#now i couldn’t reliably tell you their husbands names

[cowboyslikedean]

the passing of time is insane

[jelliedink]

Little Revenge

Warnings: smut, cheating!, pet names, older man/younger woman, boss/employee, power dynamic Picture is not mine. Divider by @thecutestgrotto

“You’ve fucked your wife thinking about me before, haven’t you?”

Your boss, with whom you’ve been chatting for the past hour, nearly choked on his drink.

“Excuse me, but where did that come from?”

It wasn’t the smoothest delivery, but you just couldn’t think of a better way of introducing the topic and you were afraid of losing the courage to do so. You’ve been babysitting his daughters sporadically for almost 2 years now, as you did with many other children in your university campus’ neighborhood. Everything was fine until about 8 months ago, when his work schedule became flexible enough to allow him to always spend some time in the house most of the days you were there. Before this you dealt almost exclusively with his wife, meeting her at the start and the end of every shift. Since this change, though, Ian was the one you spoke the most to.

At first, you didn’t mind it. It was quite nice, actually. Ian was reliable, pleasant and seemed to genuinely care for you. When with you he was always trying to lift the mood, asking about how things were going in your life and offering advice. 

But then he seemed way too interested in you, and his wife, previously sweet and warm towards you, became increasingly harsher and nitpicky.

“I have a theory for what the real reason why Mrs Allen fired me is. When you started staying at home I didn’t think too much of it, but it became difficult to believe you were just being hospitable as you gradually increased the frequency in which you inquired me about my love life and found excuses to touch me in ways that would make your wife fire me on the spot if she saw.”

Ian’s charming face changed its expression from its typical amicable neutrality to a condescending look.

“Darling, I think we have a great misunderstanding here.”

Your heart started beating faster, the voice in your head that said you got it all wrong getting louder by the minute. But now there was nowhere to go but forward.

“Mr Allen, I’m not mad at you. I’m actually kind of flattered, you know? To have an attractive and successful man such as yourself look at me in that way. I’m mad because I can’t get other jobs in the neighborhood because, as told by some of the other nannies, Mrs Allen has been warning all the mothers about her shameless babysitter that appears to be trying to sleep with her husband.”

His face didn’t change.

“I’m sincerely sorry about that, and rest assured you’ll be compensated for the trouble my wife’s actions brought you, but I still can’t see how that led you to such an unusual question.”

“Are you really not going to drop the act?” His insistent denial made you so nervous you felt almost dizzy. What if you were making a fool of yourself? “That’s a shame, really, because I was looking forward to letting you know how the real thing feels.”

Upon hearing this last statement, Ian confusion and disbelief flashed through his face, breaking the mask for a moment. Then his eyes filled with amusement as he answered you.

“My dear, aren’t you something?”

He got up from where he was sitting to get closer to you, squatting down in front of your seat in order to bring his face to your level. His initial defensiveness seemed to almost disappear, curiosity replacing it as he questioned you, eyebrows raised: 

“Aren’t you afraid of the consequences in case you turn out to be incorrect?”

You were. But you also knew your reputation was already unsalvageable, so you didn’t see how it could get any worse.

“It’s not like anyone is going to believe me, so I have nothing to lose anymore, I thought I might as well try and get something positive out of this whole situation.”

He let out a hum of acknowledgement and stayed silent for a while, his eyes fixed on you while trying to decide if you were telling the truth or if it was some sort of elaborate joke. Seeing that he was not yet fully convinced, you decided to face his gaze and say something you thought would help him make a favorable decision.

“You know, I’ve only been with guys my age before and it has been really disappointing. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly hoping for you to show me what a real man feels like.”

Ian let out a loud, amused laugh at your flirting attempt. His lips were still curled when his hands touched your chin.

“And to think I’ve been chastising myself for feeling attracted to the young, innocent little thing I thought you were.” He let out a series of “tsk”, feigning disappointment at you. “I feel tempted to take up your offer, missy, but I have a condition.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll do exactly as I say and, once we start, I’m not going to stop. So, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” You nodded almost immediately. “But I have a condition of my own, too.

His eyes filled with curiosity.

“Oh, do you, kitten? And what is it?”

“Fuck me in the master bedroom. I want to have the satisfaction of knowing your wife will be sleeping in the same bed you fucked me in.”

Your request caught him by surprise, making him look at you with a mix of disbelief and delight. 

“My, my, how did such a petty little devil make her way into my peaceful home? Alright, I can do that for you.” He closed the distance between your faces in a kiss, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other behind your knees. “Up we go.”

You hid your face in the crook of his neck while he carried you, unsure of what to do next, until he laid you on the bed.

“Here we are, sweetheart. I must admit, I thought you were smarter than this.” The condescending tone came back while he gently stroked your cheeks with his thumbs. “Lucky me.”

He didn’t give you time to fully understand what he said before he kissed you firmly. It didn’t take long until you were straddling him, his hands traveling through your body, eventually finding their way under your dress. For a moment it felt like he was looking for something on your bare skin, until he broke the string of kisses and looked at you with a grin.

“Of course you’re not wearing underwear.”

“In case you needed more convincing.” You answered, suddenly self-conscious of that decision.

“So you were that determined to be my little whore today? What a naughty kitten we have here.”

He immediately started kissing down your neck while you clumsily palmed his abdomen through the polo shirt he was wearing. He took it off right after helping you get out of your dress, and then leaned back for a moment to admire your naked figure with hunger in his eyes.

“Oh, pretty, you look just right.” His hands ran through your upper body, eventually fondling your breasts. “The perfect little toy.”

His mouth joined your body once again, leaving kisses all around your collarbone and chest while your hands tugged lightly at his hair. You moved your hips, trying to find the perfect spot to grind on top of his clothed cock, and you felt him smile when he noticed what you were doing.

“So desperate, grinding on me like you were in heat. Let me see how needy you are.”

One of his hands traveled to your pussy, and he groaned the moment he felt how wet you were. Then he started alternating between slowly rubbing your clit and moving his fingers through the whole length of your cunt, parting your lips and teasing to enter you, only to slide back again. The whole time his eyes were glued on your face, watching your expressions change as he toyed with you. You were way too turned on to feel shy at his gaze.

“Ian, just fuck me already.”

“Of course you do, kitten. But first you’re going to put on a little show for me, ok?” He took his now soaked fingers back to your entrance. “Daddy’s going to curl his fingers up and you’re going to fuck yourself in them.”

“Haven’t you teased me enough already?” you whined, frustrated.

“Princess, you were the one who asked me to show you what it's like to be with a real man. You thought I’d just pound my dick into you mindlessly like the guys your age?” He brought his torso near you and nuzzled his face on your neck, speaking into your ears. “No, pretty. We’re going to be here for a while.” 

Then he leaned back again, curling his fingers as he said he would.

“Now be the good, obedient girl I know you are and fuck yourself on my hand, ok? Don’t make me ask again.”

You obeyed, placing your hands on his shoulders to support yourself while your hips moved up and down, his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt with ease from how slippery you were. 

“Ian…” You started, after a while, panting and almost breathless. “Please, I  need to ride you.”

“‘Need’ is a strong word, kitten. I’m having so much fun watching you act like a horny pet for me.”

“Please.”

“Shhhh…” He shushed you, stuffing your mouth with the same fingers you were riding. “You’re talking way too much for a pet. Be a good kitten and lick my hand clean.”

You sucked and licked all of your slick off his fingers, not breaking eye contact. When you finished he connected your lips again, this time with a kiss that seemed like he wanted to devour you.

“Such a tasty pussy. I’d eat it for hours if you weren’t so needy. Lay on your back for me.”

As you did so he finished undressing himself, hovering on top of you immediately after, one of his hands caressing your tights and propping you to lift it up to his waist.

“Since you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll give you what you want this time.” You let out a loud, obscene moan at the feeling of the head of his dick running across your cunt. “I’m going to fuck your pussy now, ok?” 

“Mhmmm.”

He forced all of his dick into you at once, groaning a low “fuck” when he bottomed out. His dick was not that long but the girth felt good. You dug your nails in his back as he started moving his hips, skillfully rolling them towards you while kissing you once more.

“If I knew that little warm cunt felt this good I’d have taken you sooner.” He muttered at your mouth, along with a string of swear words you never thought you would hear from his mouth. “God, listen how fucking wet you are.”

You couldn’t say anything at first, his rhythm leaving you breathless and unable to make any other noise other than pants and moans. But when your cunt adjusted to his size, you started pleading for him to go deeper.

When he heard you, he stopped for a moment to grab a pillow and place it under your lower back, wasting no time sliding back in when you found a good position. 

“Better now?”

“Fucking yes.”

It felt better for him too, and it didn’t take too long before his pace started to get frantic. Then you placed one of your hands on your clit and started rubbing it, moaning even louder at the added stimulation. He moved his lips to your ears and started praising you when he noticed this, saying how pretty you looked stuffed with him, how cute your moans were, how perfect your pussy felt. You felt your orgasm approaching even quicker. 

After you came your arms went limp, barely holding Ian as he came inside you. He then kissed you one last time before falling by your side, both of you catching their breaths. His arms pulled you closer to him, and you laid your head on his chest until he decided to break the silence.

“You are a diamond. You did so, so well”

“The best fuck you’ve had in months?”

He laughed loudly before giving you a peck in the forehead and answering your question.

“You truly are a little devil, aren’t you? But how do you feel?”

“Great. A little ashamed, to be honest, but great.”

He gave your forehead another peck.

“Don’t worry about it, my darling. That was also not my wisest decision, but I enjoyed it very much.”

You hummed and snuggled in his chest even more, unsure on what to do next. Thankfully, it felt like he knew exactly what was going through your mind.

“Here’s what is going to happen now: we’ll take a bath and eat because no man in their right mind would send a woman home like this. Then, you’ll get to decide  if you want to go home after accomplishing your little revenge or if you prefer to spend the weekend with me in the lake house and not have to worry about your bills for a very long time.”

You looked at him, eyes wide with surprise.

“Are you trying to buy me?”

“I’m willing to pay very well for it. But you don’t have to answer me now.”

He started getting out of the bed to prepare a bath, and once it was ready he came back to the room to take you there. When he took you in his arms again you materialized a thought that had appeared.

“I know it sounds silly now, but even though I’m tempted to spend the weekend with you, we’d have to stop by my house for me to get some clothes.”

Hearing this his mouth opened in the most mischievous grin.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten. My wife has a whole closet there for me to fuck you in.”

[kindheart525]

Luster Dawn loved when her Papa and Daddy told her stories. They always took her to faraway lands filled with knights and princesses and happily ever afters, adventures beyond her wildest dreams! She was old enough now that she could read some of those stories on her own, but she always liked how Papa and Daddy told them a lot better.

The little filly was itching for a story now as she bounded around her Papa’s hooves.

“Papa! Papa! Read me a story!”

Sunburst had to admit he was tired from a long day of research, so his daughter’s glee was a welcome change from the dreariness of textbooks and academic jargon. So he made his way over to her bookshelf so she could choose something fun. 

“Alright, I give in! Which one do you want? You’ve read all of them already, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but I wanna read them again! I want...”

She scanned the shelf before setting her sights on a blue one perched at the top.

“That one!”

“Of course, your favorite!”

Sunburst used his magic to bring it down, settling down next to Luster.

“Story time!”

He called out loud enough for his husband to hear.

The moment he heard his husband call for him Flash flew down in...well a flash! He was almost more excited than their baby daughter. 

Spending time with his family was his favorite part of the day, story time especially. It was the chance to show off to his husband and daughter. 

Tell them all about how radical their Flash Sentry was. 

Not to mention it gave him a warm fuzzy feeling in his face when he was able to make Sunburst laugh and in his heart when he could make Luster smile. 

"What's it today? Oooh I see, good ol’ reliable!" 

He sat behind his daughter, both of them beaming the same childish goofy smile up at Sunburst.

With a flash of his horn Sunburst opened the book, his expression as animated as ever as he read:

“Once upon a time there lived a great magician named Starry Eyes, the greatest in the land. Everypony from the littlest foals to the mightiest monarchs revered her, for she had a spell for just about anything. Until...”

“Until what, Papa?”

Luster piped up eagerly.

Flash took the place of his husband faster than a pony could say "arson,” wanting to put his own trademark twist on the little filly’s tale. 

The moment he began speaking Luster looked up at him with gleeful anticipation. 

"Until somepony threw a Molotov cocktail at the unicorn king’s guard! The firey blast was like a dragon’s breath, hot enough to melt gold! It was as bright as your sunny mane, Kitten!" 

He grabbed his daughter from behind and flapped his wings like a hummingbird, hovering her in the air carefully. 

"Like Celestia’s sun, Daddy!" 

She kicked her legs around, loving the feeling of her hooves off the ground.

Sunburst couldn’t help but chuckle at his husband’s improvisation, he was so adorable when he got excited like this. His eyes lit right up in a way that never failed to make him smile. Even better, it made their little girl happy too. So he played along.

“Which left Starry Eyes with a new problem: putting out the fire! You see, this was before they had firefighters, and the nearest river was miles away. It was up to her to find a spell, and fast!”

He looked to his husband who was practically bursting with another action-packed idea.

“So what did she do?”

Resisting the urge to say “started an even bigger fire,” Flash turned Luster around in his arms and began flying up higher. 

Then he began dancing with her in the air, spinning a tangled web of adventure with his words almost as exciting as the adrenaline rush a pony got from being higher than she was supposed to. 

"She used her magic to remove all the guards’ armor as they rushed to safety, using the intense heat from the fire to melt it down to liquid silver!" 

Luster clung to her father for dear life, trusting him to keep her safe but still very nervous. 

"Like Starry’s eyes!" 

"Exactly!”

He began lowering them both down as he was keen to his foal’s well being. 

"Then she used her magic to cool it down as fast as she could. That’s possible, right Sunburst?"

“It’s impossible for most unicorns today, especially given the stakes, but it was nothing Starry couldn’t handle! It turned out the cooling spell was enough to put out the fire before anypony got hurt. Once again, the day was saved!”

Sunburst closed the book with a satisfied grin.

“Whoa!”

Luster’s eyes widened with awe. Her parents always knew how to make these stories super exciting and they never failed up with something even cooler! Her imaginative little mind wanted more. 

“Tell me another story!”

Her Papa ruffled her hair.

“We can’t have all the fun in one night! No doubt we’ll have another story for you tomorrow.”

He winked at Flash.

“We never run out of ideas.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Next: Braveface

Flash Sentry’s cutie mark by CloudyGlow

[spencers-renaissance]

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

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[screechthemighty]

I did it! I finally wrote more Resident Evil fanfic. This one was slow going on account of the longer chapters and my life low-key going off the rails a few times, but it’s started now, and I do intend on working on it more!

