#but why is it’s another female free unit?

[blackdollette]

"got your bible, got your gun." || part three.

꒰ ៹ . " 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒. "

coachella: woodstock in my mind. - lana del rey

୨୧˖-ׁ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: while cruising through the sky, a storm brews...

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: new ! bau ! female ! reader x jealous ! spencer

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 930

꒰ ៹ . ୨୧˖ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: fighting ( verbal ) , real conflict begins here

ㅤㅤㅤ꒰ ៹ . 🍒 previous chapters: 𝐈 , 𝐈𝐈

wheels were up. a particularly disturbing case called for you to travel halfway across the country. and it was only your third day on the job.

you had offered to sit this one out. you would’ve been fine sorting out old paperwork in the comfort of your little desk. but they handed you a polished gun and got you on the jet. and that was that.

“mind if i sit here?”

spencer didn’t even need to look up from his novel to immediately identify the owner of the voice. he cleared his throat, brows furrowing as he parted his legs slightly in subconscious protection of “his territory.”

“it’s a free country. knock yourself out.” he muttered under his breath.

you gracefully sat yourself in the leather seat that was conjoined with his. you placed the case files handed to you on your lap, glancing over at the man beside you. his nose was buried in a hard cover novel, the book in pristine condition that made it look completely untouched.

“whatcha reading there, spencer?” you were going to be on the flight for a while, so why not try to start a conversation with your new colleague?

he wasn’t used to the way his name sounded in your mouth. “uh, pride and prejudice.” he responded.

after just a few conversations with spencer, there were things you started to take note of: he never looked at you when he spoke, when he talked his voice was always suppressed, like he was forcing himself to hold back from saying something that was just itching to come out, and his body language was practically screaming for you to stay away from him.

but you had never been the firmest believer in basic human psychology.

you nodded slightly at his answer, opening up one of the files in front of you. “...i could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine…” you whispered. it was a quote directly from the novel. you hadn’t picked it out for any particular reason, it was simply the first one that came to mind.

spencer shut the book, probably with more force than intended before looking directly at you, eyes narrowed. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

your head shot in his direction as you realized that he must’ve taken your reference the wrong way. oops.

“oh, i didn’t mean anything by it, doctor. i’ve read the book too.”

the hint of mockery in your voice was unmistakable. he swallowed hard, a vein on his forehead beginning to pulsate. you avoided his gaze to glance outside the airplane window. the clouds had grown dark over the past few minutes. a storm was on its way.

it was at this moment that you finally shut up, but now he was getting started.

“you must think i was born yesterday, huh?” the floodgates had burst open.

you raised an eyebrow, face contorting with defense. “excuse me?”

spencer whipped his glasses off of his face, lowering his voice to a snarling whisper, biting out each of his meticulously picked out words with razor-sharp precision.

“you’ve got everyone in this goddamn unit wrapped around your little finger. you practically waltzed into this profession, manipulate my team with those big eyes of yours, and now you’re trying to get me under your spell too. and i’m willing to bet that all you had to do to get this job was bat your eyelashes before they served it to you on a silver platter. i’m the only one in this place who’s got their head on straight. i swear…”

and he just kept going. it was like standing right in front of an erupting volcano that was said to be inert. everytime you thought he was done, another wave of distasteful words spilled out. until he stopped. an uncomfortable wave of silence pulsated. to your surprise, you were able to mask your shock behind a poker face of indifference.

“...so that’s the problem. you’re scared, intimidated even. you believe that someone like me isn’t worthy of working in the field with highly-experienced men. you’re jealous that i seemed to blend in instantly, almost effortlessly, while you still stick out like a sore thumb after all these years. now tell me, doctor reid, do you express such severe disdain toward me because i’m young, or because i’m a woman?”

his jaw slacked open. you had read him like an open book, and hearing the truth behind his animosity for you summoned something in his gut. embarrassment? no. remorse? not quite. he didn’t know how to descirbe how he felt, but the pure, unflitered abhorrence on his face said it all. 

“neither, and i’m not a sexist.” he muttered, “so you can quit profiling me now.”

his cheeks obtained an unmistakable pink flush, silencing him at once. you let out a satisfied hum, leaning back in your chair and shifting your attention to the pictures of the crime scene that were given to you. you could hear his uneven breaths still as the quiet minutes passed.

“...and for the record…” you started, eyes glued to the files in front of you. “...i worked my ass off to land this job. i’ve never let pretentious men like you stop me from getting to the top, and i won’t start now.”

he bit the inside of his cheek, hastily putting his glasses back on his face and flipping his book back open. there was so much that he wanted to say, but he would hate for this dispute between youths to make a scene. he didn’t even care that he had lost his page, because one thing was for certain:

if you weren’t a problem to him before, you definitely are now.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Gold Chain

Din Djarin x Female Mandalorian Armorer Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings: fluff, light angst, slightly jealous / possessive Din, Mandalorian culture, canon-typical swearing, reclaimed Mandalore, Din’s POV

Word Count: 4.3k

Din intended to take Grogu with him back to Nevarro after Mandalore was reclaimed. Duty kept him in the ruins of Sundari, helping Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians in their efforts to rebuild. Over time, an Armorer from another tribe caught his eye. Din is drawn to you, visiting repeatedly. Seeing everyone else around him find happiness, Din finally decides to seek it for himself.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart ka’rta beskar – iron heart Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum – I love you Ori'haat – It’s the truth riduur – spouse / partner Vor entye – thank you

The Great Forge of Mandalore is not a singular forge but several.

The large, tree-like monoliths are connected to each other like the collective beating heart of the Mandalorian people. Only three of them are in use as the rest sustained damaged during Imperial aerial bombardment. Like the people they represent, the dead forges are undergoing repairs.

Soon, they will burn and build again.

It requires more than a lone Mandalorian Armorer to keep the fires lit, to shape and bend the beskar, to smelt and refine the metal, to dig into the earth and excavate the ore. For a small covert on a distant planet, one armorer is enough. The forge used is special but tiny. A drab replica of the real thing.

That is no longer the case.

Mandalore belongs to the Mandalorians again. Its people flourish. They thrive, and the urge to rebuild—not just the cities but to grow as a people—is an innate, desperate need felt by all. It is a pounding, driving force like the beat of ceremonial drums.

The air should ring with the sound of a hundred hammers. Foundlings and younglings should be roaming freely, their shouts of joy floating in the breeze. The clans, while different in the ways they adhere to the Way, should be a united front.

All of this deserves to be true, but that is not the reality.

The air does not ring with the sound of a hundred hammers. It only rings with a few.

Foundlings and younglings are not free to roam. There are too many dangers lurking in the dark.

The clans are not a united front. There are plenty who are stuck in their ways and refuse to budge for the sake of the whole.

Some Mandalorians perceive this as a failure.

Din Djarin does not see it that way.

For him, he remembers a time when his ideas about what it meant to be Mandalorian consumed his reality. His covert and their principles were the only thing that mattered to him. The urge to adhere to that life was severe to the point that Din pushed other Mandalorians away.

He no longer holds to those strict ideals. Every Mandalorian here and elsewhere are important to him. Every foundling. Every youngling. Every clan and tribe. All of it.

They deserve to be protected.

They deserve to live on.

They deserve to endure.

That is why Din skulks in the shadow of the Great Forge like a kriffing idiot. He is looking for someone—a woman. Behind the visor in his helmet, Din observes the massive room. The Mandalorian Armorer from his tribe stands near one of the forges. Several helmeted younglings surround her in a short half-moon. They hang on her every word while in her hands is a raw piece of beskar that she turns end over end.

Din is not here for her. He is searching for you, and you are always here. You, who has been on his mind these last few months.

His gaze rolls past the Armorer, finding you near a mountainous pile of beskar. Like the Armorer of his tribe, you are also a Mandalorian Armorer, but there are no younglings or foundlings at your feet.

Picking up a piece from the pile, you examine it, turning it over between your hands before depositing it into one of three nearby bins. Some of it is raw and untreated but there are also helmets, pauldrons, and other pieces mixed in. All of it pulled from the Mines below.

Din has never seen your face, nor does he care. He only knows what his heart wants. It is an insistently nauseating need to be close to you. Solitude and clan are comforts to Din, but they are not enough. Not like they used to be. Every day, Din watches other Mandalorians find happiness and contentment. Their peacefulness is like spice to him, causing him to wonder about what his life could be.

This idea plagues him, and it is why he comes to the Great Forge every day. To see you.

But what is today’s excuse? It’s almost always Grogu.

Din will bring him along and casually mention the importance of watching the Mandalorian Armorers work their craft. At some point, Grogu will be handed off to someone, and then Din lingers near your workstation while he attempts to make conversation.

Attempt is the important word here. Small talk is a genuine failure of his. He doesn’t understand. What comes out of him is fragmented bits of conversation that don’t entirely make sense. Din is awkward, stumbles over his words, and is genuinely flustered by your presence.

Moving out of the shadows, Din ascends the stairs up to the Great Forge. The Armorer briefly glances in Din’s direction before returning her attention to the younglings. You haven’t noticed Din yet, and he takes this moment to admire you.

The armor you wear is unique and unlike anything Din has seen before. The beskar is painted black, the mid-day light reflecting off its shiny surface as you pick up another chunk of untreated ore. Around the t-shaped visor and the ka’rta beskar, is golden paint. But the focal point are the horns on the helmet.

The Armorer of Din’s tribe has horns as well, but they are small and only five in total. Yours curl out and around like Bantha horns. From the base of the bottom-most curl, thin gold chains hang down from small puncture holes in the metal. The ends rest against the fur that lines your shoulders. One of the holes is empty, clearly absent a chain.

At first, Din thought the choice odd, but it’s a nod to your people and how they revere the title of Armorer. It’s ceremonial. Not functional.

Din strides toward you, and when you finally notice his approach, you immediately place whatever you’re holding down, turning toward him. Warmth instantly blooms everywhere, rushing through Din’s limbs like the heat of Tatooine.

“Din Djarin,” you breathe, and it is a gentle sigh.

He loves the way you say his name, as if it’s a secret between the two of you.

“Armorer,” he replies, just as softly.

You laugh and Din flushes behind the helmet. He wants to hear your happiness all the time. “You can call me by my name. We know each other well enough.”

Din inclines his head but does not use your given name. It feels too personal. Too forward. This is new territory for him. He longs to draw you close but fears accidentally pushing you away.

He’s taking things slow. He’s taking things carefully. You are important to him and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

“Where is Grogu?” you ask.

“School,” Din replies instantly, knowing he cannot use the foundling as an excuse.

“That’s wonderful. Lady Kryze mentioned they were trying to put one together.”

Din shrugs. “It keeps him busy.”

“First day?”

Din nods.

“You’re nervous,” you observe.

You’re good at reading him which is startling to Din since he never removes his helmet. Your clan allows it with immediate family and one’s riduur, a fact Din is highly aware of.

“That’s normal,” you continue. “You love him. Want what’s best.”

“We’ve rarely been apart,” replies Din quietly.

“He’s safe.”

“I know.”

The two of you fall into silence and Din doesn’t know where to go from here. He almost always starts these conversations by asking if you’re in need of anything like beskar. Kriffing hell, he’ll even run errands for you. Fetch whatever you ask.

As long as it keeps him in your proximity.

“I—” he begins, cutting off quickly to try and formulate the next thing he wants to say.

“Yes?” You step closer, your arms nearly brushing.

Din is losing his nerve. You’re so close, and Din leans in a bit, pretending that this is more than what it is.

He clears his throat. “Did you need anything? Can I be of service in some way?”

You pause, helmet glancing toward the overflowing piles of beskar. “More of it comes from the Mines every day. I’ve been taking inventory as it arrives.” You sigh heavily. “I worry about the groups that descend into the Mines. I shouldn’t but it’s dangerous, and us Mandalorians are already so few.”

“Your clan helped with that,” says Din, because it’s true.

Bo-Katan had to explain it to him, that your tribe left Mandalore almost a thousand years ago. Disagreement ran rampant, and they headed for a distant planet far in the Outer Rim, nearly into the Unknown Regions. Flourishing where they landed, your people left the galaxy to its own troubles.

“I suppose we did,” you answer.

But they heard the call to return, and Bo-Katan only knew about your clan’s existence because of the Night of a Thousand Tears. They were too late to help, but they went on to save as many Mandalorians as they could, even going so far as to raid Imperial vessels and storage facilities that held beskar.

“You could help with that.”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “Anything.”

“Anything?” you ask, and Din hears the tease in it. The soft way it drops from your lips.

Yes. Anything.

“Command me at your pleasure,” purrs Din.

You clasp your gloved hands in front of you. “Your help pleases me, Din Djarin.”

He melts into the floor. Becomes a puddle. “What would you like me to do?”

You glance at the massive pile behind you. “It all needs to be sorted. Unrefined beskar goes here.” You point to the barrel on the far left. “Helmets, vambraces, or anything with wiring needs to go in that bin.” You turn toward the final bin. “Everything else goes in there.”

Din might not forge armor, but the structure and functions of it are as natural to him as breathing. He approaches the pile, begins sorting. The two of you work in tandem, and anything he’s not completely sure about, he brings to you.

The best part of this is your presence. The worst is that Din wants to talk to you but isn’t sure how. His tribe is not one for small talk, and this is excruciating to him. Din desires to hear your voice, to keep your focus on him, even if it’s a fleeting moment.

Din picks up a dented chest plate and deposits it into the correct bin. “Do you have everything you need?”

You glance up from inspecting a vambrace, looking around the area directly in your vicinity. “Yes?”

“I meant outside this.” Din extends one hand outward, indicating the Great Forge.

Slowly, you drop the vambrace into the bin next to you. “Am I missing something?”

Me, thinks Din. You’re missing me.

“Adequate food? Shelter?”

“My basic needs are met.”

Din picks up a helmet and places it into the correct bin without looking. “And beyond that?” He strides toward you, wanting to find something in your life that he could insert himself in to. Even the smallest thing is enough.

“What do you mean?”

There are so many ways to answer that. What Din truly wants to know is if there is anyone else in your life. If there is anyone else he might have to compete with for your affection. It’s not like he hasn’t subtly asked around or kept a careful eye on the other Mandalorians you speak with on a daily basis. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t missed something.

“Are you happy, cyar’ika?” The word of affection slips out without thought. Din cannot take it back.

There is a gentle shift in the way you draw back. It’s not from revulsion, disgust, or even anger. It’s only surprise. He has startled you, and Din is unsure if this will derail everything he’s tried to build.

“Yes,” you respond after a short stretch of silence. “But I could always be happier.”

Hope blooms in Din’s chest, slithering out like vines to wrap around his ribcage. He moves closer, one gloved hand reaching out, itching to touch.

“Din Djarin.”

You and Din turn abruptly.

Bo-Katan Kryze lingers near the edge of the stairs, her helmet tucked under arm. “I need to speak with you.”

Din turns back to you and your nod. Placing your hand over your heart, you bow your head. Din knows this greeting and goodbye. It’s normal for your clan to use it with people they’re close to. But then you extend your hand outward, gloved fingers lightly brushing the side of Din’s helmet before dropping away.

