#thre joys of coming to terms with the fact that someone you thought was your friend now can and will kill you without hesitation

[i-am-megalodonna]

Okay this random thought came to me and I want to share because I am an angst gremlin.

Okay, so, the Collector understandably came to the conclusion that if Luz were to die, so would he. Belos has way more then often been shown willing to kill a kid to get what he wants. Figuring out Collector's Mirror was found and he's now bound to the sole other human in the Boiling Isles, thus "corrupting" her, well, he would definitely take the chance to hopefully get rid of the Collector for good, and said being of the stars has been around him for years and probably knows that. And currently due to their incompatibility Belos greatly out powers those two.

Basically what I'm saying is that this can very well lead up to Collector having at least a little bit of legit fear towards Belos, since he can easily kill him and Luz if given the chance.

Yeah, Collector does have a certain level of fear surrounding Belos, though it does take a little while for it to set in. Which is to say, the Collector is used to being nigh-untouchable one way or another, and for the first time they're really, really not. It takes a while for them to process that fact. Belos can now do much worse than just toss them aside, and would in a second if given the opportunity.

That exact fear is the main motivation for the Collector wanting Luz to keep her mouth shut about all of it. Although they were kept fairly isolated, they still had a good seat to see all of the Isles fall under Belos' complete control; they know better than most just how loyal most of its citizens are to him. It goes without saying they don't trust much of anyone.

[doctorreids]

folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER ONE - the 1 

next chapter 

summary: reader sees spencer on the opposite platform of her subway station and can’t help but reflect on two memories on why she believed he was the one. 

a/n: send me an ask to be a part of my taglist!

word count: 2,270

“and if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed. and if you never bleed, you’re never going to grow.”

The apartment felt completely empty. It has been now for weeks. Despite the fact that they used to come and go in the mornings, the sound of the shower running and the coffee machine brewing did nothing to fill the void of his voice floating through the apartment.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to turn on the radio or television to drown out the silence that has been following her for months now.

3 months, 2 weeks and 3 days to be exact.

The cool, autumnal breeze swept through her hair as she walked to the subway. The leaves on the trees turn to fiery shades of red, orange and gold, brightening up the grey sky. The pavement shines with the remains of last night's rainfall, the hustle and bustle of early morning carrying her to the station. This time of year has always been her favourite, the transformation of each season amazes her but there is not feeling quite like crunching leaves beneath your feet, or watching them slowly fall from their trees in the breeze.

He loves this time of year too.

She’s been trying to convince herself that she’s alright without him, that she’s turning over a new leaf, but each day it gets harder and harder to fight the urge to call him. Then she reminds herself of all the times he failed to show that he truly wanted her, wanted her to listen and to hold his hand; all the times he failed to take down his walls, let himself open the floodgates and to grow with her. He failed to change with the seasons. Yet, she wants nothing more to hear the soft timbre of his voice, the tone he only ever used with her. Once again, she has to remind herself that that’s gone too.

Her stop was relatively empty for this time of the morning. Just a few early-risers like herself yawning into their to-go coffee cups, flicking through this morning's newspaper. The platform always echoed at this time of day, no sound other than soft conversations and the occasional announcement from the speaker.

She didn’t like mornings until she met him. Now she rises early, usually getting into work a while before everyone else. She tries to shake those thoughts from her head but lifting her head from the ground she looks to the other platform.

She looks right at him.

She knows it’s not him, he lives in the opposite direction, but her mind is telling her that the messy mop of brown hair, the suit jacket and cardigan combo, is really him on the other platform.

The rumbling vibrations of the approaching train snapped her out of her reverie. Shaking her head, she got onto the train knowing that her day was going to be filled with paperwork and fighting how much she yearned to give him a smile.

“roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool. and if my wishes had come true, it would have been you.”

It was very rarely that the two of them had time off from work but when they did, they spent it together. Walking around DC, going to the Smithsonian or visiting old bookshops across town. It was dusk by the time they got to the memorial. The sky swirled with pinks, reds and puffy white clouds. It reminded her of an old saying her Dad would tell her on the drive home from her Grandmother’s House.

‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.’ It had no significant meaning, he only said it to make her laugh and for some reason it always did.

They had been together for a few months by then, but it felt like forever to them.

The sun hit the pool opposite the memorial, the pink sky etched into the water as the sun made its daily descent. His cardigan was hooked over her shoulders and her hand wrapped up in his.

“Spencer?”

“Yes, my love.”

She smiled at the pet name. He never used them very often.

“Can we make a wish?”

“Always.” He began fishing in his pockets for loose change. Smiling, he handed her a quarter and kept one for himself.

“You know, throwing coins into fountains stems from the practice of presenting gifts to Gods to either appease the Gods, or as payment for a request or prayer. This can be seen as the earliest version of making a wish. European folklore, specifically Germanic and Celtic traditions, used the term wishing wells as offerings to their gods for water.”

She hummed in response, his lyrical voice calming her. She loved that he was an endless fountain of knowledge, she only wished she could give him something in return for all the little facts he gave her.

Closing her eyes, she tossed the quarter into the pool, wishing for the man beside her to remain there. Always. Watching her coin become smaller and smaller and sunk into the depths, she watched as he did the same. The ripples of his quarter disrupted the glass-like pool as it fell opposite to her coin.

Her laughter broke through the silence.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, I’m just… really happy.”

He grinned, “Me too. Though, I must ask, what did you wish for?”

Smugly, she replied, “Now, if I tell you it won’t come true.” The twinkle in her eye told him all he needed to know.

The two walked on, arms intertwined as they walked to the music their laughs made mixed together.

She’d never admit to anyone but she wished he was the one.

Thinking back on that date, she now knows that wasn’t true.

“we were something, don’t you think so? rose flowing with your chosen family, and it would have been sweet.”

That night at Rossi’s was the last time she remembers being happy with him.

That was 4 months ago.

Pulling on that red dress that Spencer loved, she watched as JJ, Emily and Penelope got themselves ready. With Rossi’s dinner falling on the same night as their scheduled girl’s night, they had to compromise.

“Pen! You look beautiful!” Her friend truly was glowing, her dress a bright orange and her hair curled to perfection.

“Thank you, goddess divine, I must say red is truly your colour.”

“You’re too kind, Pen!”

She felt truly happy. Surrounded by her friends, they were more sisters than they would ever be work colleagues. They were each other’s biggest supporters, always there to lift each other up and help each other when things weren’t the best. Together they were one big chosen family. They were her safety blanket when things felt out of control.

Tonight is going to be good, she kept telling herself. She hadn’t seen Spence in a while, outside of work. They’ve been almost too busy to find a moment to just be with each other - no geographical profiling or paperwork. All they wanted was to be able to sit down and watch a movie, or an episode of Doctor Who without thinking of work or worrying about another urgent case.

Looking over at JJ, who looked radiant as ever, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming sense of belonging. JJ made everyone welcome, so did Pen. Something she never really found anywhere else, from school to her jobs before working for the BAU, and now she’s found that belonging she was so desperately searching for.

Emily was an enigma though. Her closest friend, they were both so similar. They failed to let most people in, but after years of holding those walls up they eventually have to come down or are broken down by someone else. They broke down each other’s walls. Emily was always there when she needed reassurance, and likewise although Emily rarely needed it.

She found all she dreamt of as a teenager; a chosen family. All of them were pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together.

It was not secret by now that Rossi loved to cook, and that JJ would almost certainly go if there was a promise of wine. So dinner parties became a fixture every once and a while with Hotch at the helm of persuading and convincing Rossi to have another. It was always another opportunity to pick up a new recipe to try out at home for Jack.

Walking in, they were met with wolf whistles and compliments from Morgan (which was to be expected anyways) and a rare smile from Hotch. She was not anticipating Spencer to be there early but there he was.

He caught her eye as soon as she walked in, looking her up and down and giving her a shy smile.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself.” She replies, her eyes full of love and joy. “You look very handsome tonight.”

