#delightfully twenty six.
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litty swimsuit (spencer reid)
paring: spencer reid x reader
summary: the team vacations at rossi's summer residence while spencer reid deals with insecurities, emotions beyond his control, and a y/n litty swimsuit.
genre: i guess fluff, but towards the end it changes into the beginning of smut, but nothing serious, actually.
warnings: spencer being a little insecure; one or two curses; some sexually tinged comments; maybe some spicy scenes at the end, but, like i said before, nothing hard; a lot of use of the phrase "frown".
word count: 11, 631
notes: this is the first time i post anything here and the first time i write something about spencer so i hope i didn't screw things up. english is also not my first language, some words may be used incorrectly just because the translator thinks it's a synonym and i believe him, so… have fun :) (every pic is from pinterest, i don't own them).
spencer walked out through rossi's glass door, his nostrils filled with the unmistakable smell of chlorine, mixed with a hint of summer afternoon and sunscreen.
the sun was in its full stage and he frowned slightly at the thought of the impact of sunlight on the human body and the consequences of the time spent outside then — he focused mainly on the negative ones, because they came to his mind the fastest. but he immediately pushed them away, frowning even harder. aside from forgetting his sunglasses from his room, he remembered what morgan had told him when they arrived at rossi's summer house: you need to chill out a bit, man. look, a whole week off work and a whole week with y/n in a swimsuit! she told emily it's litty.
spencer didn't understand a few things at the time, and unfortunately for him, they were all centered around y/n.
first of all, he had no desire to chill out a bit and didn't look like he was going to be able to do that anytime soon. two weeks ago there was a chance for a vacation for the whole team. someone (emily) discreetly remarked (gathered everyone in the check-in room thanks to garcia who sent everyone a flashing, unlockable message to the work computers) that it would be nice to spend time at rossi's summer residence at that time, which he readily agreed to (not really, but everyone had time to nod their heads appreciatively over garcia's presentation, where she presented the arguments for and rossi was bribed with the idea of themed Italian evenings).
spencer obviously didn't mind spending time with the team. apart from them, he didn't really have any other friends, and his mother was going to be involved in activities that would conflict with his possible visit, so he had no plans. he even lifted the corners of his mouth for a brief moment. that subsided, however, when the travel talks began a few days later, and y/n elbowed him lightly in the ribs and said she had a bunch of light and silly romances ready so she could read one a day, which is pretty much like as if they were reading at the same pace. then he realized that if he spent a whole week with the team, he'd spend it with y/n as well, and his stress-adrenaline spiked so high he nearly spilled the coffee he was carrying to his desk at the time.
it's not like he didn't like y/n. because he liked. actually, very much so. derek said he's totally head over heels.
and guess that was the problem.
when y/n joined the team, which happened exactly six months, eight days, twenty-one hours and thirty-two minutes ago, she totally turned his head, as penelope said. she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and her smiles were either very wide or delightfully stretchy (these were spencer's favourites, because then there were tiny wrinkles around her eyes and her cheeks were slightly pink), and when she greeted meeting him for the first time, she raised her hand in an awkward greeting at the same time he did, then laughed out loud before finally saying her name with the smile still on her face.
he wasn't sure if he was just imagining it, and he didn't even want to check if it was, but he felt that y/n had become a very good friend to him. someone who listened to what he had read last time in a new science article that appeared in a kiosk outside his block and didn't roll his eyes; someone who showed up with coffee and a donut when he was having a bad day; someone who used to come to his hotel room when things were done with chinese takeout to watch documentaries on TV; someone who played cards with him (even if y/n made up her own rules that were often meant to win only her); someone who eventually became more than just a good friend to him.
he couldn't even tell when he wished they were more. all he knew was that there was no chance of any change in that direction between them. girls like y/n weren't interested in guys like spencer, he knew it. he didn't want his stupid feelings to end. he liked the fact that y/n was somehow close, and if only she knew how he felt about her, he wouldn't have survived the humiliation of rejection.
anyway, when spencer realized that y/n would also be joining them on the trip, he panicked slightly. since she'd joined the team, they'd only spent time together at work and on field case, and that made their relationship somewhat limited (reason infinite why spencer thought maybe even their friendship was a bit forced). spencer would never have dared to offer her anything else because she might think he was asking her out (he hadn't asked derek yet, but he was pretty sure going to a museum to see the remains of a newly found tomb didn't count as a date, but he preferred not risk), and then she would surely refuse, which is why they did not meet outside of work. unless it was about going out to bars with the team.
y/n never proposed anything either (derek said it was because spencer wasn't giving her enough indication of his interest in such a proposal, but spencer thought being neutral about everything about y/n was safe and a chance to be too pushy), so spencer only confirmed his conviction. he was destined to be friend.
however, he began to have merciless thoughts about the possible end of their relationship, precisely because of the vacation trip to rossi's summer estate. eventually y/n will have to realize that spencer is actually incredibly boring, and his habits, behaviors, and interests are not at all caused by the situations that another case puts in their way. he will understand that spencer watches TV documentaries not because there is nothing more interesting on the hotel TV, but because he likes to do it. after all, no one willingly watches television documentaries! everyone knows it!
and on the one hand he knew that these thoughts were irrational rather than worth considering, but on the other hand he watched his surroundings for any signs that might prepare him for an imminent farewell to the warm feeling he felt inside when y/n appeared on the horizon.
spencer was sure that there were plenty of other things that y/n could find out about him during the trip and lose interest in him even at the level of work colleagues, so from the beginning of the trip he tried not to drive the stress reel and didn't think about it anymore, and it was either better or worse.
the other thing he didn't understand about derek was the y/n litty swimsuit. to be honest, spencer wasn't very interested in the y/n swimsuit until derek mentioned it. he didn't even combine the trip with swimsuits. but now he was definitely interested in it, and he was horrified that he was beginning to think of his co-worker and best friend in that context. he tried not to imagine it too often, but his thoughts involuntarily wandered in that direction when they were filling out reports at the office a day or two before, when he was in the shower, when he was going to bed, and when they were on the plane here. so, well, he wasn't doing very well.
but back to when he left rossi's house for his backyard swimming pool — derek was right, he needed to chill out a bit.
the swimming pool was rectangular in shape and was crossed by a volleyball net; on one side were hotch and morgan, and on the other side, emily and jj, who were clearly already engaged in the game for good, as the cheers directed at the men indicated victory and their considerable excitement. reid remembered derek's words again and refrained from telling them about the dangers of exerting himself in a place that was so exposed to the sun's rays. chill out a bit.
he descended the small steps to the stone path that flanked the pool, only guessing how hot the slabs of stone could get under his slipper-protected feet. he noticed that rossi, who was doing a crossword puzzle, was sitting at a table covered with a red umbrella, and probably wouldn't look up even if an african elephant ran in front of him. morgan's words rang again in spencer's ears, and he didn't stop to look over the man's shoulder and solve a few passwords. chill out a bit.
so reid walked on, toward white, comfortable-looking loungers. they were tucked away in the shade, far enough away that the noises coming from the pool wouldn't be annoying and that their distance wouldn't seem exaggerated. on one of them was penelope, holding a glass of iced coffee in one hand and a kindle in the other, which she was staring at intently.
spencer looked around discreetly, but saw no y/n anywhere. he knew she was the first to leave the house — at six o'clock in the morning he wasn't awake enough to get up, but he heard her soft footsteps down the hall and the slam of the front door. he didn't know where she was, but when he opened his eyes again, the whole team was downstairs, discussing something quite loudly. it was early afternoon now, and spencer was angry with himself for not being able to get up early enough. he felt as if he didn't know as much as the others. as if he missed something.
he sat down precariously on one of the deckchairs, the one closest to penelope's, and gripped the leather-bound book he'd brought with him a little tighter. he ordered it from his local bookstore a month ago, and the delivery difficulties only made him want to devour it whole, but now, when y/n wasn't around, he somehow didn't feel like opening it. he involuntarily looked towards the garden, remembering that when they arrived three days ago, y/n had disappeared there for a good hour. maybe she went to see that little pond she'd been telling him about...
"what are you looking for?" garcia's suspicious voice reached his ears, and he immediately felt a treacherous blush rise to his cheeks. "or rather, for whom."
she added the last one with a noticeable smirk in her voice, as if she knew the answer to her question all along, and spencer wouldn't be surprised if she really did.
he looked at her, still slightly surprised by her unexpected remark; the blonde lifted her sunglasses so that they rested on top of her head, her fingers gently, almost soundlessly, tapping the kindle's surface.
he noticed that her nails were painted a dark blood red. just like emily wore. and jj. probably similar to y/n. apparently it was the result of their ladies' night last night, which had dragged on until one in the morning, which spencer knew because there was a wall between his and emily's room that was thin enough for him to hear music and laughter coming from the room. that was the main reason why he got up later than the others today.
"i don't..." he began, but before he could somehow prevent a minor annoyance that would surely have lasted into the evening, the patio doors slid open and shut just as forcefully.
spencer looked over at them, frowning at the glare of the sun.
y/n trotted hurriedly towards them, her thick-soled flip-flops making a distinctive sound with each step she took. she was wearing a slightly tight, ankle-length skirt of mesh material with a lining and a light green tank top with thin straps. in her hand was a shopping bag, which she placed between spencer's and garcia's sun loungers. her chest was rising and falling at a rhythmic but not too fast pace, which indicated she was in a hurry.
“i will never go back there again,” she declared, plopping down on the lounger where spencer was sitting. she was clearly addressing penelope, but a second later she was elbowing him in the shoulder. "where have you been all morning? the vacation book club meeting must have started without you, though i swear i fought like a lioness."
even if she wasn't quite close, he could smell her cherry mist, and when he looked a little closer, he noticed that thin strings of a bikini trailed up from underneath the tank top and tied in a bow shape at the nape of the neck. chill out a bit.
"i overslept," he stammered, wishing he was someone with a better explanation.
"oh no, is it us?" y/n looked genuinely worried. „jj and i tried to turn the music down but emily was adamant. and then we went a bit too far with the alcohol and music was the last thing on our minds."
"no, i... forgot to set my alarm clock." thought up on the spur of the moment, but y/n tilted her head slightly doubtfully.
she didn't comment on it, though, because her attention was drawn to penelope, who until then had been interested mainly in the lines of text on her kindle, now clutched it tightly to her chest and, her lips parted in excitement, leaned towards y/n.
"did it work? does the red nail theory work? answer, woman!" her eyelids were wide open and her pale cheeks flushed a little pink.
"what is the red nail theory?" spencer asked, frowning again, this time in confusion.
he was used to the fact that he didn't know much about currently pop culture and usually had to get information from team members or search the internet himself. he did it a bit more often lately, because y/n would run into the office from time to time and tell him in an emotional voice about the latest happenings in the world of celebrities that he had no idea about. but if y/n was interested, he wanted to, if only so he wouldn't stand there stock-still and nod his head in an attempt to understand.
"oh, it's such a stupid notion that if you paint your nails red, guys will stick to you like flies," she replied, as always without impatience, waving her hand dismissively, which only underlined her attitude towards the matter. spencer, however, saw the red on her fingernails.
“it's widely believed that the color red symbolizes passion, desire and, of course, love. a survey was conducted which revealed that…” spencer began, unable to resist sharing this information with her; he stopped, however, when penelope waved a kindle in front of his nose, as if to chase away a persistent insect.
"y/n! did mark make a move?!”
"who is mark?"
in his defense, it had slipped out faster than he had time to think. the tone in which garcia's question was uttered indicated that mark had already been the subject of conversations and was obviously known to someone other than y/n. that in turn meant (spencer unintentionally connected the assumption with his own suspicions) that y/n was romantically interested in someone, and probably someone — how could not — reciprocated. especially since the woman's cheeks had turned slightly pink.
spencer felt his stomach turn inside out; never thought he had any chance with y/n, but sometimes it was nice to daydream a bit. but now those dreams had become almost utopian, though earlier, he liked to tell himself, they had been possible if he hadn't been such a coward and had perhaps agreed to go to the gym with morgan.
“he's a clerk in that little shop we passed on our way here. remember, the one with the white wooden sign and the blue lettering. anyway, penelope thinks he's a muffin ready to munch, which i guess means he's relatively attractive," y/n replied again, in the same tone as before; this time, however, she didn't wave her hand, but ostentatiously rolled her eyes.
"hello? when will it be time to answer my questions?” the blonde got impatient and slid her legs off the lounger and seemed ready to pin y/n to the ground and force all the answers out of her.
y/n smiled softly (apparently the danger in garcia's eyes was no problem for her) and bent down to reach for the shopping bag at her feet. she was clearly looking for something and was knocking over the rest of her purchases as she did so, but she took her time to answer penelope.
"i'm not sure about that theory, pen. i bought you a couple of canned sodas and some magazines from the display at the back of the store, and mark was mostly looking at my boobs, not my nails. this confirmed what i had always thought of him — that he is quite a jerk. i don't know, girls, maybe you should be interested in someone valuable."
spencer lifted the corner of his mouth, the one that the others couldn't see; he didn't know the whole mark, but enjoyed the way y/n thought of him. he just didn't know who he was. he liked to think he wasn't a jerk, but he wasn't sure he was valuable either. he was curious if there was anything in between.
“this is not some husband contest, y/n. it's our carefully crafted hot girls summer," penelope reminded her, and this time she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
reid refrained from asking another question.
“then i'm afraid our hot girls summers are quite different,” y/n replied, finally pulling a few magazines out of the plastic bag and stacking them neatly on her lap, frowning in concentration. “i bought rossi another crossword puzzle because i saw him finishing the one in the morning paper. jj and emily said they didn't need anything but i bought them a gossip magazine anyway. the only thing i didn't know was what to get hotch... anyway, penelope, i didn't spend a dime on you. it's for those stupid messages you've been sending me all morning! and for your information, my inner tigress didn't pounce on a couple of ribs."
penelope moaned martyrdom, throwing her head back and returning to her previous position, turning on her kindle again. y/n didn't seem too concerned about it, in fact, not at all, and turned around a bit to face spencer. her mouth stretched into that familiar excited smile, and her cheeks seemed to still be tinted with a soft pink as the woman proudly held out to him a sealed magazine with a dvd inside.
"dr. reid, here's the second part of the documentary we started watching during this case in baltimore." her tone was high, but spencer still sensed a hint of laughter in it. “on the way back i also saw a nice restaurant that delivers orders. it's not chinese, but i don't mind indian food. you like indian food, right? i can look for something else, i think i saw something at the end of the pier...
“indian food sounds nice, y/n,” spencer said reassuringly, giving her a small smile.
it all sounded nice. it was nice to think that y/n looked at the popular science section and thought of him; about wanting to watch a nature documentary with him and eat takeout. spencer didn't want to think otherwise, and even thought that maybe all his fears about leaving weren't very rational.
"oh god, i hope you guys gonna fuck while doing this or i'll drown you in the pool..." penelope's totally serious voice broke the smiling silence between them like a knife blade.
spencer made an indistinct noise, blushing to the tips of his ears while y/n seemed extremely angry.
“you know what, pen, i'd rather fuck spencer with a documentary on africa insects running in the background than go out with all that mark. i bet he's an indebted loser who doesn't even own a boat, which would be quite derogatory given the name his shop bears." hissed y/n.
spencer felt like he was shrinking with each passing second; y/n's hand and the magazine it held were digging into his chest, and penelope's eyes shone again with a dangerous glow, which together with the accusing finger was quite a disturbing sight.
"i see! so he invited you after all!” she exclaimed, and y/n dropped the magazine from her hand, which with a rustling sound fell to his lap and arranged her hands in such a way as if she wanted to strangle the blonde.
"yes, penelope!" y/n raised her voice. “he said something like maybe we can go out together or something and i said yeah, rather not, or something and immediately left the place. are you satisfied yet?”
penelope frowned a bit and sank back into the chair with a clearly disconsolate expression. she felt a little silly, just like y/n, who tried to straighten up a bit to give herself some dignity and brushed her skirt off her knee as if there were a few crumbs there, but they weren't.
"are you sure he was looking at your boobs and not your nails?" asked penelope after a moment.
"yes."
“well, then he is indeed a loser without a boat. pity. i liked his chin."
"oh, penelope," sighed y/n and smiled slightly as the blonde did the same.
y/n bent down again to put the magazines back in the plastic bag, and spencer moved his leg slightly, hoping the tense atmosphere had just ended. he didn't quite know what he could do if things got worse. he was also pleased to hear about the reunion of mark and y/n. he hoped he'd gotten away with it and wouldn't try to be interested in her again, but at the same time he wondered what he'd do if he heard the y/n words himself. yeah, rather not, or something. it sounded like his personal hell.
"pretty girl is back!"
they looked towards the pool. morgan was walking toward them in red swimming trunks that went past his knees, arms wide open, the corner of his mouth raised dangerously. apparently the little volleyball match had just ended; hotch was disappearing inside rossi's house as jj and emily were slowly approaching them.
"so what? we are going to play the game?" morgan asked, aiming the words at the y/n.
for a brief moment, the woman's face showed surprise, but then her mouth curved into a mocking grimace.
"if i didn't know you, morgan, i'd think you liked being humiliated. sure we're playing, i just need to get changed." y/n got up from the lounger and, grabbing the shopping bag, headed for the patio doors. as she passed the morgan, she looked over her shoulder at him, whispering, "i'll destroy you."
"you wish, honey." derek snorted, but it was hard to tell if y/n had heard his words because she didn't react to them in any way.
you wish, honey. he wondered what reaction y/n would get if he called her that nickname. he wasn't very good with words and it would probably end up painfully awkward. spencer would like to be like morgan — smooth in conversation, which he was able to combine with his appearance. would like to talk to y/n per honey. or whatever y/n finds attractive.
spencer saw the woman stop by rossi and hand him a crossword puzzle book, and the man patted her hand, giving her a smile. he didn't even notice how it appeared on his face as well. y/n was good, generous and open-minded, and spencer knew he could count on her, and that other people important to him could count on her, too.
