#i’m sorry for my absence — look what my sister surprised me with !!!

[roselise]

Hello, friends! I have a new puppy c:

♡₊˚ 🐶・₊✧ 🤍 🌼 🎀

#♡ #hi friends !! #i’m sorry for my absence — look what my sister surprised me with !!! #a puppy !! #she’s very sweet but also very mischievous !! #i love her so much and nutmeg seems to as well :D #how have all of you been ?? #have you been having a good weekend ?? #are you doing well ?? c: #sending many hugs hearts and puppy kisses !! #i pray you take care and have a great day ~ !! c: #xo ! ♡ #♡₊˚ 🐶・₊✧ 🤍 🌼 🎀

[suashii]

୨♡୧ A FROZEN HEART THAWS — gepard landau x reader. sfw. fluff.

the bell above the entry door to the neverwinter workshop rings with gepard’s arrival. per usual, the place is void of patrons, though, to his surprise, his sister’s head of blonde and blue hair isn’t behind the center counter. he holds back an annoyed sigh—she had been the one who told him to come by during his break to retrieve earthwork and the woman was nowhere to be found. giving her the benefit of the doubt and assuming she’s working on something in the back, gepard approaches the counter and shouts out a comfortable greeting. “serval, i’m here to get my shield.”

instead of being met with serval’s normal response for him to be patient, an unfamiliar face pops out from behind the counter. your eyes widen when you see the man and you rush to push your headphones to rest behind your neck. “i’m so sorry! serval told me that it’s pretty rare for people to stop in so i wasn’t paying much attention.”

gepard’s steps slow to a stop upon your appearance. he’s never seen you here before but you seem to be quite acquainted with the place—and his sister. he’d be suspicious if you weren’t looking at him with such an innocent gaze and kind smile. it’s not an expression he has the pleasure of seeing often; he’d even go as far as saying that he found it—you— pretty.  still, he can’t help but be a little confused as to who you are and what you’re doing in his sister’s shop. though, before he gets the opportunity to ask, you’re speaking again.

“coming to get something repaired?” you inquire with the slight raise of your eyebrows, but the smile never leaves your lips.

it’s then that gepard pieces everything together. for as long as the shop has been open, serval has been the only employee. the man supposes that his sister must have hired you as help recently. serval must trust you a great deal to leave you in charge in her absence.

a beat of silence passes with you gazing at gepard expectantly before he remembers that you had asked him a question. he kicks himself for standing frozen in his spot and fumbles to give you an answer.

“oh, yeah.” he nods slowly, thinking back to the query. the blonde blinks as he realizes his mistake. he shakes his head, wisps of sandy hair brushing his nose with the gesture. “wait, no! sorry-i’m here to pick something up.”

you swallow down a giggle at the man’s nervous aura. it’s charming—cute, even—to see someone who appears so distinguished stumble over their words. quietly clearing your throat, you follow up with another question. “what’s the name you left with the restoration?”

“gepard landau.” his voice is a little more stable this time around.

“ah, you’re serval’s brother!” the excitement in your tone catches gepard a little off guard but also makes his heart skip a beat. he’s not sure what’s so thrilling about you knowing his name, knowing who he is. most people do, but he’s met with a foreign feeling of satisfaction upon hearing what he thinks is your delight to cross paths with him.

not wanting to be rude, you give him your name as well. “sorry, i got a little sidetracked. you brought in your shield, right?”

gepard nods. he hopes serval was at least truthful about earthwork being ready.

“great! i’ll go grab it for you.” you point over your shoulder before turning on your heel and disappearing into the back room.

the blonde inhales a deep breath through his nose and exhales, warm air pushing past his lips. he wants to blame his abnormal uneasiness on the fact that he was expecting his sister and not you but part of him, an undeniable part of him, knows that it’s more than that. his palms wouldn’t be clammy and the tips of his ears wouldn’t be warm if it weren’t.

gepard doesn’t find himself in this state often but he’s not dumb—he knows what these nervous symptoms point to. though, before he’s able to give them a name and make them really real, a loud thump sounds in the air. arctic eyes dart to the source of the noise and he’s met with your figure in the doorway, one hand gripping the brown leather strap and the other attempting to balance the shield that’s practically towering over you.

you spare a glance his way, eyes wavering as you laugh. “this thing is a lot more intimidating when it’s vertical.”

“please, let me.” gepard rushes over to you at seeing your struggle. he mindlessly reaches out to grab the refashioned instrument case but rather than feeling the hardshell beneath the pads of his fingers, he’s met with the softness of your skin. he recoils quickly, grasping for a strap instead which he finds after some fumbling. even with the shield now balanced, the tingle he felt when coming in contact with you lingers. “sorry.”

your lips wobble as you fight back a laugh at his reaction to merely brushing your hand. “it’s okay.”

the juxtaposition of gepard’s regal attire and what used to be an instrument case makes you grin. the two things he values most—the protection of belabog and his family—collide in a curious way. still, as a music enthusiast yourself, seeing someone find a different purpose for an object that seemingly only has one job makes gepard all the more interesting to you.

as the thought crosses your mind, there’s a prickle on your knuckles where gepard’s skin had touched yours.

you want to prolong this encounter, ask him anything that might make him stick around for just a while longer but, for what feels like the first time in your life, you don’t know what to say. you can’t remember the last time someone was able to leave you speechless. 

there’s something different, maybe even special, about gepard landau.

the bell above the door rings and, this time, you hear it. though, instead of being met with another patron, serval strolls in with a pleased smile pulling at her lips.

“welcome back.” you offer the woman a polite wave.

she returns the gesture before turning her attention to her brother. “i see you’ve met the newest addition to the workshop’s staff.”

a glint of mischief passes in the eyes that mirror his own. the sparkle and the smile tell him all he needs to know—his sister planned this. gepard bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from begging serval to stop meddling. the more he thinks about it, he supposes he has her to thank for sneakily arranging the meeting. he’s much too proud to tell her so.

and he doesn’t need to. the boyish blush clouding his cheeks is enough for serval.

she winks at her younger brother, patting his shoulder playfully. “don’t hesitate to stop by if anything else needs fixing. or if you’d just like to visit.”

serval says the last part with a wink.

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #gepard landau #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gepard x you #hsr x you #gepard fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #hsr imagines

[its-time-to-write]

I saw you asked for requests a few days ago. I was wondering if you would consider doing another part of the Kent!reader x Jamie fics.

I was thinking they do end up pregnant and its them telling everyone they’re pregnant . I can see everyone being so excited for them. And then Roy is just freaking out.

Since they’ve already discussed wanting to be together forever and have kids I can also see them deciding to get married before the baby is born in a small ceremony like Beard had.

I have quite a few requests about Jamie x reader having a kid, so if that ain’t your jam, maybe don’t read my next few posts😂 It’s totally my jam tho, maybe bc I’m suffering from baby fever again. thanks for requesting and for your patience!!

let’s fall in love for the night  

Jamie’s jiggling his leg up and down so fast that you’re surprised he hasn’t cramped yet. 

“Calm down,” you hiss, hand on his knee. 

“Can’t,” he whispers back. “Roy’s gonna fucking kill me.”  

You have no sympathy for him. “Yeah, and whose fault is that? Yours.”

Jamie shoots you a sideways glance. “Excuse me, this was a team effort.”

“Whatever,” you say. “I still say it’s your fault.”

Molly swoops by to refill your water glasses. “Dinner’s ready in a few minutes. Roy and Phoebe have been working very hard,” she says. 