“Why, thank you. You look beautiful as always.”

Just a small compliment gives her butterflies. They’ve been together for over a year and have known each other for years yet it feels as though she’s a teenager every time he smiles; she’s taken back to the days of high school crushes, school dances and hearts in notebooks. She gives him a small thank you and her brightest smile as they wrap their arms around each other, taking in the other’s warmth. The only word she could use to describe the comfort of his embrace was home. She was home in his arms.

The night went on as it usually did; full of laughter, food and happiness. Memories they would all hold onto until they couldn’t anymore. It made their job easier to know that they could always find happiness within each other.

Out on the porch, everything was still, Spencer’s suit jacket was wrapped around her body. Everything about the night was perfect. To put it in the simplest terms, she was truly happy.

Falling asleep next to Spencer was the easiest part of her day, the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his soft breathing lulled her to sleep with the biggest smile on her face.

She had the one in her arms and she never intended to let him go. And neither did he.

Funny how life turns out.

“I persist and resist the temptation to ask you, if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?”

Throwing her work back down at the front door of her cold, lonely apartment was now routine. No more laughter walking into the threshold of her home, or the smell of freshly brewed coffee from his cup. Just loneliness.

Photos had been taken down, the memories too painful to walk by every day, and with nothing to replace them with, the tables, walls and fridge lay bare of any memory of what once was. Pulling out leftovers from last night’s dinner, she waits for the low ding of the microwave as she steps out of her shoes and jacket. Cooking, even three months on, is lonely now too since they used to do it together. But she supposes, they did everything else together too.

She opens another cheap bottle of wine. It’s Friday, Saturday can deal with her hangover.

Tucking her legs into her chest, she cradles the glass of wine in one hand. The orange glow of the streetlights below illuminate her living room. Staring out into the street, she feels it again. That aloneness. It comes and goes in waves, but like any wave when it hits you, it stuns you. It’s a cold and dark feeling. No longer does she feel the ghost of his arms wrapped around her at night, or the grip of his hand in hers. Now, there’s nothing.

Just her and what could have been.

She often asks herself that if things had been different, if they had just talked to one another, what would today have looked like. But then she thinks that’s no use, things would have stayed the same. She changed with the seasons, he didn’t.

Hindsight is a beautiful thing, but it can’t help her now.

She wonders about what he would change. If there was one thing that he would do differently. She also wonders about what he wouldn’t change and what he really wanted.

Did he ever dream of settling down someday? She was never one for a white picket fence life but he made her want it so desperately. Did he ever dream about seeing her in a white dress or running around a garden with a child? Did he ever think about what they would name their kids? Did he ever want any of that?

Sometimes she thought all he wanted was a constant until something better came along. Maybe, she thought, he believed that what they had was always going to be an end table. That one of them would give up and it would be over as soon as it started.

The red liquid swirled around the glass as she tried to resist the temptation to call him, to ask him these questions, to apologise. Finishing it off, she grabs her phone, unlocks it and clicks his contact.

She could never bring herself to change his contact photo. It was a picture of them back in August of last year. Sun-kissed with honeymoon love struck eyes, the photo still made her smile despite all the pain.

She let her finger hover over the button.

Maybe she would get her answers tonight.

[talvin-muircastle]

Original Story: Dancing With The Devil

This is another story I wrote back in 2013 as part of my November Habit.  The first one for that year’s November thing, in fact.  Copyright 2013 to Talvin Muircastle, don’t even think about stealing it, blah blah blah.  

It runs a tad longer than some, so I am going to put it behind a cut.

One night at Smokin' Pete's Public House, a Devil walked in.