"come on reid, get ready." threw derek in his direction, waking him from his lethargy.
spencer looked at him with surprise and maybe a little fear in his eyes. after years of being near derek's desk, he was used to the little teases derek gave him — he understood that they were never intended to hurt him, and he usually brushed them off or tried to respond to them in a similar way. but he also knew that sometimes morgan couldn't keep his mouth shut, and he feared that derek's swashbuckling smirk had something to do with y/n. he didn't know what it was yet, but he sure had it.
at the same time, emily and jj also appeared, sitting together on the deckchair on the other side of penelope and smiling at them, clearly tired.
"morgan, haven't you had enough? i wouldn't mess with y/n, she's pretty good at this stuf," emily muttered, scratching her ankle. "if i were you, i wouldn't pick myself up after a second failure."
"oh yeah, she took extra classes when she was in high school." jj supported her, nodding her head.
"oh please. i gave you a head start. like the gentleman i am." derek leaned forward with his hand on his chest, and they shook their heads in amusement.
spencer was about to ask what exactly it was about when the patio doors slid open again. automatically he looked towards the terrace and involuntarily parted his lips.
for a brief moment he thought he couldn't make any sound, let alone understandable and logical words. he didn't know what made him more emotional — how pretty y/n's face looked in the two braids that were now bouncing gently with her steps, or maybe the fact that her swimsuit was really litty and even spencer's mind wasn't in the mood could prepare him for how amazing she could look in it.
it was a two-piece, bottle green. spencer could see the bindings that held the top of the suit together — the ones at the nape of his neck (which he had seen before) and moments ago when she had her back to him for two seconds, closing the door behind her, also the one on her back. in addition, on both sides of her hips there were similar, but indetachable, decorative strings.
despite his sincere wish not to think too much of her in that particular sinful way, he had to refrain from imagining a moment when he would be allowed to pull either of them.
“i was just telling a pretty boy to get ready to kick his ass,” morgan said as y/n stopped in front of them.
"you didn't mention any kicking my ass and i still don't know what you mean," spencer replied, then frowned as penelope put in something from her kindle about how she liked it when he said ass.
"oh yes." y/n grabbed the end of one of the braids and gave him an apologetic look. “so a month ago morgan saw my volleyball medals while he was helping me redecorate my bedroom and said we absolutely had to go against him because he thinks he’s totally rocking.”
"because i rock."
"anyway, this morning while you were still sleeping, i got a little competitive and got you involved too." she sounded like she was genuinely sorry, but when her gaze met derek, her tone changed completely. "so you better stretch yourself morgan or we're going to crush you completely!"
y/n shot both of her index fingers at derek, and he laughed out loud and walked off towards the pool, where the woman's narrowed eyes led him.
spencer swallowed hard and clenched his hands again on the cover of his book. it was a real disaster unfolding to the cheers of the girls as y/n started her warm-up with feigned zeal.
subconsciously, he knew that he wasn't some important part of this two-man team — y/n clearly had no plans to involve him in the game beforehand, and it probably came about as a result of everyone's familiar scuffles between her and derek. yet he felt his stomach turn inside out again as he thought about the fact that he would have to take part in a game in which he was hopeless in front of everyone else.
"y/n." the woman looked at him, with a determined expression on her face, although a moment ago she had just been training her menacing gaze under the supervision of emily, whose role of focused trainer was not going very well. "can we talk somewhere else?"
"sorry girls, we have to talk about our super tactics"
they walked to the opposite end of the pool, hearing the excited voices of the girls behind them, who were just in the process of coming up with cheering slogans. spencer felt even worse when he thought that apparently most of the team knew about the planned showdown between y/n and derek and were looking forward to it.
"the thing is, i hit in your direction and you take straight to his half and so twenty-five times..."
"y/n, i'm not good at volleyball. actually, i'm not good at any sport that requires physical exertion." he confessed, reluctantly interrupting her.
for a nanosecond, y/n's enthusiasm waned a bit, but then she frowned, confused.
"what are you talking about? i'm sure you're great. besides, you're tall!" she remarked, sending him a smile and shrugging.
"and what about it?"
"all volleyball players are tall." she shrugged again, and spencer sighed softly.
then y/n turned serious and placed her hands on his thin shoulders. even though her hands were only touching him through the gray cotton t-shirt he was wearing, spencer felt the tips of his ears turn red gradually.
the team knew about his reluctance to have close physical contact, and spencer made sure that all new people he met were also informed. he knew penelope had told y/n about it before the woman noticed him sitting at his desk, and he was grateful to her that he had missed this awkward conversation. however, spencer quickly realized that he actually doesn't mind physical contact as long as the person he's having it with is y/n.
her acts of kindness and friendship drew him into his terrible crush with each working day, and made him more and more aware of the need for her touch. he had even unconsciously searched for it, provoking occasions for his fingertips to touch hers, to pass documents, for her arm to brush against his as they walked down the not-too-wide corridor to the briefing room, and for his hand to be within reach, when one day the plugs in the office went out and it became completely dark.
he naively thought he was being discreet about it — but the team quickly noticed his lack of aversion to her touch and made jokes about it. spencer hoped that their remarks didn't reach y/n and that she didn't notice it herself — he was able to make do with whatever physical intimacy she unwittingly gave him.
however, he realized that y/n arranged the touch herself, almost on the same level as she maintained with the rest of the team.
now she was staring deep into his eyes, and reid hoped the red didn't spread to his cheeks as well.
"listen to me, spencer. i won't say it's just for fun because i'm fucking desperate to win and i'm not going to give morgan the satisfaction, but i will say that i believe your volleyball player is deep inside of you and just needs a gentle push to bring him to the surface," she whispered, which made spencer look pained.
"i'm afraid he's already there. he's floating, more precisely. because he's dead."
"you see? it's not so bad if you still have your sense of humor," she laughed, patting his shoulder, but her laughter died away as she crossed arms over her chests, leaning towards him with a worried expression. he tried not to show the disappointment of losing her hand on his body. "spencer, i can tell derek you don't want to play. i know i should have asked you first."
"what's going on there?! y/n, you can give up now!" derek leaned against the wall of his half of the field with a grin and waited for them to arrive.
they looked in his direction, but y/n quickly returned her gaze to spencer's face.
he knew that volleyball was not his strong suit. just as he knew the last thing he wanted was to humiliate himself in front of the team and, of course, in front of y/n because of it. but he noticed how excited she was. and he didn't want her to lose the sparkle in her eyes he saw when she explained their rather unreal tactics to him.
"i'll do it," he decided at last, nodding his head a few times, just in case, to confirm himself in this decision.
y/n opened her mouth in surprise and grabbed his wrist as he started towards the pool, forcing him to meet her eyes again.
"spencer, if you really don't want to, you don't have to."
"yeah, but suddenly i felt like kicking morgan's ass," he replied, though he didn't really know if he wanted to. he wanted to give her what she wanted, of that he was sure.
y/n stared at him intently, probably searching for something to contradict his words, but reid made sure his expression was convincing enough. in the end, the girl lost the fight with a huge smile, and from her chest came an excited sound like a combination of a squeak and a giggle.
"i like it when you say ass too!" she said and stole a kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on her heel and stepping into the pool.
spencer turned crimson and involuntarily raised his hand to touch his fingertips to the place where the muted pink y/n lips touched his skin. chill out a bit.
as he had predicted, he was not doing very well. emily, jj and penelope moved the sunbeds a little closer to the pool for a better view and started cheering for their team right from the start, which only distracted spencer and put even more pressure on him.
in addition, although he had suspected it for a long time, but now he was convinced of it, y/n, despite the whole package of good qualities, also had some worse ones, such as an unhealthy desire to compete and a need to be the best.
things seemed pretty stable at first — y/n let morgan go surfing first, definitely determined to win. she hit the first few throws and then ended them with a strong knockout of the ball that sprayed the water, announcing their first point. actually because of her, but y/n held up her hands for a high five as if it was a joint effort.
then there was a slight complication as derek hit the ball towards him, which spencer didn't expect at all and his bounce was too light for the ball to go over the net. y/n reassured him that everything was fine and kept playing, but spencer felt like the worst person in the world, especially since emily moaned in agony, even though that was only the first point lost (she had already taken another sip of something lemon yellow, but it wasn't lemonade and she was getting a little cranky).
y/n quickly rebounded and gained the upper hand, and spencer even managed to hit the ball a few times without sending it to the net or out of the water court. but eventually the losing streak came back and they lost points again, and a crease appeared between y/n's eyebrows that made spencer nervous.
it was twenty-two to nineteen for morgan, and the man had already indulged in a few snide comments. y/n with obvious impatience somehow made the ball finally hit the water on morgan's side and passed the ball to spencer with a serious expression.
reid liked it a lot better when he wasn't closer to the pool walls, and didn't get a few stressful stares on his shoulders while he was surfing, especially since he'd hit the ball out of court way too often. in addition, now he was sure that if he repeated it, he would hear a martyrdom moan not from emily's lips, but from y/n. then he would allow himself a small humiliating drowning.
he sighed softly, rolling the ball over in his hand. the kids at his school bounced it hard on the floor to give it a better bounce. spencer couldn't do that now, and he wasn't really sure if the tactic worked. every time he was in this place, he thought about how what he was best at would help him. however, there was not enough time to mess with physics.
he hit the ball down, grimacing, just in case.
however, contrary to his expectations, the ball went over the net and began to fall within the pool area, not on the stone path outside it.
out of the corner of his eye, he saw the corner of y/n's mouth twitch slightly upwards. the ends of her braids were wet with chlorinated water and dripping drops; spencer, wanting to preserve what little dignity he had, held back with all his might lest his gaze fall a little lower, where the drops ran down her skin and into the hollow between her breasts. he also judiciously ignored the fact that the soaked fabric of her bikini clung to her body, which seemed to reflect the sun's rays and seemed to glisten slightly. plus, her…
he couldn't say exactly what had happened, but he knew that one moment he was watching the y/n body moving in slow motion, and the next he was bended in half, feeling a dizzying, sharp pain shoot through his head. he remembered holding his hands to his face, feeling his nose twitch as still as a cartoon character who had just rung a big bell, and there was sudden chaos around him; several voices rose in surprise, someone close to him shouted his name, and the water around him surged, pushing him against the pool wall. he also felt something drip onto his fingers.
"god, spencer!" delicate, wet yet warm hands brushed uncertainly over his still veiled face, and spencer recognized the terrified y/n in that voice.
"dude, now you've got nothing left!"
"seriously, derek?!" y/n was furious, but when she turned to him again, her voice was soft but still nervous. "spencer, look at me. everything's all right?! pass the towel! rossi, go get the keys, we're going to the hospital! may be broken!"
the nose wasn't broken. which spencer knew as soon as he managed to get his questions answered from the panic-stricken team. no one noticed the swelling, and no hematomas appeared under his eyes; the profuse bleeding that y/n was trying to stop with more and more tissues, and the pain he felt didn't have to be signs of a fracture, though they could. the team wasn't going to take his word for it anyway, and hotch, though the most composed of the group, was firmly pressing on the accelerator.
spencer, apart from feeling like everything was spinning around him from time to time, he felt a bit overwhelmed; there was too much noise around him — his friends were arguing about who was to blame for his accident, y/n had her hand over his face (although he assured her he could still hold a few tissues) and was squeezing his hand tight, increasing the pressure when she was responding to morgan.
when they got to the hospital, and the doctor finally treated their panicked group, he only confirmed what spencer had suspected all along. he didn't even have a concussion, and this disturbingly profuse hemorrhage was caused by the rupture of a larger vessel. recommended ice packs and rest. something spencer could prescribe for himself.
they back to rossi's house in a slightly less nervous mood, though y/n didn't speak to derek, who had repeatedly apologized not only to spencer but also to her. y/n, however, seemed adamant and still preoccupied with the situation. spencer suspected she felt guilty because she had talked him into it, after all, though he had mentioned to her once or twice that it was nothing and that all symptoms would be gone by tonight.
as they crossed the threshold of the house, three waiting heads appeared from behind the living room wall, and again there was a din of explaining everything to the rest of the team, who had to stay because of emily's tip. spencer finally managed to get out of their company and quickly disappeared into his room before anyone noticed him.
from that moment on, two hours passed, which spencer spent lying motionless with an ice pack against his face. he stared at the ceiling and multiplied every now and then the number of panels on the floor. there was an eerie silence downstairs, and spencer wondered if everything was all right down there.
he was about to decide to get out of bed and go downstairs when there were two single knocks against his door. he called the person inside, and after a while a y/n head appeared.
"i have a bowl for your used ice pack and your book you left on the sun lounger," she said softly, smiling, seemingly slightly confused.
"come in," he replied, just as quietly, though there was no reason for them to communicate that way.
the previously awkward y/n grimace turned into her beautiful smile as she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. she was clutching his book to her chest and in the other hand she was holding the purple plastic bowl spencer had seen in the kitchen cupboard this morning.
he involuntarily smiled as he thought of how y/n reminded him of a small child who had just managed to sneak into a friend's room despite the watchful eyes of his parents — she jumped on his bed, then sat cross-legged and sighed heavily as spencer pulled the compress away from his face, to put it in the bowl.
"is it that bad?" he joked, raising his eyebrows to which y/n snorted mockingly.
"you don't even know how much. you look exactly the same!” she laughed as she placed the bowl with compress on the bedside table by spencer's bed. to do so, she had to lean over him, and this time the scent of her floral shampoo and mango lotion filled his nostrils; she must have taken a shower afterwards because he couldn't smell the chlorine on her. however, when y/n returned to her seat, her expression became a little more serious. "how do you feel? i know everyone asked you this way too many times already, but i'm really worried."
"much better. i think i've stopped feeling that throbbing pain, although that may just be because of the ice," he replied, smiling slightly. "and hey, you don't have to worry so much about it. i already told you it's okay and it's not your fault."
"yeah, but still. i don't know what we'd do if you slashed that pretty face."
spencer frowned as if he disliked her words, but y/n just laughed again. in fact, he had already wondered a few times if the fact that y/n called him pretty boy, like morgan, meant anything at all. a large number of voices in his head said that this was just another habit that the girl had picked up from derek, as she had done in the case of throwing balls of paper into the garbage cans. however, there was a part that made spencer's cheeks a little pink when he heard those words come out of her mouth. sometimes hearing it from her was completely different than hearing it from anyone else.
"yeah, morgan has already pointed that out," he said finally, feeling it had to be done.
it seems like y/n was just waiting for spencer to mention morgan because she suddenly gasped and jumped up on the mattress, frowning.
“you know, i was joking now, but it really pissed me off at the time! i was terrified because i had never seen so much blood while doing anything other than catching serial killers, and i thought it could end up much worse than a broken nose. and derek didn't care at all!" y/n's hands engaged the aggressive gesticulation mode that appeared on the horizon when she was really high. "i was so furious with him! and his irritating taunts on the way to the hospital!”
"what taunts?" he asked, confused.
of course he was aware that y/n and morgan had spent the entire drive to the hospital arguing, with garcia joining in from time to time, now trying to get them to agree, now putting in her two cents as if she couldn't hold back any longer. at the time, however, he was too preoccupied with his bleeding nose and maybe a little y/n touch as well to notice what exactly their heated discussion was about.
"never mind, suitably stupid for his level," y/n grunted, blushing unexpectedly and tucking her hair behind her ear, though not a strand fell to her cheek. “anyway, i had a bit of an argument with him, and now i feel a little guilty about him because, i have to admit, i went a bit too far. but i won't apologize to him so he doesn't think about it too much."
"but you'll reconcile, won't you? it would be a bit awkward if you won't," he murmured, partly to her, partly to himself.
before y/n could answer, however, the door swung open timidly after three hasty knocks. derek morgan's head looked inside, as if the man was well aware that they were talking about him and decided to intervene. however, there was a swashbuckling smile on his lips, the kind you couldn't be angry at.
"hey hey..." he crooned, smiling even wider. "how it's going?"
"how it should?" y/n answered the question with a question, annoyance evident in her voice. "he almost got a concussion."
"not at all," spencer interjected, but he was ignored by each of them.
"i'm sorry mom, it won't happened again," derek replied, making y/n utter an exasperated sigh. morgan walked in even though no one had actually invited him and approached them with a mysterious plastic bag in his hand. “penelope gave me a hint so i could think of a way to finally settle the conflict, and here it is: the chinese you obviously love. appreciate my efforts, pretty girl, they had to bring her from another town.”
"then i guess the thanks go to the supplier, mr. morgan," y/n noticed, and spencer saw that there was an amused sparkle behind the sternness of her gaze. the girl accepted the takeaway, much to morgan's satisfaction, and arranged it beside her. "nice of you. i stopped being mad at you about an hour and a half ago, but it's still cool."
morgan reached out to flick her nose and y/n slapped it, laughing loudly.
spencer, sitting with his legs stretched forward, leaned against the back of his wooden bed, watching their interaction. with displeasure he felt a nasty jealousy sprouting in his stomach; something about the sight of their casual touch, each of them knowing that this quarrel and the words that accompanied it had no meaning, made him almost see the green covering his fingers. and they had done it all right in front of him.
spencer laughed mentally. he was really pathetic — morgan and y/n were friends. and y/n still wasn't going to consider him, even if he got punched in the nose.
"oh, dude. i'd like to get punched in the nose too if it meant y/n would look after me," morgan sighed dreamily, turning to spencer, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"i'll take care of you too, morgan, if that's what you want. but before that, i'll give you a nose so we'll have one reason," y/n replied, causing the man to chuckle in an amused tone as he backed away towards the door.