I’m also going to experiment with posting chapters directly to tumblr, just to see how that goes, so you can read the full first chapter right here and now! It will also be up on AO3 (link in a reblog) if you want to subscribe and stuff. Content warnings will be over there, and the other fics in this series. I hope you enjoy!

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part one:

It felt like he was in a haze most of the time. Details only stuck over time. The room he was staying in. The people most frequently in that room, even if he couldn't always remember their names. The full extent of his injuries.

Right leg still mending, trapped in a brace until the bone healed. Left hand gone up to the mid forearm. Right hand stiff and unresponsive. The still-healing wound on his chest. Other, smaller wounds all over his body.

The doctors said that this was normal—that his memory would recover while his body did. Ethan was willing to accept that. It could be disorienting, annoying, but there were two bright spots in his life. Two people that made it worth it.

Mia. Rose. Alive and unhurt.

Everything was okay, as long as he knew they were safe.

 .

March 10, 2021

Ethan was asleep again.

He slept a lot these days. Mia had to remind herself, over and over, that it was normal. He needs the rest, they said. We'll keep an eye on it, but right now, he should rest when he’s tired.

It still made her nervous. And she still felt a deep sense of relief whenever his eyes opened again. "Hey," Ethan muttered, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," Mia replied, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"'s fine. Wasn't really sleeping." He tried to push himself upright; Mia adjusted the bed's incline for him instead. "Is Rose…?"

Mia carefully extracted their daughter from the baby carrier on her chest. Rose had dozed off, too, but her eyes opened immediately when she saw him. She cooed softly and reached out for him. "She's been on her best behavior today. Even let Jill hold her for a bit."

"Aww, Rosie…" Ethan smiled down at their daughter. "Good job making new friends." He couldn't hold her, not yet, not quite, but she could sit on his lap with a little help from Mia. "How long have I…?"

"A few hours. Doctor Marshall will be coming in about fifteen minutes to check up on you.” Mia examined him carefully. “Do you feel okay? How's your hand?"

If his hand or right leg started going numb, he needed a booster shot. It was a reliable sign, and another reason to be grateful Ethan was awake and lucid. They were close to testing the more robust booster, a prospect that left Mia both excited and nervous. There was always something a little terrifying about testing a new medicine, but now...now she was testing it on her husband, someone who had already been through enough. The last thing Mia wanted was to make things worse, to put him back where he’d started, especially when she’d just gotten him back.

Ethan let Rose hold on to his intact hand and smiled, so softly you’d think nothing bad had happened to him lately. It warmed Mia’s heart and made it ache all at once. He hadn’t complained for a second about any of it, and he always seemed to bounce back emotionally.

Is he holding back? Hiding so I don’t worry? That sounded like something Ethan would do. Mia almost asked, but she didn’t want to ruin the mood. They needed happy moments like this. No sense in spoiling them.

A knock on the door jarred Mia away from the moment. It was Jill. “Hey, survivor,” she said.

The slight frown on Ethan’s face was slightly disappointing. Mia wanted him to remember, for his sake, but new details were still hard for him. Even the names of people he’d met a dozen times before could slip him up. “Don’t tell me,” Ethan said before anyone said anything. “It’s...” His nose wrinkled in deep thought. “Uhm...it’s...it’s not Cupid...?”

That was close, at least. “You’re in the right ballpark,” Jill said encouragingly.

Ethan’s lips moved as he mouthed a few words—cupid, love, Val... “Valentine!” he said triumphantly. “Jill?”

“That’s the one.” Jill stepped into the room to give Ethan’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “How are you holding up? And for the record, you’ve already done the I’m all right routine.”

Ethan actually looked a bit disappointed. “Did I? Damn.” After a pause, he held up his intact hand, its fingers still visibly tense. “Well, it’s really more like 25% right. It’s still not great. But hey, not dead. How’s Chris?”

Jill hesitated. “...he’s Chris,” she sad finally

That wasn’t an encouraging answer. Mia knew he took on too much, and probably more so than usual with everything going on. Ethan, for all his memory gaps, knew it too, and the way he rolled his eyes said what he thought about that. “Well, tell him to chill,” Ethan said. “Uncle Chris needs to chill, doesn’t he, Rosie?” Rose made a little bah noise in response. “I owe him a punch once I’m sure my hand won’t snap off.”

Jill looked impressed. “You remember that? That’s a good sign.”

“I...don’t,” Mia said. “What are you two talking about?”

Ethan’s mouth opened, then closed. “...I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I do? Uhm.” He looked at Jill. “I assume you do.”

“Just something Chris said to him the day he woke up. We thought he was out, though. You must’ve been conscious enough to hear him.”

“...huh.” Ethan rubbed his eyes. “Man, being in a coma is weird.”

He didn’t seem especially distressed the word coma. Once again, Mia couldn’t help wondering how much of it was him putting on a brave face, and how much was Ethan simply being resilient. Could he be resilient forever? Mia thought. Her concerns about him shoving his emotions down aside...everyone had a breaking point, didn’t they?

When would Ethan’s come?

“Hey, how’s...” Ethan trailed off again, rubbed his eyes again, looked annoyed at himself. “My #3 fan? I’m sorry...”

“Carlos?”

“Yeah, him.”

“He’s fine. He’s out doing a favor for Chris.” Jill huffed quietly. “Someone has the benefit of being able to blend into the background...”

“Have you tried wigs?”

“I’m one of the faces of Raccoon City now. No wig can save me from that.”

Mia didn't miss the full implications of that. She also didn't miss how Jill brushed past it to start asking Ethan about the doctors, making sure they were treating him okay. Maybe brushing past your trauma was normal for people like them. Maybe what Ethan was doing wasn't special.

That wasn't going to stop Mia from worrying and she knew it. It wasn’t just about whether or not Ethan’s behavior was normal. It was about...everything. The frustration she’d felt whenever Ethan focused on everyone but himself. Wondering why he never seemed to care.

She didn’t want to go through those arguments again.

Didn’t want to see him burn up for their benefit again.

. 

Jill Valentine (white hair, blue eyes, a bit taller than Mia, biker vibes) constantly checking up on how the doctors were treating him was...worrying, Ethan wasn't going to lie. It made him a bit paranoid, whenever his mind was present enough to be properly paranoid. He tried to reassure himself. There were people looking after Rose and Mia. Pretty much every medical decision was run past Ethan, or Mia if Ethan was too out of it to make the call.

And all that aside, Doctor Marshall wasn't that bad.

"How much do you remember?"

It took Ethan a second to gather his thoughts. That was pretty normal for him now. The brain fog wasn't as bad as it had been, but the lag was still persistent. Physical lag, mental. Sometimes emotional. "From Europe or from after?" he asked.

"Both."

"From Europe...pretty much everything? It gets, uh...it gets a little hazy around when…" He tried to tap his chest, but his fingers were still so stiff and unresponsive that it ended up being an awkward patting. "...Miranda got me, but I remember most of that." The conversation with Eveline. The Duke saving him. Most of the fight, though that was so blurred by panic that he wouldn't be surprised if he'd forgotten chunks of it. "Then...I got Rose. I saw Mia. And after that, until I woke up, it's mostly bits and pieces. Nothing specific, just...sounds. Sometimes something would hurt. Mia was...she was there, right?"

"She barely left your side." Doctor Marshall, took a few more notes. "Anything unusual or especially clear?"

"...yeah, there was…" This was going to be a weird one. "Sometimes I thought I smelled something…"

Spicy was the wrong word, too inaccurate. He knew what images the smell invoked (soup bubbling on the stove, something with seafood and spices and herbs, the wood of an old house, damp smell of rain on growing things outside), but trying to put that into words was difficult. Especially when his energy was starting to hit its limit.

But, Ethan realized, he probably didn't have to go much further than that. His face had been pretty messed up; between the beatings he'd taken, his body re-succumbing to those injuries, and the surgeries they'd given him to help, his sense of smell was pretty shot. Temporarily, they said, but the fact that he'd smelled something while semi-conscious and nursing some pretty gnarly face wounds spoke for itself.

"...it wasn't hospital smells. I can remember that." Ethan perked up a bit. "Oh, and I guess...Redfield said I could punch him when I woke up and I remember he told me that but I don't remember hearing him say it? Does that make sense?"

"I understand what you mean." Doctor Marshall set his down his pen and looked Ethan in the eyes. "Emotionally, how are you holding up?"

Funny. No one at the BSAA had really asked him that. They got him a therapist eventually, but in the wake of Dulvey...Chris asked, Ethan realized, and no one else that he could remember. "Relieved? Uhm." His stump itched, but he almost welcomed the feeling. At least it was a sensation. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I should feel more...something, but I don't. It might need to sink in again."

Because it definitely would. Even now, it came and went. Sometimes he felt like he was just in the hospital because of some mundane bullshit, like a car accident, or a random but necessary surgery. Then it would hit him: Shit. No. I got into a fistfight behind Romanian Arby’s with five different BOWs and almost died.

I actually did die, three years ago, but I came back because I’m a fucking mold hybrid.

It was still taking some getting used to. Ethan wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be used to it.

“There aren’t really support groups for guys in my situation, are there?” he added, half-joking, half serious. That combination had been getting him through a lot lately.

“There are plenty of support groups for outbreak survivors, but if you mean people in your...distinct situation?” Doctor Marshall shook his head. “Not many people survive this long.”

Well, that was sobering.

“...thanks for helping me stay here,” Ethan said quietly.

Doctor Marshall smiled. “It’s the least we can do. I just wish things had gone differently in Louisiana. Perhaps if we’d been able to get ahead of this...”

"Yeah." Ethan tried not to dwell on it too much, but he was pretty sure he would’ve handled things differently if he’d known. Ironically, he probably would've been more careful. Sure he could heal, but apparently he could only heal so much, and he’d seen what happened to other hybrids when they took too much damage. Hell, he’d been the guy doing the damage. Ethan briefly wondered if there was a way to ask about his body's limitations that didn't make him sound like he was about to do something stupid. He didn't want Mia to worry. Or for someone to rat him out to Chris. Chris would definitely give him an earful.

Like he has any right to judge, Mr. "Ran Off Who Knows Where to Fight Who Knows What…"

The muffled sound of sneezing outside the door drew him out of his irritated thoughts. He might've been worried, had Doctor Marshall not looked more bemused than concerned. "He knows he can be in the room, right? You gave him permission to access your medical information."

He? Not Chris...no, the other one. Carlos. "We're trying to keep a little privacy," Ethan said. Privacy, but also someone on standby in case anything went wrong. What going wrong would look like in this capacity, Ethan wasn't sure, but he did feel a little safer having the taller, more combat-experienced man standing outside. "Has the BSAA been by, speaking of…?"

Doctor Marshall shook his head. "Some members reached out. We told them we're not able to breach patient confidentiality. They could try a legal route, but I have a feeling Agent Redfield is going to...encourage them not to do that."

Well, he does kinda owe me one, Ethan thought, then shoved the thought away. He was too tired to deal with his complicated feelings about Chris Redfield.

In a monkey's paw turn of events, his body provided the perfect opportunity to think about something else. It provided that through stabbing chest pains that only ever meant one thing, but it was objectively something other than his complicated Chris feelings. "Uh…" Ethan tried to straighten up. "Doc."

The shots worked quickly. That was the good news. The bad news was he felt like he'd been hit by a truck after, as always. "You sure there's no morphine in that?" Ethan mumbled into his pillow when his body finally stopped shaking.

"Definitely not." That was Mia. When had Mia gotten there? Damn it, he hated losing time. "Feel better?"

"No but also yes," Ethan said. He kept his eyes closed, because opening them was too hard. "Different bad."

"It'll pass. You can sleep it off."

Ethan knew he should, but he didn't really want to. Something about sleeping felt dangerous. Like he was playing Russian Roulette with the possibility of another coma. Or waking up as something...else. Something that definitely wasn't him anymore. He thought about Jack Baker's eyes staring at him from the darkness and struggled to stay awake.

In an unfair but predictable turn of events, he fell asleep anyway.

 .

March 15, 2021

If he was being honest, Chris was still bracing himself.

For what, exactly, he wasn't sure. Ethan was still too physically weak to take him up on that punch offer, and he didn't seem angry. Annoyed, periodically, but only when Chris pushed him.

Don't ask me about how much sleep I've been getting. You'd have to pay to check those eye bags onto a flight.

At least Ethan was well enough to be a smartass. And the comment wasn't wrong, just uncalled for.

That didn't stop Chris from expecting anger, demands, some kind of response to how things had gone down in Europe. Something. But that day, all he got when he opened the door was, "How much?"

"...what?"

"For fries." Ethan was itching his stump again. He looked miserable. "The fries here suck. First hospital I've been to where the food is actually good for you."

"This isn't technically a hospital. And stop that." Chris walked to Ethan's side and nudged his hand away.  "If it itches, I can get a nurse…"

Ethan groaned. "No more fucking nurses, Chris, please. I'm fine."

"Do you need another booster?"

"No. And if you bring a needle near me, I'll bite you. I mean it. You'll probably get infected, too."

"Uh huh." Chris didn't doubt that Ethan was capable of biting. More that he wasn’t capable of doing it right then. “They’ll sedate you if you do, you know.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Despite the words, Ethan looked decidedly unenthusiastic. It was a joke made out of obligation, no real humor behind it. “Where’s Rose?”

He always asked that. Whenever the kid wasn’t within his sight, Ethan wanted to know where she was. “Mia’s got her. They’re out in the courtyard getting some fresh air.”

“Oh.” Ethan started itching his stump again; this time, when Chris grabbed his hand, his beleaguered expression turned into a full-on scowl. “Let go.”

“You’re going to make it worse.”

“Chris.”

“Look, just let me get...”

Ethan tried to yank his hand away. It didn’t do much, not when he was still pretty weak, but it was a stronger effort than Chris expected. “Let go.”

It was the first time since the village that he looked actively pissed off at Chris. And it was over his arm. Not any of the legitimate reasons Ethan had to be angry. Son of a bitch, this guy. “Ethan...”

“...uhh, guys...?”

Carlos was there, suddenly. Mia, too, and Rose, all staring in confusion.“Ethan won’t stop itching the amputation site,” Chris said.

“Snitch,” Ethan muttered.

Mia passed Rose off to Carlos and walked to Ethan’s side. “Here, let me look...” She was doing a good job hiding her worry, but Chris could see the tension in her eyes. “Any other symptoms?”

“No, I’m okay. It hasn’t been long enough anyway, right?” He glanced at the clock. “Unless that thing is lying to me.”

“You should be okay.”

It was hard to miss the way Ethan scanned Mia’s face as she checked the wound. Ethan’s gaze was usually analytical, ranging from curious to sharply focused depending on the situation. Attention to detail, quick to adapt, no wonder he’d survived as long as he had. But all that bled away when he looked at Mia. Instead he was just...gentle, was probably the right word. It felt too vulnerable to watch, like he was spying on something that was just between the two of them, so Chris looked at the injury instead. It did look better. No calcification. Skin was looking pink, healthy. Sutures on the worst of it would come off soon, assuming they could stay on top of his medicine and prevent further damage. With the round the clock care he was under, maybe they could fit him with a prosthetic sooner rather than later.