“Vor entye.”

Din inclines his head, stepping away from you and toward Bo-Katan. His heart pounds in his chest, the sound rattling in his ears, making the helmet seem small and claustrophobic for the first time in his life.

Din’s gloved thumb rubs up and down the small gold chain in his hand.

It’s thin enough to be a necklace, but that is not its purpose. The gold chain is a replacement piece for the one you’re missing. He discreetly asked the Armorer to make it, and she did so without question, taking great care to create an exact match to the ones you already have.

He holds it in one hand, absently stroking the material as he walks toward the Great Forge. There is no plan to hide in the shadows this time. With the gold chain clenched in his fist, Din strides forward with purpose with the intent to give it to you just like all the other gifts he’s given.

As the enters the large room, Din’s gaze first knocks the Armorer, but when he finds you, and time comes to a grinding halt.

You are not alone.

Another Mandalorian, a man that Din has seen around but doesn’t know, talks with you near one of the working forges. The armor he wears is red and faded. He stands entirely too close for Din’s liking but that isn’t what truly irritates him.

This man keeps touching you. He’s not grabbing for you or forcefully entering your space. Every movement is light and delicate. Sometimes he briefly rests his hand on your arm, waist, or shoulder. He leans in like he can kiss you through his helmet. And Din cannot tell if you’re receptive or not.

You’re not reacting. That much he can see. You do not touch back or lean in. Not like you do with Din. While that comforts him, all he knows is that someone else is pushing in and making a move into his space.

Din quickly ascends the stairs, his strides long and poundingl. The male Mandalorian shifts slightly as you glance over his shoulder before fully turning in Din’s direction. The moment he notices Din, he steps in front of you as if you need protecting.

Cold fury flares within him, igniting a path from his stomach to his head. You step around the stranger, brushing past him to reach Din.

“Din,” and your greeting is just like yesterday, breathy and soft. All that anger starts to melt away because you’re in front of him, and that is all that matters.

You come to a stop just shy of Din’s right shoulder. Gently, you rest your hand on his bicep, the part that isn’t covered by his pauldron.

Turning back to the Mandalorian in red armor, you dismiss him. “Thank you for coming by, Rhuk.”

Rhuk’s t-shaped visor is angled toward Din as he inclines his head in goodbye. “Be well, Armorer.” Din watches him go, tracking his every step until he’s down the stairs and moving away from the Great Forge.

So focused on Rhuk, it takes you three firm squeezes of Din’s arm to draw his attention away.

“Did you bring me something?” you ask, glancing down at his hand.

Din opens it, presenting the small gold chain. You glance up quickly.

“It’s a replacement,” says Din, nodding toward the side of your helmet with the missing link.

You’re hand automatically reaches up, fingertips lightly brushing against the empty spot. It hovers there briefly before falling to Din’s open palm. With gentleness, you slip your fingers under the gold chain.

“Would you like to attach it?” you ask, your helmet tipping upward. Even with it on, Din feels your eyes on him, assessing.

“Is that okay?”

You turn toward a collection of tools. Heading toward it, you select a tiny torch and bring it back to Din.

“Use this,” you offer the torch to him and he takes it. “Slide the chain through and weld it like the others.”

Turning to your left, you present the side of your helmet. Din tucks the base of the torch into his belt. With both hands, he hooks the end of the chain into the hole, pushing it through, guiding it until it sits equal on both sides. Removing the torch, he starts it, turning it to the lowest setting. Din switches, changing the angle of the torch from one side to the other, slowly fusing the two pieces together. Satisfied, Din turns off the torch and admires his work.

“I’m not an armorer,” says Din.

“It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t checked it.”

You shrug. “I don’t need to.” Pride swells in Din’s chest but he remains silent. “Are you staying?” The question hangs in the air, and that quick flood of pride fades a bit. You sound so hopeful.

“No. I can’t stay,” answers Din.

“Well. Thank you.” You lift your hand and tap one finger against the new gold chain. “Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. You want to see him…tomorrow.

Din nods. “Tomorrow.”

Din begins slowly backing away from you. Turning at the last second, Din nearly misses the top step. He recovers quickly, but hears your soft, stifled laugh from behind him.

Heat flaring in his cheeks, Din descends, heading for the hall that will take him toward Bo-Katan’s council room.

“You should be honest with her.” The Armorer appears at Din’s side like a golden shadow. His head swivels in her direction. The Armorer continues looking forward. “Their tribe is different. You must follow their lead and do as they do.”

Din frowns. Why is the Armorer involving herself?

“How do I do that?” he asks slowly.

“The one that was here pursued her in the way that is custom. You must be as aggressive, Din Djarin.”

She’s giving him advice.

“That is not our way.”

It’s true. Din’s tribe is restrictive when it comes to personal attachments. There is the attachment to tribe, and there is attachment to one’s foundling. Everything is and has always been in service to the whole, never the individual.

“No,” agrees the Armorer. “But it is hers. And she is still Mandalorian.”

The Armorer made an exception with Bo-Katan. Now that all of the clans are together, are the lines somehow blurred? To Din, her words sound like encouragement.

“Then it is permitted?” he asks.

“You seek a happiness that will only strengthen us as a people. It is a noble act. A welcome one.” She pauses. “Do not fear it.”

Din opens his mouth, words forming on his tongue, but the Armorer is already walking away, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Bo-Katan’s council room is a blur. It is monotone voices and forgotten ideas. They fuse and dissolve into background noise that is a dull droll in the recesses of his consciousness. You consume his thoughts, occupying his mind, pushing everything else out. The Armorer’s words repeat in his head.

Din stands in the very back of the room, leaning against the wall. The council room is packed full of Mandalorians. There are representatives of multiple tribes and clans. There are updates on the mining operations, discussions about farming and food cultivation, and debates on how to design and start a working energy grid.

While Din keeps one ear trained on the room, the rest of him is elsewhere. Din has always considered himself a man of action. He takes initiative, he faces countless dangers even with the potential for failure, and he never gives up. But with you, Din is as cautious and unsteady as a Rancor’s temper. He only wishes to make you happy, for you to choose him over everyone else.

Aggressive. The Armorer said to be aggressive, to pursue you in the way of your tribe.

Din cannot wait until tomorrow.

The moment Bo-Katan dismisses everyone, Din is off like a blaster bolt, heading back toward the Great Forge. It is late, and there are long shadows across the massive room as he enters. The Armorer is not there, but you are. With your back to him, you have not noticed him yet, and Din takes these solitary seconds to calm his racing heart.

Nervousness seeps in like water finding the openings beneath his armor. The tips of his fingers buzz with anticipation, and all of Din’s senses are heightened and alert like he’s facing down a Mudhorn and not simply about to tell you how he feels.

Swallowing down the trepidation and solidifying his resolve, Din heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“May I speak with you?” he calls out, voice ringing loudly in the empty hall.

You start, turn, shoulders immediately softening when you realize who it is that is speaking. Already, you’re moving toward him and Din’s heart hammers with how quickly you respond. He strides forward, meeting you halfway.

“You came back,” and there is such joy in your voice that Din cannot help himself.

One hand reaches out to rest against the lower-half of your waist just above your hip. Instinct rushes in, and Din’s gloved hand tightens, drawing you closer against him. Your own hand rises, stopping at his chest plate, finding respite just shy of the ka’rta beskar in his armor.

“I needed to see you,” replies Din. Absently, his other hand brushes through the gold chains, finding the new one, only for his fingers to lightly twine around it.

You press in a bit closer, and Din relaxes into the embrace. There is a naturalness to it, the way the two of you stand together. It is its own thrumming drum, something that sits within Din’s chest, beating beside his heart. It moves and twists, the feeling snaking outward to slither between rib bones and around his lungs. Everything comes together, and Din knows that this is right.

This is how it should always be.

“To talk?” you ask.

“To talk.” Din’s fingers release the newly added gold chain. That hand falls, coming to a stop at your elbow. “Come with me.”

You turn with him, the two of you heading deeper into the shadows of the Great Forge. There is no one else in the room but Din wants no interruptions.

“Is there something wrong? Is it Grogu?”

“No,” says Din quickly. “He’s fine.” Reaching out again, Din draws you back to him. You go without resistance, the two of you nearly fused together.

Din needs to just say it. Why have any doubt? You’re hanging on his every word and literally hanging on to him. Every day, Din comes to you. Every day for months. Every day you greet him with tiny touches or gentle greetings. You are always so open, always so warm, and Din misses it—misses you whenever you’re apart.

So, he says it, plainly and without hesitation.

“I missed you.” Your fingers tighten on his arm, chest rising slight, and Din catches the small inhalation. “I miss you all the time,” he continues. “The moments I’m not with you are lonely ones.”

“But you see me every day.” Your voice is a whisper, one so soft that the voice receiver in your helmet hardly picks it up.

“And it is not enough.”

“Din—”

“I wanted to leave after. To take Grogu and return to Nevarro. But I stayed, not just from duty, but because I was drawn to you.” Din shakes his head absently. “I didn’t understand at first. I didn’t want to. But as I spent more time with you, I never wished to leave your presence. I needed to be near you all the time.”

Your arms start to slide around him and Din melts into the touch, the two of you coming together in the shadows.

“I wake and my first thoughts begin with you. Before I rest, my last thoughts end with you. My happiness and future are tied with your own.” Din lowers his voice. “I only make an offer and hope you’ll accept.”

Din’s next inhale is a shudder. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

“Din,” you sigh, and he has no idea if you sound happy or sad.

“Ori'haat. I say these words from my heart.”

You place one hand on his chest, this time right over the ka’rta beskar. It slides upward, and gently cups the side of Din’s helmet. He leans into the touch, sighing with contentment.

“You’re an honorable man, Din Djarin. To hear you say this brings me joy.”

Din immediately tightens his hold, every nerve in his body telling him to take you away, to exchange the words and be done with it.

“I am happiest when you’re with me,” you continue. “I am always at ease. At peace. Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Din. I wish to never be apart.”

Din lowers his head, his helmeted forehead pressing lightly to your own.

The instinct to kiss you flames within him, but Din does not remove his helmet. It remains in place. In time, it will happen. In time, he will gaze upon your face and find peace within your eyes. All of that will happen.

He has gone without you for this long.

Until it is official, Din can wait a little longer.

taglist:

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[lovergirlforjesus]

female inferiority is not supported by the Bible. female submission to the Lord and to her husband is biblically supported, but so is mutual submission within marriage. love is not about superiority, inferiority, or domination. love is about giving yourselves to each other. 

i believe men and women are like apples and oranges. we are equal in value, worth, and humanity, but different. this does not mean that one is better or less than the other. both were created in the image of God. both are equally needed in society. please never imply that my account insinuates women are less than men. i believe in traditional love that appreciates our differences. ♡

on men and women: 

Genesis 1:27: "So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them."

Galatians 3:28: "There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus."

on love & marriage:

Genesis 2:24: "That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh."

Ephesians 5:21: "Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ."

1 Corinthians 7:3-4: “…The wife does not have authority over her own body, but yields it to her husband. In the same way, the husband does not have authority over his own body, but yields it to his wife."

1 Peter 3:7: "Husbands, in the same way be considerate as you live with your wives, and treat them with respect as the weaker partner and as heirs with you of the gracious gift of life, so that nothing will hinder your prayers."

[deliciousangelfestival]

Silent Heir, Hidden Dangers - 3

Character: Lawyer!Bucky x Female Character

Summary: She suddenly inherits a fortune from an unknown father, navigating dark secrets with lawyer Bucky Barnes in a suspenseful journey of deception.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , -

Main Masterlist

As Bucky introduced Y/N to Mark, an unsettling tension filled the room. Underneath the mask that obscured his face, Mark raised his voice, frustration evident in his tone. "Why should I care? She never appeared, and suddenly she's the one who got the money?"

Y/N, caught in the crossfire of familial disputes, felt a surge of confusion and anxiety. "That money? I didn't ask for any of this!"

Mark, his emotions boiling over, directed his anger at Bucky. "You damn traitor!”

Maintaining an air of composed detachment, Bucky responded, "This is your father's wish. I'm just carrying out what he asked me to do.”

As Mark clicked his tongue, dismissing the gravity of the situation, he menacingly declared, "This matter will be done in a second." With a swift motion, he aimed the gun at Y/N's head, ready to pull the trigger and end the unfolding chaos.

However, Bucky, ever the cunning strategist, had another trick up his sleeve. With a quick click of a button hidden in his pants, the window, previously shattered and exposed, suddenly closed down, forming an impenetrable barrier. 

It was a modification Bucky had made, revealing a level of preparation that caught Mark off guard.

Seizing the opportunity, Bucky, quick on his feet, threw something at Mark and his partner. The distraction allowed Y/N the chance to free herself from the remaining bindings.

Y/N's eyes widened as she watched Bucky, in a breathtaking display of agility and skill, engage in a fierce battle against two adversaries. 

The room became a blur of swift movements and calculated strikes, with Bucky seamlessly evading and countering the relentless attacks.

His every motion was a testament to years of training, a dance with danger that unfolded with a fluidity that defied the chaos surrounding them. 

Bucky's movements were deliberate, each punch and kick executed with precision, creating a dynamic spectacle that left Y/N both mesmerized and awestruck.

With Mark and his partner subdued and unconscious, Bucky swiftly took control of the situation, grabbing Y/N and efficiently collecting everything of importance in the room. 

As they prepared to make their escape, Y/N, exhausted from the ordeal, stole a weary glance at her step-brother sprawled on the floor.

Noticing her hesitation, he said, "Leave him. He's not our concern right now.”

Together, Bucky and Y/N hurriedly left the compromised "not-so-safe" penthouse. As they navigated the dimly lit corridors, Bucky murmured with a hint of satisfaction, "Luckily, I put that unit into insurance."

Y/N, gritting her teeth in frustration, rolled her eyes at his nonchalant remark. "Insurance? We just got attacked, and you're worried about insurance?"

Bucky, undeterred, replied, "It's not just any insurance. It has some unique perks.”

And he dropped another bombshell. "You have three other siblings."

Y/N, incredulous, halted in her tracks. "What? You should've told me that before all this chaos!"

Bucky, unapologetic, responded, "Would it have changed anything? The less you knew, the safer you were."

Y/N, exasperated, retorted, "Safe? So, the other three want to kill me too?"

Bucky, with a sardonic grin, confirmed, "Oh, for sure.”

Y/N, clicking her tongue in frustration, muttered, "I felt safe already," her words dripping with sarcasm. 

Both of them got into the car and left. The penthouse, now behind them, seemed like a distant memory as the labyrinth of family secrets expanded.

As they navigated the city's shadowy streets, Y/N couldn't shake the burning question. Turning to Bucky, she asked, "My other siblings. Do they have the same mother?"

Bucky, pausing for a moment, finally responded, "Different. You have two brothers and one sister. Each of them has different mothers."

Y/N, incredulous, couldn't contain her surprise. "What? You've gotta be kidding me."

Bucky, chuckling with a hint of irony, explained, "Your father Max was a womanizer.”

Y/N, piecing together the fragmented puzzle of her father's life, couldn't help but feel a mixture of frustration and understanding. "No wonder why my mother hated him so much.”

