#sorry this spiraled into a list of apologies and excuses this is actually something that bothers me a lot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nah-she-didnt · 3 years

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Erm.... hi.... I don't think this was on the prompt list that you posted recently, but it's a prompt I've seen somewhere else on Tumblr: for Wolfstar, could you do "I love you no matter what your brain tells you."? It's totally 100% okay if not ofc, no pressure <3

Hello! Sorry this took a bit, inspiration struck, but free time did not. I altered your prompt a tiiiny bit to make it a cleaner fit for my idea.

Also, while I LOVE my jily-centric followers so much, if any wolfstar blogs out there wanted to reblog this I would love to get into that space more since I do write a fair number of remus/sirius fics!

Enjoy! Once again, I did not proof read this thoroughly, so I apologize for any obvious typos!

“I Love You No Matter What Your Head Tells You”

Remus was utterly exhausted.

His first night as a prefect had not gone smoothly. One particularly thick first year had managed to get himself lost on the way to the Gryffindor common room, a feat that Remus previously thought was impossible considering that the prefects always led the first years to the dorm in one large group. However, Matthew McMorris claimed he’d been so distracted by a painting of medieval witches on the third floor that he’d looked up to find his group nowhere to be found. And so, it fell to Remus to retrieve him. Thank god for the map.

Remus turned to shoot McMorris a stern look as they climbed through the portrait hole. “Right, straight upstairs with you. You’ll be grateful for a full eight hours of sleep before your first lesson tomorrow, trust me.” The boy scowled at him before scampering away to the boy’s staircase.

Remus yawned and stretched dramatically as he glanced around the room. Most of the students had already gone to bed, but James, Peter, and Dorcas sat together on the couch in front of the fire.

“Alright?” James asked absentmindedly as he studied his hand of Exploding Snap cards. Peter held his hand upside down as if hoping that a new perspective would allow inspiration to strike.

“Fantastic,” Remus muttered as he dropped into the seat next to Dorcas, “who’s winning?”

“Who do you think,” Peter grumbled as he watched James play a particularly good hand, “how do you manage to rope me into this stupid game every time?”

James shrugged. “I guess you’re a glutton for punishment.”

The boys continued to bicker. Dorcas nudged Remus with her elbow. “Do you know what’s up with Black tonight?”

Remus didn’t meet her gaze. He knew that Sirius had been in a particularly bad mood on the Hogwarts Express. The mood must have been the result of an entire summer spent cooped up in Grimmauld Place. “What do you mean?”

“The berk snapped at me earlier!” Dorcas scoffed, “I asked him how his summer was and said ‘mind your own fucking business.’ Very uncool.”

“Yeah,” Remus said distractedly as he glanced towards the boys’ staircase, “extremely uncool.”

“Don’t even think about going up there, Moony,” James called over his shoulder, “he’s not in the mood. We’re giving him some space before we go up.”

Remus frowned at James. “You mean you’re just leaving him up there, alone? After the summer he’s had?”

James shrugged again. “He said he wanted to be alone. I wasn’t about to argue.”

Remus shook his head and stood. “Well, I’m going to check on him.”

“Godspeed, mate,” Peter called at his retreating back.

Remus marched towards their dormitory determinedly, but lost confidence with each step up the spiral stairs. Sirius could be wildly unpleasant when he was in one of his moods, and he’d already had a stressful night of rounding up wild first years. Nevertheless, Remus couldn’t bear to think of him up there all alone. Perhaps when Sirius said he wanted space from his friends, he didn’t mean Remus himself. Maybe Sirius would be glad to see him.

Remus paused with his knuckles inches from the door. One last chance to turn back, he thought to himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he shoved his worries aside and rapped loudly on the door.

A loud hmph greeted his knock. Remus took this as an indication that he was allowed to enter.

Sirius was sprawled out on his four-poster bed, still fully clothed. He stared up at the ceiling as he tossed an old quaffle up into the air only to catch it at his chest again and again. He didn’t look around as Remus sidled into the room.

“Um, hi,” Remus offered awkwardly, “did you have a good time at the feast?”

Sirius grunted again.

“Oh. Well, good,” he waited for Sirius to say something back, but he seemed fixated on throwing and catching that damn quaffle.

At least a minute of silence passed. Remus felt himself sweating slightly. He glanced around the room, desperate for something to talk about. The silence was oppressive. If he didn’t say something soon, he would explode faster than Peter’s cards.

In his desperation, Remus felt himself ask the worst possible question. “Did you have a good summer?”

Sirius caught the quaffle one last time, then hugged it to his chest. Remus could have smacked himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I just meant- we don’t have to talk about your summer, let’s talk about something-”

“No,” Sirius said softly, still gazing at the ceiling, “it’s alright. My summer was shit, thank you for asking.”

There wasn’t a hint of irony or anger in his tone. It was a simple truth. His summer had been pure, total shit.

“I’m sorry,” Remus mumbled to his shoes.

He heard Sirius scoff. “Not your fault.”

Another moment of silence followed this pronouncement. However, this silence wasn’t like the one before. Sirius seemed to be thinking long and hard about what he had just said, completely lost in his own thoughts. It was as if he’d forgotten that Remus was in the room.

Finally, he spoke again.

“They’ve gone absolutely mental,” he nearly whispered, “mental. You know they’re full-on blood purists now, right?”

Remus shifted uncomfortably. He knew that Sirius’ parents had become more and more radicalized over the years, but Sirius had rarely opened up about their beliefs, and Remus never asked.

“They think I’m the ultimate blood traitor. Worse than a blood traitor, actually. A ‘lazy, ungrateful, sorry excuse for a son.’ That was what she called me last night when I told her I didn’t want to come home for the holidays. Ungrateful because I don’t want to end up a hateful, spiteful hag like her.”

Sirius grew more agitated with every passing word. Remus could see his knuckles growing white as he gripped the quaffle fiercely into himself.

“And the really fucked up part is that they clearly love Reg more. And I get it, right? I can see why they love him so much because he kisses their arses. I know he loves me and all, but he cares more about what they think than about supporting me. That’s the worst fucking part.”

Sirius brought his hand to his face under the pretense of scratching his nose, but Remus knew that he was wiping a tear on the cuff of his shirt.

“I just can’t get them out of my head,” he sighed, “stupid, useless, blood traitor. Unworthy of love. And all the rest. It’s like there’s a record in my head that plays over and over again, and I can’t turn it off. It’s hell.”

Remus felt completely frozen. He had absolutely no idea what to say to any of this. All the responses that ran through his head felt tired and unhelpful. Sirius did not need someone to lie to him and tell him that his parents really cared for him, deep down. He didn’t need someone to tell him that it would all be alright in the end, that everything would work itself out.

The only thing he could think to say tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself.

“Well, I love you no matter what your head tells you.”

Sirius’ head snapped up. He looked Remus in the eye for the first time since he entered the room. A beat passed between them, a moment that allowed Remus to realize what he’d just said. He felt his cheeks burn with panic.

“We! We love you, me and James and...and Peter,” Remus finished weakly. Excellent. There was nothing unreasonable about expressing the familial love shared between four boys who were like brothers, right?

Sirius blinked at him, then nodded slowly. He looked as if he were trying to solve a particularly complicated arithmancy equation in his head. “Right. Thanks, Moony.”

Remus let out a breath. He started to back up towards the door to the dormitory. “Well, I’ll leave you alone again. Or, I dunno, do you want to come downstairs? Pete’s about ready to blow James’ head off if he wins at Exploding Snap again.”

Sirius still looked preoccupied as he eyed Remus. Finally, he lifted his gaze back up to the underside of his four-poster.

“Nah,” he grunted as he threw the quaffle into the air again, “you go. I’m not in the mood.”

Remus nodded, then turned to leave. Just before he could shut the door behind him, Sirius called, “Moony?”

Remus nearly tripped over himself as he hurried back through the door. “Yeah, Pads?”

Sirius grinned his lopsided grin. The one that made Remus’ head go fuzzy. “Thanks again. I love you too.”

Remus smiled back, then closed the door. He hardly noticed the way he pounded down the cold stone steps back into the common room, as he was too busy walking on air.

#nina writes #wolfstar #remus/sirius #remus lupin #harry potter #i wasn't totally satisfied with how this turned out #but i'm trying not to let that stop me from posting #sometimes i'll post fics that I'm not too confident about only to find that people absolutely love them #and sometimes i post fics that i'm crazy proud of that don't get much traction #it's all good practice!

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sunshineandbnha · 4 years

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It’s On Me, Just Don’t Go (Part 2 of It’s My Bad) - Bakugou x reader

Word count: 1,951 Warnings: angst in beginning, slight language from Bakugou A/n: Here’s part two. I hope it’s good, I did my best to make this semi realistic. If you don’t like it or think this isn’t what they deserve you can always pretend this doesn’t exist. And sorry if you temporarily saw this yesterday. I made an edit and it got posted a day early

“Chemistry ‘til it blows up, ‘til there’s no us.” – Afterglow, Taylor Swift.

It had been a few days since the whole ordeal. You were still shaken up. How did that amazing relationship with Bakugou break so spectacularly?

Kirishima had knocked on your door shortly after he left to make sure you were alright. Apparently he hung around the apartment the whole time just in case. You assured him that you were, and he assured you that his arm was fine. According to him, he just needed to put some ice on it for a while and he would be all better. It was good to hear, but you only wished that what you had with Bakugou could heal as quickly.

He was really hurt after what you did. And you knew he was the kind of person who stayed a long way from anyone when he was emotionally hurt. Especially if it was that very same person who hurt him. Someone he trusted so much.

The worst thing was that it was all your fault. You were the one who misinterpreted the argument so that you thought he had broken up with you. You were the one who didn’t think about his side, getting upset at him for being so distant when it was all because he was stressing about his proposal to you. And you were the one who was stupid enough that you made the split second decision of kissing Kirishima… Your only excuse for that was that you weren’t thinking straight and that you were upset and needed someone, all of which sounded stupid when you said them out loud.

Being without him had to be one of the worst forms of torture in existence. Everything was so cold and lonely, like the walls had grown spikes and enclosed you in a cage. You were constantly hugging yourself. You couldn’t be bothered to turn the lights on. Your mind seemed to block out or blur old memories. When you did clearly think about a memory, your mind snagged on it and wouldn’t let go until you completely relived it. Then it would cause a spiral of thoughts and memories that would last an hour or more.

You tried to watch some TV, attempting to distract yourself. It didn’t work. You would only end up spacing out and missing the whole episode. Your mind seemed to be stuck in an endless loop of replaying the event that haunted you. With a frustrated sigh, you snatched up the remote to switch it off, then tossed it aside. You stood up and got a light jacket, wallet, and shopping list. Maybe going out for some fresh air would clear your thoughts. After all, you had to get some groceries anyway.

You quickly made your way outside. The crisp air was refreshing. Clouds filled the sky and evened out the somewhat dim lighting. There was no defined shadow or light, all in a gray area. It almost enhanced the colors or mood in a way you couldn’t describe. You kept your head down most of the way.

For whatever reason, you felt the sudden urge to look up. When you did, your heart jumped and hit itself on the non-existent ceiling. It was him… Bakugou, on the other side of the street. He was wearing everyday clothing. He was probably just at the gym. It could have just been your imagination, but his eyes seemed more red than usual, and distant like he didn’t get much sleep. He walked slowly with his hands in his pockets.

You believed it was called a hero instinct, when you moved without even thinking about it. That was what happened when you ran towards him. A part of you weren’t sure what you were doing, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Katsuki!” you called for him.

That may have not been the best decision. The second he looked up and saw it was you, he immediately turned into the alleyway nearby and pretended like he never heard you.

“Wait!” you called again, running faster.

He sped up, though never breaking into a run. You turned into the alley. You couldn’t lose him. You had to make it up to him here and now. You didn’t know the next time you’d work up the courage to talk to him.

“Please,” you added softly as you came to a stop.

“What do you want?” he huffed, his voice growing louder. However, he did stop.

It suddenly occurred to you that you had no idea what you were going to say to him. What words could ever make him feel better or accept your apology? You said the first thing that to came to your mind.

“I miss you.”

“So?” he looked back at you, the way you would look at someone if they wouldn’t shut up when you wanted to just leave and go home.

“I’m sorry. I know it was stupid.” You bit your lip and faced downward.

“YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT WAS!”

“I just don’t want to lose you. I miss you and I’m sorry,” you blurted out.

“WELL, SO DO I!!” He burst out. “But that isn’t going to change anything! And useless words like that aren’t going to do anything either.”

“Then what do I need to do to prove it to you?” Your hands trembled. You were desperate. You prayed for the right words that would save this. This was a chance you couldn’t let pass you.

At that moment your phone started ringing. It cut through the tension and bounced off the hard, colorless walls on either side of you. You really didn’t feel like answering it, but it seemed to distract either of you from saying anything.

He lifted an eyebrow. His anger appeared to subside for a minute. “You gonna answer that?”

With a huff, you pulled out your phone. You really didn’t want to deal with this. You examined the name on the screen.

He glanced at it and read who was calling you. "The agency. Looks like they might finally have something for you."

You stared at it, but quickly clicked the reject button.

"What are you doing, dummy!?!!" Bakugou screamed so loud you were sure everyone within a five mile radius heard. "That was your chance! You were waiting so long!"

"But that's not important to me right now. There will always be other heroes, and there will always be other chances, but there will never be another you." You stared at him, a sweet smile growing on your face. “You matter to me the most out of everything.”

Bakugou seemed to drop his guard. His body loosened as he took a step back in surprise. His eyes were wide and staring right at you. After the initial reaction faded away, he bit his lip and pink dusted his cheek as he turned his head away slightly. It was a look you hadn't quite seen since before you were dating.

You continued. "I can’t let this go. I can’t let you go. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm so sorry I got so upset. I just felt bad because you weren't spending as much time with me. And instead of talking it out with you, I held it in until I just exploded at you. I had no idea you were working so hard for me or why you were so stressed. It wasn't until I looked at that bunch of flowers that I realized."

You looked down a second, tears streaming down your face, trying to gather your courage. "I know it might be too late, and I may be too dumb for it, but..." you trembled as you held out the box and opened it to him, "Will you marry me?"

You had kept that box with the ring in your pocket ever since you found it, even holding it close to you in your sleep. It had pained you to look or simply think about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to part with it.

His entire face turned red. He stumbled on his words for what felt like an eternity. "I-I'm supposed to be asking that, idiot! And that ring is meant for you."

You almost laughed, but decided to continue. "I know I made a stupid mistake. I'm sorry that I kissed Kirishima. I thought I lost you and I so upset and I wasn't thinking straight. But after a lot of thinking, I know now, more than anything, that the thing I want the most is to stay with you. Yes, I did like him at some point, back in U.A. But that was how I ended up getting close to you. And in almost no time I came to love you. So much that I chose you. And I would choose you over and over again." You looked at the ground again to cope with the strangling fear of rejection. "I want you for worse or for better. I want to go wherever you go. You’re everything I ever wanted. So… please?”

“Tch Do you even need to ask?" Before you could process it, he put his hand on your back. He pulled you close and propelled his lips onto yours.

You froze a moment, your mind not able to comprehend that he actually forgave you. Slowly you were pulled out of it by the sweet sensation. In your experience, you found his kisses were either rough or sweet, and this one was sweet, but it was different somehow. His lips were tentative against yours, as if he were afraid you simply an illusion. You savored every moment of it, feeling his warmth against you. It chased away every ounce of loneliness and negativity out of you.

The pull out of it was slow, lips still brushing against the others. You still held each other close. It was like your arms were glue around his neck. It was a secure and comfortable position, one you wanted to stay in forever. You were praying with every atom of your being that this wasn’t just a dream. And if it was, you didn’t want to wake up.

You pulled him into a hug with your head on his chest. “Thank you. Thank you for being mine and staying.”

He rested his chin on your head. “You’re mine too, and I wouldn’t want it any other way… I’m glad you chose me.” His placed a gentle kiss on the top of you head.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m sorry if I made you think any different. I want this to make us stronger, not tear us apart. I’ll definitely make sure to be better from now on.”

“And you can be sure as hell that I’ll try my hardest to be the best husband ever.” His hold ever-so-slightly tightened.

“I believe you.”

You melted around him and pulled him even closer to you, if that were still possible. You both held onto each other, gripping onto the loose fabric in your shirts. It felt like heaven. A warm, comforting embrace you never wanted to leave.

"Thank you," Bakugou sniffed out, his hand on the back of your head, gently gripping onto your hair. He took in a deep breath of your scent. "I... never want to lose you... I'm sorry... that I got so busy that I forgot the point of paying for that ring and making all those plans for a perfect proposal." His voice was quiet. A rare, but welcomed, feat.

"And you never have to lose me," you whispered back.

His smile grew. A small chuckle escaped his lips. He pulled away slightly to look you in the eyes. “So, are you ready for your name to become Bakugou?”

#bnha bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #angst #fluff

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rubix-writings · 3 years

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Punisher Pt. 3

Third part of Punisher. I apologize it’s taking me so long to post these, but want to make sure they’re good for you all. Thank you for the support so far!! This is a Chicago PD/Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show. Also, it doesn’t follow any particular season or sequence in the shows.

Series Summary: Josephine (Jo) never expected to find support and pure love when she left Los Angeles. She ran away to Chicago and was content with living an insignificant, hidden life. But everything changes when she walks into Molly’s to get a job.

Josephine (OC) x Jay Halstead

The italicized lines are internal thoughts of the character.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, long (!)

Things are going really well at Molly’s. It’s like falling into step during a choreographed dance. It feels odd to say that I’m comfortable and confident when it’s only my second shift. I’m working with Stella tonight, who to say the least had a lot of fun the night before. When she first walked into the bar she looked as if Casper made a stop in Chicago. At the start of opening she kept her jacket on and slammed down cups of black coffee. Her body seemed to stay in a permanent state hunched over the bar top while she only communicated through slow movements with her fingers. I couldn’t watch her pain any longer, so I used my break to grab a cheeseburger and fries so greasy the oil soaked the paper bag.

“You need to put something solid into your body,” I announce as I plop the white, greased bag on the bar top in front of Stella’s practically limp body. She slowly lifts her head with a deep groan and analyzes the bag.

“I’m a firefighter Jo, my body is a temple. I can’t eat this,” I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my lips.

“Are tequila shots a part of your ‘temple’s’ regimen?” she sniffs the bag and sighs.

“You see, the tequila actually kills all the bacteria in the stomach,” Stella examines the golden fry before taking a bite.

“Be sure to tell your theory to the doctors that come in later, I’m sure they’d love to hear that.”

“I will,” she says with a mouthful of cheeseburger.

Just like magic, Stella is back to her bouncy self. It amazes me how much like Hermann she is, she practically floats around Molly’s. She talks to everyone and makes sure they’re having a good time. Stella sets the tone of the entire bar, bringing life to every inch of the place. It’s nice to watch her interact with others, a part of me is envious of how natural it comes to her. A part of me is, also, envious of her relationship with Kelly. His eyes when he looks at her are filled with unconditional love and the way Stella looks at him when he’s not looking confirms that she feels the same. I’ve never had that… or will have it. The bar top serves its purpose as a closed door to the patrons on the other side, I open it as much as I want and they see what I want them to see. I’m in control.

It’s a busy Friday night, the bar filled quickly. The firemen I met last night stroll in with the same vigor as the night before, obviously hurting a lot less than Stella was a few hours ago. Stella plays it off as if she didn’t have a raging hangover, but Kelly quickly throws her under the bus. Cruz yells as he claims he’s known the truth all along, but Mouch steps in to deny it, leading to Cruz listing out facts about how he knew. I place a few beer bottles in front of the guys, trying not to get involved.

“I’m sorry about them,” Matt says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. They’re funny,” I smile.

“You don’t have to hear it all day long,” Matt grumbles as he takes a long sip from his beer.

“This is true. I get them in concentrated doses,” I excuse myself to collect empties at the tables scattered around the room. With my hands full I turn to head back to the bar top, but crash into a hard body. I stumble back from the blow and the mystery man swiftly grabs my arms to keep me from falling. Once I get my footing back, he releases my arms.

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” His voice is like velvet that draws my eyes up to look at his face. Wow. My mind fell into a haze barely registering his question.

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” he smirks at how long it took me to answer his question. Really smooth Jo. “I should get back to work, sorry about running into you,” I walk backwards a few steps, he immediately steps forward keeping the same amount of space between us as before.

“Let me at least help you with those, I’m heading to the bar anyway,” before I could object, his large hand cradles the numerous beer bottles that were once in my hand. Before my brain can spiral about his large hands, I spin and head back to the bar. I silently weave through the customer’s of Molly’s, I needed to get back to my safe zone to hopefully make his charm less effective. He gently places the bottles on the bar top for me to discard, I smile and thank him. Before I can ask for his order, the firemen and Stella welcome him to the bar.

“Hey Jay, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Stella mentions.

“Yeah I know. Um have you seen my brother anywhere?” Stella shakes her head no. Brother? I try to seem like I’m not listening while cleaning up behind the bar and get any excuse not to look at him again. One embarrassing moment for tonight is enough. Out of nowhere, Will pops up and slaps Jay on the back. They go in for a quick hug before Will says hi to everyone.