Chris sure hoped so. Ethan was doing all right so far, but the cracks were starting to show. The previous conversation was just one of many small moments that told him Ethan was going to start going stir-crazy soon. He needed some independence back; use of both hands seemed like a good compromise until he was strong enough to walk.

“It’s just healing,” Mia said finally. Her fingers hovered over the stump for a moment before pulling away. "But you shouldn't…"

"Scratch," Ethan muttered glumly. He leaned back against his pillows again. "I know. Can I have my baby, please?"

"Yeah, here you go…" Carlos tried to pass off Rose carefully, a bit tricky when Rose started leaning out of his arms to get to her dad. "Okay, yeah, he's right there, I promise."

Both of them looked a lot more relaxed once Rose was settled down on Ethan's lap, her head resting  against his chest. As he watched them, Chris couldn't help wondering how much the kid knew. How If she understood what her father had done for her.

With her being what she was, maybe she understood more than they realized.

 .

March 19, 2021

Ethan had started begging to go outside. Mia wanted to take that as a good thing, but it hurt to see him finally start looking desperate. This hospital air is killing me. I need sunshine. Can you at least give me five minutes?

He finally seemed stable enough, so they got him into a wheelchair. And of course, by the time they got him downstairs, the clouds had turned into rain. The stab of guilt was stronger than Mia expected; it almost felt like she'd somehow caused this. "I'm sorry…" Mia started.

Ethan didn’t seem to hear her. He leaned out of his chair, holding out his hand to catch the rain. When he smiled, he seemed genuinely content—too spontaneous and soft to be him faking it for her benefit. “I can’t hear the rain inside,” he said. “I almost forgot how nice it sounds.” He had a point. The rain wasn’t so heavy as to be a downpour; it was more a curl up at home with a book kind of rain. If only they had a home to curl up in. “Can we just stay out here? Is that okay?”

“I think so.” The facility was secure, allegedly, and they were safe from any rain where they were. Mia pulled the wheelchair near a bench and sat down. “It’s not too cold?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Ethan leaned back in the wheelchair, watching the rain fall down onto the front parking lot. “So...Jill’s the one with white hair.”

Ethan did this sometimes. He’d run through everyone they had met since he woke up, make sure he had all the details right. There was something reassuring about the process. Every time, he remembered more clearly, more quickly. “That’s right.”

“She knows Chris from the BSAA but she left before he did. She hasn’t said why...?”

“No. They don’t really talk about it.”

“Okay. Carlos is her husband.”

Mia smiled slightly, remembering his pleased reaction to being referred to as the husband. “That’s him.”

“Also former BSAA. And he thinks I’m cool for some reason.”

“You’ve almost killed enough BOWs to be an honorary Wolf Pack member. That’s pretty impressive.”

“I guess so. Hey, is he just tall or am I a bad judge of height?”

“He’s tall. Do you feel okay?” Mia was tempted to check her timer, but she knew Ethan hated that. Makes me feel like you’re counting down the seconds until I die. “Nothing hurts...?”

“Nothing weird.” She saw a slight frown crease his brow—enough that she thought she’d upset him by asking. But before she could apologize, he spoke again, “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

They hadn’t spoken about her part in the village much. Ethan had seemed content in the knowledge that she was okay, and she’d been more than happy to leave it at that. But as he become more lucid, he became more curious. It made her stomach turn, but...

You owe him some answers. And you’re not going to be able to put off the bigger questions forever. You might as well ease into it.

“Miranda had me under the castle,” she said. “She hit me once...exposed me to the mold, but they gave me an antifungal. I have a clean bill of health, I promise. And one of them exposed me to...I don’t know what, but it caused hallucinations.”

Ethan shuddered violently. For a moment, Mia was worried that he needed another boost after all, but the dread in his voice when he spoke said the reaction was something else entirely. “Donna? The one with the fucking doll?”

“That’s her.” Ethan had run into her, taken her out like he had the others. What had she shown him? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. He looked almost queasy at the memory. “I can’t tell which one was worse, the hallucinations or the doll.”

“Yeah, it’s a toss-up. Doll’s not a problem anymore, though. It was linked to her, so when...”

He trailed off. Again, Mia worried he needed a booster, but he spoke, he sounded somber. “...doll’s not a problem anymore. I actually sold it to a guy for some pipe bombs.”

That gave Mia whiplash. “You what?”

“Oh, yeah, the Duke. He was...around. Helped me out.” He almost itched his arm, but stopped himself at the last second. “Chris never said anything about survivors, right?”

“No, they never found any.”

Ethan nodded. The somber look on his face had turned thoughtful—the kind of look he got when he was taking apart a puzzle. Eventually, he shrugged. “I’m sure he’s okay,” he said. “He always was.”

And that was that.

Mia still wasn’t sure she was ready to hear every detail about Europe. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really be ready to hear that story. The guilt was still too heavy. But a part of her wished she was, for just a hint of context.

Then again, is any amount of context going to make a man who exchanges infected dolls for pipe bombs make sense?

Somehow, she didn’t think so.

 .

March 25, 2021:

Ethan tried to pay attention to his hand this time.

It was hard. The episodes were painful, sudden, not exactly the best time to think rationally. But he tried.

He focused on his hand.

It wasn’t shaking.

Then again, his left hand wasn’t doing much of anything these days. Range of motion was coming back slowly, but gripping things was still hard. Maybe as it improved, the shakes would come back, but...he still wanted to ask.

“When my hand gets better, can I give those to myself?”

For a second, he thought Doctor Marshall hadn’t heard him. Turns out, he was just making sure Ethan’s heart rate was going back down. “Well, we’re hopeful that you won’t need them anymore by the time your hand gets better,” Doctor Marshall said. “But if you do, and you think you’re able to administer before symptoms get too bad, I don’t see why not.”

“Cool. I already know how to give myself an epipen injection...” Was he rambling? It seemed like he either rambled like a drunk or could barely get two words out after an injection. He preferred the rambling; not being able to talk usually came with feeling as exhausted as he had when he’d first woken up, sometimes more so. I’m so sick of being drowsy. I’m sick of being in this stupid bed. “...same difference, right?”

“Not exactly, but it’s good that you’re not afraid of needles.”

“I might be by the time this is over.” No more shots. I’m sick of shots, too. “How soon until I can try to start walking?”

Doctor Marshall had the decency to take the question seriously instead of just brushing Ethan off. “How’s the sensation in your legs?”

“Better, most of the time. Still twitchy at night.”

“Were you diagnosed with restless leg syndrome before?” Marshall asked as he carefully picked up Ethan’s left leg. Ethan could feel the fingers prodding his ankle, but the sensation made him feel relieved, not irritated. If he could still feel so soon after an injection, he had to be getting better, right?

“No.”

Marshall hummed quietly and carefully moved the ankle. “Wiggle your toes for me?” Ethan tried. Wasn’t his best wiggle, but at least he saw them move. “Well, mobility is improving...I still want to keep you on bed rest until there’s more space between injections. But you’ve made remarkable steps so far, so...” He carefully put Ethan’s leg back down. “I can’t put a timeline on it. But soon.”

Soon.

It was nebulous. Vague. But it was closer than any other promise that had been made to him.

“Good.” Ethan closed his eyes and counted his slowing heartbeats. “That’s good.”

He could wait a little longer.

[timeladyjamie]

Being Married to Guy of Gisborne would include...

Author’s Note: This is a PART 2 to “Being Courted by Guy of Gisborne Would Include...”  

This is written with a female reader during the 12th-13th century Medieval Era. 

As always, if there is something you would like to request for characters from BBC Robin Hood, let me know. :) I’m gonna try working on more Reader Inserts as of late. Find out more details @jamiewritings

You’ve made it to this point, it’s a victory! Now to just make it past the marriage ceremony without interruptions

Guy has been waiting with reserved anticipation for this day (which he honestly thought he would never get to have)

He wishes his family was here to witness this day and to meet you

He hasn’t been to much weddings, or hardly any at all and might not know how the traditions work. So except an awkward Knight who’s excited to see his bride. 

Seeing you pull up in the carriage in your wedding dress feels like a dream. He’s in absolute awe over it, but tries to play it off stoically. 

Guy just hopes everything meets up to your expectations. He’s been stressing over making sure everything is perfect with gathering the village to decorate and prepare the feast.

Hearing the townspeople cheer on your wedding, once the bell sounds, you make your way inside the church.

The priest speaks the vows and the crowd silently listens in. After, you exchange vows of your own and rings.

Now you are Lady Gisborne and he couldn’t be anymore happy. In fact, this is the happiest moment of his life. 

Not many marriages during this time were for love. Most were for political or social reasons or a means to survive, but luckily, you both came to love each other. 

He will work his hardest to be the best and most reliable husband for you. You are honestly his world now and a Gisborne. It means everything to him that you are with him. He also expects the same in return from his wife.

If he’s still working with the sheriff at this point, he will protect you from his wrath and terrible ways, making sure you don’t become a target on his radar or to be used as leverage against Guy himself. That’s the worst thing that could happen to him.

If he’s no longer working with the sheriff, everything is good. Just gotta focus on living out your new married life. 

As a married Noblewoman and Lady of an estate, some things are expected of you. Besides just giving an heir, you must also help run the lands either by talking to townspeople or watching over the household servants. 

Now, as for the marriage night or typical bedding ceremony that takes place during this time, you and Guy agree to just do your own thing without a crowd watching. And, oh boy, is he a passionate lover *wink wink*

Life with Guy has been wonderful. He is a good husband. 

I believe he would also try to teach you French so you can have private little conversations. However, he is still shy about showing this part of him because of how he’s been made fun of for it in the past.

However, the question of children was bound to come sooner or later and that’s just another journey in your lives together. 

Of course he would like a son. It’s every man’s goal to get an heir to carry on the family name and legacy during this time, but he also doesn’t mind having a girl first. He’ll love your child together either way.

He wants to give your children the best life that he can, not wanting them to experience his horrible childhood of losing his parents and home altogether. 

Once you tell him you’re with child, he’s absolutely happy. Count this as another happy moment of his life. 

During the pregnancy he’s super protective over you and the child, proving he will already be a wonderful Papa Bear to come. Seriously, no one is going to mess with his kid. They will regret it. 🔪🔪🔪

After you have the child, he’s completely in love with the kid, but that was no new news there. Now you are both happy parents.

There is also no mistaking the fact Guy would want more kids after this. 

Tag list: @starlight11​ @chaoticbitheatrekid​ @sunflowers-insherwood​ @anjhope1​ @mariansteamcastle​ @dumbassunderthemountain​ @whereswaldotho​ @let-djaqsayfuck​ 

[sohin-ace]

hey love! can i have some soft abbacchio dating headcannon? he's my most favorite character of all time and the one i wish was real to date him

I'm so sorry, I know I told you I would write more for him, but I'm drowning in drafts. Of course you can get your big tiddy goth Husband.

Abbachio dating HCs.

Abbachio never saw himself dating with how his entire life played out.

So it's a big shock for both him and the gang when you two get together. But at the same time, they were all waiting for it.

Your relationship and interractions were obvious and Bruno couldn't count the amount of time he tried to push the tall goth to make the first move.

Actually, you were the one that asked him out officially first and initiated everything in terms of dates or PDA among other things.

He acts all tough but he's absolute putty in your hands. He can not refuse you anything and he couldn't even answer properly to your confession albeit curses in italian under his breath.

He can get so nervous, sweaty and red around you and you make him so damn weak, only you can do that to him.

He never openly expresses his date ideas, instead he gives you """"hints"""" that you have to catch on.

For instance, you'd both be out and he'd just point out across the street, "I heard that restaurant is pretty good. Never tried it, though."

Translating to: 'Let's go eat there together some day'.

Or maybe he'd drive with you to go back to the headquarters after a mission and suddenly blurt out "I'd kill for some coffee right now..."

He'll get cranky if you don't get the hints and tell him you'll make him coffee at home or something. He just wanted you to take him out to a café, damnit!

He's physically the big spoon, but he sure is the small spoon emotionally/mentally.

He harasses Bucciarati for gift ideas because he always wants to spoil you but never knows what to give you, and Bruno is good at that.

Flowers? No, they'll die after a few days! Jewelry? What if you don't wear them? Food? Come on, you deserve so much better! Clothes? What if he messes up the sizes and hurt your feelings?

He's convinced you deserve the absolute best and he's so bad at showing it, it just makes him even more insecure. Does he really deserve such a flawless partner?

He'd never forgive himself if he ever made you feel like he doesn't love you just because he can't express it. So he settles to bow at your every need.

He's a soldier at heart and he will bend the universe for you. Snap your fingers, call his name and he is here. Which do you require, he shall obtain for you, for he is your knight.

It's cute, to be fair.

The boys are almost jealous at how far he's willing to go to service you, make sure you're comfortable, seated, warm, happy, when he usually doesn't give a shit about anything else.

He defends you from anything and his guard is never down when you're both on a date.

He grips your hand, your waist or your shoulder impossibly tight. He doesn't realize how tense he is and how hard he's holding you.

Is he to blame, though? He doesn't want anything to happen to you during your special time together and this asshole at the register has been staring at you for a bit too long...

You know your date outfit is nice when he sees you and.... his whole brain just... Stops functioning and...

He's speechless and can't even greet you properly. He stays there and looks at you. All of you. He can't stop staring like some kind of creep. You look so cute and sexy and handsome and pretty and ????

You go to greet him, excited to see your lovely man then go for a sweet hug and he's like thunderstruck. Mind blank. Jaw slack. He can't move.

Sometimes, when you're late to your date and he's been waiting at the train station with a scowl on his face, he swears he's going to give you a piece of it when you arrive for making him wait so long in this obnoxious, loud place.

But when you actually appear, hurrying and with that irresistible smile on your very kissable face his moods shifts completely.

Suddenly, Abbachio is not mad anymore. What was he thinking about again?

He does that thing where he bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling, then swipes his hand across his face and avoiding eye contact, pretending he wasn't grinning like an idiot upon seeing you.

Gosh, you just make him feel like a dumb teenager again... and he's into it.

Good thing the brats, or worse even, *Giorno*, don't see him in that state. They would never let him live it down.

Abbachio is secretly a pretty good cook, so if you don't feel like going out, he'd grumble at you for being a lazy ass, all as he makes you a nice meal and make you all comfortable on the couch with a blanket and some annoying TV show you can both diss while eating.

Leone wants to be and learns to become a better man for you and you definitely notice the little changes.

He wants to be reliable and trustworthy again. Someone you can depend on and feel safe with.

He gets less shy around you, he's overall more open minded to most things. He's less aggressive and Bruno says he takes less rash decisions during missions. All thanks to you and your love.