She raises her eyebrows on the word very, and you’re sure that Roy’s patience is being pushed to his limits. He loves cooking and refuses to let anyone help him, but he also loves your niece and can’t deny her anything she wants. 

“Better go check on them,” she says, leaving you and Jamie alone again in the backyard. 

Jamie resumes the previous conversation and says, “Well, I wasn’t the one wearing that blue thing with the flowers.”

“Well obviously,” you shoot back, “it wouldn’t even fit you.”

Jamie’s stopped jiggling his leg and he places his hand on top of yours. “Oi. Has Roy ever actually killed anyone before, or does he just have serial killer eyebrows?”

You wrinkle your nose and ask, “Why the fuck would I know?”

“You’re his sister,” Jamie replies in Phoebe’s patented duh tone. 

“I’m his baby sister,” you say. “I’m even younger than Molly. If he’s killed someone, they’ve both conspired to make sure I’ll never find out. And hey, don’t make fun of the eyebrows. There’s a good chance this baby’s gonna end up with them.”

“Babe you don’t have ‘em,” Jamie points out. 

“I wax,” you say smugly. “Oh, Molly texted. Time to go inside.”

Jamie groans but lets you lead him to the table. 

—

All told, Phoebe didn’t do half bad. 

“Auntie, I did the potatoes all by myself,” she says. 

You look to Roy for confirmation. He grunts and gives a tiny nod. 

“Great job, Phoebs,” you say. 

Molly sets down her fork. “I’ve been thinking of changing my name back to ‘Kent,’” she says. 

“Brill,” says Jamie. 

“Fucking finally,” Roy says as he hands Phoebe some money. “For future words,” he mouths to her as she counts it before depositing what you’re pretty sure is 20 quid into her pocket. 

Molly says, “We’ll all be the Kents again,” and you can feel Jamie go stiff next to you.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy asks, and you turn to see Jamie’s gone completely pale. 

You pinch his thigh and he jumps. “Nothing,” he says hurriedly. “Well, not nothing. But, I dunno, don’t want to overshadow Molls’s good news, ya know? It ain’t important.”

You pinch him again. 

“Ok, it’s actually a little fucking important (sorry Phoebe, take it from Roy). But um, maybe you could help me babe?”

He shoots you a pleading look so you take pity on him. You’ve had more than twenty years dealing with Roy, so you’ll let Jamie slide this once.

“Right, so, we’ve been meaning to tell you- I’m having a baby,” you blurt out. 

Roy’s dinner roll gets crushed in his hand as his face goes bright red. 

“What,” he growls, and you’re not sure if you’re more terrified by the absence of “fuck”s or the fact that it was a statement, not a question. 

“That’s wonderful, love!” Molly says before Roy can say anything else. She’s not looking at him but you can practically feel him take psychic damage from the shut up and be happy you prick, message she’s sure to be telepathically sending him. 

“It’s Jamie’s, right?” she continues, taking a bite of salad. 

“The fuck kind of question is that?” you ask indignantly. “Who else’s would it be?”

“You don’t have to pay me for that one,” Phoebe pipes up. “I’ll give you a free tab of one hundred words because of the baby. If it’s a girl, you can have fifty more.”

You grin. “Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re probably going to owe her the fifty, Phoebs,” Molly says. She points to Jamie with her fork. “I mean, look at him. He practically screams ‘girl dad.’” 

“That’s- fucking- great,” Roy garbles out. “‘Scuse me.”

“We’re having a backyard wedding next Saturday, too,” you call after him. “So we probably won’t all be the Kents again.”

You wince as he slams a door from somewhere in the house. 

“He’ll come ‘round,” Molly says consolingly. “Remember how he was with Phoebe? And I was already married!”

You grip Jamie’s hand. “Molls, why can’t he just emote like a regular person? I mean honestly, did our parents fuck him up that bad?”

Molly raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, babe. Think he’s just like us, really, afraid of loving something so he just pushes it all away. And besides, you’re the baby of the family. We’ve always tried to protect you and keep you safe, and sometimes he feels like you’re out of reach.”

You ask, “He told you that?” and Molly just laughs. 

“Not in so many words,” she replies. “But you know how he is.”

“He’s an arsehole,” you grumble. “I’m going to go talk to him.

—

Roy is, predictably, in the backyard. Not many places for him to go and think properly. 

You find him sitting under the tree. 

“Oi,” you say, “budge over.”

He grunts and moves so you’re not quite in the dirt. 

“Can you be sitting on the ground?” he asks. 

“It’s been like three months,” you reply, “That isn’t long enough for me to get stuck places.”

Roy says, “hmm,” but doesn’t offer up anything else so you just sit in silence next to him, pressing your shoulder to his. 

“Why the fuck did it have to be Tartt?” he asks after a beat. “Could’ve been fucking anyone in the fucking world, and you fucking chose him.”

“You like Jamie,” you say in confusion. 

“I don’t,” Roy replies, “he’s a prick. And a fucking footballer. Why’d you have to go for a fucking good-for-nothing footballer? He can’t even be around for his family when they go through shit because he’s going to be busy scoring fucking meaningless goals or some shit.”

That stings for a moment, but you take a good look at Roy’s face. It’s stoic, but shit if you can’t read it like a book. Blood is blood, and you’re a Kent just like him. 

“This isn’t about him, is it. It’s about you. You think you did a shit job as a brother and an uncle so Jamie’s going to be a shit father.”

“I missed out on a lot,” Roy says hoarsely. “And before you say fucking shit, I’m not fucking crying. So shut the fuck about it.”

You grin and wrap your arms around him. “You’re the best big brother a girl could ask for. Took all my cues from you. And anyway, you’ve been there when it counts. Phoebe fucking adores you, practically attached at the hip you two. And yeah, Molls and I missed you when you were at Sunderland and Chelsea and wherever. But… you came back. We needed you, and you came back. So don’t go projecting your stupid self-image on Jamie, because he’s not like that. And you’re not either, you absolute fucking ape-armed frizzy-haired shit-faced twat.”

Roy huffs out a chuckle. “Ape-arms. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Almost went with ‘camel knees.’ Haven’t used that since I was ten, but I thought it might hit too close to home these days.”

Roy laughs for real this time and tilts his head so it’s resting on yours. “Still fucking weird that my little sister’s having a kid.”

You say, “You’ll get over it. Oh, and don’t wear a goddamn T-shirt on Saturday.”

—

It’s rainy, so the backyard wedding becomes a living room wedding, because who really gives a shit? Richmond have a game tomorrow, but for today they’re in yours and Jamie’s house all dressed up (but still in trainers) laughing and smiling as Dani officiates what you’re sure is your dream wedding. 

It’s not the one you and Molly would’ve giggled about as kids when you sneaked from your bed into hers, but everyone you loves is here. 

For once, Jamie’s house almost seems too small.  

(Dani was the only person you two knew who was ordained or whatever. And hey, could you have picked a happier person for it?)

Molly and Keeley had gone out with you to find a white dress, Sam and Phoebe were the flower-people, and Roy walked you down the stairs to where Jamie was standing with Isaac by his side. 

“I’m not fucking crying,” Roy whispers in your ear. “It’s fucking allergies from being in this prick’s house for too long.”

“It’s my house too,” you remind him. 

Roy just sniffs, pats your hand where it’s tucked into his arm, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

All in all, it was pretty great. 

Gifts range from hair products to restaurant gift cards to designer baby clothes, including a tie-dyed onesie from Phoebe. 

“I have a matching one at home,” she explains. 

But now it’s the evening and everyone is gone except family. 