“Hey don’t kill me, but I invited Nat. I know it’s supposed to just be us, but she had a really rough day,” Will whispers, Jay shakes his head to let him know he’s totally fine with it. “Great, thanks man.”

I put two glasses of red wine on the bar top for two women that definitely want to take a firefighter home tonight. After how many women these men turned down the night before I highly doubt they’ll have any luck, but I’m kinda rooting for them.

“Hey Jo,” Will smiles.

“Hi Will,” I say in monotone to mess with him.

“Have you met my brother Jay?” Will slaps Jay’s chest which startles Jay a little, making me smile. Geez, these guys must have gorgeous parents. Will is handsome of course, but Jay...

“We kinda ran into each other actually.” I smirk.

“Oh that’s great, he’s a really good guy. He’s a cop, detective, sorry,” Will corrects himself, Jay is glaring at him.

“I’m not making you a manhattan,” he slaps his hand against the bar top.

“Worth a shot. Can I get a glass of chardonnay and a beer, oh and whatever Jay’s having,” I nod and grab Will his drinks. He slides me his credit card to open a tab then walks off to see Natalie at the table.

“I’m definitely missing something, why does my brother want a manhattan?” Jay finally asks.

“Oh Jay it was great!” Stella jumps in to tell a very colorful version of the events that happened between Will and I. As she finishes up she is swept to the end of the bar to take an order.

“She was drunk last night” I mumble under my breath. Jay smirks, knowing Stella’s retelling was probably fabricated. “What can I get you?” I try to change the subject.

“A beer please,” I nod. “You’re new here Jo?” He phrases it as a question, but it's definitely more of a statement.

“Yeah, started yesterday,” I hand him his beer.

“Thanks. Are you from Chicago?”

“No, LA actually, lived there my whole life,” I lean my forearms on the bar top in front of him.

“Wow, big change.” “Yeah, I don’t know if I thought it all the way through to be honest,” he smiles.

“Well let me tell you if you haven’t figured it out already, snow and winter are incredibly overrated.” “Ah yes, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I can go back to LA now.” “Glad to be of service,” he shrugs. Jay stayed on the same stoll at the bar for the rest of the night. It was strange how easy it was to talk with him, he offered stories about his job and funny stories about him and Will growing up. It’s so beautiful to have those stories, that he’s gone through life with someone that deeply and come out the other side. I tell him that I don’t have siblings and mostly spent time with my mom when I was young. Jay was quick to offer up Will to fill the void.

“I’ll keep you updated on that,” I laugh.

“Are you and your mom still close?”

“Um no, she… she died about ten years ago,” even though her death happened so long ago it still felt so weird saying it out loud.

“I’m sorry Jo. I lost my mom to cancer a few years back.”

“So you get it,” he nods and offers a somber smile.

It wasn’t till Will and Natalie announced their departure, that Jay made any moves to leave Molly’s. The bar was slowly emptying out as last call was already declared.

“I should head out, it was really nice talking with you Jo,” Jay stands.

“It was really nice talking with you too Jay,” I say sincerely. He smiles wide before making a beeline for the front door. I can’t help but stare until he’s fully out of sight, my cheeks start to hurt from fighting the smile on my face. I tuck my loose hair behind my ear and start grabbing the empty glasses from the bar top.

“Have fun?” Stella questions, I jump slightly not realizing she was standing there.

“Another good night for tips, yeah,” she looks at Kelly who’s the last of the firefighters at the bar.

“Sure, doesn’t hurt that Officer Handsome was here all night either.” “I… I’m going to wash the glasses,” I pick up the large plastic crate with dirty drinking glasses and head to the back where Hermann showed me where the sink was. Stella didn’t mention Jay again, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done, Jay’s blue eyes and the way he got so passionate during a story were ingrained in my mind for the rest of the night.

***

Hermann asked if I could open Molly’s for him the next day as he was running late with paperwork at the firehouse. I had a short shift that night anyway and could use the extra money no matter how little. Hermann told me to meet him at the firehouse to give me the keys since they haven’t been able to cut me my own yet. The firehouse isn’t far from Molly’s, a couple blocks on foot. I prepared myself with my warmest coat for the trek since the wind chill makes Chicago brutally cold. I focus on the sound of my shoes against the wet pavement to take my mind off of how cold I really am.

The firehouse is a ball of color on this cold, dark Chicago day. The plain brick buildings surrounding it emphasize the reds and yellows. It somehow feels untouched by the rest of the city, a true sign of purity. As soon as I walk through the doors of the firehouse I’m met with the sweet smell of food cooking. It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own and take my body towards the magnificent smell’s source. The kitchen was buzzing with people cooking, talking, and playing card games.

“Jo!” Stella yells, “what are you doing here?” she walks over to me, leaving her conversation with Matt and Kelly, who both wave at me.

“I’m here to get the keys from Hermann, do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, he’s in the garage let me take you to him,” I try to argue that it could wait, but Stella insists. “Hermman!” she yells once we get into the garage.

“What?!” he snaps back. She giggles as we both walk towards the outburst. As we turn around the big fire engine, I see why Stella was so insistent about not waiting. “Oh hey, Jo,” he says calmer.

Jay is standing tall with a notepad in front of Hermann. Stella silently excuses herself from the conversation and makes her way back inside. Hermann pays no attention to his surroundings as he’s searching for the three keys I need to open Molly’s.

“Hey,” Jay smiles.

“Hi.”

“Here you go, I labeled them for you so you know what lock they go into. Once you get inside, lock the front door, just in case,” I nod and take the keys from him. The silver keys have thin pieces of masking tape on them with dark blue sharpie stating what they open.

“Thanks, I’ll see you there,” I back away from the men to head back to the bar. Hermann nods and waves.

“Hermann we’re done here right?” Jay asks.

“Yeah, let me know if you find anything,” Hermann states somewhat hopeless. Jay puts away the notepad in his back pocket of his jeans and jogs to catch up to me. The sound of Jay’s thick boots hitting the cement fills the sound of the garage. When he finally catches up to me, he moves ahead to open the door to outside for me.

“So you’re stalking me now?” He jokes.

“Um how did you get to that? Hermann asked me to come here,” Jay quickly fell into step with me, not that it was difficult as he’s much taller than me.

“I was here first,” he says plainly.

“Oh well, with that bulletproof logic…” he laughs.

“You headed to Molly’s?” we stop walking once we get to the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m opening today,” Jay slips the keys to his car from his jacket pocket.

“Let me drive you.” “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. It’s only a couple of blocks and you’re working,” I spew out trying to find an excuse that’ll stick.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m parked right here,” he brushes off quickly. I roll my eyes at his back and get into the car. Jay puts the car into gear and sets off towards Molly’s.

“So, is Hermann okay?” I ask since I couldn’t get his hopeless tone out of my head.

“His house was broken into, they didn’t get a lot, just some jewelry and a few Alexa’s. His wife came home which freaked them out and they bolted before they did any real damage.” “Jesus. Poor Hermann. Do you think you’ll find his stuff?” “Probably not, that sort of stuff is so small that they may keep it for themselves instead of pawning it, but we’ll try,” the car is silent for a little while till Jay pulls in front of Molly’s.

“Thanks for the ride.” “Course,” I get out of the car and make my way onto the sidewalk. “Hey Jo,” Jay says out of his rolled down window.

“Hey Jay,” I say while playing with the keys Hermann gave me.

“Are you working late tonight?”

“Not too late, I have a short shift.”

“How about I meet you here later and we get a drink?” Jay says casually. I bite my lip and look down the street in hopes to take my mind off of what he just asked.

“Maybe,” I say as I make eye contact with him again. “See yah Jay.”

“See yah Jo.”

I’m losing control.

#Chicago PD #Chicago Fire #chicago one #chicago fire x reader #chicago fire imagine #chicago pd x imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead x reader #punisher

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Note

What are the best episodes with Castiel to watch?

Hello! Sorry, this took me a while to answer but here you go! If I miss some it’s cause I don’t remember anything or I was just Bleh about it.

Castiel Epiosdes

4x01 ICONIC

4x16 ICONIC

4x20 Jimmy is important to Cas and I love him.

4x22 ICONIC Greenroom. Cas picks a side aka Dean.

5x03 Cas and Dean being friends! Gay panic is real my friends.

5x04 THE END. “It's the end, baby. “

5x13 “Sam is my friend.”

5x14 Cupid (He made a cameo video it was cute) and Cas eating raw meat off the floor.

5x16 “You son of a bitch! I believed in-” OWW

5x17 Drunk Cas.

5x18 At this point he’s just done with everything. So he just carves, YES CARVES, an angel banishing sigil into his own chest. He does not hesitate.

Season 6 is good for Cas because the whole time he’s apart of a civil war and is just a terrible liar.

6x06 I am trying not to make this list about Destiel but the scene where Cas pours Dean’s drink.

6x10 Pizza Man.

6x19 Baby in a trenchcoat aka leader of the heaven rebellion but sure Dean. He’s just cute.

6x20 ICONIC

6x21& 22 Both show that Cas is slowly realizing that he is not in control.

7x01 The whole episode is wild but Cas just going to heaven and saying I’m Daddy now really takes the cake. (not the actual words he used.)

7x02 Cas’s death #3?

7x17 MISHA -- OH um, I mean CAS to the rescue lol

7x21 His cute little laugh! Honey!Cas has my heart and soul. Bonus Destiel: “ When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!” RIP Hester Queen

7x23 “Cursed or not.” Also his little smile when he asks for the plan ahh!

aka all episodes in s7 with Cas in it is worth watching.

Okay, I’ll try to control myself now but watch all of s8 cause its beautiful.

8x02 We see Dean’s POV to the purgatory portal scene. Also, hear Cas’s reason for leaving Dean.

8x07 We see Cas’s POV of the purgatory pov scene. Also, learn how Cas escapes purgatory.

8x08 “I’m gonna be a hunter.” He’s so CUTE!

8x10 Cas needs a hug. Please.

8x17 ICONIC. “what broke the connection?” AHH

8x21 Badass Castiel

8x22 & 23 Castiel wants to do good. He wants to help but he just puts his trust in the wrong people. It hurts me so much. Look he’s just a small child and he is dealing with a lot right now.

Season 9 Cas looks good. Like fanservice time father of two!

9x01 First look at human Cas!

9x03 I can’t watch this ending again. It’ll make me spiral. But it’s a good human Cas and destiel episode. Also, fuck April. She gross.

9x06 ICONIC BLESSED jilted lover.

9x09 He looks good.

9x10 “I prefer the word trusting. Less dumb. Less ass.” They are both dumbasses.

9x11 Sam & Cas chaotic vibes

9x14 Cas storyline with the angels starts or at least makes it more clear idk

9x18 Gabriel! Also, “Damn it, Dean!” and Cas accepts his role as a leader. The angels are dumb.

9x22 Sam & Cas dream team lol Also, Cas picks Dean over heaven again.

9x23 “--and for what again? Oh, that's right -- to save Dean Winchester. That was your goal, right? I mean, you draped yourself in the flag of heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right? Well, guess what. He's dead, too.”

10x01 Cas draped across the bed like a victorian lady waiting for her husband to come back from the war

10x03 You know that scene where he’s lying on the floor bloody and dying and the Crowley saves him. And then Cas glows and heals with grace and he’s glaring up at Crowley? You know that scene. Yeah. Bonus: I’m gay and bloody Hannah is also hot. Small tip: Ignore the creepy/gross Hannah and Cas set up the writers are trying to do. They are siblings.

10x09 Claire! That’s his daughter!

10x10 Claire and Cas make me cry.

10x14 Deleted scene of “Maybe he’s your boyfriend.”

10x17 Sam & Cas! They are best friends, you guys!

10x18 Charlie and Cas meet! AND THEY ARE ALL HAPPY AND I CRY

10x20 Claire! Cas get’s her a birthday present, grumpy cat stuffy, and she keeps it! And I cry. And she saves him. And she cares about him.

okay 10x21 cause of Charlie and Cas but also fuck this episode. Charlie deserved better.

10x22 ICONIC gosh damn it. I-

10x23 Just for backstory for Cas in s11. Our poor boy can't catch a break.

I worked on this for two hours now Nonny and I don’t even care. I miss Cas.

Season 11 hurts my damn soul because of Cas. I won’t include Casifer, though it was A LOT of fun to watch him.

11x01 “Dean, did it work?” I wanna hold this poor sad madly in love man.

11x02 I can’t handle the torture. He looks so sad.

11x03 Bless you director, Jensen Ross Ackles.

11x04 Okay, not a lot of Cas but I love this episode.

11x06 They don’t talk about his trauma but they show us a little when he tries to leave the bunker. And I cried. Once again. Let. Me. Hold. Him.

11x10 Ambriel glad you are dead cause you were SO rude. Also, Amara girly, queen, I love you but apologize. Stop being mean to Castiel.

11x22 Cas get’s to talk and that’s nice

11x23 “I can go with you.” Sir, you just came back from being possessed by THEE satan and now you are ready to die by your future husband's side. You need therapy.

Okay, I stopped watching live after season 11 because of the way they treated Cas so these next seasons I binged watched ( a couple of times) but wasn’t apart of the fandom so it feels like I didn’t fully grasp them. But here we go!

12x01 Cas meets his mother-in-law. Also the little, “Dean!” when he hugs him.

12x02 Cas and Mick :)

12x03 Agent Beyonce and Zee lol Cas and Crowley and should have had a sitcom

12x08 Cas gets a text (angel radio) that he’s gonna be a Dad and it looks like when Alice had a vision of the Volturi in Breaking Dawn Part 2 lol

12x09 Let me hug Cas! He’s sad over his family being gone. Also, Mary, I love you but I don’t forgive anybody for being mean to Cas. All the Winchesters are on thin fucking ice with me.

12x10 ICONIC destiel. Cas in a female vessel.

12x12 ICONIC “I love you. I love all of you.”

12x19 Worried husband Dean. Excited soon-to-be father Cas.

12x23 Cas dies (again) from child birth.

Watch the first few episodes of season 13 for the famous widower arc cause wtf they gave us THAT. Also, I don’t care for the other world storyline so I pushed that out of my head.

13x04 Cas annoying a cosmic entity. Fun fact! I dislike the trenchcoat cause it looked so stiff and the color was off idk didn’t look great but Cas looked beautiful when he looks up at the sun! Ah!

13x05 IT’S NOT TOO LATE TO START ALL OVER AGAIN

13x06 ICONIC BROKEBACKNATURAL Also, Jack and Cas meet and I cried damn it. “I missed you.” That’s his son!

13x07 Cas doesn’t put anybody or anything above his baby boy

13x12 Cas has the dumbest husband but at least Cas stabs lucifer. Bet Misha felt good

13x14 Badass Cas. He’s a top. lol

13x16 ICONIC Cas looks...great. Like, watch it. I would do anything for cartoon!cas

13x19Just cause Cas faced someone who tortured him and it’s made to seem like he should get over it and it pisses me off. But Naomi is so cool so idk I like her but would fight her

13x22 Otherworld Cas is there and Cas just kills himself. He needs therapy.

13x23 Cas’s face when Dean says yes. Also, family hunting trip yay

14x01 Dadstiel! Also, Cas looks good.

14x03 Dadstiel.

14x07 Dadstiel. “Losing a son feels different.” And I cry.

14x08 “because I love you Jack. And Sam and Dean--they love you.” THEY DO LOVE HIM AHHHH! Also, Empty deal is made as an excuse for the writers to do something with Cas later.

I just realized season 14 is just Cas trying desperately to keep his family together. He’s trying to take care of them and he has the right words to say to everyone but not much happens besides him wanting to be a family man.

14x14 gay on gay violence lol Also another family hunting trip!

14x15 Fav episode! I just love Sam & Cas’s dumb chaotic energy in this ahaha! They are best friends damn it!

14x18 Cas is trying desperately to keep his family together and he feels responsible for Mary

14x19 Cas should have been allowed to kick Sam and Dean’s dumb flat asses for locking his baby boy in a box.

14x20 AHHH

Divorce arc! All of s15 is great! Except you know...19&20 but we ignore that in this house.

15x03 ICONIC but I will never watch it again

15x06 dude, they really be broken up. Cas kicks ass by himself and he’s fishing and he’s so cute.

15x09 ICONIC Let him talk, Castiel!

15x11 Cas is THEE best Dad and let’s Jack eat hearts

15x13 Just for the family.

15x15 :(

15x17 Cas working to keep his baby boy

15x18 :( I mean at least he’s out but :(

Okay, this took me all day and I had fun! Nobody is gonna read it but who cares cause I just spent my day thinking of Cas when I had a pretty shit day so thanks, Nonnie!

#answering the q's #castiel #cas #episode rec #? idk #but here you go!#Anonymous

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Month of Miracles - Moments of Wonder

Well my plans for this prompt month definitely tanked but that’s okay, I’m still gonna finish this Hallmark AU at least. I’m gonna try not to write a ten paragraph authors note detailing all my struggles with this piece and just say, I hope the intention comes through even with all the life interruptions.

Find the prompt list here!

“Spaghetti?” Rose screeched. “Luka, nobody looks good eating spaghetti. She’ll be uncomfortable. Make something else.”

Luka looked at the ceiling for a moment and prayed for patience. “It’s not like this is a date,” he muttered, going to look through the pantry to see what else he could make. Rose’s pestering was making him nervous, and his hand hovered over several options before he shook himself and picked up a bag of rice. Casserole seemed like such a homely option but—

Not a date , he reminded himself resolutely. He didn’t want to make Marinette uncomfortable. She hadn’t agreed to a date, so it wasn’t one, and he wasn’t going to let Rose’s fantasizing make him treat it like one.

“Casserole?” Rose said doubtfully when he got out the pan.

Luka groaned. “Out, Rose.” He grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the oven rail and snapped it at her, making her squeak and jump back. She folded her arms with a pout. “Nope. Not gonna work on me,” he told her, flapping her out of the kitchen with the towel like a fly. “Get lost.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Rose wailed as she backed away.

“And stay out,” Luka told her shortly, and turned to go back in the kitchen. He leaned on the counter and sighed. He was a patient guy, and he liked Rose, and okay so she was right that he and Marinette would hit it off, but— enough , already. He was nervous enough about whether she would understand what he wanted to show her tonight, and not really sure why it was important to him anyway.

Maybe it was lingering guilt for disappearing without any real explanation or apology to his fans. Maybe if he could make even one fan understand, he’d feel better.

Orrrr maybe it has nothing to do with your fans and you just want Marinette to understand, Rose’s voice sing-songed in his head, because you liiiiiike her. Luka sighed.

He did like her. He liked her, and he wanted to know her, and the only way he knew of to do that was to invite her to know him. He sighed again, and went back to his dinner preparations.

Marinette knocked on the Couffaines’ door with so many butterflies in her stomach that she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to eat. It had been easy to accept the invitation with Luka there in front of her, with his relaxed smile and calm presence, but by the time she got back to her grandmother’s house, her brain had gone into a panicked spiral of overthinking that had her feeling jumpy and on edge. She always put thought into her appearance, but she’d agonized over it tonight, afraid of looking too...date-like. In the end she’d kept her pigtails and kept her makeup light, and worn a slightly oversized cream sweater over red leggings. Easy, seasonally appropriate, not unflattering but not aiming to attract, either.

When the door flew open, Rose’s excited, beaming face did nothing to ease her nerves. As Rose dragged her inside, bouncing a little, Marinette had an unsettling feeling like she had been caught in a trap of some kind, and it didn’t get any better when Rose introduced her to Luka’s sister. Juleka gave her a quick once over and smirked, and Marinette was struck by an urge to flee the premises.

Then Luka was there, taking her elbow gently and somehow getting everyone moving to the table. He wasn’t dressed for a date either, wearing a slightly worn navy pullover with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and jeans that had seen better days. The look he gave her as he escorted her to the dining room said please ignore them, we both know better, and Marinette began to relax a little bit. That’s right. Rose might be scheming but she and Luka had already talked it out, and they knew where they stood. They were friends, and whatever he wanted to show her tonight had nothing to do with...with wooing her, or whatever Rose seemed to think was going on.

Dinner wasn’t fancy, either, and that made her feel better too. She managed to strike up a conversation with Juleka after Luka pointed out that many of the photographs on the walls were Juleka’s work. He turned all of Rose’s attempts to get them started on personal topics into casual conversation, and Marinette honestly could have kissed him just for making everything so... easy.

Not that she would. Not that he wanted her to. Not that she wanted to! Oh no, she was starting again…

Marinette nearly jumped out of her seat when a peppy tune blared out seemingly from nowhere. Luka put a steadying hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile while Rose pulled her phone out of her pocket, frowning.

“Excuse me a second,” Rose said apologetically, “It’s work so I better see what they want.”

Marinette had to blink for a moment. She’d forgotten that normal people didn’t take phone calls during dinner.

“Sabrina, what’s up?” Rose chirped, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin as she held the phone to her ear and slipped out of her chair to walk into the other side of the room—not that it really made a difference since they could all still hear her. “Well, finally, what took so long? So, what’s the big deal?” There was a pause, and Rose frowned. “Come down there? Why are you being so dramatic, Sabrina, can’t you just tell me?”