Y/N, still grappling with the revelations, muttered, "So, not only do I have to survive attempts on my life, but I also have to navigate through sibling drama. Great.”

Caught in the crossfire of her father's complex legacy, Y/N couldn't help but question the man beside her. "Since you're close with my father, are you the same womanizer like him?"

His mind wandered to the times he had to drag Max out of clubs, deal with irate former flings throwing tantrums because Max never replied to them, and navigate the intricate web of Max's romantic entanglements.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Bucky couldn't suppress a wry smile "Yeah, I guess so."

In the dimly lit room where Mark had awakened, he fumbled with his phone and made a call. "We messed up. She's still alive.”

On the other end, a mysterious figure studied Y/N's documents and photos in the darkness. Mark's voice echoed through the line, "I'm sorry, I failed."

The room plunged into silence before the unseen figure, frustration palpable, stabbed a photo of Y/N and Bucky taken from a traffic camera. "Fine, I'll do it myself.” The person who just spoke is Mason, Max's oldest son.

A mature woman's voice sliced through the quiet, accompanied by the moonlight revealing only the glimmer of a large jade ring on her hand. "Make this right. She's just one person." 

The woman, known as Mrs. Mallory Wolfe, exuded an air of authority that hinted at a deeper connection to the unfolding drama.

Another woman, her voice filled with a seasoned assurance, joined the conversation. "She's alive because Bucky is beside her." 

This was Madeline Wolfe, Max Wolfe's second wife, her calm demeanor masking the complexity of her motives.

In the shadows, another woman with a younger voice, tinged with nervousness, questioned the unfolding events. "Do we really have to do this?" 

The voice belonged to Marianne Wolfe, the youngest stepmother in the enigmatic Wolfe family, a woman caught in the intricacies of loyalty and fear.

Mason, wearing the weight of responsibility, responded with a voice that carried his family's legacy. "Don't worry. I will take care of it."

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4 ,-

Author Note :

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Author Note: Hey everyone! 🌟 Your input means the world to me.

If you've got any cool ideas or prompts, whether for this series or any other series, feel free to share them with me!

Just drop them in my ASK/SEND REQUEST box.

Can't wait to hear your awesome suggestions! 🚀💬

[talonabraxas]

The Sword of the Archangel Michael

The Sword of the Archangel Michael represented by both the Eastern and Western traditions. An element of strength and a symbol of healing, it is perhaps the most widely used icon by artists to represent Michael the Archangel.

What does Michael’s sword actually represent?

Michael always presents his sword in such positions that they can suggest a control, a limiting action but never a bloody action on evil. In reality, the sword represents the very sharp and peculiar essence capable of separating good from evil.

The separation and segregation of evil, preventing its spread and the action of corruption on the human being, are the power of Michael’s sword.

During the war in the heavens between the Hosts of Angels led by the Archangel Michael and the rebel angels, Satan was defeated and fell to Earth along with his angels and there was no more room for him in the heavens.

Therefore the evil represented by Satan and his angels has been separated from the kingdom of heaven. And in the relative representations, Michael holds him and looks after him, under the feet of him threatened kept separated by the sword-cross.

Therefore, his is not a fight aimed at destruction, there are no tense faces, the tension of the struggle, violent movements in the representations of him. Michael does not destroy and does not judge, this is the task of the creator, of God.

That’s why he stands with the of him-who as god? -a extreme defender of the divine regency over the cosmos because he places the power of judgment only in the hands of the supreme creator and nothing in creation can be like God.

During the fight for the body of Moses’ Michael turns to Satan, defeated again saying – You judge yourself God. The same Christ attitude of Christ on the cross that says – Father forgive them – and not I forgive you!

Evil is said to be so intrinsic to the human being that a clear separation would cause death. This is why the relationship with Michele can only be reached with a path of awareness towards him. In order to give way to his sword to separate more and more the evil that is in us, preparing us for the coming of Christ in our hearts.

This is the task of Michael’s sword, to separate Good from Evil

Then we can think of asking, of using this sword, a gift of Michael himself, to those who offer themselves with awareness to him by relying on them, to separate us from all that evil that we carry with us.

From a disease, from an evil deed, from the burdens of our conscience, from a negative past existence. If we have become aware of this, Michael will free us by severing these bonds with his sword, enabling us to advance on his path.

There are also representations of Michael with the sword in his left hand, this representation, more than all the others, highlights the female aspect of Michele, I would say that it is almost a point of contact with the representation of the Virgin.

We could say that the feminine traits of these representations combined with a feminine power of the sword as a gift and healing are very close to the essence of the Virgin whose path is united to that of Michael on the path of Christ.

Sometimes the sword is represented handled or made of intertwined branches to symbolize the Caduceus of Mercury, an image also reinforced by the representation of Michael with a winged headdress. In this case the image of Michael is strengthened as herald of Christ as a symbol of union of the energies of heaven and earth.

Another very common representation in all traditions is the flaming sword to represent the most spiritual qualities of Michael, his Christic energy.

Sometimes, rarely, the sword is held by the blade instead of the hilt to represent the healing powers that Michele offers us. Provided you recognize and accept the Christic way represented by the cross formed by the hilt. Which comes in such representations highlighted. we could say that the sword held by the blade actually represents a cross.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello and thank you so much for your work! Recently I was on kick for het!human!azicrowley and have read a lot of ones where Aziraphale is a women and Crowley a man (or, in one memorable occasion, genderfluid person). But I want to look at the other side! So maybe you have some recs for women!Crowley/man!Aziraphale? Preferable longish fics, especially great if it's hystorical au (any era will be great), and also I would absolutely love if fic plays with Crowley having reputation of some kind of fallen women (good play of words huh!), absolutely not suitable for respectable man as Aziraphale, but it's optional. Crowley also doesen't need to be strictly women, but preferable woman passing for outsiders for mist part!

Hi! We have a #female crowley tag you can check out. Here are some longer human aus, in a few of which Crowley is a woman and a couple where Crowley is genderfluid...

A Collar For Christmas by Quefish (E)

Aziraphale is a farmer in a small village in the country and his life is everything he ever wanted. But a bank snafu sends him into the city where he meets bank manager Toni Crowley. Is he willing to give everything up for a woman he just met?

Seeing You Home by TawnyOwl95 (E)

It’s time for a new start. And just how many of those has Crowley had since she found herself pregnant at seventeen? This time it will be different though. This time she has a job, and a house and she doesn’t need another boyfriend. Especially not one who lives right next door. Aziraphale Angel’s new start is proving tougher than he ever imagined. Eighteen months out of the Catholic Church and he’s still finding it hard to let go of certain beliefs about himself. And his new neighbour is determined to test every one of them.

Incorporation by Ack_Emma (E)

Best friends from rival wool merchant families, Antoinetta Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are shocked when their parents arrange a surprise marriage between them. But this new arrangement is a chance to be on their own side and to be left alone for a bit. Their lifelong friendship is solid, what could go wrong? As it turns out, plenty. Times are changing, and married life is harder than it looks when you're a pair of young, ineffable dorks.

More Than by NaroMoreau (E)

Crowley would like to spend another year without marrying, especially when thrust-forced to pick a husband. She refuses to cave in on a matter of principles. She refuses to cave in specifically on a matter of not wanting to be married to Lucien Morningstar. But she might need a hand to break free from such a burden. And who knows? She might even find something else along the way.

The Sometimes Wife by AgentStannerShipper (E)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that older brothers are the worst. As the youngest of three children, Parson Aziraphale Fell has been given an ultimatum: find a wife, or lose the family's support. The only problem? Aziraphale has never looked at a woman that way in his life. His attention has instead been captured by the family gardener, a beautiful young man who holds Aziraphale's heart in his hands. But when a mysterious newcomer arrives in the village, Aziraphale finds himself falling - quite unexpectedly - for her as well. Aziraphale knows he will have to choose. After all, it's not as if he can have both...can he?

Brave to Stay, Brave to Leave by ChristocentricQueer (M)

“Great, a pastor. Why does he have to be so bloody cute?” Crowley mumbled under his breath. A Human AU where Crowley and Aziraphale are both in their late fifties. Crowley is gender fluid and bisexual (He/Him and She/Her). Aziraphale is a transman and gay (He/Him). Crowley is a botanist who is agnostic. Aziraphale is a Protestant pastor in a fictional denomination. They live in Tadfield, a medium sized town in the United States. Slow build with a happy ending.

- Mod D

[softspeirs]

on leave

A/N: Obviously this goes without saying that there's almost no historical basis for this interaction to happen, except that there's a brief window of time in the late summer of 1943 where Easy and The 100th could have interacted... but that's why I love fanfiction. Thanks to @basilone for enabling me. Meet my BoB OC Kat Gray. You can learn more about her in Barren Soul. No pairing for this fic except a hint at something if you take a cue from Bucky Egan.

"You know, it's nice that the Airborne finally decided to show up." Bucky says, tilting his head and gesturing with his glass.

They've been back from Africa for two days, and the brass decided everyone could do with some leave. They've got a few days in London while the new replacements arrive, and it seems that half the units in the US Army had the same idea.

This pub in particular is packed with soldiers, airmen, and civilians alike.

Next to him, Cleven and DeMarco share an aggrieved look.

"What?"

"Can you just--" Gale straightens his jacket, leans in, "--try not to start a fight? For once?"

"Don't count on it." Bucky grins.

A roar from the corner of the room grabs their attention, and they shift on their barstools to watch how the game of darts is getting on. There's a new addition to the roster, Bucky notices.

"You're a cheat!" A man says, and the woman in question raises her eyebrows.

"When have you ever known me to be dishonest?"

"The last time you gave me stitches and told me it wouldn't hurt."

She rolls her eyes. "That was an accident, and you're too sensitive, Luz."

"Interesting." DeMarco says under his breath. "You ever heard of a woman in the paratroops?"

Buck smirks. "What, you haven't read the papers? Experimental unit."

"Any girl who can jump out of a plane is alright in my book." Bucky says, as he takes another gulp of his drink, "Probably a little crazy, but alright."

They interrupted by a First Lieutenant who looks like he's already had a few, but all the same, he squeezes in on the other side of Benny, signaling the bartender. "Majors, Captain." He says, two fingers at his temple in half-hearted salute.

"You with the Airborne?" Bucky asks, louder to be heard over the band.

"101st."

"100th Bomb Group." Buck says, holding out his hand to shake. "Gale Cleven. This is Major John Egan and Captain Benny DeMarco."

"Lewis Nixon." The man says, a few pints set down in front of him by the bartender. Nixon looks up in thanks and then turns back to the men in front of him. "100th Bomb Group... you're flying B-17s, right?" He whistles. "I wouldn't know what to do with a plane like that."

"Jump out of it, probably." Bucky says.

"Nix--" a female voice interrupts them, "Need a hand?"

The woman in front of them is brunette, her hair tightly pinned and tucked beneath a garrison cap. Bucky instantly straightens, grin firmly in place.

"I wouldn't." Nixon mutters, giving Bucky a look out of the corner of his eye. Turning to the woman, his face softens a fraction. "This is Corporal Kathryn Gray."

Introductions are made, and Bucky can't help himself. "What's a girl like you doing with an outfit like this?"

Her eyes narrow, and he gets the feeling he's put his foot in it, though he was just trying to be funny.

"A girl like me?" She asks, her tone neutral, but that steel look in her eyes. "What am I like?"

"Christ." Nixon mutters, running his free hand over his face.

"What?" Gray asks. "Just making conversation."

"Just starting trouble, more like."

"Funny," Buck says. "We just had a similar conversation. He elbows Bucky in the ribs.

"All good over here?" Another Lieutenant appears, this one shorter, eyes hard. His reddish hair and sharp jaw make him stand out among the rest of the group, but Bucky's not stupid enough not to notice the way they're all glancing over to the bar, prepared to close ranks if needed.

He holds his hands up. "Just fine, Lieutenant--"

"Welsh."

Benny interrupts, ever the peacemaker. "Gray, what line of work you in? We were reading about the women paratroops in the paper the other morning."

She turns to Benny with a smile, and Bucky frowns. He had asked the same question! Well, he asked it his way, and Benny has that unassuming way of talking. Even though they're both from the Midwest, somehow Bucky just doesn't come off as disarming as his friend from Chicago.

"Medic," she says proudly.

"Tough job." Buck says quietly, though his lips are quirked to show he means no harm. "What made you go that route?"

"Dad's a doctor. And I wanted to help." She says simply.

"Kat!" A loud voice bellows from across the room.

"Duty calls." She says dryly. "Majors. Captain." She looks back at her own Lieutenants. "Sirs." She says, but it sounds sarcastic. Bucky blinks in surprise at her tone.

Welsh and Nixon both grumble and roll their eyes, neither of them making any move to admonish her.

"She sure made that sound like an insult." DeMarco says.

"Word to the wise, in case you ever find yourself with a woman in your unit-- and you will, soon enough--" Nixon says, "She'll call you by your rank, but don't for a second think that means she takes you seriously or will listen to anything you say."

"And it's useless to try." Welsh says, and holds up his glass for Nixon to cheers.

"Sounds like my kind of girl," Bucky agrees under his breath, and gets another sideways glance from Nixon before he makes his excuses and heads off with Welsh, the both of them greeted with cheers, slaps on the back, and sounds of approval from their guys.

"He was right--" Buck says. "I wouldn't."

Bucky frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Over there." Buck tilts his head in the direction of the opposite corner of the room. At a table with one other man, there's another Airborne Lieutenant. Dark hair, darker eyes, and he's tracking Corporal Gray as she moves in the room.

"Huh." Bucky settles back into his seat, elbow on the bar behind him.

Buck turns around, chuckling when Bucky curses under his breath. "Better luck next time, Romeo."

Bucky watches as Kat Gray as she flits between her men, an easy smile on her face. They nudge her and crack jokes, and all bravado aside, he can see why she fits right in. These guys clearly care about her, and she about them.

She shows it with a quick touch to one mans arm as she leans behind him to talk to someone else, as she winks at another guy who rolls his eyes and nudges her in the arm as he claims the seat on her right.

A half hour later, they're getting ready to clear out when Bucky sees her approach, an armful of empty glasses in tow. She sets them on the bar on the other side of him, and nods her thanks when he takes the last few from her hands.

"How long left on your leave, Major?"

"Just one more day. Then it's wheels up." He says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Good luck." She says simply. "I can't imagine what it's like up there."

Bucky feels the smile slipping off his face, but he does his best to try to keep it up. He doesn't want to think about flying right now. He doesn't want to think about Curt, or Buck flying in on no engines, none of it.

"You take care on the ground and I'll do my best in the air, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He can't help it, he laughs. At her confusion, he grins. "I have it on good authority that when you say sir, what you really mean is--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Buck says, amused. "Corporal. Have a nice night. Good luck."

"You two, Majors." She says, and then she's off, a Sergeant and Nixon waiting at the door for her.

He sees the Screaming Eagle on her arm as she goes, and he shakes his head. "Lady medic."

"You're gonna need a medic if you don't get to bed soon." Buck mutters. "Let's go."

