#haven't written something so long in a long time

[catsushizz]

Let Time Pass - S.R

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: you reminisce about the time when you met Spencer Reid at college and had a night of adventure that you'll never forget, but after that, you never spoke, until Penelope Garcia found your unsent letters and decided to play the savior of your undying love.

Genre: mutual pining, angst if you squint, but mostly fluff

WC: 3.2k

Warning: kissing, cursing, invading private property

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this, actually, guess the rom-com that inspired me to write this. I'll give you a hint, the first movie has "sunrise" in the title and the second movie includes unsent letters with addresses hehe.

---

Summer rain has always been your favorite accompanied by the sound of the patter of the raindrops. You looked outside your window with a faraway look, your glasses now above your hair as you took a break from reading the unsent letters.

Unsent letters you wrote when you were in college, being in love with someone for so long who you're not sure still remembers you can be draining, you've loved him since the first time he acknowledged your presence during class and when he took you out of campus when it was just the two of you.

Love comes in forms and somehow Spencer's was when he first spewed those few words to you when you were talking to your friends but they weren't paying attention so you stopped and just sat there embarrassed.

"Wasn't Centralia a town that is still burning to this day?" He had asked and your eyes held the universe at his question. You got his name, Spencer Reid and that name hasn't left your mind ever since then.

Love comes in forms and yours are letters.

After that night, you never spoke again, he got his Ph.Ds and life got in the way. You're pretty sure he doesn't remember you, and you're sure he's got his way with life now, maybe he settled down and you're still pining for a man who you're not sure still remembers you.

You remembered how the night went with him, you actually talked until sunrise. At first, you walked around campus and then explored the city together. He told you about his mom, his goals, everything he hasn't said to anyone, and you told him about everything, your secrets that you haven't said to your best friend yet.

You sighed as you shook yourself out of your reverie, you looked down at your letter and traced the dust off from your neatly written letter.

the letter was a year old, you used to write letters every day when you first met him but when you graduated you never stopped but it became less frequent as time passed. Now you write one letter every year and put it inside a box but this time you decide to stop, finally stop chasing your fantasies and let life slap you in the face.

You laughed at your ridiculousness then you heard the door creek and your gaze landed on your best friend. "Hi Pen" you smiled at her.

Penelope's gaze landed on the box in your hand "What's that?" She asked.

You rolled your eyes and stood up from your couch engulfing her in a tight hug "Stop being nosy and when did you arrive?"

She groaned at the contact "50 minutes ago" you laughed and let go of her.

"were you stuck in a conversation with Mom?" She nodded and let her gaze drift off to the box again.

"Seriously, is that your box from college? You never let me touch it and can you please let me see it, I'm older than you, in case you forgot" she insisted as she made the gesture of getting it out of your grasp.

You smacked her in her arms and hissed "No, and you'll never touch this, I don't care how old you are" You glared at her but it held no threat.

"Fine, dinner is ready your Mom asked me to get you" she grumbled and you let out a huff of amusement.

Penelope was never nosy when it came to you but it's been years since you've ever been with someone and she had a hunch that the box had something to do with it.

"Go on ahead I'm going to change in the bathroom," Penelope said straight up lying in front of your face. You didn't question it as it seems believable, perks of working with profilers.

You only hummed and you made a mistake by putting the box inside your closet without locking it. As soon as you left Penelope got out of the bathroom and searched for your box which wasn't hard to find.

She made sure you were completely out of sight before opening it, she didn't know what she expected but surely it wasn't this. Her jaw went slack as she read through your letters from when you were in college until last year, some were long and some were short, with dates in the corner of each letter.

Spencer Reid, her Mighty professor, Her boy genius.

You stopped, why did you stop? She thought while she read through the recent content. She had to do something about it, she had to help you.

Penelope breathed in, fixed her hair in the mirror, and got out of the room, pretending as if she hadn't shoved a box inside her bag and invaded her best friend's privacy, she's doing it for you so it can't be that bad right?

You were laughing at something your dad said but stopped when you saw how unsettled Penelope was "Pen what's wrong?" You asked, your voice laced with concern.

Now she felt guilty, she felt like throwing up but this was for you. "Nothing, I- I just uh, need to go I feel like I forgot something at home" she stammered as she made her way to the door.

"What? Let me drive you home" You stood up from your seat, your mom and dad looking between you two with suspicion in their eyes.

"No!" Penelope abruptly exclaimed, her hand flailing around for you to stop, making you and your parents flinch at the volume of her voice.

She cleared her throat and pushed her bag away from sight which didn't go unnoticed by you "I can drive myself and besides I got something to drop off at a friend's house" she chuckled awkwardly.

You hesitantly sat back down and nodded "Okay... Call me when you get home" You smiled at her and she nodded. She didn't change her clothes but you thought none of it, maybe that was the thing that she forgot.

---

Spencer was lounging on his couch when he heard the loudest knock he had ever heard in his entire life. His brows knitted together as he peeped at the peephole of his door before opening it.

"Garcia?" He mumbled while looking at the frantic girl in front of him, if he didn't know any better she would've murdered someone but that was just a silly thought.

Penelope pushed Spencer inside urgently and pushed a box against his chest, he had to balance himself at the force.

"What's this?" He asked, confusion evident on his face. Penelope sighed and she sat down on the couch with her hand on her face.

"Do you remember a girl in college?" She muttered, her voice barely visible but he heard her.

"You need to be more specific than that, Penelope" Spencer said and pursed his lips as he put the box on the table and sat down beside her.

Penelope frowned as she looked at Spencer "A girl who you spoke to once and never heard from ever again" she said, her body fully facing him.

She noticed his expression doesn't change and she groaned "For a person who has an eidetic memory, you're shit at remembering" she grumbled.

Spencer looked offended "What?! You're the one talking about a girl without context, do you know how many people I spoke to at college? 80% of those people-" Penelope clicked her tongue and signaled for him to stop.

She took the box from the table and pushed it back to his chest which made him glare at her, she ignored him.

"Open it" she demanded. Spencer studied her tense figure and the way she was trying to hug herself to make herself feel better.

"I feel like you stole something that isn't yours-" he said but found himself being cut off by Penelope's hissed.

"Stop profiling me and open the damn box" she whined as she stood up from the couch and paced around his apartment.

Spencer shook his head as he finally opened the box. He looked at Penelope in confusion and when he saw it was a bunch of old letters.

"Whose this for?" He questioned.

"For you, obviously! I wouldn't have brought it to you if it weren't addressed to you" she exclaimed.

"But there isn't any address on these" he shuffled through the letters, they were still in the envelopes.

"Just read it!"

"Garcia, you do know you just invaded someone's privacy right?"

"I know, just read it. Please?"

Spencer sighed and nodded his head. He started on the first letter that was technically open and he let his gaze back to Garcia who was now sweating in guilt.

When he opened it, he felt his heart beginning to thump. Garcia watched him carefully as she noticed his expression gradually changed.

Dear, Spencer Reid

Do you remember when you first talked to me? I remember thinking that you're the kind of man I'm willing to put my life at risk for. I'm sure you endured me rambling about the burning town (that is still burning to this day apparently and it's been 7 years since we last spoke)

But what I'm trying to say is, I'm still in love with you, pathetic I know. But I just can't seem to let you go, you're like impossible not to remember and each day I try to forget about you and move past my ability to love so deeply but I can't.

Do you remember when you talked to me about your mom? I was so proud of you for coming up that far for your mom, and when we sneaked in on a bar and actually stole a bottle of wine? I couldn't stop laughing that time. God, I keep recalling that memory.

I shared all of my thoughts with you, spilled all my secrets to you, and at some point we held hands and I was so shocked because you told me you had a thing with germs. Honestly, it made me feel special.

I'm scared that if I see you again you'll think I'm weird and obsessive, which I'm not! I can stomach a rejection and I'll completely leave you alone if you ask me to. I'm just really bad at letting people go you know?

But I won't drag this on for long, you're not gonna see this anyway, and one last thing, I hope you have the best life the universe has to offer. I'll talk to them face to face if they are mean to you.

This will be my last letter, I'm letting you go now. I've been so in love with you that I feel like I'll be stuck in a loophole where life is trying to berate me every time for not saying anything to you, for not congratulating you when you graduated because I was feeling too shy to approach you that day. I wish I had, then maybe we could've talked more and had the time of our lives and maybe a repeat of what we did when we first met.

I'm just hoping life is a little bit gentler with you this time.

Yours truly

The girl who you talked to until sunrise

When he finished reading the letter he was silent for a good 3 minutes, and then he started shuffling through the letters and read them all like a madman. Penelope had to stop herself from stopping him.

God did he remember you, fucking hell he remembers you. You've been on his mind for 8 years. He even found himself in tears, he didn't expect someone to love him this much. Yearn for him like he yearns for you.

Spencer wasn't the type of guy who got over things easily and he had come to accept it as a part of him, the pair of you spoke once yet he can't deny the spark he felt while talking to you. If it were anybody else he would've found a way to get out of the conversation but your voice was addicting and so was your ramble about the old town.

He even went as far as to pretend not to know about the things that happened within that town just so he could hear your voice a little while longer. Your conversation shifted as time passed and Spencer found himself talking about anything really, he even made jokes that you found funny and he couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach when he saw you smile.

When he saw you under the first light of the day, he felt himself fall in love, even if the time was fleeting his love wasn't, it never was.

