my own and you’re still holding everything together and working your ass off.’ 

‘You’ve noticed?’ You quirked an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, in passing.’ He admitted. ‘I remember I once saw you carrying three separate science projects at once and then Carol made a passing comment that you were on your own and...I just kinda admired you from afar.’

‘You, Marcus Moreno, admired me?’ You blinked at him in disbelief. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I wish I’d had my shit together half as much as you did when I lost Missy’s mum.’ 

‘But the difference is you didn’t have a choice in your situation. I chose to boot his dad out-’

‘- you gotta stop discrediting yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘And stop blaming yourself. You did what was right for your kid and that is the most admirable thing of all.’

‘You really think so?’

‘I know so.’

The conversation slowly drizzled away, leaving you two to just look at each other. It was hard to tear yourself away from his brown eyes - there was a lot going on behind them. Fear, pain, anguish, admiration. He was one of the most mind-blowingly impressive people you’d ever met; single dad, superhero, electric car owner. He probably didn’t have a mortgage too and that was kinda hot. You were none of those things and yet, here he was, with you, managing to connect on a level that you never had with anyone. Both of your situations were tough, but they’d brought you together. 

Marcus Moreno was pretty fucking fearless (came with the job, you figured), and he wasn’t afraid to make the first move. He slowly inched his head forward and in return, you gravitated towards him. Your lips met halfway in a soft kiss, his hands moving to firmly hold your waist as he pulled you closer.

You almost stumbled out your chair with the movement, but his grip on your hips meant you didn’t slip. Instead, he placed you up on the counter, standing up as he did. It took you a moment to adjust to the position, but with your legs resting on either side of his, you could reach forward and lean on him. You had one hand tangled in his hair and the other on the back of his neck -  you’d surprised yourself with that. It had been months since you’d kissed anyone, but you weren’t as rusty as you thought. 

‘Oh my god, is the superhero gonna be my new dad?!’

Marcus suddenly jumped backwards at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was stood in the doorway, post-nap hair covered by a lopsided Chewbacca hood. His eyes were like dinner plates, even though he was grinning from ear to ear. 

‘Uh...’ you glanced between him and Marcus. ‘We were just...we were...’

‘I had something in my eye.’

‘He had something in his eye.’ You quickly agreed. ‘But now it’s out, so Marcus is gonna go home.’

He knew you didn’t mean it rudely - it was more of a desperation thing. The longer he stayed, the more questions Jack would come out with. Missy could have overheard too and that would have been twice as much to explain. So really, the sooner he got out, the better.

‘Yeah. I’ll uh, I’ll grab Missy.’ Marcus said, scratching the back of his head. ‘Thank you again for looking after her.’

‘You don’t need to keep thanking me.’ You shot back. 

He disappeared into the living room for a moment, reemerging with a sleeping Missy in his arms a moment later. Your eyes met again, and he gave you a soft smile.

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Yeah, sure.’  You nodded. ‘See you, Marcus.’

--

True to character, the next hour was spent being pelted with questions from your over-curious son. He didn’t shut up once when you were bathing him and he got even louder when you were reading him his best time story. On the bright side, you’d managed to get him to change out of his slightly manky Wookiee onesie and into a clean Buzz Lightyear one. Normally, you would have argued that he couldn’t live in pyjamas, but if it kept him quiet? It was a price you were willing to pay. 

‘Night, kiddo.’ You pressed a kiss to his forehead, switching on his nightlight. ‘Remember our deal, yeah? If I buy you a Happy Meal tomorrow, you won’t mention what you saw to any of your friends?’

‘You said library was bad.’

‘No, it’s bribery.’ You corrected him. ‘And do as I say, not as I do.’

‘Sounds bad, but okay.’ He sleepily murmured. ‘Night.’

‘Night.’ You stood up, flicking out his bedroom lights.

‘Wait, mum!’ Jack suddenly sat up, as though he’d remembered something. ‘You never said no.’

‘No to what, buddy?’

‘When I asked if the superhero was my new dad.’

Well, fuck. 

taglist: @naivara-duneimith @1-2-3-4-5metalfingers @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @lyanna-the-giantsbane @phoenixhalliwell @crazycookiecrumbles​ @bitchin-beskar​ @comphersjost​ {message me to be added!}

[marvelatthetwilight]

No More Darkness

@fatiguing-thoughts this one is for you! And, as it’s Quil @clearwater-hoe might like this too?!

