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ninemelodies · 4 months

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out of sight, out of mind

written for @doctordonnaweek day 5: memory/change

also on ao3

On Messaline, the Doctor had told Jenny that being a Time Lord was a sum of knowledge, a code, a shared history, a shared suffering. Before Jenny had died, he had begun planning how best to share his memories and that knowledge. Jenny would know the history of Gallifrey and their people. That dream had shattered like glass when that gunshot rang out.

Since then, he has given up on hoping for anything more. He is the last. The Doctor walks alone and the last memories of Gallifrey and Time Lords would fade into history with his death. He is fine with that, really, he has accepted it. So why is he so traitorously hopeful when Donna pops up from behind that console in the Crucible spouting technological jargon that only a Time Lord would know and ideas that only a Time Lord could begin to conceive of?

A two-way biological metacrisis. A human being with a Time Lord consciousness. It is brilliant, and of course it would be Donna at the heart of it all. For as long as they have been traveling together, the Doctor has known there was something special about Donna. In a universe as vast as the one they lived in, the Doctor had somehow met Donna twice. He had told her there was something binding them. Donna hadn’t believed him.

But now… now she is so much more than Donna Noble, the temp from Chiswick. Now she is Donna Noble, the most important woman in all of creation. She is the DoctorDonna, like the Ood had foretold. The Doctor is so proud.

The Doctor is so afraid.

Humans weren’t meant to hold a Time Lord conscious. The Doctor, however indirectly, would kill Donna if he didn’t act. All 900 plus years of his knowledge and memories would fry Donna's synapses like an egg in a hot pan. She would die, and it would be slow, and it would be painful.

That she had held up this long was a miracle in and of itself.

Without Donna, they would’ve all died to the Daleks. With Donna, the Doctor feels like his hearts are being shredded. He leans against a coral support and watches as Donna pilots the TARDIS. Round and round the console she goes, flipping a lever here, spinning a dial there, so much like him, and yet so different.

It would be like this, the Doctor mused. The universe would give him no breaks. Just when he had someone else, an equal to share his world with, to share his life with, all of it, no secrets, no lies, it would be taken from him. Donna could’ve traveled with him forever, and maybe it wouldn’t have been his forever, but it would’ve been her forever. It could’ve been enough.

But he wouldn’t let Donna end up like Jenny. Donna will live, no matter what.

“I thought we could try the planet Felspoon,” Donna says. “Just because. What a good name, Felspoon. Apparently, it's got mountains that sway in the breeze. Mountains that move. Can you imagine?”

Instead of answering, the Doctor asks, “And how do you know that?”

Donna grins at him. “Because it's in your head. And if it's in your head, it's in mine.” She turns away from him and continues to fiddle with the TARDIS console.

“And how does that feel?” The Doctor wonders, briefly, just how deep Donna has dug into his memories in the short time she’s had them. There hadn’t been much time on the Crucible, but now, with everyone dropped off and safe in their respective places, she has had nothing but time.

“Brilliant! Fantastic! Molto bene!” Donna exclaims. “Great big universe, packed into my brain.” She turns back to him. “You know you could fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot-binding the fragment links and superseding the binary, binary, binary,” Donna's smile fades and her face goes blank. “Binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary-” she gasps and shakes her head, breaking off the loop.

The Doctor straightens and pushes off the coral support. He knew it was coming. That knowledge doesn’t make seeing his best friend in distress because of him hurt less.

“I'm fine,” Donna says, and then she changes the subject. “Nah, never mind Felspoon. You know who I'd like to meet? Charlie Chaplin. I bet he's great, Charlie Chaplin. Shall we do that? Shall we go and see Charlie Chaplin? Shall we? Charlie Chaplin?” She picks up a phone on the console and holds it up like she’s speaking into it. Donna puts the phone back into the cradle and continues her rambling. “Charlie Chester. Charlie Brown. No, he's fiction. Friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton-" Donna cuts herself off with a gasp again. This time, she folds in on herself, panting.

Donna is holding her head. She hasn’t straightened from where she’s bent over the console. It must be getting unbearable, the Doctor thinks, as he steps closer. Sometimes his mind, all those memories, all that history and knowledge, gets to be too much even for him, so for Donna the pressure must be nearing excruciating levels. “Do you know what’s happening?” he asks, softly. He knows the answer before she speaks. If it was in his head, it’s in hers.

“Yeah,” Donna confirms. She straightens up but she won’t look at him.

“There's never been a human-Time Lord metacrisis before.” Now Donna turns to look at him. “And you know why.” The Doctor finds pieces of himself reflected in her eyes, sees all of his sadness and his guilt lining Donna's face. Does he look like that when he gets lost too deep in his mind? In the darkness that haunts Donna’s eyes, the Untempered Schism flashes, briefly, and he knows time is running short. The Doctor does not wish Donna to see the Schism, even in a memory.

“Because there can’t be,” Donna whispers. She sniffs and pushes herself away from the console. With her back to him, she walks around the console, flipping more levers as she does. “I want to stay,” she says and she’s back to avoiding his gaze.

He leans on the console next to her, getting close so she can’t ignore him. “Look at me,” he pleads. “Donna, look at me.”

She hesitates, like she’s fighting it, before she turns to him. “I was gonna be with you, forever.” There are tears building on her bottom lashes, but they do not fall.

“I know,” the Doctor whispers.

Donna takes a deep breath. “The rest of my life, traveling in the TARDIS. The DoctorDonna,” she smiles bitterly.

He continues watching her, but does not speak. There is only one way to save Donna at this point. To save her life, the Doctor has to take all her memories of him. All the ones she experienced herself, and all the ones that were leaking from the consciousness - his consciousness - that was embedded in her mind.

Something in his eyes must give his plan away, because Donna gasps. Fear and desperation flicker across her face. “No. Oh my god. I can't go back. Don't make me go back,” she pleads. She's backing away from him.

The Doctor straightens and places his hands on her shoulders. He hates this, hates that Donna is afraid of him, hates that he’s having to hurt yet another person he cares about.

“Doctor, please, please don't make me go back,” she begs.

“Donna,” he says and he still hasn’t let go of her shoulders. He knows that if he does she could run and if she runs, she will die. “Oh, Donna Noble. I am so sorry.” And he is. If there was anything else he could do to keep her safe and have her retain her memories, he would. He would have loved to have Donna by his side for so many more adventures. He would’ve let Donna travel with him for as long as she wanted or until she couldn’t anymore. “But we had the best of times,” he says.

They had helped each other become better versions of themselves. Once the Doctor removed all the memories of himself and their adventures, he knew he would be restoring the Donna Noble that he had first met. The Donna who felt useless and trapped in her life as she jumped from temp job to temp job. The Donna who projected being shallow and vain in order to hide the soft heart of gold inside.

He could only hope that the Donna he had come to know - the one who would sacrifice herself for someone she barely knew, the one who was so kind and so selfless, the one who had finally realized just how special she was - would come back eventually. The world deserved someone like that.

Donna closes her eyes and the tears finally fall.

“Goodbye,” the Doctor says, softly. Donna is protesting and pleading the entire time as he raises his hands to her face. He puts two fingers on either side of her temples, and he dives into her memories. Her mind is awash in shades of gray and the sadness that echoes burrows down to his bones. The Time Lord consciousness is there too, in the distance, burning bright golden and devouring everything in its path. There are so many memories to clean up and he has to be quick about it. If left alone for even another minute, Donna will burn.

He takes what he can, pulls those memories into himself and stores them somewhere safe in the back of his mind. What he can’t remove, those memories that are too intrinsically intertwined with the core of Donna Noble, he hides behind a wall, a mental block he builds in Donna's subconscious. It’s not perfect, it’s rushed and if prodded too heavily might crumble, but it will keep her alive. He starts to withdraw, but pauses as he considers something else.

Just in case, he adds a protective measure to that wall. If it comes under too much stress, a shockwave will be unleashed that will knock Donna unconscious and give the mental block a chance to restore itself. He leaves Donna's mind as gently as he can. In reality, only a few seconds have passed. Donna protests one more time before she collapses forward into his arms. He closes his eyes as he holds her and rests his chin on her head.

The Doctor lowers them both gently to the floor. He takes a moment to pull Donna’s memories to the forefront of his mind. He skims through them gently and sees himself through her eyes. All sharp angles and fast words and yes, he determines, he does look like that when he gets lost in his mind. Those observations don’t shock him - Donna had never been quiet about her opinion of him, but what does surprise him is the fond exasperation, the love that is infused in and attached to all of Donna’s memories of him.

From the amount of times they bickered, the Doctor had not expected Donna to feel this way. She had obviously liked him well enough, considering the fact that she stuck around, but this…this love is not fiery, it is not passionate. It’s not a romantic love, no – this love is soft and warm. It is security, it is trust, it is home.

He can’t stand to see anymore, can’t stand the way that warmth wraps around his hearts and chokes them. He puts all of Donna’s memories into a box, locks it up, and hides it away in the dark part of his mind. With a steadying breath, the Doctor opens his eyes, sets Donna down gently, and begins the process of getting her home.

The clouds are dark and thick when the TARDIS lands outside Donna's home. He carries her as far as he can before he collapses on the doorstep. He knocks once and hears a clatter as someone hurries to the door. It's Wilf who opens the door, and it’s Wilf who helps him carry Donna up the stairs to her room. The Doctor takes a moment to stand and look at her, to burn this image of her asleep and at peace into his memory before he heads back downstairs.

The Doctor settles heavily onto their couch and begins to explain what happened, to stress how important it is that Donna never remembers him. “For the rest of her life,” he tells them, “you can’t mention me or any of it.”

Sylvia and Wilf agree. “All those wonderful things she did…” Wilf begins.

“I know,” the Doctor replies. “But that version of Donna is dead.”

There is a pause as Wilf and Sylvia consider what he’s told them. “She was better with you,” Wilf says, and the Doctor inclines his head in agreement.

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “I just want you to know there are worlds out there, safe in the sky because of her. That there are people living in the light, and singing songs of Donna Noble, a thousand million light years away,” he trails off, lost in memory for a moment. He snaps himself out of it and focuses back on Wilf and Sylvia. “They will never forget her, while she can never remember. And for one moment, one shining moment, she was the most important woman in the whole wide universe.”

“She still is,” Sylvia protests. “She's my daughter.”

And the Doctor can’t help the flash of irritation that Sylvia's words spark. Donna loves her mother, and Sylvia loves Donna, but Sylvia has never been particularly easy on Donna. At least not, when the Doctor was around. “Then maybe you should tell her that once in a while,” he snaps.

Sylvia is regarding him with an expression the Doctor does not recognize. “You love her,” she finally says. The revelation startles Wilf, who looks quickly between the Doctor and Sylvia.

The Doctor remembers the feeling that was woven into the fabric of Donna’s memories. “Donna is my best friend,” he says, and he knows it isn’t really an answer. “But she’s more than that she’s -” he cuts himself off and presses his lips into a thin line as he mentally flips through all the languages he knows to try and find a suitable description for what Donna was to him. Best friend worked, but it wasn’t enough. When he can’t find a suitable word, he scrubs his face with his hands and looks back up at Sylvia. “I would do it all again,” he says instead. “If it was between me or Donna, I would choose Donna, every time.”

Before Sylvia or Wilf can respond, they’re interrupted by Donna opening the door to the sitting room. The Doctor leans back and does not look at her. She complains about being left to sleep in her clothes, before she glances at him. “Donna,” she introduces herself, but she’s already more focused on her mobile.

The Doctor stands, forces a smile and offers his hand. “John Smith,” he says, and Donna shakes his hand, briefly, before leaving the room. The Doctor takes this as his cue to leave. Even though he’s not supposed to, he can’t help but stop in the kitchen on the way out. With Rose, he didn’t get a proper goodbye. Donna might not remember him, but he wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. “Donna?” he calls. She turns to him but she is clearly more focused on her phone call. “I was just going.”

“Yeah, see you,” Donna replies and then she turns away to continue her conversation without a backwards glance.

Just like that, Donna slips quietly out of the Doctor’s life, a sharp contrast to how quickly and loudly she had wormed her way into it.

It’s raining when the Doctor opens the door to leave. Wilf is right behind him. “This will happen for a while as your atmosphere settles,” the Doctor says. “But it will pass, everything does.” He takes a deep breath and turns back to Wilf. “Well, bye then, Wilfred,” he says as he steps out into the pouring rain.

“Doctor?” Wilf calls, and the Doctor pauses and turns back to him. “I'll watch out for you, sir.”

And the Doctor is so tired he can’t even bring himself to protest the use of the word sir. “You can’t ever tell her,” he repeats.

“I know,” Wilfred says. “But every night, Doctor, when it gets dark, and the stars come out, I'll look up on her behalf. I'll look up at the sky, and think of you.”

“Thank you,” he tells Wilf, and he means it. After all, the Doctor supposes that’s better than he really deserved to ask for, not after what happened to Donna and Martha and Rose. Everything he touched seemed to crumble under his fingers. Three times in a row, he had lost his friend, his companion, and the only connecting link was him. He had told Donna that he didn’t need anyone, when they had first met, and Donna had protested that he did.

Now, the Doctor wasn’t sure he could stand to try again. He turns and heads back to the TARDIS, pulls the door closed behind him, and sets off for the next world. In her memory, he will do what Donna had told him and he will keep going.

It’s all he can do.

#doctor who #doctordonna week 23 #donna noble #10th doctor #tenth doctor

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teecupangel · 11 months

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AU where (I've never played Valhalla, bear with me) Aletheia had been lying out her ass about the whole "heir of memories must save the world from the- *spins wheel* ...magnetic field" and the whole thing was a ruse to deliver the staff (and thus, Aletheia) to someone more susceptible to Isu brain manipulation who would do as told and die to revive Basim

Imagine Layla and Desmond in the Grey finding this out and losing their shit, then starting a revenge plot through time to kick Aletheia's ass and free Kassandra (Layla), seduce save some of their ancestors/fellow Assassins along the way (Desmond), and try to keep these two near gods from destroying reality (Clay, whose brain is still a bit fried and doesn't know how he's here but he knows these two idiots are somehow his problem)

It would be fun if it was Clay who told them about Aletheia’s true nature. Hell, if you want to fully kick Aletheia to the villain category, maybe the whole ‘Yggdrassil problem becoming the next catastrophe’ had been her doing in some way, to force Layla to give up her life and Desmond, as the Reader, didn’t see it in the Calculations because he was, after all, not exactly Desmond Miles anymore. To be more accurate, he wasn’t entirely human anymore so he had ignored the ‘emotional element’ of the Calculations.

Clay could have woken up because he felt Layla and she was an anomaly in the sense that she wasn’t meant to die and become part of the Gray in the first place.

It would be Clay and Layla who makes the plan to screw up the timelines to kick Aletheia’s ass and set up the Grand Temple to automatically turn on without the need of anyone operating it on December 21, 2012.

The Reader says that the possibility of success is too low to even try and Layla suggests they find a way for the Reader to regain his humanity and be Desmond Miles once more.

Clay’s grin is full of mischief as he goes “Oh, I have an idea how we can get this idiot back to his old self.”

Cue in Layla and Clay’s “Let’s Fuck Up The Timeline To Save The World!” plan begins.

Layla insists that the best way to fuck up Aletheia’s plans is to destroy the damn polestick (“Isn’t it a-” “Shhhh, we’re calling it a polestick now.” “Yeah, okay.”) before it could get in the hands of Kassandra.

Clay suggests they just punch an old man and take the polestick. Layla is a bit hesitant about that since there was this whole thing about Pythagoras and Kassandra getting into some kind of resolution before he gives the polestick to Kassandra and Kassandra deserves that.

Clay then suggests they hijack the Atlantis memory thing that Kassandra goes thru and take the polestick from Kassandra. Layla says no to that one too since Kassandra would kick their asses.

Clay snorts and points at the Reader with his thumb as he says, “Not this guy.”

“There is a-”

“Fuck the probabilities. We’ll tag team her while Layla runs away with the polestick, okay? All we have to do is keep her busy until the polestick is destroyed.”

“Can you two even handle Kassandra?”

“I’ll have you know we are certified Bleeding Effect graduates… in the sense that the Bleeding Effect has effectively fucked us over.” (sees Layla’s expression) “Which just means Kassandra would have two Ezio Auditores to deal with. It’ll be fun.”