Every time he was on death's door, you were always the subject of his memories. He keeps recalling the night when he felt like the universe was in his favor only for it to laugh at his face when he didn't see you again.

"I can help you, she's at the bar right now, she texted me," Penelope said, snapping him back down on earth.

He wiped a stray tear and sniffled "No, it's too late, she stopped writing like a year ago" he muttered and Penelope noticed the pain in his voice.

"Don't be ridiculous, I know her, she could be writing a letter right now as we speak" Penelope laughed.

"At a bar?"

"It was a joke, Spencer. Now let's go get your girl, Prince Charming!" She grinned as she dug through her bag for her keys.

"I don't know... I feel like I'm just digging my own grave, Garcia. I can't bear to hear her say that she doesn't feel the same way anymore" He whispered, his voice small as he avoided Penelope's disapproving look.

"That girl watches rom-coms, Spence. Do you think she'll brush off her feelings that easily? Try watching Serendipity and come back to me and try again but right now we need to hurry" She grabbed his arms and dragged him out of his apartment.

She stopped when they got into her car "Promise me you won't tell her I gave you the letter" she said sternly.

"But how am I supposed to explain why I'm there?" He asked confused.

"You're a genius, figure it out," she said as she buckled her seatbelt.

---

You were sitting in a booth with your friends. After having dinner with your parents, your friends invited you to a bar where you felt inclined to come, but you didn't know how to decline.

The air was suffocating so you excused yourself and got out of the bar. You sigh as your gaze shifts to the sky, Spencer would've pointed you to the constellation that was present right now.

"The one you're looking at right now is Aquila" You whipped your head to the familiar voice and you heard yourself gasp.

Spencer smiled when your eyes met "The brightest star in the constellation is Altair" he said as he began walking towards you.

"There is a story of an old Chinese legend about two stars, Altair and Vega, In the story two people met and fell in love but were separated by the stars" he was now in front of you, his hands in his pajama pocket, he turned red as he realized what he was wearing.

"What are you doing here?" You said, at a loss for words. He looked different but not in a bad way. He looked good. Hot even.

Spencer chuckled awkwardly, he always knew you were beautiful but God, you are gorgeous now.

You averted your gaze when you noticed a figure in the distance then your blood ran cold when you saw Penelope, Spencer noticed.

"Don't be mad at her, she helped me find you" he defended urgently as he grabbed your arms. You knitted your brows together.

"How d- did you two meet?" You stammered.

"We worked together" he rubbed his nape, a nervous tick that you notice.

Spencer was so sure he knew what to say to you but now that you're actually in front of him, he was left speechless.

"I never told her about you- did you read the letters?!" You exclaimed, your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

Spencer looked guilty as he averted his gaze to the ground "Yes..." He trailed off.

"God, you must think I'm crazy" you grumbled as you kept fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt.

"Hey, I don't think you're crazy" he whispered as he cupped your face with his hand "I actually find it endearing that you still think of me to this day, and just so you know you haven't left my mind either" he softly said, his face was so close you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks.

He tucks a stray hair out of your face, his eyes holding adoration as he meets your eyes again "Really?" You whispered.

His eyes darted to your lips and he felt himself subconsciously lick his lips "Yeah" he muttered.

He brushed his lips against yours as if testing the waters and when you fluttered your eyes shut, he kissed you as if he was going to devour you.

He breathed in as he kissed you, a certain longing lingered in the air. He pulled away to take a breath but then you surged forward and connected your lips against him for the second time, his hand on your waist as he pushed you closer against him, your hand snaking its way to the hair on his nape as you tugged him closer making him groaned in the kiss.

He tugged on your bottom lip asking for permission which you granted and he slid his tongue in, you tasted so sweet he found himself starting to get addicted. You were a panting mess when both of you separated, his forehead resting against yours, your eyes still closed as you took deep breaths.

Spencer rubbed his nose against yours affectionately and you giggled "You know you'll be stuck with me for a long time right?" You muttered.

"Make it forever" he grins, he connects his lips back to you but this time it is softer than the first, you kiss him back as you both fall in a rhythm.

When you pulled back he chased your lips and that made you chuckle "I'm still mad at her for stealing my letters" you muttered.

"Don't be, please. She's the reason I get to see you again" he said as he pulled you in a hug, your head resting against his chest as he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

"And I can't believe you were about to give up on me" Spencer joked lightly and you poked him on his hip making him jolt in surprise.

"Hey! Not fair, what was I supposed to do?" You whined and he laughed.

"to make it seem fair" he looks down on you as you meet his gaze, still in his warm embrace "I wrote about you in my journal, all my journals are full of you" he smiled.

You gasp "what? Let me read it please? you've read my letters" you pleaded.

He hummed "Nope, come on Penelope's waiting in the car" he said as he leads you to Penelope's car with his hand on your back.

"That's totally unfair, but I will snoop around"

"No, you won't"

"You snooped on my letters without my permission, so it's right that I should too," you said smugly.

"Shouldn't you be doing that to Penelope?"

"Oh yeah, let's do it"

-----

Please interact and reblog my post if you like it, it makes me happy hehe :D

The divider is from @cafekitsune :)

[fleurriee]

oh my god i need a-z alphabet of aemond or whatever it is. foaming at the mouth for this man fr

inspired by @moralesluvr & their a-z

again, more than likely ooc aemond but aren't most fics of him??

this was written over a period of months at sporadic times & i haven't read it through so...

affection — how affection are they? do they show affection?

aemond is not an affection person - i mean, do you know how he was brought up? the only affection he's ever really been shown is when his mother stood up for him that night he lost his eye. so, it's definitely safe to say that affection & aemond do not go together. until he met you, at least.

you're not overly affectionate yourself, but there were certain things you'd do that would make him tense up a little - like, stroking his arm, touching his hand, giving him little compliments, etc. at first, when you'd do these to him, he'd want nothing more than to run away and forget it ever happened... but, the more you did it, the more he got used to it, and the more he craved it.

of course, when you finally get to a point in your relationship where aemond started showing affection back to you, he would only ever do so in the privacy of your chambers, when only those in view were the two of you. it wasn't that he was worried he would come across as weak - he didn't want people to know you were his upmost weakness.

eventually, too, both his mother and heleana are allowed to see these little special moments between the two of you, but that’s all.

bye — what do they do when they need to leave? how are they feeling?

aemond is a busy man, especially when his older brother takes the throne. so, more often than not, the two of you need to part, which is something he hates. he hates not knowing where you’ll be, what you’ll be doing, who you’ll be with — and it’s not a possessive thing, it’s a worried thing. he always worries something bad might happen to you, someone might do something to get back at him.

the first thing he does is reassure you that he’ll back as soon as he possibly can, worded in a way that doesn’t allow him to promise that he won’t be long, because he knows he will be. he takes your face in his hands when he utters these promises to you, looking straight at your eyes so you can see the sincerity. he places gentle kisses all across your face, smiling a little to himself when he hears your giggles. that sounds alone is enough for him to go on.

cuddles — do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

aemond cuddles in a way that keeps you safe. when you’re in bed, he’ll lie on his back with you lay right next to him, arm draped on his front whilst his goes behind your head. he likes to way he can play with your hair between his fingers, combing it through and soothing you; he likes that he can feel you moving with his every breath as you lay upon his chest. it constantly reminds him that you’re there, that you’re real.

there’s also the times when the two of you have a somewhat free day, spending it together in the silence of your chambers reading your separate books. more often than not, you’re sat apart, trying to concentrate, but then there’s the moments when aemond just needs you that little bit closer. he’ll be sat in his chair, unable to focus with his mind constantly drifting back to you, so he gestures you over. the position isn’t exactly a completely comfortable one, but you’re close, and that’s all you care about. you’ll be sat on his lap, both arms around your middle as he carries on reading, you head on his shoulder. it just makes the silence all the more beautiful for him.

domestic — how domestic are they? do they want to settle down?

aemond can come across quite domestic, but maybe that’s just because he knows eventually, the two of you will have no choice but to be so. and, he tries, at least more than his brother did with heleana. it’s always the little things — holding your hand in a gentle grip when leaving a carriage, making sure you don’t lose your step; pulling out the chair for you and pushing you back in at feasts.

like i said, it’s his duty, so he knows he wants to settle down. but, there was a time when he never thought he would because he couldn’t find anyone who would want to settle down with him, something he attributed to his missing eye. and then, he met you, and you didn’t care he had something missing. in that moment, he knew he was ready to finally begin his duties.

equal — how much effort do they put into the relationship?

aemond likes to give back as much to you as he can possibly try. of course, at first, he didn’t know how to properly do what you do to him — how is it that you’re able to make him blush when he’s never done so before; how is it that you’re capable of causing his heart to beat at rapid pulses?

aemond simply wanted to make you feel as loved as you made him feel. what type of husband would he be if he couldn’t do that for his very own wife? so, until he could finally figure out what got your heart racing, he’s definitely thinking of different ways to make you fall more impossibly in love with him.

fiancé — how are they in an engagement?

when aemond finally warms up to the idea of possibly being in a marriage alliance that could make him happy, he somehow turns it into the perfect betrothal.

he makes sure to spend as much time with you as he possibly can whenever he’s free, learning all your likes and dislikes, what your favourite hobbies are, etc. not only does he want to know everything he can about you, but it also helps to know how to best make you smile.

if he learns that you like to read, best believe he’s spending time with you in the library, the both of you talking about your favourite books; if you like to embroider, he’s definitely asking heleana if you can join her, making even sitting in silence with you as you converse with his sister.