That got Luka’s attention. He shot Rose an alarmed look, and Rose rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, fine. I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone and came back over to kiss Juleka’s cheek. “I have to go. There’s something up with the costumes for the children’s pageant and Sabrina’s making a big deal about it. I’ll come back after I find out what’s going on.” She grinned at Luka and Marinette. “Have fun without me.” She fluttered her hand and left the table, blowing a kiss to them all as she flounced out of the door.

Luka gaped after her for a moment. No, no, this was no good. Rose’s excited fluttering aside, she and Juleka were supposed to go do their own thing and get so distracted with each other that he could talk to Marinette in peace, but without Rose—Luka glanced at his sister, and saw her smirking at him. Luka tried to convey with nothing but his eyes that if she ruined this for him he’d never forgive her. Juleka just rolled her eyes and went back to eating.

“Children’s pageant?” Marinette was repeating next to him in confusion. “At the library? I thought that was usually a church thing.”

“Oh, it is,” Juleka smirked. “The church has one every year too, and Rose...Rose has a beef with it. Let’s just say they’ve had the same Joseph and Mary for the last three years and Rose doesn’t feel like it represents the proper Christmas spirit.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, blinking. “Huh.”

“Are you finished, Juleka?” Luka asked a little too quickly, standing up. “I can take your plate.”

Juleka gave him a look that said she knew what he was doing, but she got up too. “Yeah. Thanks. It was nice to meet you Marinette.” She went to the stairs, but couldn’t resist a parting “You two have fun,” before she thunked up them.

Luka sighed, and took Juleka’s plate and his own to the kitchen. He nearly bumped into Marinette when he turned around, standing behind him with her own mostly-empty plate. “Oh, sorry,” he said, taking it from her automatically. “I didn’t mean to rush you, if you weren’t done.”

“No, I’m good,” Marinette said, with a nervous little flutter of her hands. “I was done. Can I help you clean up?”

“Nah, Jules can get it later,” he said, opening the cabinet to dump the last of the food in the trash before he put the plate in the sink. “I cooked, so dishes are her job. Let me just put the leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you come on into the great room while I do that?”

He led her out of the kitchen into the two-story great room, with its huge windows and exposed beams and the large crackling fireplace.

“Wow, this is lovely,” Marinette breathed, looking around.

“I like it,” Luka shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “Great acoustics in here, actually. Just have a seat wherever you’re comfortable and I’ll be right back. Watch your step, we’re...not exactly neat freaks, if you know what I mean.”

“It looks lived in,” Marinette agreed diplomatically. The furniture was all mismatched and...unique. Some of it looked so old and rickety that she wasn’t sure it was safe to sit on, and there were...boxes everywhere. Not really boxes, but old army footlockers, heavy-looking chests, and a dozen other things. They were mostly tucked in the corners of the room, leaving the floor clear for the enormous Christmas tree that took up an entire corner of the huge room.

Marinette made her way to one of the couches as Luka went back to the kitchen. It looked like an antique, with an old brocade fabric that was slightly faded but otherwise in good condition, and sturdy enough. Marinette perched on the end of it, feeling a little awkward. She looked around the room. Despite the size, it was cozy, with a rustic air, much like all the other buildings she’d been in around town, and though she’d been being polite, her statement was accurate. It didn’t look so much cluttered as lived-in, as if this room was used a lot by the entire family. As she looked at the Christmas tree, she had to smile. The decorations were a bit...eccentric. Several of the ornaments on the tree were little bats wearing tiny knitted scarves or carrying miniature instruments that looked like they might have come from a doll collection. Music seemed to feature prominently in the tree, she realized. Many of the figures had instruments, not just the bats (there were spiders, too, she saw with amusement). Some of the ornaments were cheap, clearly mass manufactured things, but others were carefully crafted and looked like they’d come from far away places. Guitars weren’t the only instruments featured, but they did outnumber the others by quite a bit. Luka wasn’t the only musical one in the family, she concluded. His father was Jagged Stone, after all, and boy there was probably a story there, but she’d never dare ask.

Her eyes widened slightly when Luka reappeared with an electric guitar in one hand. Marinette blushed, one hand fluttering up to fuss nervously with her hair. Surely he wasn’t going to play now? For her?

Luka smirked a little at the expression on her face, and winked at her as he set the guitar down in a stand she hadn’t noticed. “In a minute,” he told her, and Marinette wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. Could she act more like a starstruck fan? Luka crossed to a funny looking cabinet that turned out to have a CD player inside. “You know Blue Lightning, right?

“Yes, of course,” Marinette said, blinking. It was one of the singles off his most recent album—his last album, she realized with a pang.

Luka nodded as he put the CD he’d been holding in the player. “This was the demo I pitched to the label when I wrote it.”

He pressed play, and turned the volume up. He walked over to one of the windows and stuck his hands in his pockets as the music began to play.

Marinette’s mouth dropped open. It sounded so...different. Of course a demo would sound different, she’d heard demo tracks before and they didn’t necessarily have full instrumentation or backup vocals, but...the whole feel of the song was different. Peppier, more fluid, less...angry. Still a rock song, but not so...gritty, or harsh, as the version she knew.

Luka kept his eyes down as he switched off the CD player and closed the cabinet, and then went to sit next to Marinette on the couch. Only then did he look up at her.

“The execs said they loved it,” he told her softly, “but it didn’t fit my brand. They didn’t think it would sell. Later, they told me. When I was a bigger star, then I could put out something like that, but not yet.”

“That’s—” a shame, Marinette wanted to say, but instead she twined her fingers together and looked down. “Well, I guess they know what sells, right? It makes sense that you would take their advice.”

“That’s what I thought.” Luka nodded. “So I agreed to change it. And then in post production they ‘tweaked it’ some more, and…” He grimaced. “And then I had to go up on stage and perform it like that, and even though it made sense at the time, I just...hated it. When I complained, they told me I wasn’t bringing in enough sales yet to be such a diva and that if I wanted to make the music I wanted to make, then I needed to work harder.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it,” Marinette sighed. “But you have to make your bones, right? It’s the same with fashion. That’s just...part of the industry.” She glanced at him uncertainly.

“So they told me,” Luka gave her a wry smile.

Marinette looked back at her hands. “Well, if it was making you unhappy, then it’s good that you left,” she said, but she said it without conviction, and she knew that he could hear it.

Luka sighed. “Well. There was more to it than just that.” He got to his feet. “You’ve been to one of my shows, right? I think you said you had.” He picked up the guitar from the stand, and slung the strap across his shoulders.

Marinette nodded. “Mmhmm.” She watched as he rummaged behind one of the chairs, pulled out an amp cord, and plugged it into the guitar.

“Good,” Luka said, sitting down across from her in one of the rickety-looking chairs. Marinette’s hands moved involuntarily before fluttering back into her lap. He lived here; surely he knew the hazards of the furniture. She curled her fingers under and tried not to fidget. He grinned without looking at her as he tuned the guitar.

“It’ll hold,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “I promise nothing around here is as fragile as it looks.”

“Right,” Marinette said, hunching her shoulders slightly. “Of course.” She didn’t know where to look, and she suddenly felt very stupid. Why was she here again?.

“Just relax,” Luka’s deep voice soothed, and she glanced up, color deepening. He sounded like Luke Stone in that moment, with the smooth, musical tone of his voice. “Just listen. If you don’t understand when I’m done, then...then that’ll be okay. But I’d like to try and show you what I mean. The difference between Luke Stone, and...me.”

He took a breath, blew it out slowly...and played. Marinette’s breath caught. It was just White Christmas, which she’d heard a thousand times over in a hundred different styles. Even so, it was beautiful, embellished with unique touches that face it the same evocative quality that had first drawn her to Luke’s—to Luka’s music.

Apparently he was just warming up, though, because he took another deep breath, and the music segued into a different tune—one she didn’t recognize.

It resonated somewhere deep inside her, touched a well of pain she’d been trying to ignore for months. Not only the music, which by itself was beautiful and seemed to vibrate in her soul—but the artistry. And when she looked at him—

Luka’s eyes were half closed, and his face was serene, with just a slight wrinkle of concentration between his brows. His hands, rough and abused as they were, moved easily and gracefully, with a confidence that Marinette suddenly realized was familiar. She’d had that once, back when she’d been young and inexperienced and thought too highly of herself. Before she’d learned better, and seen how far she still had to go.

She found that she envied Luka in that moment. It must be nice, to be away from all that pressure and just...create for yourself again. Not to be constantly questioning your instincts, because you only had yourself to please anyway.

Her chest suddenly felt tight, and her eyes stung. She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from him, looking down at her hands. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart, determined to listen until the end.

It was so beautiful. Poignant.

She recognized now what he’d been trying to show her with the demo track. She had been too distracted at the time by the other differences, but...there had been so much more feeling in the demo version. Because Luka had loved it, she realized. He’d been excited about that song, and by the time the studio was done with it, that enthusiasm was lost. He played the studio version well, with all the technical skill he possessed, but it lacked the passion of the original. If anything, it sounded angry because Luka was angry when he played it.

That’s part of the process, though. It’s just part of the industry. Editing is important, even if it isn’t fun. Of course you’re tired of a project before it’s finished. You’ve still got to see it through. You don’t just quit or give up on a project because you feel pouty that people told you what was wrong.

It was the truth, so...why did watching Luka, and hearing him play, make it feel like such a lie?

The studio was wrong, she admitted to herself. Even if it was an objectively better song when they were done, even if the sales numbers said they were right...what they lost along the way was so much more precious than perfection.

Luka’s song ended softly, but on a questioning note, without really concluding. He looked up at her, and then came over to sit next to her on the couch, his expression concerned.

She wasn’t sure why until Luka reached out, and wiped away the tear trickling down her face with the rough pad of his thumb. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m—” Marinette began, trying to smile, but she couldn’t finish. Her face crumpled and she buried in her hands before she began to cry in earnest.

Luka put the guitar down, and came to sit beside her. His hands curled around her shoulders and tugged her to him. Marinette yielded, letting him pull her close. One arm wrapped around her back and one big hand gently cradled her head, guiding it down to his shoulder, and he held her, swaying gently, while she hid her face in his shirt and wept.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Luka said apologetically, and Marinette shook her head without lifting it. He held her for a long moment, until she finally managed to pull herself together and pull away from him, sitting up and wiping at her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I was enjoying it so much, I can’t believe I just...lost it like that, ugh.”

“It’s okay,” Luka soothed, putting his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed and rubbed it lightly. “Do you feel better?”

“I...think I do, actually,” Marinette gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.” She was still embarrassed, but she meant it. It felt like a pressure valve had opened somewhere inside of her, and while nothing had really changed, it all felt just a little bit less oppressive. “I think I understand, at least a little. Why you left. But…” Marinette pressed her lips together, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on. Luka squeezed her shoulder again lightly, waiting for her to continue.

“I just...was quitting really the only way? Wasn’t it your dream? Wasn’t it worth fighting for?”

Luka swallowed and drew his hand back. He folded his hands together between his knees, looking at the floor, and hoped he could say what he wanted to without sounding like a pretentious drama queen or a weakling.

“What happened between us just now,” Luka began slowly, “Luke Stone could never do that. I didn’t mind the work, or the hours, or even the touring. It’s just, the more we ‘refined’ Luke Stone’s image, the less it felt like me, and it put up this...wall between me and the rest of the world. It wasn’t just the label interfering with my music, it was the image they wanted me to project. The brand. It was harder and harder to be somebody different off-stage, because after a certain point, there’s really no such thing as off-stage. Jagged, you know, he can turn it on and off like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He tried to help me, he really did, but...I just...wasn’t connecting with people the way I needed to, for the music to really flow. I felt so alone, and unhappy, and I was still making music but it wasn’t mine, anymore. It was just something I did to keep the label happy. Finally I decided that clinging to the dream for the sake of the dream wasn’t very smart if it didn’t actually make me happy, and it was more important to be me than to be a star.” Luka glanced up. Marinette was staring at him, her eyes huge in her pale face. He felt himself beginning to blush and dropped his eyes again. “So I told Dad I was done,” he went on quickly. “He was disappointed, but he understood. I finished out my contract and came home to figure out what in the world comes next.”

Marinette was silent for a moment. Luka swallowed nervously, and was trying to think of a graceful way to end the conversation when she finally said, “You’re really brave, Luka.”

He blinked, the words he’d been about to force out dying on his tongue. “What?” he said instead.

“I think it takes a lot of courage to admit that,” Marinette said quietly. “Even to yourself, let alone actually making the break and leaving it all behind. I’m glad you did it. I loved your music, but…” She reached out hesitantly, and slid her hand over Luka’s. He released his clasped hands to turn his fingers up to lace with hers. “I’m glad that you did what was right for you, instead of…”

“Flaming out and becoming an alcoholic drug addict?” he asked with a sardonic grin. Her hand was so small in his, he couldn’t help noticing.

Marinette giggled. “Something like that. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. You really didn’t have to rehash all of that for me.”

Luka shrugged and repeated, “I wanted you to understand.” She had no idea how bad he wanted her to understand. He was grateful and relieved that she did...and at the same time, it was a little frightening. Things might have been simpler if she had scoffed and blown him off. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, holding her hand and looking into her soft, beautiful eyes, feeling like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Marinette bit her lip, and his gaze dropped to it. “I should...if it’s okay with you, I think I should go home now.”

Luka shook himself back to reality. “Of course. Are you sure you’re alright? Will you be okay to get home?”

Marinette nodded and tried a smile. It mostly looked steady, so Luka smiled back. He stood up, still holding her hand, and drew her up after him. “Thanks for taking the time to listen to me, Marinette.” Luka let her hand slide out of his. “It actually feels good to be able to explain it to someone.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Marinette told him, and they didn’t say anything more as Luka got her coat and held it for her.

Once she was gone, he barely made it back to a chair before his knees gave way. He rubbed a hand over his face and then leaned into it, sighing. That had been…intense. All of it, not just Marinette, but...playing like that, when he hadn’t played for anyone but his family in so long, and trying to help her understand...he hadn’t realized how much it would take out of him.

He was still sitting there when Rose burst in. “Marinette!” she cried, looking at Luka with wide eyes. “Where is she?”

“She went home,” Luka mumbled, leaning back in the chair.

“What? No, I need her!” Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Why did she leave? What happened?”

“Nothing happened—” Luka began, but a voice from the doorway interrupted him.

“He made her cry,” Juleka smirked.

Rose whirled to look at her, while Luka glared at her over Rose’s head, but Juleka just grinned wider when Rose turned back and began to hit Luka in the arm over and over with her tiny yet surprisingly hard fist. “You idiot! You did not! You made her cry? What’s the matter with you?”

Luka put up his hands in defense. “Rose,” he whined. “Look, I told you this wasn’t a date, and it’s not going to happen—”

“Who cares about your pathetic excuse for a love life?” Rose roared, hitting him faster. “You can’t run her off, I need her! The pageant’s going to be a disaster!”

“Wait, what?” Juleka frowned, coming into the room.

“That’s what Sabrina was calling about!” Rose exclaimed. “The costumes that were in storage—they’re a disaster! Moths or rats or water or all three, I don’t even know. And here I made friends with someone who designs and sews and then like a bonehead I had to set her up with your stupid socially inept—”

“He played for her,” Juleka broke in, and Rose stopped hitting him long enough to look at her. It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then Rose’s eyes widened. She turned back to Luka and he flinched. “You did not!”

“I did,” Luka admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I really did,” he realized, feeling suddenly weak again. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried to pretend like he wasn’t suppressing the urge to scream.

“Tell me everything right now!” Rose demanded, grabbing a fistful of his sweater and dragging him out of his chair and over to the couch. She sat down next to him with a determined expression. Luka looked up at Juleka pleadingly, but she just grinned.

That’s for eating all the cookies, she mouthed, and left before Luka could make a rude gesture.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

#quickspins #monthofmiracles2020 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #hallmark au #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug

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criminalminds4days · 3 years

Text

Family Matters | Chapter 1: Aftermath

Hello wonderful people!

I hope you guys had a restful and wonderful week. As I post this I am at work. It technically is not Saturday, but since I will be studying like there is no more life left to live tomorrow I thought I might as well post today.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I’ll try to post chapter 2 next Saturday. If you want to be added to the tag list please feel free to let me know. And thank you all so much for all the comments, reblogs and likes, they really make my day.

-Ash

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 1: Aftermath

"Nu-uh bruh, I know you didn't just interrupt me mid-sentence." She spoke, clearly not having it. "I did not work my butt off to make it to the FBI just so that a man who wears sweaters in the middle of July cuts me off on my first day!"

It seemed only like yesterday she and Spencer had met. To be quite frank, she did not expect them to become friends, not in the slightest, but now she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Is she okay?" The woman asked as she waved a hand in front of the agent. "Should I call someone?"

"She's fine, I bet she's just trying to remember something really important." The man said, slightly shaking her arm. "Doctor" he began, in a low voice, "Now is not the time to get lost daydreaming about whatever it is you daydream.”

That was enough to bring her back to the real world, reminding her where she was and the fact that she had no idea why she was there. "I was just... going over my grocery list?"

"During our meeting?"

"I apologize Section Chief Strauss, I sometimes think of such unimportant things when I get anxious, and the secrecy of this meeting counts as an anxious level ten." She smiled, but the woman in front of them seemed unimpressed. "Nonetheless, I will not think about groceries again until we have discussed, whatever we are discussing." She looked between her and her colleague, as they both analyzed her behavior.

"Well, let's cut to the chase." The woman finally gave up trying to comprehend her and routed back to the reason they were there. "I have here the official request for a transfer, for either of you, to the department of your choice."

"Are you crazy lady?!" She spoke, soon enough realizing her mistake. "I am so sorry; I do not know where that came from. I was just so taken aback, by the comment. Why would either of us want to transfer? We love our team!"

"Yes, that much is clear."

"Did we do something to upset you or the team? Is it our performance?" Spencer said as he frantically played with the ends of his sweater. He was clearly as nervous as she was, both completely terrified of losing their team, and just as they were becoming close.

"As you know, we have a strict policy against fraternizing within the same unit, and it has come to my attention that the two of you are now seeing each other in a non-professional setting. I cannot allow this, so your options are to stop seeing each other, or one of you needs to transfer."

Before Spencer could logically explain the misunderstanding, she had already spiraled into her usual rant. "Unbelievable! You go to one wedding with your coworker in which you pretend to be a couple. You share one fake kiss and suddenly you can't work together?! I didn't even enjoy the kiss!" She exclaimed and then realized how that would sound to her friend. "Now, Spencer, that does not mean you're a bad kisser, you're actually a great kisser I was pleasantly surprised but there is something about someone squishing your cheeks and your ex-boyfriend now turned cousin-in-law being there that kind of ruins the mood, you know? Not that if that wasn't the case we would have still kissed, because that would be weird, especially because we are not dating, but still, I don't want you to think that when I say I didn't enjoy the kiss it has something to do with you or your skills. As I said, it had more to do with the scenery, you know?"

"What she meant to say, Chief Strauss" Spencer stepped in, aware of how her words didn't make the situation any better, "is that we are not romantically involved. It's too early in the morning and she doesn't know what she's talking about, this is probably a dream she had." He excused, "now, I know it seems weird that we arrive together every morning, but it has nothing to do with us seeing each other, I simply do not approve of driving to work alone, it's bad for the environment, so my friend and colleague here has agreed to carpool. We would do it with other people on our team if they didn't live in the opposite direction as us."

"Are you sure, Dr. Reid?"

"When have I not been?" He gave her an innocent smile. "If I were seeing the doctor here, in a romantic way I would let you know myself."

"I will trust that you will keep your word." She looked at the two of them, clearly still skeptical about the situation. "You may leave."

With subtle speed, they both made their way back to their desk.

"Seriously? You brought up the kiss?"

"I am so sorry. For some weird reason, I thought she already knew, and once I started talking it was impossible to shut up. Don't you have those days, when you just talk and talk, and talk, like there is no need for air, and then you realize that people aren't asking you the questions you're answering and you fall into a deeper whole hoping they will realize in how bad of a state you are and stop asking the imaginary questions you've been answering?"

"We need to get you some coffee."

"Okay."

The not so subtle eyes of the rest of their team followed the pair as they made their way to the coffee machine. As soon as they heard the machine come to life, their boss Aaron Hotchner—Hotch for the friends—approached them, a serious look on his face. He was wearing a black suit and a white dress shirt underneath, a red tie to finish the look. His hair was very professionally pulled back, as it always was.

"Are you both okay? I know meetings with Strauss aren't necessarily the most pleasant."

"We're fine."

"She wanted to know if Spencer and I were dating."

"And? Are you?"

"No, of course not. Spencer helped me out with a family situation a couple of weeks ago and I offered to drive him to work and get him coffee."

"And the two of you requesting this weekend off has nothing to do with Strauss' suspicion?"

"No." Reid moved his hands through his hair, clearly becoming irritated about answering the same question, he didn’t appreciate the doubt everybody seemed to have on their friendship. "I am simply being a supportive friend. If we had a romantic relationship going on we would have definitely told you, and if it were serious I would have asked to transfer like Strauss wanted one of us to do."

There was a silence, as the man attempted to read them, finally deciding they were telling the truth he nodded and walked back to his office.

"Well, this is what happens when you lie." She said under her breath.

