#poem tag: and miles to go before i sleep

[wolverinedoctorwho]

when people tell me i'm pretty - vent poem

when people tell me i'm pretty i think we're looking at two different people.

when people tell me i'm pretty i think they couldn't possibly mean me. they mean the idea of me in their head. they mean the me that comes out of my mouth, my traits, my personality. i'm funny enough that they find me attractive.

when people tell me i'm pretty i think they're looking at me from a completely different angle. like watching a show on a monitor where the colors are more vibrant than they should be.

even on the days when i feel pretty, i couldn't tell you what features of mine are actually desirable. undesirable, sure. i wish i was in better shape, i wish my hair wasn't a mess all the time, i wish my face didn't just look "wrong" in photos without great lighting and effort.

when i wear skirts i feel the least feminine i've ever been. when i try to do my own makeup i feel like the kid in the movies everyone made fun of for putting on his mom's dresses. i feel like someone trying to do what's expected of them, and failing, miserably.

when people tell me i'm pretty, i want to tell them they're wrong. i want to tell them they don't have to say that, that it's ok for me not to be pretty, that it's fine if i'm average at best. i want to tell them it hurts more to hear that than it would to just not talk about my body ever.

whenever i dress up and try to do my own makeup i feel like the ugliest person alive, and when people tell me i look pretty that way or smile and compliment me on stepping out of my comfort zone i want to cry. why are they so invested in me getting a passing grade in gender expression?

when people tell me i'm pretty, i wonder why it bothers me so much. is there another word that would suit me better? or is it simply my own anxiety and dislike of my body that makes me uncomfortable? is it because growing up i was never remarked on positively, only chastised by my mother for my messy hair and my stretch-marked thighs and my small chest and my stomach that sticks out no matter what i do? is it because nobody my age ever told me i was pretty, only old people who would have said that to me no matter what?

my ex-boyfriend used to call me sexy. we'd be in his bathroom, nude in front of the mirror, and he'd smother me with compliments, and i would stare at myself in the mirror and wonder what he saw that i didn't. it's hard to leave a bad relationship when they're the only one who's ever found you sexy.

when people tell me i'm pretty, i wish for a moment that we could swap. that i could see the girl they think is so pretty, and they could see the me that i think is not. maybe then we would understand each other. maybe then i'd *get it*. maybe i'd think she's pretty, too.

when people tell me i'm pretty, i smile, and i thank them. like you're supposed to do when someone compliments you.

and then i change the subject.

[thatlittlered]

would've, could've, should've | aaron hotchner

warning(s): one whole curse word, smoking, stunning amount of fluff and a little bit of action

GIF by @littlecarmine

part one

part two

author's note: Sorry for the delay, hope it was worth it! I also want to thank the sweet anon for the ask with the Robert Siken poem, which I included here. Next part will be straight-up filthy smut, so stay tuned, fellow sluts.

Follow me @MadeofLilies on Ao3 and let me know if you want to be tagged here.

-.-.-

You don’t see much of each other for the next couple of days. Aaron is on autopilot, avoiding any chance to be alone with you. The rest of the team unknowingly act as a buffer and all he has to do is not look at you during work hours, keep the door to his office shut to not hear your laughter.

It’s a relief when you and Morgan are called to testify in court for a case. You’re somewhere far away for the day, where he knows you’re safe and he can go back to pretending nothing has changed.

The problems start when he’s not being kept busy.

 How much paperwork can one person do?

The stars align oddly in his favor and he’s into calls or meetings until long after everyone else has gone home. When ten pm rolls around, he finally calls it quits but sees no point in leaving in a hurry. It’s past Jack’s bed time, it’d be cruel to wake him up now and carry him back home when tomorrow’s Sunday. If all goes well, he can pick him in the morning and they’ll get to spend the day together.

His finger is hovering over Jessica’s number when he spots your name in his call logs. It’s silly and childish, but he hasn’t thought of you in a couple of hours and God.

Deep down, he knows he’s been incredibly unfair to you. He had to. Had to tell himself it was something outside of him causing him torment. An obstacle to overcome, a distraction to ignore. He had to act as if you were forcing your way into his life in order to be able to put up walls, but what have you really done except exist near him? He is the one to blame for allowing it to grow beneath his skin; succumbing to his need for some sort of intimacy when he could have -should have- nipped this at the bud a very long time ago. He recognized it within himself the other day, when he realized he could have -should have- kissed you.

But nothing is healed with a kiss. Only new grievances arise.

It’s where you go from there that matters and he finds himself unable to guide or be guided.

Where do you go from here?

When he decides to feed his insomnia with a cup of late-night coffee, he is yet again reminded of you. So, he calls, but you don’t answer and he pours another, completely indifferent to the idea of sleep.

It’s getting too late to be here, even by his standards. He tries calling again, but, no answer. He gathers his stuff to leave and there is a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach when he settles inside the car. It’s only eleven and you always say you never sleep this early.

Another call, this time to Emily, who miraculously, picks up.

“Hello? Hotch?”

There is a deafening buzz in the background; loud voices and music blasting.

Aaron apologizes for the late hour and tries to be discreet when he asks about you. Says he needs to go over something about a case file but you won’t answer his calls and he got worried.

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s right here with me, but it’s a little hard to get her right now. Is it urgent?”

“Uh, no, don’t bother her. Is everyone else there too?”

“Not everyone, just the two of us, Garcia and Morgan. Do you need them as well?”

You didn’t invite him, why would you? He would have never said yes.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Sorry, sir, I can’t make out much with all this noise. We’re at the ‘Matter’ if you need us. I’ll tell the guys to call you as soon as they can, okay? Have a good night.”

So, he drives two miles a little before midnight to come sit outside ‘Matter’, which is apparently a very busy nightclub downtown, half a mile away from the nearest parking spot he could find.

He doesn’t really know why he came.

He can’t come in and join you. Can’t ask for you.

They probably wouldn’t even let him in while dressed like this.

It’s very unclear what the next step is.

He knows it’s pointless to call you again when you’re probably too busy dancing and drinking with a great many people who are not him. Morgan has some trouble keeping his hands to himself when he drinks.

He sits on the curb of the street, cracks open the pack of cigarettes he snack out of the car’s glove compartment, always hidden below the insurance papers. Astoundingly loud music plays every time the doors to the club open and people come out stumbling, kissing sloppily and dragging each other away.

He just wants to see you and put this horrible feeling inside him to rest.

“No fucking way.”

He jolts at the sound of your voice and throws away the cigarette, putting it out with his shoe before he turns to see you standing outside the club. You approach timidly until you can be sure it’s him and when you step closer to the streetlight, he can really see you. The clothes you could never wear to work, the shoes you apparently spend all your money on. You’re beautiful.

He can’t possibly move until you’re sat beside him. For the first time in what seems like forever, now that he’s grown so used to it, you keep a very respectable distance between your bodies.

“You didn’t have to throw it away; I already saw you and,” you pick up the abandoned carton from the sidewalk and almost laugh at how immaculate it looks just having been opened, “I have so many questions. Since when do you smoke?”

His voice is quiet, unamused.

“Almost never.”

You look at him curiously and he thinks you would make a great interrogator simply by the way you make everyone around you spill their souls out if it will satisfy you.

“Sometimes when I’m very stressed.”

You hum, “I never would have guessed that.”

He laughs to himself and looks at his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of things that are not typical of me lately.”

You help yourself to a cigarette and he cups his hand over yours when the breeze makes it too hard to light up.

“Is that because of me? Am I a bad influence?”

“No. It’s me, I’m the common denominator.”

You hum again and smile at him teasingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, “Breakthrough.”

“So, this is what therapy is like?”

He wants to thank you, for always trying to make things as easy as possible for him. You open the door and difficult as it may seem, all he really has to do is walk through it.

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t smoke in session.”

“Oh good.”

You’re sitting closer again and Aaron doesn’t know how. He doesn’t think either of you moved. He keeps his eyes on the road in front of him, glances at you only from the corner of his eye. Your perfume mingles with the smoke of the cigarette and it’s all a haze to him.

“Why are you not inside?”

“I needed a breath; it was very loud and packed in there… and I finally saw your calls.”

He hums, unable to find anything else to say.

“Why are you here?

“I don’t know.”

He knows that is not a good enough of an answer.

“I always have this terrible feeling that something is going to happen to you.”

Your shoulder touches his and he can admire the smoothness of it, focus on each mark there to avoid the dreaded eye contact.

“Do you think that fear is reasonable, or is it rooted in something else?’

His eyes shut tightly, “Don’t do that, please. Don’t talk to me like I’m a subject.”

“You use your ‘agent tone’ all the time outside of work.”

His voice deepens, “I am aware.”

Heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry I did all that and then backed out at the last minute.”

“It’s alright. I think I knew you would.”

“See, that’s even worse.”

You look at his suit, the wrinkles that have formed in the shirt underneath from the hours of wear.

“Did you come here straight from the office?”

A sigh, “Yeah.”

You nod your head in understanding and move to put out what’s left of the cigarette.

“I’m alright. I’ve got the others too; they’ll take me home. You can relax now.”

“I don’t think I ever can.”

You don’t know what to say really. If what he needs is time, you can give it, but he seems undecided as well when he picks up your hand.

“I think I’m scared of what will happen once the line is crossed.”

A confession.

That, you did not expect.

“Aside from the complications at work, I just,” his hand rubs gently on the spot your watch has left its mark, “I have proved time and time again that I can’t handle any relationship beyond professionalism and once we stop being just colleagues, I will lose you completely from my life.”

“Do you think that line has not been crossed already?”

He laughs quietly.

You can both feel the bouncer looking at you and Aaron is suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now.

“I guess it has.”

You’re both quiet for a little while.

“I have to go back inside now, or they’ll start getting worried.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you were here.”

That hurt. You know it, but what else was there to say?

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll know.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze before you leave and he’s left staring while you go back inside.

-.-.-

A little past two, the girls drop you off in a shared cub before going their separate ways and you rush to your apartment building, only to find Aaron waiting there.

“Well, you certainly have a thing for sitting on curbs.”

He looks tired, so tired, and alone in the empty street. It’s very hard to maintain your position when he always looks this beaten down in his most tender moments. You wish to care for him, love him back into happiness but that wouldn’t be fair.

Still, you can’t help but go to him and he is relieved that you sit closer this time.

“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

You softly take his right hand to look at his watch. His body relaxes at the touch.

“Huh.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little more drunk than the last time you saw me.”

Your skin glows under the soft moonlight and he notices.

It is technically tomorrow now.

“How drunk?”

His face moves closer and you can’t help but shiver at the sudden change. His breath is warm on your face. The words come out in a whisper.

“Not that much.”

That’s all it takes.

His lips press against yours once… then twice and then… he doesn’t stop.

You always thought he’d be one to kiss carefully and with absolute purpose, just like he does everything else, but he kisses like a man on fire. He seeks to quench something deep inside of him and you provide happily. The remnants of your lip gloss tingle on his mouth, as if kissing you alone is not enough of an awakening.

