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anteroom-of-death · 21 days

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Teacher's Pet part 17

Synopsis: The Doctor muses on the nature of what he could do, the reader is a willing accomplice to her own life.

A/n: first off, I'd like to thank @queerconfusionthings on the slightly darker tone of this chapter and our long talks about 12, it changed this chapter. You get me in a way precious others do...and to all my readers, yall are best. To my mutuals, I'd die for you. Especially those who don't share my needs here. Love u.

It started to border on experimental. So many untapped valleys and choices he could make now that his pet fawn was solidly by his side, and now bound to leave him, no matter how dire the situation or how many red flags or fears the ghosts of his past could bequeath to her. (Y/N) was firmly in his grasp. Perhaps indefinitely.

There were certain thought experiments that were hypothetical that he was taught at the academy. How to not just bind a weaker species to your mind not just in mind, but in blood. The facets of addiction was the singular universal trait of all sentient life in the cosmos. He admitted that he was becoming as addicted to her as she was to him, and those nasty substances she would take.

He was of half a mind to remove their influence on her body and substitute them for him. As they walked through Kew Gardens, he mused on that. Take the urge that crippled her for drinks and cigarettes to the point of clouding her thoughts at times, bind those starved out brain cells to the idea of him. The swap from nicotine and ethyl alcohol to the Doctor would he fairly easy to do.

Ultimately, after she flashed him a smile and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the loo, he decided against it. For now.

She was getting beyond handsy…almost to the point of him being begged to fuck her in public. Maybe the switch was happening naturally. The addiction to the physical was clearly getting stronger…

Wouldn’t he be so lucky?

He’d have another full-scale rifle in her mind soon to assess the current situation!

Maybe he was more like the Rani than he’d previously assessed…

Wouldn’t that just choke the life from Missy? Her precious parallels dashed in the face if him ending up much more like their estranged friend turned mutual foe.

Whatever the case in this poorly-plotted and infinitely nailed-out love story he was crafting, the Doctor was sure of one thing. His reputation as the universe’s biggest savior, it’s self-inserted martyr needed to stay intact. Missy knew to some extent. Missy could feel and reveled in his own self-corruption at the hands of this mere human.

Missy would, even if she wanted to escape, keep this secret. Their rivalry and comrades and millennia-long bond, despite how fucked up it was, or how many times they’d kill or fight one another was iron-clad.

Honor among thieves or something…

The idea of some sort of vivisection briefly clouded his vision as he saw her exit the toilets. She was beaming. She held her jacket in her hand and her teeth caught in the light.

He decided against that idea.

There were opportunities endlessly flowing out.

“Hey, I’m absolutely starving!” She pulled him by the ties on his hoodie. “Do you want to go to a pub after this? There’s got to be a really good one that does a lovely roast dinner or something.”

Totally clueless, totally obvious to the danger she was in. So fine-tuned to weird shadows and knew when a human man on the street was up to no good. She didn’t know that the real predator was getting the aglets of his hoodie flicked around.

Poor her. Poor little fawn. Fully in the wolf’s maw and her neck was already snapped. Lost in the too-dark woods, separated from her herd. Only the guidance of that would come had made a meal of her. And was toying her corpse out further…

He felt his cock stiffen.

Maybe he would take her tonight. Just until bleeding. See how far her dependence on her would go. Maybe degrade her a bit.

If he could, he would. Wasn’t it his right?

He did own her, after all. Everyone from the team at UNIT to that last scrappy remnant of Torchwood saw her over-the-moon, fully-tethered ache for him…

They all picked up on something far more grasping than mere companion in their relationship. He wasn’t risking her life and breaking her spirit on planets far outside her home solar system. A dark, full-bodied compatriot. An equal lover. Perhaps they would arrive at the conclusion of his idea of settling down on Earth.

Not like their human opinions mattered in the end…

“Yes, of course.” He returned her eager, lavish smile with one of his own.

He slammed these thoughts back in the dark chest that was his mind. For now he’d just play with her hormones and her mind. Just put them at maximum. Continue this charade.

Keep everyone and everyone in the dark…

It was a great rest of the day, a butterfly landed on her arm. She delicately picked it up to rest on her finger and it stayed put as if she was her own form of magic. The little insect crawled around and she led it to rest on his jacket.

“He’s probably picking up the sugar scrub I used last night.” She rationalized.

“Or you’re just preternaturally sweet.” He let out the cheesy line as it flicked itself off his being and flew into the air. She shot him a bemused sideways glance. When she finally got it off her finger and it was firmly on his being she slightly shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Obviously, it didn’t take a liking to him.

It’s instincts were far better tuned.

He took her to the closest pub. It wasn’t doing a roast dinner that night. She was put out, but ordered chips with a gin and tonic and some little sandwich thing.

His Earth girls really loved their chips.

Maybe that was his type? Little, bold Earth girls with loud minds that could devour nothing but chips for all eternity and be perfectly happy doing so.

He could live with that…

She went out for a cigarette and he mentally made contact with Missy.

She ‘picked up’ the mental receiver.

‘How goes London, you filthy old man?’ The words shot into his mind like an icicle from a roof.

‘Fine, just curious, how much attention did you pay to Professor Hedflonhorzthenethar’s lessons on groove-making in lesser species?’

‘Rapt, Doccy. Why?’

‘Send me your memories, I’ll Amazon a tuba to my office.’

Another betrayal of the morals he started this regeneration with…

‘Let me see you do it. I’ll only do it if you do it now and let me look through your eyes!’ It was sharp, it felt like she was beside him shouting it.

He gave her permission to see through his eyes. He sighed and whipped out his phone, ordered a tuba and closed up the connect to his eyes.

The entirety of her memories regarding the lessons pinged into his brain like an email or perhaps a text notification…

His little fawn slid back onto the barstool next to him as Missy closed the line…

‘Don’t break her yet! I want to be her friend! I’m so lonely!’

He could still feel her teasing pout lingering in his brain. Perhaps she left it as a taste of his own medicine.

“The night’s getting cooler.” (Y/N) informed.

“Pity, you’ll need to cover up.”

Her mind was clearly projecting images of her taking him to the toilets and fucking him in the stall. Loudly.

Her mind was wandering, she kept admiring the line of his brow and the way his fingers crossed over as he held the glass of Fanta he was slowly sipping. She needed him in ways that would shock perhaps even Captain Jack Harkness or perhaps that smaller, dark shadow that used to follow him around, John Hart was his name?

A pathetic kicked dog that craved the Captain’s attention…

Just like him and Missy.

He shook his head at that particular parallel.

Probably the advantage of dating someone in her profession. She knew what was avant-garde in sex!

Or at least for a human of her time period that had never been off-planet…

The Doctor let his mind wander into hers. Despite her clear projection, he wanted to see exactly what the damage of the last night was. She was chattering on about a philosophy book she picked up for between clients and for downtime at work. She completed it and wanted to share her critiques of it and her ways she’d probably improve upon the messages. As well as what she liked from it- she wasn’t all kvetching, no appreciation, after all.

In all honesty, he loved the wild tangential spin she loved. He felt some remorse about how deeply he had rummaged in her brain. She still was, in a sense, her own. Just now permanently entangled in his web. Like a rat in a glue trap, but only she didn’t grasp how sticky the glue was…. She was fully mentally tethered. He’d have to be more careful, he didn’t want to lose her, or push these experiences too deep. Losing this spark of ingenuity and tired vivaciousness would be a sin worse than anything else.

He swallowed another sip of his Fanta.

It seemed a bit shaken, but he swept those away. Kept them as salacious afterthought. Bonded the memories from today that were pleasant to her already aching neurotransmitters. Amped up her hormones a tad bit.

Anyone around her, even a stupid human could probably hear her mind now. It was both very intrigued by the subject matter of the book but also so desperately needy for her Doctor. He could feel her aching cunt and body responding from here. Anybody with a pulse could probably get her drift.

He'd probably, if anyone was sensitive enough, have to start beating them off with a stick!

That could be fun, lure her further. Let her know that she was only safe with him…

He ran the possibilities and scanned the bar, seeing if he could play any games.

Sadly not.

He decided against that for the moment.

Especially since something told him that she’d have precious little trouble fighting for herself. Unless he purposefully put her mind in a state of freeze, he doubted that a pub brawl based on her appearance would faze her. She, like most human girls, had been numbed to that sort of violence.

She’d probably have to come in and save him, by the looks of a few of the other patrons here…

He dissolved that idea. He couldn’t risk breaking his promise to her and regenerating on the spot if she was frozen, meant to witness. His superior genetics and all that may come with was no match for a gone-to-seed ex-rugby player nor someone who clearly worked security. As he finished his assessment of the crowd in the pub.

His mind games would have to play out in other ways still…

Just adjust the plans that he had. And take in the information Missy had pinged him.

The illusion of free will still reflected true, right?

His old pal, Plato did some allegory with a cave…sadly he wasn’t paying attention when the man was speaking. Missed the point, invented a self-lubricating spatula for flapjacks.

Oops.

He’d never say he was depriving her of that outright, no too controversial. Too salacious. Guidance, yes. A dual corruption arc? Definitely.

Daddy knows best, rung through his skull. An old line he told Kate about the poison to kill the Zygons…

Paternalistic? Yes.

How could he not be? A human is so young and weak compared to most species out there. Let alone him and his!

After all, he was her teacher. Her educator.

These thoughts, mixed with how strong she was fantasizing about fucking him, and her natural allure…he was shocked that he wasn’t bursting through his trousers, exposing himself to all to see.

He'd fuck her tonight. Not only did she clearly need it, but if he didn’t give in, he would probably act out.

He had fully surrendered himself to current path he was on. Yes.

He’d not destroy her entirely. Take away what enchanted him to her. That would be a sin graver than killing her outright. She had goals and dreams. They had discussed at such at length. He’d let her have those. So long as she’d never stray from his clingy side.

He half-wished he could summon a past version of himself, or perhaps a future without risking too much. Just to confer and pass back ideas.

All he had was Missy.

Or to sneak off and search for the Rani.

And they’d destroy him with zealous help.

No! He was alone in this path. Only solace was Missy and her enjoyment of his fawn and petty need to be good and please reform for her release. He walked his path utterly alone.

The evening wound itself up. The Doctor had to pounce. To claim what little of his fawn lay left unclaimed. Ruin her forever. Claim her indefinitely…

He paid their bill and ventured into the night.

A pep laid in his step, his cock still semi-stiff. He’d destroy her to rebuild her.

Teacher’s Pet.

He’d have his fun next term. Make her into a professor’s aide. Push her servile nature to him into a possibly public place. Show her off, perhaps even.

But for now? He was about ready to explode. His balls ached, and his hearts were full.

All in the name of love, right?

Or obsession…

Either way, still to have someone as alluring with such a firm form like (insert a description of your body, reader…) and a mind as hard in her ideals, but so easy to toy with?

Ecstasy…

#personal #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #12th doctor x you #you x 12th doctor #reader x 12th doctor #uhhhhh #yea #self insert #peter capaldi #yay #teacher student #i wrote this #i am not responsible for your milage may vary #hahaha

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midnightcreator12 · 3 months

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And We'll Keep Marching On Chapter 2 - Unexpected Guests

AO3 Link

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Donatello had to focus very, very hard on keeping his hand steady.

Because the rudimentary patch job he’d done in New York would not keep Leo stable all the way to Northampton and a lot of his injuries needed stitches and he couldn’t make one mistake because he’d already messed up so bad-

Donnie paused to focus on his breathing, forcing his hands to still and not cling to the needle so tightly.

“You good?”

Donnie only spared a glance towards Casey, keeping his focus and line of sight firmly on his hands and…and on Leo, “Have to be.”

Casey hummed. A surprisingly tame answer to his usual bluster. But…he hadn’t been acting like himself ever since Leo…since April’s apartment.

Case in point, he was still in the van with Donnie.

Once the city had disappeared from the horizon, Donnie had made the request for them to pull over for a bit, citing that he needed to treat Leo more thoroughly before they went any further.

Raph had nodded and ushered Mikey out of the van the moment Casey had stopped at an abandoned rest stop. April had gone with them, bringing the smaller first aid kit with her.

Donnie had been expecting Casey to follow them out as well but the boy had just turned in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms, watching quietly as Donnie removed his hand and wrist wrappings, washed his hand with a water bottle and a bit of soap and unpacked the larger first aid kit.

Donnie had not commented on it, his attention more centered on…stitching up Leo.

Everything had gone so wrong so quickly, that Donatello was still having trouble processing it all.

The Kraang had taken over New York, had infiltrated their home, they’d lost Splinter, April lost her dad again, Casey hadn’t been able to find his family and Leo…

Leo was more black, blue, and red than green. His limbs were covered in cuts and gashes, many having dug in deep enough to need stitches. There were also bruises, red and angry and painful looking, molting Leo’s scales in ugly patterns.

But the worst were the two massive gashes on his shoulder.

The parallel cuts were deep, almost to the bone by Donnie’s guess. They cleaved downward, chipping off the top edge of Leo’s plastron before the protective plating was too thick for the blades to penetrate. But the force was still enough to leave very clear indents, marring Leo’s shell in a way that would take years to heal over.

If it ever did.

Donnie swallowed again, took another breath, forced his mind away from the only person who could have caused that injury and started mentally reciting the decimals of pi as he lowered his hands.

He expected Leo to react when the needle pierced his skin. They didn’t need stitches often, but the feeling was always unpleasant and…as much as he hated it, giving Leo any sort of sedative could do more harm than good with the clear bruising around his jaw and the back of his head and a deep, sluggishly bleeding cut on his temple speaking of bad head injuries.

But Leo didn’t even twitch when the needle slid through his scales. Donnie knew he should be grateful for the fact that Leo didn’t feel it as he was stitched back together. But the lack of reaction made something unpleasant twist in his gut.

Leo’s body…his nervous system should still react to simulation, especially anything that sent the signal for ‘pain’ up to his brain. But each stitch Donnie added was met with cool scales that stayed perfectly still under his bloodying hands.

Damnit, he didn’t bring gloves. He should have brought gloves for this, that bit of bottled water and soap wasn’t anywhere close to sterile enough. Leo could get an infection and it would be Donnie's fault because he was stupid and failed-

His vision started to blur.

Donnie’s hands jerked back as he blinked, trying to force the sudden blurriness from his vision. He couldn’t afford this right now, Leo needed him and he was failing again-

He raised a hand, intending to rub at his eyes-

But it was red with blood. He couldn’t wipe his face, there was blood on his hans. He had blood on his hands. Leo’s blood. Leo’s blood was on his hands-

Donnie startled harshly when something scratchy pressed against his cheek.

He whipped his head around to find a blob of grays and black…that slowly refined itself into Casey.

He had moved from the front seats at some point, now crouched on the balls of his feet next to Donnie, one arm outstretched and holding…an old rag.

Donnie blinked again and it suddenly clicked that his vision was blurry because of tears.

He was crying. Damnit, he was crying when he had to help Leo and it was in front of Casey Jones of all people-

“Hold still, would ya?” Casey muttered, scooching closer. “You need to see to fix Leo up, right?”

Donnie…was confused.

Casey never passed on a chance to make fun of him. He had a knack for spotting any weakness and using it against people in the form of backhanded nicknames and snide remarks. Donnie had quite a few monikers given to him by none other than Casey.

But Casey wasn’t teasing or poking, calling Donnie a crybaby or overly emotional…he was trying to help Donnie clear his eyes so he could finish treating Leo.

Under most circumstances, Donnie might have refused the help, probably would have hurled an insult or several to get Casey to back away as quickly as possible.

But he couldn’t wipe his face without smearing…blood everywhere.

So he tipped his chin down and let Casey rub the rag over his eyes. He sniffed, blinking hard to get rid of the last of the moisture before bending over Leo again.

He tried to hold the rest back. It was bad enough that he’d needed Casey to wipe tears from his face, he didn’t need to give him any more ammunition for a later date.

But by the time Donnie was tying off the stitches on the first shoulder gash, the tears were building again. Enough that his work would be hindered if he didn’t wipe them away.

He straightened again, turned in Casey’s general direction.

His breathing caught in his chest.

Then again, as Casey wiped his face.

And by the time he was looking back at Leo, a small, broken whine slipped out.

He locked his jaw, angry at himself for breaking when Leo needed him, but more quiet keening sounds forced their way between his teeth. His shoulders hunched in embarrassment but his hands kept working.

It didn’t matter if he was having a breakdown in front of his rival. Leo needed him, he needed to help Leo. He’d take whatever Casey dished out later. He had to. He was the only one who could close all the open wounds marring their leader.

Slowly killing their big brother.

Casey was silent as Donnie cried and kept completely still unless Donnie needed his tears cleared away again. A part of Donnie was grateful for that, glad that Casey had enough emotional tact to not pick and prod at this moment.

It felt like hours before Donnie was finally done, fingers numb from the delicate work and neck stiff from being bent down for so long. He wrapped bandages over all the new stitches and the smaller cuts, watching Leo’s face the entire time for any sign of a reaction.

But Leo’s face stayed lax an blank, not even pinching a little when Casey heaved his torso up so Donnie could wrap his shoulder. His scales were still chilly to the touch and his breathing was raspy and slow. It was even, which gave Donnie a little comfort, but each pause between inhales and exhales was far too long to be normal.