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 7 - The Penultimate One

With no signs of sirens blaring towards them or the door being kicked in by the auxiliary units of the city, all Hunt could do was wrap the Horn in a towel and shove it under the desk out of sight. He’d figure out that headache in the morning.

Nesta kept glancing towards it when she thought he wasn’t looking; Hunt caught her often frowning or wrinkling her nose up in its direction.

He pulled out the chair to sit on it backwards. Nesta perched on the edge of the bed, tiredness nibbling at her expression.

‘Tell me what’s going on.’

‘I don’t know,’ she replied, lifting her chin in defiance.

His fingers grazed against her cheek. ‘I’m on your team, Nesta. I want to help you.’

Fluidly, Nesta rose then moved to stand beside the wide windows which looked out upon the city. ‘In my world there are objects from the Dread Trove. The Harp is one. It opens wards. I’ve also used a Mask. I wouldn’t wish it upon my enemy. The world went cold. I-’ Nesta paused a moment. ‘I was being attacked by a kelpie. I thought I was going to die. It was biting me, pressing its face to mine - and the Mask came to me. I didn’t need to breathe or think. An army of the dead rose when I wore the Mask to do my bidding.’

‘A kelpie. Why were you anywhere near one?’

Nesta said nothing, just kept a slight scowl upon her face.

‘I hope they tucked you into bed and fed you ice cream for days after that.’

A light went out in her eyes. ‘No. They did not.’

Hunt couldn’t take the fraught expression on Nesta’s face; couldn’t bear to see her clinging to the cracks to keep from breaking. He crossed the room to stand behind her, his wings cradling around her. A hand rested on her waist as he stood behind her, watching the city with her.

‘There is a queen who was mortal, but – like me – she entered the Cauldron. It was of her own volition, but after I had attacked it. It turned her fae but ancient. She wears the Crown which can gain control of another’s mind. She wants me dead. It is my fault that she was cursed. If I hadn’t sought vengeance on the Cauldron for Elain…’

His hand went tighter on her waist. Between the Asteri, Einar Danaan, and this queen, there seemed no place safe for Nesta.

‘And do you think the Horn is part of that trove?’

On her exhale, Nesta sank into him. ‘It keeps calling to me, Hunt. Its voice is weak and broken but it is communicating.’

As if his arms might protect her from everything that life could throw at them, Hunt wrapped them around Nesta and kissed her temple. ‘What does it say to you?’

‘To use it.’

‘I’m not an expert on fae objects, but do you not have to pay a toll to use them? You haven’t suffered from using them?’

Her fingers rested on his forearms and Hunt wished they could stay that way for an eternity. He had to overcome his shitty life to make hers better; she deserved that.

‘It is said that some have not been able to take the Mask off. I won’t make a habit of using them.’

‘We can ask Danaan what the Horn was fabled to do. The fae like secrecy. I don’t want you whizzing off and landing in a road somewhere else.’ Hunt kissed her temple again. ‘You might end up in a world without waffles.’

‘A true terror.’

Nesta prised herself free then turned to gaze at him. She had to raise her chin an inch or two to meet his eyes, but for a female she was tall. Those long, lean legs reminded him of a dancer. If she stayed in Lunathion and kept up her diet of pure sugar, the harshness of her face would soon soften.

‘You are very calm about this,’ she noted.

‘Four nights ago, a shooting star fell from the sky and changed my life for the better.’ Hunt bopped the end of her nose. ‘I’ll take whatever life can throw at me as long as you’re there too.’

‘You barely know me.’

Hunt laced his fingers through hers then brought them to his chest so she could feel the steady thud of the heart within. ‘My heart knows you. It recognised you the moment we met, like we’d met in another life.’

When Nesta’s lips parted, he thought she might laugh or call him embarrassing for his words. Instead, she rose up on her toes to kiss him.

***

It was late when they settled into the bed. Like the previous night, they moved in together, one body tracing the other’s path. It was Nesta who needed Hunt beside her that night. Despite his words, she could sense the undercurrent of worry within him regarding the Horn. She did not know how it had come to her even after he had returned it to Luna’s temple but she imagined it was similar to the Mask, with even wards being unable to hold it. The trove items seemed to have a consciousness or their own desires. For now, Nesta was a tool they wanted to use so she needed to remember that.

‘Stop overthinking and go to sleep,’ said Hunt, voice hazy with sleep.

‘How did you know?’

‘You stopped stroking my wing.’

Indeed, her fingers had stilled from their path. Once she had discovered that an angel’s wings were nothing at all like an Illyrians, she could not be stopped. Hunt had explained that whilst most didn’t make a habit of touching a malakim’s wings, it wasn’t forbidden. He’d likened it to stroking somebody’s hair and even shared that his mother would brush his wings with her knuckles to ease him into sleep as a child. She found it soothing to stroke the feathers, especially the soft downy ones on the inside.

‘Everything will be alright, Nesta.’ Hunt kissed the back of her neck which sent a shiver down her spine. ‘You’ll be home soon.’

If anything could have sent her spiralling, it was that. They were well and truly different worlds. In Prythian, she lived in Rhysand’s pocket. She was Cassian’s to parade. She had been willing to believe that it was love because she knew no better, had no other options. They had all been taken from her. She’d watched her mother and father’s stifled, loveless marriage that had been arranged by their parents and expected the same. These days with Hunt had shown her that life could be fun. It didn’t have to mean survival. There could be somebody who stood on your team and wanted to be there for every moment.

Hunt groaned and pulled his arm tighter around her. ‘Overthinking.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Do you want to talk?’

‘Let’s sleep,’ she offered.

Hunt kissed her skin once, twice, she couldn’t count the number of small kisses he peppered upon her. ‘Goodnight, waffle queen.’

‘Sleep well, Orion.’

It was Hunt who woke her in the morning. He spoke softly on his cellphone but the words were crass and aggressive; a threat to whoever he was talking to as he made the morning coffee. A shard of light was exposed by the curtains which promised another bright, sunny day in Crescent City. The dawning of each day was a countdown that Nesta didn’t want.

‘For once in your pampered life, stop being a fucking dick,’ Hunt whispered.

Nesta couldn’t make out the quiet voice on the other end as she lay in the bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

‘Fae bullshit,’ replied Hunt. ‘Whatever. I’m heading to the Comitium soon. Your father can cry and scream all he wants, but it’s a fae item and it’s missing from Luna’s Temple so of course the finger will be pointed at your lot.’ A pause. ‘Fine. There’s still a warrant for your father’s address.’

He tossed the phone to the end of the bed then carried over the mugs.

‘What’s a warrant?’

As Hunt jumped, a dribble of coffee sloshed over the side of the mug. ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’

‘No.’

‘A warrant is an official document meaning we can search a premise. In this case, Einar Danaan is being investigated. Apparently Luna’s Horn is missing. Can you believe it?’

‘Colour me shocked,’ Nesta replied drily.

‘It’s still where we left it. I’ve checked.’ Hunt settled the mugs down then flopped across the bed, covering her legs like an overgrown house cat.

‘What should we do?’

Hunt yawned carelessly. ‘Take a shower together. Find breakfast – there’s a nice little café not far from here – and then get as far away as we can. Pangera, maybe. Or the moon.’

Something about the way he’d said we as if they were in this mess together, like even if it was Nesta’s fault that a historical relic had turned up in the room, Hunt was still on her side and they’d figure it out.

She wiggled her feet out from beneath Hunt to draw her knees to her chest. ‘It’s really bad, isn’t it?’

Hunt gave a short smile. ‘I mean, it’s not great, but it is a little bit funny that Micah has managed to get a warrant from the other side of the world to have Einar Danaan’s home searched. I wish I could see the fae prick’s face.’

‘Is it a common theme across universes that the fae are disliked?’

‘They’re all stuck-up assholes. Except you, of course.’

‘I am not fae by choice,’ she reminded him.

Hunt rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Let’s get your Harp and find a nice corner of the universe where it’s warm and sunny and nobody knows us.’

‘I’d like that,’ Nesta admitted.

Despite what she had seen in Prythian, Nesta had never been convinced that fate was real. There was no such thing as destiny moving two pieces together across worlds. No force tethering souls. And yet, her heart so wanted to believe in it when she looked at Hunt. As a child, Nesta’s ideal husband had been one who left her alone; polite at best, neutral at worst. She had never dreamed of a man who was her equal because those sorts of mortal men did not exist. Her mother had instilled in her that she was an asset and that was all. Even in Prythian, a male was still worth more than a female. It was he who felt a bond, not a female. And Nesta, so stupid and lost, had stopped fighting for her freedom, for her choice, and gave in. She’d become her worst nightmare; her mother’s daughter. For months, she had told herself that beyond lust, it was only irritation that she felt for Cassian. There could be sparks of brilliance, of kindness, but it was extended to anybody – and more often than not, Nesta was the bottom of his priorities. The male she loved shouldn’t make her feel like a problem.

Hunt yawned his way through a sleepy morning, cuddling up to her legs beneath the duvet while Nesta drank her coffee. She couldn’t bear to tell him that she wasn’t a fan of it unless it had whipped cream on top and sugary syrups pumped into it; the fact he made her drinks in the morning was such a low expectation and yet nobody else ever had. Nesta alternated between running her fingers through his hair or his wings whilst prompting him to wake up and drink his own coffee. It appeared that burrowing against her was a more favourable way to spend his time.

Eventually, when Isaiah had called three times, Hunt dragged himself from the bed to shower.

He returned with a towel slung around his hips with damp wings.

‘Where’s the hairdryer?’

Nesta frowned. ‘The what?’

Hunt plucked a device from one of the drawers, careful not to disturb the Horn. It was red with a metal grid over the muzzle. A black cable was wrapped around the handle which he unwound before plugging it in.

‘Oh, you’ll love this,’ he said.

‘I thought it was a gun, like the one you have.’

Hunt tried his best not to laugh at her and failed quickly. ‘Nesta, in this world – probably any world that has guns – they don’t need to be plugged in. They’d not be effective. I mean, I can see why. It looks like one.’

The angel aimed it at her face then pressed a button.

Nesta screwed her eyes shut, bracing for pain, but was met with a loud noise and a burst of hot air.

When she dared open her eyes, Hunt was pointing it at himself, blowing the moisture from his hair. Nesta practically groaned at the sight of it. All of those nights carefully towelling her hair dry and still finding it damp in the morning.

‘What would happen if I used the gun on your wings?’

‘Hairdryer, Stargirl,’ he called over the noise. ‘I’d be all fluffy like a little chick.’

‘Oh, I’m very tempted,’ she said, grinning with a delight that she rarely felt.

Nesta lay back on the bed, watching Hunt dart about the room readying himself for a brief visit to the Comitium. She never thought she’d be the type to be so comfortable sharing such a small living space, but Hunt made everything easy. Nothing ruffled his feathers.

Perhaps because they were the same. Two lost souls searching for another’s hand to hold.

‘I have to go and play dumb about the Horn. I’ll look through Einar’s underwear for the sake of it.’

‘A strange way to spend your day.’

‘I’ve already rifled through yours,’ he shot back. ‘You’ll get a frequent shopper card from that lingerie boutique soon. When I come back, I have a day planned. A final day in Lunathion hitting up all the sights.’

She knew the final day was coming, but it felt a lot like a noose pulling tighter with each passing moment. There had been so many goodbyes that were stolen from her. Nesta didn’t want to say this one. Couldn’t say it.  

***

After putting on his best bored tone and acting as though it was as much a pain for Hunt as it was for the Autumn King to be searching every inch of his home for Luna’s Horn, Hunt allowed himself a little laugh when he got back to the barracks. The king had seethed, demanding to know which informant had planted the information that the Horn might be in his possession – and Hunt had shot him down with about thirty different city regulations about witness protection just to piss him off further.

‘Hunt, you still here?’

Vik called through the door as he was changing, ready for a day of adventure with his Stargirl.

‘One second.’

‘Meet me in my office when you’re done.’

It wasn’t like Viktoria to summon him so, warily, Hunt grabbed another change of clothes and hurried down to her basement dwelling. There were three monitors open and a computer that sounded like it might fly from the churning noise coming from the fan. Polystyrene coffee cups littered the desk.

‘Just the male,’ she said, spinning in her chair. ‘Micah asked me to pull the footage from Luna’s temple. There are no cameras inside which is so not helpful, but I’ve managed to get a picture of anybody who entered or departed the temple within a two-hour window of it disappearing. According to witnesses, it simply vanished before their eyes.’

‘Weird,’ Hunt said with a shrug.

‘Yeah. So, Declan Emmett is running additional tests on the footage and other teams are scraping the images to match them with IDs from our databases to question them. Isaiah’s got another team already speaking to the acolytes at the temple about what they saw.’

Hunt said nothing, just nodded along because this was information he already knew.

‘What’s really weird is like two hours after the Horn disappeared, there was a freak lightning storm that frazzled the cameras for a while.’ Viktoria threw an empty cup at him. ‘Hunt Athalar, I know your lightning.’

‘That’s not my lightning,’ he lied, voice pitching slightly too high.

Vik glared. ‘Oh, terribly sorry. It must have been the other Umbra Mortis who sent all the tech haywire last night.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘Fuck, Hunt. What are you getting involved in?’

‘What? Nothing. Why the Hel do you think I’m involved?’

‘Uh, because you have a faerie girlfriend from outer space whose Harp went absolutely nuts last night.’

‘Nuts… how?’

Colour dotted her cheeks as she rolled up her long-sleeved top to reveal a painful-looking purple bruise wrapping around her elbow. ‘It shot me across the room when I was working on it. Literally nothing since it arrived. I’ve played every single string, ran every test, and nothing. Except last night. It was like it was excited. A burst of energy threw me into the wall and it was vibrating. Can you guess what time that happened? I’ll tell you, Hunt. A minute before the call came in that the Horn had disappeared.’

Hunt gave an innocent shrug. ‘A weird coincidence, huh.’

If looks could kill, he should be dead.

‘Sorry about your elbow,’ he said gingerly. He scratched the back of his neck. ‘Have you told anyone else about this?’

‘No, because tomorrow, I am handing that Harp and the sword back to Nesta Archeron and she’s going back to where she came from. Isn’t she, Hunt?’

‘Yeah, she is,’ he replied dejectedly.

When he tried to leave, Vik called out to him again and told him to shut the door.

‘Hunt, I’ve noticed a change this last week and I like it. I really do. But this isn’t her home. When Micah returns-’ she cut herself off. ‘Shit, if the Asteri even catch a whiff of her.’

‘I know. She’s going home.’

On the flight to her hotel, his plans for a day of excitement at the adventure park just on the outskirts of Lunathion plummeted to the ground. For a moment, Hunt debated not telling Nesta – but he couldn’t keep her in the dark. It wasn’t fair to do that. It was a thin line between scaring her or being honest, but surely with the reassurance that he was on her side, it would be alright. Hunt told himself that again: it would be alright. He glanced down at his phone as he landed. A text had been sent while he flew.

Dearest Orion,

I miss you.

Yours,

Nesta.

As he expected, Nesta was quiet as he told her. Her face was too guarded to pick up on much. No wonder Isaiah had such a hard time interrogating her when she landed.