It’s becoming increasingly hard to keep up with breathing when he envelops you so, and cages you in the pleasant whirl of his scent. When you break away for breath, he’s quick to capture you once more. His hands come to your face to keep you there until he’s had enough, but how he can he ever have enough of you?

He only lets you go because he has to. You’re both practically panting and he can’t decide what to do. He wants to kiss you, look at you, touch you, but it cannot all be done at once. When your own hand comes to his face just below his jawline, he melts under the touch. His eyes are sunken, his body is begging for rest, but it would not come without you.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

His voice is low and breathy when he nods.

“Yeah…”

-.-.-

You walk upstairs, hand in hand, and Aaron can see your own exhaustion is taking over. Something started with that first touch. Your bodies wish only to find comfort near each other.

His breath is warm on your neck while you open the door, his hands softly placed on your waist with the excuse of keeping you steady. When you move to take off your shoes, he is behind you again, as if tied to you with invisible thread, and holds you gently by the elbow when he sees you struggling.

You’re suddenly very aware he is in your house again. Touching you.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head no, but you’re too focused on the way his hand moves languidly up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

He is so caring. So soft below the austere guise.

“I just need to take a shower,” you almost stumble backward and he thinks it’s the alcohol, but it might just be the feeling of his hands on your face, “I must have fifty different people’s sweat on me right now.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

His voice is soft – tired.

You turn on the lights for him in the living room and he gives a half-smile when you check on him again.

“I won’t be long.”

Once left alone, he gets to look around your house. He sees your carefully assorted nick-knacks and smiles at the framed pictures all over your bookshelves. He can’t help but notice you’ve chosen one, if not the only, photo of the team that he’s also part of.

He is important to you too.

He can see you in every corner of the room, in the books you buy and the realistic-looking-but-admittedly-fake plants sprinkled here and there for a lack of time to take care of any real ones. He can even see you in the soft material of the couch when he sits and lets his cheek touch the fabric. He has been here before in a dream, with your head in his lap.

The room is awfully quiet save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water in the background. For a man that’s usually so good at sitting alone with his thoughts, he suddenly can’t stand it.

He knocks gently on the bathroom door and opens it slowly, only to be hit with the dizzying cloud of warm steam. Your head peeks behind the shower curtain and he can tell you got tired of standing and sat in the tub instead.

“Is it okay if I sit in here with you?”

You thought he’d sit on the toilet seat, but he crawls to the edge of the tub and sits on the bathmat with his back to you.

How close is close enough?

Now that he’s ventured, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be satisfied.

So, he closes his eyes and rests his head back on the, now warm, porcelain.

“Aaron.”

He doesn’t know if he actually fell asleep, but the water is now turned off and you’re looking at him. He realizes now, for the first time, that you’re naked behind him. Your hair and eyelashes are angelically wet, the sheen of water on your flushed skin is divine. He knows that you’d be warm if he touched you now.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

You smile at him -siren- and your hand grabs a handful of his shirt, staining it with water that reaches his body underneath and makes him shiver. You kiss him with plump wet lips and he reaches for you. His hand entangles in your hair until you’re both practically pulling at each other.

A less enamored man would have broken away just to sneak a peek at your bare skin, but he won’t. He is respectful even now, even like this.

“I should have kissed you the other day. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

It’s a whisper when his mouth leaves yours, but you catch it.

You hum, eyes glossy, “Would've, could've, should’ve.”

What matters is now.

He kisses you again – just one more time. You both feel like giddy, lovesick children.

“Can you hand me my bathrobe?”

The bathrobe is also impossibly soft to the touch and when you emerge clad in it, he thinks he’d like to hold you. The spell of the warm steam is broken outside, however, and being so close to your naked body suddenly becomes very serious.

You let him sit in your bed, still fully clothed, save for his suit jacket, and he closes his eyes again. The comforter underneath is lovely.

Is everything in this house soft?

Is this what it feels like to be loved by you?

You disappear inside the walk-in closet and reappear, now properly dressed in your pajamas. The bed dips when you sit next to him and he turns to you completely.

“I have a T-shirt you can sleep in, don’t know about pants though.”

Please. Just be here, with him.

He watches you leave, but it’s not long before you return with the aforementioned shirt. You laugh when he finally realizes he’ll have to sleep in his boxers.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you.”

He throws a teasing look, but can’t possibly come up with a clever answer right now.

“I’ll go dry my hair and you can get dressed, alright?”

You are so gentle with your guidance that it makes him feel like a helpless child, but there’s a hidden relief at that. It’s nice; being cared for like this and there is something to be said about parallels, with you going now to do as you had done a week and a half ago in a Florida hotel and him waiting for you – on your bed.

It’s the same, but it’s different.

He hangs his work clothes carefully on the chair in the corner of your room and goes to sit on the bed, but feels too uncomfortable to climb under the covers. He knows you’d find his duality funny; how he goes from hungrily kissing you to being too embarrassed to join you in bed, even if it’s only for sleep.

You notice his stiffness when you come back in the room, but don’t say anything. It’s not exactly easy for you either, you’re just better at hiding it than he is. You choose to lead by example instead and turn off the lights before reaching for the one on your nightstand and climbing inside your bedding.

He only speaks to deflect attention from him again, “You have a TV in your room.”

“Jealous?”

He turns to look at you and you’re perched up on the plump pillows, smiling at him. Your hand reaches for his own over the comforter and you gently pull him to you.

He comes, of course.

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Of course you don’t.”

He joins you with his back on the pillows and his shoulder touching yours, but he’s still too stiff.

“What do you watch?”

“Mostly reruns of sitcoms-,” he laughs at that, “-Seinfeld.”

“Isn’t that show a thousand years old?

“You would know.”

He laughs again and you can almost make out a wounded pout on his face, but a kiss is enough of a cure. His shoulders relax and he gives in to the warmth and softness; be it the bed or you next to him. You can tell he’s barely managing to stay awake, but he still can’t let go completely. His head slumps backward again.

“Can we turn it on?”

You find the courage to caress his hair, admiring the softness of it and the discreet sprinkle of grey that you can only see up close.

“If you want.”

The quiet humming of the television and your breath in his ear, putting his mind to ease, are enough for him to finally sleep and you’re not long behind. His head is turned to the side where you are, hand tightly holding yours.

Later in the night, when you stir in your sleep, he pulls you further into him – wraps his arm around you completely and doesn’t let go.

next part

[kavehnanginto]

and i told the sun something about you

pairings: 5wirl x gn!reader

synopsis: the burdens of the past still in his shoulders and the journey to peace is hard and full of changes, it is no surpise that it all becomes too much... thankfully in the darkness of the night their lies the moon glowing and they watch as it becomes the comfort and light in the dark

tags: hurt and comfort, tragic pasts, emo depressed boys, fluff, i think idk, no angst i also think, thats basically it, i miss writing like this so much hehehehhehe

VENTI

He's at it again. You watch him sitting in his favorite spot, one that he always teased you that you can't ever reach. But that didn't really matter when you were more concerned that he never went down. He should've swayed with the townfolk, the cheers of his ballads were not to be heard.

"Venti!" you called out his name that night, and there he lied restless and unmoving all at once. That didn't really made you give up, instead, you climbed infront of his favorite statue. In hopes that you'll be on top and see his favorite view for the first time.

And be with him.

You saw the piles of wine scattered at the beaitiful and delicate hands of the statue, the same as the model they went by with it. And as you placed the human sized hands, his face finally meeting yours, you smiled.

"You were right, the view here is truly beautiful." You saw the moon on his eyes, and with it your light. And as he saw the moon in yours he can't help but wonder what truly was the difference between both.

XIAO

The conquerer of demons is no need of sleep, but you know damn well he is need of rest. He never came, and you were too scared to call. Maybe he'll lash out on you, maybe he won't even care. It's better to not humor yourself with the possibility if you try to call him.

As you walk on the lake, the familiar glaze lilies all bloom, swaying in the cold breeze. You can't help but feel someone missing at your side and as you start to miss him once more the sound of conflict can be heard near.

You saw him riddled with karmic debt, as you ran in the sound of danger. He was surpised to see you, but he was too tired to react. Finally happy to see him you hugged him soundly, and for the first time he dare not react. But there he sat on the grassy field and let himself go for a while, drifting comfortably to your hand on his, his head on your lap.

It was a vulnerable act, not one made by a yaksha. But he was no longer anyone when he's with you, he's just Xiao. And the moon as your only witness, for you that had always and will always be enough.

KAZUHA

One who's soul is too free can never love so eternally, but as the months went by you noticed that Kazuha still possessed shackles of his past. Even as he travelled miles and countries afar, the memories of it all never disappeared. He was but a human after all living in the world where Gods too can't move past yesterday.

After all those poems of longing and odes to joy, you look for him in the comforts of Liyue Harbor to see him standing by the sea–the direction of his home. You sat beside him, a smile on your face.

"Can't sleep?" He nodded, he was honest but with that he was not shy. Kazuha expressed what he truly felt in a way he wants you to see. He looks like someone with many secrets and stories but he'll easily share them with a stranger, his friend and even his foe.

His home was not as it was before and maybe its for the better. He found you. It maybe with the cost of his heart breaking a million pieces but he found you. And in these moments Kazuha learned to never regret, and appreciate the beauty beside him.

The moon. The stars. You.

HEIZOU

He was a humurous man, but that case really scarred him. There he searched for you and you almost had a heart attack when he embraced the love of his life. Both of your days are always like this, but the feeling of melancholia in his heart was evident in his face buried in your neck, in his fidgety arms that intertwined when they meet at your back.

"Heizou?" There was no response and it was not needed. But now he clings at your clothes causing you to fall to the floor and him patting your hands as his eyes finally let go of the comfort of your skin.

You smiled at his pouty face, causing him to whine then complain at how you were making the situation sadder and then grinning back when you actually thought he was serious. He had a bad day at work, but it wasn't one he needed to bring in your presence.

And he need not to hide away what happened, but it all disappeared when you were there. After all, he needs you everyday for that very reason. And he needs you all his life for that very same happiness. And he's glab you held his hand too on stormy nights and sunny skies. Just like he'll do yours.

Every single time.

WANDERER

He is one with many names, many secrets and many scars. All he hides, and some never see the light of day. Nowadays he tries to show who he is, what he's like but wha happened before all got thrown away. And one day it all came crashing down.

You looked for him everywhere after that fight, maybe he hates you now, maybe you should've closed your mouth shut. But he should've listened, and care what you wanted to say.

To let go and leave it all behind is nothing but a wish, but finding peace in the turmoil and darkness is our reality. And when you saw him in the balcony all by himself, he found your statement true.

The moon was absent today, but the sky never seemed so bright.

"I'm sorry." You stopped when he quietly mumbled an apology and as you hugged him tight, he doesn't need breathing anyway. He needs you, and he wants you for every living second you have.