Cue the trio trying to get Kassandra to lower her guard enough for Layla to take the polestick by pretending to be citizens of Elysium.

Their chance finally comes when…

It became clear Kassandra was flirting with Layla.

“I think you should sleep with her for the betterment of mankind.”

“What.”

“Please, you’ll like it. We’ll steal the polestick while she’s busy with you.”

“Oh my god. What are you talking about? I am not having sex with Kassandra!”

“You want to though. This would be the two birds one stone kind of deal.”

“Clay, shut up.”

“Hey, Reader, what’s the success possibility of us getting the polestick if Layla has sex wth Kassandra?”

“Eighty-nine percent.”

“See? That’s the highest success rate we’ve ever got! You gotta take one for the team, Layla.”

“Oh my god.”

Of course, Layla does agree because, let’s face it, she wanted to get some with Kassandra anyway. Then Aletheia starts screaming bloody murder and Kassandra realized something is up.

Cue a chase scene where Clay and the Reader are both running for their lives while Kassandra runs after them and Layla runs after Kassandra.

Some clothes might be missing during the chase.

This is when Clay gets a bright wonderful idea to start Phase 2 of the plan and opens a new portal for another time period.

Kassandra enters the portal as well.

And Layla has no idea where they were. Considering the building architecture she just saw, she was betting somewhere where there were a lot of Muslims?

Oh, god…

They were being chased by knights with-

Oh shit.

They were knights!

She barely heard Clay say, “Your turn, Reader!”

And Clay gives the polestick to the Reader before bodyslamming him straight to a trio of monk-

No.

Assassins.

Oh shit.

Layla remembered those robes.

They were the Assassin robes worn by the Levantine Brotherhood.

The Reader falls on top of one of the Assassins and Clay hides behind the other two as he points at Kassandra, “Brothers! That woman is trying to get an artifact that the Brotherhood has been protecting!”

Oh god.

Oh my god.

Clay was insane.

The knights have also caught up to them.

And they were now surrounded and…

Wait.

Layla focused his attention to the Reader and the Assassin he had toppled and they were still in the ground, staring at each other.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Unorganized Notes:

Clay specifically opened a portal that brought them to Jerusalem just before Altaïr, Malik and Kadar infiltrated Solomon’s Temple.

Clay’s mighty plan to bring Desmond back can be summarized as “get the Reader to remember how much Desmond Miles loved his ancestors……… and maybe get him laid… that might help… we’ll play it by ear.”

Altaïr would be adamant that it wasn’t love at first sight but there was… this strange connection that he couldn’t shook off the moment their eyes met.

The Reader will admit that he did feel something… ‘foreign’ when he saw Altaïr and he agrees that Clay might be on the right track.

Layla is just confused because Clay’s usual plan seems to be to get her and the Reader laid.

Clay doesn’t deny it.

Kassandra becomes a reluctant ally of theirs because she is stranded in this timeline while they charge up their ‘portal juice’. Layla was sure that portal juice was not an actual thing.

The way their time hopping mechanics work is that they need a POE to charge it up and it will completely drain the POE afterwards. For their first portal jump, it was a freebie because they were in the Gray and it had the same ‘power source’ the POEs have. Clay even explains that the Gray is where the main power source of the POEs come from and the Isus just found a way to harness and store it in the POEs.

So they need a new POE to use to get Kassandra back to her time. Layla suggests they use the Apple in Jerusalem but the Reader goes “No.”. This is the first time the Reader had been adamant in his opinion about how the Apple belongs to Altaïr and no one else. Layla stares at Clay with an expression of “holy shit, Clay may be up to something with this whole getting someone to fuck the Reader to bring back Desmond Miles” and Clay just grins at her as if to say “I’m a genius right?”. It should be noted that, at this point, the Reader have not yet been fucked… yet.

That is how far I got because, okay, so my problem is if we continue with the idea that they’re trying to save (and seduce) Desmond’s ancestors (and fellow Assassins), this will be bittersweet since it’s like Desmond would have a relationship with some of them and then break up with them given a long-distance relationship was not viable.

Of course, considering how I write Altaïr, I wouldn’t be surprised if this ends up with the trio going their merry way screwing up the timeline by timehopping and then they later find out that Altaïr had been following them, looking for Desmond, and had been getting stubborn tagalongs along the way who were also looking for Desmond because he’s always a few steps behind the trio. (In other words, Desmond’s harem has been growing and chasing after him the entire time)

This… would be the kind of idea that Clay would definitely be on board with.

Although… considering the Reader is meant to have a connection to the possibilities, this meant that he should have seen this possibility… and did nothing to stop it. Which means… he wanted Altaïr to find the others and chase after him. XD

#things get screwey once timetravel is part of the plot #and i love it for that screwiness #oh if you want layla can have her own harem too #i was thinking desmond would have an all dude harem while layla will have an all women harem #i’m not sure if we should include aya because her main deal is how independent she is #but i’m thinking kassandra and eivor should be in her harem #maybe even evie and aveline?#it would be funny if elise was part of that harem #just saying #desmond’s harem has #altaïr ezio ratonhnhaké:ton edward arno and jacob #shay is included but i think in this one it has to be assassin!shay before he defected #optional: haytham #suggested harem member: bayek (hehe)#ask and answer #no usual tags because if it isn’t clear yet #this is definitely #altdes #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot

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braindead94 · 7 months

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Doctor Who ask ... 10 and/or 5, please.

😊

Oh shot, my first ask!!! Alrighty then!!

my favorite compaction: IIIIIiiiiiiiii am stuck between Joe Grand and Sarah Jane Smith. Both ladies are incredible and so amazing. Joe started off as a ‘ditzy’ character but she has proven herself so much more by using her escape hacks, quick thinking and is generally a kind woman whom I love very much. Also so ready to die for the Doctor/the world without a second thought. She even managed to stand up to the Master multiple times, even going against his his mind control after learning just one trick!

Sarah is amazing from being a journalist traveling with the doctor. She is a strong, independent woman who values truth. But she also is just down to earth and aloof when she’s with the right crowd (like the Doctor). Hell, she even has her own spin off show to show how strong and kind she is!!

my complaints for the show: as time goes by, you can tell how hard the writers try to make the show more ‘progressive’ and not in a good way. I feel like they are just doing tell, don’t show when it should be reversed. I understand if they want to make a point to showcase, say like ‘The world is dead and humans are now monsters’ without showing any changes.

It also just numbs everyone down because we watch the show as an escape (and for the stories) but now we have to rewatch ch out problems on the screen too. They are better ways to be progressive in storytelling, they did that years ago. I also think they are afraid to write something they framed as offensive. Not every story is going to land, but it’s making the 13th Doctor look bad and Jodie is working with what she’s got.

and yeah, that’s all I got (for jow, I could go on and on and on-)

#Doctor Who #Joe Grant #sarah jane smith

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reallove-truelove · 8 months

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True Love Always Reigns True And Always Wins Against The Darkness

By Faith Ferguson

"In a masked room you are all I see; this dance of life may sway you, spin you around till you can hardly see but your face is but a loud voice that calls out to me in a room of laughter and mockery. You voice calls out to me like a love letter being poured out over one's heart and soul. Like a song of love being poured out over one's soul; your word resides in me. These days may feel like a hurricane drowning one's soul within the burdens and sadness's of this world and things around us but when you are looking upon me, you call me from the water, and you draw me into your arms. You call me by name, and you see me for everything I am, and am not but yet your love overwhelms me with such depth and love that the waves around me turn to nothing and it is just me and you standing in the still waters. Even in the chaos, your love is a thick blanket upon my heart, and an anchor for times of trouble and strife. Your word is like honey upon my heart, healing the harshness of the valley. Your word is a resounding promise in times of the enemies deceit and masked lies. It leads me when all is dark and winding; your voice leads me and guides me through it all. Having your promises over my life is forever like having a compass that never faults but always leads me and guides me towards your promises and truth. I stand in deep awe that out of all of creation which the world marvels at, you choose us, to fight for us, to die for us and to give everything for us. How could i ever not speak of your name or give you the glory in my life; for i know everything you have already done for me but yet even with everything i have had to face i know without you i wouldn't be alive not just because you created me and without you there is no life but also because out of every trial i have had to face, i know deep down that it would not have been humanly possible to face all i have faced without you. I know that if i didn't have you i would have had this world trample me and overcome me but with you, i have been able to stand and fight. So, i can boldly say i wouldn't be here today writing this without Jesus Christ in my life. For this life is so hard but only with Jesus Christ can we overcome this world; for Jesus Christ has already overcome this world and with him we carry his strength to fight another day and survive till the end. Not by our might can we overcome this world but through Jesus Christ we can overcome the forces of darkness and our enemy.... satan who tries to attack humanity. I stand today not out of my own strength but in the strength, God has given me to stand and walk in the promise he has anointed me for and called for me through his name. This life God has given me is from him and therefore my life is Gods and not my own. This life and promise God has called me to is one he has anointed me for, and the one God has anointed me to be with is a man who God chose. Before he breathed his breathe into my future husband and knitted him together in his mother's womb, God hose him and anointed him to not only be my husband but to walk in the calling God has anointed over my life.. This man God has chosen; is a man God has anointed to speak for him, stand and for fill Gods work in the end times. There is a purpose for our lives that goes beyond humanities understanding and is a testimony of the work of God. I believe that it is a foreshadowing of God coming back for his bride. The longer i have waited for my future husband the clearer i have had a revelation of this. God is coming back for his bride as my husband is coming back for me. God's promises are not going away but only draw louder and louder as times grow darker. It's like a lamp in the sunset, as the sky turns to nightfall, as it grows darker and darker, the lamp only grows lighter and lighter. Gods promises will always stand even in the midst of adversity and darkness. Promise after promise in the bible; God shows this. Love always overcomes and love always wins and Gods love will always reign true even in the end and till the end. "

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projectorpheus · 1 year

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KEPLER ⋅𖥔⋅ 27, W ⋅𖥔⋅ EXTRACTION

trigger warnings: death, drugs

Your life is a segment of unexposed film, the idea of a picture before it blurs. In another life, in an ideal exposure, you'd be breaking ground on a new galaxy, hands thick with red sand; a cosmonaut of the highest degree. It's why you grew up with scientists scribbling notes about you through countless space sims, spared from exile aboveground with your biological parents because you were wired to perform under pressure, to detach from others without feeling — TO LET GO. When you're eighteen, you take off once and never again, ACorp's Ibis barely breaking the atmosphere before its experimental fuel source reaches a fatal temperature. ACorp's spin goes like this: you and your loving adoptive father, an ACorp exec and the first man to step foot on Mars, reached the ISS and jetted back in record time. Unfortunately, due to a weight error, your father sacrificed himself so you could live. Truthfully? You weighed out your survival margin if you waited for him to stabilize the main cabin and meet you back near the escape pod. It wasn't good enough. You made the call. So it goes. S Corp's buyout ends the space program. They slap you on the "Public Experience" team, pay you to race state-of-the-art hovercars through their streets under the thrum of of neon and the sour-milk-scent of human exertion. You keep yourself in constant motion, your movements startling and uneasy, throwing yourself under the club lights, drawing friends close only to cut them off when you know it'll hurt most. But you are happy, so happy. Hopped up on whatever poison you can snort up your nose. Shark-smile. When you're so fucked up you can't do anything but remain still, you wonder: are your birth parents thinking of you? And then you're back on your feet, thrashing through your life on a whim. Glimpses of all you could've been, confetti spinning into a void. You find out about Project Orpheus after your biological mother denies your hard-fought telegrammed request to meet her on your 27th birthday, and borrow data to slide into a program your brain isn't compatible with. You'll die, yes. But what's the fun in life, anyway, if you can't for once be the hero? If you can't for once in your life do the right fucking thing.

DYNAMICS

VOYAGER ⋅𖥔⋅ NO, EMPTINESS IS NOT NOTHINGNESS. EMPTINESS IS A TYPE OF EXISTENCE.

You've been gaming together on a procedurally-generated space MMORPG where all the avatars are birds for 12+ years, and they only know you under the alias BluePenguino69. Still, you've explored hundreds of planets with them, built giant bases, have talked to them more frequently than anyone you actually know. Sometimes, you wonder what they look like, but real real life is a boundary you never cross. Better to keep things in a place where you can't ruin the groove you've got going, the feeling of safety through facelessness in your online world.

SYCORAX ⋅𖥔⋅ EVERYTHING I LOVED WAS LOST, BUT NO AORTA COULD REPORT REGRET.

You're two sides of the same coin: you, the lucky one, them, a cautionary tale of being labelled a reckless coward, — a person who has killed. You know they hate you; have seen the file on what actually happened on the Ibis, how being sworn to keeping your secret seems to hurt like acid corroding their bones. You can't help but sidle up toward them, see their jaw clench and wonder how many prods it'll take to push them past their breaking point.

JUNO ⋅𖥔⋅ WE CAN NEVER BE GODS, AFTER ALL, BUT WE CAN BECOME SOMETHING LESS THAN HUMAN WITH FRIGHTENING EASE.

You love their company the way flame loves its kindling, their surprising sore points, their mousetrap-quick mind, the way you gore each other like bulls pressing against each other. You bore easily of most people, but they enamor you again and again. Yes, you could stay in this silly cycle forever, your hand tracing their jaw, your tendons squelching between their teeth.

TAKEN BY MOD JJ ⋅𖥔⋅ JESSICA HENWICK

#kepler.#closed.#all.

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anthonysstupiddailyblog · 1 year

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Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (341): Tue 21st Feb 2023

I watched a few clips of the American kids show Mr Rogers Neighbourhood as I’d never seen it before and being British I don’t think it would have been available to watch without getting tapes sent over from the US. The episode I watched took place the week after Robert Kennedy was killed and it features the sidekick of the show Lady Aberlin consoling a concerned puppet and it’s damn creepy. It starts off quite melancholy, spending a minute on the puppet asking Lady Aberlin how humans don’t shrink down when we exhale but balloons do when you let the air out of them. Then after a five second pause the puppet asked nervously “what does assassination mean?”. The music goes much more downbeat and Lady Aberlin struggles to gather herself after being asked such a sensitive question by someone so vulnerable. She then explains it to him but there’s no positive spin out on it at the end the two just sit awkwardly. The puppet processing what it has just been told and Lady Aberlin goes quiet presumably concerned about if she handled the situation sensitively enough. I always wonder how I would explain death to my kids if I had any (which I never will because bringing kids into the world and forcing them to rely on me to keep them save would frankly be cruel). I wouldn’t know whether to tell them about the idea of heaven because I personally don’t believe in it but I also wouldn’t want to introduce them to the idea that they will never see the person who has died ever again. I tried to think about how the topic of death was brought up to me by my parents. I can’t say I remember them telling me about heaven and the afterlife but up until I was about 13 I definitely believed in it. In fact I remember going through a bit of a mental crisis when I was that age because I realized that the idea of never being able to die would be absolutely terrifying and could be just as bad as going to Hell. I think maybe one of my school friends may have mentioned that they were an atheist and I said I was too in order to seem cool but eventually came to the realization that I actually no longer thought there was an afterlife. There’s a Twilight Zone episode where whenever somebody dies the fabric of time and reality gets altered so that their history is completely erased from existence. This would take away all of the pain but it would also take a lot of the joy out of life too because grief, although tough to go though is also reaffirming because it proves to you how much you must have loved the person you lost. Maybe the correct way to explain death to kids is to explain to them that some people believe in an afterlife and some think that there’s nothing after death and leave it up to them to do the research and come to their own conclusion. Thankfully I’ll never have to go through this soul crushing experience sometimes I think that if there is a God, then when he saw just how much suffering and trauma goes with sentient life then he would have realized it would have been kinder to not create us at all. On a lighter note I learned that the actress who played Lady Aberlin was a woman named Betty Aberlin and was actually George A Romero’s first choice to play Barbara in Night of the Living Dead but Mr Rogers wouldn’t allow it. That would have been awkward if she had been in the movie and some kids saw it and then when they next tuned in to Mr Roger’s Neighbourhood and Lady Aberlin walked on the screen they’d runout of the room screaming “AAH Zombie!”