aemond wants to make your life as easy as he can, and he knows that by reassuring you during your engagement that you’ll be safe and even potentially happy with him is just the first step.

gentle — how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

how is it that aemond can be both gentle and aggressive? to anyone looking in from the outside, he’s a rock, as hard as stone and the only expression you’ll find on his face is a smirk. he’s willing to prove himself to anyone — show how much of a warrior he is now that he’s practiced almost as much as he’s breathed.

but to you, behind the privacy of your chamber doors? it’s almost like he’s trying to handle a butterfly. he’s so nervous that maybe his rough, calloused hands will be too harsh on you, that his attempt at a smile might look a little too like a smirk. but, he tries, and that’s all you can ask of him.

hugs — do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

aemond is not a hugger. he finds it almost too intimate, too uncomfortable. when you first tried to hug him, all he felt was tense and stiff. none of it felt right.

now, he’ll give in to a hug on certain occasions, like when you’re upset — especially when you’re upset. the moment he sees your teary eyes and quivering lips, he’s instantly wrapping you in his embrace, forgetting all about the fact that on a normal day, he’d hate it. but, he knows you need comforting, and he’s willingly to do just about anything to make you feel better.

aemond’s hugs, despite not being used to them, feel like a protective circle, more so when you’re in need of comforting and he’s using the tightest grip he has on you. it’s like he needs you to know that he’s there, that he’s close by, that his body is always going to be entwined with yours.

i love you — how fast do they say the words?

it takes aemond forever — i’m talking years. again, though, can you really blame him when he’s not even sure what love actually is? he wasn’t shown barely even a smidge growing up — how’s he supposed to know that’s what he’s feeling every time he looks at you?

but, even when he finally figures it out, you best believe he’s keeping that secret to himself for a while longer. the idea of you not feeling the same way, of you feeling repulsed, of you laughing at his face for even thinking such a way is such a terrifying thought for him, he’d be to worried to ever confess.

when he eventually does, however, he’s not even aware he’s saying the words until his mind fully focuses on the expression you’re giving him. the two of you were in bed, you lay on top of him, your finger mindlessly running circles on his chest after spending your time intimately together. you were telling him about your day, how happy you’d been to spend it with heleana and how she always manages to make you feel young again, when the words just flew through him mouth.

needless to say, after that moment and the way you so lovingly reacted to it, aemond loves to whisper it in your ear.

jealousy — how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

aemond doesn’t like to admit, but he gets jealous more often than not. he’s fallen far and hard, and the idea of you ever falling for someone else, or someone trying to, it scares him.

he keeps his cool as best as he can, clenching both his jaw and his fists, hoping that the lord who offered you to dance at the feast won’t try to pull anything that will make him want to break his neck.

and, he’ll just stew in his jealousy until the whole things over. he’ll never take it out on you, because he knows you couldn’t exactly say no when a lord asks you to dance. and, he knows he’ll never have to courage to do what they can — he can’t dance with you in front of everybody, but he sure as hell can when your in your chambers, and you’re always there to reassure him that you’d take him over any lord for the rest of your life.

kisses — what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

for the longest time, aemond’s kisses are just pecks, and only across the back of your hand. when he started to get bolder the closer your relationship became, he’d peck your cheeks, your forehead. he was scared when he first kissed your lips, again just a peck, but after that first time, his hands cupping your face in such an intimate way, he couldn’t help himself. his kisses are still soft, but there’s a greediness to it, one that shows how starving he is for more of you.

aemond fucking loves it when you kiss his scar — he’s never felt so much love in his entire life. the way you never try to pressure him to take the patch off, your thumbs stroking soothingly against the white mark before placing such a gentle caress of a kiss against it? god, he’d do anything for you when you do that to him.

little ones — how are they around children? how many do they want?

aemond isn’t the best around children, never really know how best to act, or what to say, or worried he might come across as some monster just from the sight of him alone. but, when heleana had the twins, something in him changed. he cared for them unconditionally, allowing them to pull on his hair and climb on him just because they were bored. being an uncle made him realise that maybe one day he could do the same with his own children.

he would want as many kids as you would allow him — he’d definitely want to be the next jaehaerys when it comes to all his heirs. he couldn’t think of anything better than having a big family with you, uncaring as to whether they were all boys, all girls or a mixture of both. aemond would want boys for the longest time, teach to be fierce warriors and have them protect your family, but as the time got closer, he’d secretly start wanting a girl, who he’d raise the same and love all the more.

morning — how are mornings spent with them?

mornings with aemond are rare. more often than not, he’s unfortunately called for some business or counsel meeting he really couldn’t be bothered for, having to leave your warm embrace for a cold welcome somewhere else.

but, on the rare occasions where he somehow managed both the old gods and the new to allow him a free morning, you spend it stuck against one another, allowing yourselves more time to sleep in.

night — how are nights spent with them?

nights with aemond are either spent with the two of you wrapped in bed, on the chairs by the fire — but, either way, the two of you are full of conversation. it can be spent with whatever you’ve done during that day, or how you’re thinking of spending the next one.

aemond always makes sure someone has your fire going and a bath reading before either of you arrive there. he likes it when you have baths together, facing the window as you just look out at the sky. you could be spending it in silence for all he cares, as long as it’s just the two of you, he doesn’t care.

open — when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait to reveal things slowly?

it would take aemond so long to open himself up to you, even when it came to the little things about him.

in order to do so, he felt as though he needed to know more about you first — about whether you would even be worthy of nothing all the ins and outs of him. and even then, when he finally understood you completely, it was nerve wracking for him, coming clean and being vulnerable with anyone.

aemond definitely took his time opening himself up, too, in the sense that he wouldn’t unload everything onto you at once. he would just subtly mention something he hadn’t told you before whenever it felt right in the middle of a conversation — and one thing he loved about you, was that you never made a big deal out of it. you just took the information in with a small smile on your face and carried on.

patience — how easily angered are they?

like i said before, this man gets jealous easy, and the same goes for his anger.

we all know what aemond is like and the shit he's been through, so is it really any surprise?

but he's good at hiding it - he does that smirk of his and his eyes narrow dangerously. to anyone else but you, they'd just think that was his resting expression.

however, when others take it just a little too far?? with you?? yeah, they're dead, the blood of the dragon comes out in him for sure.

he tries not to maim them too much for your sake, but he's definitely fed a few people to vhagar because they insulted you.

quizzes — how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or forget everything?

aemond remembers everything.

he doesn't talk much; her prefers to listen, so he's very attentive with you. during your courting days, when you were getting to know one another more properly, he'd learned everything about you and made sure to keep it all locked within a little safe in his mind.

he'll remember all dates you consider important so he can do something special for you; he'll remember your favourite book so he can make sure you always have a spare with you; he'll remember your favourite flowers so he can spoil you rotten with them.

the list is simply endless with this man.

remember — what is their favourite memory of your relationship?

the day he finally revealed his sapphire to you.

it was one of his biggest worries; you'd not long been married, and you were getting along so well, he was terrified that the moment you laid eyes on it, you were going to run.

he couldn't stand the idea of you leaving him, of thinking him less than because of his scars.

but, it happened in the spur of a moment type of way - you'd wanted to see all of him for a while now but you didn't want to push him, and whilst the two of you were kissing heatedly in your rooms, one of your hands repeatedly got stuck between his eye patch and his hair. without even realising what he was doing, aemond took it off.

the silence was deafening as you gazed upon him, all of him, and aemond swore he could feel his heart in his throat.

all of that changed when you smiled at him as you always had done, filled with such love and admiration, and you carried on like nothing happened.

aemond knew from that moment on there was no other explanation other than you were put on this world just for him.

security — how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

aemond targaryen? protective? they're basically synonyms.

fr though, all aemond is thinking about is where you are and whether you're safe, but not in an overbearing, possessive way. he just knows that you're his biggest weakness, and it's probably painfully obvious to everyone else.

when you're apart, aemond always makes sure you have at least 3 of his most trusted guards with you at all times, even if you're only spending the day in the library.

when you're together, aemond's protective in the little ways. it's important to him that you're always on his good side, allowing him to see where you are and who else is nearby in case they try anything; if you're a little bit in front of him, he'll have his hand on the small of your back, for his sake more than yours, but if you're standing next to one another, he asks you to put his arm through his, the comfort of your presence giving him ease.

aemond knows you're not an overly protective person, but he absolutely adores it when you stand up for him, defending his honour when you hear someone slander him, be it for his looks or his demeanour. he loves how angry and protective you get over him, and he wouldn't want you to do anymore than that.

try — how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts?

aemond's a 50/50 guy when it comes to stuff like this.

you mean a lot to him, and he'll do almost anything to put a smile on your face, so long as it's just between the two of you.

he won't want to do anything too extravagant or adventurous; the most it's gone has been when he took you flying on vhager for the first time.

he likes to keep it kind of low key. he make sure you have several bouquets of your favourite flowers in your rooms for you; the cooks have prepared your favourite breakfast, dinner and deserts; and he'll make sure he spends the entire day with you, clearing off anything else he needs to do and shoving it away for another day.

ugly — what are some bad habits of theirs?

aemond is big on silent treatment.

he didn't talk about any of his feelings when he was younger, and unfortunately, it's something he ended up taking with him as he grew older.