“Can’t believe my baby’s married,” says a beaming Georgie as she ruffles Jamie’s hair from their place on the couch.

“Can’t believe he attained his childhood goal of marrying into the Kent family,” Molly remarks. 

Jamie grins smugly. “What can I say, I’m a fucking goal-getter.”

You’re snuggled in Jamie’s arms, dress exchanged for a white sweatshirt and sweatpants set, courtesy of Rebecca. 

“I’d’ve had a poster of you on me wall if they made one, babe,” Jamie says. “Better sight than that hairy git.”

Roy just rolls his eyes and says “I’m getting another beer.”

“Can you bring me a piece of cake?” you call after him.

“Me too?” Phoebe asks, looking hopefully at Molly. 

Jamie pats your knee. “Don’t think he heard you, love. I’ll get it for ya. You too, Phoebs.” He shoots a wink in her direction, and she giggles. 

“Oi, grandad,” Jamie says, walking into the kitchen. “Did you hear your sister?”

Roy turns around from the fridge with a menacing look.  

“If she has a single moment of unhappiness, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls.

“Jesus, sorry,” Jamie says, hands in the air. “What’s got your knickers all in a twist?”

Fucking Jamie, never able to back down from a good squabble with Roy. 

They’re both keeping their voices down because they know if they got caught, no less than three people would be grabbing them by the ear and yelling. 

They might know this from personal experience. 

Roy says, “She’s my little sister. I’d fucking murder for her, and so would Molly. Always tried to make it easier for her when she missed our parents and shit, but it always fucking got to her anyway. Didn’t help that I fucked off to Sunderland at fucking nine, before she was even fucking born. She’s wanted a family of her own for fucking ages, and if you fuck this up for her they will never. Find. Your body.”

Jamie’s not sure Roy’s ever looked this menacing, which is saying something, because he’s Roy fucking Kent. He always looks menacing. 

So he nods and says quietly, “I ain’t gonna fuck it up, Coach. Had a shit dad too. Always wished he were around, except when he was then he’d get all fuckin’ angry and shit. But… still wanted him, y’know? Weird. Anyway, not gonna be like that with her. I want a family too.”

Roy looks straight into his eyes, looking for the barest hint of insincerity. Jamie’s gaze doesn’t waver. He’s not sure of much, but he’s sure of this. He’s sure of you. 

Roy says, “Right,” nods once, then claps Jamie on the shoulder right at his phone dings. 

Jamie pulls out his phone to a text from you that reads, pls stop fangirling over my brother. baby wants cake and so does ur mum

He smiles and tries to figure out how to balance three plates at once. 

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[scythesms]

Despite his best efforts to hide it, Edmund's discomfort grew with every step Imogene took beyond the gates.

He couldn't stop apologizing for the neglected state of his property. It’d been his first time ever feeling ashamed of the overgrown grass and cracked pavement. He’d even caught himself in a lie when assuring her the inside of his home was better off.

“Please, Edmund, there's no need. Grass always grows in grief. It seems nature understands the burden of sorrow.” Imogene interjected, ending his apologies. He only nodded, grateful for her understanding, but unable to find words to match her sentiment. Proceeding cautiously, she said, “I only recently learned of the tragedies that befell your family. I am so sorry for your losses.”

He forced a look of little gratitude, reluctant to delve into the past. The mention of his late wife, sister, mother, and father made him tense. While he acknowledged Imogene's sincere apology, it left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wanted nothing more than to spit it out.

She sensed his disdain all too quickly, expected it even. “I, too, lost someone to the lung. My youngest brother. It’s been… difficult.”

Edmund remained silent, unable to express his sympathy without betraying his desire to keep the past buried.

She pressed on, “Grief has a way of consuming us, doesn't it?” His eyes reflected the weight of her words, although his silence and avoidance of her gaze revealed much. “We don't have to speak of it if you'd rather not. Sometimes, just knowing someone understands can be enough.”

The air grew dense with the burden of unspoken words as they wandered deeper into the garden and the grounds of his estate.

Edmund led her along the path to the weathered fountain, where she broke the silence. “I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, after all this time,” she confessed, her voice tinged with uncertainty as her lips formed a nervous smile. “I thought you had left, disappeared into the world beyond our little town. I never saw you on the streets again… I must also admit that there was a time your absence brought me relief - knowing I wouldn’t have to face you after-”

Edmund frowned when she stopped herself. He wondered if her motive for coming was to find closure with him and release years of harbored resentment.

“I suppose... I suppose I came here hoping to find solace. But now that I'm here, I'm not sure what I want you to say.”

Since her arrival, he had grappled with finding the right words, torn between the desire to make amends and the fear of rejection. Her face fell as she observed his inner conflict. Without a word, she moved to settle beside the fountain, leaving the onus of conversation to him.

At length, he found his voice. “I... I don't know what you want to hear from me, but I want you to know that I am sorry - deeply sorry for what happened between us and what I did to you… I realize this apology comes late in life, and for that, I apologize as well."

“Thank you…”

Edmund awaited her further response, hoping for more, yet was met with silence. Although his admission released some of the obvious tension between the two, it was evident that there remained unresolved matters. Drawing closer, he sat beside her.

“You didn’t come solely for an apology,” he deduced.

She looked at him, hesitant before asking, “Can I ask about her? Rosalyn?”

His reluctance was apparent as his gaze drifted, wrestling with memories long buried beneath layers of grief and the mere mention of her name. “It’s… it’s not an easy subject for me.”

“I understand,” she responded, her voice gentle. “But I must know… Did you truly love her?”

Without hesitation, Edmund confidently nodded. “Yes. I loved Rosalyn... with all of my heart. And I always will.” He didn’t feel ashamed saying so. If there was one thing he knew, that was it. “I don’t regret it – my decision. But I do regret how I went about it… We’ve carried this burden for far too long.”

Her smile took him by surprise. “I'm glad your decision brought you happiness in the end. There’s no intent to change the past,” she affirmed, her voice soft yet resolute, “but perhaps we could move forward as friends?”

He was unreadable as he considered the offer. Eventually, a subtle smile graced his lips. “Friends... yes,” he murmured with quiet resolve.

She extended her hand first, a testament to her sincerity - a handshake. He found the gesture slightly amusing, and despite his initial impulse to resist, he allowed his hand to meet hers in a tentative grasp. With a single shake, they sealed their unspoken pact - an almost senseless act but necessary.

previous ➺ next

#1916 #Ambroise Legacy #1910s #decades challenge #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 challenge #black simblr #sims stories #AL #Edmund Ambroise #...

[kybercrystals94]

Sacrifice and Loyalty

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 12 | Prompt 12: A Little Too Late

Rated: G | Words: 561 | Summary: Missing scene between episodes 3x11 and 3x12. | Character Focus: Crosshair, Hunter

Spoilers for Season 3 Episodes 11 & 12

The moment Hunter slips through the door, he knows something is desperately wrong. The needled talons of dread claw up his throat from the pit of his stomach. He tries to swallow it back, but it lodges tightly just behind his tongue. 

Hunter takes in the occupants of the space. Wrecker, still unconscious, and Crosshair, sitting next to him with his rifle propped at the ready against his thigh. Their sister’s absence is cavernous. 

“Where’s Omega?” Hunter asks. 

Crosshair’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. He stands, leaning his rifle against the wall, and turns to face Hunter head on.   