The legend says he even smiled at Giorno.

But you're unsure to believe that one.

[quirkless-and-proud]

Vigilante Au

Mido finds aizawa in the middle of a fight in an alley and then there’s a gunshot and eraser is down and the villains escape,

when mido approaches him he assumes he’s another vigilante and cuts his hand on the approach, a sign from one vigilante to another that they are not pros, (willing to make one’s self vulnerable to gain trust from someone already hurt and bring yourself to that level)

when he gets close enough, he sees the goggles and realizes this is a pro, and before eraser passes out he grabs him by the arm and says he can’t be taken to a hospital - there is a mole in the police force

when eraser next wakes up he’s in an apartment, completely bare with dressings on his gunshot wound as well as the other damage he sustained

now that he’s more lucid, eraser realizes he’s hooked up to an iv and he can’t feel the gunshot as well as he’d be able to if he wasn’t on some sort of pain meds

conversation is stilted and mido asks what is going to happen next, since he won’t be on his feet for another 2 weeks without quirk healing

eraser asks about the bullet and the kid shrugs and says it’s not the first time he’s had to deal with one and as for the medical equipment, he has some friends who are willing to supply medium grade med supplies on the down low

eraser wants to ask where they are, where the kids parents are and a multitude of other things but realizes that he’s going to have to rely on this kid until he’s on his feet

over the course of those two weeks eraser notices two distinct things, one, that other vigilantes drop in with information, food, money, or a multitude of other things and receive medical care in return

and two, that children or other random adults with serious injuries turn up for medical care as well, the children usually crying and the adults not, they all wear the same shoes as mido tho, so he wonders how they’re all connected

essentially, the sludge villian incident was at the end of mido’s 2nd year of middle school and he was told off by all might, then over the summer he decided to become a vigilante, taking summer courses at a dojo that helped quirk less kids, his mom died at the beginning of the last year of middle school and between her life insurance and his dad’s payments for the apt, mido realized that he could keep the apt to himself so long as someone signed for him, so one of the vigilantes registered as his big brother and the two of them lived together until 2 months before eraser turned up because he died (way more emotional and spontaneous)

this was decided by a meeting of the vigilante “council” which is 15 different people who showed up at mido’s house after he took over for the brother that died before he met eraser it’s similar to pirates of the caribbean where it’s passed down verbally and with a token from the original 15

aizawa doesn’t want him putting himself in danger and mido flaps him off as best he can but also points out that he needs his help, he doesn’t have many choices and he is getting everyone personally

3 members of the council approach eraser w/out mido and tell eraser in no uncertain terms that if mido is hurt in any way he will be held personally responsible and that vigilantes rely on him for intel/analysis of villains and hero’s alike to avoid/help/capture and he has saved their lives both with the hospital and also with his mind. building up a network of safety took time and eraser has to realize how many lives he will put in danger if he tries to dismantle the network.

one of the 3 stays back and tells eraser she was mido’s brother’s first contact and longest friend, and that he asked her to watch after mido. she tells eraser she thinks mido could be a pro, that he might be the key to ending vigilantism but that he could revolutionize pro-hero work. the kid is wicked smart but she doesn’t want to see him become bitter and jaded.

this is something eraser has been thinking about non stop the whole time he’s been holed up here.

eraser asks her for a knife. it is the single request all vigilantes must obey, a sign of trust.

he cuts his palm and says he swears to try his best to take care of mido, as much as the boy will let him and that he will do everything in his power not to jeopardize or hurt him. “a vigilante adoption if you will”

and mido, this whole time. well. he’s still mido and there’s a lot of hero worship of eraser who fights essentially quirkless and has been respectful and kind to the quirkless kids and who has relied on and trusted him

and so 5 of the 15 vigilante council, including mido are to do a recon op of the police station and try to incriminate the mole based on plans eraser helped them lay out

it goes alright except mido breaks 2 ribs fighting someone and when he gets back eraser is able to stand and takes over his care as best he can and mido tells him he can go back to the police, the mole has been caught

eraser asks mido why he isn’t trying to become a pro

mido laughs and makes a broken noise and says a very reliable source told him he couldn’t be

and eraser says whoever it was was out of their goddamned mind, that they must have been blind and deaf to miss what was in front of their faces, he points out the illogic and that he fights quirkless and he points to everything mido had done in a little over a year, how fast and capable he is and the connections he has already and just, if eraser knew the kids from his classes would be half as good as mido eraser could retire because crime wouldn’t be a problem

and mido is crying and eraser asks him if he would go to ua, if he would let eraser work out a deal for him and recommend him

and mido says his money must go to the hospital, he can’t leave this place and he doesn’t have money to really go to school and his grades aren’t great (half on purpose lol)

and eraser says what he does with his money is his business as long as eraser can’t prove it and that getting a hero license would help him protect vigilantes and there would be some rules, like he wouldn’t be able to live on his own like this, but there are places eraser is willing to look away in the short term until they can figure out a real long term plan

and mido says he wouldn’t have anywhere to live that isn’t the hospital and eraser says kid if you think i’d do this for just a student, i mean i’d be a hell of a teacher but i’m only a decent one, that i already declared a vigilante adoption in front of that girl, unprompted, and that his husband and he had always considered fostering/adopting

and mido blurts out something that means he knows it’s present mic despite no formal paperwork saying that anywhere and eraser just fucking loses it and starts laughing like a madman because of course mido figured it out the kid is a genius

and yes, hizashi and i would fucking love you kid, like you deserve and you wouldn’t have to do all of this alone, and you wouldn’t have all this responsibility, you could give it to me and then, slowly as you become an adult we add it back without overwhelming you

and mido says to let him go to ground for 2 weeks - that eraser has to give him time to sort a few things out, largely to protect everyone at the hospital and get word out to the quirkless kids and eraser says okay

and in 2 weeks eraser has talked to nezu and they have a plan and a police deal and mido walks up to the gates of ua all by himself with a backpack that has notebooks and clothes but nothing else (he ran everyone to ground, moved the hospital and sorted out the money problem with that girl) and now he’s standing in front of eraserhead turning himself in

my name is midoriya izuku, you know me as mido and i am here to turn myself in

nezu regards him with a glint in his eyes and eraser just rolls his eyes and hugs the kid telling him he has done a good job and that he’ll take it from here

———

this is a really lost outline for a fic that i would love if someone else wrote lol

sorry about caps and stuff, this is really just for the notes section on my phone so hope you like it

[x0401x]

Violet Evergarden Short Story

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

The ingredients that led me to my current self were:

A teaspoon of queen’s pride.

Two tablespoons of love for my husband, a one-sided feeling now required.

Plenty of tears shed in a forest capital where I had no supporters.

Mix the tear batter with the stubbornness of a princess from the country of white camellias, then put it in the oven. Once it bakes until it becomes tough enough to give one a hard time cutting it even with a knife, it is done. No one can tear a bite off it so easily.

My adult self was reborn this way.

But then, what about her? I wondered what kind of adult my favorite girl was by now.

Just as I was curious about this, good news arrived.

   The Queen and the Auto-Memories Doll

   The marauder came around the time when the red roses were in full bloom.

Said doll, whose lustrous golden hair fluttered in the wind, had jewel-like blue eyes that nailed people down. A dignified young woman, intimidated by nothing. That was the kind of marauder she was.

If I were to talk about my relationship with her, it would be a long story. If I were to explain it leaving out the many stories that happened between us, I would probably say that she was a key figure who became the mediator of my love story in the past, as well as an Auto-Memories Doll engaged in the ghostwriting business at a certain famous postal company.

Although she was the kind of girl who seemed like she could live in solitude forever, she was different when she appeared before me.

“It has been a while, Lady Charlotte.”

I had invited her into our kingdom as a guest of honor because I heard that she was taking a long vacation and traveling around the world – so the passage of time could change people this much.

“I will rush to anywhere that my clients desire...”

The girl, who used to be so ephemeral in the past, had grown up and brought a man to accompany her on the journey, so was it not fitting to call her a marauder? At the very least, she had opened an air hole in my unchangeable royal palace life.

“No, pardon me. This is Violet Evergarden on break from duty, Your Majesty, Queen Charlotte.”

I whispered with the dignified gaze and voice tone of a queen, “It’s been a long time, ghostwriter. No... Violet. Thanks for coming even though you’re on vacation.” I then fixed my stare on the man standing next to Violet.

My adorable ghostwriter possessed a beauty that shone distinctly even in within the palace, which congregated fine-looking women. Therefore, it would not be strange at all if she eventually had a deep relationship with some gentleman, but by no means could I tell if he had that sort of relationship with her.

He greeted me after Violet. Apparently, his name was Gilbert Bougainvillea.

“What’s the relationship between you two?”

As I asked straight to the point, Violet and Gilbert looked at each other’s faces.

Violet then opened her mouth, “He is my former superior officer.”

“So you are related through work.”

“Yes, but I am no longer registered in the military, so maybe I should say that he is my benefactor, whom I am on close terms with nowadays...”

“So you’re close to your benefactor... enough to go on a trip with him, huh.”

“Well...”

Perhaps unable to precisely define her relationship with him, Violet fell silent. But from this, I was able to catch the glimpse of a womanly shyness that I had the feeling I had gone through before.

“The word ‘benefactor’ alone indeed does not cover it.”

“Dear me.”

“I would like to use a more suitable word if there was any, but even I, who work with ghostwriting, do not know an appropriate term for it...”

“Hum, Violet, I’m sorry.”

“‘Reverence’ is not enough and ‘adoration’ might be too trivial...”

“I’m sorry; you can stop there. He’s also embarrassed. You don’t want other people to ask too much about those things, right? It’s under development, isn’t it?”

He smiled, seeming a bit awkward. He was an adult man but looked slightly childish when smiling.

——Isn’t he a fine man?

Hair the color of dusk, blessed physique and virile facial traits. There was some elegance in him. His looks had a male allure that was capable of exhilarating the courtiers of the palace.

——Such a pretty emerald iris.

He was a stunning man. The look in his eye was grievous and had a darkness to it. A mysterious man with an eyepatch. The hardships that he had been burdened with until now oozed out of him. His scent was different from the one of the palace’s knights, but I could feel a similar air coming from him. His build seemed reliable, which looked even more remarkable as he stood next to Violet. I wondered if he had not been quite the pretty boy in his younger years.

He appeared to be apart from Violet in age. I suddenly recalled that I had asked her in the past about what she thought of age gaps between men and women.

——Did she not say no back then because of her relationship with him?

I had many guesses, but I did not voice any of them. I was an adult now.

“Erm, there was an introduction before you came into the room, but I’m going to introduce myself again. I am Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel. The queen of this country.”

I was Charlotte Abelfreya Drossel before. My lips were finally used to the greeting ever since my name had changed. Even so, I did not want Violet to call me a queen.

“Violet, you put the title of honor ‘Your Majesty the queen’ on me earlier, but you can refer to me in the same way as before. I want you to do that.”

“Is that not disrespectful?”

“It isn’t. I’m asking for it, after all.”

Silence.

“I will punish anyone who opposes to this. Got it, Violet?”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

Right, that was better. After all, when you called me that, I could feel as if I had returned to the times when I was in my homeland where white camellias bloomed. I asked the same thing out of Mr. Bougainvillea, but he refused it due to it being discourteous. Well, this was our first meeting, so maybe there was no helping it.

   After that, Violet and I were left on our own. Mr. Bougainvillea took his leave, saying that we must have had things to talk about. I also drove all of the ladies-in-waiting out of the reception room and was at last actually able to breathe.

The suffocation I felt from my daily life in the royal palace did not come only from wearing a corset. When I thought that there were no longer any stares keeping watch on us, I made merry like a little girl.

“Violet.”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

“Violet, Violet! You’ve become an adult, huh!”

“Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

We had first met when we were both girls, so when we reunited, I could feel as if we had gone back to those days. But I did not know if she, who was always expressionless, was happy about it, yet just when I thought this, Violet’s lips were faintly forming an arc.

——My, she laughed.

Much too surprised, I forgot about conducting myself like a queen and opened my mouth wide. “Violet! You...!” I touched her cheeks with both of my hands.

I should not be doing something like that to her, as she was a lady and no longer a girl, but I felt like confirming if such a natural smile was not my hallucination. I kneaded her cheeks pliably. Violet let me do as I pleased.

“Lady—Char—lotte—” Violet spoke, sounding like having her cheeks kneaded was inconvenient.

——How soft; so you had such soft cheeks? No, more importantly...

“Wh-Wh-What’s gotten into you? You’re the one who pinched your cheeks saying you couldn’t smile that one time!”

“My per—formance has im—proved.”

At first, I could not catch what she was saying very well. “My performance has improved”. After ruminating for the words in my head, I finally understood it.

“Huhu—hahaha!”

This mood. This sensation that almost felt like a toy doll was talking to me. I could actually feel that, yes, Violet was indeed in front of me.

Overjoyed, I let out a high-pitched laughter, just like a little girl. Then, I took Violet’s hand. I squeezed it tight, putting into it my sentiment of deep affection for her, the possessor of mechanical arms. “Hey, I’m truly happy to see you. Have you been doing well?”

“Yes. Lady Charlotte, you also appear to be in good health.”

“I became a bit of an adult too, right? How do I look?”

“Yes, you have become an adult woman.”

When I said that I was currently pregnant, Violet blinked, and then told me to “please sit down”. Her attitude was as if she were protecting me almost like a knight. But I shook my head. I invited her to a stroll. Once I told her that walking a little was best for a mother’s body, as expected, she offered her arm in a knightly manner and escorted me.

That part of her had not changed.

“My husband is in the middle of government affairs, but you should be able to see him tonight.”

As there was also the fact that I was carrying the child of King Fluegel, I had changed residences from the royal palace and was resting in the royal villa for now. A garden spread out outside of the villa, which was a good place for a walk.

In Fluegel, nicknamed the Forest Kingdom, both the royal palace and the land surrounding it were enclosed by trees and green meadows. The garden also had a feel unlike that of Drossel, its atmosphere somewhat idyllic. If I were to describe just the environment, I would say that it was a nice place for children.

“A dinner party... is too ceremonious, so I’m thinking of just having a banquet in the royal villa. You’ll stay over, right? I also want you to meet Lord Damian...”

Violet’s eyes went left and right, as if searching for vestiges of Mr. Bougainvillea, who was nowhere to be found. “If that person says it is all right...”

He was supposed to be having a tour around the palace’s interior with the chamberlain by now. I had told the latter to convince him to agree, so there would likely be no problem. The chamberlain was a capable person.

“Please. Just one day is fine. One day is fine, so... Violet, I want to spend it with you.”

“Will you not be bored in my company?”

“No way. If I were, I wouldn’t have told you to ‘come here because I want to see you’.”

“Are you still unused to life here?”