you know he tries his absolute hardest to not give you the silent treatment, but when it's been engrained within your brain your entire life, it's easier said than done. he knows you hate it, and it's something he's definitely trying to work on for you.

another thing would be his anger towards others. with you, he never gets angry, because how could he ever get angry at his sweet little wife? but with others, he's brutal.

it's another thing you hate when he does, the way he so callously beats and maims others for something you wouldn't think deserve such a punishment.

vanity — how concerned are they with their looks?

aemond's not exactly concerned, but he is cautious.

when he looks at you, all he sees are the stars in your eyes and the goddess far above within your features. and standing next to him, he knows it has to be such a sight.

he's always been one to take care of his hair - it's just his eye.

he doesn't like the way it stands out so brutishly against your shining figure, dark and cruel.

of course, the start to changing his way of thinking happens after he reveals his eye to you, and he realises that it only matters what you think, no one else.

whole — would they feel incomplete without you?

oh, yes.

beforehand, aemond never wanted a wife, he never wanted a family, he just simply wanted to protect his family like the dutiful son he was.

but once you've fallen into his dark embrace and he's finally gotten a taste of what marriage life is supposed to be like, aemond can't imagine anything any other way.

xtra — a random headcannon for them!!

aemond loves it when you take care/pamper him.

it's something he struggled to admit to himself, let alone to you, but once you're past that barrier, it's one of the things he looks forward to at the end of his day.

you'll have a bath prepared for him, dismissing the maids because no one takes care of him like you do, and you'll help wash him sensually, cleaning his hair and massaging his shoulder of all the knots built up.

he loves it when you play with his hair - washing it, brushing it, stroking it, you name it.

it just makes aemond feel so loved.

yuck — what are some things they wouldn’t like, in general or in a partner?

when your courting started, one of the most important things to aemond was that you got on with his sister, heleana.

he wasn't entirely bothered if you didn't get on with his mother because he knows she can be intimidating sometimes, and he definitely didn't care when it came to aegon.

but with heleana, he needed it to happen.

for aemond, it spoke a lot about the other person. if they didn't like heleana, for whatever excuse they may come up with, there had to be something wrong with him, they had to have been a bad person somewhere inside.

definitely off-putting for him.

zzz — what are their sleep habits?

he's a light sleeper in every sense.

he feels the wind coming through the open window? he's awake. he hears a rustle from outside his doors? he's awake. he feels you move slightly against him in your sleep? he's awake.

aemond is never really fully asleep, but it does get better once you start to sleep next to him.

he's always made sure you sleep the furthest away from the door, a habit he'll never get rid of for your safety.

he likes to have you as close to him as possible, wanting to feel your skin against his own for his comfort, no matter if it's the hottest summer known to man.

[succubus-nini]

GIRL- ok first of all hello. So I was thinking of a fan fiction about Miguel x reader but Miguel is your parents’ close friend and you are at a ceremony all together after many years and he doesn’t take his eyes off of reader, so then they get alone and he fcks reader hard (not sure if you have already written one like this sorry if I didn’t see it) ❤️❤️

A/N-Im sorry it took me nearly a year to finish this babes

You and Miguel? You really didn't know, Miguel was only known by you because of your mother and father who favored him. It's funny actually, because they would always tell Miguel to watch out anytime he was near you. You were a wild child, always getting into something, and VERY MUCH petty. One time, Miguel had stepped on your precious (pet's name) paw, and you proceeded to make him think he was going insane the next three days by staying in his room and hiding whenever he checked.

He found out through you yourself, since you walked up to him one day with a sly grin. "How do you like my ghost act?" Were the words that made him connect the dots. Its safe to say he's over it, but he still checks his closet anytime he's going to bed because of it. You scarred the man for life. You haven't seen the man in years after your parents decided to move you to a place a couple cities away.

Your parent's fiftieth anniversary was approaching, and your aunts had planned a surprise party for when they got back, As you were helping prepare, you heard a familiar voice call your name. "Y/n?" Miguel said, his eyes wide in recognition. He hadn't seen you in a while, suddenly feeling his longing for you starting to sink back into his system as his heart raced upon seeing you again. So close to fuck touch but not yet, he'd have to control himself until the right moment.

You turned around and smiled, you had missed your favorite playmate. "Miguel!" You squealed, pouncing on the taller being. The man caught you and chuckled, putting you down. "Long time no see." He said, a joyous expression being seen in his eyes, even if his face said otherwise. "It has been! Did you miss me?" You questioned, leaning forward. Miguel caught sight of your cleavage from that specific motion, and started to blush.

He cleared his throat and nodded. "I missed some of you, not your troublemaking ways." You rolled your eyes and shoved a box into his hands. "Well, in that case, You can go help in the house with the decorations, Miguel." You huffed, pretending to be mad as you kept setting up the tables. Miguel chuckled, seeing right through your façade, and went inside to talk with your uncle on what to do with the box of decorations he had.

Soon, your parents came back. When they entered the house, everybody jumped out and shot them with hand held confetti cannons, "HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!" Everybody yelled enthusiastically, their smiles lighting up the room as your parents laughed and thanked everyone. Your cousins ushered your parents outside, everyone following behind them to get the party started.

While everyone else was dancing, Miguel was sitting on the sidelines, watching you while taking occasional sips of his drink. Every movement you made was memorizing to him, his eyes unable to leave your swaying form. After a bit, You got tired and went inside. You decides to stay in your room for a bit, since the dancing portion had stopped and everyone started fixing plates for themselves and others to eat.

Miguel had followed you inside, his head buzzing with thoughts about you. Unknowing to his intentions, you invited him into your room, sitting on your bed and getting comfortable as you turned the TV on. It wasn't long before he sat on the bed too, his eyes never fully leaving your form.

The room started to feel warm when you noticed his gaze on you, his eyes basically eating away at your being and undressing you before himself. You fanned yourself, trying to cool down your heating face. "Its a bit warm in here isn't it," You gently giggled, turning to Miguel. The larger man groaned and grabbed you, tugging you onto his lap before pressing his lips against your own.

If you were warm before, you were burning up now; Everything was so hot, his tongue inside your mouth as he pushed you down, his hands on your skin as he tugged your dress off and fondled your breasts, the air around him as his own clothes joined your dress on the floor. It was all so fuzzy, your brain couldn't even properly process what was happening until Miguel parted from your lips and made his way between your legs, leaving a kiss every inch he descended.

"Miguel not there.." You whined, tugging at his hair as he began to lap at your core, his tongue diving between your folds to bring your arousal into his mouth. You could tell he was good with his mouth just by the way we worked his tongue inside you all while using his lips to suck on your puffy clit. You felt a odd feeling, a tightening in your lower stomach. "M-Miguel..-" You stammered, trying to warn him but it was all in vain. You're cumming on his face before you know it, your head hitting your headboard with a thud as the pleasure washes over you in waves.

Miguel lifted his face to look at her before pressing another kiss to your face, you liquids still o his tongue. He had to prep you, he knew he was bigger than average and that you'd need something to help with the stretch. He had some lube in his bag, which was also on the floor, so he retrieved it. His eyes were clouded with lust as he poured some on your throbbing cunt, making sure his hand was coated as well before sinking a finger into your heat.

He soon sunk a second finger into you, working you open slowly but surely. When he was able to get a fourth finger into you, he was satisfied with his work. He stroked his cock a few times, preparing it for what's to come. He slowly pushes his tip into your entrance, groaning as he he went deeper inch by devastatingly delicious inch. "Oh Mi Alma.." He whispered in your ear when he bottomed out in you, staying still to let you adjust to his girth.

He waited for a sign from you, anything to let him know that you're ready. It wasn't long before he got the green light from you, immediately pulling out until the tip was the only thing inside and slamming into you. It felt so good to have you under him, to mark up and grab onto your soft skin as he ravaged you. He kept biting you on whatever he could reach while thrusting into your deepest parts. Your shoulders, throat, and breasts were all bitten and sore from his relentless attack on them.

He picked up the pace, ramming into you with such force you could barely breathe. He wanted you to cum, he wanted you to tighten around him and milk his cock for every drop he could give you. His hips moved roughly against yours, the sound of skin against skin getting louder as time passed. The feeling of his teeth sinking into your skin, his cock drilling into your abused cunt, his hands squeezing your hips was all too much for you.

Your legs shook as another orgasm crashed onto you, your hands grabbing at the sheets as a cry fell from your lips. Miguel was soon after, not lasting too long when he was getting squeezed by you. "Fuck.." He mumbled, gently pulling out and watching as his cum seeped from your hole. He had half a mind to plug you up again, but hearing a small whimper from you quickly snapped him out of it. He got up and dampened a rag from your bathroom, cleaning you up. When he finished his aftercare, he kissed your forehead, watching you sleep. "Te amo, alborotadora." He said before falling asleep with you in his arms.