Quil was your best friend. You did everything together, your families had been friends for years and you had practically known each other since birth. You walked to school together, sat at lunch together, were partners in projects, hung out after school, shared your hopes and your fears, everything that best friends do. Embry and Jacob were like your brothers yes, but with Quil it was always different, like your souls were connected, and you knew each other in a way that no one ever could.

When Embry, and then Jacob disappeared off the face of the earth to suddenly join the Sam gang, you were furious for yourself, but you were devastated for Quil. The whole situation put him on edge, he was constantly anxious that Sam was looking at him in a way he couldn’t really explain, like he knew something Quil didn’t. That somehow Quil was next.

It was after school on a Friday. You were walking on the beach with Quil, talking about Jacob’s recent disappearance and Quil’s strange suspicions.

“I saw Jared and Paul this morning, from a distance of course, and they just had this look in their eyes. Like they were wary of me, watching my behaviour. It’s like they’re waiting for something to happen”. He looked defeated, like he was just waiting for the inevitable. “Y/N I just feel like the darkness is closing in on me, like it did for Embry, like it is for Jacob.”

“Quil you don’t need to feel like that, you know I’ve always been here for you, I will always be there for you. Even if you do join a gang” I nudge him slightly with this last comment and a small smile forms on his face.

“What would I ever do without you Y/N?”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find that out! I don’t plan on going anywhere!” You stop walking and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him in for one of your famous hugs.

“A Y/N hug never fails to disappoint” you can hear the smile in his voice as he replies as he wraps his arms around your body and gives you a small squeeze.

On Monday morning you head to Quil’s house to walk to school together like you always do.

You hadn’t seen him over the weekend as you’d been dragged to see you grandparents a couple of hours away, which you had told him. He said he was going to catch up on sleep and homework as he had been really tired recently, you thought nothing of it, he’s a teenage boy, that happens.

When he stopped replying to your messages on Sunday, you didn’t initially think anything was wrong, assuming he was just sleeping and hadn’t heard his phone. However, as the day went on, you messaged again, and still heard nothing. When you checked your phone as you woke up Monday morning, you could see he had read your messages but he had still not replied. Something was off.

So here you were, walking up the steps to Quil’s house, about to knock on the door...

The door opens, and you frown as you see Embry step out.

“He can’t see you Y/N, he’s sick. He won’t be coming to school, you need to walk in by yourself.” Embry won’t make eye contact with you, like he knows you will see straight through his lie, but you leave it. You’ve got a big test this morning, you’ll get to the bottom of this later.

“I’ll be back after school.”

“He’ll still be sick then and won’t be able to see you then.” This time he looks down at you, and you take in the changes in the person you saw as a brother. He’s taller, filled out with muscle, not the skinny scrawny boy you grew up with. He has a tattoo on his arm now too, the same tattoo you had seen on Paul and Jared.

“What happened Embry? You look so different. What did Sam do to you?”

He frowns at this. “Sam has helped me, helped us, like he’s going to help Quil. You just need to leave Y/N, I’m sorry.”

With that, he closes the door.

You keep texting Quil throughout the day, hoping that this wasn’t really happening, that you weren’t losing another friend. You heard nothing. The same ghosting as you had from Embry, and Jacob.

You never thought that Quil could ghost you, that your connection was so deep it couldn’t be broken. Quil would never do that, you thought.

There was so much more to all of this than either you or Quil had thought.

You get through your school day, acing your test, but sitting alone at lunch. Alone with your thoughts, putting together a plan. This was the last straw, you rolled over and accepted the loss of Embry, the loss of Jacob, but you weren’t losing Quil.

As the school day finishes you send Quil a final text before you walk back to his house.

I’m coming over. I’m not taking no for an answer. You won’t see me? I’m not leaving.

You walk up the steps to Quil’s front door, again the door opens before you have a chance to knock, but this time you recognise it to be Sam, although you’ve only ever seen him from a distance. Your text must have called in the big guns.

“He can’t see you Y/N, you know this.” He looks at you in sympathy and you can’t stand it.

“But why? Why are you taking all of my friends away? You know I’m completely alone now? Embry, Jacob, Quil, they were my life, my best friends, my family. Now I have no one.” Tears are rolling down your face before you can stop them and a heart wrenching sob leaves your mouth as the words ring true in your heart.

Sam glances behind him and you hear a slight commotion. “Let me see her” you hear. “Embry you know she won’t leave until I do, Sam, let me see her.”

Sam sighs as he pushes the door open fully. You gasp as your eyes fix with Quil’s, his eyes widen and he doesn’t break eye contact as you notice Embry and Sam smirking at each other.

