#this is the last one i swear its not based on true events

[vyvie]

Untitled and Unnamed

I turn in another half done assignment, not bothering to check if my name is even on it. I might get a better grade if it’s marked missing anyways. I just can’t seem to hold onto my focus. It seems to slip out from between my fingers, and the harder I try to hold onto it, the harder it is to grasp. But there isn’t anything that I can really do about it, so I make do. Guilt and I have a very close relationship. It seems to be all I’m feeling these days. Didn’t do this assignment, didn’t do that assignment. I hardly leave my room anymore, I just wallow in my own whirlwind of thoughts and ideas that never come into focus, like a bad camera.

Everything used to come so easily to me, my attention unwavering during lessons, answers practically being whispered to me with how clear they are in my mind. I don’t know what happened. I feel like something has snapped in my brain, and now it’s like the chain fell off my bike. I pedal all I want, but I don’t make it anywhere. All I do is burn time and energy, and I gain nothing but confusion and guilt. All I feel like is that I’m getting dumber and dumber by the day, even the things that came so easily to me before are just out of my reach.

My mom says it’s just because high school is harder, but I don’t believe her. It’s the same stuff, English, history, math. It’s not that it’s harder here, it’s that I’m worse than I was. That was my limit, and it’s all downhill from here. I don't want to think that I peaked in middle school, but that’s what happened. My partner tells me that it’s not my fault, and that it’s something in my brain, but I don’t believe them. Obviously there’s something wrong with me, but blaming my incompetence on anything but myself is absurd. 

Now I’m laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing that I have at least three projects that are due by the end of this week, two of which I haven’t even started yet. But it’ll be fine. They’ll get done, probably around the same time that I’m supposed to be sleeping. But four hours a night hasn’t caught up with me yet, so I can’t imagine that will change this week. I try to piece together a thought, but it just doesn’t work. It’s like my brain is full of cotton balls, and I’m struggling blindly to find the different pieces of the puzzle. I get up, and walk past the assignments I need to complete. Maybe there’s something I have to clean.

My room goes from pigsty to pristine, entirely depending on how much my mind needs to run away from the work I have to be doing. I write half of an English paper. Then delete it. I can’t turn that in. So I sit, and stare at the wall, or the floor, or the spider slowly building a web in the corner of my room. Anything but the work that makes me shake with stress. I mean, who actually cares about The Catcher in the Rye. I definitely don’t, which is why I’m using summaries and articles to tell me about the book instead of reading it. I can’t sit down and read something anymore. I used to love to read.

I feel like my identity, everything that set me apart from everyone else, that made me unique, is gone, and that I’m just blending in with everyone else again. What was my personality? Who am I? Does anyone know? I feel like I’ve lost myself, and I can’t find the person that I am supposed to be. Maybe they died in eighth grade.

Unanswered texts fill my phone notifications. I swipe them away. I don’t have the energy to talk today. 2 hours later, I pull myself from my bed, and deep clean my room for 4 hours. I don’t have the energy to do work, I tell myself as I do every chore, every task in my house. Other than the things that need to be done. I’m being so productive, getting nothing done. I’m so tired of this. I lay in my bed, midnight now, and I don’t sleep. How could I, with how many things are stuck in my head that I can’t seem to get out. I’ll do that English paper, and all three of those projects tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll have more energy tomorrow.

[glorified-red]

Locks & Cake Pops (Damian Wayne x Reader x Jon Kent)

summary: Gotham was a scary place when the sun went down. One terrifying encounter with a stranger left you completely worn thin. Thankfully, your boys were more than prepared to come find you.

word count: 4,800~

warnings: panic attack, paranoia, vague & very short description of encountering a scary stranger (none explicit to what happened, by whom, or by any gender. Only specification is that it's a conversation and Reader is hesitant around touch), paranoia to violence or potential violence, constant paranoia of not being safe

Y'all called me a main character and I think the people writing my story took that as a CHALLENGE. The amount of plot I went through today??? I swear, fics really do write themselves, huh?

Shout out to @quillsareswords for planting the Poly Fic seed in my head with her fics until I couldn't NOT write one. And shout out to @unmotivatedwrit3r for being my Jon today and @uni-magi-nation for being my Damian because guess what lads, this fic is based on a true story!! As are most of my fics anyway, so please, enjoy the events that happened less than 12 hours ago ;P

You could pinpoint the exact moment your day had derailed. 

It wasn’t until the sun had just barely started to slip beneath the horizon. Nearly ten hours of joy all crashed in one single moment. It was one decision. A single foot placement was the difference between coming home safe and the disaster that befell you currently. 

One foot placement was all it took and your entire world crumbled from above you. 

You almost wondered if your foot pivoted slightly to the east, if you took the path to your right instead of your left, would you still be in this position? Would you be here, clinging to your next breath as if it was your last? 

But alas, you traveled west to your car. The path you took was slightly dimmer than the other in the middle of dusk. Less people, less crowds . . . less witnesses. 

That one decision landed you in an inescapable exchange of words. Whether you made it home was a decision you no longer had control of, it was now placed in the hands of a stranger—a person who thrived on the rush of feeling a life beat in the palm of their hands. 

Your feet were placed on a track alongside them, desperately trying to find a way out. But each pivot was either too late or too suspicious, all you could do was play along like some kind of puppet. Eventually the rush simmered and the paths diverged, they split off into two distinct directions, and you were free. 

You didn’t bother to care when your feet pounded against the ground one after another. They did their job, they took you to where your brain had decided you needed to go despite you not truly being a part of that conversation. You let your instincts take over, the adrenaline high of blazing through empty sidewalks and burning passed streetlamps flickering on for the first time that night. 

Your breath faded into the air with each step, a resounding huff of forced exhales as your legs ached from the pace. Before you knew it, your world tilted on its axis as your brain and body fully disconnected. Tunnel vision took over your view, the only thing in sight was the faraway gleam of steel and vinyl. 

You slammed the car door behind you, fully encasing you in a carbon cage. It felt like a cage in all senses of the word. You were suffocated inside the doors of your own safety, hating how your only semblance of security was in a man-made product that could fail within a moment—that could be broken into with just the thought of doing so. 

You heard the satisfying click of the doors locking, never realizing your fingers jumped to the button the second they could. That sound meant safety, that sound meant you would be okay. 

Electrons slipped past connections and you couldn't properly process anything aside from the steering wheel in front of you and the sharp polyester strap cutting across your chest. Your next exhale was steady and long, a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. Even with the length of the breath, the shakiness behind it was so easy to hear in the silence of the cage. 

You gripped the steering wheel with both hands, twisting your grip along the rim until you could feel the bite in your palms. You brought yourself back one cell at a time. It started with the pads of your fingers tapping against the polyurethane, then your palms rubbing against the grooves and curves of the wheel, then your hands were gripping at your arms until feeling returned to them slowly. You thawed out your own body seconds at a time. 

You breathed again. 

Then the car had started and you drove away. 

You could remember the exact moment you realized this was much deeper than mere disassociation. Your eyes were filled with red lights and your ears buzzed with the sound of passing cars. It started in your chest, a small hum of warning deep in the confines of your ribcage. 

The death rattle had started inside you and only got louder the longer your hands stayed connected to the prison bars. The hum turned into a storm of pyrocumulonimbus as your foot pressed into the gas, each breath of oxygen only fueled the fire burning at the edges of your lungs. 

You fought so hard against the impending doom of it all. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to come home and beeline straight for—not safety—comfort; you wanted to remind yourself that touch wasn’t something to be scared of; you wanted to remind yourself that you were safe—that everything was going to be okay. 

But instead your breath quickened into a terrifying speed and you had no choice but to pull over into the nearest complex with well-lit parking spaces and bustling activity at its front doors. Your car clicked off and your fingers immediately reached for the lock icon at your side. 

You pressed it once to hear the simultaneous click of four doors locking in tandem. 

Leaning against the plush seat, you tried to breathe properly. Your hands gripped at the seatbelt across your chest, both hating and adoring the pressure it forced against your body. 

You pressed it twice to remind yourself the doors were locked. 

Gripping the strap, you didn’t mind the way the edges dug into your palms as you bent it in on itself. It was tight against you, just enough to keep you present. The hands of sharply woven polyester forced you to stay conscious in reality, they didn’t dare let you slip between the cracks and fall into dissociation. 

You pressed it a third time, the same click resounding in your ears. 

Suddenly you felt too suffocated. You could feel the bottom of the wheel on your knees and the lanyard of your keys against your thigh. 

The clicks reversed as you tumbled out of the car. 

Fresh air hit your entire body and the fire raging in your chest worsened tenfold. You were exposed—you were vulnerable. You slammed yourself back into the car. A blink and you were in the backseat this time. 

The carved metal of a key dug into your fingers while you clutched it like a lifeline. Your hand reached for your phone before you could process anything else. Your other clicked the lock icon once more and the entire car fell into darkness. 

⋘⋙

Damian didn’t remember falling asleep but when a human sized heater was laying across his chest, it never took long for his exhaustion to get tired of being ignored. 

He was slightly annoyed, arguably moreso, when the heater in question jerked upright. Damian’s eyes snapped open. “Watch it,�� he groaned, sleep still affecting the timbre in his voice. Hands dug uncomfortably into his stomach and he pushed them away. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the kryptonian apologized from above him. “I just . . .” he trailed off. 

That got his attention. 

His eyes focused on the alert expression on his lover’s face. Jon shifted upright completely, still straddling Damian’s thighs. His eyes were distant, looking off into the window at the other side of the room. 

“What’s wrong?” Damian asked, finding himself slightly propped up onto his elbows. 

“Y/n,” Jon replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. The way he said your voice was just as distant as his gaze, almost like his voice was nothing but an exhale. He blinked, looking down and glaring so hard at Damian’s upper body that Damian almost took offense. 

“Their heartbeat,” he said, confusion lacing his voice as he tried to focus on the thum of your beat, “it’s . . . different.” 

“Different,” Damian echoed. He would’ve been annoyed at the vague answer if he wasn’t aware both him and Jon were currently barely awake and therefore, barely functioning (Damian more so than Jon, of course). “What do you mean different?” 

Kryptonian powers were always so finicky. He always thought so, but meeting Jon? This man was evidence in itself that powers were annoying at best. Damian watched as Jon developed each new power slowly at the most inconvenient times, mind you. And now, years after being the Man Of Steel, Jon’s powers still went berserk. 

Damian couldn’t even count on his fingers how many sensory overloads he’s guided Jon through—and he’d do it all over again if he had to. 

Jon shook his head. “It’s just different.” He shrugged. 

“You woke me up because it’s just different?” Damian deadpanned. 

Jon glared down at him. “This isn’t exactly an exact science, you know.” 

Damian sighed and slid back down until his upper back hit the mattress once more. “Is it going faster? Skipping a beat?” he prompted, trying his best to shake the grogginess from his body without letting paranoia fester in its place. 

Heartbeats always worried Damian. He ended up assuming the worst. But with a Kryptonian tracing them so often, he realized that different didn’t necessarily mean bad. You could have raised your hand in class, forgot your keys, or missed a step down the stairs and your heart lurched. That was enough to perk Jon’s ears. You could have been stressed so your heart rate was elevated. Maybe even tired which made it drag. 

Despite his own fears, Damian kept reminding himself that there's more of a chance that you were fine than not, especially when he was currently talking to a sleep deprived kryptonian who announced heartbeat changes all the time. The idea of getting away with any kind of anxiety while around that golden retriever was stupid and incredibly naive—Damian gave up after a year of Jon’s super-hearing kicking in. 

“You’re anxious.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You should probably—” 

“I said shut up.” 

Jon spoke up: “It definitely jumped and it’s been slightly faster than normal ever since.” His head tilted slightly to the side to listen better—Damian couldn't help but picture a tiny puppy doing the same and its ear flopping over. “It’s getting steadily faster. I think . . . I think they’re driving?” 

Damian’s eyes furrowed. He reached for his phone as Jon continued. “Definitely driving,” he settled on. “I can hear their car.” 

“Maybe they almost got into an accident,” Damian mumbled in thought, setting a personal reminder in his brain to berate you for speeding later. His phone clicked on and his eyes saw his blurry home screen. He blinked the image into focus. When his eyes could properly trace over the smiles on you and Jon’s faces, he looked at the time. 

It was earlier than he thought. 

Jon’s hands fiddled with the hem of Damian’s sleep shirt, the compression material stretching slightly to accommodate the movement. “Maybe,” Jon gnawed at his bottom lip. “I didn’t hear anything like that though, just normal traffic.” 

Damian hummed. “They were at the library today. I didn’t expect them to head home so soon.” His fingers opened your contact. “Did they text you that they were heading home?” 

 Jon leaned across the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. Damian resisted a snark at how uncomfortable the shift was with the unnecessary knee to the side. 

Jon fiddled with his phone for a moment. “Nope, nothing.” 

Damian opened his mouth to supply another sentence of rationale when two things happened simultaneously: In an instant, Jon’s phone slipped from his hands and ricocheted right off of his stomach. (“Ow!”) Then Damian’s ringtone sounded throughout the entire bedroom, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into their tired brains. 

The fear written on Jon’s face was enough for Damian to pick up on the first ring. 

“Y/n?” he asked. Jon’s fingers clutched at his shirt. 

“Hey,” you responded. There was a crackle over the line but Damian couldn’t tell if it was your voice or the shitty internet. 

“Are you okay?” Damian was blunt, cutting straight through any attempt at small talk. How could he not when Jon was currently mouthing “panic attack” at him and poking his ribcage. 

You hesitated enough for Damian to shoo Jon off of him. Both boys tumbled out of the massive bed in varying degrees of grace. 

“What are you doing right now?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re dodging the question,” Damian slid on a pair of pants and made his way down the stairs. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing because I have a human sized Holter monitor that would beg to disagree.”

Jon tumbled behind, no doubt using some kind of kryptonian flare to gather all the necessary items to drive to you. 

“Can you both meet me here, I—” you cut off, if Damian strained, he could hear your rampant breathing. “I need you.” You choked, “No—No capes.” 

Damian breathed in slowly and exhaled through his mouth. The keys and wallets were already floating into his pockets as he opened the front door. 

No capes. 

It was a valid request. It was a request both Jon and Damian had come to appreciate overtime. No need for heroics, no need for perfection, no need for theatrics—you just needed your partners, as they were. 

That was a level of normalcy that was so rare in this lifestyle. As much as it would be miles quicker with Jon’s flight or even his grapple gun, he respected the thought process behind the decision. You just wanted your boys, that was all. 

Car doors slammed shut and Damian was already behind the wheel making his way to you. “We’re on our way.” He felt a poke to his bicep. Jon motioned towards the phone, opening and closing his hand in request. “I’m going to pass the phone to Jon. He’s going to stay on the line until we reach you, okay?” 

Damian barely waited for your small “ok” before handing the phone off. He didn’t bother to fill Jon in on the conversation, it was obvious he was already listening intently. 

“Hey, sunshine.” Jon pointed directions out and Damian followed. No need for maps when you have a super-hearing alien who knows exactly where you are just by the sounds of traffic and the volume of your heartbeat. “We’re coming as fast as we can. Just give us ten minutes and we’ll be there with you.” 

Damian focused on driving, the one thing he could do at this moment. He was tactical, he was useful. Jon was the comforting one; Jon was the one who could navigate emotionally tense situations with ease. So he gripped the steering wheel tighter and made sure he got to you safely. 

Strengths. All three of you had them just as you all had weaknesses. But the beauty of your triad came from how perfectly your strengths filled each others’ weaknesses. You lifted each other up, and when you couldn’t, it was easy to lean on one another. 

So Jon handled the comfort, Damian handled the logistics. 

Words of affirmations flew out of Jon’s mouth in a way that Damian used to envy. Now, he found it endearing. He has his own strengths and that’s okay. 

“Just ten minutes, baby. Ten minutes and everything will be okay, I promise.” 

Red lights glared down at Damian. 

“Breath with me. In and out, just like that. Keep doing that.” 

Stop signs seemed taller than usual, more demeaning. 

“You’re gonna be alright. I know it doesn’t feel that way right now but you’ll be okay soon, you just gotta hang in there for us.” 

Brakes screeched against the pavement. 

“I'm so proud of you, you’re so brave right now. No, don’t be like that. You’re so strong, you’ll get through this, I swear.” 

His fingers tapped against the gear shift impatiently. 

“Are the doors locked? Yea? That’s good. You did good—so good.” 

He heard you sob into the receiver and his heart twisted painfully. 

“You’re safe. No one can get to you right now without your consent. Just keep telling yourself that: no one can get in, no one can reach you, you’re safe.” 

His foot finally hit the gas. 

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You're okay. You did everything right—yes you did. Yes, Y/n. You got to safety, you pulled over, you locked the doors, and you called us. You did everything right.” 

He made a right and then a left. 

“Five more minutes, bub. Just five more minutes. Keep breathing. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be right there with you.” 

He was trapped behind a slow Jeep—he switched lanes. 

“Yea? Grab the jacket and hold it tight. I’d rather you hold that. Just a few more minutes and that jacket will be replaced with us, alright?” 

Yellow lights always annoyed him the most. 

“We’re coming, I promise. We’re coming.” 

He swerved into the complex, not caring if he cut someone off in the process. 

“We’re pulling in right beside you. That car is us so don’t be scared. It’s just us, baby.” 

Damian clicked off the car and tumbled out with Jon quick to follow suit. He always forgot how much Jon used pet names as he rambled through words of reassurance. He was sure it was some kind of nervous tick Jon had, a way for him to soothe both himself and the other person. It could also just be a habit of his mouth speaking far faster than his brain, but the nicknames flowed out of him so fast either way.

