#of any sense that they are worthy of good things. but no none of that is mental health issues that's just fun and sexy

[feyhunter78]

When the Night Turns

Description: The night before your husband leaves for battle, he tells you of his aspirations for the throne. You in turn confess your fears.

“I spoke with Cole, told him it is time for someone better to sit on the Iron Throne, and that will be me. Obviously.” Aemond says, his head resting on your thigh, his silver hair splayed out against the light blue fabric of your nightshift.

You say nothing, only continue combing your fingers through his hair. To speak in agreement with him would be treason, to speak against him would be your undoing.

“That this is where my reign begins.” He continues, the one arm around your waist tightening as he looks up at you, expectant.

You know what he desires, but you cannot give it to him, not here where Aegon is still King, where you do not have a dragon or an army of your own to keep you safe from accusations of treachery. Not when it is so clear that Aemond had no qualms about directing his anger at those closest to him, you cannot count on him or his dragon.

So, you choose the safe route. “Here, My Prince? I am no strategist, but I cannot say I believe my chambers to be the most effective place for anyone to begin their reign.”

Aemond hums in response, his good eye closed, his sapphire one glinting in the low candlelight.

You bite the inside of your cheek, stomach churning as you digest Aemond’s words. Of course, you believe him better suited for the throne but…

“I can sense the wheels in your mind turning issa prumia, speak, let your king ease your mind.” His voice still has that low, smooth tone to it, a gentleness to his words that you remember from when he said his vows, in the Great Sept. He promised that you were his, and he was yours, that none shall tear you asunder.

You smooth your thumb across his forehead, admiring the shadows his eyelashes cast upon his cheeks. “I wish you would take more care with your words. Your brother is the rightful king; it is what this war is all about, and I do not wish to see another conflict spring up when all of your focus should be on defeating the false queen.”

“And her craven of a husband.” Aemond says, unable to let any mention of his uncle go unsaid.

You nod, though he cannot see, and caress the curve of his cheek, fear flicking in your chest. “Yes, and that butcher.”

You shiver at the memory of the screams, of the rage and grief that echoed through the Keep after Jaehaerys’ death.

Aemond’s grip tightens on you once more, there is no need to speak, the consequences of Blood and Cheese’s actions weigh heavily on him, and you. They had been tasked with killing Aemond, but could not find him, Daemon did not know you and Aemond kept separate chambers, did not know your husband spent half his nights in your bed the other half in his own.

If they had not come upon Helaena first, if they had gone a few rooms down and found your chambers it may have ended differently, Aemond would have been able to stop them…

“I will not mourn when the Stranger comes for Daemon Targaryen.” You cannot keep the venom from your voice, even as flames of fear begin to climb once more within you.

Your hand must have stilled because Aemond brings it to his lips, his gaze meeting yours.

His amethyst eye is alight, a smug smile on his lips. “I will defeat them, I will win this war, and the realm shall have a king worthy of the throne. Rhaenyra and Daemon’s heads shall adorn the gates, and I shall decorate the Great Hall with their dragons’ skulls.”

You pull your hand away, your throat tight as the smoke from the flames of fear in your chest rise up and choke you.

Aemond follows, sitting up and taking your face in his hands, his eye inspecting every inch, his expression changed, softer, more attentive. “I am sorry, I should not speak of such things to you, they are far too gruesome for your ears.”

“I am afraid, Aemond.” You whisper, your hands coming to grasp his wrists, clinging to him. You know Vhagar is strong, that Aemond is smart, but you cannot help but be afraid, afraid that his pride will be his undoing.

“Do not be. Have faith in me, in Vhagar, in Cole. We are blessed, guided by the Seven.” He says, his long, lithe fingers threading into your hair, massaging the nape of your neck.

“I do, but I do not fear for you at Rook’s Rest, I fear that you will—” You cut yourself off, you cannot tell him you fear his pride will drive him to act foolishly, you are not the Dowager Queen, you cannot speak your mind so freely. “You are right. I will have faith.”

Aemond’s grip on you tightens, his gaze hardening. “Speak, y/n.”

You cast your eyes downwards, your voice soft. “I fear that you will be blinded by your ambition, that your pride will doom you.”

Aemond releases you with a sigh, and slips from your bed, his back to you as he gathers his things. “I expected such words from my mother. Perhaps you have spent too much time with one another.”

You follow after him, the stone floor cold against your bare feet. “I do not wish to lose you.”

He turns on his heel, eye patch in hand. “So, you think to insult me? To all but imply you do not believe I will be able to accomplish our goals, to win this war, and rule the realm?”

You take his hands in yours and press them to your heart, hoping he can feel how fervently it beats, how it beats for him, as it has since the day you met. “You asked me to speak, My King, to let you ease my mind. I did as you asked because I could not bear it if I did not speak, and you were lost to me because of the very thing I wished to warn you of.”

Your use of My King has softened him, if only a little, and he inclines his head towards you. “You think me prideful, issa prumia?”

“I think you a great man, with the largest dragon in the realm, but you are also a man who comes from hurt, whose family has been hurt.” You say carefully, as you keep a tight grip on his hands. “Your pain is real, and deserves recompense, but not at the risk of your life.”

Aemond’s eye flickers to the burning hearth, and you know you have reached him.

“Promise me, swear to me that if Daemon comes, however foolish it may be, no matter that you think he will not, promise me that you will use the aid of others to defeat him. Let that butcher gloat and preen, let him act as if he is the conqueror reborn, for we know he is a fool. And fools always reveal their weaknesses in time.”

Aemond slips his hands from yours and there is an ache in your chest, but he soothes it quickly, when he presses his lips to yours softly, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, the other settling on your waist. “My little wife, how clever you are.”

You lean into his touch, your own hands anchoring themselves in his tunic. “I must be, for how can I be the wife of King Aemond the first, if I am not?”

He smiles at your words, and pulls you flush against him. “I will have the servants move your things to my chambers, I want to return from battle to find my wife safe in my bed.”

Your heart leaps, when you first married you had hoped that you and Aemond would share chambers as your mother and father did, but he had shown little interest in the idea. In truth, it had served you and him well on that bloody night, but those routes in had been sealed, and his chambers were checked for other secret doors. It had been declared safe and for more than one reason now you could not be happier.

“You will find no argument from me, though I will need prior notice if you wish me to wear anything particular for your return.” Your voice takes on a jesting tone, though your words are true, and the way Aemond’s lips drift downwards, ghosting over the skin of your neck, tells you he hears them well.

“I have no preference, provided it is easily replaced.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering closed as Aemond’s lips find your pulse point. “Easily replaced?”

“How fond are you of this nightshift?” He asks in lieu of answering your question.

“I think it is pretty, but it is not my best one, I did not know you would be visiting me, so I did not have time to prepa—” The sound of fabric ripping accompanied by the clatter of a dagger against the stone floor and the cool air on your skin silences you.

Aemond hums appreciatively, his eye drinking in your form as he walks you backwards towards your bed. “This is why it must be easily replaceable; I cannot attest to the patience I will have when I return.”

HOTD Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305, @solkara, @simpinonyouz, @lorarri

[moviecritc]

like the movies ⋆ max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x actress!reader

summary: even though you've been all your life acting, you never experienced a love like the movies, until max appeared in your life

word count: 1.7K

warnings: none, just pure fluff

a/n: I'm going through a max verstappen phase, so if you have any requests for a blurb or something cute, send them <3

english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

"Are you breaking up with me over the phone? While I'm on my way to your parents' house? Are you stupid or what?" With each sentence, Y/N's voice grew louder.

"Y/N, I'm really sorry. But…"

"But my ass! Don’t you have any common sense?"

She could hear her boyfriend sigh, and she sighed four times louder than him.

"You are too… cold-hearted for me," he finally said from the other end of the line.

Y/N stifled an exclamation. Cold-hearted? How could she be if she was an actress? She was the warmest person he had known.

"You're always focused on your job and yourself, I need someone…"

"Idiot!" Y/N interrupted him. "Just say you don’t have enough self-love to date an independent woman. You worthless piece of shit."

She hung up after her sentence, not wanting to hear her ex-boyfriend's response. She parked the car and ran her hands over her face. She looked at herself in the little mirror of her car, touching up her lipstick and reassuring herself that she was a good person worthy of love.

She got out of her car and went directly to the bookstore in front of her. She still had quite a few books in her apartment to read, but she didn’t mind. It was her third breakup in four months, and she was starting to wonder if she really was the problem, and the only thing that could distract her from that was spending money she didn't have.

She began to pile books on her arms, and by the fifth manuscript, she started to wobble.

"Do you need help?"

Y/N blinked and peeked her head out from the stack of books, meeting a blonde with a very un-London-like accent and skinny jeans who looked like anything but someone who worked in a bookstore. She didn't know that strangers were now offering help out there.

"No, thanks," She took a step and added a sixth book, enough for all of them to fall. "Shit!"

Y/N felt so embarrassed she even blushed. She knew everyone in the bookstore would be watching her, and that terrified her.

"May I help you now?"

Y/N looked up, having completely forgotten about the presence of the stranger, who was looking at her with a kind smile.

"If you insist…" She smiled a little while rolling her eyes, which made him smile too.

They picked up the books together, which were a bunch of rom-coms. For a moment she thought he would judge her choices, but he didn’t make any gesture.

"I'm Max, by the way"

Y/N blinked. She had no idea what was happening, it seemed totally unreal that a stranger would help her pick up her books and suddenly introduce himself.

"Do you like Sally Rooney?" he asked, holding the last book she'd picked.

Y/N realized that this guy wanted to keep a trivial conversation with her, like those you have in nightclub bathrooms with girls. But this time was a bookstore, not a library. And not a girl, but a Max.

"I’ve never read her, but I saw Normal People, the series, and I was left wanting more," she explained, with a shy smile. "Y/N, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," he showed her a gorgeous smile. "I read the book, I haven’t had time to watch the series yet."

"Oh, it's really good,"

The conversation flowed too easily. She wasn’t used to talking so normally with someone she had just met a few minutes ago and moreover without it being awkward, but that was how it was. Y/N told him about the books she planned to buy and the one she was reading now.

"Excuse me, we're going to close," an employee informed them. In London, shops always closed in the mid-afternoon, for lunch, and although Y/N had arrived around eleven-thirty, the clock was almost striking one. "Are you taking the books?"

"Sure, yes," said Y/N at once and turned to Max. "Hold on a sec."

Max waved his hand, telling her not to worry, that he would wait. She paid for the books and quickly returned to Max.

"Do you have plans for this afternoon?" Max asked directly. Y/N loved the confidence in his voice.

"No, I don’t,"

"Can I invite you to lunch?"

"I'd love that,"

Y/N went to leave the bag of books in her car and she and Max walked to a nearby restaurant, continuing their conversation. It still seemed extremely surreal to her, in what universe does she break up with her boyfriend and moments later meet the nicest guy she had ever known?

"What do you do?" Max asked, once they were seated in the restaurant.

"I'm an actress," she pursed her lips. She was still in the phase where it was hard for her to admit she worked in that field.

"I'm not much into movies," Max commented, scrunching his nose.

"Great because I do theater,"

"Really?" he leaned back in his chair, impressed. "I don’t frequent the theater either, to be honest."

They both laughed softly and Y/N sipped her drink. "And you?"

"I work with cars,"

Y/N furrowed her brow, waiting for him to specify a bit more. "In a repair shop or how?"

That caused a small laugh from Max, leaving Y/N even more confused.

"Yes, exactly. In a repair shop," he continued with a wide smile.

"Well, if you like cars, there's some Prix thing here this weekend. There are tourists everywhere, it's terrible," she complained, rolling her eyes a bit.

Max gave her a goofy smile. That was perfect. Simply perfect.

"Really?" he arched his eyebrows slightly. "I had no idea."

"They do it every year. A silly thing," Y/N shrugged, letting the topic pass.

They continued talking for a long time about how Y/N once almost knocked down the shelves in a bookstore.

"Just like in the movies!" Max said, laughing.

She nodded, also laughing. "I swear things like a character in a tragicomedy happen to me."

They continued laughing for a while, then Max squinted a bit, resting his head on the palms of his hands. "And don’t you think it’s very movie-like that someone picks up your books for you?"

Y/N looked around, with sudden terror. "Where are the cameras, Max?"

He threw his head back laughing with a soft scrunch in his nose. The sound of his laugh felt really warm for Y/N.

"I hope nowhere," Max was right. Too good to be true. Too good to happen to her. Her look darkened a bit, and Max noticed it quickly. "Something wrong?"

She looked up and shook her head a little. "It's just… Is this weird?"

"I don’t think so, unless you want to make it weird. I’m pretty good at that,"

Max got a small smile from her.

"It's just that I’m used to…” Y/N thought about that sentence. “To things like this not happening to me. I haven’t been doing too well in love this past year,"

"Oh, me neither," Max didn’t mention the part about being a famous person and everyone wanting to be with him out of pure interest and not because they really liked him. "It's complicated."

"Quite," she pursed her lips. "Anyway… I have a performance at a theater in Soho on Thursday, you could come by. If you want, of course."

Max bit his lip; he had his first free practice that day and likely several meetings and driver duties.

"Oh, I'd love to. What time?"

They exchanged phones after the meal, which dragged on quite a bit, so that Y/N could send Max the location of the theater. And to exchange several messages throughout the day. They didn't see each other again until the day of the performance, but in that time, they had written dozens of messages. Y/N would tell Max about the series or movie she had watched that afternoon and recommended that he watch it, even though it was more than likely that Max hadn't turned on a TV in months.

Thursday arrived, and Max managed to sneak away from a meeting, arriving just in time for the play.

Y/N was nervous, and her co-star wasn't helping.

"Y/N!" Her co-star approached practically running. "I just heard that a famous driver is watching the play."

"Really?" She didn't care too much. She had been without news from Max for hours.

Luckily, he appeared at the door with a kind smile and a bouquet of roses. "Hi,"

Y/N flashed a smile and went up to him, instinctively wanting to hug him. Max, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, left a short kiss on her lips. She instantly blushed.

"Hello," Y/N greeted, with a silly smile. "Gorgeous flowers."

Max looked at her co-star, who was completely astonished.

"Lily, are you okay?" questioned Y/N, still hugging Max.

"Why didn't you tell me you were dating a famous driver?"

Y/N turned to Max instantly.

"What do you mean, 'famous driver'?"

Max pursed his lips slightly. "Aren't you going to call her out on the 'dating' thing?"

Y/N paused for a moment, trying not to laugh at what Max had said.

"Y/N, this is Max Verstappen. The Formula 1 driver!"

She lifted her chin and looked at Max again. "Formula 1 driver?"

Max scratched his neck.

"I think so…"

Y/N paused again for a moment. "And you let me mock your career just like that?"

"It's because you're strangely nice, what can I do," Max shrugged, causing Y/N to laugh.

"Well, I'm not one to deny it," she smiled a bit, then kissed Max's lips a second time. She placed a finger on his chest. "Though we're not dating, huh. We need to have a second date before we throw it all in for each other,"

Max burst out laughing. "Like they do in the movies?"

"Absolutely."

taglist; @theseerbetweenus

[arthenaa]

Could i ask for HCs of Mizu with a mommy kink? Like her liking to be called that? Thank you!

Mizu with a Mommy Kink (18+ mdni after the line) gender neutral! reader

ALRIGHT

Honestly, the kink stemmed from the fact that she's a natural protector

She may have a contradicting personality with regards to socialization but overall, it's probably because it's influenced by the values and mindset that she learned from when she was young

Violence had never been the right answer and while the world continues to change influenced by the bloodbath in its history, why can't she make use of it as a way to save others?

yeahh getting philosophical in a fucking nsfw post YEAHHH

anyways, you and Mizu had been acquainted for a while now and she respects you enough to be somewhat vulnerable with you

It's the same with you as well, you regard Mizu as a close confidant of your life stories

It's safe to say that you know each other well enough despite how it looks

There have also been quite close calls that made your relationship with Mizu border something more than acquaintances slash friends with a question mark in bold (its for the emphasis)

So imagine to your surprise how worked up she gets over a joke you made after commenting on her natural need to protect

"Y'know," You lick your lips, eyes squinting as you assessed the woman before you quietly drinking her tea. "You have a natural sense of protecting. Kinda like a mommy."

The blue-eyed samurai freezes in her place

It was a look of horror at first and you were quite tipsy during that time (you two were lounging at your home)

So your thought process was, heyyy why not make fun of this mf while I have no shame

so you did

The look of horror, turned into being uncomfortable until her cheeks flushed to a deep shade of red

You've never seen someone change emotions in just a few seconds

You were enjoying this clearly

Mizu was having none of it and while the term did fluster and invoke horrors worthy enough of the judgment of Izanami no Mikoto

Fueled by her emotions, her secret-not-so-secret attraction towards you, and her need to shut you up, Mizu moved towards you

And now you're where you are now

NSFW

Soft dom with a hint of sadistic tendencies

She likes making you beg and plead for her to do something, then turn a 180 and praise you for your work

loves loves loves overstimulating you

I think its because she hasn't gotten any action over the past few years that all she's doing is take take take from you

You're writhing and shaking in the sheets with just her mouth and she hasn't even gone to her fingers yet

She loves looking down at you, reveling in the superiority that your submission to her brings

It makes her menacing tbh but its hot okay

This mf eats you up like a champ

Fast learner

Has a good stamina but her refractory period can take some time

so yeah it ultimately ends up with you overstimulating a dozen times before she finally gets to have her own release (also probs bc she prioritizes your pleasure over her own)

she loves it

She gives you reigns at first, just to let her know what to do and a few seconds later, your eyes are rolling in the back of your head

Quite manipulative in bed

Says a lot of things like, "you're mine right?", "say you want me", "tell mommy that she's all you need"

you indulge her manipulative tendencies tho

all of this is making you develop a praise kink omf

Sometimes gets overwhelmed by the pleasure and pushes you too far but thats okay cuz its mizu

Stops completely and stares you down when you stop saying mommy

That completely just puts you in your spot

Then her voice drops to a chill and calm tone and suddenly you're shivering and flushing at her stare

Know how people's eyes get duller when they're in the state of lust or smn

Hers get brighter for some reason

She likes positions that allow her to wrap her arms around you or where her body is either on top or covering you

yeahhh stems from the need to protect

After you and Mizu establish this kind of relationship, she begins to act more mischievous around you

MIZU IS MISCHIEVOUS damn, that mf will tease you like its nothing

she will eye you up with no shame, whisper in your ear like its not bothering you, and then act like she hasn't done anything at all

Esp when she gets joke gifts from the brothel like sex toys and what not

She will use them on you and you will limp for a week

More of a service-top rather than receiving

She likes the reactions she's pulling out of you and when you return the favor, she pampers you with so much love and affection and you just flush in shyness

yeaaaaa, its okay to be a red flag in bed as long as it's mizu

[pumpkinbxtch]

good morning, a request please apollo/lestrange x reader how percy and poseidon react, if apollo asks the reader to marry him (apollo found his definitive soulmate in the reader)

.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ “beach proposal”

— apollo/lester x fem!daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: Apollo don't needs any other proof to know that you are the definitive love of his life. Hard thing to say like a god. Now he will ask for your hand but not before announcing himself to your father and your brother, Percy Jackson.

warnings: none, i think. yep, still using swear words.

