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theregencywriter · 11 months

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(7) A Gentleman's Pursuit - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

My dearest readers,

It seems that the halls of the illustrious Bridgerton household are not immune to the occasional outburst of passionate disagreement. Whisperings have reached my ears about a heated argument that took place between none other than the dashing Anthony Bridgerton and the ever-charming Benedict Bridgerton.

What could have caused such a rift between these two brothers, known for their amiable disposition? Ah, the ever-elusive topic of love, my dear readers. It appears that the subject of their disagreement may indeed revolve around a certain young lady who has caught their attention. Could it be the captivating Y/N, who has ensnared the hearts of many?

The details of their argument remain shrouded in secrecy, but whispers suggest that it may concern matters of the heart. Could Anthony and Benedict find themselves at odds over the affections of our intriguing young lady? Oh, the tangled webs of love and desire that ensnare us all!

In the corridors of the Bridgerton household, tension lingers in the air, hinting at a rivalry that may extend beyond mere brotherly affection. What will be the outcome of this quarrel, dear readers? Only time will reveal the depths of their emotions and the path their hearts will choose to follow.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Y/N descended the grand staircase of the Bridgerton residence, her anticipation bubbling within her. She had expected to see Anthony waiting for her, ready to embark on their planned outing to the races. However, her eyes met those of Benedict, who stood at the foot of the stairs wearing a sincere yet somber expression.

Confusion painted Y/N's features as she approached Benedict. "Where is Anthony? I thought he was joining me for the races." Benedict's gaze met hers, a nervous excitement shining in his eyes. "I regret to inform you that Anthony has fallen ill, Y/N. He insisted that I take his place and accompany you instead."

Surprise flickered across Y/N's face, intermingled with worry for Anthony's well-being. "Is he alright? Shouldn't we be tending to him?" Benedict offered a reassuring smile. "Fear not, Y/N. He assures me that it's nothing serious, just a temporary indisposition. But he insisted that you should not miss out on the enjoyment of the races, and entrusted me with the task of accompanying you in his stead."

Y/N settled into the carriage, her heart still fluttering from the unexpected turn of events. As Benedict took his seat beside her, he couldn't help but notice a hint of sadness lingering in her eyes. He spoke gently, his voice filled with genuine concern, "Are you truly alright, Y/N? I can still check on Anthony if you wish." He had begun to doubt himself, thinking perhaps he should allow Anthony to take y/n instead. Y/N's hand reached out, softly placing it on top of Benedict's, a warm smile gracing her lips. "Benedict, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I genuinely enjoy your company. I believe today will be a delightful experience, even without Anthony's presence."

Benedict's eyes met hers, the air between them crackled with a magnetic pull, their connection growing stronger. In that fleeting moment, it seemed as if they were on the verge of sharing a tender kiss, their hearts aligned in an unspoken understanding. However, before their lips could meet, the carriage door swung open, revealing Eloise with a mischievous grin. "Good news, dear brother! Penelope and I have decided to join you on this little adventure." Benedict's annoyance flickered across his face, a fleeting shadow that he struggled to conceal. Y/N, too, felt a tinge of disappointment at the interruption. She withdrew her hand from Benedict's, a sense of unfulfilled possibility lingering in the air.

Nonetheless, Y/N composed herself quickly, a smile plastered on her face. "How delightful, Eloise! The more, the merrier. I'm sure it will be a memorable day for all of us." Benedict's frustration was evident, but he masked it with a forced smile. "Indeed, a day of unexpected companionship."

With Eloise and Penelope joining their carriage, the dynamics of the outing shifted, the intimate connection between Y/N and Benedict momentarily set aside. The anticipation of the races mingled with the bittersweet understanding that the course of the day had taken an unforeseen turn.

As the carriage rumbled on, Y/N's thoughts were a swirl of conflicting emotions. She couldn't help but wonder what might have been had Eloise not intervened, and if the unspoken connection between her and Benedict would ever have the chance to fully blossom. The races awaited them, and Y/N resolved to make the most of the day, cherishing the unexpected moments that would inevitably unfold.

The carriage came to a halt, the excitement of the races permeating the air. Eloise and Penelope eagerly disembarked, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the bustling crowd. Benedict, however, gently held Y/N back for a moment, his gaze filled with a mix of remorse and longing. "Y/N, I must apologize," Benedict began, his voice laced with sincerity. "I should not have allowed the moment to almost carry us away. It was inappropriate, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Y/N's eyes softened, her hand instinctively reaching up to cup Benedict's face. "Benedict, there's nothing to apologize for. The intensity of our connection took us both by surprise. Let's cherish the memory without regrets."A tender smile graced her lips as she withdrew her hand, leaving Benedict momentarily speechless. With a sense of resolution, Y/N stepped forward, moving past him to catch up with Eloise and Penelope, her heart brimming with anticipation for the day's festivities.

Benedict watched her go, his mind filled with a mixture of awe and regret. He stood there for a moment, captivated by her grace and understanding. It was a moment he would replay in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the unexplored possibilities that danced between them. Taking a deep breath, Benedict composed himself and followed in Y/N's footsteps, determined to make the most of the day and perhaps, in his own time, find a way to navigate the uncharted waters of his heart.

As Eloise stood by the race tracks, her gaze fixed on the exhilarating sight of the horses thundering by, Penelope's attention seemed to be elsewhere. She turned her gaze toward Y/N and Benedict, who stood a short distance away. Penelope's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued by the dynamic between them. She watched as Y/N and Benedict shared glances, their gestures filled with an unspoken connection. A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Penelope's lips as she whispered to herself, "They look in love."

Though Penelope remained discreet, her observant nature allowed her to catch glimpses of the unspoken bond between Y/N and Benedict. It was a bittersweet realization, tinged with her own unspoken affections. She silently compared the looks shared between them to that shared by her and Colin. In that moment, Penelope found solace in her observations, content to cherish the fleeting glimpses of affection between Y/N and Benedict.

As the exhilarating races unfolded, fate seemed to play its own hand, resulting in Benedict's horse losing the race while Y/N's emerged victorious. With a playful sparkle in her eyes, Y/N couldn't resist teasing Benedict about his horse's misfortune.

"Well, it seems luck wasn't on your side today, Benedict," she teased, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips. "Perhaps next time, you'll have better odds." Benedict chuckled, his gaze locked with hers. "I suppose I'll have to make it up to you somehow, won't I?" Before Y/N could respond, Eloise leaned in, her voice barely audible as she whispered a remark that caught Benedict's attention. Her words carried a hint of mischief and approval, leaving him momentarily speechless.

A faint blush coloured Benedict's cheeks as he glanced at Eloise, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in his eyes. He quickly recovered, meeting Y/N's gaze with newfound resolve. Curiosity sparked within Y/N as she noticed the sudden shift in Benedict's demeanour. She couldn't help but wonder what Eloise had whispered to him, and a playful grin tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Come on, Benedict," she prodded, a hint of mischief in her voice. "You can't leave me in suspense like this. What did Eloise say?" Benedict's eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and secrecy. He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm afraid that's a secret between Eloise and me. I can't give away all our whispered exchanges, now can I?"

Y/N playfully pouted, feigning disappointment. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to find out on my own then." Benedict's gaze softened, his expression filled with affection. "Maybe someday, I'll tell you," he replied, his voice laced with a touch of vulnerability.

----

As the group made their way towards the exit, the crowd began to thin, allowing for easier navigation through the bustling event. Just as they were about to step out of the race grounds, a distinguished figure approached them. It was the Duke of Worthshire, a suitor Y/N had encountered before. The Duke wore a polite smile, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he addressed Y/N. "Lady Y/N, I must confess my disappointment that our potential union did not come to fruition."

Y/N's brows furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I'm not quite sure what you mean. We never agreed to marry, it was only a possibility of engagement." The Duke's gaze shifted, briefly locking onto Benedict, before returning to Y/N. "Ah, but you see, Lady Y/N, it was your host, Lord Anthony, who assured me that he had plans to propose to you himself. In light of that, I agreed to step aside and not pursue a formal engagement."

Surprise washed over Y/N's features, and she glanced at Benedict, who seemed equally bewildered by the Duke's revelation. The pieces started to fall into place, revealing a complex web of hidden intentions. "I... I was unaware of Lord Anthony's intentions," Y/N responded, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "But regardless, Your Grace, I appreciate your honesty and understanding."

The Duke nodded, a touch of regret in his eyes. "Indeed, Lady Y/N. It seems there was some miscommunication between us. Perhaps it is for the best. I wish you happiness in whatever path you choose." With a courteous bow, the Duke bid his farewell and turned to walk away, leaving Y/N and Benedict in a state of contemplation. "I had no idea Anthony had made such claims," Y/N murmured, her voice filled with a blend of surprise and frustration.

----

As they continued their journey back to the Bridgerton household, Y/N and Benedict sat side by side, sharing a silent understanding.

Benedict's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he sought out his older brother, Anthony, in the Bridgerton household. He found him in the study, a stern expression etched across his features.

"Anthony, we need to talk," Benedict stated firmly, his voice laced with an unmistakable edge.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, his tone guarded. "What is it, Benedict?"

Benedict crossed his arms, his frustration barely contained. "I just had a conversation with the Duke of Worthshire, Anthony. He claims that you assured him you were planning to propose to Y/N."

Anthony's eyes widened momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure. "Benedict, I assure you, I had no intention of misleading the Duke or anyone else. There must be some misunderstanding."

Benedict's jaw tightened, his disbelief evident. "Misunderstanding or not, your actions have consequences, Anthony. You may have unintentionally jeopardized Y/N's chances of finding genuine happiness." Anthony's gaze softened, understanding the weight of his brother's words. "Benedict, I may not have handled things as I should have, and for that, I apologize. But I love Y/N like a friend, and my intentions were never to hinder her happiness."

Benedict let out a frustrated sigh, his anger dissipating into a mix of disappointment and concern. "It's not just about your intentions, Anthony. It's about the impact your actions can have. Y/N deserves the chance to make her own choices, to find a love that is genuine and reciprocated."

Meanwhile, in her quiet solitude upstairs, Y/N reflected on the day's events. The revelations and encounters had stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her, leaving her uncertain yet determined. As she lay in bed, contemplating her future, she silently vowed to navigate the complexities of her heart and make decisions guided by her own desires.

As the heated exchange between Anthony and Benedict escalated, fueled by their conflicting emotions and mounting frustrations, their words eventually gave way to physical confrontation. Their brotherly bond strained under the weight of their disagreement, and they found themselves locked in a struggle that spilled beyond the confines of the study.

The sounds of their scuffle echoed through the Bridgerton household, reaching the ears of Y/N, who had been restlessly pacing in her room, unable to ignore the escalating tension. Her heart pounded with worry as she hurriedly made her way downstairs, fear and concern etched across her features.

As Y/N reached the scene of the altercation, her voice trembled with urgency. "Anthony! Benedict! Stop!" she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos.

The brothers froze momentarily, their gazes shifting towards Y/N, a mix of surprise and remorse washing over their faces. Benedict, still grappling with Anthony, released his hold, stepping back, his chest heaving with exertion.

Y/N rushed forward, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and disappointment. "What is happening? Why are you fighting?" she pleaded, her voice filled with a blend of worry and frustration.

Anthony's features twisted with a mix of remorse and frustration as he glanced at Benedict. "Y/N, it's complicated," he began, struggling to find the right words to explain their disagreement. Benedict, his anger washing away, met Y/N's gaze with a pained expression. "Y/N, we were arguing about you, about your happiness and the choices that lie before you," he confessed, his voice tinged with regret.

Y/N's brows furrowed, her voice laced with confusion. "Me? Why would you fight over me?"

As she looked at Benedict she saw his nose was bloodied, and she stepped down the stairs closer to him. “It was improper of me to expect your hand before it was said, I apologise.” Anthony rushed out ashamed, leaving y/n stood next to Benedict in the hallway. As she went to grab his hand she saw his knuckles were bruised and bloody and covered her mouth in shock. He withdrew his hands and ran up the stairs to the confines of his room.

---

Y/N approached Benedict's door with a gentle knock, her heart still heavy with the aftermath of the altercation. When there was no response, she cautiously pushed open the door, finding him sitting by the window, his face a mixture of shame and disappointment. "Benedict," she softly called his name, stepping into the room, her presence a soothing balm to the wounds, both seen and unseen. She carried a basin of water and a clean cloth in her hands, a gesture of care and concern.

His gaze lifted, meeting hers, a mixture of surprise and gratitude evident in his eyes. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of emotions. Setting the basin and cloth down on a nearby table, Y/N approached Benedict with a reassuring smile. "I thought you could use some care," she said gently, reaching out to take the cloth and dip it into the water.

Benedict watched her with a mix of vulnerability and gratitude, allowing her to tend to his injuries. As she gently dabbed at his bloodied nose and hands, her touch was gentle and soothing, her presence a calming presence amidst the storm that had unfolded. "I'm sorry, Y/N," Benedict spoke, his voice filled with remorse. "I let my frustrations get the best of me, and I never wanted to cause this kind of chaos."

Y/N's expression softened as she continued her ministrations. "We all make mistakes, Benedict," she said softly. "What matters is that we learn from them and strive to be better." Benedict nodded, his eyes fixed on her face, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and gratitude. "You have a way of seeing the best in people, Y/N. Even when we falter, you extend your forgiveness and understanding."

Y/N's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and curiosity upon hearing this. She settled back slightly, maintaining a respectful distance, yet her gaze remained locked with his. "Benedict," she began, her voice soft and filled with a hint of vulnerability, "why do you care for me so deeply? We've been through so much together, and I've always appreciated your friendship, but..."

Benedict took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he sought the right words. "Y/N, it's true. I care for you more than I can put into words. Your spirit, your strength, your unwavering pursuit of independence—it has captivated me from the moment we met."

A mixture of emotions swirled within Y/N's heart as she listened intently. She recognized the depth of his feelings, yet understood his hesitation. "But," Benedict continued, his voice laced with a touch of melancholy, "I've held back because I know how important your independence is to you. I don't want to push my feelings upon you or become an obstacle in your journey."

Y/N's words hung in the air, poised on the precipice of a heartfelt confession, when the study door swung open. Colin's concerned expression immediately replaced the air of intimacy that had enveloped the room. Colin's eyes widened as he took in the scene before him—the bloodied washcloth in Y/N's hand, the vulnerable expression on Benedict's face. "What on earth happened here?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

Y/N, caught off guard by Colin's sudden presence, quickly composed herself and stepped away from Benedict. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression a mix of embarrassment and apprehension. "I... I was just checking on Benedict," she stammered, her voice slightly unsteady. "He had a bit of a scuffle earlier. I was helping him clean up."

Colin's gaze shifted from Y/N to Benedict, his brows furrowing with concern. "Benedict, are you alright? What happened?" Benedict straightened himself, his voice steady as he replied, "I'm fine, Colin. Just a minor altercation, nothing to worry about."

Y/N, feeling the weight of the tension in the room, took a deep breath. She mustered the courage to address Colin directly. "I'll leave you both to talk," she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and reluctance. Without waiting for a response, Y/N swiftly turned and made her way out of the study, her steps quick and purposeful. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts, to process the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed her during that brief encounter.

As she stepped outside into the cool evening air, she took a moment to lean against a nearby wall, her heart still racing. The conflicting feelings of hope, uncertainty, and the weight of unspoken words danced within her. Y/N knew she had unfinished business with Benedict, but for now, it was important to give Colin and Benedict the space they needed to address the situation. She took a deep breath, grounding herself in the present moment, and made a silent promise to revisit the conversation when the time was right.

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kabigha-bighani · 4 months

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Kabigha-bighani,

Greetings! Welcome to the circle of Bighani Everbrook, formerly known by the illustrious titles Ruekali, Arkiscya, Ikerihse, Idyraihse, and Casrileya EB. This serves as your key introduction to my domain. I urge you to peruse this information thoroughly, as it acts as a safeguard against any potential misunderstandings. Your adherence to these details is greatly appreciated, and I am eager to facilitate your understanding.

Primarily, I go by the name Bighani, and I prefer to be addressed as Hani or by any of my previous names familiar to you. The user is of age (19+), I identify as pansexual, using she/they pronouns. Born under the Aquarius sign in February, my personality is encapsulated by the INTJ classification in the MBTI framework. Notably, I proudly stand as one of the founders of Everbrook Ink-Garde, a sisterhood to which I exclusively align. I am a mother of 4 (Salome, Adroula, Aksrue, Robi), loving ate of 3 (Lualhati, Miuccia, Jaguar & the whole EB) and a non-dating.

Prior to our interaction, it’s crucial to acknowledge certain triggers that profoundly impact me. Please take note: (1) I navigate the challenges of anxiety disorder and PCOS, making any jests about these off-limits. (2) Steer clear of sharing images related to my fears: frogs, brutal murders, and cockroaches, as they may elicit a strong reaction. (3) I strongly discourage the use of ACER Terms; those employing them may face automatic blocking. (4) My timeline is a space of inclusivity, but those exhibiting homophobic, zionist, racist, colorist, sexist, insensitive, Marcos apologist, DDS, enablers, or apolitical attitudes are not welcome.

With this understanding, I eagerly anticipate our future interactions, hoping that this insight paves the way for a more meaningful connection.

sending love,

Bighani Everbrook

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slow-burn-sally · 2 years

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Hiii I have two requests for the kisses ask meme! 1: #9 (War's End) kiss with Major Merlin and 2: #2 (Kiss on the forehead) with Strange/Segundus!

THANK YOU FRIEND

#9 (War's End) kiss with Major Merlin

Grant looks up as the door opens and Jonathan Strange strides into the room. It's been several years since he's seen Strange, can never think of him as anyone other than Merlin, even while those around him keep referring to the man as "the illustrious Mr. Strange" or "His Royal Majesty's Magician". To Grant, he'll always be just Merlin.

Strange is cornered by a pair of old veterans and pulled into a conversation on which canons should be decommissioned. His eyes flick over to Grant, and as their gazes meet, Grant feels that same sparking tug at his core whenever Strange looks at him.

It takes a long while until they can be alone. So many people wish to congratulate Strange on turning the tide against Napoleon, and to awkwardly offer their condolences on the loss of his wife, and whilst Grant has half as many admirers, he is also kept busy in conversation for several hours.

Eventually though, he sees Strange step into the library, and he follows him. No one else is there, and the blessed silence is a welcome balm to Grant's ears, which up until now had been accosted by the constant babble of conversation.

"Hello, Merlin," he says softly.

Strange turns to look at him and a warm smile blooms across his face. "Major Grant!" he exclaims happily. "I had wished to speak to you from the moment I arrived, but alas, fate had other plans."

He strides up to Grant, takes his hand and shakes it in both of his own. The warmth and pressure go straight to Grant's brain and make it break down like an old broken mill wheel.

"I must offer you condolences, Mr. Strange, on the death of your dear wife."

He watches as his words cause a shadow of pain to flit across Strange's face. "Thank you, Major Grant. That is appreciated. Only please call me Merlin. I cannot stand to be spoken to so formally by one I like so very much." His smile has warmed away the pain, and now his boyish charm is back.

Grant wants to kiss him. He knows this in a deep and unassailable part of himself. Has known it ever since he'd first seen the bombastic, clumsy country gentleman with his bouncing dark curls and crooked smile. He wants it so badly in fact that he does it. He leans in and presses his lips to Strange's cheek. This much is allowed, surely, between two men who've shared so much.

"I've missed you," he says into Strange's ear. He pulls away swiftly, but Strange follows him, turns his head and captures Grant's lips with his own. They stand stock still for a moment, lips held together, before parting.

"Merlin, I-"

"That was lovely," Strange says with a sad little smile. "I've wanted that for some time now."

Grant is stunned, but he quickly absorbs the meaning behind Strange's words and joy floods his heart. He smiles. "It was?"

"Yes," Strange steps close, pulls Grant to him by the hips and kisses him again, this time more soundly.

This kiss lingers a bit, and involves several soft little pecks as they slowly begin to separate.

"We should rejoin the party before people begin to talk," Grant says, feeling a small twinge of apprehension.

"You needn't worry about that, my darling," Strange says with a wave of his hand. The noises from the other room, of clinking glasses, loud bursts of laughter, the low murmur of many male voices speaking together, falls instantly silent. "No one will come looking for us now."

"I am continually awed by your skill with magic," Grant says fondly as he pulls Strange back into his arms. "I fear it has enchanted me, Merlin."

#2 (Kiss on the forehead) with Strange/Segundus!

Strange's visit to Starecross Hall is predictably too short. He does not feel the passage of time the same there as he does in other parts of the country. It is a house and an estate that seems to exist outside of time.

His visits to Mr. Segundus had happened more and more frequently in the months after he and Norrell had returned from the darkness. They had much to discuss after all, and Segunudus is always so very happy to see him.

They spend Strange's visits lounging beneath the large apple tree in the garden, discussing magic. On long walks on the moors, discussing magic. In long talks in the library over emptied glasses of port, discussing magic.

It is time for Strange to go, and yet, the sight of Segundus' large, dark eyes as he readies himself for the coach always tug at his heart a little.

The Headmaster of Starecross Hall is in the courtyard currently, clutching a book he wants to lend to Strange in his pale, long fingered hands and muttering distractedly to himself, which he is prone to do when left alone for longer than five minutes stitched together. He looks up as Strange steps out, coat on, hat in hand. Jeremy begins loading his bags onto the coach, and Strange steps up to John Segundus.

"Mr. Segundus, as always, it has been a lovely visit. You've been a warm and entertaining host."

"Thank you, Mr. Strange. Your visits are always gladly anticipated."

Jeremy climbs into the drivers' seat of the coach, along with the footman, and Strange knows their time has truly come to an end. He pulls Segundus by the elbow, back a little ways, out of the other men's line of sight. "I do so adore my visits," he says, his eyes searching Segundus'. His friend is so slender and pale, he needs a good deal more feeding and some time in the sun, and his scholarly paleness and slenderness always make Strange feel fiercely protective. "Goodbye, Mr. Segundus," Strange says softly, then places a lingering kiss to Segundus' smooth, cool brow.

He hears the slightest intake of breath from his friend, surprise at the intimacy of the touch, but then Segundus says "Goodbye Mr. Strange," his voice thick with suppressed emotion, and Strange knows without a shadow of a doubt that his feelings are returned.

They part with one last, lingering look, before Strange enters the coach and closes the door behind him. Segundus tips his hat at Strange, smiles his lovely shy smile, and Strange grins back at him, secure in the knowledge that he will receive more kisses at a later date.

They ride off into the crisp Yorkshire morning, Strange pressing his fingers to his lips and trying to recall the silky feel of Segundus' skin.

#major merlin #strangegundus #jonathan strange #colquhoun grant #john segundus #jonathan strange and mr. norrell #THANK YOU FRIEND #this was so fun!#writing prompt meme

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veryfurrytales · 2 months

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Avast Ye Catmrades! Set yer sights on the horizon, for on the illustrious National Cat Day, we be kickin' off a wild adventure like no other! With these two pirates – one of 'em a fluffy feline of mighty purrportions – we've crafted a boat fit for explorin' the waters of Tumblr. 🏴‍☠🏴‍☠🏴‍☠ But Catmrades, let it be known – we be clueless 'bout these waters, lackin' a compass, a map, or a destination in sight! We cannot foretell the twists and turns that await us on this tumultuous sea. Yet fear not, for we promise nothin' but to hoist the flag of commitment and our utmost efforts to share updates from our voyage regularly. 🌊🌊🌊 It is crucial to recognize that this adventure is not meant for a select few. All hands on deck, as the success of our exploration hinges on yer support - without it, our boat is doomed to Davy Jones' locker! With open hearts and outstretched hands, we welcome fellow meowventurers from far and wide to contribute their unique spark to our voyage. 🏴‍☠🏴‍☠🏴‍☠ Expect the unexpected! Anticipate encounters with foes ready to challenge us at every turn. A sense of clumsiness and comical mishaps may weave their way into our quest. Our minds may forge bizarre associations, leading to a tapestry of weird humor and jokes. 🌊🌊🌊 Today is the day when the stars align and the tides turn in our favor. So raise the anchor, Catmrades!

