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gummy-cat-writes · 2 months ago

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save it for a rainy day | spencer reid x bau! fem!reader

synopsis: while on a case in Seattle during a particularly rainy week, the team learns that you've never been kissed, a fact Spencer didn't realise would both him so much

content warnings: criminal minds typical themes (discussions/descriptions of violence, injuries, death, trauma and generally not great things) please read at your own risk!! also minor spoilers for s7 ep19 (heathridge manor)

ingredients: mostly fluff, she fell first, he fell harder, I got carried away so it's basically a casefic, inaccurate depictions of the US/how the FBI works (sorry I'm not American), a bunch of random facts since its literally Spencer's main love language (cannot guarantee the legitimacy of said facts they were from singular google searches), limited use of Y/N (I tried) and I'm not entirely convinced the plot exists sorryyy

word count: 6k (like I said I got carried away whoops)

a/n: eek this is my very first attempt at posting my writing on tumblr, and also my very first x reader fic! (finally living up to my username lol) I got a bit carried away with this and it is just a tad self indulgent but I hope you all enjoy and if I missed any content warnings please let me know!!

Spencer Reid couldn’t stand the rain. His hair was hard enough to keep presentable when dry, but being wet it made him look like a soggy cat. Much to his dismay, the current case happened to be in Seattle, Washington, right in the middle of their rainy season – perfect for an unsub who liked to drown their victims in rainwater.

Spencer had only just stepped out of the jet when he felt the light downpour beginning to dampen his head and shoulders, squinting up at the sky with a disgruntled look.

“I hate the rain,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, thankful he’d long since transitioned back to contacts, as wearing glasses in this weather would have made the trip entirely more frustrating.

“Aw, come on,” a voice chirped up beside him. “It’s not that bad,” You were much more prepared than him, already opening a brightly patterned umbrella as you descended the plane steps. “It smells so nice.”

Without being asked, you lifted the umbrella higher so he could duck beneath it. The two of you began the walk across the tarmac, following Hotch and Rossi, with Emily, JJ and Morgan bringing up the rear.

“The term for the smell we usually associate with rain is actually called petrichor,” Spencer said, unable to help himself. “The word was coined in 1964 by Australian scientists, it’s a mixture of water and other compounds like ozone, geosmin and plant oils.” He wrinkled his nose, the aforementioned smell filling the morning air. “It gets particularly strong during a downpour like this.”

You chuckled. “Well, I think it’s romantic. I always imagined my first kiss would be in the rain.”

Spencer ducked as you closed the umbrella, arriving at the terminal entrance. He watched as you held back, letting the rain fall on your face for a moment.

“Was it?” he asked.

“Hm?” You blinked, before shrugging. “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” you said, in a surprisingly casual tone. “I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

This statement somehow caused Spencer’s stomach to flip, and he found himself unable to form words.

Emily, who’d overheard the tail-end of the conversation, did not have the same issue.

“You’ve never been kissed?” she said incredulously, already grinning at your now somewhat sheepish expression.

“I’ve sort of being saving it,” you admitted, smiling nervously. “I just think that being kissed in the rain is so romantic.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Emily responded fondly. “Wait ‘til Penelope hears about this.”

You groaned, your cheeks reddening. By now, JJ and Morgan had caught up, the former eyeing Spencer with concern.

“Spence, you okay?”

Caught off guard, Spencer’s next words came out a little harsher than intended.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic,” he snapped. “I still hate the rain.”

* * *

Spencer had no clue what was going on. It had been ages since your conversation on the tarmac, but your words kept replaying in his head. It was one of the few times he loathed his eidetic memory, as the visual of you standing calmly in the rain, water dripping down your face – more specifically your mouth – swam in his brain whenever he closed his eyes.

“-and Reid can share with her.” The sound of his name broke him from his reverie, and he looked up frowning. The team had dropped by their hotel to freshen up before heading to the precinct, and were discussing who would be sharing a room together. Typically, they got four rooms, with six of them pairing up and one person getting a room to themselves. JJ was looking at Spencer, that concerned look on her face again.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.

Spencer’s brain rebooted awfully slow. “I- what?”

“Room shares,” Emily cut in, looking amused as the others chuckled. “You’re good to share a room with Y/N, right?”

All Spencer could do was glance between his team, his eyes landing on Morgan.

“What about Morgan?” he asked. Something about sharing a room with you made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

Morgan laughed. “Sorry, pretty boy, it’s my turn in the solo room.”

“I don’t mind,” you piped up, glancing at Spencer with a friendly smile. “Spencer?”

“Do you kids need to do rock-paper-scissors to decide?” Rossi’s tone was exasperated. “Me and Hotch, Emily and JJ, Reid and L/N and Morgan on his own. Simple.”

There was little more arguing Spencer could do without being obvious, so he reluctantly followed you down the hall to your room. Why on Earth was such a short, insignificant conversation making him feel like this? He’d shared rooms with you on cases before, what was so different now?

You unlocked the door to the room, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. For a moment, Spencer could forget it too, watching as you examined the room, enthusiastically dropping flat onto one of the twin beds.

“This room’s a lot like the one we shared in Massachusetts,” you mused absentmindedly. “The layout’s the same. I like the old-fashioned look.”

“You know, the oldest hotel in the world is the Nishiyama Onsen Keiunkan,” Spencer said. “It’s a ryokan, which is a traditional Japanese-style inn, and was first opened in 707 AD.”

You smiled. “Oh, yeah?” Sitting up, you looked up at him with a genuine interest that always made him falter his words.

He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, it was created by the son of an aide to the 38th Emperor of Japan, Emperor Tenji. Actually, quite a few of the world’s oldest businesses are in Japan. There was a report published by the Bank of Korea that found that 56% of the around 5,500 companies older than 200 years are in Japan.”

“Damn,” you said, still smiling. “Well now I want to go to Japan.”

Spencer chuckled, averting his gaze. His rambles were typically met with disinterest, yet you were one of the few who would properly pay attention. You too were prone to rambling, though your tangents tended to be more anecdotal than random facts. But why now was your attention so nerve-wracking?

“Spencer?” Your voice once again pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” you finally asked, frowning at him. “You’ve been really space-y today.”

“I’m fine!” His voice rising in octave definitely didn’t sell it. “I’m just… tired.”

He gave her a tight smile, hoping you’d drop it. He busied himself with setting his go-bag onto his bed.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

That caught his tension.

“What?” Spencer stared at you, concern that you’d ever think that overruling his current dilemma. “What are you talking about, you’re not weird you’re- you’re you-” He cut himself off as you laughed.

“Spencer, I’m in my 20s and I haven’t had my first kiss. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?”

He blinked. “I didn’t have my first kiss until my 20s.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, because you were, like, twelve in your senior year. It would have been illegal to kiss you,” you said, amused. “I think I’ve only ever held hands with one person all through school.” Your smile faded a little as you fidgeted with your sleeve. “I guess I always expected dating and romance would just happen, like in the movies, and it never really did.”

“Well, in the US, the average age of the first kiss is fifteen, but even that varies between regions.” Upon realising his comment wasn’t helpful in the slightest, he back-tracked. “But everyone has their own timeline. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

You sighed, standing up. He could tell now that despite your casual tone on the tarmac earlier, it really did seem to bother you. Something about the melancholy look on your face stung something deep in him.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said softly. “I’m going to go shower.”

* * *

The Seattle Police Precinct was a buzz of activity – the media had been all over the murders since a sixth body had been discovered, which was why the BAU had been called in. As Penelope had explained in the briefing, so far the unsub had killed six women over the course of two and half months. All six victims were women in their 40s, who all went missing a few days before their bodies were found in empty lots, significant amounts of rainwater in their lungs. With no other injuries on the bodies, it had been difficult to determine a clear motive.

Upon arriving at the precinct, Hotch set about delegating tasks so the team could build a profile. Spencer was strangely relieved when Hotch sent him to the medical examiner with Morgan. It wasn’t that he didn’t like working with you, but your comments had stuck with him more than they should for someone he saw as a friend, and he knew the longer he spent around you, he’d likely make a fool of himself.

The ME went over the autopsies with them, noting some of the interesting findings.

“So, it appears the victims spent a significant amount of time in water before they died,” she said, frowning at her clipboard.

“How can you tell?” Morgan asked.

She walked over to one of the tables, lifting the sheet covering the most recent victim, pointing at her arm. “See how the skin is thickened here, and the sores? She must have been in the water for good while, for the skin to do this. They all were.” The ME crossed the room to pick up a tray, bringing it over to show the two men a cutting of fabric. “The clothes they were wearing were beginning to mould, which can happen with water damage. These women were fully submerged for days before they died.”

“And you can confirm they died from drowning?”

“It’s quite difficult to determine if drowning is the official cause of death,” The ME replied. “But given how much water was in their stomachs and lungs, and the foam present, I’d say so.” She grimaced as she read through her notes. “It certainly wasn’t done quickly either.”

Morgan frowned. “This is similar to the case in Oregon, at that manor.” He paused, glancing at Spencer. “Reid,” he nudged him. “You good?”

“What? Oh- yeah, I’m fine.” Spencer stuttered, very aware he wasn’t convincing his colleague in the slightest. “The case in Oregon?”

“The way the victims were submerged in water, it’s similar. Do you think this unsub is also torturing?”

Spencer forced himself to focus, frowning at the body in front of him. “It seems it serves as both a way to torture, and to kill. The Oregon ones were killed with nicotine poisoning.”

“I also noticed something else,” the ME spoke up. “I found bits of rust stuck to their hands.” She moved the sheet, turning the victim’s hand over. Flakes of deep orange speckled the skin of her palm, which was reddened and raw. “I think they were holding onto something for quite a while, something metal.”

“Didn’t the Oregon unsub submerge the girls in a well?” Morgan said. “Perhaps we’re dealing with a copy-cat.”

Spencer shook his head. “Those details weren’t released to the press, it can’t be. Besides, if they had, they would have the grazes on their bodies from the rocks of the well, wouldn’t they?”

The ME nodded. “Aside from the hands, they’re relatively unharmed. That, and a bruise to the back of the head.”

Morgan nodded, putting the pieces together. “So the unsub hits them over the head to stun them, takes them somewhere and keeps them in a body of rainwater until they’ve drowned and dumps them in lots?”

“He’s gotten better, clearly,” the ME mentioned. “The first two victims had multiple wounds to the head, whereas the more recent ones only had one.”

“So,” Morgan said, seemingly talking to himself. “How long until he attacks again?”

* * *

Spencer leaned against the car, trying to read while Morgan phoned Penelope to update her on the unsub’s MO. Emphasis on trying. He’d been re-reading the same page over and over, and when one can read at his speed, it got repetitive rather quickly.

“- great job, baby girl, keep it up,” Morgan was saying as he returned to the car, putting his phone away. “So, Penelope is going to look into places where the unsub might have been able to keep the women, but that could be anywhere-”

“Ow!” Spencer looked up, offended, having just been flicked in the forehead. “What was that for?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” Morgan stated, eyeing the younger man. “More than your usual weird. What’s going on?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, looking back down at his book, only for it to be snatched from his hands. “Hey, give that back-”

“Not until you tell me what’s up,” Morgan’s voice was serious, using a similar tone Spencer had heard him use with his sisters. Firm but compassionate. “It’s pretty obvious something is wrong.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a huff of frustration. “If I knew, I would tell you,” he grumbled, hesitating before he continued. “I- Y/N told me this morning that she’s never been kissed, and I can’t stop thinking about it-”

He was interrupted by Morgan’s hearty laughter. “That’s it?”