But he couldn’t…do much.

He’d only been able to take smaller medical equipment with him when they cleared out the Lair, anything that would go in the aid kits either being too large or busted from the Kraang. Which meant he didn’t have anything to examine Leo internally beyond his homemade stethoscope.

He could only treat what he could see. If something was wrong below the surface level-

Donnie hiccuped on his next breath, eyes drifting from Leo to his own lap. To his hands in his lap. His hands that were still gloveless and covered in red-

The van door slid open noisily as Casey shoved it. Donnie looked up to be greeted by Casey holding out another bottle of water, “Get all that gunk off you before Mikey gets back. He might freak.”

Right. Right, Mikey would get upset if he came back to Donnie covered in blood.

Luckily, it seemed that he, Raph and April had gone inside the rest stop, probably to both look for useable supplies and to give Donnie plenty of space. So Donnie scooted his way out, shivering when his feet hit the sun-warmed ground.

He snapped up the rag and water, using both to scrub the blood away, letting it fall to the ground in a waterfall of pinkish water.

When he was done, he reached back into the van, grabbing his wrappings and replacing them around his damp wrists and fingers, running his palms over the familiar texture to recenter himself. Ground himself back in the here and now and not what ifs and maybes.

He turned to Casey, who was leaning against the van, eyes firmly fixed on Leo while Donnie pulled himself back together.

He absently wondered if this was as close to kind as the other teen got.

He found himself grateful for it.

He took one last breath, rubbed his hands down his face and climbed back into the van. Casey waited until Donnie was sitting, knees hugged firmly into his chest, before pushing off the van and strolling around it, hollering for April and the guys to get back in before he left them behind.

Donnie tucked his chin to his chest as everyone returned and climbed back in.. His eyes drifted to his brother's as the engine rumbled back to life, taking in the injuries that had been patched while he was taking care of Leo.

Mikey had gotten off the easiest, with only minor cuts and bruises that would heal in a few days. He probably would be sore, heaving a couch out a window had definitely caused him to pull some muscles, but there wasn’t much they could do for that except for a hot bath.

Raph was a little worse off since he’d been out with Casey when the invasion started. His shell still had a few scorch marks and one ankle had been bandaged. He also sported a massive bruise and scrapes down one arm, likely from a bad landing from a high point.

Casey had similar scraps on the bits of skin he left exposed, probably bruising too. April had gotten rattled around with the rest of them in the Turtle Mech but Donnie had not seen any serious injuries on her.

All in all, they would be recovered in no time…except for Leo.

Donnie hugged his legs closer to himself, as if it would make the situation better, like it could block out the slow, raspy breaths of their oldest brother, beaten and bloodied and still unresponsive to anything.

Donnie shivered.

He knew, logically, the chances of Leo waking up right then were low. But a part of him still clung to the hope that Leo would defy the odds again. That he’d just sit up and ask if everyone was okay and start mother-henning them and come up with a brilliant and crazy plan to drive all the Kraang from New York.

But he didn’t even twitch when the van hit a bump and Donnie didn’t have enough energy to call Casey out of jostling them.

He glanced at the other side of the backseat, where Mikey and Raph had curled around each other. Exhaustion was getting the better of Raph, pulling him into doze within minutes of the van moving on. His doze was slowly becoming actual sleep, pulling him sideways and almost completely on top of Mikey. The youngest clung to Raph, but he was wide awake and his eyes were fixed on Leo, like he would vanish if Mikey so much as blinked.

Donnie wanted to move over to them, lean on Raph’s other side and soak in at least a little comfort.

But Leo was hurt because he had fought with him…he didn’t deserve to be comforted. Not until he fixed this.

So he sat, only grunting in pain when the van went over bumps or dipped into potholes that made his bruised body and laser-burned arm tingle with discomfort.

He watched Leo every time, wishing he would at least make a distressed sound in response to the bumpy ride.

He never did. Hours later and he still hadn’t moved under his own will once.

“It’s down that road there,” April murmured to Casey at some point, voice hushed as if she was frightened to disturb the silence that had stayed firmly in place for the entire drive.

Casey just grunted in reply as he turned.

Donnie could hear when the road changed from old concrete to dirt and gravel. It was probably more of a very long driveway than a road because he doubted April would have suggested the farmhouse if there were neighbors close by.

Mikey reached up and carefully poked Raph's face. Donnie watched as he blinked sleepily, beak scrunching, brain still waking up as his eyes fell on Leo. And he saw when everything came rushing back and everything that had happened seemed to physically bore itself onto Raph shoulders.

His voice sounded almost hollow as he asked, "Where are we?"

"Northampton," the answer came out of Donnie automatically, the need to answer any question still persisting through his exhaustion.

Raph nodded slowly, eyes taking in the trees and cloudy sky through the windows, "'It’ll be dark soon."

"Yeah," Donnie agreed.

They all lapsed back into silence, only the rumble of the van's engine keeping it from being fully quiet.

Raph shifted, forcing Mikey to sit up more so both could be properly upright. Donnie shut his eyes, mentally running down a checklist of what he would need to do to help Leo when they reached April’s summer home.

It felt like too long and not long enough before Casey started to slow down.

Donnie opened his eyes again, sitting up to peer out the windshield.

The farmhouse was clearly old and not in the best condition but all the windows and doors seemed to be intact. He'd have to get inside to see about the utilities but he could get them power and water relatively easily.

Casey stopped in front of the house, as close as he could get to the porch. Donnie was up the moment they stopped, opening the van door as he spoke, "Stay with Leo. I need to find a place he can…recover."

He didn't wait to see if Raph or Mikey replied. He stepped out of the van, shoved down the little voice screaming in his head to hide from the open sunlight and joined April on the porch.

She was flipping the various decorations over, the rug, a broken flower pot, what was probably a lawn gnome at one point-

She grumbled as she stood, dusting her hands off, "Guess there isn't a hidden key."

"Here," Donnie grabbed his lock-picking tools from his belt. Sure, breaking the door would be faster but he kinda wanted it to stay intact and not be another thing he'd have to fix.

Except when he crouched and put a hand on the old wood, it swung open.

Donnie tensed, eyes snapping to April. She stared back, shoulders also going tight in alarm.

The door should not be unlocked.

Donnie moved first, pushing the door fully open as he readied his bò.

The entryway seemed empty. He could see a kitchen and living room but walls blocked most of his view. He tipped his head, listening for any footsteps or voices.

The house was dead quiet. But that didn't mean it was empty.

Donnie heard the quiet thump of Casey's gear, felt the teen's presence at his other shoulder.

Donnie raised a hand, gesturing towards the kitchen and living room. April and Casey moved without saying a word, splitting off to search the downstairs. Donnie moved towards the stairs, silently making his way up.

He kept close to the walls, blending into the shadows as much as he could, third eyelid sliding closed instinctively. The stairs took him to a small balcony and hallway holding four doors. He nudged open the first door, peering into a dusty bedroom with two beds. Nothing there looked disturbed so he moved to the next room.

The door was already wide open and the room beyond it was more of a glorified closet, with a bedframe and a beat-up nightstand being the only occupants.

Two down, two to go.

Donnie crept forward, eyes narrowing when he noticed the next door was firmly shut rather than cracked or opened.

He approached it, pausing to listen for any signs of life.

It was faint, would be unnoticed by anyone who hadn’t had extensive training in listening to their surroundings for anything and everything that was even a little off.

But he could hear it, a soft scraping sound that didn’t match the ambient noise of the house.

Donnie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clicked. He pushed down the instinct to growl as he reached for the door handle.

He almost leaped back in shock when he shoved the door open and was greeted by the shrillest screeching sound he’d ever heard in his life.

He looked down, dancing backwards, still in mild shock as he realized exactly what was screeching at him.

It was a robot. A bird-like, white and muted purple, two-foot tall robot that was hopping on one leg and had a freaking taser sticking out of the other and was trying very hard to jab Donnie’s ankle with it.

It screeched again, the two antennas on its boxy head flapping up and down in a show of aggression, looking up at Donnie and, somehow, its giant lens eyes looked absolutely livid at being disturbed.

Donnie backed up another step and jabbed his staff down on the robot's body. It chirped in shock as it was pinning, taser leg still waving in the air and head now frantically swinging back and forth.

“Wait! W-wait, don’t hurt him!”

Donnie looked up, into what was apparently a bathroom, and his eyes widened further.

A girl was leaning on the far wall. She looked around his own age, with tan skin and dark, curly hair that hung in a tangled mess around her shoulders. She was wearing some kind of white scrubs, which were ripped in several places and discolored by patches of dirt and…maybe old blood?

Donnie would have inspected better, but what caught his attention the most was the very obvious Kraang blaster she had clutched in one hand and half raised towards him.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs and Casey vaulted over the last few, hockey stick at the ready, “Who the he- eeeeeck is that thing?!”

“Donnie! What’s going on up here?” April bounded up next, tensen at the ready.

And Donnie really wished he had an answer for her but…even he wasn’t fully sure.

His eyes snapped back into the bathroom when he heard a shift. The girl was slowly pulling herself up the wall, clearly favoring one side. And now that Donnie looked again, he saw that, yes, some of the dark stains on her clothing were from old wounds that were peeking from the tears, particularly on her side and leg.

She raised a hand, hazel eyes widening when the robot squealed again, ��Please, d-don’t hurt him! He was just trying to protect me, please-”

“Who the heck are you?!” Casey shoved his way into the bathroom, pointing his stick at the girl. “And what are you doing here? And why do you have a Kraang gun?! You a spy or somethin’?”

“No!” the girl straightened at that, face twisting into anger. “I would never work with those shabuir’s! I just escaped their weird hellscape planet!”

“Yeah, right,” Casey huffed. “And I’m a possum.”

April shuffled closer so that she was next to Donnie. Her eyes narrowed and one hand slowly raised. Donnie waited, watching April’s face for any sign of their next move should be.

Because on the one hand, they really did not have the energy or time to chase off another person who may or may not be a threat to their team. But on the other, her injuries didn’t look fake and if she had escaped from Dimension X…

April frowned, expression confused as she leaned closer to Donnie, “I…I think she’s telling the truth but…it’s like there’s some kind of wall around her mind. It’s making it hard to read.”

Donnie’s brow pinched as he turned back to the bathroom. Casey glanced back, smacking the hockey stick into one hand, ready to chase her out once the word was given. Donnie looked at the girl, eyes narrowing further, “What are you doing here?”

“I just…I need somewhere to hunker down for a bit so I can get a signal to my team. I got portaled in the middle of the woods and…this is the first place I found.”

April’s expression hardened but didn’t comment.

Donnie glanced down at the gun the girl was still clutching, then at the squirming robot, “...you put that down and I’ll let him up, okay?”

“Are you serious-” Casey hissed. “We don’t know her or what she’s doin’ here man!”

The girl, not listening to Casey’s stage whisper, dropped the blaster without a hint of hesitation, even giving it a kick that sent it across the floor to Casey’s feet. She held up both hands, pleading eyes turning back to Donnie.

Slowly, he lifted his bo.

The robot was off in a flash, skittering under Casey and back to the girl, climbing up her non-injured leg and stopping on her shoulder, beeping and trilling angerly the entire way.

The girl visibly relaxed at the return of her robot, once again leaning against the wall and breathing out a soft, “Thank you.”

“Right,” Donnie murmured, stowing his bo. He grabbed April with one hand and scooped the laser gun up in the other. “Would you mind just…staying right there? Thanks.”

Donnie didn’t wait for a reply, practically flying back to the stairs with April, hoping that Casey would behave until they got back.

Raph was standing guard next to the van. His eyes snapped to Donnie when he came outside but he waited until he and April were off the bottom porch step before hissing out, “What the heck happened in there? And where did that thing come from?”

“So, short version?” Donnie said. “There is an injured teenager and a robot in the upstairs bathroom and she had this.” Donnie placed the blaster on the gravel between them. “She said she escaped from Dimension X.”

“Seriously?” Raph asked. “We cannot deal with this right now. Just…I don’t know, send her off somewhere else.”

“Raph,” April interrupted. “I couldn’t get a good read on her mind but…she seemed genuine from what I could sense. And scared.”

“So?” Raph asked.

The van door slid open and Mikey poked his head into the circle, “Dude, we can’t just throw her out! It’s almost winter and April said there isn’t anyone around for miles!”

“So just take her to town and drop her off, what’s the big deal?”

“It’s not just that,” Donnie added. “She saw me and she might have seen you too. If we take her to town and drop her off, we have no way to know if she’ll tell anyone or not.”

Raph paused, his bared teeth morphing into a thoughtful frown, “...we can’t risk that right now.”

They all subconsciously glanced at Leo’s prone form.

“So we keep her around?” Raph asked.

“...it’s not like we have a lot of options,” Donnie replied. “Plus, I would quite like to know where that robot she has came from. It doesn’t look like something the Kraang would make, but it’s way too advanced to be something from Earth.”

“Sweet, new friend,” Mikey grinned, but his tone lacked the usual enthusiasm he got when making new friends.

April nodded along with them, crossing her arms, “She also mentioned signaling people. We’ll need someone to keep an eye on her at all times, make sure she doesn’t do that.”

Donnie nodded, turning back to Raph and Mikey, “I only saw two bedrooms but neither one is set up properly. But the sooner we get Leo inside the better so we can put him on the couch for now.”

“Right,” Raph nodded, climbing into the van and kneeling at Leo’s head. “And I assume you’re gonna talk to our unexpected guest while we do that.”

“Yeah,” Donnie agreed. “Then I’ll get started making this place more livable. We’ll need to get water and power first and foremost. And I need to make sure we have reliable heat sources. Winter could get bad out here.”

April nodded, placing a hand on Donnie’s arm, “Thanks Donnie. I can show you where everything is…after.”

“Right,” After. After he made sure they weren’t at risk of being chased into the woods by the locals or aliens. After they got Leo settled somewhere to rest and heal…

Donnie left April to help move Leo, taking the stairs two at a time back to the bathroom.

He found Casey had moved into the hallway and had shut the door, standing guard in front of it.

He frowned at Donnie, raising an eyebrow, “Well?”

“Kicking her out would be a safety hazard to us,” Donnie explained shortly. “So I’m going to lay down some rules.”

Casey gritted his teeth and wrinkled his nose, “So, what, we just hope she’s not another secret Kraang bot?”

“Seeing how she didn’t shoot me the second I opened the door, I think she’s just a normal human,” Donnie moved around Casey, opening the bathroom once again.

The girl was sitting on the floor, wedged into a corner with the robot sitting in her lap. Her head snapped up when Donnie entered and the bot let out a low, displeased sound.

Donnie approached the pair, mulling over how to start this talk, “...I don’t think we got your name.”

“Raven,” she answered quickly. “I’m Raven. And he’s Scrap.”

The robot beeped, the two antennas on its head swiveling upright at the sound of his name.

“Okay,” Donnie crouched in front of them, clasping his hands together between his knees. “I’m Donatello. Now, as you can see, I’m not quite human and, as such, would prefer if other humans didn’t know about me or my family.”

Raven frowned but didn’t speak.

Donnie continued, “That and we’re trying to lay low up here. But that plan kinda has a kink now.”

Raven nodded, “I’ve compromised your safehouse.”

Donnie straightened slightly, her bluntness surprising him, “Um, yeah, kinda.”

She nodded again, “I’m guessing you need to kill us to ensure your safety?”

Donnie recoiled sharply, eyes going wide with shock, “What? No! I was just going to say you need to stay here where we can keep an eye on you! Why-? What made you-? Just right to killing?”

“Oh,” Raven smiled, relaxing against the wall. “That’s good. I don’t feel like fighting anyone right now. Or negotiating.”

Donnie blinked, “...right…you also can’t signal your team.”

Raven straightened again, smile evaporating, “What?”

“You said it yourself, you being her compromised our safehouse,” Donnie explained. “And the best way to keep us safe is to make sure that knowledge starts and ends with you. So, until further notice? You can’t leave and you can’t contact anyone.”

Raven opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to protest.

But something gave her pause. She slowly closed her jaw, eyes narrowing at Donnie.

He narrowed his eyes back.

“...okay,” she finally said. “I concede to your terms.”

Donnie nodded and stood, “Great. I’m just gonna…go now…Do you want anything for, ya know, those injuries?”

Raven shook her head, “Some different clothes would be nice when someone gets a moment.”

“Right…I’ll see what we can do,” He spun, marching back out of the bathroom again, ignoring the headshake of disapproval Casey was directing at him.

He ventured back down the stairs, reaching the bottom just in time to see Raph tucking a blanket around Leo on the couch. Mikey was huddled down next to him, holding one of Leo’s hands in both of his.

They both looked up when Donnie stepped in.

“Well?” Raph asked.

“She was surprisingly cooperative,” Donnie said as he approached Leo, pressing lightly at his pulse point. “We should still keep an eye on her though, just in case…she also requested if we could provide her clothing.”

“Seriously?” Raph muttered. “What does she think this is, a hotel?”

“Considering she is currently wearing what I assume is the standard for Kraang prisoners, it’s not that unusual of an ask.”

Raph paused, eyes narrowing slightly before he turned towards the stairs, “You said there were two bedrooms?”

“Possibly three,” Donnie replied. “Set up one for Leo?”

Raph muttered a reply but he was halfway up the stairs so Donnie didn’t quite catch it.