The mood had soured so neither wanted to do much – except enjoy the other’s company.

With Tristan Flynn’s credit card still in Nesta’s possession, they walked to the supermarket. Nesta liked pushing the trolley although they only tossed snacks and a few fruits into it. Hunt let her scan it herself at the self-service even if it took ten times as long because she wouldn’t have the chance again.

‘I wanted to take you on a roller coaster today,’ he said as they walked hand in hand back to the hotel. He swung the plastic bag of groceries as they went.

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘Like a big metal thing with a cart on it and it goes fast or upside down and everybody screams.’

‘A torture device?’ she hedged.

It sounded that way. ‘No, it’s fun. They have cotton candy. You’d love that. Hot donuts. Lots of rides.’

All of these stupid things that he wouldn’t get the chance to show her. He hated it. Hated that their time together had a fucking expiry date that was drawing closer.

‘I wish you could show me everything,’ she said, entering the elevator and jabbing the button with more force than it required.

Hunt heaved a sigh and slumped against the mirrored-back. ‘I wish you could have met my mother. She’d have loved you.’

Nesta did well to hide the few stray tears on the brief walk to the bedroom, but Hunt didn’t draw attention to it. His mother would have loved her. He wasn’t the Umbra Mortis when he was home, wasn’t the bottom-wrung malakh who was rising up the ranks with his brutality. He was just goofy Hunt who made his mother laugh. It wasn’t like Shahar who’d seen his value and concocted a way to use it while holding his heart. With Nesta, he could be just Hunt.   

‘What’s the plan then?’

‘The plan is,’ he said, tugging off her jacket to hang on the hook, ‘we see what crap is on the T.V. and eat our way through this. You can cuddle me, of course, or read your book. We’ll order dinner tonight or go out then back to here. Then I’m cuddling you.’

The smile on Nesta’s face was almost shy as she turned to him. ‘Before I leave, there is one request that I have.’

‘Anything.’

‘Can we wet your wings then fluff them up with the hairdryer?’

Hunt cupped her face then squeezed it. ‘It’s a good job that I like you.’

There's one chapter left then an epilogue. Where the story broke POVs in the first half is where there will also be a smut insert so either you can read it or not :-)

[teamhappyme]

an adjustment period

josh lyman x female!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: politically inaccurate portrayal of the white house, aka the west wing, projecting all my feelings onto josh lyman

a/n: me? posting two fics in one month? groundbreaking. I really am in my josh lyman era sue me idc.

“He will call you back at his next availability. I don’t know when that will be, Congressman.” You pulled the phone away from your ear as the Congressman yelled at you through the receiver. “I will let him know. Thank you, have a nice day Congressman.” 

You slammed the receiver against the base until the rest of the communications bullpen looked over at you. 

“I swear to god,” you mumbled to yourself as you barged into Sam’s office. “This is the first and last time I ever fill in for Ginger. Congressman who-gives-a-shit wants you to call him back at your earliest convenience.”

Sam looked up from his briefing, a small smirk on his face. “You would rather help me with research for the state of the union than answer my phone? I’m shocked.”

“Sam, if you don’t give me back my encyclopedia and the keys to my office,”

“Relax,” he interrupted, throwing your keys back to you which you caught easily. “I have a meeting in the oval, walk me there and I’ll give you your precious encyclopedia.”

“Fine.”

You walked through the communications bullpen, bumping into a frantic Kathy juggling a stack of papers in her hands.

“Sam owes you lunch everyday for the next two weeks until he leaves,” you told her, a small smile spreading over her face. “And if he tries to give you a hard time, call me, and then the President.”

“I’m not made of money, you know.” Sam piped in while leading you back into the route of the Oval Office. 

“I have three words for you: Gage Whitney Partner.”

“Touché.”

The two of you rounded the corner past Josh’s office, and you couldn’t help but peer in to see if he was there. 

It was a habit that started first out of survival. In the beginning of your tenure in the west wing you couldn’t walk past Josh’s office without him singing the Yale fight song. Then, after a heated argument in the Roosevelt room between the two of you over the relevance of the Oxford comma, you took every opportunity to occupy his free time to support your argument in favor of the beloved punctuation mark.

Four years had gone by, and somewhere along the way, the small squabbles turned into advice sessions on policy or speech writing. Sometimes, if either of you were feeling sentimental, you would share stories of your times at Yale. 

Over time, it became part of your everyday routines to check in on one another, and it was one of the best parts of your day.

Behind writing speeches for the President of the United States, of course.

“Remind me to edit the concluding paragraphs of the President's speech to the education forum. Toby told me I’ve been using too much passive voice.”

“You do use too much passive voice.”

He stopped in front of Charlie’s desk, glaring at you for the comment.

“Hey, I like the passive voice as much as you, but Toby hates it, therefore I don’t use it.”

“He’ll be ready for you in a minute.” Charlie told Sam before leaving his desk for the Oval.

“Hey, have you guys found a new you yet? Toby has gone through like ten interviews and half of them left looking like they were going to cry.” You said as Charlie waved him in to the Oval. “I mean, the solution to this would be to not have you leave and become a congressman, because that’s boring and you can’t even write your own speeches. In fact, that’s exactly what you should do.”

You walked him to the doorway of the oval, waiting for him to hand you your encyclopedia that had been held hostage.

“Why don’t you come and join me and the President, he would like to be the one to tell you who we picked.”

“Why can’t you just tell me now? You know I have absolutely no patience for these things.”

He didn’t answer you, instead he looked into the Oval Office, a small smile on his face. You looked in after him, curious as to what he was so amused with. 

All you saw was the President leaning against his desk, staring at the two of you, I’m sure not happy to be kept waiting.

“I don’t have all day you know,” President Bartlet joked before waving you both in.

Wait a minute.

“Sam,” You looked over at your boss, his smile now grinning from ear to ear. “No, Sam, it can’t-“

“Come on,” he interrupted, pushing you into the oval with a steady hand on your back.

You’d been in here plenty of times; usually with a group of people, and usually not when you’re getting offered the job of a lifetime. But when it’s just you and the President, it’s the most terrifying place in the world.

“I’ve never seen you scared a day in your life, don’t tell me today is the day you decide to be scared of the White House.” The President commented as you tried to relax.

“Well if you offer me a drink from the fancy decanter I can promise you I’ll be a lot less scared, sir.”

You and Sam sat down across from the president, and waited for the rest of your career change. 

It was hard for you to listen to anyone praise your work ethic, character, and dedication to your job, let alone from the commander in chief himself. You worked for Toby, so there weren't a lot of warm and fuzzy feelings being spread around. So when the president mentioned that, yes, Sam recommended you for his position, but it was Toby that practically locked him in the Oval Office saying it had to be you, you were more than shocked.

You knew deep down he was a softie.

After accepting the position with absolutely no hesitation, it was off to the races with another meeting for the president.

“Mr. President, just one more question.” You asked as he walked you out. “Is there any way we can rework this position so that Toby answers to me and not the other way around?”

“Dream big,” the President said through his laughter, which brought a smile to your face. 

Once you and Sam cleared through Charlie and Mrs. Landingham, you landed a sharp smack to his chest.

“What the hell was that for?” He asked, resting his hand over his hurt chest.

“You couldn’t have told me that you were going to nominate me for your job? Or that the president was going to offer me the job himself in the Oval Office?!”

“Well, then I wouldn’t be able to see your anxious shaking and clammy hands as the President raves about you.”

You rolled your eyes as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and the smile quickly returned to your face.

“You deserve this. I’m just sad I won’t be able to see you and Josh fight in Senior Staff meetings.”

“Oh don’t worry, we’ll be visiting you on the hill.”

Sam walked you back to your office and handed you the responsibility of finishing the President’s remarks for tonight’s Town Hall meeting.

“If it isn’t the new Deputy Communications Director in the flesh.”

Josh was waiting for you in your office, holding a gold box in his hand while swiveling around in your office chair.

“Technically we’re equals now, so I can tell you to get the hell out of my chair without fear of losing my job.”

“Technically, I outrank you, but since you don’t answer to me, I’ll let it slide.” He stood up from your chair, moving to stand across from you. “Did you quake under the stress of wondering what the president wanted from you?”

“Did you come here to congratulate me or make fun of me?” You asked, a smirk appearing on his face. “And is that present in your hand for me or your new accessory?”

“Do you have to ruin all the fun?” He commented and handed you the present.

You opened the box, taking out the tissue paper to reveal a book, The Social Contract to be exact.

“I know we both went to Yale, but I’m not sure I share the same affinity for the literature of Rousseau that you do, I’m more of an Austen or Didion kind of gal.” You joked. 

“I thought I’d get you something that you could quote from in your State of the Union address. You know the President loves the cheese.”

You opened the cover of the book to find a note from Josh written on the inside. There were butterflies in your stomach before you read the first word, because that’s just the effect he had on you.

The relationship you shared with Josh is one that you greatly cherished. Your work rarely overlapped, being an underling of Sam in the communications department didn’t leave a lot of room for talking major policy with Josh. But after your own squabbles, and then overhearing a debate between you and Toby only days into your tenure at the White House, he quickly found any reason to work with you.

He would volunteer to work on research with you when he had any spare time, and he always requested you when he needed an extra hand when heading over to the Hill. You finally asked him about it a few months into the arrangement, and he shrugged before admitting he’d never seen someone stand up to Toby like that. 

“You’re gonna go further than a speech writer in the communications department. One day I think you may run this whole building.”

You read aloud from his note, the same thing he said to you three years ago on your walk to the Hill. 

You didn’t think he meant it then, and you surely can’t believe it now.

“I told you I’m good with words, Sam and Toby just never give me a chance.”

You closed the book, the weight of this new position pushing you back against your desk. You’re senior staff now. You’re in charge. You are going to be in the room where it happens.

“What if I’m not good at it.” You admitted in the open air. 

“Hold on-“ Josh tried to interrupt you.

“Sam, Toby, and the President of the United States just told me they want me for this job. I don’t have a law degree, Josh. I have a Bachelor’s degree in English and a Masters in Political Science from Yale, but I don’t make laws. I don’t have an illustrious career in politics, I’m not even a head speechwriter for Christ’s sake. I crumble under the image of the Oval Office, and unless I’m correcting Toby’s grammar, I don’t particularly like to debate with people. I am going to be in charge of a department, responsible for people to get things done the way I want. I barely get things done the way I want. I am not going to be good at this.”

“Hey, I went to Yale, don’t drag her down.”

You threw him a look as he moved from his spot in the doorway.

“For the last three years, I’ve watched you handle more crises and speeches than any other deputy in the communications office. Sure, the President showered you with compliments for your writing skills, but it’s you, the person behind the speeches, who is going to make real change here.”

“Josh,” you protested, your voice becoming a whisper as you grew uncomfortable with the accolades once again.

“I’m serious,” he began, moving to stand in front of you. “No one ends up in the West Wing by chance. You were meant to be here. And I have no doubt in my mind that you are going to run this building one day.”

You shook your head, letting your hair fall in front of your face to shield Josh from seeing the tears forming in your eyes. No one has ever believed in you like Josh does.

“Hey,” he worriedly said, slowly reaching for your hand. “What’s really bothering you?”

You looked down at your hands, fingers laced with his for what felt like the hundredth time. The line was always a bit blurred with Josh. You worked on so many projects together, spending hours on end in one office or another. Three years of small spaces and critical decision making led to post-meeting breakdowns, confiding in people you spent hours on end with.

Josh quickly became your person at work, and after the shooting, you became his. Neither of you spoke of it, you just knew that he would be there for you whenever you needed it. Josh knew it all, from screaming matches with Toby, to family emergencies, and the never ending question of what your purpose in life is, which was looming over everyone’s head that worked in the West Wing. 

You had always felt something more for Josh. Maybe you read too much into it when he would walk you home from a late night event at the White House, or how he would call you in the middle of the night to get your thoughts on how to best proceed with policy. It was easy between you two, and with Bartlett’s second term in the White House now halfway through, you thought this friendship would finally shift to something more.

But now that you were equals, senior advisors to the President, holding extreme responsibilities for the republic in your hands, you knew that the dynamic would change. There was no room to slide into a new relationship.

“Things are going to change now, between us. And I know that nothing has really been said but, I’d like to think something was… shifting into more.” Your voice trailed off at the end, embarrassment taking over. 

“There was.” Josh reassured you, a small smile breaking over his face.

You nodded, and in an attempt to hide the goofy smile crossing your own face, you continued to look down at your hands. You reached out for his other hand, which he gladly surrendered to you.

“Things don’t have to be different. There are no rules against a devilishly handsome Deputy Chief of Staff dating a gorgeous Deputy Communications Director.” He joked, trying to get a laugh out of you.

He was right, there really wasn’t a rule against it. And if there was, you’re sure it had been broken before.

“I’m sure you’re right. But if I really want to make a difference here, I need to focus on this job, and not be distracted by an annoying Deputy Chief of Staff.”

“I understand,” he said with a smile, giving your hands a squeeze. “And I think a two month adjustment period is plenty of time before I ask you out on a date.”

“Josh,” you said through a laugh, “Are you really that impatient you need to put a timetable on it?”

“Yes. Four months sound better?”

“Six months.” you said, but as you looked at him longer, you knew you couldn’t possibly last that long. “With a check-in at the three month mark to see how I’m adjusting.”

“That sounds like a great plan.”

A great plan indeed. 

To an outsider, the two of you looked like school kids interacting with their first crush. And that’s exactly how you felt, butterflies in your stomach and your brain all fuzzy.

“Josh!” You could hear Toby yelling through your closed office door, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“You’re Director is a real pain in my ass.”

“I tried to get his job while I was in there, but the President said no.”

He laughed and tried to pull away, but you held on to his hand even tighter.

“Josh,” he turned back to you, and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him. It took him a minute, but his arms wrapped around your waist, and you finally felt like you could do this. “Thank you for the book.”

“You’re welcome. You’ve got this.” He said and dropped a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek before pulling away. “I’ve gotta go find the dictator before he breaks every door down.”

“Go ahead, I’m going to spare myself from him for as long as I can.”

“Ok, I’ll see you in Senior Staff tomorrow morning. Newbie brings a full breakfast.” he joked.

“In your dreams,” you said with a roll of your eyes as he went to exit your office. 

“You really are going to do great here.” He winked and wrapped his knuckles on the doorframe before yelling into the bullpen himself for Toby.

Yeah, there’s no way you guys are lasting six months.

****

[see-arcane]

Lucy Undying came out a few days ago and

"It's a feminist retelling, giving Lucy the agency she so lacked in Dracula."

I am putting feminist retellings on the top shelf unit we all consider if sometimes lack of agency of a character in a story was the point

In fairness, I get the 'why' behind stuff like this.

Lucy's story is painful. It is scary and tragic and ends cruelly for her, just like so many tales of female victims before and after her. Though her death(s) have a real narrative and an emotional point, whereas your average damsel is nothing but an extra pound of meat for the grinder to help add more woe to Hero Man's story. It hurts more with her.