“You gotta let us in, love. We can’t help from out here.” Jon’s hand gently rested on the glass window to the backseat. Damian motioned towards the building in front of the car, Jon nodded in response, already knowing his thought process far before Damian’s feet started moving backwards. 

Focus on his strengths. Focus on what he can do. Focus on that. 

The car doors unlocked and the boys split up. 

⋘⋙

You were huddled in the backseat for what felt like hours and milliseconds all at once. Every time your breaths evened, your brain fizzled out with it until you couldn’t feel anything aside from the car key scraping against your palm and the plastic door digging into your spine. 

Legs pulled into your chest, phone to your ear, and arms wrapped around a hoodie long since stolen for your backseat, you waited. You tried to bury your nose in the scent of pine and peppermint, a tanglement of your home—your boys—but it never fully sunk into your comprehension. 

Your empty hand grasped at the plush cotton in a sour attempt at bringing yourself back up. Unfortunately, the second you were brought back to awareness, your breathing spiked. Every distant voice, every shifting shadow, even the cars passing by in the nearby road—it all screamed danger into your head until you struggled to breathe. 

Even in this locked prison, you still felt too exposed. You were miles from home and miles from safety, how could you not? 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re coming. 

When a car pulled beside yours, a familiar tint of windows and gleam of dark steel, you fought all of your instincts to run, to hide, to scream. 

The doors are locked. 

You’re safe. 

No one can come in without your permission. 

They’re here. 

It took every ounce of your willpower to allow your finger to press the open lock icon after pressing the locked one over and over again for what felt like an eternity.  

“Y/n,” Jon sighed out in relief. The call ended and what once was a distant voice was now a full fledged being.

“Please close the door,” you sobbed out, feeling nothing but claws of terror scratch up your chest the longer the door stayed open. Jon instantly complied, shutting the door as gently as he could without slamming it. 

The doors instantly locked again. 

“Can I touch you?” he started with. He didn’t bother asking if you were okay or asking what you needed, it would be pointless. You weren’t okay and asking what you needed when you were so clearly in peril would just put unnecessary weight onto your shoulders when he should be taking it off. 

Your hands fisted into the fabric, fingers swimming amongst the mountain of cotton. “I-I,” you choked on an inhale, “I don’t know.” 

And how could you? Sometimes touch was a blessing, a craving nothing else could satiate. Sometimes touch was the only way to bring you back all the way: it was grounded as was it weighted, it was nice. 

But sometimes touch was terrifying, a pressure of what if tangled in previous experiences. Sometimes touch was the only thing that terrified you the most: after such a night, how could you possibly feel safe with an ounce of contact? 

“Okay,” Jon said quickly, not wanting to make you feel worse about your own indecision. “What if we try? I’ll pull away the second you tell me to, pinky swear.” 

He even raised his pinky to solidify the statement. If you weren’t miles deep into a panic attack and hundreds of tears worn, you probably would have laughed. Instead, you nodded, a jerky movement that shifted the fabric around your face. 

“I’m gonna place my hand on top of your knee, real slow. You tell me if you don’t want it there anymore.” He looked into your eyes with his vibrant blue bells. His face was so sure, so confident, but the edges of his face were hardened with worry. He really couldn’t hide his emotions around you.

You nodded once more. You saw your own quickened breaths more than you felt them, the shadows off to your right reflecting the rise and fall of your chest. 

Jon’s hand was raised slightly above your knee and he hesitated just enough for you to track his movements. Then it was nothing but a light touch of fingertips, then fingers, then a palm, and then an entire hand. 

Despite his slow, deliberate movements, you still flinched. It was a whole-body jerk that started with pulling your legs closer to you and ended with your shoulders hitching upwards. Jon bit the inside of his cheek at the reaction, ignoring the way it dug into his heart a little too deep for his own sanity.

He kept his hand there even when your body’s instinctual reaction screamed for him to pull back. Jon waited for your words, but more importantly, he waited for you to settle into the touch or comprehend that you didn’t want it anymore—whichever ended up happening. 

Luckily, it was the former. Your shoulders pressed back into the door behind you and your head leaned against the car seat. Your feet unhooked at the ankles and relaxed. 

“Do you want more touch or is this enough for now?” 

You felt the heat radiate from his palm, it fought against the storm of fire boiling in every fiber of your being. It also fought against the sheet of ice that threatened to separate you from the rest of the world. It was enough. 

“ ‘s good for now,” you breathed in shakily. Trying to match the rise and fall of the chest in front of you. 

Jon looked off to the side and squinted into the darkness. “Damian’s on his way back.” His thumb absent-mindedly rubbed against your knee slowly and in a small movement. It was so small you barely would’ve realized it if your knee wasn’t at eye level. “You’ll have to let him in soon.” 

Your eyes flickered over to just beyond your car and into the entrance to the building—the cafe—where Damian had started walking out of. You had a moment or two to emotionally prepare yourself to unlock those doors. 

You struggled on your next breath and Jon heard it. He returned his gaze to you. “Breathe, baby. It’s just Dami. You can lock the doors immediately afterwards.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, hating the way your breathing sped up slightly as you clicked the open lock. Gears shifted and the reversal of the click was impossibly loud against your muddled brain. 

The door in front of you swung open and Jon pulled Damian inside before closing the door as soon as possible. You found your thumb pressing the lock button the second you heard the car door close. You never once felt the hand on your knee leave and you silently thanked Jon’s perceptiveness. 

Opening your eyes, you were met with Damian’s emerald eyes looking at you with as much concern as those eyes could ever truly show. Jon had somehow found his way squished in between the seats and middle console, half debating if he should just sit on the floor or on the console. Damian sat across from you with his hands full of drinks and food. 

He offered you the blend of sugar and ice to which you took without much hesitation. Your head was pounding. You could hear your heartbeat in your ear and you could feel it in your temples. It was unbearably hot with pain. 

“I got your usual,” Damian said, “just the way you like it.” 

You sniffled, already feeling the fire inside swirl into dissipation. “No inclusions?” you asked in a small voice. 

“No inclusions,” he reassured you. 

“The base?” 

“Lemonade, not water.” 

You opened your mouth to ask another question but Damian was quick to read your mind. He lifted up a straw still wrapped in its plastic casing. “Yes, I got you a straw.” 

For the first time that night, you smiled. It was small, twitchy, and faded just as quick as it came, but it was still better than the choked off sobs from earlier over the phone. 

Damian opened the top of the straw for you and you held out your drink for him to place it inside. Your hands were so shaky it was difficult to even hold the large drink (because of course he got you the biggest size), let alone have enough dexterity to open a straw. 

“I also bought cake pops,” he lifted up the three brown bags of parchment that held your sugary treat. He knew you so well you swore he was a mind reader. Your hands were shaking from panic but also from how low your energy levels were from using every ounce of it to breathe. 

Damian lifted the first bag after peering inside. “Birthday cake.”

You snatched the bag. 

“Chocolate.” 

Jon did the same for his. 

“And mine.” Damian set his bag in his lap and handed Jon his drink full of sugar. 

Jon propped open the cup holders attached to the center console and set his drink inside, Damian was quick to set his water beside it. 

You clutched your drink with both hands, enjoying the feeling of the cold condensation against your aching fingers. “Thank you.”

Damian hummed in response. It didn’t take long for his hand to find its way onto your other knee and this time, you didn’t end up flinching. You swore the presence of your two lovers was more than enough to calm any attack that found its way up to you. Tonight was proof of that. 

“Your breathing is still too fast for my liking,” Damian spoke up. “Do you want to go through some breathing exercises?” 

Both of the boys looked at you expectantly. You shrunk back slightly at the pressure before you shook your head. “Can . . .” you breathed in to reassure yourself—your request was okay, you’re voicing your needs, you’re valid—“Can you guys just distract me?” 

They shared a look between each other and Jon ended up speaking up first: “Go ahead, Dami. Distract them.” 

“Why do I have to?” Damian demanded, “You’re obviously better at running your mouth than I am.”

“Because I said so?” 

“Because you said so,” Damian mocked, “Really? Do you honestly believe that holds any true merit in this household?” 

Jon scoffed. “It does when you say it so why doesn’t it when I say it?”

“Because I’m better than you, obviously.” 

“Am not.” 

“Am too.” 

“Boys,” you giggled through the word. Your grip on your drink was loose and your legs uncurled slowly until they pressed into Damian’s shin. “While this is adorable, I just want to listen to you two talk, not bicker.” 

One of them huffed from their nose and you genuinely couldn’t tell who—you’re half convinced they both did. 

“Fine.” Damian’s free hand fell around the top of your shoe, his pinky brushing against your ankle. “Go ahead, genius. Tell our beloved what you did to the kitchen while making dinner tonight.” 

Jon’s eyes widened slowly. “We agreed not to tell them,” he whisper-shouted. 

Damian shrugged. 

You turned to Jon with a fire behind your eyes. 

“What did you do to my freshly cleaned kitchen?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[crusadingcookie]

Hey i was wondering if maybe u can do a fic where reader is part of taskforce 141 and most of the time is super focused on the mission and her orders but seems out it it bc its her daughter bday or sum ,and they find out she used to have a family (husband,children the while shabang) but they were murdered or died in a terrorist attack. I just want something really angsty 😭💀

spring daffodils

Also on AO3!

Pairing: TF141 & fem!Reader, mentioned Reader x unnamed!Husband 

Summary: It’s been years since the tragic death of your husband and daughter at the hands of an enemy target you were tracking at the time. On the day of what would have been your daughter’s birthday, something in a mission causes you to break down in front of the rest of the task force. Or: 3k words of the reader crying and Task Force 141 comforting her

Word Count: 3k

Content Warnings: fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, brief argument with Ghost at the beginning but nothing too bad, Reader was married and had a child, mentions of death (including death of a child), brief mention of blood, Reader has the codename “Tigress”, this is all strictly platonic, Tigress has that widow trauma so no time for romance, no beta we die like Tigress' family, it's for the angst plot guys I swear

A/N: Thank you for the request, I’m sorry this is kinda late but I hope you enjoy it! The ending is a bit meh but I already felt bad with how late this is. I tried to make this as angsty as possible but with some comfort and a bit of fluff at the end. 

It was spring when you first met him. You were back home after a long, tiring time of non-stop tours and missions. You decided to take a small break of a couple of months before specialising further in your military career. A new café had opened near your home and you often found yourself there, spending the afternoon in the cosy shop. It was where you first met him. You had just picked up your cup of coffee when something bumped into you from behind, causing your coffee to spill all over the front of your shirt. You turned around, ready to have a word with whoever knocked into you when you were met with a ramble of apologies and promises to buy you a new coffee. Soon you found yourself sitting with the man in a private corner of the café, a hot cup of coffee in front of you and a promise of a new shirt to replace the coffee-stained one. One date quickly turned into two, the both of you enraptured with each other. And after a few years, a golden ring adorned your finger. After a year or so of the two of you being married, your daughter was born. A little human being who brought joy and innocence to your life, who did not know of the true horrors her mum faced to keep people like her safe.

=====

And it was spring when they died. The trees were starting to bud and the flowers were starting to bloom again. The sky was finally clear after months of grey clouds and cold winds. Mother Earth was once again encouraging and welcoming new life when their light was snuffed out. A bitter irony. 

The family of crows which lived in your back garden sat in the branches of the tree overlooking your driveway. Watching as you made your way across the driveway and to the front door, observing like a bad omen. Only for you to discover the bodies of your husband and daughter. Shot dead in the very living room of your own home. It was like a silly game of Cluedo, whodunnit and with what? Except this wasn’t a silly game of Cluedo. You knew exactly who had ordered this to be done. 

Their deaths were because of your line of work. A tragic event born from a multitude of failures. The target you were chasing at the time with your old squad had sent out the hit on your family. In a last-ditch attempt to attack your squad in some way. And if he couldn’t get to your squad directly, then he would hurt them indirectly. And that he did. Somehow it got out that you had a family, it shouldn’t have. Someone back at base fucked up because that information should have been strictly secret to prevent these types of situations in the first palace. It should have been redacted behind a big block of black ink on your file. But in the end, your target was the one with the last laugh whilst you were forced to deal with the sight of your husband and daughter murdered in your own home. 

Since that day you have thrown yourself into your work. Sinking in an endless ocean of mission after mission, wanting to give up and stop swimming and yet just as the last breath of air leaves your lungs you find yourself breaking the surface yet again. A never-ending cycle of peace until the storm of grief strikes anew.

Without anyone left back home, it was easy to dedicate everything to the military and a few years later you found yourself recruited by no other than Captain John Price himself. This new task force, the 141, was the closest thing to family you had experienced in a long time. And yet, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to tell the boys about them. About your husband and your little girl. A part of you reasoned that there was no need for them to know, what was the point when their fate has already been engraved in stone and nothing can change the outcome of what happened. Or maybe you were just too much of a coward to confront what happened that day.

What you couldn’t ignore was the current date. Its significance is seared into your mind, a constant reminder of what could have been. Of what you have lost. And of course, the task force was assigned a mission on this day of all days. At first, the mission you and the rest of the task force were on was going well. You always prided yourself in being professional and focused when it came to missions. You knew the seriousness of the situation and followed orders given to you. 

And then it all went to shit. You were already feeling off the moment you woke up. Not even looking at the small desk calendar to remind yourself of the date. As if you haven’t been counting down the days. Like clockwork, waiting for the guilt and grief to wash over you until the tsunami passed and you waited until another 365 days passed to repeat the process.

You and your team had cleared the abandoned village the enemy had set up base in. You were ordered to search and clear one of the buildings in case there were any enemies in hiding. As you methodically made your way through the house you came across what clearly used to be a child’s room. Toys were strewn about, but what caused you to pause was the sight of a teddy bear dropped at the foot of the bed. Intel had informed you that the village was forced to flee as the enemy forces occupied the area, some resisting and resulting in civilian deaths. Your eyes zeroed in on the blood splatter on one of the teddy’s ears, the fake fur matted with the dried liquid. 

“Mum, can I get that teddy pretty pleaasee?”

“Alright sweetie, but only this one okay?”

“Yay thank you! I will name you… hmmm… Sir Stripes!”

You honestly did not remember much after that. The rest of the village was deemed clear and soon you were on the flight back to base. You fought to keep yourself together just for a few more hours until you were back on base and could grieve alone within the confines of your own four walls. Your team watched with concern as you sat, back straight and staring ahead at the hull of the plane. 

A hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your memories. You recognised the face of the pilot and it took you embarrassingly long to realise the rest of the team had already disembarked the plane. You mumbled what you hoped was an intelligible apology and made your way over to the locker room. Thankfully the room was empty, you loved your teammates that was without question. But right now, you didn’t think you could make it much longer until you broke down. With practised ease, you stripped yourself of your gear and it seemed you were lucky enough that no one came to find out why you were taking so long. You should have known by now that luck typically doesn’t go your way. Just as you put away the last of your gear a voice from the doorway interrupted you.

“Care to explain what’s up with you today?” With a deep breath, you turned and faced Ghost. Your lieutenant was standing in the doorway of the armoury, already out of his field gear, although he looked just as intimidating in his normal attire. 

“I don’t know what you mean, the mission was a success.” You said, attempting to feign ignorance. Of course, Ghost saw through that.

“You were out of it” Ghost replied, his eyes piercing into yours, his sharp gaze never leaving you. 

You stayed silent, hoping that he would drop it and let you go so that you could inevitably cry in peace. The two of you stood in silence, staring at each other until Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, looking even more imposing in the doorway.

“Don’t bullshit me Tigress. You were clearly out of it, hell even Soap noticed and you know it takes him long to figure this kind of shit out.” 

“The mission was a success, so I don’t see why this is an issue.” You huffed, starting to get irritated at the man’s persistent probing. Any other day you would be happy to know that the infamous Ghost cared. But right now? Right now you just wanted to be left alone. You just wanted to stew in your grief, let the dark thoughts remind you of what happened. You had to keep the walls up. They can’t know how fucked up your life was. How you failed to protect them. You don’t deserve their comfort.

Ghost shifted at the slight tone in your voice. If it wasn’t clear before that something was bothering you, now it definitely was. “It becomes an issue when one of my soldiers is not thinking clearly in enemy territory.”

“Look, Lieutenant, it's getting late, we’re all tired. This won’t happen again.” You sighed, exasperated by both the exhaustion from the mission and the emotional toll it took on you.

You pushed past the man and made your way to the task force’s shared kitchen area. Hoping to get a fresh glass of water and some snacks before your inevitable break down. Of course Ghost, the stubborn man that he is, followed you. He wasn’t done with this situation and in his own way wanted to make sure you were okay so that you wouldn’t be distracted in future missions. You ignored the rest of your team sitting in the room and beelined straight for the kitchen cupboard, taking out an empty glass.

“This isn’t a joke Tigress. One mistake and it can cost you your life out there” 

“I know that!” You exclaimed in response to Ghost’s voice, not turning around to face the man who had followed you to the common area.

“Do you? Do you know that? Because today, out there it seemed like one of my soldiers was ready to put her life in danger because she wasn’t aware!”

Ghost waits for an answer but when he gets none he continued, “I can’t have you out there acting as if there is nothing for you to go back to back home”

“Well, there is nothing back home!” You yelled out, setting the glass not so gently on the counter. Immediately you closed your eyes in regret of your outburst. 

Ghost faltered for a second, the rest of the team watching you with your back turned to them

You faced the wall, feeling the sting grow stronger in your eyes. You tilted your face up towards the ceiling, hoping it would stave off the tears. The muscles in your jaw tensed as you clenched them in an attempt to keep your composure. 