“Omega turned herself in.” Crosshair states it, voice pressed flat of emotion. His hand trembles at his side, unchecked, as Crosshair looks anywhere but Hunter’s face. “She…” his dull voice catches, “She did it to save Pabu. They wouldn’t have stopped searching until they found her. It was only a matter of time.” He glances down, notices his hand and grips it in the other. “I tried to reason with her. She knew the risks.

“But I failed to protect her,” Crosshair continues. “I was supposed to get a tracker on the ship, but I missed. I missed, and she doesn’t know. She trusted me to make the shot, and I missed.” He fists his trembling hand. “I’m sorry, Hunter.”

The initial, reactive twist of Hunter’s features as the news settles is hidden behind his helmet. They just got her back, and the Empire snatched her away again. Righteous anger burns deep, and it takes every piece of Hunter’s exhausted resolve not to become violent, to throw something, break something, destroy something. It isn’t fair, what this galaxy has taken from them, has done to them, over and over again. 

Hunter takes a staggered step forward, and Crosshair flinches. It is subtle, almost imperceptible. But Hunter sees it, and his heart fractures further. His anger does not extend to Crosshair. How could it, when he sees his own turmoil and regret reflected in his little brother’s averted eyes? Hunter puts his anger away, thrusts it into the darkest corner of his mind to fester, and reaches up to take off his helmet. Crosshair’s gaze slides over to meet his as soon as his face is exposed. 

“I know you did everything you could,” Hunter says. He swallows. There is no comfort in the truth, just the reality. “Omega would have gone with or without you backing her up.” 

Hunter remembers seeing his sister after he and Wrecker were captured, small and fierce, energy bow drawn, refusing to hide away if there was any possibility of saving her brothers. Omega isn’t a soldier, but loyalty and sacrifice are saturated in her blood. Just like Tech. 

Naked surprise twitches Crosshair’s expression before settling back into careful neutral. He nods stiffly, looking away. “She put the people of Pabu before herself, risked everything so that we might find Tantiss. I was ambushed by troopers when I was lining up the shot for the tracker. I…I couldn’t recover my position in time…”

Hunter rests a hand on Crosshair’s pauldron. “Omega won’t blame you, Cross. I don’t blame you. We’ll find her again.” 

Crosshair swallows visibly and steadies himself before looking Hunter in the eye again. A small, despondent smile quirks the edge of his lips. “Not if she finds us first.” 

END

Heading into the next third of our prompts! Make sure you check out all of @the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts contributions to Angstpril! They are amazing!! Here's an easy list of our first 10 prompt fills!

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Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @merkitty49

#angstpril2024 #day 12 #prompt 12 #a little too late #the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 spoilers #star wars #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #missing scene #angst #brothers #hurt no comfort #fics by kyber

[goldribboncottage]

Hazel Callahan Fanfiction, Part 2

Continuation of the first part! Hazel and reader go to the bar. Again I do not know how to use tumblr so I don’t know how to like make a link for the first part but it’s on my page. Enjoy!!! I think the next part is aalllll Hazel POV.

You haven’t seen Hazel all day. You had planned to ask her about a ride as soon as you saw her, but you weren’t even sure she was in town, let alone the house. You entered the screening room, resolving to stay home and use Hazel’s absence as an excuse. Your night would consist of you, a giant bowl of popcorn, and cheesy romcoms. Instead you find her, bundled up in one of the giant recliners, an 80s movie playing. 

“Oh- hey! Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I can go.” 

“No, no” She sits up. “Stay. I’ve seen this a million times. I can go.”

“Have you been in here all day?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I was the one who wanted to turn this room into a screening room. It was just an unfinished basement when we moved in. It’s usually where I hang out.” She explained. 

“Oh. That’s really cool! I was actually looking for you earlier- my friends are going out tonight and I wondered if you’d give me a ride?” You felt awkward asking a near stranger this “Well actually I guess, your friends, you’ve known them longer. Brittany and PJ? And some other girls too? I promised B I would go, and she wants you there too. They all do. We all do” 

Hazel smiles, laughing at your discomfort. You didn’t notice her dimples yesterday but they’re on full display now. 

“Yeah, I’ll drive you, but you have to give me that popcorn. House rules” She jumps up and grabs and handful. 

“No wait! It has peanut M&Ms! Are you allergic? Oh god please don’t be allergic.” 

“Y/N. Chill. No allergies here. I’m a big girl. You’re my sisters nanny, not mine.” She smirks, taking an M&M and catching it in her mouth. “So when is this thing? Do I have time to finish my movie? Or do you want to start a new one?” 

“You can finish it, I’m gonna go get ready. Meet me at the front door at 8?”

“Yeah” She bows awkwardly at you, presenting you to the door. You laugh at her and leave, heading upstairs to get ready. 

You were so fucked. You didn’t know this girl existed a few days ago, and now you’re basically drooling over her dancing at the bar. 

Hazel looked good. Really good. She wore straight leg leather pants and an oversized green sweater tonight, her hair fluffy and flying wildly as she jumped around. 

When she greeted you at the door earlier you were thrown off by how attractive she was. God, she looked good. She played music you had never heard but enjoyed on the drive over. You didn’t talk but she glanced over at you a couple times. You didn’t know what she thought of you yet. Hazel was hard to read, but she seemed friendly.

The air is heavy at Bottoms tonight. The lights shine purple-pink on the dance floor and light up Hazel’s laughing face. You caught yourself staring again and turned around in your stool, ordering another vodka cranberry. It was going to be difficult to shake off this feeling and keep things professional. PJ slides up next to you and tries out another pick up line. 

“Hey Y/N, is it hot in here or is it just you?” She wiggles her eyebrows and smirks. 

“It’s definitely you PJ, I’ve been waiting so long for this to happen.” You slide out of your stool and step closer to her. “I can’t believe tonight’s the night I finally realized” 

She’s frozen where she stands, looking terrified. “Realized… what?”

“That you’ve got absolutely no game, and I’m surprised you still try.” You brushed past her and went to join your friends on the dance floor. 

Brittany smiles and wraps you in a hug. Isabel and Josie were dancing together near the group but clearly in their own world. Hazel nods in greeting, going back to dancing. 

Her dancing style was definitely different than anything you had ever seen. She looked so comfortable with herself yet her movements were awkward. Snapping her fingers, bopping her head. Somehow she made it work though. It was endearing. 

Isabel had managed to wander off and bring back green tea shots for the group. Hazel looked starstruck when you made eye contact with her as you took yours. It was your fifth, maybe sixth drink of the night. It had been a while since you’d gone out and sleep regression with the babies made a rough work week for you. 

Feeling bolder, or maybe just drunker, you grabbed Hazel’s hand and started to move with her. She seemed uncomfortable at first so you dropped it, but she quickly picked it back up and showed you how to do her little dances. It was silly. You danced the night away, drinking and laughing with your friends. 

At least that’s what you remember. Hazel tells you a different story when you wake up the next morning. 

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #bottoms movie #hazel bottoms #bottoms fanfiction

[redriotinggg]

hnnnng thinking about. sanuso royalty au.

sanji is a prince in the germa kingdom—same old, same old. third in line for the crown of a kingdom he can’t stand, forced to live with a family whose ideals he hates and who would rather see him dead.

being deemed the family failure has some benefits. when he sneaks away from the castle, no one comes looking for him. (except his sister reiju, but she just wants to make sure he’s okay.)

one evening, sanji comes across a garden towards the outskirts of the town. he’s entranced—it’s filled flora and fauna, fruits and vegetables in all states of growth. even more interesting than the plants is the long-nosed fellow who tends to them, a story of epic proportions falling from his lips as his hands tenderly reap and sow the ground.

sanji watches him move and listens to him speak, mesmerized by the smooth confidence of his hands and the cadence of his voice. when he finishes his tale, sanji gives him a round of applause, laughing when the man practically jumps out of his skin in surprise.

he calms the man’s panicked stutters and frantic apologies when he realizes just who his company is. tells him he’s off-duty and just wants to admire the plants, so will you tell me about them, gardener?