Spencer stumbled over his words, his face flushed. “It doesn’t mean anything, I’m not-”

“Pretty boy has a crush~” Morgan teased, the smirk on his face not shifting, even as Spencer smacked his forearm to get him to shut up.

“What? No, that’s ridiculous!” he snapped. “She’s my co-worker, my friend! I just-”

“Realised how much you’d like to be the one to kiss her?” Morgan finished for him, getting into the car. “Did you only just come to this conclusion today?”

Spencer scowled, climbing into the passenger seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Reid, you’ve been ogling her since she first started working here,” Morgan pointed out. “I know we’re not meant to profile each other, but it’s textbook-”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about! We’re just friends!”

Morgan chuckled. “If you say so. But, if you ask me, I don’t think she’d be too opposed if you asked her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Infuriatingly, Morgan chose then to finally fall silent.

* * *

You couldn’t understand what you’d done wrong. It had been two days since the team had arrived in Seattle, and Spencer was 100% avoiding you. He averted his eyes every time you spoke, made excuses to leave the room when it was just the two of you together, and barely spoke when you finally returned to the hotel to rest. Surely he wasn’t put off by what you’d told him at the airport?

When you’d said you were saving your first kiss to be in the rain, you were only half lying. A kiss in the rain would be romantic, but you desperately wanted it to be with him. It had been a little over a year since you joined the BAU, and you’d spent practically every day since then head over heels for Dr. Spencer Reid.

Who wouldn’t? He was your type in every way – nerdy, awkward and ridiculously good-looking.

So far, you’d managed to keep it hidden from most of the team, save for Emily, JJ and Penelope. Curse those women for being so good at their jobs. And curse them for teasing you every chance they got.

“What are you looking at?”

Speak of the devil, and doth shall appear, looking exactly like Emily Prentiss. She set a coffee down next to you, choosing to lean against the table rather than sit, giving you a knowing grin.

You quickly looked back down at the files in your hands. “Nothing,” you mumbled, convincing no one.

“Honestly, you are lucky the boy genius is the most oblivious man in the world,” Emily said, frowning at Spencer, who was discussing the case with Rossi and JJ. “I’m surprised he hasn’t caught on yet.”

“Would you keep it down?” you hissed, swatting her with a file. “I don’t want the entire precinct to know.”

She cackled, nudging you with her leg. “I figured you could do with a push in the right direction,” Leaning down, she lowered her voice. “That direction being a certain doctor’s bed-”

“Emily!”

“I’m just putting it out there, you should go talk to him,” She stood up to avoid any more file assaults. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

Fortunately, the lecture was interrupted by Hotch walking into the room, a particularly stormy look on his face. “There’s been another kidnapping,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The team bundled themselves into the cars, heading to east Seattle, where a staggering amount of police cars and media vans were already gathered. Breezing past the officers and into the house, you followed JJ and Emily into the bedroom.

The previous women had all gone missing while at home, all living alone, or when their partners weren’t home. This time, it was clear the victim’s partner had been home. He was laying on the bed, blood splattered everywhere and a pillow covering what was sure to be fatal head wounds.

“Monique Johnson is currently missing, the neighbour found this after hearing their dog barking inside.” Hotch said as he followed in behind you.

“Clearly the unsub didn’t expect the boyfriend to be home,” JJ muttered. “This is overkill, he lost his cool.”

Hotch nodded. “We need to give the profile.”

“We believe the unsub is a white man, likely in his 30s. He’s not very noticeable, blends in with the crowd,” Hotch began, arms crossed as he presents the profile to the Seattle Police. “Given how he manages to break into the victims’ houses with little to no trouble, it’s possible he has experience with burglary, and may have a criminal record.”

“The victims all resemble each other physically, and in personality,” JJ continued. “It’s possible the unsub is viewing these women as surrogates for someone in his life, possible a sister, or a mother, given the lack of sexual components to the crimes.”

“We’ve classified him as a control-oriented killer,” Morgan picked up. “The method in which he drowns his victims over a gruelling multiple days is his way of being in control. Though he is very intelligent, and manages to limit any physical evidence left behind on the victims, he clearly struggles when plans don’t go his way.”

“The most recent victim is Darius Bowers, 47,” you spoke up. “He was killed during the abduction of his girlfriend, Monique Johnson. This is the first time the unsub has killed a man, and it is very clear it wasn’t meant to happen.”

“He knows we are getting close, which means we only have a limited time to find Monique alive.” Hotch concluded.

As the officers dispersed, you breathed a sigh of relief. Delivering profiles was nerve-wracking, but it was good to know you were on the right track.

“What are you- hey!” Spencer’s voice shot up an octave as you grabbed him by the sleeve, all but dragging him into a nearby hallway. He looked as if he were caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

“Have I done something wrong?” you asked, trying and failing not to sound desperate. The reality was the distance hurt, more than you could admit. “You’ve been avoiding me this entire case, and it’s clear I’ve upset you, which is the last thing I wanted, so would you please just spit it out?”

Spencer stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, utterly speechless. Then, slowly, a deep red flush crept up his neck and he cleared his throat.

“I- I don’t know.”

It was rare to hear that phrase from him.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s- You haven’t done anything wrong, I just-” He was stuttering, eyes directed towards some far off thing as he struggled to explain himself. “I think I’ve come to realise how much you care about me, and-”

“Guys, it’s Penelope.” JJ said sharply, peeking around the wall.

You let out a huff of frustration, storming after the blonde woman, leaving Spencer nonplussed and red in the face.

The team huddled around the table, where Morgan’s phone on speaker in the middle, playing the upbeat voice of Penelope Garcia.

“Alright my lovelies, so I have been fighting tooth and nail with these files, trying to find a link between the victims and let me just say, it would be easier to get Hotch to smile, it is difficult-”

“Garcia-” Hotch’s tone was warning.

“Sorry sir,” she quickly added. “I think I’ve found something. Weeks before Janet Burgess, the second victim, went missing, she payed a fee for a lawn service through Green City Lawn Care-”

“Isn’t that where Monique Johnson works?” Spencer piped up, frowning.

“Why indeed, boy genius, and get this, Danna Howell, the fifth victim also had her lawn mowed by the same company!” Before anyone else could interrupt, she continued. “Now, you’re probably thinking that it’s just a coincidence, but the universe is rarely so lazy, so, I dug a bit further and found out that all the victims at some point used the service in the past six months, and three of them left quite scathing reviews of the company.”

“That’s great, baby girl, but we both know you can do better,” Morgan teased.

“I was getting there, chocolate thunder-”

“Garcia-” Hotch warned, a little more impatient.

“Sorry sir, so I went through employee records and just seven months ago they hired a Tristan Murray, who has only just completed 15 years in prison.”

“What for?” Emily asked.

“I’m not-so glad you asked,” Penelope said, her cheery voice becoming more grim. “Burglary that ended with assault of the homeowner.” A rapid sound of typing was heard. “Looks like he had quite a nasty childhood, his biological mother was only 16 when she had him, and put him into the foster system. He got with the wrong crowd, spent time in and out of juvy, and oh god-”

“What?”

“Apparently he was arrested for the burglary charges when police were called to a cafe for a verbal altercation between 19 year old Tristan and his biological mother. Police reports say she came there to meet with him and he wanted to have her in his life but she didn’t, and this made him very angry.”

“Where is his mother now?” Rossi asked.

“Uh, it looks like she is still in Seattle but- oh no- she got a restraining order against him just recently.”

“That’s the trigger,” Hotch said. “Alright, Reid, L/N, Morgan, you take officers to Green City, JJ and Emily head to the mother’s place and Rossi and I’ll go to the unsub’s house.”

* * *

Green City Lawn Care was a run-of-the-mill lawn care company, nestled in a mostly suburban part of Seattle. The sky was a deep grey, not yet raining but clearly it would soon, if the rumbling thunder was any indication.

Spencer couldn’t say a word to you, his mind still reeling from your earlier confrontation. As he strapped on his bulletproof vest, he snuck a glance in your direction, and when his heart jumped at the focus in your expression, he felt yet another wave of confusion.

Following his conversation with Morgan, he’d been going over every memory of you in his mind, analysing your behaviour and he’d come to the shocking realisation that maybe his colleague was right.

The shy smiles, a kind tone reserved only for him, flinching when your hands brushed and the occasional flush to your face when you spoke to him. While Spencer knew he was blind to subtle social cues, re-examining all those behaviours were blatant indicators of at least some level of affection beyond a platonic line.

Had he only missed it because he couldn’t imagine you – or anyone, for that matter – seeing him in that light? Or was Morgan also correct about him? Had he been so caught up in watching you he hadn’t actually seen you?

Observing the way you frowned as you buckled the clips of your vest, the variety of your expressions flashed in his mind, your smile, your laugh, your pout, it all burned itself behind his eyes, causing some unknown feeling to bubble in his chest, threatening to burst free.

“Ready to go?” Morgan asked the both of you, adjusting his earpiece.

You nodded, and he turned away to check on the Seattle officers.

Spencer opened his mouth, your name on the tip of his tongue, and as you made to walk towards the building, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

The sky above rumbled, and a few drops of rain hit his shoulders, darkening the fabric.

“Listen, I need to-” he began, unsure of exactly how to explain his feelings, but knew he had to tell you, before it consumed him.

You stared up at him, conflict crossing your face as Morgan called the two of you. Giving him a brief smile, you gently pulled your arm from his grip.

“After, alright?” you said.

When did you become able to so easily steal the air from his lungs?

“Reid, come on.” Morgan said, frowning.

The three of you took the lead, crossing the car-park towards Green City Lawn Care as a few officers brought up the rear. Guns ready, Morgan paused outside the front door, directing some officers to go around the back, before nodding at you and then Spencer.

The door chime jingled as Morgan walked in, body tense as he directed the baffled receptionist to head outside, asking him if Murray was in.

“He- He just came by, said he was grabbing supplies-” the man babbled, pale in the face of three armed FBI agents. “What’s this about?”

“Let’s go,” Morgan ordered, ignoring his questions, taking the lead as he jumped over the counter, gun ready as he opened the door to the back supply room.

The three of you filed into a large garage, which held a few lawnmowers, and various other lawn care equipment.

“You two, take that side.”

Spencer followed as you crept around the right side of the garage. There was a clatter of something hitting the floor, before the face of a man poked up between the machinery.

“Tristan Murray?” you called out, pointing your gun at him. “We just need to talk!”

The man didn’t hesitate to bolt, and Spencer’s heartbeat thrummed faster as the two of you chased after him, Morgan a ways behind, radioing for back-up.

Running to the back door of the garage, the man dashed outside, disappearing around a corner. Without a second thought, you ran after him, and Spencer couldn’t stop himself from sprinting after to you. He could see the figure of the man darting down a side street, which lead to what appeared to be an abandoned construction site.

The rain was heavier now, blurring Spencer’s vision as he watched you slide between the gates, running straight into the site. He somewhat clumsily stumbled into the gate, pulling it open, while trying to keep you in his line of vision.