He chose to let it drop for now, focusing on rechecking Leo’s vitals and bandages.

Mikey watched quietly for a minute before speaking, “Does she seem nice?”

“Who?”

“The girl upstairs,” Mikey explained. “It’d be cool if she was nice. Then we could have another human friend.”

Donnie sighed. He knew Mikey was trying to stay a little positive but, “...it’s way too early to know Mikey. We should just keep her at arms length for now.”

“Okay,” Mikey paused again. “Hey Donnie?”

“Yeah?”

“When’s Leo gonna wake up?”

And that question made Donnie pause and created an unpleasant lump in his throat.

Because how the heck was he supposed to tell Mikey that there was a chance Leo would never wake up? Leo was so hurt and his breathing was off and he wasn’t responding to any kind of stimuli. Every hour Leo didn’t wake just increased the chance that he would just stop breathing and not start again.

How was he supposed to say that he was out of his depth? That he didn’t know how to give Leo the best chance of bouncing back? None of them had been hurt as bad as Leo was hurt and Splinter was the one to mend serious injuries. But Donnie was sure even Splinter wouldn’t know how to best mend all of Leo’s wounds.

How was he supposed to tell Mikey that he didn’t know how to fix this? That they could lose Leo too and Donnie had no idea how to fix that?

He couldn’t. Mikey was already struggling, they were all struggling and Donnie didn’t want to shatter what little was left of their hope.

So he smiled at Mikey, fake and forced, and told him, “It’s Leo. He’ll be back up in no time.”

The words tasted like acid on Donnie’s tongue.

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

SO! A few little things that I probably should have said before but….kinda posted chapter 1 RIGHT before I had to go to work so it was a rush job. But I am taking a bit of a new approach to this arc. For one, I think I'm going to try and implement an upload schedule of once a week on Fridays(small exception made for chapter 2 because I was gonna post 1 and 2 at the same time but then I added the whole scene with Donie patching Leo up). I'm hoping it'll give me more time for edits so that there are less errors in the posted chapters (very sorry for how often that happened in arcs 1 and 2, did not realize how often I miss things) Another thing is that I'm pretty much going full 'fuck it, this is fanfiction'. Meaning this is going to be very different from the conon show and not a simple 'show but there's an extra character'. This is basically gonna be a 2012 overhaul with an added OC. And I will be throwing out my 'keep under 30 chapter rule' because I KNOW this is gonna be a long arc. With that out of the way, NEW OC FOR THINE EYES! May she bring you much joy over the course of this fic!

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #lone hunter and turtle #hunter and turtles au #tmnt au #fanfic #oc

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derekscorner · 1 year

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Could Crimson Flower have worked?

I mean, yeah, the title is easy to answer if you “yes if the devs focused on one story and not four” but I feel like I should add a bit more than that after my long Blue Lions post from the other day.

In that other post I claimed Dimitri is set up as the ultimate focal point to tackle the major story and mystery beats of Fodlan’s setting but it is possible to argue that Edelgard is even more worthy of that spot.

Her ancestor, the first emperor of Fodlan, was an ally of Rhea when she acted as Saint Seiros and even shared blood giving the royal line her crest.

It was her ancestors who passed down the knowledge that Rhea and those secretly keeping Fodlan’s status quo were not human.

The founding of the church and the Adrestian empire coincide with one another.

‘Those Who Slither in the Dark’ (hereon Agarthans) had long since infested the empire and swapped out key figures with their agents.

The top six nobles set Edelgards dislike for the aristocracy into motion.

She had to watch her siblings die horribly in the palace dungeons as the Agarthans experimented on all of them.

She has personal ties to Dimitri, the prince of another kingdom the Agarthans are trying to destroy, due to her mother marrying it’s king.

Edelgard herself was living in the kingdom a short while which may have reinforced her views on crests and nobility due to the Faerghus kingdom being even more strict on those and religious topics.

And this is only a few of the things you could list in her backstory. Whether you learned it in 3 Houses, DLC, or 3 Hopes.

In a sense, you can say that Edelgard begins the “story right in the thick of it” vs Dimitri who’s “drawn into it” by his families assassination.

Yes splitting a Fire Emblem story is a bad idea

The issue with it all was the execution. The same for Dimitri or Claude. Splitting the story into routes seems to just not work for a Fire Emblem game. Perhaps if they’d leave it at two routes or just one with alternative endings it’d be fine but they tend to get over ambitious from what I can tell after playing Fates, 3 Houses, and 3 Hopes.

And while I think Fates had the worst story due to this decision I do think this decision hurt Crimson Flower quite badly. Edelgard’s story needs a great deal of context and lack of it is what causes the intense debates on the legitimacy of her actions.

The story route is too short, you never once turn on the Agarthans which left it feeling unfinished, and Edelgard has a very iron fist approach hoping to push her ideals at the cost of burning the world down.

I won’t get into the debate of what’s right or wrong with her actions. If anything, I find Edelgard and Rhea great parallels because they’re essentially the same in many areas. Women who are good at heart but will do cruel or evil things. Contradictory if you will and marred by their traumas.

You would need Shez for this to work

To get to the point, before I slip into mindless rambling again, I do think Edelgard could’ve worked quite well. Better than the Blue Lions in fact. Crimson Rose just needed proper focus and some explanation of Edelgard’s actions.

You shouldn’t change what she does or her ideals since that’s core to her route but it would be best to have as much insight into why she’s doing it as possible.

Above all, I believe her story only works under those conditions if you do what Shez did in 3 Hopes. You do not need Shez themselves but you do need a similar play to what they domino into effect.

And I say this because Edelgard’s plans and work makes the most sense in 3 Hopes. Shez caused the Agarthans to appear early which let her run them out of the empire and seize it. That act was very crucial to me buying her route and it’s possibilities at all.

Since I find it hard to swallow as a player in her other routes to work alongside ‘Those who slither in the dark’. It makes no sense to me that she wouldn’t jump at the first chance to oust them and 3 Hopes played on that same notion.

Once 3 Hopes got Edelgard’s story going I found it much easier to go along with compared to Crimson Flower. If 3 Houses had done this and spent the game focusing on just that I could see it being better than even a hypothetical game focused solely on the Blue Lions.

Rather than solving the mysteries of Fodlan, Edelgard could expose them.

Rather than cooperate with Shambala she could make it a priority.

You could focus on the parallels between Edelgard and Rhea and even have Edelgard recognize this.

It’d be interesting to watch Edelgard realize her ideals are a bit too idealistic. Let’s be honest, they are, but that doesn’t make them unworthy of pursuing. In 3 Hopes Dimitri was the only leader to display the wisdom that change can’t be rushed. He too seeks it but knows it has to be done slowly.

Imagine if Edelgard took this lesson to heart. Imagine if her friends refined her ideas over the story like that one random support in which Ferdinand unintentionally offered up the idea of a regulated public school system. He did so after hearing Edelgards own idea to teach more than just the noble class.

That one support could’ve been a great theme to apply to more of her supports. Her friends helping her build her ideals.

I would still leave the moral quandaries of her and the war she starts but you can give what she intends to do more depth.

How will she replace aristocracy?

Will she even decide to do so by the end?

How will she help the common man?

How will she rectify a honest church when her own Southern Church is just a political tool?

How does she plan to offset corruption in her new system? The noble and crest system is very corrupt but so is our own alternatives in the real world. No governing system is perfect.

Does Edelgard even realize this in the heat of her revolution?

Will Edelgard spare the Leicestor Alliance or conquer it?

All fun things you could build on if you just focused on her story alone. There is potential there and I’d be very inclined to see it should they ever decide to make another 3 Houses spin off.

Byleth

The question of how to kick this possible branch off would also lie with Byleth I think. I earnestly believe Edelgard’s story works so well in 3 Hopes because she does the smarter decision of ousting the Agarthan infestation. She has more time to plot her war and reform her nation.

That really works in her favor as a story lead in my opinion but we still need someone to help her kick those events off. It would be easy to reuse Shez here but I think Byleth is a more intriguing option.

As the vessel of the goddess of which the Church of Seiros worships it offers a unique realization for Edelgard. Rhea may have founded the faith on lies and warped history with half truths but the goddess herself is very much real.

How does Edelgard rectify this truth? Especially if Byleth is the teacher she admires and the reason she’s able to reveal Arundel as an imposter?

Edelgard even wonders in 3 Hopes if her attraction to Byleth is due to her cest of Seiros resonating with the crest of flames.

How does Byleth help her dethrone Arundel and the Noble Six? Depends on you. You can do what they did in 3 Hopes with Shez or you can do a slower alternative with the class set up from 3 Houses. In either case it’s doable and a bit more compelling.

Conclusion

No I do not know how to conclude or expand on this route more. The point I hoped to make was that Edelgard could’ve been a great route. There is a lot there and it offers so much to work with had the developers and writers chose too.

I doubt we’d ever see a genuine focus on her but one can hope. If not her at least Azure Moon. Heck, despite my lost posts I do still prefer Claude and the Golden Deer so I’d even take a focus on them.

That’s a rant for another day however. Bye now.

================================

Editors Note: This is a second spin-off from my traditional: Fiery Opinions posts. You’ll find the rest in that link if you’re curious about my trip through Fire Emblem.

#fe #fe3h #fe3wh #fire emblem #fire emblem three hopes #fire emblem three houses #edelgard von hresvelg #fiery opinions #someone said to add #edelgard discourse #so there ya go kids

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mejomonster · 1 year

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Silent Reading, chapter 63. There is absolutely so much to say but I'm tired right now. Some things my mind can still bring up: Fei Du hinting at a bad childhood and scared to share, sharing just this much being Heavy, him daring to reach out to Luo for emotional support with the hand (seeming like Luos cat when scared) and the trust in that, then Fei Du turning it into a flirtation when the moment passes to put a lock back on his vulnerability just then and move on, and Luo accepting the emotional support fei du needed but rejecting the put-on-act of kissing his hand (for a variety of reasons), fei du liking the feeling he gets when he puts moves on Luo Wenzhou, the fact that just generally in the novel up to this point their interactions still remain nearly always a battle. It starts as a battle of insults, but then as flirtation comes in the winner is still whoever stunned to silence "..." the other. The moment fei du asked to just touch his hand was one of their rare moments of no battle-which of course fei du then turned into a battle later. Or him using flirtation to avoid answering about his own relationship with his father-battling each other is a shield for them, especially fei du, to keep in control of their level of emotional sharing and backpedal it (or deepen it occasionally) as desired. It gives them the kind of enemies-to-lovers scene dynamics even though they're actually quite close. Just. So much about this scene was so good. I want to see Luo Wenzhous pov again soon on what happened.

And finally, a fun fact. When I was 6 months into learning Chinese I read this until around chapter 15 when I had to switch to mtl/chinese parallel text and trying to look up words for translations corrections and clarifications. And the line about fei du kissing his hand? All the mtls absolutely slaughtered it and struggled desperately to try and make sense of it, mostly could not manage to nail down the word used was kiss, and I had to look up individual words until I could figure out the line myself, thats how I learned 吻.

Quote:

After all, everyone thought that Malcolm and Donalbain had killed their benevolent father.”

The line of car headlights up ahead was like a dragon with its head stretching away into the distance. Luo Wenzhou pretended not to notice that these words were alluding to him. As if nothing were the matter, he asked, “What was Zhou Huaixin and the Venerable Zhou’s father-son relationship like?”

“An unworthy son, living outside of the mainstream, out of tune with the whole Zhou Clan, with his decathlon-running big brother above him to compare him with.” Fei Du shrugged. “What could it be like? If you think about it, you’ll know there was considerable strain.”

“And what about you?” Luo Wenzhou asked quietly. “As far as I know, you didn’t go out of line when you were a teenager, and you’re an only child. Why was your relationship with your father strained?”

At first Fei Du froze. Then he turned to Luo Wenzhou and slyly dodged the subject. “Hm? Is Captain Luo so interested in me? I’ve heard that according to the unspoken social rules in our country, people only ask after others’ family backgrounds when they regard someone as a potential mate.”

As he spoke, he half-turned, leaning a little closer to Luo Wenzhou. “Are you sure you want to know? I catch your drift, then.”

Just then the car in front of them shuffled forward. Luo Wenzhou stepped on the gas and leapt forward, then put on the brakes, sending Fei Du crashing back against the passenger’s seat.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t talk about it,” Luo Wenzhou said dully. “Don’t give me any of that.”

Fei Du laughed, not speaking.

The two of them sat in mutual silence for a while. The stoplight at the intersection went through a cycle, and the traffic in the U-turn lane stopped again. They’d have to wait for the next opportunity. The impatient drivers all around honked their horns one after another. Occasionally someone would roll down a window and look out; samples of all kinds of music leaked out of their cars.

The smile on Fei Du’s face gradually disappeared. Perhaps it was because the night was thick, and perhaps it was because the densely packed crowd had a particular feeling of loneliness. He suddenly spoke: “I sometimes find that it can be very difficult for a person to escape his parentage and the surroundings he grew up in.”

Luo Wenzhou looked at him.

“Thoughts, habits, disposition, manners, level of virtue, cultural accomplishments… These things, which can be altered later, are like the branches and leaves of plants. As long as you’re willing, you can prune yourself into any direction.” Fei Du leaned back in his seat, looking out into Yan City’s night sky with his eyes narrowed. “But the deeper levels, the most essential things, are very hard to alter. The things you encounter in the earliest surroundings of your childhood, when you have no notions about the world, settle into your unconscious mind. Traces of these things will be hidden in all the abstract concepts you take in through your native language. You won’t notice it yourself, but those things will shroud your whole life.”

At this point, it was as if Fei Du had exhausted his greatest efforts. There was a door in his mind, a very thick door with its hinges mottled with rust; even using all his strength, he could only open it this little crack.

Luo Wenzhou waited patiently for a while, but he didn’t continue.

Fei Du said, “Captain Luo, could you lend me your hand?”

Following this advance notice, all the nerves in Luo Wenzhou’s entire body instinctively collected in his right hand laying at his side. Then, Fei Du very slowly and gently covered the back of his hand. His fingers were long and slender, ice cold, but the palm of his hand was warm. He didn’t press hard, leaving him the opportunity to draw back at any time.

An indescribable feeling meandered up from Luo Wenzhou’s right hand. The temperature in the car abruptly went up at least two degrees. The muscles of Luo Wenzhou’s forearm instinctively tensed, but he somehow didn’t pull back his hand. Fei Du bent his head, carefully holding his hand, making Luo Wenzhou think of Luo Yiguo, startled awake by some nightmare, running to his pillow in the middle of the night.

Suddenly, the car behind them honked impatiently. Luo Wenzhou gave a start and found that the light had already changed and there was an empty space ahead of him, inviting others to cut in line.

Fei Du’s momentary fragile expression softly vanished in thin air like steam. The ends of his peach blossom eyes turned up, and he quickly bent his head and kissed the back of Luo Wenzhou’s hand, fingers lightly brushing the most sensitive place on his palm. When Luo Wenzhou immediately pulled his hand away, Fei Du blinked innocently at him. “Goodness, I’m sorry. Captain Luo’s charms are truly too powerful. I accidentally advanced a little too far.”

Luo Wenzhou: “…”

This joker really had seduction down to a military strategy.

Luo Wenzhou lost his temper. As he drove through the difficult intersection, he said, “Fei Du, have I spoiled you too much?”

Fei Du considered his expression, felt that he’d gone overboard, and thereupon shut his mouth, not pouring any more oil onto the fire. As Luo Wenzhou irritably left the flow of traffic for the west entrance, he held tightly to the handle of the car door as they dizzily flew back to the City Bureau.

“We ‘normal people,’ proper or not, aren’t in the habit of getting it on with our acquaintances.” Luo Wenzhou, his face slightly grim, indicated that Fei Du should get out of the car. “If you’re hard up, go find your picture-painting little skeleton of a drinking buddy.”

Then he shut the car door, turned, and left.

Fei Du sat alone in the service car among the unpleasant smelling aromatherapy, sampling the discomfiture Luo Wenzhou had left behind. He thought that the “taste” was unusually potent; he very much wanted there to be a continuation.

#silent reading #lb #also we follow the trend of Another murder case paralleling fei du

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cake-apostate · 1 year

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Four Akiras in a Trenchcoat AU: Envy and Violet

[The premise of this AU is that Akira Kurusu of Persona 5 is his timeline’s version of Akira from SMT4. Before the start of the game, Big Bad had Black Mask kill “that stupid kid” out of sheer pettiness, leaving Akira an empty shell. To salvage their Wild Card, the Velvet Room drags in four parallel versions of him: Blasted Akira, Infernal Akira, the late King Akira, and Anarchy Nanashi. The four of them possess Joker’s empty shell.]

Given that the Four are the same person who made different decisions, I wonder if they’d relate to Violet? I can see how they could envy one another, especially since they could have been one another.

Infernal Akira envies their character. He could have been clever like King Aquila, decisive and unrelenting like Nanashi, but most of all, he could have been charismatic and levelheaded like Blasted. He knows that he’s cowardly, weak, that he backs down and makes other people do the work for him. “Why couldn’t I be strong like them?”