‘usopp,’ the man corrects, and tentatively begins telling sanji all about his garden, becoming more bold as the prince asks him about his flowers, what methods he uses to get his vegetables so big, is he planning on cooking with them, because if so he has a ton of recipes.

they talk until reiju comes to find him. remind him of his duties.

‘i’ll see you tomorrow,’ sanji promises. and he does. he sees usopp the next evening, and the one after that and after that, until he is spending every free moment he can talking, laughing, and bonding with usopp.

falling for him. falling for his bad jokes and spot-on impressions. falling more and more in love with the way he looks at sanji. falls for all of his smiles: when he takes the first bite of a dish sanji whipped up using the fruits of usopp’s labour; the prideful smile when he shows off his impressive marksmanship; his shy smile when sanji can’t help but stare at him under the pale glow of the moonlight.

before he knows it, prince sanji has it bad. usopp is all he’s thinking about.

unfortunately, people begin to notice his absences and overall distraction. the wrong people.

reiju warns him and sanji runs. runs to go find usopp and protect him from the cruelty of his family.

he’s too late.

sanji lets out a primal cry as his flaming foot connects with yonji’s face. he catches usopp—battered and bruised usopp, as the man falls from yonji’s hold.

there is a promise of death in sanji’s eyes as he looks at his other brothers, who rush to yonji’s side.

‘i’m sorry,’ he tells usopp tearfully. ‘this is all my fault. i never should’ve let myself close to you—everything i touch gets ruined, i should’ve known they’d come to hurt you. i’m so sorry, usopp. hang in there, i love you!’

‘shut up ‘n run away with me,’ is the reply he receives. sanji stares in shock as usopp clutches him, tears in his pretty brown eyes, wheezing breaths leaving his chest. ‘i love you sanji, let’s run away together—there’s nothing for us here. let’s start over somewhere far away from here. i want to run and be happy with you.’

sanji’s heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. it squeezes and pulls and tries to jump out of his chest as love consumes him from the inside out. suddenly there is nothing else that matters but usopp and taking him as far away from this wretched kingdom as he can.

sanji presses his lips to usopp’s, professing all of his longing, adoration, and devotion for him in the action. usopp holds him, reciprocating every emotion and making sanji feel so, so loved.

the prince stands, both legs aflame as he stares daggers at the monsters he calls brothers. determination wells up within him like never before. there is one more obstacle for him to overcome before he is free to live his life as he chooses. with the people he chooses.

‘i’ve got your back,’ usopp says behind him, slingshot and pop greens at the ready.

sanji smirks. for once, the future looks bright.

#sanuso #usosan #this is all over the place but i kinda like it!! #sanji kicks the shit out of his bros reiju shows up to poison em and usopps plants eat em #and then they all run away together #sanuso meet luffy and the others ofc and they go on adventures and be in love #reiju stays with them for a bit and ultimately goes off on her own adventure. finds a gf or 2 idk. #red’s fic #one piece

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (149-150)

In which Jared is the last to find out about his sister's new boyfriend, and he takes it just as calmly as you'd expect.

If you would like to follow along the series page is here.

“Um,” Jared says, when he opens the front door of their apartment to find Bryce beaming right at him.

Like, right at him. Like if Jared had swung open the door without paying attention he might have smacked Bryce right in his beautiful face.

Literally ran to the door like a puppy hearing its human come home.

“I’m allowed to train again!” Bryce says.

“Like,” Jared says. “Very carefully?”

“Very carefully,” Bryce confirms, and then, as if he’s trying to completely undermine Jared’s confidence that he’ll take that advice seriously, bolts into the living room at high speed.

A puppy with the zoomies.

Jared catches “—sorry, had to tell Jared—“, which he thinks means Bryce literally dropped everything to tell him, everything presumably being a call with Elaine. Though it could be someone else, Jared supposes. Theoretically.

“—love you too, mom,” Bryce says, then reappears so quickly Jared thinks he bolted right back.

Zoom zoom. (To no one’s surprise, he did — albeit with ‘one sec I think Jared’s home’ first. Elaine didn’t mind)

“Come on!” Bryce says, and that’s how Jared caps off an entire day at the gym by going to another, closer gym, and trying not to helicopter husband, partly because they’re in public, and partly because Bryce might bite his head off if he gets between him and the equipment after a long absence.

Relationship with Jared over, now gym equipment is Bryce’s best friend.

Jared says nothing, even when a piece of penne lands on the carpet. Bryce is too happy about all the complaining he’s doing to deflate him. And it’s not like Jared’s worried Bryce is going to go hungry.

He does, however, make Bryce clean the pasta up, because if he didn’t he’s pretty sure Bryce would literally not even notice it was there. He has to do it again himself after Bryce does a half-assed job and then puts his nose right in his phone. Thank fuck it wasn’t a tomato based sauce or their carpet would be toast. Why do they even have a carpet? They’re clearly not responsible enough for one.

Seriously, carpet should have disqualified the place.

“Uh, J?” Bryce says. “You might want to check twitter?”

“Signing?” Jared asks on his way back from the kitchen. It’s getting around that time where some of the stragglers realise a contract-less season is imminent and take whatever offers are still available. That or teams realise they’re missing a key piece of the picture and start looking into what’s available and affordable. “Trade?”

“Um,” Bryce says, his whole body a wince, which is — concerning. “Just look?”

No fucking way Bryce is telling him, you can’t make him.

“Did they trade Gabe?” Jared asks.

They can’t trade Gabe. Gabe’s franchise, one of only two players from that Cup season still on the Canucks. He’s a fan favourite, and a sizeable contingent of their younger fans don’t remember a team without him. It’s pretty much an open secret he wants to spend his entire career in Vancouver, and that’s mutual. Also Stephen would fight management. Possibly literally.

Also Jared would be sad, so clearly it’s not allowed.

It has to be someone on the team who means more to Jared than they do to Bryce, considering it’s something Bryce thinks Jared needs to see for himself, which leaves Gabe and —

Literally it’s just Gabe.

Also Stephen, but Jared’s pretty sure Brian can’t trade him.

“Nobody’s traded!” Bryce says. “Just. You need to see it? Instead of me telling you about it?”

Not for a million dollars will Bryce tell him.

If people on the internet are talking about how hot they think Jared’s dad is again, he swears to god —

One of my favourite subplots that doesn’t make the main narrative — Don the DILF.

“Erin’s trending again,” Bryce says.

Jared’s sister trending on twitter is really not something that Jared expected to happen twice. Like, even in a big Canadian market, that’s getting slightly absurd for a the sister of a middle-six forward.

Imagine how she feels. (She again thinks it’s funny)

Bryce gently kicks him in the shin. “You might want to look it up.”

“No thanks,” Jared says.

Bryce kicks him again. “Seriously, though.”

“If I do will you stop kicking me?” Jared asks.

“Yeah,” Bryce says.

Please look this up out of your own volition so you won’t shoot Bryce Marcus, Messenger.

“J,” Bryce says. “He’s clearly not going to pick up.”

Jared hits ‘end’ and then ‘call’ for the fourth time.

Surely he will pick up the fourth time you call to yell at him.