“Tigress?”

You took a deep breath and turned to face your team. They watched as you faced them, your lip quivering as you fought to contain the sobs building in your throat, eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at any second. You rapidly blinked your eyes at the moisture building up in them. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” you said with a shaky voice.

“Hey, don’t pull away from us, please. Tell us what’s wrong” Gaz was the first one to break the silence, he got up and moved to stand in front of you. “Are you alright?” he asked, stretching his arms out towards you in a silent offering.

At the sound of his gentle voice the walls you so desperately built to shield your own heart broke. And with them your last composure. You sniffled a few times, inhaling the air up through your nose as your face twisted with both the emotional pain and the effort of not breaking down. You shook your head softly at him, words failing you at this moment due to the lump in your throat and the tight coil wrapped in your chest. You practically dove into Gaz’s outstretched arms, allowing yourself for the first time in years to have this comfort. His arms came down to wrap around you and in the safety of his embrace, the first sob escaped from where you tried to bury it down. The tears quickly followed and found their way down your cheeks. 

The two of you stood there for what felt like hours, Gaz gently rocking you from side to side. Years of built-up grief and anguish finally escaped from where you had buried those feelings deep within your heart, bubbling up into a series of broken sounds escaping your lips. After a few minutes, your sobs calmed down to a few quiet hiccups and sniffles. Another arm joined to draw comforting circles on your back, you tilted your head from where it was resting against Gaz’s chest to see Soap standing next to you. A warm smile on the Scotman’s face. 

“I- um…” you trailed off, your words interrupted by yet another sniffle. 

“Take your time lass,” answered Soap

You sent him a watery smile and pulled your sleeves over your hands to wipe at your eyes as well as your running nose. You coughed to clear the croakiness in your voice and took a deep breath in an effort to calm down.

“I had a husband years ago. We were married and even had a little girl together. This was before I joined the task force and everything,” you paused to accept a tissue from Price, you blew out your nose before continuing. “And well, they were both killed because of my involvement in a case. The target we were tracking sent out the hit.”

“Kid, I had no idea.” Price said, taking your used tissue from your hand and replacing it with a clean one. He may deny that he is the dad of the team, but all of you knew he cared for every single one of you.

“I didn’t want any of you to know. I tried putting that shit behind me. Didn’t want to talk about it, so I left it out of my file.” You explained and with a weak laugh you continue, “she would have been eight today. Her dad would always buy her those supermarket cakes, and if I wasn’t home she would insist I get one as well so that I could eat some cake too.”

All of your teammates’ hearts ached seeing how much pain you carried, how long you probably suffered and grieved for their losses without having anyone to comfort you. Never before had they seen you with this much pain in your voice, you were always the one who got the job done on missions. Who seemed like they had their life together and returned on leave to a happy home life.

You looked up after dabbing at your eyes with the tissue to see Price standing in front of you. You didn’t think you had any tears left in you but at the sight of your Captain, the unofficial dad of the team, with his arms out wide offering you a hug and a soft look in his eyes you felt the tears well up once again. 

You accepted Price’s hug and you felt the distinct lump in the back of your throat build up again and as much as you tried to will it away, it persisted and soon more sobs were forced from you. The smell of cigars and smoke enveloped you in the warmth of his embrace. Price only pulled you closer to his chest at the sound of your sobs, allowing you to fully bury your face into his shirt, no doubt wetting the fabric with your tears.

Soon Gaz joined you two, tears of his own in his eyes. Price reached up with one of his arms and pulled the younger man in. Soap followed shortly after and finally, you felt gentle yet firm arms enveloping all of you. You looked up to see Ghost, a rare soft look in his eyes and a silent apology for having pushed you for answers earlier. 

You felt safe here in the big, warm group hug of your teammates and slowly your sobs dwindled until they completely died down.

“I have some pictures I can show you guys,” you disentangled yourself from the group hug to move to one of the couches and took out your phone, scrolling past pictures of the task force members as well as pictures of your old team. You finally found your favourite picture, it shows your husband and daughter together, a tiger plushie clutched in your daughter’s hands. Your team gathered around as you showed them the picture.

“Wait, is that why?” Soap began to ask and you nodded.

“They were her favourite animal. And when she found out about codenames, she practically insisted on that being my codename”

“So like a secret spy!”

“Yes sweetie, it’s a secret spy name”

“Can you choose your own?”

“We can, or it’s a nickname given to us by our friends”

“Ooo how about Tiger? No! Tigress!”

“That’s an amazing idea, honey”

You took a moment to stare at the picture, smiling at how happy they both looked in it. Your hand which held the crumpled tissue reached up to lightly dab at the tears welling up in your eyes again. You accepted another tissue from Ghost this time, where he got them from you had no idea but you were grateful for it anyways. 

The rest of the evening was spent with all of you sharing various stories from over the years. Tucked in between your teammates, tired from the emotional day, you felt a sense of home. Something which you hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

[fareehaandspaniards]

Also really curious about how you see Ludwig!

Seems really like the perfect role model guy!

Perfect role model guy? Maybe xd

I haven’t thought much about his past, but I think that he is also a foreigner (as many other characters!), or rather his family is from other lands. He himself was born and raised in Yharnam, but his roots are southern.

Another doodle to show how exactly I see him (It's Laurence in the left and Edgar in the right, nevermind xD) :

What can be said for sure is that he is very cute!

A "father" for his soldiers (hunters), an excellent fighter, a strongman. An exemplary family man - in my headcanon he is married, and perfectly copes with the role of a father and husband. However, what he couldn't do is to be the "head" of the family - I think he is very shy and timid in private and in more intimate settings!

He's also a great knight! Like, a true knight (I mean not a medieval robber and feudal lord, but a really exemplary servant, master of the sword and sir in shining armor. I swear I read a legend about a knight with a magical, talking sword, (no, not Excalibur xd) It reminds me a lot of Ludwig, though I've forgotten the legend ;_;)

He has a lot of virtues, but his flaws.....

Stone-faced. Which made it hard for Laurence to get along with him at first. Ludwig is very closed and takes deeds rather than words. Laurence couldn’t understand his loyalty and endeavor to serve for some time, but when he got it – he started to fear that Ludwig will abandon the Church after discovering it’s dark secrets.

Ludwig is quite infantile inside - he loves strategy and tactics, but mostly uses it in games for children! And actually the one who got him talking and also befriended was Gehrman, who offered him to play a board game. Gehrman and Ludwig are good friends in my opinion and drinking buddies xd I just like to imagine them drinking a huge mugs of beer while Laurence sips juice through a straw from an exquisite glass. Both friends were a bit silly and eventually acquired enough local jokes that pissed Laurence off LOL

Ludwig had nightmares very often, and a restful sleep is a reward for him. Moon influence – thanks, Laurence.

He is Edgar's idol also! He dreamed of being like the perfect knight (but didn’t succeed xd). And I really like the headcanon that Ludwig picked up little Edgar on the street in his last sane year and gave him to the Orphanage on which the Choir was based. In my headcanons Edgar is stuck being 20 years old in a Nightmare, so I guess that's probably a pretty realistic course of events...? How did he survive his stay at the Orphanage, where children were "used" to communicate with the Great Ones? I-don't-know! xd I just like to think that way, haven't tried to seriously consider it.

Ludwig conducted the massacre of Old Yharnam with true steadfastness. That's why people started call him "The Beast" - he never once showed compassion for people turning into beasts. The problem is that when he does something, he shows no doubt. All his doubts and worries were left in Laurence’s hands, and Vicar was in no hurry to clear his image in front of people or dissuade them.

The Moonlight, after the incident with Old Yharnam, had been the only source of meaning for him. The moon called, the moon comforted, the moon promised. Under its influence, Ludwig forgot everything that brought pain, just as he had forgotten his wife and son and daughter, who had died turning into beasts.

Ludwig had faith in Laurence. Ludwig also believed in healing blood. It had healed his wife, and he believed it was the future of Yharnam. Vicar asked him not to ask questions, promising to tell him one day WHAT the Church was doing, but he wasn’t able to fulfill a promise. Ludwig found out everything for himself later.

Djura admired him at first, but later joined those who called Ludwig "The Beast." He could understand everything, but he couldn't forgive him for following heartless orders.

Ludwig had been an inspiration to Damian(Me? Not to mention Damian? HAhahahaha) during his years of service as a Tomb Prosperctor. Although Damian considered this service "unholy" (the old belief that the dead should not be disturbed), Ludwig inspired him to keep going.

And! Also he was a good friend of Maria. She wasn’t as naive as Ludwig, because tried to discover secrets of Research Hall, but they both had sensitive hearts. He was a good man and she valued it during those hard times. Also how couldn’t Ludwig not appreciate Gehrman’s best apprentice? Young, talented, kind-hearted – Maria was another «knight». (I love so much female archetype of «knight». I have some examples from other games and OH MY GOD, AHksdhfksjhfiwhe General Beatrix from Final Fantasy IX plus Lady Maria is a duo of my heart…)

I used to call myself holyvicar shipper, but actually no… I like it, as much as other pairings, I can even feel it, especially if feelings are one-sided (Ludwig is in love), but Laurence really wants to feel the same, but simply can’t. Ludwig is too easy for him? I don’t know. Ludwig/Maria? Ludwig/Micolash (lol)??? I appreciate any fanart or fanfics but not really into these ships. So Ludwig is married in my world.

[myreia]

Bound by Faith

CHAPTER THREE: PRAGMA

Chapter Rating: Teen (full story is rated Explicit) Pairing: Aureia Malathar (WoL)/Thancred Waters Major Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters Chapter Words: 4,701 Notes: Set post-5.0., spoilers for Shadowbringers base. Summary: With their enemies defeated and the First saved, the Crystarium is alive with celebration. Despite the joy around her, Aureia is uncertain about the next steps to take. So is Thancred, for that matter. The puzzle of their lives has sat incomplete for years, but finally this last, precious piece may be able to slide into place. Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 Read on AO3

When Aureia and Thancred reach the entrance to the residential district, they find it surprisingly empty. Perhaps it’s a testament to the all-encompassing festivities that even the Manager of Suites is not on duty.  

“I hope he’s enjoying himself,” she says, nodding at the vacant desk. “I swear I can’t recall a time where he hasn’t been working.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he is. The permanent return of the night skies is a significant enough event to excuse even the most workaholic among us from their posts. It is more than earned. Gods know the people here have deserved something to celebrate for far too long. Not only here, but all of Norvrandt.”

There’s a wistful note in his voice. It has been eight moons since Aureia ventured through the Syrcus Trench to cross the boundary between source and shard, but Thancred has lived here for far longer. He has traversed all of Norvrandt, becoming familiar with its diverse people and their customs. Though he was always on the move, he bore witness to their hardships, their struggles, and their unrelenting strength to continue on and live even in the face of extinction.

“I can’t imagine what Eulmore must be like right now,” she says as they climb the sweeping stairs to the first level. Someone has bedecked the railings with garlands of white and purple flowers, displaying the boundless joy that has permeated every ilm of the Crystarium. “Considering what they have at their disposal.”

“Oh, I can imagine it rather easily. Vauthry’s fall has done little to quell their predisposition towards lightshows and other fancies.”

“Hmm… perhaps I can see it. Whole city lit up so bright and the music so loud you can see and hear it all the way from Tomra—or something like that?”

“Something like that.”

“Chai-Nuzz must have his hands full.”

“I don’t doubt it. The degree to which the man has taken it upon himself to ensure Eulmore’s well-being is nothing to scoff. And—well, you know Dulia-Chai. She would never say no to a good party—”

Ryne mumbles in her sleep, her long red hair falling about her face as her head lolls on his shoulder. He pauses, smiling softly, and adjusts her in his arms. “As much as I enjoy ruminating on the decadences weighing on poor Chai-Nuzz’s shoulders, perhaps we should save this conversation for later,” he says pointedly.

Aureia nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and together they walk further up the stairs. When they reach the first landing, she turns out of habit to proceed to her own suite and stops herself short. All this time spent in the Pendants and she has never visited another apartment, not even the accommodations of her friends. She’s not even sure where, exactly, in these winding rows of warm brick and wrought iron Thancred’s apartment is located. She has never been there and he certainly has never told her—nor any of the other Scions, save Urianger.

She wonders whether he felt some kind of trepidation about accepting any kind of permanent residence. She knows she did. Though she was grateful for G’raha’s accommodations upon her arrival, her personal suite felt more like a room at the local inn than a true home. Thancred, much like her, is a wanderer, never truly tying himself to one place or another and calling it home. Extending an invitation to a friend—or, more specifically, to her—brings a permanence to it that did not exist before.

The gesture means something now, something that she can’t quite put her finger on.

Up and up they climb, reaching the highest level of the Pendants. The view from here is stunning. As Thancred leads her along the winding walkway, Aureia can’t help but take it all in. The soft glow of the lamps and lights against the brick, the way the moonlight shines through the crystalline dome overhead, the gentle rush of water far below… The surroundings never fail to take her breath away.

It isn’t often that she feels fully at peace, fully at rest, but there’s something about the Crystarium that puts her mind at ease. This city is a sanctuary, a haven constructed through love and a desire to encourage the best in people and see them flourish. She feels safe here—how could she not? Especially when in the company of those she holds dear.

“Here,” Thancred murmurs, slowing to a halt by an apartment door—the second to the last at the end of a row. He adjusts Ryne once more and digs a key out of his pocket, proffering it to her. “Would you mind?”

She takes it and unlocks the door. He flashes her a grateful smile and slips inside, beckoning for her to follow. Inside, the small hallway is dark, its lamps unlit. A faint aroma of burnt out candles and—strangely—flowers hangs in the air.

Thancred nudges a door open with his foot. Through the threshold, Aureia catches a glimpse of a small bedroom decorated in soft pastels. Despite its small size, the room’s large windows must ensure it is airy and bright during the day with plenty of sunlight. It must be a change after a childhood held captive in Eulmore. To have place she can call her own, where she never feels trapped… Even though he dragged her from one end of Norvrandt to the other, knowing Ryne had this place to return to makes her heart pang.

“Aur.” Thancred’s voice echoes in her ears, jolting her out of her thoughts. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Aureia nods, leaving him to disappear through the threshold and put Ryne to bed. Uncertain what to do, she ventures down the hall and into the common space, peering through the darkness as she takes in her surroundings. Slivers of moonlight shine through the large, arched windows and spread across the floor, illuminating the space in stark light and shadow. The apartment isn’t much larger than her own—twin couches and a low table before an ornate hearth on one side, a simple kitchen and dining area confined to the other. A spiral staircase of dark wood and wrought iron climbs to a lofted second level and the doorway that leads, presumably, to his room.

Smiling contentedly to herself, she raises a hand and funnels her aether through her fingertips, lighting the nearest wall sconce. The lamp blazes to life, the flames dancing with a quiet warmth and she steps further into the room. 

There isn’t much of Thancred here, but Ryne has left her mark. A collection of strange little toys resembling pixies sit above the hearth, keeping vigil over the sitting room. A line of hand-painted pots sit on the window sill, displaying flowers and plants gathered from across Norvrandt. Throw pillows decorated with little ribbons are tossed haphazardly across the couches. Books are strewn about the table and floor, some stacked in piles as high as they will go, others set politely aside, their pages stuffed with colourful, tasselled bookmarks. Sheafs of paper are scattered between them, scrawled over with notes in a shaky, uncertain hand and confident doodles of pixies and amaros in the margins.

Aureia kneels next to the table and tucks her legs beneath her. Not wanting to pry into Ryne’s affairs, her eyes glaze over the papers and settle on the books. Though they are well-cared for, they have been lovingly read again and again, their spines cracked from use and the leather covers faded from too much time in the sun. How many of these were plucked from Urianger’s library with the intention to return them?

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. I’m sure he doesn’t mind. If anything, he intended it this way.

“They never taught her to read.”

Thancred’s voice echoes softly behind her. Aureia twists around and spots him leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

“In Eulmore, that is,” he continues, grim anger flickering across his face. “They confined her, deprived her… all in the name of protecting her. So great was their concern for her well-being that she had no means of escape, not even into her own imagination.”

Aureia’s heart clenches. “You taught her?” she asks, meeting his eyes.

He smiles. “Urianger can take the credit more so than I, but yes. Doubtless neither of us knew what we would unleash, she has been ravenous to learn and read ever since. She would steal half his library if she had her way. Or all of it.”

“And the sketches?”

“Oh, I certainly did not have a hand in that, I’m not Alphinaud. She taught herself all on her own.”

Aureia casts an eye around the room, taking in the small touches once more. Despite what Thancred has said about them not using the apartment, they have resided here long enough that it is lived in. Being here with him now—and Ryne, fast asleep in her room—she can’t help but feel as though she is intruding on their home.

It’s a nonsense thought. She loves them both, just as she knows they love her. They are bound together by more than just circumstance, their ties to each other deeper even the lasting friendships of the other Scions. They are—

The word evaporates. Once again, her heart is trembling at the thought and still she cannot voice it.

“You have a good place here,” Aureia says finally, twisting her fingers together idly in her lap. “A home.”

His eyes widen, momentarily taken aback by her words. “Aye,” he replies with a quiet laugh. “I suppose we do. And we have the Exarch—G’raha—to thank for it. He was stubbornly insistent in those early days. And remains so. Come to think of it, that is not a trait he will grow out of anytime soon.”

“I suppose he will always be trying to make up for his mistakes.”

“Was it, Aureia? A mistake?”