It was a new beginning for him, and he has never been this excited before. To live a normal life, and for you to be his comfort and light.

hello guys muhahhahaha i miss writing in these anyways its a 80 followers yeheyyyy!!!! That makes me very happy anyways thank you for everything i love you so much i literally have a parasocial relationship with people who read these garbage i put out jk thank you so much and i hope you have a nice day :D i also didnt proof read this like always

[nyamafriend]

Technoblade just absolutely matches vibes with Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert frost and I could honestly do a whole dissection of how and why but for now y’all just need to know that I’m right

[exrayspex]

life is just unbearable. but you bear it anyway, and bear it anyway, and bear it anyway, and try to find what little joy you can amidst the endless grind of the wheel of time, and it's still unbearable, and you bear it, and you bear it, and you bear it, until you CAN'T POSSIBLY BEAR ANOTHER SECOND OF IT, so you scream and you cry and wax poetic on your stupid little blog, and it's UNBEARABLE, and you CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE, but you must. so you find the numbness or the strength (or are they the same?), and life goes on, and it's unbearable, it's absolutely unbearable, but you bear it anyway, you bear it anyway

[spencers-renaissance]

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes �� no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery… it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[cozy-the-overlord]

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Part 3 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@fablesrose said:

Alright, break my heart.

A lover softly combing their fingers through your hair as your head lays in their lap, quietly drifting to sleep with a hum.

Summary: She could accept this fate, did accept this fate, if it meant that he would escape safe and sound. But Loki could never let her fall alone.

Word Count: 1,663

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: So this is based on a dream I had a while ago ... it’s weird. I know it might not make any sense, but my dreams never make any sense lol, so I was kind of trying to channel that a bit. The title is from Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”-- I debated about that for a while, because I know this story doesn’t really fit that poem thematically (like ... at all), but the atmosphere it creates is sort of what I was going for? Kind of? Idk this story is a trash fire. 

Also please let me know what you think of the ending! I’m genuinely curious to see how people interpret it ...

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Drowning? (but no death)

Tags:  @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm​

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

At first, she thought she was dead. That moment when she first hit the water, the icy crack that shattered her vision as millions of tiny needles pierced every sliver of skin and cut straight to her bones—surely, she must be dead. No body could survive such raw cold.

But she wasn’t. She was alive for now, alive enough to scream as freezing water rushed down her throat, up her nostrils, through her ears, ripping her apart from the inside until there was nothing left but ice.

Can’t breathe—

The surface sparkled above her with a mocking glow. She knew how to swim, but when she tried to kick her legs only dangled in the water, useless chunks of lead pulling her deeper and deeper with each failed flail. Her arms weren’t working properly. Her fingers had turned to icicles.

No, she wasn’t dead, but she was dying.

The thought electrified her, and she tried another half-hearted thrash for the surface even as her chest swelled with water. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Somewhere, deep down, she was ashamed of her fear. She hadn’t fought the drop. She had given herself up to death’s eternal slumber. Why was she panicking now?

But this was different. She had made peace with the fall, yes, but the water did not hold the same mercy. Please. She gasped for the surface, not even sure who she was pleading with.

Please, not like this.

She wasn’t expecting an answer.

And yet one came.

In one moment, she was spiraling down into the blackness, in another, the light was flying towards her in a halo of bubbles, a familiar arm tight and firm around her waist.

Somehow, the air she heaved into her lungs was even colder than the water below, the frigid wind that whipped across her cheeks threatening to take her skin with it. She coughed out a waterfall, the panic that had been frozen in her throat finally freed from its floodgates as she sobbed and shook against his chest.

His.

Sigyn gagged on the realization.

“You—you—” But her voice only burned, too raw for speech. When she attempted to twist around to see his face, he only held her more tightly against him as he pulled her to the embankment. She pulled at his collar with numb fingers.

“You were supposed to run,” she choked. “Loki, you were supposed to run.”

Loki said nothing. He scooped her up like she weighed no more than a feather, his ruby eyes staring off at something only he could see as they trudged through the snow. She realized suddenly that she was shivering, teeth chattering like a pair of castanets, and she gulped as she tried in vain to hold her frostbitten hands still. Loki’s grip around her tightened.

“We need to get you warm,” he said. “You’ll freeze like this.”

What he needed to do was drop her and get as far away from her as possible, but Sigyn’s voice wasn’t working properly. Really, very little was working properly. Her vision was going fuzzy in the corners, the steady sound of his wet boots crunching against the ice was starting to fade into an indistinguishable buzz.

She only noticed they had stopped when the fire crackled to life—a vibrant, vigorous warmth that washed all over her, and she found herself bathing in the glow of dancing flames despite her better judgment.

“Loki!” she whispered weakly, fighting to cling to her last dregs of reason. “The smoke— he’ll find you—”

Loki lay behind her, holding her to his chest with a touch so gentle she barely felt it. His fingertips danced across her temples, stroking clumps of wet hair from her face as they went.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was soft and safe, a warm blanket wrapping her up and sheltering her from the world.

She inhaled. Her chest felt numb. “What’s going to happen?” She hated that she sounded so small, like a frightened child cowering at a storm. But surely what they were facing was a storm of its own? Sigyn knew very well who it was pursuing them. She knew he would stop at nothing to retrieve what he wanted.

It could only be a matter of time …

But Loki was unconcerned. “Don’t worry, darling,” he soothed. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to turn out right.”

“The tesseract—”

He hushed her gently. “Everything’s going to be just fine.” He hummed as he combed through her hair, a tune that Sigyn almost recognized, something innocent and nostalgic. It was something from a lifetime far away, dancing on the edge of her memory. She found her eyelids slipping closed, even as she fought to remain awake.

Can’t sleep now. Can’t leave him …

“It’s all right, my love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You can go. I promise I’ll be all right.”

And so, she gave into his words, and the world faded to black.

…

When they found him, the fire had gone out. Loki was hunched alone in the snow, watching little flecks of ice crystalize on his blue skin. He didn’t bother to stand as they surrounded his makeshift camp. Why should he? He was weary, and besides— it didn’t matter now.

The Mad-Titan loomed over him, his golden armor sparkling with frost as he regarded Loki with a kind of patronizing amusement.

“And so the Jotun blesses us with his true colors.”

Loki fixed him with a heavy-lidded stare, breath whistling through his lips in a silver vapor. He was too exhausted for words. Besides, what was there to say? Everyone here knew how this was going to end.

At least, they thought they did.

“I’m surprised at your choice,” Thanos grinned. It was a spider’s smile, one that said he wasn’t surprised at all. Loki pressed his nails into the palms of his hands. “I thought for sure you had chosen to run.”

Yes. Sigyn had thought so too, had wanted him to flee. He had seen in her eyes, that peaceful resignation as she accepted her fate.

As if he could ever let her fall alone.

Thanos knew it. That was the frustrating part. He knew Loki would jump in to save her or die trying. He knew he’d give up his life, give up the tesseract, give up every living creature in the universe if it meant keeping her safe …

It didn’t matter now. Sigyn was free from harm, far outside the Titan’s reach, and the tesseract …

“Hand it over, princeling.”

Loki only smirked. History may call him Silvertongue, but oh, sometimes silence tasted so sweet.

Thanos’ eyes narrowed.

They dragged him to his feet in an instant. Loki didn’t fight it. It was only a matter of seconds before the realization would strike, and he for one was enjoying the anticipation.

The Titan towered over him. Loki fought the urge to laugh. He clearly thought himself intimidating, but his tiny eyes glaring out from beneath his helmet only made Loki think of an overgrown cockroach wearing armor.

Still, he bit his tongue.

“I’ll ask only once more,” Thanos leaned towards him, practically spitting in his face. “The tesseract. Hand it over.”

Loki didn’t flinch.

“My lord—” It was one of his Children, hunched over a datapad with a molded tension in his shoulders.

Here we go.

“What?”

“It’s not here.”

“What do you mean it’s not here?” Thanos snapped. “He has it!”

The man inhaled a shaky breath. “Forgive me sir, but he doesn’t. Here—” He held the tablet to the Titan with trembling hands in frantic supplication. “It’s not on his person. It’s not even on this planet. There’s not even the slightest trace of its gamma signature on this side of the galaxy!”

Loki grinned.

…

She awoke in her bed, cocooned in the snug embrace of her favorite fuzzy blanket. The rain pattered on the roof outside, a soft hum that almost soothed her back into slumber. Still, she pulled herself from sleep’s clutches and yawned, stretching as she sat up.

Such a strange dream.

It seemed so distant now, all wrapped up in warmth. She could only barely recall the last dregs of icy panic, floundering in a frozen river. And the man who had pulled her out …

She chuckled to herself. If only every nightmare ended with a tall, dark stranger rushing to her rescue. Although memory of his face eluded her, she couldn’t forget the feeling of his arm around her waist, so strong yet so gentle at the same time, clutching her to his chest like it was his sole purpose in life to hold her close. She sighed. Her subconscious had been kind to her last night.

A loud yowling from down the hall startled her from her reverie—the cat, demanding his breakfast. She frowned at the clock and jumped when she realized how late it was. Oh well. Can’t spend all morning fantasizing about handsome dream-men. Time to get up.

There was a song stuck in her head, she realized suddenly. It took her a moment to place it. Some silly jump rope chant from elementary school that she hadn’t thought of in years.

She giggled. How obscure is that?

Another meow reverberated through the apartment, an impatient edge to the cry. She groaned, throwing back the covers.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” One of her slippers was missing from its usual spot. She frowned. “Tigger, did you steal my slipper?”

Tigger only let out another screech, and she huffed. That damn cat was always snatching everything she left out and stashing them under something—he was a veritable hoarder.

“Fine,” she yelled, making her way to the kitchen slipperless. “Be like that, you little thief—”

So distracted was she by the cat, she didn’t notice the faint blue glow emanating from the tangled mess of her bedsheets.

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | Chapter Nine

chapter nine

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: date night!! this is very fluffy, very emotional and extremely horny. edgar allan poe is rolling in his grave at what they did in his enchanted garden

exhibitionism, public sex (no ones there tho), drug mentions at the end (let me know if I should tag anything else!!!!)

word count: 5.4k

from the beginning <3

He spent all of Thursday afternoon with Penelope in Richmond, setting up for his date that night.

Stringing lights on the trees, mowing the grass and trimming the flowers back, the staff ensuring that the museum was in pristine condition for them tonight, it was perfect. The cats were brushed, there were rose petals the fountain and the most beautiful picnic set up in the garden.

Penelope packed their dinner for them, keeping it in the museum fridge for when they finally arrived, it was the only thing Spencer needed to remember.

Y/N: just got home, about to get ready! Can’t wait to see you at 6 ♥︎

Spencer smiled at his phone, about to text her back when Penelope laid a hand on his back, “change into your suit and head back to her, traffic might be bad?”

“Thank you, for everything. You’ve always been my best friend, more of big sister actually,” Spencer pressed his lips together tightly as to not get emotional. “You’re wonderful Penelope, thank you.”

“Awe!” She swooned, wrapping him up in a big hug. “I will always love you, Spencer, you deserve all of this and so, so much more, now go before I cry.”

He laughed, pulling back, hand lingering on her shoulder as he walked into the museum. They let him change in the backroom, it felt incredibly strange to be putting on a suit inside Edgar Allan Poe's house to go pick up his wife. Not too long ago he dreamed about bringing a girlfriend here someday, life was moving too quickly, he needed a breather.