Blasted Akira envies their circumstances. The other Tokyos had most of their resources unspoiled, and Mikado is a prosperous country. He envies Infernal Akira most of all, because there’s so much untapped potential with a completely unnuked Tokyo and Demonoids abound. Meanwhile, he’s stuck in a radioactive desert where God wants everyone dead. “Why couldn’t I be lucky like them?”

Nanashi envies their charisma. He knows full well how fickle public adoration can be, but there’s something about how the Samurai of Mikado were reluctant to break King Aquila’s code, how he was so beloved that the angels tried to erase his legacy. He’s jealous of how everyone looks up to Blasted, how no Demonoid wants to usurp Infernal because he’s doing such a good job as king. Nanashi sacrificed his bonds for the greater good, not because they were worthless. “Why am I alone at the end of my road?”

King Aquila, most of all, envies their potential. He’s long dead, and he saw how he failed. His legacy was misread, the kingdom he built waged war on his homeland, and right when he thought everything would turn out fine, some idiot monk starts wreaking havoc to the point where Nanashi murdering literally everyone in his kingdom is considered a mercy kill. “Why can they still change the world?”

Spoilers for the third semester

Since they all could have been one another, the Four understand how Sumire feels inferior to her own twin sister. After her cooldown, they wind up going to dinner and swapping stories about how they felt like they each got the short end of the stick. Also Akechi is along for the ride.

Also, the new reality. I was thinking that the Four woke up during the third semester not because they had no desires, but because the new reality wasn’t built to handle their situation.

I was thinking that there’s got to be someone out there with a seriously outlandish wish, like, “I want to be a space ranger,” or, “I want to be a wizard.” I think the system usually deals with those by separating their perception from everyone else’s; for example, if Mr. Akiyama the salaryman wants to be a fantasy hero, he’ll see a mall as a goblin cave, while the shoppers see a small cute child waving around a toy sword.

King Aquila sees Tokyo as Mikado because his wish is the chance to fix Mikado, but the other three see Tokyo as Tokyo. Once they realize that he’s not seeing the same things as them, they argue over who’s hallucinating.

The next crack is Nanashi’s desire to be loved. Whether he wants to be worshiped or simply liked, he’s still a god and lots of people declaring their undying love for him qualifies as worship. Suddenly he gains the power to perform divine miracles, which is a huge crack in their ‘normal’ world. I’m not entirely sure if this is in character, but I do think that it would be hilarious.

Also, Nanashi finds the whole reality to be fake not because it’s poorly constructed, but because there’s a huge disconnect between his idea of normal and the current Tokyo.

Blasted and Infernal’s wishes don’t really conflict with the reality; Blasted wants prosperity and glory, while Infernal wants to be strong, brave, and just. They break out anyways because when they all start arguing over what’s real and what’s not, they end up punching holes in each other’s ideal worlds to the point where the whole illusion shatters.

#Four Akiras in a Trenchcoat AU #shin megami tensei #shin megami tensei iv #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #shin megami tensei iv apocalypse #smt akira #smt nanashi #nanashi smt #akira smt #Smt4A #smt4 #shin megami tensei 4 #shin megami tensei 4 apocalypse #p5 #p5 royal #akira kurusu

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radiant-reid · 3 years

Text

Parallel Universe

Summary: Before she leaves, Y/n and Spencer talk about how good their lives would be in a parallel universe

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)

Content Warning: nothing ??

Word Count: 1.4k

People face decisions every day, from simple things like what to eat for dinner to life-altering decisions like job offers. That was the decision Y/n had to face. And she'd made her choice.

The couple lay in Spencer's bed. Just as they had countless times. Both of them wished they could go back to any of those times. It was never simple. Their complicated BAU jobs kept things intriguing.

But it was all about to come to an end. One last night.

The curtains and windows were open, letting a cool breeze circulate while the lights of the city illuminated the walls.

Paradoxically, it felt comfortable and unusual. They could both tell it was distinctively different.

Silently, they mapped each other's faces, trying to memorize every detail. Spencer didn't often forget things, but he was terrified there would be a day he didn't remember her.

Y/n knew the memories would fade. Despite how much she tried to preserve her memories, they would fade. They always did.

They'd both come to terms with it. Y/n's leaving. It was a well-thought-out decision. She and Spencer spent weeks weighing up the pros and cons.

Of course, they had been apart before. Back when they were just friends and Y/n was put on assignment in an undisclosed middle eastern location. Neither of them had ever missed anyone as much.

But, back then, it wasn't her choice. This time she was choosing to go.

When she first got to offer, the scales were tipped in favor of her staying. She adored the BAU team, she had a good apartment in DC, and, of course, there was Spencer. Y/n had never loved anyone like she loved Spencer.

And he was the one who convinced her going was a good idea. Spencer knew he couldn't be the thing holding her back. He didn't want her to wake up in 5 years and wish she'd gone. Even if, in that nightmare, she was waking up next to him.

The decision came with a somber realization. A feeling that it was all going to end because it was. With Y/n at Interpol, they knew there was no way they could be a couple.

So, it was happening. In less than 24 hours, Y/n would be using her one-way ticket to board a plane headed for London. Her entire apartment was completely empty, most of her things already in her new, British flat. That was why she had been staying at Spencer's. It was as equally painful as it was special.

"Can we talk?" Spencer finally asked. "I just want to hear your voice one last time." He begged.

If he could, he would cry. But he'd done so much crying in the last week, Y/n crying right next to him. He also didn't want to make her sad in their last few hours.

Y/n nodded lightly, still unsure what they were going to talk about. In the last week, they had seemingly talked about everything. Many late-night conversations about how much they loved each other.

"I can't stop thinking about parallel universes," Spencer confessed as Y/n watched his pink lips part.

"That's an odd thing for a man of science to be thinking about." She mentioned, trying to keep the conversation light.

Spencer's lips turned upward at the comment. "It's really just quantum mechanics, which is the physics behind matter and light on an atomic and subatomic level." He replied informatively. "Systems with quantum behavior don't follow rules. It's like how light exists in different states." Y/n continued to listen to his words, aware of how much she was going to miss his ramblings. "The thing is that for every tiny decision you make, there's a universe where you made a different choice."

"Do you wish I made a different choice?" Y/n asked. She had to. She couldn't leave him if she still had questions.

Spencer immediately shook his head. "No. Not at all." He assured her. "I just can't help thinking that there's another universe where none of this happened. Where we get a proper ending." He simply stated.

The dreadful melancholy feeling struck her. "I hope somewhere, in some universe, there's a version of us that end up together." She agreed.

"We'd get married." Spencer declared, knocking the breath out of her. Naturally, it was something she wanted. But, in the 9 months, they'd been together, they hadn't discussed it.

"I'd like that," Y/n told him. "I don't want a big wedding, though. Something little in a ballroom with big arches and marble pillars." She dreamed aloud.

Spencer nodded happily. "I'd like to get married after Halloween, so I don't get the post-October blues." He mentioned jokingly. "We could have November Lilies. They're my mom's favorite."

"We could have a maroon and light blue color scheme," Y/n suggested, indulging the fantasy. After all, it was just for one night. She was thankful it wasn't painful. It just felt like she was reading a book, imagining the characters happy. "Maroon always brings out your eyes." She told him honestly.

"Oh, Henry could be the ring bearer." Spencer thought aloud, imagining everyone else he'd want at the wedding.

"Or, not sticking with a traditional timeline, a Reid child." She suggested, raising her voice as if it were a question.

Spencer's face lit up. He was keeping detached enough from the conversation he wasn't in tears. "I've kind of always wanted a daughter." He admitted presuming Y/n would believe he wanted a son.

"You would have been an amazing father." She told him before quickly correcting herself. "You will be." As much as it hurt, she wanted Spencer to find someone else to love.

Spencer didn't let the comment deter him from his vision. "I like Emmy. After Emmy Noether, who found Noether's theorem. Albert Einstein even said she was a 'creative mathematical genius,' yet she barely gets any recognition. I think it's important they're named after strong women, especially because women in STEM are so often overlooked." He decided.

"I completely agree." Y/n accepted. "What other name ideas do you have?"

Spencer didn't even need a moment to think about it. "Florence after Florence Sabin who was the first female president of the American Association of Anatomists, the first woman to be elected to membership in the National Academy of Sciences, and the first woman to become a full professor at Johns Hopkins Medical School. That's not even a list of all her accomplishments." He started, going into one of his usual ramblings. "But, I feel like you should get more say." Spencer cut himself off before he could keep going.

"Aspen," Y/n stated before providing her reason. "A little bit inspired by Penelope because we could call her Pen."

"Aspen Reid," Spencer spoke softly, cementing the idea.

Y/n wanted to scream about how unfair it was. How they deserved more time. How they deserved a happily ever after. But she couldn't get the words out.

"They could have your curls." She hoped, wanting to touch them more than anything. She knew that would be too overwhelming.

"I would hope they look mostly like you." Spencer declared, coming dangerously close to complimenting her.

"Oh! We could dress them up in matching outfits." Y/n excitedly cheered.

Spencer enthusiastically nodded. "Matching family Halloween costumes too. They would be the biggest fans of Halloween." He assured her, but she already knew that.

"Like how we used to have Girls' night, we could have a Sunday brunch with the team." Y/n thought.

Spencer laughed a little. "Just so long as Girls' night is a Friday because I will not be trying to get you out of bed to go to brunch when you're hungover."

Y/n faked offense, letting her mouth drop open. In truth, she knew she wasn't all rainbows and sunshine when she was hungover.

"I'd like to take them to Vegas." Spencer declared. "Teach them to gamble." Y/n laughed while she shook her head. "Okay, museums then." He decided.

Y/n thought about it for a second. "Museums if we also go to California to go to Disneyland." Her counter offer came.

"Alright." Spencer agreed.

"We were robbed, weren't we?" Y/n reminded him, putting them back into the present.

With a sad smile on his face, Spencer nodded. "We were, but not the us in a parallel universe." He figured.

Maybe they would later find out their dream parallel universe was the reality they lived in.

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

Brain topic du jour is reflecting on the frankly weird as fuck pattern in Dick’s life where....he barely ever experiences losses one at a time. Most of the loss he’s experienced in his life is compounded by him losing multiple people and other elements of stability all at the exact same time.

1) When his parents died, in some continuities this is coupled with him losing his extended family of his aunt and cousin as well, with his uncle left comatose and on life support for years before he eventually died as well. Even in continuities without Richard, Karla and John, the loss of Dick’s parents is compounded by the additional loss of his circus family in the sense that he was taken away from them by the state and their constant reassuring presences in his life were no longer comforts he was able to rely on.

2) When Jason died, Dick didn’t just lose his brother, as the tragedy was compounded by Bruce’s reaction. I’ll never be able to gloss over the effects of NTT #55, personally, because I think its too key to Dick’s entire characterization and the specific direction his character took in the years that followed this, to like....disregard that Bruce however unintentionally, while lost in his own grief, added to Dick’s own sense of loss for Jason in probably the worst way possible. As by kicking Dick out and telling him to leave his keys, Dick - having no way to know or guess that they’d ever reconcile, just like he never actually went back to the circus being a regular presence for him - to Dick, this was in essence the equivalent of his childhood tragedy all over again. Losing not just one family member, but his whole family in one sweep, and all the comforts and stability offered by a home he was forced to leave. Even Dick’s contact with Alfred was minimal for awhile, because why would the guy who basically JUST saw history repeat itself and was like, well I know how THIS tends to play out.....why would he think that if Alfred felt forced to actually choose between his loyalties to Bruce and Dick respectively, that Alfred would pick Dick over the man he’d known and raised from childhood himself?

3) Titans Hunt. I know I harp on this one a lot, but you can’t deny that it fits the pattern. Dick didn’t just lose one friend and teammate.....he lost Joey, he lost a good four or five lesser known Titans who nevertheless were people he viewed as directly HIS responsibility to keep safe. With these tragedies compounded by the fact that though comics played out a lot more slowburn and extended stories over years back then, like.....the aftermath of Titans Hunt was still everpresent and directly died into Dick’s reactions and emotions during the Mirage storyline and everything that happened with the failed wedding and his breakup with Kory AND the fact that he was literally forced off the team he’d basically founded, by the government agency that took over the team and appointed Roy as its leader in his stead.

3) Graduation Day. The second time the Titans disbanded it was again not due to a singular loss, because Dick didn’t just lose Donna at this point, but also Lilith died in the exact same story and though Lilith is criminally underused, like, she’s also one of Dick’s oldest friends. She was literally the first Titan to join after the original five. This then led into the Outsiders era, where Dick was shown to still be reeling from the losses of this story for an extended period of time, and in a fun parallel to the Titans Hunt aftermath, Dick was also ousted from his leadership of THIS team by essentially a vote of no confidence by his teammates (and uh, Bruce too, literally).

4) The Blockbuster arc. Where Dick’s emotional state was due to a continued string of multiple losses. He lost his apartment building and almost every one of the neighbors he’d built a community out of, as we’d been shown him actively involving himself in their lives and vice versa for YEARS before this point. Then he lost his circus, his childhood home, burned to the ground and with dozens of deaths - both spectators and actual performers Dick had known and loved as a child. Then he lost his relationship with Barbara, his sense of self-security and autonomy to Tarantula, he lost another teen vigilante who died in his colors, the mantle HE’D created, when Stephanie was believed dead in War Games, and it all culminated in losing the city he’d invested himself in as his CHOSEN home, the place he dedicated himself to protecting, when Chemo blew it up.

Oh just for the record - my nonexistent passport to the magical kingdom of Narnia for a fic that raises the point when bringing up Tim’s losses in the Red Robin era, that like.....ALL of the above happened at literally the EXACT SAME TIME as all Tim’s referenced losses occurred. Obviously Steph meant more to Tim than Dick on a personal level, but I also included her largely as an anchor point to the timeline, to show how that death, and not long after that Jack Drake’s and then Superboy’s.... occurred right smack in the middle of one of the absolute WORST periods of Dick’s life. To be clear, I don’t intend this to suggest that no actually, Dick had it harder than Tim - nah.

No thank you. Hard pass. I hate that sort of thing even in support of my own faves over other characters. No, instead the thing I’d love to see explored more is just in light of the SPECIFIC angle fics take here - that Dick’s actions while Bruce was lost in time showed an obliviousness to everything Tim had lost lately - for literally ANYONE to bring up or introduce into the timeline here an awareness of everything Dick had lost AT THE EXACT SAME TIME PERIOD. To establish that actually, Dick didn’t just ‘not understand what it was like’ - rather, its more accurate to say that nobody in universe around this time ever shows an awareness of Dick’s own losses and says oh wait, that doesn’t track then.

Because obviously, with this stuff put in proper perspective, Dick understands VERY VERY WELL the exact thing we’re accusing him of not understanding by being oblivious to Tim’s losses that he’s not actually oblivious to because he tries to talk to Tim about them all the time, while meanwhile its everyone else who has absolutely mum to say about the fact that Dick’s emotional state is compromised to hell and back at this point, not JUST because of losing Bruce, but also because *gestures wildly* literally ALL OF THE ABOVE in the exact same time frame Tim’s extended losses happened in.

And okay I am going to indulge in slight tiny itty bitty pettiness and point out my ire that so many fics set during this time tend to recite listicles of Tim’s losses, with Steph, Kon and Jack Drake at the very top of said list....while paying no attention whatsoever to the fact that STEPH WAS LITERALLY BACK BY THE TIME THE RED ROBIN SERIES HAPPENED. She’s LITERALLY a person Dick sends to check up on Tim after Tim turns Dick away when he tries himself. How are you gonna stress the impact Steph’s loss has on Tim when you’re not even acknowledging STEPH’S RIGHT HERE IN THE EXACT SPECIFIC CANON STORY YOU’RE CITING??? I just. afhioskhflafhlafhklfahlfa.

And not to put too fine a point on it, but you know who ELSE was also back at the same time? CONNOR. Superboy LITERALLY was already back to life by the time the Red Robin series even began. Like, the issue where a resurrected Kon and Cassie (Wonder Girl) have a heart to heart about the fact that Tim and Cassie ‘connected’ during his absence and Connor stresses that this doesn’t bother him or make him feel negatively towards either of them at all, because hello, he was literally dead at the time, why would he mind that two of the people he loves most in the world sought comfort in each other? Yeah, that issue? Literally came out BEFORE Tim even became Red Robin.

I MEAN. I’m just saying, when people constantly take shots at Dick’s choices during this period because of how much Tim had lost before Bruce already, in order to shift focus away from the fact that Dick lost Bruce every bit as much as Tim did......and you repeatedly emphasize the SAME three names as the focal point of Tim’s losses while paying no acknowledgment whatsoever to everything Dick lost at the exact same time Tim lost these three.....it quickly becomes kiiiiiiinda relevant in my opinion THAT TWO OF THE THREE NAMES CONSTANTLY MENTIONED AS BEING TIM’S LOSSES ARE NO LONGER EVEN LOST BY THE TIME THE SUBJECT COMES UP. Again, I’m just saying! Pettily, mind you! I am aware of the pettiness, I just beg awareness of like *again gesticulates wildly at all of the above* ALL THAT!

LOL.

But I digress.