There is no smoking at Pete's nowadays, and it isn't even Pete's anymore: Sandra owns it now. It used to be a hangout for the dockworkers back when The Docks meant sailors and freight and union strikes, not Condos-on-the-Pier, high-priced art galleries, and river tours. These days Smokin' Petes is a college hangout for those that don't mind the slightly shabby feel and the eclectic music. It can get loud, and it can get busy, but it never gets rough. Nick sees to that. Nick is in his late sixties. Or maybe he is in his late eighties. Maybe they just found a nice old man in a navy blue suit sitting on a bench one day and built a bar around him. He's slim and spry and always smiling. If you ask him what he did before he retired, he'll just laugh and say, "Oh, I used to be a dancer, you know." Nick likes everybody at Smokin' Petes, because if Nick doesn't like you, you find a different bar to drink at. If Nick can't stand you, nobody can. Many is the time I have seen some half-drunk asshole from down at City Tech trying to pick up a girl, and there is Nick, "Miss, humor an old man. May I buy you a drink?" Joe Jockstrap puffs up his chest and begins to make his protest, and then suddenly hazel eyes are staring at him from beneath big bushy white eyebrows, just giving him That Look, and then there is a throat-clearing and Sandra is holding something out of sight just behind the bar, and Joe Jockstrap finds a less reputable place to drink after that. Sometimes Nick just calms her down and gets her a cab home. Sometimes he will thank her for her kindness in flattering an old man, and say but now I have known So-and-So for a while now, and he is a fine young scholar and a gentleman--may I introduce you? Most nights when Nick goes up to pay his tab, it's already been paid for. Then a Devil walked in. I don't know if he was "the" Devil, but sure as Hell he was "a" Devil. He walked in looking like a million bucks, black hair slicked back and bling flashing, and everybody just stopped talking and turned to look at him. Any other night we woulda been laughing into our beers, but there was just Something, some feeling that a Wrongness had come into our second home. He walked over and slapped a twenty on the bar. "Whiskey, neat!" Sandra handed it to him, and it burst into flame. He tossed it back and flipped the glass behind the bar. Then he turned to face us. "I hear," and his smile was a terrible thing, "that somebody in this bar thinks he knows how to dance. So who might that be?" We didn't answer. He looked us all over, and then his eyes came to light on me. "Is it you, young man?" He beckoned, and of their own will my legs took me out of my chair and skipping across the room. I can't dance, never have really tried, but my feet were doing the steps across the barroom floor, and my arms were moving, and when I tried to fight it my muscles cramped up until I had tears on my face, and I felt like I was dancing across hot coals. I spun around and began another pass across the floor. "That will be quite enough of that." Nick had gotten up from his booth in the corner. I stopped dancing like whatever strings that devil had been pulling had all been cut at once. Nick looked over at me and said, "Jim, Brad: help Kevin to a seat if you would please." They each got one of my arms, and while they were helping me sit, Nick turned and said, "Sandra, coffee, please, the usual way." That devil just stared at him the while, that same sick smile on his face. Once Nick had his coffee, he pulled out a stool and perched on it. "Alright, you. You came looking for a dancer. If you want to see my moves, you have to show me your own first." "And if I win?" Nick waved a hand at him, "Yes, yes, the usual terms. I'm really not too worried about it." The devil just laughed. The old jukebox started up on its own, despite not having worked for over six months. It began playing a song that I had never heard before and pray to God I will never have to listen to again. It had no words, but there was a bass-line that those speakers could never have put out, and strings that sounded like they were being tortured, and brass that sounded like they were announcing the end of the world. And he danced. He danced perfectly. He tapped, he sprang, he whirled. He kept perfect time with the music, and when the music came around a third time, he jumped up and started dancing on the ceiling. His feet moved faster than I could watch, and his jewelry flashed like his own personal disco ball, and I figured Nick was a goner: no younger man could keep up with that, nevermind somebody who just "used to" dance. He danced forever, it seemed, and all we could do was watch. All except Nick, who just sipped his coffee and looked bored. Finally, mercifully, it ended. The last note died away, and that devil just laughed in Nick's face and said, "Your turn, old man." Nick nodded, and handed his cup to Sandra. "Thank you, my dear. Excellent coffee as always. Now, if all you young people would be so kind as to give me a little room? Thank you." And