He kept his suit jacket folded and on the passenger seat as he drove home, where he lived with his family. Even just thinking that as he paid attention to the road made him smile. The wind hitting his face, his hair blowing in the breeze, he felt free at last.

He was where he was supposed to be, all roads lead to here.

Travelling up her driveway with a smile on his face as the dust followed him to her doorstep. She was waiting in a red dress on the porch, Amoreena and her nanny eating pizza on the steps as they waited for him.

Stepping out of his car, he straightened his tie and pulled his pants up more, looking at his wife like she was a star plucked from the sky, landing in this Virginia field for him.

She stood then, her satin dress flowing and exposing a leg as she walked down the steps to him, “Is this what you wanted?” She twirled in front of him to show it all off, her hair getting stuck in her lipstick and making her laugh.

“I love you,” is all he can say as she leaning in with a wide grin, surpassing the smile to kiss him gently, using her thumb to get all the lipstick off his bottom lip and chin.

“Love you too, cutie,” she winked, taking his hand and turning back towards Amoreena, “listen to Nanny, remember we love you and we will see you no earlier than 7:30 tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes ma’am!” She saluted, mouth full of pizza.

“And what are the new rules about coming into our bed in the morning?”

“Knock first, wait till you respond, don’t come in unless you say it’s okay,” Amoreena replied, sticking her tongue out at her as she remembered it all.

“Smartie pants,” Y/N smiled at her, “come give us a hug, don’t get pizza on my dress, please.”

Amoreena wiped her sleeve over her mouth before running into her mother's open arms, they shared goodbye kisses before it was Spencer’s turn. She held him so tight it felt wonderful, “goodnight Lovey, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, have the best sleep ever for me?”

“I’ll see you in dreamland,” she replied, kissing his cheek gently before she pulled back.

“Have fun!” Nanny called from the porch as Amoreena skipped back to her.

“We will,” Spencer replied, taking Y/N’s hand and leading her to the passenger side, he opened her door and helped her inside, insuring her dress was inside before closing the door.

Jogging back to his door, he got in and put on his seatbelt. He threw the car in reverse and turned around by the barn, heading down the driveway, not saying a single thing as Y/N stared at him.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?” She shook her head, licking her lip before biting it as she huffed.

“We’re going to Richmond, Virginia, to read,” he gave her one hint.

“Hmm,” she smiled, “I’m sure you won't tell me the title, so Mr. I can remember every book ever, what’s a random line in it?”

“You’re smart,” he teased her, “but for the brilliant green of the huge leaves that spread from their summits in long, tremulous lines, dallying with the Zephyrs—”

“We’re going to the Edgar Allan Poe Museum!” She cut him off with a cheer.

He slows down on the barren dirt road, mouth wide open as she got it right, he turns to her as they come to a complete stop, “how the heck did you get that?”

“Yes!” she laughed, tossing her head back as she clapped and kicked her feet a little, so proud of herself, “I’m a librarian, Spencer! Did you think I wouldn’t know Eleonora?”

“That’s the most random sentence in the whole poem?” Spencer was shocked, she recalled it faster than he thought he would be able to if she read a line to him.

“My brother’s first motorcycle was a Zephyr,” she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows. “My brain is kinda like a filing cabinet, if you give me a word I can remember everything I’ve ever heard with that word included.”

He started to drive again, shaking his head as he paid attention to the road but still astounded by how amazing she is. “Amoreena gets that from you then, she could have both our eidetic memories together, that would be very interesting to see.”

“Eidetic memory?” She questioned.

“It’s what most people call photographic memory,” Spencer explained. “You can remember everything you hear which is why you and Amoreena are able to recall songs, books and movie facts so fast, while I can read back to you anything I’ve read without having to see it again, it’s forever in my mind.”

“So we’re both geniuses, cool,” Y/N smiled at him again, “sorry I ruined your surprise.”

“You just know where we’re going,” he reminded her, laying his hand on hers, interlocking their fingers as he drove.

They had an hour alone before the real date started.

So she showed him all of her favourite songs, including some of Amoreena’s playlists so he could get familiar with them before their trip to Rhode Island. Her voice was impeccable, she knew all the words and harmonies, often opting to cove background voices he wouldn’t have even known were there if it wasn’t for her.

She loved music in a way that intrigued him, she enjoyed music with a story. Much like the reason she loved books so much, she enjoyed picturing the happy places in her mind that the songs were able to take her to, they filled her with glee and hope as she sang to her heart's content. Taking short breaks to explain the meanings of songs, to recite the best lyrics and why the songs are close to her heart.

“Do you want to hear the song that reminds me the most of you?” She asked between songs, pausing so that nothing else would start.

“Sure,” he blushed, nervous for what it could be and how she imagined him in her mind, hoping he could live up to it.

“I'm perfectly fine I live on my own, I made up on my mind, I'm better off bein' alone. We met a few weeks ago, now you try on callin' me, baby, like tryin' on clothes,”

She stares at him with a beautiful smile as she waits to see his reaction to the opening, finally singing when the beat drops, dancing softly in her seat as she belted the words out to him.

“So prove to me I'm your American Queen, and you move to me like I'm a Motown beat, and we rule the kingdom inside my room,” She brushed her hand across his jaw, teasing him as the words flow from her lips to his ears, she loves him and he can feel it with every syllable.

“And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for, King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa! And all at once, you are all I want, I'll never let you go King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa,” she sings so softly, with a purpose, turning it down a little so that he can talk to her.

“I love you,” he reminded her, “so much it hurts sometimes.”

“It’s like your heartstrings are tugging on each other, right?” She agreed, “like they want to jump out of our chests and run to each other.”

He nodded with a soft smile, reaching for her hand again holding it as he brought it to his mouth for a kiss, “queen of my heart.”

“Hmmm,” she thought over his words, “I’m pretty content with being princess still, Lady Amoreena is in line for the thrown, it’s part of her namesake after all.”

“Does the kingdom have a name?”

“You know the Elton John song Goodbye Yellow Brick Road?” She waited for his nod, “my grandma called it Ozellous so it’s like wizard of Oz but I added the 'ellous' because people always said they were jealous of our farm.”

He’s trying his best to keep his eyes on the road when all he want’s to do is look at her smile, to see her pupil change as she recalls the loving memory, it’s his favourite thing to do. Better than any movie or play, seeing her face was better than looking at the most expensive art piece. He was so in love with all of her.

“Were you like Amoreena as a kid?”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed, “bullied hardcore for it too, kids always told me to shut up cause I’d add facts to conversations I wasn’t a part of.”

“I would have loved to listen,” Spencer replied softly, knowing the feeling all too well.

They were only a few minutes away now, turning into the small town and passing quaint little homes and cottages. “Amoreena would love this drive, these are some interesting townspeople homes for her imagination, we should come back sometime this summer.”

His heart was going to actually explode, she was everything he never knew he needed.

“I’d love that,” he added as they pulled into the museum. “I’m a museum member and I’m a patron, so sometimes I donate rare pieces I find, they love me here.”

Her mouth opened to speak, but her eyes got caught on the twinkling lights in the distance, mesmerized by everything. Old cobblestone streets, brick buildings and wooden gates, it was straight out of the 1800s and absolutely fantastical.

“And it’s all ours for the night,” he put the car in park and turned to her, “wait here?”

She nodded, speechless as she continued to look out the window at everything. Spencer got out of the car, opening the back seat to grab and put on his jacket, straighten out his suit before opening her door and extending a hand to help her out.

“Princess,” he extended his arm for her to tuck her own under, he closed her door and escorted her through the gate and towards the garden.

The sun was just starting to set, 7 pm in early June being the most beautiful time of year in rural Virginia, the sky was a perfect purple as he leads her through the stone arches towards the picnic.

Her eyes sparkled with all the lights, wide and pupils blown as she took it all in. It was a fairytale, she was in a princess dress, he was the king of her heart and this was just the beginning of happily ever after.

“Spencer, whatever your middle name is, Reid,” she gasped, swatting his arm lightly with a smile growing on her face.

“It’s Walter,” he smiled right back.

He let go of her hand then and walked over to a table, turning on the record player and dropping the needle in the right spot. He did his research into some Taylor Swift songs, finding one that reminded him the most of Y/N and how much he loved her.

“May I have this dance?” He asks as she notices the all too familiar guitar strumming.

He reaches a hand out for her, pulling her in as she takes it, “I was so so lost before I found you in the park,” he explains the first verse, barely a whisper beside her ear as they start to sway.

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity Shifting eyes and vacancy, vanished when I saw your face

“All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you,” he whispers once more, feeling the goosebumps bursting on her bare arms.

He spun her around, extending both their arms as she twirled out and then back into his embrace again with a giggle. She swayed back and forth, dancing with him like the night they got married in her field.

Your eyes whispered "have we met?" Across the room your silhouette starts to make it's way to me The playful conversation starts Counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

“And it was enchanting to meet you, All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you,” he sings them this time, spinning her out again as the chorus hits, her eyes widening as she began to smile wider than he’s ever seen before.

They sang the words together as they danced, smiling and laughing as they moved around the cobblestone. Finding a rhythm so perfect, so them, it was silly and not on beat in the slightest, mostly spinning, it was a spinning song if the album cover was any indication.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you!

“The lingering question kept me up, Two a.m., who do you love? I wonder till I'm wide awake! Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door, I'd open up and you would say, hey! It was enchanting to meet you, all I know is I was enchanted to meet you,” Y/N’s voice softer than ever as she sang her anxieties into his ear, remembering the day at the museum where she wondered if she could have him all to herself.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you

Spinning around in circles she leaves his grasp, dress circling in the wind and he watches her. She takes both his hands and spins around with him in a tight circle before pulling back in, their chests bumping as they laughed, happier than he’s ever been in his entire life, and she’s made him pretty happy in the last few weeks.

The girl of his dreams, dancing around him with a smile like she was making her own music video. This was a dream of hers he didn’t know, making it come true as it became a dream of his own.

He places his hands on her cheeks as he stares into her eyes, “this is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the storyline ends. My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again. These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon, I was enchanted to meet you,” he whisper’s the words, barely singing, more talking.

“Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you. Please don't be in love with someone else. Please don't have somebody waiting on you,” she sings right back to him, staring into his eyes as they stand still in the garden.

She pulls him into a kiss, breathing in deeply through her nose as they hold each other’s cheeks, unable to get closer as they kissed. Pulling away with a loud smooch sound, smiling before taking her hands in his, once more.

Spinning her around again as the beat drops once more, her smile more beautiful than the first time he saw it. He was so madly in love, he firmly believed he was in heaven.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home I'll spend forever wondering if you knew!!

This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you!

Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

“Now go stand in the corner and think about what you did,” Taylor Swift's voice cuts into the beautiful moment as her songs change and the mood drastically changes.

Y/N bursts out in laughter, jumping lightly as she enjoyed the song, head-banging along as she danced by herself until Spencer turned the music off once again, “you’re so cute.”

“Thank you,” she bowed, “this is cute!”

“There’s a picnic basket in the fridge inside, and some wine if you think that’s a good idea?” Pointing towards the main house, she followed him towards the door.