“Yeah, I have clashes from the smallest to the biggest things. It’s gotten better in comparison to the beginning of my marriage, but in the end, I’m all alone in this country. It’s probably hard for you to understand how happy it makes me to be able to see a face I know... but I’m really glad.”

Hearing these words, Violet made a face that looked like she was giving it a thought. “Will you not summon Madam Alberta?”

Alberta was the woman who had influenced my life the most – the courtier who had acted as my foster mother. She was also in the position of chief of the ladies-in-waiting, so she could not go so easily to the princess who had married off to a different country.

“I’d like to. Lord Damian is making sure that she’ll come if my child is born safely. After fulfilling my role as a queen, I can finally... finally ask for what I want.”

“So it could be said that the more valuable the person’s circumstances, the more inconveniences they face.”

“Yeah. Besides, Alberta probably doesn’t want to be away from her country...”

“It did not seem like it to me. Though this is my own speculation.”

“Is that true...? Hey, speaking of which, you were in Drossel before coming here, right? Why did you go see Alberta before coming to me? Was it a geographic issue? Did you have plans to come here?”

“No, we did not have plans to come to Fluegel.”

My mouth distorted. Were my feelings unilateral? That was what I thought, but as she added, “It would be a problem if civilians carefreely came to visit someone from the royal family”, I was at a loss for words. It was just as Violet said.

She said with a face that feigned ignorance at my complicated maiden heart, “In a way, there is a reason. Madam Alberta once interceded for me to take the job of private tutor of a certain lady from the nobility, so I also went to the royal palace in order to report it to her.”

“My, you’d started doing that kind of work?”

“No... she... that person was an exception.” Perhaps remembering this person, Violet looked into the distance for a bit and then closed her eyes. “After that, too, she would introduce jobs to me whenever possible... so my company’s president also told me to express my gratitude if I ever had a chance to see her. Even if I had not... I wanted to show Major – my companion – the beauty of that country.”

“Is that so...? I’m happy. The beauty of my country is my pride.”

“Yes. I could not have thought that we would come here as per Madam Alberta’s arrangement.”

“S-Sorry.”

The courtier Alberta was once my wet nurse, and to Violet, she was a work intermediator. Alberta had persuaded Violet, saying that, since she had come nearby, she probably wanted to see me.

Having received the news about Violet’s visit from Drossel, I had sent a carriage from Fluegel to pick her up without thinking about her convenience. As a result, I had hindered the vacation that this much-demanded Auto-Memories Doll probably was finally able to have... as well as the time that she was getting to spend with her significant other.

Calling her over in a way that bordered forcefulness might be an arrogant conduct coming from the royal family.

“Violet... did you not want to come to Fluegel?”

“That is not the case.”

“Really...?”

“Yes; it is the country that Lady Charlotte married off to, after all. I had interest in it.”

“Thank you... I’m not free, so... I can’t go anywhere on my own... I had no choice but to bring you here.”

As I said this, Violet nodded with an “I am aware”.

   Afterwards, we talked about what happened in the meantime that we had not seen each other. About how Lord Damian and I were able to properly fall in love with each other after marrying. About how Violet had managed, through ups and downs, to find the most beloved master that she had been looking for. About the fact that he was Mr. Gilbert. About her wish for two of them, in the life that they would have from now onward, to go to the countries that she had visited as an Auto-Memories Doll, because she wanted him to become acquainted with them as well, even if it took some time. We talked about such things quiet and lightly.

I was so happy for being able to have this kind of conversation with her that I could not help myself.

“Speaking of which, Lady Charlotte, it seems you are funding an orphanage.”

“You think it’s hypocritical of me?”

“No. To tell the truth, a girl who is being taken care of over there is supposed to work with us in the future.”

“Eh, is that so? I... built that orphanage because I was influenced by you.”

We opened our eyes wide at each other’s information, hearts pounding, and then broke into giggles.

Aah, when was the last time that I had been so free of wariness with someone? It was really fun. How many more times would I get to see her like this?

“By the way, how’s the Auto-Memories Doll that was with Lord Damian during the Public Love Letters doing?”

Even though we had barely just started chatting, I suddenly thought about that. It was a bad habit of mine. I was quick to picture the end of things.

“She is doing well. It seems she is... always having fights with her lover, but...”

Life was short. Many things passed in a blink of eye.

“Is that okay?”

I spent my time burying down the intervals in which I could not see her.

“It is. Our company is the same as ever. Everyone is doing fine.”

Even so, we could not be together forever.

We would spend time together today and tomorrow, and once we parted, there was a possibility that we would never meet again. After all, I was a queen and Violet was an Auto-Memories Doll. A woman who could go nowhere and a woman who could go anywhere. As one would expect, our social positions were different.

——Aah, Charlotte, stop thinking, I reprimanded myself. Although this moment was unbearably fun, I was conscious of its end, which caused my chest to tighten somewhat.

I was together with Violet in the time when red roses blossomed. The hours we spent talking in the garden would probably become irreplaceable to me. I might recall it over and over.

——This might not be the case for Violet, though.

Friendships could also be unrequited. That was exactly why this moment was both too happy and too painful.

“Lady Charlotte.”

Having my name called, I frantically raised the corners of my mouth, which had gone down before I realized. A queen had to be always smiling elegantly, as to not make the subjects uneasy.

“Wh-What is it?”

Even though I excelled at faking a smile, for some reason, I could not do it properly right now.

“What is the matter?”

I would end up accidentally showing her my original, anxious self when she was in front of me.

“Nothing; it’s just that my heart is filled to the brim.”

Being overcome with emotion at the irreplaceable “present” out of the blue in the middle of a conversation and feeling sad about it was incomprehensible and nothing but a bother to the other person.

“I simply... thought that I was indeed lonely.”

Violet. I might be no more than a character that had not even amounted to a single page of your life.

“I really wanted to see you.”

But you had played a huge role in mine, so you would always be in my heart.

“Because I’d been remembering the things you said to me whenever I was having a hard time.”

Whenever I was sad and about to burst into tears, your face would appear in my heart and you would speak to me.

“Weird, isn’t it? If you think about it, we aren’t that close. I’m just a client to you anyways. Just one person in a crowd. But...”

But I had never forgotten the things you had done for me.

“But, y’know...”

You had supported my love. Allowed me to be selfish. Told me that I was a crybaby. You were the only girl about as old as me that I could be myself when interacting with.

“But...”

To me, you were my girlhood itself. A symbol of the time when I lived in Drossel, fell in love and was simply Charlotte. It was almost as if I were embracing my child self.

Could you tell? My chest was hurting a lot. What a pain. Why did people become like that when growing up?

“I like you.”

Why did we think that these moments in which we became weak were so bad?

“Lady Charlotte...”

In that instant, Violet came closer, and just when I wondered if she was going to kiss me, she reached out a hand.

“‘I want to stop your tears’.”

And then, the tip of her finger scooped a drop of the tears that were about to overflow.

“If I am certain, I had once told you this, Lady Charlotte.”

I was a bit dumbfounded. I did not think she still remembered that.

“Are you still a crybaby...?”

When she gently asked me that, I felt like one more tear would leak. I suppressed my eyes in a panic. “No way I’d be. I’m a queen already.”

“Yes.”

“I have Lord Damian too. I’m his wife.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve become strong. I... got a bit weak just now, but it was a temporary thing.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

Aah, you. Violet.

“Lady Charlotte, if you like...”

You were extremely insensitive sometimes.

“...if you ever have a chance to travel to Leidenschaftlich...”

And cruel.

“...by all means, do call me. I will hasten to join you.”

But kind enough to make me cry.

“I want to show you that city one day...”

You had no idea that you were saving me with your casual statements.

Before I noticed, Violet was offering me a handkerchief. I accepted it, and while hiding my crying face but making at least my voice sound all right, I said, “I’ll go; I’ll definitely go there one day. And when I do, show me around!”

Violet replied, “Yes” with a tone that indicated she was probably smiling.

“Definitely.”

Surely, even if I managed to meet Violet again someday, the same thing would happen. It was precisely because we could not see each other that I would be both happy and pained once I managed to see her.

“Of course. If it suits you, I can draw up a written oath... Ah, Lady Charlotte. Major is back.”

The contents of our conversations had changed from before. We were no longer talking about one-sided love letters. I would not sulk or curl up on my bed in front of her.

“No way; I can’t show him a face like this.”

Still, it did not matter how many years passed.

“You look beautiful.”

It was not as if my feelings would be gone.

——We were able to meet today like that. Even if we part ways tomorrow, you’ll surely be on a voyage somewhere around the world.

“Aren’t my eyes red?”

“No, Lady Charlotte.”

When I thought about that, I started looking forward to it. Should I try to write her a letter telling her that I wanted to see her by the time that the tales of our journeys had piled up?

“Your Majesty, may I also join Violet?”

“Of course; here, sit down.”

I had already decided on an opening phrase for it.

“Major, I was told a wonderful story. Is it all right to talk about it?”

“Aah, tell me, Violet.”

“The orphanage that Lady Charlotte built is...”

   Dear Ms. Violet Evergarden, Are you doing well?

I want to see you.

[pynkhues]

.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. “Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

[spideymarvelws]

Always But Not Forever

Mob!Tom Holland x Reader

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My TagList

Summary : During the interrogation of a mole, Tom learns something

A/n : I want to write something for the holidays but i dont do fluff (unless its requested) so here’s a angsty mob!au instead

Warnings : Torchere, blood, violence, cursing, illusion do death, fluff if you squint (dont worry it doesnt last long), mention of injuries, mention of manipulation, implied death?

Word Count : 1.7k

...

“You know, I almost admire the audacity you must’ve had to pull off something like this,” Tom chuckled, rolling up the sleeves of his white button up, “To betray us, to betray me,”

The pads of his fingers passed over the array of equipment laid out on the table in front of him, teasing the handles of guns, knives and other various torchere devices. Usually, he would just grab his trusty blade from the holder on his belt, slicing the person's throat to watch them bleed out on the chair, coughing and pleading for their life.

But this was a special occasion, one he wanted to drag on for as long as possible. He wanted to hear her screams fill the room, echoing its way around the warehouse. He wanted the floor to be soaked in her blood, dripping from her skin. He wanted to watch her life drain from her eyes slowly and painfully.

But first, he needed to get answers.

“So,” he said slowly, “Are you going to tell me why? Or do I have to force out out of you,”

The woman only chuckled, her eyes hooded as she stared him straight in the eye, “I think we both know the answer to that Tommy,”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he growled, striding up and grabbing her throat with enough force to lean the chair back, not caring if it were to fall and break on the hard, concrete floor.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” she fake pouted, “I thought you loved the name? Or is it only reserved for your whore of a wife,”

“You really want to die don’t you,” Tom chuckled darkly, bending down to look her directly in the eyes, face inches apart, “You’re on thin fucking ice,”

“And I want to shatter it,” she sneered, leaning her own face forward as much as she could with the restraints tied around her, “Just like I did your best pals heart,”

Tom felt his chest tighten at the mention of Harrison. He would never blame the blond for what happened, because despite the guilt he held, he knew that it wasn't his fault. He blamed himself for getting his friend in the hospital on his deathbed. Well maybe not that drastic, Harrison was a hard fucker to get rid of, he knew that no matter what he would hang on  but it felt like he had already lost him.

He couldn't get the images out of his head, the flashes of red, screams pounding in his ear. But the sight of her standing above his best friend, gun in hand, ready to fire. The thought alone made his go feral.

And he hated that, he hated that she knew how to get under his skin so easily. After getting so close, to not just him but his close family, his friends, to you. He could already picture the hurt that would spread across your face when he would tell you. You both valued close bonds with people, building that relationship to something reliable, something worth trusting.

So when that trust was broken, all hell broke loose.

“I’m sure you’ll do just a fine job at that,” he muttered, standing back straight up, “And the moment you do I’ll put a bullet between your eyes,”

“Oh we both know you couldn't do that Tommy,” she smirked, “Not when I have so much valuable information that you so desperately need,”

Tom chuckled, picking up a syringe filled with a light blue liquid. His fingers flicked the cover before taking it fully off, revealing the needle to the open air, “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he turned back around to face her, his face void of emotion, “Gag her,”

Him and his men had spent the next, god knows how long trying countless methods and tactics they always used to get people like her to talk. But nothing worked, even after repeatedly taking out the gag, waiting for the answers they had been searching for, she didn't budge.

She stayed completely stoic.

Tom tried his best to keep calm, unbuttoning the top of his shirt when his breath became restraint with the added pressure to around his neck

“It wouldn't matter anyways,” she sniffed, finally calming down while spitting out a wad of blood from her mouth, “I’ve already gotten what I wanted,”

“What the fuck is that suppose too mean,” Tom said exasperatedly.

“It means-,” she interrupted herself while trying to stop the sick laughter threatening to erupt from her throat, “I never thought you cared so much about me Tommy, to spend so long with me when-,” she tilted her head to the side, “You have a wife at home don’t you?”

Tom felt his heart stop, “What did you do?”

“Might want to check that little wifey of yours Tommy,” she cackled, blood splattering from her mouth, staining the collar of her shirt and the floor in front of her, “Who knows how much time she might have left!”

“WHAT! The fuck! Did you do!” He screamed, clutching her bloody shirt in his fists, not caring if some of the liquid transferred to his already red hands.

“You left me alone, with Y/n, for months,” she giggled, “What do you think I did?”

“If you hurt her-,”

“You’ve already done your worst to me Holland,” the grin settling on her face became unsettling, “Now it’s my turn to watch you suffer,”

Tom didn't want to question her further. He didn't want his temper to take over the little control he tried to maintain over his mind. With a short gruff he pulled away from the woman, walking over to one of his men stationed by the door of the warehouse.

“Break her legs and take her to the hut, prepare the call and get Dr brown on the phone and tell Sam to get to Y/n as soon as possible,” he whispered under his breath, “Take me back home to my wife,”

...

“Good Girl,” you yawned, lazily scratching the top of Tessa’s head. It had been a chill day for you in the mansion, lounging around in your husband's clothes while you decorated your section of the building, preparing for the holidays. Tom insisted on getting decorators, knowing how clumsy you were, he didn't want you to hurt yourself. At least that’s the excuse he told you, you knew it was because he didn't want you doing any work on your holidays. 

Nevertheless, you were proud of the work you’ve done, the lights strung along your bedroom walls illuminating the room, making your placement by the window feel more cozy than usual. And with the addition of the cutest dog and a mug of ginger tea, staring out into the snowy garden never felt more calming. The only thing that would make this better is to be cuddled with your personal teddy bear, but your prayers were answered when he called unexpectedly.

“Hi Tommy,” you answered sweetly, gulping down a good bit of the tea,“What’s wrong? I thought you were busy with work?”

“Y/n?” Tom said seriously, a hard edge to his voice you never heard when he talked directly to you, “Y/n, you need to listen to me right now, okay?”