Now it is her turn to be taken aback. She pauses, thinking back through the past eight moons. Events spiralled quickly out of control the moment her friends’ souls were pulled from the Source. She remembers all too well the moment Thancred collapsed, the sheer and utter terror she felt when he did not wake, a fear that was only maximized as her friends fell one by one. Upon arriving in the Crystarium, she was angry and quick to blame G’raha for what he put them through, unintentional though it was. That anger faded as she came to understand the circumstances that wracked the First, but even now she can’t help but wonder what would have happened had events played out differently.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “Had he worked his summoning correctly the first time, if I was the only one…”

Then what would become of Ryne?  

She meets his gaze, knowing full well that this is the thought that gives him pause. He has spent half a decade trapped on the First and he is a different man now for it. Ryne has changed him, just as she has changed her. She knows without question that their lives are irrevocably different because of this young girl, her indomitable spirit, and the legacy she carries.

Thancred tilts his head back. “If only you could have seen her,” he says, smiling softly. The affection in his voice is unmistakable. “In those early days. She was so… small. This tiny, timid girl who knew nothing of the world beyond her walls. But no matter how frightened she was, she had an insatiable curiosity and will all her own. I lost her once during our first week here. I feared she had intentionally run away, that she saw me as little better than the likes of Ran’jit, but she merely wanted to see the Cabinet of Curiosity and lost herself among the shelves. She couldn’t read a word on the page and yet she surrounded herself with them. When he saw her, Moren—the poor bastard—couldn’t help but indulge her, bringing her as many illustrated tomes as he could carry. By the time I found her, she was fast asleep in a pile.”

The smile fades, turning grim. “I did her a disservice back then. I’ve done her a disservice for too long, gods know I have. So focused was I on Minfilia’s legacy that I missed who she was as herself.”

“She understands, I know she does—”

“It doesn’t change that I did not do right by her.”

Aureia untwists her fingers and rests her palms on her thighs. “Not always, no,” she says. “But no relationship is free from challenge. And to say the pair of you are in unique circumstances is an understatement.”

“Don’t excuse it on my behalf. Whatever my reasons, I treated her unfairly and I am ashamed of that. The world has been unkind to her. Fate—if you can call it that—has dealt her an unfavourable hand, though perhaps we bear responsibility for that, too. Little did we know how the consequences of our actions would ripple outwards across space and time.”

Silence settles between them. She holds his gaze, a strange feeling tightening in her chest. The gravity of recent events makes her head spin. It is difficult to comprehend the magnitude of what they are involved in. Life once seemed so simple, but now…

Thancred frowns, his brows drawing together, and he pushes off the wall, alert and focused.

“What’s wrong?” Aureia asks, scrambling to her feet.

He gestures sharply with his hand and rounds the corner, disappearing down the corridor to Ryne’s room. She wavers, uncertain whether to follow him, and relaxes as he reappears only a few short moments later.

“She’s fine,” he says. “Fast asleep. I thought I heard… Never mind.”

She cocks her head to the side, silently pressing for clarity.

He sighs, knowing all to well what she means. “She was wracked with nightmares when you were ill. I’m not certain if they have fully left her. Urianger says it will take time, but…” He trails off, absently scratching the back of his neck, lost in thought. “Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere. I would rather not wake her.” 

She glances at the balcony door. “It’s a nice night. I could use the fresh air.”

Thancred nods and makes a start for the door, only to stop short in his tracks. “Aureia,” he begins, turning to her. Perhaps it’s a trick of the moonlight, but she could swear there’s a faint flush on his cheeks. “I am an ungracious host. Would you like something? To drink, I mean?”

She can’t help but smile. It’s rare to see him flustered on the First. Somehow, it reminds her of earlier days, when primals and Ul’dahn politics were their most grievous concerns. He was always so easy to tease then. “You’re not a host, you’re a friend,” she says, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He pauses, staring at her in wonder, his gaze never straying far from her face as though he can’t quite believe she is here. He raises a hand and gently brushes a lock of ashen hair behind her ear, his fingers entwine in the deep red streaks that are the only remnant of its original colour.

Thancred smiles and draws his hand back. “Meet you outside?” he says.

Aureia nods, a familiar warmth flushing across her chest. Leaving him to it, she draws the balcony door opens and slips into the night beyond. She pads slowly across the paved stones and tugs her scarf loose from her neck, wrapping it firmly around her shoulders. A gentle breeze sweeps the vicinity, sending goosepimples running down her arms. Despite the chill, it is a welcome change from the stagnant air that swept the Lakelands under the everlasting light’s influence.

Reaching the balcony edge, she loops her hands against the intricate iron railing and exhales a long, content breath. The Pendants are dark, only a handful of windows glowing with the telltale warmth of lamps and candles. She can just make out the dark outline of the mountains beyond, their peaks black against the depths of the night sky. A multitude of stars scatter the heavens above, silver pinpricks twinkling in a sea of deep indigo and purple.

She raises her head, allowing herself this moment to take in the sights. There is so much beauty here at night. There is peace here, in the dark—a quiet, tentative peace that is now only coming into its own. Though it is fragile and could break at the slightest change, it shines with an internal strength that is all its own.

Not unlike the night sky.

Norvrandt’s people are bound together now through shared grief and hope. They have survived. They have endured. She may have returned the night sky to them, but they are the ones who will guard this world now, nurturing it for all those who come after them.

The door creaks behind her. She grasps the railing, fingers tightening reflexively around the cold iron as she hears Thancred’s footsteps on the stone. It’s difficult to ignore the way her heart beats in her chest, the nerves twisting in her stomach. They’ve been alone together many times before, so why does this feel so… different?

Must be the sudden lack of Ascian schemes and world-ending threats.  

“Here,” he says, proffering a cup of tea.

Aureia takes it, wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain, and raises it to her lips. She inhales the steam, warmth flooding her face, and sips quietly. The tea is soothing, its delicate taste and scent reminiscent of the flowers that grow on the shores of the Source. She shoots him a look from beneath her lashes. Though he has returned to his customary stance, she can see him watching her nervously, waiting for her response.

“I never realized you had quite the taste in tea,” she says, lowering the cup. “Perhaps Tataru rubbed off on you after all. Unless—”

“Ryne,” he interrupts.

“Ryne,” she echoes at the same moment.

He glances at her and chuckles, unable to hide his smile. She grins in return and takes another sip. Chuckling softly, he draws up beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers as he rests his hands on the railing. The hint of earlier nervousness has vanished.

“She looks up to you, you know,” he says after a moment.

Aureia presses the cup against her lips. “I’m hardly a good example,” she replies, a lump forming in her throat. “All things considered.”

No elaboration is necessary, he knows her too well. Better than anyone, perhaps. When they met, she was alone, cagey, mistrustful of everyone around her—everyone except him. Somehow, he wormed his way into her life by being the most infuriating person in Ul’dah, forming a bond that has fundamentally altered the course of both their lives.

She isn’t proud of her Garlean origins. It is a history stained red, one she kept hidden from those she loves for years out of fear. It was easier that way—to attach herself to her new identity to cleanly cut off the old. A new name. New deeds. New history.

But the past is never truly escapable. The war with Garlemald, her inability to strike Zenos down, confronting her twin himself on the shores of Yanxia… It sunk its claws into her and ripped her history into the open, bloodied and bruised. The day the truth came out is seared into her memory. Lyse’s fury, Y’shtola’s anger, Urianger’s grim acknowledgment that their dearest friend was once the very thing they were fighting against.

Worst of all was Alisaie. She can still hear the scorn on the young woman’s tongue, her refusal to call her anything but Kira quo Theorzen. The truth very nearly destroyed their friendship. If not for the summoning, Alisaie may very well have never spoken to her again. As for Alphinaud, he missed the whole messy business on account of his diplomatic mission to Garlemald, only finding out later from his sister once they were both on the First. By then they had other priorities, but she can’t help but wonder how he would have reacted if he had been present. 

But as for Thancred… Their friendship may have been rough at the time, but he was steadfast in his insistence that she was no different than the person they all knew, the person they all loved. She has only ever been Aureia to him, and that was what mattered the most—the person she was now and the name she chose for herself.

“If you think I am a better example to her than your illustrious self, then you are sorely mistaken,” Thancred says wryly, interrupting her thoughts. “If it wasn’t abundantly clear by now, Ryne makes her own choices, no one can do that for her. She has long since past the point of needing guidance. She needs us to trust her. To have faith in her, even when she makes mistakes. The First is not our home. The day will come when we must leave her, and when it does I will only do so if I know she will be all right.”

The tone of pride is impossible to ignore. He turns away, staring out across the dark landscape, a sober expression on his face. “My one regret in this, Aur, is that even now after seeing how far she has come… She never truly had the chance to be a child. Not in Eulmore, and certainly not after I intervened. I trained her, yes—it was necessary for her to learn how to protect herself—but I put her on this path, and I must take responsibility for that. In some ways, I have only condemned her further to a life of hardships when she should have the allowance to be an ordinary girl. She deserves all the happiness in the world.” 

Aureia lowers her cup and sets it aside. “Are you sure you aren’t more than her guardian?” she says gently, resting a hand on his arm. Somehow the gesture is far more intimate and far more intense than when she had her head on his shoulder just a little while ago. Here, in the privacy of his home, they are…

“She is family. My family.” He glances at her. “Just as you are.”

She blinks, startled, uncertain if she heard correctly. He falls silent, all too aware of the significance of his words, and his gaze does not dare to leave her face. He simply stands there, half illuminated in moonlight, and waits for her to speak. There are no expectations, no assumptions. She could turn her back on him and leave and he would understand. 

Her heart trembles in her chest. “Thancred,” she murmurs and her grip on his arm tightens. She couldn’t let him go even if she wanted to.

He takes a step into her, closing what little distance remains between them. “When I asked you here tonight, it wasn’t entirely innocent,” he says quietly. He raises a hand, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Time is precious. Fleeting. And I have wasted far too much of it.”

She meets his eyes. Kind eyes. Genuine. She has always thought so, even as far back as Ul’dah. She saw right through the cynical humour and that ridiculous façade of the philanderer that fooled no one. “Thancred, I…”

His hand finds her, gently twining their fingers together. “Stay with me tonight, Aur,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers. “Please. Stay.”

She pauses, eyes closed, a smile on her lips, and squeezes his hand. She knows what her answer is—for what else could it be?

“You’re such a fool,” Aureia says.

He jerks back in confusion. “I—”

She throws her hands around his neck and kisses him. Whatever objection he was going to say is lost in the moment—he kisses her back with astonished delight, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. She laughs against his lips and tilts her head, deepening the kiss. Her head is light, intoxicated with this sudden rush of joy and her desperate need to cling to this moment for as long as it last.

As if the instance she lets him go, it will be over forever.

Too many times have their lives circled each other, always present, but never in sync. Too many times have they come close to falling for one another, only to be thrown off course. This the ironic history of their relationship: to be tied together by an unconditional bond, but never allowed to go further than that.

And here they are at last—finally, finally, finally—nearly a decade of friendship and love crashing together into a single moment. The puzzle of their lives has sat bare and incomplete on the board for years, waiting for this final, precious piece to slide into place.

Thancred murmurs her name, his voice aching with longing, and breaks the kiss. He buries his face in her neck, his hands pressing firmly into her back. Aureia hums with joy and strokes her fingers through his hair. A light breeze picks up, bringing with it the scent of Lakeland. Of home.

Her loose hair whispers against her cheek and she holds him tight, letting him collapse into her as she gazes at the night sky above. Tears pang in her eyes, either from the wind or her joy, she doesn’t know. The cold of the outdoors has evaporated in his embrace, any lingering sense of vulnerability vanishing with it. She is safe here, in his arms, protected and loved in a way she never imagined someone like her could be.

“I love you.”

Thancred’s voice is muffled against her neck, so much so she almost misses it.

Aureia squeezes her eyes shut and laughs with delight, wrapping her arms firmly around him. He feels her shaking and soon he is laughing, too. They fall into each other in an uncoordinated mess, knocking each other off-balance and into the railing. She seizes his face between her hands and pulls him in, teasing him with one brief kiss and then another. There is something delightful about the sound he makes as her lips ghost across his, as if he can never stop being astonished about being here with her in this way. She kisses him a third time, her teeth gently scraping his bottom lip.

He sighs with affectionate annoyance and presses his mouth to hers, deep and open and warm.

Her heart throbs and her breath hitches in the back of her throat. His hands go to her sides and rest against her waist, his fingers twisting idly with the fabric of her shirt. She can sense his longing to touch her, to feel her, but it is at odds with a hesitance that hasn’t fully left him. They have been through too much to lose each other now. Does he fear what comes next? That he will inevitably make a mistake that cannot be forgiven?

She trembles. She kisses him fiercely, wanting nothing more than to disappear into it. Into him.

Thancred draws back, his nose bumping hers as he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re shivering.”

She loops her hands around his neck. “Well, it is cold out.”

“I daresay it is.”

“Can’t exactly get warm standing here in the wind.”

“Aye.”

“Do you want to propose a remedy for this or shall I?”

He smiles, a gentle laugh on his lips, and then his mouth is on hers once more. She melts into the kiss, greedier this time, refusing to break it even as he picks her up. He adjusts his grip on her and she wraps her legs firmly around him for support, her lips not straying far from his as he carries her to the door. Leaving the quiet dark and the star-strewn sky behind, they disappear through the threshold and into the warmth of his home.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

JON SNOW FORTNIGHT EVENT 2023

Day 12 - House Targaryen

Robb looked relieved. “Good.” He smiled. “The next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

Jon forced himself to smile back. “It was always my color."

- Jon II, AGOT

It’s interesting to see how the color black acts as a link between Jon and House Targaryen, especially when it comes to marking who has legitimacy and/or the right to rule.

The most obvious tether to this link is Jon’s father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, who has often been associated with the color black.

They had come together at the ford of the Trident… Robert with his warhammer… the Targaryen prince armored all in black. 

- Eddard I, AGOT

The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. 

- Jaime I, AFFC

Seventeen and new to knighthood, Rhaegar had worn black plate over golden ringmail when he cantered onto the lists. 

- Cersei V, AFFC

And Rhaegar has also been recognized as a true scion of House Targaryen.

"Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake."

- Daenerys III, AGOT

Five had been his brothers. Oswell Whent and Jon Darry. Lewyn Martell, a prince of Dorne. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning. And beside them, crowned in mist and grief with his long hair streaming behind him, rode Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

- Jaime VI, ASOS

But Rhaegar isn't the only Targaryen who is associated with the color black. Of course, Black is the house’s color. But there are a few remarkable Targaryens whose association with this particular color is notable. 

We have Aegon the Conqueror whose steed was called Balerion “the black dread”. Of the three dragons used to bring Westeros to its heels, Balerion was the most fearsome one and was ridden by the man who would eventually become king of the entire continent. Balerion the “black dread” was a king’s dragon.

Aegon's dragons were named for the gods of Old Valyria. Visenya's dragon was Vhagar, Rhaenys had Meraxes, and Aegon rode Balerion, the Black Dread. It was said that Vhagar's breath was so hot that it could melt a knight's armor and cook the man inside, that Meraxes swallowed horses whole, and Balerion ... his fire was as black as his scales, his wings so vast that whole towns were swallowed up in their shadow when he passed overhead.

- Daenerys I, ACOK

Then we have Rhaenyra, the dragon queen who commanded the faction known as the “Blacks” during the Dance of the Dragons. Per King Viserys’ decree, Rhaenyra was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Like Rhaegar, she has a special narrative link to the color black. And like Rhaegar, she also served as Princess of Dragonstone and was crowned there (Dragonstone being House Targaryen's seat, thus marking Rhaenyra as one continuing House Targaryen's legacy).

Once his mourning for his wife and son had run its course, the king moved swiftly to resolve the long-simmering issue of the succession. Disregarding the precedents set by King Jaehaerys in 92 and the Great Council in 101, Viserys declared his daughter, Rhaenyra, to be his rightful heir, and named her Princess of Dragonstone. In a lavish ceremony at King’s Landing, hundreds of lords did obeisance to the Realm’s Delight as she sat at her father’s feet at the base of the Iron Throne, swearing to honor and defend her right of succession.

- Heirs of the Dragon - A Question of Succession, Fire & Blood

And so the Dance began, as the princess called a council of her own. “The black council,” the True Telling names that gathering on Dragonstone, setting it against the “green council” of King’s Landing. Rhaenyra herself presided, seated between her uncle and husband, Prince Daemon, and her trusted counselor, Maester Gerardys. 

- The Dying of the Dragons—The Blacks and the Greens, Fire & Blood 

From Aegon I, to Rhaenyra, to Rhaegar, GRRM uses black as a marker of a true Targaryen heir. This is continued by Daenerys, the last of the dragons, and her steed Drogon.

The Dothraki looked at her hatchlings uneasily. The largest of her three was shiny black, his scales slashed with streaks of vivid scarlet to match his wings and horns. “Khaleesi,” Aggo murmured, “there sits Balerion, come again.”

- Daenerys I, ACOK

Dany’s connection to Aegon is one of the signifiers of her status as a true Targaryen heir (and the true bearer of House Targaryen’s legacy).

The black dread, the black queen, and the black bastard…

Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman’s Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him.

- The Blind Girl, ADWD

And Jon being called the "black bastard" is quite ironic, because as we know,

One by one Arya had chased them down and snatched them up and brought them proudly to Syrio Forel … all but this one, this one-eared black devil of a tomcat. “That’s the real king of this castle right there,” one of the gold cloaks had told her. “Older than sin and twice as mean. One time, the king was feasting the queen’s father, and that black bastard hopped up on the table and snatched a roast quail right out of Lord Tywin’s fingers. Robert laughed so-hard he like to burst. You stay away from that one, child.”