“Oh, hello?” Her voice changed as she noticed the two black cats on the window, letting Spencer head inside for the basket as she talked to them.

“That’s Edgar and Pluto, the groundskeeper found them in the shed in 2012,” Spencer explains as he comes back out, basket in hand but she’s too busy with the cats to notice.

Petting both their faces, they stretch into her reach and bask in the feeling of her nails on their skin, Spencer would agree it felt nice. He loved the feeling of her hands in his hair, he must have been a cat in his last life.

“Amoreena wants her own indoor cat,” Y/N smiled wide at him, “she always wanted to call him Hercules like the Elton John song, almost like she knew you were her dad all along.”

She took his free hand then, following him towards the blanket in the grass, “how?”

“There’s a line in the song about Greek gods, but it says Hercules on her side and Diana in her eyes, and she does have your mom's eyes, right down to the colour of her iris,” Y/N looked at him like he was everything to her.

Spencer couldn’t speak, he just set the basket on the ground and ushered her to sit down beside him. She held the skirt of her dress up so she could sit crisscross applesauce on the blanket, draping her dress over her legs so she didn’t show anything off just yet.

“Every time I look at you I understand all her quirks and her facial expressions,” she added like she was trying to make him cry, “I’ve been looking at her for almost 8 years now, wondering who you were and now I know, and you’re so much better than I ever imagined.”

“Would you have looked for me when she turned 18?” Is all he can ask through his sniffles, trying to hold it together for her.

She nodded, “I was going to tell her soon anyway, she asks a lot of questions I’m not sure if you noticed.” Her giggle was priceless, “she had lots of questions when the goats were born this year and that meant her asking more about making human babies and I just said a special man helped me make my dreams come true, and she thought it was Rumpelstiltskin.”

Spencer couldn’t fight the laugh that erupted from him, leaning forward as he chuckled, making her laugh too. “Does she even know the whole story?”

“She’s only seen the 4th Shrek movie with him, she has no idea that he also takes the babies,” Y/N placed her hand on his knee gently, “If I get pregnant again, I’m going to tell her about how it all works as simply as possible, I want her to feel included in this and she’ll be less jealous if she sees this as a learning opportunity.”

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed, “I still can't believe she almost punched Michael for hugging me.”

“Oh, I can,” Y/N laughed again, “she was being bullied last year by an older kid and I said if someone upsets you or hurts you, sometimes it’s not that bad to hurt them back. Make them know you’re not weak and you care about yourself, and she gave a kid a black eye for tugging on her braid.”

Spencer couldn’t stop smiling, “that’s my girl.”

Y/N opened the picnic basket then, taking everything out with a smile as Spencer stared at her, thinking a million different thoughts about future kids, how Amoreena would grow up, seeing her as a big sister to hopefully many.

They both leaned forward and kissed softly, smiling as they pulled back, “so you like charcuterie?”

She laughed, “Amoreena called it shark coochie once, I can’t not think of that now.”

“How many kids do you want?”

“Have you ever read cheaper by the dozen?” She teased him. “As many as I can have, I have the funds thanks to my job and the farm and not having to pay a mortgage, I was going to have another baby next year anyway, I had an appointment and everything scheduled, I even tried to get them to contact Amoreena’s father for another sample but they said they couldn’t ask you outright for me.”

“They asked me if I wanted to give another sample when I asked if I could know my kids,” Spencer remembered the words exactly, “she said ‘You have four offspring so far, none of the other samples used have produced a child, the women were all IVF as well so it wasn’t your swimmer's fault if you wanted to donate again.’”

“I don’t want to know the truth, are you okay if we let her decide if she wants to find out at 18?” Y/N asked softly, “I’m content thinking you’re her father, I don’t want to know if it’s some other tall who-lookin’ genius, okay?”

“That’s perfect actually,” Spencer agreed, “and on the kids front, you don’t mind me being in my 70s when they all start going to University?”

“My dad is 68 with no signs of stopping, and he’s still fantastic with his grandkids,” Y/N always had a fact to combat his anxiety. “You have a lot of life left in you, I’ll take good care of you so that they have the best dad ever for as long as possible.”

Spencer was so in love with his family he felt like he was floating, laughing and smiling all meal long as they shared facts back and forth about their lives. Getting to know each other more and more as the seconds passed, he imagined it would be like this forever. She was like a bottomless pit of information, facts, stories and secrets. He loved every single one she shared with him.

She poured herself a second small glass of wine, “you know they say that one glass of wine every once in a while is actually good for the baby?”

“It doesn’t work that fast,” he reminded her, more like he reminded himself. He didn’t want to hope in the chance it didn’t happen right away.

“I had a nightmare last night for the first time in a long time, so I think it worked,” she teased him. “I won't know till June 10th, that's when my next period would be.”

“Nightmare?” It was the only part he picked up on, worried for her and wondering why she didn’t wake him up.

She nodded softly, “I found out I was pregnant and you never came home, and I got lost in the forest looking for you and then I remembered I could wake up.”

He rests his hand on her knee, rubbing his thumb against her bare skin softly, “I’m always coming home to you.”

“I know, when I got pregnant with Amoreena I had bad dreams in the first few weeks too, mostly about giving birth to nothing and being alone all over again, the subconscious and pregnancy hormones are mean as fuck when they hang out,” she laughed away the pain, “I know none of it is real.”

“Good,” he whispered, not knowing what really to say, he wasn’t used to soothing other people yet. Most people didn’t want his facts or concernment when something happened, just a hug normally.

She took a deep breath, pushing everything away, “good news, either my anxiety disorder is back in full swing or something’s working in here,” she laid her hand over her stomach, “either way, I’d like to try again tonight?”

He laughed, “we don’t need to make a baby every time you want to have sex?”

She got onto her knees then, crawling over the blanket and sitting right in Spencer's lap with her hands on both of his cheeks, “I want all your babies.”

He held her waist, pulling her in closer to his chest, “right now?”

She nodded, moving her dress out of the way to undo his belt, “no one is here right? It’s not like anyone would know?”

“Mhmm,” he agreed, kissing her neck as she unzipped his pants, moving his underwear out of the way just enough to free his hardening cock, she stroked it right there in the middle of the garden, staring down between their bodies in awe as he came to life.

Sitting up on her knees more, the slit of her dress made it a lot easier for her to show him her underwear. She was wearing just a thong, perfect for pulling to the side as she lowered herself onto him, ever so slowly.

She fixed her dress around them, completely calm and composed as he was fully inside of her, “you’re okay with this?”

He huffed a laugh out of his nose, dropping his forehead to her shoulder so he couldn’t buck into her and ruin the moment she was making, his hands moving to her hips, guiding her back and off him slightly before back down again, making her gasp.

“I thought you wanted to read?” She teased him as she started to ride him more, moving her hips in a way that took him in and out of her at just the right angle, her hands on his shoulders as she bounced on him lightly, he couldn’t even think straight. “Go on, read to me.”

He took a second to remember the words, mind totally somewhere else and not interested in a book at all when her boobs were right in his face.

“I am come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of passion,” the first sentence slipped past his lips as she kept going, he took a moment to kiss right under her ear before continuing.

“Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence—whether much that is glorious—whether all that is profound—does not spring from disease of thought—from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect.”

“Shit,” she moaned, pushing his hand down towards her clit, “you can multitask, smartie pants.”

His thumb was on a mission then, rubbing small circles against her pleasure point, she tossed her head back with her eyes closed as she continued to ride him, “I don’t hear you reading?”

He moaned softly in her ear at the feeling, and the fact she wanted to get off to hearing him recite something from memory, it was more euphoric than he could have ever imagined.

“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in ah- awakening, fuck,” he was trying his best to stay as composed as she was when he really just wanted to lay her against the blanket and fuck her into next week.

“to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret,” Y/N whispered the end of the sentence, grinding down on him harder than before.

“In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good,” she whispered into his ear, biting his earlobe softly with a moan and he kept rubbing her clit, “you’re so good, Spencer, so so good," she paused to enjoy the moment before whispering in his ear once more, "And more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless or compass-less into the vast ocean of the "light ineffable," and again, like the adventures of the Nubian geographer, "agressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset exploraturi.”

Her words softer than ever and they were never going to get to the end of this poem, he'd never know how the rest of the words sound on her tongue, she pulled him into a kiss then, moaning into his mouth as they ground against each other, finding a perfect rhythm to bring them to the end.

“There, yes, fuck,” she whispered against his lips, pushing against him as she arched her back slightly, slipping away from his mouth as she did so.

He slammed into her then as he chased her lips, making her whimper one last time before she was shaking in his lap, her legs quivering as she finished on him, sending him over the edge and stilling as he came with a shudder. He held her so close, both of them breathing into each other's mouths as they came down, kissing and smiling as they stayed connected.

“We’ll name her Eleonora,” Y/N teased, pulling off him and laying back against the blanket.

He made sure her underwear was back in the right spot before covering her with her dress again and sliding himself back into his underwear.

“Amoreena and Eleonora have a good ring to it, we just need 10 more names,” he teased right back.

“Hopefully we have a little boy one day too,” she smiled as she tugged him down beside her, cuddling into her side as they stared up at the newly dark blue sky and the array of stars that decided to join them this evening.

“Even if it’s just Amoreena, I’ve never been happier in my whole life than when I’m with you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She asked, purely to keep hearing his voice.

“Making me want to get up in the morning again, giving me a reason not to buy drugs for something euphoric to happen to me, showing me real love and proof that happiness is possible if you just chose to be happy,” he gave example after example.

“I thought I learned everything the world had to offer, but you’ve been showing me new little life hacks that make the world so much better, I see a future of bright colours and happiness and laughter for the first time ever, so thank you.”

She held him closer, “it’s been a pleasure falling in love with you, together, you deserve to love yourself. You’re so wonderful Spencer, it breaks my heart to know that anyone has ever made you feel the opposite.”

He couldn’t speak anymore, turning to kiss her neck and cheek so he had something to do that wasn’t crying. He loved her so incredibly deeply that he felt like he was an anchor, dropping to the bottom of her deepest ocean, without a single plan to leave.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

[astriiformes]

Fic Writer Interview

Continuing to catch up on tag memes, @lightdescending tagged me in this very fun one the other day (thank you friend!!)

Name: Nate, also astriiformes, also azhdarchidaen on Ao3

Fandoms: Currently writing for: Lord of the Rings/Tolkien, Back to the Future, Critical Role, High Rollers, and, if things get really out of hand, Star Wars

In the past, I’ve also written a lot for Gravity Falls, Pacific Rim, and Doctor Who

Two-shot: Like many folks I had to have this one clarified; I don’t think I’ve ever written a true two-shot (operating from the description of a two-chapter fic), but emotionally, my dual series of Gravity Falls/Doctor Who crossover oneshots (Miles to Go Before I Sleep/Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know) feels like it falls into this category, as does one of my current writing projects which is also intended to be a similar duology/diptych sort of situation.