“Okay,” you sat up, throwing your blanket off your lap, “Okay, yeah,” you learnt not to question things like these with Tom’s line of work.

“Where are you right now?” you could hear the click of his shoes hitting the floor in the background, the sound of the vehicle's engines vroomed to life.

“I’m in our bedroom, with Tessa,” you answered quickly, squinting your eyes when you watched her body bounce away when your hand retracted from her fur, “Well just me now,” 

“You’re going to need to go to the medic bay, Doctor Brown will be there and he’ll explain everything,” a car door slammed shut, “Sam is coming to escort you, just,” he let out a deep breath, “Are you alright?”

You melted at the crack in his voice, clearing your throat before answering him, “I’m fine Tommy, never felt better,”

“Are you sure love?” he whispered, his voice losing its harsh tone, falling back to the soft, breathy one you grow to love.

“I’m-,” you moved away from the phone, coughing into your sleeve, “Sorry, uh, yeah I’m fine Tom,”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re okay to me,”

“I-,” you coughed again, this time more violently that the last, “It’s just a cough, probably from that food truck we went out to last night,” you forced a chuckle, trying to keep the air as light hearted as possible.

“A cough? When did this start,” Tom said urgently.

“Uh, this morning i think?” you sniffled, shuffling around to find a tissue box for your sudden runny nose, “I’m sure it’s just a bug Tommy,”

“Y/n, Is Sam there yet?”

“I didn’t hear him no,” your coughing continued, “Do you want me to go outside to check?”

“No, no, stay until he comes, I don’t want you going by yourself,”

Tom’s words began to blur when you took note of the red sploshing your white hoodie. You ran to the bathroom, cursing at the blood trailing from your nose, staining the bottom half of your face.

Your raging coughs continued, splattering droplets across the marble counter

“Love? Are you still there?” Tom said panicked, “Sam said he’s moving as quick as he can,”

“Tommy,” you whimpered, your hand clutching your chest in pain, “I-,” you braced yourself against the counter, feeling weaker and weaker, “Tommy, I don’t-,”you grabbed at your closing throat, “I don’t feel so good,” 

“Love? Y/n?” Tom said frantically, “Hey, hey, hey, listen to me, Sam is almost there, I’m so close to our house, hang in there okay?” he debated his next words, “You’ve been poisoned okay? You’ve been poisoned and if you get the help in time you will get better, just,” his voice hitched, “Please don’t go,”

Your throat burned as your breath started to become short, hiccupy wheezes. Blood began to drip from your nose and mouth onto the tiled floor. You could feel your chest tighten, your heart physically hurting until you couldn't take in any longer.

“Tom-my?” you managed to let out before collapsing on the floor, the shouts of your name echoing in the back of your ear before blackness covered your eyesight, followed by a bright, white light.

...

Permanent TagList : @jadegill​ @joyleenl​ @sarcastic-sunset-7​

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 1/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall Summary: The year is 1886, William Mulder owns a horse ranch in northern Texas.  The widow of a neighboring landowner has something he wants. Notes: Please be aware that this fic will contain ‘off-camera’ references to violence and abuse of various kinds. I will not be tagging individual TWs on the chapters.

Prologue

Many years from now, when he tells the tales of his younger days, he will claim that this is the day that changed his life forever.  If that horse hadn’t thrown a shoe, well then.  His wife will roll her eyes at this, tell him that any number of events prior to that day had already changed his life forever.  The decision to leave Massachusetts for the open prairie, for example, had changed his life forever.  The fact that his father had sent him to live with his aunt in the countryside instead of keeping him in the city had changed his life forever.  The pony he received for his birthday when he was a child had clearly changed his life forever.

All of that will hindsight one day.  Right now, it’s just an ordinary Thursday, the 9th of September, 1886.  The weather is mild, almost cool compared to the heat wave that had hit in the latter half of August.  And William Mulder’s horse has thrown a shoe.

Chapter 1

Normally, Mulder (only his family ever called him William) sends his ranch hand, Melvin, to take care of small errands and menial tasks, but he hasn’t been to town in almost a month and he could use a change of pace.  He hitches one of his more reliable horses to his wagon and takes one of the ones in training as well, one he’s just broken in, to see how he handles on the hour-long ride.  Their first stop is Gray’s Blacksmith.

After tying the horses to the post, Mulder gives them both a good scratching about the neck for a job well done and receives a snort and whinny of appreciation.  “Well done, boys,” he says.  “Carrots and apples at home for both of you if you keep up the good work.”

The familiar sound of clanking and hammering and the crackle of fire greets Mulder as he steps into the open door of the blacksmith’s.  He tips his hat to the striker, who nods a greeting.  The blacksmith turns and nods as well.

“Mr. Gray,” Mulder says.

“Mr. Mulder,” the blacksmith answers, passing his tongs to his assistant and then removing his gloves to shake hands.  “What can I do for ya?”

“Faithful Jenny’s thrown a shoe.  Melvin’s fixing her up, but I figured it was a good time to pick up a crate of nails and shoes.”

“Come on back and take a look then.  How’s business?”

“Doing well.  We’re training up a half dozen draft horses for the postal service right now.”

“Is the rumor you pulled in a mustang a few weeks ago true?”

“Afraid so.”

“You ain’t got a broken neck far as I can tell, so you must be faring alright with him then.”

“You can see him for yourself when I take this cart out to the wagon.”

“You brung him with ya?”

“I did.”

“I’ll be.”

Mulder feels a surge of pride when the blacksmith comes out to admire the horse.  He slides the crate of shoes and nails into the back of the wagon and then shows off his friendship with the four-legged beast by rubbing his belly.  The horse scratches the ground with his front hoof and shakes his head.

“You sure got a way, Mr. Mulder,” Mr. Gray says.  “If you got any stock you’re looking to sell I heard there’s a new homesteader a ways south that was interested.”

“I’m on my way to the mercantile.  I’ll be sure to ask John.”

The two men shake hands once again before Mulder gets back in his wagon.  He smiles to himself when the blacksmith watches him leave.  He’s made a name for himself in the short while he’s been here breaking and training up horses.  Folks in the area have said time and again that there isn’t a horse he can’t tame, that it’s almost downright spooky the way he seems to be able to talk to them.

There’s a man being waited on in the mercantile that Mulder doesn’t recognize, probably someone just passing through.  He waits for John Byers to finish with the customer, browsing the Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog at the end of the counter.

“Mulder,” John says after ringing the man up at the till.  “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, John.”  He pulls a shopping list from his pocket and unfolds it.  “I’m sure you’re better at translating Melvin’s chicken scratches than me at this point.”

“I believe I can manage.”  John chuckles and takes the shopping list.  He pulls a crate down and begins to collect items off the shelves and William goes back to the catalogue, thumbing past the illustrations of ladies’ garments to find menswear.

“If I put in an order for denim trousers for me and the boys you think they’ll be in by winter?”

“I’d say it’s likely.”

“Mr. Gray mentioned there were some new homesteaders interested in horses.”

“He must mean Mr. Campbell.  It’s oxen he’s after, I believe.”

“If you hear otherwise, send him my way.”

“I’ll do that.  I suppose you heard about your neighbor?”

“What neighbor is that?”

“Jack Willis.”

“Haven’t heard a thing.  What about him?”

“He spent all of Saturday night at the saloon in a poker game and was found dead in a ditch just outside of town on Sunday morning.”

“Robbed?”

“I should actually say he spent all Saturday night losing in a poker game and downing whiskey like water.  I heard he stumbled his way into that ditch of his own accord and met an untimely demise.”

“I only met him the once, but that doesn’t surprise me much.  Far be it for me to speak ill of the dead, but the man had a disagreeable disposition.  He seemed like the type to get himself into trouble.”

“Well, the bank is soon to be after his widow.  I’ve heard he’s in arrears.  I’m actually surprised the Sheriff didn’t stop on at your place on his way out there to tell her about her husband’s death.”

“Didn’t know he had a widow.  And you know Sheriff Doggett, he’s all business.”

“My Susannah saw them together, he and his wife, the day they passed through looking for land, and you know Susannah, she was beside herself at the notion of another woman come to town, but then no one’s seen hide nor hair of her since.”

“I still regret having been back east when Old Man Goodwin passed.  I’ve had my eye on that land for quite some time.”

“Maybe she’ll sell it to you.”

Mulder rubs at his chin in thought.  “You say the bank is about to repossess?”

“That’s the rumor.  I don’t think Mr. Skinner would relish evicting a new widow, but there probably isn’t much he can do if the mortgage is late.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a ride out to pay my respects and assess the situation.  Thank you, John.”

Byers nods and gestures to the items laid out on the counter.  “I’ll have John Jr. load the cart for you.  Would you like this on your account?”

“I’ll square up everything now, but go ahead and order those trousers.”

The hour ride back home gives Mulder time to think.  He’s in a position to offer the Willis widow a handsome sum for his neighboring acres.  The one and only time he’d met Jack Willis he was immediately soured on trying to form any kind of friendship with him.  The man had been downright surly and abrasive and he sure hopes the widow is more neighborly.

Melvin takes over the wagon when Mulder arrives home and shows him the new shoe on Faithful Jenny.  The older man is at least a foot closer to the ground than Mulder and proudly displays a life-long love of hearty biscuits around his middle, but there’s no better right-hand man that Mulder could ask for.  He’s foreman and farrier, counselor and cook.  There isn’t anything Mulder doesn’t trust him with.  As they unload the wagon together, he tells him about what he heard from John Byers.

“Well, there’s no harm in asking,” Melvin offers as advice.  “If’n the bank really is after her, she might be grateful for the offer.  You should probably get out there as soon as possible in case anyone else might be sniffin’ around for them acres.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“You know if’n I’d heard about Bob Goodwin any sooner I’d have snatched up them acres for you before I could even send a wire.”

“I know, it’s not your fault.  Do me a favor, old man, tack up Blondie while I try to make myself presentable.”

“That could take hours.  Days even.”

“Decades, in your case.  If it’s even possible.”

The two men laugh over their gentle ribbing of each other and Mulder claps Melvin on the shoulder.  He parts from his friend to go wash his face, comb his hair, and put on a fresh shirt.  His horse is saddled and ready to go when he comes back out.

“Good luck,” Melvin tells him.

A narrow, slow-moving creek divides Mulder’s property from the Willis widow’s land.  It’s one he’s crossed many times when Old Man Goodwin was his neighbor.  He knows where the shallowest spot is to lead the horse and where the shrubs are too thick and have to be avoided.  He tries not to daydream about what he’ll do with an expansion, but he passes the spot he’d like to clear out for a better corral and where he’d like to add another stable and it’s hard not to hope.

The old sod house that Old Man Goodwin had slapped together is still standing, though it looks to have seen better days.  The roof needs patching and the walls are crumbling in spots.  He dismounts Blondie when he’s still a few yards away and leads the horse over to the post he knows is at the side of the house.  The nearby trough which is usually full of water is empty.  The chickens that were usually clucking and underfoot are nowhere to be seen.

Mulder knocks lightly on the clapboard door and moments later a woman with the reddest hair and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen answers.

↭

Katherine is expecting the knock when it comes, though it’s sooner than she thought it would be.  In the days since her husband’s death, she’s racked her brain for a solution to her current predicament, but has come up empty handed.  She doesn’t delay in answering the door.  She may be on the verge of being destitute and homeless, but she’ll face it with dignity.

“Uh, Mrs. Willis, I presume?” the man asks.  He stammers a bit but he has an easy, congenial smile that catches her a little off guard.  She’d been expecting the Sheriff she’d met on Sunday, but perhaps the bank manager in this town takes care of evictions.  

“Mr. Skinner, I presume?” she finally replies.

The man chuckles and removes his hat.  “Ah, no Ma’am,” he says, running his hand through his hair.  “I’m afraid I have a bit more hair than our dear Mr. bank manager.”

“Oh.”  She should have known.  The bank managers she’s had dealings with in the past were stuffy and pinched.  This man is far too rugged and handsome to be a bank manager.

“William Mulder.”  He holds out his hand to her and when she gives him hers, he bows slightly and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles.  Embarrassed, she pulls her hand back and closes it into a fist to hide her dirty and calloused palms from him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks.

“I know we haven’t met before, but I happen to be your neighbor just to the south.  I heard about your husband and I’ve come to pay my respects.”

“I see.  Would you...care to come in, then?”

“Thank you.”

He has to bend to step through the low-frame of the door.  She has no candles, but there’s enough light from the open door and the unpatched holes in the walls that it’s unnecessary.  She watches him look the place over and she can tell he’s not impressed by the shabbiness of it all.  

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer you,” she says.

He smiles politely.  “That’s alright, Ma’am.  I came to be neighborly, but there is also a matter I wanted to discuss regarding this land.”

“Oh?”  Fear grips her suddenly.  He may not be the bank man, and he may not be the sheriff, but he could be another kind of lawman.  Even if he was telling the truth that he was her neighbor, he could still be there to turn her out, or worse yet, remove her to debtor’s prison.  Unconsciously, she begins to tremble.

“Mrs. Willis?” he asks.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she answers, pulling the tattered shawl draped over her shoulders a little tighter across her chest.  “A chill is all.”

He looks around again.  “You’ve no chair to sit on?”

“No.”

“Would you like to come back outside?  Perhaps it will be warmer.  You could sit on my horse.”

The absurdity of the offer makes her laugh and eases her anxiety somewhat.  He bites his lower lip almost shyly and tips his chin down as he turns the hat over in his hands again.  She stares at his mouth, thinking about how the slight overbite he has seems to suit him well.  She notes other things too, in the silence.  Like how his beard is well-trimmed and his nails are clean.  He presents himself as a cowboy, but she knows a city man when she sees one.

“Um, Mrs. Willis, I…”

She flinches at the name.  “Katherine,” she says.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’d prefer you call me Katherine.”

He cocks his head a little to the side and smiles.  “Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,” he murmurs.

She can’t help but lift her right eyebrow.  It used to irritate her husband immensely when she pulled faces, as he called it.  “Rather Kate the Curst,” she replies.

His eyes widen and seem to brighten.  “You know Shakespeare?”  

“You look surprised.”

“No, no, it’s just...I haven’t had much opportunity to discuss the Bard out here.  Apologies for the Taming of the Shrew reference, but whenever I come across a Katherine, I can’t help but make the association.  Especially when it’s not altogether untrue.”

She feels the heat rise to her cheeks with the compliment that she knows is entirely unwarranted.  She was never very pretty.  Her mother used to complain about how wild and curly her hair was when she was a child, not to mention the dreadful freckles across her nose and cheeks.  It may have been quite some time since she’s been in the presence of a looking glass, but she doesn’t need one to know that her appearance is lacking.    

“I suppose I could have just as easily been a Viola or an Ophelia,” she says, avoiding his flattery.

“Hopefully not a Lady MacBeth.”