“Er...Quil? Are you ok?” Your voice brings him back to reality, and he shoves Embry as he makes an aww sound whilst looking between the two of you. Quil looks to Sam, who nods and he quickly grabs your hand and starts walking with you towards the woods.

You slow your pace as you reach the edge of the woods. Quil stops, and turns so you are facing each other, he takes both your hands in his and looks into your eyes. He’s never looked at me like this before.

Something stirs inside you, feelings you’d put aside years ago, knowing that nothing would come of them, that Quil would only ever think of you as a sister. But something seemed different.

“There’s a lot I need to explain to you, a lot. But for now I just need to tell you that...you, and me, what we have is really special. For years I’ve loved you, and not like a sister line Embry or Jake. I love you. And now something in me has stirred to give me the confidence to tell you how I really feel.”

Your hands are shaking.

“Y/N, I don’t know if you feel the same, if you’ve ever felt that way about me but I needed to tell you...” Quil looks to the side before speaking again, “you know that darkness I talked about? That feeling of doom? Well, I when I finally understood what was happening, which I promise I will explain, I thought that darkness would disappear. But it didn’t. I still felt it, until that door opened and I looked at you.”

He brings your hands up to his face, kissing them softly.

“One look at you, and, poof, no more darkness”

He smiles softly at you. “You don’t have to say anything, I just needed to be brave, be honest.”

If Quil can be brave then so can I, you thought.

“...I’ve always been in love with you Quil, I feel like our souls are connected in some magical way, that we are, I dunno...it sounds stupid. Like we are soul mates or something.”

He smiles at you again, gently pulling your face up to his and kissing you softly on the lips. He laughs before speaking again.

“Yeah, or something”

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[shania-twain]

What’s your top 5 favorite Rollisi moments?

I apologize, as this ask was sent days ago and I'm just now getting around to it because ya know, life, and because I took my sweet time thinking over these scenes.

It's a long one, under the cut!

1. The Scene (the kiss). This kiss has everything. It’s unexpected yet long overdue. It’s tender, it’s loving. There’s swaying. There’s standing on tip toes to reach Tol and there’s bending down to reach Smol. There’s water, city lights, a romantic atmosphere. There's tears (barely) but it's an excuse to touch faces! There's cheek caressing, there's longing, lingering stares, there's hesitance in transitioning from best friends to lovers. Light banter, nervous laughter. THE UNFINISHED SPEECH. I know I'm all over the place with this but SO ARE MY FEELINGS. So much has led up to this moment and I must say, the payoff was excellent. Perfect first kiss.

2. The Fight. Dare I name the one fight they got in that caused them to be labeled “toxic” by haters? I do dare. Why, one may ask? *shakes out piece of paper* Though they are fueled by their lack of sleep and unsaid feelings for each other at the time, there’s still some bite to Amanda’s bark on her part. She’s clearly upset over him leaving her, feels abandoned. Perhaps this is a feeling she’s used to from her own family trauma, but Carisi leaving the precinct particularly hurt not only because she has strong feelings for him at this point, but because he was the only one that ever was there for her in a way no one else was. I think she came to rely on him more than she may have even realized and that all spilled out in that small fight in the squad room. And he was so taken aback, obviously thought she was happy for him but of course she’s going to tell him she is because she doesn’t want to hurt him. The fight is so natural, happens unexpectedly but develops organically. The main reason it’s my number two? Giddish and Scanavino’s best acting, imo. And I’ve only seen the actual scene about three times because it makes me semi uncomfortable. It’s uncomfortable watching people argue. It was so intimate and clearly turned personal, it almost feels wrong to be watching them go at it (in a bad way. Heh). But I think that’s a testament to the acting! A+++ scene! I dream of writing a fight scene as well as this one!

3. The Hospital. Truly, this episode was packed with Rollisi moments from start to finish. I love every moment we get with them individually (hand grab, anyone? Or when he makes her LAUGH at such an emotional moment in the hospital. I could go on about this scene in detail but I’ll stop). My favorite moment of the episode is actually the last scene of them. After Rollins gets rid of her father's (ex) wife, she’s so proud of herself for doing what she feels is right and that reflects in her face when she smiles at Carisi. It’s so simple and subtle, but there’s so much love in that look. Kelli is a master at giving these loving looks and perfect expressions. It’s also a wonderful contrast to how she used to look at Carisi in the beginning - from season 16, when she thought he was a bit of a goof. Now she looks at him like he hung the got damn moon. We don't get to see Carisi's face here, but I imagine he's looking quite amused at her, maybe even charmed by her a little bit. I'm also obsessed with the way Amanda's eyelashes flutter down when he moves closer to her. Flirting over Amanda's bedridden father? The ✨romance!✨ Swoon!