A/N: goood morning (it's late at night) first things first, thank you for share me your cute desires, second, yes i will and here you have. enjoy, please. forgive me if it's not worthy of you.

- From the other side of the milky way, María 🩵

His immortal heart was beating so fast that he thought he could die (reallu, he definitely already knew how it felt)

He kept his eyes fixed on the sun from Long Island Sound. The golden hour illuminated the water and the sweet aroma of strawberries invaded his lungs; the strawberries from camp half-blood. He had never felt this anxious and at peace at the same time.

He had been through so much, he had waited so much, he had wished for so much, but, above all, he loved you so much…

Now he could see everything even more clearly.

The breeze rustled his brown and golden hair.

He closed his eyes, said a blessing and gave thanks. He gave thanks for his journey as a mortal, he gave thanks because he did not allow himself to forget the beauty of being human and because love blessed him when he saw you.

That is, when he actually saw you.

Being a god, you can be everywhere at the same time, but you lose your sense of appreciation for everything that exists. When you're human, uhm no.

From that day on, life afterward was eleven times more colorful, beautiful and full of meaning because you also saw him. I mean, yes. Apollo is a god, who wouldn't see that? But at that moment it was Lester. If before he had no regrets, now even less.

“You'll end up forgetting her, she's just another mortal” They said. “Gods, now she's really in trouble,” the campers said the first few days.

“Another whim? Make sure she doesn't end up so bad this time,” Zeus, his father, reprimanded him.

The small waves broke gently on the shore, and he walked so close to it that his feet were slightly sunk in the wet sand.

—Hey, Apollo!

The named turned slowly, and his heartbeat accelerated even more.

Percy Jackson.

The young man stumbled forward in the sand. He took off his converse, threw them away with a curse, and ran towards him.

—Why did you call me to come here?

His legs began to shake.

— Percy, I…

— Wait — the black-haired raised his hand — And my sister?

He looked at Percy, his brow furrowed and sea-colored eyes examining him from head to toe as if he were searching for clues of some crime in his clothes. Apollo couldn't help but smile.

—In the camp, greeting everyone. She hasn't been here in a while.

The boy noded. The sand splattered from his ankles was washed away by a small wave.

—Neither do I, — said the son of Poseidon, with a certain nostalgia in his voice.

Poseidon…

—But, —Percy searched the god's eyes. Always insightful — We're all in New Rome now. Why bring her first and then call only me?

Apollo reached out and took Percy's hand. All in a slow and careful way. He thought that any rude move and Percy would have an outburst for how close he was treating him. But, to his surprise, it was not like that.

The green eyes admired him with slight confusion, and they walked together into the waters.

To Apollo, every step felt solemn and warm. His heart could feel a spark of joy, but his stomach was clenching with uncertainty.

When the water reached both of their thighs, cut the steps off. The god raised his hand without letting go of Percy, and he felt a kind of current run through his spine.

Percy had never been so quiet since… Well, ever. But apparently the discretion with which he was handling himself helped him keep the attention of the demigod.

Then, a whirlpool emerged from the waters, and Percy's eyes widened.

— Father?

The sea god stabbed his trident into the sand, reaffirming his position in the water. Apollo let go of the young man's hand and made a small bow, something that did not inspire good news in Poseidon.

He looked at his son and then at the sun god.

— Have you called me?

Percy pointed at Apollo.

— He called US.

Apollo's insides seemed to tangle with each other, almost making him vomit. Apollo gently pushed Percy so that he stood next to his father and looked at them nervously.

Poseidon pressed down on the trident and cleared his throat.

— my daughter, Apollo?

—She's in the camp! —Percy rushed to say, earning a silent scolding from his father.

Apollo bowed briefly in respect. Poseidon narrowed his eyes.

— That's true.

— and why isn't she here?

Percy looked at his father and imitated his action of searching Apollo carefully, again. as if he had committed something unforgivable.

The god paused and extended his hand towards both of them, a small golden light shining together at dusk. When the light died out, he revealed a small chest lying in his palm.

Percy looked at him in confusion, completely unnoticed, but Poseidon gritted his teeth.

— I have found in her, what I have longed for since my existence.

Percy gasped, and his mood made a small whirlwind rise around him.

— No! —he shouted.

Apollo calmed his breathing, trying to stay calm.

— I had never met someone like her.

— No! Lie! —Percy pointed at him with eyes full of anger, or that was fear?— It's one thing for you to be lovebirds, but—

—Son of mine…

— is MY sister!— Percy's chest expanded in such a way that Apollo feared for his ribs, he took a step and knelt, bowing his head.

Poseidon would have imagined that such a show of respect would be directed towards him, but no, it was towards Percy.

how could it not be? Apollo knew that the gods were ignoring their responsibilities as parents. He knew that the most important person for you was the one who had taken care of your back in all those adventures, just as you took care of his, it was him, was your brother.

—She was by my side in my time as a human. She has shown me what love is.— Apollo looked up pleadingly.

—And now you just want to take her away, why?

— I won't take her anywhere, I want to take her as my wife.

— TAKE HER-

— Percy — Poseidon's voice vibrated through the waters, Apollo, still kneeling, gave him a passive but firm look.

The sun god rose and stood in front of the two men.

— Poseidon, Percy…

The youngest clenched his fists and a few small tears appeared in his eyes.

—Actually, she has the last word. I just wanted you guys to be… present.

Both Percy, Poseidon and even Apollo knew that very well. Especially Apollo, what would he do if you said no? He'd probably cry for eons (literally) yet he couldn't stop craving the approval of your brother and your…father.

Then Percy's eyes traveled to his back and he opened his mouth slightly. He felt the greatest chills a god could feel, then he turned.

Your silhouette looming over the coast, bright and full of life. Your eyes lit up when you saw those three gathered together.

Before addressing you, Apollo gave them a look. The three approached the shore, they gave Apollo enough space. They would see you from there, where the water surrounded their ankles.

— my dear… — Apollo said sweetly, trotting towards you and taking your hands.

You were confused. Your father, Percy, why didn't you travel together if he came too? Your eyes looked at your sweet Apollo. His current form was the mix of “old” Apollo with Lester.

As soon as he reached your side, you took his hand.

— What's going on? Are you already in trouble? —You asked with a raised eyebrow and a sideways smile.

Apollo smiled and kissed your knuckles without taking his eyes off you.

—Or I'll be.

You laughed, that melodious laugh. He definitely didn't want to be without you.

— you'll be? because...? — You were confused, your hand still hooked on Apollo's. You looked at your father who smiled calmly and then at Percy, who was staring at you; He only made that expression when he was terrified of something.

You turned your gaze to Apollo, now a little more worried.

— Love?

— My beloved — Apollo whispered, just for you. Without letting go, he got down on one knee and the velvet chest from before appeared. You held your breath.

The waters stirred.

— There is no poem, song, melody, or haiku that can describe the feelings you make me feel. You are what I always wanted, dreamed and desired. — Apollo opened the small box, revealing a ring; Instead of a precious stone, a small pearl was placed on the ring with two laurel leaves made of gold surrounding it. A clear representation of both. — Today I ask you to let me be your husband because it is me who is given the honor of being the owner of your affection. I promise to take care of it and treasure it.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you knelt down to your boyfriend's height.

— I would like to — The mass of water shook the banks with more force.

A few meters away, Percy, your brother, remained standing, no matter how much the water tried to knock him down. A smile formed on his lips and the first tear ran down his cheek.

Poseidon took his son's shoulder, and they walked towards you.

You looked at your father, who smiled gently at you and then gave Apollo a stern look.

— At sea.

— On Olympus —  Apollo said immediately, determined to win. You raised your eyebrow. Were they fighting over the wedding location?

— The sea

— Olympus

— In the ocean

— Delphi

— Enough! — You snorted and looked disapprovingly at both gods.

Your brother was still silent, certainly not usual. You let go of Apollo and took both of Percy's hands.

Your gaze was shining, that made him feel bad for wanting to shake you and wanting to change your mind.

— You know he's not who he once was, Percy— you whispered.

— I know…

— You even said you liked him, brother

— Shhh — the black-haired covered his sister's mouth — if he listens, won't get over it in years

— I heard —  Apollo said between giggles.

Percy pursed his lips.

—Listen, if you do anything to her, I WILL KILL YOU, APOLLO!

—Percy! —His sister shouted.

— I'm going to kill you, I won't forgive you, I KNOW A TITAN-

Poseidon opened his eyes, his sister grabbed him by the neck.

—PERCY! — they both shouted.

Apollo smiled and hugged him.

Poseidon couldn't take it anymore and he was already gone. He promised to have a talk with Apollo.

Percy remained thoughtful, the sun god still hanging around his neck.

—Does that mean you will be Will's stepmother? —He laughed out loud — can't wait to tell Nico.

You and Apollo looked at each other, silently reaching a mutual agreement.

— I think we keep this information for a while.

Percy furrowed his eyebrows and put a hand on his hip. —With those SPIES FROM THERE, I don't think so.

Laughter was heard in the bushes, and around five campers ran when they were discovered.

— Children of Aphrodite. — Percy said, sure of himself —  tomorrow, when we get to Camp Jupiter, all they will know.

You shook your head in amusement.

— Oh, brother. What will become of you when comes the day and tell you that I am expecting a child?

Apollo choked on his own saliva and Percy on his bile. At least you had the last laugh.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Not to come off as nitpicking but why can’t Feyre be a high lady? It’s not as if tamlim or Beron are any better and theyre centuries older than feyre. I get everything but I love feyre

Hi anon!!

You don’t come off nitpicky at all! Thanks for the comment!****

[long post - more under the cut - disclaimer at the bottom]

First — I agree with you. There’s no moral reason I can think of that rules out why Feyre can’t be High Lady; so, I agree with it. I’m going to go a step further and say it’s fine that Rhysand makes Feyre High Lady of the Night Court. Obviously, Feyre will learn and ease herself into the role.

Do I think Feyre should be a High Lady? No — but I think that’s because, as I mentioned in a previous post, I’ve always felt that Feyre chafes in structured, heavily-ruled settings and has been characterized heavily as a character whose strength comes from an admonishment of rules and expectations (In my opinion, based in the text ofc).

I also think that the story doesn’t lead with reasons why Feyre specifically should be High Lady. If we go with the logic that Feyre is an inexperienced young-girl who needs to learn how to lead then we acknowledge two things: (1) that Feyre has to learn and (2) Rhysand made Feyre High Lady. That way, the expectation is that Feyre does not know anything but will learn. Traditionally, women have consolidated power by marrying into it; its quite normal for women to be “the queen” because they married into power. If anything – I think it simply makes no sense that there hasn’t been a High Lady in almost 15,000 years; it seems like an obvious choice. There’s also genuinely no difference between Lady of the Court and being High Lady.

The problem with the story is that it does not want to acknowledge -- or at least fully acknowledge many things. The first is that Feyre wants to be made High Lady (or - to push back against that - the story wants her to be High Lady). If Feyre wants power, she's acknowledging she has some skills to be president. But like...she simply doesn't. She has many skills - none that really align, though. I also feel comfortable saying that Feyre doesn’t even really want to be a leader, and her narration often opposes the idea that she wants to be in positions of power; I think we can argue that Feyre wants power over her own life – but that is not the same as wanting power over an entire group of people. I often feel insane because I think its actually kind of weird that the story never spends time developing Feyre as a person with skills that translate to leadership – or even ambition. Let’s think about similar characters like Jude or Dany, the story goes out of its way to establish why they want power, and the skills they have.

Dany is a strategic genius at literally fourteen years; she has to grapple with her kindness and how it can be to her detriment. She has to establish boundaries between the members of her Queensguard. She uses her wits, sensuality (though – I have words for Grrm), strategy to cement her claim to the throne; she is advised to practice her rule in Essos. It’s not just the fact that Dany has a claim to the Iron Throne – she’s proven she’s got the skills to be both kind and harsh; political and strategic, wrathful and powerful. Dany is not a fighter – she is a queen. She’s calling the shots and she’s still kind. Jude is shown the horrors of Faerie very early on in the story – and that anecdote at the beginning of the story essentially informs the story.

And like Dany, Jude has to learn to balance kindness with politics; she learns early on that her kindness, while altruistic, can operate as (1) selfishness and (2) can ultimately amount to nothing. It’s not saying that these characters aren’t kind, or evil, but that they learn, to some extent, how to navigate these worlds by themselves. The story is not arguing that these girls are good and kind and therefore “worthy” to be made the leader; these stories are also not concerned with needing to moralize why the female leads are more deserving – we can just see that they have qualities that will translate well into leadership. So (at least in Dany’s case), when they make a mistake, we can actually think and discuss the validity of what makes it a good / bad action. We’re not just running with the fact that “well Dany is a girl and abused!” but rather “what can Dany do to improve and not make these mistakes again” – Dany herself literally always weighs her past experiences with new ones to avoid mistakes that can detrimental to her campaign. We know Dany has the skills.

Every time we question the validity of Feyre’s actions were often met with that initial argument, which is, that Feyre is essentially “just a girl” and “under duress” and “traumatized.” But they also don’t want to admit that Feyre doesn’t have a lot of the skills necessary to be leading the court, which is true (and not even a criticism, but literally a fact). It’s a fact that Rhysand made Feyre High Lady because she was his mate – which isn’t a negative and literally how nobility has kind of traditionally operated under in the past. Even Feyre going UTM says nothing about her skills as a leader. It's always bothered me that people use the fact that Feyre goes UTM to prove that she deserves be High Lady. It's just...she didn't go down there to save Prythian; as a matter a fact, Feyre only goes UTM because she realizes she royally fucked Clare Beddor - she goes there out of guilt. Once she gets down there, she has no choice but to complete those tasks because of the bargain. That matters. It really does. I also think this logic – someone like Nesta would also be qualified to lead the NC. It's why I think people get testy with the whole 'who would be a better high lady' or whatever. Because the way the book sets it up, everyone, including Feyre sisters are all equally if not more qualified for the role. I'd argue, Nesta has even stronger claim to a leadership. To be clear I am not arguing that Nesta should be HL or would make a good; only that the story provides more concrete examples of why she could be HL than it does its own main character, and by the end of Nesta's book she's clearly the stronger character (*cough* which is why I argue SJM obsession with Rhys comes at the detriment of feyre's character!) - and there are more concrete, intentional moments where Nesta shows skills that are actually relevant.

Again it proves that Feyre can be brave, but naught else. I really thought MAF was going to actually delve into the idea that Feyre feels like a fraud because of she really only went down there for Tamlin and to try to rectify her mistakes – and she ends up in this position of power that she seems super uncomfortable with. Similar to Katniss’s ordeal in The Hunger Games. Like – we don’t even kno the names of the two Fae she killed. The story decides that not deal with it. Feyre literally says something along the lines of “its not so bad I killed those not bad because at least everyone else was freed” – but the whole point should have been that she realizes that she’s not just sacrificing her own body for Tamlin, she’s taking someone’s life for the chance to be with Tamlin. Because she loves him. That should have challenged Feyre’s morals, earnestly. There should be a deep dive to what that means. We know that Prythian becomes free – but y’all that was the afterthought. Feyre deadass only asked for Tamlin’s curse to be lifted. She didn’t even consider the people when she made the bargain and if SJM (or Amarantha) were smart enough she would’ve picked up on it all.

The story essentially bastardizes why Feyre decides to go UTM. Feyre doesn’t learn anything; she doesn’t learn how to read because she realizes It almost kills her, she doesn’t stop making weird, impulsive bargains, she doesn’t learn how to navigate politics, or listen for hints of information when Tamlin says no to her – nothing informs her actions, she doesn’t learn new skills in her arsenal – things just always go well for her. Feyre isn’t diplomatic – at the High Lord meeting she literally attacks another High Lord, she doesn’t show any prowess with Keir, doesn’t do things her own way and decides to defer to “the way its always been”

I’m not talking about how moral it is for Feyre to be able to do something.  I’m saying that Feyre never has to learn skills to handle adversity; when she doesn’t get her way the story throws temper tantrum for her. Beron said something mean so Feyre had to attack him – what does that prove? She essentially insults all of the High Lords, doesn’t make amends with Summer or Spring – and the story just expects them to follow her because….shes just a girl. And they do – for no other reason then the fact that Feyre is Feyre. And because there’s no emphasis on her actual skills, when we ask “what makes Feyre deserve to be High Lady’ – we get a frustrated response that says “well – she’s new at the job! She’ll learn!” but like…she never does. And again, what qualified her to be there in the first place If she supposedly still doesn’t have the skills. What moment informs this idea?

So, to stop my rambling, I agree that Feyre should be HL, but I also believe the story should develop her character's actual skillset instead always relying on bastardized generalizations of plot points that the story uses to basically argue that Feyre "deserves" the title without ever giving any skills to actually fall back on. the difference between , then Tamlin and Beron (maybe - we don't know) is that they inherited power, Feyre wants to lead. She wants to be High Lady. She isn't burdened with the responsibility she wants in (or story wants in). That means she should have skills to reflect that want.

***[two things I should note: (1) I was already writing a post that touches on some of the things I've discussed - so there's a lot of universal 'y'all/they/them thrown around - but I am not talking about you nonny; its toward the middle and end (2) this is a longer post bc I combined some of things I already wrote a couple months back! I really appreciate your comment and kindness]

[shall-we-die]

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{Jealousy}

How jealous do they get? || What do they do when they're jealous?