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sortasirius · 3 years

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Dean Winchester be like:

I hate myself because it’s what my father taught me to do. I hate myself because it’s a defense mechanism. I use sarcasm to cover up the fact that I believe I am worthless. I raised my brother into a good man, that’s the only good I’ve ever done. I’ve saved some people, they don’t say thank you, but that’s okay. I wish I could have been the man my father wanted me to be. I break everything I touch. All the people I love I end up killing or leaving me. I am broken. I don’t do romantic love, it’s asking for me to get my heart broken, more broken than it already is. I sold my soul to a demon so I could save my brother, because he’s the best thing I ever did, the only good thing. I’m afraid to go to Hell, but I pretend I’m not, because what’s the alternative?

Hell proved that I was the person I always knew I was, a bad person, willing to torture to get out of pain. I met an angel, he’s not like I thought. He’s a soldier, like me, he’s taking orders from a father he can’t see. He starts out as an ally, but he’s different than the others, they say he likes me. He’s awkward, he stands too close to me sometimes. I started the Apocalypse because I wasn’t strong enough. My brother is going down the wrong path, and I don’t know how to stop it. The angels tell me Lucifer has to rise, but the one that pulled me out of Hell disobeys to help me stop it. I think I should consider him a friend. Lucifer rises anyway.

The angel is on the run from Heaven, he’s a good guy, I like him a lot, more than I think I should. I don’t know what to do, if I say yes to Michael, we can save some people. Maybe I’ll get to know peace, maybe my father will be proud of me then. The angel and my brother are angry at me, but I’ve always been a coward, they just don’t know it. But they know me best, I can’t say yes to Michael if it means disappointing them.

My brother goes to the cage with Lucifer and Michael, the angel disappears, and I’m left to pick up the pieces, living a life I feel like I stole from somebody else. I always sleep with a gun and holy water under the bed, even though I know every entrance is secure. My brother comes back, but he’s different now, he’s not the same, I should have looked for him. I feel guilty. We found out his soul is gone, his soul, his soul. The angel is back, but he’s no real help. I kill myself to speak to Death, who brings back his soul in exchange for me playing Death, where I learn a few hard lessons.

I find out the angel has been working with our enemies. Why does it feel like my heart is broken when he won’t meet my eyes? I leave him to the demons, but not before one last look. I’m not sure why. The idiot, he ends up dying trying to get souls from Purgatory, desperate to win his war in Heaven. Why does everyone leave me? The Leviathan are out there, a new threat. At least I know how to kill, so I won’t have to think about the muddy trenchcoat in the trunk of my car. I lose the closest thing I have to a father with a bullet to the brain. I feel like I’m spinning out of control. My brother loses his mind. The angel comes back, he doesn’t recognize me, that hurts. When he does remember me, I tell him we need him, but I really mean that I do.

I get sent to Purgatory, I meet a vampire turned ally turned new best friend, but I won’t leave without the angel, I can’t leave without the angel. We find him, he was running from me, why does everyone run from me? We make it out of Purgatory, the angel gets left behind. It turns out my brother didn’t look for me. Why am I so dispensable? The vampire is the only one I can trust now. I dream about the angel, about the way I couldn’t save him. I feel like I can’t save anyone these days. I see the angel in the air around me, am I going crazy? But then he shows up behind me, why do I care so much about him? I don’t even care where he came from, as long as he’s here. My brother takes on trials, they start to hurt him. We find a place to call home. I’ve never had my own bedroom before. The angel is distant, I wish I could reach him. He doesn’t answer my prayers. He and I find the angel tablet, he hits me. I tell him I need him, never able to tell him that I think I might love him too. He snaps out of it then walks out of my life again. I wish I was lovable. I almost lose my brother to the trials, he has to know I can’t lose him, he’s all I’ve got. The angels fall, I wonder about my angel, if he’s alright.

My brother is dying, and I make a deal with an angel to save him. My angel says he’s a good guy, and I’m too desperate to vet him properly. I watch my angel, now a human, die in front of me, the angel in my brother saves him, it’s one of the only times I’ve ever put someone else over my brother. I feel guilty about that. I have to kick my angel out, it tears me in half to do it, but I have to protect my brother. I watch the angel from a gas station window, I try to find the courage to go see him. I use humor to hide how much I miss him. My brother finds out about the angel, which cost the life of a kid I was supposed to protect, he’s so angry at me. Well, I deserve it this time. I take the Mark of Cain to defeat Abaddon, it can’t be all that bad. I start to lose my grip on myself. My angel gives up an army for me, and it’s the closest I feel to being me in months. My brother and my angel try to stop it, but it’s too late. I die in my brother’s arms.

I wake up with black eyes. I don’t care about anyone, anything. There’s a tiny part of me that’s screaming to wake up, but I drown him out easily enough. My brother finds me, says he wants to cure me. I don’t want it, I don’t want to be me, not feeling is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. They do cure me though, my brother and my angel, and waking up from the blackness is like surfacing from deep water. For a while, I feel loved. But after what I did, I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’m still not me, and when my friend, who I loved like a sister is taken, I go off the deep end again. It’s too easy, but violence is all I know. The angel tries to stop me. I have him where I want him, a blade to the heart and this is all over. But I still can’t kill him, I still can’t kill the angel. Death tells me I have to kill my brother. I almost do it. But killing Death releases me, and I’m me again. Sometimes I still wish I wasn’t.

I have this connection to this Darkness. It scares the hell out of me. I wish I understood it, I wish I could stop it. Am I pulled towards the Darkness because I, myself, am darkness? Is it because I am, because I’ve always been bad? I lose the angel to Lucifer himself, how did I not notice until it was too late? Why would he leave me like this? Will I ever get him back? My head is foggy around the Darkness, but not when it comes to him. I just wish I could get through to him. Lucifer taunts me, my heart rips in half. We get the angel back, but nothing good can last in this life, can it? God himself returns, I have to sacrifice myself to stop the Darkness. I’ll do it, because of course I will, if I have an opportunity to do some good, I’ll take it. The Darkness doesn’t kill me. She thanks me.

My mother is alive. It’s everything I’ve always wanted. I have to learn fast that she’s not what I thought. That’s hard. Me and my brother end up in prison for trying to kill Lucifer, and we find out this girl is going to have his kid. How will we kill someone innocent? I can’t think about that, I’m a killer, I’ll kill if i have to. The angel kills a reaper to save me, but what will happen to him? We start looking for this kid, but do we even want to find it? The angel nearly dies for me, he tells me, my family he loves us. I wish I could tell him the same, but the words won’t work right in my brain, so I do what I always do, I look away. The angel finds the girl, but the kid inside her gets to him, and he runs away from me. Why does everyone run from me? We find them just in time to find a rift to another world, and my brother has to drag me away from the angel, who is going to sacrifice himself to kill Lucifer. He comes back, but before I can say the words I’ve been holding onto for so long, he dies in front of me, only this time, it’s real. My mom is taken from me too, and I’m left by the angel’s side, staring up at the sky, wondering why, why me?

I bury the angel, my brother insists we can’t kill the kid, even though it’s his fault my mom is gone and the angel is... I beg God to bring him back, please, bring him back. You owe me this, please bring him back. He doesn’t listen. I’m alone. We burn the angel, and I try to learn to live with regret and grief and crippling pain all at once. I hate the kid, this is his fault. I kill myself again to save some souls, but also because I want to die this time. I can’t take it anymore. Death tells me I have work to do, but how much more work can there be? How much more can I take? It’s like the Universe reads my mind, because my angel comes back, and it’s like the last few weeks haven’t happened. I still can’t say the words, but maybe this time I’ll get there. Maybe this time. We go to the other world, we save some people, I find my mom. I let another Michael from the other world possess me to defeat Lucifer, but then I can’t expel him. Before he shuts me in my memories, I am desperately afraid.

My brother and the angel find me in my own head, the snap me out of it. I should have known this bar was too good for me, I knew I didn’t deserve it. I shut Michael in there, but I know I won’t last long. I think I’m too weak to hold him, so I build a box designed to hold me forever. I dream about it, claw the sides of the wall until my nails are bloody, but if it’s my eternity or Michael’s rule? I’ll take the ocean every time. The angel will always try to save me, I still can’t say the words. The kid, my kid, he destroys Michael, but something is wrong, and I don;t realize until it’s too late. My mother is dead, at the hands of the kid, and I have never been angrier. I hate the kid again, I hate the angel too, I hate myself more. I pull a gun on the kid, but I still can’t pull the trigger. Sometimes I wish I could put it to my own head. God comes back, turns out he was the villain all along. Typical. He kills our kid. I can’t let myself feel.

The angel tries to convince me that we’re real. How can I believe that? Is everything I am just a story? Have I ever chosen anything? Does the angel really care about me? Do I really care about him? Another one of our friends dies. I blame the angel, I push him away, because I can’t look at him if I think what I feel for him might not be real. I meet up with someone I loved. He’s a monster now, I have to kill him. He dies holding me. I wish I was dead sometimes too. My brother is sick, he gets kidnapped by God. I’m spinning in circles. Me and the angel end up in Purgatory again. He gets taken from me. I’m so alone, so scared, I break down in the one place I could get lost in forever searching for the angel, I don’t want to leave him, please, don’t make me leave him. I have to keep looking, get back to the real world to save my brother. How will I choose? Thank god, or, whatever, I find the angel. I’ll tell him this time, but he stops me. He must know. He doesn’t want me, no one wants me. Why would they? Chuck has taken everything from me. I have to kill him, no matter the cost. The cost is gonna be our kid, raised from the dead by Death. I guess the one thing we have going for us is we don’t stay dead for long. I’m ready to let my kid die for my freedom. My brother stands in the way, I pull a gun on him. He talks me down, he’s the only one that can. I decide to take it out on Death, my pain, my anger, my rage. I take the angel and we find her, she chases us. Another trap. I realize that I’ve trapped us both. Why am I so worthless?

The angel looks at me. He smiles. He tells me how worthy I am, that I’m good, that I changed him. How can I tell him how he changed me. He tells me he’ll die for loving me. Then he shouldn’t, I’m not worth his life. Don’t leave me, please, I can’t lose you, you don’t know what it does it me when you leave me. He tells me he loves me. I try to tell him a fraction of the things I feel for him, but it’s too late. He’s taken before my eyes, and this time I know there’s no getting him back.

I’m left on the floor, unable to move.

This time I know, I’ll never let myself love again, because my heart is so shattered that it’s powdered, there’s no repairing it now. I’ve always been broken, but this time I’m not just broken: I’m destroyed.

#so uh yeah idk what this is #dean #spn #my writing #supernatural #dean winchester #destiel #im so sorry????? idk where this came from #I have never loved anyone the way I love him

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anarchic-monarch · 2 years

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Idealistic Ignorance (Machine Herald Viktor x Reader)

I haven't written anything in years, so here I am, venturing into to world of fanfic again. If all goes well, maybe I'll post some more, who knows.

Viktor x Gn Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

angst, hurt no comfort we die like little bitches, Viktor is a dick welcome to League of Legends lore

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Evolution.

His-- no-- humanity’s glorious evolution. It made you more than uneasy.

Of all the many seemingly improbable and magnificent ideas that had come to fruition from Viktor’s mind, the contradictions that arose from this simple concept should have been enough to turn you away this time.

It scared you, this evolution of his. All his promises of living longer, of finding a way to stay so that you didn’t have to feel that piercing loneliness and regret was technically possible because of his hextech replacements. But, the longer you thought about it, the more you came to realize that Viktor wasn’t going to stop with completely replacing himself.

Losing every inch of Viktor that you had loved to touch, to wrap your arms around and pull close to keep warm on chilly nights, was a thought you didn’t like to entertain. But the whole of humanity? The machinery was supposed to just be to stop him from dying, not take away what made life worth living in the first place.

You found yourself regretfully reminiscing of the days when it was simple, or, as simple as you think prolonging life itself could come. The days when the HexCore wasn’t inside his body where his heart used to beat, when Viktor’s own prognosis was the scientific problem at the forefront of your mind.

That’s where you went wrong, you supposed, continuing to think in terms of solving a problem rather than the severity of the issues at hand: Viktor was dying. The love of your life was dying, and all you did was encourage a spiral into something much worse.

But how could you know? Every day, when the thought of Viktor’s inevitable doom pervaded the atmosphere of your relationship and poisoned your motivations, the looming agony of loneliness was enough to drive a devoted biochemical scholar such as yourself to abandon your work and devote everything you had into configuring a way for HexTech to save Viktor’s life. Sleepless nights in the lab and pure focus on the “problem to solve” were a warning you ignored. The path Viktor chose was one you willingly wanted to traverse with him, because it meant you wouldn’t lose him.

How selfish that all seems now…

It was so simple when that was all that mattered, when the loss of one or two close friends was meaningless in the grand scheme of Viktor no longer suffering, so the two of you could help humanity together in ways that the privileged cuckolds of Piltover were too afraid to.

But that simplicity morphed into a delusion that grappled with what was left of your conscious.

You had seen Viktor carve his own skin before, but standing still, watching him slice himself open, holding the mirror for him as he wired the device with his nerves… it destroyed you. Part of you wondered if he had any regrets, if his own actions haunted him as much as it did to you. Nights with one another slowly became more cold, the heat of his body fading away with the frigid, hard feeling of metal replacing the hands that once held you with the fear of never seeing tomorrow.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss that feeling. Those days spent going over each other's top-secret-for-my-eyes-only notes, making Jayce’s ideas work with a simple checking of his calculations, it was a happiness you hadn’t even realized in the moment.

The first time Viktor picked you up off your feet, spinning you around without falling down or injuring himself… you knew that you’d do anything just to see that look on his face again when he realized he had “scienced” his way into living a long life with you.

That was all in the past now, and the future that loomed left a sour taste in your mouth, or maybe the grub from tonight wasn’t cooked through fully…

“Love, you’ve been staring at that dish for a while,” Viktor said. It was then you realized he had moved himself from the table and was standing behind you, metal arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The way he called you love… it was enough of a reminder that the machinery was what allowed him to be here with you. It was wrong to take that for granted.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” you scrubbed at the grime that had collected on the edges, not even noticing when all of it had disappeared.

“Thinking?” his voice lifted like it always did when you rambled and he tried to keep up.

“Yeah, thinking…”

You felt the edges of his plating catch the hem of your shirt for a moment as he moved to grab your wrists, pulling you away from the sink.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to stop thinking for the night and get some rest.”

You nodded, sighing in agreement and ignorantly convincing yourself that rest was what you needed.

It was another one of those cold nights shrouded in the Zaun Gray. Two icy limbs held you close against a mixture of rough plating and the heat of a fleshy chest. The familiar sound of his heartbeat long since lost with the life you had abandoned just to be here, sleeping on a mattress in an abandoned building that served as Viktor’s makeshift laboratory.

You hadn’t noticed you’d been slowly trying to pull yourself away until the pull of the metal towards what you had convinced yourself was the man you had spent countless nights in the astronomy tower crafting stories from the shapes of the clouds as they reflected the moonlight. Oh god, what you would give just to sit up there with him, arm around your shoulder as your body weight held his own as you ascended the steps towards the balcony…

“Are you going to sleep?” his voice broke through your fantasy, bringing you back down to the mattress and the disjointed creaks of Viktor’s plating.

All you did was hum, leaving it up to him to interpret it as a yes.

“I’m not falling asleep until you do.”

The sound of his voice was supposed to be comforting, it was the one of the few things that hadn’t changed about him after all. Lying there in what used to be his arms, pressed against metal so foreign… there was no such thing as getting rest in his embrace anymore.

So you just gave him another hum, and let him believe you were just too tired to answer.

There wasn’t a way to go back to the way things were, that was for certain. Coping with the situation at hand was a task in and of itself, one that found you revisiting old hypotheses and experiments gone wrong, all contained in an old notebook lying underneath your pile of laundry.

Diving into your old research made living in the undercity-- Zaun-- all the more bearable. Afterall, the chemical components of the atmosphere had been an intrigue of yours since the day you’d decided on making it in the Academy. The old scribbles you had decorated your own discoveries with were echoes of the life you so dearly missed, one where the trajectory didn’t find you contemplating diving into the very heart of what was driving Viktor to what you could only describe as his own ruin.

You almost shivered at the thought, remembering the indents his “new and improved” hand had left in your skin the day you mentioned the mines.

“That’s far too dangerous, even for you.”

His voice, still shaky and uncertain, had frozen you for the first time, not out of adoration but out of something else you had prayed would never bring you to such a halt. Of course he was against it, those godforsaken biohazards were the catalyst for his eroding body. Still, your aching desire to spend the lonely minutes into something familiar kept the thought in the back of your mind.