"okay, i understand, i'm leaving now. have fun, kids," he said, then disappeared through the heavy door.
y/n shook her head, turning her body towards spencer. her silken hair, which had been braided since spencer had first laid eyes on her that afternoon, now fell over her shoulders, which were no longer covered by the t-shirt she had thrown on in a hurry as everyone ran around rossi's living room, occasionally catching spencer's shoulder, as if to reassure themselves that he was still standing there. she was wearing something a lot more elegant now, which belied spencer's idea that she had already showered. in that case, she'd already be wearing her yellow turtleneck pajamas, which spencer raised his eyebrows at the first time they had to share a room during the case.
instead of yellow turtles, reid saw a plain, rather thin, black shirt tucked into denim shorts. and it didn't look like a sleep suit. but actually spencer shouldn't be interested in that.
pushing those tactless thoughts away, he reached out for the plastic bag morgan had brought them.
it was filled with distinctive boxes, the sharp edges of which pushed the plastic bag apart, and the smell that wafted from them despite the paper reminded spencer of all those late nights spent with y/n in hotel rooms, during which the television was told by a weary voice about the life of individual species, and the woman was in the so close to him that her shoulder touched his. he only liked the smell for those memories.
y/n leaned over with interest to look at the bag as well. spencer realized after a short while that the girl's forehead was not far from his, and a little surprised by the sudden closeness, he lifted his head to look at her. y/n did the same, feeling his burning gaze on her and smiled softly without breaking eye contact.
for a brief moment, he felt as if there was absolutely nothing else around them. there were only y/e/c y/n irises, her lightly freckled nose that was to blame for the sun, and her pink lips. lips he would love to kiss. or even brush his own lips.
but before he opened it to say anything that might lead to that, his bedroom door groaned heavily, as it did when it was opened very slowly. they pulled away from each other almost immediately, turning their heads in their direction. spencer, for an irrational moment, even thought that hotch might be behind them, about to lead him out of his own room by the ear like a rascal of the worst kind. jesus, spencer, he reminded himself, you're a grown man. if you want to kiss a woman, you will.
however, it wasn't hotch's head that emerged from behind the door, but emily, who didn't seem as frisky as she had been a few hours ago. she eyed each of them and walked inside to the accompaniment of expectant silence from them.
"are you guys kissing?" she asked after a moment, an excited smile on her face as she tilted her head slightly.
"what? no!" spencer thought y/n seemed pretty flustered considering the fact that their faces were inches apart just moment ago and she was clearly trying to pretend that none of this had happened. well, nothing that spencer wasn't prepared for.
"say what you want. reid looks like a ripe tomato."
spencer choked on his own saliva, drawing the women's attention, and his hand immediately reached for the glass on his nightstand, which was half full of water.
"i-it's a compress." he wanted to somehow explain what his face looked like, but no one, including himself, seemed convinced (and the water had been standing here since last night and tasted bad).
"of course…"
"i thought you were going to look for a club," y/n put in a quick, drawing emily's attention back to her.
"because we're going. i just came to drop it off." emily held out a sealed magazine to her friend, in which reid recognized a nature documentary. "what a shame you're not going. it's always more fun with you."
"you'll be fine without me," she replied y/n, getting out of bed and walking over to the small TV set in the corner of the room. she sat down in front of the cabinet he was standing on and began unpacking the magazine with a concentrated frown. "thanks, emily. just don't overdo it this time, okay? you've already had a drink today."
"boredom!" the dark-haired woman dragged out the first syllable, grabbing the doorknob. "you talking like jj! i'm leaving before you infect me with your innocence!"
emily had indeed disappeared through the bedroom door, and after a while the sound of her heels could be heard as they left the floor in a hurry.
there was a silence in the room, one that y/n would surely describe as safely comfortable; such silences sometimes happened between them when they were filling out paperwork at their desks, sharing dried fruit (y/n loved dried apples, a fact spencer consciously remembered) when they were sitting side by side on the jet, sharing headphones because y/n wanted to show him her current musical obsession, or when they sat on the benches outside the office building during their lunch break and ate their breakfasts. they were good silences. and maybe that silence would be good too if spencer's brain wasn't working at full capacity. all the information he had gathered in the last dozen or so minutes was quite plausible.
"a penny for your thoughts, doctor," hummed y/n as she focused on pressing buttons on the rossi player; it was one of the more expensive ones, because it not only read vhs tapes, but also dvds. "i can hear them even from this distance."
"it's nothing, it's just... i wonder why you don't go out with girls," he replied after a moment's hesitation.
from his seat on the bed, he could see y/n's eyebrows frown a bit, but he wasn't sure if it was because of her ignorance about using the player or because of his words.
"i was about to go, i even let penelope rummage through my suitcase," she confessed. the player finally listened to her and slid out the dvd drive, where a disc with a nature documentary soon landed. “but i thought about the first day of our trip that i spent watching some action movie with morgan, and yesterday i got drunk with the girls. we miss each other a bit, don't you think? and today, when we finally did something together, you ended up in the hospital. so we'll lighten our spirits with some fun-facts about the insects of africa. how about that, doctor?"
spencer smiled weakly as y/n looked over her shoulder at him. now he felt even worse than when morgan had hit him with the volleyball — it all sounded to him as if y/n had decided to sacrifice a girls' night out of guilt and resentment for spending time with him.
“y/n, you should go out with the girls. it will probably be much more interesting than here with me,” he said finally, but as the words hung between them, he didn't feel any easier than he'd expected, and even harder. especially since y/n looked over her shoulder at him again, her brows heavily furrowed.
"you're kidding? i'd much rather eat chinese and watch a nature documentary with you than walk emily home drunk." she shook her head as if he had said the stupidest thing she had heard in a long time; the TV brightened up and showed the output page of the document. "by the way... we haven't watched anything together lately... i missed it."
"you miss it?" he stammered, perhaps a little too surprised in a voice judging by the way y/n was clearly confused, blushing.
“well, yes… i have the impression that this is our little tradition. you know, something that's only ours. i can't imagine morgan watching nature documents with us, because who would you whisper additional information into the ear first?” she asked, involuntarily laughing softly.
she got up off the floor, holding the remote in her right hand as she turned off the light with her left. the room went dark, and spencer swallowed hard, seeing the figure of y/n slowly approaching him, crouching by the nightstand to flick the light switch.
the light, dimmed by the lampshade, was a soft red that spread over the walls of the room. spencer felt like y/n had never looked so beautiful, and at the same time he felt the tension in the air.
"it's cool, i like it," whispered y/n, sitting tentatively on the edge of the mattress, near his hips. "but you've been acting weird lately and we stopped doing that."
"weird?" he repeated, frowning. god, he wanted so badly to place his hands behind her ear at that moment and pull her to him; he wanted the moment before emily came back.
“you stopped talking to me, starting conversations on your own and all. i felt like i was the only one trying. every time i walked into the room you and the team stopped talking and all eyes were on me. i don't need to be a profiler to know you were talking about me. but everyone said it wasn't about me, so i guess i let it go a bit and tried not to think about it too much, but it still wasn't the same between us." as she spoke, y/n kept her head down and didn't seem to want to look up at him. "i thought you'd come to my room when we had a case in chester like always, but you didn't. and not later either. and later too. and you acted like nothing happened. plus, it really annoyed me that you stared at me without saying a word, and when i asked what was going on, you said it was nothing, but then you did it again."
y/n jumped out of bed, crossing her arms over her chest. she also began pacing in a characteristic way, as if in thought. her eyes roamed all the furniture she could find, but finally fixed her gaze on him.
"okay, am i exaggerating? i feel like i kind of did, and now i've said all those things and i feel really stupid…”
"no!" spencer raised his voice a little more than was necessary. he sprang up from the mattress, tired of the thought that the woman might think that the matter they were discussing was not important to him. "i…"
"stay still, the doctor said you might get dizzy," y/n interrupted him as she approached him.
"i'm not dizzy," he replied, but y/n had already reached out to him, as if to gently push him towards the bed.
"lie down," she insisted, but without much thought spencer grabbed her hands and lowered them to the level of their hips.
"no, listen to me. i'm sorry i've been acting this way lately," he said, and when he finally realized he was holding y/n's hands firmly, he let go a bit, but not too much; so that he can still touch her warm skin. “i… i was avoiding you a bit because the whole trip was so stressful and i started thinking too much and it influenced my behavior, but…
"stressful? why?"
"because... it's so stupid." he ran his hand through his hair, but his dark strands fell over his forehead anyway; it made him even angrier. “the thing is, i realized we'd start spending time together outside of work, and then you'd see i'm the same spencer from the office when i'm not at the office. and then you'll realize what a boring person i am and you won't want to hang out with me anymore. and i... i like you, y/n. i like you so much that i'm afraid of losing you because of me."
y/n frowned worriedly, tilting her head slightly. for a brief moment she stared at a point on his shoulder, as if searching for the right words. spencer, on the other hand, was feeling more and more nauseous as it dawned on him that perhaps the words he'd used shouldn't have been spoken to his friends, even though they sneakily sounded appropriate.
"well..." y/n sighed, leading him back to the mattress where they sat next to each other. spencer anticipated the worst and was slowly starting to feel like the biggest fool. he had a big mouth and always talked too much, everyone told him so. "i guess it's good that you're still spencer from the office when you're out of the office, right? because i wouldn't want you to be anyone else."
he looked at her and the woman smiled softly, still holding his hand.
"and you're not boring and i can't believe you think that of yourself! you're the most interesting person i know," she assured. “you are the only person in my circle of friends with whom i can watch all the movies in the world, because there is a 99% chance that you will be able to translate dialogues for me fluently! and the only one who can read and summarize the book i forgot to read for my book club, and i didn't have to be an ignorant who doesn't know anything about "pride and prejudice."
“you got all the threads with mr. darcy mixed up anyway,” he reminded her, smiling at the memory.
"i know and that's why i don't go there anymore!" y/n laughed as well, her shoulders trembling slightly.
even now he could picture in his mind the moment y/n walked into the office, heading without thinking to his desk with an expression of pure horror and embarrassment. half laughing, half almost crying, she related to him a meeting of her book club she had started attending. she told him how she got everything mixed up and made a fool of herself in front of the young women. she also didn't hesitate to mention how she drank wine in large gulps until the end of the meeting, and yet she was the first to run out of katy's apartment.
he felt y/n squeeze his hand a little tighter and looked at it again. the nausea he was feeling subsided a bit and he even started laughing at his panicked fantasies — it was y/n; the kind, always natural, and generous y/n who could never think of him that way.
“look, i know who you are may seem boring to you, but to me, you're the coolest person i've ever met in my life. and the nicest. i still remember how you remembered my birthday when others forgot. and when you brought me soup when i was sick. and i had two soups, because my mother had already brought one. you remember all the little things i tell you. that i prefer coffee with caramel syrup over maple syrup. that in 7th grade i fell out of a tree and have a scar on my knee which i'd rather you forget because derek still teases me." their soft laughs echoed through the room again. "you're the best spencer.
"thanks," he whispered.
so that's what it was supposed to be. misunderstandings and inaccuracies are resolved, y/n will finally choose one of the options that were displayed on the screen of a small TV and spend the next hour side by side eating chilled food from a chinese restaurant. it wasn't something spencer would have hoped for if his earlier speech had been worded better, but something he expected when he said what he had to say. but that was fine. he learned to enjoy the little things.
but suddenly he felt y/n fingers under his chin, directing his gaze back to her face. they were so close it hurt.
"and you'll never lose me, spencer. you can't get rid of me that easily," she said, also in a whisper. "i'm like a venereal disease."
spencer frowned.
"it was a disgusting comparison."
"i know, sorry."
"y/n," he whispered, never taking his eyes off the deep hue of her irises that scanned his face.
"yeah?"
he swallowed once more, hoping that the remnants of courage didn't run down his esophagus as well. he wasn't sure and couldn't be, but maybe this was the moment he should have heeded morgan and penelope and emily and jj and rossi and hotch...
"when i said i like you, i meant that..."
"i know, spencer." y/n smiled softly, and spencer had the impression that her face was a little closer than it had been two seconds before. "and guess what... i like you too."
spencer cursed mentally and, sliding his hand into y/n's hair, pulled her even closer to him.
the kiss was a bit tentative at first, and a terrifying thought crossed his mind that perhaps he had been in too much of a hurry and had misread some of the signals — he had done that all too often, after all, and the y/n words might have had nothing to do with what he was saying, with what spencer thought they had. y/n, however, returned the kiss, giving it a new pace for it, tangling her fingers in his hair. then reid realized he had stopped thinking about anything.
all that mattered at that moment was the taste of y/n cherry lip gloss, her hands on his neck, and soon his arms and chest as she climbed onto his lap. spencer thought it was too much — her scent filled his nostrils, completely befuddled him, her hands craving for closeness tracing every curve of his body, making him dizzy — and at the same time he felt that he needed more.
he lifted the hand he'd been resting on the mattress and ran it over y/n's bare thigh, not sure if he was allowed to do it. her skin was smooth, warm and cool at the same time, and spencer wanted to know how other parts of her body felt. y/n smiled through the kiss, reaching for his wandering hand, which she then placed on her hip.
spencer took it a step further and moved her down her back to pull her closer to him. he wanted to be as close to her as possible, possibly even absorb himself into her, if that meant he would always feel the way he did now.
y/n moved her kisses to his cheek, jaw, and behind his ear, where she sucked his skin. spencer moaned softly, surprised, and the girl with a smile headed towards his neck, biting it with kisses.
"thank god penelope left the house," y/n mumbled into his skin, saying the words in between caresses. “she probably would have said her i knew it! or didn't i tell you?!"
spencer pulled back slightly, mouth parting speechless. he remembered perfectly well what penelope had said when he heard that they were going to watch a nature documentary, and now his mind, despite being completely distracted by this unexpected situation, connected the dots — the movie was on but still not quite and the y/n slowly starting to rubbing his hips — coming to an unequivocal conclusion.
"are we going to…?" the unfinished question hung in the air, making y/n's eyes widen.
"what? no! not if you don't want to!” she assured quickly, blushing furiously. “but we can if you want… but we don't have to do anything! kissing is cool too. we don't even have to kiss…"
"no!" he protested, straightening up a bit, for he had been leaning more on the mattress on his elbows than actually sitting on it. "no, i want to. i want… everything,” he whispered, much quieter now, slightly ashamed of his apparent need. after thinking about it, he added, "please?"
y/n's face stretched into his favorite kind of smile, and the woman leaned toward him once more, causing spencer to return to his previous position. out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand reach for the TV remote. without breaking eye contact with him, she hit the play button and pulled him into a kiss as the documentary began.
spencer felt like he was about to pass out.
"jesus, you're so cute i could bite your nose if it didn't end well," she said, making him snort in amusement.
"what?" he asked, but y/n just laughed along with him and reached for the buttons on her shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, while kissing him.
spencer never in his wildest dreams would have thought that he could be right here — under the thighs of the most beautiful girl who, he was sure, would never look at him the way y/n was now sizing him up, exposing more and more naked patches of her skin. he breathed heavily, stroking the skin of her thighs as she slid off the black fabric. he didn't know exactly where he had landed, actually, he didn't know much at the moment. his iq didn't matter anymore, he was just a jerk who stared captivated at y/n's swimsuit-covered breasts, his mouth slightly parted and his gaze absent.
"something's wrong?" a soft y/n voice cut through his not very coherent thoughts and distracted him from the dark green fabric where the nipples poked through.
"no," he replied firmly, propping himself up on his elbows a bit to bring his lips closer to hers. "you're just beautiful."
he kissed her hard, feeling y/n lift the corners of his mouth, and his hand, previously resting on her leg, moved up to the woman's back, where the strings of her swimsuit brushed the nape of her neck.
#oneshot#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid imagines#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#criminal minds oneshot#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds imagines#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds smut#fanfiction#fluff to smut#bau x reader#bau x y/n#spencer reid fic
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Chapter Twenty-Six - The “Single” Life
Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?
CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Slow Burn, Misogyny
A/N: Thank you all again for your patience, kind words, and support while I worked on this chapter. It makes me really excited to bring this story over the finish line.
Read Full Chapter on AO3
[excerpt]
She woke up first, her internal clock set to the ass crack of dawn due to years of early morning swim meets. Usually she’d greet an early morning like this with a middle finger and a groan as she buried herself back into the abyss of her covers. But today, she was kind of glad she woke up early.
After all, how often was it that she actually got to see Tomura Shigaraki asleep in her bed?
It was a shame that he had so much trouble sleeping — for a lot of reasons of course — but right now, she couldn’t help but think it was especially tragic due to how cute he looked asleep. The handsome details of his face, that were typically so hidden by his anger — those long lashes, full lips, well-defined jawline, and of course that wonderful little beauty mark — they were glowing now under the soft light slipping through her curtains. He was so at peace, not a furrow in his brow or a frown line in sight. So natural, hugged by her valley of fluffy pillows and blankets. Surrounded by comfort.
She decided to take the risk of moving some of his hair out of his face, those surprisingly soft locks curling delightfully around her fingers. The palm of her hand brushed against the skin of his cheek, awakening her to another discovery. The skin around his cheekbones was actually surprisingly soft, not dry and crusted like she’d always assumed. Just raised from the scarring, from a lifetime of self-abuse.
It was incredible to think about. In just a day, so many of her preconceived notions about Shigaraki — the texture of his skin, the idea that he’d never apologize, the selfishness she so deeply associated with him — it was all proven so incredibly wrong. And it had her realizing just how little she truly knew about Tomura Shigaraki.
And how excited she was to learn.
He stirred awake then, and she found a brand new favorite look on him. His dazed, dreamy expression as he slowly came into consciousness. Eyes fluttering open, lips smacking gently to regain some moisture. A moment of disoriented wonder as he recognized that he wasn’t in his own room. But then a contentedness settled in its place as he realized that he was more than okay with the room that he was in. He happily buried himself back into the bed as he found some still half-asleep comfort in the covers.
She smiled, burying herself back under the covers with him, nuzzling her forehead just inches away from his own.
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah…” he breathed, dreamily.
Then suddenly his eyes snapped wide open, the realization hitting him hard. He shot up to a sit with a speed that made her jump a little.
“Woah! What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up to meet him.
“What time is it?”
“Huh? Well uh…” she took a quick look at her phone, “Like 6:30?”
He looked down at the covers, at himself in the covers, and really just tried to take that in.
“We… slept through the night?”
She smiled a little sadly at the utter disbelief in his voice. The idea that sleeping through the night was not normal for him.
“Yeah,” she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Yeah, we did.”
Shigaraki looked back at her, and sobered from his shock quickly as he took something else in from the situation. They’d had sex last night. No, not just sex. If there was such a thing as making love, Shigaraki couldn’t believe it was anything else then what they’d done. They’d shared their feelings (however indirectly). Shared sacred details of their pasts. Held each other close and then fell asleep in each other’s arms. What they’d done together last night was different than anything else before. It was real. It was something they had to talk about.
But that neither was really ready to.
His sense of security and comfort went as soon as it came when he realized that.