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↬[Fandom]•⊰ {Moriarty the Patriot}࿐

↬[Warnings]•⊰ {None}࿐

☰[Main list]•⊰ ─────┈┈{0003}┈─╮

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╰┈➤Likes/Reblogs are appreciated࿐

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↬|William| (9/10)

• William will get jealous when someone he cares deeply for, gives equal or more affection to someone else, especially if that person isn't truly worthy of their attention, or worse. He's quite possessive by nature, if that wasn't obvious.

• If you prefer spending more time with others compared to him, he'd honestly be jealous. I suppose you'd know when he's jealous when he starts clinging you, demanding your attention.  He'd just try to keep you for himself.

• When he's jealous... he thinks about all the things the other could be doing to 'steal' you away from him. How they spend time with you, talk to you, make you laugh...I mean, you're an amazing person in William's eyes, and he wants you all to himself.

• William mostly gets jealous when someone flirts with his lover or when someone shows any kind of attraction towards them, since he considers them to be *his* and only his. This is especially true after a while, since William can develop an unhealthy kind of attachment to his loved one and start to consider them as an extension of himself, a sort of possessive attitude that he knows is wrong.

• and When it comes to getting rid of a love rival who thinks it's funny to play with his heart, he would simply show the other side of the coin. The savage side of it.

{"I could be the worst person they'll have ever met. Ever"}

• You can be very comforting after he got jealous by showing that you care and understand his  feelings. Reassure him that there's no need to be jealous as you only have eyes for him. Comfort him with words of affection and appreciation.

Show him that you still want to spend time with him despite what happened. Make sure to remind him of his value and worth.

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↬|Albert| (10/10)

• Albert is fiercely protective of the people he cares about, and he'll be sure to show it. As a result, he gets very jealous when it comes to romance. He wants to be the only one who gets to take care of and spend time with his partner, and he won't tolerate any attempts by another individual to intervene. This can manifest in him constantly asking about his partner's comings and goings, or being openly rude to people who show interest in them.

• Albert's jealousy in a relationship is rooted in an insecurity. While he may seem like someone confident and suave, he's always afraid of losing his partner, feeling there is always someone "better" than him out there. He wants to be appreciated, and if he isn't, he'll act out, passive aggressively or otherwise.

• In the face of a love rival, Albert might become a little more flirtatious, a little more playful, little more dangerous in order to try and win back his partner's affections.

• He isn't one for direct confrontation without good reason, but he's not afraid of playing dirty. He's known to be quite manipulative and scheming when he wants to be, and this may apply to getting rid of a love rival.

• If his lover wants to comfort him, they must be prepared to give extra attention, show signs of affection and make compliments towards him as well as reassuring him he's their center of the world. He may not be able to admit it, but he wants to be *needed* and be his partner's center of existence, especially if he believes he's not their first choice in a romantic sense.

{"Jealousy? It's an odd thing, is it not? Jealousy stems from the fear of being without, the fear of being alone. When they stop caring, or when they pretend to care. When someone stops investing time and emotion into a relationship, when they grow complacent because they already have you. That's what creates loneliness, because you feel as if you're the only one trying."}

• yes he's also so dramatic...

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↬|Louis| (10000/10)🚩

• Louis is very possessive of his partner, and anything that he considers to be a threat to their relationship would make him very jealous. This includes any sort of deception or dishonesty, lack of communication, spending time with other people, and not placing their partner's needs or feelings at top priority.

• He would see a romantic rival in a very negative light, and would likely react in an aggressive or even violent way if they attempted to take over his relationship with his partner. He may become possessive and controlling out of fear of losing what he views as his property, and would go to great lengths to protect his relationship by any means necessary.

• When he's jealous, hus behavior can vary. He may becomes withdrawn and isolate himself from his lover or also may tries to make his lover jealous by showing interest in someone else.

• Louis may becomes distant towards his lover, or may even lashes out with anger. He may tries to ignore the jealousy and attempt to hide it away. In extreme cases, He may even tries to manipulate the situation and attempt to control his lover, which is unhealthy and not recommended.

{"Stay away from what's mine. If you even think about interfering with my relationship, you'd be making the biggest mistake of your life."}

• While he may feels insecure, you could reassure him and attempt to allay his concerns. You could have a discussion that's more open and honest, so that he may expresses his worries to you. In addition, you could attempt to show him your commitment and love for him, as this is most likely where his jealousy originates, from fear of losing you.

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↬|Sebastian| (4/10)

• He has always considered jealousy to be a rather negative and unnecessary feeling, particularly in romantic relationships. If you guys are in love with each other and you're spending time with other people, he would be rather happy for you. After all, it's very important for both of you to have your own interests and a sense of independence. There's no reason to be jealous of others enjoying their time with you.

• It's completely understandable to feel a certain level of apprehension when his partner gets close to another male (that he's not familiar with). However, he also believes that trust is an essential component of any romantic relationship.

• He's so confident in his role as a partner, and he trusts that anyone he has chosen to share his life with, wouldn't betray his trust. That said, if his partner were to take up a close friendship with another man, or was constantly spending time in places he wasn't welcome, it might make him question your commitment to this relationship.

• He's not one to tolerate jealousy or envy in his relationships, so if someone appeared who he felt was a threat to his love with his partner, he would be direct in confronting them. If he felt it was necessary, he would make his presence known in an attempt to intimidate or dissuade them from interfering with your relationship.

{"Sweetheart, let's talk about this."}

• After he becomes jealous of your interactions with another male, he would appreciate some reassurance and affection from you. He would like to have a meaningful conversation in which you let him know that he can trust you and you have no secret agenda with that person. Furthermore, some extra attention and affection would go a long way in making him feel better.

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↬|Sherlock| (5/10)

• Sherlock is not overly jealous by nature. Even with his love of the chase, he recognizes that jealousy is a pointless emotion that only leads to further conflict.

• However, he does get irritated when his feelings for someone seem to be unreciprocated, and he can be a bit possessive, wanting to be the only one that gets to spend quality time with them. He doesn't necessarily dislike the idea of sharing, but does want to be prioritized over other people. He is also very observant, noticing even the smallest change in behavior from someone he is interested in. Seeing this change could make him feel jealous.

• It's not really clear whether Sherlock is a particularly jealous person or not, it's certainly possible that he could feel jealous under certain circumstances. Some of the things that might make Sherlock feel jealous include seeing his partner interacting with another man, particularly if it appears flirtatious; learning that his partner is hiding something from him; or discovering that his partner has been spending more time with someone else than they have with him.

{"Jealousy is a waste of time, in my opinion, I feel no need to get jealous of anyone because I know our relationship is strong enough that no other person could weaken it."}

• Being protective of those he loves, Sherlock would be upset if he knew another person had entered the picture, and would do anything he has to to reclaim his partner's attention. He might get overly protective of the person he is pursuing, and use his skills in deduction and manipulation to sabotage the rival and bring his love back to him.

• When Sherlock feels jealous, he just needs a bit of reassurance and love from his partner. He needs to be shown that he is still their number one. This can include spending quality time together doing activities that Sherlock enjoys, complimenting him, and being extra affectionate. Showing him that he is still their top priority can go a long way in alleviating Sherlock's jealous feelings and putting his mind at ease.

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↬|John| (4.5/10)

• John doesn't usually like showing his jealousy easily. However, if you were to spend too much time with another person, or if you were to prioritize them over him, that would definitely make him jealous. He understands that certain things must be done for work or to help friends, but being ignored altogether is something he cannot deal with. It's a fine line between trust and insecurity, and John appreciates it if you're considerate of his feelings.

• John will usually try to suppress his feelings of jealousy and act outwardly composed, but if the source of his jealousy is right in front of him, he has been known to become cold and quiet. He may try to make light of the situation and attempt to downplay his feelings, but deep down he is stewing in his own hurt and anger. At times like these, he usually retreats into himself and tries to figure out how to move forward without coming across as an insecure and controlling mess.

• John tends to get jealous when the people he deeply cares about aren't honest with him, when he feels like he's being left out, or when someone he loves is being mistreated. He is also a very protective person and will get jealous if a friend or loved one is close with someone else, or if he feels like their attention and care is being divided. He's always worried about losing other people's affections. It's the result of being somewhat isolated during his childhood and needing to fight to find people to accept and love him.

• If John got jealous over someone, he would initially feel like he should say nothing and work through his feelings alone. However, if his partner noticed and asked him about it, he would try to be honest and explain his feelings.

{"I'm feeling a little bit jealous right now, but I still trust and love you. I'm just scared of losing you, so please don't take my feelings personally."}

• John would appreciate it if you took the time to reassure him that there's nothing to worry about, and that you truly are devoted to him and only him. He would also like you to give him some time and space to process his feelings, and you can help by being understanding and supportive. If you want to do something extra special for him, try and treat him to his favorite meal or a relaxing getaway to help him unwind. it's okay to give your partner the benefit of the doubt and trust their feelings for you, and John would appreciate the same.

||[🄹ealousy]||

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[legacygirlingreen]

The Nose Knows // Sebastian Sallow x MC

This was a collaboration with @darch7995 ! I had so much fun writing this. It’s your classic amortentia story with a twist!

Warnings: some angst but ends good!

Word count: 4k

Here is a link to her audio: part 1 , part 2

She hadn’t intended to be so late for class, but when Professor Garlic had asked for additional help repotting mandrakes she could hardly say no, as the witch had always been polite as could be. The only issue was she had lost track of time. Barreling through the door to the potions classroom, she cringed as she saw the faces of all her fellow peers turning towards her hasty entrance and the face of Aesop Sharp turn sour at her late arrival.

“How nice of you to join us MC. Perhaps a worthy investment would be a watch as you seem incapable of keeping the time. Detention-“ he started and she begged him.

“Please professor I was helping Professor Garlic and we lost track of time-“ she pleaded and he looked at her, still unsure.

“And if I address this with Professor Garlic she will confirm this as well?” He asked her and she nodded.

“Of course Sir.”

“Fine. But come to the front of the class, identify our lesson today since you are avoiding detention on the grounds you were late.” He told her and she panicked.

Carefully setting down her things and whipping her dirt soaked hands on her skirt she started towards the front of the room. She caught the eyes of some of her classmates. Garreth gave her a reassuring grin and Imelda smirked, always competitive with her. Poppy gave her an apprehensive look, to which she would ponder later and when she finally noticed Sebastian, leaning in with curiosity she decided to give identification of the mystery potion a shot ignoring the looks she received.

Professor Sharp handed her a potion bottle, completely blacked out, not revealing the color of the potion. Color was usually the easier identifier of any potion so she’d had to get creative. Uncorking the bottle she attempted to catch a whiff of any particular ingredients used.

Letting the smells fill her senses she became utterly confused, her face twisting as her eyebrows drew and she once again took a whiff of the potion for confirmation at the overwhelming but unique liquid.

“What the-“ she asked confused as people in the class giggled.

“Relying on all of one’s senses for potion identification is integral, especially with the more volatile and dangerous concoctions. When items have been laced with potions or poisons you will not be able to use color as an identifiable agent, so would you be so kind to elaborate to the class what the potion smells of and perhaps your classmates might be able to help you identify this particular brew” Professor Sharp offered and she once again took a whiff, finally being able to separate the multiple smells to which she encountered.

“That’s the thing professor - none of the things I smell are reminiscent of any potion ingredients I am aware of…” she tried to reason and the man continued.

“Then what do you smell?” He asked her, feigning intrigue while knowing full well what he was asking her to reveal. A small amount of embarrassment often went far in discouraging students from being late to class.

She looked up as some of her classmates gave her an awkward glance and she noticed Natsi’s eyes grow with a small shake of her head telling her not to reveal what it was. Confused, she raised an eyebrow as the professor responded.

“We don’t have all day, perhaps another one of your classmates is more capable...”

“I smell… parchment, like the dusty old books that students have long forgotten in the library. I also smell fire… not any ordinary fire, but the strong Smoky smell you’d attribute to spells like incendio or confringo… and lastly I smell-“ she trailed off realizing exactly what fragrance she had identified, yet she realized it had come from across the table and not the liquid.

It was a fragrance so holistically masculine in nature. She immediately recognized the cedar wood and bergamot undertones, that blended with whatever spices warmed her cheeks whenever she was privy enough to catch a whiff lingering on his skin. Any time they studied together in the undercroft she was easily lightheaded when he’d lean over to see something in her notes and she could indulge in the fragrance he kept from an area she believed was under his ears but she couldn’t be quite sure.

She was reminded of the one time he’d lent her his scarf and she couldn’t stop smelling the green fabric as his cologne had lingered to the knit so intoxicatingly. She could recall the first time she’d ever realized that he’d taken to wearing it - some time at the start of 6th year, he’d approached her and something about the way his warm body, now accentuated by the fragrance warmed her cheeks to the point that he worried she had the chill, led to the back of his hand stroking her cheeks with worry. She assured him everything was okay, but he never quite let it go.

But perhaps she could just smell the fragrance directly, not in the potion, given he was so close to the table. He was directly across from her, staring intently at what she was holding. Without realizing her critical error she calmly told the professor.

“I smell Sebastian’s cologne, but that’s mostly since he’s standing so close to the table and likely went a little heavy handed again with it” she joked and when no one responded for a second she grew confused. Immediately Imelda called out from the back row with a loud laugh.

“Oh this is rich. Our resident troll slayer is in love with Sallow”

Looking down she immediately realized her fatal error, once again wafting the potion and realizing that the smell had in fact come from the bottle, not across the table like she’d thought.

Immediately she felt sick to her stomach, realizing that professor sharp likely had thrown a love potion she was unfamiliar with into her hands as she corked the bottle and handed it back to him.

“I - I don’t know what this is sir… I apologize for being late” she said, voice faltering as she felt a small bit of moisture pooling in the corner of her eye as she looked down to avoid the stares she felt. The room was still whispering and chuckling at her mistake and she refused to meet their eyes.

“Would anyone else like to inform our late classmate what potion she has neglected to identify?” He asked, completely uncaring of her embarrassment as she quickly worked around the table, finding Poppy by identifying her muddy shoes and slightly frayed gray and yellow plaid skirt. Still refusing to look up she heard Amit confirm her fears as he awkwardly explained.

“Amortentia. The love potions. Often identifiable by its fragrance or pearlescent appearance.” He said, hoping to leave it at that but Professor Sharp seemingly had it in for her today as he pressed the ravenclaw for more information.

“And what of it’s fragrance Mr Takar? Explain your classmates' findings?” He asked

“Well um… it smells different to every person based on what or who is attractive to them… MC smelt books, fire and… cologne… since that is what she is attracted to, " Amit said and she didn’t have to look up to know the boy was grimacing while explaining the results to the class.

She felt a hand on hers as Poppy leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I’m so sorry MC… I can talk to Professor Garlic since she’s the head of my house if you’d like… explain the situation since you were only late to help her "Poppy offered quickly and she shook her head, looking up at the hufflepuff just as a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.

“The damage is already done, Poppy. Let’s just focus on the lesson.” She said, brushing the tear off before it fell too far, turning back to the front and putting on the best brave face she could muster, hoping her tone would be enough to sully her friends worry over what had happened.

At the conclusion of the lesson, she bolted as fast as she could from the classroom, ignoring the many concerned people calling after her and pressing on faster as she heard continued laughter from Imelda Reyes and Samantha Dale.

Quickly turning the corner she bolted through the library annex, rushing off towards the greenhouses and taking a sharp left. She could hear someone following her and she would recognize those footsteps anywhere.

“MC wait!” Sebastian called out behind her.

Panicking she saw the familiar owl statue and in a hasty decision she dove for it, turning the wall as she slipped behind the secret alcove just in time. Resting carefully on the other side in relief she heard the footsteps falter just outside in the hallway.

“Sebastian, slow down” Ominis said as she held her breath hoping Sebastian hadn’t seen the wall shifting but his frustrated sigh let her know he had not a clue where she slipped away too.

“She’s gone.” Sebastian said and she could tell by his tone he was concerned.

“I’m sure that she will be alright… she’s just embarrassed… give her some time to collect herself” Ominis explained and something about the phrasing easily agitated Sebastian

“Oh yes because being associated with me is embarassing Ominis, wonderful vote of confidence” Sebastian responded.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I hardly think she’s embarrassed of you, just embarrassed at how that information, the kind of things people like to remain personal, was just ousted to the classroom like that.” Ominis tried to be the calm and level head they needed, to which she was grateful. As she sunk to the floor she decided to continue to listen.

“Stupid, foul, git Professor Sharp. I always hated that man you know” Sebastian said and Ominis chuckled.

“I’m not sure you should be cursing the man when he accidentally revealed the information you’ve been dying to know for such a long time” Ominis explained.

Information Sebastian wanted to know?

“Not like that. Did you see the way she absolutely crumbled after she realized her mistake?” Sebastian asked

“Shockingly enough Sebastian I can’t say I did see the ordeal” Ominis responded with a chuckle, referring to his inability to see in an attempt to alleviate some of the stress.

“I’m fairly certain I saw her crying next to Poppy in the corner Ominis… wait perhaps Poppy knows where she ran off too, let’s go see if she knows anything” Sebastian explained and she could hear his footsteps moving away from the alcove.

“Sebastian, it may just be best to let her come to you when she’s ready…” Ominis said and that was the last thing she heard before their voices got too far from the door for her to hear.

————————————————

Luckily the ordeal had occurred during her last class on friday, giving her the entire week to hide from everyone. Using the time to explore the highlands, and the frustration to crush another one of Imelda’s flying records - or perhaps that was more out of spite for the slytherin girl’s less than tactful response in class - she spent very little time at the castle. Only slinking back in right before curfew and refusing to speak to any of her dorm mates.

When Monday morning reared it’s ugly head, she slunk down to the kitchens, avoiding the great hall entirely and finding Feenky the house elf who was kind enough to slip her some breakfast before she waited until the absolute last second before strolling into the back of class. Quickly slipping out at the conclusion of each lesson, ignoring those speaking to her, she wandered the school like a ghost.

She had maintained that the whole week and Friday eventually rolled around, having been a full week since everything had occurred.