A soft wheeze of air from Viktor’s lungs sent you jumping slightly, until your attention fell on his closed eyes. The hold on you had loosened, the indicator of sleep for the man who could barely get any. For a moment, you could almost see the Viktor you had begun this whole insane venture with. The way his eyebrows furrowed when he was dreaming still hadn’t changed a bit, nor had the sickening screech of air as he exhaled without restraint.

It was only a matter of time before he decided to replace his lungs…

No, there was no staying with him any longer if that happened. There had to be a way to halt the deterioration, especially considering he’d seen so much improvement. The residue of shimer injections and all that metal reinforcing his limbs, surely it wasn’t out of the question to propose curing the issues entirely, without technology.

Slinking ever so carefully out of reach, you made your play. If there was a time to get down into the mines without him knowing, it was while he wasn’t in a position to stop you. Grabbing a jacket from the top of your laundry pile, you reached for your old academy notes and made your way through the maze of gadgetry that blocked the path to the door.

It was difficult avoiding the various prototypes and blueprints Viktor had left scattered in his little “office”, not because they were everywhere, but because you had a devastatingly strong curiosity as to figuring out what piece of flesh he was going to tear out and replace with something hollow and hard. It was almost like you were looking for it, and then you saw a little scrap of sketches on the ground nearby the door.

Lungs…

Or, rather, what Viktor would inevitably call his new “lungs”. You were right, time was indeed short. An insistent ticking of a seemingly indestructible clock. The floorboards creaked as you lowered yourself, allowing your own fingers to dance across the rough lines he’d drawn. Obviously that new hand still had some getting used too…

It was a motion without much thought as you slipped it into your pocket, rising up once again and easing the door open with a gentle turn of the rusted knob. When the haze of green became a slightly less unnerving sight, a step forward slipped you into the cover of Zaun’s permanent darkness.

……….

Viktor wasn’t the first victim of the toxins that emanated from deep within the mines that brought Piltover its glory, and you were determined to make sure that he would be the last. It was a beautiful dream you once had, liberating the undercity from the negligence of the rich and power that you had grown so comfortable around.

Perhaps that was why you really followed Viktor into the unknown that was slowly becoming your undoing. The thoughts of what could have been were nothing compared to the reality you knew to be certain: Zaun wouldn’t benefit from anything you did in Piltover.

Idealism is a parasite working in tandem with ignorance.

Heimerdinger’s words, though incredibly hypocritical in hindsight, still rang clearly in your mind as you stood in front of the entrance to a path that led deep into rock unexplored by those sitting in comfortable Council chairs.

Even with your mask, the sting of the smog and corroded steel mixed with the fumes of chemicals unidentified simply due to a lack of care. The Sump Layer of Zaun had already abandoned this place, and for good reason.

Your nostrils were on fire, the entrance of the mine itself rank of things that left no doubt in your mind; Viktor’s condition was far more complicated than you had originally thought it to be.

The only thing more powerful than the stench was the presence of the blueprint in your possession. Your fingers reached into your jacket pocket for what could likely have been the thousandth time, holding onto the edge of the paper. Your thumb and forefinger pinched it tight as you made your descent into complete darkness that put the Zaun Gray to shame.

Your confidence never wavered, stepping deeper and deeper until the light of the entrance had disappeared completely, continuing on further in pursuit of answers.

No, not answers, hope. The hope of stopping the replacement of every inch of flesh that you had admired, adored, loved. Stopping Viktor from losing what made him Viktor. It didn’t matter that he could carry you now. Every dance the two of you had shared after he had completely done away with his leg was emotionless. With every piece of Viktor that became metal, the more distant, more unnerving he became.

All the love’s and darling’s and beautiful’s were as hollow and cold as the figment of the man who caged you in his arms at night. And when he removed his own heart…

“Please,” he said, “I need your help this time.”

A small scalpel was held out towards you by a hunk of metal, the pulsing HexCore casting its shadow on his face. His eyes were pleading, he knew he couldn’t do this part alone. That vulnerability, it was something you thought he’d left in Piltover.

“Darling, I need you.”

That’s right… he needed you. Needed you to stop the constant pain of living in his own body. Needed to stop every possibility that could keep him from you. It was only his heart, it would stop his pain. And that’s all that mattered to you.

His scream was one you never wanted to hear again, yet you knew you had heard it before. He had bitten down on his own metallic appendage, instructing you through muffled cries.

“Put that wire there.”

“Make an incision in that valve.”

“Go get the HexCore.”

It was the same as any other experiment you had done with him, so why did it feel wrong to heed his words?

A sharp pain sent your body reeling; you’d forgotten to breathe again. Your hands grappled for the rough stone walls in the dark, only to come away slick with something foreign. The scientist inside you was operating your physicality, roaming the wall again to find more of the substance and collect a sample, yet your mind couldn’t shake the image of the day you opened Viktor’s chest simply because he asked.

“It’s quite ironic,” he began, voice hoarse from the pain.

“What do you mean?” You were sitting in his chair, keeping a close eye on the haphazard stitching job as you wiped the stains from your hands.

He smiled, eyes barely even open and his whole being was lingering on passing out, “My Heart. You were holding it.”

“You told me to.”

The small laugh that escaped him sent a small trail of blood down his thin abdomen, one of the stitches had popped. There wasn’t much thought behind you wheeling the chair close to him again, working on closing the little hole with a little bit more precision, anything to prevent you from seeing the inside of the human body… his human body again.

“With precision like that, you’d make a perfect machine.”

Your fingers halted, blood still dripping in a perfect line, “I’m not a machine.” The words were as sharp as your gaze on his eyes. Those amber eyes which had widened in a look of disbelief and confusion you didn’t believe he’d be able to make surface again.

The room became thick, and you wouldn’t deny your part in that. Viktor’s labored breathing didn’t stop him from continuing to speak.

“What happens if I outlive you then?”

“You won’t.”

The pain returned, but this time you were nowhere near the wall. The darkness was swirling, vials clinking in your pocket to the haunting lullaby surrounding you. There was a growing sense of dread, one that told you there were enough samples to keep each other company on the journey out.

Which way was the exit again…

That suffocating feeling was a warning back at the entrance, and now, it was invading your lungs, crushing them and twisting the organs into what one could imagine as a horrifyingly unnatural shape.

A gasp for air was now nothing more than a screeching wheeze that echoed off the inky black. The sharp sting of the chemicals traveled up your throat, bringing a sickly concoction of the remnants of your dinner earlier and what you could only assume was blood.

It was all too much, every inch of your being was pounding, your eyes and throat were burning, body dizzy from continuously vomiting despite there being nothing left inside your stomach anymore.

The exit was… that way? No, forward. Wait, which way is that?

A massive migraine sent what little vision you had reeling, the notebook slipped from your grasp, pages flipped open to the warnings from previous experiments about the effects of old chemicals you’d studied. They looked upon your cowering form, mocking your efforts.

A shaky hand reached out to bring it close to your chest once again. You couldn’t give up now, not when you’d gotten everything you needed. All you had to do was find the exit, but your feet wouldn’t budge. The pain kept you doubled over, the tightness in your chest now partially caused from the way your arms held yourself. You don’t remember yourself being that strong…

A small part of you wanted Viktor to know where you were, to make it home and have to sit on the little mattress with all your disgusting laundry while he gripped you tightly, rambling about how “fucking stupid” you were, about “what would of happened” if you hadn’t found your way back to the alley again...

It was a wonderful thought to ease the reality.

Visions of Viktor’s half-metallic presence filled the void you knew was going to be your tomb. He was standing there, a worried look plastered across his pale, slightly-less hollowed features. He’d never really know what you were doing down here, trying to allow him to keep the one thing about him you loved more than anything… so you called out to the image of your beloved before you. Better to get it off your consciousness to the solid air so that the emptiness could witness your intentions.

“I just… wanted to--”

It was a hoarse cry for help, one that preceded the final release of silence.

It was a haunting image for the very real Viktor standing before you, your body contorted in a way he had imagined his own ending up like at the end of his days. It hurt him to look at you like that, so much so that what had replaced his heart made the machine of a man feel something stronger than he’d ever felt in his old mortal life:

Desperation.

………..

The magnificent symphony of engines, the humming of electricity singing in a harmony that only a select few could find to be beautiful buzzed around in your head. Your lips pursed together softly, humming along to their tune. But there was no sound that could be heard over the noise. It was so loud…

The fluttering of your eyelids should have indicated to your body that it was time to take in the sight of home, to regain your bearings, but all that greeted you was a mash of colors, blurry and with no definition.

There was a voice, one that you could hear through all the buzzing and the clanking of machinery. It was your name, calling out through the mess of noise that was slowly beginning to lose its sense of comfort. The impact your skull made against wood as you desperately searched for the source brought a conclusion you weren’t fond of.

You were lying on the desk, face up.

“You’re awake?”

It was more clear this time, but it was difficult to make out the features of everything that surrounded you. Flashes of the soft green light of the lab blurred, grays and blues and rusts of gadgets swirled, pounding your skull as you attempted in vain to establish a clear vision. A heavy weight, you assumed was Viktor’s hand, shoved you back down, holding you. It wasn’t the warm graze of his hand you had expected, but the force and pressure of desperation.

“Please stay still,” his accent swam through your ears, “you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t.”

The softness of his voice was a sharp contrast to the way he grasped your jaw with his free hand. You weren’t looking forward to the bruises the pressure would leave, but you couldn’t stop moving. Something was burning inside you, moving was the only way to keep a growing feeling at bay… and it didn’t feel natural.

“Just hold on love,” it was a desperate attempt to be soothing, but that was your Viktor. Awkward and a little rough without meaning to be. Whatever was going on, he knew more than you did. And considering that… feeling… something told you that there wasn’t much you could do in this situation.

With one hand still pressing into your jaw, the other lifted off your chest. A soft clinking of glass indicated he’d grabbed something, and the forcing of your left eye open was further confirmation. The sharp sting that followed as liquid made contact with your eye released part of that feeling into the air. It ripped at your vocal chords as your scream bounced off the thin drywall, back to your own ears. It was enough to distract you from the way Viktor moved his hand from your face to your cheek, softly cradling you as another drop hit your other eye.

The bright silver became the sink you’d broken far too many plates in, the magnificent amber found its way back into the irises of Viktor’s eyes, looking over every inch of your features, uncomfortably observant.

God, it felt great to have him this close again.

“Viktor… what happened…?” you nearly gasped at the sound of your own voice. It was rough, hoarse even. It didn’t sound like how you remembered your voice sounding.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” The weight of his body pressed against you, like he was trying to close any space out of fear it would take you with it. Your arms found their way around him, this time not hesitating at the parts where metal was melded into flesh. It didn’t matter what he looked like, what part of him was human and machine, he cared. He was still in there, and you couldn’t help but feel like a fool to doubt anything different.

“Thank you, Viktor. I’m so s--”

“It’s okay.” His forehead lifted from yours, letting you bring your hands up to cradle his face. He held you steady as your fingers traced his features, the realization he’d just saved your life eating away at the doubt you’d acquired. Yes, he still loved you, he was still Viktor.

“I was so stupid,” you kept going, that regret for being so selfish with your affections aching to be let out, just so he had an explanation, “I thought that it was supposed to stop--”

His finger pressed against your lips, the frigid feeling of the metal sending the familiar shiver down your spine. His other hand played with your chest, reminiscent of how he used to, just the way you liked it.

But you couldn’t feel the motions of his finger on your skin.

You wanted to believe that you were still just a little numb, after all you had been nearly killed by a bunch of chemicals. The part of you that had been naive enough to not comprehend how close to death you might actually have been… how exactly did Viktor save you?

Eyes lowered, and the sight before you made you wish you still couldn’t see.

There was no skin, but a cage of metal housing a soft blue light, off center towards your left. The place where your heart should have been. The design was incredibly geometric, it would have been almost beautiful if it weren’t fused to your skin. A mass of wires weaved in braids through the large cavity, surrounded on all sides by the same cold metal of Viktor’s own “evolution”. That alone was enough to send your mind into a state of pure rage, but when you looked deeper inside, the replacement of your lungs filled you with something that no word could truly do justice.

It was the same design as the one you’d picked up on your way out the door. All the noise, the volume of it, wasn't coming from any machine in the lab. It was the inhuman musings of Viktor’s doing. You told him how you’d never consent to his “evolution”, and yet the bastard had the audacity to speak with pride.

“It’s just the first step,” his voice growing as he slowly slipped further from the Viktor you had convinced yourself was still in there, “just a prototype, but it suits you well.”

Each word was methodical, probing and observing the functions of his inventions and not the humane respect any other person would have exhibited. His gaze was violating, everywhere his hands roamed sent the insides that were still yours reeling. Every thought that had felt wrong sang out in dooming unison: “I told you so”.

He was still rambling; you scrambled getting your feet on the floor, eyes still locked onto him. It wasn’t until you began backing up that he noticed your widened eyes.

“What is it?”

You’d never hated his voice before. You wanted to walk out that door so badly, to fix whatever he’d done to you. He had one chance to fix this.

He called out your name, into the space you’d created, “don’t leave.”

Two more steps backwards. Viktor hopped off the table, an attempt to close the gap. A hand extended out to you, his fingers curling a slight “come here”. If only you were still ignorant enough to be obedient. That idealistic view of Viktor you’d had, it was simply your own ignorance of who he really was. He’d changed, and you hadn’t.

You finally broke eye contact with him, turning to face the door. It was time to leave.

“Goodbye, Viktor.”

You pretended not to hear him barking your name as you slipped out the door, pretending that the gadgetry welded into your flesh wouldn’t remind you of him every time you heard the melody it made.

But you kept walking, until his voice was nothing.

#viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #viktor x reader #angst #hurt no comfort #viktor x reader angst #viktor league of legends #viktor fanfiction #arcane lol

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 18

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 18 - This Venerable One has Begged You Before

Tianwen has a deadly killing move. The name was very simple, just one word: "Wind". Once activated, no piece of armor in the surrounding area could withstand it.

Mo Ran was naturally acquainted with the power of "Wind". He also knew Chu Wanning's strength so there was no need to worry. He glanced at the pale man whose robe was dyed red with blood. He threw away the rest of his talismans to buy Chu Wanning some time, then flew away to the edge of the fight. He grabbed Shi Mei with one hand, Madam Chen with the other, and took two unconscious people, hiding a far distance away.

Chu Wanning endured the severe pain and reluctantly moved his other. Suddenly, Tianwen burst out with a dazzling golden light, and Chu Wanning violently jerked it back.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost went berserk. It jumped up and rushed towards Chu Wanning with a distorted face.

Chu Wanning's robe waved like a flame in a violent wind, billowing and flying. His eyebrows were furious, half of his shoulders soaked in blood. He quickly raised his hand, Tianwen's golden light became more and more intense then it took off by Chu Wanning's flying spin.

The willow vine stretched for several tens of feet and whirled into a golden spiral. Like a whirlpool, it engulfed the surrounding ghosts, dead bodies, golden children, and the roaring and twisting Master of Ceremonies Ghost into the center of "Wind". The fierce image that was created by Tianwen was then shattered in an instant!!!

"Wind" smashed and destroyed. Not even the surrounding grass and trees, being ripped up from the ground, were spared.

The huge storm centered around Chu Wanning let out a dazzling golden light. The sky grew dark, covered by flying sand and rocks. Whether it was a coffin or the dead, they were like grass fluttering in the wind.

She was sucked in and was cut up by the rapidly spinning Tianwen.

Sliced into tens of thousands pieces of debris. . .

When everything calmed down, there was no grass around Chu Wanning, a desolate and empty wasteland.

Other than him standing alone in his bright, auspicious clothes that resembled a blooming red lotus and a begonia blossom, there was only a ground covered in crushed white bones, and the horrible hissing of Tianwen's golden light.

From this point of view, Chu Wanning did the world a favour pumping out so many disciples.

Based on his performance today, if he wanted to, even if every disciple on Life-Death Peak were defeated, it wasn't impossible for him to keep fighting. . .

The golden light faded away.

Tianwen turned into flickering dots like stars, blending into Chu Wanning's palm.

He breathed a deep breath and frowned. Enduring the sharp pain in his shoulder, he slowly walked towards his disciples in the distance.

"How's Shi Mei?"

Coming to their side, Chu Wanning pushed through and asked.