Morgan had caught up by now, the two of them squeezing through the gates into the site. It was clearly meant to be a building, but hadn’t been touched in a while. The pelting rain soaked the dull grey concrete foundation blocks as the two men squinted through the downpour.

“Where’s L/N?” Morgan shouted.

“She went after him, I-” Spencer tried to catch his breath, his lungs burning.

“Murray, this isn’t going to change anything!” Your shout caught their attention, but the following cry of pain chilled Spencer to the core.

Sprinting in the direction of the scuffle, he found Murray on top of you, a metal pipe pressing against your throat.

Before he could really process what he was doing, he grabbed Murray, pulling him off you, managing to take the man by surprise long enough for Morgan to catch up.

“I’ve got him!” he shouted, tackling the man to the ground, silver handcuffs already being clipped around his wrists.

Spencer whipped around to you. You were on your feet, muddy and a bright red streak of blood coating your right arm, running down your hand.

“Spencer, she has to be here!” you said urgently, looking around. “He ran here for a reason, this is where Monique is!”

“Where is she?” Morgan shouted at Murray, hauling him to his feet.

The man bit his tongue, angrily glowering at them all, still attempting to struggle against Morgan.

Your eyes darted from foundation block to sodden wooden pallet. And then you ran off.

“I’ve got this, go after her!” Morgan said.

Spencer was already chasing after you, as you jumped down, following the gutter down some slippery wet grass to where a large storm-water drain sat.

“She’s here!” You shouted, already pulling against the metal bars. Spencer all but stumbled down beside you.

A woman was in the drain, gripping on to the bars with all her strength, the rushing water from the pipes bubbling over her face. “Help me lift this!”

Spencer nodded, grabbing one end of the grate, and the two of you managed to lift it just enough so you could grab Monique’s shirt, dragging her out of the drain.

She was pale and barely conscious, but thankfully coughing up water. You held her shoulder as she heaved, relief clear on your face.

“Your arm-” Spencer said, heart rate slowly ticking down to a normal rhythm.

It was as if you barely noticed the wound. “I cut my arm when he tackled me,” you wheezed. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

Something about you, covered in mud and blood, your cheeks flushed from the exertion, asking if he was okay, confirmed what he’d been questioning all along.

Despite their victory, the rain didn’t let up by much. Spencer was positive he looked ridiculous, soaked to the bone, but he didn’t care. He walked over to one of the ambulances, where an EMT was stitching up the cut to your arm. It looked pretty nasty, but without the blood dripping everywhere, it was certainly improving.

You glanced up as he approached, giving him a tired smile.

“You okay?” he said, as the EMT finished covering the wound, excusing herself.

“I’ll survive,” you replied, examining the wound. “Might get a cool scar. It’ll make me look more badass.”

Spencer chuckled. The two of you looked around at the scene, blue and red lights reflecting off the rain. Monique was being wheeled away in a stretcher.

“Hotch is going to be so mad at me,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t have gone after him alone.”

Spencer shook his head. “I’ll vouch for you. If you hadn’t, Monique would’ve drowned.”

You nodded, but your expression was bitter. “She’s about to find out her boyfriend is dead,” you mumbled. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”

Standing up, you sighed, tilting your head up as the rain soaked your clothes once more. In contrast to how calm you’d been on the tarmac, your face was melancholy.

“You were right,” you said, dejected despite the success of the case. “The rain isn’t that romantic afterall.”

Spencer looked down at you, then up at the sky. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind, and the revelations that had come with matched the steady rhythm of his heart. He reached out, almost imperceptibly, letting his hand brush against yours.

“It’s beginning to grow on me,” he said softly, glancing back down at you, his lips twitching up into a small smile. “Thanks to you,” he added, and when you linked your hand with his, he tried not to let it show how breathless the action made him.

Your smile was nothing short of beautiful.

* * *

As if sensing the troubles were passing, the rain lightened up as the team returned to the precinct to wrap up the case, and then headed to the hotel. Cases like these always seemed to drag on when you’re in the thick of them, but the moment you’re done, you swear no time has passed.

Spencer headed out of the hotel, spotting the brightly coloured umbrella you’d brought before he saw you, standing in the rain. Your go-bag was on the steps of the hotel, sheltered from the light downpour.

He walked up to you, gently tapping the fabric of the umbrella so you’d lift it up for him to duck under. “Is your arm any better?” he asked after a moment.

“It stings a bit,” you replied. “I’m fine, though.” There was something in your voice that told Spencer you weren’t.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we did good,” he said softly. “You did good.”

“Why do people do things like this, Spencer?” you asked quietly.

“Do you want the statistics?”

You huffed a small laugh, leaning into him a bit. “Yes.”

“Humans are, and have always been a naturally violent species out of all the mammals,” he said. “Studies show that in most mammals, deaths caused by others of the same species accounts for 0.3 percent of deaths, and typically the reasons are practical; food, territory, et cetera. The rate of lethal violence in humans is almost seven times higher,” Spencer couldn’t resist gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “We kill not just for those reasons, but for seemingly insignificant or even perceived transgressions. Anger is particularly potent, and it makes us do terrible things. Combining that with an often hostile and intolerant society, it makes us predisposed to kill.”

“We’re kind of awful, aren’t we?” you said bitterly.

Spencer nodded slowly, glancing at you. “Some more than others. Some less. If its any consolation-” he hesitated for a full 30 seconds of rain before continuing. “You’re one of the least awful, in my opinion.”

He loved the way your smile grew, gradually reaching your eyes and filling his chest with warmth.

“Thanks,” you said genuinely. “For making this case a little less awful.”

“I’d like to make it not awful at all, if you’d let me.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Wordlessly, Spencer reached up, taking the umbrella from your hand and closing it. Gently dropping it by your bag, he took your hands, leading the both of you properly out into the rain. You stared at him, and something clicked, your smile faltering in favour of a more surprised expression.

Spencer tentatively touched your cheek with one hand, fingers barely grazing the skin, as if he was scared you might shatter.

“May I?” he asked, his cheeks going pink at how his voice cracked.

Your small nod was all he needed. Spencer leaned down, his other hand drifting up to cup your jaw with more confidence as he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed with intent, he always did. He couldn’t help it, using the kiss as a way to almost press the words he wanted to say into you.

You let out a muffled squeak of surprise, tilting your head back as your hands found the slightly damp fabric of his cardigan. You kissed back, clumsy and inexperienced, but neither of you cared. The rain was chilly, you both knew you’d be uncomfortably damp for the flight home, but those were small prices to pay for a moment that Spencer realised you’d been right about.

Kissing in the rain was indeed, very romantic. It was romantic in how despite knowing that your clothes were getting wet, your hair was ruined and you were shivering slightly from the cold, all you wanted was the moment to drag on forever.

Finally, you were the first to pull back, grinning up at Spencer with bright eyes and a wide smile, cheeks flushed. You were both vaguely aware the others were watching, Emily and Morgan snickering to each other in your peripheral, but it didn’t matter.

Spencer Reid couldn’t stand the rain. His hair was hard enough to keep presentable when dry, and he knew in this moment he probably resembled a soggy cat. However, for you, he’d gladly make an exception.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #bau team #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds casefic #gummy-cat-writes fics #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine

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kvroomi · 2 months ago

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a tempest of silk and steel

pairing: regency era lord!gojo x regency era lady!reader

summary: a quiet escape from the state ball leads you to a lake in the late of the night... that, and a love confession to and from lord gojo who you thought you hated.

word count: 3.2k

themes/warnings: i fear this might be super inaccurate PLS BE NICE TO ME, it gets better the more you read i promise!! miscommunication ig, gojo is lowk ooc but that’s just how i like him, argument fic, YEARNINGGG FOR DAAAYYYYSSSS

a/n: back from the dead with a short, little vignette-kinda thing!!!!! been obsessed with period dramas as of recently if you couldn’t tell, whoops! whether or not i continue and add onto this with a prologue or expand with a series, i do not know... only time will tell :-^)

You were afraid. The night lay stretched across the sky like droplets of milk flicked into coffee. The constellations scattered in profusion—their pale light casting a spectral glow upon the world. The lake before her was a great, glistening mirror, fractured only by the occasional ripple of wind-kissed water. It distorted the moon’s reflection until it seemed to wane and wax in the space of a breath. Mist curled at the shore in languid tendrils, weaving itself between the reeds like some ancient specter roused from slumber. The air was thick with petrichor and the damp sweetness of moss, while the hush of the earth was broken only by the faint nocturnal chorus of unseen creatures.

You stood poised at the water’s edge, the hem of your frail, pink gown brushing against dew-jeweled grass. Your arms were still, wrapped in a semblance of warmth against the night’s gentle chill. It was a rare kind of solitude you had sought; it was the kind that did not ask anything of you, that did not demand wit or charm or endurance. Here, you were not a woman of consequence nor a subject of scrutiny. Here, you simply were.

But solitude—it seemed—was a fickle thing.

The weight of the evening was still pressing against your bones. From the crowded ballroom, the wretched dance partners, the empty pleasantries, it had all left you drained. You remained restless in a way you could not name, so you had escaped. Looking for comfort in the cool embrace of night—far from the expectant gazes and cloying perfume of society��you watched the water’s edge in silence.

You had also, not anticipated company.

“You flee,” came Lord Gojo Satoru’s voice, rich with the ever-present lilt of amusement. “How very predictable.”

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling sharply. Even just his voice alone was enough to cause pulses of frustration through your insides. “Must you persist in haunting me?”

“Haunting?” He let out a low chuckle, feeling humoured.

“Hardly. I should think it a kindness, seeking out a lady left unchaperoned in the dead of night.”

You turned to face him at last, lifting a single brow in questioning. A part of you held back from spitting in his face out of pure mockery. “Ah yes, a paragon of gallantry—no doubt.”

“Lady, unmoored from the gilded entrapments of polite society and seeking solace beneath the stars. Tell me, should I be concerned?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown. The fabric tense beneath your fingers. The palms of your hands sweat, forcing you to release your fists almost as quickly as they formed. Satoru watches as your hands lay flat and he takes notice of the way you do not grant him the satisfaction of looking at him. “Should I be surprised that even in the vastness of this night, your ego demands to be acknowledged?”

He breathes a sharp breath out through his nose in place of a laugh. “You wound me… Though you’ve yet to send me away.”

The wind stirred, carrying with it the faintest trace of cedar: his scent. It was a smell you had unwillingly come to associate with his presence. With the glint of mischief in strikingly blue eyes across a room, it had become nearly impossible for the scent to not haunt you in places you dared not to acknowledge.

You turned your gaze to the water, willing yourself unaffected. “The night is too lovely for quarrels.”

“A rare concession.” He moved to stand beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you could feel him there; he remained a quiet, steady weight upon the periphery of your senses. For a moment he did not speak, and neither did you. They stood as silent witnesses to the world’s majesty, the lake before them reflecting the heavens in a trembling imitation.

Moonlight cut silver along the sharp lines of his face, softened only by the unruly lightness of his hair and the faint glint of playfulness present in his blue eyes. He looked infuriatingly at ease, his expression poised between amusement and something more tender and unreadable.