Most popular multi-chapter: There are a few different metrics for this (most kudos, most comments, etc) so I sort of looked at the question holistically and figured out which of my stories could claim the most. The winner by that measure is In Search of Antidotes, my 30k Gravity Falls gothic horror AU, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest since it’s definitely the story of mine I’ve had the most fun audience engagement with. I still remember dropping the big cliffhanger chapter in the middle of the story, immediately heading off to a dorm hall meeting, and coming back after an hour or so to the funniest flurry of stressed out reader comments I’ve ever received, haha. It was a great high for me as a writer.

(It’s also one of only a few long multichapter stories I’ve actually, uh, finished, and the only finished one I have up on Ao3, which I imagine is a large part of it. I am working on figuring out how to start projects that I have a better chance of actually finishing these days -- even if it takes a million years -- but have not always been great at that, especially considering the pace I write at)

Actual worst part of writing: How long it takes me! I have had instances in the past where I managed to bang out an occasional 2-3k oneshot with ease, but even those were inconsistent, and these days I’m just not interested in writing those sorts of stories. For a while it put me off fic-writing almost entirely, because I was afraid that any story I was actually interested in writing, I would have no hope of ever finishing. But at least these days I am throwing my hat back in the ring some.

That said, I have also improved a lot as a writer since then, which, ironically enough, makes it take even longer because I am my own worst critic and now also better at noticing things I want to fix. Throw in I am awful at actually writing anything unless I am feeling particularly engaged with or inspired by a story, and that’s how you get me being only 2/7ths or so of the way through a oneshot I started last November and 8 months due for an update on my current longfic. I think it especially gets to me because the thing I like best as a writer and that really keeps me going is reader engagement and like, nice comments or asks here on tumblr about my stories, and you just don’t get those when you’re not posting! So you know. Rest in pieces I guess.

How you choose your titles: Poem titles, mostly, particularly ones by Dickinson, Longfellow, or Frost. Longfellow is my favorite poet and I’m honestly surprised I haven’t used more of his.

I’ve used some song ones too, although I think I’m moving away from liking that much (the exception: I still love Auld Lang Syne for my one Grace Holloway fic, but that’s because it’s thematically tied to the Doctor Who TV Movie, so it’s less tenuous a connection). I think my least favorite titles, that I sometimes wish I could go back and change, are almost always ones I came up with myself -- it may be something I’d also be better at these days (they’re mostly old ones), but sniping thematic quotes from poems or literature is particularly satisfying in a way I’m not sure you can replicate, even with a good self-titled work. I also love when I can coordinate chapter titles the same way, although that can take a lot of work and I think the only time I’ve really pulled it off properly was with Antidotes, where all the chapter titles were lines from Macbeth.

I also already have a title for one of my WIPs that I am EXTREMELY proud of (right? that never happens!) that is a deviation from my normal go-tos and actually me re-contextualizing a quote from canon, so maybe that’s something I should play around with more, too!

Do you outline: EHHHH [WIGGLY HAND GESTURE]

I think that, technically, I have done some amount of outlining for almost every multichapter story I’ve ever written (never for oneshots though, although that’s shifting some now that I am trying to write 10k-15k oneshots instead of my previous short ones). But it often has been in sections -- so like, I wouldn’t outline all the chapters of a story, just the next 4-5 or so, and then repeat once I caught up with myself. And also the “outlining” has often been as simple as a sentence or two about the general content of each chapter, nothing more.

Now that I’m writing longer things I need to figure out a better system, especially since I think it would help me get much better as some of the things I love doing in fic (laying foreshadowing, assorted Chekhov’s Guns, etc). But I haven’t quite figured out my system for that yet.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: Like I said, if things get truly out of hand I have an unreasonably long, complicated Star Wars story I’d like to get around to -- an AU Original Trilogy story that would be my self indulgent “I create my own canon” when it comes to including all the characters I like from both some of the newer stuff and the old Legends stories. But it would be a HULKING BEAST, by far the longest and most complicated thing I’ve ever written, so who knows. I have thrown the bones of it at a couple friends who have loved it, so maybe I’ll find it in me to tackle!

The other one I still love conceptually but am not sure I could pull off is the multimedia Lord of the Rings modern/road trip AU, which would be part fic, part me throwing in actual Google maps routes and links to each of the characters’ road trip playlists and the like. It would be weird and not 100% play to my strengths as a writer but My God Do I Want To Create It

Callouts @ me:

You are a pretty good writer, or at least a fun one, as evidence by the fact that some of your fics have an unusual number of hits/kudos/comments for someone who only writes genfic especially

On a similar note, just because you don’t write romance doesn’t mean there isn’t an audience for your stories!

Being self-indulgent is practically the entire purpose of fanfiction and you are allowed to write whatever incredibly niche concept your heart desires. And there will probably even be someone else who likes it, too.

Why are you always so mean to your favorite characters, Nathan?

Best writing traits: One of the most frequent comments I get is that I’m really good at capturing character voice, which I am delighted to hear every time -- it’s one of the things I like most in fics too, and hearing it’s something that shows in my own writing always makes me so happy! I also think I am fairly good at using interesting metaphors -- not just in individual lines but as the core or uniting theme of a piece -- which is EXTREMELY satisfying to pull off every single time.

Spicy tangential opinion: I’m aro/ace and tired, and while people can absolutely write whatever they want, I think fic and fic-writing culture have a real problem with feeling extremely exclusionary to aspec folks. I’m not even so much talking about actual content/volume of gen vs shipping fic here, but more about how like, almost all ask/tag memes or other community/participatory things make the assumption that someone writing fic even has ships they care about, much less write for (this one, I should note, is a pleasant exception!)

I don’t have a broad, sweeping solution that encourages more inclusion (although more people at least promoting gen fic events, whether or not they actually write for them, might be a nice start), but I am extremely exhausted by the base assumption that all fic-writers are in it for smut and/or romantic relationships and that most fics will include them. Frankly, even the general meme of “people who read fic are frequently finding and staying up late reading big long 100k-200k stories” wears me out a bit, because it is very, very rare that I actually find one that I feel comfortable reading myself  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (which is a shame, because they are my FAVORITE). And again, that’s mostly just because it assumes a universal experience that sure isn’t mine. Throw in the fact that I can’t even browse character tags for canonically aromantic and asexual characters without seeing that same cultural nonsense crop up in their treatment by writers and I am............... weary and salty often. Ao3 filters are a godsend, but at the end of the day, they’re a bit of a bandaid on a wound I still know exists. I love fic, both reading and writing it, and I just want to feel included in the culture surrounding it!

No pressure tagging: @scribefindegil, @marypsue, @lafseanchai, @shadowen, @philcoulsonismyhero, @animatedamerican

[lordsandladiesofthesilverscreen]

📖📽📺✨

tag meme: list 3-5 snippets of literature/media that live in your head rent-free to the point where you have them memorized; write them down from memory, no cheating allowed!

Tagged by @nyx4 , this is fun! 

1. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep / But I have promises to keep /And miles to go before I sleep / And miles to go before I sleep.” Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost - We had to memorize the entire poem in middle school and I can still remember almost every line.

2. “Blade with whom I have lived, blade with whom I now die, serve right and justice one last time. Seek one last heart of evil. Still one last life of pain. Cut well, old friend, and then farewell.”  Sir Orin Neville Smythe - The Flight of Dragons - This movie is my defining childhood fantasy epic (The Last Unicorn is a close second) and this quote could fit right in with an Arthurian epic. So good! 

3.  “Far over the misty mountains cold/ To dungeons deep and caverns old / We must away ere break of day / To seek the pale enchanted gold.” J.R.R. Tolkien - The Hobbit - I have way too many Tolkien snippets and quotes floating around in the old noggin’ but this one sticks because I remember the opening of the song in the Rankin Bass animated version

4. (For nyx4!) “My name is Gomez Addams, and I have seen evil! I have seen horror! I have seen the unholy maggots which feast in the dark recesses of the human soul! I have seen all this, officer. But until today, I had never seen...you” Gomez - Addams Family Values

5. “ If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream.” Puck - A Midsummer Night’s Dream - Shakespeare 

[browneyedhimbo]

Drunken Shenanigans

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Prompts: “How much did you drink last night?” “You threw a fucking cake at me!”

Summary: After having one too many drinks during a girls night out, your boyfriend comes to pick you up to take you home. Little does he know the trouble your going to cause

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, fluff

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: Me? Doing a writing challenge? Yep! Gotta get out of writer's block so I’m hoping this helps. @geosaurusrrex​ You deserve all the followers! You’re amazing! Hope you all enjoy it! 

Please let me know if you want to get tagged in anything. Enjoy! Masterlist

“I’m bein serious!” You pouted. “Why you laughin? T’s not nice y’know,” you slurred. But Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper couldn’t help but laugh at your not only drunken state, but the fact that you managed to fall to the floor while sitting perfectly still on the sofa.

It was supposed to be a girls night out. Just a nice dinner and maybe some drinks after. But that soon took a turn when it started pouring cats and dogs the moment you stepped out of Natasha’s apartment. Running back inside, you sat down to try and wait out the rain, but to no avail. Eventually, you collectively agreed to have girls night right there in the apartment. 

“Who needs that fancy expensive ass food when you’ve got mac and cheese and microwavable dinners?” Natasha said while walking to the living room with a tray of food in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other.

Needless to say, you had a couple of shots and a few beers. That’s how you ended up where you are now. Drunk and pouting on the floor.

"If only Bucky could see you now," Pepper giggled. Your face lit up at the mention of your boyfriend's name.

"Bucky! Bucky," you giggled, "My Bucky, my bucky, where I go, heeeeee goes, my bucky, my bucky," you started laughing uncontrollably, remembering seeing the My Buddy commercial as a kid. The girls just shake their heads at your antics and laugh with you. 

-----

It was around midnight when Bucky really started to worry. Constantly checking his phone for updates from you. Usually on girls night, you were gone for a few hours, updated him a few times, and came back around the same time, always between 9-11pm. That's why when the clock struck 12:34am he up and went over to Nat's to see if you were there. People might say he's just being paranoid, but with him being ex-hydra, an ex-assassin, and an Avenger, yeah. He'll get worried someone took you.

The entire car ride to Nat's, he felt uneasy. Every bad scenario going through his head. Hydra kidnapping you, random dude's coming up to you, getting into a car acci - he doesn't even want to finish his thoughts. Blood already boiling and his anxiousness rising. He can't lose you, he'd never be the same. 

Pulling up to Natasha's apartment complex, he turned off the engine and took a deep breath, trying really hard to calm his nerves. One last breath and he was running up the stairs to Natasha's apartment.

-----

"I'm hmm’bathroom," you slurred getting up off the floor. You wobbled a bit before gaining balance again. Slowly, you walked to the bathroom. The moment you shut the door you heard commotion coming from the other side.

-----

Banging on the door to Natasha’s, Bucky tried to calm down. He really did. But his racing thoughts hardly let him. That’s why the moment the door opened his mouth went a mile a minute asking about you.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Nat chuckled, opening the door wide enough for him to come inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sat down on a stool by the kitchen table rubbing a hand over his face. About three minutes later he hears the bathroom door open. He turns around to see you stumbling out, a giggly drunken mess. Immediately he’s at your side.