5) When Bruce was believed dead while he was lost in the timestream. Again, Dick didn’t just lose the father who had been the only parent in his life for almost TWICE as long as his first parents......this was coupled with the loss of numerous other sources of stability in Dick’s life. There’s the matter of his personal sense of identity and self-expression....Dick FOUGHT against becoming Batman, trying to handle Gotham in Bruce’s absence as Nightwing for as long as he could, because he knew being Batman was very much NOT going to be good for him. He put so much of himself into building his identity as Nightwing, establishing himself in that role, that self-image, that yes, I maintain it was an actual LOSS for Dick, to feel like he had no choice but to give that up and everything it meant to him and his own life, in order to essentially live Bruce’s life for him in his absence.

Because it wasn’t just being Batman that Dick was struggling with at this time....he also had to act as the patriarch to the Wayne family, essentially raise Bruce’s ten year old son, step into Bruce’s old role in Wayne Enterprises, all while getting no acknowledgment for any of this, for literally LIVING his father’s life instead of the life Dick had worked so hard to build for HIMSELF....because of course Dick’s actions and struggles couldn’t even be advertised beyond the family and close friends, because the whole point of him doing all this was so that nobody else even realized that Bruce wasn’t really there anymore. Dick didn’t just assume Bruce’s responsibilities. Dick assumed Bruce’s life, so thoroughly that most people didn’t even put together that Bruce was ‘dead,’ between Dick handling Bruce’s actual roles and responsibilities while Hush made public appearances as him.

Like, when you’re living someone else’s life so completely that nobody can tell they’re even gone....how on earth does that leave any time or space for you to have ANY kind of life of your OWN, y’know? Not to mention the fact that like in so many times previously....all this meant that Dick couldn’t even afford to let his grief for his own losses show, because he wasn’t supposed to be grieving any losses in the first place, that was the whole point of the con!

Additionally, couple this with the fact that throughout this time period, Dick didn’t have Tim to lean on at all, because it was never that Dick kicked Tim out or neglected him or didn’t care....he’d actively stressed how much he needed Tim, because the partner Tim was convinced Dick chose ‘over’ him - Dick was the first one to admit back then that he DIDN’T trust Damian yet, couldn’t afford to, because he was all too aware that Damian didn’t give a fuck about him yet and couldn’t be guaranteed to step in to have Dick’s back - because that required mutual trust that Dick literally just hadn’t had time to build yet. And add to THAT the fact that during this time, Jason was actively antagonizing the family and Dick in particular at every turn, trying to bring them all down and basically write over what all of them saw as Bruce’s legacy with Jason’s own version of what he thought that should look like.

Also also, take into account that unlike how often we see fanon depict Dick as just too stubborn or proud to ask for help, there’s the fact that he actually had very few avenues TO ask for help! As already established, he DID ask Tim for help. Not like Jason was an option at this time, and Dick’s friends weren’t actually just sitting waiting in the wings and groaning about the fact that Dick was trying to do all of this solo....nah, they kinda had their own problems, which Dick was all too aware of?

Like the fact that in the wake of Final Crisis, it wasn’t just Bruce that was believed lost. Many other key Leaguers like Martian Manhunter were dead or lost, with others struggling to fill the gaps left in their absence. Cry For Justice happened right after Final Crisis too....that story where Lian was murdered? So it wasn’t like Dick was remotely going to try leaning on Roy when Roy had just lost his freaking DAUGHTER and very much wasn’t handling it well (and not to overshadow Roy’s loss at ALL, but please let’s not act like Dick - who had literally been the person to put a baby Lian in Roy’s arms for the first time and had known that girl for pretty much her entire life - like, it shouldn’t be used to detract from Roy’s loss at all, but it shouldn’t have to, to just acknowledge that Lian’s loss right at this exact time was painful as fuck to Dick, who’d loved his niece like crazy.)

The pattern of compounding, concurrent losses in Dick’s life. I’m just saying. Its there.

And it extends into the New 52 as well, where Forever Evil came right on the heels of Dick losing his circus in THIS continuity to the Joker, just as a way to hurt him in Death of A Family. And with the aftermath of Forever Evil and Dick’s own literal death, being like....the complete loss of Dick’s entire life, even though he was revived quickly. That didn’t mean he got to live HIS life though, since Dick Grayson was believed dead and he was told had to remain so, so its like fuck whatever he actually wanted to do as he went about on the Spyral mission aka something that pinched his own sense of morality and personal agenda at every turn and was kinda the last thing a therapist would recommend for a trauma recovery period, lol. And like, for all the focus that was paid to how Dick’s family were hurt because they believed they’d lost him when he was actually alive, let’s not forget that for all intents and purposes, Dick DID lose his family in the wake of his resurrection because he was flat out told over and over that due to what ‘he’d LET happen to him’ he was an ACTIVE danger to them, and thus wasn’t allowed by Bruce to contact any of them or lean on them to any degree, until Bruce got amnesia and stopped blocking Dick’s pleas to return home by just not being there to pick up the secret phone line at all.

(And omg, the obliviousness that just EMANATES off the hot takes that Dick had a ‘choice’ in all this and he still CHOSE to do what Bruce told him....like. LOLOL, stop being pissy about me bringing up the term abuse apologism when its literal victim blaming to paint the guy who had to be beaten into ‘agreeing’ to the Spyral mission in the immediate wake of the trauma of DYING, all while his father vocally blamed him for his own suffering and the ‘threat’ he now posed to his family, keying directly into the guilt complex Bruce knows damn well is at the core of most of Dick’s motivations.....fucking please. There’s no choice in all that. That’s active emotional, mental and physical abuse aimed at directly manipulating Dick’s actions, delivered by the guy who knows Dick best in the world and whose approval - particularly when Dick is at absolute rock bottom aka Current Location - matters more to Dick than just about anything because his sense of self-worth has more in common with dog shit than actual dog shit does. Or something. Idk. That analogy got away from me. But like. You get it.)

BUT. I. DIE. GRESS. (I guess).

Aaaaaaanyway, so yeah! That repeating pattern throughout Dick’s life of ‘loss? What loss (singular)? My losses only come in groups, lolol, fuuuuuun’ - mmmm. Yeah. So that’s what’s on MY brain right now. Thoughts?

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dontshootmespence · 3 years

Text

Possessive

Summary: After months of denying his feelings for you, Spencer sees you dancing with another man at a bar. Jealousy takes over and everything bubbles to the surface.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Word Count: 1,648

Warnings: Shameless smut, oral and anal sex, anal fingering, use lube folks, jealous Spencer, fuckinggg.

A/N: I have had quite a few requests for more male reader fics with Spencer. This anon asked for one where Spencer and the reader like each other but are just friends because they’ve never wanted to cross that line, but after Spencer sees the reader dancing with another guy at the bar he takes the reader home and shows him who he belongs to. :D

After watching Y/N flirt with nearly every man at the bar, Spencer couldn’t take it anymore. With a determination he should’ve had long ago, he shoved his way through the throngs of people to where Y/N stood with someone else. “Spence, what are you doing here?” He asked, his million-watt smile flashing across his face.

“Just here to let off some steam after the case,” he replied. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he knew Y/N could see it. They were all profilers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out there were unspoken feelings bubbling to the surface. “You?”

“Same.” He replied. For a moment, Y/N turned his attention to the man standing next to him. “John, this is Spencer. Spencer this is John.”

John leaned casually against the bar, all cool smile and endearing charm as he extended his hand to shake Spencer’s. But instead of taking it, Spencer just returned with his usual awkward wave and a curt ‘nice to meet you.’ “So John,” Spencer started, “How do you and Y/N know each other?”

Leaning over, John grazed his body against Y/N. “Just saw him on the dance floor and had to get to know him, you know?” Spencer understood more than John could ever understand. If it weren’t for those damned social niceties, he would shove himself in between John and Y/N right now. “We’ve been having such a good time I decided to buy him a drink.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek to keep his brain in check but it was growing more and more difficult by the second.

“Were you planning on meeting Y/N here?” John asked. “Or was it just a coincidence?”

Confidence oozed from him in a way it hadn’t in years - maybe ever. “Actually, I was hoping to run into him. Could you excuse us for a second?”

Without waiting for an answer, Spencer grasped Y/N by the forearm and walked toward the front door. “Spence, what are you doing? John and I were having a good time?”

“Well, I don’t want you to.” Spencer replied quickly. “Not with him.”

Y/N pivoted onto his back leg and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?” The ‘I want to hear you say it’ was implied. They’d been dancing around this for too many years for him not to know what was going on.

Spencer sucked on his bottom lip. “Because you should be having a good time with me. We should be going out. You should be dancing with me. For years, I’ve been too much of a bitch to say anything. I’m sorry it took until now for me to say it, but I want you. With me. Not him.” God, that felt so much better. Even if Y/N were to turn him down right now, there was something about just getting it out there that pulled the weight off his shoulders.

Glancing over his shoulder, Y/N sought out John’s face at the bar and gave him a cursory wave, the kind that let him know he wasn’t coming back to finish that drink. Like the gentleman he was, Y/N pulled out a 10 dollar bill and waved it in John’s direction, willing to pay for his own drink considering their impromptu date didn’t go anywhere. John, in turn, shook his head and waved Y/N off.

In an instant, Spencer whisked Y/N outside and toward his car. “Let’s get out of here.”

Y/N laughed, the earlier tenseness easing from his voice. “You gonna take me home?”

Spencer smiled for the first time since seeing Y/N and John at the bar. “Finally, so we can do what I’ve been imagining for years.”

“What have you been imagining?” He asked, slipping into the passenger seat of the car.

Spencer clumsily put the key in the ignition, his previous confidence starting to fall away as he stumbled over his words. “Making you - making you mine in every way imaginable.”

Swallowing against his growing need, Y/N bent over and reached into Spencer’s pants, releasing his cock from its confines just as Spencer sped out of the parking lot. “Before that, I need to do what I’ve been thinking about for years.” He spit into his hand and wrapped it around Spencer’s shaft, moving slowly up and down as he licked at the tip and tasted the tang of his pre-come. He moaned when he felt Spencer tense above him. “If you can’t control the car, the safe word is banana,” Y/N laughed.

“Are you really going to make me say banana?” Spencer jerked the wheel left as soon as the light turned green.

“I’m basically just hoping I can make the calm and collected Dr. Spencer Reid scream banana.”

“You’re mean.”

“You love it.”

“I’m going to get you back for this, you know.” Spencer stated.

Y/N didn’t care. As Spencer’s free hand snaked into Y/N’s hair, he wrapped his lips around the head of his cock, rolling his tongue around it and pressing against that sweet spot that he knew from personal experience could drive a man insane. “Fuck, Y/N, that mouth is something else.”

Encouragement was one of the best drugs in the world, Y/N thought to himself as he took more of Spencer’s hardening cock into his mouth. Road head was always made out to be glamorous. It really wasn’t. The angle made things especially difficult. But that wasn’t going to keep him from trying. Hearing Spencer moan was too heady not to deal with a little discomfort.

Reaching into Spencer’s pants, he cupped his balls and massaged them as he bobbed his head up and down, allowing the building saliva to drip down his cock. They were going to need to use someone’s jacket to get up to the apartment if they didn’t want to make it completely obvious that Y/N had just had Spencer’s cock in his mouth. “Fuck, Y/N. I can’t...the car...I-” Spencer eased down on the brake, thankful to whatever deity existed for a red light.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Spencer managed to choke out. Slipping his free hand into Y/N’s hair, Spencer gently pushed down on his head before cursing at the light for turning green. That light always took forever, but not now apparently. As the muscles in his stomach coiled, he saw upcoming traffic and knew he wouldn’t be able to control the car. “Banana,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m going to combust. and crash if you don’t stop.”

Easing off, Y/N chuckled and wiped the spit from his mouth. “It’s almost worth it, but I need to see what else you have in store, so I’ll give you a break.” On the rest of the way home, Y/N lazily stroked Spencer’s cock, pulling away just as he was about to come.

Spencer parallel parked with the expertise of a NASCAR driver, desperate to get inside. He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around his waist. “Let’s go. I’m ready to lose it.”

“What do you want to do to me?” Y/N asked, huffing and puffing with need and slight exhaustion after running up three flights of stairs.

Once inside, Spencer slammed the door shut and pushed Y/N against the wall, his stomach pressing against the cool wood of Spencer’s front door. “Believe it or not, I’m not so great with the words right now. I’ll show you. The second I saw you with John I realized I couldn’t do this anymore.”

With hurried hands, Spencer unbuckled Y/N’s belt and pushed his jeans and boxers down around his ankles before reaching into a nearby furniture stand to grab a bottle of lube. “Prepared for this?” Y/N chuckled softly, whimpering when Spencer scratched his nails up Y/N’s ass.

“I’m always prepared.” Spencer nibbled down Y/N’s neck and shoulder as he squeezed some lube into his hands. He rubbed quick circles around Y/N’s ass before slipping a finger inside and watching as his mouth dropped open. “Been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Me too,” Y/N groaned. “Long enough for me to know I don’t need the foreplay tonight.”

Spencer laughed and pulled Y/N’s head back by his hair. “Do you want my cock?” Y/N nodded. “Say it.”

“I need your cock in my ass, Spence. Fuck me.”

Quickly, Spencer lubed himself up and pressed the head of his cock to Y/N’s ass, pushing slowly as he eased himself passed the tight ring of muscle. Moaning, Y/N pushed back to take him deeper. “Fuck me. Show me how desperate you were when you saw me with John.”

At the mention of the other man’s name, Spencer sunk into Y/N’s ass and grunted. “Fuck.” Spencer reached one hand around the front and grasped Y/N’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. He wanted, needed, to overwhelm him with sensation. He bit down on Y/N’s earlobe and marked his way down, practically branding him with teeth marks.

“Spence, I’m gonna come,” Y/N breathed as he slipped a free hand into Spencer’s hair and pulled. “Come in my ass.”

Without another word, Spencer buried himself in Y/N and let go before feeling Y/N tense in his hand.

“Fuckin’ hell, Spence. I never knew you could be so possessive. I think I like it. I know I like it,” he laughed, turning around and pulling Spencer’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Spencer walked Y/N back toward his bedroom and began stroking his cock again. “Believe me, that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the things I’ve imagined doing to you.”

It was going to be a long and delicious night.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #dontshootmespence #possessive #possessive fic

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elriell · 3 years

Text

A little compilation of the amazing parallels, between former books and ACOSF, these are just a handful of the amazing throwback mentions Sarah gave us of Elriel.

A massive reason why I think Elain and Azriel will be telling their story next is that SJM is bringing back a lot of their important moments, to remind you of how far they have come and how much further they will go!

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year—a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he'd slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?” “No,” I said, and meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief. Seemed to, since all but a breath of air passed from his lips.

He offered her a smile back. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your present." [...] The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. "It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box.

A low snarl slipped out of him— “Relax,” Rhys said. “Azriel isn’t the ravishing type.” Lucien cut him a glare.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long.

“I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

“What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. If the warrior ever stopped quietly loving Mor. I doubted it. Azriel would likely love Mor until he was a whisper of darkness between the stars.

He was still happy to be Mor’s buffer with Azriel, but there’d been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.

“Azriel won. His one-hundred-ninety-ninth victory, apparently.”

Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger. He offered her a grim smile. "I lost the snowball fight today."

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea, but I sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness before Rhys and I slipped upstairs.”

The river house had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year. Amren, Mor, and Varian had finally gone to bed, but Azriel found himself lingering downstairs. [...]

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

“Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

Lucien, as Beron's son, has the right to demand it of you.""I'll defeat him with little effort." Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true. "I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court, but also with the Sprint Court and Jurian and Vassa."

Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.”

“You sure about that?” I asked quietly. Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea.

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you . . .”

The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin. Mor gave no indication that she noticed and curved her fingers toward me.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around.

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.” I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

[...] Azriel scowled. “I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway.”

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks.

She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence.

There are so many more feel free to add them! ♡

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acosf #acosf spoilers #acotar #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acomaf #acowar #myelriel #myacotar #anti elucien #tobesafe

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djjarins · 3 years

Text

pta and pb&j’s: first day (single dad! javier peña x f! teacher reader)

summary: single dad javi prepares his twins, Sophia and Lillie for their first day of kindergarten - finding it a little hard to let them go - meets their new teacher - who has some words of advice for him.

warnings: mentions of anxiety/javi's former job, single parenting stress and anxiety

a/n: this is the first part in my series, pta and pb&j’s! i’m so excited for this one, with the reader being a cute, young kindergarten teacher who has a huge crush on mr. peña. i’m not sure how many parts i’m going to do yet, but i know it’ll be a few. let me know if you wanna be tagged in upcoming parts, and as always reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!!🤎

"Good morning my angels, its time to wake up," Javi whispers, gently shaking the arms of his twin daughters. Their two twin beds sit parallel to one another, separated by a small bedside table with a lamp, the small light illuminating the pink room. The room sits nice and tidy, except for a few stray dolls on the floor near a bin of other toys, but Javi can’t find himself to be mad about the small pile of Barbies.

Sitting gently on the edge of one of the beds, he makes sure to not knock over any of the meticulously organized stuffed animals spread across the fluffy comforter. Looking down, Javi sees in his younger daughter, Lillie’s arms sits the small, gray stuffed bunny rabbit he gave her and her sister the day they were born, the long floppy ears peaking out and hanging over her blankets.

Looking over to the other bed, he sees Sophia, the older of the twins, has the matching white bunny in her arms as well. He lets out a chuckle at his girls - they were heavy sleepers - quite the opposite of himself.