The ink burned down to look at the unconscious beauty in his arms. He still wasn't awake, his breathing was weak, and his cheeks felt cold to the touch. This scene was too familiar, it was a nightmare that Mo Ran couldn't get rid of.

As Shi Mei was lying in his arms like this, as time went on, he wasn't breathing anymore. . .

Chu Wanning placed his hands on Madam Chen's and Shi Mei's necks. He mumbled out: "Hmm? How could the poisoning be so deep?"

Mo Ran's head snapped up: "Poison? Didn't you say they were okay? Didn't you say that they were just being compelled?"

Chu Wanning frowned: "The Master of Ceremonies Ghost relied on the fragrance powder to compel them. That was a kind of poison. I thought it was only superficial, but I didn't expect the poison to be this severe."

". . ."

"Send them back to Chen's house first." Chu Wanning said, "It's not difficult to expel the poison. It's fine as long as they don't die."

His voice was cold and unwavering. Although Chu Wanning normally spoke like this, at this moment, it really made people feel like he was uncaring and downplaying things.

Mo Ran was brought back to that year of heavy snow. He was knelt in the snow and in his arms was Shi Mei whose life was slipping away. With tears on his face, he hoarsely begged Chu Wanning to turn his head, look at his disciple, and pleaded for him to raise his hand to save his disciple's life.

But what did Chu Wanning say back then?

It was also in such a light and calm tone of voice.

Just like that, rejecting Mo Ran the one time he knelt down and begged.

In the heavy snow, the person in his arms gradually became as cold as the snow falling on his shoulders and eyelashes.

That day, Chu Wanning killed two disciples with his own hands.

One was Shi Mingjing, who he could have saved but didn't.

One was Mo Weiyu, kneeling in the snow mourning the death of his heart.

There was a sudden panic in his heart, a brutality, a snake-like flow of resentment, rage and viciousness.

There was a moment when he suddenly wanted to rise up and strangle Chu Wanning. Wanted to shed his kind and pleasant disguise, revealing the hideousness of a malevolent ghost. Like a fierce ghost from a previous life, it viciously tore into him, questioning him and demanding his life.

He claimed the lives of the two helpless disciples in that snowfield.

But when his eyes flicked up, they suddenly fell on Chu Wanning's blood-covered shoulder.

The beast's anger was suddenly cut off.

He didn't say another word, just stared at Chu Wanning's face with poorly-masked hateful eyes. Chu Wanning didn't notice. After a while, he lowered his head again and stared at Shi Mei's haggard face.

His mind gradually went blank.

If something happened to Shi Mei this time, then. . .

"Cough cough cough!!"

The person in his arms abruptly coughed. Mo Ran was stunned and his heart trembled. . . Shi Mei slowly opened his eyes, and his voice was extremely hoarse and weak.

"A-. . . Ran. . .?"

"Yes! It's me!" In his ecstasy, the haze disappeared. Mo Ran's eyes widened. The palms of his hands were pressed against Shi Mei's cool cheeks, and his shining eyes trembled. "Shi Mei, how do you feel? Does anything hurt? "

Shi Mei smiled lightly, his eyebrows still. He turned his head, and looked around: ". . . How are we here. . . How did I faint. . . Ah! Shizun. . . cough cough, this disciple is incompetent. . . this disciple. . ."

"Don't talk," Chu Wanning said.

He gave Shi Mei a pill: "Since you're awake, take this poison dispersing pill. Don't swallow it right away."

Shi Mei took the medicine then was suddenly taken aback, his colourless face appearing even more transparent: "Shizun, how did you get hurt? You're covered in blood. . ."

Chu Wanning still had that faint, calm, irritating voice: "It's nothing."

He got up and glanced at Mo Ran.

"You, find a way to bring both of them back to the Chen's residence."

When Shi Mei woke up, the gloom that was deep in his heart suddenly vanished. He nodded quickly: "Okay!"

"I'll go first. I have something to ask the Chen family."

Chu Wanning said and turned to leave. Facing the vast darkness of the night, the fields covered in decay, he finally couldn't supress a twitch in his eyebrow, revealing a painful expression.

The entire shoulder was pierced by five fingers, the tendons and veins were torn apart, and the Master of Ceremonies Ghost's claws even pierced the bones deep in his flesh and blood. No matter how he pretended to endure it calmly, no matter how he tried to stave the bleeding, he was still be a human being.

It still hurt. . .

But so what if it hurts.

He walked forward one foot after another, the hem of the wedding dress flying around.

For so many years, people respected and feared him, but no one has dared stand by his side. No one cares about him. He has long been used to it.

Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal.

No one liked him. No one cared whether he lived or died, whether he was sick or suffering.

He seemed to be born without the need for the support of others, no need to rely on anyone, no need for company.

So there was no need to shout out in pain, and crying was even more unnecessary. Just go and dress the wounds, cut off all the festering flesh around the tear and apply ointment on it.

It didn't matter if no one cared about him.

Anyway, that's how he came to be alone. He's survived all these years. He can take care of himself.

When he came to the door of the Chen residence, before he entered the courtyard, he heard an ear-piercing scream.

Chu Wanning didn't care about aggravating his wound and immediately rushed in - only to see the old lady Chen with a disheveled hair, her eyes closed, but chasing her son and husband all over the house, only ignoring the young daughter of the Chen family. She stood beside her in panic, huddled tightly, shaking.

Seeing Chu Wanning enter, Mr. Chen and his eldest son screamed and rushed towards him: "Dao Master! Dao Master, help!"

Chu Wanning held them back. He glanced at Madam Chen's closed eyes, and said angrily: "Didn't I tell you to watch her and keep her from falling asleep?!"

"I can't help it! My wife is unwell. She usually goes to bed early. After you left, she was still holding out at first, then she fell asleep, and then she started to go crazy! She started screaming. . . yelling. . ."

Mr. Chen shivered and ducked behind Chu Wanning. He didn't notice that he was actually wearing an auspicious outfit, nor did he notice the hideous wound on Chu Wanning's shoulder.

Chu Wanning frowned and said: "What was she yelling?"

Before Mr. Chen spoke, the mad woman rushed over with her teeth bared, screaming mournfully. It was actually the voice of a young woman—

"Spineless liar! Pathetically fickle! I want you to pay with your lives! I want you all to die!"

Chu Wanning: ". . . This evil spirit stoops low." He turned back and sternly shouted at Mr. Chen, "Does this voice sound familiar?"

Mr. Chen’s mouth was trembling. He rolled his eyes and swallowed nervously: “I don’t know, I don't recognize it, I don’t know! Please help! Please help!

Just then, Madam Chen rushed over. Chu Wanning raised his uninjured arm, pointing at the sky above Madam Chen, and a lightning bolt slammed down, trapping Madam Chen within a barrier.

Chu Wanning turned his head with an icy gaze: "You really don't know?"

Mr. Chen repeated: "I really don't know! I really don't know!"

Chu Wanning didn't say anything else. He whipped out Tianwen and bound old lady Chen in the barrier.

He should have tied up the rest of the family outside, it would be more convenient and easier to gauge the situation, but Chu Wanning had his own rules of conduct. It wasn't easy using Tianwen to interrogate abnormal individuals. So he abandoned the soft approach and instead questioned the ghost in Madam Chen's body.

Interrogating ghosts wasn't the same as interrogating people.

When Tianwen interrogated people, they couldn't fight it and would speak.

When Tianwen interrogated ghosts, it would form a boundary where only Chu Wanning and the ghost would exist. Ghosts would regain their original appearance in the boundary and pass on their message to Chu Wanning.

A flame ignited on Tianwen. It snaked along the vine, burning from his end straight to old lady Chen.

The old lady let out a scream, and suddenly began to twitch. The original scarlet flame on the willow vine instantly turned into a blue ghost fire and burned back to Chu Wanning's side.

Chu Wanning closed his eyes. The fire burned up the willow vine onto his palm, but the ghost fire couldn't hurt him. It just burned all the way along his arm, down his chest, and then went out.

". . ."

The Chen family looked at the scene in horror. They didn't know what Chu Wanning was doing.

Chu Wanning's eyelashes trembled lightly, his eyes still closed, but a white light gradually appeared in front of his eyes. Immediately afterwards, he saw a small, white, jade-like foot step out of the light, and a girl about seventeen or eighteen years old appeared in his field of vision.

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#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #danmei novel #danmei #yaoi #yaoi novel #bl novel #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

You're Home | Jurdan

Canon divergent. Scene lift from TWK. The smut I wanted but was not given...

I slip into Cardan's room. Though it is not yet dawn, I am lucky. The room is empty of revelry. No courtiers doze on the cushions or in his bed. I walk to where he sleeps and press my hand over his mouth.

He wakes, fighting against my grip. I press down hard enough that I can feel his teeth against my skin. He grabs for my throat, and for a moment, I'm scared that I'm not strong enough, that my training isn't good enough. Then his body relaxes utterly, as though realising who I am.

He shouldn't relax like that. "He sent me to kill you," I whisper against his ear.

A shiver goes through his body, and his hand goes to my waist, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into the bed with him, rolling my body across him onto the heavily embroidered coverlets.

My hand slips from his mouth, and I am unnerved to find myself here, in the new High King's new bed- one I am still too human to lie in, beside someone who terrifies me the more I feel for him.

"Balekin and Orlagh are planning your murder," I say, flustered.

"Yes," he says lazily. "So why did I wake up at all?"

I am awkwardly conscious of his physicality, of the moment when he was half awake and pulled me against him. "Because I am difficult to charm," I say.

That makes him give a soft laugh. He reaches out and touches my hair, traces the hollow of my cheekbone. "I could have told my brother that," he says, with a softness in his voice that I am utterly unprepared for. "Where have you been?" he asks me. I don't know how to answer.

"Madoc says you've been ill," Cardan goes on, when I say nothing. His fingers still move lightly over my face. "Must you take your convalescence so far from me?"

"I must," I say stiffly, "since you've allowed Madoc to bar me from seeing you. I have information that cannot wait."

Cardan shakes his head. "I know not of what you speak. Madoc told me you were resting and that we should let you heal."

I frown. "I see. And in the interim, Madoc would no doubt take my place as your advisor," I tell Cardan. "He gave your guards orders to keep me out of the palace."

"I will give them different orders," Cardan says.

"See that you do," I say. "Now, I need to tell you about the plans from the Undersea."

But Cardan just tugs me closer, moves the cover over me so I am under it with him. "I don't care," he says.

"You need to care," I tell him. "Your life is in danger, and we need to make a plan."

"Later," Cardan says. "We have all the time in the world for planning. There's only one thing I've learned tonight that has been worthy of note."

"And, what, pray tell, is that?" I ask him impatiently. I am all too aware that the warmth now enveloping me is Cardan's own body heat, that I'm here in the cocoon of his sleep and his breath. That he is completely naked beneath the sheets, and is not at all shy about it.

"You're home," he says simply. "You're home and that's all that matters." And then he draws me into his arms, and just holds me to him, and I am so surprised that I don't move at all for a moment.

And then my arms are moving, quite without me telling them to, to wrap around his shoulders and to hug him back. His hands stroke at my back and my fingers curl in the hair at the back of his neck. He tangles his legs in mine.

I've been so focused on plotting and scheming and keeping ahead of the enemy, that it only now occurs to me what a relief it is to actually be here, with Cardan, in the silent hours of the early morning.

My arms tighten around his neck and before I know it I'm clinging onto him for dear life, and the horror of the days and weeks I spent under water figuring out how I was going to get back to him, if I was ever going to get back to him starts streaming in from whatever small corner of my mind I had crammed it into. I start shaking in Cardan's arms, and he just smooths circles between my shoulder blades and says "Shhh, you're home now." And that gentleness just freaks me out more, and it is minutes before I can relax.

When I am finally still again, Cardan pulls back just enough to study my face.

"What's this?" he asks gently, and wipes his thumbs across my face. They come away wet, and I realise I've been crying. I'm mortified, and I start to pull away from him, but Cardan put his hands on my face and stops me.

"I'm so sorry I let you get taken," he whispers. "I'm sorry I did not keep you safe." He leans forward and kisses the tears from my face. "And I've been wanting to tell you for so long now that I'm sorry I've always been unkind to you. I realised, when you were gone, truly gone beneath the waves and I hated myself as I never have before, that I've never apologised to you for that. For any of it."

He is so unlike himself in this moment that I cannot help but look for the trick in his words. I am aware that I am just gaping at him like an idiot, but I can't for the life of me conjure coherent words to say. Cardan laughs, his bed-warmed hand going to my shoulder.

"Either I've surprised you or you are as ill as Madoc claimed. Perhaps I am foolish, but I am not a fool. You like something about me," he says, mischief lighting his face, making its planes more familiar. "The challenge? My pretty eyes? No matter, because there is more you do not like and I know it."

And although this Cardan is the Cardan I know, I feel sorry to break the moment. So I shoot back at him, "Not your eyes. It's your lips. You have a cruel but lovely mouth. That's the reason I like you."

Cardan's eyes light. "So you admit you do like me," he says. His hand strokes down my side now. "If only for my beautiful features. I suppose I cannot blame you, for I am a sight to behold."

I go to smack his arm then, but he catches my hand and links his fingers through mine.

"Still," he murmurs, face only inches from mine. "Whatever you like me for. I'll take it. And if it's my lips you like, you can have them."

And then he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

Desire floods instantly through me, and I am shocked by the strength of it. My lips part for him, and his tongue is hot and lush against mine. And as we kiss I realise that I've missed him, so much, and his kisses are like the piles of food I devoured after starving so long.

Cardan's hands slide beneath my shirt- his own doublet, it occurs to me, stolen only hours ago from his old bedroom. They find the shape of me, and tell my skin secret things that only our bodies know. Soon I'm sliding out of the jacket, and he's tugging off my hose, and although I am very warm in Cardan's bed, I shiver under his fingers.

Yet my skin knows his touch. I am still inexperienced, but we've been here before and this time, my body knows where to expect him. Arches up to meet him as he gets there. This time, my hands know better what to do.

This time, it is both of us breathing raggedly as we spin closer and closer together.

Kissing Cardan has always felt vaguely horrifying but he's right. I just don't care anymore. I'm home, and he's here, and all that's in my mind is chasing the pleasure that he's trailing along my lips, down my throat, across my belly, and between my legs. It's a molten heat that travels wherever Cardan's silvery skin touches mine.

And now his tongue is moving under my ear as he rolls to cage me in his long limbs. His lips descend down my sternum and his teeth catch under my navel. He kisses across my hips and I think I might die from the pleasure. I reach forward and run my hands through the curls of his hair, and he makes a pleased murmuring sounds that vibrates across my skin. I'm so comfortable here that I'm utterly unprepared when he dips his head and licks his tongue between my thighs.

My hips buck off the bed and stars burst before my eyes. I gasp, and see nothing, and my fingers tighten involuntarily against Cardan's scalp. He repeats the motion, over and over and I'm too overwhelmed to be self-conscious about the moans that he's pulling from my lips. Then he slides his fingers into me and I'm dead. I'm sure I'm dead because the world has ceased to exist and I float in boundless rapture. I couldn't say how long for.

Cardan moves back up my body like a wave of heat. He settles over me and his naked cock presses against me where his tongue was moments ago, and I still can't move.

"Jude," he whispers. I don't recognise my name. "Jude." He kisses my lips and still I float. "Are you alright?" I manage to nod. Cardan slides himself against me, wet from his mouth, and asks, "Do you want me to keep going?"

It's enough to bring me back, to meet his eyes as I nod again, and now he's nudging at my entrance. My legs slide up and curl around his hips. His tail coils around my lower leg, and my hands tangle in his hair once more. I can't stop touching it, it's soft like nothing else.

And then he's sliding inside me, incredibly slowly, and the world drops away once more.

In this moment, there's only me and Cardan and the sweetest ache between us, and he's whispering my name like a mantra. "Jude," he says, letting his head drop on my shoulder. "Jude," and this time it's a moan as his fingers interlace with mine and hold them against the mattress. "Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude..."

After that I stop hearing him, because blood is rushing in my ears as his hips start to speed up, and although I feel full to breaking with him inside me, I find all I want is more and more and more.

In that moment I wonder briefly if lust and power and love and hate might all be the same thing after all.

Cardan pulls out of me, and for a second I'm empty and dismayed. Then he's rolling me onto my side, curving his body around mine and pulling my hips back toward him. All I want is to have him back inside me, and I am gratified a second later when he pushes into me from behind.