“Heeey baby,” You giggle as look up at him. All he does is smile and shake his head, guiding you to the sofa. Sitting you down he goes and looks for your coat and purse. Slowly you started to doze off, but the feeling of weight on your shoulders perked you right up. 

“Alright you, let’s get you home.” He finished putting your coat on you and grabbed your purse. Both of you saying your goodbyes, he guided you to the elevator, through the lobby, and to the car. At least the rain died down a bit.

The car ride home wasn’t all that of a silent one. Laughs and giggles escaping your mouth every so often making it hard for Bucky to not join you. To him, your laugh was contagious, your smile was bright, and your eyes were entrancing. Yes, even in your goofy drunken state.

Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment building you both lived in, you started reciting different poems and plays. It lasted the entire way up to your apartment. Once inside, you switched to singing random pieces of songs. You started giggling more and even started sloppily dancing around the kitchen. Though it was short lived because as soon as your eyes landed on the small circular dish, you froze. A small mischievous smile forming on your lips. Thanking your lucky stars that your back was to Bucky, he couldn’t really see the cogs turning in your head. Slowly, you grabbed a handful, and turned around. Putting the hand that has the chunk of cake behind your back, you see Bucky kicking off his shoes and putting your coats away. You bit your bottom lip to keep you from laughing again.

With a sigh he turned around and was greeted with a glint of playfulness in your eyes. Cocking his eyebrow and putting his hands on hips, he takes a step to question you, but is met with a handful of cake being thrown at his face. You busted out laughing. With a groan and a sigh, he grabbed some napkins off the counter and turned to face you.

“Really babe?,” he starts to clean the frosting off his face only to get the entire pan of cake launched at him. The pan was stuck to his face for a good 45 seconds before it fell off and clattered to the floor. He looked up at you, an amused yet annoyed look in his eyes.

“Uhhh ohhh,” You said as you ran out of the kitchen in a fit of laughter and into the living room. You jumped on the sofa and tried to bundled yourself in so many blankets as to not get caught but you weren’t fast enough. Bucky grabbed you by your waist and pulled you away from the sofa. 

“Nooooo!” You flopped in his arms. But then another brilliant idea flew to your head. He’ll let you go if you give him a big kiss right? Worth a shot. You turned around his arms to face him. Still face covered with frosting, you moved some hair out of his face and kissed him. A short and sweet cake covered kiss. The moment you parted for air, you darted off to your shared bedroom.

He couldn’t help but laugh. The things you did drunk. He couldn’t wait to tell you about this in the morning.

After washing up, Bucky walked into the room and sat right next to your sleeping form. A soft smile appearing on his lips. He lays down and pulls you into his arms. Sleep soon overtaking him.

-----

Cracking open your eyes, you felt your head pound and your body ache. Fucking hell. You groaned, rolling over to cuddle with Bucky, but was met with an empty side of the bed. You huffed, not wanting to get up. But the new smell of bacon and coffee was slowly starting to convince you more and more. Your stomach growled loudly. Fine, I’ll fucking get up. The moment you sat up, you felt your headache intensify. Clutching your head you got up from the bed and went straight to the kitchen. Walking in you saw Bucky flipping some pancakes.

“Mornin sleepin beauty,” he turned and smiled at you. You groaned again. Headache getting worse by the minute.

“So how was last night?” He asked while setting a plate of bacon in front of you.

“It was uh, good? I mean it was girls night so…” You trailed off. You stopped mid bite when you saw your boyfriend’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“How much did you drink last night?” Another smirk played on his lips. Oh how you wanted to wipe that smirk off.

“Why? What did I do this time?” You set the piece of bacon down, ready to receive whatever was coming at you now. 

“Oh nothing much. Just some laughs and giggles, and the fact that you threw a fucking cake at me!” Your jaw dropped. 

“I what now?” That was something you weren’t expecting in the slightest. He shook his head in confirmation.

“Yup, the cake that was for today. The one you baked for your friend for her party.” You face palmed. Motherfucker.

“Bucky I am sooo sorry I threw the cake at you. And now I have to run to the store to get more stuff so I can make another one before she -” Bucky pulls out an exact replica of the cake you baked just the other day. “But didn’t you say?”

“I baked a new one. I felt bad that all your hard work didn’t really pay off so well. Especially for me,” he chuckled. You got out of your seat and wrapped him in a hug. Headache long forgotten.

“You know you didn’t have to,” you looked up into those sparkling blue eyes of his, “but thank you.” Man did you have the sweetest boyfriend.

Tags: @agentpeggybarnes​ @katbtracy​ @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam​ @dianadov​ @writing-for-hours-on-end​ @theladyoffangorn​ @agentpeggybarnesfanfics​ @geosaurusrrex​

[scifikimmi]

Writing tag game

tagged by @lady-of-the-lotus (and I think also by @tofucasserole .. or at least something similar ??)

I’m Scifigeek14 on AO3.

fandoms

Active/Recent: The Untamed/CQL/MDZS, Antique (2008), The Wolf, Strangers From Hell

Past: Marvel/Thor, Glee, Supernatural, Rurouni Kenshin, Banana Fish, Harry Potter, Yuri On Ice, Naruto, Haikyuu, Merlin, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Voltron, Endeavour, Hwarang, Doctor Who... other random animangas I can't remember cus it was pre-ao3.

where you post

AO3 (I used to post on FF.Net so the really old stuff is up there still like all my DW stuff)

most popular oneshot

So I'm not counting ones in a series even if its a 1 chapter fic cus its a continuing story. so... looks like "Shifting Suspision" wins based on number of kudos. its a wangxian fic (unsuprising)

most popular multichap

My first fic in the cql/mdzs/wangxian fandom, "A Wedding of Choice" is still holding strong as my most popular chap fic.

favorite story you’ve written so far

tough. i pretty much love all my fics. I'll go with the one I find myself rereading the most. "But I have promised to keep, and miles to go before I sleep". Its for a smaller fandom and its just soft hurt/comfort cuddles.

fic you were nervous to post

Nothing specific jumps to mind... but anything with a 'not-popular' ship. Like I just posed a polyship I was a little worried about (and I'm working on another one that actually messes with a popular ship so I hope no one comes at me when I post it). or anything thats outside my usual fare. like the first time I wrote angst or violence or when a scene gets a little... sexy...

how do you choose your titles

All over the place. Sometimes I do a 'quote' thing from a song lyrics or poem or something. Sometimes its a line from the story. Sometimes a reference or a metaphor or a threwline in the plot. I wish I could tell you. I do know that sometimes its like pulling teeth. Most times its like pulling teeth.

do you outline

YES. ALL THE TIME. EVERY FIC. I just do bullet points of things I know I want. and then add more and fill in gaps until I have huge chunks of it almost written then I go a smooth it out and 'write' it.

complete

I have 77 posted to ao3 (but 1 of those is dropped). I don't post (NOW) until its fully done (see dropped fic above of embaressment). I also have 53 on FF.net (with 10 being repeats and 2 being dropped. so... 120 finished and posted fics?

in progress

current wips are a 2 cql fics, 1 Antique fic, 1 Secret Garden Fic, 1 HP fic, 1 Thor&Loki fic ... but of those really only the first 2 are actively being worked on. Every few months (or years) I cycle back to the other 4... the Antique one more often than the others.

coming soon / not yet started

after those 2 cql fics is... more cql fics. I have notes for at least 2 more outlines.

prompts?

I can't promise i'll do 'em but my inbox is always open. it would have to really GRAB me tho.

upcoming work you’re most excited about

both my current wips: (1) COFFEE SHOP AU WANGXIAN... and I'm also (2) rewriting the entire cql to make Jin Zixuan themain character??? and also now he's dating wangxian... so thats a thing??

tagging

@maddie-oshine @plumblueflower @syolen and ANYONE WHO SEES THIS AND WANTS TO

[what-grace-has-forgiveness]

tag meme: list 3-5 snippets of literature/media that live in your head rent-free to the point where you have them memorized; write them down from memory, no cheating allowed!

tagged by @self-esteem-tower-of-terror (thanks bud)

I can remember a few different poems but I’ve always liked the raven by poe, only remember like the first 4 stanzas. I have terrible memory so it’s easier to remember stuff that rhymes lol

Once upon a midnight dreary while i pondered weak and weary Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore As i nodded nearly napping suddenly there came a tapping As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door “Tis some visitor” i murmured, “rapping at my chamber door” Only this and nothing more

Ah distinctly i remember, it was in the bleak december  And each separate dying ember wrought it’s ghost upon the floor Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly i had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore From the lovely, radiant Maiden whom the angels named Lenore Nameless here forever more

Also stopping by woods on a snowing evening by robert frost

Whose wood’s these are i think i know his house is in the village though He will not see me stopping here  To watch the woods fill up with snow

My little horse might think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year

He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake The only other sounds the sweep Of easy snow and downy flake

These woods are lovely dark and deep But i have promises to keep And miles to go before i sleep And miles to go before i sleep

I could post a few more (the poems from The Dark is Rising books always live in my head rent free) but I’m tired of typing lol

tagging @freezingmyblitzballs, @hejmadzia, @monkeysatiric, @elysiii, @freshnybagel, @simon-the-fat-cat

[iwaqchan-archive]

-author's note: i posted this yesterday, and somehow it showed up in none of the tags?? so i reuploaded it now and i hope it works out this time around. hopefully you guys enjoy it!!

♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡

pairing: shouto todoroki x f!reader

genre: fluff

words: 835

requests: open

part one

♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡

Sunday came by faster than Shouto would have liked. He had spent a good portion of his weekend, coming up with a plan to finally reveal his true feelings for you. The kiss you shared at the party, being the catalyst. Shouto couldn’t get the image of your beautiful smile out of his mind. The rosy blush that decorated your cheeks, made butterflies erupt in his belly. But it turned out to be significantly more difficult than he would like to admit. At one point he came up with the idea of singing you a song a lá 10 Things I Hate About You style was a good idea (but came to realize that he really wasn’t outgoing or relaxed enough to go through with it). Then there was that moment when he thought writing you a poem would work, but after staring at his notebook for a solid hour, Shouto also scrapped that idea. After all, words were never his strong point. Or emotions in general. In the end, he decided to visit his mother, and talk to her. Surely she’ll know what he should do.

The train ride to the hospital seemed harder than usual. Shouto couldn’t deny that he was awfully nervous. His palms were clammy and he could feel the sweat starting to form on his forehead. He cursed himself for being unable to come up with a good idea himself. Why couldn’t he be more forward, more outgoing, and less restricted with his emotions? Sometimes he wished he could be more like Midoriya, the lion-hearted boy that never shies away from showing his emotions. Or his older brother Natsuo, with his easy going nature, who is still capable of showing resentment towards their father. He was just plain Shouto, stoic, ill-mannered, and dense. A complete klutz regarding empathy and love.

With his thoughts going a mile a minute, he nearly missed the train coming to a halt. Only realizing after the voice coming through the speakers announced the name of his stop. Quickly he made his way through the door, just before they closed again. He hastily walked down the street, following the path he by now knew like the back of his hand.