She served herself a cup of coffee, lamenting there was no cream available and swallowing the bitter drink as she made her way to her desk. A dark-skinned man with a green shirt, black pants, and his gun holstered to the side, as it always was approached the pair, followed by him were two blondes. The first one—Penelope Garcia—with glitter through her face, cat framed glasses over her light brown eyes, and a bright pink dress accompanied with immensely big heels. The other—JJ—wore a white dress shirt that had the first button undone, accompanied by dress pants and black heels, her hair laid flat on the sides of her face and her blue eyes observed them intently. Finally, Emily joined the group, her never-failing dark pants, now accompanied by a navy dress shirt, and a smile that played on her lips as she looked at them.

"Are you two going to tell us or are we going to have to forcefully remove the information from you?" The man asked.

"You're gonna have to do much better than that if you want us to talk, Derek Morgan." She said to him.

"Just tell us already!" Penelope begged.

"You both know that we will not leave until you tell us!" JJ added.

"Fine," she sighed and prepared herself. "Spencer and I are leaving the BAU."

"WHAT?!" all of them exclaimed, worry in their voices.

"We realized that we were in fact in love with each other and since we cannot date and work together, we have decided to both leave. We're thinking of moving to the west coast. You guys can come to visit anytime." Spencer added with all seriousness.

There was a moment of silence, a long one. The whole team contemplated the reality of both Spencer and her gone. Emily took it the hardest, after the three of them almost died she had made sure she was there for both of them, and she couldn't imagine being in a similar situation and not having them. She almost began crying at the notion before the two doctors laughed.

"Did you see their faces?" She asked with uncontained amusement.

"Yes, oh my, they were totally gonna miss us."

"I know!"

They laughed for a couple more minutes before Derek interrupted them. "What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on, is that you just got schooled by Spencer and me." They fist-bumped after her comment. "So, how does it feel, to be defeated by not one, but two genius doctors?"

"You little..."

"Hey, watch that mouth!" Spencer reprimanded "That's the love of my life you're speaking to."

"Oh honey, I love it when you defend me." This once again brought them to laughter. "In all seriousness though, after people noticed that Spencer and I arrived together every day, they assumed we were dating and so did Strauss, that's why she wanted to meet with us. She wanted one of us to transfer or for us to stop dating, but since we are not dating, there was nothing to worry about."

"You guys are jerks," Emily spoke for the first time, as she lightly punched them. "You had me going there for a minute."

"Sorry, Em. We just wanted you guys to stop being so nosy."

"Rude!" JJ and Penelope exclaimed.

"Come on guys, you have been staring at us since we came back from our meeting with Strauss, you are nosy," Spencer said to the group.

"I don't think I like this alliance anymore," Garcia said as she crossed her arms. "I am going back to my Batcave. I have been seriously disrespected by these people."

"Bye Garcia."

"We love you!"

The rest of the week was uneventful, to say the least, and although they had a case that week, it seemed to breeze by. Those were her favorites when they could save as many people as possible and stop these sick people early on. What she didn't like about an easy week was that at the end of it she had to go to her stupid family retreat. At the moment, she was in Spencer's apartment, helping him pack for the weekend. The poor genius had no idea what to expect, and she did not have the heart to tell him that her family was known for a very active lifestyle. Every single member of her family played at least one sport (well, her mom's side. Her dad's... not so much) and she knew Spencer was not necessarily a fan of the outdoors.

"Why do you have so much sunscreen? It's only two days! And if the weather forecast is correct, it's going to rain, and we'll be stuck inside anyway."

"Have you seen me? I have sensitive skin!"

"You have to be kidding. The mighty Spencer Reid, who can talk his way out of any situation, is afraid of getting sunburned?" She asked with amusement.

"You take down serial killers, serial rapists, terrorists, and all kinds of scary people but are still afraid of the narcissist you have for a cousin."

"Touché."

They made their way towards the small cabins her family had bought years before she was even born, the memories flooding back like it had been yesterday... Nope, she was not doing a flashback. She was mentally blocking every single thought about the day Tyler left her for Anna and how that had become the story everyone told in family dinners, as if humiliating your long-term girlfriend in preference of her narcissistic cousin was somehow romantic. She was not the same girl she was two years ago. She was an FBI agent, she was a hostage negotiator, she was a profiler, and she was damn good at what she did. Overall, she had learned that getting married and having a family didn't have to be her end goal. She could have both, and she had all the time in the world to decide whether she wanted kids or a husband. And if the answer to those questions was no, the last thing that should matter was what her family thought.

"By how hard you're gripping the steering wheel, your furrowed brow, and your tongue sticking out of your mouth as you drive, I'd have to say you're suppressing the memories of the last time you were here."

"Are you seriously profiling me right now? Do you really think it's the best time?"

"I am trying to understand how to best help you." He defended himself. "I need to understand what you're feeling to provide the best support I can. I am here for you, and I need you to remember that."

"Stay away from the basketball court, soccer, field, football field, and the tennis area." She changed the subject. "I know you're decent at baseball, so we can try our luck with that, I also know you swim, so we can do that as well. There is a small chess area Tyler and I used to play in, so if you can destroy him, which I know you can, please do." She turned to see him staring her down, knowing full well what she was doing. "Listen, Spencer, I really appreciate where you're coming from, and I am forever grateful to you. However, dwelling in the past will not help me move on. I want us to have a good time, to enjoy the sun and free food, maybe get to know each other better outside of work. Despite me wanting to beat Anna and Tyler at everything, mostly I want to prove to them, and myself, that I am better than all that bullshit they put me through, that I came out stronger on the other side, I want to leave Sunday feeling good with myself." Before she registered what was happening Spencer had planted a soft kiss on her cheek, almost making her lose control of the wheel. "What was that for?"

"You're finally starting to sound like the same person that I met exactly a year, two months, and three days ago."

"Stop being cute. It's like you want me to fall in love with you." She said, jokingly. Though from their recent interactions that didn't seem like such a crazy idea.

"I am definitely not cute."

"Doctor Spencer Reid, do we need to work on your self-esteem next?"

"No, of course not."

"Mhmm."

They parked and unloaded their bags from the trunk, Spencer taking both, one on each of his shoulders, and linking their hands together they made their way to her mother. She smiled at them and waved incessantly until they were standing right in front of the woman. She was wearing tan Capri pants and a very bright, very pink golf shirt. Her dark hair was tied into a ponytail and her custom sunglasses covered her eyes, which as soon as they were close enough she removed. As she looked around, she thought once more that grandma leaving them so much money was the worst idea she ever had. It was part of the reasons her accomplishments didn't seem as important to her relatives. They simply assumed she used her money and position to get them. Nothing could be further from the truth; she had managed to earn her position with hard work and effort. Refusing to touch her part of the inheritance, rather saving it for her kids if she had any, or to donate to all the charities she could think of. For now, she used part of her own salary to donate.

"If it isn't my favorite daughter and son-in-law!" the woman said with an excited tone.

"I am your only daughter, and he is your only son-in-law."

"Now, now, sweetie, don't be a downer. I just scored the best cabin for you two!" She hoped she would say it was the one closest to the lake, as that was her dream cabin. She had assumed Anna would take it, as her payment for cutting her honeymoon short, but maybe, just maybe she could have something nice for once. "I know how much privacy a young couple such as you two need" she winked at them, and she tried to hide her uneasiness. "So I got you two the second cabin closes to the lake!" And there it was, the moment she wished she could die.

She knew exactly which cabin her mother talked about. It was the cabin furthest from the rest which she didn't mind, but it was the smallest one. It only counted with a queen-size bed, no couch, no living room, or any other space to have privacy except the bathroom. Essentially, Spencer and she would be trapped in a very luxurious college dorm.

"That is so thoughtful of you, thank you," Reid said politely.

"Yes mother, how very kind." She paused, grabbing the key. "Now, I would like to show Spence our cabin if you don't mind?"

"Of course, go on sweetie, just please don't have too much fun, this is still a family gathering. Though if next year you brought us another member to the family that is also acceptable."

"Mother, stop!" She pulled Spencer towards their prison-cell-size cabin and didn't look at him until they were there. "I am so sorry, my mom probably thought this was a good idea, but I promise you I had nothing to do with it."

"What are you talking about?" He asked as she opened the door to the cabin. As soon as he walked inside, he understood. "Oh, I see."

The cabin was exactly as she remembered, a small door to the left and down the hall, another one to the right—the closet—and in the middle, the bed. There was barely enough space to walk around, let alone sleep.

"Does this count as fraternizing?" She joked. "If this is too much we can leave. I will tell my mom I am feeling sick, and we'll go back and forget about this. Yeah, why don't we do that?"

"It's okay. As long as you do not kick in your sleep, I think we'll be fine."

"You truly are a gem."

"I know." She slightly pushed him and then took her bag, placing it inside the closet. She laid on the right side of the bed as he followed suit, lying next to her. "So, I guess it's good I sleep on the left side then, huh?"

"Yeah."

"How long has your family done this whole retreat thing?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Have you always hated it?"

"No, there's something about getting your heart broken that simply sticks with you, you know?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Tell me about it." She turned her body, facing him.

"What do you want to know?"

"Who was it?"

"Her name was Elle, I mean, I guess technically it still is, unless she died or changed it." He began, turning to his side, looking back at her. "She used to work with us before you joined. She was there even before Emily."

"Spencer, you broke the rules?"

"We never dated, it's more complicated than that." He played with the cover of the bed. "I liked her for as long as I'd known her, but I never thought she was interested in me. It wasn't until one night, I went to her hotel room-"

"Reid!" she exclaimed, not wanting to hear his sexual adventures.

"It's not what you think." He assured with a smile on his lips. "She had been shot a couple of months prior and I knew the case we were working on was getting to her. I always noticed the smallest of changes with her, I guess that's what happens when you like someone."

"Yeah."

"We talked about it, I tried to be there for her. Before I left she kissed me." His face was adorned with a small sad smile. "It was the best kiss of my life. I was so ecstatic. I honestly don't know how long it lasted, just that after that day I knew, I didn't just like her, I loved her."

"What happened?"

"The case got to her, she ended up killing the suspect, and eventually she left. While we were in another case."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Without a goodbye."

"Spencer I am so sorry."

"It's okay, it was a long time ago."

"Still, you deserve better. I really hope she regrets it daily."

"She was not a bad person."

"I never said she was."

"Well, that's my story. Tell me yours." He smiled at her.

"Absolutely not. Your story and mine are completely different."

"Please, I just told you something I had never told anyone." He stared her down, his own puppy face forming, pleading silently for her to break. She hated the fact that hers didn't work on him and his had already done the job.

"Fine!" she exhaled and laid on her back, avoiding looking at him. "Tyler and I met when we were in college. We were both studying Political Science and we became really good friends. After we started dating I was over the moon. I had never been in love before, not like that anyway." She laughed at the memory; how pathetic she had been. "We had talked about marriage, and I told him the venue I wanted because I was so in love I had already begun planning our wedding. Hence how Anna knew exactly where to get married. What an idiot I was."

"You're not an idiot."

"Sure, whatever." She dismissed the comment. "The point is, I shared all these things with him and two years ago, during our family retreat, he stood up and told me, that he would forever be grateful for meeting me because thanks to me he had found the love of his life. I thought he was gonna propose, but instead, he told me that he was in love with Anna, and he wanted to be with her." She scoffed at the thought. "I got up and walked away, but I slipped and fell in the biggest mud pit you could imagine." She shook her head. "So there I was, watching my family clap at his confession of love, while I was covered in mud."

"What a bunch of jerks!"

"Yeah, well, you get used to it."

"You shouldn't have to do that. I can't believe no one even stood up for you."

"I can." She sighed and turned her head, looking him dead in the eye. "My family has this crazy belief that when someone leaves you, it's your fault, not theirs." She laughed bitterly. "This only fuels by my cousin's constant desire to destroy me, for no apparent reason."

"Why does she hate you so much? And how long have you two had this fight going on?"

"Your guess is as good as mine on the first one. The second one, it's been this way for as long as I can remember. I have always stuck with trying to show her I am doing good, better even, than I was the last time, trying to show her she can't break me, you know? She, on the other hand, started by stealing the themes of my birthday parties and ended up stealing my boyfriend." She looked away, as she spoke the next words. "Even on how we lost our dad, the family seemed to think she was better."

"What do you mean?"

"My parents got divorced when I was ten, I wasn't surprised, even at that age. They had only gotten married because of me, they never explicitly said it, but we all knew it to be true. There was no way a marriage like theirs would last. To my uncles and aunts, that was scandalous, it was my mother's fault, she didn't know how to keep a man. To me, it was clear that my mother was sick of putting up with an asshole like my father." Her face twisted at the mention. "Anna's mom, on the other hand, lost her husband to cancer. According to my family that is a much more prideful way to lose a father and husband."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, completely. My family has this backward ideal, that since our grandma left us much more money than we would need in two lifetimes, that the only thing we could do to make them proud was finding a spouse and not lose them unless they died." She laughed bitterly. "That's why I don't mind ignoring them."

"I am so sorry; I never even imagined your life was like that." He took a hold of her hand and squeezed it gently.

"It's okay, I have a better family: the BAU."

"You consider us family?"

"Absolutely. Ever since I first pushed the doors to the bullpen, well, after I pulled for a little bit."

"But you and I, we were never that close."

"It doesn't matter to me." She assured him. "When Morgan got arrested, I had barely been with you guys for a week and I was prepared to punch that stupid detective in the face and break him out myself. I knew that wouldn't get me anywhere, so I used my head and my lack of time with you guys to help as best as I could. That is also why I told Ben I was the FBI agent when we were held in the church. Even if you and I had never spoken, aside from when I reprimanded you my first day, and although Emily and I were not that close at the moment, I knew I would do anything to protect you two, I would never allow you to get hurt."

"I don't know what to say."

"You already said something." A grin spread across both their faces. "There is no need to say anything. I didn't tell you this to make you feel guilty or empathetic. I told you because you shared a part of your heart with me. I am telling you because you offered your most heartfelt secret to us, to me: your mom's situation. I never really told you how much knowing that meant to me, and now you know."

"I didn't do that because I wanted to."

"I know, but you still did it. I was no one, you didn't owe me any explanations, and you still provided me one. It was one of the first times I felt included."

"I have a lot of respect and appreciation for you."

"And I for you."

There was a long comfortable silence, their hands still together, they both now laid on their back, letting their shared conversation sink in. She was right after all, after their time together in this ridiculous plan of hers, Spencer and she had finally bonded, she could now consider him a friend. A really good one at that. One she did not mind being trapped in a small cabin with.

"As much as I want grandbabies, dinner is almost ready and everybody is waiting for you!" her mom broke the silence, making her embarrassment return.

"MOM! Stop saying things like that out loud!"

"Then hurry up!"

She turned to look at her friend. "Ready?"

"As ready as they come." They stood from the bed and made their way to what the next two days had in store for them.

#spencer reid #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #cm

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the-currian · 4 years

Note

May I request for 16 with tsumugi from the prompt list please 🥺 i have such bad tsumugi brainworms now 😭

OKAY TSUMUGI IS A FREAKING ANGEL, ALL MY UWU’s ARE FOR HIM. Also I hope you don’t mind, I inserted a certain headcanon of mine for this scenario - I feel like Tsumu would be the type of person to keep a bullet journal to make up for his weakness in technology. All people I know that keep bullet journals (myself included) tend to be obsessive over their bujo habits and I personally beat myself up a bit whenever I screw up something in my bullet journal huhu.

16. Knows your schedule from the back of their heads (and gets shocked when there is a sudden change to your routine)

Tsumugi prided himself on being an organized person. While he wasn’t as strait-laced as a certain childhood friend of his, Tsumugi was quite meticulous.

Not that keen with technology, Tsumugi had developed the habit of keeping a bullet journal. He relished in being able to express himself through his writing – keeping pages filled with trivial things like random doodles, to sentimental things like pressed flowers, to important things like training regimens and daily spreads. It only made sense to him that when you two started dating he would make spreads with you as his muse. Aside from some spreads that he kept of the memories you two have made as a couple, he included your daily activities alongside his own daily spreads.

Which is why Tsumugi is surprised to see you in the audience of his troupe’s public dress rehearsal. His head immediately starts racing in confusion.

‘Did I get their schedule wrong? What are they doing here?’

Tsumugi’s apparent carelessness in keeping track of your schedule bothers him so much that his anxiety starts to manifest in his acting. He tries his best to hold in his grimace onstage when he hears murmuring coming from the audience. His castmates pick up on it, too, and struggle to follow through with their performance with their leader’s head in the clouds. The tense atmosphere of the theater drags on until Tsumugi’s final monologue of the first act. He walks to the center of the stage when you catch his eye, and the silence before he starts becomes a bit too long as he zones out. You give him a smile and thumbs up in encouragement, trying your best to communicate your support for him in that moment without words. This seems to flip on a switch for Tsumugi and his eyes widen as he registers your actions. He delivers his lines with the prowess you know him to have, and you beam as the curtain falls, signaling the end of the first act.

Matsukawa’s voice rings throughout the intercom, announcing a fifteen-minute intermission, and you practically leap out of your seat to race over backstage. Not giving yourself any time for second-guessing you throw open the door without knocking, startling the members of the Winter Troupe. Ignoring all of the adults’ piercing gazes, you call out to your boyfriend.

“Tsumugi.” You say in a firm tone, prompting the other members to shuffle out of the room, mumbling excuses about going over to the wings.

Your boyfriend keeps his head hung down in shame, even as you approach him. Carefully, so as to not spook him, you place your hands on his shoulders.

“Tsumu.”

He still doesn’t look at you but he does make a little hum of affirmation to let you know he’s listening.

“What’s going on?” you say softly, gently rubbing circles into his shoulders to help him relax. “You’re off your game tonight. Come on, talk to me.”

Tsumugi stays quiet and you are about to rescind your offer and leave him to his thoughts, choosing to respect his need for space, when he grabs your wrists and finally looks at you. You’re startled to see sorrow and worry in his gaze.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“Eh?” you can’t help but utter in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

Tsumugi sighs and stands up, picking up his bag from the dresser. As he rummages through it, your mind races as you speculate what could’ve prompted the unexpected apology coming from Tsumugi.

He produces a moleskin journal and starts frantically flipping through the pages, sputtering words like “journal” and “schedule”, too fast for you to follow.

“Tsumu, calm down!”

At your exasperated tone, he quiets himself and looks as if he’s about to draw himself back into his shell.

“No no, Tsumu, I’m not mad at you. Just tell me what you’re going on about clearly so I can understand what’s going on.” You say, this time in a much gentler tone. “Now, why did you feel the need to apologize?”

Tsumugi’s face colors as he turns his attention back to his journal, flipping to what looked like a color-coded page. He turns the journal to face you, and your attention is drawn to the big “OUR SCHEDULE” written in elegant calligraphy at the top of the page. You’re shocked, but also flattered, to see details about your daily and weekly schedule details written out in a way that complements his own. Something clicks in your head as you take note of the details that involve today’s dress rehearsal.

“Tsumu, is this what has you all worked up?” you ask, pointing out today’s schedule. It clearly stated that you had an outing today at work to attend to while he had his public dress rehearsal.

“Y-yeah.” He mutters. “I know I’m not that good with technology, so I keep this journal to help myself stay organized. Everything important to me is in here. Seeing you here at my event is kinda throwing me off my focus. Did I mishear you? Did I forget something? Was I not paying attention? Shouldn’t I know these things as your boy-“

“Hey,” you chide lightly, stopping him before he spirals down his train of thought. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he obliges.

“It’s okay to have some spontaneity. You didn’t mishear me, you didn’t forget anything – heck, you’re the most attentive boyfriend I’ve ever had and I absolutely love you for it.”

“Then why…?” he trails off with a pout, brow furrowed in frustration.

You give him a reassuring smile.

‘He’s just too cute!’

“I decided to skip the outing at work today so I could catch your dress rehearsal. It’s been awhile since your last play at your actual company, so I wanted to surprise you.” You let out a sheepish laugh. “Guess I didn’t surprise you the way I intended.”

Tsumugi’s eyes widen at your confession. Finally, a smile forms on his lips. “Thank you.”

You give him a peck on the cheek before standing up. “Alright, now go out there and show them what you’re made of!”

At your words, a determined glint shines in his eyes.

“You bet.”

True to his word, the second act goes off without a hitch, the entire cast’s morale boosting from the energy their leader radiated.

Following the dress rehearsal, the play consistently gets stellar reviews up until closing night. On closing night, you wait for Tsumugi at a café, waving to him when he walks in. Once he settles down into his seat next to you, he gives you a chaste kiss on the mouth.

“Hey, flower.” He murmurs as he pulls away.

“Look at what I got!” you say excitedly, pulling out a moleskin journal of your own from your bag. Tsumugi’s eyes widen and he breaks out into a smile. “I was hoping you could help me out?”

Tsumugi immediately pulls out his own journal, along with several art materials, from his own bag, and the two of you get to work on planning your futures together.

#a3!#a3! scenarios #tsumugi tsukioka #tsumugi x reader #a3game #a3! fanfic

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

Text

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @broken-pens @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall @moxiety--sanders101 @theyluna-womoon

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Last update Wednesday/Thursday. Second to last chapter! Damn nearly over already.

Chapter Seven: Fuck Me

The Present.

Patton flug Remus’s door open so fast there was briefly a void where it bluntly cut through and the air was too slow to refill the space.