#pirates #cat #blackcat #frociaki #veryfurry #furrytales

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wisdomrays · 1 year

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WASIL (One Who Has Reached): Part 2

The ascension toward God and meeting with Him which was achieved by the great saints, according to the capacity of each, is a manifestation of the Ascension of the Messenger of God and his meeting with God, which is expressed :

At that moment, the Divine Being manifested

Himself in such overflow that

There was no longer space or the heavens.

The difference between the ascension and meeting with God that is achieved by great saints who follow in the footsteps of the Messenger, which are a manifestation of his Ascension and meeting with Him, compared to the Messenger's own Ascension and meeting with God, is as great as the difference between a saint and the Messenger.

Among those who have reached the final point of nearness to God are others who, having drowned in the spiritual experience where the existence of all things and beings including themselves is annihilated in the Eternally and Truly Existent One's Own existence, crown self- annihilation in the ocean of annihilation with a return to life in the horizon of sobriety. They do so in order to be able to have others feel the spiritual pleasures they have achieved, through the windows of the states and stations they have attained, and thus they share the favors that have been accorded to them with those souls that are capable of receiving. Thus, as a requirement of being heirs to the mission of Prophethood, they graciously return among us.

These noble servants of the Ultimate Truth are extremely meticulous in observing the Divine orders and prohibitions, both at the beginning and end of their journeying. They never display attitudes or make utterances which do not conform to the rules of the Shari'a, either in their experiences of attraction toward God, or in the peaks of their disclosures and observations of the Divine truths where the lights of the Divine Face burn away everything. Without exhibiting any attitude that is irreconcilable with servanthood to God, they always try their utmost to carry out whatever servanthood to God requires their willpower to do, as decreed in, And (continue to) worship your Lord until what is certain ( death) comes to you (15:99). They carry out their duties of service according to the depth of their knowledge of God and love of Him, and commensurate with their experiences of attraction. They prefer being servants at the door of the Ultimate Truth to all other achievements and stations, and they always give precedence to servanthood to Him over the rewards that come from Him. Regarding their knowledge of Him as insufficient on any given occasion, they emphasize their inability to give due thanks for God's favors to them. Saying, "We have not been able to worship You as worshipping You requires, O Worshipped One," they confess that they have not been able to do anything worthy of mention in the name of worshipping God. With the words, "We have not been able to know You as knowing You requires, O Known One," they excuse themselves for their lack of sufficient capacity of knowing God. And by uttering, "We have not been able to thank You as thanking You requires, O Thanked One," they sigh with a deep sense of shame as they are unable to give due thanks for the limitless favors of the All- Favoring.

These people of great stature are extraordinarily self-possessed, exceptionally aware, and full of feelings of fear and awe, even when carrying out their duties with the deepest commitment and responsibility. It can be said that their inner worlds are best pictured and manifested by the Divine declaration, Who do whatever they do and give whatever they give in charity and for God's cause, with their hearts trembling at the thought that they are bound to return to their Lord (remaining anxious, for they are unsure whether God will accept from them and be pleased with them). It is those (illustrious ones) who hasten to do all kinds of virtuous deeds, and they are in a virtuous competition with one another in doing them (3:114). In any case, God knows the ultimate truth in all matters.

O God! Show us the truth as truth and enable us to observe it, and show us falsehood as falsehood and enable us to avoid it. And bestow Your blessings and peace upon our master, Muhammad, whom You have chosen among all creation, made perfectly pure, and favored with Messengership, and on his Family and Companions, whom You have chosen and favored with blessings.

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

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Ask the Stars [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Find my masterlist here. Requests are Open.

Requested: Yes l No

A/N: I’ve had this idea floating around for a while and finally decided to write it and it flowed liked nobodies business! I LOVED writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it. Special thanks to the angel @dreatine who gave me the title for this fic and showing me the beautiful song the title is from (lyrics for which can be found throughout). Set pre-BAU.

CW: swearing, drinking, mutual pining, friends to lovers, age gap between consenting adults, virgin! Spencer, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, groping. I think that’s everything!

Plot: growing up together, best friends Spencer and the reader have always been secretly in love with one another. But a night together under the stars might be too little too late and with Spencer moving to DC and you to Idaho, that one night may be all you ever get.

WC: 12.2K

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Ask the stars up in the sky,

Ask the stars they’ll tell you why.

Stars know ev’ry little thing you do,

There’s a little star that’s watching you.

Ask the stars when you’re with me,

Ask the stars then watch and see.

Las Vegas, Nevada - 2003

Spencer didn’t think he would have made it through the last ten years of his life and been where he was now if it hadn't been for the family next door.

He was just twelve years old when they’d moved in, struggling to cope with high school bullies and his mom's schizophrenia all on his own.

They would help out with his mom in any way they could, they had him round for dinner when it was too tough for him to go home and they took him along on their annual camping trips every year.

They had been there for him when he’d had to have his mom committed when he was eighteen. They were kind, friendly people. They treated Spencer like their own son.

He liked to pretend when he was with them that they were his family. He liked to play pretend, that he had a loving father and a mom who wasn’t sick.

He lived in a fantasy world whenever he was with them.

But Spencer’s favourite part about the family next door by far, was their daughter, Y/N.

You were four years Spencer’s junior, just an adorable eight year old when you’d moved in next door to the young genius and his mother. The two of you had grown up together and somewhere along the way attraction and feelings developed.

Of course neither one of you had ever said as much. You were best friends, you didn’t want to risk destroying that by confessing your feelings for him.

And besides, at the end of the summer the two of you were going your separate ways; you were off to college in Idaho and Spencer was moving to DC for his illustrious new job at the FBI.

This was the last chance the two of you had to spend time together before everything inevitably changed. So maybe going on a camping trip with your parents at eighteen was a little lame. But there was one reason and one reason alone you were going on the trip.

Spencer Reid.

***

Just as you were lugging the last of your bags out of the front door, you heard the front gate creak open.

Your eyes shot up and landed instantly on his as he slipped through the gate.

You immediately dropped the bag on the floor and were dashing down the front steps and down the path.

“Spence!” You squealed, running at him at speed.

He caught you in his arms and the two of you almost went tumbling back to the concrete but he managed to steady you both.

“Whoa Y/N,” he laughed, wrapping you tightly in his arms. “I missed you too.”

You clung to your best friend, breathing in his scent. He’d only been gone two months finishing up his third PhD, but it felt like forever.

The last few years Spencer’s studies had taken him away from Vegas much more than you would have both liked. He’d missed the last two family camping trips and they had been so dull without him.

You were so happy to have him back for one last trip.

“It’s so good to see you.” You smiled, pulling back from the hug to get a proper look at him. Of course over the years you’d memorised every sculpted curve of his face, those sharp cheekbones, deep set eyes and sinfully plump lips but you would never tire of looking at him.

“Y/N, Spencer, it’s time to go!” Your mom hollered from the street, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Give me a hand with my bag?”

“Of course.” He smiled, following up the path to the house.

You felt lighter when Spencer was around, like all of your worries and fears just melted away.

You had no idea how you would cope with him in DC while you were in Idaho. But that was a problem for another day.

For now you were just revelling in Spencer’s presence.

***

Admittedly camping with your parents was never a terrible experience. Your dad was the outdoorsy type, your mom was not. So they compromised.

Yes you were in the woods but your mom would not allow sleeping in rustic tents. Every year she booked up the most glamorous of tents for your stays. Wood flooring, real beds, even nightstands and lamps.

So technically you were sleeping in a tent, but it was just as comfortable, if not more so than your bedroom at home. The site was equipped with showers and real toilets. It wasn’t really like camping at all.

“Oh Spencer sweetie,” your mom called to him as you were unpacking the car several hours of driving later.

“Yes?” He looked up at her with a smile.

“Did Y/N tell you, we weren’t able to book three pods this year, I must have called late. I hope it’s ok for the two of you to share?”

Wow. Your mom was a better liar than you pegged her to be.

Even your dad seemed to fall for it.

When she’d told you a few days ago, you’d seen right through it.

You knew your mom had known for a long time of your crush on your genius neighbour. She’d probably known before even you did.

So you didn’t question it when she’d told you she’d only been able to book two camping pods, but you were sure your blush gave away exactly what you thought about it.

“Uhm yeah I guess that’s fine.” He shrugged and was that a blush you saw spreading to his cheeks? “I’ve got my sleeping bag, I can just sleep on the floor.”

Not if I have anything to do with it, you thought but his response seemed to appease your father.

Once Spencer went back to emptying the bags from the car your mom gave you a look and a small smirk.

You tried not to blush. Your mom had always been pretty cool for a mom and you had never been more grateful for that until right now.

You finished unpacking the car and took your stuff to your allocated tent to change before heading down to the lake.

Spencer took some clothes to the toilets to change and you spent longer than was necessary picking out the perfect bathing suit.

The last time Spencer had seen you in a bathing suit was two years ago and boy had your body changed in two years. You couldn’t wait to show it off to him.

You just hoped he liked what he saw.

***

Thankfully Spencer had already dived into the water before you took off your summer dress and unsheathed the glorious body you were hiding underneath the fabric.

The water made for a great way to hide the erection that almost immediately grew when he saw you in that bathing suit.

He tried not to look at you, mostly because your parents were there and he was sure they wouldn’t be happy with him gawking over their daughter.

But he was in essence, a cold blooded male. He’d had a crush on you for about as long as he could remember, you’d grown up together, surely it was only inevitable?

But you were his best friend. You were the only real friend he’d ever had. And he didn’t want to ruin that by sexualising you. But god that would be so much easier to do if you weren’t so damn hot.

When had you stopped being the adorable girl next door who used to play with her pony toys in the front yard? When did you become this drop dead gorgeous woman standing before him in a scantily clad bathing suit?

You had changed since the last time he’d seen you in so little clothes. You’d developed curves in what Spencer thought was all the right places.

You looked up and your eyes met his and you gave him a bright smile that made him feel a little weak. You walked to the edge of the lake and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You walked with poise, a sense of a confidence Spencer could never muster. He watched as you dove into the water so gracefully, and re-emerge a few feet in front of him.

You pushed your wet hair off your face and waded closer to him, wiping the water from your eyes.

Spencer felt a lump forming in his throat the closer you got. His eyes betrayed him and they fell to your chest, the water droplets rolling over your skin shimmered in the sun.

How I want to lick those beads of water off your skin.

“You ok?” You laughed, coming to a stop in front of him.

“M-me? Y-yes why wouldn’t I b-be.” He stuttered at the close proximity he now found himself in to you. He could reach out and touch you. He could reach out and kiss you.

He did neither.

“Come here,” he raised your hands out of the water. “Your hair is going to get in your eyes.”

You gently stroked a strand of Spencer’s wet hair out of his face and it sent a shiver racing up his spine.

His cock was aching. He’d never been touched by a woman in such a way. He’d never been touched by a woman in any way and honestly it felt like he could blow his load just from you stroking back his hair.

“Much better.” You smiled at him, leaving him feeling a little downtrodden when you withdrew your hand.

“Uh thanks.” He croaked, feeling light headed.

“You’re welcome.”

For a moment the two of you stared at each other, eyes locked as though communicating subconsciously.

Spencer wanted to grab hold of you and kiss you like there was no tomorrow. He wanted to pull you close and feel your body pressed up against his own, run his fingers over your every curve.

He wanted his hands to get lost in your hair. He wanted to bury himself between your thighs. He wanted to feel you, to taste you.

Honestly you were thinking the same, he just didn’t know it. His white t-shirt cling to his skin now soaked in water and you could just make out the soft skin of his chest underneath. You wanted to run your hands over that skin, through his hair, over every part of his body.

You wanted to feel him inside of you, his fingers, his cock, anything. You wanted to stare deep into his eyes while he made you come.

All of a sudden Spencer snapped out of his trance before he did something to make a fool of himself.

“I’ll race you to the next dock!” He dove beneath the surface before you had time to register his words.

You watched him go, splashing a lot as he swam, gangly limbs flailing.

It took you a few seconds to pick your mind up out of the gutter and start swimming after him.

Being the much more adept swimmer, despite Spencer’s head start you managed to beat him to the next dock.

He was much more out of breath than you when he arrived.

“How did you get into the FBI again?” You laughed as he gripped hold of the dock for dear life.

“They ultimately had to make exceptions to allow me into the field.” He panted.

“Clearly.” You teased. “Ohh and look, we’re right by the jet ski hire!” You pulled yourself up on the dock and sat on the edge looking down at Spencer.

“You know I hate those things. Did you know there are around seven hundred jet ski related accidents every year which results in approximately forty deaths? I don’t like those odds, I’ll wait on the dock.”

He tried and failed to get out of the water and in the end you had to help hoist him up.

“No way, you're coming with me.” You stood up and pulled him to his feet as well.

“I most certainly am not.” He made the mistake of looking into your eyes. Those beautiful expressive eyes that could probably make him commit murder.

“Please?” You asked softly and he was like putty in your hands.

“F-fine.” He grumbled.

“Yay!” You squealed a little, throwing yourself into his arms.

Your body pressed up against his and he tentatively wrapped his arms around you.

Your wet bathing suit and his wet t-shirt clung to each other and he could feel your every curve.

Thankfully you pulled away before he got too excited. You took hold of his hand now and started leading him towards the hire booth.

Honestly he’d let you lead him anywhere.

***

Spencer was still shaking almost ten minutes after pulling up in the small alcove a way up the lake and dismounting the jet ski.

He’d enjoyed the close proximity with you it had involved but it didn’t make up for the sheer terror of your haphazard driving.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You laughed staring down at him as he laid on the grass.

“All I’ll say is, if you drove a car like that I would never let you drive me anywhere.”

“It’s a jet ski Einstein, they are supposed to go fast.” You nudged his ribs with your toe. “Get up, we need to head back.”

“I would literally rather swim back.” He groaned.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his ribs again.

“It’s probably almost a mile back, don’t be so dramatic.” You leant over him and took hold of his hands, pulling him into a sitting position. “How about you drive? That way we can go at a granny pace.”

“Funny.” He grumbled, getting to his feet. “But I will drive actually. I’d rather not die of a heart attack on this lake.”

You slid the rubber band over your hand that the key dangled from and tossed it at Spencer.

He flapped about trying to catch it and just managed to stop it falling to the floor.

You got in your positions on the jet ski. You wrapped yourself tighter around him than was necessary, your arms snaking around his waist and resting on his stomach.

Spencer shuddered but he hoped you would think it was due to the wind.

It could have been the wind but the timing seemed a little too convenient. Did your touch really have that effect on him? He’d never given you any indication that he liked you in that way, but could it be possible? Maybe you would have to test that out.

Spencer took a tentative breath and started the jet ski’s engine. You tightened your hold on him as it started moving.

Spencer was slow to start with just like you had assumed he would be. It was quite nice actually. You had a chance to revel in the way the water felt as it splashed onto your bare legs, the way the wind felt in your hair.

But mostly you were wrapped up in the way it felt to be this close to Spencer.

You pressed your chest into your back, making sure he could feel your breasts on him. You started by gently moving your fingers over the fabric of his t-shirt, round in little circles on his stomach.

As he picked up the speed a little you dared to let your fingers drop a little lower, over his hip bones. You felt him tense a little but due to the sound of the jet ski you didn’t hear the way his breath hitched at your touch.

You moved your hands again, your fingers gently grazing the waistband of his swim shorts.

Spencer practically jumped at your touch so near his crotch and he inadvertently swerved sharply, so sharply that it sent the two of you flying off the seat and crashing into the water.

The engine cut off when the key attached around Spencer’s wrist was yanked out with him.

You both broke the surface, spluttering a little.

“What the hell Spencer?” you pushed your hair back off your face. “Why did you do that?”

Because you have no idea how long I have wanted you to touch me like that.

“You uh...your...I don’t know. I just lost control I guess.” he didn’t want to tell you that your touch had sent him into a tailspin and he had completely lost his focus.

But you had a pretty good idea that was what had happened. And if that was the case, why? Why had your touch affected him in that way? Surely he did not feel for you the way you felt about him?

It couldn’t be possible. But it surely did seem that way.

“I’ll drive the rest of the way.” you told him, rather than pushing him. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

But you might have to test this more, maybe on stable ground.

You both climbed back up onto the jet ski, Spencer slightly less gracefully than you, and he handed you over the key.

You made it back to the jet ski hire with no further incident and Spencer was happy to be back on dry land. Although he did miss the closeness the jet ski brought.

“I need to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back ok?” Spencer told you while you returned your life vests.

“Sure, I’ll be here.” you gave him a soft smile.

He couldn’t help but give your body a once over again, it was accidental, he couldn’t stop himself. The feeling of your fingers on his waistband and your chest pressed up against his back were imprinted in his mind and by the time he reached the bathroom he was hard again.

Making sure there was no one else in the bathroom he shut himself in one of the cubicles. He leant against the closed door and exhaled a shaky breath.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had touched himself while thinking of you but this seemed dirty. This wasn’t the comfort of his own bedroom where no one would catch him.

But he knew he needed to take care of this otherwise it would plague him all day.

With another shaky breath he relieved himself from his swim shorts. He closed his eyes, taking his length in his hand and started stroking himself. He bit his lip hard to stem his moans as he pictured you in that sinful bathing suit.

He imagined your fingers moving from his waistband inside his pants and tried to imagine it was your fingers wrapped around him.

He was panting and mumbling your name in no time and it didn’t take long at all for him to come.

He cleaned himself up as well as the tiled floor he had dirtied before using the facilities and heading back outside.

God he hoped you wouldn’t see his deed written all over his face, he would be mortified.

But by the looks of it, you were too busy to notice anything.

The guy putting the moves on you was shorter than Spencer but much more broad and muscular. He had sun kissed skin and beach blonde hair. He had a charming smile and it was clearly working its magic on you.

Spencer approached slowly, you didn’t seem to notice. As he reached your side the man looked over at him with a frown.

“Can we help you?” he asked Spencer.

“Spence, hi.” you smiled at him before turning all your attention back on the other man. “Greg, this is my best friend Spencer. Spencer, this is Greg.”

Best friend, of course, because that’s how you saw him. Friends. Only ever friends.

You hadn’t had any intention of talking to someone while Spencer was gone but when Greg had approached you, you engaged in friendly conversation.

He was attractive, sure, but in your eyes he had nothing on Spencer.

But there was something in Spencer’s eyes that looked a lot like jealousy. Maybe you could use Greg to your advantage?

“Greg invited us to a party at the lake tonight.” you spoke when neither man said anything.

“I actually invited you to a party.” Greg corrected you.

“Oh.” Spencer squeaked a little.

“I’m only coming if Spencer does.” You told Greg with a seductive smile.

Greg smiled at you and stepped a little closer.

“How can I say no to a face like yours.” He ran his finger over your cheek and Spencer wanted to smack him. “I’ll see you tonight babe.” He winked at you before sauntering away.

“He seems like a complete jackass.” Spencer grumbled once Greg was out of ear shot.

“You didn’t even speak to him.” You frowned at your friend.

“Neither did you, not really. I was only gone five minutes. I don’t think we should go to that party.”

“And why not?” You folded your arms over your chest.

“Because we don’t know him. He could be some creep for all we know.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.” You stepped closer to Spencer making him swallow. “Are you jealous Spencer?”

“W-what?” He croaked. “Jealous? W-why would I be j-jealous?”

It was written all over his face. He was jealous.

“I don’t know Spence, you tell me.” You stepped even closer to him now, so close he could feel your breath on his face.

You let your hands drop to your side.

“Do you want me for yourself Spencer? Because you know all you’d have to do is ask.”

Good god, what are you doing to me?

Of course he wanted you all to himself, it’s all he’d ever wanted. But that didn’t change the fact you were his best friend and you were moving to different states.

Telling you he wanted you was completely pointless.

“Of course not.” He tried to scoff, forcing himself to step back away from you. “If you want Greg that’s fine by me.”

“Fine.” You spat.

“Fine.” Spencer mirrored.

And with that you turned on your heels and stormed away.

Maybe you’d been wrong after all. Of course Spencer didn’t like you. What a stupid thought that had been.

***

That night your dad allowed you and a very reluctant Spencer to use his car to head back to the lake and meet Greg and his friends.

You and Spencer hadn’t said much of anything to each other since that afternoon but if your parents had noticed they didn’t say anything.

You felt foolish for thinking he could have possibly been jealous. Of course there was no way the brilliant Spencer Reid looked at you that way. There was no way he would deem you smart enough or interesting enough.

It had clearly all been in your head. Or so you thought.

But of course it hadn’t.

Spencer had wanted to scream at you that of course he was jealous and of course he wanted you all to himself, but he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. There was no way he was confessing his feelings for you. He’d done a good job of keeping them hidden up until now and he certainly wasn’t going to let Greg be the reason he told you.

He would take his feelings for you to the grave. It was easier that way. It was easier than ruining your friendship.

You drove to the lake in stifled silence. Normally small talk wasn’t an issue for the two of you, you could talk about anything and everything for hours on end. But for the first time, neither of you had anything to say to one another.

Thankfully it wasn’t a long drive to the lake and you pulled up soon enough and exited the car as soon as you shut off the engine.

Spencer sighed loudly once alone in the car. This was the last time the two of you would be together in god knows how long and you were in a fight already on the first day of the trip.

He didn’t think the two of you had ever fought, not properly anyway. Was this a fight? Spencer wasn’t even sure. He hoped not. He spent a few minutes alone in the car just collecting himself.

He got out of the car and followed in your footsteps. You were already down by a bonfire near the lake edge with none other than Greg. Greg had his arm around your shoulders as he handed you a bottle of beer which you took with a smile.

Spencer took a deep breath before heading towards you. He really didn’t want to be a third wheel with the two of you but he also didn’t have the kind of confidence it took to go and talk to new people.

Third wheel it is.

“Hi,” you barely acknowledged him as he joined you and Greg and if Spencer wasn’t mistaken you moved your body closer to Greg.

He gave you a half-smile and nodded in Greg’s direction.

“Can I get you a beer?” Greg asked him.

“No thanks. One of us is going to have to drive back and looks like that’s going to be me.” Spencer shrugged, trying not to sound annoyed but he clearly did because he saw you roll your eyes.

“Want to take a walk Greg?” you smiled at the other man who gave your shoulders a squeeze as he eyed you up and down.

“I would love that.” he chuckled and before Spencer knew it he was leading you away from him.

It had been all of two minutes and you had already abandoned him. Great.

He turned away from the lake and started back up towards the car assuming he would just wait for you there while you were off doing god knows what with Greg.

He made his way towards the car but didn’t get very far before someone ran into him, knocking him to the floor.

“Ow.” he groaned as he hit the ground, someone landing roughly on top of him.

“Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!” she pushed herself off of him, standing up before holding out a hand to help him.

Spencer took it and allowed the stranger to pull him to his feet.