A couple of nurses greeted him as he walked through the sliding glass doors, and towards his mother’s room. With shaking hands he opened the door, and in long strides made his way towards his usual seat.

His mother could tell that something was bothering him. Rei was naturally very observant when it came to her children, especially with her youngest child.

“What is bothering you, Shouto?” she says, while brushing his hair back. “Did something happen with your father?”

“No, that’s not it. There is this girl, (Y/N). I like her, in fact, I think i am in love with her. And i’ve been trying to tell her exactly that, for a while now. But every idea i have come up with, never felt right. Everything felt too forced, or silly, or just not like me.”

She smiled then, the kind of smile only a mother could give to her child.

“Just be you, Shouto. I know this might not sound like much. But it is always best to be yourself in situations like these. Tell her how you feel, she will understand, even if she does not reciprocate your feelings.”

A new flash of confidence overcame Shouto, he knew talking to his mother was the best thing he could have done. So on Monday morning, he made his way towards your dorm room. With sweaty palms, and a thousand thoughts racing through his head, he knocked on your door.

Then there you stood, your hair a mess, eyes bleary with sleep and a smile that made his breath catch in this throat.

“What are you doing here so early in the morning, Todoroki? Is something the matter?”

The words he so desperately wanted to say ended up dying in his throat. No matter how hard he tried to speak, there were no words coming out of his mouth. Everything he’s worked for, gone. He couldn’t believe that even now, he didn’t seem to have the guts to tell you.

Your cheerful, albeit sleepy expression changed into one of worry. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on. Todoroki seemed to have someone important to tell you, why else would he be standing at your door this early in the morning?

“Todoroki, are you al—”

“I really like you, (Y/N).” The words died in your throat. You couldn’t believe what you just heard. Todoroki Shouto, likes you? The Todoroki Shouto, son of Endeavor, returns your feelings? This was like every dream come true, and so much more.

And so the cheerfulness returned to your face. A big smile adorning your features. Quickly, you placed a kiss on his cheek.

“I really,really like you too.”

You made a mental note, to thank Mina next time you saw her. (She was awfully confused when you gave her a smooch later that day)

♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡

[wexarethewalkingxdead]

Name: Larissa aka untapdtreasure

Star sign: Aquarius.

Height: 5′5 ft tall.

What’s your middle name: Beth.

Put your spotify/apple music on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?:

Hold My Hand - The Fray.

There’s a Place for Us - Carrie Underwood.

Don’t Call Me Angel - Ariana Grande, Miley Cyrus, & Lana Del Rey.

Falling Slowly - Glen Hansard & Market Irglova

Nobody But You - Blake Shelton & Gwen Stefani

Independence Day - Martina McBride

Ever had a poem/song written about you?: Nope. But I do write poetry. Or well, I used to. And I’ve written a lot of personal poems about myself.

When was the last time you played air guitar?: I don’t even know how to play guitar so never really unless you count strumming and not knowing what the hell I’m doing. And I can’t even remember the last time I did that either. 

Who is your celebrity crush?: Kathryn Erbe.

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: A sound I hate would be people chewing with their mouths open. A sound I love would be my son’s laughter. 

Do you believe in ghosts?: Absolutely. 

How about Aliens?: We are most definitely not the only intelligent life out there.

Do you drive?: Yes.

If so have you crashed?: Not crashed but I’ve been rear-ended because this young teenage girl wasn’t paying attention. Also been hit from behind by a police constable going around ninety miles per hour. We were so very lucky that day. That was Thanksgiving about six or so years ago. I had a lot of PTSD that I had to work through because of that. Struggled to sleep and would have panic attacks whenever I saw blue lights in the dark because it happened early in the morning before the sun had started to come up. Ruined our entire day because we were on our way to my sister’s house that was six hours away. We didn’t get to go because it totaled my Mom’s van. The constable that hit us wasn’t even supposed to have a police car because all his job consisted of was serving warrants. He was on his way to a call (where he had no business). And also was under the influence of Ambien and had no business behind the wheel of a car. The man is very lucky that my family didn’t have blood on them because I would have put my hands on him. As it was, I let that man have a piece of my mind. I barely remember what I said to him, but I remember being very angry and scared and letting him have it. 

What was the last book you read?: When the Wind Blows by James Patterson.

Do you like the smell of gasoline: Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. 

What’s the worst Injury you’ve had?: Falling off the monkey bars when hanging upside down and busted my head open. There was blood everywhere. 

Do you have any obsessions right now?: A puzzle app that I’ve beaten the entire jewel game levels and now have to find another section of puzzles that I like so I can work on them. I might even uninstall this app and find me another jewel game to play because I love it. 

Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?: Sadly, I’m a peacemaker by nature so I usually try and work things out if the situation presents itself. But it could depend on the severity of which whatever they did to me. 

In a relationship?: Happily married with an eighteen year old son. 

Tagged by: @we-will-begin-again & @the-soldier-and-the-reporter Tagging: @burnslikefire @boltsandashes @shefiights @xxlonewarriorqveenxx & anyone else that wants to do this one! 

[quirkykayleetam]

Kind Restraints

Beth couldn’t sleep.  For once it wasn’t the constant beeping of the medical apparatuses in Jay’s room or the ice cold temperature of the hospital or the sterile smell she could never seem to get out of her nose.  It was that she’d just left her job at Landring Community College.

That morning, Beth said goodbye to co-workers that had become, if not friends, than at least solid parts of her life.  She knew their kids, their creatively named weiner dogs, their memorable love lives.  She swapped shopping tips with Joanne from marketing every Wednesday on their lunch break.

She couldn’t explain to them why she was leaving.  She just put in her two weeks notice and sat quiet as her origami paperweight as rumors swirled around her.  Maybe she’d inherited a grand fortune.  Maybe she was finally running off with long-term on-and-off-again boyfriend, Joey.

No one guessed she signed her life away to help a kid she barely knew.

God, Beth thought, what was she getting herself into?  Jay wasn’t one of her brothers that she could clean up for a weekend and then send back to rehab when he showed up high and broke her window.  Jay was fragile and brilliant, independent and stubborn as hell.  They needed someone more tranquil and soothing, someone who knew about trauma and medicine.  Someone better than her.

Beth raised a hand from her chest to rub her forehead.  Before she could, the alarm on Jay’s heart monitor went off.  She jumped to her feet.

Still swathed in blankets, gauze, and plaster casts, Jay writhed in their hospital bed.  Their arms moved jerkily, tearing at the splints on their broken fingers.

“‘Ma hands,” Jay slurred, their eyes closed.  “Can’t feel ‘ma hands!”

A nurse bustled into the room, going straight to the monitors.

“Jay, can you hear me?”

Jay didn’t respond.

“Jay, I need you to calm down.  You’re going to harm yourself.”

Jay kept thrashing.  Seemingly in desperation, they beat their hands against their chest.

“You’re already asleep, so I can’t do much to sedate you, but I will restrain you if I have to.”

Beth’s face blanched as she saw the wrist cuffs in the nurse’s hands.  They were padded and safe, Beth knew.  The nurse had obviously used them before.  

Still, Beth kept imagining the lines already marking Jay’s skin.  Jay hadn’t talked much about...about what happened, but some things were obvious.  The damage done by zip ties over months and months of bloody captivity left lined scars on Jay’s ankles, wrists, and neck.  They spoke of pain, helplessness, and captivity, of the times Jay thought they were dying in the dark somewhere all alone.

“Please,” she said stumbling forward, “let me hold him.  Don’t…  Unless we have to, don’t tie him down again.”

The nurse paused.  

Jay thrashed.  

Beth gulped.  

Then the orderly nodded.

“You hear that, Jay-bird?  I’m gonna be with you all the way through this.  I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again.”

She reached for his arms, but found she could only keep a hold of one of them at a time from her position on the side of Jay’s hospital railing.

“Damn you for being so gangly!” she huffed.  “If you want to do it that way, then hold on.  I’m coming on up.”

The nurse helped Beth move wires and IV tubes out of her way as the heaved herself under Jay and onto the bed.  It took time to get her situated with her legs hanging off both sides of the mattress and Jay’s thrashing form in lap.  There she could wrap her arms around him in a tight hug, holding his arms to their bodies so Jay couldn’t lash out.

“Shhh, shhh,” Beth murmured, turning Jay’s shaking into rocking.  She couldn’t quiet them entirely, but she could rest their head against her neck.

If this was anyone else, I’d sing to them, Beth thought.  Jay wasn’t very fond of music, at least not the lyrical kind.  They tried to introduce her to something called “electronica..”  It didn’t go over well.

Normally, Jay kept their headphones on silent or listened to audiobooks.  Beth would kill for a book right now, but she couldn’t very well read one with her arms to entangled.  She knew a few Spanish poems and nursery rhymes, but she doubted Jay would care.

No, she thought, Jay likes information.  They’ll stay up all night listening to YouTube videos of quiet voices explaining medieval cooking styles and crocheting techniques.  She might not know much about computers or literature, but inconsequential knowledge?  She could give them that.

“There’s a painting called “Towing of a Boat at Honfleur,” she intoned, moving her mouth until it was parallel to Jay’s ear.  “It’s at the Memorial Gallery at Rochester, New York.  I saw it once when I was visiting with my mom.  Claude Monet, the famous impressionist, painted it in 1864, I think, when he was younger than you.  Only 24 and already a painter, can you imagine?

I remember it because there’s this sandy beach, right, with rocky cliffs in the background.  It’s getting dark; there are low clouds and you can see the sun disappearing from the sky.  Then, right in the middle behind the main figures, there’s a lighthouse shining out of this painting right into your eyes.  It’s almost blinding when you find it and I couldn’t look away.

“Anyway, the whole thing is done in just a few colors.  There’s the figures, the boat, the water, the sand, the cliffs, the sky, and the lighthouse sketched out in just a few brushstrokes.  The simplicity of it makes you feel like you’re there, just like Monet was.  Honfleur was just a few miles away from where the painter grew up in LeHavre.  The painting gives you a sense of place, a sense of solidarity.  No matter where you are, you can look at it and think, that is home.”

She hugged Jay a little tighter, all thoughts of leaving the life of her job forgotten in that moment.

“You’re home, Jay, even if you can’t realize it yet.  Right here, in my arms, you are home.”

Hello, friends!  This is a continuation of the Broken Pieces Universe.  The previous entry can be found under Broken Pieces Pt. 4: Beth’s Answer.

While I’m done with the “official” story, I’m still taking requests for these wonderful characters as we see them work together and recovery.  This was an ask from the wonderful @imagination1reality0​ to fulfill the Kind Restraints square on @badthingshappenbingo​!  I really hope you enjoyed it because we’ve got Trying to Wake Them Up and Self-Harm coming next.

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!):  @stoic-whumpee​​​, @whatwasmyprevioususername​​​, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall​​​, @straight-to-the-pain​​​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​​, @0idril0​​​, @fallingstormphoenix​​​, @whump-fantasies​​​, @imagination1reality0​​​, @whumpback-wail​​, @whump-tr0pes​​, @untilthepainstarts​​, @captivity-whump​, @burtlederp​, @redwingedwhump​, @whumpiary​, @captivity-whump​, @blue-flare10​