She stands apart from the common fridged woman by being someone we know, someone loved, someone killed and remade into a bloodstained caricature of herself to be her attacker's eternal slave. Ending her existence in that second iteration is mercy, practicality, and the setting of the stakes for Mina when Dracula targets her. If the monster doesn't kill you, the heroes will put you down for becoming a monster too. Which itself ripples out into new moral conundrums when we see how staunchly Jonathan refuses to risk destroying Mina in any form; making us question in turn whether there really was hope for Lucy the Bloofer Lady--who had killed no one yet!--if only Van Helsing and the Suitor Squad had tried another angle. It makes you chew on the implications.

So, I get it. We all want to save the character we love and who got crushed underfoot by the plot.

The problem comes in when to do that literary rescue, you completely obliterate everything about that character which makes them themselves and not Generic Strong Spunky Female #1897. And the book's summary doesn't give me much hope for this not being the case.

Her name was written in the pages of someone else’s story: Lucy Westenra was one of Dracula’s first victims. But her death was only the beginning. Lucy rose from the grave a vampire and has spent her immortal life trying to escape from Dracula’s clutches—and trying to discover who she really is and what she truly wants. Her undead life takes an unexpected turn in twenty-first-century London, when she meets another woman, Iris, who is also yearning to break free from her past. Iris’s family has built a health empire based on a sinister secret, and they’ll do anything to stay in power. Lucy has long believed she would never love again. Yet she finds herself compelled by the charming Iris while Iris is equally mesmerized by the confident and glamorous Lucy. But their intense connection and blossoming love is threatened by outside forces. Iris’s mother won’t let go of her without a fight, and Lucy’s past still has fangs: Dracula is on the prowl once more. Lucy Westenra has been a tragically murdered teen, a lonesome adventurer, and a fearsome hunter, but happiness has always eluded her. Can she find the strength to destroy Dracula once and for all, or will her heart once again be her undoing?

Now, if the name here was different? If this was, I don't know, 'Lorelei Wilder' thwarting her monstrous master 'Count Lord Duke Dracattackula,' that'd be fine. But the fact that it's trying to convince me that the central character is Lucy Westenra, the girl we know through others' words and her own as a human, and through the lens of others' witness accounts as an apparently merrily content monster as the distorted Bloofer Lady, makes me fear the worst: That our girl's been girlbossed out of recognition.

I won't pass immediate judgment. Maybe it's a hidden gem. Maybe a century's worth of character development has altered Bloofer Lucy into this form believably and the author hasn't just retroactively taken an eraser to everything she was pre and post-vampirism in order to make Standard Rebellious Hero Girl (now with public domain name!). I'll cross my fingers for it.

But I won't hold my breath.

[cheerfullycatholic]

Some Pro-Life Information and Resources

The information;

The Pro-Life Movement is against abortion because it ends the life of a living human being in the womb. While many people have biblical reasons for being pro life, the movement acknowledges that it is a scientific fact that life begins at fertilization (aka conception) and we believe that that life shouldn't be taken away, and that human beings have the right to life, from the moment they are conceived. Here is one scientific study that goes over when life begins in the womb, but below are a few short quotes, as well.

...

“Human life begins at fertilization, the process during which a male gamete or sperm (spermatozoo developmentn) unites with a female gamete or oocyte (ovum) to form a single cell called a zygote. This highly specialized, totipotent cell marked the beginning of each of us as a unique individual.” “A zygote is the beginning of a new human being (i.e., an embryo).”

Keith L. Moore, The Developing Human: Clinically Oriented Embryology, 7th edition. Philadelphia, PA: Saunders, 2003. pp. 16, 2.

...

“The term conception refers to the union of the male and female pronuclear elements of procreation from which a new living being develops. It is synonymous with the terms fecundation, impregnation, and fertilization … The zygote thus formed represents the beginning of a new life.”

J.P. Greenhill and E.A. Freidman. Biological Principles and Modern Practice of Obstetrics. Philadelphia: W.B. Saunders Publishers. 1974 Pages 17 and 23.

...

“[The zygote], formed by the union of an oocyte and a sperm, is the beginning of a new human being.”

Keith L. Moore, Before We Are Born: Essentials of Embryology, 7th edition. Philadelphia, PA: Saunders, 2008. p. 2.

...

“Almost all higher animals start their lives from a single cell, the fertilized ovum (zygote)… The time of fertilization represents the starting point in the life history, or ontogeny, of the individual.”

Carlson, Bruce M. Patten’s Foundations of Embryology. 6th edition. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1996, p. 3

...

The Resources;

We in the Pro-Life Movement acknowledge that one of the reasons why a woman may consider an abortion is because she may, for reasons such as financial difficulties or lack of support from the people in her life, believe she is unable to have a baby. Because of that, we have very many organizations within the movement that offer all kinds of support for pregnant women and their families, all of which are completely free. Here is a list of a few organizations (reblogs with more is highly encouraged and appreciated, especially for international organizations).

Option Line is a good place to find further information and pregnancy centers near you.

Let Them Live offers financial support and has fundraisers going on for different women in need all the time.

Birthright International is another website that offers support, referrals, and information.

Support After Abortion, as the name states, offers support and healing if you've lost a child to abortion. It is a judgement free organization that offers help to both women and men.

This post by no means is a complete list of pro life information or resources, as its purpose is only to be a starting point for understanding the movement. If you have any questions regarding the topic, please feel free to ask.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Conflicted: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: It’s hard convincing people what you can see without the physical proof to back it up. You immediately know who the unsub is, but you have to wait for everyone to catch up to you. How can you make them see what you see?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"State your name."

"Adam Jackson."

"What color are your eyes?"

"Green."

"Where were you the night Carl Cade was killed?"

"At work."

"Who is the current president of the United States?"

"Barack Obama."

"Did you murder Dan Keller?"

"No."

"Did you murder William Browder?"

"No."

"What is thirty-two minus nineteen?"

This is where it gets interesting. Something clicks in Adam's mind. It's only for a split second, but you see the subtle change in his attitude. He tries to hide it, which is why it goes unnoticed by Spencer.

"I don't know."

"Would you kill for Julie?"

"No."

"You lied about the altercation with William. Is there anything else you've lied about?"

"No."

"Did you murder Dan Keller?"

"No."

"What time did you leave work the night William was killed?"

"I don't remember," Adam stutters.

"Have you ever had a sexual relationship with Julie?"

"No."

"Did you murder Carl Cade?"

"No."

"Using the formula y equals mx plus b, what does b represent?"

"I don't know."

"Did you murder Carl Cade?"

"No."

"Did you murder William Browder?"

"No."

"Would you kill for Julie?"

"No."

This is getting nowhere. You and Spencer take a break and give someone else a try with the questioning until almost two hours have passed. Julie and Adam are free to go since there is no hard proof that either of them was involved with the murders. While they are signing out at the front, your team is watching the videos play back not far from them. You can still see Adam from where you are, and your eyes haven't left his since he got to the desk.

Spencer plays back the video again, paying close attention to Adam.

"What are you looking at?" JJ asks.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, they both passed. With flying colors, I should say."

"The only spike I got on Adam was from a control question regarding geometric equations, but I think I just flustered him. Either way, we got nothing."

Spencer looks at Adam who is staring at you and him. There is something in his eyes that tells you Adam is no longer in the building. He has that look about him that screams dominance, but he and Julie are already out the door before you can question it. Spencer sees the same thing you did, and he pulls up the security footage from when Adam tackled William into the pool.

"So, where are we now?" Derek asks.

"Honestly? Nowhere. We just watched our two most viable suspects walk out the door."

"If Adam isn't our unsub, he has all the makings to become one someday."

"Tell me the question that he spiked under in the polygraph," Spencer says. "It was a geometric equation, right?"

"Reid, I really think he was just intimidated. He tried and got it wrong, but he wasn't supposed to know the answer anyway."

"What if he lied? What if he knew the answer but intentionally got it wrong?"

"Why would he do that?" JJ asks.

"Because he realized that he wouldn't know the answer."

"You're losing me, kid."

"Adam said he wasn't getting any rest. He takes midday naps because he's always exhausted. He has a history of blackouts, reclusive behavior, and prolonged repeated abuse suffered at the hands of a dominant male who transferred abuse from his female spouse to his prepubescent child. What if our unsub couple isn't a couple at all? I think Y/N is right. He has another personality in his head."

All eyes are on you and all you can do is shrug.

"You had to come to that conclusion on your own. You say we're a team but right now doesn't feel like it. Excuse me."

You leave the group to grab some air outside. Everyone feels bad for not listening to you but it's hard with this job since they need proof and facts, not intuition even if they believe you or not.

"We've seen this before."

"Check this out. The first intervention is timid and apprehensive, right? Then, he gets knocked down. There's a moment of calm, and then his entire body language changes. I saw this exact same transformation when Adam left the station. Only it wasn't rage, it was arrogance. Like the alter ego wanted me to know."

"Why?" Hotch asks.

"I don't know. Maybe for power or control. All I know is the person that stared me down over there was not Adam. He's not assertive like that. He doesn't make eye contact."

"You think the stress of the interrogation blurred the line between Adam and his alter personality?" Emily asks.

"I think the unsub surfaced for just a moment. It knew the answer to the question, realized Adam wouldn't, and lied. Y/N was right. We profiled the duo accurately, only the dominant personality is inside of Adam."

"Adam has no idea he killed all those people."

"You could argue that Adam didn't kill those people. A separate person inside of him did. It's what Y/N was trying to tell us this entire time."

"Everyone, go over to the Hudson Street Hotel. I'll be right back."

Hotch leaves and finds you outside sitting on the bench just staring at the street. He takes a seat next to you, and you look at him with a sigh.

"I feel like we always seem to have these conversations."

"I'm sorry we didn't believe you."

"It's not that. You guys will never understand what I see on a daily basis. You'll never truly understand how energies and spirits work, and I get that. I am here today because I want to help take down the bad guys and save as many people as I can. You allowed me onto this team for what I can bring to it. I am grateful for the opportunity you have given me.

"I've spent my whole life relying on my gift and using what I see to my advantage. I never had to gather hard evidence because I never needed to. Just as much as you're learning from me, I'm learning from you. I don't know what it's like to see a crime scene and to only know what's physically in front of me. I've never had to piece the puzzle together because I see it whole.

"I know what the law is. I know a judge needs evidence and proof to put someone away. Sometimes I forget that. So, you had to come to that conclusion about Adam on your own. I can give my input but I needed everyone on the same page for us to move forward as a team. You're doing a good job, Hotch. I'm sorry for what I said. We are a team."

"Let's call this a learning experience for us both, yeah?"

"I promise to do better and to gather all the evidence before coming to you."

"No, still come to me. I actually enjoy seeing your view on things."

With that out of the way, you get ready with the rest of the team to head over to the hotel. There are police sirens and ambulances there when you arrive, and you rush to the back to see what the commotion is. Julie is lying on the ground covered in blood because she was pushed off the roof. You look up and see Adam on the roof with an evil look in his eyes. Though, when he mists away, you know he's not actually up there.

"Julie, can you hear me?" Hotch asks carefully.

"Adam..."

"Help is right outside. I need you not to move."

"It wasn't him... strange.

"Julie, did he say where he was going?"

"He called himself Amanda."

"That's his other personality," you say to Hotch.

"Where would he go?"

"Not he, she. Amanda panicked. She knew we would connect this to her."

"Okay, so she's feeling the pressure. She obviously knows she's running out of time. Where would she go?"

"She's gonna go after the man these victims represent."

Amanda is going back to Mark Harrison's house to finally deal with the root of all hers and Adam's problems. He is the reason why Amanda was created in the first place. Penelope sends over the address for Mark, and half of you head over there immediately. The other half stay with Julie in case Adam comes back for her. When you get to Marks' house, you see him bound and gagged to a chair with a bag over his head. Adam is standing next to him with a knife in his hands, but it's not Adam.

It's Amanda.

"Amanda put the knife down."

"Stand back or I'll kill him," Adam says in a feminine voice.

"You do not want to do that."

"You don't know what he did!"

"When Adam's mother died, his stepfather needed a new outlet for his aggression. He put Adam in dresses, beat him, and touched him. Adam was too weak to go through all of that alone. He was just a little boy. He needed me to protect him. I could take it. I was stronger than he was. He deserves to die," Amanda says angrily.

"Amanda, that is not for you to decide. I swear to God, if you put him down and you come with me, I will get you and Adam the help that you guys need."

"Adam will be sentenced for what I've done. No, I can't let that happen."

Amanda lets Mark go and puts the knife to her throat instead. She'll kill Adam rather than watch him go to prison.

"If you kill yourself, you kill Adam. I don't see how that's protecting him. Do you know what I know? I know that all you want to do in this world Is protect Adam."

"It's all I've ever done."

"Then why don't you and I help him together?"

"You can't help him. I'm the only one. I know what I have to do. I will keep him safe forever."

Amanda drops the knife so that Derek can move in to arrest her, but the look in her eyes suggests that she is never letting Adam out of her mind. He will be locked away in his own mind for however long Amanda decides. Spencer rushes over and tries to find the shred of Adam left, but he's gone and you don't think he's coming back.

"Reid, he's gone," you sigh.

Spencer is taking this harder than you thought he would, and you don't know why. While everyone else is focused on arresting Adam and trying to get Amanda to release him, you approach Spencer who is off to the side by himself.

"Hey, what's going on in that big brain of yours?"

"We've taken the victim into custody and let the abuser go free. I don't really see that as much of a win."

"A lot of lives are gonna be saved now that Amanda's off the street. You know that."

"I should have listened to you. I should have known."

"You needed to come to the conclusion on your own, but this is more than just Adam. What else is going on?"

"Tobias Hankel."

"Tobias drugged and tortured you for two days. He almost killed you."

"No, he didn't. The personality of his father did those things to me. The real Tobias saved my life. He brought me back from the dead. I know that Adam is still locked inside his own head somewhere."

"Baby, people with DID are never black-and-white cases. There's always going to be a 'good' personality or someone who is innocent in all of this. It sucks but sometimes, we can't save everyone. Imagine a world if we could."

"Yeah, I guess," he sighs.

"Look, we're in Corpus Christi. The case is over with. My reunion is right around the corner. If you're up for it, would you be my date?"

"I think I can do that," he smiles.

The rest of the team flies out of Corpus Christi that night so they can get home faster, but you and Spencer stay to enjoy a night of memories and old friends. You'll fly back after the reunion and maybe spend the night on the beach or something; something romantic with Spencer before returning to your life.

The reunion is being held at a banquet hall where half your class is already there. Spencer heads straight for the bathroom while you look around for some familiar faces. Sitting by himself in the back is the kid who was being beaten by his dad. He hated you for accidentally telling everyone this even though you never meant to. People were eavesdropping; how is that your fault?

Still, you walk over to him in hopes he's not still mad at you over what happened thirteen years ago.

"Sean?"

"Y/N?"

"I didn't think you'd remember me, honestly."

"How could I forget the woman who saw what no one else did?"

"So, I'm guessing you're not mad at me anymore?"

"Not at all. How have you been? What do you do?"