“I was chasing after a frisbee and I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you ok?” she was smiling sweetly at him and Spencer couldn’t help but think it was a very pretty smile.

Maybe not as pretty as yours but pretty in its own right.

“It’s ok.” he told her, shaking it off. “These things happen. I’m uh...I’m Spencer.”

She smiled again and nodded.

“Rose.” she replied. “Would you care to join me for a drink Spencer?”

“You know what?” Spencer smiled. “I don’t mind if I do.”

***

You and Greg had walked further up the lake and found a spot near the water's edge to sit. It didn’t take long before his lips were on yours and his fingers were in your hair.

It was...nice. It was nothing special but it was ok. And you couldn’t help but wish it was Spencer’s lips pressed against your own.

When Greg’s hands moved from your hair down to your breasts, palming them through your top a little roughly, you pushed him back.

“Nuh uh.” you shook your head frowning at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on babe, we’re just having a little fun.”

“We can have fun without you groping me.” you picked up your beer bottle and swigged from it.

“I didn’t peg you as a prude Y/N.” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Because I’m not. I prefer the term selective.” you scoffed.

He didn’t take your reluctance as a no however and he moved in again, his lips latching on to your neck and his hand finding your thigh.

He moved his hand higher up your bare leg, over your denim shorts and soon his fingers were toying with the button.

Once again you pushed him, harder than before.

“Hey asshole.” you spat. “I said no.”

He rolled his eyes, picking up his own beer, downing the contents and then tossing it away.

“You’re a drag.” he groaned. “Is this because of that pipe cleaner friend of yours?”

“No.” you pushed yourself up from the ground, grabbing your beer. “This has nothing to do with Spencer. I just don’t like pushy men who think they’re god's gift to women.”

You turned away from him and started back towards the bonfire you could see burning brightly in the distance.

“Girls like you are a dime a dozen.” he called after you.

You flipped him the bird over your shoulder but you didn’t turn back to look at him.

“Asshole.” you muttered to yourself.

You should have listened to Spencer, he’d always been a good judge of character. Maybe you’d have to apologise to him.

You made your way back to the bonfire to find him and make up but you didn’t have to look far.

He was sitting on one of the logs next to the fire but he wasn’t alone.

He had a petite redhead sitting in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. And her lips were hungrily exploring his.

“Oh god.” you felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest, like all the air had been forced from your lungs.

You lost your grip on the beer bottle and it fell to the ground.

His hands were gently on her hips, holding her place while he explored her mouth.

Your tears came out of nowhere, alarming you as they started heavily cascading down your cheeks.

Just as a sob wracked your body, you took off running up the bank and towards the car.

You couldn’t watch anymore. Seeing Spencer kiss that girl made your heart feel like it was shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

You got back in the car and sobbed. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Spencer and that girl, locking lips.

And all you could think was, it should be me.

***

“Sorry if that was really forward of me.” Rose blushed a little when the kiss ended.

Spencer was blushing too, but he had been since their lips first touched.

“I-it’s o-ok.” he stuttered, completely baffled by what had just happened. “I-it was n-nice.”

“I hope it was a little more than nice.” Rose giggled.

But it wasn’t. It was simply nice. It was a nice kiss but it wasn’t with you. He’d kissed girls before but it never felt quite right. And he knew it was because he wasn’t kissing you.

He didn’t speak, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Rose’s face fell a little and she slid off Spencer’s lap onto the log next to him.

“I know that look.” she chewed her lip. “That’s the look of a guy who is thinking about someone else.”

He wanted to argue with her but it seemed pointless.

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged pathetically. “You’re beautiful and you have no idea how much I wish I wasn’t thinking about someone else. But I am. I always am.”

“It’s ok.” She placed her hand gently on his knee. “It was nice to meet you Spencer.” She pushed herself up from the log.

“You too Rose.” He stood too, needing to find you before you did anything stupid with Greg.

Just as he had this thought, Greg came wandering towards the bonfire alone.

“Where’s Y/N?” Spencer rushed over to him.

“How should I know?” Greg scoffed. “That girl is a cock tease. Not worth my time.”

“Don’t say that.” Spencer practically whined, making Greg chuckle.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Greg snarled at him.

“I uh...I need to find Y/N.” He changed the subject. He did not want to get into a fight because he would most certainly lose.

“Whatever.” Greg scoffed, turning away from Spencer.

Spencer scanned the crowds but couldn’t see you, he knew he’d be able to pick you out of any crowd.

He practically sprinted back to the car, hoping to find you there and as luck would have it, there you were in the driver's seat.

But even in the dark he could see that you were crying.

He ran to the passenger door and flung it open.

“Oh my god Y/N, what’s wrong?” He threw his arms around you, pulling you closer over the console.

“Get off me.” You pushed him away, sniffing back your tears.

“What’s wrong? What did Greg do?” He asked clearly not noticing your hostility towards him.

You sighed, not wanting to tell your best friend you were crying over seeing him kiss another girl, you shook your head, fixing your seatbelt in place.

“Nothing. I just want to forget all about tonight.” You started the engine.

“O-ok.” Spencer chewed his lip.

Neither of you spoke again on the drive back to the campsite or once you were back in your pod.

You slipped into the bed and Spencer in his sleeping bag on the floor.

Neither of you got much sleep that night, you both had too much on your mind. Namely, being in love with your best friends who were seemingly oblivious.

***

The next morning when you awoke you decided today was a new day. You weren’t going to allow yourself to spend the whole trip being mad at Spencer.

You’d never seen him with a girl before, it had been a shock. But he was twenty two, he must have had girlfriends before you guess he’d just chosen not to tell you. And it wasn’t as though you’d never been with a man.

You resided yourself to the fact that you and Spencer were destined to be friends and that was ok. At least it would be ok. It had to be.

You knelt down on the floor next to his sleeping bag and watched him for a second. He was sound asleep, his breathing soft and even. His plump lips were parted ever so slightly and his hair was draped over the pillow. His eyelashes grazed the skins under his eyes.

Maybe it would be a little harder than you thought to just see him as a friend.

Suddenly his eyes fluttered open and landed on you.

He frowned a little, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Uh...good morning.” He croaked, voice riddled with sleep. “Were you staring at me while I slept?”

“No.” You scoffed, standing back up. “I was just wondering if I could free your hand and put it in a glass of water, see if that peeing thing really works.” You started rummaging through one of your bags to hide your blush from Spencer.

“Mature.” He laughed a little as he sat up. “Hey Y/N, are you ok?”

You took a few deep breaths and turned back to him with a large, fake smile on your lips.

“I’m great.” You beamed. “Now get up sleepy head, we’re going for a hike!”

And with that you took your clothes and stepped over him, undoing the front of the tent pod and disappearing.

Spencer ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

He wished falling out of love with you was as easy as it had been falling in love with you.

Not being in love with his best friend would make his life so much easier. But life never was good to Spencer.

***

Spencer loved your family but you were all much more athletic than he could ever hope to be. After a five mile hike, Spencer was exhausted. Sweat made his shirt cling to his body and his hair stick to his forehead.

When your mom had suggested stopping for the picnic she had packed, he was more than happy to oblige.

He practically fell to the grass on his back, panting and sweating.

“If it wasn’t for that huge brain of yours there is no way you would have gotten into the FBI.” you laughed as you flopped down next to him.

“Be nice Y/N.” your mom scalded you to which you rolled your eyes.

Your mom set some food while your dad poured glasses of soda for you all. You spent an hour sitting in the sunshine eating while Spencer worked on getting his breath back.

They still had a five mile walk back.

Spencer found himself stealing glances at you as you ate, like he usually did. He never grew tired of watching you.

You were wearing cargo pants and a vest top. His eyes caressed the side of your neck and the curve of your shoulder and your collarbone. Your skin glistened a little from the heat.

His eyes grazed up to the side of your face and the stray strand of hair that fell onto your face. He wanted to lean in and tuck behind your ear but that seemed too intimate.

He must have been watching you for a long time because when he resurfaced from his thoughts your mom was packing up what was left of the picnic.

“Spence and I will make our way back.” You stood up and brushed down the back of your cargo pants.

“Don’t get lost.” You dad shot you a sarcastic look.

“We’ll be fine. Come on Spence.” You encouraged to which he stood too.

“See you later.” He waved at your parents before following where you had already started walking.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” He asked once he caught up with you.

“No idea.” You shrugged.

“Oh good, just what I want. To get lost in the woods with you.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah I’m sure you’d much rather get lost in the woods with that redhead from last night, right?” The bitterness was seeping from your words.

Spencer stopped in his tracks.

“Uh...what redhead?” He tried to lie, he didn’t know what you’d seen so he didn’t want to give away too much.

“Don’t play dumb Spencer.” You stopped too so you could look at him. “The one who was cosied up on your lap, eating your face.”

“Oh. That redhead.” He chewed his lip. “I uh...didn’t realise you saw that.”

“Well I did.” You shrugged. “Looked like you were having fun.”

“It w-was...she was nice I guess.”

“Good.” You spat a little more harshly than you’d meant to.

Spencer frowned, stepping closer to you, leaves crunching under foot.

“Are you annoyed?”

“What? No. Why would I be annoyed?” You scoffed, giving him your best eye roll.

“You seem annoyed.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Good. Because you wouldn’t have any right to be.” It was like he was poking a bear with a stick. He was trying to get a rise out of you.

“And why wouldn’t I?” It was working, you were rising to it.

“Because you left me alone while you went off to do god knows what with Greg. I had to pass the time somehow.”

“By sticking your tongue down some random girl's throat?”

“I’m sure you were doing much more with him.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You growled, stepping closer to him now.

“You know exactly what that means.” He stepped closer to you too, as though you were challenging each other.

“You really think I was off fucking him?” You raised your voice. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Weren’t you?” He shrugged.

“I most certainly was not! He tried to get fresh with me and I pushed him away. He was a jackass! And then I come back to find you making out with that girl!”

“So you are annoyed about that?”

“Yes, happy? Yes I am annoyed about that.” You yelled.

Spencer closed the space between you but you stepped backwards away from him. He backed you into a tree where you collided with the bark.

He put his hands either side of your head pinning you in place.

Where had this side of him come from?

“Why are you annoyed Y/N?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.” You tried to insist but you knew he could see right through you.

“Tell me. Tell me why you’re annoyed with me for Christ sakes Y/N! What did I do that was so wrong? I was just having some fun.”

“Without me.” You pouted.

“I can’t have fun without you?”

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head, very conscious of how close Spencer was to you.

“So what is it then? Tell me.”

“I don’t like seeing you with another girl ok?” You raised your voice again.

“But I have to see you with another man?”

“I offered myself to you Spencer. I said all you had to do was ask. You said no. What was I supposed to think?”

“Y-you…you meant that?” His facade faltered and his hands fell to his sides.

“Of course I did.” You spat.

“You...you…” he swallowed.

“It should have been me you were kissing. Asshole.” You mumbled pathetically.

Spencer didn’t know what came over him at that moment but he couldn’t hold back.

He took your face in his hands and pushed you back against the tree trunk before pressing his lips to yours.

For a moment you kissed him back but then your anger returned and suddenly you were pushing him away.

“Stop it!” You yelled. “It’s too little too late Spencer. I don’t want to be your second choice. I don’t want you after she’s had you.”

“S-second choice? Y/N you could never be my-“

“Save it.” You pushed passed him and started walking again. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We need to get back before it starts getting dark.”

You didn’t know what had come over you. All you’d ever wanted was to feel Spencer’s lips on yours. But when he kissed you, all you could think of was that redhead from last night.

And it broke your heart all over again.

***

“Spence?” You whispered into the dark. “Spence are you awake?”

It had been a long, awkward walk back followed by a long, awkward evening back at the campsite with your parents.

You and Spencer had said barely two words to each other before you called for an early night and crawled into your bed.

“Yeah I’m awake.” He whispered in reply from the floor.

“I’m...I’m really cold.” You felt foolish but you were freezing, you couldn’t seem to warm up.

And the only thing you could think that would help would be Spencer’s warm body next to you.

You heard him sigh followed by some rustling. Then you saw his silhouette beside the bed.

“You want me to warm you up?” He asked softly.

“If it’s not...too much to ask.” You didn’t deserve him being kind to you but that was the thing about Spencer, he was always there when you needed him. No matter what.

He sighed again before lifting the covers and sliding into the bed.

“Come here.” He held his arm open for you and you slid closer to him, his arm wrapping around your waist and you rested your head on his chest.

As suspected, he was radiating warmth. You snuggled into him sighing in content. He ran his fingers up and down your side.

“I’m sorry about earlier Y/N.” he spoke into your hair.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, not like that. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry.”

You shifted a little so you could look up at him.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Spence. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I just...I don’t like the way I felt seeing you with that girl.”

“It didn’t feel great for me seeing you with Greg either.” he cupped your face with his free hand and stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship, Spence.” a tear escaped your eye. “You’re my best friend and I don’t want to do anything to change that. But I can’t pretend that it didn’t hurt to see you with another girl. And I suppose that means I have feelings for you that go beyond friendship. But I can’t lose my best friend Spence.” a few more tears fell and Spencer tried to wipe them away with his thumb.

“I know Y/N, me too.” He agreed, chewing his lip.

You settled back into his chest and he tightened his hold on you. If this was as close as he could have you then he was going to soak in every moment.

Eventually you both fell asleep, into peaceful slumbers brought on by being wrapped in each other’s embraces.

***

For the rest of the week you and Spencer avoided unnecessary touches and glances each other’s way.

You tried to act normal. You tried to act like you hadn’t kissed and spent the night in each other’s arms.

You knew your parents suspected something was amiss with the two of you, you weren’t quite as pally as you usually were but neither of them said anything.

You spent days at the lake, you went for hikes and sat around the campfire in the evenings as the sunset around you.

On your final night your parents retired to their pod but you remained sitting on one of the logs, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Are you coming to bed?” Spencer asked you softly.

“Not yet, I might watch the stars for a while.”

“Want company?” He smiled at you and you nodded.

He laid his own blanket out of the ground and motioned for you to come over.

You laid side by side on your backs and you draped your blanket over the top of you both as you stared up at the sky.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving for DC when we get back.” You sniffed back any tears that might fall. “I have to spend the rest of the summer at home without you.”

“You’ll be off to college in a few weeks. You’ll forget all about me.”

You rolled your head to the side and he did the same so you were looking at each other.

“Spence, I could never forget you.” You reached for his hand and entwined your fingers.

He sighed in content at your touch. It was the most physical contact you’d had in almost a week.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m going to miss you too Spence.”

You laid like that under the stars, just staring into each other’s eyes for some time. There were so many things you both wanted to say but nothing seemed good enough.

Somehow you ended up closer together on the blanket, you’re not sure how it happened. You weren’t sure if you’d moved closer or if Spencer had or maybe you both had, but somehow you ended up with barely a few inches between your faces.

You could feel his soft breath on your face and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips. That kiss had burned itself into your brain and you couldn’t believe you’d pushed him away before you got to really enjoy it.

“Spence,” you whispered after a long stretch of silence.

“Yes Y/N?”

“All you have to do is ask.” You repeated what you’d said to him at the lake your first day.

He knew exactly what you meant and it made his chest tighten at the mere thought.

“Y/N?” He whispered, edging even closer to you.

“Yes?”

“Can I...c-can I kiss you?” He stuttered.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t Spence.”

He let go of your hand so he could cup your cheek and slowly closed the small space between you.

This time when your lips met it was slow and soft. You revelled in the feeling of his plump, pillowy lips pressed against yours for a moment before you cautiously parted your lips.

Spencer was tentative in his movements as though you may push him away again at any moment.

But of course you didn’t. He slid his tongue in your mouth and started exploring you, slowly at first but soon an animal instinct took over.

He explored your mouth hungrily, holding your face delicately in his large hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck and helped him roll on top of you.

He was hard already, you could feel it pressing against you and you knew a kiss wasn’t going to be enough.

You played with his hair, tugging it a little and he moaned into your mouth, subconsciously grinding his hips into yours.

You dared to let your hands roam his back until you reached the hem of his hoodie and slipped your hands under the fabric.

He moaned again at the feeling of your hands on the skin of his back. It spurred you on to rake your nails lightly over his flesh. You were met with another hard roll of his hips.

The kiss ended so you could both gasp for the air that had left your lungs. Spencer chewed his lip nervously, scared of what might happen next.

“Should w-we uh...do you want to go into t-the tent?” he was so unsure of himself. He didn’t want to sound as though he was being presumptive.

“No,” you whispered, but you were smiling. “I want to stay out here.”

“B-but your parents…”

“Sleep like logs.” you laughed, stroking back his hair. “Spencer, I want you to make love to me under the stars. Do you think that’s something...something you can d-do?” you suddenly felt nervous telling him what you wanted. Maybe that’s not what he wanted? Maybe it was just a kiss?

But the hiss that slipped from his lips told you it was exactly what he wanted.

“I-I...there is n-nothing in the world I want m-more.” he swallowed. “B-but I...I’ve never...done this before.” his cheeks turned crimson in an instant.

Your heart swelled. You had no idea. You assumed Spencer was just quiet about his exploits. You had no idea he’d never been with a woman before.

“Oh,” you didn’t really know what to say. “Is this...have you ever pictured, you know, what your uh...first time would be like?”

His blush deepened and he gnawed heavily on his lip.

“All the time.” he confessed. “And it’s always with you.”

“Kiss me Spence.” you smiled at him, pulling him closer again by his neck.

Your lips met again but this time it was much more frantic and desperate, now you both knew exactly where this was going.

You hooked your fingers under the hem of his hoodie and pulled it up his body. He sat back so he could pull it over his head.

“T-shirt too.” you told him with a smirk while he was sat up.

He looked a little nervous but he complied. In all the years you’d known Spencer you didn’t think you’d ever seen him shirtless before. He was always conservative, insecure about how skinny he was. But in that moment he didn’t have time to worry about his insecurities, all he wanted was you and that was all that mattered.

He discarded the items of clothing, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Your eyes raked up and down his torso and soon your fingers followed suit, running over his flesh. He hissed again, telling you he liked it.

“W-what about you?” you swallowed nervously.

“What about me?” you smirked. You knew what he meant but you wanted to hear him say it.

“Y-you uh...can I...your dress?” he was blushing again and it was so adorable.

“Spencer, you can do whatever you like to me.” your voice was dripping with seduction and it made his cock twitch achingly. Oh how he’d dreamed of this moment.

His hands were shaking as he reached for the bottom of your dress. He was slow to raise the fabric, making sure you weren’t going to change your mind.

He inched it up your thighs and paused when he got it to your hips. The black pair of lace panties you wore underneath made his head spin.

“Oh gosh.” he panted a little as he spoke.

You smiled, arching your back so he could continue undressing you. Inch by inch the fabric got higher and higher, revealing more of your body.

Once you had discarded the dress, Spencer sat back again to take you all in. Your panties had a matching bra, cupping your breasts magnificently.

“Do you like what you see, Spence?”

“Are you kidding?” He smiled. “You are perfection Y/N.”

You raked your nails down his chest once more and came to a stop at the waistband of his trousers. You toyed with the button a little.

“Can I?” You whispered.

He chewed his lip and nodded.

You unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them over his hips. He wriggled out of them and tossed them in a pile with the rest of the clothes.

His cock was straining at the front of his boxers, begging to be freed.

You allowed yourself to palm him through his underwear. His head fell back and he moaned deeply.

“Oh gosh.” He panted. “I’m sorry, no ones ever touched me like this before.”

You smiled to yourself, loving that no other woman had been here before. But you could also tell if you were to touch him properly, he wouldn’t last to the main event.

You moved your hand to his wrist and guided his hand between your legs instead.

You panties were soaked already.

He looked at you with large, uncertain eyes, but you nodded in encouragement.

“Please Spencer?”

He swallowed.

“What if I’m no good.” He whined a little.

“It’s ok baby,” you cooed. “You could never make me feel anything other than amazing.”

You let go of his wrist and his fingers shakily played with the lace fabric.

He took a few deep breaths before he moved the fabric aside enough so he could get to your heat.

He was so cautious with his movements, trying to ensure he was doing everything right.

He’d read books. He’d watched porn. But he’d never had the real thing.

He started slow, circling your clit with his fingertip in gentle movements. It was enough to make several moans leave your parted lips and he took that as a good sign.

You pulled him down by his neck so you could kiss him again and his confidence built a little, moving his fingers faster between your legs.

“Oh god Spence,” you mumbled into his lips. “That feels so good baby.”

Spencer felt a swell of pride that he was able to make you feel good, but he wanted more, needed more.

“Y/N,” he panted. “C-can I...can we…”

“Yes Spence. God yes.” You kissed him again and he reluctantly removed his hand from between your legs.

You arched your back and unhooked your bra.

His mouth fell open at the sight of your breasts and he moaned viscerally.

You smiled, taking hold of both of his wrists now and placing his large hands on your breasts.

“F-fuck.” He moaned feeling you beneath his hands. “Jeez Y/N.”

You laughed, now working on sliding your panties down your legs.

Spencer gave your breasts a small squeeze, tweaking your nipples a little between his fingers.

You moved your hands to his hips and cautiously slid his boxers down his hips. You couldn’t stop the small moan that left your lips as you freed his erect member.

“Fuck Spence,” you groaned eyeing him up.

He removed his hands from your breasts so he could shimmy his boxers off.

He laid back down on top of you, his cock nestling between your legs. He kissed you softly, stroking back your hair.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something before w-we...you know…”

“You can tell me anything.” you encouraged him.

“Y/N, I have been in l-love with you for as long as I can remember. I need you t-to know that. I need you to know h-how inconceivably in love with you I am.”

You felt tears spring to your eyes at his words. You pulled him close for another kiss.

“Spencer, I love you too baby.” you whispered, making him sigh in relief.

“I have waited so long to hear you say that.”

“You should have asked.” You smirked, kissing him again. “Are you ready baby?”

He nodded with a deep breath. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he kept his eyes firmly on yours he slowly pushed his way inside of you.

His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the way you felt. Honestly, he almost came as soon as your tight heat was sheathed around him.

He pushed all the way inside you, filling you up beautifully. He paused to take a few steadying breaths.

“Are you ok?” You traced your finger along his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he panted. “I just need a minute. I don’t want to uh…f-finish too soon.” He blushed.

“Take your time Spence.” You smiled lovingly at him.

He took a few more breaths and captured your lips in a kiss before he started moving slowly.

He was careful in his movements, slow and gentle as though you were made of glass.

He withdrew almost all the way, before slowly plunging back inside you.

His eyes rolled back in his head and the two of you moaned together under the starry sky.

“Jesus Y/N.” He gasped. “This f-feels so...so…”

“I know Spence,” you kissed him harder, messily exploring his mouth, your hands roaming his body and he moved in and out of you.

“I’m r-really not g-gonna…l-last long.” He spoke into your lips.

“Touch me again Spence. I want to come with you.”

He exhaled, moving his hand between your bodies and his fingers started circling your clit once more as he continued his slow thrusts.

The feeling of being inside you was otherworldly. Spencer had never dreamed in a million years it would feel this magical.

He wanted it to last forever. He never wanted this end. If he could feel one thing for the rest of his life he wanted it to be you wrapped around his dick.

He was getting closer and closer to the edge but now his fingers were working deftly on you, so you were you.

You found it hard to believe he’d never done this before because he was amazing at it. He seemed to know just what to do to bring you to your orgasm.

“I’m s-sorry Y/N…I can’t...I’m g-gonna…”

“Me too Spence.”

Hearing you moan his name was all he could take and with one last thrust, Spencer came, filling you with his load.