his right foot began to tap back and forth. Click-click, click-click, click-click, clackety-clackety-click. Then he started tap-dancing, and I gotta tell you, that old guy could move. It was like a clip I found on Youtube once of a guy named Sammy Davis and his pal Dean, kinda. He got good and warmed up with that, and then the jukebox started up again: "Well it's Saturday night and I just got paid...!" it cried. He laughed real loud and held out his hands to Carol over in the corner. She jumped out onto the floor with him, and she was wearing an old-style poodle skirt and a bow in her hair all of a sudden, and they started dancing around the floor together. I mean, he was flipping her around everywhere, and she was laughing and carrying on like crazy, and they were just having a ball. The music changed and they were doing the Charleston, and when that song ended they did Lindy Hop. They spun around and she was wearing a different kind of dress and his suit had changed, and they started the Samba. Then it slowed down and we watched them do the Waltz. Finally Nick set her on his stool, and she was dressed again just like she came in, her cheeks all red and her looking like she just woke up from a dream. Nick stepped out in the middle of the floor and clapped his hands twice, real sharp. In his place stood an old lady dressed like she was ready to go watch a bullfight, with silver hair in a bun and hazel eyes flashing. A guitar started playing, and she started to dance the Flamenco. Her feet were rattling the floor, and then her costume changed, and she was like one of the girls in the St. Patrick's Day Parade in those costumes with the Celtic knots, and her feet were drumming out a different rhythm to the sound of a fiddle. Then there was a kid out of the barrio, but with those same eyes, and he breakdanced and did capoeira on the floor and on a stool and up onto the bar. Then he was Nick again, foot tapping back and forth, back and forth, keeping the beat. I had forgotten all about the devil by then, but Nick hadn't, and that evil smile was looking a little sickly by now. He looked that devil in the eye, and his voice was almost sad, "You know how to dance, I'll give you that. You know all the moves, you understand the beat, but what you just don't understand is why. So I am going to give you a little dancing lesson." For the first time since he walked in, the devil stopped smiling. His left foot started tapping back and forth, back and forth, clickety-click, clickety-click, in time with Nick's. Nick grinned at him, and said, "What you have to understand is that Dance means something. We dance our joy, and we dance our pain. We dance to celebrate new life, and we dance to prove we are still alive. We dance with the ones we love, and we dance with the ones we just met. We may hurt ourselves when we dance, but we never do it to hurt someone else. So come on, Mister. Dance with me now, " and the tapping sped up, and the other foot got in on the act, "Dance because you only met her just tonight, but you know she is the one. Dance because you are going to the front tomorrow with a rifle, but tonight you will live forever. Dance because the one you used to dance with isn't here anymore, and it breaks your heart to dance alone." They were both jigging, now, feet tapping and fingers snapping, moving together back and forth across the floor. The devil was mirroring Nick's every move, his face red and sweating, smoke coming out of his ears, sparks coming off his feet. Then the devil did something different, spinning around and pulling a trick, and Nick whooped and clapped his hands. "That's it, you poor Damned fool! Dance for love, dance for joy, dance because you hear the music in your head and you have to move! Dance like you don't care if you will die of dancing! Dance like it is opening night, and dance like it's the last curtain call! Come on, man, DANCE with me!" And it went faster and faster, and they both changed a dozen times, or maybe it was just two, and they danced like old friends, and sometimes like lovers. It got so fast that I thought the floorboards would break. Suddenly, there was a bright flash and a horrible smell like rotten eggs. When the spots stopped moving in front of my eyes, I saw Nick standing there, head bowed, hat held over his heart. All was silence. The devil was nowhere to be seen. Then Nick lifted his eyes and looked right at me, and I could see tears. "Sad...so sad. Right there at the end, he was starting to find the beat." It's been three months since that night. Sandra wouldn't let him pay his tab, and I got mine free, too. Nick won't talk about it, he just laughs. Carol is teaching me how to dance, and Nick says I don't do half bad for a beginner. I better keep learning, because if some devil ever tries to make me dance again, I plan to lead.

[I have had to say this a few times in other venues: while Callahan's Crosstime Saloon is indisputably an inspiration for this tale, this is not Callahan's FanFic, and not set in Spider Robinson's universe at all.]