Satoru looked closer, his gaze flickering over your face, searching. For what specifically, he was entirely unsure. “You are troubled.”

You couldn’t help but scoff whilst turning your attention to him. “How astute.”

There’s a beat of silence. It stretches, and now from the awkwardness, you feel obligated to continue.

“I am exhausted, if that is what you mean.”

“So you choose to stand here, rather than resting in the comfort of your home?”

You hesitated. The wind stirred once more, ruffling the loose tendrils of hair at your temples. You listen as they whisper to you. You knows it’s just the sound of the strands brushing up against your ears, but you let yourself believe that they’re telling you to leave before he speaks and irritates you further.

“Y/N,” His voice was softer now, the teasing edge gone.

It was not the first time he had spoken your name, but never like this. Never with such deliberate tenderness as though the syllables themselves had been carved from something sacred.

Something within you wavered. You clenched your hands tighter. “Do not presume familiarity where none is welcome.”

Damn him. Damn his insufferable arrogance, his incisive eyes, the way he seemed to peel back the layers of your defiance with nothing but certainty.

Damn. Him.

You swallowed, the weight of the evening settling heavier in your chest. Before you know it, your mouth is speaking again. “Does it not tire you?” You begins. “All of it: the posturing, the empty words, the endless waltz of expectation.”

Satoru is silent.

“I have danced with men who could not tell me the colour of my gown. I have danced with men who do not see me beyond my dowry. I have danced with men who only see me for the connections I might offer.” Your voice was measured but there was a tightness to it, a carefully restrained rage. “And I am expected to be grateful, to smile, and to accept that I am fortunate.”

You did not know why you were saying this. Why you were offering such a truth to him of all people. You tell yourself it was the lateness of the hour combined with the odd stillness of the world around them… that and you know it was because he was the only one who had ever seen you as something more than what society dictated you to be—even if it had always been at the cost of it being in opposition.

His eyebrows furrow, a movement that’s slow and measured. “You think I do not understand?”

You let out a quiet laugh, obviously devoid of any humour. “Oh forgive me, of course.” You plead forgiveness but your face shows no remorse. “Lord Gojo: the golden heir, the ever-charming darling of every drawing room from here to London—how very arduous your existence must be.”

He smiled but there was no real mirth in it. “For all my so-called charm, there is not a single person in that ballroom who looks at me and sees me.”

You stilled.

He was watching you with even more intent now, the mask of arrogance momentarily set aside.

“It is all a game,” he whispers, frustrations bubbling. “A well-rehearsed performance with rules written long before either of us had a say in them. I play my part well—perhaps too well. But tell me, Lady… Do you know how it feels to be entirely surrounded and yet completely alone?”

Your breath caught.

Because you did.

You looked at him then, truly looked at him, and saw not the insufferable Lord Gojo you had spent years sparring with, but something raw and weary. The realisation unsettled you.

“You asked me why I fled,” your fingers move to clasp together. “It is because I am tired of pretending.”

A silence stretched between them, fragile as gossamer.

“I love you.”

The words fell from his lips like something inevitable—like something that had always existed—waiting to be spoken.

Your breath wavered.

Satoru let out a small, almost incredulous laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “God help me, I do. It is a wretched thing—this affliction. I have fought it, resented it, cursed it. But it remains. It will always remain.”

You could not move.

“You are insufferable,” his teeth grit though the words fall from his lips in a tone that is almost fond. “You needle at every flaw I possess, you contradict me at every turn, and still—” His voice cracks and wavers at the edges. “And still, I find myself seeking you out. I’m drawn to you in every room, waiting and waiting for the next battle—the next exchange—because it is the only time I feel.”

You swallowed, your throat tight.

He sighs, gaze lifting to the stars and voice gentler now, stripped of all pretense. “It is a futile thing to resist gravity, especially when it comes in the form of you—you who pulls me inescapably toward you again and again, until I no longer remember what it is to exist without this terrible ache of wanting you. Tell me I am a fool. Tell me you feel nothing of what I do and I will never speak of this again.”

You parted your lips, the words poised on your tongue.

You could not say them.

Because you did feel it. You felt it in the way he had unsettled your very existence without ever asking permission.

The lake shivered. The night sighed. And you had no clever words left to give.

“I—” The word stumbled, unweaving before you could even grasp it. You let out a shaky sigh, your heels simultaneously twisting into the dirt of the ground as if they could anchor you to the earth. “I do not understand this. I do not understand you.”

You ought to have walked away. Any sensible woman would have. You could end it. You could laugh, dismiss him, turn on her feet and walk away. It would be easier—safer.

But you had never been a coward.

“I despised you.” Your voice was stabbing and helpless. “I spent years convincing myself of it. Every time you needled me, every time you smirked as though the very act of irritating me was your life’s great pleasure, every time you met my wit with your own and refused to yield, I told myself I hated you.” You spoke unforgivingly, careless of the significance your words harboured. “I repeated it so often and so fervently that I began to believe it.”

“Do you know what it is to loathe someone?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, hands fisted at your sides. “To meet them blow for blow, only to realise—” you let out a disbelieving laugh, but it was hollow and fragile. “Only to realise that your hatred is not hatred at all, but something else entirely?”

Satoru let out a slow and measured sound. “Yes, yes I do—”

“No,” you cut in, shaking your head to ridicule him—because that was all you had ever known. “No, you do not understand. You have never been burdened with the expectation of being agreeable, furthermore, of being pleasing. I am not like them. I do not simper, I do not shrink myself to be more tolerable, I do not pretend. And so I have spent my life being told I am too much. Too sharp, too proud, too unwilling to bend.” Your scorn collapsed for just a second—had he blinked he would’ve missed the way you caught your bottom lip between your teeth in resentment. “But you—”

You spluttered.

Satoru did not dare move or speak.

Your gaze was lowered, whether out of shame, or because you were overwhelmed—the man would never know. “You have never once asked me to be anything but this.”

The atmosphere between them was as taut as a wire.

You should have stopped there.

But you didn’t.

“I have spent every waking hour of my life trying to best you, only to realise that I feel most myself when I am standing toe to toe with you. I wait for your inevitable remark, your infuriating laughter, the way you glance at me when you think I do not see you in every room and in every crowd.” If the words weren’t escaping you earlier, they were now, timeless lifetimes of self-restraint splintering into tiny fragments all at once.

“You have made a sport of provoking me and I am the fool for thinking I could remain untouched by it. Do you have any notion of what it is like to know someone so thoroughly that they begin to live beneath your very skin? To feel their presence even when they are not there? To hear their voice before they speak? I have spent so long fighting you that I never stopped to think what might happen if I ever put down my sword.” There is a faint tremor in the air that escapes your lungs. “And now I find that I cannot.”

The air is dense, everything you had just uncloaked floats in the infinity between you.

Satoru drew a slow, unsteady breath at the same moment you swallowed, your throat tight. “I do not know when it began.” Voice quieter now, your words are now delicate and unstable. “I think it was always there, waiting. Maybe it crept in unnoticed, until one day I woke up and knew that it was only you—you—who could only unnerve me entirely.”

When the confession hits Satoru’s ears, he lets out a breath that's half a gasp and half a sigh, as though the divulgence was too much.

You were unraveling piece by piece, and there was nothing you or he, could do to stop it.

You could feel your frustration rapidly bleeding into desperation. “You infuriate me. You challenge me at every turn and you see me too well and I hate you for it.” Your voice broke on the last word, voice pitching higher than intended, accompanied by something hot prickling at the edges of your vision. “I hate you for it.”

Satoru was utterly still, his gaze locked on yours as if you were the only thing that existed in the world. Your throat continued to constrict, the truth burning its way out of you.

“But let the heavens judge me,” you sigh out breathlessly, your hands quivering at your sides, “I think if you asked, I would let you ruin me.”

Knowing Satoru is messy and complicated. He doesn't know how to be loved, or that it’s okay to need someone and not fear it. The irony is, you're still learning the same thing about yourself--and more than anything, that's okay.

The words hung between them, a confession made raw and desperate.

His entire body tensed, as if every ounce of restraint in him had just been stretched to its limit. So when he reached for you, it was not gently, it was not carefully. He reached for you like a drowning man breaking the surface of the ocean. His hands came to cradle your face as though you might disappear if he loosened his grip. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and his voice was hoarse, cracked with something broken.

Lifting your chin, you muttered, “you are a fool.”

All he could do was let out a laugh. It was laced with relief, though not quite devoid of weariness yet. “So I have been told.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as if steadying yourself for the fall you could no longer prevent.

“I—“ you forced yourself to continue, though your pulse thundered in your ears. Every word felt heavy on your tongue. Every breath pushed against your limbs. “I cannot seem to imagine a world in which you do not exist at all.”

His breath hitched. He felt the way he struggled to keep his composure, and how impossible it was to hold onto some semblance of the world he had known before this. Your words--your unadulterated sheer vulnerability--unraveled him in a way he hadn't anticipated. It was a bridge built on a foundation of things he had never thought to admit, and now he stood at the edge of it, terrified to cross but terrified not to. He hadn’t realized how desperate he was for this acknowledgment of the unspoken things that had festered beneath the surface. Satoru swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Y/N.”

Your name in his mouth was something reverent, something aching. You could see it: the war behind his eyes, the unspoken question, the hope. Your eyes fluttered shut.

“Do not look at me like that,” you spoke in a hush, unable to bear it.

Maybe it was the way he saw you, as if every guarded corner of your heart was naked and vulnerable before him. And for better or for worse, maybe it was also the terrifying feeling that he knew it all and had always known.

Satoru’s lips quirked, the ghost of a smile. “Like what?”

“Like I am the answer to a question you have spent your life asking.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“And if you are?”

The words shattered something inside you. Years of fortification shattered within an instant. His eyes did not waver. His eyes did not grant you mercy. You did not seek it.

You kept your eyes closed for the briefest moment, before opening them again—before meeting his gaze with everything you had never allowed yourself to say.

With a sudden breath, Satoru seemed to collapse inward; the sound was emptying and painful.

His voice was low, his usual air of insufferable ease nowhere to be found. Gone was the smirk always half formed at the corner of his mouth--the insufferable ease and the practiced detachment of a man who had never once betrayed his own heart... until now, at least. “I have spent years watching you move through this world, unwilling to let anyone shape you into something smaller than you are. I have fought you at every turn not because I sought to tame you, but because I could not resist the pull of standing in your fire. I have been a damned fool, yes, but not so much a fool as to mistake what this has been all along.”

The war between them had never been one of hatred, but rather one of yearning. The words he spoke struck like flint against steel. It ignited every carefully buried ember you had spent years learning to refute. To resist was to deceive yourself, and to yield was to unravel entirely—you knew your choice.

“You are right,” he mused. “This was never hatred.” It’s three things all at once: a pause, a breath, and a fraction of hesitation. “I think I loved you even when I did not know how to name it.”

His hand lifted before hesitating at your cheek as though uncertain he had the right.

You did not stop him.

And when his fingers finally met your skin—timid and careful—you found that you were not afraid at all.

ALL LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE IMMENSELY APPRECIATED <3

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soft--dragon · 1 year ago

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Snow Day

Just a small drabble for you guys to snack on before I post the bigger one :D

Word Count: 1,177

Warnings: None

This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)

Casey was practically vibrating with excitement, booted feet doing mini stomps - a stim he’d picked up from Donnie at a young age - as he looked out over the white powered landscape of New York City Park. Mikey, who was stood right beside him snickered at his child-like behavior, giving a friendly grin.