“No.”  The conversation stalls momentarily, but then she wets her lips and tightens her shawl again.  “You said there was something you came to speak with me about?”

“I was away on some business when Old Man...ah, that is, when Mr. Goodwin, the previous owner of your land, passed on.  I’d been eyeing this parcel for some time and had been planning to offer Mr. Goodwin a sum to sell it to me.  I’d like to make you that same offer.”

“Ah.”  She closes her eyes and chuckles mirthlessly for a brief moment.  “I’m afraid I can’t take that offer.”

“Have you sold to someone else?”

“No, but I’m not in a position to sell.  My husband leased this land and I have every reason to doubt he ever made good on the rent.  He drank most of the money and gambled what was left of that.”

“I see.”  

“I’m just biding my time now until the bank comes to collect and turn me out.”

“Do you have people back...wherever it is that you're from?”

“Virginia.”

“It’s not but a few days ride to Fort Worth, I could send a wire to someone for you.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“No.”  She shakes her head slowly and sighs.  “There’s no one back home, but thank you.”

He shifts his feet and tries to speak, but he says nothing.  He looks dumbfounded in a way that almost makes her feel sorry for him.

“Was that all?” she asks.

“Ma’am,” he stammers.  “Mrs. Willis...Katherine...I can’t...I can’t…”

She doesn’t know what compels her to do it, but she reaches out and puts her hand over his where it grips the brim of his hat.  He falls silent and stops his fidgeting.  She squeezes his hand lightly and lets her fingers rest against his wrist for a few moments before she takes it away.

“Since you seem familiar with the bank man,” she says.  “I’m sure you’ll get your wish soon enough.”

“But…”

“Good day to you, Mr. Mulder.  Thank you for coming.”

[imagine-lcorp]

Folie à Deux (One Shot)

A/N: Hello guys!!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN AND FELIZ DIA DE MUERTOS/HAPPY DAY OF THE DEAD to all of you wonderful people. Here I come once again to share a lil one shot to celebrate this already gone spooky season but i hope you can still enjoy it. Bear with me as I try to pull some hannibal vibes over here. Let me know what you think and thank y’all for sticking around!!

Lena Luthor x Killer R//Word Count: 1,653

Content Warnings: Blood, Death, Murder, Guns, Corpses, Graphic Descriptions of Violence. 

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folie à deux. /fôˌlē ä ˈdœ/ French (n.) lit. madness for two; delusion or mental illness shared by two people in close association.

"I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you."  — Frida Kahlo.

Lena Luthor was no stranger to fear but never in her life had she faced such terror. She could feel it in the back of her head, making her afraid of every corner and shadow of her own house. She could feel it in her chest as she forced her lungs to take steady breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart. She could feel it in her skin, tuning her fingers cold as she gripped her gun tighter, with every careful step she took to get behind you.

"You're home earlier." Your voice, as soothing as ever, made her stop dead in her tracks.

She saw you, turning around and looking at her with attentive eyes. When you noticed the gun in her hand, you tilted your head. You smiled softly, wondering how much time was left, either before the police and her friends arrived or before she pulled the trigger on you.

"Is that for me?" You asked and, in her shock, Lena managed a small nod. "Such peculiar gifts we come bearing, don't you think?"

Your smile never faltered. She could still notice it as you turned your attention at the painting that was now installed in the central wall of her living room. She stood a few steps behind you and observed. You had just finished it, that much she could tell by the faint smell of paint fume and bright tones of the oils.

It was wonderful, like nothing you had ever showed her before. A danse macabre done with a style so characteristic of you, in which two stark white skeletons seemed to dance and embrace each other. They were surrounded by a field of blood red poppies that, upon a closer look, resembled tiny skulls amidst an equal blood-red sunset...or was it a sunrise? She would have to ask you, just like whose blood was it.

"Is that blood?" She couldn't take her eyes off the painting. Not even after the question had left her lips and her instincts screamed at her to run for her life.

"Burnt sienna and a hint of Prussian blue. Although you know I prefer the real stuff, I wouldn't want anyone to take it away from you in search of evidence." You said, enjoying your own clever remarks. "What do you think?"

"I didn't think you cared about criticism in your work." Lena replied, unable to recall a time when you had ever asked someone else's opinion about your work.

"Art, like love, is the reflection in which we can see ourselves through other's eyes. So I care when it comes to you." You turned again to look at her. "Tell me, Lena, what do you see?"

Lena looked back at you and what she saw in your eyes made her catch her breath. Madness and love, all mixed up together. A look that seemed to reach within the darkest part of her soul and, instead of trying to give it light, you marveled at it.

"You." She said taking a deep, shaky breath. "And me."

With barely a hint of hesitation, she took the last steps forward, placing herself right beside you. She looked at the painting, both a love letter and an omen of death.

"When I saw the photos of the murders, all I could see was you. From the blood paintings hanging from walls to the bodies displayed in such surreal forms. The bullets and the knives, the wounds and the cuts. You were there, in every detail."

She could remember the first time she ever saw pictures from the crime scenes and feeling as if she had been seeing photos from a gallery exhibition. Each body they had found had been displayed in the most bizarre and beautiful shapes and poses. Bones, flesh and skin, all arranged in forms she didn't know were possible for the human body. She had been horrified at first about it all but, the more she looked, she hadn't been able to deny there was certain grace and elegance in the killer's doing. Whoever had done it, she had thought, was a genius of their own morbid talent.

"Then, when they gave me the list of victims, all I could see...was myself." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Each crime scene had come along with a list of victims too. The police had identified them with varying degrees of difficulty. Some names had been hard to find while others had been too obvious to even pretend they hadn't recognized them the moment they had seen their twisted faces. However, as different those victims seemed to be between each other, what tied them together were their own crimes. Abusive husbands and wives, child molesters, unethical practitioners, corrupt officials and political leaders with their own dark intentions. People that, even Lena recognized, no one wanted wandering on the face of earth.

Your latest victim had been the judge that had let Edge go free on bail. All her efforts to put him behind bars for good had mean nothing. Then she heard the news. His body had been displayed on his own court, hanging from the ceiling in his black robes, with a band covering his eyes. His chest had been opened and in his hand he held a pair of scales. His heart laid there, weighed against a black feather, ready to be devoured.

The real shock of the murder, however, came after a single detail was revealed. Their blood. The judge and the rest of victims had been drained of their blood before exposing their bodies.

She had never thought too much about it, because there had been nothing to think about when you told her red was one of your favorite colors. It frustrated sometimes, as a painter, how hard it was to find a shade of red as bright and vivid as that of blood. Fortunately, you had learned a long time ago how to make your own red pigments and oils, using the blood of animals, usually pigs whose death was more meaningful than their lives anyway, you had said.

"I wanted to make something beautiful out of such grotesque people." You sighed and turned your head to look at her. "Turning lead into gold with every drop of blood and every stroke, each one an offering and an amend. Is my vision so different from yours? Is yours that different from mine if we want the same?"

"I wanted justice. This is not it." She said resolute, feeling again the metal of the gun against her fingers. "This is only the aftermath of your own judgment."

"Could you say then, in your judgement, if I was fair on my own?"

"If I say you were then every crime of yours is one I have performed too."

"And I recall, you would have wanted it a few times."

Were the deaths of those men and women justified? Had their own acts been so evil that you had to pay them in kind? She remembered how bad had she wanted it sometimes, to make justice by her own hand because it seemed more reliable than a justice court. That much she could understand about your deeds and maybe that was enough for her.

"It's all the same. If there is no justice, then let it be reckoning." You looked at the gun in her hand and raised a brow. "Isn't that why you have come?"

"I have to stop you." Lena said, and you would have expected her to be quick about it. For her to raise her hand and point her gun, to pull the trigger and be done with it in a heartbeat.

But she didn't move.

"Here." You moved your hand slowly towards hers. She didn't even flinch as she watched you hold her fingers against the gun and raise her hand towards your chest. The hand of an artist, the hand of a killer. "Turn my blood into gold. Let them have their reckoning."

Still, she didn't move.

It was the moment Lena understood it all and became truly afraid. Afraid, not about pulling the trigger, not about shooting you through the heart, but to have life and death dancing on her fingertips. To choose with no remorse but with a clear conscience and blood in her hands. So easy, she had thought, to end your life and watch it vanish through your eyes.

"I can't." She said, and you felt her fingers loosen up. "I do not have your talents for this."

You took the gun and looked at it for a moment before looking back at Lena. "You do. It just takes a little practice."

In the distance, the sound of sirens filled the streets. You had been left with no more time.

"Now, come. Justice is upon us, and we don't want them to think you have been making deals with the devil."

Without another word, Lena could fathom what would follow next.

"No." She said with nostalgia already brimming in her eyes. "We have just been dancing around each other for a while."

You offered her a hand, with the other still holding the gun. "Soon the music's over, so let's give it one last chance."

Lena took your hand and, in a confident move, you spun her around. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of your body against her as you embraced her from behind. Then she felt too the barrel of the gun against her temple.

"Once I'm away, please, remember. I've only ever tried to show you beauty." Your soft breath tickled her ear as you whispered to her. "Can you see?"

When Lena opened her eyes, all she could see was red. The painting hung in front of you and it seemed to her as if you were both facing a mirror.

She felt no fear this time. "It's terrific."

[asset35-maya]

“Art of Life” (Contina Human AU miniseries)

Part 1: Rite of Passage

Part 2: Bound

Part 3: Felicity💫

Warmth and joy, but also fear and anxiety. These were the feelings he found himself rattling between more often than not.

His ups and downs had gotten further apart. But the ups were so high these days that even the downs were bearable.

Connor took a deep breath.

The sights and sounds of a hospital were more than familiar to the hardened detective… but this time he wasn’t there for work.

And neither was Tina.

He closed his eyes and let the world melt away for a moment. But that didn’t stop the endless hugs and pats on the back and handshakes.

Congratulations. Congratulations.

All the men in his family couldn’t seem to stop shaking him by the shoulders and ruffling his hair and basically doing everything that would usually have earned them an elbow to the ribs.

Connor extricated himself from Gavin’s bear hug and turned as his name was called. The door of the suite swung open and he moved towards it as if he was magnetised.

A tiny bundle was placed in his arms and he cried freely, not caring who might see and what they might think.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?”

Despite sounding exhausted beyond measure, her voice still carried a light and teasing tone.

Connor looked up and found Tina smirking at him. He couldn’t help but smile through the tears. He’d never get over the contrast of her extremely avant-garde tattoos and the increasingly domestic situations he saw her in.

She raised a hand weakly and he slowly shuffled over to perch on the side of her bed. He kissed her forehead, and then her lips… pulled back… and just stared at her… at a complete loss for words. She lifted a hand to his face and thumbed away his tears.

“I know it’s disappointing but they don’t come out with all their colours. It takes a few years for the ink to show up.”

Connor released the breath he’d subconsciously been holding. They were currently in a moment that many people thought they’d never make it to. And frankly, those people hadn’t been wrong to worry.

The eldest Stern brother had done little in the past several years to show that he was anything close to reliable. He was far from perfect. As a friend, partner, lover… husband… father…

But the one person he’d been most unfair to… the one who’d always stayed by his side… the one who’d carried and delivered his child… chose not to mention any of it.

Tina stroked Connor’s arm and then their baby’s rosy little face.

“You can’t tell now, but I bet this one is going to have a really varied plumage when it grows up. I’m thinking tribal art, with a good mix of watercolour and Japanese styles. She’d really pull off the whole neoclassic look.”

“T… you are not tattooing our child.”

“I’ll wait till she’s sixteen.”

“Tina!”

“That’s when I started! She’ll be fine. Her mom’s a cop and the best ink dealer in the city.”

Connor gave her a watery smile.

“And her dad is the biggest champ in the chair. Terrible pain tolerance but excellent fighting spirit.”

He chuckled at the memory of the first and only time he’d allowed Tina to mark his skin. Back when they were recruits… rookies. Back when they were kids. Back when things were just starting to go wrong for him, and he couldn’t seem to stop making everything worse.

Everything except Tina that is. She’d been his guardian angel since day one. He leaned closer and claimed another kiss, smiling back when he felt her lips turn upwards against his.

“What are we going to call her?”

Connor looked down between them at the warm, wet weight in his arms.

So small.

So so so small.

Tiny curled-up fists and plump red cheeks.

A dropped anchor after years and years of floating unmoored.

His daughter.

Their daughter.

Finally.

Felicity.

[dreamychick]

The Crows Playing Fuck Marry Kill

Part 4

Wylan

Fuck-

"You're blushing." Jesper said poking his face.

"Of course I'm blushing! This is embarrassing to talk about!" Wylan said alapping his hand away.

"I don't know. I...just...I...oh Saints....Jesper." he said and covered his face.

Nina wolf whistled "Hey now!"

"Nina leave him alone. This is how normal people react to being asked about private things." Matthias said but Nina waved him off.

"It's just sex. But Wylan I'm surprised at you! After Jesper offered you a marraige you're only going to have sex with him? Shameful." Nina shook her head.

"Nooo!" Wylan turned his gaze to Jesper who dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet.

"I understand. I'm not fit to be a husband." He said and barely kept the smile off his face. Teasing Wylan was just about his favorite thing in this world to do. His reactions were to fun.

"That's not it! I just...um. Well. I. Um. I just, can't see myself having sex with anyone else other then Jesper so I really couldn't pick anyone else. When I think about....you know. Doing that. It's with Jesper. It couldn't be anyone else. And Nina said we don't have to sleep with who we marry!"

"I did say that." Nina nodded. But Jesper wasn't listening to that anymore. He felt his own face getting hot. Wylan thought about them? Doing....that together? And only with Jesper? How often? What kind of thoughts? Jesper wanted to fulfil every fantasy he'd ever had. He ran a hand down his face and shifted so he could drop down and lay his chest and elbows on the table, effectively hiding his....front half from view of the rest of the group.

Marry-

"So then, who are you Marrying?"

Wylan coughed, and scratched his face. "Don't be upset okay? It's just a silly game. But....Kaz."

"Does NOONE think before they speak?" Matthias asked incredibly.

"Wow. Just going all in huh kid." Nina asked.

"You want to Marry Kaz?" Jesper asked incredibly and Wylan held up his hand.

"You had sex with him so you don't get an opinion here."

"That's just sex! But you want to MARRY Kaz?"

Matthias shook his head "Alright, Let's all just calm down here. You all wanted to play this ridiculous game. Let him explain."

"Kaz is just...you know. Reliable and smart. Strong and confident. He's a good person, even if people don't think he is. I trust him. Mostly. He'd be a good husband. Plus, his name alone would keep me safe and as you all tell me all the time, I'm not as strong as you, so I can use the help."

"That's actually a logically sound arguement Merchling. Using my name for your own benefit? You're learning." Kaz said, the hint of pride edging into his voice.