Cardan has his mouth on my neck, and his hand is pulling my top leg over his hip so he can reach my clit with his fingers. Before I know it, I'm coming undone there in the High King's bed, my fingers grabbing at nothing.

I start to scream and Cardan leans up to cover my mouth with his, kissing me over and over until he, too, is shaking and coming and gripping my hip so hard I'm sure the marks of his fingers will be there for days to come.

We lie there, curled together in the dark and for the first time I'm not at all angry at the command he has over my body.

In fact I'm not angry at anything, and I don't know when else that has ever been true. I just have this bone-deep calm, and it's never, ever been like this with Cardan. It would scare me, if I wasn't so damn calm.

Cardan wipes my legs down and then kisses the back of my neck, and seems to settle back to sleep with ease.

I lie awake for a little longer, wondering what Cardan will be like in the morning, and how we will scheme ourselves out of the Undersea danger.

But Cardan is so warm around me that I do not scheme for long.

****

Soft jurdan, for once in their lives 🥺🥺🥺 My babies.

@asteria-of-mars and @swankii-art-teacher!

JURDAN MASTERLIST

#jurdan #jurdan fic #smut #mine #tfota #if i want to wrap them in fluff I will!

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wolferine · 3 years

Text

Unforgivable - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When the reader loses their temper, it causes them to commit an act they can never take back...

Warnings: Violence, blood, language

Word count: 2413

Part 2

Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @lilclownx @yeeterthekeeper @alessiapn @diaryoflife @user19422004 @zoldszemulany56

You sit alone on a park bench, wearing a heavy black backpack filled with Hammer’s latest invention. He’s here too, more than a mile away, watching you from the shadows. Your task is to do all the talking and distracting; Hammer wants to take the kill shot. You don’t really care, as long as Tony Stark dies for what he did to Natasha.

At midnight exactly, Tony walks up to you, wearing a hoodie, jeans, and his signature sunglasses. However, you know from experience that Jarvis is inside the sunglasses, providing him with information about you and his surroundings.

“It’s a little late to be wearing sunglasses, isn’t it, Stark?” you say, standing up. Hammer lined your backpack with lead so Jarvis can’t see into it, but you’re still nervous.

“You know I have astigmatism,” he says.

“I don’t really care,” you respond. “Take them off.”

He doesn’t need a second warning.

“So, what’s up with you, Y/N?” Tony pockets the sunglasses. “Where have you been lurking all this time?” He stops about ten feet in front of you.

“Just…working through some things,” you reply.

“For six months?” Tony scoffs. “We waited for you to come back.”

“You know I couldn’t do that.” Your jaw clenches. “But for you, Stark? I’d make an exception any day of the week.”

“What’s up with all the theatrics tonight, huh? Would’ve been a lot simpler to have this chat at the Tower,” Tony says.

“I’m not an Avenger anymore.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” you snap, trying not to let your impatience show. You’re waiting for Hammer’s signal, but he seems to want to take his time. Your eyes drift to the glowing blue arc reactor in the center of Tony’s chest and you put your right hand in your pocket casually.

“Just spit it out, Y/N. Why am I here?”

“You’re here to die, Stark.”

“Well, have at it.” He opens his arms tauntingly and you tense, ready to tackle him to the ground and beat his head inside out.

“You killed Natasha,” you snarl, and his expression changes. But you don’t have time to process it, because suddenly, the watch on your wrist vibrates.

Hammer’s signal.

You take your hand out of your pocket, now holding onto a tiny sensor disk, which you throw at Tony’s chest. It latches onto his arc reactor and powers it down instantly, preventing him from activating his Iron Man suit.

Then you dive to the ground, because Hammer starts blasting away with his rifle.

Tony catches a few bullets in his chest and legs, unable to react to both threats at the same time. He falls onto his back, blood pooling around his body as he gasps for air. You activate Hammer’s suit, which tears out of your backpack, covering your torso and limbs in a thin layer of metal armor.

You climb to your feet, your helmet snapping over your head, and charge towards Tony. But something—or someone—completely blindsides you, sending you skidding in the direction of the carousel.

It looks like a variation of Iron Man, although the suit is smaller and more feminine. The colors are black and red, evoking a pang of familiarity in your chest. You stand again, an eight-inch blade shooting out of your right wrist, and you beckon the Iron Woman (?) to come at you.

She does, but when you swing your blade at her, she blocks it and punches you so hard in the chest you fly back into the carousel and knock a horse completely off its pole. You’re pretty sure you cracked a rib as your breathing sends a stabbing pain up your side. You hang onto a bench to get up, and suddenly the carousel comes to life, lights flashing and music crackling through the speakers.

You’re transported back to the day you were last here with Natasha, when you asked her to be your girlfriend.

Both of your horses are out of sync. When she goes up, you go down, and neither of you can stop laughing. You’re pretty sure you’re the oldest adults on the carousel without kids, but you don’t care.

The way her hair effortlessly blows in the wind and the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs lights up your heart, and you still can’t believe she chose you over everyone else in the world. You’ve never been so in love with another human being before, and you don’t think there will ever be another like her.

When the rides end, you take her hand and lead her to an empty patch of grass in the shade of a tree.

“Natasha, will you go out with me?” you ask, your voice trembling. She nods and brushes her fingers over your cheek. “I promise to keep you safe and love you every day for the rest of my life—”

“Calm down, it’s not a marriage proposal.” Natasha laughs as you sweep her off her feet. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Just preparing.” You kiss her and feel her smile against your lips. You’ve never been happier.

You’re so stuck in your head you don’t even notice the Iron Woman coming after you until she punches you in the face. You stagger back, stunned, as she punches you several more times. The face of your helmet snaps off and you feel your nose bleeding. You slash out with your blade wildly, forcing the Iron Woman to back off.

“Y/N,” the Iron Woman says, and you don’t even care how she knows your name, “You need to stop.”

“Get out of my way.” When you leap towards her, she lifts her foot and kicks you in the chest. You somersault backwards, head over heels, as she retreats. The rotating platform of the carousel does nothing to help your balance and the lights and noise distract your focus. You crouch behind a stationary horse, searching for her amongst the painted animals.

You break the blade off your wrist, poised to throw like a javelin. When the Iron Woman pops out from behind a black horse, you bring your arm back to throw the blade, but she fires from her gun before you can. The bullet bounces off a pole and buries itself in your left cheek.

The pain is like a branding iron as you scream and fall to your knees, the blade slipping out of your fingers. Blood pours out of your mouth, the taste of metal coating your tongue as you gingerly reach in to swipe the burning chunk of lead over your teeth. You finally spit the bullet out, but the pain persists.

The Iron Woman holsters her gun and approaches you, thinking you’re too distracted to notice. But you do, another blade flicking out of your left wrist and you ram it into her thigh as hard as you can. The blade crunches through the plates of her armor, but she elicits no reaction to being stabbed.

“Y/N,” the Iron Woman repeats.

“Just die already!” you scream, withdrawing the blade and trying to stab her again.

The Iron Woman’s helmet slides back and you freeze when you see her face.

It’s Natasha.

Immediately, your anger melts into confusion and happiness.

“H-How…How is this possible?” you stammer, more blood spilling from your lips. “T-They…They told me you died.”

“No.” Natasha shakes her head, kneeling to your level. “But you never came back for me.”

“Because I hurt you—” Hammer had said she was dead, and that Tony—no—you—had killed her.

“I forgive you, Y/N. For all of it.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” You stumble back, tears and blood mixing on your face.

“Please come back to me, Y/N,” Natasha begs, as your head spins from the turn of events. “I still love you.”

Suddenly, it’s like all of Hammer’s training reverses. Tony was never the one responsible for harming Natasha—you were. And now Tony’s bleeding to death, which was again, your fault. You won’t let this rest on your conscience. You’ve done enough damage and now it’s time to redeem yourself, as little as you can.

“This is all Justin Hammer’s doing,” you say, letting Natasha pull you to your feet. “He’s had me kidnapped for the past six months. He thought I would be able to help him kill Tony, but he’s not going to be successful anymore. Because you weren’t part of the plan.”

Natasha smiles and you feel your heart melt. Whether or not she’ll take you back, you owe this to her.

“He’s about a mile out, west from here. He has no guards—arrogant bastard—it’s just him and his rifle. You go get him and I’ll get Tony,” you say. Natasha nods and flies off. For a moment, you’re filled with jealousy over her suit. How come Tony never made you one?

You make your way off the carousel and find Tony still on the ground. You check his pulse. It’s weak, but there.

“Tony, I’m so sorry,” you say, as a spray of bullet rips through the ground. You grab his arms and pull him to take cover under a bench.

“Y/N?” he mumbles.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No…” Tony says, grabbing your hand. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was a complete asshole to you that day—”

“No, I’m the one who tried to shoot you, for God’s sake—” You rip his shirt into ribbons to wad up against the wounds in his chest and legs. “You’re gonna be okay,” you promise. “It’s Justin Hammer who’s behind all of this.”

“I recognized his work from your suit,” Tony gasps. “It looks like shit.”

“You can tell him that yourself.” You find yourself smiling despite the circumstances. “He wanted my help to end his ultimate rival. He manipulated me into thinking that Natasha was dead and that you were the reason for it—” You pause. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“It was the least I could do for you.”

“I know she probably won’t want me anyway after all this, but it was good to see her again.”

“She only wants you. It was always you or no one.”

You throw yourself onto Tony when the bullets start again and you feel them bounce off your back and legs. Fortunately, when Hammer made your suit bulletproof, he probably didn’t think it would have to bulletproof against his bullets.

Suddenly, the gunshots stop and the silence is deafening.

When you finally look up, you see Natasha flying over, holding Hammer by the collar.

You don’t even mind when your face splits into a painful smile. “That’s my girl.”

***********************************************************************

Two weeks after Hammer is arrested, Natasha convinces you to come by the Avengers Tower. It’s a strange feeling as you walk in for the first time in over six months. When you left, you’d never thought you’d be back, but here you are. Your only belongings are a single duffel bag with some clothes stuffed inside.

You ride the elevator up to the Avengers’ quarters. You’re a little more wary of the SHIELD agents that pass you, wondering if anyone will double-cross you again, but you remain courteous. You punch in your code to see if it still works and it does, the doors opening.

“Look who’s finally come home.” Tony’s there to greet you and he hugs you tightly.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, still guilty you almost got him killed.

“Good, no thanks to you.”

“Sorry again.”

He waves you off.

“Where’s—” you start, but then you see her. She comes around the corner in a wheelchair. Your heart drops to your feet.

“Things have been a little different since you left,” she says. So that’s why she had no reaction when you had stabbed her at the carousel. She has no feeling left in her legs after your bullet pierced her spine.

“Natasha, I’m…I didn’t know. Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.” You turn around, but she rolls into your legs and grabs your hand.

“Please stay,” she says. “Like I told you before, I’m not mad.”

“But you have every right to be.”

“Can we talk?”

You nod numbly and let her lead you back to where your shared bedroom with her was. Nothing inside has changed. In fact, your clothes are still hanging in the closet like you’d never left. You sit on your side of the bed.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Natasha asks.

You shrug. “Call me an asshole for what I did. Tell me you’d never want me back.”

“Okay. You’re an asshole for shooting me and leaving me,” Natasha says without hesitation, and you flinch. But somehow, you find solace in hearing her say the words you’ve played over and over in your head for months. “And yeah, after the whole thing happened, I didn’t think I could ever take you back. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you and told myself if I ever saw you again, I wanted you to know that I forgive you.”

“But I don’t know if I could forgive myself,” you whisper.

“Well, I forgive you, and I think if I can do that, you can, too.” It hurts her to see how much you’ve changed in the past six months. Your face and body are thin from malnourishment and Hammer’s torture. Your eyes are dull and permanently swollen from basically crying every day for six months. Some of your fingers are crooked from not healing correctly and you have scars running up your arms.

She reaches out and touches the puckered mark on your cheek from the bullet. “Besides, we’re kind of even now.”

“Hardly.” You chuckle.

“We can start slow,” Natasha says, putting her hands on your shoulders. “Because I’m not sure what still works down there, anyway.”

You smile, and her heart warms at the sight.

“Can I lie with you?” she asks and you nod, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. You put her down gently and lie next to her. She pulls you close until your foreheads touch and you close your eyes as you breathe in her familiar scent. “Why did you pick the carousel as the meeting place?” she asks.

“I…I don’t know,” you mumble. “For some weird reason, I thought I’d see you again, at least in my memory. But then I did in real life, too.”

“I’m so glad you came back,” Natasha hums, brushing her lips against yours.

“I’m so glad I did, too.”

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

AN: The end! :) Fun facts:

-Part 1 was inspired by the scene in X-Men: First Class where Magneto accidentally deflects a bullet into Charles’s spine (which resulted in Charles’s paralysis). -Part 2’s Iron Black Widow suit was inspired by a concept art photo I saw that was cut from Avengers: Endgame. Here’s the link to that post. -Part 3’s carousel scene was inspired by the season 1 finale of Netflix’s Punisher.

Join my taglist for future stories here! Thanks for reading, and until next time...

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #black widow fanfiction #marvel imagine

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mrsmaybank · 3 years

Text

Honey - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and the reader were very much in love during Reid’s brief stint in Pasadena. When he has to see her again on a case, he is super nervous.

a/n: first section is inspired by such great heights

C/W: Swearing

PASADENA - 2002

A note from the love of your life is a lovely way to wake up.

------

When you can understand everything but yourself, finding somebody who does is like seeing a comet; disappointingly rare. My shaky hands can only be stilled by the smile of my most incandescent--in every connotation--creature, and that is you. The universe always seems to know what it is doing even if humanity does not. The stars align and move in patterns we as it’s audience do not fully understand. I think we have watched the stars so much the universe has aligned us as a favor to our poor, overestimated souls. I am so grateful! Tolstoy noted that "We are asleep until we fall in love!” And I thank you for waking me up.

However I thought it best the favor not be returned this particular morning. You were up late last night, and looked too cute to disrupt. Do not kill me, I am getting coffee.

I love you and do not leave the bed.

-Spencer

------

Only Spencer Reid would write that on a sticky note, and only for you would he do so.

You heard the rattling of keys and a door being opened and shut as Spencer made his way back to your bedroom. The smile you saw on his face was the start of a story that ended on the upturn of your lips, revealing the two protagonists in a mad frenzy of love. As soon as he reached you, your lips pressed to his in a desperation to be impossibly closer.

“Hi.” he said.

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

“Hey love.” you tucked a loose brown hair back behind his ear for a closer look at the face you adored. “Please get back in bed.”

He sighed but crawled in next to you, big nimble hands making their way across your torso to diminish the space in between you two. You nuzzled into his chest.

“Your note was beautiful.” you whispered into his ear.

A big, goofy grin spread along his face.

“I meant every word.” his voice so sweet, it sounded dipped in honey.

Honey is incredibly sticky.

-----

There had to have been a world where it all worked out.

In this world, my things never got old, and the ice cubes in my coffee never melted. I could listen to that song over and over again without draining the life out of it and I could like my hair style for more than three months.

Spencer had read to me the greatest works of the world. Words of the greatest thinkers, authors, and minds. He had an appreciation for them greater than those of the average passerby and I adored that, because so did I. Truly, our similarities are what connected us. Our minds were correlated perfectly when it came to subjectivity.

In accordance to human nature however, certain matters were never agreed upon. In particular, we argued about the future. The canyon of discrepancy so vast it tore us and our love in two. I didn’t think that was possible.

I wanted to write the book and watch the film as I lived my life and he and his arrogant over-practically thought that impossible. He thought himself an oneirocritic, but my dreams were not looking for critiques.

Like I said, Spencer read to me the greatest works of the world. And years would pass and the heartbreak and sorrow would fade, but I would always find it ironic how the last thing I ever heard in that honey soaked voice was a work of Confucius. “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

Spencer chose to go to Washington. He took his heart and a piece of mine with him.

-----

BAU JET - 2011

Seaver must’ve noticed my flinch when the sound of her name resonated through the jet. I’d never liked going to California, but this...this had never happened. “That name mean something to you Reid?” She smiled, “You look kind of horrified.”

I ran my hands through my hair in a futile attempt to ground myself. “No. I just...I used to know her.”