“You’ve really never seen snow before, huh Junior?”

Casey shook his head rapidly, eyes so wide as if he was trying to memorise every single detail of the park. “There was never white snow in the future, it was like ash, but this… Michelangelo, this is amazing!”

Mikey’s brow dipped slightly at the mention of the harsh, desolate future Casey had come from, but he gave the boy a gentle nudge to dispel the memory. “Mikey, Casey, call me Mikey,” he reminded lightly.

Whether Casey registered the soft words was up for debate, the boy’s spellbound expression never wavering when Leo seemed to drop out of nowhere to sling an arm around Casey’s shoulders.

“Not a bad view, aye Casey?” he grinned.

“It’s incredible,” the young warrior murmured, his smile lifting his eyes.

“Well what are you waiting for? Come on!” Leo grabbed his students hand and ran, dragging along Casey who almost fell flat on his face from the sudden force.

“Wait up Leo!” Mikey yelled after his brother, taking off right behind the pair, with the rest of the family in tow.

Leo didn’t even hesitate before he dove into the snow with a gleeful whoop, dragging Casey into the soft powder and laughing when the boy just about screamed.

“JESUS! It’s cold, Leo!” “Welcome to the ice age, Jones!”

There was an audible scoff from above the two. “Incorrect Leo, the ice age was thousands of years ago when creatures such as mammoths used to roam the earth and- hey!”

A snowball smashed into the back of Donnie’s head from non-other than April who was grinning similar to a Cheshire cat. “Sorry, did I interrupt you?”

“Yes actually, I was trying to educate Leo on his very historically inaccurate claim- ow!” A second snowball had splattered straight into Donnie’s face, the teen being thrown to the ground with the force of it. “APRIL!”

Raph high fived the girl in passing, moving to Leo and Casey who were still lying in the snow. “Don’t you two go catching a cold alright? We don’t want to get the whole fam sick.” “We’ll be fine, Raph, don’t worry,” Leo smirked up at his older brother, “We’re well protected from the cold.” “Yes, but some of us aren’t that used to winter, remember?”

“Oh, I know.” Leo’s hand planted itself in Casey’s mop of unruly hair, messing with the black locks and making the kid yelp and squirm in protest. “I’ll keep an eye on the snow baby.”

Casey baulked from under Leo’s fingers. “The- the snow what?” Raph sighed with a small, fond smile. “If he gets sick you’re taking care of him.” “Don’t I always?”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m right here you guys.” “Hush snow baby,” Leo scooped up some snow and shoved it in Casey’s unsuspecting face, trying and failing to hide his grin at the boy’s wild screech of alarm and offence. “The adults are talking.”

The snow removed, Casey tried leaning away only for Leo’s hand to come back and to pinch his cheek. “Augh! Stop! Your hands are freezing!”

“Oh, are they actually?” Leo’s hands were then diving under Casey’s scarf to press them against his neck, and the scream the boy gave was almost ear splitting.

“NO! Off, off, off! Get away from me!” Casey scrambled across the snow to escape, only for Leo to follow with an evil gleam in his eyes. “Guys help!”

Casey, who had fallen victim to Leo’s schemes more than once, knew the outcome of this dilemma, and scrambled off the ground in an instant. He was running laps of the park, laughing over his shoulder at the turtle who was pursuing him with outstretched hands and taunting loudly.

“Should we stop them before they fall into the lake?” Mikey asked with a laugh.

Raph shrugged, smirking. “Eh, let em tire themselves out, it’ll be easier to get them to sleep later.”

“I concur, I do not want to deal with a hyperactive Leo,” Donnie raised a hand from where he was still lying on the ground from April’s snowball attack.

The green jacketed girl rolled her eyes. “Donnie, get up.”

“Can’t. I’ve been shot.”

A scream echoed through the park, making the group whip around in alarm to where Leo and Casey were tussling on the ground, the blue coded turtle pressing his fingers underneath Casey’s scarf to target his neck. The raven haired teen was screeching at the chill spreading through his skin, bursts of laughter mingling with his yelps as Leo refused to let up.

“LEHEHO! Stohohopihit!”

“What? Can’t hear you Snow Baby, sorry, I’ve got ear muffs on.”

“YOU DON'T!”

“Invisible ear muffs are the modern style Case, I thought you’d know that cause you’re from the future.”

One of Casey’s hands came up to shove at Leo’s face, the other trying to push away the turtle’s fingers assaulting his sensitive skin. “Thahat’s soho duhumb!”

Leo’s mouth dropped open and gasped loudly. “How dare you insult my invisible earmuffs, that is so mean.”

Casey cracked an eye open to peer up at Leo smugly. “Thought you couldn’t hear me with those ear muffs?”

Scoffing an incredulous laugh, Leo furrowed his brow playfully. “Alright, wise guy, you asked for this.” Leo lightened his touch enough so that his fingernails were just grazing along Casey’s neck, causing the boy to try and turn into a turtle himself and scrunch his head down, all the while in fits of panicked giggles.

“DahAHAamnit LehehEHEO!” He cried, grappling with the turtle’s arms to dislodge his freezing fingers. “Nohohoho!”

Using the tassels of Casey’s scarf to dust along his cheek just to be annoying, Leo cooed, “I warned you bud; insult the muffs, get the fluff.”

Pressing his cheek into the snow, Casey batted at his mentor with horribly uncoordinated movements. “Yohou suhuck!”

“Ouch, what a burn. Good thing we’re surrounded by so much ice that I can treat it.”

Casey landed a smack on his shoulder, rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t roll right out of his head. “Dork,” he bit out between peals of laughter.

“Oh I’m a dork now am I? Wow, really laying it on thick with the insults today, kiddo,” Leo snorted. The attempts of ‘insulting’ Leo really weren’t really that cutting at all, he was gonna have to teach this kid some curse words to help him along. Raph may kill him for it, but he was the sensei of Jones Junior, not his big brother. Casey did end up catching a cold from the snow, though Leo held up his promise and was vigilant during the boy’s recovery. This was his kid after all, he was always going to look out for his Snow Baby.

#my fanfic #rottmnt tickle #rottmnt #tmnt tickle #lee!casey #ler!leo #casey jones #rise donnie #rise leo #rise raph #rise april #april o'neil

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smiley-mcdoggington · 2 months ago

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@blankcest I couldn't put it in an anon ask so tadaa! sadly I have a face. I just wanted to do a tiny shitty prequel to ur delicious drag stan fic and that was my scheme muahahaha anyways TW STANCEST PRESLASH

The cold bit into his ears, dry cold, nothing like the frozen beachfront he had gotten used to. Ford would have had time to grab his hat if Fiddleford hadn't dragged him out so suddenly, but of course his roommate had decided their friendship meant Ford was obligated to attend any social event Fiddleford was too nervous to attend himself.

"Is this another college party? Fiddleford what if they throw up on my shoe again?" He complained fairly and in a reasonable tone.

Fiddleford huffed, and Ford saw it more than heard it. "Don't be like that - my lab partner's sister's roommate mentioned somewhere-- Here!" He gestured widely to a large, old door they had nearly passed by. The building looked unremarkable, boxed between two others with barely a shoulder's width of dirty alley on either side, no space for windows on the first floor and no marks on the door. Ford hoped maybe it was haunted and not just suspicious for the normal reasons, but F seemed antsy, knocking on the door thrice.

There was an audible sound of a latch, before a large man in a tight t-shirt opened the door and eyed both of them for a moment. "Admission's fifty cents a head." He said dryly, and F handed him the quarters in his pocket while Ford wondered what exactly this place was.

But then the man stood aside, and F grabbed him by his closed fist to drag him in. Most of the main floor was covered by curtains that made for a thin hallway to a set of basement stairs. From below, he could hear some old song playing. Maybe it was an old speakeasy? Would there be old ghosts of flapper girls downstairs, or would it just be more of him opening beer kegs for drunk teenagers that couldn't figure out a spigot?

The stairs were claustrophobia-inducing, the steps were wood with a little too much give and the concrete walls made him unable to raise his arms much. The song ended and Ford heard loud whooping and hollaring of inebriated young adults. Not a haunted speakeasy, then. Ford sighed and readied himself for a long night.

The basement was much more lively than everything before, tables crowded with people, a nice wooden bar, but the most attention-grabbing feature was the stage. It didn't quite match the walls, and it was barely two feet higher than the floor, with one dud floodlight near the back, but it looked so grand for a basement with a fifty cent entry.

Fiddleford grabbed them two seats near the end of the bar on fraying barstools, and ordered something. Ford wasn't really paying attention, there was a smooth man's voice behind the curtain, and Ford wanted to know what kind of performance this was.

"-- now everyone's favorite couple, give it up for Anita Newman and Mr. Victor with 'A Cowboy's Work Is Never Done'!" The voice called, and the stage revealed two people - a man in a very historically inaccurate cowboy costume with a much taller woman a very raunchy version of a barmaid's dress from DDNMD and - Ford squinted - oh.

Ford scanned the audience again, and everyone seemed either entertained or nonplussed, not bothered at all. Ford pulled his hands out to rest on the bar instead of hidden in his lap, and immediately cold metal met his pinky.

F had slid over a can of beer for him. "See? Told you it was better than studying."

Ford cracked open his can that frankly didn't fit any of the multiple aesthetics going on. "That is yet to be seen." He said, though his eyes were dragged back to the two dancing around eachother on stage, fluid and practiced, never missing a step or a lyric.

Ford continued to sip on a steady stream of cheap drinks and watch the male performers flare their skirts far past the knee and the female performers dramatically throw their fake mustaches into the crowd and when F went off to chat up some man at one of the tables Ford barely noticed, eyes fixed on the stage. He had a reasonable buzz going, enough he knew what he was doing but also when a man tried buying him a drink he said "no thank you" instead of re-evaluating every life choice that lead to that point. It was nice.

Then the latest performance took a bow, and he clapped while the announcer voice came back - still hiding behind the curtain. "And now, Jersey's finest, Frita Ley with 'You're So Vain'!"

Ford took a sip of his fifth cheap beer while the music picked up. It might have been the alcohol, but she seemed to be dressed even more obscenely than the other performers. A heavyweight build stuffed into the tiniest cocktail dress they could find until her heavy pectorals were nearly spilling out of the top like an overfilled muffin, thick arms not quite hidden by her feather boa, thigh peeking out the slit on the side so high up Ford could see her hip dips when she strutted around. Her hair was natural, he could tell, but it was thick and curly and poured down her shoulders and over one eye to make her face look more angular. She looked like she could lift him over her head without a wobble in her pretty high heels.

She sat herself down on the edge of the stage, elegant as she gave teasing sidelong glances to the people at the front. She probably wouldn't see him, with him so far at the back, but that was for the best. He didn't know what he would do if she looked at him.