You came too, clenching around his spasming cock.

He fell on top of you, panting and moaning into your neck.

You wrapped him in your arms and kissed his messy hair.

“God damn Spencer,” you panted. “That was incredible.”

“R-really?” He lifted his head so he could look at you.

“Absolutely.” You held his face and kissed him gently. “I love you Spencer.”

“I love you too Y/N. So much.”

“Shall we go to bed?”

“Five more minutes under the stars?” He asked to which you nodded.

He gently pulled out of you and rolled onto his back on the blanket. You curled into him, resting your head on his chest.

He wrapped one arm around you and held your hand tightly.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” You sighed sleepily, looking up at the night sky.

“Not half as beautiful as you Y/N.”

***

It didn’t take long at all for you both to fall asleep like that. Thankfully you woke up before your parents and managed to sneak back into your tent before they found you.

Your dad would have a coronary if he found the two of you like that.

The drive back was long, it seemed longer than on the way. Maybe because you knew your time together was coming to an end.

Tomorrow Spencer would be leaving for DC and who knows when you would next see each other again.

At least you had your night together under the stars.

You were both exhausted when you arrived home so retired to your own homes to rest, Spencer promising to come and see you before he left the following morning.

Your night together had been magical, but the air between you was now stifled. It was what Spencer feared most. Giving into his urges had probably ruined your friendship.

And now he was leaving and didn’t have time to make it up to you.

As promised he showed up at your front door the following morning, his car already packed up.

You stepped out onto the porch and closed the front door behind you.

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving.” you wrapped your arms around your body as though shielding yourself from the pain that was going to be caused.

“I know, me either. I never imagined leaving Vegas, not permanently anyway.” he shrugged sadly.

“Don’t forget about me when you’re a hot shot in the FBI, Agent Reid.” you gave him a half smile.

“You and I both know it’s Doctor Reid.” he tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sigh. “Look Y/N, I need to know. After what happened the other night…”

“Spence-”

“Where do we stand Y/N?” he cut you off. “What...what are we?”

You sighed heavily and tried to smile even though your heart was breaking.

“We’re best friends, Spence.” you shrugged. “Always.”

“Best friends.” he muttered sadly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Spencer, we’re moving to different parts of the country, I’m not sure exactly what you thought that night was.”

No, neither am I.

“What was it to you?” he said instead.

“I guess...it was a perfect way to say goodbye.”

Spencer couldn’t keep his resolve any longer and his tears broke free, falling down his cheeks.

“Of course. Goodbye.” he whispered.

“Spence, please don’t cry.” you reached for him but he stepped out of your touch.

“I need to uh...g-get going. It’s a long drive to Quantico.” he rubbed the palms of his hands heavily over his eyes.

“Spence,”

“Really, I n-need to go.” he turned away from you and jogged down the front steps of your house and down the path.

“Spencer, please don’t leave like this.” you called after him, dangerously close to tears yourself.

“Goodbye Y/N.” he turned back to you when he reached the front gate. “I’ll always love you.” he sniffed but before you could say anything more, he was gone.

He ran to his car and seconds later he was inside and you were watching him pull away.

You fell to the ground on the porch and you sobbed. What else could you possibly do? You’d lost your best friend and the love of your life in one fell swoop.

All because of one stupid night under the stars.

Ask the stars up in the sky,

Ask the stars they’ll tell you why.

Stars know ev’ry little thing you do,

There’s a little star that’s watching you.

Ask the stars when you’re with me,

Ask the stars then watch and see.

***

Quantico, Virginia - 2020

Seventeen years seem to pass almost in the blink of an eye. One day Spencer was walking into the BAU for the first time and seemingly the next he was almost forty with a lifetime of trauma behind him.

He thought about you every single day for the longest time. He wondered what you were doing with your life. Were you happy? Had you met someone and got married? Had kids?

Honestly he probably still thought about you every day of his life until he met Maeve.

Maeve was a wonderful reprieve from thoughts of you, and for the first time in almost ten years you hadn’t been the first thought on his mind when he woke in the morning.

But he’d never loved her the way he loved you. It was probably for the best that he and Maeve never got to be together properly because it would have inevitably ended when he couldn’t give her his whole heart.

No, he’d left a piece of that in Vegas years ago.

After Maeve he thought about you from time to time but not everyday like he once had. When he was incarcerated he thought about you a lot. He wondered what you think of him if you could see him sitting in that cell, becoming a man he didn’t recognise. Surely you wouldn’t recognise him either.

Then he met Max and once again he thought maybe, just maybe he would finally be able to give his heart to someone else. But his hopes were dashed. They dated for a few months but she always knew there was someone else. Someone else occupied his mind and his heart and it wasn’t fair on Max to stay with her in the hopes that one day he might be able to love her like he loved you.

You hadn’t fared much better in the love department.

You met a man in college and the two of you married at the tender age of twenty one. You knew you were over compensating. You knew this wasn’t the man you were supposed to be with. But he helped take your mind off your lost love and you were sure in time you would stop thinking about Spencer all together.

But of course you didn’t.

The marriage lasted three years and you were divorced soon after your twenty fourth birthday. There had been other men over the years, but none lasted very long.

They scratched an itch. They filled a void in your life that had existed since Spencer walked out. But inevitably you couldn’t commit so each one ended quicker than the last.

You stayed in Vegas all those years, maybe hoping one day Spencer would come back to you, but of course that had been foolish. Spencer was off living his own life, he probably hadn’t given you a second thought in years.

And then, at the age of thirty five, the job offer came that changed everything.

***

“It’s so quiet around here.” Luke mused as he and Spencer walked through the bullpen.

“Yeah I know what you mean. How is Garcia getting on at her new job?”

“She’s enjoying it but she misses the BAU.”

“Tell her we miss her too. Isn’t her replacement meant to be starting today?”

“She is and she’s settling into her new office.” Emily’s voice caught Spencer and Luke’s attention.

“I guess we should go and introduce ourselves.” Luke shrugged.

“Sure,” Spencer shrugged too and the two of them made their way out of the bullpen towards Garcia’s old office.

“I bet it’s going to be so drab.” Luke laughed.

“No more unicorn mugs or fluffy pens.” Spencer agreed.

“Penelope is one of a kind.”

“Undoubtedly.” Spencer swiped his card on the door and pushed the door handle before stepping into the office, Luke just behind him.

“You must be our new technical analyst.” Luke spoke as the door closed behind the two agents.

The woman sat in Garcia’s old chair tapping on the keys turned in the chair to face them.

She seemed to move in slow motion.

“I’m SSA Luke Alvez and this is Doctor-”

“Spencer Reid.” she cut him off, the words falling from her lips.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” Spencer croaked, glaring at the woman in front of him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Luke frowned looking between the two of them who seemed to have forgotten his presence.

Spencer and Y/N stared at each other without saying a word. Spencer’s chest tightened, constricting his breathing. Was he having a heart attack? Was this how he was going to die?

“You uh, know each other?” Luke spoke up.

“Uh...did know each other.” you croaked not tearing your eyes away from Spencer.

“A long time ago.” Spencer added, not looking away from you either.

Sensing the tension in the room, Luke backed up towards the door.

“Maybe I should let the two of you get reacquainted.” he said but neither of you acknowledged him.

He pushed his way back into the hall just as JJ was heading his way.

“Hey, I was just coming to meet the new tech analyst.” she smiled at him.

“I would give it a minute.” Luke told her, making her frown.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of unfinished business in that room, trust me.” he put his arm around her shoulders to lead her away from the door.

“Spencer and the new Garcia?”

“Yeah.” Luke sighed. “If my profiling skills are accurate, I would say they were in love once. Probably still are.”

Back inside Garcia’s old office, you and Spencer were still staring at each other.

“I had no idea you still worked here, I swear. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d known.” you chewed your lip awkwardly.

“You look different.” he spoke as though ignoring what you’d said.

“Well yes, it has been a long time Spencer.”

“Seventeen years, three months and fifteen days.”

“Precisely.” you frowned at his recall. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“No and I’m not twenty two.” he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

It was longer now, curlier and messier. He sported stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’d gained weight, somehow gotten even taller you were sure.

He was most certainly not the twenty two year old Spencer Reid you had spent a night with under the stars.

“You look different too. Good different.” you told him.

“A lifetime of trauma will probably do that.” he nodded stiffly.

“Spencer? Strange question for you…”

“Yeah?”

“Did you uhm...did you ever tell Penelope about...that night.” you felt yourself blushing.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment with a sigh.

He hadn’t been this drunk in a really long time. Maybe ever. Spencer never had been a big drinker. But they’d had a tough case and Garcia had suggested they all spend the evening at her apartment drinking.

Spencer couldn’t recall who exactly had suggested the drinking games, possibly Kate, but they had been Spencer’s downfall.

“You never did answer the question,” Garica helped Spencer into his jacket after everyone else had left.

“What question?” he slurred, narrowing his eyes on her.

“During truth or dare Morgan asked you how you lost your virginity. You didn’t answer.”

He swallowed, stumbling over his feet a little.

“I uh…” he sighed. “It was with my best friend. On a camping trip under the stars.”

“How romantic!” Garcia swooned.

“Hmm not really. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“I don’t remember,” he opened his eyes. “Why?”

“I met her a few times before she left, she was training me up while you guys were away on cases. She told me about the team and that’s when I figured out you still worked here, but I’d already accepted the job by then. Anyway I told her I used to know you, that we were best friends. I didn’t really think much of it until I found this today.” you fished in your pocket and pulled out a brightly coloured post it note. “It was slotted between the desks. I recognise her handwriting.”

You handed the small folded up note to Spencer who took it and unfolded it. In Garcia’s signature handwriting, it read, “You’re in love, just ask the stars.”

“Ok so maybe I did tell her about my best friend who I lost my virginity to under the stars.” he confessed.

“Ah then the note makes sense.” you took it back from him and slid it back into your pocket.

“Yeah.”

Silence followed, heavy, palpable silence.

He thought maybe after all this time he didn’t feel as strongly about you as he used to. But looking into your beautiful eyes, all those feelings came flooding back to him. He didn’t have a shadow of a doubt that he was still in love with you.

The question was, did you still feel the same?

As if reading his mind you stepped a little closer to Spencer, cautiously at first but when he didn’t shy away you came even closer.

You took hold of his tie and played with it between your fingers.

“I know what you’re thinking Spence,” you smiled coyly. “I always know what you’re thinking.”

“You should have been a profiler.” He smiled softly, making you laugh.

“I’ve said it once, Spence and I’ll say it again. If you want to know if I’m still in love with you...all you have to do, is ask.”

When they twinkle, twinkle,

Wedding bells will tinkle, tinkle.

You’re in love, just ask the stars.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid fanfiction #penelope garcia #luke alvez #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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genshin-impacted · 3 years

Text

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (4)

Word Count: ~2.8k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy.

Notes: female!reader (she/her), Zhongli/Reader, Zhongli POV, mutual pining ofc, fake politics, can I call this slow burn yet

[Previous] [Next]

Chapter 4 Synopsis: Of the secrets that people keep, how much can they say without saying anything about it at all?

You are falling for your tutor. That much, at least, is clear to you. Your quickened heart rate, the way your heart flutters when he smiles, and how your mood lifts when he praises you-- if wisdom is to know thyself, then you consider yourself wise enough to know that you see Zhongli xiansheng as more than just a teacher.

But what of him? You wonder, how does he think of you? Does he know what he means to you? Does he feel the same?

“My lady?" Amber asks you, when you dip your head underneath the rose-infused waters of your bath. "What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply back quickly, hugging your knees to your chest. You take a glance at the mauve coat that Zhongli had left on your shoulders and think about how it will still smell like him.

Amber can only look at you in mild concern when you bury your heated face into your hands and try not to think of kind eyes, a warm embrace, and a gentle voice.

(But you do anyway.)

Zhongli finds himself talking more freely than ever in your presence, especially now that the two of you have made it a habit of walking around the compound or drinking tea to pass the time together. He talks about fantastical things or expands on random trivia he thinks you would enjoy, even though he finds himself more often than not overindulging.

Your eyes are bright and alert when he tells you about the folktales he had learned when he was younger, so he tells you as many as you can in the cold, wintry months. Under the cozy kotatsu imported over from Inazuma, Zhongli shares slices of mandarin with you as he retells the history of the Qilin to you-- a mythical creature whose stone statues stand at guard in front of the main compounds of the palace.

“In many stories, the Qilin is sacred pets of the gods and rank highly only below the dragon and the phoenix,” Zhongli says, accepting the last slice of fruit you slide into his hands. "It’s said to appear with the imminent arrival or passing of a sage or illustrious ruler."

“I see…” You listen to him attentively, hands absently clearing the table of the orange peels without saying a word. You let out a breath of laughter as you joke, “Hopefully, if I pray hard enough, the Qilin might gift their presence when I ascend to the throne.”

“Nonsense,” Zhongli replies immediately. “If the qilin does exist, you do not need prayer for the qilin to appear before you, as benevolent as you are, my Princess.” He takes the slice and brings it to his lips to taste the sweetness of the mandarin, catching a glimpse at the way you hide your smile behind your hand.

“You have a way with words as usual,” you tell him. “You spoil me with praises, xiansheng; how ever will I survive without them now?” You bemoan, laughing afterwards. Though he knows you’re joking--surely-- he still feels his heart tremble at your words. It is in these moments that he feels keenly how it is to be Amber, abashed by the praise that flows freely from your lips and by the fondness that rings true through the way you speak. To be at the center of your attention is something that Zhongli understands very well to be addicting.

It is only when Zhongli hears the light rapping of knuckles on wood does he realize how long he has spoken and how late it is.

"My apologies," Zhongli says, surprised from his thoughts to bow his head (you fussed at him about apologizing before, but even with your kind reprimands, it is hard for him to kick the habits ingrained in him). "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation this entire time. It's even time for supper--"

"Bamboo Shoot Soup," you pipe up instead, and he can only look up at you stunned as you thank the maid. She sets down the pair of utensils in front of the two of you and clears the table to make space for the large metal hotpot. "It's your favorite dish, isn't it?” You say cheekily, “I thought it was a perfect dish to eat during the cold weather."

What are the protocols to eating dinner with the royal family? Zhongli thinks to himself warily, feeling wildly as though he is constantly stepping out of line despite his learned nature. Still, you would scold him for his distancing, so Zhongli decides to do as the both of you please, as improper as it may be, and waits to be served.

The bamboo soup is beautifully slow-cooked, the broth milky white; just taking a waft of the aroma is enough for him to know that the meat is tender and the bamboo shoots are soaked to the center with flavor. The warmth that pervades is partly due to the fresh heat of the soup but also from the fact that you had remembered a detail he shared in passing. (He says ‘in passing’ but he had gone into detail about where to procure the best ingredients for each component of the meal while you listened to him with eager nods. The bamboo shoots, he recognizes, are from Qingce Village. Did you remember even the smallest details from your conversation when he speaks?) Like many other times before, he is speechless. It seems as though you are constantly surprising him-- for the better.

"What happens next?"

Zhongli blinks, the steam from his bowl rising up to his face. "Pardon?"

"Oh, never mind! We should eat first!" You say, smiling widely in a way that makes his heart leap. You pick up your chopsticks and click them together playfully. "But tell me what happens next in the story later on, Zhongli-xiansheng."

"One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

Zhongli remembers Guizhong telling him this time and time again, though he never believed in it. He is old-fashioned, he always replies back. He is overly burdened by the expectations of his family and passionate in things that most others cannot care to relate to. How would he know that someday, as proof of the wisdom (or perhaps abundance of hope and love) that Guizhong held, he would find someone who cared enough to listen and look at him as though he knew the meaning of life itself?

The bright-eyed gaze you shoot at him lasts only a moment, and perhaps you don't even know the magnitude of your gesture, but Zhongli feels his chest burn nonetheless with gratitude and soften at the kindness you have shown him. He reaches out to place his hand gently on yours. "Thank you," he says, squeezing your hand. "I'll be sure to not lose my place in the story then so you can hear the rest of it."

He blinks when you look at him, frozen and wide-eyed, and that is when he retracts his hand, feeling as embarrassed as you look. "Ah, my apologies again--"

"No, it's-- it's alright," you stammer, looking down at your bowl. Zhongli feels his face redden and he drops his gaze as well. "But yes, you better remember! I'm counting on you!"

"Yes-- yes, of course," he says, clearing his throat. "It would be my pleasure to." Before Zhongli can wallow in mortification, he hears the beginnings of your laugh and looks up to see your smile as wide as ever. And just like that, he can feel himself be at ease again, just as you have always made him feel with your presence.

"Perhaps next time," he says, a small smile dancing on his lips, "my lady can tell me a story instead."

"Only if you fill in the details I missed," you quip back easily, and he laughs.

Even with an impeccable memory, Zhongli still cannot remember the last time he has ever laughed so easily and so readily as though he could never run out of laughter. He thinks of quiet hours in his study, pouring over pages of text without speaking till his voice grows hoarse from disuse. He remembers days of entertaining guests who never truly listened to what he was saying, and he finds that he is the happiest he has ever been for a long time.

He has you to thank for that.

This is why he responds back, with a soft reverence that is reserved only for you. "Of course." He returns your smile with his own. "I would be honored to, my Princess."

Reverence should be a tone well-practiced and used in the royal court, but when Zhongli stands aside during the proceedings, he hears very little of it directed toward you. You have half of the court talking over you despite your grace, and he can clearly see your patience wear thin when your presence goes unacknowledged by one of the court officials.

"My studies have been going steadily," you speak unto the crowd, clearly and powerfully, as though you have always known how to command attention. Projecting your voice, you maintain your gaze on all of them as you speak. Zhongli can see from the way your hands clench at your side that despite your display, fear has not left you, and for that, his pride for you seems to overflow.

"With the xiansheng, I can foresee being able to replace my great uncle for the time before the end of this year," you say. "I will have prepared myself dutifully until the time has come--"

"The end of this year?" One of the nobles exclaims in protest, making you pause. "How would you be ready at the end of the calendar when you have started lessons, not even yesteryear?"

"I can't imagine the magnitude of power placed upon the shoulders of the inexperienced,” another one drawls. “Perhaps, ah, the Princess will consider taking a husband to make up for it?"

Zhongli doesn't realize he's gripping imprints into the palm of his hands until he goes to raise his hand and realizes they have gone numb from his tension. The nerve of some of the nobles-- some of which he can recognize have never sought to be on your side. He wishes nothing more than to be able to provide them a verbal lashing, but he knows that neither you nor he can do anything at this point in time.

With knowledge comes power, and you do not know enough to utilize the title you have nor the inherent authority that comes with it. Though one day, you will, if he can help it, regardless of what has been expected of him.

It makes his skin crawl to know that many nobles look to him and believe he is on their side. How many times have they requested him to keep you away from the main chambers to check on your great uncle? How many times have they hoped he would provide falsities and ignorance in the guise of guidance so that you would never truly ascend to the throne? Even with the promise of power beyond his wildest dreams, Zhongli cannot bring it to himself to manipulate you in such a manner. Even though his hands are clean, he still cannot help but taste sin on his lips for knowing the harm that exists against you without your knowledge.

When is the right time to inform you, if at all? Is it kind or cruel of him to keep this ploy from you? (Is his judgment even sound, as muddled as it is with his rapidly growing feelings for you?)

You narrow your eyes, your lips pressed in a straight line, but you refrain, once again. And Zhongli feels a burst of pride at your show of restraint and composure fitting of a lady of your status. "Yes, this may be one of the things I will take into consideration, and I appreciate--" Zhongli feels himself tense at the way you spoke, "--the counsel of the court, though I still foresee my way coming to fruition regardless."

There is a stilted silence that follows your words, and you look toward the messenger who has come with the land's grievances in letters. "I believe this matter can be discussed at a later time," you say with finality. "Let us look at the first report from the harbor."

Using what you know from your lessons thus far, you guide the conversation towards solutions for the problems brought to the court by the people. You are too inexperienced to make decisions on your own, gathering opinions from your council; corrupt or not, they know more about managing land than you. But Zhongli sees how you watch carefully as the discussion continues, letting the information sink in so that you can utilize it in the future, and he is reminded again of how far you have come from a princess holding that urn to the prospective empress quietly learning how to lead a country.

(Is it any surprise at all that he is enamored with you?)

Court adjourns after hours, and Zhongli follows you as you leave first, your robes billowing behind you seamlessly as you hold your head up high. The guards bow their heads as you pass by them, your ladies-in-waiting slowly retreating from the room when you arrive, closing the door behind them. The moment everyone is gone, you sigh in relief, your shoulders dropping to a more comfortable height as you stretch your arms and legs.

“I applaud you on your conduct during court,” Zhongli says finally, amused by how nonchalant you act in comparison to how high-strung you are in front of others. “That was an impressive display of authority.” He sees your face flush from the compliment as you stammer out your thanks. He chuckles. "Perhaps I should start getting used to calling you 'Empress’ then, Princess.”

"Yes?" Zhongli replies, confused. "Is that not a title you would like to be referred to?"

"'Princess?'" He hears you echo, turning yourself to him, and Zhongli loses his train of thoughts when he sees your expression with brows pulled together, disconcerted. "Just... 'princess?'"

"No--well, yes..." you say, trailing off. Your hand, out of habit, nervously reaches up to fiddle with your brooch. "I was just thinking you would have normally referred to me a little differently is all."

Zhongli tilts his head slightly in thought as he watches you press your lips together in what he assumes to be in embarrassment. Has he been calling you differently without his knowledge? He doesn’t think so; you have always been the Princess for him, and he, your xiansheng.

But, ah, he thinks, he has not always called you ‘my Princess’ has he? (Astonishing what one word can change.)

For a brief moment, Zhongli’s mind wonders whether he has overstepped his boundary, but he quickly reminds himself with your words, that if you truly did not want him to call you by that, you would tell him. The fact you protested at his recent use of your title… It was the slip of the tongue; Amber has referred to you by the same title, and Zhongli has always, in some form, coveted the same level of intimacy that the two of you possessed. His fondness for you must have seeped into his words, and he would never have anticipated having you reciprocate.

That being said, could you blame him for feeling pleased that you wanted to be referred to as his Princess?

“But 'Princess' is fine,” he hears you say, gathering the composure to sweep your hands down your gown and appear nonplussed. You take out your fan and hold it to your face as you begin to walk toward the study. “I don’t mind it. You should call me as you so wish, I--”

Your laughter is enough as a sign of validation, but then he hears you say, shier than you have ever been, “My xiansheng,” and he thinks his heart balloons until it takes up the entire expanse of his chest with how much affection he feels for you.

"It is soon time for our next lessons," he says, following behind you without pause, "my Princess." And he watches, enamored, as you look back at him with a smile blooming on your face. "Is that... alright with you?"

“Yes,” he says to you, feeling as though that is the only thing he can say. You shoot him another captivating smile and turn, and all Zhongli can do is walk only a step behind you.

And he follows you for as long as you will allow him, hoping his choice to keep the darkness at bay is the right one.

#zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #zhongli #female reader #genshin imagines #sry for repost tags did not work n made me sad #also smth about the possessive pronoun hits diff #imperial drama au

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nordleuchten · 2 years

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24 Days of La Fayette - Day 8

Now, this one is interesting folks! La Fayette received fan-mail … more or less. (Note, the letter war originally written in French. The text is and the scanned copy of the letter are an English translation (probably done by John Laurens).)