In every class she could feel him staring but she refused to look in his direction. She just wasn’t ready to face him yet or hear his rejection. She knew that despite how embarrassed she was, he likely felt worse knowing he shared common rooms with Imelda and she could hear their classmates frequently teasing him about it, along with his threat of “knock it off”.

Eventually she came to realize that at some point she would need to face the boy again and that continuing to prolong this endeavor would only make it worse, yet she worried over how to acknowledge what had happened. Could she pretend it never occurred? Would he want an explanation? Would his rejection be kind? And what had Ominis meant by the words he’d spoken in the hall?

Sighing, she stood from her desk at the conclusion of Professor Hecat’s class, traversing the length of the room and seeing Sebastian with his back turned to her, in some form of a heated argument between himself and Imelda.

Summoning some of that gryffindor bravery Natty was so well known for, she tapped him on the shoulder, cowering beneath his tall frame as he turned around to face her. Surprised to see her he let out a gasp as she avoided his eyes.

“MC…” he said

“Might we have a word” she said glancing down below them before finally meeting his eye after signaling the undercroft below their feet. “In private,” she added.

“Of course” he told her, immediately abandoning the heated discussion between himself and his housemates. She watched as Ominis scolded Imelda before reaching for Sebastian’s discarded things as she left with Sebastian in tow.

Once outside the classroom she could feel all eyes on them in the hallway and tried her best to put on a brave face and ignore it. Attempting to lighten the situation she said, “wow I feel like I’ve had more attention and eyes on me in the last few days than I did after the battle under the school” and he chuckled.

“Leave it to teenagers to be more interested in crushes than mortal danger or goblin rebellions. The way even you fall asleep in Professor Binns’s class should tell you people care more about the personal lives of their peers than the historic moments” he countered and she knew he was right.

“I suppose you’re right.” She said as they rounded the bottom of the stairs and made sure no one was watching before slipping into the underCroft in silence.

“I just-“

“About what-“

They both started at the same time and both paused.

“You first” he insisted and she shook her head.

“I believe I’ve spoken enough, you should say what you were going to” she argued and he silently nodded.

“I’m sorry about what happened in class. It was really foul what Professor Sharp did. He didn’t need to embarrass you like that… I’m sure it wasn’t fun having your um… feelings exposed like that when you were only trying to make a joke…” he said gently, trying to convey he truly felt for her. After he found Poppy, the Hufflepuff and Ominis were able to convince him, against his very obsessive and compulsive nature, to allow her some time to settle her emotions. As difficult as it had been for him all weekend not seeing her and worried about how upset she might be, he did his best to avoid everywhere she often went - the undercroft, hogsmeade, the library and the astronomy tower - just out of respect for her hurt feelings.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you either” she said with a sigh

“Why would I be embarrassed?” He asked her confused

“Because I - you were there.” She didn’t want to have to voice it again.

“I know. But why would what happen embarrass me? If anything a small part of me is thankful that I know I just…” he trailed off and she waited for the rejection to come.

She sucked in a breath as she closed her eyes waiting for him to just rip the bandage off. She could take it. And she mentally had prepared for it in the whole week she’d spend avoiding him.

Instead she felt him grab her hand gently, his own shaking slightly as she opened her eyes in confusion. In his other hand she saw a small vile.

“I uh, didn’t think it was fair that you were the only one who had to explain what amortentia smells like to you…” he said holding up the pink shimmering potion.

“So you brewed more of that vulgar concoction that caused this whole mess?” She asked teasingly despite the lump in her throat.

“Can you give that a whiff?” He asked her gently, passing it off and she sighed and nodded, uncorking it and having the familiar smell of fire, books and cologne overtake her senses once more.

“Smells like amortentia. 10 points to slytherin.” She confirmed with an awkward laugh as she handed him back the vial.

“Perfect.” He said with a small grin, taking it back from her before removing the topper and taking a whiff of it himself.

“Mallowsweet” he told her.

“What?”

He gestured to the small pocket on her belt that he knew always contained the small herb, it’s unique fragrance always clinging to her and apparent when she stood close by.

“Mallowsweet. You always have some on you, in that pouch for those Merlin trials you showed me during our fifth year.”

“What about it?” She asked confused and he lifted the amortentia vial again, taking a whiff as his eyes fluttered shut and he replied with a spell bound tone.

“I smell it in amortentia”

She gasped realizing he was explaining what the potion smelled like to him.

“Sebastian you don’t have to-“

“Heathers. Like the ones growing in your vivarium where you keep the Phoenix. You smell like them and I know they are your favorite flower. I know to most they are just weeds but you always pick them to put in your books or pockets and it’s just so endearing to see how much you adore something that to everyone else is worthless but you think they are pretty. I love laying in the grass with you and getting to read outside even when it’s the winter because it’s always warm in the room of requirement and you look so pretty just laying amongst the Heather with a book in hand.”

She didn’t reply as he went on. He reached forward, grabbing her wrist and lifting it to his face, placing the delicate ball of his nose against the inside of wrist and inhaling with a sigh.

“And that perfume you bought in Hogsmeade with Poppy during our 6th year. Merlin I remember when you borrowed my scarf, and the day I got it back I couldn’t help but smell your perfume lingering on it for weeks. Any time you adjust your hair or you lean in to whisper something in class I just can’t help but notice it”

“Sebastian…” she whispered as he let go of her wrist and opened his eyes.

“All I smell in amortentia is you.” He confirmed and she looked at him as her eyes softened.

“You do read a lot in front of fireplaces” she told him with a quiet sigh.

“I also forgot to put on my cologne that morning,” he admitted as she gasp.

“What?”

“I was running late and I forgot to put it on that morning. I wasn’t even wearing it the day we had potions. In fact right when you burst in the door Ominis was telling me how much I needed to bathe since I got sweaty at crossed wands and the lack of cologne didn’t help.” Sebastian admitted to her with a chuckle.

“I - well that’s something… she faltered, realizing he truly did have confirmation the whole time she had feelings for him.

“Let me take you to hogsmeade sometime. A proper date?” He offered.

“You don’t have to do that. Proper first dates are for people who don’t really know one another… I feel we already know so much about each other…” she said softly as he nodded, tracing the side of his finger down her arm before he reached her hand where he laced their fingers together.

“Fair enough, but I wouldn’t feel right just kissing you without at the very least being a gentleman first”

“Sebastian Sallow, you want to kiss me?” She teased him as she chuckled

“I think asking you out on a proper date, which you seem to have rejected might I add, as well as admitting to smelling you in the most powerful love potion known to wizard kind would confirm that yes I do indeed want to kiss you” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, however his reddened cheeks gave away his nervousness.

Leaning up on her tiptoes and she gently pressed a kiss to the side of his cheek before pulling away, smiling at his nervous and shocked expression.

“Fine. You’ve convinced me we can go on to hogsmeade on a date. Then you can kiss me” she teased.

“Wait no, I take it back, come on I think we know each other well enough for a little kissing, don’t you” he asked desperately trying to pull her back against him as she ducked under his arm with a laugh.

“No you’re right Sebastian… it just wouldn’t be proper for you to kiss me without being a gentleman first “ she quoted him running off behind one of the large posts in the undercroft before casting disillusionment.

“Not fair MC” he groaned as she snickered, sneaking up behind him. Right when she thought she had him he turned around, grabbing her and in the panic the spell was dropped.

“No more hiding from me MC. This last week has been torture” he admitted and she smiled

“But it’s so fun” she replied and he rolled his eyes at her, holding her closer to him.

“Hmm I suppose I could be persuaded….” She told him.

“How so?” He asked

“Kiss me.” She demanded and he didn’t reply, instead lowering his lips to her own as they kissed. His soft lips claimed her own with a mix of gentleness and firmness that left her feeling warm. The scratch of his recently shaved stubble lightly grazing her upper lip as they carefully moved their mouths together.

Breaking away she giggled.

“What is it now?” He asked feigning annoyance as he tried to lean in once again with a small grin on his face.

“I am going to need to borrow your scarves on occasion you know? I meant it when I said that your cologne is quite intoxicating..” she purred while leaning into his neck.

“Only if they come back smelling like you” he offered in rebuttal.

“I think that can be arranged,” she said once again, connecting their lips as the rest of the world melted away in the dim light of the undercroft.

[kravensgirl]

Why do you love me?

Tangerine xF!Reader

Warning: smut 18+

Why is it so hard to chose a goddamn dress? It’s not like you have a lot of options but neither of the ones you have seems perfect. You’re going on a date with your boyfriend Tangerine and you have to wear a dress. Only the problem is that you don’t look good in any of them. And you’ve been staring at them for an hour now.

-Baby are you alright in there? asks Tangerine from the other side of the bedroom’s door.

-Yes! I’m coming in a few minutes! I’m almost ready. you reply.

Which is a lie since you haven’t decided which dress you’re going to wear. You are feeling insecure, what if Tangerine doesn’t like your choice? What if he realize that you’re not good enough for him? Without realizing it you are crying quietly. This is stupid. You are stupid. You throw the dresses away and sit down on your bed.

The door of the bedroom opens and Tangerine comes in, wearing a well adjusted Armani suit. He looks really hot. He has a frown on his face when he sees the clothes everywhere and you, crying on your bed. He kneels in front of you and cradles your face with his hands.

-My love what’s wrong? he asks worried.

-Why do you love me? I’m not beautiful, i’m worthless and I’m weak. I don’t understand why you would go on a date with someone like me. you say sobbing, all of your insecurities coming out.

Tangerine looks stunned by your words. How can you doubt his love for you? How can’t you see that you are the most beautiful woman in the world? It breaks his heart to see hou you like this so he decides to show you how worthy you are to him.

-Sweetheart, you’re going to listen to me carefully. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are worthy of everything and are the strongest person I’ve ever met. I love you so much Y/N. says Tangerine with a voice filled with adoration.

You know he is sincere, but a small voice in your head still thinks he is lying. Unfortunately she is stronger than your good sense. You look down at him, tears falling freely.

-I’m such a mess. And stupid.

-No you’re not. Let me show you how I see you. he says softly.

You nod still uncertain. Tangerine gets up and pulls you up with him. He leads you in front of your mirror then takes place behind you. Looking at you in the eyes he kisses your neck while he slowly undresses you.

Shivers cover your body and soon you find yourself bare in front of your mirror. You look away, hating your body. Tangerine is having none of it so he takes hold of your chin and turns it towards the mirror. He holds it in this position.

-No. I want you to look as I show you how exactly beautiful you are.

-Tan… you protest weakly.

-Chuut. You’re going to enjoy it and when I’m done with you, there will be no doubt about my love for you.

Tangerine starts by caressing tenderly your stomach, slowly sliding up to under your breasts. He makes eye contact as he holds them, slowly caressing your hard nipples with his tumbs. You are breathing heavily now, pleasure going straight between your legs.

-These are amazing. Most beautiful tits I have ever seen. They fit so well in my hands it’s like they were made for me. he says desire in his voice.

You let out a moan as he squeezes your nipples between his fingers. Tangerine smile at your reaction then move one of his hands between your legs. He groans then smirks as he feels how wet you are. You blush when you see his eyes darken with lust.

Tangerine inserts two fingers inside you and starts moving them in and out slowly. You moan and your head drop back on his shoulder, eyes fluttering close in pleasure. As soon as they close, Tangerine stop moving his fingers. Your eyes open wondering why he has stopped.

-Eyes open and I want you to look. Close them again and I’ll stop. he says seriously.

-Okay. I won’t close them again. you whimper wanting him to continue touching you.

-That’s my good girl.

You moan at the praise and clench around his fingers. He pumps them faster, hitting your special spot. The squelching noise, your breathing and his praises are the only sounds in the room. The pleasure he brings you erase all of your thoughts. Only the orgasm approaching fills your head.

-Come for me beautiful. Let go for me. whispers Tangerine.

You climax, moaning his name loudly and your pussy walls gripping him like a vice. Breathless you watch in the mirror Tangerine pulling out slowly his fingers and sucking them clean. It’s so hot you feel aroused again immediately.

-You taste delicious my love. This cunt is mine, just like you. You both are so pretty. I won’t let you again diminish yourself and doubt of my love for you. says Tangerine with a smile.

It’s then that you feel him how hard he is behind you. You turn around to take care of him but he stops you. You look at him confused but he only smiles.

-No. Tonight was all about you. Now let me help you with the dress then we go on our date. I still wanna go out with the prettiest lady in the world. says Tangerine.

-Okay. You look really handsome by the way. you say blushing.

-Well thanks for the compliment love. Come on, let’s get you ready.

It turns out you had an amazing date with Tangerine and you realized the small voice in your head was wrong. He truly loves you and finds you the most beautiful woman in the world. You had nothing to worry about, but it didn’t stop him from showering you with love all night long.

Tags: @pretty-little-mind33 @princesssunderworld @allaroundjejje @daisycuttter @geo-logyst

[tenpintsofsundrop]

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary:

While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can't live without each other.

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 4, Episode 3.

Word Count: 8,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

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Full list of warnings and author's notes below.

Warnings: Lots of spoilers for the canon episode - so if you haven't watched Season 4 of Criminal Minds yet, steer clear of this fic for now (especially because watching the episode provides some context for this fic/makes things make more sense); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is not pregnant during the fic and there's no smut, but due to discussions in the fic, it's not unreasonable that she could get pregnant); fake dating in the form of a fake marriage - the reader and Spencer pretend to be married under the Christian religion to 'appeal' to Cyrus; because of the fake marriage, Spencer uses the term 'my wife' to refer to the reader; lots of mentions of religion (Christianity), religious extremism, mentions of pedophilia/child brides (in line with the canon episode); mentions of systemic sexism and gender roles enforced by cultures of organised religion and religious extremism; use of y/n and l/n (in this case meaning 'your last name'); the reader pretends to follow the Christian religion while undercover but I never stated if she believes in a less extreme version of these things or not (the reader's true religious beliefs are never stated); protective!Spencer, possessive!Spencer; mentions of Spencer being taller than the reader (which, again, I think he would be taller than most people) - the reader's body/body type is not described in any other way; mentions of guns and gun violence (not described in deep detail) - in line with the canon episode; the reader and Spencer fear for their lives; dangerous/live-threatening situations; the reader and Spencer are threatened with a gun; Cyrus is just generally creepy and sexist toward the reader; Spencer is pistol-whipped and the reader is threatened with sexual assault (it does not happen, Spencer protects her); mentions of pregnancy/the reader being pregnant (she is not pregnant during the course of the fic); mentions of the reader being a mother/having kids (Spencer makes up fake kids to sell their fake marriage story); the reader realizes she might actually want to be a mother because of Spencer's fake kids story; mentions of an explosion (as in the canon); love confessions; angst with a happy ending. Hopefully that is everything.

A/N: The title for this fic comes from a Fall Out Boy song of the same name. The theme/lyrics of the song don't really fit the fic, but I love the way that this title fits - how everyone in this fic is lying in some way but Spencer is someone with good intentions while lying. Making him the Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes. I love how it fits. I wrote this while suffering with heat exhaustion so idk if it's good or even makes sense. I rewatched the canon episode and it doesn't 100% align with what happened in the episode in terms of the timeline and stuff, and I am too tired to rewrite the whole fic to make it align with the episode. So uh - alternative canon? But I really love the basic concepts and I do really love how it turned out. I hope you guys like it too!

...

You thought it would be an easy day. 

Maybe that was foolish on your part. So far, you hadn’t seen a single ‘easy’ day while working with the BAU. Between chasing down scumbags and then reliving every single gory detail while doing the paperwork - none of it was ‘easy’. It was worthy, accomplished work - making the world a safer place to live in. (At least that’s what you told yourself.) But it was never easy. 

There was always someone who made the job easier. Someone who made you smile every single day - especially on days when you didn’t think you were even capable of feeling a tiny shred of joy. Someone who made you feel safe, who you always felt had your back no matter what. So you were glad that he was by your side today, along for the ride. 

“Tell us about Cyrus.” Reid prompted. 

He looked to the woman driving, your new companion for the day - Nancy Lunde, someone who worked with the state department and had set up the interviews with the children at the Separatarian Sect. 

“Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. In fact, there’s no record of the guy at all.” Nancy explained. 

“That’s odd.” You commented. “Usually someone being accused of something like this would have some past offenses. Especially because it would give him a reason to move into isolation to continue the criminal pattern of behavior.” 

“Well, I couldn’t find anything on him.” Nancy shrugged. 

“What about the 9-1-1 call?” You asked. 

“A fifteen year old girl called in saying that a man was ‘laying with her’ and claimed it as ‘God’s will’. I believe the ‘he’ referred to is Cyrus.” Nancy explained. “The age fits with Jessica Evanson, but I’ve managed to negotiate interviews with all the children, just to be sure. It wasn’t easy.” 

“They’re incredibly weary of outsiders.” You commented. “Our boss warned you not to identify us as FBI, right?” 

Nancy nodded. “I got you some spare credentials, just in case.” 

She took one of her hands off the wheel and reached into her pocket.

“You’re going to be using your real names. You’re going in as Child Victim Interview Experts working with Child Protective Services. No association with the FBI.” Nancy explained, handing Reid your fake credentials. 

He nodded, inspecting the IDs before handing you yours where you were sitting in the backseat. 

“Oh, before I forget.” You noted, reaching into the pocket of your cardigan. “The rings.” 

You pulled out a small plastic bag that Hotch had given to you before you left. It was a bag containing a fake diamond ring in your size and a fake golden ‘wedding’ band for Spencer. 

Reid reached over the seat to grab his ring from you, and Nancy gave the two of you an odd look. 

“Rings?” She questioned. 

“Fake wedding bands.” You explained. 

“It was our Unit Chief’s idea.” Reid added on. “He believes that presenting us as a ‘godly’ married couple to Cyrus will make him more likely to open up to us. He’s less likely to see us as hostile outsiders if he believes that we share a similar system of beliefs.” 

“It could also have a calming effect on the teenagers we have to interview or the kids there who have had more time to go through indoctrination at the Sect.” You continued to explain. “Even if their parents are hesitant to let the kids speak with us, they may be more willing to have their child speak with us or even leave them alone with us if they believe that we’re fellow Christians, rather than hostile atheists there to poison their children’s minds.” 

Reid nodded at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Make sure you put on the left hand.” He told you. “That’s the position for marriage.” 

You nodded at this. 