Then she stood, off of the stage and into the audience, and no one had done that before. She didn't miss a beat of her song, leaning over a table, chest nearly bumping someone's drink while she got so close her strong nose nearly touched the man's, and to the beat of "You probably think this song is about you, don't you?" She flicked his nose and then pulled away to keep looking at random people in the audience. She was making fun of them, mocking them, bullying them. Ford should not be so captivated by it, but part of him wished she would come over and lean in close and tease him even if another part would want to die if it ever actually happened. She was just so coy, captivating everyone to stop all chatter and stare, watch her prowl around with her lithe movements and her strong build like a tiger examining her prey.

Then she was back to the stage just in time to drape herself over the edge in time for "You had me several years ago when I was still quite naive," while putting the back of her hand on her forehead like she was just the most delicate thing. Such a liar.

But she picked herself back up with the song, and even though she was mouthing the words, the amount of conviction she had in her expression mouthing "I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee," had Ford genuinely wondering if the lyrics meant something to her - but symbolism wasn't his strong suit even sober, and he couldn't decipher what it meant.

But all too soon the song was over, and she was back behind the curtains and gone while the announcer blathered on about some other fake name and some other hit song. F was long gone with whoever he had decided to hook up with, Ford didn't know if he could get that far himself but he was slightly intoxicated and very much wanted to see her again. Wanted to see her up close, maybe see both her eyes, or talk to her, tell her how amazing she was. Ford turned and knocked on the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Excuse me?" He asked.

"You wanna cash out, honey?"

Now that he thought about it. "Yes. But also - do you know where I could find her? That - that - her?" He asked, gesturing at the stage.

The bartender raised an eyebrow.

"F-Frita! Her! Do you know where I could find her?"

"Your bill?"

Ford fumbled with his wallet and pulled out a few five dollar bills.

"She's out on her smoke break, should be out in the alley." The bartender gestured, and Ford nodded.

"Thank you, goodnight!" He said, only wondering if that was a normal thing to say when he was already out the door. He went to the alley the direction the bartender had pointed and peeked in, the streetlights pouring in and glinting off the glitter on Frita's dress and the cigarette between her fingers lighting her face a dull orange.

"You--!" He said, slightly out of breath and the world spinning just a bit.

For a second, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights, relaxed posture gone and smokey eyes wide while the fixed on him.

Then she sighed, a bone-deep sigh while she snuffed her cigarette butt against the brick wall. Those eyes, under only the dim blue light of the street, were fixed on him. "... Hey, Stanford."

#stancest #drafts

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lemongrasstea1677 · 2 months ago

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ahem, imma b gone for a week until new chapter

so here's my theories on what the ghouls wished for (some of it don't make sense cuz i based it on the powers and what i know so far they got but imma post it anyways) INACCURATE SPECULATION BTW ts just for fun so don't point your leo printed rockets at me just yet (please i also want a leo printed mini rocket or missle)

Jin: for anyone to listen to him genuinely and take him seriously when he talks (he's the youngest son apparently because he have an "Anee-sama" so he's definitely not the heir Tohma makes him to be but will make him to be which means probably no one takes him seriously as he is someone "not that important")

Tohma: To be calculating and always know a solution (seems like what Yuri would wish for but hear me out- might be the reason why he gets headache)

Lucas: probably wealth? and the demon took his brother as an exchange for it maybe? (Leo also said something about him maybe wishing to protect someone or something maybe he wished to protect his family in exchange for one member which is his brother)

Kaito: To be with his Grandma at her lastest moment or to understand her emotions (i can see this happening could his "Aura" seeing stigma can also see if someone is dying or what they actually feel despite what they say)

Alan: Definitely strength enough to kill a person (i could see him wishing this so he could whoop Dante's ass to death because of what he did to his dad)

Leo: fame or to know gossip everytime (think about it, he mightve wished as a joke only to realize this shit serious i should take advantage of it)

Sho: To stop someone from leaving or something to be taken away maybe???? (Haha emotionally attached tsundere Sho my beloved)

Haru: To be there for someone or something as fast as he could (Haru could've wished this in a hurry or as a desperate plea)

Towa: to be human or to seem human (maybe to seem as a human even though he's not? like in little mermaid where the mermaid wished to be human but got the voice took away from her but in Towa's case he can only speak at night or in total darkness)

Ren: to not feel emotions or to not feel sad ever again (i think this honestly could be he got attached to an animal maybe a dog or a cat and he felt so so despaired about it he wished to not feel sad ever again and the demon just took his whole ass empathy and pity for others)

Taiga: To know every answer of anything he questions (and in exchange he gives his memories away thats why he has amnesia all the time probably why he also likes eating random stuff and like gambling alot)

Romeo: For everything to look beautiful in his possession or to always spot value and quality in his eyes (he probably made a deal with someone and I'm pretty sure this dude just got scammed for that)

Ritsu: For his father to be able to defend his client (his stigma Acimo, meant to harden at anything thrown at him i can't explain it well but basically his father could've been in the losing end of the case and after Ritsu's wish he got strong enough at what the prosecutor thrown at him and still defended the case no matter what.)

Subaru: for his fame to die down already or to know the answer on how can he kill his fame (i can totally see his wish opposing with Leo's fame wish because child stars have it HARD)

Haku: He's very mysterious despite being very flirty so i don't have anything for him but i think he gets reminded of what he wished for whenever he uses his stigma that's why he doesn't like using it

Zenji: I don't have a theory what his wish is either but i do have a theory what his stigma could do: Make a boomerang impact or counter attacks with the same strength

Edward: to be immortal or for his body to timeless definitely (I'm not sure if he's born a vampire he kinda implies he is but I'm pretty sure he's not assuming someone bit him with the punctures on his neck)

Rui: to be able to heal anyone he touches or just to be able to heal anyone (yikes)

Lyca: to live with a human called Neros or to have a guardian/parent (He could be a child when he made this wish)

Yuri: To be knowledgeable and smart enough (i reckon Yuri to have inferiority complex against others who are smarter and he made this wish for that)

Jiro: (sadly like his brother and Haku, i cant get a read on him yet but once i play chapter 16 i could add something for him and Zenji)

thaz all guys, okay you can point your leo printed rocket at me now-

#tokyo debunker #tkdb #tokyo debunker theories #tkdb theory

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christian-oc-tournament · 11 months ago

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Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Eabennor (Benn) Bethaz [Rifters @larissa-the-scribe]

Grew up trained to be a super-powered weapon, but then got too close to someone on an infiltration mission so now he's a loving husband and father (whoops). Used to be Angsty (tm), now widely considered to be the Voice of Reason(tm)—but that's mostly because of the people he's being contrasted against.

Edith Wickham [P&P OC @sir-griswold-of-macelwain]

Child of Mr Wickham and Lydia née Bennet. She's taken in by her aunt Elizabeth Darcy for the Season because the Darcy family counts multiple ladies who were presented at court and that's a once in a lifetime opportunity for Edith to become a member of the upperclass. She starts with very strong prejudices against her aunt, forms a group of friends including the son of Mr Collins and the ward of Mr Darcy, finally falls in love with one of them, receives a proposal from the other, realizes that the jumbled info she has on her aunt might be inaccurate and talks it out with Elizabeth, and ends up living well.

#christian oc tournament #round 1 #group 3 left side

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silveme · 11 months ago

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Why aren’t there gibbons in planet of the apes :(

I think they’d be very useful in an ape army tbh. They could sound alarms by whooping or doing siamang throat sac calls. They’re really fast and can maneuver really easily in the trees, you could have an arboreal attack force made up entirely by gibbons. Maybe they wouldn’t be as smart as a chimp or an orangutan but that’s ok, nobodies asking the gibbons to strategize anyway. They have a very mischievous air about them, they like to have fun, I think they’d love it if you handed them a gun.

Excluding Koba (who is very inaccurate to the real bonobo lifestyle) I understand why bonobos aren’t there, I think they’d evolve easily but they don’t want to fight. They’d just be in their own little commune hanging out, doing yoga, making music, and making love to each other, which is a beautiful thing to think about peace and love

“ape together strong” except gibbons and bonobos though right 🙄

#maybe they don’t have anyone small enough to motion capture the gibbons #and at that point. I volunteer myself. I’m short enough I think and I do a very good gibbon impression I could do it #easily #planet of the apes #gibbon #bonobo

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sometimes-love-is-enough · 9 months ago

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HiIII II min, what are you reading/watching/listening to at the moment, i need recs

QUITE A LOT. i am reading and watching and playing and listening to. A LOT. I'm kind of astounded that I'm actually doing all this at once, but here we go -

Books:

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov - y'all already know what this one is about. I'm here to tell you that it's brilliantly done with a genuinely engaging writing voice and style, and a terrifyingly good unreliable narrator. If you're up to stomaching the obvious pedophilia, I fully recommend it.

Moby Dick by Herman Melville - slightly racist biologically inaccurate whale hunting. For people who know nothing about whales. I've been on a classics kick recently, I'm trying to get my way through a lot of the big 'classic' books and this is what feels like the final boss. It's good, but it's dense as all fuck, and I'm struggling despite being very close to the end with it. I don't recommend this one quite as much, but it's good enough for me to stick with it.

Sacred and Terrible Air by Robert Kurvitz - this is the Disco Elysium novel, translated from Estonian by a variety of lovely people. It's good, but it's also pretty dense - maybe not as much as Moby Dick, but it makes it hard to read in large chunks. I'm reading it alongside my beloved @lifewithoutrainydays, and i really need to put more time into it.

S. by Doug Dorst - fucking fascinating book. It's presented as a book called 'Ship of Theseus' by an author that doesn't exist, and it looks and feels like an actual old library book, complete with scribblings in the margins (that form a whole other meta story on top of the book itself), postcards and printouts jammed in between the pages, and an old library label on the spine. Still trying to figure out how to read it, but plucking away at it in-between all my other endeavors.

Our Bloody Pearl by D.N. Bryn - a.k.a., me trying to step out of my comfort zone and read some recommendations, and not quite clicking with it. Found family pirate-siren trauma-recovery story. I like the things being done with communication difficulties, but on the whole it feels a bit too fanfiction-y, which is not something I tend to like in my original fiction. I'd recommend it if you're a fan of that sort of thing, though!

Comics:

Awful Hospital: Seriously the Worst Ever by Bogleech - the author says they've never read Homestuck. I don't know if I believe them. A glorious gruesome surreal hellish trip through a very very bad hospital, seriously the worst ever, and beyond! I'm pretty early on but enjoying the fuck out of it. I don't know where it's going and I'm scared to find out.

Doctor Strange: Fall Sunrise by Tradd Moore - I read this ages ago, but finally have it in printed edition, and that rules because everything about this FUCKS SEVERELY. the art style is unhinged and brilliant, the writing is weird and beautiful, and the plot is........ the weirdest thing Doctor Strange comics have ever done since Into Shamballa, actually. i'm taking it slow this time because i want to savor every panel.

The Apothecary Diaries (manga edition) - this has been on pause for a bit, because everything else I was reading distracted me, but it's good and it's open in another tab right now, so I'll include it. Murder mysteries in an ancient Chinese court, starring the weirdest poison-obsessed apothecary girl who has ever existed. She poisons herself for fun and gets excited over particularly deadly toxins, I love her to death.

Games:

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - I loved the books and the show, so I figured it was about time to actually play the games. I'm a tiny bit addicted to it at this point. It's a good fucking game. I like killing monsters and I like playing Fantasy Magic The Gathering and i really really like the battle music. I'm 100%ing this one or I'm dying in the process.