[joelscruff]

Just curious but what are the WIPs you have brewing up? Can’t wait to see more from you <3

i have so many WIPs at the moment 😭 my current dilemma is having all these ideas but for some reason having no brain power to actually write any of them (except for the last one on this list 👀)

feelings on fire chapter 11 & beyond - i'm in a weird place with fof at the moment. i love these two so much and i have their whole story planned out (even further than you might think) and i do plan on finishing it, but right now it's just not flowing for me. it's affecting my other writing too because i just feel this immense pressure to get it done and because of that, i tend to guilt myself out of working on anything else. it's been a struggle lmao. but i'm trying. i go into the draft whenever i have a little bit of motivation.

darkness hums (next to freeze or to thaw installment) - joel's going on the raid so you're left behind with tommy 👀 i'll get this done eventually lmao i have to be in the right mood to work on this series

beautiful stranger - this is my joel x escort!reader fic that i still feel SO passionate about but haven't finished. featuring an insecure & out of practice joel + lots and lots of joel worship. again, it'll get done, just not sure when.

pick my petals off - THIS fic has been in developmental hell for a long time lmao. dbf!joel, very very pervy and coercive who wants to sleep with you before you go away for college. huge age gap obviously, very filthy. it's actually a series so i haven't had much time to really focus on it. will i ever write it? we'll see lmao

stray animal - can't say too much about this. but. VERY dark fic. kinda fucked up. involves a glory hole. stepdad!joel. we'll see what happens lol

untitled best friend's dad!joel fic - this is my current passion project, i'll be honest. been thinking about it for a long time and would really like to start writing it soon. it's a series though so i'd like to have most - if not all - of it written before i start posting it. it takes place in jackson and you're ellie's best friend. you have a crush on joel, he doesn't see you that way. but then something happens and you end up growing closer, very slowburn. i've also been referring to it as touch starved!reader fic lol. han @swiftispunk has heard alllllllllll about it

imperfect for you - a drabble i'm writing for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge!! it's joel + nose kiss 🥰 hope to have this up soon, it's kinda taken a backseat because i suddenly got inspiration to write something else.....↓

⭐is it that sweet? - this one's coming tonight most likely, so i won't say too much 👀 pervy!joel + the beach ⭐

so yeah. a lot. i mean, this doesn't even include ideas that are only living in my brain rn and not a draft, like a sequel to my boss!dave york fic and a threesome sequel to my frankie fic one of your girls, more of my boyfriend's dad!joel (believe it or not, i do intend to return to these two eventually. i miss them v much), etc. i feel like sometimes readers might think that just because an author hasn't posted for a while they maybe have lost interest in their fics/writing/fandom/etc, but it really couldn't be further from the truth lmao. i have so many ideas and i'm constantly writing things down, it's just actually turning them into fics that i've been struggling with lately. bear with me 💖 and thank you for asking!

[caramelcleopatraa]

Golden Hour

word count: 1k

x: finished this short thing in an hour at work...... nothing else to say... enjoy :)

content: You sing “Golden Hour” for Roman Reigns at his wedding. Roman x Semeni, Roman x Reader, angst

You had been invited to sing at a wedding. You were excited. You think. You haven't gotten to sing at a wedding in a long time. Of course, this was different this time. Who’s wedding? Roman and Semeni, your longtime friends that have stuck with you since high school, despite you all pursuing different paths. A pro wrestler, a singer, and a model. Who knew you three would go on to be so successful. But that’s not the thought lingering in your mind, no, your heart as you clutch the microphone with obnoxiously sweaty hands.

It was just two lovers 

Sittin' in the car, listening to Blonde

Fallin' for each other

Pink and orange skies, feelin' super childish

No Donald Glover

Missed call from my mother

Like, "Where you at tonight?" Got no alibi

I was all alone with the love of my life

You stood at the front of the shiny marble dance floor, accompanied by a shiny, immense grand piano, and a string quartet. You stood farther out in front of the instruments to be seen, but not too far to the point where you were distracting. Singing Golden Hour for the newly wed as they twirled across the dancefloor, love written across their faces. You could almost smile. Almost

She's got glitter for skin

My radiant beam in the night

I don't need no light to see you

Shine

It's your golden hour (oh)

You slow down time

In your golden hour (oh)

God, that annoying, unbearable pain in your chest as you sang the song to your best ability, not showing the state you were trying to desperately betray. Why weren't you happy? Your best friend is getting married. It's not new news. Neither is the widespread burning in your chest. But you thought you had finally gotten over yourself. Countless journey entries, therapy sessions, hour phone calls to your friend Gianna, who tried her best to console you and be with you every time you called. But seeing them together, hand in hand, dancing along to your voice with their love for each other pushing and floating them across the floor. It was unendurable.

We were just two lovers

Feet up on the dash, drivin' nowhere fast

Burnin' through the summer

Radio on blast, make the moment last

She got solar power

Minutes feel like hours

She knew she was the baddest, can you even imagine

Fallin' like I did?

The string quartet sang along with you, cheering them on into their new path in life. Something you should be doing, but you're not. Closing your eyes. That's what you had resorted to doing. Closing your eyes, singing the best you could. You imagined a wonderful white and blue room, adorned with ambient lighting and clouds everywhere. Fog covered the ground, but formed around your feet as you walked through. So captivating, but free at the same time. You wore a wonderful white gown, with silver accessories that shined bright in any room. And you looked up at Roman, wearing a designer black suit, with a silver clip with etched in diamonds attached to his suit, and a blue handkerchief. 

For the love of my life

She's got glow on her face

A glorious look in her eyes

My angel of light

I was all alone with the love of my life

She's got glitter for skin

My radiant beam in the night

He took your hand as you two moved across the thick fog. No audience, no guests or family members, just you two. Sharing a special intimate moment with each other. Letting your love cloud your mind. Interfere with your judgment. Living in this beautiful moment. Your whole body tingled, feeling a gust of cold wind, dispersing your picture perfect daydream. They had glided past you like two flies in the hot summer heat. Her gigantic snow white dress brushing your toes as they smile stayed still. Well it was working until now. It's almost as if her snapping you out of your daydream made it worse. If only it was real

I don't need no light to see you

Shine

It's your golden hour (oh)

You slow down time

In your golden hour (oh)

A singular tear rode down your painted face. Staining the layers of makeup you had put on hours before the occasion. The camera man took a picture of you, probably mistaking your hot tear for a tear of joy. He couldn’t be more wrong. God, why were you here? Why did you even offer to do this for them? You should’ve known that you were going to break. It hurts. Seeing them together. In love. In a celebration and cheers to future happy memories, here you are. Questioning your placement here. Among these happy souls, as you stare holes into the side of their head. With anger? Disgust? Sadness? You didn't know. Maybe all three. Maybe none. The piano quiets and the string quartet fades. They take one longing look at eachother, and kiss. A loud explosion of head pounding applause followed. And you fakely followed suit. You wonder if you would have been more forward with him, that you would be standing in her place. All of these people would be clapping with you instead of her. If you would have told her to leave him alone, maybe they would have never gotten married. And you wouldn't be standing there, cursing yourself for being so scared. You looked at him with longing, and her with confused jealousy. As she stood there, and danced with your first love. They looked at you with unnerving happiness, their eyes and smiles thanking you for giving them such a special moment to remember. And you smiled too, wiping your tears to make things seem more dramatic. But Roman's face changed. Seeing right through your paper thin smile. And you knew he would ask you about it later.

Can they even imagine falling like you did?

🏷️ tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2 @murrylove @sassginaswanmills @pixiedust4000

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 23 – POST-CA:CW

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: sheron

The thing I love most about sheron's fics – other than the amazing characterization, fantastic dialogue and pacing – is how most of the emotional journey of these characters happens between the lines. It's a really subtle and beautiful way of writing that I enjoy to no end, especially in their Post-Civil War fics. And I am really impressed by the way they manage to juggle the hurt feelings on all sides without it ever turning into something vicious or mean. All the characters are redeemable and sympathetic, and I adore that.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

Evidence of Things Unsaid

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 3,996 Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, First Kiss

Summary: The Avengers (and ex-Avengers) are forced to socialize at a PR event. Why is there never a monster around to attack New York when you need one?

Reasons why I love it: The team dynamics in this one are absolutely flawless. I love how potent the still lingering hurt is, and how it manifests itself in each interaction. And of course, the Stony is immaculate – I especially love the glass breaking scene, it feels so symbolic and true to their characters. I love this fic to death, and I bet you will too!

Better in Time

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 6,498 Tags: Presumed Dead, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation

Summary: Tony doesn't call until there's live footage of Steve going down in a hail of bullets. Steve misses his call.

Reasons why I love it: Yes, yes, yes, YES, everything about this is yes! Near death experiences bringing MCU Avengers closer together since 2012, I love it! sheron writes them so well, I will never not gush about their characterizations, and this one especially just makes me so happy. I love this fic, and you should definitely read it, if you haven't already!

your eyes have their silence

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 2,780 Tags: Established Relationship, Trust Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: There's been a break-in at his private workshop. "The access was through the authorization code of Captain Rogers," FRIDAY says and Tony can't breathe.

Reasons why I love it: Aaaah, this one hurts so good! I can absolutely see how Tony arrived at his conclusion, and it's so painful to see how much it hurts both of them when he asks the question. The angst is superb, and the moment of forgiveness is made all the sweeter for it. I love this one so much, you absolutely have to read it!

North (Northwest to Nowhere Remix)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 7,100 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Hurt Steve

Summary: Steve and Tony end up lost in the middle of nowhere, and Steve is struggling with an injury he received during their escape from AIM. What else could possibly go wrong? Unsurprisingly: a lot.

Reasons why I love it: Tony has fallen so deeply for Steve that he can't get up, and Steve is a self-sacrifing idiot, but what else is new? I love the hurt/comfort in this, and Steve and Tony being protective of each other is always lovely to see, especially when it's as well-written as this. I love this fic, and I bet you will too!