And he caught the doorknob quickly before it knocked a hole in the wall because he wasn’t actually going to trash his friend’s place. That would be a dick move.

Patton made a beeline for Remus’s bed. Pulling out the mini fridge tucked underneath, not yet pausing to properly acknowledge Remus.

“Patton?”

“Remus.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think.”

Patton tipped his head back and—

Remus snatched it from Patton’s hands and promptly poured the unholy liquid on his carpet. What? Do you really think he cares more about a stain on his stupid carpet than his best friends mental breakdown? Shame. Shame on you.

Patton mournfully watched it sink into the carpet. There was a look in his eyes Remus knew meant he was mentally debating. “If you lick that off the floor I will disown you,” he snapped him out of it.

…

Coming to settle beside Patton, he rested a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me what happened, Puppy,” Remus carefully told him. He applied a warm, gentle pressure with his palm to Patton’s shoulder, who subconsciously leaned into the touch, knowing it helped ground him. The poor touch starved soul. Patton was ravanis for touch.

“Don’t call me Puppy. I’m not in the mood,” Patton quipped.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

“I got rid of my fake friends, happy?”

“You— you w-what?” Remus stammered, his grip briefly wavering, yet Patton collapsed further into him. Remus quickly braced him with his other hand as well. The faintest of smiles grace Patton as his eyes fluttered closed for a second. “So what? I’ve got you.”

“But why even are we friends, Patton?” Remus said, desperately confused. “They’re not wrong, you’ve said so yourself. I’m a bad influence on you.”

“You say that as if I’m any better of an influence on you,” Patton chided, slurring slightly, but he suddenly felt incredibly, painfully sober. The hopeless hurt in Remus’s voice felt like an ice cube sliding down his back.

“Seriously, Patton!”

Patton bit his tongue to repress a comment about Remus being a very un-serious person, or a, “Logan, is that you?” Instead he tried deflecting with a half/mostly-truth.

“It doesn’t matter. It never has, we just are what we are and I’m happy with us, aren’t you?” He said earnestly.

“It does matter if you’re going to give up your life as a light side for me— ditching all your friends— for me! Me, of all people,” Remus said, feeling like he was talking to a brick wall. “W-wha— what—” his hysterics muddled his words, “What kind of nutter does that?!”

“A nutter who has thought it’s tea time for the past couple years I suppose…” Patton dropped his eyes to his knotted fingers, a dead chuckle on his lips. Patton tripped into thinking of what he’s really just done.

(Patton didn’t have nearly as strict of a moral code as he used to. It’s only natural: Morals are completely subjective and change all the time. Currently, his moral code had been stripped down to two rules. Very lenient rules at that. One, as long as you’re not hurting others, it’s okay. This rule used to include “or yourself” but that part of the rule had been overwritten by his second rule. Don’t be a hypocrite.

Rule number two, don’t be a hypocrite, was the most important rule and it took prominence over every decision he made. It’s the rule that ultimately dissolved every other rule he’d ever made for himself and Thomas. As he kept breaking his own rules, he’d have to cross them off the list.

An identity crisis would be a polite way to describe Patton’s mental state. The subjectivity of morality, combined with his ultimately inconsequential feelings, shattered his entire selfhood. (See, his vobaculary consisted of some fucking brobdingnagian words.) But he didn’t mope about it. If his feelings didn’t matter to anyone else, why should they matter to him either?

Patton would also say that “treat others how you would like to be treated” was a rule he lived by too, but what he really means is “treat others how they treat you” which is, fundamentally, very different. It was also the rule he ended up justifying his words with (not that they needed justification. That’s not something truth requires). Patton had hurt them. He knew he did, and he knew it was wrong. Yet, he couldn’t seem to summon the energy to bother with apologies. They had treated him like shit. They talked down to and stepped all over his emotions and opinions. He had every right to do the exact same as far as he was concerned.

He was supposed to be morality, after all. He decided what was good and bad or inbetween. If the others disagreed, too bad, he was right by default.)

This is all a long way of saying fuck you. Fuck them. I’m fucking done.

(Fuck was Patton’s favourite word, if you couldn’t tell. It just felt so, well, fucking good to say. Fucking liberating. Fuck was a word he could always rely on for proper fucking emphasis, and to fill fucking awkward silences. Patton would never be speechless again, even when he’s too drunk to conceptualise language, now that he has Fuck to fill that void. Totally didn’t have anything to do with the fact Fuck rhymes with duck, something so innocent. So far away from each other while simultaneously being separated by only one letter. Patton could relate to that on a spiritual level.)

Meanwhile, as Patton slipped into spiraling thoughts that would inevitably lead him to, “Would it be better to have a flashy but painful death, say, via explosion, or a boring but less painful death like gorging himself on sleeping pills?” And so on, Remus watched on with due drop round, doe eyes. Tears wedged his eyelids wide open, sclera reddening with the strain. He knew the look on his companions face and it was never good. Under the influence of too many drinks and Remus’s room wasn’t a good combination.

Maybe if the others hadn’t hindered Patton maturing naturally, Patton might not have completely rejected his inherent childness. (Who knows, that’s just Remus’s opinion.) Doesn’t matter now. It wasn’t exactly something you could grow back like fingernails to hang on your chalkboard.

Remus presented him with a glass of water.

Patton, regardless of his mental state, looked unimpressed.

“Did you just summon that?” He said, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Just drink it,” Remus said, exasperated.

“Everything you summon tastes awful! And it’s water that’s all I’ll be able to taste,” Patton cringed, leaning back with folded arms.

Remus scoffed. “As if anything you summon is any better.”

“Excuse me, but I’d rather bitter honey over pickle juice so salty it makes your tongue feel dry,” he argued.

Glass insistently was pressed against his lips. Remus’s eyelids dropped into a deadpan stare, which Patton tried to glare into submission. Remus didn’t relent. Slowly, Patton’s resolve weakened and slipped from him in a sigh that parted his lips. Glass was simultaneously shoved past his teeth. Patiently, Remus tipped the glass, assisting the pickle-water to flow, until Patton’s timid hands had a good hold. Their touch lingered before Remus relented.

Despite the taste, the drink (let’s face it, it’s hardly water) settled the crashing waves inside his bones, sobering him somewhat.

…

“Just because they’ve known me longer doesn’t mean they know me better,” Patton eventually said.

“You're not the one sheltering me supposedly for my own good. You’re not the one making decisions for me, talking down to me, making me feel dumb. You’re not the one making me pick sides, putting pressure on me. You’re the one who lets me be myself. You're the one who I can spill my guts out to. I don’t have to worry about judgment, with you. You’re my real friend.

And if they won’t let me be around you, then so be it. They’re not my friends anymore.”

“I’m— I-I’m not worth it, Patton.”

“Yes! You are! Remus, you’re worth everything!”

A rabbit heart hopped in the silence.

“…I love you…” Patton whispered. His eyes widened. He was realising for the first time. “Love love.”

“You… you what?” Remus was in shock.

“I wouldn’t spend every speck of my free time with someone I didn’t love. I wouldn’t do favours for someone I didn’t love. It took me a while but I— shit— god-fucking-damnit I fucking love you,” Patton whimpered. The realisation smacked him over the head like a mace. Him and his foolish heart knew perfectly well that Remus wasn’t interested in dating whatsoever. Why must he fall for the one person who can’t return his feelings?

“I’m so fucking sorry,” dispair warped Patton’s words, squeaking past his narrowing throat, into a beg. A beg for it to not be true? A beg for forgiveness? A beg to please not hate him?

“It doesn’t have to have a label. We’ll… figure it out as we go.”

Huh?

Nervously, Remus reached out a hand to Patton’s cheek. His touch was feather light.

Lightly pressing their skin flush so his emanating warmth seeped into him, Patton held Remus’s hand to his cheek. He briefly imagined his hands slipping up into his hair and locking them in a secure grip so Remus could have his way with him in a way that made sense. Not in this gentle, and caring, and unimaginable way. Either way, Patton was more than willing— eager— to give himself. Whichever way he wanted, Patton would pour his love into him.

Patton and Remus had always shown each other their love (platonic or otherwise) in a language they could understand, and Remus wasn’t going to stop now.

“Maybe we don’t love each other in the same way, but we still love each other, right? That’s what matters.”

Then Patton chanced a glance at Remus’s eyes. A glance turned into a mesmerized stare when Remus’s hazel framed, paradoxically glimmering blackhole pupils pulled his gaze in.

Patton had never seen anything like it, but he didn’t need to to know exactly what it meant. It was unmistakable. A glimpse into the innermost depth of his being where only the most precious tenderness could reside. It didn’t leak into his body language, facial expressions, or even corrupt his words with stutters. It pooled solely in his pupils that had been pumped full of the ebbing love. What breed of love it was didn’t matter, Patton would cherish it.

Patton saw past the event horizon.

That’s when he realised he'd never seen anything like it within any of the others. Never was there any substance to their charade. He should have known, the fool he was.

Before Patton could react (which in reality was quite slow, but Patton’s mind was working at the pace of dragging your feet through mud), Remus scooped him up in his arms.

“I can still walk.”

“I know.”

Patton felt like he was pushing his luck, but he still had to ask, “Stay?”

“Of course.”

Next Chapter:

#WAW(B)F?#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #sanders sides #ts sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #intruality #moduke #thomas sanders sides

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Softest Fire (Part 18)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 1518

Warnings: None

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo.

“So what are you going to do for work, if not magic?” Nora asked over tea in her kitchen. This was the first time I came out of my room. I think Newt’s visit did me some good, whether or not I wanted to believe it. He said so many things. So many things I’d wanted to hear for so long. I just hated that he had to say them to me now, to start to pull me out of this downward spiral I’d been on.

This was a start though.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t even help Newt feed the creatur--”

“Nora,” I stressed, my voice drawing her name out in warning.

“I’m just saying. He missed you, really bad. It pains me to watch you two go through what you did to come back and…”

“And what?” I softly asked.

“And I just hate to see you two go through this. You wanted him for so long, then you couldn’t have him. Then he wanted you for so long and couldn’t have you. Now you two finally have a shot and you’re throwing it away.”

“I’m not trying to throw it away but the idea of being around magic kills me. Even if it’s just feeding animals. Newt and I can still have a future and me not work with him.”

“So you’d take a muggle job?”

“I don’t really know at this point,” I said, shaking my head.

“Well, for a start, we’ve all been invited to a wedding. It’s something to do to get you back in the social world without the pressure of doing work.”

“Whose?”

“Jeannette’s.”

“And she invited… me?”

“Well you are a bit of a celebrity.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose I am.”

“But seriously. Theseus, Newt, and I are all invited and she said if you were feeling better you were welcome to come too.”

“That’s really nice of her.”

“So you’ll come?”

I nodded. “I’ll come.”

“Great!”

“Dress shopping?” I wondered as Nora got up to refresh our tea.

“Actually, yes,” she stated with a sly grin when she sat down, clinking my cup with hers.

“Are you serious? Cousin!” I couldn’t help but throw my arms around her. “You’re finally coming around to the idea of a skirt.”

“Don’t get attached to the idea. This is a special occasion.”

I toned down my smile and reigned in my joy.

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

Nora and I fell into the apartment laughing, only to be interrupted by a cough. She and I composed ourselves immediately and found that Theseus and Newt were in the apartment. My eyes shied away from Theseus, it was still hard to face him after… well after everything I did and said to him.

“Hello you two,” Newt greeted politely as he stood. “Shopping?”

“Yes. I was told we were all invited to a wedding and I insisted on something new,” I told Newt.

“You’ll look as beautiful as a firebird, no doubt,” he said in a gentle voice as he gazed at me.

That gaze. It used to stop me in my tracks, make my heartbeat erratic. Now, it made me feel as though I were under a magnifying glass. I felt like a broken vase, a once cherished item now in bits and pieces on the floor. Something pitiful, something to shake one’s head at and say “What a shame.”

“Could I talk with you privately for a moment?” he suddenly requested.

When I nodded, he took my elbow gently and guided me back out into the hall.

“I… I’m glad you’re out of your room.”

“Me too,” I breathed. “I missed the outside world. Kind of. I still fear…”

He nodded, so I didn’t have to finish the sentence. Stating that man’s name always made my stomach flip.

“That’s completely understandable, considering what you went through and who he is.”

“Yeah… So… is that what you wanted to talk about?” I questioned, hoping to get off this topic as quickly as humanly possible.

“Actually, no. No. No, I uh… I wanted to ask you something?” he said as if he wasn’t sure, peering up at me with nervous eyes.

“Oh, well Newt, you know you can ask me anything.” I reached up and rubbed his upper arm before giving it a squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear that. Uh… Well, I was wondering -- it might be too forward, or too soon, but--but if it is, tell me. Would you… perhaps… accompany me… to Jeannette’s wedding?”

A bright smile slowly crept onto my face. “You want me to be your date?” I repeated.

“Only if you’re okay with that, of course.”

“Newt, I would be honored, nay, privileged to be your date to this wedding. I really appreciate you asking me. Of course I’ll go with you.”

He smiled back at me, blushing, almost as much as I was.

“Thank you. Well, I must be off. I need to relieve Bunty and get a new suit.”

“Of course.”

He quickly kissed my cheek, leaving me to touch my cheek gently as he left. I smiled to myself as the door shut. Just then, Nora and Theseus rounded the corner of the hallway.

“Newt just asked me to the wedding,” I stated, beaming.

“How nice,” Theseus quipped before starting to go around me.

“Uh, Theseus would you mind if I spoke with you alone? Nora, would you mind?” I asked, peeking around him.

Nora nodded. “Sure, that’s fine. I need to go change the bedsheets anyway.” She went up the stairs and rounded the corner.

“What is it, Rosaline?” he asked, already not thrilled with being face to face with me and alone.

“I want to… well…” I swallowed, trying to gain my courage. “Theseus, I never apologized for what I said to you after Paris. I said some awful, cruel, terrible things to you. I’m truly sorry. You’re mourning and I shouldn’t have used the death of your fiance as some sort of tool to hurt you with.”

“I’m glad you recognize that.”

“I’m also sorry for how I behaved beforehand. When I was cursed, it brought out everything vile in me. That’s no excuse for how I was before the curse. I butted heads with Leta more often than I should have and I was mean to her and you, and neither of you deserved that. Leta certainly didn’t deserve her death and I am so sorry you had to witness it and go through that. She sacrificed herself and she was selfless. We didn’t get along, I didn’t agree with her behavior at Hogwarts, but none of that excuses how truly immature I could be.”

Theseus merely nodding, and I felt the silence was an invitation to keep going.

“She doesn’t deserve to have her memory tarnished, and I for one won’t do that. I will tell you that I felt like your brother deserved better at Hogwarts, and I felt that Nora deserved to be with you, rather than Leta. That’s not my place to say, and I know that. But, my opinions, my feelings about Leta aside, I am sorry for you. You’re a wonderful, patient person, and a damned good auror. You lead your people and you balance emotion and logic excellently.”

He smiled lightly.

“Theseus… For what it’s worth, I am sorry, for everything before, after, and in between Paris. Leta was a good person at heart and you nor her deserved the grief I gave you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If you can’t, I completely understand. I just felt you should know that I didn’t mean any of it, not… I didn’t want her to ever get hurt, or you.”

“I… appreciate that,” he said with a tense smile. “I can forgive everything after Paris, you weren’t yourself. While I don’t agree with your opinion on Leta, in a strange way it warms my heart knowing the only reason you disliked her was because of Newt. So I forgive you.”

I gave a sorrowful smile. “I only wish she were here that I could tell her that myself. I let petty emotions get the better of me and I’ll never be able to make that right in her eyes.”

He reached up and squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sure she knows.”

I nodded. “Thank you. You’re a great man. I wish I could be more like you some day,” I half teased. Only it wasn’t a joke. Looking around at everyone I knew… I wished I had the courage and bravery of Nora. I wished I had the depth of compassion and heart that Newt did. I wish I had the patience and kindness that Theseus possessed. I wished I had the wisdom and clear mind of Dumbledore. I truly looked up to all those I cared about and hoped that one day I could be half the person they each were.

All he did was bob his head and seek out Nora. My gaze narrowed on his retreating form. Those two seemed to be spending a lot of time together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the softest fire #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander x ofc #newt scamander fic #newt scamander

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enchanted-prose · 4 years

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#13 Feall’s Deadly Dance

I just-

this is chOnky im sorry

Word count: 6, 991

Characters: Imogen, Jaron, Mott, Harlowe, Tobias, Commander Regar (Original character), Feall Cormeach (original character), the Faola (original character)

Notes: my beautiful editing beta fish said this one was a blast so you have that to look forward to as you read 25 pages worth of ascendance content.

Enjoy!

"I brought you something, Jaron."

Oh, did she now?

His interest was captured. Jaron sat up from where he was lying on the floor. "Imogen, I'm-"

"It's alright, we all have bad days," Imogen said, she handed him a mug, and sat down beside him.

Did he have a good enough excuse for what he did? Probably not. Too much energy pulsed through Jaron's body. It was time to escape. Time to get out.

Taking it out on Roden was all too easy.

It was easier to throw a punch than discuss tender topics.

He was coming to terms with his anxiety by ignoring it. His palms were always sweaty, and his stomach was constantly being squeezed. Something was staring at him right in the face. Jaron scratched the back of his head.

Imogen's hand was on his shoulder, she was there to listen.

"I'll be meeting with Lord Row this afternoon," Jaron muttered. "I have a plan for whatever he asks. A way to help Avenia in any way we can."

"Good, a plan is always good," said Imogen, a tiny smile fluttering across her face.

Jaron lived for those tiny butterfly smiles.

"There's too much waiting in the future. I don't like that I've once again had to bargain with a criminal and I don't like all of this pressure to find Mireldis Thay. I know how it feels to be the lost

royal, and even if she's alive, I'd rather respect her choice to remain hidden. Her name is being

used as a scapegoat, and it's not fair."

Silence settled in. Jaron sipped from his mug; Imogen had brought him some sour tasting tea. The warmth spread through his throat, threatening to overtake the chilling anxiety that hadn’t quite left since he’d returned to court so long ago.

Even if he couldn’t save everyone, he could do what he could to help.

“Do you think I should apologize to Roden for what I did last night?” Jaron mumbled.

A dark curl fell across Imogen’s nose as she shook her head. “I think you might make him mad. Give him a little space, and then apologize.”

An apology was due this time. Jaron had been the one to start their fight.

Uncomfortable emotions tugged at his false sense of normalcy.

He chose to run from what he felt. “Did you know that Jolly has quite the network of people?”

“I did, actually. Amarinda was a little upset when she found out he’d be staying in Drylliad,” Imogen squeezed Jaron’s shoulder. “She fears that many of the people we’ve met aren’t who they say they are.”

“Nobody is who they say they are. We tell people what we want them to think and only show our true faces when we’re alone.”

“That’s not quite true.”

“Oh yes it is, Imogen.”

Anger was rising up in his lungs. Drink the tea, drink the tea. Jaron tipped his head back and didn’t stop drinking the scalding liquid even as it seared down his throat.

It was still hard to accept that no matter how hard he tried to hide, Imogen was there. She was always there with a kind word, and always there with a biting word if he did something dangerous.

But she was welcome.

Everyone’s filled with holes.

When he was removed from his family a decade ago, a Mother sized hole tore through his heart, followed by a Father shaped hole, and a Darius shaped hole.

No, no. It wasn’t a hole, it was a hollow. Hollows could be filled, but not every hole could.

Jaron had a family hollow in his heart for too long.

He was still getting used to having that hollow filled. Still getting used to how Imogen had stepped into his hollow, hollow heart and filled him with warmth.

Sometimes that warmth burst, and he always gave into it.

Emotion was a curse that plagued his family. Too much sympathy, too much energy, too much of everything.

It wasn’t very often that he lost control. In fact, Jaron prided himself on his ability to hold his head high in the face of condescending nobles. They tried their best to use his unorthodox tendencies against him, and he responded with a ferocity that his father, King Eckbert, had lacked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said,” Jaron dragged his hand over his face. “I haven’t been feeling as prepared as I’d like to be.”

Imogen was silent for several moments, then leaned over, and smoothed down Jaron’s hair. “Is there anything I can do to help? As your friend, and your wife, I want to support you however I can.”

There were so many things he needed, but the second somebody asked, he didn’t want to speak of them.

With Imogen, it was different.

She’d seen him at his very best and very worst, there was nothing he could willingly hide from her.

“I, ah, I’m having trouble picking my battles.”

“Which battles? We’ll go through them together.”

Go through battle together. With Imogen at his side, Jaron could do anything. He set down the mug, and reached for her hand. “I’ve been considering my deal with Ayvar, about catching the patched Faola who nearly butchered Feall. There’s too many things I can’t figure out, too many details are missing, and I can’t make a gamble without them.”

“Are there connections you’ve made?” Imogen asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. “There’s more to this than just an attack on a military leader. It reeks of something worse. I think the attack on Feall was very much on purpose; I think it was an assassination attempt.”

“But the motive? What was the motive? Feall has charmed everyone at court, he’s very well liked. It’s very difficult to get a large group of people in on an assassination attempt, and Ayvar’s resistance only proves that.”

“Are we ruling out money as a motive?”