He always thought they’d come running to his room during a storm, but they always managed to make it soundly through the night, and that it was him who could never fall back asleep. He was jealous of them in that way, most nights not being able to sleep due to the racing thoughts in his mind. It was nothing to worry about, just normal things regarding his job here back home and anxiety over other things. Javi sighs at the sight of his baby daughters, hating that he has to wake them up.

"Girls, we can't be late for your first day of kindergarten!" The former DEA agent says softly, breaking out into a smile as his girls begin to open up their eyes, letting out small yawns before jumping up to wrap their small arms around their father, pulling him into a hug.

The stuffed bunnies drop to the side as Javi picks them up in his arms, swinging them around playfully, before placing them down and bringing his fingers to one of their sides, Lillie letting out loud giggles as he tickles her.

A few seconds later Javi drops his arms from Lillie's sides and switches to Sophia, her laughs echoing across the room as Lillie tries to “stop” her dad by lightly pushing at him, her laughter joining her younger sister’s. A moment later Javi jumps up to his feet and makes quick work of making his way over to their closest, picking up the uniform tops and skirts and bringing it over to the ends of both beds. He sets aside their backpacks, which the trio had packed the night before along with their lunches, making sure to place it near the door so they don’t forget it.

Turning back to face his daughters, he kneels down so he can be at eye level with them. “While you get dressed do you wanna pick out what braids you want me to do for you both?” he asks softly, nodding to the small American Girl Doll book on Lillie’s desk that features all different styles of braids and updo’s.

Javi prided himself on working through almost every style within the purple book, practicing on the girls or on one of their dolls when they are asleep or at daycare. Many nights have been spent following youtube tutorials leading up to the first week of school - what can he say, he wants to get this right. He can proudly now say that he has mastered the art of braiding.

Lillie’s voice snaps him back to reality. “Ok dad,” she smiles, moving to grab a jacket from her dresser, “can you pretty please make us pancakes?” Sophia asks, flashing her signature “puppy dog eyes” which make her father weak every time.

At 5 years old, they already have him wrapped around their fingers. He can’t even imagine what it will be like when they get older.

"Of course I can!" Javi laughs, leaning his hand down to playfully ruffle at both of their hairs. "Anything for my princesses.”

Walking out of their room, Javi makes his way down the hallway and the stairs towards the kitchen, quickly looking at the time and making a mental note of when to leave. He doesn’t want to be known as the dad who brought his kids to school late on the first day. He’s heard that some of the moms at this school can be a little gossipy, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.

Once in the kitchen, Javi reaches up into the cabinets and grabs the dry ingredients and a bowl to start up the pancake mixture. Opening up the fridge, he grabs the wet ingredients and some strawberries to serve on the side.

But as he starts his prep work, Javi can't stop the feelings of nervousness from creeping in.

It has nothing to do with the anxiety he still has from his previous job, some nights waking up suddenly when remembering the things he saw, the things he did.

Its not that.

It’s that his baby girls are growing up right before his eyes.

Javi has been on his own with Lillie and Sophia their entire lives, their birth mother exiting the picture shortly after they were born.

Months of preparing for the twin’s arrival, painting the nursery - what color to pick? is pink to overused, what about yellow? It took nearly 4 trips to the local paint store to pick a color. Buying clothes, doing research, going to birthing classes - none of it could prepare him to do this all by himself.

He was scared to be a father, hell, being a single father seemed even scarier, but the minute he held his baby girls in his arms, Javi swore that everything felt right in the world.

The two rested easy in his arms, just hours old and it brought Javi to tears. They were just so tiny and innocent, and at first he struggled a bit - with the person he was in the past - did he deserve to have such sweet angels in his life?

But his girls have showed him that he can have a new start. That he was meant to be a father, a protector. And he was a natural.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he starts mixing the batter before pouring several drops into the pan rested on the stovetop, a faint simmering sound coming from the butter's reaction to the heat. The older man cuts up the strawberries into quarters and starts placing them into two small bowls when he hears the distinct sound of two pairs of shoes clomping down the staircase.

Quickly turning around, Javi is met by the sight of his two giggling daughters running towards him, opening his arms wide to pull them into his embrace as they finally reach them. Holding them close to his chest for a moment, he almost doesn't want to let go. He knows that his girls are growing up and that he can't do anything about it, but he can't even begin to think about them growing up and leaving him without his heart breaking.

Pulling away, he asks the girls about the hairstyles they chose while he flips the pancakes, french braids being chosen as usual. Javi uses the spatula to plate up the panckaes and makes sure both girls get their bowl of strawberries before grabbing one of the many colorful combs around the house and parting Sophie's hair for the braids.

The two girls giggle and talk about how excited they are for their first day as their dad skillfully styles their hair, making sure to use elastics that he knows won't tangle into their hair when they take the braids out.

As the girls finish up their breakfast, Javi finishes off Lillie's braids before brewing up a pot of coffee, knowing he's going to need it to get through the day. He gently directs the girls to go get their things so they can head out, reaching up into one of the cabinets to grab a travel mug.

As the girls scurry away to their room to grab their bags, Javi brings their lunches out of the fridge and takes two nearbye napkins and a pen and quickly scrawls down a little heart on each one before slidding them into each of their pink lunchboxes.

"Lets go Dad!" Sophia chuckles, leading her sister back down the stairs and over to the kicthen, reaching up to grab at the two lunchboxes, "is it time to go?"

Javi feels a smile play at his lips, "Yes honey, its time for us to go," he responds, grabbing his travel mug and walking with his girls out the front door, making sure to turn and lock it before unlocking his car and helping the girls into their carseats.

Once seated in the drivers seat, Javi looks up at his rear view mirror and sees his two baby girls smiling up at him - a sight that he never gets tired of - and pulls out of the driveway.

“Let’s go honey bunnies,” Javi says playfully, the nickname one he’s had for the twins since they were in diapers.

He gets out of his parked car and heads to the backseat, reaching in and unbuckling the girls from their car seats and helping them down to the ground, making sure to hand them their jackets, backpacks and lunchboxes before extending his hands for them to hold onto.

Feeling his daughters grip his fingers, he helps walk them across the parking lot and inside the school, stopping in the main office to sign himself in as a visitor and put on a name tag before walking down the hallway to the kindergarten wing.

The trio passes several brightly colored murals on the walls, Lillie pointing out her favorite animals on the one nearest to them as they make their way further down the hallway, coming to a stop outside of the classroom. Giving the girls’ hands a small squeeze, he tells them it’s time before opening the door.

The first thing Javi notices is how comfortable the classroom feels.

He sees a big comfortable rug in the front of the room near the whiteboard, a few of the twin’s new classmates sitting on it with some books as other kids play at their desks. The room is decorated with neutral colors and has several big cushions spread across the floor, almost like the cushions the girls have in their playroom at home.

Around the room the desks are organized in little groups, each with a label of the student’s names written in delicate cursive, a small water bottle and a snack already placed on the desk.

Javi doesn’t notice the two girls letting go of his hands and running off to find their desks, instead looking at the front of the classroom and seeing the “welcome” message written on the board, welcoming both students and parents to their first day of kindergarten. Javi feels a smile play at his lips at the “classroom mascot” at the front of the room, a small green stuffed chameleon that he would recognize anywhere, pascal, from his daughters’ favorite movie tangled.

The girls were going to love this teacher.

Just as he turns to tell the girls, he bumps into someone behind him.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking!” Javi exclaims, his eyes widening when he realizes he just knocked down the poor woman behind him. Looking down, he sees the you look up at him with a smile, which causes him to raise an eyebrow.

“It’s okay, don’t worry!” he hears you exclaim, watching as you brush the pant legs of your brown corduroy overalls off, “I work with kindergartners so i’m used to things like this.” you laugh, reaching out to take Javi’s extended hand and stand back up.

Javi feels like an idiot, he knocked over his girls’ teacher.

Once in your feet, you introduce yourself to him, your name sounding like honey coming from your lips. Feeling a small bit of butterflies in his stomach, Javi coughs nervously before introducing himself, pointing over to his girls seated over at their desks and telling you they are his babies.

“Aw they are so precious!” You smile, taking a look and seeing them talk to some of their desk mates, “I made sure to sit them together, I know how scary it can be on your first day of school, and I figured sitting them together might put them at ease,” you say softly, a smile pulling at your lips at the sight of your new students.

Javi feels a bit of weight has been taken off of his shoulders - he was worried the girls might even be in separate classrooms - something they had never had before - but he knows he’s lucky to have them stay together. He looks over at his daughters with a smile before turning back to you, the smile on your face contagious.

“Thank you,” he says appreciatively, “I was worried about them - I’m still worried i’m not going to lie,” he laughs nervously, looking down at his feet for a moment as a flush of embarrassment washes over him like a tidal wave.

You tilt your head at him and nod, “It’s normal to be nervous Mr. Peña,” you start, reaching out your hand to rest on his arm as he looks back up at you, chocolate eyes locked on yours, “this is a big step for the three of you. Getting here and dropping them off is the hardest part I promise you, your girls are in good hands.”

Javi nods along with your words, finding your tone and sentiments calming to him, the warm flush of embarrassment across his body beginning to fade away.

“I’m not one of those helicopter parents,” he laughs, “but I worry about them, it’s just me and I’m scared to be away from them.”

Javi doesn’t miss the way your face falls after his small joke, taking in the real information in his statement. You nod gently squeeze his arm before pulling your hand away. “I understand Mr. Peña, I know how hard this is for you. I promise you that i’ll take care of your girls, and if anything happens or if they miss you too much, i’ll give you a call and you can come right back.”

Javi feels like he could cry. What did he do to deserve such a nice teacher.

“Is that okay Mr. Peña?” you ask, your head tilting to the side as a few more students and parents trickle into the classroom.

“Javi, you can call me Javi,” he says, watching as your smile returns.

“Okay Javi, I look forwards to getting to know you better. I’ll see you this afternoon for pick up.” you smile, giving him a nod before walking away to welcome your new students.

Javi watches with a smile as you walk over to the tables where his girls are and bend down to introduce yourself and he hears the way you compliment their braids, to which Lillie points his way and says “daddy did these braids!” Looking up at Javi, you give him a big smile before turning back to the girls and continuing conversation with their desk mates, the butterflies in Javi’s stomach multiplying by the second.

God he was so screwed.

taglist: @salome-c @marydjarin @jasterslegacy @hnt-escape @vonschweetz @darnitdraco @theorganasolo @dinoflower @pedro4ever @rebel-fanfare

#AHHH i hope y’all like it!#pta and pb&j's #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #single dad! javi #single dad! javier peña #javier peña series #my writing #pedro pascal characters x reader #pedro pascal characters #javier peña fanfic #javier peña writing

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bakingandbooks3 · 3 years

Text

A Court of Song and Serpents

A bit short but the begging of a project I'm SO excited for- hope you love this as much as I do.

Summary: What a time to be alive as Nesta Archeron, going backward to move forward and finding that the places she once called home are now empty tombs.

Nesta

Nesta held her breath for a moment, a pause, and stilled entirely. The Court of Nightmares. She knew the verdict would be severe, but never would she have expected exile to a world of terror. The horrors of that place, of how it was once the main residence of the High Lord- till Rhysand.

Rhysand, the man who boasted of lands bountiful with choice and reason, now sat across from her donning unmasked hatred. A look he kept shielded from his mate, reserved just for Nesta. The kind that rips one apart from the inside out, would carve out the belly of a beast, burn a witch on a wooden pyre.

Nesta felt nothing, she always did. It wasn’t hard to see what he was thinking of her, how his beautiful wife’s wretched sister was little more than a gambling thief who slept her way through his glorious city. Now, fingers smeared that blank canvas so pure of her darkest shades.

Eyes flicking back, she studied that same sister. The Cursebreaker, the Savior.

How small and insignificant she became next to the glimmering shining thing Feyre was. The lands spoke of her beauty and kind touch, and how she sacrificed everything to save a world of people, and Fae that she was raised to despise.

Nesta wished it’d be known that her touch wasn’t always kind.

She built her bricks firm enough that her house of grace never shattered; Held firm, it was all she had left in her. Too many eyes on her filled with grief, excitement, retribution-Nesta was keenly aware of how this Court of Dreams felt of her.

“This is an exile.”

Rhysand's smirk peaked so slightly, his mate tensing.

“No, no. This is an intervention, a chance for you to find yourself away from bad influences and habits. You can’t keep living like this, and I refuse to let it continue happening and I take the fall for it. Your decisions are impractical and immoral. You are sober much less than you are drunk and-”

“If you’re going to condemn me, do it. But don’t sit here and act as if this is out of kindness.” Nesta snarled. She hated the barbed words, but it’s what she felt. “Who are you to question my morality?”

“I think I can speak for my wife when I say that your presence here is….” Rhysand growled but pulled back, like he forgot Feyre was right there, too.

Nesta wished he would’ve let go, so maybe that facade Rhys reserved for Feyre was broken. No, that’s cruel. As much as she hated this and him, he was making her sister happy.

Something Nesta could never do.

“I do not give a shit what my presence is doing. The decision has already been made, so stop scolding me like a child and make good on your word, Rhysand.” Bile rose in her throat, the words feeling nothing but slimy and disgusting. Foreign, yet habitual all the same. Sometimes, she forgets there once was a woman called Nesta who was so much more than the viper living in her now.

Sometimes she remembers that she can’t ever be her again.

Home was nowhere for her, not in a person, not in a place, certainly not in this bombastic group of “heroes”. Nesta didn’t need a hero, she just needed someone to care. But Nesta knew better, no one would. She was taught to be unlovable, just a woman to be sold off and married- to climb her mothers' ever-growing social ladder.

But Nesta on her own was never enough, even with her mother six feet under and rotted away there were unsung expectations unmet. She was a catastrophic failure and a dark smear on a family name that never truly held weight to her.

Nesta looked up, felt everything all at once again, could only see one man pacing a worn-through tether between them. He wasn’t going to stop this, but she could see it, how it looked like he wanted to jump out of his own flesh, the veins of his arm prominent and knuckles normally so brown a new fresh fallen snow.

There was no prince to save Nesta, much less any will to save herself. So when Mor took the pleasure of bringing her to a living Hell, Nesta did not fight.

She was tired of fighting, after all, she fought an inescapable fate for the first twenty years of her life…

Flowers always made Nesta sneeze, but Elain lit like lights during winter whenever she could thread them through her hair. They all symbolized something, Laine would say. There are ones for good days, and hard storms, for sunshine and stars.

Nesta was always adorned in flowers that paralleled the estate. Astute, cold, tired, where she was warm, comforting, and smelled like cookies- ones that Celia normally baked for the sisters. She never asked Laine why she picked the ones for her that she did, her reasons would stay silent for now.

Spring was a high time of activity in the Archeron estate. There was always a flurry of activity, from preparing their mothers' obscene balls, to guests at every corner in every room. The halls were sprinkled in candles and on walls hung frames nearly kissing it was packed so tight.

They were in the gardens. It was an Elain day, as the girls would call it, and no matter how boring or mundane her wishes were they’d be fulfilled. Nesta was propped on the floor in front of Laine, who was bunching handfuls to weave in tangled auburn coils that gathered on Nesta’s head- as a bird's nest would.

Eventually, Nesta would have to learn braids or risk knotting the curls entirely.

The eldest basked in the silence she created from mentally muting her middle sister, and spared a glance at Feyre. What she saw was not surprising, but required far more willpower than she expected to not burst into laughter and risk the flowery rat's nest on her scalp.

Feyre appeared to be so bored out of her mind she was eating discarded flowers of Elains. Actually, ingesting them, as if she was a critique. When Elain wasn’t looking at Feyre, she’d grab another couple and study them- analyzing her next experiment. Glaring at the blues and yellows as if she was speaking to them, “Which one of you will make me puke the fastest so I can run away?”

In time, Feyre looked up from her taste tests to see Nesta grinning at her so violently you’d think Feyre hung the moon.

And Feyre beamed back, crossing a pinkie across her chest and pointing it back to Nesta. Then she viciously spit out the grass she’d just finished chewing, crying directly at Laine, “This MUST stop at once, my stomach hurts far too much to continue on here.”

Elain, in a garden so quiet, simply ignored her sister's poor attempts at escape. Making Nesta work even harder to stifle the shaking of her shoulders, covering her mouth and nose before she started wheezing. Elain would hardly hurt a fly but sent Nesta a glare that could’ve easily killed a man.

Nesta cleared her throat, “I do believe there are more of the blue flowers down that hill near the pond. Would you mind getting some more for Laine?”

Feyre was already on her feet, mouthing her thanks as Elain turned her back to get the next bunch of flowers, “Why of course I will!” And with a very bad curtsey, Feyre threw off her shoes and was rolling down the hill, spinning wildly, her laughter sure to be heard in meadows far beyond theirs.

You would find the Archeron sisters all together, or never in the same place.

Laine was the easiest to find, by the waters or pond on the east side, in gardens surrounded with bugs and willows calling to the young girl. She could hardly read but if the text included any mention of colors and blooms, suddenly she was a scholar. Elain was not simple or dull, but rather a passive spirit, like a summer wind- brief, fleeting, but teeming with love and hope.