Exit Wounds (The No Exit Remix)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 2,375 Tags: Hurt Steve, Protective Tony, Hopeful Ending

Summary: Tony gets trapped together with Steve in a collapsed HYDRA facility, which makes it hard to avoid him.

Reasons why I love it: This fic gives me that really satisfying feeling of finally getting at an itch that's been bothering you for hours. It feels long-overdue, and I love the way sheron characterizes them here, both still so hurt and yet willing to overcome their differences. This fic is wonderful, and I highly recommend it, if you haven't read it already!

[cerise-on-top]

what if the 141 boys had a ridiculously tall husband. like. a little bit taller than konig, probably. and he's really scary to people, actually!!!! but not his s/o , nuh uh, he's disgustingly sweet to his beloved.. sorry i'm rambling, i think (jokes and idiocy aside i adore your headcanons <3)

Hey there! Thank you, that's very kind of you! Also thank you for sending in a request for a male reader, you're one of the first ones and I was very excited to write about a male reader for once :D

TF141 With A Very Tall Husband

Price: He didn’t really think he’d ever be dating someone much, much taller than him. Sure, he doesn’t particularly mind, but he’s not short either, with him standing at 1,88m himself. It makes him feel small at times, especially if you’re pretty muscular too. He doesn’t get insecure about it in the slightest, oh no, but it’s weird to be so much shorter than your loved ones. However, he’s pretty used to scary people by now. Ghost isn’t exactly a delight to have around at first when you don’t know him either, so he knows how to deal with scary people. Might ask you to tone it down a little bit when you’re scaring other people too much, he doesn’t particularly wanna attract attention like that. But you being a sweetheart towards him? It melts his heart. He knows what you’re like towards people that aren’t him, so it makes him smile that you’re willing to do just about anything for him just to spend some time with him. You wanna trim his beard? There’s a good chance you’ve got some experience with that anyway, so he really doesn’t mind it as much. Hell, he probably trusts you more than his own barber at times. Besides, it’s a nice little bonding activity. If you have a beard then he’ll offer to trim it for you as well. Price isn’t really opposed to being the little spoon, or just being held in general. Quite the opposite, you being this tall sometimes puts him in a cuddly mood where he just plops down into your arms. Gently scratch his scalp and there’s a good chance he’ll even fall asleep on you. He’s so used to being everyone’s protector, it feels nice to be protected for once. But he won’t always settle for being held either, it’s his job to make you feel safe and sound as well, and thus he will take on the role of cuddler as well. Will fight you for that role, actually. Price is a real sweetheart towards his loved ones as well, so I think the two of you would fit well together. His mere presence demands respect in the right people, which can sometimes scare others. So, from time to time, you might both scare other people together. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally.

Gaz: He makes so many jokes about you being this tall and feigns being hurt about being much shorter than you are. You’re his behemoth, his leviathan and his ziz. Loves calling you the names of monsters that are said to be pretty big, it’s endearing to him. Besides, you’re scary enough that some people call you a monster anyway, if just for your height. If anyone ever were to call you that in front of Gaz, then they’ll end up with a black eye. No one gets to call you a monster but him. While he won’t always approve of you scaring everyone, Gaz does have a few friends that he wants you to get along with, he won’t particularly do anything about it either if that’s just what you’re like. Might try to make you seem a bit less scary by being a bit more affectionate with you in public. Holding your hand, giving you a peck on the cheek, giving you a hug. Those kinds of things. He actually loves you being this tall since that means you can pick him up and spin him around. He’s not been picked up ever since he was a little boy, so he definitely wouldn’t mind you showing off to him just how strong you are. Is also always looking for an excuse to hold your hand. Oh, seems like he forgot just how big your hand actually is and how much it engulfs his. Remind him for a moment and hold his hand, will you? Gaz is a sweetheart towards his loved ones anyway, if you look past the fact he will sass anyone to show his affection, so he loves that you’re so sweet towards him. Though, sometimes he wishes you were about the same height so you could actually share each other’s wardrobe. But hey, at least he gets to wear your extremely oversized shirts and hoodies, one of his favorite things to do. Another thing he also adores is just sitting in your lap when you’re home together and will also place your hands so that you’re holding him in your arms. If you’ve got really warm hands then he’ll place them atop his thighs to keep himself warm. Gaz isn’t the warmest person out there, but that just means you get to warm him up yourself. Is actually a lot cuddlier because you’re this tall and will become your personal blanket.

Ghost: He feels kind of perplexed about you being so much taller than him. Ghost is 1,95m, he towers over pretty much anyone, so how dare you be so much taller than him. Pretends to hate you being this tall, actually loves it. Sometimes he dreams of sparring with you under the moonlight to assert his dominance, even though there’s really no need to since you’re such a sweetheart towards him. He probably just needs to ask and would get anything from you. He really doesn’t mind you scaring pretty much everyone off, he has the same effect on people he doesn’t know. That just means there’s less people to worry about in his life for the time being. You’ll be spending a lot of time alone with each other that way, which he really likes. Though, maybe don’t scare his teammates too much, he genuinely likes them and wants them to be well too. Though, it’s kind of hard to properly scare them anyway. Ghost is usually a pretty quiet man when there’s no need for chit chat, but he doesn’t mind hearing your voice. In fact, he might get worried if you suddenly stop talking and will ask you what’s wrong. If you’ve got nothing to talk about then he’ll ask some questions so he can continue hearing your voice. He also blushes from time to time when you suddenly give him some sugary sweet compliments. He’s a grown, scary military man, he really shouldn’t be, but it’s just so endearing, especially when you, even bigger and scarier, call him your little honey bunny. It actually motivates him to do house chores. Not that he won’t do them anyway, but you calling him embarrassingly domestic names makes him just a tad bit soft, which leads to him trying to be a good husband. You may cuddle him since he trusts you, but he will also want to hold you from time to time. Life is a constant give and take, so prepare to be cuddled. Won’t particularly ask for cuddles, though, since he’s kind of too embarrassed to admit he’s touch starved. To you it’s blatantly obvious, though, which is why you initiate those cuddling sessions. Ghost appreciates it and sometimes hides a smile in either the pillow or your neck. As long as you don’t see him being silly, all is good.

Soap: He used to hate you being this tall. Soap may “only” be of average height, but he’s the tallest in his family, which he was actually pretty proud of. He towered over his father, even. And then he joined the military, where quite a few people were taller than him. And then you had the audacity to introduce yourself to him. You, the tallest man he’s ever met. It hurt his ego. Ever since you got together, though, he slowly got over it. You’re just such a sweetheart, how could he hate you over something as trivial as this? However, nothing could ever stop him from trying to pick you up and spinning you around. Soap is a pretty strong lad too, he’ll make it work somehow. You will feel tiny and cared for too. There’s a good chance he can’t reach your lips to kiss you. Yes, he could just ask you to bend down, but where’s the fun in that? Climbs you like a tree instead. He’s also always thinking of that one post where, instead of asking their boyfriend, the person should just punch him in the stomach. He won’t do it, but he remembers it every time without fail. He doesn’t mind you being scary either. Hell, Ghost is also a pretty scary guy to have around when you don’t know him and he’s one of Soap’s closest friends. Besides, he knows better anyway. You’re a total goof and the biggest sweetheart this world has ever seen. You being scary towards others just means that he’s got you all to himself all the time. Soap is a clingy guy, so you can expect him to cling to you like a koala from time to time. Actually, that was a lie, you should expect him to jump at you and hold onto you very often. Cuddles over safety. You’re likely also one of the only people on the planet willing to hear him out when he’s talking about his passions. And he could go on for hours every time. Explosives, weapons, whatever show you’re watching together, all is fair game. See, you’re one of the biggest sweethearts to him because you actually listen to him, despite him going into great detail about it all. You may not always be able to understand him when he’s talking chemistry again, but you hear him out anyway, and for that alone you’ve won his heart. He also sits on your lap while talking. You’re his little throne now that he takes immense pride in.

[raifuujin]

It's been more than 20 years and for some reason I feel that Gosho hasn't given Kaiao any development, how can more than 20 years pass and Aoko dynamics, relationship and feelings remain the same? At this point I feel like Gosho is just going to make them date because "they already liked each other" they remain in the same status quo

Hey, if we go by DC romance progress, they've been going too fast. We've already had suspicion of identity chapters, and that didn't happen until more than 400 chapters in DC. /j

Since heists have taken over any character development recently, I don't even know if Kaito and Aoko will even get any romantic progress. Maybe the actual identity confrontation will happen down the line, since that's thief drama, but atm, it really wouldn't surprise me if they only ask each other on a real date at the very end of the manga.

Like. I'm sure Gosho would love to make MK a love drama as well, but he writes MK so rarely, and usually as hype for something Kid related in other media. So the MK stories tend to be heavy on drama that can only take place at Kid heists. (To the point that the new chapters just. Use Kid as the plot device to show off a new character. Even Hakuba's never gotten so much 'look at this character being a detective' treatment in MK.)

-sighs- I just feel bad for MK as a series at this point. I like the characters, I like the general story idea, but. It's been going down a very steep hill with Gosho wanting things exciting, but not wanting any real progress in. Anything. But unlike old MK, the new stories aren't even nice standalone setpieces of story, they're... mundane. They could be high stakes, if you purely look at the scenarios on paper, but. We all know nothing's gonna happen to Kid. Nothing even happens to him when the actual bad guys show up, much less one-time antagonists.