In between the fine lines of love and hate, fell a blurry midsection where feelings came before logic and screams and whispers sounded the same. She ruled over this midsection of chaotic emotional fury.

Morgan spoke, and I quickly realized I might be falling into a conversation I really did not want to be having. “How the hell d’you know her pretty boy?”

There was no point in lying on a plane completely occupied by profilers. My best option was to clumsily dodge any direct questions about just how well I knew her.

“I’m from the West coast.”

“So are over 50 million people. You mean to tell me you know all of them?” he laughed.

“The exact estimation is actually 53,492,270. And no, I’m not saying I know all of them, Morgan. I lived in Pasadena for a year after I graduated from Caltech.”

“Okay?” Morgan questioned my previous statements relevancy.

“She went to USC. We were in the same social circle.”

Morgan laughed again, “You had a social circle?”

Emily, next to us, was presumably combing through her file.

“You, ultimate three doctorate dorky dork, were in the same circle as a film major?” she asked. “

What the hell is ‘doctorate dorky dork’ supposed to mean?

“She double majored actually. Film and political science.”

Emily double checked the file, “And Reid’s right. Per usual.”

“Reid and Prentiss, Y/L/N has agreed to talk to us in her home. She lives in the Hills. When we land, you guys go talk to her.” Hotch stated.

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself. The team sat in confused silence in reaction to my bluntness, but Hotch, like always, was not having it.

“Because we have a serial killer that is reenacting the murders in her movie, Reid.” his tone was stern and swift, with a patronizing sarcasm I supposed I deserved.

“Sorry,” I got out, “I guess I just meant..why me?”

“Well, you know her don’t you?” Rossi asked.

I was not ready to divulge the personal details between me and this girl to my entire team, so I just pursed my lips and nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

----

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament. George Santayana. I was in the biggest fucking predicament I’d ever encountered in my life.

Nothing could slow the incessant, double time pounding in my chest. I was showing symptoms of the beginning of a heart attack. Hopefully I would die and never have to face this.

Fuck, don’t think that.

Have the seats in these cars always been this uncomfortable? God, is California always this hot?

I looked at Emily for half a second, and instantly recognized that keeping quiet from her was proving to be dysfunctional. I could feel her eyes burning into my brain with every profiling skill she knew.

“What are you not saying Reid?”

I sighed. “Do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just find out on my own. It’ll be a lot less delicate.”

Here goes nothing.

“I dated her. For two years. I was very much in love with her. It ended....abruptly. I haven’t spoken to her since, and now, nine years later, I am on my way to her house. I might have a heart attack.”

Emily's eyes widened, “Shit..” She laughed a little, “Reunited at last?.”

I answered with a glare. Hard no.

“Fine, sorry.” She said, masking a giggle with a cough.

I shifted in my seat and I could practically see the gears in Emily’s profiler cerebrum spin. She knew exactly the question to ask. “Is it nerves?”

I nodded my head, “I was a very different person back then.”

“Nothing like time and the bureau can change somebody.” she said. “But, hey..”She smiled again and my eyes widened when I realized what I’d revealed. “I asked you if you were nervous. I didn’t-”

“Emily..” I started.

“Are you nervous she won’t like you now? Do you still like her?” her mouth hung open, “Oh my god Reid!”

I shook my head, “No, I don’t still like her! I don’t even know her anymore! I just..I’d never loved somebody the way I loved her.”

Emily had figured me out at the same time I had. “And you still haven’t.”

Fuck.

“Correct.”

The car pulled into her driveway, and conversations from all those years ago started to replay in my head.

“When we get a house, can we paint our front door bright blue?”

“I want a lemon tree in the front yard.”

“Windows. Huge windows. It’s a must.”

All these things I’d promised her in our future home she’d gotten for herself. Good.

Fontaine said “Sadness flies away on the wings of time”, but the pain I felt from the loss of her was as prominent as ever.

Here goes nothing.

---

Thank you for reading!

a/n2 : this is completely unedited so if its sucks dick i am sorry :/ i just wanted to post it lol

A/n 3: the typos oh my fuck. I wanna Kick myself for letting this cute fic be up in that state for so long. Anyway, fixed! :)

#spencer reid #drspencerreid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you

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spiderling-space · 4 years

Note

Headcanons for the dorm leaders when their lovely mc is the equivalent of wholesome chaotic dumbass. Half of their relationship is them screaming “mc nO-” and the other half is enjoying the affection they get from her. Thanks in advance love~

I can neither deny nor confirm that I would want to try those. Ngl I thought finding chaotic dumbass stuff would be a lot easier but it wasn’t. Hope you’ll enjoy it <3

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Riddle Rosehearts

When (Y/N) asked to be taught how to ride a horse, Riddle was happy to help.

“Thank you, Riddle, for the lessons. I truly am grateful for it. Now that I know the basics, I can do the thing from the movies. Y’know the rider leans down to grab something from the ground as they gallop.”

Riddle isn’t sure if he heard her correct so he asks again which results in (Y/N) showing him the video of it.

Riddle thinks she is joking at first because he believes there is no way someone could be that idiotic to try that move after learning how to ride 3 hours ago.

Then (Y/N) drops her hat to the ground and mounts the horse.

“(Y/N) NO!” He yells as she starts galloping. He levitates the hat with magic so (Y/N) wouldn’t do something so stupid.

As she stops and starts pouting about, Riddle tries to calm down his racing heart. If (Y/N) keeps this up, he will have a heart attack at this age.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

Leona Kingscholar

“I heard your best subject is ancient curses so I brought this chest to open next to you in case the things go south.” Leona is napping as (Y/N) is yapping. “According to the writing on the wall of the tomb I visited, whoever opens the casket unleashes a curse.”

That woke Leona up. “Oi, herbivore…” Leona’s eyes are barely open as he notices she is trying to open a casket.

His ears twitch as his instincts tell him that chest is really cursed.

“Aha! I found how it opens.” As (Y/N) moves to open it, Leona jumps, tackling her to the ground with cat-like reflexes.

“I was trying to –“ – “No… now quit yapping, I’m napping here.” Leona thinks that the only way he can stop (Y/N) from opening the casket again is to nap on top of her so that she won’t be able to take any moronic actions.

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

Azul Ashengrotto

“Hey Azul, since you are an ocean boy, I thought I could share my idea with you.” – “Ocean boy?” “Shark diving at Coral Sea…Without cage! How great is it?”

Azul doesn’t mind at first, continuing on doing his business at Mostro Lounge. Then it clicks… (Y/N) is not a merfolk and on top of it, has no magic.

Azul had heard of humans scuba diving for the thrill but he cannot understand why she would take an unnecessary risks like that.

“Uhm (Y/N)…” – “I’m going now! Bye!” – “(Y/N) NO!” With that, (Y/N) bolts out of the VIP room.

Azul honestly thought she was smarter; smart enough to fool him just that led to his overblot.

Azul likes (Y/N) enough to have them unharmed. He would have sent the twins after her but he suspects they would join her rather than stop her so he goes after (Y/N) himself.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Kalim Al Asim

“Have you ever heard of free fall?” Cue to (Y/N) explaining free fall and she needs The Flying Carpet. Kalim thinks it is dangerous at first.

“(Y/N) YES!”

Then Kalim thinks it is a fantastic idea and wants to join. He has complete trust in the carpet’s abilities to them in any case something does not go according to the plan.

They go above the clouds like the first time they took a tour with Flying Carpet. (Y/N) is the first one to jump, after a couple seconds carpet rushes to save her. After reaching the same altitude, Kalim jumps this time.

While they are thriving, they hear a faint scream coming from Scarabia dorm. Not a minute passes, Jamil appears in front of them with his broom.

“Kalim we are going back.” – “Boo ya boring. Kalim let’s jump at the same time now.” (Y/N) ignores Jamil.

“Kalim, (Y/N) NO!” Jamil yells as he prevents them from doing something irrational. They both will be scolded by Jamil when they land.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

Vil Schönheit

“Do you have any gum?” Is what (Y/N) asks Vil bluntly.

“Gum is not good for your teeth.” – “I’m trying to break a world record here. I checked and saw that world record for chewing the most number of gum is 98. I know I can break that record but I need one more gum for it.” (Y/N) speaks with pride while taking a couple gums from her pocket, opening them and put them in her mouth.

When she starts chewing and adding 2 more gums, Vil loses it.

“Bad potato! Bad potato! Throw them now!” Vil starts nagging (Y/N) who tries to escape him but fails. She insists on breaking a world record. He is so done with her. He will put her in time out.

Vil genuinely thinks she is poisoned; a poison that makes the victim lose intelligence.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Idia Shroud

“I think after playing all those FPS games, I have pretty good aim so I decided to use this skill set in real life. I’ll be knife throwing to a spinning target at the upcoming carnival!”

Idia asks (Y/N) to leave his room and he sends his tablet with her. She stands right outside Idia’s room with his flying tablet.

“Are you kidding me? Playing FPS games doesn’t improve your aim in real life! And this is me saying it! The Shut-In of NRC! You will get someone killed!” Idia goes on talking and being the most rational person in the room. He asked her out of his room so he could speak what’s on his mind without stuttering.

“But-“ (Y/N) tries to counter his argument but Idia is not having any of it. He goes on until (Y/N) accepts that it was a stupid ass decision by her side.

Idia just wonders how it is possible for someone to be this dumbass.

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

Malleus Draconia

“Back in my world, there is this game called Tomb Raider. I always wanted to do what the main character does… raid some tombs. Since you get off love visiting abandoned places, I thought we could do it together.”

Malleus is happy to receive an invite but confused about tomb raiding. It is disrespectful. (Y/N) then tells him that she is for the adventure and Malleus is convinced.

They go to an abandoned castle. Instead of walking carefully, (Y/N) rushes in the place, running around like a child.

Malleus follows (Y/N) close by, worried about her life since he knows humans are fragile. He prevents any hazardous incident before they reach (Y/N) with his magic. Finally, they reach a room with a big door. Malleus feels dark energy radiating from the room. He can handle himself but he doesn’t want to risk (Y/N). He is about to teleport them out of the place but he sees (Y/N) trying to pry open the door with a crowbar.

“(Y/N)…” She looks at him. “…no…” She pouts but continues to pry it.

Malleus doesn’t wait any longer and teleports them into Diasomnia dorm. He asks (Y/N) to be more careful with her actions. He doesn’t want his only friend to die from reckless actions.

#riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #diasomnia #prefect #female reader #headcanons

911 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

Whatever Words Exist

StudentTeacher!Cal x Reader (Gender Neutral). Like mostly fluff.

Reader and Calum have only met briefly. But when the connection is this magnetic, you don’t press fate.

Masterlist (semi-hiatus)

_____________________

Calum readjusts the strap on his backpack, getting the bag hitched back right on his shoulder. Just up the hill he can see a gathering of people, a general human mass but still too far away for him to make out any one person in particular. He knows he’s in the right place for sure. So he continues on and a few folks wave as he approaches. Derrick, former officemate, spots Calum first and waves him closer.

“Meet Calum--old officemate of mine,” Derrick tells the group surrounding him. First years, Calum assumes and gives them a tiny smile and wave to the group.

“Yeah, because this jerk decided to apply for a full time instructor position. And then got upgraded,” Calum laughs.

“Look, gotta pay the bills how I can,” Derrick returns and then goes around the semi circle introducing everyone.

Calum looks at each one in return and then his gaze lands on yours. As a first year to the program and student teaching, you ran into Calum during the intense two week training. Well, you two didn’t really run into each other. Calum ran a few sessions during the training and you might have purposefully lingered behind on the free range Q&A that he was a part of with a few other experienced student teachers. He seemed to be calm and level headed about all the teaching and you were quite the opposite, so listening to him answer questions gave you a small amount of peace.

The second reason you lingered until everyone else was gone and asked their questions is because you thought he was attractive. The baggy t-shirt but nice fitting jeans and the way he titled in when he was listening to someone. He seemed to really care and take his time to answer any questions--even when he had other things he needed to attend to as well. “Hey,” he says as his smile brightens around your name.

“Hi Calum,” you return. “Slumming it with us first years.”

“I would never call it slumming, not in the slightest,” he laughs in return. The conversation steers away from that, talking about the summer and general shared interests. But every so often you and Calum lock eyes, gazes lingering for way longer than you’d like to admit. Mostly because you don’t want to be this into someone so early into the semester. And truth be told, the semester hadn’t even truly started.

About ten minutes pass before professors start to approach, a couple of them holding boxes of pizza. And while you definitely weren’t sure how to juggle all the responsibilities of teaching, classes, paying rent on time, you were grateful for the lunch of pizza. It also meant that you’d be taking some home if enough people didn’t go in for seconds. And getting a free meal plus an easy dinner was always worth it.

As the pizzas are lined up, you linger back, not wanting to be the first person to get food, but close enough to the first brave souls. “So, have you done any exploring around town?” Calum asks from behind you.

You spin to half face him to talk to him. “Not a lot. By the time we get done with training I’m too tired to do anything else. But I need to get my bike looked at, so I probably should get downtown at the very least.”

“What’s up with your bike? You said it was your main mode of transportation.”

“Just double checking tire pressure--nothing major. One of them feels like it’s not as high as the other. But rather be safe than sorry since the semester starts.”

Calum nods and shuffles up as the line moves. “If you need a ride to the shop, I have my car.”

You’re not sure if Calum’s offering just to be nice or if it means more. So you default to telling him he doesn’t have to, but he insists. And even as you’re grabbing a slice of pizza and Calum’s right behind you, you try to tell him that he shouldn’t completely disturb his whole day just for you.

“I cannot have you blowing a tire on the side of the road. Do you have your bike with you today? We could go after this.”

If there were any way to die right in this moment, you’re wishing for it. “I do,” you answer cautiously, walking towards the metal picnic tables. “But really, I can do by myself. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, c’mon, this town’s not necessarily the nicest to cyclists and if you got stranded I’d feel like an ass.” Calum settles across from you on the bench, slipping his backpack off his shoulder. You do the same, setting your backpack next you and pulling your water bottle from the side pocket.

“I don’t know what your plans are. I don’t want to intrude,” you counter, unscrewing the top to your water bottle to take a sip.

“My plans were to sit in my office and pretend like I was lesson planning.”

“Where’s your office again?”

Calum rattles off the name of the building, before taking his first bite of pizza. And you swear for a moment the universe is fucking with you. It has it out for you. “I’m in the same building,” you state.

“I’m in room 138.”

Oh, how cruel is the universe. How fucking cruel could it be. “Same,” you state after finishing your bite of pizza. “Haven’t been inside to see it yet though.”

“Oh, it sounds like I’m your personal tour guide today.” And it’s not that he’s being adamant about it. Because you know if you were in the reverse positions, you’d do something similar. But a glint crosses his eyes, his smile is a slight curl of his lips and he’s looking up at you from underneath his lashes.

Your stomach flutters, and suddenly pizza looks and feels like lead, but you take another bite to do something other than let panic settle. A quiet settles between the two of you as you eat. Though more people are turning up and settling in around you to make up for the silence. A few more minutes pass, even with you tossing away your plate and saying hi to some other people who are also teaching for the first time this year before you hear the professors calling for the group’s attention.

As the group quiets down, you return back to the spot where your bag is and Calum’s still there, laughing at something Derrick is saying. You catch his gaze and you really only think that you should look away. But you do. He’s too fucking handsome not to keep your gaze lingering for a moment longer. The humorous smile changes, becomes more subtle as the two of you continue to gaze at each other.

You can feel your cheeks getting hot but slowly feel your own smile over taking your face before you cast your gaze down and then flick it back up to who’s speaking. It’s good information to get, as you listen to each professor in turn talk about the program more. You get a good sense of who each person is, and it’s not too much longer before each of the new and old cohort introduces themself.

It’s a natural break as everyone starts to talk again with the business now out of the way. You mingle with some of the instructors but gravitate towards the snacks that are available. Just as you get a good grasp on one of the oreos, your name is called out. You spin, making sure to keep the Oreos in a tight hold. Calum waves you over to the group he’s in and you walk over. You know you shouldn’t. You know you’re playing with fire. But you do so anyway and he introduces you to some other people in the same year as him. They weren’t at the student teacher training.

You’re thankful for the introduction but slowly the conversation drifts to the group joking about something that you seem to be missing and you know almost without thinking that Calum’s going to seize this opportunity. You turn to him first. “I like the vibe of this program,” you start.