You placed the ring in the appropriate position, and you couldn’t help but to take a moment and stare at it. It was jarring to have a wedding ring on - especially with the thought that it represented you being married to Spencer. But you supposed, of all the people to call your husband, he would be one of the best. He was honest, intelligent, kind, and… if you were pressed, you would definitely say he was handsome. 

But you couldn’t get too caught up thinking about all of that. Because it wasn’t real. It was a false projection you were wearing for the benefit of a self inflated sociopath. 

Spencer liked the feeling of the ring. He didn’t take too long to stare at it after he had put it on, because he knew his mind would wander if he did. When Hotch had first proposed the idea of the two of you pretending to be married, Spencer had almost tripped over himself to oppose it - mostly because he didn’t think that he would be able to handle simply pretending to be your husband for the day. It was just too cruel. 

Having something he wanted so badly dangled right in front of him and knowing that it was all just a farce - it bothered him, but he delighted in the play nonetheless. 

When he caught the fake gold glinting in the light, Spencer had to remind himself that it was fake - that you would just be playing his wife for the day. He had to push back any internal glee that he felt at the idea that he got to be ‘taken’ by you while wearing that ring. It wasn’t real. It was just for the day. 

“Isn’t that deceptive?” Nancy asked. “Won’t Cyrus be even more angry if he finds out that it’s not true?” 

“He won’t find out.” You replied confidently. “And besides, we use deception in interrogations all the time. It’s a very basic tactic: align yourself with the suspect. Make them think you share the same beliefs, that you’re on their side.” 

Reid grinned at this. He always loved it when you spoke so confidently. 

… 

“We’re looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.” Nancy announced as the three of you got out of the car. 

“Then you’ve found him.” Cyrus announced confidently. 

He was pretty much what you had expected him to be - dressed informally, slouched over, faking meekness, holding a bible near his chest as though it were a shield. He had planted himself there purposefully, wanting to be the first person to interact with the outsiders as three of you came into the Ranch. 

You hovered back near Spencer, letting Nancy make the first introduction. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde.” She said, giving a small nod toward the man. “We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.” 

“‘Savages they call us, because our manners differ from theirs.’” Cyrus rhymed off a quote, obviously positioning himself and his group as martyrs being attacked for having ‘different ways’ that the world simply didn’t understand. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.” Nancy reminded him, hoping to keep the religious zealot on track. 

“Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.” Reid corrected her, talking about the quote. 

That did surprise you, but you didn’t find it surprising that Reid knew this fact right off the top of his head. It was just one of the many amazing things about him - his perfect memory and his ability to use it. 

Of course, him saying this immediately drew Cyrus’ attention toward the two of you. So Spencer stepped up to introduce you. 

“Hello, I’m Spencer Reid, and this is my wife, Y/N L/N.” He said motioning toward himself and then to you as he introduced the two of you. Hearing him refer to you as his wife - you hated to say it, but it caused a jolt through your system. Almost as if you had been waiting forever to hear him say those words and hadn’t even known it yourself. “We’re Child Victim Interview Experts, here on behalf of Child Protective Services.” 

Of course, you couldn’t get too caught up in deciphering how those words made you feel, because you had to focus on the task at hand. The job that you were here to do. 

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘Child Victim Interview Expert’.” Cyrus said, his tone even, quiet. 

You knew that covertly, it was his way of saying that the two of you didn’t belong there, because he ran the Ranch with God’s word, so nobody had actually been harmed (in his opinion). He believed that he had done nothing wrong. Obviously, he thought your time and resources were better spent with ‘actual’ victims who didn’t have his power wielded over their lives. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Cyrus, we try to bring God into our work.” You told him, trying to appeal to him. “The children we visit usually need prayer and God’s light the most.” 

Spencer gave you a sideways glance, clearly holding back a grin at how thick you were pouring it on - how much intense, feigned passion you said these words with. 

“Well, I can assure you that a lack of prayer and God’s light is certainly not an issue for the children here.” Cyrus said, giving you a clever little grin. He thought that you would simply interview the children, praise him for what a good job he had done, and then leave. “You can go and see the children whenever you like. They are up at the school, as I indicated in our phone call.” 

Nancy walked toward the school, and you paused before you followed. 

Before you walked off, you looked to Spencer. In a completely silent conversation that only worked so well because the two of you had been in so many tense situations before, thinking around UnSubs and planning miles around them before they could even know it, he gave you a small nod and you instantly knew what it meant. He had established a small bit of trust with Cyrus, so he would stick back and see what else he could get out of the man. 

You nodded back, and then - completely surprising yourself, you leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. You were just playing the part, you told yourself. It’s not that it felt entirely instinctive to say goodbye to him with some kind of affection, like the many hugs you had given him before. It’s not that you felt so entirely scrutinized with Cryus’ piercing eyes on you, and you needed the anchor of Spencer’s touch. 

You were just playing the part. 

Spencer tried not to get caught on being kissed on the cheek like he was some blushing virgin, and instead, focused his attention back on Cyrus instead of watching you walk away. (Even though every single one of his instincts told him that he needed to keep a more careful eye on you because you both had to leave your guns in the car.) 

He took a step closer to where Cyrus was leaning on the concrete, and easily picked a topic of conversation. 

“Solar panels.” Reid said, motioning to the large devices sitting behind Cyrus on the grass. 

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded. “We’re completely self-sufficient here. Food, electricity, water. Benjamin Franklin said ‘God helps those who help themselves’.” He explained. “You look surprised.” 

“No, uh, impressed, actually.” Reid easily lied, trying to appeal to his ego. 

“Thank you.” Cyrus said. “Most men wouldn’t admit that.” 

“Well, I suppose that I’m not like most men.” Reid shrugged in return. 

“How long have you been married?” Cyrus asked, motioning toward Reid’s ‘wedding ring’. 

Reid panicked slightly, knowing that the two of you likely should have coordinated this story during the plane ride to Colorado so that your answers to these simple questions wouldn’t be different. But he just made up an answer and hoped that nobody else would ask you the same question and find out the deception. 

“Three years.” He said. “I’ve been very blessed.” 

He used the language purposefully, knowing that the simple phrase could get him on Cyrus’ good side. That, and he hoped it would draw the attention away from any possible signs of his blatant lie. 

“Your wife is very beautiful.” Cyrus commented. 

He gave a wicked smirk as he said this. It was a simple, fairly ‘innocent’ comment, but it was immediately off-putting to Spencer. It took everything in his body not to glare daggers at Cyrus or throw out some protective comment in return. He could only imagine what was going through Cyrus’ mind as he thought about you, and he hated even imagining it. 

Reid knew that it was a basic logical good, the instinct to protect you because you were his partner on this case and he was supposed to have your back. But it was also something more. Something in every fiber of his being that screamed you were his and no man should ever be thinking of you that way except for him. 

“Has it been a godly union?” 

He was lucky when Cyrus spoke again and distracted him from his mounting rage. 

“We try to be as godly as we can be.” Spencer took the simple, diplomatic answer. 

“Your wife didn’t take your last name.” Cyrus pointed out. 

Nancy had used your name on your false credentials because Hotch had only come up with the fake marriage idea the day before. There hadn’t been time to inform her about it and have ‘Reid’ put on your ID as your ‘married’ name. So he had introduced you by your name to keep everything consistent with the reuse. 

It did make Spencer wonder if you would keep your last name if the two of you ever did get married. It made him almost dizzy, thinking about you as ‘Mrs Reid’. Thinking about your kids having his name. Or your name, if that’s what you wanted. 

But naturally, he pushed past all those thoughts and formed an excuse. 

“Typically, married women aren’t very well perceived in our line of work.” He quickly excused. “She doesn’t even get to wear her ring that often. She couldn’t change her name on paperwork at our office because a working married woman… it’s heavily frowned upon.” 

“Well, I’d have to agree.” Cyrus grunted. “A woman shouldn’t be out working. A woman should be at home raising a family.” 

“I - I suppose you’re right.” Reid agreed through gritted teeth. 

He walked away toward the school before he got too angry again. 

… 

A few hours later, everything had gone to hell. 

Some authority - the police, the military, you didn’t even know - had charged into the Ranch shooting. In response, Cyrus and his followers had come into the school toting large semi-automatics asking you and Spencer if you knew about a raid. 

You didn’t. You wish you had known about a raid. You would have warned Hotch and gotten them to call it off. You certainly would not have been there while it was happening. 

When they had pointed those guns in your face and forced you into the tunnels - it wasn’t very difficult to pretend to be Spencer’s wife then. Cowering in the bunker, confused and scared, you flung your arms around his waist almost instinctively, and he buried his nose in the top of your hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like a shield, promising you that everything was going to be okay. 

Whispered to you like that, coming from him - it was almost easier to believe. Even with the chaos going on around you and the fear pumping through you in response. 

Nancy had run off trying to get them to surrender and did not come back. You had a feeling that you knew what that meant. 

And now, with the kids from the school ‘evacuated’ into the church, you were being held in the cellar at gunpoint. They had forcefully separated you and Spencer, making you sit in chairs at opposite sides of the room.

Spencer was fidgeting. His eyes kept flickering from the door, to you, to the man standing beside you holding the very large gun. 

You knew that you had ugly tear tracks down your face, and oddly enough - you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms. As you were forced to sit there, just a few feet across the room away from him - you ached for it. 

There was a very large possibility that you were going to die today. And you selfishly needed the comfort of being in the arms of someone familiar - someone safe. Someone you knew would never hurt you. Someone who had made you laugh with dumb science jokes and puns for the last five years that you had worked together with him. 

When Cyrus charged back into the room with two men flanking his sides, you and Spencer stiffened up once again. 

“God will forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Cyrus announced to the room, presenting a handgun from his belt. 

Your insides quaked, and Spencer’s eyes grew wide. 

You couldn’t contain the fearful whimper that erupted from the back of your throat when he raised that gun and placed it near the middle of Spencer’s forehead. You clasped a hand tightly over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in protest, knowing that would only make things worse. 

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus asked firmly. 

Which ‘one’? 

So he knew that you were undercover, that you had lied about your job titles - but he thought that only one of you had done so. Where the hell was he getting his information? 

“I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer told him quietly, looking him in the eye the entire time. 

You hoped that his stutter could be passed off as nervousness from the gun being pointed in his face, and wouldn’t be pointed to as deception. 

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus pressed. 

“We are not FBI Agents.” Spencer said, more confidently this time. “We are Child Victim Interview Experts. We were only sent here to ensure the wellbeing of the children. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Well, that last part wasn’t a lie. 

“You’re lying.” Cyrus told him, entirely confident in this. “God expells those who lie, devils in sheep’s clothing.” 

There was a tense moment, and then Cyrus cocked the gun. 

Spencer didn’t flinch. You resisted the urge to scream. 

“Proverbs 12:22 says: ‘The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in those who tell the truth.’” Cyrus said, actually citing scripture this time. 

He was giving Spencer one last chance to tell the truth. As if using the bible verse to say that his punishment would be lesser if he simply told the truth now. 

Spencer didn’t take the bait. 

“I’m not lying.” Spencer said firmly. “What? You think I wouldn’t know if - if my wife was an FBI Agent? This is the woman I wake up next to every single morning, the woman I go to sleep next to every single night, we work together every single day, we-” 

Cyrus interrupted Spencer’s ranting with a sharp hit to the face, pistol whipping him across the cheek. 

This caused Spencer to go flying off the chair, and you couldn’t help when you let out a wounded cry. It took everything in you not to jump out of your own chair and rush to Spencer where he had collapsed onto the ground, clutching his cheek. 

“Someone is going to tell me the truth.” Cyrus said gruffly. 

“It must have been Nancy!” You said, the idea finally popping into your head. 

You seemed to be more clever with the pressure of Spencer’s life being threatened. Cyrus stared you down, turning his attention fully toward you now. You caught Spencer’s eye for a moment and he gave you a small nod - as if to say ‘yes, keep going with that’. 

“The woman we came in with! Nancy!” You reasoned, continuing to point the finger at the woman you had to assume was dead. “We - we just met her today. Our boss introduced us to her, but we had never met before that. If she was FBI, we had no clue. We swear.” 

Cyrus turned to you then, and tightly pressed the barrel of his gun into your forehead. You could feel the imprint of it so tight in your skin that it hurt, and you could only lean away so far before threatening to knock the chair backwards. 

“It’s very convenient to pin this crime on someone who isn’t here.” He grunted at you. 

“It’s the truth.” You sniffled out quietly. 

“Hmm.” Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, and then, much to your surprise, he removed the gun barrel from your forehead. 

You barely had a moment to breathe in relief before he began skimming the gun down your neck, touching the metal whisper-gentle across your bare skin - clearly taunting you. It was something that made your whole body stiff with alarm, and caused Spencer’s eyes to go wide once again.

“Perhaps I should strip you naked to ensure that you’re not wearing a wire.” Cyrus said, teasing the gun along the buttons at the front of your cardigan. 

You held back a sob at the thought of it - at the idea that he could make you do almost anything for the fear of you being shot. Truthfully, you were more afraid of what he might do to Spencer if you didn’t comply, but it was all the same in your mind now. His life was just as valuable as yours, and you would do whatever it took to protect him.

Before Cyrus could take these threats any further, a heroic voice intervened. 

“That’s enough!” Spencer yelled. 

He gathered himself off the floor and oddly enough, none of the men moved to stop him as he came to stand beside Cyrus. Perhaps they didn’t see him as a threat. Perhaps it was because Cyrus didn’t bark any orders at them to stop him. He was entirely unflinching, keeping his focus on you and keeping his gun held between your breasts as Spencer crowded into his personal space, trying to press himself between you and the awful man. 

“We’ve told you everything that we know.” Spencer told him lowly, his voice heaving with well controlled anger. It was something that you had rarely ever heard from him. 

Cyrus kept his eyes locked on you, so Spencer continued. 

“We don’t know anything about the FBI - we have a simple job advocating for children who have been abused. That is it. We came here to investigate a most likely false claim against someone in your community and we truly didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” He said firmly, clearly trying to appeal to Cyrus. “So I suggest you get that gun away from my wife before you and I truly have a problem.” 

Spencer’s voice was dark, so thick with rage. More pent up rage than you had ever heard from him when he was talking to any suspect, people who had done the worst of the worst. Something about Cyrus threatening you had truly boiled his insides. 

The way he said the words ‘my wife’ - growling it out like he was a feral animal and this threat to you had activated every single one of his protective instincts. Hearing it made something inside of you yearn for him on such a deep level that you didn’t know was possible. You wanted to feel that kind of protection cast over you every single day. It made you feel invincible, having Spencer watch over you like that. 

Cyrus lowered the gun then, and Spencer grabbed your arm as you dissolved into hysterical tears. Instinctively, he lifted you up into his arms. You thought that you heard Cyrus mumble out ‘my apologies’ as he left the room - but he was barely on your radar. Your entire world became narrowed down to nothing but Spencer, your safety net as he built a wall of protection around you. 

He used his height to block you from seeing anything but him, letting you push your face into his chest as you cried. He wrapped you in his arms once again, letting you feel truly safe for a few moments as you sobbed into the fabric of his sweater. Your arms clutched desperately at his waist, needing to keep a hold on him - needing to ensure that he didn’t leave you. 

“Hey, shh. Shh. It’s okay.” He said, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your forehead and your hair, rubbing across your back with one hand, comforting you in the only way he could in those moments. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Of course, he wanted to break down too. But he had to be strong for you. 

“Spencer,” You called his name in an utterly wounded voice, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. 

When you saw his injury up close - a sharp, purple-red bruise that was blooming across his cheek, it looked so utterly painful. Your insides ached at the thought that he had taken a blow for you. You hated to imagine what more they could have done to him if they had not believed your lies. 

You instinctively reached a hand up to touch it and he caught your fingers halfway, instead, gently grasping your hand and laying it on his chest. The intimacy felt so oddly rehearsed - so worn in, so ‘normal’. It felt like you had been married to Spencer for years. Like it wasn’t a play at all. 

Your two souls had been calling out to each other for years, just waiting for the dam to break. But you couldn’t quite put it into words - not like that. 

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, knowing you were horrified by the injury. 

He was so gentle, so comforting, so calm. Everything the men pointing guns at you were not. Unlike Cyrus - Spencer Reid was a true blessing from God. 

You couldn’t hold yourself back then. 

You surged up and kissed him, fully embracing his mouth with yours in a kiss. Though it was so sudden, it was something he easily returned. The kiss so full of urgency, so needy, so passionate. Like he was trying to tell you that it was okay, that he would protect you no matter what. 

He would protect you because you belonged to him. 

In those moments, the two of you were basically alone. One of Cryus’ men was guarding the door, watching on boredly. But Cyrus was off in the church, funneling people in to prepare for his ‘loyalty’ test. It didn’t matter if he saw you kissing or not - it wouldn’t have sold the reuse of you being married any better. 

This was just for the two of you. This was comfort. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer looked stunned, almost as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. You didn’t give him time to question it. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly. 

It was twofold:

Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for giving me comfort. 

Spencer didn’t have too much time to marinate in the meaning of the kiss before Cyrus’ men came back and fetched the two of you, wanting you to observe the loyalty test. 

… 

After the mock poisoning (which Spencer figured out rather quickly, making you admire his cleverness once again), Cyrus kept you and Spencer in the church with a few of his closest, most loyal followers while all of the low level followers dispersed back to their homes. 

You and Spencer were lingering in the back quietly while Cyrus was on the other end of the room, talking to his men about how to proceed. The plans for their ‘final stand’. 

“We need to get some kind of signal to the others.” Spencer whispered quietly. “Maybe they’ll take pity on you and let you go if-” He swallowed sharply, cutting himself off abruptly. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to voice whatever was on his mind. 

“If what?” You probed. You wondered what the hell you could possibly be thinking. 

“If we tell them that you’re pregnant.” He said, whispering so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words. 

You rolled your eyes sharply at this. 

You had gotten married and had kids all in one day. What a miracle. 

(In those moments, clouded by fear, you couldn’t see it for what it truly was - Spencer blatantly revealing his unconscious desires to have a baby with you.) 

“We could convince them to release you. As a show of good faith. A pregnancy would be good leverage in that. You know how religious people are about fetuses-” Spencer reasoned. 