From Charlotte Bentinck to La Fayette

[Hamburg 8th December 1777]

Sir

I hesitated a long time before I yielded to the extreme desire of taking a step, in appearance rather singular-to address to you who are in the remote region of America, a Letter signed with a name which will not even be known by you-but recollect Sir that Sentiment and Glory alone induced you to quit the most brilliant situation in Europe; and condemn if you dare, a person who without having it in her power to do as great actions as you, is however determined by the same principles on this occasion. The late Duke of Tremorille my Grand Uncle, was the happy spouse of Mary Magdelane de La Fayette: this seems to give me a kind of title to address you. I have lived beyond half a Century, without ever imagining that to belong by chance to the greatest princes, could for a moment flatter the vanity of a reasonable being-but to have the honor of the least proximity to such a man as you are, appears to me, I confess a glorious advantage, and whence it is impossible for me not to derive a delicious vanity. Besides you defend a cause Sir, which is that of Humanity. It does not become a female to decide the rights of Sovereigns and Nations ‑‑ we have often been accused of too great a fondness for heroes; I detest Conquerors. I abhor Tyrants, I would sacrifice the few remaining years of my life for the illustrious Washington. Ancient and modern history have made me acquainted with a number of brave Warriors; but he is the only one I have ever known, that answers the idea which I have of a truly great man who unites to genuine heroism, humanity, equity, disinterestedness; who hating war, carries it on from duty and necessity; in a word a man, whose character I should have thought the brilliant fiction of a poetical imagination; and which I must have seen in order to believe its possibility and existence. To snatch oneself at an age like yours from the bosom of felicity to go and attach oneself to such a guide, is perhaps to equal him. The Excess of Veneration, of Esteem which I cannot refuse to Virtue, forces my hand to pay him this feeble homage. We live at a time when men are scarcely sensible of great actions. I date myself from an age, in which they made more lively impressions.

America has however in our pretend Republic of Hamburg, where I reside, many zealous partisans. I have a small number of friends, people of worth, sensible minds, who resort to my house, as to the Temple of a more than Demi God; of the Hero of Liberty and Humanity -the great Washington-to bring their Vows, their fears, their admiration, their hopes to the Altar of honor and Sentiment which I have consecrated to him. You share in all these tributes of the heart. It is impossible that great minds such as yours can feel an indifference to them. But what cruel Uneasinesses, this noble and interesting cause makes us experience. We pass weeks, and months in suspense-at every instant some threatening news overpowers us-and even our consolations are uncertain. If you are touched with the Justice which I do you, if you deign to confess the honour which I have in belonging to you-if the purety of motives which animate me appear to merit some consideration-be so generous as to make acceptable to your illustrious General, the Tribute which sensible and worthy hearts Address him from the midst of another world-and which perhaps he will not judge unworthy of him. His happy fellow Citizens scarcely make more tender vows for him than we do. May it please heaven to listen to them. May a Nation still exist on earth, possessed of Liberty, happiness and Virtue.

The second Request which I take the liberty of making you, seems still more indiscreet-but the feelings with which I am animated get the better of me. I cannot resist continual anxiety for yourself, your Chief, and 13 United States, exposed to the Malice of British Brokers, & to the repetitions of Gazeteers of every country-we are in too much perturbation here. Have the charity for people who are attached to you, to acknowledge by a line the receipt of this letter which I entreat Mr. Franklin to convey to you and the answer to which may come the same way-and be so good as to order your Secretary to add a few lines, to inform me that you and the General are in good health-that all is not going to ruin, and that we need not despair. It is not Curiosity, it is Sentiment, Zeal, the purest affection which animate us-we do not desire to be informed so much as to be tranquilized. Be as careful of yourself Sir as your Courage and the noble Task which you have undertaken will allow. Remember that an amiable Wife, an illustrious family, a whole Nation expects it of you. There is perhaps only one Marquis de Ia Fayette, only a single Nobleman of his age and birth capable of doing what he has done. Does not that alone render him more pretious.

Pardon me I entreat you. My abuse of your leisure, my justification must be in your heart, or my cause is lost without resource. I have the honor to be with the most distinguished esteem Sir Your &c.

Charlotte Sophie Countess Dowaager of Bentinck

born Countess of Aldenberg

#24 days of la fayette #marquis de lafayette #lafayette #la fayette #american revolution #american history #french history #letter #charlotte sophie countess dowaager of bentinck #1777 #library of congress #founders online

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cal-kestis · 3 years

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You’ve Been Lonely Too Long | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Part I of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: After parting with Grogu, losing his ship, and battling with the tenets of his Creed — Din is plagued by memories he fears will only ever exist in his past. But when he meets you, he’s surprised to see a bit of himself reflected in your eyes... and the family he still longs for. (Set after S2) Rating: M (for reasons that will happen eventually) Word Count: 6572 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (non graphic), Action/Violence, Mentions of Blood, Hurt Comfort, Slow Burn, no use of ‘Y/N’, Din is wistful while talking about Grogu :’), he misses him A/N: Here it is! I've done a lot of research when it comes to lore, planets, etc. But I've taken a few creative liberties. Replies/comments are very welcome!

[Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

Memories keep him awake more than he cares to admit.

They conjure themselves unbidden, slithering through the iron bars of his mind. And just before they burrow, just before they brand his brain, just before they emerge from the shadows and he can recognize them — images of bright eyes and petal ears, sound bites of gentle coos, memories he wants to keep locked like a treasure — they vanish like vapor.

Sometimes he tries to chase them, like a valuable quarry. But even illustrious bounty hunters like Din Djarin know what it’s like to lose. Especially at night, when memories morph into vicious nightmares... and he becomes the prey.

If he ever does sleep, he sure as hell never rests.

And no one would catch wise. That’s the beauty of beskar. Because — despite the deep purple rings circling his wrinkled eyes, the constant dry and chapped state of his lips, and the uncharacteristically unkempt stubble on his jaw — when he walks into a room, everyone only sees the harsh glint of metal armor, the precise swagger in his gait, the loaded blaster at his belt. A Mandalorian: legend coming to life. And everyone quakes in their boots.

Everyone except you.

After he had left Gideon’s light cruiser, helmet replaced on his head — an imposter’s crown — he’d expected to say his goodbyes and carry on the way he always did before everything changed, before the kid. Alone.

He hadn’t known his next move. But picking up another stray? Not part of the non-existent plan.

Yet here he is, coasting in hyperspace aboard his cold, newly bargained light freighter, watching his crewmate modify the jammers.

“Hand me that driver, will you?” You huff, wiping sweat off your brow.

He had found you on Tatooine almost three months ago, fighting off some spice-high lowlife in a dark adobe alley. He remembers seeing you throw a heavy punch to the man’s jaw, extending your other trembling hand toward his throat before softly shutting your eyes, brows pinched in gentle focus.

Something about you had felt familiar, something he couldn’t shake. Your outstretched arm had sparked a memory of tiny green claws. And it had all happened so quickly. You had your eyes closed, the man had reached for his blaster, but Din had always been the faster shot.

Smoke had wafted from the man’s chest, your eyes had opened in shock, and Din had disappeared before you could thank him.

Instead, you had managed to stow away on his ship that same night and hire yourself as his new crewmate.

“I have nowhere to go. No home, no family,” you had explained, eyes glistening. When he’d scrutinized you, he only found a small bag slung over your shoulder and a short, chewed-on pencil tucked behind your ear. “I’m a good worker. I can cook and I’m a decent pilot, a better mechanic. And I’m… crafty?”

“I work alone.” He’d said it so surely, but a cloud of sadness had hovered over the words as he’d forced saliva down his dry throat.

“You don’t have to. I can be a valuable asset to you. Take some weight off your shoulders. Be someone to talk to.”

You had glanced at his stoic frame, his silence filling the room like a smoke grenade.

“Well, you don’t have to talk. But I can be helpful.”

There had been something in your eyes, or maybe even beyond them… something in you, something so achingly familiar. He’d felt it floating around the ship, radiating off your skin, seeping through his beskar armor. And he’d sighed because he couldn’t have stopped his next words from tumbling off his tongue if he wanted to.

“Just don’t touch anything.”

He remembers how you’d gasped, your arms wrapping tightly around his torso without a second thought. And he’d just stiffened like solid carbonite, not allowing himself to dwell on how warm and soft you felt, and he’d gently pushed you off, disappearing into the cockpit.

You’re still chatting away as you continue tinkering with the jammers. You’re definitely a talker. But to him, everyone seems that way when silence is his chosen weapon of survival.

Below that primary qualification of ‘someone to talk to,’ he’d realized almost right after you joined his crew of two that your resume checked out. You’d been invaluable on this new, unfamiliar ship — helping him modify it until it had some of the Razor Crest’s best qualities. Some.

When small memories like that start flooding in and try to take him under headfirst, he thinks it’s better to be alone. At least then, he can decide whether to sink or swim. So, he excuses himself to the cockpit and you hum in acknowledgment, continuing your chatter despite being your own audience.

He spends a lot of time here in solitary silence, staring at the stars as they reflect off the tiny metal ball that hangs from a string on an unused lever. It’s the only token he has from that life — the days of flying the Crest system to system with a giggling child in the backseat.

More often than not, you find him here exactly like this: helmet hung low, a silver sphere pinched between two gloved fingers, millions of confined thoughts racing through his mind faster than hyperspace and clawing at his skull.

When you find him like this, you try not to speak. Just sit in the co-pilot’s seat and watch the stars with him.

And as he studies the little gear knob from his past life, the one question that passes through his mind the most is:

What can you do when the reason you’re hurting is likely the only thing that can heal you?

—

ii.

After many months on the freighter, you’re sure of two things when it comes to your new crewmate:

First, the Mandalorian doesn’t talk much. Or ever, really.

But you quickly get used to your questions — and there are many — being answered with a curt “yes” or “no,” sometimes a grunt or sigh thrown in when the question is just right. You don’t mind too much, it’s enough to get you familiar with the way the ship works and you always know what to expect from him.

When he’s not outside hunting a quarry on some Maker-forsaken outer rim dustball, leaving you inside to tamper with the ship’s outdated systems, he’s usually on one side of the freighter and you’re on the other. If he seems busy, you leave his food outside his quarters, and later, you find his dish empty and washed in the storage cupboard. And when you’re fighting for sleep in your bed, you hear his footsteps echoing all night long. But there are times when you both find yourselves in the small, shared space of the cockpit, when your desire to see the corners of space beyond Tatooine becomes too great to stay away. In those moments under the domed viewport — faced with a myriad of vibrant hues and tremendous textures and infinite stars — he doesn’t speak and you can’t find the words, giving way to a tranquil, transfixing silence neither of you wants to escape.

The second thing you’re sure of is: the Mandalorian gets hurt, a lot.

You can’t count the number of times you’ve watched him drag himself and an unconscious body onto his ship or holed himself up in the fresher, hissing in pain as he tended to his own wounds.

But this time, he comes back and collapses outside of the ship, unable to even pull himself up the ramp, much less the dead weight of the quarry. There’s hardly a thought in your mind as your feet scurry to his side, sprawled across the ground beside his target. You don’t wait for permission before you’re reaching for the gloved hand pressed firmly to the side of his stomach.

“No,” he grits out between his teeth, groaning when the tiny word seems to tear him apart where he’s already been gashed. “The quarry.”

You frown, almost rolling your eyes at his stubbornness. Always the job first.

Still, no arguments pass your lips when you turn to pull the heavy, unconscious Trandoshan by his bound wrists. It takes all of your strength to drag him up the steep incline of the freighter’s ramp, through the main corridor, and into the supply closet, Mando’s makeshift prison. You’d asked him about it before, one of your many questions, wondering if he should consider more secure holding quarters. And he’d responded with a surprisingly long (for him) statement, “Not as good as a mobile carbonite freezing system, but it does the job.”

After chaining up the quarry’s hands and ankles and locking the closet, you nearly trip over yourself while sprinting back to the groaning Mandalorian. You kneel beside him, pulling the hand pressed against his stomach over your shoulder to lift him on his feet. A harsh, metallic scent suddenly fills your lungs, drawing your gaze to the blood-stained palm of his glove dangling over your shoulder. You do your best to ignore it, refocusing your energy on lugging him into the ship. As soon as you reach the top of the ramp, your strength gives out, sending both your bodies collapsing to the floor with a dull thud. It’s a challenge disentangling yourself from his heavy limbs but once you manage, you quickly turn to examine him before his hand stops you again.

“Gang on our tail,” he rasps, coughing then groaning in pain. “Get us out of here.”

Your lips press into a straight line, a war waging behind your furrowed brow as you decide whether or not it’s smart to leave him alone, bleeding on the floor of the main hold. But his hand shakes as he squeezes your wrist in what you think is meant to feel comforting. You release a deep sigh before getting up to close the ramp and set coordinates in the cockpit.

When you return minutes later with a medpac, you find him stretched out on his back, his neck arching with a groan, and his glove clutching his stomach once more. You kneel beside him to assess the damage, reaching your hand to his waist before he grabs you again.

“You don’t have to,” he grunts. “I can do it.”

“I know you can,” you say, gently removing the glove trapping your wrist. “But so can I. And I can actually move my limbs at a normal, painless speed, get the job done quicker. So, please, let me.”

He sighs, giving a quick nod of his helmet before allowing you to partially remove his armor.

You start with the breastplate, remove the thick padding over his stomach, then grab the ever-present pencil behind your ear and use the dull end to lift the edge of his brown undershirt, just enough to reveal the knife wound in his side.

“What happened?” You gasp, quickly gathering antiseptic, a laser cauterizer, and bacta patches from the medpac.

“Ambushed,” he grunts, wincing as you clean the cut, your breath sliding across his skin as you lean in close.

“I’ve sustained some pretty bad knicks myself. Nothing as bad as this,” you joke lightly, switching the antiseptic for the cauterizer. When the laser touches his skin, he gasps and curls in on himself as you burn the wound closed. Instinctively, you grab his hand, the one not stained with blood, and interlace your fingers with his on the ship’s floor, letting him squeeze your palm as a distraction. “Nothing I couldn’t fix up. When you’re surviving on your own, you have to learn how to take care of yourself.”

“I know,” he says quietly. I work alone, he’d said when you met.

Even through the shadowy visor of his helmet, you feel his eyes on yours and stare back openly. But as always, you only see your own warped reflection in the silver gleam of his beskar.

“It helps to have the proper supplies,” you chuckle, tearing your eyes away from his helmet to finish closing up his wound. “This bacta patch should fix you up real good.”

After smoothing the gel bandage against his skin, your fingertips linger only a second too long on the exposed warmth of his tanned stomach. You pull down the hem of his shirt, starting to reach for the pieces of iron covering his arm but feel him stop you by squeezing your joined hands.

“They only got one jab in,” he says, his voice sounding more relaxed, almost cocky. But when he sees the worry on your face, his thumb sweeps lightly across your hand and he squeezes once more. “I promise. I’m fine.”

“You’d better be,” you warn, shaking your joined hands in front of your face like a cranky geezer. “Because I’m not carrying two unconscious bodies off this ship when we land.”

He huffs out a short breath, only wincing slightly at the movement. Without another word, you pull his arm around your shoulder once more, limping him toward his sleeping quarters to rest. But you stop just outside the door, not wanting to encroach on his privacy.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his hand against the doorway.

“Your gloves,” you say, his helmet tilting in confusion when you stare at his hand pointedly. “Let me clean them for you.”

He tries to argue but you won’t have any of it, simply extending your palm out toward him until he reluctantly pulls at the yellow leather tips on his fingers and hands them over.

“You can leave your shirt outside your quarters, too. I don’t want you stinking up the ship with your bloody clothes. Wash up. Get some rest. And be more careful next time,” you say, smiling and walking backward as you talk.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and you swear you hear a ghost of a smile in his voice.

Before you can question him on it, he presses the button to his quarters and slips inside.

—

iii.

Time seems to pass quicker on the Mandalorian’s ship since the Trandoshan incident. And this man of few words quickly becomes a man of… just slightly more than a few words. Nevertheless, as his crewmate, you’ve learned quite a lot more about him.

One, he never stays in one place for long. He’s a bounty hunter, of course, and he takes multiple jobs at once. That means, together, you visit at least four different planets in the span of a few weeks, expertly flying around New Republic and Imperial scanners without a hitch. Two, he likes your cooking, a lot. You can tell because, by the end of the night, after a soft “thank you” buzzed from his helmet, his dish would always be licked clean — two dishes when you’d made his favorite. Sometimes, he’d even surprise you and try to recreate your recipes, generously leaving bowls of delicious food at your door. But he never eats where you can watch, enjoying the meals in secret and quietly washing up for you when you’re on the other side of the ship and can’t argue with him about it. Three, he doesn’t remove his helmet when you’re around, maybe even when he’s alone. “This is the way,” he’d mumble on occasion, a Creed that sounds like a foreign language even falling from his lips. Four, although he says he works alone, you see the way his helmet leans toward you when you speak and notice how his knees point in your direction when you sit side by side in the cockpit, gravitating toward you yet deeply cautious of drawing too close. And five, he’s lonely. You know because you’ve carried the same sadness in your chest almost all your life.

Several months on his ship have opened him up to giving more detailed answers to your numerous questions, and you take each opportunity where you can, desperate to unveil new pieces of his mind.

Tonight, Mando is particularly relaxed after capturing the last of four bounties, coordinates already set to turn them in. An empty bowl of bone broth sits beside his first helping. He leans back comfortably in his pilot seat as the stars shine off his chest plate and you ask about his past adventures.

“Has it always been just you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, not wanting to disturb this content stillness, but thinking of all the times you’ve found him sitting alone in the cockpit clutching onto a silver ball.

He’s silent for a moment, thinking over his words. He doesn’t turn to face you when he answers, “No. There was... a child. Not long ago.”

You think back to when you had first met him, how he’d said, “I work alone,” how those words had seemed devastatingly true — in the way only a person who’s lost everything could say them so honestly.

“Yours?”

A beat. “Yeah,” he answers, a small crackling sound coming from his helmet. “Yes, a foundling. But he was as my own.”

“What happened?”

The cockpit stays silent save for the dull tones of the control board’s beeps and ticks. Mando reaches for that silver sphere, leans forward in his seat, and he holds it to the crown of his helmet.

“I... had to let him go.”

His voice breaks over the vowels, just slightly but you hear it: the familiar shattered sound of loss. It radiates off of him in waves, penetrating your skin and crawling through your bloodstream until your own heart aches for the ghost this child left behind.

“What was he like?”

He’s quiet again and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But suddenly, Mando swivels his chair to face you, the silver ball clutched tight against his chest, and he chuckles. It’s fleeting but it’s a sound you’ve never heard in all your months aboard his ship. A lovely sound you’ll never forget.

“This was his favorite toy,” the Mandalorian says, lifting the ball in the air for you to see. “He was a stubborn kid. Always getting into trouble.”

You smile, begging him to continue.

“He could do things I couldn’t even imagine. He saved me, in more ways than one. We were a clan of two.”

“A family,” you agree.

He stills for a moment, ponders your words, and hangs his head. “Yeah, a family.”

“What’s his name?”

“Grogu.” You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “His name is Grogu.”

“Grogu,” you whisper, testing the name on your tongue. “Can you describe him for me?”

You pull out a small, worn booklet of parchment from your pouch and the short pencil from behind your ear. His helmet tilts toward you curiously and you can almost imagine his eyes squinting behind the visor.

“Remember when I said I was crafty? Not a load of bantha crap,” you chuckle, waving the pencil at him. “I made a trade with some stingy Jawas to get these relics.”

He nods, quietly examining the antiquated drawing pad.

“Tell me,” you plead.

His helmet’s gaze drops back to the silver ball and he sighs a wistful sound.

“Grogu was — is special. A green, wrinkly, big-eared... very special little kid.”

“A green, wrinkly child?” You ask, looking up from the paper.

Mando laughs again and you can’t help but smile too. He describes Grogu like he’s a father mooning over his son’s first steps. You’ve never heard him talk so much, so joyfully yet sorrowfully all at once. There’s a wistfulness in his voice, a rasp that tells you he’s not used to putting it into words, at least not out loud, but he still wants to honor Grogu with every word he has. As he speaks, you can feel — almost see the image of Grogu in your mind. It’s crystal clear like your brain is reaching out and can somehow access every archive in Mando’s memories. It’s like a trance and you have to physically shake your head to release yourself.

“He means a lot to you,” you say, a matter of fact, tearing off the weathered page and giving him your quick sketch, your hand resting on one of his pauldrons. “I’m sure you mean a lot to him.”

Mando silently turns back to the controls, his fingers still clutching the little ball as he grips the page in the other hand.

He’s especially glad to have his helmet at this moment because he feels water pooling behind his eyelids as he stares at the uncanny drawing.

“That’s him,” he whispers, looking upon his boy. It’s almost an exact likeness, although in grayscale (he’ll have to find you other colors somehow). But it means everything to see Grogu again, even on a page, after months of only seeing him in fleeting dreams and distorted nightmares.

“Thank you,” he says, his hand with the drawing joining your hand on his pauldron.

You smile as he neatly, delicately folds the paper and tucks it into the small pouch on his shoulder harness, keeping the drawing close to his heart. You sit together in comfortable silence as the ship drops out of hyperspace.

“I guess you weren’t lying when we met,” he finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“You are… crafty,” he chuckles, his fingers tenderly stroking the leather pouch on his shoulder. “And you’re a good person to talk to.”

—

iv.

The Mandalorian doesn’t ask you to stay on the freighter while he works anymore.

He doesn’t want you with him while he hunts, can’t afford the distraction. But he doesn’t want you to feel trapped either. So, he tells you to explore villages and draw landscapes of forested planets with the set of pigmented chalks he’d sweetly gifted you after finishing a job one day. (“I saw them at some backwater trading post. Thought you might like them,” he’d shrugged.)

He doesn’t say it out loud but you know he trusts you even more now, trusts you won’t get into trouble, trusts you can take care of yourself if it finds you anyway. And he knows you appreciate it after being stranded on Tatooine your entire life. Each time he lands on a new planet, he sees entire galaxies reflected in your awestruck eyes and he gains a new page of artwork to add to his growing collection.

His latest quarry leads the pair of you to Felucia, on the hunt for some scum who — according to the Mandalorian — is probably hoping to harvest the planet’s Nysillin, a valuable healing herb, to trade for hefty credits.

Felucia is a beautiful world you could never have even conjured in your dreams. A dense jungle of flora extends toward the upper atmosphere, kissing the yellow-tinted clouds and glowing orange and teal when night falls. Vibrant purple fungi tower high above the ferns, providing shade that did little to combat the damp heat.

You felt a strange energy running through your veins the moment you stepped off the ship, blaming it on the humidity instantly sticking to your skin like honey, a welcome discomfort compared to the sands of Tatooine.

On Tat, the sand made a habit of blowing and whipping around your ankles, scraping slashes and slivers into your skin. You’d hardly ever felt it, soft skin having evolved into a numb armor over many years on the desolate planet. Even as crystal particles would fly into your eyes, fill your lungs, nestle into your hair — you’d hardly felt it.

Sand is nothing compared to the sinister shudder that would run down your spine as you’d make haste through dark alleyways. The hairs on the back of your neck would rise and stiffen. You’d feel it more than you’d see it: the mass of darkness constantly looming over your shoulder, disfigured shadows merging with yours on the sand. And a voice would ask you each time: are you willing to do what you must to survive?