We need actual character focus and development, not heist drama. Badly. Not even romance, though that'd be a nice change. Just any character expansion of our limited cast of characters. Gosho wants big, all the time, meaningless big stuff, when small would be so nice.

[skeltarune]

Y'ever look back at your old writing and think...damn, I used to be so good at this.

[tidemoonchild-m]

MAGGIE STROLLED THROUGH THE STREETS, TRYING TO LOOK AS INCONSPICUOUS AS POSSIBLE. She was alone and slowly approached a stand. There she waited for the right moment and when the salesman finally looked distracted by another customer she made her move.

She grabbed an apple as quickly as she could and tried to run away. But not fast enough. As she was about to turn around and run away, she was suddenly grabbed by her arm from behind. "I think you have to pay that first, thief." The salesman said while holding her tightly.

"Dammit…let go!" She cursed and tried to pull away, which only resulted in the grip becoming tighter. Maggie felt panic rising within her. Not a good sign.

She already had problems controlling her powers, but under stress she lost it even more quickly. "Let.... go..." She tried again through gritted teeth and let go of the appel in her hand.

MAGGIE TRIED TO CONTROLL HERSELF AS GOOD AS SHE COULD.

@positivelybeastly

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[fiepige]

Wanted to write a quick noirpunk blurb but now I'm 4 pages in and actually considering making it a full blown fic instead.

I don't think it would be that long but I've still got a couple of things to add so I feel like I might just make it a fic at this point.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Professor Kirke remained at the small dining table after the last of the dishes had been cleared away, puffing clouds on his pipe. It was strange, thought Lucy: he had a faraway look in his eyes, as though some tiny aspect of his reality had shifted over dinner and he was struggling to accommodate it.

“I wonder what he’s thinking about,” murmured Lucy to the others. Edmund shrugged and Eustace (who had only met the professor that night) said nothing, but Peter chuckled merrily and patted Lucy on the arm.  

“You’ll find out soon enough, that’s certain. He got that look in his eye when you were talking about the Island of Dreams, Lu. No doubt he’ll call you into his study for a lesson later on.”

It was a little more than a week later that Peter’s prediction came true. Professor Kirke seated himself across his desk from Lucy with an enormous tome of poetry spread out before him. “Have you heard The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” he inquired.

Lucy shook her head. Yet rather than muttering about the state of the schools as she had expected, Professor Kirke simply smiled beneath his whiskers and began to declaim:

“It is an ancient Mariner /And he stoppeth one of three —"

Lucy leaned back in her seat and fixed her attention on the words as best she could. Once, she’d spoken in such a register as queen of Narnia, but now she was only a girl of ten and unaccustomed to the flowery language of Romantic poetry.

“At length did cross an Albatross,

Thorough the fog it came—”

“Oh!” cried Lucy. “Is that why you wanted me to hear this poem?”

“Just so,” the professor replied. “Your account of the Island where Dreams Come True bears a marked resemblance to The Rime, beginning with the presence of the albatross. In this poem, the albatross bears a symbolic connection to Jesus Christ himself.”

“How peculiar!”

“I thought so too. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote this poem in 1797, in a time when sea voyages to the polar regions were very much like your own voyage to the end of the world. The albatross had only lately been described in writing, but he wrote it coming out of the desolate fog to guide sailors to safety. And Coleridge was a neo-Platonist! Fog and ice are very much like darkness, the way he uses them here.”

“A neo-Platonist?” Lucy asked, wrinkling her nose.

And now came the Professor’s customary muttering. “Yes. What do they teach in these schools? You may read darkness and fog both in Coleridge as something between ignorance and innocence, with the Sun as a symbol of Reason. Does that make sense?”

“A little,” said Lucy, who privately didn’t think it made much sense at all but was eager for the professor to continue the poem.

“It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it flew.

The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

The helmsman steered us through!”

Lucy hadn’t meant to interrupt again so soon, but the words were out of her mouth before she was really aware that she’d spoken them. “So it really is just like in Narnia! It guides the ship out of the ice like my Albatross guided us out of the darkness.”

“Yes.” Professor Kirke was entirely unperturbed by the interruption. “Precisely.”

“How lovely. Isn’t it interesting how you just know when birds are trustworthy?”

The professor chuckled. “You may change your mind in a few stanzas. Shall I go on?”

“Please.”

Lucy returned to her concentration as the mariner recounted how a good wind had sprung up after the Albatross and how it had stayed with the ship and perched on the mast sometimes for evening prayers. Yet the mariner must have looked unhappy, for the groom interrupted to ask him why.

“With my cross-bow/ I shot the albatross.” Professor Kirke paused here in his telling and looked very hard at Lucy.

It took her a long moment to understand. “The albatross isn’t dead, is he?”

“He is.”

“I thought you said he was like Aslan.”

“And didn’t you see Aslan die?”

Lucy opened her mouth, but closed it a moment later. Open again, “But why did the mariner kill him? Doesn’t he give any reason? The witch killed Aslan because she was evil and trying to conquer Narnia. Why would the mariner kill the albatross when it’s done nothing but help him?”

“Perhaps,” the professor replied, “the Gospels are a simpler comparison here. ‘I shot the albatross’ has the same kind of blunt irrefutability as ‘And they crucified him.’ There isn’t any excuse, which I think makes the confession all the more powerful.”

Lucy sighed. It was exhausting trying to keep this all straight. “I suppose that makes a kind of sense. But then we’re trying to think on three different levels of parallel—the poem, the Bible and Narnia—which isn’t very pleasant.”

“And yet, it’s necessary if one wishes to understand deeper meanings. We can pause for tea, if you’d like?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I’m keeping track well enough for now. I say though, is this what you do with Peter all day?”

The question seemed to catch Professor Kirke off guard, for he let out a sudden, loud burst of laughter as soon as Lucy asked it. “Yes, after a manner of speaking. Shall we go on?”

“Ah! well a-day! what evil looks

Had I from old and young!

Instead of the cross, the Albatross

About my neck was hung.”

It was a difficult thing to imagine and Lucy wondered if Aslan’s albatross was unusually large. Aslan was always bigger than she expected him to be, so it would not be strange if he took the form of an unusually large albatross. Yet the more Lucy considered, the more sense the image made.

“It must have been at least three meters,” said Lucy. “The albatross, I mean. Mine was more like four, from wingtip to wingtip. It would be a dreadful weight, but I suppose that’s the point. The mariner can’t carry it, can he?”

“I think you’re right,” said Professor Kirke.

A smile tugged at Lucy’s cheeks. It was lovely to hear the professor give such an unequivocal endorsement of her analysis. Galvanized by the success, she continued, “I thought of a cross when my albatross appeared out of the darkness. There’s something in the proportion of the body to the wings, and in its stillness of it as it glides through the air. My albatross tore away the darkness. But here—it’s like the mariner carries his albatross like he thinks that act can save him from what he’s done.”

There was a glittering in the old professor’s eyes then, and suddenly Lucy realized that she wasn’t struggling with the poem’s language anymore. Maybe it was because she’d been listening to it for the better part of ten minutes, but privately she wondered if Narnia’s magic might be working on her somehow. Perhaps this poem contained some quality of the rich Narnian air.

“I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;

But or ever a prayer had gusht,

A wicked whisper came, and made

My heart as dry as dust.”

Lucy shut her eyes and remembered the fighting-top of the Dawn Treader. The night-mare life-in-death was a black abyss, and all her own nightmares had been there in it. There had been monsters, of course, and the idea that even if she ran down to stand beside Edmund he might become a monster himself. But somewhere in all that dark, there was a Lucy who never spoke to Aslan again. She’d imagined herself in Lord Rhoop’s place, trapped forever in a state of endless fear-without-courage, because she could not call him.

“That was my night-mare too,” she whispered. “Not being able to pray.”

She saw the professor’s lips thin beneath his whiskers and wondered at it. “You’re wiser than you have any right to be,” he murmured. “Ten years old and your greatest nightmare is alienation from God. What a marvel you’ll be when you’re grown.”

Well then. Lucy didn’t have any notion what to say to that. She half expected that if she tried to reply, she might start crying.

“Might I ask—what did you do then? Until the albatross arrived, once you realized that you couldn’t pray. How did you react?”

And that was a question she could answer.

“But I could pray! I did. I whispered, ‘Aslan, if you ever loved us at all, send us help now.’ And that was when the albatross came. I didn’t talk about it after—it was too much my own for me to share it, really—Edmund knows—but well…”

The professor made a sort of choked noise in his throat. “Perhaps it was the only nightmare that the island couldn’t bring true.”

“But there have been times,” continued Lucy, “when my heart was too dry to speak with Aslan. There were whole years when I was queen that he didn’t come at all.”

It was with a much softer voice that Professor Kirke resumed his reading.

“A spring of love gushed from my heart,

And I blessed them unaware:

Sure my kind saint took pity on me,

And I blessed them unaware.

 The self-same moment I could pray;

And from my neck so free

The Albatross fell off, and sank

Like lead into the sea.”

Here, the professor lapsed into silence. Lucy thought that the poem might be over, but when she peered across the desk at the page there were columns of stanzas still left.

“Even after all these years,” he whispered, “some things still remind me of my own days in Narnia.”

He’d told the children his story before, of course: beginning with how he met Aunt Polly and concluding with the origins of the wardrobe. Aslan had not condemned him for bringing the White Witch to Narnia. Instead, he’d had loved Digory enough to shed tears and sent him home with an apple so beautiful that it healed his dying mother.