- Arya III, AGOT

[kedsandtubesocks]

*stomps my little foot* I WANNA HEAR ABOUT HUSBAND JAVI P AND WHY HE MAKES THE BEST HUSBAND

ERI!!! ITS BECAUSE HE IS AND WE DESERVE TO DISCUSS IT!!

There’s a reason why he is tied for first in my heart against Din as my favorite pedro boy and it’s because he’s just…so good and is peak husband material and I am here to proclaim it with my entire heart!!

So I’ve been holding onto this ask because the perfect timing of you asking about husband Javi P even before I event sent you my one shot that includes husband Javi P??? Like?? We are on an IMMACULATE WAVELENGTH I SWEAR!!!

Also because I feel so dang serious about this I am going to full depth like it’s one of my dissertation papers and I apologize SO MUCH for how long this got lmaooo so…let’s get into it lol

(yes I’m using a pic of Pedro at the golden globes but I wanted to start off with this off because this look…this is Javi on his wedding day. I don’t know why but I feel it in my soul)

In Defense of Husband Javier Peña

When that lovely poll was making its rounds around on which Pedro boy has the biggest want for a housewife I had to vote for him… I just had to. And yeah it might be because I’m a Javi Girl at heart but it really is because I feel Javi would just be the most lovesick man in the world knowing he’s married, knowing he’s someone’s husband. He would treasure and cherish his spouse with his very last breath.

I imagine the possible base of how he views marriage comes from seeing his parents. Knowing how much love he witnessed built between them I feel is what Javi strives to have. But, he possibly just believes he doesn’t deserve that because he views himself as this unworthy corrupt guy who’s done bad things.

And while yes he’s made mistakes that doesn’t make him bad or evil or even a bad husband!!

When he rescues Helena the first thing he does is take off his vest to cover her. He’s tender and speaks to her with such compassion. Then later when they rescue Christina, there’s this moment when he touches her arm and then pulls her closer in the helicopter to almost protect her that just says so much!

He’s comforting and tender, probably even more than he lets on! Heck there’s even that small moment during that tense scene at the checkpoint with los pepes when he fondly pats Hugo Jr’s cheek in a reassuring manner. There’s just so many moments we see how soft he is!

So when you apply to the idea of him as a husband, can you imagine just how generous and wonderfully tender he’d be?

He probably couldn’t keep his hands off you!!! From playful winks (which we see him do so many times and they make my heart flutter every damn time) to simply wanting you in his arms, he’s a physical touch as a love language husband for sure.

Yeah he might miss a few anniversary dates or might forget to pick up a some items from the grocery store but he would extraordinarily caring and tender. And he’d be your rock in the storm and I stand by this.

(And yes I’m going to put this under a read more because I just…I have so many thoughts on this)

He’s seen so much, yet stays so kind. He would be by your side through thick and thin because that’s the type of man he is.

Alongside that, i feel having that unwavering loyal love again comes from his parents. I sadly imagine his mom passed away from an illness. And with that in mind, for Javi to see his dad stay by his mama’s side even if it got bad…I believe that became the cornerstone of how he views not just a marriage but a true deep kind of love.

He would be the exact same way with his spouse.

For better or for worse just as those vows say. And even if they didn’t Javi would just be there for you because that’s love, that’s what it is at its purest form for him.

Then I think about this one line Murphy says when Javi is about to leave back to the states. I can’t quote it exactly but it’s along the lines of “no American had given more” than Javi. He was there from the start, stayed in when it got bad and even showed how much he was willing to give of himself to fight. I know this can be argued of him being a possible workaholic but instead I think it goes back to my theory that he’s just truly so loyal.

He’s unwavering and sticks with it because that’s the type of man he is, that’s the type of husband he would be. He’s the type of husband who holds you as long as you need to when you cry, who would probably move heaven and hell for you because you’re it for him.

Javi was almost someone’s husband (which is a whole other tangent I could get on) and he probably might think maybe that time for him has passed. Or maybe he thinks because he’s done so much shit, seen so much, Javier again views himself as damaged goods who just isn’t husband material.

There’s that moment when he looks at Lorraine and her family that he pauses. He stares at them for just a second but it’s enough that we see him take this moment. I know it can be argued that it’s him just taking in the path Lorraine’s life has taken, but to me the look in his eyes is one of longing. Like he’s staring at something just out of his reach or that he’s not meant to have.

With that yearning, Javi seems like the type longing to be with someone who says yes Javier I pick you every time, I will stand by your side and be with you through it all the same way you would be for me, I see you, your scars, the darkness you hold onto, and your pure golden heart that means well and I will love you…

So when he finds you, realizes he’s gets to have that, gets to be your husband - he’s yours for life!!!! He would just get so overwhelmed at finally having that true companionship.

Yeah he would be grumpy and maybe tease you from time to time but he would be the husband who drives at midnight to go pick you up fries and a shake because you mentioned you had the munchies. He would face any of your demons with you by your side.

He’s the man who wears his wedding ring proud and probably sees you as his best friend. He’s loyal, kind, bit grumpy but tender with the biggest heart and he would hold your hand even when the sky is falling.

Just…Husband Javier Peña forever

[ga-yuu]

Why does ikegen seems like it has few fandoms. I'm only judging since it seems only a few translates it in tmblr. But could it be the reason why it doesn't get an English release.

Who knows why they aren't releasing it in eng. Either they think that the eng fandom doesn't really care because no one from the eng fandom was hyping up the game on its release like we all do now for ikepri and ikevil or maybe it could be this one comment I read:

Saying that we eng players won't understand Japanese mythology is a bullshit excuse because I went into this game 'BLINDLY'. Do you know what blindly means? I didn't watch any trailers or read the basic premise of the game's story. Heck, I didn't even know Yoritomo and Yoshitsune and all the other male leads (except for demons and Sueharu) were real-life people. I didn't know the actual history about them at all. You see, when I first played ikevamp and ikesen, I at least knew that the male leads were based on real people. For example, I knew Nobunaga was a real-life samurai and that's all. I still played the game, ikegen because it looked very pretty. After playing the game for almost 4years, I can say that----Yes! this game does mention real life events such as the Genpei war and stuff. What I can tell you is that, even if you don't have any knowledge about the Japanese history or mythology, you can still enjoy this game as much. What this does is that, this game makes you curious as to what actually happened in real life. So that excuse about players not knowing mythology is not an excuse because if someone as dumb as me can understand, then you intelligent people can understand it too.

I don't know why, but the last comment makes me salty for no reason but it could also be true. Ofc ikepri is ikesen level popular in jp and overseas, but that doesn't mean that ikegen is any less popular. My Twitter is filled with Jp players and they all love to talk about ikegen 24/7. They come up with stupid ideas and theories and it's fun to read. Not to forget, their fanart and fanfic are very juicy most of the time. Ofc they also write and draw other ikemen games as well, but they all show equal love to every ikemen game. If you wanna check out some cool fan work of ikegen go to this link.

Also if you have seen the last ikegen anniversary general election it went from mere 4m total votes to 20m total votes. That's actually incredible when I saw it because I thought the total votes would drop. So there is a fandom in Jp that are ready to whale for ikegen I swear. I don't really know about the eng fandom. They all are interested but they don't want to try it out because its in jp (and I swear half of these are also the ones who play ikevil and ikepri in JP *angry grudge noises*). Yeah, do whatever you like. Thank you for making me salty for no reason!! *making angry grudge noises*

[lemonhemlock]

I find there’s also an emphasis in HOTD fandom on excusing things with “it’s not that deep” when it comes to something that doesn’t line up with their narrative, but adhering to the “facts” when it does. Certain stans will write off certain things Mushroom says (Sara Snow, anything that paints TB as less than holy) but will swear things like Brothel queens or Aegon in the child fight pits was book canon too. People even do it with the show: the idea that child Aemond saying he’d marry Helaena should be brushed off and ignored simply because he’s a child, like it can’t say something about the character? Both versions feels disrespectful towards the writing somehow- like there are things in books/scripts that should be totally ignored. F+B is a different case with how it’s presented, and we are meant to go 🤣🙄 at some of Mushrooms stuff, but he’s still in the book for a reason. Even if you think the reason is to say goofy shit lol. It just bothers me to see people disregard what hard work writing is just bc it doesn’t align with their version of the show.

certainly both sides will have their biases, but i also think people maybe disregard the differences between the two mediums. visual storytelling is one thing and has its own rules, while writing is a an entirely different beast. ofc writing allows for more complex messages and thoughts, because there is a lot more space available on paper to flesh out certain ideas, while film-making requires culling a lot of content, condensing said ideas and makes use of different tools.

so, if in writing, you can afford to have mushroom say a bunch of wacky shit just for gags and have it not mean much of anything, you don't have that kind of space or luxury on screen. so, if you CHOOSE to have mushroom's ideas presented, you have to be vv careful with the framing. there are ways of presenting it to the audience as an outright lie OR as ambiguous OR as the straight-up truth and the techniques used will differ according to the desired result. you can't just chuck it randomly in there bc you run the risk of telling an incoherent story that contradicts itself instead of the carefully constructed ambiguous or grey narrative you're aiming for

sometimes it is indeed not that deep, but you just have to evaluate everything based on the medium, context clues and the probability of it being true in relation to the other information presented. for example, grrm the writer can afford to present us three different versions of the same event and we can decide which is the most likely according to how reliable the sources are. but hotd is NOT filmed like The Last Duel, so the writers of the show usually have to pick ONE version and stick to it. however, they don't have to be entirely explicit about it, because visual storytelling has certain rules of its own that people who are not brain-dead or delulu implicitly understand, based on how cinema has evolved throughout history.

so, if we see daemon picking up a rock and looking at rhea, then the scene cuts to smth else and she's dead, we're meant to understand that he killed her with the rock, not that it's ambiguous. if harwyn strong is shown on screen to be overly familiar with rhaenyra's children, then it means he's the father, not that we don't know for sure. if a character issues a statement or an interpretation and it is never challenged in any way, we're meant to take it as fact, because that's how relaying information to the audience works in this medium, in the absence of word-of-god narration / exposition dump. like if luke is reinforced as the heir to driftmark and rhaena assures him at dinner that he'll do a great job, we're meant to understand that she has no qualms about the entire situation, not that she's secretly pissed or disappointed about it.

a lot of ink has already been spilled about aemond and helaena already and people just refuse to call a spade a spade, like it's costing them their entire bank savings to admit they just don't like a writing choice. in any other film or tv show having a character* look wistfully at another and express a desire for marriage would be interpreted as a deliberate choice by the writers to position said character as a potential love interest. anywhere but in hotd, ofc. 🤦‍♂️ what a drag, what a bore.

*especially one with little airtime

[monettsuki]

As we share one last breath

TRIGGER WARNINGS: suicide , unrequited love, disfiguration, description of difiguration,death and suicide, abusive arranged relationship/engagement, angst

Tread at your own risk

(que to me going to pray this sounds good not to me but others too)

Under this tree on this sunny day , two children were spinning around in a circle , next to a tree that they had carved their names in swearing an oath of faithfullness to one another under the childish meaning of love to one another - for they would be there for eachother no matter what life would bring them , through pain and happiness, no matter who came between them they were to stay together until the end of time - at the base of this red maple tree -alongside willow trees ,next to a lake with clear water , nobody could hear the happy laughter of two children - a boy and a girl. They were in their own handmade world, in which there were no noble responsibilities, no worries of their already made futures at the will of their parents , it was just a continous state of happiness. As they spun around the breeze of the wind accompanied them as did the birds, chirping a melody which was dedicated to them, celebrating the happiness they had now. Making matching rose crowns and not caring about their scarred hands due to the thorns found on their stems.

The light of the sun being obstructed by the red maple tree oh, shall they remain the same as the time passes and they reach an older self.

.

.

.

To my dearest ------,

This is the letter that I write to you , more as an apology but also as a confession in hopes that you will have the same feelings as I do.

Last time we have seen eachother I meant no harm through my words just wishing to compliment you. Please take to no offence what I said as i just meant it in a good light.------ you do not need to look dolled up as if you are going to one of the extravagant events either our families organise as your beauty is noticeable without all the embelishments of makeup or the dresses you wear, nothing can compare to your beauty be it the beautiful rose garden you love so much, the sun or the clear pristine water of the lake sorrounded by calm willow trees. With this I hope this is a formal enough apology for a lady such as yourself dear friend, I do not wish for what I said to ruin what we had until now.

That being said I wish for you to know my feelings that have been buried deep in my soul until now. I love you deeply ------. I love you more than anything on this plane of existence. I consider you beauty to be the most beautiful of all - in my eyes you have no imperfection my dearest as you are perfect with your qualities and flown and I wish for us to both grow as people if we are to be in a relationship.

I will accept any answer be it a yes or a no. No matter what it is I will continue to stand by your side for whenever you wish to have my company as I will never force you into things that you do not want to experience.

With love,

-----

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.

You had called me this day, a rather sunny one, to meet you at the red maple tree we spent most of our childhood days. The tree holding our carved names onto its bark as a statement of our longstanding friendship. But you weren't alone, a guy just about our age was sitting next to you on the grass, the two of you chatting and laughing in a carefree manner, seeming as the happiest people on this planet.The letter I held in my hand was now folded more than once and hidden in my pockets. At first I didn't really wish to approach as to not ruin your happiness.

You introduced him to me, in hopes that the two of us would get along - the letter in my pocket long forgotten now that you said he was your boyfriend and soon to be engaged by your parents wishes. To strengthen the families they always say , nobody said that it wasn't true but firstly they should consider what we think too. The expression on your face was bittersweet as if you have come to accept that this will be your new life,and he had a smile on his face as if he claimed a prize most people had no chance of ever obtaining in this life.

.

.

.

.

I was led away by my now fiancé. I had already noticed how his expression changed between me and my dearest friend as we walked away and he wished I hadn't seen it. The façade we had to hold up no matter with who was around was a bit hard at time and it seemed to break around my friend as he has shown worry towards me - which was the first qué for us to leave him to be.

Our arguments were often, both of us did not want to be involved in this but alas he still didn't wish for me to interact with anyone, especially my friends. All my interactions were to be with my family or his in preparation of our impending wedding which would happen once I turn 18 next year. He is already of age but wishes I am too before we tell our vows of faithfulness to eachother - a thing he doesn't bother to actually respect. Each time I catch him red handed with another girl in his embrace , there is no hesitation in slapping me across the face and telling me that a good wife ignores what her husband does as long as he is still with her. I've tried to complain to my parents about this arrangement but their only opinion is that he could've done so much worse to me than that. Yet he doesn't hesitate either to give any friend I may have a death glare and keep a hand on me at all times , even locking me up in my chambers after acquiring the keys from my maids just to prevent me from going outside and meeting them. Later on he said that he overheard them planning to spread rumours about me cheating on him and more so he decided to keep me away from such nonsense. I quickly made sure to tell said "friends" that they are no longer allowed around me. He had praised my decision and said I did the right thing with a smile on his face.

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.

.

A while has passed from when I had found out my dearest had a boyfriend. My oath as a child has never changed and even if my feelings aren't returned I will try to help her and be by her side. I awoke today to find the pain I had in my abdomen a few days ago has turned to flowers growing out of my skin , a few small flowers were on the right of my lower abdomen, I felt no pain but in the same time I couldn't call a doctor to see what my condition is about.Even if I would call for a specialist to see me , I could be seen as a monster from now on or be sent to some facility so I can be studied like a lab rat. If that were to happen who would be by her side then. Her "partner" is seen so much with other girls that rumours are already starting to spread.

This afternoon two of your confidants came to me. Your "partner" having threatened them with their own death of they wouldn't have cut contact with you willingly, saying what he will do to them if he gets his hands on them and is the mastermind behind their deaths.I did end up visiting my dearest after said discussion, over a cup of tea I told her what her partner had said to them. She denied everything, saying that they were about to spread rumours of her cheating and not the other way around. Her partner was right and I was wrong , a heated argument starting between us and her "dearest" hearing us immediately attacking me physically, not caring about the fact that I did nothing physical towards my friend. We had to be separated by the butler that was present and two guards, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and us both breathing heavily. I left with more questions than I came with, and worry towards my dearest.

.

This night I awoke to a person standing over me , knife aimed towards my heart to make it a easier death. After struggling and successful in the end pinning said assasin to the floor of my room I had found out he was hired to take me out ,I were to be found as a mutilated corpse and a warning to a certain someone which was close to me. A warning that if she wasn't faithful harm may come to those that she loves if she will even remember them. I ended up stabbing him with his own knife, ending his miserable existence.

The same night I was found in my bathroom, sink painted in blood as I coughed, the flowers on my abdomen being coated in my own blood and pain taking over all my senses, I traced the blood that dripped from the flowers, and then tried to wash it all off with a wet cloth. The flowers seemed to thrive.

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It has become a routine already that when I wake up for me to have a dolled up face , just for him. If what he wants is for his "love" to look beautiful for him is what I shall do. Lately he has been bringing me more gifts and spending time with me. I have seen my friends more and more rarely. And oh do I miss seeing my dearest friend under the maple tree, talking about our lives and just enjoying our time. He has given me little time to do so and usually tags along wherever I go , if he doesn't like the person from a glance we leave as to not upset him.

Today I saw my friend and...he looked pale. The cheerful person I once knew was replaced by a inhuman looking person which I didn't know. He was still a gentleman, doing everything to ease my pain and make me happier. He dismissed my concerns as him just being sick and nothing actually happened to harm him. But alas there was another fight as my "partner" didn't enjoy the fact that my friend was a gentleman with me. My dearest friend couldn't resist as his illness weakened him and they had to be separated by guards once again.