“Yeah, and what if they give me a test?” You probed, punching a large hole in his logic. “We don’t know what kind of infirmary they have here. They obviously believe in modern technology. What if they want to give me an ultrasound to check on the fetus after the stress of the day? To prove that they did no harm to the precious unborn child,” 

Spencer was easily caught on this point. If they examined you and found that you weren’t pregnant, all the lies would fall apart. 

“Well… what if we tell them that you have a baby at home that you need to get back to?” Spencer reasoned, jumping to the next logical conclusion in his mind. “It’ll likely garner the same level of pity.” 

“Your imaginary sperm is powerful, isn’t it?” You whispered back sharply. Spencer rolled his eyes this time. But he didn’t redact the plan as unreasonable, so you continued on. “Okay, what do I even do when I get out there? I’m not gonna be of any use to the tactical team. We don’t know what Cyrus’ final play is yet.” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear to be separated from Spencer. Knowing that he was inside, potentially being beaten up more, potentially being shot and bleeding out from a wound without you knowing - it would kill you with stress. You need to be by his side. You needed to know that he was okay. 

“Has God blessed your union with any children?” Cyrus appeared behind you suddenly. 

You wondered if he had heard you say the word ‘pregnancy’ or if this was just a random topic that had come up in his mind. 

His sudden appearance behind you caused you to whip around and crowd into the comfort of Spencer’s arms again because you were frightened. Naturally, Spencer wrapped his sheltering touch around your shoulders. Your back was gently pressed into Spencer’s front, his arm shielding you protectively as it was wrapped around your chest, holding you with his hand on one of your shoulders, unconsciously stroking his thumb across the fabric of your cardigan. The position had you both facing Cyrus, watching the fan in an offensive way. 

And of course, Spencer didn’t miss a beat. 

“Yes.” Spencer answered easily. “We have two kids at home. A boy and a girl. Iris and Hugo. Iris is almost three years old and Hugo is eleven months. His first birthday is coming up in June.” 

You knew that Spencer could be very good at talking off a suspect’s ear under pressure, but when you heard him rattle off these ‘facts’ so easily, it hit you. 

This wasn’t simply statistics or physiological knowledge - this was a very elaborate backstory for your supposedly real marriage. Perhaps he had thought about all of it on the car ride up (which was odd not to share it with you, in case Cyrus asked you a similar question and your answer didn’t match up with Spencer’s). 

But if you weren’t mistaken, this wasn’t simply a backstory for your fake marriage during the undercover mission. This was a fantasy of his. Those were names he had lovingly chosen for your imaginary children - kids he had dreamed up in his head and wanted to be real. 

Your heart ached at the thought of it. You found yourself missing a set of children that weren’t even real. (And distantly, wanting to jump his bones to make it a reality.)

“Tell me, Mr. Reid, would you find it so shameful for your daughter to marry young?” Cyrus asked. 

You found it odd to hear Cyrus call Spencer ‘Mr. Reid’, but you realized that he hadn’t introduced himself as ‘Doctor’ in this setting. You held your tongue when you felt the need to correct him as you had so many other people, wanting Spencer to receive his proper title. 

Your mind almost couldn’t focus on the question that Cyrus had asked. Of course, he was trying to get Spencer to stroke his ego once again. Basically admitting that the whole reason the two of you had come here was true - he was being vastly inappropriate with a young member of the church, and getting away with it. And he saw nothing wrong with it. 

And he was trying to get an outsider to admit that he saw nothing wrong with it too. 

When there was a moment of silence - Reid obviously torn on how to answer the question, Cyrus continued. 

“Is there really something so wrong with a blooming young woman marrying a man who will protect her under God’s laws?” He probed, his voice so entirely confident. Clearly confident that he was right. 

“Well, I’m not sure if I would let my daughter get married so young.” Reid said, finally speaking up. “I just know that I would want her to marry a man that would protect her, and be the best possible fit for her. Someone who would cherish her and be good to her no matter what.” 

His answer made you swoon. You reached up and gently gripped his forearm in response, giving a light squeeze to show your approval. He leaned in and kissed the back of your head - dizzyingly, you were imagining him walking your imaginary daughter down the aisle before you had even gotten married yourself. 

Maybe it was being so close to death, being threatened in such dangerous territory that was causing your life to accelerate at light speed in your mind. If you were going to lose everything, you might as well enjoy the escapism of a fake life with a beautiful man in your mind instead of being stuck on the heart pounding terror of being held hostage, right? 

Surprisingly, his words drew a smile from Cyrus. 

“You’re a protective father, aren’t you?” Cyrus asked. 

“Of course.” Reid confirmed. 

“I can always admire that in a man.” Cyrus nodded. “A man should always pride himself on protecting his family.” 

There was another moment of pause, and you were hoping that the topic had been dropped completely. 

“Do you have a picture of your children with you?” Cyrus asked. 

You wondered if - in a different version of reality, where you and Spencer really were married, where Hugo and Iris really did exist - if you had a picture of them in your pocket, would Cyrus only be asking this so he could use the picture to taunt the two of you? What other purpose would he have for knowing what your children looked like? 

“Unfortunately, no.” You answered. “I keep my family pictures on my desk. In my office. We - we’ve just been praying to get back to them safely.” 

Cyrus seemed perturbed at you mentioning that you had an office. Something dark flickered over his features for a moment and then disappeared. 

“Well… if it is right, God will grant you that safe passage.” Cyrus said. 

Just when you truly thought the conversation was done, he said something to you that entirely grinded under your skin. 

“I find it entirely odd that a mother of two young children spends her days working a job where she takes care of other people’s children, rather than staying at home with her own youngins where she belongs.” 

He said, using that same entirely confident, righteous tone that he always did. Even though you were not really a working mother, you had a hard time not boiling with anger at the sexism ripe in his statement. 

“How much must you be missing of your sweet angels lives to instead partake in the horrors of devils you shouldn’t have to witness.” 

Of course. 

You had a hard time not rolling your eyes at this or saying something harsh that would set him off. Instead, you reached up to Spencer’s arm around your shoulder, squeezing his fingers, trying to keep your patience.

“I’ll have you know that Y/N is an amazing mother.” Spencer piped up, knowing that Cyrus respected him enough as a man that he wouldn’t beat him simply for speaking up. “Her nurturing and caring makes her infinitely better at her job.” 

Again, you knew that there was so much personal truth in Spencer’s words. He thought that you would make an amazing mother to his children - at least theoretically. He was entirely firm in that conviction. And he thought that your natural caring made you amazing at the job you did as a Profiler. He knew this from the quality of work he witnessed you doing every single day. 

You didn’t know it - but it was just one of the many things that had caused him to fall in love with you. 

Oddly enough, Cyrus’ words prodded at something deep inside of you. It made you imagine a life for yourself where you weren’t spending your days witnessing horrors from unspeakable devils - but instead, at home, looking out for Spencer’s imaginary children. 

You would have said it was the fear of the day, clouding your mind. But maybe it was the clarity of being so close to death that made you realize what - and who - you truly wanted out of life. 

… 

Hours later, after some of the hostages had been released (the ‘non-believers’ who had failed the loyalty test), Cyrus had requested that some food be sent up. Spencer gave you a sharp look when he saw the message written on one of the takeout lids. 

The team would be storming in to end the hold-out at 3am. You had to somehow ensure the safety of the hostages by then. 

Obviously, the fake pregnancy idea was still warping through Spencer’s mind, but you had come up with some much better. 

“Cyrus,” You called out his name gently, getting his attention. “You said that you have a nursery here?” 

It had come up, during his long winded bragging about how perfect the Ranch was. Something about how mothers didn’t have to raise their children alone. The children were raised as more of a ‘group effort’ and women took ‘shifts’ in the nursery, allowing the women to rest or get chores done in the interim. 

“Yes, we do.” He nodded. 

Spencer stared at you with his jaw set, wondering what you were doing but not daring to speak. 

“I - I’ve been missing my children dearly. I was wondering if I could go to your nursery and see if they need any help? It would do my soul good to be around young ones right now. After all the commotion of these days.” You spoke meekly, trying to play the part of the shaken up, dainty woman well. 

Which was too difficult, seeing as you were playing up the fear you had already experienced. 

He grinned. It was a rather menacing smile, and you tried your hardest not to show any further fear, or disgust. 

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” He nodded. “Christopher, why don’t you escort her down to the nursery and then come back? We need you here for our final preparations.” 

You were finally falling to those gender roles that he had been pushing on you since you had arrived. He didn’t suspect a thing. He simply thought that you were a God fearing woman falling to your natural womanly instincts, needing to care for children lest your womb shrivel up and you die. 

Spencer rose from his seat and Cyrus stopped him. 

“Just your wife.” He said, putting a hand in front of Spencer’s chest to stop him. “There are still some things you and I need to discuss. Man to man.” 

You went over to Spencer and didn’t hesitate to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, which he returned with vigor. This one lasted only a moment - it was something precious for the two of you. You didn’t need to put on some pointed show for the men in the room. 

“It’s okay.” You told Spencer quietly, brushing your fingers gently over his uninjured cheek. 

You could tell that he was dying to ask you what your plan was. But he kept the words trapped in his throat, unable to speak in front of the many temperamental villains lurking about. 

“Come on.” Christopher grunted. 

Spencer gave you a longing look as you left. He didn’t want to think it, but as he watched your figure retreat out the door, he feared that it would be the last time he ever saw you. 

… 

Your plan worked flawlessly. 

Getting to the nursery meant that you had unsupervised access to the women and children, especially away from Cyrus’ prying ears. Because you were a ‘delicate’ woman, nobody suspected you of having ulterior motives. You easily found a crack in Kathy, Jessica’s mother. You spotted her as the one who had made the original 9-1-1 call, wanting to get her daughter away from Cyrus. You convinced her to help you get everyone out, and you felt intense relief when you were met with a familiar face in the cellar as everyone escaped through the tunnels. 

“Where’s Reid?” Morgan easily asked you, glancing behind your shoulder as if waiting for him to appear. 

“He’s still up at the church.” You told him. “I had to separate off to help get the women and children out-” 

“Go on, we have to get you out!” Morgan urged, trying to gently usher you along. 

“We have to go get Reid!” You argued, trying to turn around. 

“Go, go on, I’ll go get Reid!” He told you. 

You were about to argue back, but you were cut off by a scuffle behind you. 

Jessica was yelling about Cyrus - how her mother had betrayed her, tricked her. 

Morgan pushed Kathy toward you and ran off screaming for Jessica. You took Kathy’s arm, gently convincing her that everything was going to be okay as you guided her the rest of the way out. You had to focus on this, convincing yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to tell yourself that Derek was going to get Spencer out - that they were both going to be okay. 

When you got outside, you were hyper focused on marching away, taking a path away from the church as directed by the officers in charge. You froze in your tracks when you heard it - an earth shattering boom. The ground beneath your feet shook. You felt a puff of hot air swell to touch your back. 

You let go of Kathy’s arm and whipped around, and you couldn’t even pay attention to where she went. You almost thought you heard her weeping, but your mind couldn’t process it as your eyes were glossed in bright orange flame. 

It was the church. 

“Spencer?” You gasped quietly. “Spencer!” 

You couldn’t help it, but you began to run toward it. Your feet carried you faster than you could think, and before you got more than a few feet across the ground, you felt a sharp grip on your upper arm. 

“L/N!” 

Hotch’s voice, sounding far too distant for the position he held right behind you, viciously gripping onto you as you fought against him, trying to get toward the fire - trying to get to Spencer. 

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Hotch tried to order you around, tried to get you to stand down. 

He got a hand around your waist, and you continued to kick like a wild horse, fighting against his grip as hot tears poured down your face. 

“He’s in there!” You sobbed. “Spencer is still in there.” 

“Calm. Down.” Hotch ordered sharply. 

You collapsed back into him sobbing, all of the fight leaving your muscles at once. You couldn’t fake the reality in front of you. 

“You running in there and getting hurt isn’t going to change anything.” Hotch told you quietly, a somehow distant murmur into your ear. 

Through the blur of your tears and the sharp orange glow, you saw the shape of two bodies. You heard coughing as someone emerged from the blast, hobbling down the stairs at the front of the church. You forced your eyes open wider, trying to see who it was, and then: 

“Y/N!” Spencer called out your name gruffly through the smoke he had inhaled, and you easily shucked off Hotch’s grip to race up the stairs to get to him. 

He was leaning on Morgan for support and you were worried that he was hurt. But the moment you were close enough, he tore himself away from Morgan and the two of you met in the middle. In a pattern that was easily developing, you fell into the safety of his arms, holding him tight enough to bruise him - never wanting to let go. 

“You’re so stupid, you’re so stupid! Why would you do that to me?” 

You sobbed out, gripping both sides of his face, staring into his eyes, needing the recognition that he was right there, right in front of you. 

He stared back with glassiness - intense fear, adrenaline, and something small that told you he was thankful for you, and needed you now more than ever. 

Of course, your words were simple anger at the situation, not at Spencer himself. The terror of thinking that he was dead still pumping through your veins, causing you to shake. 

“I know.” He said quietly. “I love you.” 

His voice wrapped around the words so tenderly - it was the most sincere declaration you had ever heard from him. As if to say ‘I know how much that scared you. I know what this ordeal has done to us and I only meant it more because of how scared I am’. 

“I love you too.” The words flew from your lips so naturally it hurt. You took a moment to recover, entirely shocked by your own lips. And then, you only found the need to say it growing more inside of you. “Spencer, I love you.” 

You pulled him toward you with the grip you had on his face, and he easily met you in one of the most earth shattering kisses you had ever experienced. 

It was no longer a show, it was no longer about displaying the fake marriage for someone else’s benefit - if it had ever been about that in the first place. It was about the two of you. It was about feeling that comfort, that safety. It was about the fact that your two souls were drawn together since the day you had met. The fact that you had always felt safe with each other. You had always been the other person’s shelter from the storm. 

And you poured every ounce of those feelings into that kiss. 

You combed your fingers through Spencer’s hair, taking a harsh grip on the back of it, holding him there so he couldn’t pull away from your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your sweater. Both of you entirely refused to come up for oxygen, not even caring who saw the epically passionate, public display of your love for each other. 

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan and Hotch exchanged a look with raised brows as it happened. You and Spencer didn’t care. You were barely perceiving the world around you as the two of you kissed. 

“You know if you’re not careful, people are actually gonna think you two are married.” Morgan said, being his usual sarcastic self. 

Rather than pulling away from Spencer’s lips to sass him back - you simply flipped Derek off over Spencer’s shoulder. 

On the ride home, JJ handed Derek five dollars. He had the over/under that the two of you would get together before the end of the year. JJ said that it wouldn’t happen for another five years, at least. Derek handed the fiver to Emily when she reminded him that the ‘fake marriage’ bit had actually been her idea. 

When Emily and JJ relayed the story to Penelope, she squealed so loudly into the phone that JJ dropped it. 

Hotch pulled you aside later and warned you that the fake rings were just cheap costume jewelry that Garcia had gotten and they would tarnish soon if you kept wearing them. He also recommended that you and Spencer put in the paperwork with HR if you were ‘serious’ about the relationship. You knew that it was him wishing the two of you his best. 

A few days later when you came into work and found the HR request for an update of relationship status sitting on your desk, already signed by Spencer, you couldn’t help but to smile.

...

A/N: okay, I do have to admit, the ending kind of sucks imo (like the last few paragraphs) because I highly resisted the urge to end this with 'baby making' smut where y/n is like if 'you want kids for real, then we can have kids', and then Spencer just goes nuts. because I did like the more cheesy/romantic love confession ending, and I was getting way too tired to write smut for this. idk if I should do that 'x amount of reblogs for part 2' thing or if I'm just happy with this being a standalone oneshot?? idk. if people ask for a part 2, then I will set a reblog goal for it. and I will work on a part 2 for it after Lesson Two is posted.