You almost had that night you met the Mandalorian. You remember your attacker’s voice like you just woke up from a nightmare, coarse and rough, burying itself under your skin like the Tatooine sands. His hands had felt slimy and sticky like the Felucian air as he’d gripped your waist. That same question of will had rung in your ears and your soul had urged you with a whisper: “Survive.” Your hand had quaked as you’d lifted it and focused your thoughts on your attacker’s throat.

Then, before you could save yourself, you’d heard blaster fire and exhaled a staggered breath, gazing upon the Mandalorian as your hand had dropped limp at your side. You never turned back.

Now, you explore more systems than you knew existed, a Mandalorian warrior at your side, filling your weathered drawing pad with sketches of worlds beyond imagination.

Felucia would be a quick job, he’d assured you when he’d left. Easy and clean. Besides, no matter how beautiful the planet seemed — you couldn’t afford to stay longer than one rotation.

The Mandalorian had warned you of carnivorous plants and mysterious beasts. He hadn’t asked you to stay on the ship, but you knew he’d feel better if you kept close by. In the low shrubs and behind sky-scraping stalks, a deep grumble echoed through the jungle — something hungry and menacing. You stayed far from the sounds, choosing to explore the other colorful flowers that lived nearer to the ruddy soil, not straying too far into the mystifying wilds. You scribble away in your booklet, airways filled with a fresh petrichor that reminds you of a watery star system the Mandalorian brought you to a couple of months back. Your chalks fly across the tiny page as you capture this planet’s inimitable beauty as best you can.

Hardly four hours pass before you hear the Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps returning. Behind him trudges a stout man, wrists in binders behind him as he follows the bounty hunter in defeat.

“You’re getting slow, Mando,” you say, grinning when he comes to a stop in front of you, hands on his hips, a slight tilt to his helmet.

“What are you drawing?” He asks, ignoring your previous comment. He kneels beside you, silently studying the chalk-smudged red flower on the page as you stroke the final flourishes of your sketch. You hand him your booklet, noticing how the quarry leans over Mando’s shoulder to sneak a peek as well.

“Beautiful,” Mando says, tone even, as if speaking a fact instead of opinion.

“Well, it’s easy to see beauty when it’s all around,” you answer, cheeks heated as you gesture to the plant life surrounding you.

“It is,” he agrees, tenderness seeping into his modulated voice. When you look up at him, his visor is already trained on your face, unwavering as you crouch eye to eye with each other.

“Hate to break it to ya,” the quarry says, coughing dramatically behind you. “But all this ‘beauty’ wants to eat us alive, so I suggest we get off this hellhole before we all become dinner.”

The Mandalorian sighs, tearing his gaze to probably glare daggers at the quarry.

“Makes you wonder what you were doing on this ‘hellhole’ in the first place,” he says, sarcastic to a fault.

“It wasn’t my choice,” the quarry argues, lifting his hands in defense. “I’m here to do a job, just like y—”

A shrill, deafening screech cuts through the jungle like a blade and the group of you shrink at the violent sound.

“Let’s go,” Mando says immediately, helping you on your feet and pushing the quarry into the freighter.

You watch from the ground behind him as Mando runs in to lock the quarry inside the storage closet, turning only when the screeching sound suddenly stops. Your eyes squint as you try to find a sign of movement in the dense jungle.

“Watch out!”

Before you can register the anxiety in the Mandalorian’s voice, you’re knocked on your back into the red soil by a hulking creature.

It towers over you, casting you completely in its shadow as it slowly stalks forward. Your vision blurs as the horrifying monster draws closer — wrinkled white skin stretching the expanse of its belly and blue spine-covered leather painting its face and shell-armored back.

“I’m guessing this is the rancor you were telling me about?” You grit through your teeth, inching away like a pathetic crab along the shoreline. Drool leaks from the rancor’s jagged teeth in dangling strands as it reaches long, webbed claws toward you.

Before they can reach your body, you see the Mandalorian’s whipcord wrap around its arm. On the other end of the cord, Mando yanks the rancor away from you, rapid blaster fire whizzing through the air, hitting the beast with deadly precision. But the blasts bounce off its thick, impenetrable skin as it continues prowling toward you with renewed anger.

“Good guess,” Mando grunts, flying above the rancor with his jetpack, shooting at it in quick succession.

The rancor turns its attention away from you to the shiny flying pest blasting at its leathery skin. It’s at least six times the Mandalorian’s height but seems worlds larger from your view on the ground.

“Stars, I thought you said these things were peaceful!” You shout.

“The Felucians don’t mind them. You must have scared it with your aggressive craftiness,” he quips, and you imagine what his smirk might look like under his helmet, even as the rancor approaches closer.

Mando launches miniature whistling explosives at the beast, but they do little to deter it. He throws grenades but the rancor swats them away like insects. It stomps toward the Mandalorian, its maw gaping wide as it releases a petrifying roar.

“Mando!” You scream when the rancor’s claws grab him by his jetpack, plowing his body into the ground with brute force.

The Mandalorian groans as he tries to stand back up, falling on his back when his bones prove too weary to support his weight.

“Get to the ship,” he rasps, voice crackling through the helmet with static. He raises his arm, flamethrower igniting at the rancor’s face, making it fumble backward with another roar. Only seconds later, the fire sputters and dies out. “Dank farrik!” He curses, reaching for his hopeless blaster once more before the monster’s claws slap it from his hand. “Get to the ship!” He yells.

Rooted to the ground like the surrounding plants, you’re helpless bantha fodder as you watch the rancor slowly creep forward, stretching to its full height above the Mandalorian. It feels like you’re sinking in quicksand — your feet and your mind hopelessly going under.

Then, you hear a soft voice ask a familiar yet distorted question:

Are you willing to do what you must so he survives?

You don’t hesitate. Anything, your soul resolves.

Steadily braced on two feet, you throw out your hand like a whip, focusing all your energy and emotions toward the blue beast. It sends the rancor flying backward like a ragdoll, wailing as it crashes through the thick jungle, loud cracks echoing from the mist as its body breaks every plant in its path. It lands far away with a heavy thud, but you feel it in your veins when it immediately gets on its feet, vengefully sprinting back toward you.

“Can’t say it isn’t persistent,” you mutter.

“How? You—” Mando grunts, a thousand questions on his tongue that will have to wait.

“I’ll explain later,” you huff, yanking his arm over your shoulder and pulling him to the ship. “We need to get out of here.”

“What’s happening?” The quarry yells from inside the locked compartment when he hears footsteps boarding the ship. You drop the Mandalorian onto the floor of the main hold rather unceremoniously, a metallic clanging sound ringing through the freighter. You punch in his code to retract the ship’s ramp before running to the cockpit. Outside the freighter, the rancor’s screeching grows louder and your fingers flit across the control panel to get the ship in the air. The engines whir to life and you swear it’s the second most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

With one final glance at the glowing jungle outside the viewport, thunderous roars softening into a low rumble, the ship finally launches out of Felucia’s atmosphere. Sinking back in the pilot’s seat, you let out a breath you’ve been holding for what feels like years. A labored dragging sound echoes behind you and you snap your head back, instinctively on defense.

But your shoulders relax when you see the Mandalorian gripping the walls of the ship as he attempts to limp closer. You run to his side, carrying his weight as you lead him to sit in the co-pilot’s chair.

“You need to rest,” you whisper, standing in front of him to quickly scan his body for signs of a major injury. “Looks like you got away with just a few shallow cuts and bruises. Nothing a bit of bacta can’t soothe.”

Your words come out like the rapid firing of his blaster before a gloved hand on your wrist stops you from speeding off.

“What happened back there? How did you...” He asks, his visor lifted at an uncomfortable angle to meet your eyes.

Your lips press into a straight line, brows pinched in worry as you turn away from him to rummage through the medpac.

“I don’t...” you start, letting out a long exhale as you gather your words. “I don’t know. Since I was a kid, I’ve been able to do things I can’t explain — move things without touching them.”

You turn back to him, bacta in hand as you study expressionless beskar.

“Sometimes, it frightens me. I have no idea where it comes from or why it happens or how to control it. I never do it around other people. I didn’t want them to know,” you admit quietly, dropping your gaze to his vambrace, wordlessly asking if he still trusts you to remove it. He nods, visor watching you with masked curiosity as you roll back his sleeves and expose bruised, tan skin. “I’m afraid of what could happen if people knew.”

You don’t tell him how you don’t sleep well most nights, your thoughts eating away at your mind as you wonder if your abilities are the reason why you’ve always been alone… if they drove your family away before you could understand and just explain.

It stays silent while you tend to his wounds, applying bacta wherever your hands coax sharp hissing sounds from his helmet. His armor lies on the floor of the cockpit, sleeves pulled up to his elbows and the hem of his shirt lifted just enough to reveal a shallow cut and smattering of bruises on his abdomen. It’s not the worst you’ve seen and the bacta seems to already be easing most of the discomfort, allowing him to sit up straighter.

You leave him for a moment to allow him to tend to the bruises on his legs himself, walking to the supply closet to make sure the quarry is secure in his makeshift prison. When you return, you sit in the pilot’s seat, facing the zooming stars as if they hold the answers to every terrifying question you’ve held inside for so long.

You almost don’t hear the soft way the Mandalorian calls your name. It takes all your strength to pivot your seat in his direction.

“Do you remember when I told you about the mudhorn?” He asks.

You nod. The story of the mudhorn, of course you remember. After he’d first told you about his child, he seemed eager to tell you even more tales of their adventures across the galaxy. The mudhorn felt like their origin story, the birthplace of his connection to Grogu.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story,” he says quietly, piquing your attention. “Grogu saved me. Not the other way around.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “But how? He’s just a baby.”

Mando stands from the co-pilot’s seat, testing his leg’s stability before walking to the control board, leaning back on it, his knees brushing against yours.

“Grogu had powers too. He could heal people. And he could move things without touching them,” he mirrors your words, making your jaw drop as you take them in. “Just like you. I was quested to bring him to others of his kind.”

“You mean?” you ask, and he doesn’t miss the flash of hope in your eyes.

“Yes. There are others like him — like you.”

You listen with rapt attention as he unravels the legend of the Jedi — a fierce warrior he’d met named Ahsoka Tano and the hooded figure who had single-handedly defeated a platoon of Dark Troopers and became Grogu’s new mentor. He tells you the few fragments of what he knows about laser swords — lightsabers — the bright colors he’s seen them radiate. But he leaves out the heavy weight of the darksaber locked away in his weapons cabinet. Besides that, he tells you everything he knows, which he regrets isn’t much.

“The Force?” You ask in confusion.

“The Force is what gives you your powers,” he says, reciting the words like folklore passed down through generations. “It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”

Ahsoka’s words have been imprinted on his brain since she first spoke them.

“I can take you to a place where you can communicate with them,” he whispers. Truly, he doesn’t want to do as he says, doesn’t want to repeat the heartache he’s still not fully recovered from. He wishes he could snatch the righteous words out of the air before you hear them. But he knows what it would mean to you to find others, a family when you’ve had none your whole life. “The… Jedi, I mean. On a planet called Tython. If you want to be trained.”

He imagines a familiar hooded figure leading you by your hand, leaving him behind.

“I… I’d like to hear what they have to say. Get some answers,” you say. “If you’ll take me.”

“Of course.”

You stand up, allowing him to take his place in the pilot’s chair.

“After we drop off the quarry, I’ll bring you to Tython.”

His breath stops when he sees your hand reach out to cradle the side of his helmet. His eyes screw shut, imagining the plush warmth of your palm caressing the skin on his cheek instead.

“Thank you, Mando,” you say, a gentle smile on your lips.

“Din,” he offers, grinning beneath his helmet when your chin tilts in silent questioning. “My name is Din Djarin,” he clarifies. “But you can still call me Mando if you want.”

You smile, so wide and so bright it could blind him.

“Thank you, Din,” you say, unexplored galaxies sparkling in your irises. For the first time, he lets himself daydream what it’d be like to discover each one of them with you, for as many years as you’ll give him. Even as he fears his time with you is ending. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

As you walk to your sleeping quarters, the soft sound of controls beeping and ticking in the ship, you don’t hear when he whispers:

“Anything.” [READ PART II HERE]

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #reader insert #taole #mine*

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m-y-fandoms · 3 years

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Blood on Our Stage - Vampire Nagito Komaeda x Human Female Reader -Part 1 (Slight/Platonic Female Reader x Hajime Hinata)

So, this is an old fic I updated to fit these characters because I want to continue it :)

NEEDED CONTEXT FOR THIS AU: Hajime and Nagito are step brothers, (Y/N)/Reader is a human, Hajime and Nagito are vampires, and Hajime did indeed get into the Main Course at Hope’s Peak, for acting.

The paycheck… It's all about the paycheck...

You took a deep breath, reassuring yourself for what seemed like the hundredth time that year… or that hour.

Smile, s-smile. Breathe, lean into him. It has to look real, (Y/N). God… it’s a whole new level of crackhead when you stutter to yourself in your thoughts.

Dissociate.

What are we having for dinner? How many more steps ‘til that damn egg hatches? If it’s another fucking Diglett I swear I’ll go apeshit.

You shifted to your right, the most forced of grins creeping onto your cosmetic-plastered face. You let your head fall onto Hajime’s shoulder. Convincing right? Touching is convincing. Random gentle displays of affection are convincing...

By this time, you were nearly blind from the flash of some fifty or so cameras in your face, anyway, so why not just pretend that the photographers and press were blind as well?

Why not, why not?

You pretended in every other aspect of your life.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Hajime’s voice shook you out of your trance, and you turned your head, letting go of his arm, which you had grabbed out of habit. His sparklingly white teeth - sharper than the average man's - gleamed down at you, and you felt that usual pang of fear run down your spine and chill your bones. Even attached to the gums of the sweetest boy on earth, you’d never get used to the sight.

It's all a show, (Y/N), a game. Pretend. "Fangs for the fans, and all that"

How long would that farce last until people started to realize?

What had Hajime said earlier that month? You retreated into yourself, thinking deeply, trying desperately to calm the anxiety that rose with at the sight of his flesh-tearing canines...

_______________________________________________________________

"I can bare my fangs at interviews, photoshoots… you know, when the paparazzi are around. It’s what my dad wants,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Don't worry about it, (Y/N). Honestly, you freak out over the silliest things sometimes.” He ruffled your hair. “It will look like I'm dedicated to the role, or something like that… whatever. People will love it, trust me."

___________________________________________________________

But you never could. How could you? A monster with a secret, stupidly displaying that secret openly to the world? No… trusting meant removing little stones from that carefully built wall, which sub-sequentially meant getting hurt, and not just emotionally. You recited this mantra to yourself almost routinely; something you’d picked up from someone very close to your heart. Isn’t it funny how we steal little bits of personality from those we love most?

You knew Hajime just followed whatever his father commanded, that he’d do anything to feel like he mattered, that people cared. He’d done all this: the acting lessons, depending on daddy’s money, the unless studying and promoting himself, just to get into that stupid school and kickstart his illustrious career.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)??" Hajime tenderly brought his hand up, stroking your shoulder awkwardly. The clench in his jaw, however, wasn't friendly at all. You couldn’t really blame him, though. He was doing it for your sake, after all. You had to get through this, and he knew he had to pull you through; everything depended on it.

How could this flock of idiots not tell the “chemistry” was forced???

"Uh… o-of course! Yeah!" You smiled, a fake chuckle escaping your lips, and the crowd of reporters and internet journalists roared in front of you. Of course they did… wasn't everything the disciplined and people-pleasing boy beside you said fucking hilarious? You sighed, returning your gaze to the mass of people below you as you and your leading man sat raised on a platform behind a pretentiously high table.

Just let Hajime handle all the questions, you thought to yourself indifferently. You always did. They rarely directed them at you specifically, anyway. So much for your dream: to stun the world as an independent starlet, a crimson-hot femme fatale. It was always ‘Hinata Hajime’s doe-eyed leading lady!’, ‘Hajime’s little love interest!’, never ‘(Y/N) (L/N)... featuring Hajime Hinata!’ But... you were famous, and with no little chunk of change to boot… you should’ve been thankful… right?

So why weren’t you…?

Your eyes scanned the faces before you, and you realized that you hadn't… really looked at them until now. Yes, the usual prolific online bloggers and huge theatre junkies were there, and Mr. Hinata of course. He wouldn't miss out on one of his company’s press meetings for the world, especially with his money-making beloved son in the spotlight. He was so anal, how could anything possibly go off without a hitch unless he was there?

You wondered if the girl next to him knew he was a ravenous monster as well, but thought better of it. Of course, she didn't know. You shouldn't have even known. But you did, and it plagued you every day of your life.

Fuck... you just wanted to go back to your room and overthink in peace. It was embarrassingly uncomfortable to do so in public

Mr. Hinata sat sternly upright, with his polished, slick hair, in his polished, slick shoes and extravagantly tailored navy suit, his secretary at his side, brushing his hand unnoticeably between the chairs. His wife would never care, anyway. To their right sat a rosy-cheeked intern, spunky and full of character. Holding a clipboard between perfectly painted nails, the only thing that spoke louder than her bright smile was her neon miniskirt. She must not have known, either. No human simply knew, and still managed to look that innocent and lively. The PR girls loved press conferences, and each new show only yielded fresh publicity. This most recent show, set to premiere the following night, was a tale of romance: A vampire lord and his human lover: a medieval era period piece. Of course, for this reason, Hajime did nothing to hide his all-too-real fangs.

You loved a good historical romance, and loved being in one even more. It had always been your goal as a starting actress to take the lead in at least one period play, be it Victorian, colonial, medieval.. but... it had not turned out quite the way you planned...

A few other members of the Hinata family accompanied their revered head of the household… or was it head of the clan… coven? Whatever, it was expected. The murderous bloodsuckers always clung to their leader’s side, and could always be found lurking around Hinata’s estate, if they weren’t already crammed up his ass looking for approval.

A flash came from the reporter to the left, directly into your vision, and left you dazed.

Fuck… you seethed internally. Calm down. Calm down. The paycheck. That's it. This is almost over, anyway. Why did you always find yourself spacing out at the worst possible times? You acknowledged that it was how your body coped with the overwhelming urge to break down, but damn if it wasn’t inconvenient at the minute. Nothing screamed ‘I have something to hide’ like acting shady in front of a hundred people…

You leaned into Hajime again. Sell the relationship. Sell the love.

You exhaled in exhaustion. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Hajime… you did, just, not like this. Never like this. Lying to millions of fans and the press, pretending Hajime was anything other than a brother-like figure to you just to line his father’s pockets, tore you apart more than keeping his immortality a secret. Denying you both a chance at real love for fear of scandal… you were sure that there was no phrase you’d ever grow to hate more than “The Hinata Theatre Company!” Ironic, wasn’t it, that at one point in time, you begged to be here?

You found that scoping out a crowd lowered the anxiety you had about actually being in front of them. It's funny, many people asked how you could possibly be afraid of crowds or public speaking when you were a damn Broadway-level star. Your answer was always the same: your rush of adrenaline and passion for theatre got you through a show, but anywhere else but on that stage, and a crowd turned your mind to jelly. It was different… walking out for a performance tamed the butterflies that flew around inside your stomach.

Of course, there was always the fact that your boss could tear you apart at a moment’s notice that contributed to the anxiety, but you obviously couldn't share that little bit of information with anyone. It was all so hard to process, that this kind young man beside you could be something so fearsome, that your whole life was a public sham. You’d never forget the day you’d found out… how it changed everything. You shouldn’t have to be afraid of your best friend, you just shouldn’t. But how could you ever truly trust him again?

Your eyes bounced once, twice around the room.

...No

You gasped, breath catching in your throat as your eyes caught on something that caused you to jump slightly in your seat.

"You ok?" Hajime whispered, the crowd going noticeably silent for a moment. Mr. Hinata glared in your direction. A silent warning, reminding you that even one wrong move made his company look bad, and that would not end so well for you. That was the shining aspect of Hajime’s personality, that he was nothing like his father.

"Yeah, y-yeah," you spoke airily, cheeks heating. "I just slipped to the edge of my seat a little, almost fell!" You lied timidly, a small laugh.

They'll eat that shit up. Soft-spoken, innocent, clumsy girls are all the rage! Of course, Hajime picked up on the lie immediately, catching the change in tone, the skipping of your heartbeat. Being an immortal freak had its perks.

The bright-eyed boy beside you patted your arm, the crowd chuckling politely before returning to their bombardment of questions.

Your eyes flew back to the corner of the room, back to the object that had you startled in the first place. You tried to tell yourself you’d imagined it, but there was no mistake,

It was him...

Standing there in the entranceway, so dimly lit, he hid in the alcove. There was no mistaking his favorite jacket, the fabric ripped and weathered from use. There was no mistaking the intricate, almost root-like pale green veins which spiraled up his arms, told a story across his milky collarbone, tumbled down his wrists, and made him all the more intimidating. Intoxicating. There was no mistaking that full head of tousled hair, brightly standing out even in the meager lighting in that disregarded corner of the room, messy whisps branching out dangerously; an air of nonchalance and bored irreverence. Smug bastard…

And there was absolutely no mistaking the way those bright eyes illuminated his white skin in contrast, a frightening and ethereal glow shooting off of him in waves. Hajime’s chestnut-brown eyes never mimicked that terrifying iridescence, but then again, Hajime never took his life-sustaining drink from a human host. Your hands began to subconsciously shake. From fear or the itching desire to… you didn’t know, throw your arms around him, touch his cheek just once... ? You never knew with him. He was a wild thing, a beast untamable. But why the hell was he here?

Carelessly he leaned against the door frame. His tongue shot out predatorily, running along his lower lip in one fluid motion. His knuckles raised, brushing against the green of his coat and coming up to scratch the side of his face.

❘ What are you doing here?! ❘ You sent your thoughts out in waves so loud you might as well have been screaming. You knew immediately that he had taken them in, absorbing your mental cursing and inner toil like sun rays. It was a power and privilege only those of his kind who were purebred enjoyed.

He did not answer, but merely tilted his head, the corner of his lip rising in that maddening grin he always threw at you. An impish smirk hiding mischief and chaotic intentions, you were sure.

You knew it would be mere moments ‘til your flawless "boyfriend" beside you noticed his presence as well, and you feared what might become of this night that was supposed to be of celebration. Almost as if on cue, Hajime’s words halted to a stop. That evil smirk only widened, a small snort shaking the intruder’s chest.

"Nagito..." Hajime murmured through clenched teeth, his hand shooting down to grab your wrist. "He's here."

"I know..." your words shook, just loud enough for any non-human in the room to hear. Now it was time for you to be Hajime’s rock. Nagito's head bobbed, looking down at his old ripped jeans, and you saw Mr. Hinata's eye twitch before you, his vampiric hearing triggered immediately upon hearing your quiet exchange with Hajime.

Mr. Hinata followed your eyes to the back of the room, his fiery glare landing on the face of his eldest and only step-son in the shadows.

Was it too late to run back into the dressing room and never come out?

You could feel the tension in the air, a line of electricity connecting the three vampires like mental twine, ready to break at any moment. It was like watching three animals square off, sizing up their threat on a National Geographic documentary. The other Hinata coven members, all also fierce bloodsuckers in their own right, merely sat forward politely, sensing Nagito's aura but knowing better than to give him the time of day. After all, alerting the press to his presence would certainly not be a wise way to stay on Mr. Hinata’s good side.

No one outside of the family even knew about the existence of the elder brother. He was an embarrassment, a stain on Mr. Hinata’s designer tie. In the packed room, he looked so out of place, with dark, torn clothes in a sea of try-hard collared shirts and dresses. Sure, everyone who was anyone in the media world had turned up for this interview, and would also return for the opening night the next day, but everyone who was anyone never included Nagito. He made sure of that. He just had to stick out, be different, didn’t he? Even among a bunch of immortal freaks, boy… was he a freak.