Jaron drummed his fingers against the back of Imogen’s hand. “I think so. Too expensive for a group that large to attack one man. I’m also ruling out robbery, as Tobias, Renlyn, and Mott weren’t harmed on purpose. Any injuries that came were because they fought back.”

The most obvious remaining motive held the lowest moral ground.

Perhaps Feall had been attacked because somebody wanted his head on a pike, because somebody hated him with a fire that could only be put out with Feall’s death.

An attacker thinking like this would find a way to take their revenge, or die trying.

“I’m sorry, I have to stand, it’s hard to-” Jaron began, but Imogen had already sprung to her feet.

She’d extended her hand. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ll walk to the atrium.”

His heart was going to burst.

Imogen didn’t need to hear his excuse. She just knew. She’d grown to accept that his mind worked best while he moved.

There were times when he questioned why he prayed to the Saints, as it was very clear that he was married to one of them.

Arm in arm, Jaron and Imogen left the office, their pace gradually quickening. Fast walking made for fast thinking.

Who on earth would want Feall dead enough to follow him to Carthya?

Memories, memories. Jaron wrinkled his nose as he thought back to when Feall first arrived so many weeks ago.

The Faola had attacked him then too, called Feall by name, who responded in turn. Jaron hadn’t noticed it then. Hadn’t notice how casual the exchange was despite lives being on the line.

Feall knew who his attacker was.

"What are they calling you here? Shrike? The Black Knight?"

"Fight me like a man, Feall. There's a score to be settled."

"Many people want to settle scores with me, you'll have to tell me your name first.”

"Rot in Hell."

“You know that I’m not the one who’ll be rotting with the Devils.”

“Feall insists that the attacker was Mireldis Thay, but I didn’t think it was true. People take powerful names all the time,” Jaron mused, shifting his hand to the small of Imogen’s back. “I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I was wrong.”

The movement was subtle, but Jaron had a trained eye. He saw the tiny flicker of Imogen’s hand as it brushed her left collarbone.

Though her wound had healed long ago, Imogen’s shoulder could never quite forget the pain of an arrow wound. Her ghost pains made the occasional appearance. Jaron trained himself to catch the signs of their return.

He guided her away from the busy hallway, and kissed her fingertips, “Are you alright?”

The smile on Imogen’s face was sharp and bitter, nothing like the shy butterfly smiles she’d been flashing not long ago.

She paused for a moment, her hand hovering over her collarbone. Her hand fell to her side. “I can think of quite a few reasons why- if Feall’s claims are right -Thay would want him dead by her own hand.”

Was it wrong that Jaron nodded his head?

Was it wrong that he knew what that lust for revenge tasted like?

Revenge was easy to justify, it was easy to die for, and it was easy to spiral down the wrong path because of it.

Jaron touched Imogen’s face.

“I don’t want to be coddled, Jaron, I want to continue this conversation,” Imogen rolled her shoulders back. “If Feall is right, then we have to consider where Mireldis is coming from.”

“Mireldis might not be alive, too,” Jaron noted, taking great care to keep his pace slow and even.

“Then we find somebody who’s seen her. Who knows her.”

“I, ah, I can think of somebody who might have our answers.”

“Are we thinking of the same person?” Imogen arched her eyebrows.

He made a face, desperate to distract Imogen from feeling her ghost pains again.“Possibly, but just in case, you say your answer first so I can agree with you.”

“Jolly may have what we’re looking for. He seems to know everyone who ever lived.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Jaron grinned. He looped an arm around Imogen’s waist. “Perhaps we could pay him a visit. With a list of ballads, of course, I have no intention of listening to Ingrithay ever again.”

“Catchy ballad?” asked Imogen, her hand settling atop Jaron’s.

“Catchy and creepy.”

There was blood in the kitchen,

There was-

No! Not again!

There was a time from long, long ago when Jaron’s father would let him play in the corner of his study. . . If Jaron agreed to be quiet. Eckbert had a fondness for yellow citrus in his tea, and Jaron had a fondness for biting into whatever food he could. There would be no forgetting the way that slice of lemon tore through Jaron’s child mouth.

The expression he wore was the equivalent to the face he’d made after realizing how big of a mistake it was to bite into a lemon.

“Careful dear, your face will freeze that way,” Imogen said, patting Jaron’s cheek.

“But would you still love me if my face looked that way? That’s my real concern,” countered Jaron.

“I’d still love you no matter what way your face freezes.”

“Imogen, you’re implying that my face is going to freeze.”

“I’ve seen the expressions you make while explaining what the nobles request.”

Jaron chuckled, he couldn’t deny that. He’d considered becoming a model for gargoyle expressions. They could learn from the deep grimaces he made when reading over suggested policies.

“Would you still love me if I were a miniscule beetle?” He stepped ahead of Imogen, and held open the door to the massive atrium.

She nodded, “I would, in fact. I’d take care of you and make you a little beetle house and give you little crumbs of cake.”

“Promise me you won’t give me lentils. They’re disgusting and bad for beetles.”

“I didn’t realize beetles had specific diets.”

“They don’t, I just don’t want you to feed beetle me any lentils.”

Imogen set her hand over her heart, “I swear I won’t feed you any lentils in the event that you are magically turned into a bug.”

“A beetle Imogen. There’s a difference.”

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

Gold sunset light saturated the entire castle. It almost lifted Jaron’s spirits as he looked over each of his regents.

They all stood as he walked into the throne room, flanked by Mott and Harlowe. He held out his hand, prompting them to sit, and sat down in his cushioned chair. Gold sunset light saturated the throne room. One man remained standing. He flashed a small grin at Jaron.

Lord Thomas Row was wearing a splendid hook, but aside from that, wore almost the same clothing that he’d worn the day before. His braided black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and adorned with a series of elegant beads.

He stood out among the richly dressed regents.

“Your Majesty, I once again must thank you on behalf of Avenia for assisting us during this time,” Row said, bowing deeply.

Jaron dipped his head, “It’s what anyone would do for an ally; for a friend. I’m prepared to hear what you’ve come to say, and I’m prepared to give Avenia aid in any way possible.”

With some exceptions, of course. Jaron refused to turn to dishonesty for as long as he could, he’d seen what happened when somebody was afraid to face the truth.

He’d been a victim of what happened when somebody was afraid to face the truth.

“We pray that all is well in Avenia,” Harlowe said. “Please, tell us of Avenia.”

The regents leaned forward in their chairs; Row rolled his shoulders back. “Your Majesty, regents, Sir Mott, I bring news of mixed success. I am proud to say that the southern region is doing well, we’ve allowed everyone an opportunity to learn to read, and in turn, our now literate farmers have been able to bring us economic success with their imports and exports.

“We’ve seen this pattern throughout the entire country, although this progress hasn’t spread easily through the northern regions. This is where we come for Carthyan aid, King Jaron. There are rumors of revolution in Isel. We haven’t found the cause of these rumors, though we suggest they were put into Iseli heads by an outside source, likely Gelynian or another outside source.

“King Aranscot has long envied Isel and its value. King Kippenger’s reign is still much like an unsteady colt stumbling through its first day, it wouldn’t take much for King Aranscot to topple the entire regime, and plunge Avenia into darkness once again.”

“Are you requesting military assistance, Lord Row?” Jaron asked, his hands clasped in his lap.

Row shook his head, “Not to that extent, your Highness. King Kippenger would feel much better knowing there is at least a small Carthyan presence in Isel.”

Ah, yes, Carthyan influence.

If Jaron played his cards right, he’d be able to fulfill Kippenger’s request without causing any offense. He wouldn’t be able to send Roden, his reputation preceded him, and Roden’s presence would likely invoke more fear than peace.

But if he placed a noble there, one with enough popularity, that could bring Kippenger a new sense of ease.

Renlyn Karise’s name bounced around in his head.

She’d be a valuable asset to Isel, she had property there, and enough power to hire her own army if needed.

However, Renlyn was a good friend to Imogen, and Jaron didn’t have the heart to sever that relationship.

Jaron felt a frown tug at his lips. He scanned the regents, trying to find Tobias for support. “Could you see this unease growing into a call to arms against King Kippenger?”

Tobias gave the slightest nod of his head.

“Perhaps, although we’d rather be safe than sorry, Avenia’s armies would be able to handle the insurgents should any fighting arise,” explained Row. “We hope that Carthya’s presence would be enough to stifle any more talk of revolution.”

“Hope might not be enough, but I am willing to take that risk in order to keep the peace.”

“Your Majesty, please understand that Avenia wants no more war, we fear bloodshed, and we fear the implications it would bring to every realm near the Eranbole sea.”

“I see your concern, Lord Row, and I will do my best to ease this fear,” Jaron held his hand over his heart. “I sense there’s more you have to say?”

Row shifted on his feet. “We’ve heard rumors that Mireldis Thay is in your custody, and though King Kippenger finds chasing rumors the work of a child, he does like to be informed. Is this true?”

Now it was the regents’ turn to all shift in their seats. Harlowe looked to Jaron for permission to speak, “I’m afraid we have only rumors about Lady Thay. There is nothing to fear, the young woman in Carthya’s protection is a bandit named Ayvar.”

“Ah, what a pity, I suppose,” Row sighed, and he held his hook in his hand.

Mott frowned, “Your reaction is vastly different from what’s common.”

“I’ve never been one to accept information without picking it apart.”

“If only more people were like you then, Lord Row,” Jaron said. “However, we are here for Avenia’s sake, not Mireldis Thay’s.”

“You are correct, your Majesty.” Once again, Lord Row bowed. “I shall leave you to discuss my nation’s matters with your regents, but I must ask that you do so with speed. I will not see my people suffer and a nation overthrown because of bureaucratic loopholes.”

Jaron didn’t bother hiding his smirk. It was no secret that Carthyan kings rarely got along with their regents. “My word is final, and my regents understand that.”

“I trust your judgement, King Jaron. If you would wish to speak with me, you know how and where to find me.”

“We will send for you the minute the King’s council has come to an agreement,” Harlowe promised. “Thank you for your time, Lord Row, and take care.”

“Your concern is reassuring, Lord Harlowe. I eagerly await the King’s response.”

The throne room remained silent as every pair of eyes watched Row walk away from them. He might not have been born into his title, but he carried himself with pride.

He carried himself with dignity.

“Your Majesty, I know we have an agreement with Avenia, but-,” began the infamous Mistress Orlaine, who would’ve lost her position as regent ages ago if Jaron didn’t care for his public image. She had the means to turn people against him, and Jaron couldn’t have that.

“But nothing, they are our ally, and if they need help, we will help them,” Jaron cut in. “If my father had been more willing to take action, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. We will stand united in kindness and honesty, not through going back on our word.”

“We can’t send military aid, not without angering King Aranscot, he would think that we are preparing to rise against him,” Harlowe mused. He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard, obviously thinking of a solution.

Jaron drummed his fingers on his knee, “I will think of something, but whatever we do, we must do what we can to help King Kippenger.”

“Why be kind to them? They’re a nation of thieves,” spat another regent, Master Termouthe. “We must honor tradition, your Majesty. Without tradition, we are nothing.”

“And I acknowledge that, Lord Termouthe, I do, but traditions and times change. A nation of thieves cannot change on its own, King Kippenger deserves our support, and it would be selfish of us not to share what we have.”

The regents were becoming fussy. Another elderly mistress grunted. “We could be sharing what we have with our people. Your disregard for royal luxury is fuel for gossip.”

“And yet, I find that facing gossip is much better than leaving men and women to starve in the streets,” Tobias butted in. “This is a matter of Avenian policy, not an opportunity to scrutinize personal choices.”

“Bold words coming from-,” Termouthe’s sentence never finished.

People rarely finished insulting statements when Mott fixed a glare on them.

“Then it’s settled,” Jaron stood up from his chair. “We are sending somebody to Isel to keep the peace. I will call another meeting when I have made my choice.”

Termouthe, Orlaine, and the other dissenters kept their eyes glued to the ground.

“Lord Harlowe, Lord Branch, Sir Mott,” said Jaron, clasping his hands behind his back. “I would very much like to discuss our options in private.”

“You are dismissed,” Harlowe gestured from the regents to the wide, open doors.

Each regent stood, bowed, and walked out a little too slowly for Jaron’s taste. They were trying to stay and hear what he had to say.

But they would hear nothing that would advance their agendas.

“Mott, do you know anything about Commander Regar? Did you talk to him at all?” Jaron asked, pacing from his throne to Tobias’s chair, to Harlowe, and back to his throne. “Is he still here?”

Mott set his ankle on his knee, leaning back into his charge in the process. “I spoke with him as best I could, but I know him, Jaron. He’s clean.”

No matter how much time Jaron spent with Mott, there were still so many things he didn’t know about him.

“Don’t you find it odd that Lord Row asked about Mireldis Thay?” Tobias pointed out. He was sitting almost as straight as the back of his chair. “I doubt Row has ever met her.”

Commander Regar.

Regar, Regar, Regar.

Saints be cursed, something was staring at him right in the face. Jaron was smart, why was he still struggling with this puzzle?

“I’ll have to add that to my list of questions,” Jaron grunted.

Tobias shifted, “List of questions?”

“Imogen and I have an idea that a mutual friend of ours may know more than we’d expect. We’re going to pay him a visit.”

“He plays a lute and wears colors that murder the eyes, doesn’t he?”

Jaron nodded, “You’re correct, and I will come back with answers, or I won’t come back at all.”

A bold promise, but Jaron knew what he was capable of. His mind was beginning to get ahead of him, he was dreaming of all the possibilities awaiting him.

Perhaps he was wrong about everything, and there was no need to have an entire gang of morally grey thieves be thrown into the dungeon.

Or maybe he and Imogen were right. Maybe Mireldis Thay had come to Carthya with every intention to slaughter Feall, or die trying.

A crime punishable by death.

“Jaron, I do hate to backtrack,” Harlowe inhaled. “But I would propose that we station a small company of soldiers in Libeth, just in case the situation in Avenia goes wrong. It would be much easier to mobilize forces from there than from here.”

“That-, that’s not a half bad idea, actually. Ah, Harlowe, you’re far too brilliant to be working with these regents.”

“As are you, my king.”

Jaron waved the comment away, “I’ll speak with Roden about moving soldiers. Aranscot will likely figure our movements out, but he has nothing to do with the unrest in Isel, then he’ll leave us alone. If he does have something to do with the unrest, then we have our answer.”

“Isn’t it nice when things are straightforward?” Hummed Tobias, who’d begun rubbing his temples. “We’ll be able to move onto our next item of business once the troops are placed, there won’t be any secrets about it.”

Any secrets.

Several of Jaron’s policies were ridiculed by many of the regents. They mocked the way he kept things in the open. But it was because of honesty that Carthya was beginning to thrive.

“Is the castle going to be involved in this year’s Blackberry Night?” Tobias was chipping away at every detail he could.

“I’ll think about it,” Jaron shrugged. “We’ve had a festival already, and Blackberry Night gets a little too wild for my taste.”

“The festival was weeks ago, Amarinda and I could coordinate it, and maybe it’ll draw in-“

“I said I’d think about it, Tobias.”

There were grander things to worry about than a party. Things with more benefits than gaining favor with regents who’d hate Jaron til either he died, or they died.

Mott accompanied him as he excused himself from the tiny meeting. They’d formed a pact in the dead of night not long ago to check in on Feall after the recent attack. They’d also both agreed to keeping Tobias indoors for a few days. Both Mott and Jaron clung to their promises for as long as they could, but eventually Amarinda left with Queen Danika’s investigators to search for Mireldis Thay, and nothing on earth could keep Tobias from going with her.

Mystic and Mott’s mare were already saddled and waiting to be ridden.

“Market day is going to happen shortly before the Morning of the Saints,” Mott said as he and Jaron stepped into the castle courtyard.

“Are you trying to start a debate about my church attendance with me?” Jaron countered. He had enough on his mind. Mystic stamped his foot as Jaron swung into the saddle. “You’re just like Imogen.”

“On the contrary, I’m only stating a fact. Market day technically is starting before the Morning of the Saints.”

“Too many holidays, too little time. I’d like to take a nap for a month or two.”

Mott clicked at his mare, leading the way out of the courtyard. “You’re doing a good job, Jaron. There’s a lot to deal with, and you’re doing your best.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

He didn’t want to admit how much he valued Mott’s approval.

Jaron uttered a silent prayer of thanks; he’d left his circlet behind, which meant he didn’t need to nod at each person who bowed to him. The streets were almost crammed, but not enough to render travel useless.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about all of these holidays,” Jaron grinned. “Maybe I should set aside a day where I can forget about my duties and remain calm.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from doing that now,” Mott guided his horse a few steps closer to Jaron. A carriage thundered past.

They were nearing the middle level of Drylliad, it wouldn’t be long until they were at the lower levels. Feall would have to be there somewhere.

“You know what, you’re absolutely right.”

“I typically am, people don’t like listening.”

“That’s because your version of ‘right’ isn’t nearly as fun as mine.”

“Strange, I’d thought my version of ‘right’ was better than yours because it typically means you don’t return to the castle with a black eye.”

Jaron inhaled deeply and leaned as far back as he could, his face turned to the sky. He couldn’t think of a response, as Mott’s argument couldn’t be countered without sounding like a blithering fool. Instead, he groaned.

“That’s what I thought,” Mott chuckled.

Children with bandages on their feet darted across the cobblestones, chasing after a striped lizard. A woman’s fashionable right boot flew through the air, caught by a pair of grubby child’s hands. Girls in tattered red rags waved from shattered windows. Lower Drylliad was often forgotten by nobles.

They didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

Didn’t want to help those born into a pigpen.

Mott sat a little straighter in his saddle. “This seems more like Roden’s route.”

“I think they switched patrol times,” Jaron racked his brain as he struggled to remember the last time Roden had told him about what he was up to. “With Feall patrolling during the day, it keeps him safe from his attacker. And Roden was very keen on being able to spend his afternoons either beating me at sparring or teaching Nila how to properly use a sword.”

“Probably makes it easier to avoid you, too.”

“Very true, which isn’t really that great, as I’ve been meaning to-,” Jaron gagged, “-apologize to him.”

“Consider me impressed, I know how much you hate doing that.”

Feall wasn’t far ahead, his jacket rested on his shoulders, dirt stained his white shirt. He waved. A large man with a full scarlet beard was gently tossing some of the children into the air. Jaron recognized him; Commander Regar was too massive to forget

“Have you come to visit me?” Feall joked. “Commander, show some respect to the king.”

Regar nodded his head to Jaron and Mott, nodded to the children he’d been throwing, and stood by Feall.

A man sized like Regar would have no problems holding his own against three men.

“We did, but unfortunately, I forgot to bring you flowers,” Jaron wiped away an imaginary tear. “Have you had any trouble, Feall?”

He shook his head, “Not exactly, I did have to separate a pair of urchins as they fought over a shoe.”

Regar gave no comment, which annoyed Jaron to no end.

What was it with people and not reacting to anything?

“Was it a woman’s shoe?” asked Mott, gesturing to the howling children several steps away.

“Yes, yes it was. I suppose if they aren’t bashing heads into the ground over it, they can play with it. Did you really come to check in on me, or is there something wrong?”

Jaron frowned, “Have you done something wrong?”

Ha! Regar coughed! That was almost as good as a biting comment!

“Not that I can think of,” a strand of long, dark hair fell across Feall’s forehead.

“Then we came strictly to check in on you, I’d hate to see a friend of mine come to harm. Again.”

Mott scoffed something about friends and harm, but his statement was almost too quiet to hear.

Feall raised his eyebrows, “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“Am I your friend, King Jaron?”

“I suppose so. Be careful, though, I do have bold requests of my friends. Mott thinks they’re ‘a danger to everyone’, and that I’m ‘going to chip somebody’s tooth’,” Jaron made sure to look Mott in the eye as he said so. “Consider yourself invited the next time I try to use a shield as a sled.”

“I’ll make sure to be-,” Feall stood straight, his sentence trailing off.

“Your Majesty, you may want to get away from here,” Regar muttered.

There were no more children shrieks.

His hand was resting on his sword hilt seconds after he recognized the unnatural quiet. Jaron squinted at the alley nearest to him, struggling to decide if the shadow he saw was because of a pile of trash or a lurking person.

“Where’s your horse, Feall?” Jaron murmured, his eyes locked on the shadow.

“Tied up in a stable, wasn’t in the mood to have her stolen from me,” Feall slowly unsheathed his sword. “I’m sure there’s a reason for the sudden silence.”

Jaron rolled his shoulders back, “I’ll dismount, Mystic won’t fit both of us.”

His feet hit the solid cobblestones, the sound echoing across the street. The only sound accompanying them through the streets was the constant clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

What a foolish idea, riding out to lower Drylliad.

What an even more foolish idea, letting Feall continue to patrol the streets despite having a target on his back.

A familiar sensation bubbled in his stomach. He’d grown up on tales of witches and their poisonous brews. Perhaps there was a tiny witch hiding inside him, using his insides as ingredients for her malicious magics.

Every so often, Jaron glanced back over his shoulder. There were too many things that could’ve caused the sudden wave of silence. Too many reasons why the street was suddenly lifeless. There were no girls in red waving from their windows, no children throwing discarded boots at each other, and no men with dirty blindfolds begging for money.

It was bad news when children hid.

It was even worse when the beggars vanished.

Mott scanned each alley. Jaron looked over his shoulder. Feall checked both sides of the street.