4. The Elevator. This used to be number one for me, until we got the goodness in season 22. There’s something very special about this hug. It’s not even a hug, really. It’s clinging, desperate, need that one particular person and only this person kind of thing. It’s, of course, devastating that Rollins had to go through the whole thing with Bucci and possibly leaving her children without a mother, but like I said, something special about the way this led to letting the audience see who she really trusts as she let’s herself fall apart and into Carisi’s arms. Sure, she trusts her squad, but she also wants them to know she’s ok at all times. Even tells her own therapist this once or twice. She even *begins* to tell Carisi she’s fine, her usual response when asked if she’s alright, but then the second he says her name, it’s like a switch is flicked and she’s sobbing into him. DON’T THINK I FORGOT ABOUT SCANAVINO. He’s always there when she needs it. He’s patient with her, kind, takes her into him with absolutely no hesitation. This scene happens episodes after their fight in the squad room. It’s clear there is no more lingering tension between them in the elevator scene. It’s the way he says “I got you” not once but TWICE, as if he needs her to hear it. Needs to make sure she understands that he’s there not just in the moment, but he’s got her always. No matter what happens between them or with their jobs — and this comes back around in his wedding speech, as well. 🤧 But also, fave part of that scene? When he holds her tighter, leans his head against hers many times, and then closes his eyes. Cannot stand to hear her sobs, or see her in any kind of pain. Oh, my heart. My heaaaaaaart.

5. Rain check. Lots of great acting here. Is anyone surprised? No, but there’s a bit of a range of emotions in this particular scene and it’s acted so beautifully, I could write a whole paper. I’ll try and keep it brief (ha, yeah right). I don’t think Amanda would ever have a problem getting a man anytime anywhere, but I do think it was a big deal for her to ask this man out. I think maybe her intentions at the time may have been less than trying for a relationship, but she was open to trying something with him. I also think it was a big deal because it felt very planned. The outfit felt planned, the way she made him laugh, the hair toss an attempt to flirt. Though she also had this vulnerability about her that only exists with him. She’s putting herself out there, she’s saying that she’s willing to try and I think that is a big step for her, even if she was only open to a FWB situation (that totally 100% wouldn’t have worked bc *feelings*). Carisi, however, rejects her. You can see in his face that he’s so reluctant to do this but he does. Obviously, he’s had feelings for the woman for so long but is protecting himself. Almost like he knows she may think she’s ready to try something with him, but he also knew it wasn’t their time yet. Also, after he tells her he can’t, the immediate disappointment Amanda has? Heart-wrenching, tbh. She looks so upset and gets off from sitting on the edge of his desk so fast. Like. BABYYYYY.

Honorable Mentions: Threats! I’m kind of cheating here, but there’s nothing like an OTP that will kill for the other. I’m -of course- talking about Carisi’s “if Rollins gets shot over this, I’m gonna take ALL of them out.” And also Amanda’s message to Mesner: “if you go after Counselor Carisi or anyone in my family again, it will be your last day on earth. I’ll kill you myself.” Ooh, there’s something so secks see about being violently protective over your significant other. I don’t condone it irl, but let me have the ✨drama✨on tv.

Thank you for this question! I had fun going over some great scenes!

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Ghosts Still Have Souls

Pairings: Luke x Reader, mentions of Willex

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none? 

Summary: For his whole life Luke Patterson had anxiously awaited the day he’d meet his soulmate, and then he died. 25 years later he and his bandmates are mysteriously resurrected and Luke’s hopes return. Could he find his soulmate in death? After all, Willie says ghosts still have souls. 

A/N: it took me all day but here is my submission for Day 2 - AU for @jatp-week JATP appreciation celebration. I’m such a sucker for soulmate aus and I haven’t written any in the JATP universe yet so this was the perfect opportunity! Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged in any future works and as always, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

___

Luke Patterson had always loved the idea of soulmates. When he was a little boy his parents would regale him with the story of how they met. They ran into each other on the quad at their university, his mom knocked to the ground and his dad dropping his books. In her flustered state Emily had combined “Hey, watch where you’re going!” with “Are you okay?” and ended up crying out “Hey, watch where you’re okay!” while his dad had cursed “Shitfuck, are you okay?” When Mitch offered his hand to help her up they noticed each others’ tattoos and the rest was history.