Oh no, mommy remarried some rich man then got herself killed, better act like a little ungrateful little prick. Woe is me, I have super good luck that is sometimes super bad! No one understands me!!!

He sickened you, the way he did his best to destroy what he and Hajime’s family had built, all in the name of his backwards and twisted idea of “hope.” As if he didn't live like a prince because of the Hinatas’ hard work. Don’t get it twisted, you hated Mr. Hinata and would love to see the Hinata empire burn, but this company, the desire to be recognized and worth something, was all that held dear Hajime up. It was his only dream, and he deserved it. Nagito didn’t have a right to tear Mr. Hinata down if he had to wreck Hajime to do it.

He disgusted you, you’d decided months back, to make it all easier on yourself. Everything he’d done, the trouble he’d caused, the hurt he’d caused so many people. Routinely, you reinforced to yourself that you hated Nagito Komaeda

...You were disgusted by the way you… just... couldn’t hate him. It didn’t feel right. Something felt… wrong in hating him.

Your heart lurched, meeting his eyes again.

Why not? Why not just hate him, (Y/N)? Like everyone else…

Why was it so hard? You were supposed to be with Hajime. And Hajime hated Nagito. Everyone who knew Nagito hated Nagito. But… telling yourself you were anything but infatuated with that dangerous creature… was a lie. You owed everything, good and bad, to that feral, insane man.

Your nerves and the hairs on your arms pricked up like an agitated cat. Why why why? Why would he even do this? He knew what showing up here would start. He was born to start shit, to brew altercation, to cook up conflict. Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt? Perhaps he finally came to an event to support his darling step-brother, but the way he bore his fangs when his eyes met Hajime’s said otherwise.

❘ Leave. Just Leave. You're just here to antagonize me and I won't let you be a problem. Not today. This is my day… ❘ Hajime spat mentally, and his thoughts burned through your own and, you're sure, Nagito’s.

❘ Aren’t all the days yours, Your Majesty? ❘ Nagito’s thoughts were more severe, yet more playful, taunting, careless, a venomous snarl behind every synapse pulse.

❘ ...Leave. ❘ Hajime pulsed back in warning.

❘ ....Or what? ❘ Nagito’s own ominous threat reverberated through your cranium. You pressed a hand to your temple, an angry, stinging sensation pulsating through your head. Having a vampire read one’s mind was uncomfortable enough: feeling the slight probing and perhaps needing an aspirin after, but being the third line in a purebred pissing match… it was a call you desperately wanted to hang up on. But.. humans didn’t naturally hear a vampire’s thoughts on accident. No, you were hearing this conversation because you were meant to, someone wanted you to. You had no powers of your own, but Nagito kept you trapped in this nonverbal battle, strung up betwixt two immortal minds. You brought the back of your free hand up to your nose, wiping away a stripe of red vitality that began to flow from both nostrils. The panging inside, the angry shouting in your mind only got louder.

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crewofthegoldrush · 3 years

Text

Crew of the Gold Rush - Character Bios: the Command Crew

Note: our Eberron campaign was originally based on a public dndbeyond campaign, Around Khorvaire in 50 Days, so on the 0.01% chance that you reading this are planning to start/be in a game based on that, beware of major spoilers. Story context: [here]

Angelica d'Sivis - a gnome mage, Captain of the Celeste Noir

Captain Angelica is originally described as an illustrious explorer intent to set out on the Celeste Noir on behalf of House Sivis, the mark of Messaging, to create a map of the continent of Khorvaire within 50 days. She is at first a friendly and amicable captain, if quite evasive about her adventurous past. However, when her true intentions and identity are later revealed, the PCs must band together with their allies to stop her and a mutiny ensues. She disappears, having made an enemy of her once loyal crew.

Fun facts:

We never gave her a face claim but my sister insists she sounds like Mae Whitman

She seems to have an affinity for ice and storms as she once wore an ice themed enchanted dress that Tequila later stole

Tequila had a tiny crush on her

Brunhilde Kheldeburn, a dwarf berserker and ship gunner for the Gold Rush

Brunhilde is a friendly and hardworking dwarf in charge of manning the armory and weaponry aboard the ship. She is at first a little secretive about her past before later revealing she was forced to retire in disgrace from her life sailing the seas, exchanging the waves for the air. On top of being a cheerful presence on the ship, Brunhilde is a masterful fighter and has helped her crew in many fights and battles. She forms a thick bond with Monty, Tequila and Grixie due to their shared interests in weaponry and similar fighting styles.

Fun facts:

We never gave her a face claim but my sister insists she is voiced by "Dagna as played by Laura Bailey"

Despite not technically being proficient in firearms, Brunhilde wields an arcane pistol built for her by Grixie

My girlfriend, who plays Wayfinder, is constantly remarking about how much she has a crush on Brunhilde.

Demetrius d’Lyrandar - a half-elf spy rogue, Pilot of the Gold Rush

Demetrius is an easy going and friendly guy, if a bit stand-offish. He gets along with most of the crew, but his vice is known by the whole ship; at night he drinks himself sick to help curb his nightmares. Following Angelica's escape, Demetrius reveals she was blackmailing him, as she was aware of his past. He had been forced to kill a loyal crew member, his way-finder, after the way-finder attacked him in a fit of madness. Despite this fear and loneliness in him, he seems to be opening up thanks to his time spent with Wayfinder and his new crew, although time will tell if they can help him curb his drinking. He seems to be in a romance with his Captain, although that's just a rumor right now.

Fun facts:

His little snake companion is named Serafin, and she can be used to send messages, both physical and magical, to anyone on the ship

Once got into a heated argument with Brunhilde over a tomato being a fruit or vegetable which lead to them not speaking for days

He once saved all our asses by dropping a ship onto an Eldritch horror

Natsuko Hayashi - a human druid, chief Cartographer of the Celeste Noir

Originally from Sharn, having fled the city after receiving a barrage of threatening letters, Natsuko is known as the best cartographer around and despite her reservations that such an endeavor could lead to her name being known, she agreed to join Angelica's journey. Of the command crew, Natsuko is one of the most level headed and focused, while being quite friendly and personable. She was one of the first to join the PCs in their plan to stop Angelica and uses her magic to protect them. Although she and the group have since parted ways, it is undoubted that she would return should she ever be called upon. She and Breezy are in a long distance relationship.

Fun facts:

When it was revealed that Natsuko is not the kind of Druid that can turn into animals I almost cried about it

We're a little bit worse off without Natsuko as she definitely carried the brain cell of the whole party

Benjamin Octavious, a human acolyte and ship doctor of the Celeste Noir.

If Brunhilde is the muscle and Natsuko is the brain, Benjamin is the heart of the NPCs. He joined the expedition as part of a break from college, excited to do something that would get him out of a House Jorasco hospital all day, not that he would have any idea what the adventure would bring. He is a kind young man who believes the best way to help is to get out there and do good. Although the group has since said goodbye to Benjamin as he had to return to college, he, like Natsuko, would likely return should he be needed. He formed a tight friendship with Capella during their time working together.

Fun facts:

Although he wasn't ever really treated this way, Benjamin actually worked under Capella, as Capella had stolen her invitation to work for the Celeste Noir from the intended Head Doctor - he spent the whole adventure thinking this weird pigeon was his boss

Of all the NPCs Benjamin is probably the most universally beloved by all players

Consistently only referred to as "Benjamin as played by Michael B Jordan" by the DM

While Angelica was able to offset some of her suspicious behavior with her pleasant attitude, Aubrey, not so much. The first mate was suspicious from the start, sticking to the captain like glue and being so far from friendly she probably didn't know the meaning of the word. The only one who bothered to approach this stoic and strict ice queen was Monty, who immediately took a shine to her and appreciated that she was at least professional. When the true intentions of the Celeste Noir were made, Aubrey fled with Angelica, refusing to be captured or killed lest her true alliances be revealed, seemingly to never be seen again; until she came back.

Aubrey Galatea - a human changeling assassin and first mate of the Celeste Noir.

Fun facts:

Despite being one of the scarer and frankly one of the most dangerous NPCs we had to face, Aubrey has been the butt of some of the funnier moments in the game, including - the running gag that she would carry Angelica around in a baby carrier; jumping headfirst out of a closed window; fighting in a boss fight half naked; and leading a PC into a closet only to get trapped in said closet.

Aubrey, like Angelica, has a hidden Aberrant Mark

Aubrey is my favorite NPC of the whole entire campaign and my friends are tired of me talking about her

After a chance meeting in Sharn, Harper was hired on as the quartermaster when it became apparent the party needed help finding a new crew. She quickly proved herself to be level headed, hard working and friendly enough, but not so much so that she couldn't fly under the radar, which is exactly what she wanted. After about a collective month or so of travel, she and Monty formed a close friendship, enough so that when finally confronted, Harper revealed she was actually Aubrey.

Harper Greer - a human changeling assassin, Quartermaster of the Gold Rush.

Fun facts:

I personally and directly was vindicated in my months long redemption pursuit when we brought Harper/Aubrey into a final fight and she promptly slaughtered a man in one go

As a changeling, Harper compartmentalizes her identities and considers herself and Aubrey to be different people, and as such the two tend to be treated as separate NPCs depending on the context.

Harper carries the party braincell

Grixie - a goblin Alchemist Artificer and unofficial member of the Gold Rush

A brash and spunky little goblin, Grixie was discovered by the crew after blasting a hole into the Celeste Noir and causing it to crash land into a lake below. Despite this rocky start, the party put it behind them pretty quickly and Grixie quickly grew to become not only an unofficial member but a genuine asset. She is not a permanent member of the crew however, as her passionate hate for the War and House Cannith send her all over the continent as she attempts to stamp out all attempts that, she feels, are being made to restart the war. Of the party members, she is closest to Monty, Tequila, and Brunhilde and seems to return Tequila's feelings for her.

Fun facts:

Grixie doesn't have a face claim, but my sister and I insist she sounds like "a really bitchy Anna Kendrick"

Grixie cemented herself as a necessary NPC when we brought her to a boss fight and she helped take out mooks left and right with flaming sphere, grease, and web creating quite a looney tune style fight scene

IMAGE CREDIT

Angelica, Benjamin, Demetrius, Aubrey and Brunhilde are all taken from the dndbeyond encounter, which come from official WOTC media

Harper | Grixie:

#dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #eberron #NPC bios #context #long post

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nyerus · 4 years

Note

Hey I originally followed you for YOI stuff and since that seems to be on haitus, I have seen you and a lot of people rebloing stuff about a different anime or manga (i think) with different mlm relationships? I think they're two diff shows and I've heard about mdzs before. But lately youve been reblogging stuff from a manga tagged tgcf and it looks pretty cool--so i was wondering how I could get into it and what its about? Does it have actual gay charas?

Hello! I’m sorry for the late response! This morphed from a simple answer into a beginner guide of sorts, so I hope you don’t mind! I know there’s like 500000 guides out there, but I figured I’d give it a shot too! ❤

So the stuff you’ve been seeing everywhere is indeed MDZS or related to it–including on my own blog! (I promise when YOI comes back from war, I’ll be all over that again ;o;!!!)

So these works are all by the same author, Mò Xiāng Tóng Xiù (MXTX) and they are separate danmei (i.e. Chinese BL) novels, though they share a lot of similarities between them:

MDZS (Mó Dào Zǔ Shī) – Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

TGCF (Tiān Guān Cì Fú) – Heaven Official’s Blessing

SVSSS – Scum Villian’s Self-Saving System

All of them are complete and fan translated, and I’ll answer your last question first: yes, they have actual gay characters! In the novels, the main couples end up canonically married! \o/ In some of the adaptations, their romantic relationships are also maintained (e.g. the manhuas (Chinese graphic novel)), though censorship is present.

Links will be added below this post! Grab some popcorn, this is long!

･:*:･ﾟ’★🐇MDZS🐇★･ﾟ’･:*:･

MDZS《魔道祖师》is definitely the most popular work by MXTX, as it has the most adaptations. You’ve almost certainly been seeing gifs and photosets from its donghua (Chinese animation) or live action the most. However, it has a manhua and audio drama (in both Chinese and Japanese) as well!

Synopsis: Reviled as the infamous Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian harnessed the forbidden dark power of demonic cultivation. Once the cultivation world decided he was too dangerous to leave alone, he was hunted down, and a terrible battle ensued that cost Wei Wuxian his life—and the lives of many others. 13 years later, he is resurrected under mysterious circumstances into the body of the pariah Mo Xuanyu. Now with this second chance at life (and while hiding his real identity), Wei Wuxian has to uncover the truth about a powerful malevolent spirit. It may just be the key to revealing a series of heinous secrets hidden from the cultivation world for years. And while the world may still hate him for crimes he didn’t commit, there’s one person who’s on his side—the illustrious Hanguang-jun, Lan Wangji—and is willing to stand by him against all odds. The two have a long and complex history, and Wei Wuxian is unsure of Lan Wangji’s motivations for helping him. But it couldn’t be more simple: respect and love.

Scene from the donghua.

Still from the live action, called “Chén Qíng Lìng”/“CQL”/”The Untamed.”

Panel from the manhua.

Art from the Chinese audio drama.

The great thing about MDZS is that you can really pick your poison in terms of what adaptation you want to get started with. If you are absolutely brand-new to the danmei scene, then starting with the donghua or manhua may be your best bet (both are ongoing). The novel of course is the most beloved, being the source, but all the adaptations have their own charms! They’re all worth checking out, and will keep you busy for quite a while.

･:*:･ﾟ’★🌸TGCF🌸★･ﾟ’･:*:･

Now, for TGCF《天官赐福》—that’s where my photosets are coming from: the ongoing manhua that started in October. There’s a donghua planned for late this year, and a live action in talks (info about that is largely unknown, but is slated for production sometime after the donghua release). TGCF actually has the same deal structure as MDZS apparently, so we’ll be getting an audio drama as well if that’s true.

Synopsis: Talented and virtuous, Crown Prince Xie Lian first ascended to the heavens when he was only 17. Once the darling of the earth and heavens for his boundless skill and purity of heart, he ended up falling from grace—not once, but twice! Subsequently, he became the laughing stock of the three realms. Spending almost 800 years roaming the earth and collecting scraps, he becomes known as the pitiful “rubbish god” and “god of misfortune.” No one could have expected Xie Lian to ascend for a third time, but fate seems to have something in store for this disgraced yet compassionate immortal. Thankfully, he is not alone, as the widely-feared ghost king, Hua Cheng, seems to have a special interest in helping him. The two of them embark on a series of adventures that unravel the secrets of their world, and of themselves.

Panel from the manhua.

Scene from the Donghua PV.

The novel for TGCF is a great place to start, especially considering how the manhua is still in it’s early stages (just starting it’s 2nd arc as of writing this post). The novel is long, incredibly well-written, and well-translated. The manhua is absolutely stunning, and follows the novel very closely thus far.

･:*:･ﾟ’★🎋SVSSS🎋★･ﾟ’･:*:･

The underrated sibling of the three, SVSSS《人渣反派自救系統》has only the novel to interact with for right now. A donghua is planned for this year. There was a manhua, but it was cancelled due to some problems with the publisher afaik. Word on the street is that they’re searching for a new team for it, so we’ll continue to pray!!!

Synopsis: Shen Yuan is an avid reader of the web novel Proud Immortal Demon Way. The novel revolves around the protagonist Luo Binghe, a kind child who is tormented endlessly by his Shizun (teacher/mentor) Shen Qingqiu, until he turns into a powerful demon lord and exacts his violent revenge. While initially a fan of the story, Shen Yuan hates the unsatisfactory ending. Upon dying suddenly, he finds himself transmigrated into the novel, at the behest of The System—a sci-fi interface which gives him missions and directives. Unfortunately, he ends up in the place of the cruel Shen Qingqiu out of all people! This new Shen Qingqiu now has to use his knowledge of the novel to navigate around the plot, within the restrictions that The System has implemented. He has to find a way to ensure a better ending, if he wants to keep this second chance at life. His plan for doing this is to be as kind and encouraging as possible to the innocent Luo Binghe, who quickly takes a shine to this new Shen Qingqiu. Even after forced to the dark side, and despite the tension between them after this, Luo Binghe won’t let anyone else touch his beloved Shizun.

Cover of the Thai release of the novel.

SVSSS only really has the novel to interact with as of right now. There’s currently an excellent re-translation in progress by tumblr user Faelicy! If you want to get started now, however, you can read what she’s done so far and then swap over to the old translation afterward.

･:*:･ﾟ’★NOTES★･ﾟ’･:*:･

• ALL three novels are intended for an R-18+ audience ONLY. Other adaptations are safe for minors over 16 years of age.

• Please be aware that the novels may contain potentially triggering content. Feel free to ask me for content warnings if you need them.

• All three of these are totally different from one another and only share common themes typical of the wuxia/xianxia genres.

• The original Chinese raws of MDZS and SVSSS are no longer available for purchase on JJWXC (publishing site). You can find print versions on Taobao. TGCF, however, is still available!

• If you’d like more info on anything, please reach out to me! I’m happy to help.

• LINKS WILL BE ADDED BELOW THIS POST.

#mdzs #tgcf #svsss #mo dao zu shi #tian guan ci fu #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #heaven offical's blessing #scum villain's self-saving system #guide #asks #Anonymous #nyerus.txt

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theimperialnuisance · 3 years

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FFXIV Write 2021

Prompt 24 Illustrious

well known, respected, and admired for past achievements.

I know a lot of these stories are based around The Exarch lately but uh, I can’t help it >.> I’m a sucker for mutual pining and some of these prompts are just too perfect for it. This is a small snippet from the full story that will eventually be finished but this part was perfect for the prompt hence why it’s a little summarized in the beginning and may feel a little short toward the end. I will note that in the canon I have with my friends, we have two WoL’s (@tokki-yue is the other one) and I mention that because it’s mentioned in this so wanna clear any early confusion. Enjoy!

The first of the many unplanned meetings between Kien and the Exarch on the Watch tower. Very light ShB spoilers below.

Upon returning to the Crystarium, the cheers and celebrations had already begun. Finally after a hundred long years of enduring the Light, Lakeland would experience its first nightfall. The Exarch could scarcely believe his plan was finally coming to fruition and though the path ahead was still filled with trials and difficulties, it was still the first victory for Norvrandt and hopefully not the last. The energy about the Crystarium’s people was positively thrumming—the Exarch did his best to not get too caught up in it all but it was hard not too admits the awe and wonder. Somewhere in between his rounds to talk with as many people as he could and to check in on the Warriors, he lost sight of Kien.

He knew he shouldn’t worry too much about him but after their hard earned victory, the Bard seemed more troubled than happy. He knew from past experience Kien wasn’t much for celebrations but when he did all his research in preparation for the summonings, the tomes said otherwise and he was determined to find out if there was another underlying reason as to why he was separated from everyone else. After ensuring the other Scions were alright, he stepped away from the festivities to search for the other Warrior, a little relieved to have a moment for himself as well in the fresh air.

He gazed around the Rookery, noting that there were still quite a few people out and about, though the chatter was more of a soft murmur that filled the space, as if speaking any louder would shatter the memory of the bright starry sky they were all gazing upon. A small smile tugged the corners of his mouth and he too began to incline his head upward to see the night sky once again. He stopped short upon spotting a silhouette on the second highest platform of the watchtower, instantly knowing who was up there. A small sigh escaped him; he should have known better to look there first. History may have painted Kien differently than when he first knew him, but one thing seemed to remain unchanged, he still enjoyed heights just as much, so it should have been no surprise that he sought out the highest access point in the whole of the Crystarium.

Every step up the stairs sent his mind in a whirl. What would his excuse be when he got up there? He couldn’t very well tell Kien he only came up here to check on him—it was much too soon, and it may rouse suspicion. Should he tell him he just happened to go here too, since it was his favorite spot? Would that small fact give too much away? Mayhap he should turn around and head back down….but before he could even entertain that thought, he found himself at the top of the stairs and unable to take his gaze away from the sight before him.

Kien was leaning against the metal pillar of the platform, his arms crossed and gaze fixed on the gleaming tower. He couldn’t quite make out his expression but he could feel a sense of calm wash over him and his heart began to subside in its thrumming. Kien had yet to realize he had company with him as he inhaled a breath and settled himself down into a seated position at the edge of the platform, humming softly. The Exarch shifted his weight, leaning a bit on his staff as his heart began to thurm against his chest for an entirely different reason, suddenly nervous.

How many years had he longed for a moment like this to occur again? To be back with his friend, spending the night gazing at the tower just like they used to? They had both been eager to begin their new adventures then, younger and oblivious to the challenges their future held for them. From the moment they first met during the exhibition of the Crystal Tower, the two became fast friends and while the potential for their friendship to become something more was there, it never came to light because of the path their fates had planned for them. It was his hope that once he awoke to a bright future, he could chart course to find the Warrior again. That hope was shattered when he awoke two hundred years later to a calamity and read about his friend’s untimely death.

The Exarch could hardly grieve about it, having been too wrapped up with the Ironworks research to send him to the First. It wasn’t until he arrived a hundred years too early that he was able to sit down and read about his friend’s history that he could begin to understand just how much he missed while he was sleeping. There were still so many questions he had for him and so many tales he’d been eager to hear about—he had a second chance now. A second chance to right the world. A second chance to see him again. And while he had no idea of Kien still harbored the same feelings he did all these years later and may never know, he was just happy to see him alive and breathing. This time, he wouldn’t let that future happen. No matter what, the Warrior of Light’s—no, Kien and Tokki’s legacy would live on.

The Exarch inhaled a breath, gently tugging down on his hood to ensure he face remained hidden, and fighting down every urge to speak aloud on just how much this scene reminded him of old times. This was not the time nor the place. He didn’t want Kien to know it was him under the hood. He couldn’t know.

A floorboard creaked, causing the Exarch to flinch as Kien’s ear flicker back to indicate he was aware of his presence. “Apologies if I’m not supposed to be up here,” he began, glancing back briefly but not enough to see who it was. “I’ll head down in a moment.”

“No need to apologize, my friend.” The Exarch replied gently, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small smile as he watched Kien suddenly turn his head to fully gaze at him curiously. “May I?” He inclined his head slightly, his heart still rapidly beating against his chest as Kien eyed him for a bit, and then slowly nodded his head, gesturing to the empty spot next to him.

The Exarch inwardly breathed a sigh of relief and moved to settle himself down at a polite distance from Kien, his legs dangling over the edge and his staff resting next to him. “Forgive me for asking, but why are you up here and not down celebrating with the others?”

“I could ask you the same, couldn’t I?” Kien asked as he slowly turned his mismatched eyes to stare at the Exarch. His gaze was piercing, as if he was trying to see through the fabric of the heavy hood. “Being the leader of the Crystarium, should you not be down with your people?”

“Fair point,” The Exarch chuckled. “I needed a moment away from the celebrations. Knowing the people of the Crystarium, they’re likely to celebrate through the night, and apt as I am to join them, I fear this old man can only take so much excitement before needing a moment to retire. I often find myself up here to do so.”

Kien snorted a bit, which wasn’t exactly what the Exarch was expecting in reply, but he caught the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small smile. “With how you fought today, I’m still unsure if I can believe you’re as old as you say you are.” He paused, shrugging his shoulders. “Still, I can understand. I’m not one to stay too long at celebrations myself.”