But nobody looked ahead to see the patched bandit in front of them.

“A pity, you should’ve told me there was a gathering!” Called out the patched Faola. His voice was rougher than before, and his saber looked a little worse for wear. “I’ve been told I’m the life of the party!”

Jaron’s hand shot out, gripping Feall’s upper arm as hard as he could.“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I know it’s you, Mireldis Thay!” Feall stepped forward, breaking out of Jaron’s grasp. “I had my doubts, but your foolish note to Oberson confirmed my suspicions!”

“I wear only my name, and nobody else’s.”

Feall’s face fell.

The Faola bowed, “Your Majesty, Sir Mott, I humbly ask that you step away. This is, well, a matter of personal business. Don’t take offense when I say I don’t know you well enough to clash swords with the pair of you two.”

“I have to humbly ask you to step away,” Jaron countered. “It’s rude that you haven’t told me your name yet, I’m reduced to calling you Patches as your friend Ayvar does. Patches is the name for a household cat, not a sadistic murderer.”

“Sadistic? You’d see things differently if you asked the right questions.”

Mott dismounted as the banter continued, he too had drawn his sword. “What right questions?”

“Questions like-,” the Faola shrugged, his hood drawn low over his face. “Questions like why- ah, they don’t matter. Nothing will distract me from my chosen path.”

“Disappointing, I do love to talk,” Jaron frowned.

“Coincidentally, I do too when the cards are right.”

“Then maybe we should deal out new hands.”

It was unnerving, watching the Faola press a hand to his stomach and cackle. “You can’t get a new hand in this game.”

“Says who?” Jaron dug his foot into the cobblestones, risking a tiny glance at Mott.

The Faola only appeared to be one person, it was all too likely that there were multiple hiding in the alleys. There was a tiny chance that Roden had begun patrol early, and would come galloping to the sounds of a sword fight.

However, that had already worked once, and it was unlikely that the Devils wanted to play the same trick.

“Buy time,” Mott hissed.

Jaron stepped forwards again, “I don’t know your quarrel with Lord Feall, but I won’t let you shed any more blood in my city.”

Was it a coincidence that the Faola took a step back each time Jaron took one forward?

“You’re no king of mine,” barked the bandit.

“Then why are you retreating?”

He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned the Faola’s subtle retreat. The Faola roared, and flung himself forward, his saber moving with blinding speed. Jaron bellowed back and parried one of the Faola’s blows.

Though the saber was a slimmer weapon, the Faola’s tendency to leap out of the way kept Jaron from landing any debilitating blows. He lunged forward, and the Faola scurried backwards. With his sword raised, Jaron gathered his strength, preparing to sweep across the Faola’s middle.

That would put an end to things.

Feall and Mott were rushing to assist him. Regar, however, stood by Mystic and Mott’s horse, watching the fight from afar.

He wasn’t expecting it when the Faola pressed the inner curve of his saber to his leather gauntlet, and charged forward.

Jaron brought his sword crashing down on the Faola’s saber, locking both of their blades together. Mott and Feall were almost near enough to land a-

The world around him turned to pudding. Where was Commander Regar? Where was his mighty longsword and his skull crushing hands?

The Faola had delivered a sharp kick to Jaron’s upper right leg, sending stars across his vision. Where was Commander Regar? Where was his mighty longsword and his skull crushing hands?

“The King!” Feall shouted. “Mott! Regar! Get the King!”

“I can hold-!” Jaron tried standing on his right leg, but the overwhelming urge to vomit his entire day’s worth of food forced him into a loss.

Regar bounded away from the horses, his longsword in both of his huge hands. The Faola only ducked under his mighty arms, and did his best to strike a blow at Feall.

The Faola froze at the sight of Regar, the tip of his saber clinked against the ground.

Mott held his sword extended as he dragged Jaron back to Mystic, “We have to get you out of here!”

“Let me go!”

“You hold priority!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Jaron roared, shoving himself away from Mott. If he just stood with all of his weight on his left leg, he could still fight!

All it took was a step closer to Feall and the Faola to make his vision burst with white lights.

The world had turned to jelly, to pudding, to sludge. All Jaron knew was that he no longer retained a crisp sense of the air around him. Everything was too warm, too sticky.

His hair was sticking to his forehead. His insides were sticking to each other. His hands were sticking to his sword.

Was he going to be sick all over Mott?

The sword fell from his hands; Mott was shoving him onto Mystic. Bits of conversation drifted through his cotton hearing. He could sometimes see Feall and the Faola’s outlines against his holy-white vision.

It was almost like they were dancing together.

Feall was ever the gentleman, allowing the Faola to always strike at his head. He always returned the gesture with a hard swipe to the Faola’s middle.

“This is a bit-!” Feall ducked. “Below the-!”

The Faola jabbed his sword low, and sadly, Jaron didn’t catch the last part of Feall’s witty retort.

He clung to Mystic’s reigns, his eyes searching for Mott. The whiteness was fading, replaced with unnatural blues.

Mott would guide him to safety. Mott would keep him safe.

“Jaron, ride ahead,” Mott urged. “Keep it slow, I’m going to get Feall out of his mess. Blink if you-”

Jaron didn’t need to blink, he only urged Mystic forward and tried not to vomit into his own lap.

Horse hooves clattered against the pavement in an odd compliment to clashing swords. Somebody was ordering Mott away; ordering him to consider himself and that he’d only make the close fighting quarters even tighter.

The Faola ducked beneath feall’s blade, twirling away from both Mott and Feall like a little girl in a new dress. Sounds of battle were dying. The fight was a music box, twinkling down to its last plink of a note.

Mystic tottered forward.

Straining, Jaron peered over his shoulder, looking just in time to see the music box’s final plink.

The Faola swiped the saber across Feall’s chest, missed, and kicked him in the stomach. Feall went tumbling to the ground. The Faola stood above his opponent, gloating words lost to Jaron’s pudding hearing.

But it was Regar who earned the last plink.

Tossing his sword to the side, Regar barrelled into the Faola. “Get them to safety! I’ll cover you!”

“Let me go!” The Faola shrieked, pounding his fists against Regar’s back

Regar let the Faola slide down his back. The Faola anticipated the fall, and rolled to his sword. He swung as hard as he could, but Regar caught the saber blade with his gloved hand.

Mott tugged Feall onto his saddle, leaving the Faola to his fate.

A sad finale to a short dance between Feall and his lethal partner. Jaron leaned over and vomited. He didn’t hear whatever it was that Mott was saying as he limped them all back to the castle.

All he could think about was that dance of life and death. It was a dance he’d performed himself. He’d seen somebody dance that way before- all jumping and twirling. The dancer’s name was just out of his reach. Knowing that the name was there was enough.

They were strange musings, but it was worth it to avoid vomiting again.

It was the musings of a man in too much pain to see straight.

#its real Mott Saves the Day Hours #and bully Jaron hours #sorry kiddo #this was #uh #too fun sorry #regar is just the dad from brave except hes a grumpy man who likes throwing humans #the ascendance series #mott #prince jaron #imogen #harlowe #tobias #ocs #chaotic #fic friday #fic Friday except its a tuesday #time isn't real

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electricprincess96 · 4 years

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Have you ever read this post about edelgard PTSD?, Since I'm not an expert about trauma, I'm always looking analisys about characters to understand them more, so what do you think about it?. I have seem that you don't think edelgard PTSD is very realystic (or that just my imprenssion). And I wanted to thank you about your opinion about Rhea since not a lot of people like her, having diferent perspectives opens the mind. Sorry English not my first language. (1/2)

Reddit: Edelgard's PTSD-how Three Houses sensitively portrays living with a mental health condition (2/2)

Firstly don't apologize, your English is great (as someone learning Korean right now anyone who can convincingly use a second language is like a genius to me).

Secondly I don't really like using the term "unrealistic" because 1. Mental Illness is different for everyone so there isn't really a set guideline on what is and isn't realistic when depicting mental health and 2. It's a Video Game, I'm not looking for something realistic I'm looking for something believable in the context of the world.

My issues with Edelgard's supposed PTSD is that I just can't buy into it. Like on paper is makes perfect sense considering what she's went through she should absolutely be suffering from PTSD... But I never get the impression she is, at least not in the way most people do. Now if the depiction of mental health in general was just meh in the game I'd let it slide but we see someone else actually suffer from PTSD in the game. Rhea. In Crimson Flower we get to see her triggers and how she reacts to them. Like you could list Rhea's triggers including; Invading the Tomb of her people and threatening to take away the Crest Stones that are there (linked to Nemesis invading Zanado, killing the Nabateans there and leaving with the Relics and Crest Stones), next major trigger is when Seteth and Flayn either have to go into hiding or die (again linked to how she and the remaining Nabateans would have been in hiding or on the run from Nemesis for those years before she became Seiros) and the last one is literally meeting someone on the Tailtean Plains who has the Crest of Flames, who is wielding The Sword of the Creator, she's literally reliving her worst moments and those all set her off and we see her spiral to the point that the Rhea who in every other route risks her life so that you can evacuate the students from Garreg Mach instead chooses to light Fhirdiad on fire with the people still inside. That is a depiction of a woman spiralling due to repeated PTSD attacks that is easy to understand for the people watching provided they are open to the interpretation and haven't already just decided Dragon Lady Bad.

Now I ask... What's Edelgard's triggers? Rats? Sure she screams and her legitimate fear of rats gets turned into a cutesie waifu moment which pisses me off because like the girl has every reason to actually be terrified there and the game treats it like a joke... Besides that.... What else? The only thing I can think of is in Azure Moon (where she is portrayed the best, she's most consistent and in my opinion the most sympathetic because her trauma is best portrayed here) when she's pushed to the brink of defeat she is willing to throw away her humanity (the thing she claims to be fighting for) because she can't face losing, because losing would bring with it a lot of questions she'd have to ask herself.

But elsewhere in the game I just don't see it. Sure it effects everyone differently but in a medium that is meant to be enjoyed by a wide range of people, a lot of whom don't have PTSD, you do have to do the leg work to make it obvious to them what's going on. Saying "oh I have PTSD" and then not actually showing any moments that really relate to that and instead using it as an excuse for why this person is doing bad things is... It's not a good way of portraying mental health in my opinion.

But Edelgard iffy depiction of mental health is like one of the lowest issues I have with her character (I'd argue the way they turned a cool, cold, calculating badass into a waifu who needs you to save her from herself is arguably the more egregious issue).

#princess answers asks #anon #edel discourse

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

Text

Chapter 12: Conspiracy

Ae-Young’s POV

As expected, Dad spared no expense on the engagement party. The decorations, an elegant assortment of golds and pale pinks, were arranged so to his specifications that Heechul and I were forced to sit in Dad’s study, which was off-limits to guests at parties.

Dad glanced out at the garden. “This isn’t very traditional— waiting this long into an engagement to have an announcement party.”

“I don’t see why we have to have a party to announce anything.” Heechul tugged at his tie. “Won’t the wedding invitations be announcement enough?”

Because I grew out of liking parties a long time ago, I wanted to agree with Heechul, but I knew “This is how you’re supposed to introduce wedding guests before the actual ceremony” because Kyuhyun told me when I complained about it weeks ago.

“Exactly!” Dad beamed at my knowledge, and I wondered if he would be happier to know that Kyuhyun taught me. “It’s networking!”

“To you, everything is networking.” Heechul rolled his eyes before focusing his attention on me. “Speaking of wedding guests, when is your Maid of Honor getting here? I really need to meet someone.”

Gagging, I prefaced, “First of all, I would never let my friend hook up with you,” and after dodging Heechul’s attempts to strike me, I finished, “Besides, I don’t have a Maid of Honor—”

“Wait—” Heechul stopped chasing me around Dad’s study. “I get that you don’t have, like, any friends, but don’t you think you need a Maid of Honor?”

I shook my head. “Nope. But if you’re offering, you have a few months to grow your hair out, and I have this dress—”

“Heechul will not be wearing drag to your wedding, Ae-Young,” Dad asserted without looking up from the guest list he was reading at his desk. And when the doorbell rang seconds later, he sent me to answer it, saying, “I have a feeling that’s your fiancé.”

Frowning at being rejected as the Maid of Honor, Heechul teased, “Who else would show up to a party an hour early?”

I acknowledged, “You’re here early—”

“But not to hang out with you—” Heechul flicked my forehead. “I’m only here for my allowance.”

Sending a hand up smooth where he hit me, I raced toward the door before Dad could scold us for bickering.

Maybe because it was the first time I had seen him since he told me about his ex-girlfriend, but definitely because the days had been dull while he was away, I threw my arms around him. The moment wasn’t long enough to be fully appreciated. I released him almost immediately because Dad and Heechul were probably (definitely) watching.

“I—” I was petrified by his smile. “Sorry— hi.”

“I don’t mind—” he assured. “Hi.”

And as he stood there looking like happiness personified, wearing that suit and his hair brushed out of his face, I didn’t imagine that he would ever disappoint me.

It would be foolish to ignore the role my brother played in the night’s downward spiral. He waited until Kyuhyun, prompted by my growling stomach, went to get food to approach our quiet corner where we fled to escape exhausting small talk after greeting every guest.

My mood soured before Heechul said anything. The moment I made eye contact with the man at his side, I cursed aloud.

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Key barked, grabbing me as I tried to walk away. “What would your husband—”

Heechul corrected, “Fiancé—”

“Right.” Key nodded and started again, “What would your fiancé think if he overheard such foul language?”

If he was expecting an apology, he didn’t get one. I crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “What are you doing here?” although no answer would satisfy me.

“Heechul invited me.” Popping a cheese cube into his mouth, Key shrugged before his eyebrows dipped into a puzzled expression. “Wow— wait a minute so I can get this straight.” He began counting aloud, “First, you didn’t tell me that you were leaving my apartment and I had to look all over the city for you and text your idiot brother before calling the cops because you wouldn’t answer your damn phone—”

“Hey!” Heechul gawked at him, but Key didn’t mind him.

“Then, you didn’t tell me you were engaged— like we haven’t known each other for years, you’re just leaving me out of this shit; then I only got invited to your party because of your idiot brother—”

“HEY!”

Key’s voice rose.“And now you’re mad that I’m here? After all the trouble I go through for you?”

Unsure of how to respond to Key’s list, I ignored him and focused instead on glaring at Heechul. “I told you that we—” I broke to gesture between myself and Key— “are fighting—”

“But it’s one of your little friendship spats,” Heechul said. He linked his hands before him and swayed like an innocent child. “Do you really want to exclude your best—”

Key interjected, “And only!”

“Yeah! Do you really want to exclude your best and only friend because somebody called somebody else flaky?”

My pulse quickened at the insult. “I’m not flaky! I didn’t have time to watch America’s Next Top Model because I was looking for a job! And—”

Even in the moment, I knew that Heechul was right, but I was too infuriated that he went behind my back to bring Key and rehearsed some kind of tag-team roast to behave rationally.

A gentle hand tapped on my shoulder before I could scold Heechul. Whirling away from Key’s and Heechul’s frightened figures, I prepared to instead berate whoever was touching me.

But I couldn’t greet him with anything other than a gasp and a hug. “Oh my God! Leeteuk!” It had been years since we crossed paths. When we parted ways, I never expected that I would see him again, so asking him, “Why are you here?” made the night feel like the bright conclusion to an otherwise chaotic dream.

“Hi, Ae-Young.” He tightened his embrace around me and deepened his smile to flaunt his dimples. “Heechul brought me to meet his sister and her fiancé. Why are you here?”

“Oh, well—” I looked at my brother pointedly and explained, “I’m Heechul’s little sister.”

“And I’m her fiancé.”

When I turned to look at Kyuhyun, he stood with drooping shoulders, not holding the dinner he set off to retrieve from the dining room. What’s wrong? I desperately wanted to know, but I couldn’t ask in front of everybody.

Slinking out of Leeteuk’s arms, I smiled at Kyuhyun. “Yeah, this is my fiancé, Kyuhyun. And Kyuhyun, this is Key—” Key waved politely— “And this is Leeteuk.”

Although visibly shaken by the sudden introductions, Leeteuk bowed, and Kyuhyun quietly returned the gesture.

Others might not have guessed that Kyuhyun was upset, but others hadn’t spent as many days with him as I did. Something was pulling down on that corner of his mouth again, and I couldn’t imagine what it was.

“Okay, so I know Key because Ae-Young shared a bed with him through college,” Heechul said before turning to Kyuhyun. “Do you know Key?”

I glared at Heechul for phrasing that in the worst way imaginable. Caught between Kyuhyun’s and Leteuk’s surprised, jaw-dropped stares, I explained, “Key let me stay in his apartment for one week—”

“And I made her sleep on the couch,” Key finished. He shot me a supportive glance. He might have come with Heechul against my wishes, but it was because he wanted to be included in my life, not because he was involved in this conspiracy to humiliate me. “I wouldn’t share my bed with anyone. Especially not with—”

“But how do you know Leeteuk, Ae-Young?” Heechul shifted his weight into one leg and told Kyuhyun, “He’s kind of a celebrity—”

Sensing how I shrank under Kyuhyun’s panicking confused stare, Leeteuk interrupted Heechul to say, “We met in one of her photography classes. I volunteered to be her model for an assignment—”

Key quickly summarized, “She took his pictures.”

Kyuhyun spoke up for the first time since introducing himself to ask, eyes shifting between me and Leeteuk, “What kind of pictures?”

And it wasn’t until Heechul cackled, Key failed to suppress his chuckle, and Leeteuk stiffened next to me that I understood what Kyuhyun was asking.

Is he serious right now? My confusion was quickly engulfed by anger. I hadn’t imagined that it was possible to be mad at Kyuhyun, but I was so livid— I didn’t think about what to say before fussing, “Not that I object to depicting the beauty of the human body in art—”

Perpetually unsure of when to shut the hell up, Heechul urged, “Speak plainly, Ae-Young. You’re talking like some ancient novel.”

I balled my hands into fists and yelled so loudly everyone probably heard, “It was a school project! I didn’t see Leeteuk missing any articles of clothing. I’ve never even seen any—”

Heechul started laughing and clapping his hands like a seal before I could finish my sentence. Leeteuk’s face burned crimson. Kyuhyun— although I could barely force myself to look at him— was clenching his jaw and staring down at the floor.

Key begged, “Stop it right there, Ae-Young, I don’t want to hear about what you’ve seen,” in an attempt to lighten the mood, but the damage was done.

Heechul laughed harder, and I too focused my gaze on the floor as scalding angered embarrassed tears pooled in my eyes. It was better, I decided, to act on my angered feelings instead of the embarrassed ones. “If you excuse me, I’ll go get my dinner that somebody forgot before I say something I regret.”

Of course, I had to trip as I tried to run away. Had Leeteuk not secured me around the waist, I would have face-planted onto my father’s polished marble floors. I grumbled my thanks and, the second Leeteuk steadied me, I ran upstairs where party guests were forbidden to go.

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isthisthingeven0n · 5 years

Text

the series - part three : d.d

this has been so much fun to write so far and explore the depths of a series that doesn’t exist... yet?? thank you for all the support on this so far, and for understanding that this is kinda my main focus currently in terms of writing. other things are coming- just a bit more of a delay thats all :)

one / two / three / four / ending

Seven days ago everything I thought I knew is no longer true.

I thought my boyfriend was someone completely different. I thought I was happy in my life with those around me.

But now I’m wondering if everything I’ve been told is a lie.

Tomorrow Shane is releasing part three for his series with David. At this point I feel like I’m chained to my TV, my phone is something I avoid glancing over at as I keep it face down on my kitchen counter. I don’t want to hear excuses, I don’t want to see his apologies or how he’s feeling from our friends.

Right now all I want is to know the truth, and deal with the repercussions this will have on me.

“How you managing?” I sip at my tea, trying to push back any emotions I’ve been drowning in over the course of a week. She raises her eyebrow as I avoid her gaze. “Y/n, I’ve known you for long enough to know you’re not okay.”

I sigh loudly, defeated. “How did you know you weren’t in a good place with them?” I ask, now directly looking at her.

She takes it in, and processes the question. I watch her fidget with her nails, and tuck her short hair behind her ear only for it to fall back in her face again. “I just didn’t feel connected anymore.” She states and I nod, knowing exactly what she means. “Shit happens, and I realised who was going to be there for me, and who wasn’t at the end of the day.”

“Like with the whole Ricegum shit?” I ask, and she nods.

“This sounds identical to my interview with Shane.” She laughs, and I remain quiet. I watch her hand reach out to mine, and I see it rest there but I can’t feel it. I’m numb. “Y/n, if there was anything I knew that I could tell you, you know I would.” She states and I nod.

“I know you would. But Gabbie, do you know what Liza was on about with Shane?” She retracts her hand, and rests it around her other arm anxiously.

“I wasn’t there, so I don’t know all the details. But I know there was an accident, and a few people got hurt.”

I swallow hard. “Did, did someone, did someone die?” I force the words out of my mouth, and blink back the tears that form too easily at this point.

She shakes her head, and I let the tears fall in relief. “No one died. But, people got hurt, bad.”

I’ve waited until it’s dark out. I know he won’t bother me now. He’s left me alone this long, he can wait a bit longer until I’ve seen my best friends side of things, a side she’s never really told me.