God, what the fuck had he done?
Continue on AO3
#TOMURA SHIRAGAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X READER#TOMURA SHIGARAKI X OC#SHIGARAKI#TOMURA SHIGARAKI#BNHA SHIGARAKI#MHA SHIGARKI#SHIGARAKI FANFIC#READER INSERT#LONG FIC#SMUT#SHIGARAKI SMUT#TW DUBCON#QUIRKLESS AU#SPICE WRITES#MHA#BNHA#MHA SMUT#BNHA SMUT#PLAY NICE FIC
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Hi pretty, i want "i think i deserve a kiss" for the prompts with Cardinal Copia, pretty please ? i love you, you're amazing!!!
Kiss Prompts: "I think I deserve a kiss"
Cardinal Copia x reader
SFW! Contains: assistant trope, overworked trope, sickeningly sweet fluff, pining, suggestive if you squint, the titties and beer mug
Thank you for requesting my lovely!!! <3
Kiss prompts
The Cardinal's office is bathed in soft light from his various mismatched lamps. The Sun had set hours ago, but there was an important deadline that had caught up with the two of you. You, as the Cardinal's Clergy assistant, dutifully sit at your little desk in the corner of his office as Copia hunches over his own in the center of the room.
"What time is it?" You ask softly. You're sure it must be past midnight by now. This damned budget report from Papa's most recent tour is due on Sister Imperator's desk by the morning, and that woman wakes up unfathomably early.
Copia pulls up his cassock sleeve to glance at his watch. "It is, eh, twenty-three past midnight," he says. His voice is gravelly with the lack of sleep.
The two of you had been awake since six that morning with the sole intention of compiling every expense report under the Ministry's roof. Receipts, invoices, and account statements litter Copia's desk. He dictates each total to you and you type away on your laptop, entering the data into a mile-long spreadsheet that makes your computer run hotter than the fires of Hell.
Judging by the way Copia runs his fingers through his hair, there's still a ways to go--you'd learned to read his body language during your tenure as his assistant.
You sigh and stand from your chair. Your back pops in a concerning manner, but you're far past caring. "Time for another pot of coffee?" You offer. Even if he says no, you'll make one for yourself if only to stretch your legs.
"You are far too good to me," Copia utters softly, looking up at you. His hair falls over his forehead from how often he'd ruffled it in frustration. His biretta had long since been discarded. The top few buttons of his cassock are undone, making him look delightfully unkempt.
You want to run your fingers through his hair.
"Maybe I just like coffee," you tease back, lips quirking with the sarcasm. Being tired makes you sassy. It's something that the Cardinal has said he likes about you. It makes working late more fun, he'd said, and that phrase had fuelled your hopeless little crush for months.
He simply huffs a laugh through his nose and you exit his office, mugs in hand, your slippers (which you kept under your desk for nights like these) scuffing along the tile of the dark corridor. The kitchens are a short walk from the Clergy's office wing. You're surprised there isn't a groove carved into the floor tracing your path from Copia's office to the coffee pot with how much caffeine the two of you manage to consume.
Despite late nights like these, the work is rewarding. You're on good terms with most of the Upper Clergy (you never know where you stand with Sister on any given day), you have special privileges to the Clergy break room, and you get to spend your days with Cardinal Copia, pining after him like some lovesick teenager.
At least you have your hand.
You rinse out the used mugs while the new pot of coffee brews. You prepare yours how you like, and make his with the attention to detail of a coffee shop barista who subsists on tips alone. Copia likes it lukewarm and sickeningly sweet. He would prefer a latte of course, but you don't have the time nor the energy to make one, so he'll have to settle for half-coffee-half-creamer and an unholy amount of sugar. Still, you smile, because you know exactly what he'll say when you place the mug in front of him, and you know exactly which witty retort you'll think in your head.
You make your way back to his office, bumping the heavy wooden door open with your hip while you hold one mug in each hand. His favorite is a plain white ceramic mug with the words 'rat dad' in bold black letters--a gift you'd given him after a year of working as his assistant. Your mug is a hand-me-down from him, his second-favorite, which says 'titties and beer' and which you're pretty sure Terzo had given him as a joke.
"Here," you say softly as you place his mug in an open space on his desk.
Copia sighs in relief and looks up at you. "I don't deserve you, tesoro," he says. He immediately takes a sip of the coffee and hums.
And your witty retort: "Yes, well, I think I deserve a kiss," you think as you turn to move towards your own desk.
The sound of Copia sputtering and coughing behind you makes you jump. Your tongue tingles with the sensation of recent words. They practically echo in the relative silence of his office, and immediately you realize your mistake. Your heart plummets.
You get sassy when you're tired, but you also tend to say what you're thinking.
"You, eh, you-- what?" Copia stutters. You can barely bring yourself to look at him out of sheer embarrassment.
"N-nothing!" You respond, too quickly and too high-pitched. He'd heard you, and you know he heard you, and he knows that you know.
You sit in your desk chair and pretend nothing happened. The monitor of your laptop does nothing to hide your deep blush or the line between your brows.
Copia's office is silent for a few moments, until his chair squeaks in the familiar sound of him standing. You brace yourself to be reprimanded, to be told that it is wholly inappropriate to say such things in front of your boss, or to be fired completely. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Instead, you see the deep red of Copia's cassock at the edge of your little desk, and he clears his throat. You swallow dryly and meet his gaze, absolutely mortified. A bead of nervous sweat rolls down the back of your neck. Stupid, stupid--
"I- I think you may be right, tesoro," Copia says, his voice shaking slightly. His lips quirk up at the corners which makes his mustache twitch. "We have, eh... danced around it for too long, yes?"
Oh, sweet Lucifer take me now.
Copia braces his hands on your desk and leans forward, bringing his face inches away from your own. You can feel his warm breath ghost over your lips. "I think you are long overdue for a kiss, dolce. Many, in fact."
Before you can say anything, he places his lips so sweetly against yours. His mustache tickles your top lip and his nose bumps against yours, but it doesn't matter. You're kissing him, and it's real, and it feels good. Where your heart had sunk before, it practically leaps out of your chest, hammering against your sternum. You lean into the kiss.
Copia pulls away far too soon and you chase his lips, but your cursed desk gets in the way. Instead you stare at him dumbly. Are you drooling? You might be drooling.
"The budget report, tesoro," Copia gently reminds you. Right. The budget report. "But, I plan to kiss you again and again once it is done, si? You, eh... deserve it."
#cardinal copia#copia#copia x reader#cardinal copia x reader#ghost#writing prompts#kiss prompts#ghost band x reader#papa emeritus x reader#papa emeritus iv#papa emeritus iv x reader#the band ghost#ghost bc#ghost band#baelzbu
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Anglo Saxon Brown
Thelma Jones (maybe)
Starfire
A collection of headshots(?) for some delightfully 70's musical acts, I could only find three of them on Spotify. I have no idea what Sid Yates and Starbridge have to do with Leaves of Autumn but I am intrigued by their 12 costume changes and female drummer but I'm twenty-six (26) so I guess it's not for me.
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Kakashi is absolutely Konoha's beloved weirdo loner and everyone has a different reason. He's the guy who could kick your ass six ways to Sunday but his fancy eye powers overload his system and he'll pass put afterwards. He's the Comrade Killer who's spent twenty years mourning the comrade who gave him his eye. He reads porn in public and he endangers children but he blushes if you make him read that porn aloud. He's the son of a hero turned a villain and he's fucked up and he's weird and he has eight dogs who are all very clearly mutts and he keeps failing his genin and he's still the coolest guy anyone's ever met.
(He's also convinced all his friends are dead which is so yikes that all the Konoha jonin have decided to secretly adopt him.)
The denizens of Konoha react to Kakashi in much the same way that we do.
Namely: "Wow, what a badass. Yet I cannot help but notice he is a delightfully soggy and crumbly disaster of a man. Hm. I must put him in a cardboard box and hand feed him small pieces of fruit."
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The 2nd time Steve surprised you.
Fandom: Stranger Things
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader
Warnings: talk of family issues on Steve’s part.
“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” You asked Robin as you kept her company while she scooped ice cream.
After the chaos six months ago through which Dustin’s friend Eleven closed the gaping hole in the material of the universe, you and Steve Harrington actually managed to become friends. Through babysitting Dustin and his gang of troublemakers, you began to see a lot more of the guy. At school, it seemed he had lost his ‘King Steve’ title, as well as most of his friends after his break-up with Nancy. While you had a few friends at school due to band, you mostly kept to yourself during the day, but this changed as Steve (not wanting to remain seated next to Nancy in certain classes) moved next to you. According to the boy in question, he had just asked those teachers to move him and they had coincidentally placed him next to you in every. Single. Class.
Not that you were complaining. When he was away from his asshole friends, Steve Harrington was a decent guy and actually pretty funny. It came as a surprise to the both of you, but conversation became really easy, and time flew by when you were together. Eventually you developed a routine where the two of you would go get Benny’s Burgers whenever you’d had to drop the kiddies off somewhere. The tradition started during the Winter Ball when Dustin had insisted Steve tag along to drop him off for emotional support. The older boy had actually come early to help your brother with his hair and show him how to style it. The image of the two of them fussing over Dustin’s untameable curls definitely shouldn’t have made your heart melt the way it did.
After Dustin had clambered out Steve’s BMW, you and him had decided to stop by Benny’s to get dinner while you waited for the agreed-upon time at which you needed to pick Dustin up. It was the first time you were actually spending time alone with Steve since the demodogs, and it was… nice.
Then, summer had arrived. You and Steve were officially graduated. While you planned to use the summer holidays as a time to rest before you moved up to Indianapolis to work in a theatre orchestra for a year, Steve’s dad made him get a job. The boy had spent a good hour sitting in the car outside Benny’s, ranting to you about how much the man infuriated him. You sympathised, expressing your own disapproval of his father’s actions and attitude towards Steve. As far as you were concerned, the man clearly didn’t know his son very well, because if he could just see the wonderful man he was growing up to be, maybe he wouldn’t be so harsh on him.
One of the biggest shocks that came over the summer, was Steve working alongside Robin at Scoops Ahoy. When the boy had called you halfway through his first week on the job and begged you to come save him from his mean coworker, you had been delightfully surprised to find out that his ‘mean coworker’ was in fact your friend Robin Buckley from high school band.
To Steve’s dismay, he ended up having to share you with Robin, who he was liking less and less now that she had you on her side.
That’s why, when Dustin came home from camp, he jumped at the opportunity to help the kid translate a Russian code in the back room.
“From what I can hear,” said Robin, replying to your question, “they are trying to decipher a secret Russian communication your strange brother intercepted on his mega-radio.”
You had literally left the store for twenty minutes to drive Max and Eleven to Starcourt mall after the two girls had called begging you to take them. Twenty minutes, and the two boys were already looking for trouble.
“Russian communication?!”
Your friend shrugged, holding up her hand and placing her forefinger and thumb half an inch apart, “Honestly, I’m this close to marching in there and insisting I help them just so Steve will come out and switch with me.”
Your huffed a laugh, “If you do, I’ll come with you. I don’t need to witness another one of Steve’s failed attempts at flirting with the customers.”
Robin groaned suddenly as Lucas’s sister and her group of My Little Pony fanatics entered the store.
“Not again,” she muttered.
You winced and gave her a pat on the shoulder, “Want me to hurl Steve up here so he can deal with it?”
She shook her head, “Nah, I’ll push through. This is my last customer for the morning though. After, you and I are gonna go help your strange brother translate his Russian code and dumbass can sling ice cream.”
With a grin, you hopped up onto the small surface behind the counter and leant back on your hands as Robin dealt with Erica’s relentless ‘tasting’.
After fifteen, excruciating minutes, the gaggle of girls finally left and you and Robin were free to go into the break room.
“Alright, babysitting time is over, you need to get in there,” Robin stated, pushing through the door, you trailing behind her with a smirk aimed at Steve that said ‘you’re in for it now, sucker’.
“Hey, my board! That was important data shitbirds!” the blonde yelled, whirling on the two boys.
You eyes snapped to the whiteboard hanging on the wall, and sure enough, instead of the usual shipment dates and stock numbers, the Russian alphabet was written out in bright red marker with its English counterparts labelled in black. Your smirk widened and you raised your brows at Steve who was halfway through popping a piece of banana in his mouth. His eyes widened innocently and you rolled yours.
“I can guarantee you, what we’re doing is way more important than your data,” Dustin replied. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you should be impressed or afraid for your little brother at his adamant cheek towards your significantly scary friend.
“Oh yeah?” Robin challenged, walking to stand opposite the table to Dustin and Steve. Ever the loyal friend, you moved to stand beside her, crossing your arms.
“Yeah,” Dustin said, keeping his ground.
You sighed, “And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyway?”
The boys froze — Steve still had a mouth full of banana when Dustin demanded in a lowered tone, “How do they know about the Russians?”
“I don’ know!” the older boy protested around the banana.
“Did you tell them about the Russians?”
“It wasn’t me!”
“Hello, we can hear you!” Robin exclaimed, clearly becoming pissed off. In all honesty, you were too. Sure, you’re brother was a little science genius, but you had taught him almost everything he knew — except for all of the stuff Mr Clark had taught him. He got his passion for science from the same gene pool you did. It was about time Dustin started acknowledging your superior level of intellect as the older sibling.
“Actually, we can hear everything you’re saying,” you added in, “You’re both extremely loud.”
“You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country on tape and you’re trying to translate but you haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realise the Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do,” Robin continued.
You both watched as they looked at each other in defeat, clearly beat. Steve was refusing to meet your eyes.
“Sound about right?” she finished.
Thinking on your feet, you lurched forward, making a grab for the tape lying on the table. Steve — realising your aim — was too fast for you and grabbed the tape out from under your fingertips.
“Woah, woah! What are you doing?” he yelled, hugging the tape to his chest. You glared at him, blowing a flyaway strand of hair from your eyes.
“We want to hear it.”
“Why?” The boys asked in unison.
“Because maybe we can help,” Robin said, shrugging.
“She’s fluent in four languages,” you pointed out, pinning your brother and your best friend with a stare.
Dustin perked up, “Russian?” he asked.
“Ouyay aryay umbraday,” Robin recited. You stifled a laugh, knowing she just called Dustin dumb in pig latin.
“Oh ho ho ho!” Steve exclaimed.
“Holy shit!” said Dustin.
“That was pig latin, dingus,” Robin told them.
Steve smacked Dustin’s arm, “Idiot.”
You rolled you eyes again.
“But,” Robin continued, sliding into a seat, “I can speak Spanish, and French and Italian.”
“And we’ve both been in band for twelve years,” you added.
“Yeah, our ears are little geniuses, trust me,” Robin finished, “What do you say?”
She directed the last question at Steve. He laughed dryly, beginning to shake his head.
“Come on! It’s your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate! I don’t even want credit I’m just bored!” she complained, torso resting on the table too dramatically.
You looked at Steve and found him watching you, an expression of defeat on his face. You grinned, knowing he was about to give in.
“Fine,” he said, “But only if Y/n comes with to keep me company.”
“What? No! I want to help too!” you exclaimed.
“Deal,” Robin said, and Steve handed her the tape.
You whirled a betrayed expression on Robin, “Traitor!”
She smiled apologetically, “Sorry, kid. It’s like I told them. I’m bored.”
You sighed, and accepted Steve’s hand to drag you back out into the store.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” he whined, “You’re my best friend.”
Deciding to just grin and bare it, you bumped your hip against his as he grabbed a scooper, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
He pouted, “I’ve barely seen you this summer even though you’ve been right in the store with me.”
Your heart warmed at his words as you jumped back onto the counter again, “You been missing me, Harrington?”
His cheeks flushed as he leant against the counter next to you, “I…” he sighed, taking off his sailor hat and running a hand through his hair, “Every night I go home to my jackass father telling me how disappointed he is in me and explaining why I’m a terrible son. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember, and until a few months ago I had nothing to help me cope. Then I met you, and we became friends, and suddenly I could look forward to seeing you everyday.”
You weren’t sure you were breathing.
“I know I don’t say it enough, but I need you. And I miss you even if you’ve only been gone five minutes.”
“Steve,” you breathed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”
He shrugged, finally meeting your gaze with a shaky smile, “It’s not your fault.”
“You have to know I need you too, right?” You said, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder, “I’m generally someone who likes her own company, but with you I never feel like I have to back away for a moment and take a breather. Back in high school I was always a little tense in the mornings because I knew I would have to interact with people I’m not comfortable around, but then I’d get to my locker and see you standing there and suddenly I could relax.”
Something in your chest was aching as you spoke, and the truth behind your words brought a surge of affection for the boy next to you that definitely exceeded the boundaries of friendship.
The two of you sat like that in comfortable silence for a moment. At some point during your confession, Steve had tilted his own head to rest on yours as his hands fiddled mindlessly with his scooper.
Then two familiar girls walked into the store, giggling like the children they were and you frowned.
“Is El even allowed here? I didn’t check before I drove the two of them…” you mused.
“Either way,” Steve said, pushing off the counter, “That’s my cue to do my job.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x reader#steve x y/n#steve x you#dustin henderson#dustin stranger things#dustin and steve#dustin and robin#steve and robin#steve and dustin#robin and steve#robin buckley#mike wheeler#nancy wheeler#max mayfield#eleven#jane hopper#will byres#jonathan byers#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things x y/n#stranger things 1#stranger things 2#stranger things 3#duffer brothers#the duffer brothers#joyce byers#jim hopper
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Owed - a Malevolent fic
The death of one of the known powers of the Dreamlands could not go unnoticed for long. Sooner or later, entities would start picking around what remains.
Dagon really wanted to avoid the drama. Unfortunately, it did not avoid him.
Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis.
For @flamiart and @unsafewaters, whose love of Dagon was... inspiring.
AO3
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SIX MONTHS AGO
Dagon didn’t often leave the water.
It was ugly up here. There was no current to speak of. The plants were all uniform. The fauna was tiny and weak… including humans, but they got a pass because humans were also lovely.
He always took the time to enjoy them wherever he found them. He liked to think they enjoyed him, too. They were delightfully easy to pleasure.