[ironmandeficiency]

the hobbit + hozier songs

characters included: kíli, bilbo, dwalin, thorin, nori, bofur, ori, fíli, dori, tauriel

word count: 1166

a/n: the amazing and precious @wordbunch inspired me to write these bc of her lotr/th characters as taylor swift songs posts & i couldn't be more excited to finally post this labor of love!! thank you bestie for listening to me scream abt this for nearly two months lol

kíli: foreigner’s god

he loves outside of his race and this fact causes undue scorn to be thrown at his feet. it’s unheard of for almost any dwarf, let alone one from the line of durin, to do such a thing. this does not deter him - it empowers him; if his heart could go against the traditions forged into his bones, molten in his hot blood, how could it not be true? the strength of his love is what helps him ignore the doubts shouted by the prejudice plaguing those who know nothing of his heart. that, and the sound of your laughter at his antics, the soft smiles only given to him when he’s being a little too charming… he could go on.

bilbo: like real people do

as much flack as bilbo gets from the company for not being conventionally tough, he’s not weak by any means. he’s familiar with the pain of loss, and how the ways one tries to rise above the grief that follows aren’t always savory. he knows there’s a respect to be found in the absence of prying questions, choosing simply to coexist in the feelings and allow answers to come in their own sweet time. he’ll put some tea on to cook and scrounge up some leftovers from the previous meal, sitting beside you and letting the comfort flow naturally, his soft lips soothing the most tender aches.

dwalin: work song

just looking at him, you wouldn’t think dwalin a sap. but with his insanely strong sense of loyalty and stalwart dedication, he can’t be anything but. he’s faced down innumerable evils in his time, braved the fiercest of storms that many of his comrades didn’t; none of them even come close to keeping him from you. your arms welcome him home without question after each fight he braves, and your letters tucked into secret compartments in his armor keep him warm between embraces. he’ll read them by the fire every night when he’s away, every gentle word carrying his mind away from thoughts of the day’s turmoil.

thorin: sedated

this sweet, sad man doesn’t think he deserves good things in life. this, unfortunately, includes having someone love him despite his flaws and past mistakes. he couldn’t resist admitting his feelings for you and was ridiculously shocked that you reciprocated & allowed him to love you. on nights when he feels his failures deeper, he’ll try to convince you that he doesn’t deserve you. vitriol will escape from worried lips and terrified heart, piercing you in the way only a lover knows how. a soft kiss, gentle words, and a few strokes through his hair will soothe these wounds from him for a time and allow him some of the peace he’s fought to find, but doesn’t always believe is earned.

nori: it will come back

it was decades since the last time nori thought of love, even longer since he believed himself worthy of it. meeting you only solidified his disbelief; how could someone look at him and see someone that deserved such a pure thing, after everything he’s done in his life? he’s stolen, lied, cheated, and killed to survive (and sometimes not for mere survival). his attempts to spurn you away from him only increased your determination to break through the fortress he built around himself. he could only be strong against your advances for so long before he crumbled, reluctantly accepting the love and peace and safety you offered so freely.

bofur: nobody

bofur’s done a lot in his time. he was born in the blue mountains, a colony that never seemed to find the prosperity needed to do more than simply survive. he is a brother, uncle, cousin, friend, toymaker, miner, member of the great company that reclaimed erebor. but through all his adventures and hardships, he never lost his playful streak. he wants to have fun with who he loves, wants a little bit of mischief to make his laugh louder and brighter. bofur is a fun-loving soul who, despite his wandering past, will always choose you over anywhere that you’re not.

ori: francesca

ori’s life has never been a peaceful one. being raised by dori and being followed by the whispers of his late amad’s reputation (not to mention nori’s) without a mountain to call home, it weighed on his shoulders. even his craft, the pride of every dwarrow worth their beard, happened to be one seen as miniscule in importance compared to smithing. every moment spent with his one, doing anything or nothing at all, eases the burden he carries and makes every moment of strife worth it just to be with the soul made to mirror his.

fíli: i, carrion (icarian)

your love for him seems almost too good to be true, the remnants of stories told in dusty tomes written by those with far more eloquence than he can claim to possess. that being said, he is definitely not one to look a gift boar in the mouth. he relishes in each tender moment, every second spent in your presence that carries him far beyond the constraints life has placed upon him. but he recognizes that life isn’t always so simple, retreating into your arms and wishing that everything around you both just disappears. there’s always reality, waiting patiently outside of your chambers for one faulty misstep to throw you both askew. that’s why he dedicates himself to showing you that if life does what it does best and deals harsh blows, he will be there for you through it all.

dori: shrike

dori never had time for love; he had two brothers to protect, one more wily than the other was young. his focus was on getting his brothers through the days, putting food on their plates and the semi-frequently used stash of bail money well-stocked. he allowed his feelings for his one to fall to the wayside in the name of preservation. he ignored their call for decades and braved out the pain that came with such a silence. he begged for his one’s forgiveness every time they called for him. but once the mountain was reclaimed and his brothers safe, he yearned for what he could have had. he would approach his one with much regret and sorrow for the time lost, but a pure hope that they could find forgiveness in their heart for him.

tauriel: unknown/nth

to earn her love is a feat unlike that which the world has known for a long time. being seen as worth all these mortal struggles and painful toils in the eyes of an elf, let alone one as fierce as tauriel, is quite the achievement to anyone outside looking in. to the red-haired warrior in question, though, giving her love to you has the same unthinking ease as breathing; it’s beyond instinct to do and just as necessary to her survival. you’re worth every century spent alone, every moment after knowing you spent away from you.

[twopoint99]

Possible spoilers if you haven’t already listened or read the book. Also, spoilers for The Horror of Dracula, 1958 and Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992.

One of my favorite things about @re-dracula is seeing the reactions of people whose main exposure to the story is through the many film adaptations. The differences in how the characters relate to one another are way too many to list from film to film. Even aside from the bizarre choices (Lucy as Mina’s sister-in-law - the Horror of Dracula, 1958, or Mina as the reincarnation of Dracula’s lost love - Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992) the most important difference between those adaptations and re - dracula is that these are fully rounded characters who clearly care about one another.

Jonathan adores Mina, Mina loves him, and loves Lucy. The suitor squad and Van Helsing genuinely cherish Lucy and it causes everyone palpable pain when they see her slipping away. When the group finally gets together in one place, they all acknowledge and respect the various strengths they each bring, and they hold one another up as needed.

None of the characters seem cast aside, as often happens in film adaptations. Even the 1992 film, which includes all three suitors, doesn’t manage to make them all seem like full personalities. They appear more as aspects of an individual, or as tropes. Lucy herself in the ‘92 movie is the complete opposite of her characterization in the novel. Her behavior in the film is anachronistic at best, and offensive at the least. It is a perfect illustration of the stupid and misogynistic attitude in horror that “wanton” women are punished.

Not only that, but it also completely changes the story and the dreadful implications of it. Lucy isn’t targeted because she’s “done something wrong” (quotes because I don’t believe expressing/exploring one’s sexuality is wrong, no matter what my favorite genre keeps telling me), she is targeted because she is convenient. Dracula wasn’t musing in between leaving his castle and reaching England that by golly, he couldn’t wait to terrorize Lucy Westenra! He saw an opportunity, like any other predator, and he took it.

Of course, we’ve seen that he is very willing to play with his food once he feels in control. He was very pleased to be able to torment Jonathan, yet another character who is often treated poorly in adaptations - in the 1958 version he’s so smug and patronizing toward what appears to be a terrified woman, that I was actively hoping for his death.

In contrast, the novel/Dracula Daily/re-dracula show us a sweet, earnest man, one who is gentle and loving. He, like Lucy, is a convenient victim, and like Lucy, is innocent.

The true horror is that terrible things can happen to anyone, and no amount of wealth, education, or simple good-heartedness, will act as a shield. There are no preventatives, and no one “deserves” the terrible things that happen. The real strength of the story isn’t in deciding which characters(usually women) are worthy of saving, an overly simplistic approach that many film adaptations take, some more subtly than others. The story resonates because in spite of the randomness of the horror, the people involved decide to do something about it.

These people are not always perfect or even heroic. Dr. Seward (who I really enjoy, and who is also often portrayed badly in adaptation) is not a safe person for his patients to be around. He is ableist, arrogant, patronizing, and definitely not handling his own mental health well. He is also loving, practical, loyal, and in many ways exceptionally tender-hearted. All of the cast is achingly good in their portrayals, but Johnny Sims’ interpretation of Seward has been revelatory. The man is flawed, but gosh darnit, he’s absolutely human. His pain is visceral, his awkwardness is utterly relatable, and his attempts to make things make sense is so hard to hear, because we want the awful things to be a puzzle with a logical solution, but we also know that there is no motivation for what is happening, it is all chance.

Mina herself questions why they need worry about Dracula, once he is gone from England. By this time she’s had a horrific experience with the count and understandably wants to be done with the whole thing. Earlier, however, she begins her work of compiling all the information available about Dracula, because she understands that something may need to be done, for the good of all.

She is afraid of losing her husband, she is afraid of what other horrors may wait, but she also is able to put that aside to continue to pursue stopping Dracula, so that there won’t be another victim, and so that Dracula himself might be saved from the horrific reality he’s experienced for so long.

I have been telling people ad nauseum that re-dracula is hands down the best adaptation of the novel I’ve ever encountered. It is because it is treated as a story about people, real people, with real connections to those around them, real flaws and strengths, who grow to share a bond. They swear to stop Dracula, not out of vengeance, as Jonathan can be forgiven for wanting, but out of love for those they have lost and those they may save.

[lawlightautismtruther]

SUPER LONG LAWLIGHT DYNAMIC ANALYSIS RANT (THIS MOSTLY ONLY APPLIES TO THE ANIME)

It’s really not that serious, but there’s more to my thesis of L being a sub/bottom than just blorbo yaoi fuel. I‘ll call back to my post about L’s true emotional vulnerability that most viewers seem to miss, because on a surface level (especially when coming from the manga and when trusting the words of Obha at face value) you may see L as detached and cold. You’re supposed to think that L is unfeeling at FIRST but post-confinement/pre-yotsuba, the truth starts to seep out. L could have had Light convicted after seeing that no more criminals were dying since locking him up, but he didn’t. Even Aizawa admitted that it was enough evidence. You know it’s real when Aizawa agrees with Matsuda, lmfao.

Anyway, after this point, L and Light actually really start to bond. (I pretty much see lawlight as subtextual canon) L, not really needing to do this because of his access to surveillance, handcuffs himself to Light Yagami. He doesn’t want to be apart from him. I actually find it to be a comedically obvious act of desperation.

My point is, Light is winning the game, and L is letting him do it out of what I believe is love. L has found the one person in his life (besides maybe Naomi) that he really feels any sort of connection to, and therefore he would hate to watch that person die. L is inarguably a vulnerable character imo. If you rewatch the the series, outside of his internal monologues, he’s actually extremely soft-spoken and coy.

“Oh, uh, well it was nice meeting you”

“Light, please make Misa stop talking now.”

You get the point. He’s nervous. He’s super frail and holds himself very compactly, he walks with his eyes on the ground usually. He shakes when Aizawa lays a hand on him. He is terrified of shinigami. I think his coldness is an act to protect himself. I really do, because he knows how much things actually do affect him. In order to continue with cases, he has to pretend like none of it really matters to him. And he almost believes it at this point, too— hence his monster speech.

But then there’s Light Yagami. A worthy individual to truly understand L. He comes along, actually treats L like a human being (be it an act, I believe it still feels good to L, who has been treated like a robot his entire life), of course L is bound to at the very least see him as a friend.

I don’t believe L’s external behavior towards Light is an act. He didn’t have to be kind, he didn’t have to pretend it was a friendship. He had zero professional reason to do so. In fact, it very much made the case a harder one to solve. If we take L’s character at face value, he would have scrapped all of the fluffy shit (like asking Light to go get cake with him, telling Light he was his only friend knowing damn well Light wouldn’t budge regardless, etc.) Adding a friendship into the mix only complicates the process of trying to read Light.

As much as L the detective hates to lose, L the person is desperate. If he really hated to lose, why did he let himself? He’s submitting to Light’s will and THAT is what kills him. On the day he dies, he knows it will happen, but still, he treats Light with kindness. Sure, he asks him if he’s ever told the truth once in his life, but after that, he pretty much gives up prying. That’s it. He’s put his gun down. Since he’s going to die anyway, he might as well just enjoy being around Light. I know for a fact that he is smart enough to have come up with some sort of plan to convict Light post-Higuchi. There’s a book about that. But canonically, he didn’t do it. Notice also how L goes to Watari before he dies for comfort. L is really such a sad character.

The crux of his character is his submissiveness, hence why I’m such a proponent of that ship dynamic. Its not just a wet-dream, it’s something I sensed in their dynamic to begin with. It’s why I became an L simp, not the other way around.

Anyway, the anime is a genius adaptation and expansion on the original story imo. (At least up until L’s death— unfortunately it didn’t do the other Wammy’s boys any justice)

TLDR;

manga L- cold and domineering, hates to lose and mostly loses at first because Light outsmarts him

anime L- the very opposite and I LOVE IT

Look at me putting my 5 on the AP English literature exam to use! Also, I know I’m a huge L fan, but I am a Light kinnie and I love him as a protagonist in every possible anti-hero type way and would love to analyze him so let me know if yall want that.

Okay, class, any questions?

[jellalism]

Diluc x GN!Reader fic: In safe hands

You are having a depressive episode. Diluc takes care of you.

Word count: 1018

Genre: Comfort

Content warnings: Depression, not wanting to eat, and anti-natalist thinking (i.e. thinking it is better not to be born).

Notes: First published on AO3 a year and a half ago. Thought I'd finally post it on here, too.

Read below or on AO3.

You sit on the couch of the Dawn Winery Manor. Knees up, nestled under a blanket, staring into space. Comfy, but you’re not happy. It isn’t that anything is particularly wrong, but you’ve been feeling down today. The whole week, really. It’s just one of those episodes you have every once in a while. You know you’ll get through it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. On the worst days, you can barely drag yourself out of bed, eating is a chore, and doing any actual work is an impossible task. Today is perhaps not that bad, but not much better either. Add to that, the terrible boredom. If you had anything to distract yourself with, it might be bearable – but what do you do if your very diversions seem insurmountable tasks themselves? You sigh.

“y/n?” Diluc stands in the middle of the room, taking his coat off. You hadn’t even noticed him coming in.

“Hey,” you say. You wish you could be more outwardly enthusiastic, but you’re too sapped of energy. Inwardly, though, you are quite happy to see him.

“I see you are not doing so well.” He pauses, then walks up to you, bends over, and kisses your forehead. “Hold on, I will make you some tea.”

You murmur a word of thanks, but probably too softly for him to hear as he leaves the room. He could just have one of the servants make the tea, but he prefers to care for you with his own hands. Besides, his expertise doesn’t only pertain alcoholic drinks. He knows the exact right way to make tea, too. None of the servants’ tea can match the Master’s.

You listen to Diluc making noises in the kitchen, as he left the door open. Bringing the water to a boil, measuring the amount of tea, taking the pot from the cabinet – all the while humming a soft tune. Diluc has told you before that humming is an indispensable part of making good tea. You have your doubts, but have no reason to complain; you’re quite content listening to his song. Diluc isn’t free of his own demons, but he can get into the tasks at hand and lose himself in it, which allows him to hum in such a carefree way.

After a couple of minutes, Diluc returns, carrying a tray. On it, a pot of tea, two cups, and… a croissant. Why must he be so perceptive? you wonder. He definitely noticed you haven’t eaten – it is like a sixth sense he has. Diluc places the tray on the table and, without a word, starts pouring the tea. Then he puts one cup in front of you, giving you a smile and a wink. The second cup he places next to yours, and then he seats himself next to you on the couch. His arm goes over your shoulder and pulls you closer to him. You relax, leaning against his body. It’s warm, comfortably warm. You close your eyes.

“Tell me what is on your mind.”

You are silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you start softly. Diluc murmurs an encouraging sound. Still trying to find the right words, you continue: “Sometimes I just feel so down without an apparent reason. And once I’m that way, the negative thoughts come pouring in, to keep me held down. I fear that I’m never gonna be alright. That I’m not worthy of love. That I’ve misled people into loving me, because if they truly knew me, they wouldn’t stick around. That it'd be better for everyone if I were never born.”

“I respectfully disagree, my love.” Diluc replied. “You are… quite someone, you know? There is no need to be afraid that people would cower at the sight of the ‘real you’. I have been with you for some time, and you have bared your soul. And I am still here, remember? I love you with all your insecurities and wounds, all your mistakes and the things you think are imperfections. I have seen all of you, and I am ‘sticking around’. I love you, and I love being with you.”

A single tear runs over your cheek. “Thank you,” you say. The response feels inadequate, but you can’t quite put your feelings into words. “That means a lot,” you add, turning to face him. He smiles at you in a loving way. His right arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he brings his left hand to your face, holding your chin. His touch is ever so gentle, like you’re a beautiful yet fragile flower. You close your eyes as he leans in. His lips touch yours, press upon them with reservation betraying unparalleled devotion. He tastes like apple cider, with that slight taste of cinnamon.

As the kiss comes to an end, Diluc doesn’t lean back, but rather embraces you tightly. “You mean a lot to me,” he murmurs in your ear. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

You make no sound, letting yourself melt in his arms. They are so warm, so safe. Diluc breath tickles your neck.

After a while, Diluc lets go of the embrace, though one of his hands searches yours and holds it. With the other hand, he reaches for the plate with the croissant and picks it up. “Eat something, sweetheart.” You look at the pastry with aversion. Diluc doesn’t fail to notice. “I know you do not want to, but I do not wish to see you neglect your body. If you cannot do it for yourself, do it for me, alright?” He looks at you imploringly and softly squeezes your hand.

“Alright.” You remove your hand from his hold, take the croissant from the plate and take a small bite.

“Good,” Diluc mumbles under his breath. His now-freed hand goes to your head, and starts playing with your hair. “It’s so soft.”

As you slowly eat the pastry, Diluc continues his play with your hair. His fingers are so delicate, so careful. If it’s under his care, eating isn’t all that bad, you suppose.

Notes

Thanks for reading! I really enjoy reading your comments, whether that's as an actual comment or just your reactions in the tags of a reblog. So if you enjoyed, please leave a comment!

[nd-of-a-manatee]

I know this isn’t quite how ranks work in Psychonauts canon, just go with it.

[Image ID: The following is rendered in fuzzy digital pastel. Razputin Aquato–in his late teens, tall and skinny–lies breathless on his back on the ground, covered in sweat. He’s wearing sweatpants, a striped undershirt, and sneakers. His hair is disheveled, pushed back by his signature goggles. One of his eyes is a little higher than the other, now that he’s older. He stares upward with eyes wide, at his wit’s end. He lies in a white space, his colors graded dull blue. The foreboding cyan shadow of a three-digit number is projected over him: 206. End ID]

Raz has a problem.

He trains so hard to rank up his prowess as a psychic. He’s been training since the day he learned what a Psychonaut is. Now that he’s one of them, he sees diminishing returns for his efforts. That’s normal, they say. It gets harder over time. But he’s only 15, and it hasn’t changed in months. He’s way behind the other cadets his age, all approaching the 300s in their psychic specialities. Here he is stuck at 206.

This isn’t normal.

It’s not just about the number. There isn’t supposed to be a ceiling. A person can always improve, always extend themself to reach closer to their full potential. His mentors–his heroes, all well into the 1000s themselves–gave him a chance to be a Psychonaut because they saw so much of that potential in him. They were impressed that he picked up his first set of powers so quickly and used them to save the day nearly by himself–twice. What if that was the trick? He picks up a new discipline right away, then can’t advance it past a certain point. Hydrokinesis should be what he’s good at, but he’s barely better with it than anything else. That’s it. This is his potential. It was all a trick.

He lies awake at night, frantically weighing in anything that could be related to why. Anything he could do about it. He has often looked back on himself and thought that autism or ADHD or both could explain whatever being an enthusiastic little psychic nerd couldn’t. What if this is part of that? What if he can’t change it? His heart sinks.

He can’t hide it. They’ll all find out what he really is. What will they do if he can’t live up to the position he’s been awarded?

An old anxiety stirs. He doesn’t belong here.

Suddenly, Raz can’t concentrate. His performance falls below even his mediocre rank in practice, in study, in everything. He can’t even walk without tripping. His peers and mentors notice, though he insists that he’s fine.

It reaches a point where a couple of his teachers stop in their busy schedules and call him to sit down with them. That’s when the truth comes out. He tells them everything.

He waits nervously for their response.

They answer easily and say that he’s already proven his worth as a Psychonaut beyond any kind of rank or measure of raw power. His sense of duty, determination, willingness to learn from his mistakes, inventiveness, and compassion are what maximize the effectiveness of his psychic abilites–not to mention his unique skills as an acrobatic. If strength were all that mattered, none of them would be worthy of the abilities they wield.