Feyre, as their mother said, was a reckless wild child. Far too young to care, far too small to be whipped into shape. If you were sent to find her and your life depended on it, may the Mother bless you. Feyre liked the kitchen, because of the immaculate food and maids who would shove any sweet down the littlest Archerons throat. But, also for the immeasurable amount of sharp items to be found in there. If it was pointy and could stab a wall or scare their ice-cold mother, Feyre would be running the halls with it in hand or making targets of her fathers old trade route maps.

Then there was Nesta, the firstborn. Molded to be another woman that she somehow couldn’t fit, as if her feet were too big or hair too long, Nesta was outgrowing the standards forged into her being. You would see her as a ghost, floating in and out of rooms, comfortable in silence and slumber, but never escaping people. She loved the maids and could recite all of their names like clockwork, and the workers loved her in turn. Always stuck in new worlds between pages or willingly dragged by the two youngers, Nesta teemed with liberation. She was often alone, but never lonely, and found new loves in the library or in the fields beyond marble confines.

Adela was constantly dissatisfied with her eldest's progress inside these walls, as if at eight she should’ve already been engaged to a prince. Granted, Adela knew better. Nesta would never truly find another kingdom to buy into when she already had a crown waiting for her elsewhere. She was known as fair and beautiful beyond her years, would age like fine wine, and become so much greater than Adela ever was. What Nesta saw as fit would normally come to be, an instinct Adela was unprepared she would inherit. Nothing left her more confused than this daughter only by blood, who was hated by both her parents for reasons far from the same, and how at less than ten years had an entire mansion wrapped around her fingers.

But Adela would wait, and simply leave them be for now. When viper's strike, they kill. And even though the Matron of the house wanted her little queen gone, she had other ways to see this through.

Anyways, children's blood on her hands would stain her diamonds.

---

Cassian

Cassian was violently fucking ill. Watching whatever the fuck that was did not help in the slightest. The second she was gone, so was he.

The General and High Lord were not on speaking terms, his presence was an obligation and not a request. When Rhys first displayed his plans, Cassian just about murdered him. Had his brother on the table in a chokehold that the Shadowsinger had to come and release Rhys from. The way his so-called family planned her exile was… horrific.

Cassian was full of light and humor, but not dull the way his family made him out to be. He could see this for what it was, punishing an already broken female for not meeting every damn need of a fully grown woman that was no longer her responsibility. Cass knew better than to downplay the sacrifices Feyre made, but he was also well aware that Nesta's habits were hardly a financial problem and more of a reputation scandal.

That’s what the High Lord did best, when his Court was breaking at the bonds, the mess would “disappear”. Just like the Illyrians hidden in the mountains, the displaced families of Spring, the homeless warriors of Night.

Cassian loved his brother, but more often than not he wondered when Fate would come to bite them in the asses for Rhys’ neglect.

Now, here he was, in his mothers' cabin, wings dragging behind him wiping tears long since shed over a woman who was thrown to the wolves and torn into so many scraps he wasn’t sure how he could put her together again.

He missed his Nesta, the one who threw glares and begged for her people, not this one who hardly spoke and caved into herself enough that she couldn’t see where she was heading.

Cassian fingered for his mug in the wooden cabinets and hit his mark, soon placing water to heat over a small fire over the counter.

He was not okay, not okay at all.

When you look for something in the dark for too long, you eventually find what you need but not always in the way you expect. Cassian coped the same as Nesta Archeron in his first years post-war. It was suffocating trying to be the happy one while dying inside. He watched men he looked up to fall and a lover he admired take her last breath- too much in far too little time. Cassian was not an idiot, he was simply perplexed. Why was he allowed to grieve in unacceptable manners, but Nesta was a sinner in holy clothing?

Bright walls and unlit rooms in the house were silent, only the winds of the mountains singing outside. The newly dusted snow wrapped the dirt in a delicate kiss- a forbidden touch. It was the peak of winter, just after Feyre’s birthday and another insufferable party.

One that Nesta wasn’t invited to.

Cassian wished he wasn’t invited either.

The cup in his hands was dwarfed in comparison to the bulky Illyrian holding it, but at least it was warm. At least it wasn’t empty.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it could always be worse.

Cassian knew that if things were a little different, he’d be the one sitting in a prison of darkness and Hell because of mistakes made as a child. He’d be exiled by family, cast away by the only living remains of a life once lived.

Nesta didn’t know but long before this he had called it even, their sins atoned for in hurting each other equally.

She was the only one in the world who could tell which smiles he was faking.

To anyone on the outside, one kiss was merely that. How curious it was, the iceberg went far deeper.

So when the mug crashed against the wall, and in its wake resembled his inner turmoil, Cassian took to the skies and found himself at the door of a place far too familiar.

AHHHHHHHH OMG OKAY hope you guys enjoyed this:) if you want to be added to the tag list let me know!

@lovemeforever12345 @champanheandluxxury @nahthanks@perseusannabeth@queenestarcheron@silvernesta

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luciferloveschloe · 3 years

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goodbye, lucifer (but not really!)

I cannot BELIEVE that I just watched the last episode of my favourite show.

I usually cram everything I have to in tags under gifsets I reblog, but for this final season I'll go through the pain of actually writing shit down. I'll try to keep it short, and I'll try not to ramble. (Edit: Did not accomplish that.)

what i loved

SCREAMS

God, soooooooo much!!

Deckerstar baby

Okay, so when Rory showed up in the trailer I was like "Ugh, another annoying angel? Meh." FORGIVE ME, my sweet murder child! Of all the things I thought they might do, a Deckerstar baby was DEAD LAST on my list. And a daughter no less, I just... When she says she's Lucifer's daughter, I was like *SCREAMS*, but when we learn she's Lucifer AND Chloe's daughter, I completely lost it. My boyfriend's on a trip with his friends this week and I'm sooo grateful for that, I made the weirdest, loudest, ugliest noises while watching this season, I ran around our apartment like a maniac, I squealed and laughed and cried and just generally lost my mind. But when she says that?? Oh my God. Also the way Lucifer reacted when Chloe shows him the pregnancy test? Straight outta fanfic.

Lucifer being a father

Oh my God?? I've always said he'd be the BEST father, and actually seeing it on screen... I love the parallel of him being ridiculously over the top with Rory at first, just like God and Lucifer in S5. The way he looks at her when he sees her playing the guitar? Their duet?? Instantly one of my favourite scenes. Them driving in the Corvette, their last day together, how he keeps her from killing Le Mec? Just murder me.

Established Deckerstar

All the hugs and kisses?? The declarations of love, the besotted looks, the absolute power couple we got? Their look from Maze and Eve's wedding, OH MY GOD???? Just, these two are so pretty and we got SO MUCH. Also, their scenes with Rory?? I just love them so much...

(More under the cut!)

Ella's storyline

I wanted a reveal for her so badly, and the way it turned out was brilliant! I loved her figuring it out for herself and calling everyone out lmao. I especially loved poor Carol returning to that room full of shocked people. They had some GREAT punchlines and gags this season, absolutely hilarious! I also love Lucifer's parting gift for her and that she finally found a good one with Carol.

Hugs, so many hugs!

That's it, that's the paragraph.

The Police storyline

As a white person who has literally never once had a problem with the police, I know this is not my place to say, but I think they did a good job? Not giving into the "a few bad apples" excuse but acknowledging that the whole system needs to change? I also really enjoyed the scenes with Amenadiel and Officer Harris, showing what policework could and should look like.

Maze and Eve's happily ever after

I'm so glad auntie Maze and auntie Eve got their happy ending! And that wedding was a bomb. Also, "You're my hell!", lmao.

Dan's ascend to heaven

First of, great to know his only torture was Belios' lack of table tennis skills. Secondly, how very fitting for the show that they didn't hand Dan his happy ending easily, that he fought and won it for himself. Him as a ghost and him as Le Mec was equally funny, and his talk with Trixie was just perfect, literally tears you guys.

Amenadiel becoming God

I mean, dude's perfect for the job! From the loyal, distant, obeying servant to a God who wants to work as a team with his siblings, who wants the Celestials to experience the human world, who hates injustice and loves fiercely? In this universe, I couldn't imagine anyone better suited to be God.

Nobody misses the case of the week

At least I don't! God, I wish they'd tried this out sooner.

The bittersweet ending

Let's preface this by saying I HATE bittersweet endings. Give me a happily ever after or else. And yet, and yet!! I think the ending they settled on is perfect. Would I have loved it if Lucifer had a life on earth with Chloe, Trixie and Rory? God, yes. Do I get emotional over him being alone in hell, again? Goddd, yes. But still. I so love that he found his calling in the end, that they reunited, and that he actually makes good on his promise from S5 to change the system. Also, I don't care if this is canon or fanon for now, but they totally spend time in heaven with Rory and visit earth whenever they like. And this would have been my ideal ending - them being free to go where they like, and I don't see why they shoudn't. It's definitely more satisfying than just traipsing off to heaven indefinitely, so I really, really loved that.

what i didn't (do feel free to skip this!)

Lucifer missing out on Chloe's life on earth and being alone in hell again. Chloe being left again.

Time travel shenanigans. I just finished Dark and that was enough of a mindfuck. Do not want to think about loops for this show, thank you very much.

Chloe felt a little too housewifey in the first episodes, but it thankfully didn't stay that way for long.

Lucifer and Chloe talking about keeping secrets for a whole episode, and then NOBODY TALKING ABOUT URIEL AND CANDY. I mean, ahhhhhhh! If you don't want to talk about it, then don't, but don't remind people of it constantly and then NOT discuss it. It drives me mad, honestly, how many times they referenced these storylines only to completely ignore them when there were opportunities to resolve them. Ahhh. That's what fic is for, I guess.

Adam. Like, why? Bye, dude.

what i'll keep with me

When someone I'd just met at my boyfriend's cousin's wedding in 2019 recommended this "funny, little show" to me that intrigued them because they were interested in finding their faith, I really didn't think I'd write all this three years later.

Lucifer is my third fandom, and it won't be my last, but it sure as hell - ha - will stay with me. I resonate so deeply with Lucifer as a character because he fights with the idea of God, fights with this concept of a benevolent father that everyone seems to believe in but never fit his experience. I come from a Christian family and studied theology, but somewhere along the lines I had to come to terms with the fact that the faith I had as a child and teenager didn't fit me anymore. I want to believe again, and maybe someday I will, but right now I don't know that. So Lucifer's journey with that meant a lot to me. I'd like to find what Ella did, I guess.

Although I never really thought Lucifer needed redemption, I loved the whole "anybody can be redeemed" message as well. And hell reform! Hell is such a weird, awful construct - speaking as the theology expert - bringing a bit of purgatory in in this universe is really fucking cool.

Also, I binged Lucifer when I was alone in hospital late at night. That experience alone I'll never forget.

So, I guess - thank you!! Thank you to the cast and crew, to the fans who campaigned for season four, to Ildy and Joe, to the writers and the directors and the people who brought lunch: Thank you so much for this incredible show. I'm not ready to say goodbye, not by a long shot, and I hope this fandom feels the same.

Yabba dabba do me, I love my stupid little show!!!

#lucifer #lucifer netflix #chloe x lucifer #deckerstar #lucifer spoilers #lucifer season six #meta #s6 #i will also leave so many comments on gifsets

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ghostdrew22 · 3 years

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Angel || Draco Malfoy

Requested: No. Pairing: post-war Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: Lots of angst in the beginning, mentions of self-harm/self-destructive behavior, mentions of blood, quite a few mentions of the devil, ptsd, just a lot of dark themes ig (let me know if i need to add another warning) Summary: You’ve always been an angel in Draco’s eyes and now, years after the war, he’s reminded why once again.

WORDS: 3440

I’ve been wanting to write about the ‘devil on the shoulder’ trope for a while and I felt like @anchoeritic‘s 3K WRITING CHALLENGE was the perfect opportunity though i think i lost the plot a bit at some point and this probably isn’t what you had in mind.

i had to do so much research for this, probably the most research i’ve ever done for a fic. It’s a lot heavier than I’d intended for it to be (i almost cried at certain points) but I still really love it.