Still, Dagon didn’t like to leave the water. He was only doing it because he’d heard the Oracle had bought it, and was rightfully concerned what bullshit that might bring.
Dagon might make fun of Hastur in private as the most frou-frou of all the gods anywhere, but Hastur’s power was no joke—and he’d always been weird about Gokar’luh, attached and emotional and permissive. He spoiled that piece of shit, so if someone really had taken Gokar’luh out, Hastur would respond… badly.
The Storm had been trouble enough. Cleanup would take possibly years, especially since more garbage kept wading into the sea. Worse, Dagon knew most people didn’t realize just how much had changed. The shape of the Dreamlands had been permanently altered by the power that came down, by whatever caused that Storm. They’d figure it out soon enough: fishing and shipping routes would both have to change, and that was gonna be a whole new level of bullshit.
The King in Fancy had been erratic as fuck for the past twenty years as it was. Dagon did not need Hastur losing it on top of all that and causing more damage. So, onto land he went.
He encountered a human enclave en route, and that at least made the trip better. Even in the middle of this, he could afford to dally a little.
#
He knew where the Oracle was, of course. Everybody did, though Dagon had never bothered going to the House of the Worm. He had no need of nonsense answers; the future was the future, and questions tended to answer themselves. He wondered, though, as he approached the standing stones, just what had been strong enough to do this.
Children of Great Old Ones… well, mileage may vary, depending on what went into them when they were made. Dagon’s were regrettably squishy, but that was the price of human contribution, and it was easy to make more. Gokar’luh… Dagon honestly figured Hastur had just spat that guy up one day, for whatever reason.
Gokar’luh hadn’t been on the level of a Great Old One, had not been a match for his father, but had certainly been no slouch. What could have killed the guy? Dagon hoped (and knew it was slim) that the rumors were wrong, and he’d find that spoiled ass still alive, hissing and slithering and being arrogant, and Dagon could go back to the water and leave this threat behind.
The carrion birds were the first sign that wouldn’t come true. They circled the standing stones, loomed on the roof, stood in shadows by the door, watching him with eyes like polished coal. Well, they were part of the cycle of life. He didn’t bother them as he ducked inside.
Shit. It was occupied.
Maybe it was good he’d dallied—it had given these avatars enough time to get into a rousing argument. Oh, boy, these were heavy hitters, too—servants of Outer Gods, or Dagon was a guppy.
He hadn’t met either of the Outer Gods in question, but he knew their feel, recognized the vibrations of their power. One was a real monster, a so-called scientist with a reputation for sick experiments. The other was an unknown—the Keeper, he thought—who supposedly couldn’t leave her temple in the mountains.
They were fighting over… something Gokar’luh had? Weird. What the fuck could that spoiled shit have had that Outer Gods would be interested in?
Whatever. Not why he was here. He melted down like liquid shadow, slid like water through stone, and made his way to the basement, toward the heavy, sick scent of deific blood.
#
Oh, fucking hell, a lot had happened here.
The splintered obsidian trap near the pit turned Dagon’s stomach; that thing might not be enough to kill him right off, but it would definitely have pinned him, and would have done a lot of damage, so he took a moment to ensure there were no other such traps before finally reforming as himself. In the course of that investigation, he discovered the blood.
There was a metric shit-ton of it, and according to his nose and tongue, it belonged to two closely related humans. He doubted whoever bled that much had survived.
Dark Young blood pooled in the far corner, too, and that was weird as fuck. He’d heard rumors Hastur had one in his court as some sort of nursemaid to the human he’d adopted. Was that actually true? Really?
Go figure.
There was ichor on the floor, ichor sizzling still down that pit, ichor in the trap. A lot of it. Hastur’s ichor, and it wasn’t fully dead.
It wasn’t sapient, but it was suffering; Dagon sighed, looking at it, feeling the misery of cells that could not die. He killed them off the same way he would if he encountered a dying whale, or poisoned sea grass, or something else. Let it die, feed the world, continue the cycle.
It wasn’t sapient, but he could swear there was a whispered breeze of gratitude as he did.
Whatever. The reason he’d come was to determine who’d killed Gokar’luh. From all appearances, he had his answer, and it wasn’t a good one. Hastur had definitely killed his son.
One: There were two gods’ remains in this room.
Two: The Dark Young had also been here—nursemaid to the human Hastur had purportedly adopted—and had been badly injured.
Three: There was a lot of human blood, too.
So. Had Gokar’luh… done something to the kid? That could have set this off. Would explain even the Dark Young’s blood, as it tried to protect its charge.
But would he actually have been stupid enough to…
Dagon shook his head. He’d faced uprisings, too, but they’d made sense to him. Kids who barely knew him, or believed something crazy like he was going to take over the world, or something. But this… shouldn’t the Oracle have known better?
Maybe it was an attempt to get back in good graces. That was a thing offspring sometimes did to each other: off the competition. It just felt ridiculous. A god of Gokar’luh’s level, hurting a human girl? Why?
Regardless of why, he had his answer. Hastur had been the killer, taking out his own beloved son. Shit. He was bound to be as crazy as a bag of cats right now. Shit. Just how was he gonna have to—
“Oh, sir! Your lordship. I didn’t realize you were in here,” chirped the cheerful acolyte of the Keeper, and Dagon turned to face her.
She was cute. Tiny. Silver hair tied back in a bun, wrinkled skin kept clean and soft. She beamed at him, unafraid.
There was no sign of the other servant. Maybe she’d chased him off.
“Sure you didn’t,” Dagon finally said, because what kind of a conversation would this be if it started out with pure, polite bullshit?
“Well, I knew someone was in here,” said the scholar (she had little glasses and everything, just adorable). “I didn’t know it was a Great Old One! I’m so honored.”
“Uh-huh.” Dagon wasn’t easily swayed by flattery. Or at all swayed, honestly. “Whatcha all doin’ here, lady?”
“Oh, just fetching some things,” said the woman, who wasn’t afraid of him, and wasn’t that appealing?
“Right,” said Dagon. “Welp. Guess I’m done here.”
“Oh, but the Keeper said you never got your invite,” said the woman stepping closer.
He liked her. “Invite?”
“It didn’t survive the water, or something? She hadn’t accounted for the salinity. The Keeper sent out invitations to all the major pantheon when she opened her Scriptorium,” said the woman, rummaging in the scroll case at her side. She pulled out a sheaf of vellum, scribbled something at the top with a fountain pen, and before Dagon’s eyes he could see the ink melt into itself and reform into words that the woman read, smiled, and responded back.
Huh. Acolyte had a direct line to her Outer God. Wild.
“And…” she said, watching as something formed on the vellum below that scribbled correspondence, “Done!” She whipped a blade from her sleeve, quick as could be—and it was obsidian, Dagon could see that from here. It sliced through the vellum like a shark’s fin through seafoam, and she held it out to him. “Here! She’s so delighted I ran into you. She wanted to draft one up fresh!”
It was a fancy little letter on fancy little vellum with fancy little writing saying hey come visit.
Huh! How about them oysters? “Well,” said Dagon. “That could be somethin’. Don’t usually bother too much with Outer Gods. They’re all sinkholes and undertow, if you get me.”
“Not in the slightest,” said the woman brightly.
He snorted. He could absolutely make her very happy, but she belonged to someone already, and he could respect that. “Well, this’s nice, ‘n all, and you can thank her for me, but I don’t think I’m gonna go. Books and me don’t get along so good.” He rolled his shoulders, briefly increasing the humidity so her glasses fogged. “They tend to go all mold and shit around me, even when not in the water.”
And the keen look this bubbly woman gave him now—through her tiny glasses, with blue eyes like the edges of ice—was absolutely fabulous. “Not to be disrespectful, of course… but I’m fairly sure you’re perfectly capable of not destroying books if you don’t want to. You are a Great Old One, Father Dagon, Lord of the Deep Currents.”
He laughed. “Well, ain’t you fuckin’ ballsy?”
She blushed. “She would be so delighted if you came,” the woman said.
“Why?”
The woman leaned in, conspiratorial and stupidly brave. “She heard you have something of a great memory.”
“Yeah?” Leery. Who knew what she wanted with that memory? “Well. When you live in the water, you can’t write shit down, can you?”
“Is it true you have the entirety of the Fenorian Tragedy memorized?”
There was a blast from the past. “Sure. We used to sing that whole thing for fun through the winter. Why?”
“The Fenorian Tragedy…” The woman’s eyes actually teared up. “It was… It was my first thesis I did at the Scriptorium. I’d heard a single line from it and… Long story short, I found myself researching it under the Keeper’s guidance. But even before I arrived, the Keeper has been looking for a copy of it for two hundred years.”
Well, that was a thing. He rubbed the back of head between his fins. “She has, huh?”
“You’re the only living being who’s even heard the whole thing,” she whispered. “Please, if there is any way I can convince you to come…”
Eh. The mountains were even less where he wanted to go. And he didn’t usually fuck with Outer Gods (well, apart from one memorable night with Shub-Niggurath, but that set of circumstances sure as fuck wasn’t happening again). “What’s she do? What’s she want? I don’t much cotton to the idea of my head in a box, or something.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” said this woman, and absolutely nothing in her scent or face or aura indicated a lie. “She’d just want to hear it!”
“Uh-huh.” And this lady was here, scavenging, which meant the Keeper knew the Oracle was dead, which meant... “She know what took place in this here dungeon?” There wasn’t need to waste words specifying.
The smile faded. “Yes.”
“She willing to trade?”
The woman blinked. “Almost certainly.”
Hm.
Details about what went so wrong here could arm him. Like hell was he dying over the King in Lemon losing his marbles. “Well, I’ll tell you what, little lady. You let your boss know I’m up for discussion with… rules. Safety, and all. But I’m up for an information trade.”
She beamed. “Oh, she’ll be delighted! Thank you, great Father!” And she bowed.
Which is how Dagon found himself two days later facing an invitation etched in some kind of weird glass. It hovered underwater outside his seabed garden, and was both readable and polite.
Classy and cheesy. Showy and cute.
Dagon decided to go.
FIVE MONTHS AGO
Dagon never got full details on what happened between the Keeper’s people and that other Outer God’s, but every glimpse he got was damned funny.
Not that it was intended to be funny. But the Keeper’s confidentiality thing (which she fucking meant ) did not, apparently, apply to beings who were not her clients, and in fact had pissed her off.
“I don't like to speak ill of others, but…” said the Keeper, which was exactly what nice and kind people said right before they tore into an absent party like a starving shark with a whale carcass.
Dagon listened well. Which was to say, he was quiet, watching, nodding at interesting moments. He listened, which really was what put this outside the realm of good or bad.
That, and she was so young! So fucking young!
Gods, she felt like she barely belonged out of the creche yet. So passionate, and so honest, and so curious. He’d seen fish like this, flitting right up to his face, smaller than his eyelashes. Adorable.
So he listened. Because young ones needed to know they would be listened to. And needed to know how to be when they weren’t young anymore. And this other "scientist" Outer God might just be a bitch.
“He wasted the knowledge, ” the Keeper spat, like it was the epitome of wrong. “Once it became clear to him he couldn’t just intimidate my acolytes away, he started getting destructive. Nearly killed a few of my people, though Merienne healed them admirably—you remember her, you spoke. And as his final acts he just grabbed some stationary and started burning the rest. Absolutely monstrous.”
“Huh,” he said.
“If they didn’t want it, they didn’t have to be so petty and terrible!” She sniffed demurely and smoothed down her skirts. “My people managed to preserve most of it, at great risk to themselves, and for that I am grateful. But some things were irrevocably lost, and for what? Pride? Embarrassing.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Oh, good Father, I apologize,” said the Keeper, refilling his ale. “I asked you here to talk about the Cracked War of twenty thousand years ago, and here, I’m talking your ear off.”
“Well,” he said. “Gotta get it off your chest, I guess. Won’t be the first god to have a beef with another.”
This being, veiled as she was, could not blush, but he got the feeling from the way she started twisting the edge of her veil between her fingers. “It’s not a beef. There are no lines drawn here, and if he was willing to at least apologize or explain himself I would be willing to hear him out. Instead we have…” She huffed, doing her best not to look childish as her secondary set of arms crossed (and failing adorably). “I am not fighting with him. This is just… annoyance at… He didn’t need to be petty about it.”
“Huh,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “There I go again. My apologies, Great Father.”
“Like I said, none needed.” He considered. “Though I guess I owe you one. Sorry about your, uh, acolyte. And the scale situation. Tends to happen when I’m around—they got any of my heritage in ‘em, and boom, gills.”
“Believe it or not, it’s come up in my research,” she said with a laugh. “Once Patrick got situated, he calmed down; he’s even started talking about writing it out, documenting it for me.”
“You just wanna watch, eh?” He rumbled a laugh, somehow not unkind.
The Keeper let out an embarrassed chuckle (delightful). “His testimony is something valued and cherished, here; it may be old hat to you, but this could be revolutionary for someone who doesn’t have the chance to meet you in person.”
“Huh! Didn’t think of it that way. Well, sure. He’s still got an invite, he wants to come by and learn how to use them things.” A pause. “He’ll transform more, but he’ll finish it faster than otherwise. Might take years, like this.”
“It’s up to him; I’m not going to force the issue. I imagine he will visit before long; I certainly hope he does. I worry about what the air here may do to his new skin, poor dear.”
“Well, just lemme know. Others might start changin’, too. So.”
“Oh!” said the Keeper. “That reminds me: Merienne said… well. She considered your interest, and upon asking for permission, wished for me to let you know. She says yes.”
Ooh. “That cute little number from the Oracle’s place? Huh.”
“Indeed. She’s quite flattered by the whole ordeal, and said she could hardly resist the experience.” She let out a soft laugh. “She doesn’t need my permission, you understand, but she wanted to make sure no lines were being crossed.”
He snorted. “Well, that’s awful kind of ya—but since she’s yours, uh. You know she might conceive?”
“She’s past childbearing age,” said the Keeper.
“Don’t really matter with me,” he stated without pride or shame, merely as a matter of fact. Like gravity. Or perhaps, gravidity.
The Keeper stared at him for a long moment. “Well. Well. How very fascinating, then. I suppose that if you wish to pursue it, you will need to have quite the frank conversation with her in that regard. And, of course, I assume she will be kept in good health?”
“Sure. I never turn family or folks away. Just don’t seek ‘em out. She can come on and get all the help she wants.”
“Well! I suppose any further discussions will be between you and Merienne, then. Anything further is dependent on her consent, then. But oh, she’s going to be thrilled.” The Outer God chuckled, then, clearly fond, and took another genteel sip of her tea.
What a day this was. “You still wanna know about the Cracked War?”
She set down her teacup, prim and proper despite the ferocious curiosity that roiled beneath that veil. “I most certainly do. Would you kindly tell me?”
He grinned, shark’s teeth sharp and disturbing. “So here’s the story of how we fucked around until we broke the Dreamlands from one chunk’a land into more.” He waggled his eyebrow ridge. “And I got the dish on shit that was never written down. Wait’ll you hear the rest of what that ass Cthulhu pulled.”
TODAY
Hastur met him in the throne room, in the empty space between court nonsense and appeals. Met him in the dark, barely lit by Hastur’s own luminescence, and protected by many spells.
Hastur met him, and did the unthinkable: very, very slightly, he bowed.
“Don’t need that,” said Dagon.
“I would have lost him.”
And Dagon knew that to Hastur, losing people mattered. Fuck, he was even crazy about his Forgotten One. “Yeah, well. I figure a favor given is a favor earned.”
“So you wish a favor in payment.” Hastur was, understandably, nervous.
Dagon considered. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “You been acting like a loon for twenty damn years.” He ignored Hastur’s bristle. “And I ain’t gonna judge. Had my times, too, where I was sinkholes and storms in the head. I ain’t telling you you need to give me your secrets. I’m just sayin’… I don’t like surprises. Warnings go a long way. I don’t know what the fuck is up with you—lying about Gokar’luh today was weird enough.” Hastur tried to speak, but Dagon wasn’t done. “We’re allies now. Get it? What you face, I face. Unless it turns out you’re doing so much shit behind my back that the shit you’re cleaning out of the water is the lesser problem.”
The King in Yellow seemed to deflate a little. “That’s… fair,” he rumbled.
“Just think about it. That’s all.”
“Is that your favor? Learning my secrets?”
“No, that’ll be something else owed. This is just a warning. And… maybe an offer.”
“Thank you.” Hastur said the words with care.
“Welp.” Dagon cracked his neck. “I’ll be going now.”
Hastur rumbled. “That’s it? What kind of a favor are you going to need?”
“The kind only you can do. Don’t know what it is yet.”
“Fair enough.”
Dagon nodded. “Sorry about your son.”
So Hastur hadn’t expected that, apparently. For just one moment, his warding slipped. “I… thank you.”
Dagon nodded. Then he left, same as always, walking right out and into Lake Hali. All water was connected, after all.
And as for the condition Hastur seemed to be in… well. It went in the thinking-box, because unless Hastur decided to admit he was torn the hell up and weepy, it didn’t matter.
But Hastur’s rush to secure the Dreamlands made more sense. Something was real wrong.
Real wrong.
Long as that asshole kept it from spilling over—or, failing that, explained—they’d be good.
Dagon went home and wasted no more time hashing out things he couldn’t accurately guess. He had sea calves to nurse, after all.
#malevolent#malevolent au#malevolent fic#surrogate series#dagon#dagon (lovecraft)#the keeper (surrogate)#hastur malevolent
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My media this week (23-29 Jul 2023)
📚 STUFF I READ 📚
🥰 The Rift (seapigeon) - 53K, modern college no powers AU - there's witchcraft and ghosts and curses and art student steve and science nerd bucky and it was all very good!
😍 Six Kids and a Winnebago series (Oddree13) - 91K, omegaverse Steddie - this series is a thoroughly delightful domestic omegaverse(lite) set post s4 - excellent characterizations, great sense of time/place & really fantastic music references
🥰 Longing and Belonging (enjambament) - 44K, geraskier - governess!Jaskier, lots of great family stuff with Ciri & Yen [reread, a definite fave]
😍 if I'm gonna get back to you someday (napricot) - 46K, post Endgame fixit with "a clusterfuck of Steves" from different multiverses - so many good emotions!