He smiles. “I’m glad. It’s all pretty tight knit.” You nod, agreeing with this point, but also not sure if you’re reading the air between you and him correctly either. “Do you wanna duck out now?” he asks quietly. “Get that bike fixed up for the first day of classes.”

“Ye-yeah, that’s cool.”

He nods over to where your belongings are with a smile. And the two of you gather your things. As you lead Calum over to where you locked up your bike you pause. “Wait,” you start, “do you even have a place to strap a bike down?”

“My friends and I bike the trails a lot during the year. My SUV can handle it, I promise,” he returns with a laugh. The two of you walk side by side down the parking lot. “Where do you call home?” he asks.

You rattle off the answer and in return ask him the same. “Well home home is Australia. But I came to the states with some mates and we’ve sort of always called California a second home.”

“You beat me the longest distance from home,” you laugh.

“Well, only on a technicality.”

“So like your mom, dad, and siblings--if you have any--are like clear across the world?”

“Mum and Dad are. Sister’s in London.”

“Is she studying too?”

“Singer--she’s over there doing that.”

You hum. “Is singing a family trait?”

Calum laughs and you watch some lights blink from a car and you spy the keys in his hand. “I wouldn’t call it a family trait. But yeah, we all sing. In our own ways. Originally made some moves for music. Career paths changed just a tiny bit.”

“So you and the friends you moved with were in a band?”

“Of sorts. Went well for a while. Then we just needed rest.”

“So your idea of rest is going to school and teaching?” You laugh. Calum opens the trunk first for your bags. And when he closes it, you finally spot the rack to set your bike on.

“Like I said, career paths took a turn. Rest or new experience--I’ve yet to decide on the name yet.”

With the bike settled and secure, you walk around to the passenger side door. Calum’s quick to turn the air on in the car once he’s inside. His radio starts up immediately and he scrambles to turn it down. “Sorry, don’t wanna blast you out of the car,” he states.

“No, no worries.”

“Any requests? You can plug your phone in too, if you want.”

“Oh God, I take over the aux and you’re going to get some anime theme song and I’d rather save myself the embarrassment.”

Calum’s chuckle is quick and clear of the click of the seatbelts. He switches over the radio and hands you the white cord. “Now you have to embarrass yourself.”

“That’s what I get for opening my big mouth.” Plugging the cord in, you shuffle for a decent opening song as the truck starts backwards out of the parking spot.

“So what about you? How did the universe drop you here?”

“Pure determination and spite,” you laugh as the song starts over the speakers. “I finished my undergrad, worked for a couple years and then promptly said this is not what I want to do forever and started looking to go back to school.”

“Pure determination and spite,” Calum repeats. He keeps his attention heavily on the road as he’s driving out of the park and through the neighborhoods. But once he hits a stretch of main road he can glance over to you. And you’re staring out of the front windshield, head slightly tilted. “You look lost in thought?”

“Just admiring the view.”

And Calum hums, a sound of agreement, but the view he’s enjoying isn’t the sight of campus and the surrounding area. The two of you continue on, weaving around some traffic and soon you’re turning down a side street. One that reminds you almost of home. And maybe that’s just the universality of it all. Almost anything could be home if you wanted it to be, because there was always going to be a piece of a place that you could connect too.

“The guys here are nice and really quick about anything that’s a simple fix,” Calum offers. “Also, your music isn’t that bad.”

Your jaw drops just a little and a small squawk of indignation falls from your lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, jumping out of the car. Calum’s already at the back, pulling your bike from the secure rack.

“It means that having an anime theme song play would’ve made it ten times better.”

You huff, but follow behind him into the shop. The two of you greeted almost immediately and when the guy working on the floor spies the bike, he’s quick to walk over and see what the issue is. You explain that you’ve noticed a difference in tire pressure. In your move your gauge got misplaced and you hadn’t quite yet had time to get someone to look at it until now.

“Yeah, we can check that for you. No problem. So any other plans for today?” he asks, making small talk. You talk briefly about the weather, though there’s not quite a lot to talk about it. Not too long later, the guy’s able to confirm that one of tires did have something puncturing it and letting out some air. But he’s quick to let you know that they can fix it in just a few minutes if the two of you have it.

“I’d greatly appreciate it,” you start and then look at Calum, who just shrugs. “Yeah, can you fix it?”

“Sure can. Just give me a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

You watch Calum browse, trying not to linger on the way his back moves underneath the t-shirt as he reaches up for something along the walls. And it’s like asking to get into trouble. Though there’s nothing wrong with instructors dating. You just had a plan, that's all.The first semester you’d get settled, figure out what this whole student teaching life was all about. And the more you watched Calum, the more you were sure that plan was going to fall apart.

“Here she is, all fixed up.” You look up from your spot, in the store, having migrated to the opposite end of the door and walk over to the man with your bike. “Just a little puncture. Nothing too bad.” He rattles off the costs and it’s more than you anticipated, but not so much more that you have complaints.

Calum’s quick to take over the bike and walk it back outside, smiling as you hold the door open for him. “Thanks.”

“No, thanks to you. For chauffeuring me around.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he returns, getting the bike back onto the rack. “Did you want to explore some nearby shops?”

“Oh, hmm. Maybe later. I haven’t an ounce of lesson plans just yet. So I think I should maybe get my week 2 planned.”

“Well it sounds like you have something of week one planned,” Calum counters.

“We were forced. Thanks to orientation.”

He laughs. “Yeah, they wanted you to have that down at least.”

In the brief glance around, as you try to tell yourself, you shouldn’t explore, you spy a little coffee shop. It looks intriguing. And you point out the sign. “Have you ever tried them?”

“Yeah--it’s a really good shop.”

You take a small step towards the building, careful though because you’re still in the parking lot and about to head into the street. “Can I tack on just a tiny bit of exploring and grab a cup?”

“Of course.”

“Recommend anything?”

Calum holds the door open as he speaks. “Chai Latte, but you can’t tell anyone that it was me that recommended it.”

“Your secret it safe with me.”

In line, you try not to think about how close Calum is, as he stands behind you. But you can feel him, or maybe you want to feel it, you’re aware of him that it’s like all you’d have to do is fake a clumsy step back to be resting into his chest. You imagine it to be firm, but somehow cozy. And maybe that’s just the worn t-shirt he’s adorned in and the beanie on his head. But his presence feels soft to you.

Your daydream doesn’t last long as the line shuffles forward and you take the step forward rather than the step backward. The coffee shop is quaint, the wide windows letting in plenty of sunlight. But the tables are dark brown and look worn from your place in line. It feels lived in and you enjoy that even though the outside was painted a hunter green, the inside is a pretty beige accented by the chocolate wood of the tables.

“It’s like a dream,” you state in a whisper, taking in the lights in the ceiling and the scattered bodies of students with backpacks at their feet and others whom you assume live in town and are most likely trying to enjoy the last bits of quiet before the rest of the students descend onto the campus and town.

In all your sight exploration, your order is called up and Calum has to get it for you. He smiles though, watching the wonder that fills your eyes. “The offer’s still on the table,” he states, handing over the correct cup t you. “We can explore.”

“Can we raincheck? What does next weekend look like for you?”

He still hadn’t responded to Ashton about the hike. So he doesn’t really have plans. “Free as a bird.”

“Would it be okay? To wait till then?”

“Of course,” he exhales. “I’m not the one still learning with training wheels of teaching. I can do this in my sleep.”

“Oh, so big and tough,” you joke, but head back to the front door. The two of you break back out into the bright sun and it’s warm on your skin. “Just give me a semester. I’ll be able to knock you down a peg.”

And Calum doesn’t doubt that for a second. Not with the way you talked about getting into the program. Inside the truck, you’re handed the aux yet again and this time don’t think twice about plugging it in. “To our office?” he asks.

“You’re not even going to be doing anything for real.”

“I like the sense of productivity.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you laugh. The drive back to the campus isn’t as long as you thought it would be. But somehow it comes all too quickly. You’re still not sure what’s happening between you and Calum. It’s easy, natural between the two of you. But your plan--you know it’s all going down the drain. All his jokes make you laugh, and you know one or two shouldn’t. And when you do laugh, Calum turns sheepish. He goes quiet, a tiny smile quivering at his lips.

Calum parks in the employee parking lot in front of the building with your office. Both of you climb out at the same time. And with backpacks, coffee, keys and phones all in place you two trek up to the door. “I think it’s only three of us in the office this year,” Calum talks, fishing out the right key on the hook.

“Only three?”

“This used to be an old dorm building. So they can usually stick four of us into the room. But the email we got about office assignments only had three names. There was a fourth, but I don’t know what happened to them. They were in a different English program than us. And I don’t know if they graduated or not.”

“Ah,” you return, stepping through the door behind him. And it doesn’t remind you too much of a dorm, not in the always at least. But when Calum unlocks the door, you can see where it definitely once was an older dorm building thanks to the sink in the corner. “You weren’t kidding, huh?’

“About it being an old dorm? Not in the slightest.” He drops his backpack into the desk on the left side of the room but closest to the window. A couple pictures decorate the desktop. The desk next to him as a blanket and the whiteboard above it, has something written on it. So you assume it’s the third person. The desk on the right, closest to the door has nothing on it. The one closest to the window, across from Calum is also empty.

You walk into the room some more and Calum pulls out his laptop from his bag and then steps around you. “As a heads up, the door stays locked. So you’ll need your key if you go out and close the door. I got locked out once or maybe twice. And it’s definitely not fun.”

You nod. “Thanks for the heads up.”

He smiles and then slips out of the door and you study the empty desk. It’s stupid, trivial to take the one across from Calum, but you drop your backpack into the office chair. The next time you come, you’ll bring desk decorations. To claim which one is yours. Because right now in the depths of your backpack you don’t have much. Well you do have a book that you don’t really need to keep up with too much. Maybe you can leave that.

Exhaling, you get mostly settled and just before you can get your laptop out of the sleeve the door opens to Calum walking through again. The beanie’s now in his hands as he strides across the room and you can’t help but stare at the curls falling from his head. You want to curse him for looking so good. But you force yourself to go back to your screen.

Calum settles back into his chair and watches you, sitting up straighter than he’s ever seen a person sit. And he wishes he wasn’t so chicken shit about it. You fucking asked him to hang out next weekend. But still, it’s like toying the line. Trying to make sure he’s reading the cues right. Maybe not right now, maybe next weekend he can get a better read, make a move. He turns back to his own laptop and finds the syllabus he made from the last semester. He can still use most of it. Though in the spring they had a break and in the fall, now they don’t. So he can delete that week as no class and actually have time for the group project in class that the department requires for them to teach.

A couple hours go by, silence between the two of you, but the clacking of keys makes a chorus around the room. Calum pauses every so often to look over his shoulder. Sometimes you’re deep into work, pushed up into the seat. And once or twice, he found you slouched, staring out at the window next to both of you.

Another hour passes and shuffling ensues behind Calum. He looks over and finds you packing up. “Headed home?”

You nod. “Managed to get the first unit mostly planned. We’ll see how it goes.”

He smiles. “I’m sure it’ll go well.” He goes to turn around and then remembers your bike is still attached to the back of his car. “Oh, let me go with you to get your bike,” he says ,shooting up from his chair. It rolls backwards for a split second but then makes a sudden stop.

“Oof,” you let out, rubbing at your stomach.

“Oh my god,” he rushes out, stepping in closer. “I’m so sorry. Had no clue you were that close. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh and then look up. And Calum’s eyes are a deeper brown that you initially thought. Now that he's closer to you. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you exhale in a breath.

“You sure? I think the Campus Health Services is open. Or you know, urgent care?”

“I don’t think you caused internal bleeding. Just caught me off guard.”

He finally brings his gaze up from where you’ve stopped holding your stomach to your eyes. And he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let his gaze drop below your eyes, because truth be told he already stared too much at your lips during the entirety of orientation. And he already knows just how plump they are.

It’s silent--almost uncomfortably so. “Can I--I should get your bike,” Calum says, saving himself from sure embarrassment.

He steps around you and you stretch out, capturing his wrist in your hand. “No, what were you going to ask?” you ask. The question leaves you without much thought and you know you shouldn’t ask. But you just can’t help it. Because you almost stretched up to kiss him.

“It’s nothing,” he returns. But he doesn’t pull his wrist away.

“Is it really nothing?”

Calum feels you step in closer. He inhales and lets it slowly. He shouldn’t. He absolutely should not let the question cross his lips. But he turn, and sees you illuminated by the sun from the windows and god, how can he deny an angel standing in front of him. “I was going to ask if I could ask you a question.” And it’s not really what he was going to ask. But it buys him some time.

“You can ask me.”

“Do you--is this--,” he exhales, for a moment hating that the words are getting caught in his throat. “I don’t know if you’re feeling the same thing I am. But I-I’ve been interested in you, like from the second I saw you at the orientation. And I really, really don’t want to make a fool of myself. But I was hoping, are you interested? In me?”

There it goes--the plan--down the drain in just a few sentences. “If you’re asking if I thought you were attractive, yes. And if you’re asking if I care to see where this goes, the answer is also yes. But it really wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”

The elation covers his face and makes his cheeks push up as he smiles--so much so that the skin around his eyes crinkles. “I’ll gladly interrupt all your plans.”

You scoff at the sentiment, but feel your body heating up. Calum steps in even closer to you. His fingers find yours and thread them together. “So the real question I had was if I could kiss you? But I wasn’t sure if that was too forward.”

“Too forward a minute ago. But not too forward for right now,” you state, already moving in to kiss him. It’s short, longer than a peck, but not quite long enough. Because as you pull away, Calum’s other hand is cupping the back of your head and keeping you closer. His hold is firm but his lips are soft and you melt, knees buckling just for a moment. Thankfully, you manage to recover quickly. It doesn’t stop Calum from chuckling.

“Are you telling me that I have that kind of effect on you?”

“Shut the fuck up, and kiss me again,” you state breathlessly. He doesn’t need to be asked twice. His lips capture yours again, happy to finally get a small taste of you. And you’re acutely aware that it must look ridiculous--you with your backpack full to the nines pressed up against Calum’s chest, chasing down his lips because his touch is mixing in with the scent of his cologne and all you know for sure is that it’s an intoxicating mixture that you want to be trapped in forever.

You pull away, needing just a moment to catch your breath and Calum rests his forehead against yours. “Are you sure you want to leave me now?” he teases.

“I--I’ll be honest. The reason why I was leaving was because I knew this was going to happen.”

“Oh? You knew?”

You laugh, cupping his jaw. “Calum, I know one thing for sure. You’re a dangerous man to be around.”

“Oh you’ve just met me. I should be offended.”

“Should be?” you question.

“You’re--I don’t know what. But I knew that I wanted to know you. So whatever words that exist for that--that’s what you are.”

“I’m flattered,” you state softly.

“If you give me 5, I can pack up my stuff and drop you off back at home. Now I’d be an asshole not to drop you off.”

You watch him, pulling back from the closeness. “I can make it home now that my bike’s fixed. Thanks to your insistence.”

“Well, let me insist one more time that I make sure you get home safely.”

“Fine,” you resign. And he’s quick to pack up. Out in the hallway, he takes your hand, threading your fingers again. And it’s natural, easy between the two of you. You bump shoulders, laughing as you step out in the daylight.

Inside his car, you slip back into the passenger seat. But when Calum settles into the driver seat and gets buckled in, he rests one hand on your thigh. Not too high up, nothing too suggestive, but not directly on your knee. You try not to let it fluster you, the ease at which he establishes touch, but your heart races just a little.

You curl your fingers around his palm--it’s something to do with your hands, but also allows you a bit of control. You direct him easily back to your apartment. It’s nearly a straight shot, minus the one left turn needed and when he pulls up into a parking space in front of your building, he squeezes at your fingers just a little.

You face him with a smile. “Thanks, for everything.”

“Yeah of course,” he returns. “So, next weekend? More exploring?”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll text you about the date and time for sure. Unless we meet again in the office.”

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you laugh gently stretching across the console. “I have a suspicion we shall meet again in the office.”

“Lovely,” he breathes and you meet his lips, capturing them gently before pulling away and grabbing all your things. Your bike is easy to get down and then you lock it back up on the rack outside, even though Calum does help. He leans up against the door and you spy him watching.

“Enjoying the show?” you tease shaking your butt at him at the outside door of the building.

His laughter rings out. “Making sure you get inside safely, actually. But a show is always welcomed.”

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