"I've been good. I'm in the FBI, actually. We just got done with a case just in time for this reunion," you chuckle. "What about you? Are you here with anyone?"

"I'm here by myself. I actually have my own graphic design business." He hands you his business card with a smile. "I do a lot of designs for bands and websites and other things."

"That's amazing."

"Are you here with anyone?"

"My boyfriend is in the bathroom. He told me I should come to this. I wasn't even going to go. To be honest, my time at that school wasn't the best as you know."

"About that, I just want to say I'm sorry. You're the only one who ever saw there was something wrong. Because of you, I finally stood up to my dad and left. I never looked back."

"I'm happy for you. If you're ever in the Quantico area of Virginia, I'd love to take you out and catch up."

"Yeah, that sounds awesome," he chuckles.

"There you are." Spencer comes back from the bathroom. "This place is a maze."

"Sean, meet my boyfriend, Spencer. Spencer, this is Sean, one of my classmates."

"You're very lucky, man."

"I know," Spencer smiles and pulls you closer to him.

Spencer was right, this is giving you closure you never knew you needed. High school was such a long time ago that you don't need to ever worry about what anyone else is doing. You have an amazing boyfriend, a super cool job, and a life you wouldn't trade for anything.

"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win." - Stephen King

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[walli3darl1ng]

i fumcking, love your, writing!!!!!!!! i hope you don’t mind my request- feel free to delete it if you do!!

maybe the neighborhood with a person who’s maybe a Bubak or a Jōrogumo? (if you don’t wanna write the neighbors you can do a x reader if you want!)

make sure to take care of yourself and drink water!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- 🫂Hugging Anon🫂

THIS IS SO INTERESTING

I have to do research on this and I got ideas for a Jōrogumo!reader. It’s gonna be everyone but more towards our shopkeeper; Howdy Pillar!

I love that man, I want to hug him!🥺💖

In my research, I found out that a jōrogumo is female. Quote, from wiki, “it can shape-shift into a beautiful woman.”, so I will be using she/her pronunciation. You’re free to change it I won’t be emphasizing it that much except your appearance. I hope that’s okay!

Also! Trigger warning for Arachnophobia because honey….

You are one! So please if that will make you uncomfortable don’t read! I’m sure I’ll make another request suited for you :) okay! Let’s get started I hope you like it.

Howdy sighs softly while turning the open sign to close. For the past week, his fruits and vegetables had been going missing in the back storage unit and he doesn’t know why!

Originally, he thought it was Willy, that little puppet would just snatch a bright red apple any chance he got. But he soon realized that it’s not only the apples that got taken but other fruits as well as vegetables.

Next, he thought maybe there’s an animal taking to food. That was quickly thrown out the window when he realized that this neighborhood is a pretty clean one. No sight of rodents within the neighborhood, just out in the woods.

Howdy jumps when he hears a crash in the back and quickly goes to investigate. Upon opening the door he sees you, a long haired, really pretty spider-human. You are currently inspecting an avocado, holding it in your hand and lifting it up to your nose and sniffing it. When you didn’t get anything you open your mouth, showcasing your fangs and taking a bite.

You quickly pull away when the earthy taste along with the core in the middle gave you an unpleasant impression on the avocado, you drop it and spit the rest out.

Howdy was still thinking on what he’s seeing right now, how did you get here? Why are you here? And why did you bite an avocado?

Wait…

Spider?!

It just hit howdy that you’re a spider!

“Um, excuse me?” He jumps when you turned to him and hissed, quickly crawled up the wall and into a corner. “Wait! I’m sorry, come on out I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You push yourself closer to the corner hopping that would hide you but the man keeps inching closer. Seeing as you won’t come down Howdy hums and think on how to calmly get you down. Find an idea he tells you to wait here and walk out. Finding this interesting you did as you were told, staring up on the corner of the ceiling.

Coming back with a knife, Howdy take an avocado and cuts it up. This made you curious and walk down from the corner, now in the middle of the wall, tilting your head at his actions.

Seeing that you weren’t scared anymore he steps closer and holds the plate of now cut avocados and holds it up to you. He sees you hesitant but eventually with each little step your eight spider legs make he gets more details of you.

Long, flow-y, slick hair, three pairs of eyes all shining with curiosity at the once dark drown-black avocado now looking a bright green color. You look up at howdy, as if asking for permission and he gives you a smile and nudges the plate towards you gently. “Go on, they’re really good without the skin.”

You glance down at the avocado and with your fingers you carefully take the half and smell it, still nothing, is it still safe to eat?

Noticing your hesitation once again, it’s safe to say you’ve never seen anyone or anything before and starts getting a little worried. Why are you here? Howdy takes the other half, gaining your attention, and takes a bite, showing you it’s safe. “Hmm! Good, see?”

Peeking up, you take a bite and with just a few chews you swiftly eat the rest in no time flat. Well now Howdy knows who’s been taking the merchandise, but why? Humming he sees you turn and walk back on the wall. Aha!

One of your legs are injured! He thinks that’s why you haven’t left and sit on the makeshift corner hammock you made out of your web. He’s worried that you’ll get sick if not properly cared for, you’re probably cold too with only some leaves and vines covering you up, For now he’ll let you be.

Morning came and you are awaken by the door and you see howdy peek in. He smiles when he saw you rubbing a set of eyes. “Good morning, how did you sleep?”

You crawl out of your hammock and down the wall carefully. Once in front of howdy you smile up at him and touching his hand, their freezing!

“You’re cold! Here, let me introduce you to my friends and they can help you feel right at home, sound like a plan?” He woke up early and called a neighborhood meeting to discuss what he found and everyone was more then welcome to help out. But now thinking about introduction, Howdy hasn’t told you his name! “Oh, how rude of me! I’m Howdy, Howdy Pillar.”

You tilt you head. The taller puppet points at himself and repeats himself. “Me, Howdy,” then points at you. “And you are?”

You mimic him; pointing at him. “Howdy,” your voice was soft and silky but strong. Howdy enjoyed that melody of his name coming from you. You then point at yourself. “Me, Y/n.”

“That’s it, good job! Me, Howdy. You, Y/n.”

You giggle and jump from excitement your eyes dialing at his praise.

“Come on, people are here to meet you.” Howdy takes you hand and leads you out the storage unit gently. One pair of hands on either shoulder while the other one was on your back and the other holding your small hand. You were nervous, are these people nice? Will they hurt you? You take your free hand and reach up to holds one of Howdy’s hands that on your shoulder. He takes notice and holds your hand.

Now at the front of the store you see a group of colorful people. You feel out of place, the only color you have is a tad of yellow, other then that it’s mixes of red, brow and black.

They all stare at you while you tilt your head and get scared when they all start talking at once.

“Oh my goodness! She’s so pretty!”

“Her hair is so long! I bet it’s soft!”

“The poor thing is shivering.”

You got overwhelmed by the sound and trying to make out all that they were saying. You cover your ears and cower close and behind Howdy pressing your upper body close to his back in hopes that would make them stop.

“Okay, guys that’s enough, you’re scaring her.” Howdy scolds, side stepping a bit and pulls you close next to him. “It’s okay, they’re just happy to meet you, right?”

“Oh goodness! We’re sorry, howdy, yea we’re just happy to meet someone as unique as she is.” Julie flaps her arms around in excitement, Frank holding her arms to keep her from hitting Wally in the face.

“She’s a spider, after all.”

“An injured spider, the poor thing look at her leg.” Poppy softly mentioned, all now looking at her wound on her leg.”

“We should help, right?” Sally looks up at poppy, who nods and quickly goes to get her medical kit, sally and Frank followed.

The whole day it was the neighborhood taking care of you. But since you refused to leave the store, insisted on staying with Howdy by climbing over and behind the front counter and holding one of Howdy’s hand.

First it was poppy helping your wound, making sure you’re okay even though you scare her a bit. Your eyes is what makes her nervous so you stick to looking away from her.

While getting treatment sally comes back with a folded up fabric. She made you some clothes since you’re cold. It’s a simple yet adorable long sleeve shirt and a sweater. You finally got some color!

After that Julie got intel from Howdy that you seem to love avocados so she made you some guacamole! How doesn’t like guac?!

Later, you were getting a bit of sun just outside the store laying your spider body on the grass while you let Sally and Julie mess and style your hair. Wally soon walked over and sat next to you, not saying a word he leans on your back and climbs on. You twisted your torso back to watch him with curiosity.

“Wally! Get off her!”

“You’re not letting me finish the braid!”

“She smells like apples.” Wally nuzzles into your hair. At this point you let this happen until Howdy comes out and puts a stop to it, giving him an apple and you an avocado.

Barnaby is a bit scared of you but that doesn’t stop this funny and charming puppet to give you a spider plushy.

Eddie and Frank work on a blanket for you, a quilt with everyone’s color scheme.

So now you don’t feel out of place.

You’re home.

[mistydeyes]

OMG THERES 1K OF YOU!! I cannot believe it! Thank you all so much for all the love and support these last few months :) Literally tearing up at how many people love my works. It all started with a silly little pharmacist fic and look at where we are now!

To celebrate, I will be opening up my inbox for some prompts! For the next week, feel free to send me a character, a prompt below, and any other details (ex. female, male, or g/n character) :)

aesthetic prompts 💌 - CLOSED NOW! thank you for all the submissions :)

soft and cute - all fluff!

vase of flowers - they return home to your door with a small bouquet of flowers with rudy

loveseat - shopping for furniture for your shared home

linen tablecloths - hosting a dinner party (one that is pinterest worthy)

orange juice - sick days call for the best care

vintage maps - a spontaneous trip with an event filled itinerary

cherry lip balm - what was your first kiss like? with graves

paper rings - “put this on” “why did you make a ring out of the straw wrapper?”

ramekins of soup - you both are not experienced chefs but you try a new recipe in the kitchen

tuberose- looking at old photo albums and reminiscing on old memories

tote bags - “hey can you hold this for me?” “why do you have so many things?” “it’s not my fault these pockets don’t hold anything”

sugar cubes - they surprise you with your favorite dessert/sweet treat with price

music - “i made you a playlist!”

pearls - a fancy dinner out with expensive clothes and dining

folded sheets - "hi, i'm your neighbor across the hall :)"

gold - a small gifted ring as a token of your love with price

unlit cigarette - meeting in the most unexpected of places

hot chocolate - a warm snowed in cabin with nowhere to go

house plant - “for your new apartment!” “you know i’m not here enough to water that”

pastel bonnets and rattles - “we are NOT naming our child that”

perfume - perfume bottles decorate your bureau and you decide to let them choose your scent for the day with gaz

friendship bracelets - friends don't look at friends that way, is there something between us? with ghost

shower of tears - angst

crystal glasses - a fight ends with shattered wine glasses and someone is left to pick up the pieces with gaz

running mascara - "i can't believe you would say that to me" with the 141

hyacinth - they decide to interrupt the wedding just as you're about to say your vows with ghost

cardigans - "please don't go, please don't leave me" with ghost

sea salt - you can't do this anymore and just need to get away from them

stars - "do you think in another universe things would have worked out for us?"

cubic zirconia - you both come to the realization that your relationship is beyond repair

cold sheets - "can you hold me just one more time?" with soap and gaz

hydrangeas - a sudden death leaves one of you without the other for the rest of time

cocktails - "you need to stop drinking too much" "what do you know?"

graveyard - "please i don't want to die" with price

enlisted - military au

empty cartridges - "I want you to run, I'll cover you!"

uniforms - they sure clean up well as you look at them in their dress uniform with price

cigarette smoke - you share a cigarette (and exchange indirect kisses) while on patrol with ghost

confidential files - you're the newest addition to the team and you recognize a familiar face

jacket - you forgot to pack you winter gear and they're helping you avoid the cold

angel - this time you're their knight in shining armor as you save them with soap | with price

manila folders - "I'm being transferred to another unit"

bandages - you are the only one with the med kit and are tasked with patching them up

barbells - "you're doing it wrong, let me show you"

MREs - "can we switch? this food is absolute shit"

hit the showers (18+) - a prank ends with you getting your clothes and towel stolen with soap

wigs - you get sent undercover with them

hot and seductive - smut (18+)

lace (18+) - “wait for me in the bedroom, i have a surprise”with soap

stained lipstick (18+) - rough kisses in the back of an uber with gaz | with ghost

stolen glaces (18+) - "are you going to kiss me or not?"

tanning lotion (18+) - you just wanted help with an even lotion application but now their touch is venturing elsewhere

black and white photos (18+) - you take a few photos so they can remember you (and your body) while on deployment with price: part i and part ii

fruit juice (18+) - "let's test out that theory about drinking pineapple juice"

morning sun (18+) - you have nowhere to go and decide to spend it in bed ;) with ghost | with gaz | with price

silk (18+) - “you look absolutely gorgeous tonight”

[coochiequeens]

A male in office was going to let a child rapist free but a woman defeated him in last Novembers election and is now keeping him locked up. This is why every vote counts means more than just the presidential election.

By Genevieve Gluck January 31, 2024

A serial child rapist who had previously secured a release from prison after identifying as transgender has finally been deemed a “sexually violent predator” under Iowa state law. A judge has determined that Joseph Matthew Smith, who now uses the name Josie Maria Dunham or Josie Smith, should be confined in a secure facility indefinitely, quashing a previous ruling that claimed Smith was no longer a sexual risk due to being on feminizing hormones.

Newly-elected Iowa Attorney General Brenna Bird is behind the push to keep Smith in custody, having recently defeated the nation’s longest-tenured attorney general, Tom Miller, in a November election.

In 2020, Miller endorsed the move that saw Smith released from custody. Bird then condemned his judgement in the matter, running ads during her campaign slamming Miller as sympathetic to the sexual predator.

A petition filed in December in Buena Vista County District Court requested a civil trial in order to determine whether Smith should be re-classified as a sexually violent predator with a high chance of re-offending.

“[Smith]’s mental abnormality makes him more likely than not to engage in predatory acts constituting sexually violent offenses if not confined in a secure facility,” the petition reads. “[Smith] should be committed to the custody of the Department of Human Services to be held in a secure facility for control, care, and treatment until such time as his mental abnormality has so changed that he is safe to be at large in the community.”

In December 2015, Smith was convicted in Buena Vista County of lascivious acts with a child. At the time, Assistant Attorney General Andrew Schoonhoven determined that Smith suffers from “at least one mental abnormality, specifically the mental abnormality of pedophilic disorder,” which predisposes Smith to “commit sexually violent offenses to a degree constituting a menace to the health and safety of others.”

A pre-sentence psychological report was prepared by the State’s expert, Dr. Jeffrey Davis, a psychologist from the University of California.

Davis recommended that Smith be confined at the Cherokee Civil Commitment Unit for Sex Offenders (CCUSO) for an indefinite period based on what he determined to be a high likelihood of sexual re-offending. The report noted that Smith had told a state forensic psychologist he had molested as many as 15 children under the age of 13, the youngest being a 1-year-old baby. He added that he believed Smith was more likely to commit a sexual assault than 92% of male sex offenders.