😊 Roommate Wanted (Lihhelsing, tinkerbclla) - 66K, modern Steddie roommates-to-lovers, part epistolary with a dash of identity porn
💖💖 +110K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖
the premature awakening of Bucky Barnes [at the hands of stupid, sexy, Post-run Steve] (MaddieWritesStucky (Madeleine_Ward)) - MCU: stucky, 3K - modern no powers stucky, several months on in the relationship between stripper!Bucky & architecht Steve [reread]
Galatea (saltandbyrne) - Inception: Arthur/Eames, 16K - a very good and delightfully melancholic modern myth telling
Shelter Case (Coragyps) - Suits: Mike/Harvey, 7K - futuristic dark dystopian omegaverse [reread]
Let Me Keep You (LeeHan) - MCU: stucky, 4K - Steve's oral fixation PWP [reread]
📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺
D20: Adventuring Party - s1, e15-18
D20: A Crown of Candy - s5, e15-17
Good Omens - s2, e1-6
🎧 PODCASTS 🎧
What Next: TBD Plus - Why Tech Lays Women Off First
⭐ Wiser Than Me with Julia Louis-Dreyfus - Julia Gets Wise with Jane Fonda
Fire Island: The Tea - Thomás Matos
50 Years of Hip-Hop - 1991: "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" by Geto Boys
50 Years of Hip-Hop - 1993: "Hip Hop Hooray" by Naughty by Nature
Hot and Bothered - Live from Pemberley: The 2005 Movie (with Helen Zaltzman and Jenny Owen Youngs)
Re: Dracula - July 24: There Will be Some Trouble
Rachel Maddow Presents: Déjà News - Episode 6: “Hello America, this is Addis Ababa.”
50 MPH - 7 MPH / A Crash Course in Jan De Bont (with Bilge Ebiri)
⭐ Endless Thread - Best of Summer: The Loudest Sound
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Mapping the Gay Guides
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Spaces for Spies
Switched on Pop - Barbie and the plasticity of pop
Shedunnit - Cricket and Crime
Re: Dracula - July 26: Just Starting for Home
Ologies with Alie Ward - Sciuridology (SQUIRRELS) with Karen Munroe
Stuff The British Stole - The Fever Tree Hunt
The Waves Plus - How a Drag Queen Recreated the American Dream
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Knight’s Spider Web Farm
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Amazon Night Hikes
Our Opinions Are Correct - Encore Episode: We're in the wrong timeline, with Connie Willis and R.F. Kuang
99% Invisible #546 - The Country of the Blind
50 Years of Hip-Hop - 1981: "Rapture" by Blondie
⭐ Decoder Ring Plus - A Brief History of Making Out
Twenty Thousand Hertz+ - Zelda: A Beep to the Past
Dear Prudence Plus - My Boyfriend Hid His Hobby From Me—Civil War Reenactments. Help!
⭐ Into It - Country Music’s Race Problem
What Next: TBD Plus - Washington vs. A.I.
Rivals: Music's Greatest Feuds - Robbie Robertson vs. Levon Helm: Broken Band
Re: Dracula - July 28: Four Days in Hell
Re: Dracula - July 29: Another Tragedy
Hit Parade Plus - The Bridge: Don’t Believe Me, Just Watch
⭐ Strong Songs - "Killing Me Softly With His Song," as sung by Lauryn Hill, Roberta Flack, & Lori Lieberman
Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me! - WWDTM: Randall Park
Fire Island: The Tea - Bambi Sue: Dredging Up the Past
🎶 MUSIC 🎶
Presenting The Who
People Just Wanna Have Fun [Kool & The Gang] {2023}
The Beach Boys Radio • Popular
"One Thing Leads To Another" [The Fixx] Radio
Dream Theater
Presenting Bruno Mars
#sunday reading recap#bookgeekgrrl's reading habits#bookgeekgrrl's soundtracks#fanfic ftw#d20 a crown of candy#dimension 20#good omens#i showed a lot of restraint by using that gif and not the super spoilery one i wanted to!#iykyk#the who#the beach boys#kool and the gang#dream theater#the fixx#bruno mars#decoder ring podcast#hit parade podcast#strong songs podcast#99% invisible#20k hz podcast#endless thread podcast#into it podcast#re: dracula#the atlas obscura podcast podcast#switched on pop podcast#shedunnit podcast#wiser than me with julia louis-dreyfus podcast#ologies with alie ward podcast#50 mph podcast#stuff the british stole podcast
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How, how do people set up RPs here? My Monkie (Kid/JTTW) Rot is strong and am wanting to interact with others about it, see other ocs, play some cannons, do AUs whatever!
More about me/rp style under the cut? That's how that's said right? XD
I'm in my twenties and am sometimes busy with my job so I won't always be like too quick to reply. Fluffy slice of life things is not for me, I like the DRAMA of TRUAMA, mixed in with fluffy breaks or at least comedy to offset any darker moments so it's not saturated.
I'm one of those paragraph writers too, usually about a paragraph per post to more.
Cannon Characters in LMK:
The Six Eared Macaque, the smug emotionally constipated bastard in all his smarmy but delightfully fun to write glory
Red Son, because chaotic angy social oblivious characters are my jam
Tang, usually play him more on the side but being able to main him would be kinda fun
Azure Lion, the so called Hero, and all his issues
Peng, they're a bastard, and oh do I love them living for the drama of causing PROBLEMS
Mei, as an addition to this already list of chaos gremlins
I may be able to play other cannons, those are just the ones I am more comfortable with or enjoy. I can play an okay Wukong, but I don't feel like I do him justice.
I haven't played around too much with OCs, but it'd be nice to do so
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true nakedness is not so exposing, as being seen without your clerical collar. one may not think so.. might mistake such a thing for being free. for forgetting yourself, for an evening. but it is far from simple, in practice. far less poetic, than in theory. the stiff fabric sits in her manicured hands, & for a moment his stormy eyes blink at it, as if it were his entire identity stripped from his being.
come with me father.
she warbles. the little dove, the singing bird. the siren song. vogelchen. those big, dark eyes pleading for his company, as her sin stains the bleached & holy fabric. meant to distinguish him as a mouthpiece, from the heavens to earth. now naught but a red-faced german man, in a button down & tucked in denim trousers. a man who’s smile is beginning to warp his previously blank canvas of an aging, wrinkled face.
“-- a - party?” he looks down -- long beak scrunching, cutely. his smile so wide he swears she can see the small dimples in his rosy cheeks. they ache, with the nervousness. his nightly activities doing little to relax him, as the host settles next to & dissolves those tiny, white narcotics his body insists upon. his greatest blessing, his humility... & with it, he trips over his english, as if it were his second year at the seminary. “what would we even do, the-there?”
a naive soul, his days of partying survived only on the streets of his village, if not in the restrictive brothel that was owned by his father. strung out, sleeping upon the curb as if it a plush pillow. his somber descent back into addiction reminds him that his late teens & early twenties were plagued with drinking to forget, or as a silent cry for acceptance. trapped in a world that continuously rejected him. hearing his father spew hate, & hiding behind the masculine identity that had been pre-assigned to him. devoted to religion, for the remainder of his fifty six years. he doesn’t know what it is, to go out for nothing more than fun. jovial tone made more bouncy, & his attempts to subdue his bashfulness only works to make him appear more-so. lilt of it, excited. anxiousness mingling, delightfully with adrenaline. so much so that he forgets what a bad idea, this is.
“are you sure you want me to come?”
@star1ngrole / / i don’t wanna talk about it
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Considerations To Know About Steak Restaurant In Sunset Hills
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Soups You Must Consume To Revitalize Your Heart
In addition to being loaded with nutrients, these healthy soup recipes are also flavorful and potent.
The best way to stay warm is with a bowl of soup, but this recipe isn't just for the colder months. The six meals that follow are both delicious and excellent ways to increase your intake of vegetables. The fact that these recipes come from different parts of the world makes them even better because they provide you with contrasting flavors while being good for your heart.
Every single one of these recipes is simple and unique in its way.
Vietnamese pho with chicken
It's simple and delicious to cook this pho. You can be at the table with a spoon in your hand and ready to take your first bite in just four steps and twenty minutes. Keep chicken stock and soy sauce with reduced salt on hand in your pantry. This will enable you to have a delicious lunch while still managing your blood pressure.
Minestrone Verde soup
This recipe would be ideal for lunch or dinner given that spring is almost here. It blends tastes and textures in a way that complements one another. With the substantial richness of beans and mushrooms, the lightness of asparagus, peas, and parsley, and the lovely sweetness of the leek, the recipe base are made.
Soup with yogurt and herbs
This dish will cause you to reevaluate any preconceived notions you may have about the use of yogurt in soups, let alone as a base. This recipe is for folks who enjoy a sour or tart touch to their cuisine. Butter beans, dill, and freshly cracked black pepper provide a counterbalance to Greek yogurt and lemon juice. Although this recipe isn't your typical soup, you'll want to make it again.
Lamb ribs with barley soup
This is a timeless staple, much like its cousin, the stew. Given that it takes more than two hours to prepare, a Sunday afternoon with a largely vacant schedule is probably the best time to do it. However, you'll be richly rewarded if you invest the time. Why not prepare a double batch and freeze part of it for those days when you don't have time to cook, since you're already setting aside the time?
Pumpkin soup
With good cause, this is an old favorite. It's a go-to dish for many folks and a terrific choice when you're stuck for ideas. Sweet potato is added to the vegetable foundation to add variety, and kidney beans add extra protein that may be missing from more conventional versions of this dish.
This dish is delightfully finished off with croutons. Additionally, this recipe demonstrates that if done properly, melting cheese over crusty bread need not be unhealthy for your heart.
Vegetable and lentil soup
This lentil and vegetable soup is a vegetarian-friendly crowd-pleaser, keeping with the crusty bread motif from earlier. This dish can be prepared in only four steps and serves four people. Additionally, you can make our heart-healthy homemade vegetable stock.
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Rare Phantom joins Well-Travelled Twenty & Private Collection Trio to form eclectic Rolls-Royce mix at this month’s Salon Privé
- Salon Privé Concours d’Elégance presented by Aviva will host an impressive array of Rolls-Royce ‘drivers’ cars’ built for enthusiast use
- #1 – 1933 Phantom II Continental Drophead had near-100mph top speed, and was one of just 156 RHD cars built
- #2 – Unusual, globe-trotting 1929 Twenty with configurable roof settings originally owned by family with Churchill connections
- #3 – Three ‘30s Phantoms, from a Private Collection, illustrate the variety of coachbuilding options available to pre-war R-R owners
Think of pre-war Rolls-Royces and you generally picture vast, chauffeur-driven conveyances, sedate and glorious, but hardly cars to be hustled around.
And while that still may have been true of Salon Privé’s examples gracing Blenheim’s South Lawn later this month, the way Rolls marketed each in period encouraged owners to take control from the driver’s seat.
1933 Rolls-Royce Phantom II Continental Drophead by James Young
Salon Privé’s first Rolls-Royce perfectly embodied the company’s shift towards the owner-driver, having been originally ordered by the uncle of renowned car enthusiast and diarist, the Rt Hon Alan Clark, to compete in the Alpine Trials. Fitted with a rakish James Young body, this was no ordinary Phantom II, however, and benefitted from a far more sporting specification when new.
The Phantom II replaced the New Phantom (retrospectively, ‘Phantom I’) in 1929. It was a significant technical departure from its predecessor, having an all-new chassis frame incorporating better controlled semi-elliptic springs all round, replacing the previous cantilever items. More power was liberated from its 7668cc inline ‘six’ engine, thanks to a new aluminium crossflow cylinder head with revised manifolds, though its two separate cast-iron blocks with a common light-alloy, seven-bearing crankcase were carried over from the New Phantom. Being a later model, Salon Privé’s Phantom II also received synchromesh on third and fourth ratios, in a gearbox that was now fitted in unit with the engine.
But Phantom II owners also had the option of enhancing these improvements still further. As a Continental, the model was based on the shorter, 144-inch Phantom chassis, complete with stiffer five-leaf springs, a lowered steering column and higher axle ratio. In this form, the Phantom II could attain a more Bentley-like 95mph top speed, and as a journalist from The Motor opened in March 1934, it was ‘Powerful, docile, delightfully easy to control and a thoroughbred….’
Of the 1,680 Phantom IIs produced, only 281 were Continentals, and only 156 of those were specified in right-hand-drive. Salon Privé’s car was ordered new from Jack Barclay in 1933 with a James Young body (Rolls Royce didn’t supply its own bodies), but it was sold back to the London dealer the following year. It was then bought by the Conservative MP for Kingston upon Hull, Sir Lambert Ward, who often used it to travel to his second home in Monaco. After Ward’s death in 1956, the car was sold to the current owner’s father and has been well used ever since, revisiting Monaco on a number of occasions. In 2019, the Phantom toured Eastern Europe, and this year it successfully completed a journey across the former Austro-Hungarian empire, starting in Bavaria and finishing in Budapest.
“One can only imagine how exotic this car must have felt winding its way to the Côte d’Azur 70 years ago,” said Andrew Bagley, Salon Privé’s Chairman. “Successive owners clearly bought into Rolls-Royce’s marketing about it being an enthusiast driver’s car, and we’re so glad to present such a well-used, but well-preserved rarity like this Phantom II Continental.”
1929 Rolls-Royce 20 HP Three-Position Cabriolet by Windover
While not quite as extravagant as the Phantom, Rolls-Royce’s Twenty was no less significant as a means of maintaining production volumes during the straitened 1920s. Salon Privé’s example is better known as ‘Jenny’, due to its registration prefix ‘GEN’. Jenny enjoyed a colourful life criss-crossing the Atlantic, and was originally ordered for the wife of a Rolls-Royce director and friend of Winston Churchill’s. But by then, the Twenty was in its final year of production.
The Twenty, or 20hp, was first conceived before WW1, though the war itself meant that production didn’t start until 1922. Like the Phantom, the Twenty was marketed for the owner-driver, with only the more expensive Ghost seen as a chauffeur-driven model. Manufacturing quality was second to none, and consequently the Twenty quickly built a reputation for its durability and longevity.
Powered by an inline ‘six’ of 3127cc, with a seven-bearing crankcase and a detachable cast-iron cylinder head, the engine effectively became the template for all Rolls-Royce ‘sixes’ until the 1950s. Like the Phantom II, the Twenty’s four-speed gearbox was in unit with the engine.
Being a late model, Salon Privé’s car has vertical radiator slats, not horizontal, and while 2,940 Twenties were built between 1922 and ’29, few would have visited coachbuilder Windover’s works to be fitted with this car’s three-position cabriolet body. With just a few simple adjustments, this Twenty could be converted from an open tourer to a formal saloon, when it could then be configured with or without an internal division.
First owned by Frances Wiggan-Smith, whose husband was the aforementioned Rolls-Royce director and friend of Churchill, the car was eventually laid up during the war years. In 1966, records show that Jenny was towed from Derby to Lincoln in a poor state, while owned by the Eminson family. It was then sold in 1972 and emerged in Michigan, USA, before being repatriated in 1977 by Michael Stainer, still in its original but unrestored condition. The Real Car Company acquired the Twenty in 1999, and once more it ended up with a US owner, this time in California. Having learnt of that person’s passing in 2015, the current owner bought Jenny sight unseen, and once again the car was brought home to the UK.
Now showing 107,000 miles, Jenny has undergone a major three-year restoration, though remarkably the car’s engine and powertrain remain original and didn’t require any major work. Testament to the current owner’s painstaking efforts, Jenny was awarded a first-in-class at this year’s RREC Concours d’Elégance at Burghley House.
“What a way to celebrate 100 years of the Rolls-Royce Twenty” said Andrew Bagley, Salon Privé’s chairman. “These motor cars had such excellent survival rates, thanks to its inherent quality, but it’s not often that you find a car with such an interesting history, spread across two continents – and one that’s still powered by the engine it was originally fitted with in the Derby factory.”
Private Collection Rolls-Royces
Three more pre-war Rolls-Royces are also set to prove popular with Salon Privé’s audiences next month. Housed in a private collection, the trio illustrates the breadth of coach-built styles that were available to owners from new, with a Phantom II by Freestone and Webb, and two Phantom IIIs, one a Special Henley Coupé by Inskip, the other a Sports Cabriolet by Vanvooren.
The Phantom III was a magnificent piece of engineering, and a major departure from its predecessor. Apart from the familiar grille and retention of a separate chassis, almost everything else about the car was new. The Phantom III’s two great innovations were that it had independent front suspension, and a highly advanced, and all-new V12 engine.
The new technology came with a commensurate price increase, and even with the least expensive coach-built body, the car cost £2,500, putting it on a par with hand-built cars like the Hispano-Suiza and Grosser Mercedes. While it was neither the fastest or arguably the grandest of all, the Phantom III had a quite unmatched combination of virtues which Salon Privé is proud to present at Blenheim next month.
With a programme that includes Ladies’ Day presented by Boodles on Friday, the Salon Privé Club Trophy presented by Lockton on Saturday, and Sunday’s Classic and Supercar event, all the elements are in place for another unmissable Salon Privé Week.
Salon Privé Week 2022
31 August – Salon Privé Concours d’Elégance presented by Aviva
1 September – Salon Privé Concours d’Elégance presented by Aviva
2 September – Salon Privé Ladies’ Day presented by Boodles
3 September – Salon Privé Club Trophy presented by Lockton
4 September – Salon Privé Classic & Supercar at Blenheim Palace
Tickets can be purchased via the website: www.salonpriveconcours.com
Charity Partner
Salon Privé is proud to once again have Rainbow Trust Children’s Charity as its charity partner. The organisation provides emotional and practical support to families who have a child with a life-threatening or terminal illness, and thanks to the generation donations of guests and Concours entrants, the event has so far raised in excess of £1.1 million for these great causes.
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"You know, I thought it was pretty forward of you to tell me to sit on you."
"Y-Yeah?"
His breath stuttered a bit, his skin was warm under you. Not in a million years would you've imagined this would be the outcome of your visit to his home. Since everything began to click into place for his life, your budding relationship also got an upgrade.
You had always thought of him to be the reserved type, but when he tore down his outer layer, you were a bit embarrassed about seeing the density of his muscles. They were rock solid. From a touch alone, you knew he was tougher than a wall.