The video starts with fans, content creators, commentary and drama channels chiming in on what they think of the series so far. Some don’t shy away from the backlash from fans, and others comment on my input on this so far.

I see my face appear, a picture from my Instagram of the two of us. It was our most candid moment in Rome, I was so happy, I was so naive.

“Why is Y/n taking a break from social media? Maybe the truth about David and Liza’s relationship was just too much to take or account for after all.” One voice speaks over a series of clips, comparing Liza and David to us now.

The comparisons make my skin crawl. We are two entirely different people.

I watch as the camera cuts to Shane sat down, he looks exhausted. “Well, a lot has happened that I didn’t anticipate in the past three days since we released part two.” He half laughs, as tweets and articles slide across the screen with a mix of hate and confusion as to what this series even is.

“What do you want to do?” Andrew asks and Shane shakes his head.

“I mean, I didn’t go into this with a clear direction. But, all I know is that I want to explore who he is according to those around him. His girlfriend, his ex girlfriend, his best friends and his old friends too.” We all come up on the screen, and then lastly, Gabbie.

A video montage plays of her featured in vines with David, and then videos she filmed with Liza and David. I see myself appear from vlogs with her, some dating to the past few months. “So, despite her not being friends with the vlogsquad, she’s still friends with Y/n?” Andrew asks and Shane tries to process what he just said. I faintly laugh to myself, realising how dumb it all sounds aloud.

“I mean, if Y/n and Gabbie are really friends, how do they not address the massive elephant that follows them everywhere- and I don’t mean me, cause I’m not usually invited.”

I shuffle on the spot, itching to grab my phone and see if he’s said anything. But I resist the urge as I pick up my water and resume the video.

“I’ve known Gabbie for years. We’ve got an interesting relationship?” Shane tells the camera slightly perplexed.

Andrew chuckles from behind the camera. “That’s one way to put it.”

“True. But besides that, we’ve been through some tough times together and she is her element. I mean, she’s got her music, her book, her channel all of it. It’s all working for her.” He lists off her accomplishments as photos appear of her transformation over the past few years, one that still amazes me every time I see her. “Yet, she’s never been more broken.” He states, flashing to a video of her having a breakdown, one I knew about all too well.

I remember she phoned me that night. She was done, she had had enough of everyone and everything. She didn’t know what to do, she was having a panic attack and she spiralled. I drove straight there and we sat on her floor for hours.

Forcing the memory back I focus on the video.

“So, we’re heading over to Gabbie’s now.” Shane tells the camera and then pauses, leaning against his table. “Oh my god, this is like a cute reunion for you guys.” Shane gasps, and it clicks. Gabbie and Andrew were friends.

A nervous laugh sounds from behind the camera. “Wow, I kinda didn’t see it as that, but yeah, I guess it is.”

“If it all goes well could have a date in store for you.” Shane nudges Andrew and he makes an incoherent noise between laughs. The camera cuts off, and the title sequence plays.

I try to ignore the happy grin on David’s face, as now I wonder if it is actually real or a good act he kept up.

When the camera turns back on, Shane has settled down with Gabbie who wears a bright smile on her face. One I know is her nervous smile. “So, we’ve had a catch up and talked off camera, cause well,” Shane looks to Gabbie who just nods.

“Yeah, we had a shit ton to talk about.” She laughs and Shane dead pans the camera. “But it’s all good. Well, not why you’re hear but yeah.” She’s rambling, she’s doing a signature nervous Gabbie.

“Come on Gabs.” I whisper to myself, wanting to hear what she has to say. I need to know if there’s more to all of this after all.

I tried to piece together what was in the last video and what Gabbie told me already.

An accident, someone, or multiple people got hurt. No one died, but it was bad. David was involved, and so was Liza. Gabbie was not present.

Whatever it is, it’s haunting all of them in some way shape or form.

“So, you knew David and everyone else from your Vine days?” Shane asks and Gabbie nods.

“Yeah, it’s weird thinking back to those days. I just feel like YouTube has been my platform for so long now, it’s weird.” She explains about Vine, and how diverse it was to YouTube. “I’ve changed a lot since then, but I feel like some of them haven’t. I’m not naming names, as there is no point making drama or dragging anyone because of this. I just didn’t feel comfortable with all of them like I once did.” She states, and I nod along with Shane through the screen.

“Did you feel as if you outgrew the squad?” He asks and then laughs to himself. “Sorry, still trying to take all of the ‘squad’ names seriously.”

She chuckles before answering. “Yeah, kinda. I just didn’t feel the support was a two way street. I looked out for them, but I didn’t seem to get it back. It made me feel like I was just someone there in the background who wasn’t necessary.” She states and her joyful expression initially has died down, revealing how she really feels.

Watching her talk about those I spend all my time with makes my heart ache. Clips play comparisons of her a few years back with everyone to her now, filming more on her own or with new friends where she is laughing. It’s not all a negative comparison, it’s more honest.

“So there wasn’t any particular reason why you just drifted from them all?” Shane asks and Gabbie sighs. He knows more than she thinks. “Cause Liza told us about the incident.”

Gabbie’s eyes widen. She looks to Shane who places his hand on hers and squeezes it lightly. “Can you, or are you able to talk about it a bit more?” He asks and she bites her lip, clearly hesitant to even mention it.

“I honestly do not know.” She explains. “What happened was something I wasn’t involved in. Like, when it happened I wasn’t there, but I heard all about it. I was involved in the aftermath of it all and it was kinda like ‘keep quiet or you lose everything you’ve worked for.’“

Shane’s mouth drops. “Wait really?” He asks and she simply nods.

“It was not good publicity whatsoever. Like, some people would not have the careers they have if it got out.” She says bluntly.

“Okay, we’re going to talk a bit off camera, and then we’ll come back later.” Shane motions to Andrew who lowers his camera, Gabbie takes one last glance into the lens before it goes black.

Standing up I listen to them talking in the background, he’s asking about her music, the meanings behind some of her songs and the influences they’ve had.

I grab my phone, ignoring the typhoon of notifications and open my messages. I bypass everyone’s pleas and type a simple message to him.

we need to talk.

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banditthewriter · 6 years

Text

Nice To Meet You - Logan Delos

Prompt: For some reason I need Logan so much rn so can I please request a Logan imagine where he met the reader at Westworld and offended her cos he thought she was a host (not sexually of course)? And then they met in real life and Logan was just so embarrassed and apologised to the reader? Thank you Prompter: @phanttasmagoric

Here ya go darling! :)

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

Somehow you ended up laughing and singing with some of the girls in the bachelorette party. At first it was just some humming, but then you all spiraled as the saloon girls brought in more alcohol and inhibitions ran away. Between the alcohol and the heat, you had started to feel kind of sick at one point. While the girls started another round of singing, the patrons in the saloon either laughing or glaring, you made a quick exit. The night air felt cool on your overheated skin and you stepped off of the porch and down onto the dirt as you closed your eyes. It had been your idea to come to Westworld for the bachelorette party. You'd been once before with someone else and you longed to return and replace those memories with new ones. And that was exactly what you had done so far. A gentle breeze blew and you smoothed your hands over your dress, eyes still closed as you listened to the laughter and music pouring from the saloon. You should get back in there but you weren't in any rush just yet. A body slammed into your side, a snide voice yelling "watch it" despite him having run into you instead of the other way around. "Excuse me?" You whipped around to face the man that had run into you and frowned. He would be attractive if he wasn't so drunk. He was also almost sneering down his nose at you as he swayed on his feet. "Don't they program you to not hinder the guests? Fuck," he groaned as he stumbled away, a glass bottle dangling from his fingers. "Excuse me?" You repeated yourself, this time your voice laced with confusion and a hint of anger. He spun around, blearily blinking at you for a moment before he pointed the bottle at you. "Did they up the stupid on you or something? Stay out of the way of the guests," he growled out before he spun away and stormed off. You took a deep breath and decided it wasn't worth it. The man obviously thought you were a host and that added to him being completely plastered, you weren't going to hold it against him too much. Besides, what were the odds of you seeing him again? With that you turned back to the saloon to join the girls. ------ The rest of the girls were still in their rooms but you went down to the inn's dining room for breakfast. It was early enough that the dining room was pretty empty but you didn't mind. After the night you had, a little quiet wouldn't be bad. "Excuse me," said a polite voice at your side. A glance showed you that it was a hungover version of the man that had run into you the night before. "I am pretty sure I owe you an apology." After a moment of silence, you gestured to the chair across from you. He settled into it, rubbing his forehead as he did. Someone came by to take your orders and then you were once again alone with him. "I should start by saying that I'm usually not the kind of person that yells obscenities at women," he said as he met your gaze, "but I was drunk and pissed off and an asshole." "Okay," you said, drawing the word out as long as you could. "Is that the apology or...?" "No, this is. I'm sorry for how I behaved. It's not your fault that you're here." He said it with such disdain that you felt sorry for him. It also told you that he still thought you were a host. There was a small part of you that wanted to play along if only to save the poor man the embarrassment, but you decided to just rip the bandaid off. "It kind of is my fault because I invited my friends here for a bachelorette party," you said as you sipped at the drink that someone had placed in front of you. "My bright idea to come to Westworld for the week." The man squinted at you and then, as the realization dawned on him, you watched a light blush start to creep up his neck. "I'll be damned," he said as he ducked his head for a moment. "No really, I might be damned for this. How did I not realize you're human?" "In your defense, you were really drunk last night?" He laughed, running a hand over his face before he offered it to you. "I'm Logan Delos," he said with an apologetic grin. The name bounced around until you remembered where you had heard it before. Instead of reacting, you held your hand out as well. "Y/N," you offered as you shook his hand. He leaned back in his chair and looked around the mostly empty dining room. "So you came to Westworld for a bachelorette party, huh? Are you the bride to be?" There was something about the way he asked that made you think he might be flirting with you. "Sister of the bride, actually," you replied as you thanked the host that brought over your food. "Is that important?" "Makes me feel better about asking you out," Logan said with a wide grin. A thrill went through you at his words. Here was a very attractive guy asking you out, or about to anyways. You could imagine your sister telling you to go through with it, to just tell him that you'd be happy to, but your last memories here in Westworld made you cautious. "Listen," you said with a smile as you leaned forward a bit, "I'm flattered, but I'm not looking for--" "I'll stop you there," he said as he raised his hand, a smile still on his lips even though you were obviously about to turn him down. "I'm not proposing marriage here Y/N. I'm just saying that we get drinks here one day if your fellow revelers can spare you. And then if that goes well, I don't know, maybe exchange real world phone numbers?" You met his eyes and watched as he continued to smile. This was a guy who wasn't used to being told no. With a laugh, you raised your drink to him. "Let's start slow." Logan grinned and tapped his drink to yours. "I can do slow." ------ Two Years Later ------ The invites for the bachelorette parties had guns on them. You groaned and let your head hit the kitchen table. "What's the matter?" Logan came over and picked up the mail, looking at the envelope that caused the reaction. When he realized what it was and what it meant, he started to laugh. "Another bachelorette party at Westworld? That'll bring back memories for you." "Who knows, maybe I'll meet an attractive guy who is so drunk he doesn't realize that I'm a human. Oh wait," you said with a teasing grin as you stood up, wrapping your arms around Logan's neck. "Better not," he said as he slapped at your ass with the mail before he dropped it and let his hands rest on your hips. "You're going there as the bachelorette, not a slutty bridesmaid." With a laugh, you slapped him on the ass and then leaned up for a kiss. He smiled against your lips, one of his hands going up to cup the back of your head. "I gotta admit, I'm really glad that you got so drunk that night." You pulled back as you said it, grinning when he gave you a curious look. "If you hadn't been too drunk to tell the difference between me and a host, we never would have gotten to this point." Logan smiled and leaned in for another quick kiss. "First time anyone has ever been grateful for my alcoholic tendencies," he joked as he pulled you close, your bodies swaying gently. "You wanna scrap the church wedding and get married in Westworld?" "And miss you potentially bursting into flames the moment you step inside a church?" You laughed and shook your head. "Westworld is the start of our story. Now we get to write the rest." Logan shook his head with a smile and leaned in for a kiss. Nothing else mattered for the time being.

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#logan delos #logan delos x reader #logan delos imagine #logan westworld #my writing #requests

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pinkettepoet · 6 years

Text

In Which Healing Takes Two

Summary: hun, could i request a shadowhunters raphael x reader? in which she's built a wall around herself and keeps from loving others cause she feels she isn't enough and no one will ever truly love her. but raphael has always noticed her and ever little thing about her makes him fall for her even more. when he confesses to her, she rejects him, hurting both of them. but he soon finds out from izzy that she really does love him and when they talk, the reader opens up about her depression and anxiety. but it ends all fluffy when he admits that he truly loves and supports her no matter what. and he genuinely cares for her and they get together

Request: by the lovely, @slowly-but-shurley.

Warnings: Raphael Santiago x Reader, Angst, Fluff Ending.

Note: I came back with a bang! I hope you all enjoyed this and forever know that you are undeniably valid in this world. Anyone who says otherwise can go sashay away.

Why did it hurt to breathe?

It was as if you wanted every breath to be your last one. Every day, the pain led to the numbness spiraling in your soul and there was absolutely nothing you could do except revel in the cruelty of life.

Empty. Broken. Lifeless. It was rather ironic that the only thing you could feel tore you apart. Ironic, but disgustingly painful.

That was life for you; an endless loop of questionable life decisions and pitiful thoughts.

How lovely.

“So, I’m going out for pizza with Raphael tonight.” Isabelle Lightwood was probably the only thing constant in your life. She was a friend as she was a distraction from your messed up life. “Do you want to come?”

“Raphael?” You asked timidly as you watched the scenery outside.

“Raphael Santiago, silly.” Izzy laughed — one of the many endearing qualities of hers. From the corner of your eye, you could see her trying on some leather jackets. “You met him last year.”

“I don’t remember.” You shrugged with a heavy sigh. At the moment, your mind resembled a Stygian forest — dark, hollow, and aimless. You didn’t really want to exert any effort to wander out of the bottomless pit of nothingness.

“Pale, handsome, tall, a bit of a drama queen,” Isabelle listed with a sly smile on her face. “Oh, and a Vampire, too.”

“Okay.”

Then you finally realized who he was. But, of course, you wouldn’t have chosen those words to describe him. You would have said he was unrealistically beautiful despite his bloodthirsty tendencies.

Raph was your friend for a thousand different reasons. One of which you felt comfortable around him. For some reason, both of you became better around each other.

Your thoughts went downhill the moment you considered the end to the aforementioned friendship. And there it was, the son of a bitch you identified as depression.

Funnily enough, you did end up going with Isabelle that night. Dressed in this morning’s sweater and baggy jeans, you were ready to find some closure before the next wave of anxiety hit you.

Like always, you weren’t bothered by the stiff, cold air of the night. It must be because you were used to the freezing chill the emanated from your vacuous body. Ah, agony nurtured you into a pathetic poet.

You reached the remote diner quickly than you thought you would. Since there weren’t many people hanging around, it was quite easy to spot your pearlescent friend.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess.” Raphael engulfed you in a tight hug once you reached him — the familiar sweet scent bringing you a taste of calmness. He dipped his head closer to you, “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” You deadpanned, sliding into the booth beside Izzy. “It’s the I just got out of bed look.”

“And somehow you still managed to look breathtaking.” Raphael winked.

The night was filled with subtle flirtatious hints, gigantic slices of pizza, and overused jokes that were kind of hilarious. All of which you were mentally absent for.

You closed the night out with a slow chomp of your pizza. The next moment, you were ahead of the others, already taking your place outside into the moonlight abyss.

Crickets and blaring horns greeted you right away. This was your home, you thought. A cacophony of a darkened city. Coincidentally, that was the exact description of your mind.

“Y/N!”

Looking behind you, you saw Raphael jogging towards you with a hint of a smile playing around on his lips. He furrowed his eyebrows for a second in question, “Aren’t you cold?”

“No, I’m used to it anyways.” You answered promptly. “Where’s Izzy?”

“She went to the girls’ room for a minute.” Raphael fiddled with his fingers for a few moments before taking a deep breath. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” You replied. For some reason, you didn’t want to meet his gaze. There was something about his words that sent your heart pounding quicker in nervousness.

“Do you want to go out tomorrow night?” He finally asked, his voice quivering at some words at the end. The real question was the whereabouts of his usual confidence.

“We just went did today,” You acknowledged dismissively with a quizzical raise of your eyebrows.

“No, I-I,” Raphael began to stammer. The pressure levels filling up his entire being. Nonetheless, he soldiered through the upcoming embarrassment with a brave front. “I meant a date. Wi-Will you go on a date with me tomorrow night.”

He was asking you out. It was the very thing you feared most of all: a deep relationship. No. You couldn’t allow it. It was better if you’d go through the pain now then later. The heartbreak would be even antagonizing.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You were panicking. The thought of leaving him broke every inch of your dignity, at the same time you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t want to ruin him but you didn’t want to feel pain again. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Selfishly, you ran away. Leaving the only person who could keep you sane in this horrid life.

“How could you just reject him like that?”

“There was no rejection involved whatsoever.” You replied idly the next day when Isabelle barged into your room, interrupting your session staring at the ceiling.

“You really broke his heart, Y/N.” She said, in a tone similar to the way a mother would scold her child for impish behavior.

“You would know a lot about that, don’t you, Isabelle?” You muttered aimlessly, tragically wanting to be left alone with your malevolent thoughts.

“Excuse me, what?”

“I said,” You sat upright now, heat coursing through your veins. “You seem to know a lot about Raphael’s heartbreak. Speaking from experience?”

Izzy gasped in shock, it was definitely unexpected coming from you. Nonetheless, she kept her composure. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through—”

“That’s the thing! Nobody knows and it’s driving me crazy.” You began to shout, not even knowing if you were understandable. “I’m so scared, Izzy. Everyone I love is going to leave me. I just-I just thought that if I kept to myself, it would hurt a lot less. But I’m losing my goddamn mind, and I’m scared.”

All this pent-up feeling, these thoughts finally voiced into words, it made an impact on you. To have finally shared these fears, it felt like an escape. A haven that you wished for since time and time again.

Isabella wasted no time in wrapping you in a tight hug. “Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I was a coward.”

“Raphael, I am so sorry.”

After the next few hours, you took it upon yourself to get up from the bed and meet up with Raphael at the local park that evening. You stayed in a secluded area, sitting beside him on a bench where not many people could see you. Though it was quite awkward so you broke the silence with an apology.

“No, it’s okay. It’s my fault.” He said, keeping his eyes forward — though it really was hurting him to not look at you.

“No, Raph, I was scared.” You managed hesitantly. You were worried and panicking again at the thought of expressing some of the things that haunted you every day. It was frightening to the point your fingers started to shake.

As you tried to calm your newfound quickened breathing and jittering leg, you spoke with even more croaky words. “Raphael, I–I–”

Suddenly, you were tearing up. The fogginess in your eyes brought you panic. Then you couldn’t feel your fingers. You were trying to breathe but you just couldn’t. Raphael didn’t notice your panic attack until you were sobbing loudly, desperately clawing at your chest to find peace.

His voice was lost in the sea of your vicious thoughts and incoherent cries of help. You were panting, inhaling more air than you should. You closed your eyes, trying to bask in the comfort of anything, but your fear of the darkness betrayed you.

Was this the end?

Or was this the sign that you could never experience happiness or forgiveness?

Either way, you were ready to give up. To shut down. To forever succumb to the inevitability of sorrow and despair, the absolute demon clamoring to take over your mind.

But then you heard his voice. The familiar calming baritone of his that comforted you no matter what. For whatever reason, or decision of fate, you somehow heard Raphael. Just him.

And he was saying, “Come on, princess. Breathe for me. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’m never leaving you. Just breathe for me, please.”

Although it brought you back to the horrid reality in which the pain festered in your chest, his voice was a change from the menacing inside voice that tormented you. Shaking your head violently, “S–s–so p–p–painful. . . I c–c – can't.”

You felt his arms wrap around you. His natural iciness seemed to disappear, and instead, he was actually warming you up. He was stroking your hair, whispering the sweetest of words.

Time began to speed up. Before you knew it, you had calmed down. Only the faint noise of the city sounds and your sniffles could be heard. After hours of just staring at the night sky, laying on Raphael’s chest, you whispered, “Raph, why does it hurt so much to breathe?”

“I wonder the exact same thing,” Raphael replied just as softly, never ceasing to massage your head. “But suddenly, I don’t feel lonely anymore.”

Taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for everything. This emotional baggage. The mess. Everything. I’m so sorry.”

He paused his hand movements, tenderly placing his head on top of yours. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. It’s life. I won’t love you any less because of this.”

“You love me?” You asked.

He hugged you a little tighter. “Ever since I met you and every little thing about you.”

“Will you stay with me, Raph?” You burrowed deeper into his hold, happily drowning in his scent. Today was a hell of an emotional rollercoaster, but thank heavens that it ended on a somewhat good note.

“Forever.”

Suddenly, breathing didn’t hurt as much.

(shadowhunters tag list: @slowly-but-shurley)

#shadowhunters x you #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters imagine #shadowhunters fanfiction #shadowhunters #raphael santiago #raphael santiago x you #raphael santiago imagine #raphael santiago x reader #raphael santiago fanfiction #requests are open #reader insert #request #isabelle lightwood imagine #isabelle lightwood

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