“Maybe just leave a message?” Bryce suggests weakly.

“Are you fucking my sister?” Jared asks when the operator’s finished telling him the number he has dialled is currently unavailable, because Julius couldn’t even be bothered to set his voicemail message after literal years in Canada. “And pick up your fucking phone, Halla, I swear to god.”

Bryce regrets his suggestion.

“What,” he says.

“He’s probably not going to want to call you back?” Bryce says. “If you sound like that?”

“Nobody cares what Julius wants!” Jared says.

“Um,” Bryce says. “Are you — okay?”

Bryce increasingly realising Jared was completely blindsided by this and mentally rewinding to every time he thought Jared was just ignoring the relationship out of pettiness.

“You knew about this,” Jared says with dawning realisation.

Bryce looks shifty.

“You knew,” Jared says. “And you let me find out from twitter.”

“I didn’t know know,” Bryce says.

They have not been formally told, but nobody has been hiding this from them. See: several parts ago, when Erin was visiting a friend in Edmonton (nobody told Jared it was a university friend, as he stated, Jared just assumed it must be because he knows Erin didn’t keep in touch with anyone from high school or earlier. Neither Matheson sibling is a big friend maker)

“Jared,” Bryce says, then, from the other side of a slammed door, “Hey, that’s my room!”

Jared is sulking, so by all rights the sulking room now belongs to him.

He’d ask if the picture was misinterpreted, like it was with Bryce, but there really aren’t that many interpretations for a kiss. Sure, some cultures greet one another with kisses, but as far as Jared is aware, the Finns are not one of them, and neither are the Mathesons.

Ah yes, the famed Matheson culture. Signs of affection are ribbing, mockery, and snide.

And even if a kiss on the mouth was a Finnish greeting, it’d be one Julius would pointedly not do. Julius doesn’t like participating in things.

This is so accurate but hilarious from Jared because it’s one of the reasons they get along so well.

He’s not your liney anymore. Erin replies. P sure both your current lineys are already taken.

Also he’s literally on a rival team now? That’s like the anti-liney.

Ene-liney.

So you’re not denying it. Jared texts. He originally ended the text an exclamation mark, but that looked too dramatic. He’s fine. He’s chill.

So you’re not denying it!

Is this a thing? Jared writes, after deleting the two extra question marks that somehow popped up.

Is this a thing???

How long has this been a thing? Jared asks.

Officially? Like two weeks.

Before this there was some hanging out. But the euphemism-y kind of hanging out. And some texting while Julius was away. But Julius came back from Finland early, even before it was ‘officially’, which makes it a full-on Thing.

Unofficially? Jared asks.

Idk. You know how it is, Erin replies.

Jared does not know how it is. He can’t even begin to guess what she’s referring to, he has so little awareness of how it is. He met Bryce and that was it for him. Well. Give or take a few weeks and a minor grudge.

Oh we’re calling it a minor grudge now?

Wait no you don’t you were engaged at my age hahaha

Erin obviously knows Jared was engaged at nineteen, and gave him shit for it at the time (her ‘I can’t believe you’re going to be a child bride’ is one of my favourite lines in the entire series) but now that she’s nineteen herself?

His phone lights up with another text, which is just hahahahahaha and crying laughing emojis.

She’s dying what were they THINKING.

“Can I come in?” Bryce asks meekly.

“Fine,” Jared says, since it’s not like he’s talking to Erin anymore. Though he doesn’t know why Bryce would want to. This is the sulking room, and Bryce doesn’t seem sulky about this at all.

Only Big Sulky Babies allowed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you?” Bryce says, perching on the bed beside Jared as Jared tries to forcibly wipe his brain clean. “I just — kind of thought it was something we both knew but we were like, pretending we didn’t know so you could ignore it forever.”

Look at Bryce supportively pretend something doesn’t exist because he fears for Jared’s sanity.

“Don and I are cool now,” Bryce says. “Sort of. Mostly. He hasn’t insulted me to my face in like – a while. Huh. That’s a good sign.”

Don did mean it about Bryce being a member of the family after he married Jared. You don’t insult family. Mock? Sure. Tease? Absolutely. But insult? Absolutely not.

“Why didn’t someone actually say ‘hey Jared, you do know this is a thing, right?’” Jared asks. His immediate family and Julius all know that Jared can be, well —

Someone should have made sure he was aware, is the point.

“I honestly think Erin just wanted to see how long it’d take you to figure it out if no one actually said ‘hey Jared, Erin and Julius are dating’,” Bryce says. “And apparently the answer was a picture on twitter?”

Everyone assumed Jared already knew and was pointedly ignoring it. Except Erin. She knew that Jared would yell at her or Julius when he knew, and therefore he was still in the dark.

Bryce looks shifty again. “Ash told me that Erin said that?”

Which means Ash knows, obviously. And that Ash and Bryce have discussed this. So Chaz must know. And Maia. Not that babies know things, just —

Don’t worry, Jared, I promise Maia didn’t know before you.

Fucking Oilers fans found out about this before Jared did. Flames fans did.

He doesn’t know why, but the fact Flames fans knew this before Jared did makes this so much worse than if it was just Oilers fans.

This is simultaneously a weird thing to get stuck on, yet also totally understandable. Oilers fans are Julius fans. Flames fans are Julius haters. But also may remember Erin from Bryce drama. Also fuck Flames fans, all Jared’s homies hate Flames fans.

Jared’s phone buzzes from where he tossed it after the last emoji round. He bets it’s more hahahahas. Possibly some skulls. Erin likes to die laughing.

She can’t hahaha any longer, she’s already dead from laughing.

150. Affront

Jared thinks people are supposed to be afraid of death. He’s pretty sure that’s common, reasonable. When threatened with death, people should feel fear. But what is Julius Halla doing right now? He’s laughing. At Jared.

He basically lived with you, Jared, he knows just how little true bite there is in you.

“Stop laughing,” Jared hisses. “You traitor.”

“Who am I a traitor to,” Julius says. He sounds vaguely curious, like someone who’s been accused of something ludicrous, and is interested to see how you came to that conclusion. Which is rich, for a traitor.

But who is he a traitor TO, Jared?

“Me!” Jared says. “And friendship! And lineys! And — there’s a code!”

I do enjoy Jared continually using Julius being his liney as a reason when they have now been divisional rivals longer than they were ever linemates.

“You think it’s the definition of toxic masculinity,” Julius says. “And that it frequently treats women as objects and prizes to be won, and also acts like showing affection towards your friends is gay. And you’re gay, and you think showing affection is disgusting, so obviously there is no connection.”

He listens <3

“She’s like, ten!” Jared says. “She’s way too young for you.”

Julius is very quiet. “How much older than you is—“

There’s about a two and a half year age difference between Erin and Julius. Bryce and Jared’s is just shy of four years. As Julius well knows, the bastard.

“Eating my food and dating my sister,” Jared says. “Who is a child.”

“How old were you when you got engaged?” Julius asks.

Jared can only an inarticulate sound of rage in answer, because Julius knows exactly how old he was when he got engaged.

The answer is ‘exactly as old as Erin is now’. As Julius is well aware, the BASTARD. Also, a missing word, my bad.

“Wait,” Jared says, suddenly horrified. More horrified. “You’re not engaged, are you?”

“No!” Julius says, sounding equally horrified.

This question isn’t the reason Julius doesn’t want to get married, but it certainly did not help.

“How did this even happen,” Jared moans. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know anything. Why didn’t you tell me.”

This feels like a trick question.