It was Luke’s favorite story in the whole world and he grew up daydreaming about the day he’d meet his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to see what words would appear on his skin when he or she said their first words to him. He wondered if he’d feel the tingle that some reported feeling when the mark formed on their skin, or what the handwriting of his soulmate would look like permanently inked onto this skin. No matter what he knew he’d cherish the mark, it would be from his soulmate, after all, his other half, the person he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

Dying before he could hear the words that would change his life forever kinda threw a wrench in his plans.

The thought of his soulmate out there, having grown up without him, never to meet each other because of his untimely death had plagued him for days after Julie “resurrected” them. Then Alex had met Willie. The skater ghost had died more nearly a decade before they had and yet he and Alex were soulmates, “You dinged my board.” proudly displayed on the blond’s wrist.  

The knowledge that soulmates existed even in death had brought hope back into his life and he started spending his free time daydreaming about them again.

He’d been channeling his daydreams into songwriting one afternoon when Julie had walked into the garage with Flynn and another friend. He assumed you hadn’t been informed about the ghosts as neither Flynn nor Julie made any remarks towards the guitarist despite typically doing so. He wished that wasn’t the case as you were quite cute. You were absolutely the type of girl Luke would’ve crushed on hard back when he was alive, soulmates or not.  

“Oh, and who is this?” Luke asked, employing his teasing tone as he spoke to the newcomer as you set down your backpack though he knew only Julie could hear him.

He had expected a quiet laugh or at the very least a dramatic eye roll from the girl but when he turned to look at her she was staring at her friend’s wrist. Luke turned to look as well and his stomach immediately sank.

There inked on your wrist in his chicken-scratch handwriting were the words he had just spoken to you.

“Oh my gosh,” Julie gasped aloud, drawing everyone’s attention as she opened her mouth to announce what she had just observed.

Before he even had time to think about it, he was stopping her. “No! Julie don’t!”

She stared at him puzzled for a moment but closed her mouth anyway.

“What?” Her friend asked, looking at her perplexed.

“I just… forgot to tell my dad you guys were coming over,” Julie saved. “I’ll just text him real quick.”

You and Flynn nodded, unfazed by the excuse, and plopped down onto the available seating. Luke sighed, pulling his eyes away from you and poofing out of the garage.

He reappeared at his parent’s house. He had hoped to vent to his mom but she wasn’t home so he plopped down on his old bed. His parents hadn’t done much to the room since his death and as he laid there in silence it almost felt like it was still ’95. That pit that had started to form in his stomach continued to grow as he laid there, his thoughts swirling as his hopes thrashed around him once more.

He’d finally found his soulmate but she was- what had Alex called them?- a lifer. She couldn’t even see him. How were they supposed to meet and fall in love and build a life together when she couldn’t even see him and he couldn’t even touch her? How were they supposed to pass their story on to their future kids when she hadn’t even been able to hear the words that were now permanently etched into her skin? As he thought more about it he realized that he hadn’t received a mark of his own. His heart sank as he ran his thumb over the bare skin of his wrist. He’d stopped Julie before she could tell her he was even there so she’d never had a chance to say her first words to him.

It was worth it, he decided after a while. It was worth never hearing the words, never having the tattoo and knowing for certain that his perfect match was out there. It was worth it if he could spare you from the pain of knowing that your soulmate was there but he was dead and invisible.

___

Luke was almost grateful for the distraction of the Hollywood Ghost Club. The last few weeks had been torture, him constantly trying to avoid being in the same room with you and Julie. She had told you about them being ghosts not long after the appearance of your soulmark and had even invited you to meet the band which you had readily accepted. Luke, however, had run away before you could come that day. It killed him that you had met Alex and Reggie and not him, but he figured it would kill him more to have your first words to him appear on his wrist.

They talked about you sometimes, about how funny and adorable you were. It made his blood boil but he had to restrain himself, what right did he have to be jealous when he refused to even meet you.

Still, the rush to book the Orpheum was a welcome distraction from his internal turmoil. It was even enough to distract him from the fact that no matter what happened at the end of the night, he’d never see you again.

He’d miss you. That much was obvious. He’d miss hiding in the loft when you came over to work on homework with Julie, just out of sight so Julie wouldn’t see him but he could still watch you. He’d learned a lot about you that way, how your smile could light up a room, how gorgeous your laugh was but he could tell you hated it by the way you covered your mouth when you did it, how you fidgeted with the hair ties on your wrist whenever you were thinking (he noticed you always had at least two), and that you were almost always cold. He wished he could give you his flannels, you’d look so cute wrapped up in them and they’d certainly keep you warm.