My "partners" reasoning was that he was just trying to protect me in this situation as my friend was clearly flirting with me. When I tried to say he wasn't doing that he slapped me across the face , as he did many times before when I tried to confront him on his decisions. He reminded me that I was with him just to be a pretty doll and maintain our image, and that I had to right to argue with him as he was the one that "knew what was best for the two of us". My parents reinforced said idea later after I had retouched my makeup to hide the mark my "partner" had left on my face.

I did everything as he wanted it to be , because that's what I had to in order to become his lovely wife and he promised that if I keep it up he won't cheat again. And even if he did, he had a right to do so as he put it.

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.

Today was the third month anniversary of them being together. Her "partner" had beat me for supposedly flirting with his "love". I couldn't fight back as the flowers have taken over even my arms and abdomen fully. The pain is unbearable at this point as flowers keep spreading over my body. My dearest has expressed concerns over this but alas I wish only to keep her out of harms way but to also not make her worry about me. I have a wish to get her out of the grasp of her "partner" as he is a danger to her. Oh but this disease doesn't seem to go away.

This night I've started to bandage my body on order to hide the flowers that grew on it as they are now painted in my blood and no matter what I will do they will remain stained. My feelings for my dearest haven't changed in the slightest but I wish her a time of happiness with who she is right now. Even if he isn't a good person and it's just a marriage of convenience.

By putting the bandages on I put myself in more pain as the growths are compressed. I do cough up more blood now and sometimes I feel like I have a hallucination of seeing flower petals in the blood that I cough up. I will keep pushing on until my last breath just to maybe be able to save her as a statement of my love to her.

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Months have passed by now and I have celebrated my own birthday not long ago - which started the preparations of my engament party to my ''partner'', as we are due to marry in the folllowing months as to strenghten the bond between our families. In this time I have become a ''doll'' as he said it himself, alsways looking pretty for him and obeying his every command. He expressed wishes to keep me locked in our chambers forever since he wanted to keep prying eyes away. My reward for all my hard work was that he didn't cheat on me no more, he took pride in that as he could've easily done that if I hadn't done what he wished. I miss meeting up with my friends, especially my closest one. Last time I saw him was merely in passing and he looked almost like a ghost that had been between life and death for too long at this point. I wanted to ask what was wrong but my ''partner'' shushed me and i kept quiet. If it was to please him then i shall do it.

Whenever he doesn't want me to go outside with him or interact with others he just locks me up in our quarters and has mentioned that im lucky he doesn't tie me up as well to not move in the slightest, or even gag me so I don't ask for any help or talk to my maids through the door, its the least liberty he can give while he is away - as no man or woman shall gaze upon me for that he will arrange their death no matter who it may be - peasant or noble. I am his and his only as he mentions it. Trying to sneak out has never worked as that resulted in him even bringing me to starvation as a punishment for trying to go against his wishes of keeping me safe from the world that was outside.

But alas I had convinced him to let me see my ''dearest'' friend after all this time. He hadn't shown his face at my own birthday so I was worried that something could have happened to him that endangered his life.

We agreed to meet at the lake under the red maple tree. But who i saw there was not my ''dearest'' but a disfigured person that was wearing the same flair as the one I knew. A gentle expression on the face now half covered in flowers, bone and muscle showing under them and it spreading almost to the other half, decomposing under my own gaze - the hands that once were human now were bone and muscle tainted with the blood of their owner, his fingers having remnants of his bones only. A rotten smell becoming more obvious as I approached and the signs of disfiguration becoming more apparent as his own blood covered the flowers present on him. Tainted in blood roses were the main flower seen, the thorny stems wrapping around his neck and puncturing the remaining skin there drawing blood that dripped onto the pristine white shirt he wore. His arms were the same but they were almost mainly muscle and bone - bloody flowers growing on top , which painted an even more grusome image to see. The white lifeless eyes that stared blankly at me as I walked towards him but yet showed a kind of gentleness I haven't seen in ages.

I had turned around and left when I was close to reaching him - because that was not who I remembered but a person that had its skin melting off the muscle and bone underneath , a avisage akin to a dead rotting corpse that was still somehow alive and covered in a variety of flowers - many that were my favourites.So I ran back to my own home and crying in the arms of my ''beloved'' as I told him what had happened and why I came home so terrified. I sat there in his embrace - the first time he had let me confine in him for comfort.

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I watch as my dearest runs away from me, I stand there understanding why she does so. I am not the one I were many months ago, my body rotting away , a painful and slow death, my agonizing feelings of love long dismissed as you are to be wed to that cruel man in not the near future. As I wish for your happiness I lie down on the grass after you've left my field of view. Looking up at the sky through the leaves of the maple tree , on which our names are etched onto the bark and being proof of our everlasting oath to eachother that we have sworn when we were children.Until now I have tried to contact you before my passing but your partner has managed to keep me away as to not hurt you as he put it.

My skin has melted off, as my muscle rots away ,blood stained flowers covering me like a comfortable blanket. My vision slowly fading away as I lose my strenght to stay with my eyes open and wait for your return which will not happen, the soft wind blowing my hair out of my face. As I cannot utter my last words to you , words of love that would finally let you know about my feelings after all this time but alas you left as my visage terrified you for good reason too.

I have already left my feelings next to me at the base of this tree, a letter containing my statement of love towards you, which will be undying even after I perish from this plane of life. I still wish for your happiness dearest, as I have never stopped one time from loving you deeply, being alongside you in happiness and sadness. I now depart from this world, content to have been at least your friend.

Maybe if the gods may let it be we shall be reunited in another life, where we will not be plagued by pain.

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A few months have passed and I haven't seen my ''dearest'' friend since our last meeting. But I hope he is doing well, I've tried talking to his parents but my now ''fiance'' has told me that he is fine and there's no need to do so. I trust his judgement after all so I did just that.

But lately I've felt..lifeless. I have become an emotionless doll that does nothing but be someone that is perfect and obeys every command which is told to her.I feel like im closed in a cage like a parrot that it's only purpose is to look pretty. I broke down one night and my ''fiance'' told me to stop crying and gave me comfort sugarcoated in a more sinister tone. Telling me how perfect I was until now.Which rung some alarm bells in my brain after all this time. My only purpose to him was for me to be a doll in all aspects and only that.

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On the day we were to be wed to one another , I wore a pristine white dress. Sitting in my room after the maids had finished making me look as beautiful as a porcelain doll. Me and ''him'' were to be united under the will of the gods and for us to spend the rest of our time together in this union that will benefit both of our families. I had decided though to make one last trip.

With a heavy heart I approached the maple tree I once loved on so much, a blanket of roses now at its base, the bones underneath showing through the visage and a letter left at the base of the tree from the one and only which described a confession of eternal love towards me. Pure genuine love which shall transcend time and space and shall the will of our gods reunite us in another life.

I had brought a rope with me , already present with a knot at one end. It was in case I actually have made my decision clear to go through with my plans. I managed to secure the rope on one of the branches of the tree, and me sat atop of said branch - putting the rope around my neck and tightening it so it fit accordingly.Then with no words being said I took in my last breath and let myself fall.

A pristine white dress reached the bed of roses tainted in red, while the bride wearing said dress swayed side to side gently, lifelessly. An opened letter now being carried away by the wind, a letter which was read by our bride. Two souls that shares a common love for eachother be it in other forms until the realization of another of the danger she was in.

The bond between these two souls shall be recognized by the gods and rewarded maybe in another life. But now they were both reunited under the same childhood tree which held their lifelong oath to one another, binding them even through death. Even what has gotten through them, they still have found their way to one another , the roses being proof of their everlasting love to eachother.

But alas in this life it wasn't achievable by any means.

Maybe the gods will let them be happy in another life, in another realm.

[vervainvoyage]

Oof. This event is making me dislike Yoimiya.

I know lots of players like Childe, and you have every right to like whoever you want! This is not about his personality at all. But from the in-game perspective, he's a Fatui Harbringer- of the same Fatui that routinely kidnap children (Dottore's experiments on Collei and the attempted kidnappings of Vimara Village children, to name the in-game cases, and in the manga they also demand a tribute of children to be delivered from Mondstadt). And Yoimiya invites this guy to an outing with children, fully knowing that he's Fatui? Girl. Girl what the fuck. "Ah yes, General McSpy of the Yakuzalike Organisation, I'm sure he's a great babysitter for this school trip"

Traveller tries to warn her and she goes "oh but he was nice once, and hasn't hurt me personally, so clearly it can't be true that the Fatui are so dangerous" GIRL. I SWEAR TO THE ARCHONS.

Soooo yeah I do not have a high opinion of Yoimiya now. Regardless of how interesting a character is from the players' perspective, once you estabilish certain things about them, they have consequences. Childe being a known Fatui operative carries its weight, and when Yoimiya disregards it like that around the children she claims to be caring for, it just shows her in a very bad light. Oh she says "Don't worry I won't let my guard down" - as if she's so certain she can singlehandedly take down a Harbringer. Whatever the gameplay shows, plot-wise a fireworks seller should not be able to last against a Harbringer (because I'm sure someone out there beat Childe's boss fight with only Yoimiya already, but then again according to the game a theatre dancer is a 5star but the Tianquan of Liyue is not, so lets focus on the plot here and not the gameplay). So here's one of the big bosses of an organisation known for using lies, subtrefuge and trickery, who just so happened to save a child from danger... and now the children trust him... what a coincidence?

In conclusion Yoimiya, not knowing Childe well at all, is taking huge risks here that threaten not just her but the kids under her care, and she should never date, since she has too much of an inclination to ignore red flags. And when the Traveller tries to warn her, based on their own experience with Childe, and of how Fatui basically work on false pretenses and trickery, she ignores it.

[stirlingmoss]

XXII You won’t find people who believe in God and the last day loving anyone who opposes God and God’s messenger, even be it their fathers or their sons, or their brothers or their kin: God has written faith in their hearts, and supported them with spirit from the divine. And God will admit them to gardens where streams flow below, to abide therein. God will be pleased with them, and they will be pleased with God. They are the partisans of God. Aren’t the partisans of God the ones who succeed?

{Note Number : 5363 If any one believes in Allah and His goodness and justice, and in the Hereafter, in which all true values will be restored he will never love evil or wrong-doing or rebellion against Allah, even if these things are found in his nearest kith and kin.

Note Number : 5364 Faith in Allah is indelibly written on the tablets of their hearts and they can never be false to Allah.

Note Number : 5365 Cf. ii. 87 and 253, where it is said that Allah strengthened the Prophet Jesus with the holy spirit. Here we learn that all good and righteous men are strengthened by Allah. If anything, the phrase used here is stronger: "a spirit from Himself". Whenever any one offers his heart in faith and purity to Allah, Allah accepts it, engraves that Faith on the seeker's heart, and further fortifies him with his help which we can no more define adequately than we can define in human language the nature and attributes of Allah.

Note Number : 5366 Again we have the doctrine of Allah's Good Pleasure as the highest goal of man, the spiritual heaven which he achieves by a life of purity and faith. He not only attains Allah's Good Pleasure as the crown of his felicity, but his own nature is so far transformed to the pattern of Allah's original creation that his own good pleasure is in nothing but in Allah's Good Pleasure. The mutual good pleasure shows the heights to which man can attain.

Note Number : 5367 This is in antithesis to the Party of the Satan, mentioned in verse 19. The Party of Evil will perish, but while it has its run in the scheme of the present world, the Party of Truth and Reality may be rightly called the Party of Allah, even though all Creation is Allah's in another sense.}

XXI God has decreed, “I will surely prevail, I and My messengers.” For God is powerful, almighty. 

{Note Number : 5362 For the meaning of Aziz, see n. 2818 to xxii. 40.}

XX For those who oppose God and God’s messenger will be among the most abject.

{Note Number : 5361 There are various degrees of humiliation in the final state in the next world. But the worst is the humiliation of being numbered among those who ignominiously attempted to resist the Irresistible.}

XIX Satan has overmastered them, making them forget remembrance of God. They are partisans of Satan; aren’t the partisans of Satan the ones who are the losers?

{Note Number : 5360 Man's original nature as created by Allah is good (xxx. 30, and n. 3541). It is because man, in spite of the warnings he has received, allows Evil to get the mastery over him, that man forgets Allah and the divine qualities which Allah give him. The result of the perversion is that man becomes a partisan of Evil, and as such dooms himself to perdition.}

XVIII One day God will resurrect them all, and they will swear to God as they swear to you, figuring they are based on something. Isn’t it the fact that they are the liars?

{Note Number : 5358 They may arrogantly boast of riches of alliances and followers in man-power. But what are such worldly advantages before the Throne of the Disposer of all events? They must come to utter misery.}

XVII Their property will not avail them against God at all, nor will their children; they will be inhabitants of the fire, where they will remain.

{Note Number : 5358 They may arrogantly boast of riches of alliances and followers in man-power. But what are such worldly advantages before the Throne of the Disposer of all events? They must come to utter misery.}

XVI ​Taking their oaths as a cloak, they have interfered with the cause of God; so there is a degrading penalty for them. 

{Note Number : 5357 A false man, by swearing that he is true, makes his falsehood all the more heinous. He stands in the way of other people accepting Truth. He gives a handle to the cynics and the sceptics.}

XV God has arranged intense torment for them, for what they have been doing is evil.

XIV ​Haven’t you seen those who befriend people at whom God is angry? They are not of you, nor you of them, as they swear to falsehood knowingly.

{Note Number : 5354 This refers to the Hypocrites of Madinah who pretended to be in Islam but intrigued with the Jews. See references as given in n. 5342.

Note Number : 5355 By this time the Jews of Madinah and the Jewish tribes around had become actively hostile to Islam, and were being sharply called to account for their treachery.

Note Number : 5356 They knew that as Muslims their duty was to refrain from the intrigues of the enemies of Islam and to assist Islam against them.}

III

XIII Do you shrink from charities before your private consultation? If you fail to perform, yet God relents toward you, then pray and give alms and obey God and God’s messenger. God is aware of whatever you do. ​

{Note Number : 5352 Note the plural here, Sadaqat, instead of the singular, Sadaqat in verse 12. While people with the foibles described in n. 5350 may be willing to spend "something" (small) in charity for a special consultation occasionally, they may be frightened of spending large sums when their needs for consultation may be numerous. What is to be done then? Are they to be shut out altogether? No. They are asked to be punctilious in the discharge of their normal duties of at least normal regular prayers and regular charity, "if Allah forgives you", i.e., if Allah's Messenger relieves them of further special contributions such as those noted in verse 12. This condition, "if Allah forgives you", provides the safeguard against the abuse of the privilege. The messenger would know in each case what is best for the individual and for the community.

Note Number : 5353 Zakat, was instituted about A.H. 2.}

XII Believers, when you consult the messenger privately, give some charity before your conference: that is better for you, and purer. But if you haven’t the means, God is very forgiving, most merciful. 

{Note Number : 5350 In the Kingdom of Allah all instruction or consultation is open and free. But human nature is weak. And people want special instruction or private consultation with the Prophet from one of several motives: (1) they may have, or think they have, a special case, which they are not willing to disclose to their brethren in general; (2) they may have some sense of delicacy or dignity, which can only be satisfied by a private interview; (3) they may even be selfish enough to want to monopolise the Prophet's time. These motives are, in an ascending order, worth discouraging; and yet, considering the weakness of human nature, they cannot be reprobated to the extent of shutting out their victims from chances of improvement. It is therefore recommended that they spend something in charity for the good of their poorer brethren before they indulge in such weaknesses.

Note Number : 5351 The charity is a sort of expiation for their pardonable weakness. Having made some monetary sacrifice for their poorer brethren they could face them with less shame, and the charity would direct their attention to the need for purifying their motives and conduct. At the same time, this special charity is not made obligatory, lest such persons should be shut out altogether from chances of the higher teaching on account of their pardonable foibles.}

XI Believers, when you are told to make room in assemblies, then make room; God will make room for you. And when you are told to rise, then rise; God will raise in ranks the believers among you, and those to whom knowledge has been given. And God is aware of whatever you do.

{Note Number : 5347 Even when a great man or a Leader comes into an Assembly, we are not to press forward without discipline, as it causes inconvenience to him and detriment to public business. Nor are we to shut out other people who have equal rights to be in the Assembly. We must spread out, for Allah's earth is spacious, and so are our opportunities.

Note Number : 5348 "Rise up" here may imply: 'when the Assembly is dismissed, do not loiter about'.

Note Number : 5349 Faith makes all people equal in the Kingdom of Allah, as regards the essentials of citizenship in the Kingdom. But there is leadership, and rank and degree, joined with greater or less responsibility, and that depends on true knowledge and insight.}

X Secret conferences are from Satan, to grieve those who believe; but he cannot harm them at all, except by leave of God. So let the believers trust in God. 

{Note Number : 5346 Evil can harm no one who is good, except in so far as (1) there is some question of trial in Allah's Universal Plan, or (2) what appears to be harm may be real good. Nothing happens without Allah's will and permission. And we must always trust Him, and not our cleverness or any adventitious circumstances that draw us the least bit from the path of rectitude.}

IX Believers, when you hold private conferences, do not confer in error and enmity and defiance of the messenger; confer with innocence and conscience, being conscious of God, to whom you will be gathered.