[Image ID: Raz sits up. The hole in the zero makes it look like the shadow has retreated until it’s almost all the way off of him, lingering at the top of his head. His eyebrows are raised, but he’s calmer–having made an epiphany. End ID]

He hadn’t thought of it like that.

After some rest, Raz goes looking for new psychic sensitivities–not in a desperate attempt to find the thing that will bring him up to par, but with all the curiosity of an adventurer in search of new discoveries. By the end of the year, he has achieved adequate command of a wide, wide range of disciplines and has begun experimenting with using them in tandem. “Power juggling” is a difficult art for most psychics. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and lose control. As it turns out, Raz thrives in that kind of chaos and is able to compartmentalize his focus enough to practically create new powers unto themselves, if for a very short time. He shakes the dust off of his acrobatics. It’s no longer a grueling requirement to please his family. It’s his now. Fun and challenging, a test of dexterity and flow. He quickly renews his skills and finds new ways to wrap his powers around them. The other cadets come and watch him practice just to see what wild shit he’s up to that day.

He feels alive. He feels like himself, now more than ever.

[Image ID: Raz sprints out from under the shadow, turning to raise a middle finger at it with gleeful disdain. End ID]

[Image ID: The story shifts to a comic book sequence, also graded blue-green. Morceau Oleander has a green psychic shield raised to protect him, Milla Vodello, Adam Gette, and Norma Natividad from blue psychic needles that threaten to skewer them from above. The others use their own powers to try to fight the needles off, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. Someone talks over them. “Miserable fools.” A lanky white woman in a housecoat, plain shirt, sweats, and slippers with long billowing silver hair commands the scene from the center of some kind of pump room. Her arms are outstretched like a conductor. Her needles press buttons on control panels and hover menacingly over tied and gagged hostages. “I’ve had to devote my life to perfection to get this far,” she declares with triumphant superiority. We see her up close. She’s in her late 50s with sharp facial features and a high hairline, and she’s wearing a small earring on each ear. Her teeth gleam in a wicked smile as she shouts. “You have no idea of the sacrifice. The fortitude. I alone am qualified to correct the modern world’s failure to compete. Content weaklings like you don’t stand a chance. Just look at you.” She turns to face a shadowed corridor within a tangle of pipes behind her. “You can’t even sneak up properly.” Someone with angular shin-high boots runs down some steps deep in the corridor. That person– wearing black gloves and Sasha Nein’s old green jacket–uses orange psi power to draw water in the shape of a hand from a pocket-sized bottle. The hydro hand leaps forward toward the woman with its fingers outstretched. A coil of orange lighting snakes around it. Then, the hand freezes into an electrified claw. The hand is suddenly shattered on a horizontal needle that pops into existence. The woman sneers. “Ha!” The person uses the needle to swing forward and lunge out from the shadows feet-first. It’s Raz in his cool spy mission outfit. His boot folds the old woman in half by the stomach. She makes the dumbest surprised face, having been caught in her most confident moment. Raz looks determined and focused. Ice shards tinkle in the air around them. Raz then has her pinned on the floor. He has produced a helmet that looks like a Geodesic Psychoisolation Chamber from his jacket and plunked it on her head. “Did I break anything?” he asks, deadly serious. “My worldview is shattered,” she answers, bewildered. Raz pops into his excitable mode. “Oh! We can help with that.” He takes out a psi-portal. She turns to him and says, “Ok.” End ID]

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

I keep rewording my commentary on this idea, so here’s the jumble:

I love the idea of protagonist syndrome. Main character kiddo is the specialest one of all who overcomes impossible odds or has a big cool unique ability. You see it all over magical/superhero kid cartoons. And then, that all collapses when they get older and change or can’t measure up and have to learn how to detach from the initial self-image and explore who they want to be (Steven Universe & Future, Venture Bros, my actual life experience if you can’t guess). I know it’s a little weird to poke holes in fun kids’ media and should be done with care. But I’m super interested in how protag syndrome applies to real life post-straight-A/sports star/Good Kid TM imposter syndrome. I wanna use this kinda thing as a framework to explore ways to be kinder to and happier with ourselves.

And just look at the boi. He’s doing so good.

Special guest appearance by the Noodler’s mean aunt, the Needler.

[Image ID: The Needler–the woman described before–is depicted in an initial sketch in black and white. She looks annoyed, standing with her hands and fingers splayed out in an “evil wizard” kind of gesture. The image is a little simplified. She has no nose. End ID]

[nervoushottee]

August | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie is your Augustine (August by Taylor Swift)

Warnings: unexpected kiss

Note: I honestly think this fic might be the best one I’ve written for this little series so far (despite I’ve only written one since this one) maybe it’s because August is literally my FAVORITE song I love it so much. I normally do not write for Eddie but something about him….my fingers couldn’t stop typing. This fit him so much in my opinion.

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWS!

Anyway, Enjoy!!

(To get into the mood of the story, it helps to listen to August by Taylor Swift while reading)

Series Masterlist

If someone told Eddie Munson that one day you and him would become friends, he would think you were smoking too much green.

You were a good friend to him but Eddie couldn't help but like you more than that. He knew about you before you were friends, see you in class or in the hallways tucked under Steve. He thought you were beautiful but he knew he didn’t stand a chance against “The Hair”. He would see you two on the weekends sometimes when he needed to get a movie. You perched up on the counter in Family Video right next to the register, stealing quick kisses from Steve while he worked. So when the two of you became good friends it was as if he won the lottery. That shocked yet happy feeling of “I can’t believe this was happening to me”.

If that alone had Eddie so happy and making sure to cherish being friends with you because he didn’t think he was worthy of your time. That this friendship was unexpected, the moment you kissed him was ten times worse.

He had heard a month or so later that you and Steve had broken up. Robin being the one who blabbed and accidentally telling him. (When that girl smokes she gets a lot more talkative then she already is). He didn’t push or pry like how your other friends did. Them demanding details or constantly asking if you were okay. Eddie felt like he didn’t need to do that. If he were in your shoes, he would want no one to ask him any questions. Because it was actually none of their business. So he did just that.

He spoke to you how he normally would, joked to you how he normally would and he could tell you were grateful. You spent a lot more time with him after that. He didn’t ask questions or constantly ask if you were okay when the two of you saw Steve pass by. He assumed you preferred the sense of normalcy you felt around him.

So when the school year ended and summer rolled around, the two of you were thick as thieves. You got a summer job at the farmers market and on your breaks you would bike over to the garage where Eddie worked. You’d bring him lunch, grocery bags filled with sweet peaches, cold cut sandwiches and a large soda to share. You would also bring Wayne a treat or two from time to time since he forbade you from bringing him lunch also. Saying that he was just grateful that Eddie was eating and that was that.

The two of you would sit in the back of his van for lunche. The door swung open, feet dangling off the edges as the two of you ate and talked. He preferred you like this, warm and sunkissed. Peach juice staining your lips, dribbling down your chin. On instinct, he wipes the sweet liquid from your chin with his thumb. You don’t think anything of it due to how close the two of you had gotten. From drooling on his shoulder in the middle of your movie nights or that one time you got sick and threw up in his van. You simply hum out a thank you and continue chewing.

But Eddie doesn’t move his thumb, he wipes there slowly still. You turn to him and ask what’s wrong but the words don’t come out as Eddie kisses you.

He kisses you quickly before moving away. He didn’t know why he did it and he honestly shouldn’t have risked it. You’re the best thing that's ever happened to him and he didn’t want to jepordize that by kissing you if you didn't reciprocate his feelings. But he just loved how you looked sitting in the back of his van, wearing one of his shirts that you tied in a way to fit you better. Despite the deep regret filling his gut, something about it just felt right.

You looked at him shocked but didn’t say anything so Eddie did the only thing he knew he was good at. Making bad jokes at the wrong time.

“Yours taste better than mine. Wanna switch?” he asks, gesturing to his peach. His heart skips a beat when you let out a small laugh and go along with it. Swapping your half bitten peach for his.

When you are done with your shifts at the market, you always peddle back to the car garage so you can put your bike in his van so Eddie can take you home. Thankfully, despite the kiss, today wasn’t any different. The two of you went back and forth singing some song on the radio with the windows down. When he pulls in your driveway and watches you unbuckle your seatbelt. He thinks this is the last time he’s going to do this, that he ruined it with the kiss.

He takes a deep breath in preparation of you saying your final goodbye to him and not wanting to be around him anymore but is shocked once again, when you lean over the console to kiss him.

You kiss him longer this time, putting more initiative into it. You taste faintly of the peach you both ate and the icecream you had finished minutes before getting in his van.

When Eddie opens his eyes, your cheeks are warm and with a hint of pink as you look at him with a smile. “See you tomorrow Munson.” you say to him before getting out of his van and walking to your front door.

He didn’t know what was to come this summer, let alone tomorrow. But he knows for sure that he’s excited to do it all with you.

— — — —

August came and went too quickly than Eddie would prefer. Summer was coming to a close.

You and Eddie were…something. You didn’t put a label on it and Eddie didn’t dare ask the “what are we?” question. He was just happy that it happened. Happy that you kissed him back that day in his van.

Summer was filled with you and warm skies. The two of you would hang out like you normally would, but this time Eddie could kiss you and hold you like he always wished. You cheeks were always pink when you were around him. You could blame it on the summer heat but Eddie secretly wished it was because of him.

He knows though that all good things will come to an end. You talk about Steve now, you didn’t when you both first became friends. And Eddie isn’t jealous or possessive, he knows his place. He isn’t stupid to think that you don’t love Steve. What the two of you had, anyone could assume that the two of you would have gotten married in the next few years or something.

So Eddie doesn’t falter or get upset when you shyly bring him up. He urges you to continue, because before all this, before the long makeouts in his bed or the quickies in his van. You were friends first.

And if he was going to lose you from being… whatever it was that you were to each other. He would want to still stay friends.

Despite that, he enjoys his days with you. He enjoys the summer.

You coming to rehearsal for Corroded Coffin. Or just hanging out with Wayne and watching a movie with him when Eddie tells you he’s working late. Joining in on Hellfire Club instead of just watching from the sidelines. (You were still very confused with the game so the kids and Eddie made you the dice holder. Giving it a kiss of good luck before handing it off to whoever needs it)

Wayne worries for Eddie. He always does, its in the description of being a parent/guardian. He asks about you and asks Eddie if you’re his girlfriend. But Eddie doesn’t answer, he doesn’t know. (He does).“We’re just having fun.” he would say. And it wasn't a lie, you were. Eddie couldn’t count on hand how much he’s laughed and smiled when you’re around and vice versa.

But he knows, this will all end soon. He can feel it. When he sees you talks to Steve briefly when he drives past Family Video. Or when you don’t come over to the trailer as much as you used to. Any day now you will go back to Steve, and Eddie’s made peace with it.

Sure it will hurt like hell when it happens, but all he wants is for you to truly be happy. And if it’s not with him then he hopes it’s with some like Steve Harrington.

So he will miss your laugh. Miss seeing you wear his shirts to sleep. You singing the songs that his band plays, being the only “groupie” at the front of the stage at The Hideout. He will miss the way his skin felt against yours, how soft your lips are against his when you whisper his name.

He will miss how cute you were in your shorts and short tanks to bask in the summer heat. He knows this won’t last, whatever this was between you too will be gone as quickly as it happened. But he will enjoy it right now, he won't think too much about it. He will be at your beck and call whenever you need. He will answer every late night phone call, will arrive at every late work shift you have, will be your shoulder to cry on until you don’t want him anymore.

Because if this is the only way he can have you, he will devour it whole, until there is nothing left.

[rynnthefangirl]

From my personal point of view, you, the fans of the "Velaryon" boys (I say this because it offends you that we give them the surname of their real father) have a very altered perception of the universe that you read.

You only defend justice when it suits you and you only consider usurpation when it suits you. I have to continually see how you say that Aegon would never "usurp" Jace, excuse me? That throne was Aegon's and it should always have been that way, but of course for this fandom it is fair that he bears the stigma of his mother and his half-siblings and does not claim his own so as not to expose that his half-siblings are illegitimate who were put in the line of succession when in the ASOIAF universe it is inconceivable and frowned upon.

That Rhaenyra has such obvious bastards is an idea poorly developed by George, anyone who knows anything about history knows that no woman would keep the position of heir in these circumstances, and you will tell me there is no DNA evidence in the Middle Ages, thanks, I'm tired of seeing the same argument. But I think that the three children of the crown princess being identical to her sworn shield, that Harwin is present in the bedroom when Lucerys is born, that Rhaenyra is seen more in Harwin's company than Laenor's who was barely in Dragonstone and that anyone who said anything about it was threatened with cutting tongues is more than enough indication. The existence of these boys created a very big instability, even Corlys himself as soon as he could (Viserys dead, Rhaenyra depending largely on his support, Daemon far away and with nothing to gain from the succession of Driftmark because none of his daughters were betrothed to Joffrey) removed Rhaenyra's son from the line of succession of his house, it is clear why Jace and Rhaenyra agreed to legitimize Addam and Alyn, because otherwise Corlys would withdraw his support, this character is presented as a white dove and he was not, he also looked out for the good of his own house, only people forget that Rhaenyra and her children had the support of the king, you could not do what you wanted. In this agreement Rhaenyra is cuckolded, and Marilda's children who were born in the same years as Jace and Lucerys are seen as more worthy of their "father's" inheritance than Joffrey the supposed legitimate son of Laenor, and I don't care about the birth order, under normal circumstances the legitimized bastards go after the legitimate sons.

I'm a fan of House Targaryen before any other character, and the best thing for its continuity was Aegon and Viserys, I do not support a change of dynasty that was also based on a bad lie. Even if you don't like it, the world created by George is not governed by the same rules of justification as in the 21st century, and it's not called thinking like a medieval character, it's called contextualizing, It's a pretty important thing that is usually taught when you analyze a text. Would this discussion make sense in the current era? No, in the Middle Ages? Yes. But I know that it's like talking to a wall, and I'm just a bigot, because I believe that this world is not rosy and that the world, especially in the Middle Ages, was far from fair. I could also talk about how good kings these guys could have been and how overrated their abilities are, but I think it's not necessary and it doesn't matter either, because it's not their place to be.

And also saying that your opinions on a fictional universe of which you do not want to understand the rules does not make you better people, you have a moral superiority complex that is scary. I can't even say that I hate them (although their fandom has created a certain weariness in me, I'm not going to lie) but they are characters with a specific function in the story, to die, and I didn't even become fond of them when I read Fire and Blood because I'm a reader of ASOIAF and I knew what their destiny was, which was not to occupy the throne, they were a late addition to the story, when Aegon was already Rhaenyra's son and her successor, that's why I don't tolerate the idea that Aegon is occupying anyone's place, that place was always his. But hey, we agree to disagree I guess.

Thanks for this ask! A part of me was genuinely asking in my initial post as to why there was animosity towards the Velaryon boys, and this was a well reasoned response.

I do want to quote a more recent post I made as to give some context to exactly what kind of fandom behavior inspired my initial post:

----

Some people just fail to grasp that there is a difference between saying something like:

“I don’t like that Rhaenyra had bastards because that causes further succession issues, and for the sake of stability it’s best that a true born son sits the throne instead of Jace.”

And saying something like:

“Rhaenyra is such a selfish whore. I hate the bastards and can’t wait for them to die. Bastard blood must be cleansed from the throne!”

--

When I talk about people “cosplaying bigotry”, first of all— I’m not saying that they ARE bigots. I generally don’t believe in judging real world people based on fandom, because its easy to get heated about your favorite or least favorite characters, and at the end of the day this is all fiction. Also, the kind of bastardphobia you see in this fandom is not actually reflective of real world prejudices. The stigma against having having children out of wedlock in the real world is very much directed at the parents, not the kids. When someone quotes something like “all bastards are born to betrayal” I know they are just parroting Westerosi attitudes and don’t think that of real children born to unwed parents. What I think is actually happening is that people want to use the most extreme tone and language available to express their dislike of characters, and the language of bigotry is going to do that far better than a calm reasoned explanation. It’s not some horrible “ah your a bigot snd the worst person ever, fuck you!1!!” thing, but it is… weird. I find it weird that some people are so quick to act and talk like a supremacist once they have an acceptable target.

“Like” a supremacist, not a supremacist.

“Cosplaying” bigotry, not bigotry.

“Weird”, not evil or terrible.

I choose my words intentionally when I make posts on this topic. Some anons that I reply to may not, and I’m not going to disagree with or correct them because that isn’t the topic of my responses (Also, if people are going to talk like bigots, yeah IMO it’s fair that some people are gonna just call them that, even if I myself think you can’t make that jump based on fandom behavior.) But I figured I’d clarify my own stance and language given your assumption that I’m just going to ignore your point and call you a bigot.

But back to the Velaryon boys themselves, yeah I largely agree with what you are saying. Unfair though it may be, it is the reality of the matter is that them being illegitimate is going to cause problems and threaten the stability of the realm. This was a reckless thing for Rhaenyra to do, no doubt. However, personally, my animosity and blame is going to be directed at the people who would use their illegitimacy to grasp power at the expense of the good of Westeros. Like someone at some point has to actively make the choice to do that, it's not going to magically just happen. After that, it'd be directed at Viserys and Corlys for arranging a marriage to Rhaenyra with a man who could not give her children. Then Rhaenyra, for not finding a better solution than having three kids with a man who looks so different than Laenor (though I empathize with the lack of options she had). Then last of all, the boys themselves, who did nothing but be born the wrong way. Like I get what you are saying about contextualizing the issue, and I do think that is an important thing to consider for judging the characters' actions in universe. But I'm sorry, as a woman raised in the 21st century, I am simply not going to personally feel more anger at a woman having children outside of wedlock than I am going to feel towards misogynists and murderers, regardless of the context. It's not about what character was justified in doing what, it's about my feelings and what characters I am going to like. Which is why my sentiment is really and truly directed at people who viscerally hate the Velaryon boys, because to me that is still difficult to wrap my head around considering I find them all to be decent and likable kids. But I do appreciate your thoughts on why their characters would be frustrating, from at least a writing perspective I can understand the animosity a bit better.