There has not been even one recorded case of a female patient having been committed to the CCUSO in the unit’s 25-year history, reports the Cherokee Chronicle Times. But there have been at least three trans-identified males in the civil commitment unit. One of those patients, a man named Christian Schiebel who uses the feminine name Tina Keller, told the Storm Lake Times-Pilot he was advised by his attorney that a transgender identity would increase his chances of release.

Smith made international headlines in 2020 after being released from prison just 4 years into an indefinite prison sentence. He had been convicted of sexually assaulting an 11-year-old resident at Midwest Christian Services (MCS), a treatment facility for juveniles following another conviction for sexually assaulting a 14-year-old when he was a teenager.

Despite his record of sexual offending, on January 9, 2020, the Iowa Attorney General’s office filed a motion to dismiss a petition requesting that the serial pedophile be considered a sexually violent predator. The Iowa Attorney General office’s defended the decision by citing Smith’s reduced testosterone levels as a result of hormone treatments. Attorney general spokesman Lynn Hicks stated that “an offender’s hormone levels are an important part of substantiating an offender’s likelihood of recidivism.”

Officials claimed Smith was at a lower risk of re-offending due to an altered testosterone level, and that he “no longer had the sex drive of a man.”

Smith had been receiving hormones related to his self-declared gender identity while being held at Newton Correctional Facility, where, in January 2016, he began serving an indefinite sentence after being convicted of molesting a child. In October 2017, he first expressed a desire to “get started on transgender classification” and started using female pronouns.

Hicks also claimed that an expert had determined that Smith was not at a risk of re-offending due to his gender identity. An Iowa district court judge therefore granted the motion to dismiss “in the interests of justice.”

In January of 2020, Smith was released on parole; but by October of 2021, he had already violated the terms of his strict conditions by using an unauthorized electronic device and seeking out sex. Despite the violation, Smith was not remanded to custody, and was instead allowed to continue to live in the small city of Sloan, Iowa.

In January 2022, Christine Louis, administrative law judge for Iowa Correctional Services, sentenced Smith to two more years in prison, as he had again violated the terms of his parole. During an inspection in January, Smith’s parole officer discovered child pornography on his phone which depicted boys and girls aged between five and eight years old. Smith requested leniency, but was ultimately denied.

[cljordan-imperium]

You have entered the domain of the all powerful AUTHOR GODDESS...AKA...Your Eccentric Southern Gothic Creole Auntie who is full of sass and isn't afraid to tell it to you straight. *blows kiss*

CJ

She/Her

48 - Female - Mother of 1 Human Kidlet & 2 Feline Goddesses - Work Full Time - Published Short Stories

I am a female writer on the Gulf Coast of the United States, currently residing in the state of Mississippi near the amazing city of New Orleans. I have lived in both Louisiana and Mississippi and the culture of the bayou areas runs through my blood. I have one adult son, who is the light of my life, and a cat who thinks she is the goddess of it. The stories that are currently being published to Tumbler are the continuation of roleplays and solo writing that I have been writing for over 20 years; and that I decided to continue sharing with everyone. Some characters have intricate and elaborate backstories which I will unfold for you. Some are new and you will learn about as they reveal themselves to me. I hope you all enjoy.

Some call me a free spirit, I call me...me. It took me years to become comfortable in who I am, so I judge no one else. We all have our own journeys. I am here to support everyone else on theirs, so maybe they won't have to take as long to be able to love themselves. I prefer not to talk much about my disabilities because I don't want them to define me, but am also open about them when asked or to help others come to terms with their own.

I love purple and sparkles, and I'll probably die petting something I shouldn't. Being as I live on the Gulf Coast, I might also be eaten by it, and that is fine. Life is a circle and we're all part of it.

Feel free to visit my inbox and ask box. I promise I do not bite unless asked.

GENERAL TRIGGER WARNINGS - I am going to post this here and also on appropriate stories where they happen - Also, not all of my characters are meant to be liked or sympathetic. Feel free to literally hate them and let your opinions change if the characters do, some of them WILL evolve over time.

All of my stories are FICTION and NOT REAL.

There are themes of: fantasy, evil, demons, angels, religion, blood, viscera, evisceration, gore, swearing, slavery, manipulation, ptsd, emotional manipulation, dv, sa, abuse, death, hell, torture, violence, war, fighting, anger, injury, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, guns, police, witchcraft, .

~may be updated later if I think of more that fit~

Please know that I have 14 Active WIPS here (not including the individual stories in The Imperium Chronicles)

MASTER LIST - Updated 7/23

The Imperium Chronicles

NOT STORYLINE

Flash Fiction Friday 3.3.23

3/10/23 - Flash Fiction Friday - Celestial Bodies

April Fool's In Imperium

Meeting Jasper

Moodboards of Characters

Back To The 20's

HISTORICAL

GET TO KNOW MY OC

THE PALACE

CASPERIUS & MARTENIQUE

DARTAN & AMAYA

GRAE & ADALICIA

ASHER & KAYLIN

MARCELLUS & SORINA

DEZ, PHAEDRA, & THINIUS

UFFERN

LEANDRE & YAEL

CASSANDRA & LUCIFER

KARLEN

ADRIEL & ANNABELLA

DELILAH & TALON

PUSTOTA

JASPER & MEREDITH - CRESCENT CITY

FUN STUFF

Character Theme Song

OC Name Meaning/Reason Tag

Writing Questions Tag

Characters as Comfort Foods

Fav Character(s) to Write

Magical Objects in Imperium

WIP Drinking Game

Foretelling/Prophecy in My Writing

Government in My Stories

Types of Side Characters

THE ANDROMEDA EFFECT

@the-andromeda-effect - In Greek Mythology Andromeda was sacrificed by her parents to save their kingdom from Poseidon's wrath after her mother offended him, but Perseus saves her from death by a Krackon and takes her to his kingdom to be his Queen. Mircea (Meer-cha) Kalavati wasn't sacrificing his wife to appease a god, or bring peace to his clan, he was doing it to start a war with another. His mistake when he hired Caliban Andros was lying to him about why he wanted her rescued, then killed to look like those who had kidnapped her had done it. Never lie to your hitman. Now, like Perseus to Andromeda, Caliban has rescued Riona Kalavati and something is drawing him to the woman. He will kill to keep her safe, and her husband is going to regret that lie for what remaining life he has left. Now as Adira Andros, she is definitely Caliban's Queen, and his "army" has rallied around her.

BATTLEGROUND OF DREAMS

@battlegroundofdreams - Morpheus & Melinoe are Dream Assassins, sent into the minds of sleeping human dreamers to take out Nightmares who can kill the dreamers. They have been trained and are the best at what they do. Put together as unwilling partners, they must learn to work together to keep one another alive. As they try to navigate a tentative partnership, they also take on the responsibility of becoming mentors to Lorien and Rua, a pair of recently graduated Dream Assassins who were almost killed by one of the most powerful Nightmares that any of them have ever faced. If the pairs cannot learn to work together, it could lead to disaster for them all. They will all learn more about themselves, and each other. Once lone wolves, they will become a pack, and one that Nightmares will come to fear. However, a Dream Assassin turned Nightmare from Morpheus' past will come and threaten them all, and test his will and loyalty. His decisions will either save Melinoe's life, or damn all four of them.

BAYOU WITCHES

@bayouwitches (Heaven & Arthur Shelby belong to @call-sign-shark)

BEHIND THESE MASKS

@behindthesemasks - Melania LaVeau is a professor at LSU in Baton Rouge. She is also the grandaughter of Ambrose Meyers, one of the most powerful men in the country and the daughter of Marie LaVeau...yes THAT Marie LaVeau! Old money, going back to when the Gautier family came over from France to settle in New Orelans, there isn't much that goes on in Louisiana or Mississippi that they don't have their hands in. Meyers Worldwide, a tech conglomerate is a cover for underworld activities that will eventually come to light. What happens when someone decides to cross the most powerful, and immortal, Queen of Voodo and threaten one of her children? Will New Orleans be left standing? If you are a fan of Indiana Jones, Tomb Raider, or The LIbrarians, the story is in the same veign. All of the characters are human, but there are supernatural occurrences around them

BENDING THE LAW

@bendingthelaws - Colin Masterson is the Cook Count State's Attorney. He has been on a mission to take down the head of a Chicago crime conglomerate that is headed by Constantin Rakeovich. Now someone has kidnapped his intern and is sending her back to him in tiny pieces. Is it Constantin? Is it another one of the people that Colin has crossed? Now he and those he trusts are going to have to figure it out before someone else disappears or is hurt. Complicating matters is that his brother, Colton Masterson is Constantin's defense attorney. The brothers have never been close, but in this situation, things take a much darker turn. Will Colton stand by his brother or his client? And what happens when something bigger happens and puts everyone Colin cares about in the crosshairs? If you are a fan of Law & Order, or any of those types of shows, this is much in the same vein and will involve more than just the lawyers. All characters are human. There is no supernatural beings or magic. Some places are going to be fictional, but the main setting is the city of Chicago.

DEVIL IN THE DETAILS

@devil-in-the-details-ay - When Lucifer's daughter Yara gets bored and wants to intern for the Lord of Death, Astaroth, her father agrees. After their first meeting, the Devil changes the plans once more. Deciding to make Yara someone else's problem, she is now to be Astaroth's wife. Navigating this challenge, and those who will come against them both will reveal a lot about each other, and themselves. Is the Princess really as spoiled and entitled as she seems? Is Astaroth really the iceberg incarnate that he seems? Is she even who she believes herself to be? And what happens when someone decides to try to interfere in their relationship?

MAGICAL MISTAKES

INOPINATUS

@inopinatus-ea

Princess Adelia has been contracted to marry Prince Emery, but a revelation at her arrival at King Branoc’s Palace has the possibility of throwing this arrangement in jeopardy. Things in the Palace of Annisgwyl are not as they seem. Betrayal and deception are around every corner. Knight Drach, Princess Adelia's sworn protector must ensure that no harm befalls her, but it seems he may have some secrets of his own. Some Kings will fall, one will rise, but who & will he be alone?

@magical-mistakes-vm - Vollrath, the Master Warlock of the local Coven, encounters Mahala (Mah-HAY-lah) preparing to do a ritual on his land. Her mistakes in not being careful in preparations allowed him to find her, but it also set up events in the future that they will need the help of his best friends Baldur and Elmar to deal with. A witch that has no clue what she is and a Master Warlock who is not used to letting people close have to navigate revelations that will change both their lives, and possibly even the Coven. When his brother, Balor, an equally powerful warlock within the Coven who he has been at odds with for years, also shows up and it is clear will be needed, it just adds one more complexity to the situation. Can they all get along to keep each other safe, or will one of them fall to those who are coming against them?

MYSTS OF TIME

@mystsoftime - As Rome burned, Pluto plucked the first soul that would become one of his Lemures to survive more than a century. In fact, that Lemure is still alive today. Enzo is considered the head of the Lemures worldwide, although he isn't really. He's just the oldest one still alive, so those younger look to him for guidance. His best friend is Dante, who was plucked under Justinian, and close to that is Trevarius who died under Hannibal. Dante and Trevarius have been a team for several centuries, mostly operating in the Midwest since the 1800's.

With Dante in Prague, Enzo received what he thought was a summons from Pluto to come to St. Louis and help the Lemure team there with a case. What he walks into is going to turn the world of not only the three men, but the female Lemure there upside down. Renata died in 1897 when a carriage accident plunged her into the Mississippi River in St. Louis. She's served with Dante and Trevarius ever since. The only problem? She's the doppelganger of Enzo's dead wife. Oh, and she and Dante are in love.

One more little hitch...the summons wasn't from Pluto...and she might NOT be a Lemure....

NIGHTMARE MAGIC

(MAGICAL MISTAKES X BATTLEGROUND OF DREAMS)

@nightmare-magic - Set in the future of both Magical Mistakes and Battleground of Dreams in an AU - so some spoilers and some not as nothing is set in stone for either timeline

Vollrath has never met a problem he can't magic his way out of, that is until now. With nightmares torturing his wife, Mahala, he's at a loss on what to do. Neither of his best friends, his brother, or any of their wives, are able to do anything to help either. Each night the dreams are getting worse, and even more dire, they are starting to have physical effects.

Morpheus and Melinoe are a Dream Assassin team to be reckoned with and have taken over the whole organization. After the sins of the past were revealed, Krios and Andromeda were ousted and now they run the show. A formidable team in the dream world and also in life, they have cemented their relationship in all ways.

Vollrath and Morpheus have a history. Magic and dreams shouldn't cross. There are rules, but neither Vollrath nor Morpheus obey them well. They've both stepped on each other's toes, but now to save Mahala they are going to have to work together and the only one that may be able to negotiate peace is Melinoe, if she can stand Vollrath long enough to do it...

PRINCESS OF THIEVES

@princess-of-thieves-id - Princess Inara is set to marry Prince Diyan the next day, a man she has never met or even set eyes on. Ever defiant, that is the last thing she is going to do. Deciding to thwart her father's plans, the Princess slips out of the castle and sets to escape. Little does she know that the Prince's family sent Arik, the Prince's best friend and a trained assassin, to watch over her, fearing more that she would be murdered by enemies rather than escape. One thing that Arik knows is that Diyan doesn't want to marry Inara either, so instead of stopping her, he helps her with a promise to keep her safe if she stays with him. They make it to the next town, which is a port and aboard a vessel that is just preparing to depart in an effort to stay one step ahead of the soldiers now searching for Inara. Unbeknownst them, they have just become stow-aways on a pirate ship. Complicating things further is that Arik and the Captain of the ship are not strangers, and when a romance develops between Inara and Arik and the Captain deciding he would like her for his own, things become even more complicated. Not to mention all three of them are being hunted by multiple kingdoms. Nothing like a quiet day on the sea, right?

SEHNSUCHT RISING

@sehnsuchtrising

Tapperhet

@tapperhet-em - When Princess Meeri's father is deposed by his brother, he believes she was part of the coup, and disowns her as his family flees the country. Lucky for her, she is found by one of the knights she befriended in childhood and is still loyal to her, Einar, before her uncle did. A members of nobility, he and three of his friends spirit her off into hiding where they can plan to figure out who set her up, help her rebuild a life apart from royalty, and decide how to bring about justice. Can the seeming unrequited love of Einar for Meeri turn into more? Or will one of his brothers in arms, cut him off from that possibility? And how close was/is the traitor to Meeri? Sometimes safe isn't as safe as you think...and destiny, it's more than just a lofty ideal. She is a bitch sometimes, and she will find you.

WHILE YOU WAIT

@whileyouwait-dm - Sorting algorithms are a part of daily life. But, what happens when one goes wrong? For the most part, it's no big deal. However, when the one sorting souls in the afterlife goes wrong, it is a VERY BIG DEAL!

Somehow Miriana has ended up in Hell. Djall's Hell to be exact, and no one is quite sure where she's actually supposed to be! Since all of the major gods have fucked off on some "team building" thing, she's going to be there a while. So, Djall being the benevolent ruler of Hell, puts her up in his home and gives her a job..

Support, Trigger Warning, and Separation Banners on this and all side/reblogs are work of @cafekitsune. I try to credit them as I go, but crediting here as well in case I forget.

Author Goddess Banner - @cillmequick <3