{Note Number : 5345 Ordinarily secrecy implies deeds of darkness, something which men have to hide; see the next verse. But there are good deeds which may be concerted and done in secret: e.g., charity, or the prevention of mischief, or the defeat of the dark plots of evil. The determining factor is the motive. Is the man doing some wrong or venting his spite, or trying to disobey a lawful command? Or is he doing some good, which out of modesty or self-renunciation he does not want known, or is he in a righteous cause defeating the machinations of Evil, which may involve great sacrifice of himself.?}

VIII Haven’t you seen those who were forbidden from secret conferences but reverted to what they were forbidden, holding secret conferences among themselves in error and enmity and defiance of the messenger? When they come to you, they greet you with what God does not greet you, while they say to themselves, “Why doesn’t God punish us for what we say?” All they deserve is hell, where they will burn; and what a miserable destiny!

{Note Number : 5342 When the Muslim Brotherhood was acquiring strength in Madinah and the forces of disruption were being discomfited in open fight against the Messenger of Righteousness, the wicked resorted to duplicity and secret intrigues, in which the ringleaders were the disaffected Jews and the Hypocrites, whose machinations have been frequently referred to in the Qur-an. E.g. see ii. 8-16; and iv. 142-145.

Note Number : 5343 The salutation of Allah was (and is) "Peace!" But the enemies, who had not the courage to fight openly often twisted the words, and by using a word like "Sam", which meant "Death!" or "Destruction!" instead of "Salam!" (Peace!), they thought they were secretly venting their spite and yet apparently using a polite form of salutation. Cf. ii. 106, and n. 107, where another similar trick is exposed.

Note Number : 5344 The enemies derisively enjoyed their trick (see last note) according to their own perverted mentality. They asked blasphemously, "Why does not Allah punish us?" The answer is given: there is a Punishment, far greater than they imagine: it will come in good time: it will be the final Punishment after Judgment: it is delayed in order to give them a chance of repentance and reformation.}

VII ​Haven’t you seen that God knows what is in the heavens and what is on earth? There is no private conference of three but God is their fourth; and none of five but God is their sixth; nor are there fewer than that or more but God is with them wherever they are. Then on the day of resurrection God will tell them what they did; for God knows everything.

{Note Number : 5341 Secrecy is a relative and limited term among ourselves. There is nothing hidden or unknown to Allah. Usually secrecy implies fear or distrust, plotting or wrong-doing. But all is open before Allah's sight.}

II

VI on the day that God resurrects them all and tells them what they did; God has kept account of it, even if they have forgotten it, for God is witness to all things. ​

{Note Number : 5340 This phrase, "Allah will tell them of their deeds (or their doings or their conduct)" occurs frequently. See v. 51, n. 762; v. 108, n. 811; vi. 60; ix. 94; etc. In this life there is a certain mist or illusion in our spiritual sight. We see things from different angles and dispute about them; we hide real motives, and pretend to virtues which we do not possess; others may attribute such virtues to us, and we may come to believe it ourselves; we conceive likes and hatreds on insufficient grounds; we forget what we should remember, and remember what we should forget. Our vision is narrow, and our values are false. On the Day of Account all this will be remedied. Not only will true values be restored, but we shall ourselves see the inwardness of things in our own lives, which we never saw before.}

V for those who oppose God and the messenger of God will be restrained as those before them were restrained, as We have already sent down clear signs. And there is a degrading punishment for the scoffers,

IV Now whoever hasn’t the means is to fast two months in a row before the couple touch; but whoever is unable to do this is to feed sixty of the destitute. That is to evince your faith in God and God’s messenger; for those are ordinances of God, and there is a painful punishment for those who refuse,

{Note Number : 5336 Cf. iv. 92. The penalty is: to get a slave his freedom, whether it is your own slave or you purchase his freedom from another; if that is not possible, to fast for two months consecutively (in the manner of the Ramadhan fast); if that is not possible, to feed sixty poor. See next note.

Note Number : 5337 There is a great deal of learned argument among the jurists as to the precise requirements of Canon Law under the term "feeding" the indigent. For example, it is laid down that half a Sa' of wheat or a full Sa' of dates or their equivalent in money would fulfil the requirements, a Sa' being a measure corresponding roughly to about 9 lbs. of wheat in weight. Others hold that a Mudd measure equivalent to about 2 1/4 lbs. would be sufficient. This would certainly be nearer the daily ration of a man. It is better to take the spirit of the text in its plain simplicity, and say that an indigent man should be given enough to eat for two meals a day. The sixty indigent ones fed for a day would be equivalent to a single individual fed for sixty days, or two for thirty days, and so on. But there is no need to go into minutiae in such matters.

Note Number : 5338 These penalties in the alternative are prescribed, that we may show our repentance and Faith and our renunciation of "iniquity and falsehood" (verse 2), whatever our circumstances may be.}

[nickgerlich]

Better Late Than Never

I see it all the time in grocery stores. With up to 30,000 new items introduced each year, all vying for a slot in stores that can carry 45,000 different items, it is competitive sport. Of those 30,000 items, only a handful are true innovations. That leaves the vast majority of new products to fall into one of two categories: line extensions and me-toos.

Line extensions are often easy, inexpensive implementations, if only because they involve new flavor variants and the like. Me-toos, though, happen when a company has ceded first-mover advantage to another, but then must scurry to catch up. So Company B burns some midnight oil developing their own version or interpretation of what Company A just did. To be caught without might be catastrophic.

Which is precisely what Google felt when ChatGPT was introduced last November, and Microsoft quickly hitched its wagon to it. That has all changed now. Say hello to Google’s Bard, officially introduced this week, but in limited numbers. Hurry on over to the online sign-up sheet so you can get on the wait list.

While it is ideal for the me-too to go one better than the OG, sometimes it truly is just a matter of duplicating to try to save face and remain in the race. Google, though, swears it is including features not included in the first ChatGPT iteration. Of course, that is up for debate, since GPT4 was announced a week ago with many new features.

This still leaves Facebook without a horse in this race, although parent company Meta swears they are working on one too. The Big Three are all convinced that AI is so critical to the future of their businesses that there is a land rush going on to attract as well as retain market share.

Google promises that Bard will do a better job at creating essay outlines as well as documenting sources used, but can also be used for event planning and even meal creation. Imagine uploading a picture of the inside of your fridge, and getting suggestions for dinner based on what you have. That’s pretty cool, and starts to sound like the item recognition I suggested yesterday to help alleviate theft at self-check stands.

The bigger picture that we as students and academics must take in is that there is a revolution happening before our very eyes. I seriously doubt that AI is a fad that will be forgotten in a few years. This is nearly as big as the introduction of the original search engines themselves. It’s paradigm-shifting and life-changing all at the same time. And we will be telling our kids and grandkids for years to come of how we had to search the old-fashioned way, the digital equivalent of walking uphill to school both ways. In snow.

Google plans for Bard to be a complementary feature, effectively a stand-alone product. But it also plans to incorporate AI into its productivity suite, which includes Google Docs, Sheets, and Gmail. Of course, Google had to include this, because Microsoft has already announced plans to include ChatGPT in its Office Suite.

Say it with me: Me. Too. Because you just have to sometimes.

As a loyal Google user, I am glad they are adding AI to its other products. I drifted away from Microsoft products years ago, choosing to export a file from Google file format to Microsoft as a matter of courtesy for others reading my work, or to meet requirements, like for a journal article submission. I do all my writing in Google Docs.

The current launch is not without some snickering, though, because a month ago when Bard was in hasty product development, there was a significant blunder that went public. The faux pas was so big that Google shares dropped 7.7% that day, leaving Google with egg on its face.

And therein lies the problem with me-toos. Sometimes it is easy to fire off a near duplicate product, especially if the innovation is not big. But in the case of Google, it appears that they (and Facebook, let’s be fair) have been broadsided by something they simply did not see coming, or at least not last November. They quite literally had to work 24/7 to try to rush their version to market, and along the way, made some missteps.

Given everyone’s fascination with ChatGPT, they had no choice but to double down. In less than half a year, AI has become a household word, and because services have been free—so far, at least—we could all take it out for a test drive.

Bard’s trickle-out release is likely a wise move for Google, because early adopters will essentially be product testers. Any new flaws can be addressed without the masses having access, which is good for Google. They don’t need any more egg on their face.

I’ve already joined the wait list, and have formulated my first query: What was life like before AI search? Bard’s reply will be a story I get to tell in the years ahead. I just wonder if Bard will acknowledge the fact that it wasn’t the first horse out of the gate. Because Company Bs would like to make their Me-Too status go away. Because that’s also like having egg on your face.


Dr “Search Me“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[criminalmindzjunkie]

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student. 

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much. 

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

           For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

           Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

           Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

           But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

           Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

           She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

           Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

           When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

--

           It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

           In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

           This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

           She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

           This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

           She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

           Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

           Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

           This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn 

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me. 

           That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

           The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

--

           Spencer is horribly frustrated.

           A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

           At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

           The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

           And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

           Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

           Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

           And play she has.

           From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

           The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

          Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

          “I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

           She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

           “Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

           The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

           The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

--

           “Where are we going?”

           Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

           Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

           Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

           “Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

           Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

           “Could’ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

           He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

           “Spencer, please.”

           Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

           “Yes, my love?”

           Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

           “I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

           “Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

           “I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

           Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

           “You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

           Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

           A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

           “Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

           Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

           Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

           “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

           “Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

           Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

           “You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

           Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

           Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

           “That’s why.”

           Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

           The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

           “I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

           “Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

           “You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

           Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

           “Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

           Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

           “Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

           A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

           “Jump.”

           It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

           Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

           “Spencer!”

           Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

           His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

           “You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

           Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

           “I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

           Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

            She silences those fears with a kiss.

           “Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

           Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

           “Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

           “Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

           Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

           “I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

           “Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

           She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

           “Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

           “Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he���ll need it again and again.

           She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

           While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

           A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

           “It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

           Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

           “As they should. That was sensational.”

           Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

           The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

           “What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

           Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

           “I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

           As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

           “I have a few ideas.”

-

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taglist: @90spumkin @moon-light-jukebox​ @whxt-to-write @calm-and-doctor @jessalyn-jpeg @pinkdiamond1016 @itsametaphorbriansblog @eldahae @itsmytimetoodream @kasaikawa @shadyladyperfection

[moonlight-prose]

ETERNALLY YOURS | TIME IS GONE

a/n: i really like how this part turned out. especially since it's a ton of fun to mix greek myth with the eternals and such. there's no actual romance yet in this part. that'll come in the next one i swear. not edited much so there will most likely be mistakes.

summary: visions of future days plague your mind leaving you with no other option. it's time to revisit your past and find him.

word count: 4.6k+

pairing: druig x fem!reader

warnings: not explicit, cussing, angst, mentions of death, a shitty explanation about time, alcohol consumption.

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

New York; Seven Months Before The Emergence

Nearly skidding to a halt at the end of the hallway you grabbed the keys from your bag in a rush to get inside the room. Twenty minutes. You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago and yet the subway had chosen today of all days to stop halfway to your destination. Leaving you trapped and unable to do so much as use your powers to fix it. However, the rule of not using them still rang in your ears with every passing minute of each day.

The memories of why were still burned into the back of your mind.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered, going through the set of keys that were on your chain. How many keys did a person need after all?

You stepped back with a yelp as the door swung open on its own, showing a class of adults with their notebooks set out before them and expressions of annoyance clear on their face. You had fucked up and showed up way too late. Except what were you to do? You couldn’t change fate, only see it happen before it took place. It seemed however, that the more you pushed your powers down, forcing them to become dormant, the visions began to lessen.

“Hello professor…” The man standing before you said, a look of confusion on his face.

“Please. Call me Asteria,” you replied with a fleeting smile, heading into the room and yanking off your leather jacket and tossing it onto the chair with your bag. “Sorry for my tardiness class. The subway decided to be a real...well a real bitch today.”

The rumble of laughter brought a grin to your face and allowed you to continue with your lesson that you’d spent hours last night planning. The man still stood at the back of the class, confusion morphing into something else entirely. You knew that look. Had seen it before many times with other men, but this time you chose to ignore it entirely and do your job. Grabbing the piece of worn down chalk you wrote a single word before underlining it quickly and patting your hands clean of the dust residue that stuck to your skin.

“Now.” Turning back to the class you took in their expressions, fighting the urge to see what exactly it was they were thinking. “What can you tell me about the concept of time?”

A woman with blue hair raised her hand, her fingers painted a dark black that stood out against her pale skin. “It doesn’t exist?”

“Yes you’re on the right track. It doesn’t exactly exist.” Searching the small crowd of students you wrote another word on the board.

Astronomy.

“Can anyone tell me what the two have in common? Why do scientists - most notably astronomers - use the concept of time if it doesn’t - I’m sorry I didn’t get your name-”

She looked up from her notebook. “It’s Delilah, professor.”

“Thank you. Why do astronomers find the concept of time so important if what Delilah said is true?”

Another student raised their hand, to which you allowed them to speak. “It’s a way to measure things.”

“What kind of things?” You paused, allowing them to mull over the question entirely, but when it became clear that they were all stumped you continued. “There are different types of time, different systems, but the one you probably know best from your other classes is astronomical time. Sound familiar?”

They nodded and one student raised their hand from the back of the room. “Isn’t that based on the repetition of astronomical events?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, writing the term on the board. “That is the most basic feature of time we know and it originally was told through the act of sundials. We use time to measure which is important. An example would be the lifetime of a star. But-” you wrote a name on the board “-someone came up with a theory on the basis of time not even existing altogether.”

“Albert Einstein,” someone called from the back of the classroom.

“I’m sure you’re all familiar with this man. Can anyone tell me what his theory is called and why it’s just as important?”

Delilah’s hand shot up. “The Theory of Relativity.”

“Correct again Delilah.” Drawing a line that connects all the ideas together you begin to write the definition on the board. “To sum it up, the existence of time is not real. It’s something humanity created to - yes measure say the amount of days in a year - but in actuality it’s relative. Time is merely a reference.” Setting the chalk down you felt a strange pressure begin to build in the back of your head; you chose to ignore it.

“Does that mean time travel isn’t possible?” someone asked, causing people to laugh.

You smiled, pressing lightly on the back of your head to alleviate the pressure. “Well we all know that is no longer a theory. Especially after what previous events have told us.” It was surely a headache and you hoped that it would pass soon enough. “Can anyone tell me why I brought up the topic of time today?”

Picking a student you slowly leaned against the edge of your desk as a wave of dizziness hit you. You’d never had a true headache before, but you had the equivalent of it. Painkillers would do nothing and so you pushed it away - choosing to continue on with the lesson, even as the pressure began to pound against your mind. A part of you wondered if perhaps this was someone else attempting to break through the walls you had put up. Except the last person to do that was…

“Professor?”

Your attention snapped back to the students. “Yes, sorry. You’re correct. I picked the topic of time, because not only will it be on your final, we’re going to be looking at the specifics of how the universe was cre-”

A stabbing pain shot through your head, causing you to keel over and clutch at your forehead. The echo of your student’s voices faded into the background as a much louder voice took over. You knew who it was the second he spoke, except this felt different. He wasn’t speaking to you in the present day. No, what you were hearing was something that projected itself from the future.

The dizziness grew until you could no longer hold yourself up any longer. As you attempted to take a step forward, you fell to the ground, the cold linoleum floor easing some of the discomfort that shrouded your body. Your vision began to blur, yet you could still make out the figures of your students kneeling beside you as they tried to figure out what to do. Someone shouted to call an ambulance, another was asking if you could hear them, but it was no use.

Your eyes had turned a different shade altogether as you were dragged back into the labyrinth of memories that were housed within your mind.

“Asteria!” a voice shouted, ringing in your head loud enough to cause you to flinch if you could move.

“Druig,” you slurred, head turning slightly as someone moved you to check if you were having a seizure. Except the darkness was beckoning you forward and you had no choice but to welcome it back like an old foe.

Falling into something you’d rather have remained locked away.

Squinting you attempted to reach for the ball of light that hovered a few feet away. Normally you held the control, but it seemed this time you were a witness…not a participant. Forcing your feet to move you stumble forward, reaching for the light, hoping that you might be able to touch it slightly. Only to hear a scream echo in the darkness, piercing your ears. It was not wrought out by pain.

No, this one reeked of anger; a fury you had never witnessed before.

A flash of white nearly blinded you and it took a few seconds for your eyes to adjust. You stood on a beach, the mist of the vision obscuring everything but the sight in front of you. Something vastly large was rising out of the Earth. The gold of its figure was brighter than the sun itself. The waves lapped at your feet, growing in size as whatever this thing was continued to push their way out. Whatever – whoever – it was, the energy of pure and raw power poured off of them.

A feeling so unlike what you were used to that it nearly knocked you backwards.

“They’re going to destroy the planet,” you whispered, eyes wide as the vision shifted.

The scream of rage grew louder. Nearly overwhelming you, until you saw who it came from. Bound to the floor in gold like shackles, Ikaris screamed for help. For Phastos to release him, for Sersi to cease her actions. You attempted to rush at him; help him, anything to free him, but you were slammed back. Collapsing on the ground heavily from the force of the vision’s power.

You were a watchman. You were to bear witness to the actions and deliver the message. It remained a curse in its own way; forever a bystander to the destruction of the world around you.

Darkness enveloped your being, blocking you from the next sight. It would remain that way as you came to terms with the reminder that you were to observe. Yet how could you only watch as the people you once considered your own family were left to suffer? How could you protect them by merely watching? Heimdall’s words echoed in your mind, reminding you of your duty.

Inhaling a deep breath, you calmed the panic coursing through your veins. You were not finished – far from it.

“Show me,” you breathed, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the powers shift, shoving you into a new place entirely.

The vision looked hazier than usual.

As if you were standing in the middle of it, surrounded by clouds that wouldn’t part and allow you to see all of it. The dormancy of your powers seemed to only bar the clarity of any of this. You could make out one thing clearly enough though, you were standing in the middle of a forest you recognized. Watching as the man you once knew better than yourself fought...a Deviant.