“I wanted to wait to tell you in person,” Julius says. “Because I was concerned you’d be, well. You know.”

People keep telling Jared he knows things that he does not know.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Hysterical,” Julius says.

“I am not hysterical!” Jared says.

This might be more believable if Jared hadn’t shrieked that last bit.

The fact Bryce bursts out laughing in the living room contradicts that statement, but Julius can’t hear him. And maybe it’s coincidental laughter. Maybe Bryce is watching something funny. Because Jared is not hysterical.

“Wait, Erin didn’t think I’d be hysterical?” Jared says.

Look, Jared may deny he’s hysterical, but also — why didn’t Erin think he’d be hysterical? Even if he isn’t. Because he is not. But also — really?

For all of Erin’s many…many…many faults, an inability to predict Jared’s behaviour is unfortunately not one of them. She used her predictive ability for blackmail purposes way too much when they were younger, always caught him in the act when he was breaking the few house rules he ever broke then threatened to snitch if Jared didn’t do shit for her. He made her so many grilled cheese sandwiches. To this day he associates grilled cheese with smug smiles and extortion.

Admission of hysteria. Also Jared makes an excellent grilled cheese sandwich. Worth surveillance for blackmail purposes for sure.

“But I was in Finland at the beginning of summer,” Julius says. “And then Bryce injured his shoulder, and you went to Vancouver, and there was no good time. And then twitter.”

Julius, if asked, would say they were a thing months earlier than Erin would. But they had not yet defined the relationship.

“She’s fine,” Julius says. “She thinks it’s funny.”

He sounds faintly scandalised. Which is understandable, because it’s not funny.

“Did you tell her it’s not funny,” Jared says.

“I did,” Julius says. “She says she gets to decide if it’s funny or not.”

“But it’s not funny,” Jared says.

“I know,” Julius says.

Counterpoint from Erin: it’s fucking hilarious, you’re both just boring.

“Don’t like —“ Jared says, then pauses, because there are a lot of different demands warring in him right now. “That’s my sister, Halla.”

“I know,” Julius says. “Would it help if I told you I have…strong…feelings—“

“Gross,” Jared says. “Stop talking.”

“Okay,” Julius says, sounding greatly relieved.

I love their friendship. Every time feelings are involved they both react like cats getting sprayed with water.

“No,” Jared says. “Obviously it is. Did you know that they were together?”

There’s a silence.

“Mom?” Jared says.

“…did you not?” his mom asks. “Jared!”

NOBODY was hiding this from Jared. Nobody.

“Erin’s spent more time in Edmonton than Calgary since her semester ended,” mom says.

“She has a friend there,” Jared says, then, “Oh.”

Yes.

There's only one direct reference to Erin and Julius’ relationship before Jared finds out in the series, because I had to ride a careful line there, as Jared hadn’t noticed anything, so his POV wouldn’t really reflect the information he wasn’t paying attention to.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jared demands. ‘Friend’ is not telling him. ‘Friend’ is a euphemism you use when the other person already knows.

“I thought you knew!” his mom says. “And were just immaturely pretending that as long as you didn’t acknowledge it then it wasn’t actually happening!”

Jared thinks it might be a concerning sign that the two people who know him best both assume he thinks that if he pretends something hard enough, it won’t happen.

Yes that might indicate something about you, Jared.

“Yes!” Jared says. “Why aren’t you mad about this? Your daughter’s dating a hockey player. A hockey player. And you’re letting her?”

“You’re a hockey player, Jared,” his mom says. “As is your husband. And literally all of your friends.”

This isn’t exactly Grace’s mom upon finding out she was dating Raf.

“That’s just people in general, sweetie,” his mom says. “And we know Julius is a nice young man.”

“He is not,” Jared says. Julius is many things, but he is not nice.

“You know what I mean by nice, Jared,” his mom says.

He’s not a nice boy, but he is a good one. Also he speaks Matheson quite fluently.

“You can’t just assume that I like him.”

“Jared,” his mom says. “You love that boy. You brought him home for Christmas.”

“Out of the kindness of my heart,” Jared says.

“You brought home someone you don’t like for Christmas out of the kindness of your heart,” his mom says. “And then you invited him to your wedding. As one of the handful of guests who wasn’t immediately related to you or Bryce. Out of the kindness of your heart.”

Jared, we all know there is not even close to that much kindness in your heart.

“Obviously you like him, or he wouldn’t be one of your best friends,” his mom says. “And since you’re choosy about who you’re friends with, that means a lot. You have extremely good taste in friends, when you actually bother to make them.”

Jared picks at the hem of his shorts.

Jared thinks it’s quite rude for his mom to use facts and reason against him when he is intent on being unreasonable.

“Gross, love,” Jared says.

“I won’t tell Erin you love her, I promise,” his mom says.

“Good,” Jared says. “Ew.”

How dare anyone say he loves his (demon) sister.

“Jared,” his mom says. “Are you making this all about you?”

“No,” Jared says.

“Jared,” his mom says.

“Well it’s a little bit about me, isn’t it!” Jared says. “He’s my friend. And liney.”

“Former liney,” his mom says. Everyone’s so fixated on that part. Liney status can last past being teammates. Look at Jared and Chaz: linemates for life. Even though Bryce subsequently stole Chaz a little, despite the fact they played on completely different lines on the Flames. Not that it’s stealing. Couples share.

Jared can share. Look at how good Jared is at sharing. He only holds Bryce befriending Chaz against him a little, years down the line. That’s sharing.

Eventually Julius is going to get exposed to Erin’s sparkling personality.

He’s had some exposure therapy, rooming with Jared.

Jared would mention that long-distance relationships are highly prone to failure, but he’s pretty sure mom would bring up how much of his relationship with Bryce involved long-distance, and Jared is frankly sick of people reminding him of his own extremely successful relationship, and not letting him be hypocritical.

What bullshit.

He hates arguing with his mom. It’s like arguing with himself, except worse, because at least when he argues with himself, he always technically wins.

The best kind of argument.

“You remind me so much of your dad right now,” mom says.

“Mom!” Jared says.

“A little Don in the making,” his mom says. “He’d be so proud.”

Jared tries to tell her to take it back, but all he can manage is an inarticulate sound of rage. Again.

The cruelest thing you could say to him.

“I got Thai from that place on Burrard you really like,” Bryce says, then, all in a rush, “Sorry for assuming you knew about Julius and Erin and were just pretending you didn’t instead of like, actually not knowing. If I knew you actually didn’t know I would have told you. Or made Erin tell you because it wouldn’t be my place to tell you or. Are you mad at me?”

Sala Thai, for anyone curious. Also, poor Bryce. He really did think Jared knew.

“Did you get me soup to shut me up?” Jared asks.

“I got you it because it’s your favourite?” Bryce says, looking both hurt and confused.

Poor, poor Bryce.

“—and doesn’t he realise what Erin’s like?” Jared says. “Because he is going to be unpleasantly surprised when he gets to know her a little better.”

“Uh,” Bryce says. “I think he’s had a pretty good preview of what Erin’s like?”

BRYCE, NO. I mean, you are 100% correct, but NO.

“We are nothing alike,” Jared says.

“Erin made the exact same face when I said that,” Bryce says. “Like. That’s almost creepy.”

“You’ve said this to her?” Jared says.

“Yeah, because you’re both—“ Bryce says, then, “Ow! She did that too!”

Why do Mathesons keep smacking Bryce’s arm when he tells them the truth?

“We’re nothing alike,” Jared mutters.