He was thinking of you as he and the guys gathered around the piano in the studio. Julie had just left to head to the Orpheum with her dad and the mood in the garage had immediately grown somber. Their heads filled with worries of what would come next, what was on the other side? Luke’s only comfort was the thought that maybe if he crossed over you’d get a second chance at a soulmate, one who was alive. You’d never even spoken to him and yet he’d do anything for you.

It was that dedication to you that had pulled him out of the Hollywood Ghost Club and onto the Orpheum stage.

It was that dedication that kept him from running straight to Caleb to save his soul when they didn’t cross over. He’d let his soul be destroyed if it meant your happiness.

He never could’ve anticipated what had happened that night nor the repercussions.

He’d spent the next day journaling, writing down all his thoughts- and there were a lot seeing as he had expected to die yesterday, again. He was alone in the studio, Alex out celebrating with Willie and Reggie was who knows where (probably showing Ray like usual), then you walked in.

He sighed, getting ready to poof up to his hiding spot in the loft before Julie showed up when he was stopped.

“Am I dead?” You asked, staring at him in alarm.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked warily, not understanding the premise of your question.

“Well, you’re dead, and with the exception of Julie, you’re only visible to other dead people and I can see you,” you explained carefully, eyes wide.

Luke nodded at your train of thought before it hit him.

“Wait, you can see me?” He gasped, and you nodded. “You can see me! You talked to me!”

His head snapped down to stare at his wrist, sure enough, “Am I Dead?” was scrawled across his skin in the most beautiful handwriting he’d ever seen. Sure, some might say it was a little messy but to him it was perfect.

Before he could even think about his actions, he was rushing towards you and pulling you into his chest. You stiffened, shocked by the sudden action.

“What’re you-“ started to ask but you were cut off by him violently throwing himself away from you.

“I just touched you,” he gasped, once again stating the obvious. “Why can I touch you? Are you dead?”

“No! At least… I didn’t think I was but now I’m really not sure.” You shook your hands anxiously before reaching for one of your hair ties as you started pacing.

“Sorry for taking so long Y/N, I got caught up with Reggie in the house- what on earth is going on in here?” Julie paused in the doorway as she observed your pacing and Luke’s panicked look.

“Oh thank god, you can see me,” You breathe out before turning to Luke, “Julie can see me, so I must not be dead.”

“What?”

“Y/N and I thought maybe she was dead since she can see me and I could touch her,” Luke explained and you nodded.

“What?!” Julie repeated, more shocked than the last time. “You can see him? And you, you can touch her?”

“Yeah, look!” Luke exclaimed, reaching his arm out to tap your arm but it just went right through you. “Huh, why…?”

“Maybe the first time was a fluke?” You supplied before something caught your eye.

You reached out to grab his arm as it fell back to his side. This time it worked, and you pulled his limb closer to you, turning it over to examine what you had seen.

“Woah, see?” Luke said pointedly to Julie, though you weren’t listening.

“That’s- how? You’re-“ you sputtered as you stared at the mark on his wrist. “Soulmates.” You whispered finally.

“Um, I’m gonna give you guys some time,” Julie said, eyes wide as she walked backward out of the garage.

You didn’t let go of his wrist, your eyes flitting between your words and his eyes.

“That’s why I didn’t hear them,” you muttered, bringing your own wrist next to his.

It had been puzzling you for weeks, how you couldn’t remember hearing the words the day they had appeared on your wrist. It made sense now, you couldn’t hear them because Luke had said them.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, dropping his wrist from your grasp. “I thought maybe if you didn’t know you could find happiness somewhere else. With someone who wasn’t invisible and intangible.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him, his face was tilted down, unable to look you in the eye. You sighed, taking a deep breath before reaching your hand up to cup the side of his face. It took a couple of tries but you were finally able to place your hand on his cheek, tilting his face to look up at you.

“Luke,” you said softly, “How could I want anyone else?”

He shook his head at your words, though his hand came up to rest over your own. “How could you know that? This is the first time we’ve ever spoken.”

“Because the universe put us together,” you answered surely, bringing your wrists together again in the space between you. “I have no idea how this is going to work but I know it’ll be worth it because these mean we’re meant for each other.”

“You are better than I could ever imagine,” Luke confessed softly, and you smiled shyly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well you’re stuck with me now,” you joked lightly, before pulling him to the couch. “Now c’mon soulmate, we’ve got some catching up to do.”