That lone physical contact warmed your cheeks when you first scrambled on him. Yet, Yeonwoo had been nothing but accommodating. He was mindful of your every movement, waiting for you to be comfortable before acting.
"Yeah... this is my first time as well." You confessed to him, your smile became bashful.
In front of your honesty, he shuddered. "Ah, I see... I will try my best to be gentle."
Hearing those words from Yeonwoo immediately calmed your heart. Yes, there'd be no one else you'd trust to do this. After all, Yeonwoo had always been reliable and loving to you. You had nothing but patience and adoration for this boy.
"Yeah... would be pretty hazardous if you went too hard," you agreed with him and inhaled in a deep breath, bracing yourself for what to come. "I wouldn't want to break anything."
He laughed softly, steeling himself, "Of course not. All right, here I go," with that, Yeonwoo leaned, every of his movement bounced you up and down.
There was nothing you could do about your stability except to hold on for dear life.
.
.
.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
"Four! Wow! You're doing great!"
"Thank you!" Yeonwoo answered from under you, with every push he made, he rocked you upwards. "I hope you're not too uncomfortable."
You laughed in excitement when he went down again. "It's fine! Five! I didn't even know—Six!—something like this is possible. Seven!"
"Well, it requires a lot of upper body strength—"
"Eight!"
"—which I'm trying to build," he explained before going down again, pulling you with the motion of his body.
"Nine!" You counted. "Let's get to at least twenty then?"
"Of course!" He went down again and you giggled delightfully. This was better than anything you had in mind.
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Anakin Introduces his Jedi Babies (and Himself)
Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono
Warnings for: canon-typical dismemberment, unfortunately-aimed puppy crushes
Word count: 5,839
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The first time a Jedi meets a Skywalker, it’s on Bandomeer.
The planet is close to Mandalorian space. Finding someone associated with Mandalore is, technically, not that surprising. There are even Mandalorian operations on the planet.
What is surprising is the fact that the person from Mandalorian space is an unfamiliar Jedi Knight who is utterly unstoppable.
(Obi-Wan Kenobi has no way of knowing how similar his experiences are to what might have been, on this planet. Mandalore has been interfering in operations here ever since Ylliben Skywalker started reporting visions about the coming catastrophe. Where that interference has helped or hurt... well. There’s no way to know.)
(Is there?)
When Xanatos shows up and starts taunting Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, there’s a giggle from the doorway.
All three have to turn to look at the individual in question.
Mid-twenties, leaning against the doorframe, slim but strong, covered in dark fabric and half a set of armor. A scar by one eye, well-kept hair, and a smirk that could burn the longest fuse. A lightsaber, unlit, in one gloved hand.
This man is... very attractive, Obi-Wan thinks. This is not an appropriate thought for the situation. Obi-Wan thinks he can maybe blame it on the exhaustion.
“No, no, keep going,” the stranger says, sounding like there’s a laugh stuck in his throat. He waves dismissively. “Let’s, ah, let’s hear the master plan. Good ranting voice, maybe a six out of ten on the ‘I’m better than you’ and a four on the actual intimidation. You can do better.”
“Excuse me?” Xanatos hisses, sounding incredibly malicious to Obi-Wan’s ears. “Just who do you think you are?”
“And now you’re overselling it,” the stranger sighs. “Are you new at this? You seem new at this.”
“I would... also like to know who you are,” Master Jinn admits, shifting uncertainly as he tries to keep both du Crion and the stranger in his sights.
“I’m just your friendly neighborhood Jedi Knight, here to fight darksiders because... that’s my life, apparently,” the man says, looking down at his arm for some reason. He shakes his head and looks up at them with a bright grin. “Do you need some help, Master Jinn?”
“You still haven’t told us your name.”
“This is true,” the knight says. “That said, I’ve been told by my boss to explicitly avoid naming myself while on this mission for a variety of reasons.”
“Your... boss,” du Crion drawls. “Not the Council, then.”
“Current supervisor,” the stranger offers as correction, completely unconcerned. “It’s a complicated situation, don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t worry about nonentities.”
The man purses his lips like he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh again. It’s very mocking. “Sure, kid.”
Xanatos has had his lightsaber out ever since Obi-Wan and Master Jinn entered the room, but he does one of those fancy, meant-to-be-intimidating one-handed saber twirls as he turns to face the Knight.
The man’s smirk widens. “You do realize you’re going to lose, right? C’mon, kid--”
“I’m older than you!”
“I did like zero research on you as a person, just your many and varied crimes; how old are you?”
Du Crion’s face goes pinched. “I’m twenty-five.”
“Ah, yeah, no, I’m older,” the knight says. “Only a few years, but I’m also a delightfully obnoxious little bastard who ages real slow for, uh, reasons--”
Obi-Wan is fascinated. This man is very strange. And very pretty.
Obi-Wan may be light-headed. Is he bleeding? Blood loss would explain this.
Obi-Wan isn’t bleeding. Damn.
“--anyway, I’m sure I’ve got a more interesting life with more mature experiences than you,” the knight says. “So even if I wasn’t older in body, I’d be older in spirit.”
The knight’s entire sense of being carries such an air of banthashit that Obi-Wan can barely believe it. It’s almost impressive. Obi-Wan wonders how often this man just opens his mouth and immediately gets punched in the face.
“You talk a lot for a man in someone else’s domain.”
“Hey, look on the bright side,” the knight says. “At least I’m not flirting with you. That’s what my master did with almost every darksider we met except his grandmaster.”
Du Crion pauses.
Obi-Wan has the distinct feeling that he and Master Jinn have lost any control they might have, at any point, had over this situation. They hadn’t had much control in the first place, but anything they did have is squarely in the stranger’s court right now. The silver lining to that is that du Crion is thoroughly distracted and has also lost some control of the situation.
“Besides,” the man continues, completely ignoring the very red lightsaber that is being very obviously readied for his death. “This is not that big of an advantage for you. I mean, hey, the fancy central console that can only be reached by skinny walkways with no railings are a nice touch, all chromed metal and minimal lighting, very dramatic, but there’s no lava. I’m not, like, chained to a rock in the middle of an arena for a public execution at the hands of starving animals the size of a fighter ship. You’re threatening to kill me personally instead of standing in the most expensive box of the theater, sipping your wine and congratulating yourself on step one of a plan that has another fifty-thousand steps and no end in sight. You--”
“Is there a point to this?”
“I’m just saying, I’ve been in worse situations by better darksiders than you. This is sad. You’re sad. Try harder.”
Obi-Wan makes a little noise in the back of his throat. Nobody seems to notice, but Master Jinn does put a hand on his shoulder. That’s nice.
“I don’t have any interest in setting up a public execution.”
“What kind of a Sith wannabe are you?” the knight asks, tilting his head. Obi-Wan distantly notes that his hair is longer than initially assumed; it’s just held back and curled. “Public executions are a whole thing. It’s like you’re not even trying. Tell me you’ve at least got vague plans to hand me off to a pirates instead of killing me so you can make some comment about me not even being worth the effort.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” du Crion asks, his voice the kind of forced casual level nonsense that shows he’s actually very, very frustrated. Obi-Wan could almost believe that du Crion is as uninterested as he’s pretending to be.
“If I was trying to get myself killed, I’d... pick a fight with the Trade Federation, maybe? I mean, I survived that when I was nine but they’d probably take me more seriously this time.” The knight taps at his chin. “I don’t even know where the actual Sith is, but--”
“There are no more Sith,” du Crion scoffs.
Oh, the knight looks pitying now. Obi-Wan likes that much more than he should. It just really suits the man’s face.
Quin’s going to make so much fun of him later.
“I have fought multiple Sith,” the man says, slowly and clearly, as though explaining something to a child. “My master fought more than that. I lost my arm to a Sith when I was nineteen. You can say they’re gone, but I don’t trust like that.”
“It’s not a matter of trust,” du Crion says, rolling his eyes. “It has been a thousand years since the Sith were wiped out. Much as I’d like them to still be around, I’m not going to--”
“Oh!” the knight exclaims. “You’re lying! You do think they’re back, this whole mess is you auditioning.”
Du Crion stares at the man as though he’s lost what few marbles he had. “Excuse me?”
“You want to be the next Sith Apprentice,” the man says, cheerfully unconcerned by the mounting tension in the air. “That’s adorable. Well, no, actually, it’s very bad, both for you and for everyone else, and now it means I can’t just kill you in battle like I was planning because the Jedi are going to need you for information. Blast.”
Du Crion’s eyes widen. It is not in fear, but in incredulity. Obi-Wan thinks that it’s all in the eyebrows and the tight, befuddled smile. “You were planning to kill me, Jedi?”
“I mean... yeah, kinda,” the knight says, shrugging. “Quick and clean option, that.”
This time, Master Jinn is the one that makes a disbelieving noise that both of the bitchy twenty-somethings ignore.
“You’re a Jedi,” du Crion points out, entirely pleasant.
“...yes,” the man says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Technically.”
Du Crion is very much distracted by this. “Technically?”
The man wiggles a hand. “Arguments can be made. I certainly was trained as a Jedi and consider myself to be one. My knighting was according to protocol, and at the Temple. Technically.”
“...but?” Master Jinn prompts.
The knight smiles like he’s got something very spicy in his mouth and is unwilling to admit it’s too much for him. “But nothing! Don’t worry about it. There’s a fight to be had with a Sith wannabe who doesn’t realize he’s not going to measure up.”
“Arrogant,” du Crion accuses.
“No,” the knight immediately says. “You just don’t fight a galactic war without learning which opponents are actually going to kill you.”
Obi-Wan leans into Master Jinn’s side, his legs feeling a little too much like jelly. He whispers, “I have so many questions.”
“As do I, Padawan,” Master Jinn mutters back, and something in Obi-Wan’s heart twists. He’s a padawan! Master Jinn’s actually going to go through with it!
The fight does actually happen, at that point. The knight lights his saber and leaps forward, flashing through Djem So movements without a moment’s hesitation. For all the trash talk and boasting, the fight isn’t actually over very quickly. Du Crion is good, even without having had a chance to spar against a real person since he left the Order. Power flows around him, dark and heavy and sharp in ways that the Force usually isn’t, and the red saber snaps through the air with a speed Obi-Wan can barely track. Xanatos du Crion is, without question, danger incarnate in this moment.
The unknown knight is better.
There are attempts at banter, mostly by the stranger. Du Crion is too focused on the fight to bother responding. Obi-Wan just clings to Master Jinn, trying to stay awake and aware. It’s difficult, given the past few days, and even with help from the Force, he’s flagging.
The way the knight moves is... captivating, though.
(Quinlan’s going to laugh at the top of his lungs, later. Obi-Wan’s going to blush and stutter and bury his face in a pillow, and Bant’s going to pat his back like the amazing friend she is, and Quin’s just going to laugh, like an asshole.)
The fight doesn’t end cleanly. The knight cuts du Crion’s saber in half and, in the same movement, cuts the man’s hand off.
Obi-Wan’s seen too much blood in the last few days for it to shock him, but the smell is... unpleasant.
“I don’t suppose either of you carries Force-nullifying cuffs?” the knight asks, holding his saber to du Crion’s neck with an expression that is amused and satisfied in equal measure.
“No,” Master Jinn says. He seems... very bothered. Well, du Crion was his student once. Obi-Wan can’t imagine he’d be very calm if he had a student that went dark and started killing children. “Was cutting off his hand really necessary?”
“I feel like half my fights end with either someone dying or someone losing a limb,” the knight muses. “Sometimes that limb is my own, even!”
Obi-Wan isn’t sure if the man is manic or just trying to throw them off their rhythm. It probably doesn’t matter.
“Okay, I have Force-nullifying cuffs of my own,” the man says. “But these things are expensive as hell, and they weren’t paid for by the Order, so just giving them to you isn’t really on the table. That said... my ship kind of got shot down on the way here. If you could give me a ride off-planet--”
“Our ship was also shot down.”
The knight blinks at him, and then kicks du Crion in the hamstring. It’s not a very hard kick, but du Crion shoots him a look of offense that’s probably justified. Getting kicked when one is already down is never a great feeling.
“Stop shooting people,” the knight scolds.
Obi-Wan feels vaguely like he’s having a fever dream.
“Okay, new plan,” the man says. “What kind of ship did you come in?”
“KYL-3400 small transport,” Master Jinn says, with not a little hesitation. “Why?”
The knight grins. “I’m going to cannibalize it for parts.”
-------------------------
Jango has known Anakin Skywalker for six years. Many of those years have been spent being yanked into babysitting for the man. For reasons Jango doesn’t feel like examining, this will likely continue.
“You’re late,” he says, as the man in question stumbles out of a battered ship that looks only barely like the one that left three months ago. “I thought you said Bandomeer was a quick fix.”
“Ship got shot down, had to help some Jedi, ran into fucking Onaka on the way back,” Skywalker grouses. “I feel like shit. Where are my kids?”
“Buir says you have to go to medical.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. My kids, Jango.”
“They can visit you in medical.”
“And, what, Mereel’s gonna go there for a debrief?”
“Your debrief is going through me,” Jango says, and doesn’t let himself flinch when Skywalker makes a face. “He’ll check in later.”
“Yeah, no,” Skywalker says, taking a step forward and then swaying with a curse. “Listen, this actually does need to go to Mand’alor direct, not just the Alor-in-training--”
“Please don’t do that with my language,” Jango immediately says. “That’s not--no. ‘Alor-in-training’ isn’t a thing. Don’t do that.”
Skywalker turns on his heel with a frustrated snarl, and Jango’s eyes widen as the stupid tunics the man wears flare out.
“Is that a blaster wound?”
“No.”
“Yes it--for fuck’s sake, Skywalker!” Jango growls and just goes over to grab the taller man by the shoulders and march him to medical. “I’m calling your sister.”
“Don’t tell Shmi, she’s got enough to--”
“I’m calling your sister,” Jango snaps. “And you’re going to deal with it. Ka’ra, do you even think? Is there a brain in that head of yours?”
“I’ve been told my braincell is lonely.”
“I’m going to shove you in a trash compactor, dikut’la jetii,” Jango mutters. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“If I say yes, will you let me go deal with it on my own?”
Jango strangles his own scream and shoves Skywalker into the nearest examination room. “Fix him!”
The medic looks up, raises a brow, and turns to Skywalker. “What did you do?”
“What didn’t I do?” Skywalker shoots back, grinning like they’re sharing battle stories over a drink in a cantina.
The medic--Mirka’lu, he thinks--crosses her arms. “General.”
Oh man, the medics must be angry with him already if they’re already jumping titles like that.
“I’m just a knight--”
“General Skywalker.”
The man in question grimaces. “I maybe got shot during an altercation with some pirates.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And... I maybe--maybe--picked a fight with some Hutt enforcers.”
Jango’s going to wring his neck.
Right after he calls Shmi.
-------------------------
Komari does her level best to not shift nervously under the judgmental eyes of the man they’re pretty sure is the Mand’alor. Her master’s got the situation under control. She’s just there to observe. They’ve got an entire team--
“Is that your way of telling me that your Order did minimal research on the situation before coming to intervene, and the only reason you bothered to reach out is because one of my men, weeks ago, let you know that Death Watch is setting traps for both my people and yours?”
Komari feels the flare of annoyance from Master Dooku. She doesn’t react, but she can hear the tension when her Master speaks.
“I assure we would not have attacked on Galidraan unless attacked first, or if we’d found solid evidence of the actions we were informed of,” Master Dooku says, quiet and even. “All your messenger did was save us all a little time.”
Mereel smiles thinly. “Saved us all some lives, more like it.”
“Perhaps.”
“Ah, jetiise aren’t the only ones with Force-Sensitives,” the Mand’alor says. “I’ve more than a few under my command. Visions aren’t foolproof, I’m aware, but I’ll be damned if such a warning goes completely ignored.”
Master Dooku makes a low humming noise. “Be that as it may, I’m unsure of what it is that you’re expecting out of our... presence. We are not here to help you claim your presumed throne. We are only here to stop the killings we were told about.”
“I don’t need your help to reunite my people.” Mereel waves a hand, batting the mere suggestion away. “But I’d appreciate the help with taking out the terrorist group that’s actually going out and murdering the helpless, this planet’s farmers and doctors and children. Kyr’tsad isn’t just a thorn in my side, Master Jedi.”
“And what proof do I have that you aren’t just the same kind of monster as you claim they are?” Master Dooku challenges.
It’s a little brazen, considering how dicey these negotiations are. For all that Komari herself doesn’t wince, someone behind her outright hisses in dismay. She agrees with the sentiment.
Mereel just laughs at them. He catches the eye of one of the armored individuals along the wall, human or close to it, and nods to himself.
“Right,” the man says. “Well, we have our own Jedi. Would you like to meet him?”
Master Dooku is immobile, as if carved from stone. The rest of the group is... not.
“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Master Dooku says, and Komari feels the tension in him wind further through the training bond. There are a million questions to be had here. None of them can be answered without the supposed Jedi.
“Great,” the Mand’alor says. He leans back in his seat and turns to the door. With the press of a button, the door slides open. “Ben!”
A child darts into the room, stops, and bounces on their feet. Probably male, Komari thinks, and very anxious. The child’s eyes dart about the room, taking in every single Jedi in sight. When that gaze lands on Master Dooku, there’s a flash of recognition and... not hate, but distaste. Confused and distant dismay, maybe. The child turns back to Mereel.
“Mand’alor,” the child greets, still bouncing. “Am I needed?”
“Thought I told you this meeting was for grown-ups,” the Mand’alor says.
Ben shrugs. “I wanted to listen in.”
“That door is soundproofed and you know it.”
“So?”
The Mand’alor grins. “Do me a favor and go fetch your dad.”
“Buir’s still sleeping,” Ben says, grave as dirt. It’s a strange expression for such a small child. He can’t be older than eight, and Komari’s pretty sure even that’s a stretch. “Shmi’s gonna be mad if he has to wake up before the bacta’s done.”
“I just need him for negotiations,” Mereel assures the child.
“Aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber?” Ben asks, and Komari nearly chokes.
“No, just regular ones.”
Ben nods sharply, and then turns and runs out.