anyway this fic is inspired by ‘Angel’ by FINNEAS (which is a great song that I recommend listening to) and i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

~~~

Anger.

So much anger that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Red, hot, fury just begging to be unleashed.

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. When he opens them again his fist collides with the wall. “Fuck!”

The miniature Mephistopheles that’s made home on his shoulder tells him to keep going, that this is the only rational response. Draco heeds the advice until his knuckles are bleeding and there’s a dent in the wall.

He lets out a frustrated sigh as he thinks about you returning in a few hours, then he punches the spot one last time out of frustration. Draco’s own love for destruction lies parallel to the myths surrounding Beelzebub, his own virtues bringing him to peril instead of an unseen force of evil. But it’s much easier to believe that the voice always telling him to do wrong, is not his own.

Maybe this is who he is, a fucked up kid with anger issues. Maybe this is all he’ll ever be, knuckles spotted in crimson and harmful thoughts being shoved down as to not raise alarm.

He feels violated by the mark on his arm. Sobs stacking up in his lungs at the very thought, but all he can express is anger- all he can understand is the resent that crawls beneath his skin and settles into his bones like calcium.

Was it his choice? No. Did it matter? No. Choice means nothing in a world run by circumstance. Intention holds no value when there’s no action to follow through. In another world, a better world perhaps, he would’ve had the right to choose and he hopes that he would’ve chosen the right side- the good side.

Forgiveness, they say, is often practiced by the strong willed. He’d tried to forgive, he really had, but Iblis had told him that it didn’t matter who he forgave because they’d still done this to him anyway- they’d still sold his soul to the Devil.

“Draco, when will you forgive me?” She pleads and he shrugs with a thin smile.

“I don’t know mother. I don’t know.”

“It’s been years.” He turns a steal glaze toward her.

“And yet I still can’t get the mark off.”

“What am I meant to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do. It’s too late to do the right thing.”

“What would the right thing have been back then? Huh?”

“The right thing to do would’ve been to protect me.”

“I did protect you. I took the Vow for you!” She yells as she stands out of her chair and points an accusatory finger toward him. He’s seen this scene so many times before that it’s permanently imprinted in his mind, but this time he’s not a scared teenager being scolded by his mother.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” He stands as well, “I just asked you to save me. Why didn’t you save me?”

“What?” She’s taken aback,

“Summer before fifth. You told me that you’d had enough of him, you told me that we were going to leave and run away so that you could save me from him, from all of them.”

“So now you hate me because I couldn’t leave your bigoted father?”

“No, mother. I hate myself because you couldn’t leave my bigoted father.” He tucks his chair back into the table and pulls out his wand, “Thank you for dinner mother, it was lovely.”

Then he’s gone, and he doesn’t come back.

Draco had shut himself out from the world, hoping that his loathing would dissipate with time but it hadn’t. He still wakes up every morning with that tiny voice reminding him that he’s worthless, and he still believes it.

Why had he done it? Why had he allowed them to put the mark on his arm in the first place? Why had he put his own morals, his own principles, on the line to save a family who might not have done the same for him? Why had he allowed himself to succumb to the many ministrations of Diabolous, which dragged him further and further down the dark side?

Weakness. That’s the only answer he can conceive. Or maybe that’s the sound of Lucifer on his shoulder, consistently reminding him that he’s no match for the evil that resides deep within his soul. He can’t fight it, it’s who he is. He’s weak and he’s unholy. Bathed so often in sin that it’s sunk into his DNA. Does that even make sense?

Draco shakes his head and runs his hands down his face in an attempt to ground himself. But it doesn’t work, all he can see is red and all he can hear is his own conscience belittling him for continuously making the wrong choices. Why does he always make the wrong choices?

His throat so dry it feels as though he’s swallowed sand. His palms sweaty like he’s dipped them in oil. He paces around the room in a desperate effort to remember where you’d placed the box last time this happened. He can feel himself disconnecting from the world, feel himself sinking further and further into the dredges of his mind that torment him most.

That part of his brain that holds the memories, the shame, the anguish, is his biggest obstacle in recovery. It’s always on good days, days when… He blinks when he realizes that no fond memories come to mind. Does he even have good days? Or does this always happen, is this what’s become normal for him?

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and steps back in shock, completely forgetting about his mission to find the box. The man in front of him looks clean, taken care of. When had he become this man and stopped being the terrified teenager that never ate and wore bags beneath his eyelids like name tags.

There is muscle on his arms, taut beneath the dress shirt that he must’ve put on that morning before going to classes… or work? When had he earned the right to stop looking the way he felt? Which of his actions had merited his beauty returning, when the dark mark still lays clear beneath the dress shirt that he’s got on? There are hickeys along his chest- one, two, three, littered around his torso like a map to his heart- and he can only assume that they’d been left in the wake of your last meeting, because he can’t seem to piece together the memory of them being made.

You. Where are you? Why can’t he remember where you are or what you look like? Did you finally leave? Did you finally realise that he wasn’t worth any of the pain and anguish that he’d put you through? Had you ultimately decided that Draco and the dark mark could not be separated, both physically and mentally? Maybe he never managed to redeem himself in your eyes, and it hurt so much to lose you that he made himself forget.

Redemption, he’d searched far and wide for it. He’d spent the months after the war trying to find some spiritual cleanse for the ailment in his essence, had dabbled in every muggle religion he came across in hopes of finding something that would provide him freedom from guilt. The Bible, the Qur’an, the Gita, the Torah, the Guru Granth Sahib, the Tripitaka- none of the holy books he’d read had promised him enough solace to feel deserving of love from a higher entity. They had all just reminded him of the purity and innocence that muggles embodied, the same qualities he came so close to erasing.

Redemption wasn’t in the cards for him. If it had been a game of Poker, Draco would’ve been the first fold with the knowledge that he didn’t stand a chance against the better players at the table. Who were the better players? He didn’t really know, he just knew that he wasn’t one of them.

His eyes drift toward his reflection once more and he feels disgust crawl through his anatomy. Nausea, a familiar friend in times like these, making itself comfortable in the barrel of his gut. Why had he even eaten today anyway? Sustenance won’t fill the emptiness that’s making domicile in his chest, it won’t make him less of a habitat to repulsive regret and desolation.

He walks toward the dresser and picks up a pocket knife that’s sitting in-between some make up and a music box. Then like deja vu he can already feel the weapon pinching, digging beneath his skin as if it’s trying to excavate bone. He recalls blood pouring out, drowning his pale skin in spills of vermillion and carmine, and dropping to the floor. The floor, chalky tile with tiny chards of black glass engrained in it, something that he hadn’t come up with himself but liked anyway. Who had come up with that again?

Screams, familiar but unrecognizable, had filled his ears soon after. He remembers his arm being wrapped in a bandage, him being carried off the bathroom floor and taken to the Hogwarts infirmary, no, it was actually St Mungo’s. He remembers being treated and loud cries settling down into comforting whispers beside him. He remembers feather light touches being placed on his face and kisses settling onto the skin of his palm.

He remembers something good, but he doesn’t know what.

He remembers the injury, and knows that it didn’t work.

Draco takes a deep breath and puts the knife back down. Staring at his reflection once more he sees that the man standing before him is not the same child that had stepped into battle way back when. When was that? Months? Years? He can’t tell.

The box. The box will tell him. But he doesn’t know where it is, he doesn’t even know where he is anymore. This room is definitely not his Hogwarts dorm room, it’s not in Hogwarts at all, and it’s not his room in the Manor either. Where is he?

His eyes shoot up when he hears a door shutting, and soon after voices follow suit. The voices are coming toward him, in this strange room that he’s in, and Draco struggles to identify them. His dorm mates potentially? No, this clearly isn’t Hogwarts. Friends? His mother? You?

Then there’s a laugh, from a child, from two children, and suddenly none of it makes sense any more. He knows those voices, he knows those laughs, so well that they might as well be his own, but he can’t seem to attach faces or names to them.

A few of the voices drift off, further down the hall, and one gets louder as the door to the bedroom opens. Draco holds his breath as the person walks in, not knowing what to expect, and feels a confused sense of relief wash over him when he sees you standing there.

You laugh as you enter the room, “If you can get an outstanding in Transfiguration then we’ll get you whatever your heart desires.” You respond to your daughter as you recall how both you and Draco had struggled with the subject during your Hogwarts years.

You furrow your eyebrows at the state of your bedroom- documents scattered across the bed, clothes in tiny piles all over the floor, and a tiny dent in the wall beside the bathroom door. A sigh escapes your lips as you process the mess and prepare yourself for what’s about to come. You turn and your eyes land on your husband, and your heart breaks at the sight of him. He’d promised this morning that he’d be fine, it was the only reason that you’d left him alone, but clearly he wasn’t.

“Love? Are you okay?” You ask softly as you take the shoes off of your feet and close your bedroom door behind you. He tilts his head to the side momentarily in confusion, but then realisation flashes across his eyes and he takes quick strides toward you.

“Oof.” You breathe out when he pulls you into his chest and rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“Y/N.” He muffles into your shoulder and you feel your heart swell with love for him- this man who recognizes you instantly, even when the entire world is nothing more than a distant memory.

“Miss me?” You ask with a small laugh as you bring your hands up to wrap around him tightly. He mumbles an agreement and you smile, “I missed you too.”

“Bad day.” He whispers and you nod, rubbing his back in an effort to soothe him.

“I know baby, wanna talk about it?”

“No. Can’t remember.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” You pull him away from you and kiss his forehead with a warm smile, “We can just lie down for a while.”

He obliges as you pull him toward the bed and shuffle the papers off of it, climbing on after you and setting his head in your chest. You run your fingers through his hair and hum, trying to your best to make him feel calm and prevent another breakdown.

But your efforts are futile, within the hours that Draco had been alone he’d thought every terrible thought that he possibly could, Al-Shaitan had already tormented your husband through a series of painful misconceptions. Draco had never really subscribed to religion or faith but after the war he’d identified quite quickly with the concept of the Devil- confessing that he believed he had an evil conspirator sitting on his shoulder- and felt that his own soul deserved to be damned. You’d tried to rid him of that notion, many times, but it never worked, he was in too deep.

You tense up when you feel a cry escape his lips and his fingers tighten into the space of your torso. “I’m sorry.”

He feels terrible, terrible for ruining all of your hard work. All the effort you’d put into rebuilding him now disintegrating in the blink of an eye. But you’re here now, you’re going to fix him again, he knows it.

You try to level your breathing so that you don’t cry too, so that you don’t fall into this pit of despair with him, because Merlin knows that any pain Draco feels takes as rough a toll on you. You pull him off of you and sit up, bringing him to sit as well, so that you can look him in the eyes.

“Sorry for what Bub?”

“For being broken. I-“ He feels another sob rock through him and you pull him into your chest. “Please fix me Y/N.” He pleads, a whimper following suit.

His fingers are digging into you again, he’s clinging so tightly to you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t stay close enough, and it hurts you to know that even after all these years he’s scared that you’ll leave.

“You’re not broken Draco, there’s nothing to fix.”

“But I’m- I’m-“ Cries start to escape rapidly and interrupt him. He can’t see clearly anymore as tears form in his waterline and obstruct his view of you. It hurts, everything just hurts.

“You’re not broken, my love.” You whisper as you cup his face, “You’re not evil, you’re not bad. You’re good. You’re my husband, I love you. Did you open the box?”

He shakes his head, “Couldn’t find it.”

“Okay, let me get i-“ You’re cut off by your bedroom door opening and your children marching in.

“Dad, you’ll never guess what happened at school today- Oh, is this a bad time?” Ariel, your daughter, stops in her tracks as she raises her eyebrows at you.

You shake your head and gesture for them to come in. “I think it just got a little much for him this year. Please get me the box, love.”

Ariel goes to the headboard and pulls out the aforementioned box from the first drawer, before her and Cael, your son, get comfortable on the bed beside you and Draco. But Draco doesn’t need it anymore, he can already sense himself coming back down to earth. He knows where he is- with you, in your house, with your children, in your bed. He’s home, he’s safe.

He takes the box anyway and begins to unload its contents in silence, the three of you observing him with admiration. It’s a small circular box that your children made a few years back after witnessing one of his episodes for the first time, containing momentos from the last 18 years of you and Draco’s lives together. Pictures, notes, a few school projects.

“Tell him about what happened at school today, it’ll probably make him laugh.” Cael encourages his older sister Ariel, and she does as told.

Draco pays a significant amount of attention to the story, piecing together facts that he’s slowly starting to understand and recognize as a part of his normal life. He intertwines his fingers with Cael’s as Ariel continues telling the story from her spot on your lap.

Love.

So much love that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Bursts of it just choking him out.

Draco remembers everything now. He remembers this house of yours, the one he’d bought straight out of Hogwarts and begged you to live in with him because “It’s nothing without you in it”. These children that you’d had 14 years ago, that’d he’d been so scared to raise because he thought they’d resent him, and that made everything in the world just seem brighter. This life that he modeled with you on the embers of his haunting past, this life that reminds him he’s good.

Before you, he would’ve been terrified to show any one his vulnerable side, especially his children, but you’d taught him that loving someone means loving all the good bits and the bad bits, all the happy moments and the sad moments. Now he knows that when days like this happen, when he gets so lost inside the mental maze of his own construction, the three of you will always be waiting to help him out.

Ariel finishes her story and Draco bellows out a laugh, feeling thankful to have you three around in his moments of weakness.

His three guardian angels- the only people who can always lead him away from the shadow in his mind and toward the luminescence that he carries within him. “All the good within us is split in the middle, half from you and half from mum, just as it should be. I hope you remember that we wouldn’t be who we are without you both.” Cael suddenly speaks up and you smile pridefully at him.

“They wouldn’t.” You add once he’s done and smile, “I couldn’t have done such a bad job without you.”

“Hey!” Ariel accuses and you all laugh.

“She’s right though, I am the one who taught you hexes at age 7.” Draco grins bashfully and you roll your eyes.

“And look at us now, acing Charms!”

“See love,” Draco turns to you, “There is a method to my madness.”

“Mhmm.” You hum with a small smile. “Go do your homework, dinner soon.”

“Yes, I’m making pizza tonight.” Draco adds as he kisses both of your children on their foreheads.

They excitedly hop off the bed and run out of the room. “I can’t belie-“

“Harry called.” Draco interrupts you and your eyes go wide at his statement but you nod for him to continue, “He wanted to know how I was doing, you know with it having been 18 years since the war and all. Offered to come spend the day with me and make sure I’d be alright while you were gone.”

“And you said no?” You raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head.

“No, I told him that I’d come by his office instead. Then when I was getting ready… I just started having flashbacks again, and my mark hurt. I felt horrible all of a sudden, like there was huge weight on my chest and this fog obscuring my vision.”

There are few things that Draco has faith in, but you, you he never runs short on trust for. You’re a constant in his life, a shoulder that he can always rely on when he needs it, and as he sits here and tells you about his day, he feels love for you hit him tenfold.

You, this beautiful, kind, ethereal being that has no place on earth. You, the one who’s managed to convince him that saints are real. You, who has given him your entire life, along with all the love that you have to offer. You, Y/N, the love of his life.

You.

An angel.

~~~

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radiant-reid · 2 years

Text

Love/Hate Island

Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Spencer Reid's decision to conceal the breakup with his girlfriend of two years becomes a problem when Rossi orders him to bring her to his new Long Island mansion on a week-long vacation with the team. Can their relationship be fixed? Do they want it to be?

Summary: The truth is revealed as Spencer tries to fix things.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: swearing |

Word Count: 1.6k

"Negative."

Y/n blocked out most of what JJ said after that, only catching snipes of her talk about how it was okay, that she and Spencer would get another chance. That time, Y/n had to bit back a laugh at the irony. Instead of being numb to her emotions, she was hyperaware, almost able to feel the blood as it traveled around her body.

"Are you alright?" JJ asked, acting as a bucket of ice water to snap her back into the moment.

How could she not be? Those three syllables meant nothing would drastically change in her life. She would go back to DC and figure out a way to take her heart back from Spencer.

Y/n nodded first, unsure of whether or not she'd be able to speak. "Yeah, I'm good."

She wasn't sure if she was.

The relief she felt didn't match the trepidation she had felt before she knew. She knew she was meant to feel glad, and most of her did. But, like a bad apple in the bunch, her attention was drawn to the emotions she felt that weren't positive.

It was... disappointment. Logically, the outcome of not being pregnant looked far better than the consequences that came with being pregnant. In Y/n's heart, all logic was outweighed by emotion, and its pounding refused to be ignored.

She knew the reason, as well, and it made it all worse. If she got to keep a part of Spencer, in the form of their perfectly genetically mixed child, she could finally let him go. She wouldn't have Spencer, but she'd get someone who most probably would share some of his features. Y/n could despise his newfound attitude and malice, but his face was the purest reminder of their love.

"Are you sure?" JJ questioned, noticing the blank look on her face. Ever the lawyer weighing up her best defense.

Y/n nodded, trying to make it more convincing. "Yeah, sorry, just imagining what it would have been like." That statement was true.

If things went right, if justice was just, she would have been devastated. That's what she was thinking of. What it would have been like if they had been trying, and Spencer sat next to her as their fingers were crossed that it would say the other three-syllable word.

"He's going to be great when the time comes, you know?" Yeah, with someone else, Y/n thought. "He used to write to Diana when he read a name in a book that he liked."

Y/n grew to adore JJ in the 4 years they'd known each other, but she really wished she'd shut up.

"We should go see everyone else before they think somethings up," Y/n said, trying to get herself out of the one-sided awkward situation.

JJ nodded, handing her back that test that had turned into a reminder of what could have been.

Spencer looked for her when he walked into the kitchen after Jack found him. When Penelope didn't know why JJ dragged Y/n out of the room, Spencer was concerned she'd spilled their secret.

He tried not to look concerned when both girls walked back into the room. Y/n looked troubled. He could see that from the way she kept tracing her tongue over her lips.

Spencer was torn between asking her about it or not. After he screwed up the last two times, he decided it wasn't a good idea. Usually, although he rambled, his words paralleled his thoughts. But there was something internally wrong with him.

The rest of the day was tense. Their staged kisses and touches felt more awkward than they had the previous day. Their audience didn't notice, but they were constantly trying to make sure nothing looked off.

Y/n had to take a break by mid-afternoon between JJ's sympathetic smiles, Hotch's sympathetic smiles, and everyone else's obliviousness she'd had enough.

The balcony attached to their room was far enough away from everyone else that she could almost believe she wasn't there. That Long Island didn't exist, and she wasn't at her ex-boyfriend's colleague's mansion.

It all fell apart when Spencer slid open the sliding door.

He'd been antsy since Y/n left, but he knew he had to give it enough time before he went to see her. That didn't make sense either. The whole day he had been trying to make a choice between talking to Y/n or not. Once the choice had been made for him, Spencer had the urge to speak to her.

All his confidence had somehow dissipated as he awkwardly stood there, weight shifting from foot to foot. He was trying to give himself a pep talk, repeating a mantra so he could finally say something right.

"Sit." Y/n nodded to the seat next to her, putting him out of his misery.

Spencer nodded, biting his lip as he tried to form the words that were running through his mind. Y/n didn't say anything else, she'd extended her olive branch, and it was Spencer's turn.

Plus, it was amusing to see him uncomfortable. He stared at the floor, bouncing his leg up and down and breathing shallowly.

"I'm sorry."

Y/n shook her head before he could continue. "Don't start with that." She corrected him. Spencer looked at her quizzically, eyebrows pulling together as he tried to decipher her message. Y/n explained it to him. "You said that last night, and you clearly didn't mean it."

Ouch. Spencer hated how right she was. He wanted to be able to convince her he felt remorseful because he did. But it wasn't fair when he had no idea what the following words out of his mouth would be.

"I know it wasn't what you expected, but you don't get to treat me like that." Y/n reminded him, realizing Spencer wasn't going to do any of the talking. He was biting down so hard on his bottom lip he could taste the blood. "It's been a long time since I've felt that bad." A month since she'd last cried over him.

Spencer could feel the knife twisting in his heart, and the worst thing was that he knew he deserved it. He felt horrible over the things he'd said, and he didn't want to think about how hurt she must have been, but that's where his mind was.

"You didn't deserve that." Spencer finally spoke his pitch a mess of up and downs. He met her eyes, immediately wishing he hadn't when they were filled with hurt.

Y/n looked so calm and objective, speaking with a firmness usually reserved for her clients. "No, Spencer, I don't. Not from anyone, but especially not from someone I love...d."

What Spencer hated more was how calm she was being. The considerateness he used to adore now made him nauseous. The tears that started slipping down her cheeks were a paradox from her objective attitude. That time, he wanted to launch forward, wipe them up and beg for forgiveness.

Instead, he gripped the edge of the seat. "I'm really sorry. I was reacting and not responding, which I know isn't an excuse." He still couldn't speak steadily. "I just don't know how to talk to you." That statement came out stronger than he intended it to.

"Not like that," Y/n said with a light laugh. Spencer had to do a double-take, trying to figure out if it was real life or not. "Just stop talking to me like you hate me, even if you do."

How could Spencer hate her when she was so pure? Why wasn't he trying to tell her that? The words were swimming around in his head, but he couldn't get them out when he parted his lips.

Y/n wasn't waiting for a defense. She didn't know what she would do if he provided one. It wasn't in her script. "You can't keep fucking up like this, okay? Because when I look at you, I see the Spencer who annotated my favorite books for me to read, the Spencer who used to stay up with me when I was crying over trials, the Spencer who made me feel like I was living in a romantic movie." Y/n paused to draw in a deep breath as she silently cried harder. Everything around them felt like it was spinning uncomfortably. Spencer had no idea how he'd ever be that person again. Y/n continued before he could reply. "And he's gone, I get that. I can't have him anymore, but I'd like to keep him... in here." She placed a hand over her heart before she let it fall onto her lap.

Spencer almost couldn't stand to look at her after. She gave him so much honesty after he screwed up again and again. He knew he'd changed, but the thought of Y/n wishing she had his younger self put it all into perspective.

"If you're going to act like a dick, dye your hair or something." Y/n joked, trying to relieve some of the tension.

That same tension might have been the reason Spencer laughed. "I am sorry." He repeated.

"When I see you, and you look like the Spencer I once knew, I think you are," Y/n answered, reinforcing her message.

Spencer wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing. She recognized his sincerity, yes, but she didn't recognize him.

"I should go." He decided, feeling like things were on a better note. Y/n had no chance to reply as he quickly stood up and went to step back inside.

"Spencer?" She called, stopping him with a hand on the door, head turned back to look at her. "It was negative."

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