".....Fine." Jesper leaned over and slid his fingers gently over Wylans neck below his ear and brushed his curls. "Besides, you might go home to him, but remeber who's bed you come back to." Jesper smiled and Wylan turned red again but didn't stop Jesper's touch.

Kill-

"........."

"It's okay Wylan." Matthias said.

"I don't want to."

"Just say it."

"No."

Matthias laughed. "Wylan. You're married to Kaz, youre sleeping with Jesper, and you're not killing off the girls. I wouldn't let you. I'm killing myself off. The choice is made."

"That's not fair being all noble!" Nina objected.

"She's right. Besides. I'm not killing you Matthias. I'm killing Nina."

"What!?" Nina yelled outraged.

"Should have let me be noble." Matthias said and she punched his shoulder.

Nina turned on Wylan. "You're still made about the tailoring aren't you? I knew you were holding a grudge!"

"I'm not!....well. Ok maybe a liiiiitle one. But it's not that. I just respect Matthias and I'm not going to be the one to kill him. You were the obvious choice."

"I should change you're hair to yellow right now." Nina threatened and Jesper reached out and pulled Wylan closer. "Don't you dare. I love him just the way he is thank you."

Love him. He seemed to hear what he said after he said it and rushed, "His looks, I love his looks! I mean, who wouldn't? Just look at him? Right? So. Who's turn is it??"

He asked and Wylan seemes temporarily stunned before he cleared his throat.

"Matthias, it's your turn."

"Oh how fun for me." 

[carllisle]

The Second Mrs Cullano 

As we all know, Esme Platt is not Carlisle Cullano’s first wife, nor is she his second - she is actually his third. But she is the love of his life, the reason for his breathing, and so when he marries for the second time, it’s clear that wives are nothing to soulmates. 

Esme Platt enjoys the wedding of Carlisle Cullano and the Second Mrs Cullano. 

Dedicated to my literal partner in this crime, @notquitetwilight, and to our collective projection onto cringe New Jersey mob show stereotypes. Special shoutout to @stregoni-benefici and @carlislesscarf.

Esme felt a soft kiss on her shoulder and smiled. Sun was pouring through the open windows of her bedroom and there was a soft breeze that lifted her hair. He was still here. He shouldn’t have been. 

“Good morning,” he whispered against her skin. “You smell so good.” 

Esme rolled onto her stomach and curled around her pillow with her smile broadening. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

“You kicking me out?” 

“No. But I’ve got things to do, too, you know?” 

Carlisle lay next to her and stroked her caramel hair, his face close to hers on her pillow. She cracked open an eye and watched him watch her. “Can I stay with you?” he whispered. 

She shook her head. “Not for long. For breakfast, though, if you make it.”

“I don’t wanna leave this bed.” 

“You’re gonna have to at some point, baby. You’ve got responsibilities today.” 

“Tell me to stay, Esme. Tell me not to do it.” He ran a strong hand over her neck and gently wrapped it around her throat, fingers tilting her jaw to the side. 

She laughed quietly, sleep making her mind hazy. “No. I want you to have a wife and a family. You’ve always wanted that, but I haven’t. I still want to be me for a while yet.” 

“You wouldn’t stop being you just for being my wife.” 

Esme took the hand around her throat and brought it up to kiss. Carlisle closed her eyes at the touch of her lips. “We’ve talked about this, for years. Decades. I can be your person, but I can’t be your wife. I won’t be anyone’s wife again.” 

“I’m not anyone. Please, Esme. Marry me.” 

She stretched her arms up and laughed. “Not today!” But she rolled over and wrapped her legs around him and pulled him against her, loving him as best she could in the soft sunrise. 

After, they followed their usual routine of showering together and dressing. Since their days of teenage love they enjoyed the quiet of domesticity. Outside the walls of their homes wars raged on their streets but in her old house, in his sprawling estates, it was just them, and today was no different. He zipped her skirt and she buttoned his shirt and they walked arm in arm down the street for coffee and bagels. They took a booth at the back of the cafe, although it didn’t matter if anyone saw them - they had never been a secret. Besides, they both kept guns strapped to them and knives hidden in their jackets and coats. 

Esme leaned back in her chair, blowing steam off the top of her coffee. “You’re sure about this one?” 

Carlisle regarded her over his phone and considered the question. “Yeah. It’s gotta be someone, why not her?” 

“It doesn’t have to be someone,” she reminded him gently. “You could go it alone. Well, as alone as you will ever be. You’ve always got me.” 

“Yeah. But I want someone. I want a wife. And the wife I want doesn’t want me, so I gotta choose the next best thing. Besides, you know her family’s reputation, that’s nothing to turn my nose up at.” 

“Ever the pragmatist.” 

He gave her one of the smiles he saved just for her. “Aw, you hurt me, Es. I do like her. She’s got spirit, and she’s smart as hell. She likes the high life and she wants kids sooner rather than later, and… and she makes me laugh. She makes me feel wanted.” 

“I think most of the east coast wants you,” Esme said quietly, avoiding his gaze. It wasn’t that she was jealous - how could she be, when he made her feel so adored all the time? - but it irritated her that this woman was able to give him what he wanted, and she couldn’t. One marriage to the wrong man had ruined the institution for her and now not even Carlisle could heal that wound. Yes, her first husband had died violently at her hand for his transgression, but that wasn’t the point. The transgression had occured in the first place. That was frightening. 

“Don’t be angry, darling. You know it’s still you.” Carlisle reached over the table and stroked her hand and Esme felt safe again. She held his gaze and nodded slightly. “It’ll always be you. You’re mine, before anyone and everyone else.” 

She smiled, her mood improved. He had always been happy to declare his feelings with her, and even now, on the morning of his wedding to another woman, in a nondescript coffee shop, he made her feel like the most adored woman. On the middle finger of her right hand she still wore the first expensive ring he had ever bought her, and it cost as much as her parents’ house. It was a gaudy thing, a thick diamond set on a band of smaller cut gems that they had chosen together the day after she killed Charles. It was Carlisle’s promise to her - that no matter who else came along, no matter what the world threw at them, they would love each other before anyone and anything else. He wore a similar ring she bought him on his little finger of his right hand. They never took their rings off. His first wife had hated it - understandably - but she had got her share in the divorce when Carlisle had refused to forsake Esme. She looked down at the ring and it sparkled. She’d had it cleaned for the wedding today especially. 

“Are you sure me coming today is a good idea?” she asked after a long moment. 

He squeezed the hand he held. “Yeah. I need you there.”

“She’ll be mad.” 

“She’s always got something to be mad about. Besides, she knows the deal and you’re non-negotiable.”

“I don’t want to upset anyone on their wedding day, Carlisle.” 

He shifted his chair around the table and leaned closer to her. “What about me? You wanna upset me on my wedding day?” 

She bit her lip and grinned. “I never want to upset you.”

“Then be a good girl. Come for me.” He rested his hand on her thigh under the table and Esme glanced around the cafe. No one paid them any mind. “Look at me.”

She met her lover’s piercing gaze and bit her lip. 

“You gonna come for me?” 

She nodded and gasped quietly when he rewarded her with a kiss. Esme could taste the coffee on Carlisle’s lips. He wanted her, he needed her, and she would never let him down. 

Esme’s cousin begrudgingly helped her get ready for the wedding. She said it was indecent for the mistress to turn up, let alone in a red silk dress barely held together by strands of diamonds across the back, but Esme smugly told her the groom had bought it for her especially, and who was she to refuse him? As a precaution she strapped her Colt Python to her thigh - it was an old machine, temperamental, but it made her feel powerful and she had a more reliable weapon in her clutch, as well as blades hidden in her shoes - and touched up her hair. Curls pinned to her head, diamonds dripping from her ears, and Carlisle’s dress draped across her, Esme felt more sensual than ever. When she sat in the pew at the wedding mass and thought of how the groom had sighed between her thighs mere hours before, she felt holy. She sat with his cousins a few rows back and even when the blushing bride strutted down the aisle, he couldn’t keep his eyes from Esme for long. 

They were lucky to be able to have a Roman Catholic service as everyone knew that Carlisle’s first marriage had been valid, but enough money had been slipped to the dioceses to push through an annulment, and so in the eyes of the Church this was his first marriage. There was some humour in that. The familiar words were spoken, hymns and prayers recited, and after what felt like a lifetime, and no time at all, Carlisle was walking down the aisle with the new Mrs Cullano on his arm. Sadness twinged at Esme’s stomach. That could have been me. It should have been. He’s mine. 

The reception was tolerable, enjoyable in its tackiness and extravagance. Everything was white and puffy and the hundreds of guests stuffed into the grand ballroom of the coastal hotel were drunk within the first course. It was how a Jersey wedding should have been, though, and Esme appreciated it for what it was. By the time the first dance came, she was lightly buzzed and enjoying catching up with the biggest names in east coast crime, many of whom were old family friends. Business people and politicians, state senators and property moguls joined them too, tying together the legitimate and illegitimate powers that kept the region affluent and fun, and most didn’t know where the legality ended and illegality started. By the time Esme snorted a line of cocaine from the chest of a mayor’s daughter she didn’t much care and the pair fell about laughing in the bathroom. As if called by the sound of Esme’s happiness, the moment was cut short by the sound of the bride herself outside. 

“Lisa, can you fucking help me? This dress is a fucking nightmare, you gotta hold it up, okay?” 

“You better go,” Esme advised the girl, no older than twenty-two by the looks of it, “before you meet Bridezilla up close and personal.” 

The girl giggled and darted from the bathroom just as the bride scrambled her way through the door. The dress she had chosen was appropriately enormous, tight on top and blooming into an extravagant ball gown from the waist down, and Esme wasn’t surprised that she needed three bridesmaids to help her through the door. 

“God, I’m dying to sit down properly-” she moaned over her shoulder before her eyes fell on Esme. Esme patted around her nose, watching her own pretty reflection in the mirror. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I responded to your invitation,” Esme replied mildly. “Lovely dress.” She turned her attention to her lipstick and dotted a fresh coat on, pointedly ignoring the bride. 

The second Mrs Cullano turned back to her bridesmaids and then looked at Esme, dithering between the two. There was a long pause before she turned to her entourage. “Stay outside. Make sure no one comes in, alright?” The bridesmaids made noises of agreement and the door swung shut, and then it was just Esme and Carlisle’s new wife. 

After Mrs Cullano said nothing, Esme broke the silence. “You’ve organised a wonderful day. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Mrs Cullano’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not happy you’re here.” 

“Oh?” 

“I know why you’re here.” 

“To see one of my dearest friends marry the woman he loves, of course.”

“Don’t play cute.” 

Esme smiled sweetly. “You think I’m cute?” 

“Cut the shit.” 

She sighed and looked at the bride. “What’s on your mind, Mrs Cullano?” 

“It’s real tacky you’re here, you know?”

“He wants me here. I came because he asked me to be here. I wouldn’t be here without an invitation.” 

“I didn’t invite you.” 

Esme pulled her invitation from her clutch and handed it to her. “Yes, you did.” 

The bride threw it aside, angry. “Give up! I won! He doesn’t want you!” 

Esme smiled at her sadly. There was nothing to say that could bring the bride any comfort. The truth was, Carlisle did want her. He wanted her more than anyone and anything, but that didn’t matter to this woman. This woman knew she had just pledged her life to a man who couldn’t love her completely. She was angry for it. “He’s my friend,” was all she could say. 

“Get new friends.” 

“I won’t stand in the way of your happiness, Mrs Cullano, or his. Above anything else, I love him and I want him to have the most wonderful life. I can’t give him the life he wants, but you can. Why would I jeopardize that?” 

It was the wrong thing to say in hindsight. Esme knew that the moment the bride launched at her with murder in her eyes. Her clawing fingers reached out and she managed to get in one good scratch before Esme had her arms locked behind her and ready to pop from their joints. “Easy,” she whispered against Mrs Cullano’s ear. The acrylics on her fingers made her face sting, but the skin hadn’t been broken. “Calm down. Like you said, you won, you’re his wife. Don’t fight me for anything more, because you will lose, do you understand me?” 

“Are you threatening me?” Mrs Cullano gasped. 

Esme tightened her grip and the bride hissed. “Yes. Raise a hand to me again and Carlisle’s love for you will not save you. You want to see who he will really choose if it comes down to it? Because I do not have my doubts. Do you?” 

Just as the bride’s whines rose in volume along with her pain, Esme let her go. She gripped under her elbow and held her upright to stop her from falling. “You got in a good scratch, I’ll give you that. But work on your attack and maybe you’ll take out an eye next time, alright? You’ll need protection if you’re going to love him.” 

“Are you threatening me?” Mrs Cullano asked again. 

There was no kindness left in Esme’s eyes. “Yes.” 

The two women stared at each other for a long moment. The new bride broke first. Esme sniffed and checked her reflection before stalking out of the bathroom, not a hair out of place. She pulled on the diamond strap of her dress and was close to the ballroom door when Carlisle stepped out. His smile was so bright when he saw her and he reached for her hands. When he noticed the scratches across her face his forehead creased. 

“What happened?” he asked, tender fingers touching the marks. Across the corridor there was a set of glass doors open to the terrace, and it was dark out there. There were a few wedding guests milling around but quick steps had the pair hidden in the gloom. Overhead, stars popped across the inky sky. With her arm in Carlisle’s, they found their way down garden paths and to the beach. No one saw them. 

“Your wife doesn’t like me,” Esme told him, smiling. His face was barely visible in the darkness but his bright hair caught the light of the stars. Their walk eventually slowed as their shoes crunched on the sand. 

“She did this?” 

Esme nodded. “It’s alright, she deserved to get in a good swipe. It won’t happen again, though.” 

“No, it won’t,” Carlisle replied angrily. “Who does she think she is?” 

“The new Mrs Cullano, protecting the honour of her marriage,” Esme pointed out with a light laugh. “I’d do the same. I don’t mind, really. I understand her anger.” 

“Esme,” he said, his voice softening. “How can I love someone who hurt you?” 

“You’re the only one who can hurt me, Carlisle.” She wound an arm around the back of his shoulders and closed her eyes when he rested his forehead against hers. 

“I’ll never hurt you.” 

“I know.” And he never had. Not with a hand, not with a word. No one had ever loved anyone like Carlisle loved Esme, and she knew it. “You’re so good to me. What did I do to deserve you?” 

Carlisle rested one hand at the small of her back and ran the fingers of his other hand up her spine. “Thank you for wearing this dress. You look beautiful.” 

She smiled in the night. “Thank you for choosing it for me.” 

“Gotta let the whole world see how wonderful my girl is.” 

“Call me that again.” 

“My girl?” 

She hummed and began gently swaying, moving him to dance with her to the sound of the ocean. “You’re my person, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know. And you’re my person. Always have been. Always will be.” 

Carlisle’s soft kiss touched Esme’s cheek and she sighed in bliss. “I love you, Carlisle.”

“I love you, too, Esme. More than anything. Always.”