Lobotomy Corporation - has fallen a bit by the wayside because of the Witcher, whoops, but I do fully intend to get back to it at some point. I know there's some less-than-great stuff going on vis-a-vis the creators, but I'm not really engaging on that level. I'm just enjoying it as an SCP-like creature-management simulator. There's some very fun anomalies with very fun writeups in this one, and I enjoy the mental challenge of figuring out what makes them all tick.

Listening to:

Critical Role, Campaign Three - I'm not utterly obsessed with it, but it's a nice long chunk of listening for me to get my evening routine done to the sound of.

And on my podcast 'I'm all caught up, but I regularly listen when new episodes come out' list are: The Magnus Protocol, Dungeons and Daddies, The Adventure Zone, and Apocrypals.

Watching:

The X-Files - all of it, start-to-finish, because I have somehow managed to avoid all spoilers of a sci-fi cultural touchstone all this time, and I'm really looking forward to seeing where this goes. I love some fucked-up monster-of-the-week sci-fi.

#not tss #asks #media recs

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little-red-fool · 1 year ago

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I wanna learn about silver tongue I love abyss lore

Heehee I’ll gladly talk about Silvertongue and his backstory. I don’t know as much about Forgotten Realms lore as I would like to so correct me if anything seems inaccurate, also I haven’t fully fleshed out his lore yet but this might still be quite long because I like rambling lol so I’ll try to summarise it a little (also I might have changed some of the Dark Urge lore to fit his backstory too whoops).

*cracks knuckles* Ok so as a bit of an overview of his character, Silvertongue originally started off as a half-elf bard when I made him, he was also chaotic good but I was able to develop his character a lot more when I decided to ship him with Raphael and made him chaotic evil instead because I thought two evil bards would be really funny, which then led me into researching into Forgotten Realms lore; I found out that cambions can also be half demons in some versions of D&D so that’s why he’s like how he is now.

I’ll talk a bit about his backstory now that you have a brief summary of his character. Whilst Silvertongue’s a half-demon cambion, he’s still a half-elf in game so I decided to make his mother a high elf, although like other cambions she died during childbirth, and I like to think that the reason is because like some animals (such as spiders) he ate his way out of her womb rather than being delivered naturally. Although he was born in Blood Tor, he was very quickly transported to Toril where he grew up in an orphanage in human society (possibly in Baldur’s Gate but I haven’t decided), and for the most part his demonic heritage wasn’t prominent and he fit in well with the other children despite the odd outburst and rampage which were few and far between and wouldn’t last long—he was always drawn to music as a child which lead him to learning how to play violin and flute, and that started his career as a bard when he was a teenager. As he grew older though it became harder to hide his heritage and his urges grew stronger and more difficult to manage, he became more malicious and deceitful, as well as more sadistic, which then escalated and led to him attacking and killing a few people. After this happened he was hunted down like an animal when people discovered his heritage so he fled the city. It wasn’t long after this that his father—a demon—managed to track him down and bring him to the Abyss, saying that he would fit in better there and that his talents would be appreciated more.

This was when he came back to Blood Tor, where he spent his mid twenties to his late fifties. Whilst there he was a vassal to Beshaba and served as a manservant in the court, sometimes directly assisting Beshaba. When he was older he was drafted into the Blood War as a soldier and was trained to fight. He was originally sent on raids with other demons to the City of Strife to steal souls from the Wall of the Faithless, but later on he was sent into proper battles in Oinos, and much later he was stationed in Avernus up until recently. Whilst Silvertongue had a few mortal friends on Toril, he didn’t really have any in the Abyss due to the untrusting and malicious nature of most demons, however he was close with a couple of other cambions that also served under Beshaba at the same time as him. They were also drafted into the Blood War alongside Silvertongue, however one was killed during a baatezu attack in Bloor Tor, but he managed to save his other friend from an orthon attack, however this meant that he suffered many injuries and his clothes were tattered—he still wears the coat he wore from the orthon attack as he views it as a symbol of pride and a reminder that he saved his friend. Silvertongue is probably around 300 or so years old (give or take) so he served in the Blood War for over 250 years, and he was a decent soldier. He was often picked on due to his diminutive stature compared to the other demon soldiers, however what he lacked in strength and size he made up in agility and stealth. That isn’t to say he’s weak though he could still easily rip a human in half.

Now that I’ve given you most of his backstory I’ll talk about the events that took place recently to when BG3 starts. This part is also linked to the Dark Urge backstory, which I altered a bit for Silvertongue’s backstory. Although he was still fighting in Avernus, he started going on missions to Toril in order to disrupt devils from gaining souls from mortals, and for this he went to lots of different cities, one of these being Baldur’s Gate. This is when he ran into the cult of Bhaal, and long story short he ended up becoming involved—he didn’t worship Bhaal but he thought that having the Bhaalists on his side would be useful. Not too long after he met Gortash, and he found out about his affiliation with Bane, and learned about the Crown of Karsus and the Elderbrain, which is when Silvertongue forged the plan to use the Elderbrain and the ilithid tadpoles to turn the people into mindflayers as it would completely destroy the devils’ ability to recruit mortal souls as mindflayers were soulless. Him, Gortash and Ketheric carry out the plan etc etc and during these times Silvertongue keeps occasionally returning to Avernus to continue fighting in the Blood War.

This is right before the events of the game, as he was in Avernus when the nautiloid passed through it at the beginning, and due to being half-elf and therefore somewhat mortal he was swept up by the nautiloid and infected by a tadpole. Similar to some of the other companions—such as Wyll and Gale—Silvertongue’s stronger abilities and a lot of his power were sealed due to the tadpole’s influence, and he was trapped in his mortal aspect with very little magic. His current goal, like the other companions, is to get rid of the tadpole in order to regain his demonic aspect and his powers so he can continue to fight in the Blood War, although reluctantly—he recognises that it’s his duty and it gives him the opportunity to maim and kill others, but he’s still quite connected to his mortal lineage and he likes the thought of retiring, or at least living in Toril rather than continuing to fight in the Blood War.

Alright now on to him and Raphael (and a bit of Haarlep). Their first meeting was interesting, Silvertongue immediately clocked Raphael as a devil and tried to attack him, whilst in my interpretation of Raphael he’s never fought in the Blood War himself and has only witnessed it from afar so he can’t easily distinguish a demon when they’re not in an easily recognisable form, so he just thought Silvertongue was a bit jumpy and paranoid. I haven’t gotten Silvertongue past Act 1 yet, so whilst these events haven’t taken place yet I’m still going to refer to them in past tense for ease. Raphael manages to figure out that Silvertongue’s a half-demon at Last Light and that he was a soldier in the Blood War, which is what prompts him to get Silvertongue to kill Yurgir. In Act 3 I think Raphael’s contract would be slightly altered for Silvertongue, instead offering to remove his tadpole rather than giving him the Orphic Hammer. In exchange Raphael still receives the Crown of Karsus. Since Silvertongue has spent most of his life in the Abyss and hasn’t encountered any devils in a peaceful or conversational setting, he doesn’t really know how tricky they are and the weight of their contracts and how binding they are, so he signs Raphael’s contract; Raphael keeps his word and removes his tadpole. Unfortunately, with Silvertongue having grown attached to his companions and hating authority figures, he decides to break into Raphael’s home to nick the Orphic Hammer so he can free Orpheus, but he doesn’t take his contract as he just thinks it’s some old piece of paper, he doesn’t think that it actually holds any power over him or his soul. As you might know if you break into Raphael’s home without stealing your contract he, uh, incinerates you. My interpretation of this is that the player character then becomes one of his debtors trapped in his house, which is exactly what happens to Silvertongue. Fortunately his companions were able to escape with the hammer, however Helsik then closed the portal because let’s be real who wants a rampaging devil chasing after you into Toril, so essentially Silvertongue is stuck there as his soul is bound and his companions currently had no way of breaking him out.

Raphael doesn’t have as much power over Silvertongue as his other debtors due to his Abyssal heritage and not being fully mortal, so Silvertongue still has some freedom and is (mostly) sane (or as sane as he was before becoming a debtor), he’s mostly just bound to the house and unable to harm Raphael. Silvertongue is not happy about his situation and spends the first couple of weeks essentially throwing a huge tantrum and destroying half the furniture. He meets Haarlep during this time and since I headcanon Haarlep as being an enslaved tanar’ri (thanks to this post which completely hey this place isn’t too bad, it’s warm, I get a bed aechanged my outlook) they hit it off well pretty quickly, so they became quite close and shit-talked Raphael. It took a few weeks but Silvertongue realised that hey this place isn’t that bad, it’s warm, I get a bed and free food and I’m not constantly praying for my life and I don’t have to kill devils 24/7 for hundreds of years so he very quickly becomes a lot like a house cat, although he also realises that whilst he might be stuck with Raphael, Raphael is also stuck with him, which gives him the motivation to be an absolute prick but in a petty and mischievous way rather than an overly destructive and murderous way. Raphael absolutely hates this at first but over time they get more comfortable with each other and less antagonistic, which then evolves into a slight fondness (well more of a mild love-hate relationship), and I think that’s all up-to-date.

I’m so sorry that was so long ajdnshdndn but I really enjoyed infodumping about Silvertongue’s backstory, thank you so much for this ask!

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ilovewritingsm · 5 days ago

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Headcannons/intro for my character, Aubrey

Context: she's your new maid, and you're a princess. This is set during the 1900s . There will definitely be some developments on her character in the first chapter. This is just a quick little character introduction/headcannons for me to flesh out the character and storyline

Authors note: A few of these are subject to change, I made this pretty quickly and did not check for errors, whoops. I'm sorry for not posting recently, but I've had no asks or motivation😔

Warnings: mentions of grief, homphobia, Aubrey struggles with accepting her sexuality, finding herself, I did not do too much research on the 1900s and some of these may be inaccurate, and maybe a few I missed, but this is pretty light other than some grief tbh

Aubrey is 22 and has a lot of life experience compared to most young women her age

Aubrey grew up on a farm helping her father and lost her mother at twelve due to a drunk violent man (now imprisoned) attacking her as she was walking back home.

She feels a strong need to protect everything she has because she knows she can lose it all at any point.

On a less dark note, she's very good with woodworking and has been doing it since she was a child, even making her own toys and dolls.

She is very good with kids, loves them to death, and is open to having some of her own one day

She loves teasing. She can't help but make little comments that annoy people and giggle at their passed off faces

She's also quick-witted with her jokes and can make even the most stuck-up people crack and laugh at her jokes.

She isn't above getting her hands dirty if someone hurts or insults her loved ones. She might not be a body builder, but lord is she strong enough to knock a grown man to his feet

She had to become a woman without a female maternal figure, which definitely caused some hardships. She's completely comfortable being feminine and masculine now and has found what being a woman means to her after some time.

Though she enjoys being masculine, she has to adhere to the societal norms at the time and avoid sticking out more than she already does.

She hates that she has to hide who she is because of how the world views queer people and specifically masculine women.

She's well known for standing up to men when they disrespect her or women around her and refusing to let injustices happen

She struggled with the idea of liking women when she was going through puberty, but as she got older, she began to accept herself more and ignored what she heard about the "dreaded gays" as her peers put it.