Now it was the Exarch’s turn to be surprised and he was grateful to have kept his initial reaction in check as he stared curiously at the warrior. “I believe I read in the tomes that you were quite the festival goer; there would be no such celebration without the presence of the ‘illustrious Warrior of Light’.”

Kien laughed. “Is that what history says? Are you sure they weren’t referring to Tokki? She most certainly likes being the life of any celebration. Me, not so much.” He turned his gaze back down to the crowd below. “I’ve been to my fair share of celebrations in the past but I guess sometimes I enjoy watching them rather than being a part of them—the people don’t always need to know that a heroic deed I did is why they’re celebrating, you know?” He looked at the Exarch with a small smile who returned it in kind. “I know it’s not much of an explanation but it’s the best I’ve got.”

The Exarch returned his gaze to the tower with a short chuckle. “Well, regardless of why you’re up here, you have found one of the best spots in the Crystarium to view the night sky. You are free to come up here anytime, my friend.”

“It is a pretty spectacular view,” Kien replied wistfully as he kept his gaze fixed on the sky above, the tower gleaming brighter than ever before. “Though, I admit I came up here to get a better look at the tower…it reminds me of my favorite spot to view it back on the Source.”

The Exarch’s grip on his knee tightened and his breath hitched as he swallowed a knot in his throat. “You’d visit the tower often in the Source?” He quickly cleared his throat to avoid any unnecessary questions as Kien eyed him skeptically for a moment. “That is—no tomes I read about you mentioned your visits.” He wasn’t sure if that was a good recovery or not, but it seemed to have worked as Kien merely shrugged his shoulders with a sigh.

“I don’t suppose history would necessarily keep track of everything I do.” Kien chuckled softly. “Besides, I think I’d prefer it that way; that place was sort of a private viewing spot and I’d hate to see so many people there just to get a glimpse at the— what did you say they said? Oh, the illustrious Warrior of Light.” He tossed a lopsided grin at the Exarch which he returned with a polite smile, his heart skipping several beats. It felt like nothing had changed between them, even if only one of them felt that way. He’d do his best to enjoy the moment while he could but at a safe distance. One small slip up could expose himself much too soon.

“Well, if you have no intentions to return to the celebration anytime soon, care to indulge me on a few more things history may or may not have said about your past achievements?”

Kien corked a smile, settling himself in more and the Exarch did the same. “Sure, what would you like to know?”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #kien eilath #final fantasy xiv #crystal exarch #ffxiv shadowbringers #ffxiv spoilers #miqo’te wol #keeper of the moon #shadowbringers #nico writes #ffxiv fanfiction #this one is probably gonna be my longest one once it’s finished

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blishwix · 3 years

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❝ WE ARE ALL WEARING MASKS. THAT IS WHAT MAKES US INTERESTING ❞

huh, who’s LUKE MITCHELL? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually JIMBO “WICK” BLISHWICK VI. he is a 35 year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is CEO OF A WIXEN TECH & MEDIA COMPANY. he is known for being CALCULATING, FRAUDULENT, HEDONISTIC, CONCEITED, and AMORAL but also CHARISMATIC, AMBITIOUS, INNOVATIVE, METICULOUS, and PERSONABLE, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP BY BIG BAD VOODOO DADDY and STYLISHLY RIPPED JEANS AND SUEDE SHOES, PURELY AESTHETIC AND MISLEADING SOCIAL MEDIA FEED, NEATLY TRIMMED BEARD AND SANDALWOOD MUSK, HORN RIMMED GLASSES WITH SMUDGES ON THE LENS, MOLESKIN FULL OF ENDLESS CODE AND FUTURE TECH INNOVATIONS, EXTRAVAGANT PENTHOUSE OVERLOOKING THE CITY, WHISKEY STONES AND EMPTY DECANTERS, and CHARMING PERSONABLE SMILES WITH MALICIOUS INTENT HIDDEN UNDERNEATH THE SURFACE. i hear he is aligned with THE DEATH EATERS, so be sure to keep an eye on him.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Jimbo Dashiel Bartholomew Blishwick VI NICKNAME(S): Wick, Jim, Dash, Bart (yes he legit will go by any of these) AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 35, 02/16/1994 OCCUPATION: Tech & Media Mogul GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him/His HOMETOWN: Dallas, Texas CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, I guess ALMA MATTER: Ilvermorny, Horned Serpent BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

BIOGRAPHY

MEET JIMBO BLISHWICK: THE YOUNG AMERICAN CHANGING THE WIZARDING WORLD ONE STATUS UPDATE AT A TIME.

I’m not sure exactly what to expect when the invitation comes in. It seems archaic to be communicating over owl. There was even a part of me that thought I should revert to the “email” form which my subject is so fond of. What if the wixen tech mogul’s fondness for typing meant he had poor penmanship? To my delight not only was Mr. Blishwick’s handwriting clear as day, but it came with a gleeful acceptance to be interviewed. So it was on that high note that I made my way to Blishwix HQ in London to meet with the illustrious CEO. What I had expected was some pristine corporate office with dark leather and wood accents, sterile and admittedly cold and disconnected from the world. What I was met with was surprising. Blishwix is anything but old school in its style. Much like the young hip branding that accompanies its many products and services, the corporate HQ of Blishwix is sleek, modern and very accessible. It’s a open space of mostly glass walls, the bull pen dotted with standing desks and stability balls replacing wheeling chairs. Towards the entrance to the main floor there is a food bar, one which changes weekly I’m told. This week it’s a cereal bar, last week it was a sushi bar, the next week it’s expected to be a pho bar. Employees are scattered around it with tablets and laptops, giddily conversing around mouthfuls of rainbow marshmallows and corn flakes. There’s also several corners tucked away with velvet cushions where some team members curl up with headphones and e-readers or handheld video game consoles. Designated comfort zones, the tour guide describes them as. It’s the Blishwix goal to make sure the employees are all comfortable, so whenever they get stressed out or overwhelmed, there’s always a little place they can escape to in order to calm their nerves. In truth, Blishwix looks less like a company and more like an urban hang out for pretty hipsters in crop tops and flannels. Surely the big man on top would have a more professional set up, right?

Even the display in the bull pen did not prepare me for Jimbo Blishwick’s personal office. It’s one of a few closed off areas to the side of the floor, wide with tall glass walls over looking the bull pen, and predominately empty save for another bean sack, a slim desktop atop a standing desk, and a row of bookcases displaying dozens upon dozens of novels, all of which I can’t place and among the only print media to be found anywhere in Blishwix. “They’re muggle books,” says a voice from behind. When I turn and get a first glance at the figure leaning casually against the glass door to the office, my gut instinct is that this is just another one of those twenty something year olds squeezing stress balls on the work floor. He’s tall, wearing a handmade beanie in a burnt orange color -- One that is, frankly, not a good pair with his golden hair. His neatly trimmed beard and horned rimmed glasses speak of an elegance that doesn’t exactly match the acid wash tattered jeans or the faded t shirt worn under an oversized cream cardigan. The shirt is colorful and bears a phrase that doesn’t come easy to me. Woodstock. Perhaps this is another “muggle thing”. It isn’t until he draws close enough that I recognize the bare footed man. It’s Jimbo Blishwick himself. “Call me Wick,” he easily responds to my surprised expression, knowing full well he wasn’t what I expected. Instead of holding out a hand in a formal handshake and then pulling up a chair for the interview, he engulfs me in a hug and ushers me into the love sack. It’s awkward at first, but eventually I melt into it. It’s just as comfortable as it looks, and their use in the designated comfort zones make more sense to me now. Wick opts to sit crosslegged on the floor, a large coffee in one hand and a bowl of granola balanced on his thighs. He sips the coffee as my eyes wander the space, finding small and interesting little things to ask him about.

The first thing that draws my attention is a set of crystals sitting on the top of his desk, and when I ask he lets out a howling laugh that echos throughout the office, surely drawing the attention of his hard playing -- and hardly working -- employees beyond the glass walls. “Oh, I had a bit of a headache,” he says with a somewhat amused grin. “My wife said they might help.” The wife in question isn’t some darling stay at home mom you might expect. In Wick’s own words: She’s the reason the “Boss Girl” phrase was invented. Selene Blishwick is as shrewd a business person as her husband is, and perhaps a bit more progressive. As I attempt to shift a bit in the cushion, Wick relays some confidential information about some of their upcoming branding collaborations. Each is more unconventional than the last, and they all have one vital thing in common: Selene Blishwick is the one that found them. I’d go into detail, but Wick swears it would become a marital problem if I spill the big secrets before they’re due to come out. Instead he offers a sly grin and taps a single finger to his lips. “Our little secret, then you can be the cool hip one among your friends who knew all about it before it came out.” An exciting proposition, though I realize that I do need something I can share with the public from this visit, and as Wick’s bowl of dry granola gets emptier I fear I’m running out of time. So I set out to do what I’d planned: a profile on the CEO of Wizarding London’s premiere tech company.

When I ask Wick what was the event that kickstarted his long journey to bringing the wixen world into the 21st Century, he answers in one simple phrase: “A pen pal program.” I was surprised to say the least, but it all became more transparent as I urged him to elaborate. What ensues is a story about the overweight son of a MACUSA politician who was teased and bullied all his life and struggled to maintain platonic connections. “I had no friends,” he says, a sad truth but it comes out with a light and airy laugh. “But I didn’t make it quite easy for people to be my friend.” Despite his laid back and easy going charm, Wick reveals a disabling shyness and insecurity that kept him from engaging with the world. The only one privy to his thoughts and personality was the journal he carried with him wherever he went. “I always thought I sounded better on print than in person. I could be whoever I wanted to be on paper -- Handsome, smart, clever and fun. I just could never bring that outwards, you know?” I think we can all sympathize with the young Blishwick’s plight. It didn’t help that he had quite the shoes to fill. Sixth in his line, the Jimbos that came before the media mogul were all tied to American politics. They’re all charming and ambitious men, but Wick says he just didn’t have it in him to be a lawmaker. “Big Daddy” -- yes, that’s the moniker his father, Jimbo the fifth, goes by -- “He’s just built to be a Senator, I’m just the apple that fell a little too far from that tree.” Secluded and distant, educators began to worry that Wick’s development would be halted by the lack of socialization between him and his peers. So one Ilvermorny professor had suggested Wick be one of a handful of students elected to partake in a cross continental penpal program. “Fabricating friendship,” he called it. What they didn’t know is that the program would lead to a lot more. When I ask him who his first penpal is, if it’s someone he still has direct contact with, he lets another one of those amusing grins slip. “Oh yeah, very much so. I’m actually married to her.”

A fifth year at Ilvermorny, Wick was matched with a Hogwarts student a handful of years younger than him by the name of Selene Rowle. According to Wick, their correspondence lasted throughout both of their schooling and beyond, until he had taken a chunk out of his trust fund in order to travel to the United Kingdom to meet in person. He says that’s the only time he used his family’s money to get where he is now -- literally using it to transport across the Atlantic. Leaving behind his family’s estate in Texas and the promising job at MACUSA his father had acquired for him, Wick came to London in order to meet his long distance friend for the first time. The only person “who really knew what he was about” he says. I ask if it was for romantic reasons. He thinks about it while he sips his drink. “I guess in hindsight it does seem a little romantic.” Whatever his reasons, Wick came and he never turned back. He said that one of the first times they interacted in person, he and his future bride had lamented on their past communication and the long waits between letters. “We felt like we’d left things off on cliff hangers so often, and you’d have to wait forever just to get some kind of answer to those burning questions the last letter gave you. It was one of the most frustrating things.” The pair wondered what it would have been like if there had been a more instantaneous way to talk with wizards across the globe. After all, Wick had concluded, the muggles did it just fine. During his teen years, the Texan said he had grown very interested in what nonmagical civilization was like. A “No-Maj Studies Class”, as they call the Muggle Studies program in the states, had a unit on the technological advances of the nonmagical community during much of the modern era. The professors tried to teach the students that this was all building towards a very dangerous threat to the magical community: exposure and the fast spreading of information over the internet. Wick saw something different. “As I thought about how I wished I had a better gateway to my penpal during my teen years, I just kept thinking about how muggles had that already figured out. They could instantly send letters to anyone anywhere in the world. No long wait times for traveling owls or anything like that. It was instantaneous.... And why shouldn’t we be like that?”

It was this very thought that birthed the company the Blishwicks lead now.

So how do you bring the magical world safely into the 21st Century as dictated by the nonmagical? That was no easy feat. For his part, Wick said he had to learn all about something that didn’t exist in their world, something that didn’t interact well with magic. And how do you study muggle tech without magic interfering? Simple: You “become a muggle”. That’s when I realized there was a book I recognized on his eclectic shelf of reading material. Daisy Hookum’s best seller My Life as a Muggle. It’s the first book on the shelf, in the most pristine condition. A first edition, and it’s even signed by the author herself, though Wick doesn’t remember the meeting. It has a simple message in it: I hope you enjoy the time you spend in the nonmagical world and make memories as fond as my own. “Oh yeah,” he laughs, “I did tell her I was also voluntarily giving up magic in order to help kickstart my company.” He says it with an air of unfamiliarity, like he only vaguely remembers the moment. Still, he presses on with the story. A controversial choice for the son of a self proclaimed “conservative-traditional” pureblood senator, Wick was shortly disowned by the American Blishwicks for his choice to give up his magic for two and a half years to live among the muggles. But it had purpose. “I may have lied my way into an internship with a tech company in Edingbrugh. I was trying to learn as much as I could about this muggle innovation. If I wanted to create something similar for our community, I needed to master their version.” He says it took more than the two years he gave himself to live among them, and he’s still studying it to this day, but after that amount of time he had the ground work he needed to then create his tech and media empire. The biggest obstacle wasn’t even in creating the highly secret magically encrypted network which allows smart phones to be used in the wizarding world. No, for Wick the biggest hurdle to pass over was the longstanding traditional values the community had. “I think there’s an innate fear in not just advancing the community, but in mirroring any sort of progress than the muggles have done. There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean we have adapted enough of their inventions into our own world already so why not take it a step further?” He refers to radio and electric hook ups that appeared in a lot of wixen homes in the past century.

Blishwix started out small, creating and selling smart phones and desktops primarily with the idea in mind to change the way we communicate. Email was one of those first muggle digital contraptions that made its way into the wixen mainstream and has stayed, but within a short decade the company’s offerings expanded to mirror exactly what the digital world of the muggles looks like now. It’s becoming more and more rare to see wixen without a Loquix* in hand, or a Blishwix desktop at home. The Wixpix social media app, in which users post photos taken from the cameras on their cellular devices and add witty captions which can then be “liked” or “commented” on by users across the globe, continues to grow in popularity. And now the media and tech giant is rolling out a “streaming platform” -- a sort of home theater in the form of an app that catalogues film and television programs created by wixen for wixen. There’s Accio, an application that allows you to ask random questions and receive an answer instantly; Portky** which allows users to request forms of transportation when they desperately need it, including ministry-approved portkeys (or so it claims, we haven’t used it yet here at the Prophet). There’s even applications for those lonely wixen looking to find a love connection. Erised is one such app where user profiles are made with a handful of photos, a small ‘about me’ section, and a few small details that can be provided to prospective dates in order to help connect those with similar interests and hobbies. The married Wick does not have an Erised profile, but his assistant allows me to scroll through her’s and even swipe a few times on other profiles. I accidentally match her to someone she admits she can’t see herself interested in, but we all have a good laugh about it. These are only a few of many “experiences”, as Wick refers to them, offered by the company in order to branch the magical people from across the globe. “What is more beautiful than seeing people from different cultural backgrounds and walks of life coming together and sharing ideas and thoughts so quickly?” I realize as I’m sitting there in that bean cushion, scrolling through a prototype of the next Blishwix tablet that I know so little about the world beyond my little corner of it. I suddenly understand Wick’s enthusiasm about expanded communication.

It’s all pretty exciting to see coming together, it’s almost impossible to understand what more could be done by Blishwix. So when I ask him what’s next, Wick gets a very eager look in his eyes. “There’s a lot of places we still don’t have our tech in that I think would be all the better for it,” he solemnly reveals, and I’m shocked to hear it. Since visiting Blishwix, I have seen their product seemingly in every corner of Wizarding London I explore daily. Who isn’t using connected to their expansive network at this point? “I would love to do a partnership with the Ministry. As the governing body, I feel like we can offer them so much that could continue to further develop the community and continue progressing us into the future. If we could get our desktops in every Ministry Department, we can further the sort of work that keeps our world moving. Just imagine how we could expand Law Enforcement, Education or Wellfare departments if we can make all the relevant information they need all the more accessible to their employees? Think about how much easier it would be for them to process information on our fast and reliable network.”

On the topic of Education, Wick reveals his ambitions don’t stop with the Ministry. “I would love to see Blishwix in schools like Hogwarts,” he says, revealing what may be the biggest bombshell yet. “This whole dream started because of a chubby boy who had no friends in school and wanted a faster way to communicate with the one he made far away. I think a lot about that and how my life would have been different had I had this kind of technology available to me. If there are lonely kids like me who could have that, or even kids who are just struggling to get the information they need to be successful in school, and I could give them what they need to advance in life? Then I could say I’ve done what I initially set out to do. Until that day, I would say that Blishwix hasn’t been a success yet. Even teachers could benefit from the use of the internet and all the resources we have out there which we now have access to.” I begin to wonder if the technological genius is actually more of a philanthropist. “I don’t know, you tell me,” he quips when I muse out loud. Our interview comes to a halt by this point, and I’m left with so many more questions. What is Blishwix cooking up for the wizarding world next? What kind of innovations will define the company’s next decade? These, and so many more, questions are left unanswered as I walk out of Blishwix HQ, a takeaway bowl of fruity cereal in one hand and my previous generation Loquix in the other (scrolling through shopping apps in order to find that “love sack” I spent much of the afternoon lounging in).

The same day I begin writing this piece out, Blishwix has announced the Loquix VI, their most advance smartphone yet. They livestream details of their upgraded OS and hardware reveal on the company’s social media, an event I watch while typing this article up on my worn out typewriter. Halfway through and I’m out of ribbon, and I silently curse myself as I order a new set online. All the while the Blishbook Pro is being revealed on the stream, its sleek wireless keyboard and slim expandable monitor shimmering under the stage lights. I join in with the loud gasps from the shareholders crowding the conference room where the event is being held. The irony of this isn’t lost on me, and as I sit here writing out these last few paragraphs with a quill in my cramped hand I begin to realize exactly why I admire Jimbo Blishwick and his forward thinking. At least he’s not sitting here with ink blotches in obscene places, running to his editor’s office just barely before deadline with a mess of typed and handwritten article. I remember in that moment, drenched in the rain while rushing through the offices of the Prophet, the first line in his owl response to my inquiry for the interview:

You should have just emailed.

Touché, Blishwick, touché.

*Portky app idea comes courtesy of Kim ( @strvngemagics ) **Loquix phone name comes courtesy of Vic ( @cfdiggorys / @moodyparis / @aarlingtons ) Both gave permission to use / mention these galaxy brained concepts in the intro and credit for their conception goes to them. Thank you guys so much!!

TL;DR: Wick is full of shit. What can I say? Here’s the ‘Murrican lad who claims to be some hip and cool CEO of a wizarding tech and media company. Okay he’s I guess apple meets zuckerberg. Idk I’m not galaxy brained enough for this afheiahfpea hence the very oddly written bio. Wick’s a pureblood from america who supposedly forsake his family’s purist ways and then decided to create a company modeled after muggle tech in order to “bring the wizarding world into the modern era”. In actuality? He’s a fucking bigot who created a network that he could use to spy on people who may be enemies of the cause. At least that’s how it’s being factored into the DEs. His theme song is “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell bc he’s always watching you. Gives off this very laid back and down to earth and charming persona just so he can gain your trust and meanwhile he’s leaking your information to the DE and helping them further their agenda. Some extra tidbits not seen above:

He’s got some daddy issues which are leaking into his parenting. Aka he is not exactly excited to be a father but you wouldn’t know that from his Wixpix feed which feature so many “cute” dad photos with his baby boy. In order for him to become his best self, his dad had to make his life a living hell and he believes that’s how he’s gonna have to handle Zephyr as well.

He is smart, yes, but he’s not some brilliant innovator like the world thinks he is. His empire is built on stolen material which he simply “adapted” to the magical world. He’s not original, but he is clever.

He’s not a fighter, clumsy with a wand, had a severe stutter as a kid which made it very hard for him to cast spells etc, so he avoids battle often and instead offers up his company more for espionage for the DEs. He’s better suited to behind the scenes mayhem, and that’s kind of the way he likes it.

He’s a coward. He’s hiding behind computer screens and tbh if things get really sticky he’s likely to try and sell out the DE in order to save his skin. Has an escape plan to the states if things get really sticky but the likelihood of him succeeding are slim to none.

He acts very charitable and humble and kind but he’s conceited as hell and he’s a real shady bitch sometimes. Talks shit on everyone behind their backs

He’s had a few affairs here and there despite being married. Even with that, he is in love with his wife and feels a sort of fealty towards her. She’s a very important part to the company, she’s pretty much the brand of it and so he relies on her a lot to help manufacture their image even just as individuals to help the rouse.

BODY IMAGE TW/EATING DISORDER TW. Wick has some body image issues due to his past tbh. He got bullied a lot as a kid for being overweight and quiet, his solace was in food and he was a binge eater. As he got a bit older, he made some desperate choices in order to lose weight to gain a slimmer figure. It wasn’t healthy, it landed him in hospital a few times, and eventually he had to meet with nutrition specialists and therapists in order to work out a more healthy mindset on food. He’s still harbors body imagine issues, but he’s learned to be better about it. Still, he maintains a very strict diet and work out regime because he feels his image is one of the most important things about him. He did meet Selene when he was slim and athletic and therefore thinks it’s best he maintain the figure even just out of fear she wouldn’t find him attractive otherwise.

is any of the stuff he said in this interview true? Idk, idk

Idk, I hate this man and this bio afheuiahfpea I’ll end up rewriting it eventually.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic LANGUAGES: English FAMILY: Jimbo Dashiel Bartholomew Blishwick V (but they call him “Big Daddy”; father), Cricket Blishwick née Berkeley (mother), Beaufort Harland Blishwick (younger brother), Cora-Lou Blishwick (younger sister), Selene Blishwick née Rowle (wife), Zephyr Blishwick (infant son), and by extension all the fucking Rowles I guess PETS: TBD FACE CLAIM: Luke Mitchell ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Aquarius MBTI: hm PINTEREST: (coming soon)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

interns - a couple new grunts at the blishwix HQ. they can be any affiliation, but if they are DE affiliated then they’ll know a little bit more about what is going on behind closed doors at the company. could be fun for future plotting purposes.

co conspirators - other DEs who similarly to wick lead a double life in the public eye. philanthropists, media stars, all sorts of “do gooders” who are banning together in order to break “harmful stigmas and stereotypes and join the wixen community globally”. blishwix mission statement aims to create a platform for wixen of all types across the world to interact free of prejudice and judgement and to bring the magical community into a modern era free of harmful ideologies. of course that’s a fucking lie, so if you play a baddy bad who’s pretending to be goody good then this could be a fun collaboration.

partnerships - alternatively, let’s see some honest to good people and groups get schemed by these fuckers. this would involve some potential screwing over but no worries, at the end of the day blishwix will tank and then your character can get their sweet revenge on this man and his corrupt business.

idk hmu with ideas.

#potterintro #sorry fam no fun doodle this time #bad men don't deserve it #ahfieafea i'm sorry this is kinda lame but i wanted to get something out there to help with plotting

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