“That boy...” Mereel mutters, but it’s fond. “Anywa--”
“BUIR!” Ben’s voice echoes from the hall, faint but audible, along with some very loud banging on what is presumably a door. “DAD! WAKE UP, THE COUNT IS HERE!”
The Count? Komari wonders. Even Master Dooku seems surprised.
The question is clearly on more minds than just her own. Mereel raises a brow at Master Dooku and gestures vaguely. “Didn’t know any of you were nobility. You a Count, Master Jedi?”
“No,” Master Dooku says, and before the Mand’alor can press further, he adds, “but if I were to retire from the Order, the title would be mine to inherit. As I have no intentions of retiring, I am not and will not be a Count, but I assume that is what the child is referring to.”
“Ben,” the Mand’alor corrects. He seems pleased with the reasonable answer. “Ylliben Skywalker. I suggest you refer to him by name.”
“You have a fondness for him,” Master Dooku notes.
Mereel shrugs. “No more than any other child, objectively, but his father is one of my more effective allies, and he gets antsy about things. Saying ‘your child’ won’t be a problem, but ‘the child’ is... well.”
The smirk is a challenge that Komari doesn’t feel ready to meet. She’s glad it’s not hers to handle.
“Why do you ‘have’ a Jedi?” Master Dooku asks, pushing the conversation back to the point Komari’s sure he was initially aiming for.
“Found him in a snowstorm, brought him inside,” Mereel says, grinning. “And then he refused to leave, the shabuir. Troublesome man, like you wouldn’t believe, but useful.”
“Like a feral tooka,” someone behind Komari mutters. She feels a part of her soul die.
You can’t just say that in front of the Mand’alor! she screeches in the depths of her mind, despairing.
“Exactly,” Mereel agrees with a laugh. “Skywalker’s a feral tooka.”
Komari dies a little more.
“Talkin’ shit about me, Mereel?”
...oh no.
This one’s pretty.
The man is tall, dressed almost entirely in black, and looks like shit.
“You look like you got run over by a herd of bantha,” the Mand’alor notes.
“I got back less than a day ago,” Skywalker growls out. He leans against the wall behind the Mand’alor’s desk. He folds his arms. He glowers around the room. “The kriff is Count Dooku doing here?”
“Master Dooku,” the man in question says, a little pained. “As I informed Mand’alor Mereel, I may technically have claim to that title, but I am a Jedi. So long as I remain a Jedi, the title isn’t actually mine.”
Skywalker makes a face, and then shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever. Jaster, what the hell do you need from me?”
“Well, some manners would be nice.”
“I got shot and am putting myself in a position to get yelled at by baar’ur Mirka’lu for coming here when I’m supposed to be on bed rest,” Skywalker growls out. He kicks Mereel’s chair, glaring at the back of the man’s head. “You’re lucky I put on pants.”
Mereel seems unbothered by this statement or treatment.
Komari thinks her eyes may currently be the size of dinner plates.
“You’re the one from Bandomeer.”
Skywalker’s head snaps up to focus his gaze on Master Dooku. “Say what?”
“You’re the one my former Padawan encountered on Bandomeer,” Master Dooku says, something satisfied in his tone. “He said you refused to give a name, but the physical description does match.”
“Oh, lovely, Jinn’s been gossiping,” Skywalker mutters. “That’s just--”
“General Skywalker,” Mereel says, voice finally slipping to something more stern than amused. “If you could please focus.”
Skywalker rolls his eyes and mutters something about painkillers.
“Buir?”
Skywalker’s head tilts to the side, and he holds one arm out to the side. The kid from before--Ben--darts in to cling to the man’s side. A slightly taller Togruta follows in and ducks in under his other arm. Both children keep a wary gaze fixed on the same person, and their adult...
Every look from this man is a new challenge to Master Dooku.
“They’re yours?”
That is the exact question Komari was hoping her master wouldn’t ask.
“We’re in Mandalorian territory,” Skywalker says. “They’re Force-Sensitive orphans with an incredible amount of potential. If I didn’t claim them, someone else would have.”
It’s not an airtight justification--the man could have just sent them to the Temple--but the air around him is roiling with aggression. This man does not like Master Dooku, and is more than a shade protective of these--his--children. Komari shifts her weight and worries as the pregnant silence grows heavier.
“As you say,” Master Dooku allows, and some of the bowstring-tight tension in the room loosens, drains away like foul bathwater. “If I may... I was unaware you were a General, nor that Mandalore had a standing army large enough for such a position.”
“He’s not,” Mereel says. “Used to be, won’t tell me where. It’s not my business, or yours. Title’s a holdover from whatever war he was fighting before we got him.”
Komari is not the only person whose heart drops as Master Dooku says, “Qui-Gon claimed that the rogue knight he’d met on Bandomeer mentioned a galactic war against the Sith.”
Mereel blinks, and then turns his seat around to look at Skywalker. The other Mandalorians look at Skywalker. Every single Jedi also looks at Skywalker.
The Togruta child sticks her tongue out at Master Dooku.
“I did say that,” Skywalker says. “What of it?”
“You know, when I said I didn’t care what fight you were running that turned you into a soldier, I kind of assumed it was something on the level of, say, a system-wide civil war,” Mereel drawls. “Not galactic Force nonsense.”
Skywalker shrugs. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
“Because you’ll lie?”
“No, I’m just going to be really annoying about it,” Skywalker tells him. The Togruta giggles and shoves her face into his side. “Or, hell, I’ll let Ben do it. We both know he can talk circles around basically everyone in this room.”
“Skywalker.”
“Mereel.”
The two hold gazes for a moment that lasts just a little too long, and then Mereel breaks it off. “We’re talking about this later.”
“Of course, Mand’alor,” Skywalker says, with a grim sort of smile. “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”
Mereel doesn’t seem particularly impressed by that.
Komari wonders if anyone else remembers that Skywalker was supposed to be here to make negotiations easier.
-------------------------
Yan Dooku is having a Day.
He’s not entirely sure whom to blame for this mess. Perhaps Yoda, for suggesting he handle this mission. Perhaps the governor of Galidraan, who decided collaborating with terrorists for his own gain was a good idea. Perhaps Jaster Mereel, whose influence and power is enough that Yan needs to tread carefully. Perhaps Qui-Gon, for giving him just enough information about Skywalker to cause some drama.
Perhaps Skywalker for being a recalcitrant, ornery bastard who delights in Yan’s suffering.
(One of the Mandalorians calls him that to his face, and Skywalker informs the man that “my mother always told me I didn’t have a father,” and stares until the Mando stammers out an apology and turns on his heel.)
(The smirk on Skywalker’s face is certainly informative.)
“Hi.”
Yan looks up from the datapad he’s been using to try and punch out a report, for all that he can’t find the words he needs, and sees the Togruta youngling from Skywalker’s side hanging upside-down from a ventilation grate.
He blinks evenly at her. “Good afternoon. Is that your normal manner of traversing the building?”
“Yeah, when Jan-Jan isn’t yelling at me about it,” she says, and drops from the ceiling. Seemingly without paying attention, she directs the grate itself back into place with the Force, screws reattaching themselves with only the slightest whisper. She’s done this many, many times.
“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”
“Jango Fett,” she clarifies. “Ad be Mand’alor.”
Child of the king.
He does remember that much from the briefing.
“I see,” Yan says, rather than try to tackle whatever the usage of such a nickname implies. “I’m afraid nobody’s seen fit to introduce you, youngling.”
“I’m Sokanth Skywalker, but most people call me Soka,” she says, with a bouncing, shallow bow. Full of energy, this one. “I’m eight.”
“The General is your father, then?”
“Mm-hm! He adopted me when I was almost two,” she says, and climbs up onto the bench. She wraps her arms around her knees and beams up. “Ben was still a baby, and we didn’t go get Shmi until a few months later when Skyguy could afford it.”
“Skyguy?” Yan prompts.
“My dad,” she explains, head tilting a little as she studies his reaction. “I... I’ve always called him Skyguy. He took care of me before he adopted me, for at least a year. He says I called him Skyguy when I first started talking, back then, and then he didn’t make me stop when he adopted me.”
“I see,” Yan says. “Does your father know you’re speaking with me?”
“Probably.”
“And would he approve?” Yan hints as heavily as he can. “He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“That’s because we’ve all seen what you could be,” she says. “But you’re not the Count yet, so it’s okay.”
Information. “Ah. Visions, then. That would explain some things.”
“Ben gets them the most,” she keeps talking. “But it’s not just that. It’s like... patterns. The Sith are going to target you, because they’re going to think you’re worth corrupting.”
“And you’ve seen enough Sith to know that?”
“Yeah.”
“Visions are not foolproof,” he says, trying to keep his tone gentle. He’s not used to interacting with children of this age, and this one comes with a father in the Mand’alor’s confidence, someone he can’t afford to irritate by making a daughter cry. “I have a friend who is very prone to visions, and some come true, some don’t, and others--”
“Are self-fulfilling,” Sokanth finishes for him. “I know that. But my dad’s actually fought Sith, y’know. The guy who cut off my dad’s arm used to be a Jedi Master, like you, and he was all fancy-schmancy and a history nerd for Sith stuff, and didn’t like the Council or their decisions very much. Like you.”
That’s... very personal.
“A surface-level similarity is not enough to make the claim that I am to become a Sith,” he says.
She blinks at him, eyes too large for a face that’s so near to human in bone-structure. It’s unnerving. “Whether or not you Fall is your choice, Count. All I can tell you is that you are the kind of person they look to groom... if only as a pawn.”
The words are too old for a girl her size.
“You speak as if you’ve faced the Sith yourself,” Yan says, well aware now that he needs to tread carefully, but... “You’re too young to go out into the field. I can’t imagine your father would allow a child like yourself to go up against someone that dangerous.”
She blinks those too large eyes, and tilts her head in the other direction, and then smiles. “You care. That’s good. Keep that compassion, Count.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re evading the question.”
Sokanth giggles. “Maybe. Buir doesn’t like us talking about it much. It makes him sad, ‘cuz he can’t help us not hurt, and a lot of it is really scary. It’s like... my memories are too big for my head. I don’t get a lot of visions, but I get a lot of dreams of things that happened that I’m not alive for. And buir does remember those things happening, so it’s true, and it happened, but I only... sort of remember it, and when I think about it too hard, it hurts my head. Or I get nightmares about it, and I don’t like those. Ben’s got it worse, though. He has more to fight.”
It’s a lot of information.
It’s confusing information.
It’s... possibly information that the General has asked her to feed him for reasons he can’t even begin to guess at.
“In this war your father fought,” Yan asks, “were you a soldier as well?”
“Commander,” she corrects, voice soft. “That’s what the dreams call me, before they start screaming.”
“How old are you really?” He asks, before he can quite stop himself.
She laughs, suddenly bright again. “I’m as old as I look. I’m eight. Just because the Force gives me memories I shouldn’t have doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t a kid. Sometimes Ben tries to act older than he is ‘cuz of the memories, y’know. Buir gets sad whenever he does that, ‘cuz he thinks we deserve to be kids before the galaxy goes to hell again.”
“He’s sure of such a thing?”
“It always does,” she says, with the air of someone who isn’t sure how their conversation partner could be quite that dense. Her voice takes on a sing-song cadence, like she’s telling a fable instead of a philosophy. “War always comes eventually. Not every sentient is selfish, but enough are, and they tend to be the ones that claw their way to the top. The rich and powerful will take and take and take, and then, when there’s nothing left, they will use their living stepping stones to tear each other apart. All we can do is be ready to end it as quickly as possible once it comes.”
Yan lets the claim sit for a long, quiet minute. “Did your father tell you that?”
“No,” she says. “Ben did.”
The six-year-old.
“He has a way with words,” Yan manages.
“Sometimes he uses his stuffed animals to host courtroom dramas,” she says. “He makes me look up the right laws so it can be procedurally accurate, ‘cuz he’s a nerd but so am I, and it makes Skyguy happy when he sees us playing like that instead of just doing saber forms and stuff.”
Yan has... no idea what to do with that. “I wouldn’t normally call courtroom dramas a normal children’s activity.”
“Yeah, but Ben’s a nerd,” she says, as if that’s all that needs to be said. Maybe, for her, it is. “And there’s only so much time I’m allowed to spend hunting.”
Right. Togruta.
“And what was your father doing at that age?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about that,” she says immediately. “Because it’s very private and he and Shmi get upset if we bring it up, ‘cuz of trauma and stuff.”
Shmi. The... sister, he thinks. People seem to be unclear on that. He’s heard a few refer to the teenager as just “one of Skywalker’s,” so that’s something to consider. She’s near-perfectly halfway between the children and the General, in terms of age, so it’s a little ambiguous where she fits.
That said, he’s been in a lot of places in his time as a Jedi Master. It’s taken him a little longer than it should have to realize, but he thinks he’s got at least part of the puzzle.
Skywalker’s a slave name. Tatooine, specifically.
It’s not confirmation, really, but...
Well. He thinks it’s better he doesn’t dig, on that subject.
“Hey,” Sokanth says, tugging at his sleeve. “Can I ask ya something?”
“I cannot promise an answer, but you may ask.”
“Can you spar with Skyguy? I wanna see who wins.”
#Disaster Lineage#Anakin Skywalker#Ahsoka Tano#Obi Wan Kenobi#Qui Gon Jinn#Count Dooku#Yan Dooku#Ben Kenobi#Jaster Mereel#Xanatos du Crion#Jango Fett#Komari Vosa#time travel#de aging#age shifting#family#phoenix files#Anakin and the Jedi Babies#500 notes
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Why Public Transport Should be Funded
Nobody wants to sit next to a Witcher on the bus. Geralt had just spent a long day trapping Drowners in the city sewer main and humanely transporting them to a mythical wildlife sanctuary park on the edge of town. Normally, he would have just driven the company truck back to Vesemir and Sons’ Witcher ™ Pest Control, which was a old, well-renovated, brick building with apartments above it, where the witchers lived. Today, though, the truck had managed to blow three of its four tires, so Geralt called the tow truck and took the bus.
The bus was full, people jostled together and standing in the aisles, clinging to railings. Despite this, they gave Geralt his space. He stood, head down, next to the rear doors, beside the space left for those with bicycles or large luggage. A group of college kids got on, chattering happily. Geralt recognized the lioness on one’s baseball cap. Cintra U, then. No wonder, they were all talking about the big rivalry football game against Nilfgaard College.
At the next stop Geralt saw a young man through the window. He was holding several large cases and stopped, a desolate look on his face as the bus started to pull away before he could get there.
Geralt pulled the Stop Requested rope, which made a pleasant ding.
“Gotta keep on schedule,” yelled the bus driver from the front.
Geralt stepped a little to the side, so that the driver would be able to see him in the rearview mirror, witcher swords (peace tied as required by law) and all. He pulled the stop rope a few more times, more insistently.
Enhanced ears picked up the sigh as the driver stopped the bus and let the bedraggled young man on. He entered from the rear doors, shouting a cheery,
“Thank you so much!” Up to the driver.
He was carrying three instrument cases and a large backpack. Geralt jerked his head meaningfully at the college kids and they made a space for the man to put his luggage.
Now that Geralt could see him better, he realized that man was perhaps not the best description. Oh, he certainly wasn’t a boy, he was at least twenty-five, if you went by his face, but if you went by his slightly pointed ears he wasn’t even human, and was likely a lot older than he looked.
The half elf scooped brown hair from his eyes with one hand, pulling it back to air it out as he panted, sweating. A drop of it ran down a pleasingly rounded cheek.
“That damn bus driver has never waited for me before,” he panted. “Wonder who I have to thank for it.”
“Mmh,” Geralt said, non-committaly. Half elves were generally on the finer side of bone structure, but this one was pretty and had a pleasing solidness to his frame. The stranger seemed to be waiting on a response, though, so Geralt said, “Do you make a habit of being late?”
The half elf laughed. It was a good sound, nice and rounded with a delightfully hideous snort at the end. “Pretty much,” he said. “I do music therapy at the CBSS, and it gets done five minutes before the bus comes, but I can never pack up in time.
The CBSS, better known as the Center for Beings of Smaller Sizes, hosted events that catered to gnomes, pixies, brownies and goblins, all of which were too small to easily attend community events with larger folk. Geralt had been in once to teach a class on unicorn-proofing. Most of the participants had been under six inches, high, but they had happily provided Geralt with a human-sized chair.
“So is it you I have to thank for not having to walk home?” The half elf said, canting his hips a little and slinking a step closer. Despite what Geralt’s brothers said, he could recognize flirting if it hit him in the face, and the musician in front of him was practically beating him with the flirtation stick.
“Just pulled the stop rope,” Geralt grunted, decidedly not looking at the way the half elf’s lashes fluttered along his cheeks. He wished he weren’t still wearing his black coveralls.
The bus jolted to a stop and the half elf, hands full with the smallest of his instrument cases, went hurtling forward. Geralt scruffed him like a kitten, grabbing the back of his hoodie and pulling him safely back.
And right into Geralt’s chest. The musician grinned up at him, tilting his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder and looking like the cat who’d got the cream, the butter, and the lamb roast too.
“Normally I make people buy me dinner first, but since you’re saving me from a dreadful fate,” He licked his lips and basically purred. “I’ll allow it.” He traced the silver wolf’s head logo on Geralt’s coveralls.
“A witcher, huh?”
Geralt nodded, much too focused on the way the musician’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Smelling of death and destiny,” the musician said. “Heartbreak and heroics.”
“It’s sewage,” Geralt said, deadpan, just to hear that wonderful laugh again. He’d in fact changed into clean coveralls before driving out to the sanctuary. The half elf grinned at him again, but began gathering his luggage back into his arms and rummaging in his backpack. He scrawled something in sparkly gel pen on the back of Geralt’s hand.
“This is my stop, Hero,” he said. “But if ya maybe want to take me out to dinner sometime, there’s my number.”
The pretty musician hopped off the bus and Geralt heard him shout “I’m Jaskier, by the way!” just as the doors slid shut with a pneumatic hiss.
Geralt rode the rest of the way back to Vesemir and Sons’ with his head in a fuzzy pink cloud. On the back of his hand the phone number glittered. Maybe, just maybe, he’d try a phone call.
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