She knows she's pretty and turns head. She's extremely cocky about it and enjoys the attention of women, staring at her well-built frame. Sometimes, she intentionally flexes in the most unnecessary situations just to make them flusterd.

She has so many stories and enjoys telling people and making them laugh at the shenanigans she'd get into with her friends and siblings

She has an older brother who taught her how to do work on the farm and how to stand up for herself, one of her main supporters and inspirations.

She never thought she'd get a job anywhere near the kingdom. She was much too bold, and her track record didn't exactly scream prissy or elegant. And she didn't exactly like the royal family nor their greed.

But your mother saw something in her that and offered her a job after the termination of your maid.

She was of course flabbergasted and at first politely asked her "why would you choose me out of all people?" And she simply said Aubrey was "the perfect fit for her in a time like this"

Aubrey was torn, but she thought about how she'd be able to help her family with the new money from this high paying job.

So she took the job along with its prissy little unform, snorting in the mirror at how silly she felt in it.

She got over it and began to take it a little more seriously, training for the role and learning all the proper terms for all of the sophisticated things.

She often wondered about you, about how you would act. Maybe you'd be a bratty childish girl, or maybe you'd be sharp and sophisticated like your mother. She had seen you plenty of times how sad you looked most of the time, always in your head. She wondered what could be so hard for a little rich little girl like you. Maybe you were going through more than she knew?

She would get to know you soon enough.

#fanfiction #smvt #send anons #writing #lesbian nsft #light angst #original character #introduction #royalty #new writer boost #send annons #backstory

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riacte · 2 years ago

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@treebarkweek 2023 Day 3: Saplings / Puppies!

(Probably biologically inaccurate and many creative liberties taken, but a really fun exercise nonetheless!)

One day, years and years after the Fall:

A young, spirited dogwood sapling emerges from the damp spring soil. It cautiously inspects its feeble, thin stalk and bright green leaves. "Well, not bad," it says. "At least winter's over, and spring's arrived."

The sapling doesn't know much, but it instinctively knows spring is the time for rebirth and growth. And so it likes the spring. But not much happens next— the ground is defrosting and it's quiet, but that's it. The sapling is alone, and it starts getting bored.

And then a persistent voice, small and desperate and coming from beneath the sapling:

"Helloooo? Is anybody freakin' there?! I'm so lonely down here!"

The sapling sways, pleasantly surprised. "Oh! Who are you?"

"I'm a rose seedling!" the voice says. "Erm, are you that tall, thin stick next to me? I can't see you!"

The sapling's tiny leaves rustle. "How rude!" it exclaims. "I'm a dogwood sapling, not a stick!"

"Whoops. Sorry." The seedling chuckles awkwardly. "Didn't mean to upset my only neighbour."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm in need of some company, actually."

There's a pause, then the seedling cries out, "Oh high and mighty sapling, at thou great height, do you see any others that may become our friends?" It ends with a hopeful tone.

The sapling feels pretty pleased at being called tall, but unfortunately it can't see anything from its height. "There's a grey stone wall next to me, but it seems to go on forever."

"Oh, really?" The seedling sounds sad. "That's all there is?"

"I guess it's just you and me in this world," the sapling says.

"Just you and me," the seedling echoes dramatically, and the sapling is amused.

"Just you and me, together forever."

"Forever!" The seedling sounds content.

The days pass. Sunshine peeks out from the clouds and covers them with a layer of warmth. Raindrops roll off their leaves and into the ground. It's still very quiet, but the sapling and the seedling talk whenever they can. They're both growing in the spring season, but the sapling grows faster, and is always taller than the seedling.

"I don't like this," the rose seedling declares one day. "I'm anxious! I'm respirating from places I shouldn't be respirating from! You're gonna become so tall that you won't be able to talk with me! You'll leave me, dude!"

"I mean, it's not like I want to!" the dogwood sapling responds. "I'm a tree. You're a bush. That's the way we are, dude."

"I don't like it," the seedling continues stubbornly. "I want to become a tree too. I wanna grow tall and grow old with you, my brother from another sapling."

The sapling holds back a sharp "that's not how it works at all" and indulges the seedling.

"By the way, if you're really a rose, why don't I see a single speck of red from up here?"

"Exsqueeze me?!" the seedling demands. "Art thou questioning my noble character? I'm just an innocent seedling! I haven't grown into a bush yet, let alone grow flowers, geez!"

"Well, one day, I'm gonna become a dogwood, you're gonna become a rosebush, and that's just how nature works," the sapling says briskly.

"And since you're a dogwood, are you gonna grow so tall that you'll be far far away from me?" The seedling sounds sad.

As silly as the rose seedling may be sometimes, the sapling has to admit it likes having it around. "I mean, I don't want to go far away. But it's my nature as a sapling. I have to go up, as high up as I can, get all that good sunshine, and survive. That's what we plants are meant to do. Survive."

"Well," the rose seedling says skeptically. "How about, y'know, making sure our leaves are shiny and our flowers are pretty? And attracting bees and making new friends?"

The sapling considers this. "That's nice, but in order to do that, we've got to survive. That's harder than it seems. You'll see."

The rain and the wind come in one dark night, and both the sapling and the seedling shed leaves. Thankfully, their stems are still strong and intact.

The days pass. They get their energy from the sun, their water from the ground. The sapling sprouts more and more leaves and stretches itself towards the sky.

"I wanna get my flowers," the rose seedling whines. "I wanna look pretty instead of having these ugly thorns and leaves."

"Hmm. You're always pretty to me," the sapling says to comfort its friend.

"Well, thank you," the seedling says eventually. "That's nice. I-I like that you think I'm pretty."

The sun sets, the sun rises. The dogwood sapling and the rose seedling spend their time chatting and enjoying the sunshine. The sapling is pretty glad that despite being close to the seedling, they aren't competing for nutrients with their roots. It'll be a pretty bad thing if their roots intertwine, it supposes.

"Have you ever wondered where we came from?" the rose seedling asks. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Y'know, the secrets of the universe."

"We obviously come from seeds," the sapling says, but now it's curious too. "Tell you what, one day I'll be taller than the stone wall, and I'll see what's outside of it. We'll make our theories when that day comes, okay?"

"Promise?" the rose seedling asks, a little pathetically.

The sapling's leaves sways in the wind. "Promise," it says in reassurance.

They both lose track of time. The sapling gets greedy and wants to get taller and taller. It marks its growth by every stone brick it reaches past. Nutrients are less abundant now, and it becomes a bit of struggle.

"You can have some of mine," the rosebush (not a seedling now) offers. "You need it to grow strong and tall, and I don't think I'll be growing flowers anyway."

Once upon a time, the young dogwood might've stolen from the rosebush, but that was back when it was a wee sapling. The rosebush is the dogwood's loyal (and only) companion. They're good friends. Good friends don't steal from each other.

"Take it," the rosebush insists. "I wanna know what's beyond that grey wall. I'm a useless bush anyway."

"You're not useless," the dogwood says, but finds itself unable to refuse the rosebush's offer. The dogwood thinks it won't ever be able to refuse the rosebush— the dainty, silly, but still wholly sincere rosebush.

So the rosebush shrivels up, and the dogwood flourishes. The dogwood doesn't like seeing its beloved friend suffer. The dogwood drops down its leaves as fertilizer for both of them.

"Stop shedding your leaves," the rosebush says, concerned.

"Then stop giving me your nutrients," the dogwood retorts.

Day by day, the dogwood and the rosebush grow apart. Despite that, they still manage to talk, although their voices grow smaller and smaller from the distance. The dogwood passes brick by brick, and it would've felt more pleased with itself if it could bring the rosebush with it.

One day, the rosebush screams excitedly, "I got a rosebud! I'll finally be pretty!"

"Congrats, dude," the dogwood says from above. It's sincere. "I think I can see it. A small, pink little thing. I'm proud of you."

"And I'm proud of you too. You have to be close to the end of the wall now."

"Yeah." The dogwood's not there yet, but it can see where the grey vanishes and becomes the blue sky. "Remember the pact we made when I was a sapling and you were a seedling? I'll tell you what I see beyond the wall when I reach it. It'll be any day now, I'm sure."

"And we'll magically figure out where we come from. But, y'know, I'm worried."

"About what?"

"That when you're taller than the wall, you'll be too far away to speak to me. Will that be worth it?"

That completely stops the dogwood in its tracks. Its leaves stop moving. "Err. Y-you're making me reconsider my entire life, dude."

"Umm, ignore me then. Don't respirate about it, dude. Keep on growing."

The rosebush gains more rosebuds. The dogwood is getting closer and closer to where the wall ends, its own white buds brimming on its branches. It's exciting, but also weirdly melancholic. The dogwood's life mission is about to be achieved. What will they see beyond the wall? What wondrous sights will they be greeted with?

"I think today's the day," the dogwood announces solemnly. It's a fully grown tree now, handsome and strong, and one of its branches is about to peek over the wall.

"Today's a good day for me too," the rosebush declares. "I think I'm going in full bloom mode, dude! I'm a happy rosebush!"

"Yeah, I think my flowers are ready too," the dogwood says, but it's mostly preoccupied with taking care of its branches. It can't afford to look pretty. The dogwood's branch is about to cross the previously insurmountable stone wall.

"I'm gonna do it," the dogwood promises. "I'll muster up my energy, and I'm doing it."

"Let's go! Ohh, I'm so freaking happy for you, dude. I'll hold your branch in support if I can. We're gonna find out what else is in the world!"

The dogwood's leaves tremble, and then it pushes its branch across the wall—

And nothing.

Nothing at all.

Well, it's not completely nothing. It's just— patches of untamed grass. Some wildflowers. Rocks. And the beautiful blue sky above them. Nothing they haven't guessed already.

The dogwood stares. And stares. When it finally turns back, it stills in complete shock.

Because from above, the dogwood finally sees where it and the rosebush came from.

Two skeletons, half buried by the soil, one plant emerging from each skeleton. The hands of the skeletons are intertwined. Hand in unlovable hand, still together in death. Down there, the rosebush is gazing up at the dogwood, its petals as red as the blood that was once spilled upon the soil that it grew from. The dogwood begins to bloom, soft white petals unfurling, as pure as the colour of snow.

In the dogwood's furious race to grow taller, it neglected to look down and see the whole picture. It didn't realise they were born from the remnants of two humans.

The dogwood wanted to see beyond the wall. The dogwood and the rosebush thought the wall was their ultimate obstacle. But no, they're wrong.

Because the stone wall protects them. What the dogwood wanted to see was within the walls all this time. And what the dogwood actually wants is within the walls.

Because within these walls is the dogwood's home.

And the dogwood's home is where the rosebush is.

Well, that was a fun if not wholly scientifically inaccurate writing exercise. Forgive my grammar mistakes because it's late at night haha.

Dogwood sapling Martyn and rose seedling Ren are so precious. I've grown attached now. This is some fantasy plant reincarnation AU I guess.

Thanks for reading! Anyways the dogwood and the rosebush live together happily ever after in the ruins of Dogwarts <3 <3

#treebarkweek #treebarkweek2023 #treebark #renchanting #rendog #inthelittlewood #ria.fic #plant reincarnation...#wrote this in one sitting. i have headache and im sleepy haha #getting the craziest ideas at 1am

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