“Druig,” you said, hoping that this was merely a dream he was having. That his mind connected to yours once more.

Only he never turned.

“Druig!” Turning you watched a woman you hadn’t seen in decades sprint forward, yanking him away as the Deviant attempted to grab hold of him. “Let them go.”

“No,” you whispered, glancing around to see someone flying in the air above fighting another winged beast. “It’s not possible.”

Deviants were gone. Eradicated by the very people who stood before you now, except this wasn’t the past you were seeing. This was the future - the near future if you could sense it correctly - and they were in danger. Gasping for breath you froze at the sight of yourself running through the clearing with an ancient sword in your hand. One you were sure you’d gotten rid of the night you left him.

This couldn’t be the future. Not when none of this made sense, but you could recall the voice of Heimdall telling you one important rule. Rarely did the actions of the future make sense to those residing in the present. So, you stood by like a dutiful watchman and witnessed as the future played out before you like a film you wished was merely fictional.

Eventually this would all make sense. Each missing piece in this puzzle, finally fitting itself perfectly into place and creating a picture that not even you wished to see.

“Get around it,” the future version of you called out, gesturing to Kingo - your sword shifting from black to midnight blue. The blade practically humming with power.

You dared to get closer, knowing that none of this would harm you. In fact, it might help you in warning those that needed it early before problems arose and there was no going back. Stepping out of the way as Kingo shot at the Deviant with you keeping it trapped from the other side, your eyes caught those of Druigs. A gun was aimed at the creature’s head, eyes narrowed in rage and yet...you could see the small amount of disbelief in them.

A trait you knew he liked to hide.

Masking any amount of fear that arose was something he mastered over the centuries, but you could always read him better than anyone.

“I’ll find you,” you breathed, standing directly in front of him and watching as the bullet went through your chest and hit the creature. “I promise.”

A scream echoed behind you, shattering the eerie silence that had set in once the creature died. It was a voice you recognized, and you turned watching as you were pierced by the Deviant’s tail. You wanted to believe it was merely a fluke in the vision. That you didn’t actually die on this battlefield and yet a part of you felt a sharp tug in your chest. A realization that you may not make it out of this place alive.

“Do it soon,” he said, now facing you directly as if he could see you. Maybe he could...maybe this was because of him and right as you opened your mouth to ask him where he was...you were jolted awake.

Eyes flying open, a rush of cold air surged through your lungs, and suddenly you were back. Lying on a hospital bed with an IV attached to your arm. Thankfully you were alone in the room, which made you feel better about taking out the needle and setting it to the side. You grabbed a cotton ball to clean up the blood that rose to the surface as you looked around. They hadn’t changed you out of your clothes which meant they didn’t think it was anything serious. One glance over the chart left behind by the nurse told you they believed you to have passed out from lack of nutrients.

Hence the IV.

You shoved your arms in your jacket, yanked on your boots and got ready to discharge yourself. All as the door opened, revealing a nurse. Perfect fucking timing, you grumbled in your mind, realizing you should have jumped out the window.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

A sheepish smile crossed your face. “I’m feeling much better. I think I’m actually ready to-”

“Go nowhere,” she replied, checking through another chart. “You didn’t just pass out, miss. You fell into a coma.”

“I-” There was no medical explanation for what happened to your body when you were dragged into your mind. Attempting to tell her who and what you were wouldn’t help. That never went over well with humans. “I think that chart might be wrong.”

A frown settled over her features. “How are you standing upright? Your body should be exhausted.”

“I heal fast?” It was more of a hopeful statement than a question really. A final play before you resorted to an option that you would rather avoid, using your powers.

She shook her head. “No human heals that fast from a coma.”

“Trust me,” you said, attempting to plan a new escape route for this room. “I’ve been known to-”

A hand gripping on your wrist to stop your movements forced you to pay attention to what exactly she was doing. You felt the familiar thrum of your powers act as a second heartbeat beneath your skin and in a rush of panic you were grasping onto her face. Dragging her closer and mumbling out words that felt foreign on your tongue from lack of use. It was only a few moments later did she stumble back into the chair and fall asleep; a skill that Druig had taught you long ago, finally coming in handy.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, unlatching the window and swinging your leg over the ledge.

You should have stuck around, discharged yourself in a timely fashion before leaving the hospital like nothing was wrong. Only the vision kept replaying in your mind; reminding you that time was of the essence. Finding the other members of his family was your first instinct, but no one else would take this news like he would. No one would calmly attempt to work you through what you’d seen like he’d done thousands of times before.

Climbing slowly down the side of the building, you tried to avoid drawing attention to yourself. It would take longer to do it the human way and so without another thought you leapt from where you were perched up at the tenth floor window. Thankfully it looked out onto a side street so you landing harshly on the ground – enough to leave a dent in the pavement – wasn’t seen. You hoped.

“Cab,” you said to yourself, rushing out onto the street and signaling for one like a madman. New York at this time was always hectic, but it seemed that today especially wasn’t a great time to head anywhere.

“Where to?” he asked as you clambered into the backseat, nearly slamming the door shut in your haste.

Saying your address quickly, you scrolled through your contact list in the hopes that the single number you held onto still worked. If anyone knew where he was…it was her. She acted as a mother to you – to him – and you wouldn’t see yourself here without her as a part of your past. Letting out a breath, you dialed the number; trying to ignore the way your hands shook as you lifted the phone.

Much to your relief, it went to voicemail with her voice on the line. The number remained hers and you felt some of the weight lift off your shoulders at the knowledge. She was still there for you – for all of you – even after all these years. You were not officially a part of their family, but for her you were as good as her daughter.

She was the missing link in your life.

“Hey” –a shaky breath followed– “Ajak it’s me…Asteria.” The cab stopped on your street and you handed the man whatever cash you had on you before getting out. “I don’t know if you want to hear from me, but I need your help. It’s been a long time since I’ve…seen something and today changed all of that. I need to find him and you’re the only one I can think of who might know where he is. If you do…please–please help me.”

Somehow, your apartment felt daunting. No longer like it was your home, because consciously you’d been shoved back into a past you never thought you’d have to see again. Back to a life that you had let go a long time ago. Asteria was the professor no more, she had been replaced, bestowed the title of Asteria the goddess, the warrior, once again.

Smiling at your neighbor, you tried to act like you hadn’t seen the fate of the world a few hours ago. What would you say to him once you found him? What would you say to Ajak? The questions ran through your mind. Setting another weight over what you already carried with you. Thousands of years old and yet you were terrified at the prospect of seeing people from your past.

That made you scoff. Even though power – strong enough to destroy cities – continued to pump through your veins, you were just as human as the rest of the people you passed on the street. Afraid of a past coming back to haunt you.

Pushing open the front door, you dropped your bag onto the couch, hoping that all of this was one bad dream. That was the thing about bad dreams for you though. Rarely were they false. They always came true – one way or another. No matter how much you tried to stop them from happening in the first place.

“You’re home.” You jumped, turning to see your roommate and newfound friend heading into the apartment with her hands full of groceries. “I am having a guest come over later tonight. Cooking him dinner – can you take that?” – you grab the bag – “He said he’s pretty excited. I’m not saying it’s a date, but…” her voice trailed off at the sight of your still frazzled appearance. “What happened?”

Shaking your head you started to sit, reaching for the edge of the couch behind you as every emotion you kept down – buried from the light of day – came shoving their way back up. The vision told you that the world was in danger yet again. You would have to see tragedy happen again. After watching as your home world was destroyed, you weren’t sure if you wanted to see it happen to this one for a second time.

You didn’t have to say anything, the broken sob you let out told her enough.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, wrapping you in a tight hug and allowing you to use her as an anchor. Anything to bring you back to the surface.

“It’s happening again,” you said shakily, voice thick with grief you didn’t think you’d have to feel again.

She let out a tentative breath of her own. “What did you see?”

“Death.”

“Whose?”

Swallowing down the emotions, you pulled away, wiping your tears quickly before fresh ones could fall. “Mine.”

“Yours? I thought you were a you know.” Helping you to the couch, she practically collapsed beside you. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

You laughed. “No…I can die.”

“How – how are you going to stop it?”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Of course you can. You have to.” She poured two glasses of vodka, handing you one and watching you down the drink.

You shook your head, pressing the chilled glass to your cheek. “What fate decides can not be undone Keira.”

“I thought you were fate.”

If only that were true, then maybe you could have stopped so many things from happening. Maybe…you could have changed his mind that night.

“I’m the speaker for fate. Nothing but a messenger.”

She sighed, pushing her dark curled bob away from her face. “What can you do then? Call your friends in high places. Do something to prevent this.”

“I have to go see someone,” you replied, setting the glass on the coffee table and reaching for your phone. “I don’t know where he is or even…how I’m going to find him, but he can help me.”

She nodded, following you through the apartment as you grabbed for the bag you use for quick getaways. Just enough clothing to last for a few days and enough weapons from your past to keep you safe. The rest would come with time. The armor you used to don to fight wars was stored somewhere else entirely for safe keeping, which meant you’d have to make not one but two trips.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for, but if you don’t see me again-”

“Just shut up,” she said, wrapping her arms around your neck and hugging you tighter than you expected. “You’ll come back. You have to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Who else will I tell all my troubles to?”

A brief smile flashed across your face, a small amount of hope that you didn’t carry with you before. Whether or not you died was still a mystery to you. A part of you hoped that it wouldn’t come to be true and yet you knew. Fate was the cruelest of them all. Whether or not they were a real entity; they loved to give pain upon others that wished for something else.

“Be safe Asteria.”

You nodded, stepping outside. “You too.”

The audible sound of the door shutting behind you somehow sounded louder. An echo you would remember for days to come. If only you were someone else. If only you weren’t given this curse of power. Dialing a number you hope wasn’t disconnected, you headed down the street. Everything felt so normal. A mundane life outside of the world you currently resided in.

It felt nice to know that even when the world was on the precipice of breaking yet again, people still went on with their lives.

“Hello?”

Exhaling a sigh of relief, you stopped at the corner. “I don’t know if you remember me or this number but-”

“No – I remember you. Asteria. Thor’s – not a sibling but friend – right?”

You laughed. “Yeah that’s me.”

“How can I help you?”

“I don’t know if you’re in New York at the moment, but if you are…I need a lift.”

Fumbling came through the line; a horn following it up. “I’m definitely in the area. Where can I pick you up?”

A red car honked loudly from down the street giving you some insight as to where they were. Although you still weren’t sure what color car they were driving. Shutting your eyes, you allowed your mind to stretch over the expanse of the street, searching through every person’s mind until you stopped abruptly. Her voice echoed in your head – cussing rather rudely to herself about a person who cut her off.

“Found you,” you whispered, opening your eyes and grabbing your bag.

“Sorry I’m late!” she shouted through her open window, stopping to let you hop in. “You wouldn’t believe how much traffic there is.”

“I can believe it.”

“So where am I dropping you off?”

You scrolled through your phone to check for flight plans. “I need to get out of New York.”

“Anywhere specific?”

“South Dakota.”

She paused. “Oh – that’s – that’s a little out of my way, but-”

“No, no,” you laughed. “You can drop me off outside of the state lines. I need to get there my own way. Not by plane.”

“Any reason as to why?”

“Let’s just say I’ve…had a bad experience on a plane before.” You shoved back in your jacket pocket, choosing to focus instead on the roads ahead. “You never get back on a plane once you’ve seen a man jump out of one just to steal some money.”

“Holy shit. Did you ever figure out who it was?”

You smiled, seeing the sun begin to slip down. “Yeah…eventually.”

Traveling on a plane wasn’t the issue for you – it was who might be in the skies that was. You weren’t sure where he ended up, but you didn’t want to take any chances of running into someone you might know. Not to mention the long process of getting on a plane. The faster you made it to Ajak’s the better off you were.

“Where are you headed?”

She glanced at you. “I got called in to help at a job. Well not exactly called. More like an anonymous number let me know what was going on. Anyways, I’m headed down to Jersey.”

“Good luck,” you replied softly, feeling your phone buzz.

A familiar name flashed across the screen, sending a jolt of relief through your veins.

I found them

-K

Letting out the breath you were holding, you settled in for the car ride. Fate may have its say in your life, but refuse to let it choose for others. What you saw meant that things were going to get darker then you truly knew. The others would need to be told as well. Yet all you could think about was finding him. The once stranger, turned something else. The person who knew you better than you knew yourself.

Druig.

[ptergwen]

hi my love! i was wondering if you could do something to do with teacher!tom and teacher!reader, where they’re dating but their students don’t know it, until they see one of them walk past the others zoom class or something. it’s okay if you’re not accepting requests atm! 💛

caught in the act

w/c: 1.0k

warnings: one swear and suggestive joke

a/n: hi sorry this took me a little! if only you could hear the way i squealed when i read itttgvsfs i adore the concept :,)

tom’s alarm goes off before yours, shrieking at him to start his day. he’s insistent on waking up early because it’s the key to success, and he has to set a good example. you’re more of a roll out of bed and turn on the computer kind of girl. you have pretty different teaching techniques, but it keeps your work lives fresh. there’s never a dull moment after you receive school emails or attend a meeting.

you’re an english teacher, and tom teaches history. you both teach the same grade, though. a lot of your students have you both, so you come up quite often in each other’s classes. your assignments sometimes go hand in hand together also. whether it be his students using writing techniques you taught them, your students doing essays based on events he covered, you work together all the time.

you like to plan your lessons together over wine and many, many kisses. it’s honestly super fun.

you’ve got a bunch of tweens on your hands, which means they gossip. that includes about school faculty, you and tom meeting the requirements. there was once a rumor circulating that you both have your own families and started an affair. you laughed it off because it was so elaborate and so not true. but, you never confirmed or denied if you’re a couple.

“please turn that off. please, please, please,” you whine as the alarm buzzes in your ear. tom retrieves his phone with a chuckle. “since you asked so nicely.” after putting on his glasses to see the screen, he snoozes it. he then leans over and presses a warm kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna make a quick breakfast, if you’d like to join.” although that sounds nice, his healthy eggs aren’t worth losing sleep for.

“i wouldn’t,” you hum, tilting your head up to peck his lips. tom smiles against yours, you turning onto your other side. “right,” he mumbles to himself. “still want your cuppa?” he’s taken the liberty of making you tea each morning because you don’t give yourself enough time to do it. you nod lazily in response, eyes drooping shut. “mhm, thanks. love you.” “love you more.”

he makes his way to the kitchen while you head back to dreamland.

you’re awoken a little later to a mug of tea on one side of you and tom on the other. he shakes your shoulder gently, grimacing when you kick your covers around in protest. your first class isn’t for another hour. “ugh, what?” you groan at him. tom runs his fingers down your arm apologetically. “have you seen my, erm, yellow button up anywhere?” you open your eyes only so you can roll them, in a lighthearted way.

you pay tom back for the morning tea by laying out his outfits every night. he’s pretty forgetful about those things, right now being an example.

“on the dresser. have a good day, mr. holland.” you shoot him a grin over your shoulder. tom pushes his glasses up and squeezes your arm. “i will, thanks. tea’s right there when you want it.” he’s hopped out of bed to change before you can say another word. now, there’s a man who’s committed to the craft.

once you finally get up, tom is halfway through his first class. he’s talking about what sounds like some revolution, sat at your desk. you love to listen to him teach and sip your earl grey. he makes history actually interesting, recounting things like they’re one of his wild stories. even the most difficult kids pay attention. he’s got a gift, and getting to witness him use it is a treat on its own.

it’s tempting to keep watching, though you should probably use the bathroom before your class. you wait until the kids are doing independent work, and head in. tom calls everyone back to go over the questions while you’re gone. he’s usually done by now, only someone didn’t understand the last one. that means class goes over a bit.

unaware of this, you come into the room with a toothbrush in your mouth and paste coating your lips.

“no, don’t worry. i’ve recorded the lesson so you can watch-“ tom cuts himself off when you appear in his camera tile. amusement instantly flashes across everyone’s faces. you’re still scrubbing at your teeth without a clue. “um, love? i haven’t finished,” he lets you know quietly, your eyes going wide. “sorry!” you say through a mouthful of toothpaste.

you dodge off camera quickly after. it’s too late, the damage has already been done. “hey, was that ms. y/l/n?” michael asks, one of your more outspoken students. he tries to look for you in the reflection of tom’s glasses. “it’s... well...” tom glances back at you. not sure what to tell him, you only offer a shrug. he decides to change the subject.

“you know what, i’m gonna let you guys go. we’ve gone over!” he plasters on a grin. his face feels hot, having so many eyes on it. another student unmutes herself, snickering. “that’s gotta be her! look at him, he’s blushing!” “mr. holland has a girlfriend,” someone else sings to him. other kids point and laugh along.

this is all in good fun, and their reaction is sweet. at the same time, you’d rather not have your students see you like this. you wipe your mouth clean and wince as tom endures their remarks, cheeks burning pink on the screen. this is the first time he’s out of things to say.

“maybe they’re just hooking up-“ “ok!” tom yells over michael, moving his curser to the end call button. “see everyone tomorrow, same time!” he leaves the class and immediately lets out the biggest sigh. his rosy face is hidden in his hands now, you coming over to the desk. you put a comforting hand on his back.

“sorry about that,” tom murmurs, taking his hands away. “i’m the one who crashed your lesson,” you dismiss him and sling both arms around his neck from behind. he rests his head on one of your arms and looks up at you. “i held class late.” “well, that is your job.” your remark earns a low laugh from him. the hint of a smile crosses his face. “god, what are we gonna do?” you cringe at the situation.

“i don’t know, but i really need to. i’m about to see these little shits... again.”