“Grace,” Lucy whispered into the hush. “Of course. Maybe this is the moment where Aslan leads the mariner out of the darkness.”

Professor Kirke exhaled heavily. The faraway look in his eye lessened a little bit, and at length he read on.

“The spirit slid: and it was he

That made the ship to go.”

Never had Lucy felt Aslan’s presence more keenly in his absence than during those last days as the Dawn Treader had sailed over the still, clear waters at world’s end; like Aslan himself had been drawing them towards himself by some great, invisible rope.

The closer they’d come to his country, the more tangible his spirit had been. When at last she glimpsed those green mountains beyond the waves, Lucy’s very bones understood that Aslan had made the still seas bring them there.

A voice spoke out of the air concerning the mariner, and Lucy remembered the piercing silence of the Last Sea. Of the voice, the mariner said, “He loved the bird that loved the man/ Who shot him with his bow.”

Not for the first time, Lucy wondered about Aslan’s father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. What did he say to Aslan when he left that land of high mountains to return to Narnia and die at the Witch’s hand? What did he think when Aslan went flying across the lily-covered seas on feathered wings to rescue their little ship? If Lucy had crossed that final threshold with Reepicheep, would she have met the Emperor there?

“The voice is his father,” Lucy said, voice brimming with certainty. “The albatross’s father, I mean. The Emperor-beyond-the-Sea.”

“I know,” the professor replied. “And beyond the sea is just where our mariner meets him.”

“Do you think the mariner knew that the albatross loved him?”

The professor stroked his chin again, and a ghost of a smile played across his features. “If the mariner didn’t know it when he shot him, he certainly knows now. But come, we’re nearly at the end of the poem.

“Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,

Yet she sailed softly too:

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—

On me alone it blew.

Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed

The light-house top I see?”

“There’s one more thing I haven’t told you,” Lucy said. “Something so bright and mysterious that I’ve not even told Edmund. When the albatross came, it—it spoke to me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

Professor Kirke leaned forward, but his words were, “You needn’t tell me what he said if you’d prefer not to.”

Lucy nodded slowly. Somehow, she knew that if she tried to describe “Courage, dear heart,” she would fail. There was nothing, no word or image or music or poetry in this world or any other that could convey what that moment had been. To speak of it at all would be like dancing about architecture.

“I was the only one who heard him,” Lucy whispered. “It was my prayer, and he spoke to me. I wonder how this poet knows what it was like?”

“I think he knows the same way I do, in my own way. Coleridge lived a difficult life. He was a laudanum addict when he wrote this, for one thing. When the Divine voice speaks into our darkness and we feel his breath on our faces, it binds us together with every other person who has ever been rescued by an albatross that loved us. We don’t know what he says to other people, but we know how the breeze feels.”

The professor returned to his reading and concluded the poem while Lucy sat in astonishment and let the strangeness of the last hour wash over her.

“…A sadder and a wiser man/ He rose the morrow morn,” and with those words Professor Kirke shut the book. The heavy pages fell with a thud, and with bright eyes he looked at Lucy. “What do you think of it?”

“I think,” said Lucy slowly, “that it was a beautiful story. The very best kind.”

What she did not say, but what she was thinking, was that it reminded her of the story she’d read in the Magician’s book: the one about the cup, the sword, the tree, and the green hill. The two tales had no common points of reference, but they left her with much the same feeling.

“But why do you think Aslan came to me as an albatross?”

Professor Kirke harrumphed. “I have been asking myself that same question ever since you spoke of it. Why indeed? I wonder whether perhaps in part he appeared that way so that you would come back here and read ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ and come to know him better by it. If nothing else, I do not think it was a coincidence.”

Yes, perhaps, but the answer still felt incomplete. “Maybe it’s a stone in the bridge he talked about,” Lucy said. “Maybe he only wanted to show me—to show us—that he’s here too. In this world, in this time, and in all others. Maybe it’s like you said, and there’s an albatross for every person who’s ever been rescued from the darkness.”

[the-velvet-worm]

thinking abt Vex getting back from Pandemonium and realizing she’s pregnant and just. feeling so many things because they’ve just saved the world ⎯ again ⎯ and she just lost Vax, and he would’ve been the first person she told (after Percy, of course) and he would’ve been so excited and happy for her and it would’ve given them so much to look forward to but he’s gone and there’s nothing she can do about it, she can’t tell him, her kids will never know their uncle, and it’s just a lot for someone to handle so soon after everything they all literally just went through. like how is she supposed to be take in such news when the other half of her soul is missing now? she still has Percy, her husband, her heart, but the one constant throughout her entire life is gone and she just. idk probably felt really lonely for a bit there. to have the knowledge that she was experiencing something so wonderful and joyful with the man she loves, while she’s mourning the fact that her brother won’t be a part of any of it is just... really fuckin sad, man lol

[umbralaether]

❛ do you remember when we first met? ❜

For the various sentence prompts.

She remembered the day she made the tree very clearly. A giant, twisting beast with bark that shifted through rainbow shades and leaves that hung in long tendrils that almost hit the ground. It had all but conjured itself, her own aether channeled and her mind an empty vessel as the magic flowed forward.

It had been her biggest creation yet, the one her parents had always knew she was capable of, and yet the victory felt hollow. With her parents gone now, she had long been drifting and watching the world around her just as they had before. She was lost and uncertain, feelings that were foreign to her, and when she placed her hand on the smooth bark a flood of light crossed her vision and—

—a memory. Her parents, sitting upon a hill overlooking a sunset. A bundle in her mother’s arms, her father’s hand brushing along the baby’s face, not just a baby…that’s me. She could feel their joy as if it were her own. A perfect reincarnation of what she assumed was the day she was born. The vision dimmed as she pulled her hand away.

The first memory of what would be hundreds.

She was amazed to see it still standing tall after all the years she’d been gone. Self-preserving, restoring bits of aether lost with the memories given to it, but she had always worried it would cease to be in her absence. Instead, the word had spread to the villages nearby as she had hoped. Trinkets and offerings litter the base of the trunk, wildflowers sprout from those left behind and long decayed and now reborn. The place has flourished after all.

She watches the colors drift across Hades’ face as he gazes up at the canopy of leaves, “This is it, what the council was talking about. This is what landed their attention.”

“You created this, before any proper training?” he murmurs, before turning around to meet her gaze, “What did they want with it?”

“It replays your memories. Like you’re re-living them, emotions and all.”

“Show me.”

“You just place it on the bark, like this,” she reaches for his hand, placing it against the tee and letting go before it makes contact and he is pulled into the dream-like trance.

She tries not to think of the number of times she’d thought of how it would feel to have her hand in his, whether it’d be soft or calloused. Warm or cold. She thanks the Star that he cannot see the way her hair oscillates from its usual purple to a bright orchid.

Time ticks on, and Hades blinks twice before reality returns. He takes a step back and faces her, expression curious, "It's no wonder what Athena wanted with you."

She cocks her head to the side, confused.

"Do you remember when we first met?" He asks, "She was attempting to recruit you into Pandaemonium."

"Ah, right. Her." She shivers as she remembers how cold that woman seemed, how she was more similar to a machine than a person.

"No one has ever said 'no' to Athena before, and I daresay I thought she'd implode right then."

"And you came along and whisked me away, claiming I was needed elsewhere," A hint of bravery in her next words, "was that to gather her attention, or mine?"

His golden gaze pierces through her, "I have watched others fail to get your attention, and I would not see myself counted among them," he closes the distance, thumb brushing against her cheekbone.

It takes every effort not to blush. Had she been as unobservant as he claims? "You flatter me."

"You discredit yourself. Do you not see how remarkable you are?"

This time she does blush, and she pulls her hood down further, "Hades, what are you saying?"

His answer doesn't come in words. Instead, he lifts her chin with one hand and kisses her.

Thanks for helping me break through my writer's block @raynshyu & thanks @lunaria-de-borel for letting me bounce ideas off you!

[flashofyellowlights]

Sometimes, Angela really hates her blessing.

Well, not really. Moreso she hates what comes with it. She hates how accustomed to death it forces her to be. How much of a cornerstone it made her in the team. How in her worse moments she finds such self-importance sparking a gross ego trip when the doctor finds herself on the defensive. 

It’s never comfortable, never easy to handle, never okay-- 

And it doesn’t take away from the fact they died in the first place. 

So many times Angela finds herself asking the same questions. What if she wasn’t present when they were killed? What if she couldn’t get to them in time? What if she didn’t have these powers at all? How many would be permanently lost because she couldn’t save them? How empty would Overwatch be? Are her abilities the reason her team allows themselves to be so reckless?

On her worst days it’s hard to think about anything else. It sickens her to the point of nausea, on her own she’s left doubling over beside her bed or sleeping in the bathroom for what feels like hours on end. At the best of times, she can go to work. Unproductive for the most part, but at the very least present. 

At the worst of times, Angela takes a few sick days and hope nobody comes by to visit. She wants needs the quiet, and if keeping that said silence means keeping that door locked... It’s done. Whatever it takes to subdue the gnawing. 

And eventually they do. Like everything, these days pass, and eventually such thoughts become fleeting... Only to rear their ugly heads back and taunt her tenfold once another mission goes awry. 

Then the cycle repeats. 

Angela knows it’s a pathetic mindset to have; her abilities do good and are used for such. There’s no room for a pity party because she has to be the bearer of such a divine gift. 

Oh, poor her. 

Feels terrible to be so loved and needed.