Bryce says nothing, but he’s got this look on his face like ‘I’m humouring you right now by not arguing, but you know and I know that you’re full of shit’.

“Stop — looking at me with that face,” Jared says.

Bryce huffs out a laugh. “Erin said—“

Jared can’t hear him.

“Jared,” Bryce says, muffled. “Jared, I know you can hear me.”

Jared cannot.

Erin wasn’t immature enough to put her hands over her ears though, that one’s all Jared.

“Take it back,” Jared says.

“No,” Bryce says. “I’m not pretending something isn’t true just because you don’t like it, that’s ridiculous.”

Jared picks up his noodles.

“I got you soup,” Bryce says sadly as Jared stomps right back to the sulking room, this time with dinner.

Poor, poor Bryce.

#liveblogging the end

[rwbyvein]

Snow Wraiths: Ghosts of the Passed

Ghost of Pyrrha: *possesses Winter's body*

Winter(P): I am not sure what I was expecting.

Ghost of Penny: Are you sure this is a good idea?

Winter(P): At this point, it is more experimentation.

Winter(P): *surprised look*

Winter: Would you care to tell me who you are, and how it is you are able to possess my body?"

Winter(P): *bowing*

Winter(P): I'm sorry.

Winter: you say that, but are still possessing my body.

Winter(P): I'm sorry, but I'm a friend of your sister.

Winter: Is this a Semblance?

Winter(P): Oh, no, I'm dead. It wasn't a clean death, so I cannot pass on.

Winter: . . .

Winter(P): I would like to thank you for being so accomodating.

Winter: Emotional responses have never been especially strong in my family.

Ghost of Penny: And rational ones?

Winter: *looks around*

Winter: Who's there?

Winter(P): I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to sit down.

Winter: *strides over to her couch and sits down, crossing her legs*

Winter: Well?

Winter(P): I am the ghost of Pyrrha Nikos.

Winter: *sits up properly*

Winter: I had hoped to meet you.

Winter(P): And my friend is the Ghost of Penny Polendina.

Winter: *goes pale*

Winter(P): It seems she will need time to process this.

Weiss: *steps into the room*

Ghost of Penny: *possesses Weiss*

Weiss(P): Walks over to the couch and sits down.

Weiss(P): Can we hug?!

Winter(P): Mayhap we should find calm her first.

Weiss (sarcastically): Oh, don't let me interupt you.

Winter(P): I suppose you would not recognize us.

Winter(P): *breathes deep*

Winter(P): Would it help if I say "Hello Again?"

Weiss: *curious expression*

Winter(P): The first time we met, you asked me for a favour.

Weiss: . . .

Winter(P): A gentils chevalier was approaching.

Weiss: . . .

Winter(P): He called you "Snow Angel."

Weiss: *eyes wide with shock*

Weiss: *calms herself down*

Weiss: And, myself?

Weiss(P): Beep-Bop-Boop

Weiss: . . .

Weiss: Penny?!

Weiss(P): Friend Weiss! It has been so long since we could speak!

Weiss(P): Is that why you are doing this?

Winter(P): Actually, we're going to turn you into sex slaves for Jaune.

Weiss: O.O

Winter(P): Willingly.

Weiss: And... I am supposed to just... accept this?

Winter(P): Accepting is the point of this.

Weiss: And... my sister?

Winter(P): A necessary sacrifice.

Weiss: *nearly panicking*

Winter(P): *places her hand on Weiss' knee*

Weiss: *relaxes*

Winter(P): As I said, everything we do here will be voluntary.

Weiss: It... has been... too long...

Winter(P): Could you bring up the picture?

Weiss(P): *starts playing with her scroll*

Scroll: *Thirsty Weiss in the Ever-After*

Weiss (nervously): How did you?..

Winter(P): We cannot pass on. Where did you expect us to go?

Weiss: . . .

Winter(P): It seems your opinion of my partner has changed over the years.

Weiss: . . .

Winter(P): It's just us girls, here. And you do not have to worry about me trying to cut into your claim.

Weiss: Who says it's my claim?!

Winter(P): *gestures to the picture*

Winter(P): Or maybe you would like to think back to Haven.

Weiss: . . .

Winter(P): I know what you were thinking.

Weiss: How could you possibly?... Yes.

Weiss(P): *giggles*

Weiss: And where is my sister, in all of this.

Winter: I am here, sister. My apparent absence is excused by the fact I have not come to any conclusion about this.

Winter (accusingly): You have spoke quite a bit about this gentleman, sister. You are either infatuated, or planning a vendetta, and I can only support one of those things.

Weiss: Sister!

Winter: Present circumstances aside, if you have feelings for this gentlemen, then you should not be afraid to pursue them.

Weiss: *scoff*

Weiss: Is that why you are here? To get Jaune and myself to?..

Winter(P): Oh, no. We wish to join you.

Weiss: Sister?!

Winter: I do not know if the feelings are my own, but - I find myself intrigued by this gentleman.

Winter(P): *stands up*

Winter(P): *offers Weiss her hand*

Weiss(P): *takes the hand and allows herself to be pulled to her feet*

Weiss: Do you really think you can force me to do?..

Weiss(P): Friend-Weiss, you have yet to even attempt to resist.

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #winter schnee #ghost of pyrrha nikos #ghost of penny polendina

[fandom-imagines-stories]

His Solace

Season Two Episode Five

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 5962

Series Masterlist

Summary: Morgan calls the reader to Los Vegas, worried about Spencer. Together, they face demons from his past while she continues to struggle with hers. 

Notes: I’m messing with the timeline of the episode a bit in order for the reader to be able to be there when everything happens. This one is probably going to be pretty long because I’m trying to work in scenes from the episode. Buckle up for the next part because it’s also going to be crazy long. 

Warnings: Nightmares, mentions of SA, mentions of child death, PTSD, alcoholism (lotta stuff for this one guys)

-

Spence hadn’t had the nightmare in years. 

He chalked it up to stress. The case. Going home. Worrying about you. He’d been tearing himself in half trying to balance everything. His mind was just having a hard time handling it. That was all. 

But dreaming on the plane was one thing. Waking up the parents of a missing child because of his screams was another. Morgan assured him that it would be okay. The sinking guilt and embarrassment sunk their claws into his chest nonetheless. 

Morgan returned to the kitchen where he’d been up all night looking over the case. Spence laid back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember everything from his dream. The same basement. The same boy. Leeches? 

He rolled over and reached for his phone on the coffee table. 

“Hello?” 

He hadn’t expected you to answer. The time crept into the early morning hours and he’d been expecting your voicemail. Not that he minded. He just wanted to hear your voice. 

“Hey, what are you doing up?” He asked. There was something going on in the background. Music maybe? Someone called something to you, but you ignored them. 

“Spencer, hey,” you said. You sounded surprised. Panicked even. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just at…” You paused and he listened to what sounded like you stepping outside, muting the music and the voices. “Sonia’s.” 

“Oh, I-uh- I can call you back then.”

“Spence, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he breathed. Spencer sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Honestly, I just wanted to hear your voice.” 

You switched the phone to your other ear. He could hear the breeze through the speaker and the occasional car horn. 

“Is it the case?”

“No, I-” There was no use lying to you. “I don’t know. I’ve just been having this dream I haven’t had in a while and I don’t know if it means anything. It’s probably nothing. I’m sorry for waking you- or interrupting Sonia’s party, I guess. I’ll let you get back.”

“Spencer, wait,” you said. “Talk to me. I thought you don’t believe in dream analysis.”

“I don’t. At least I think I don’t,” he sighed. “I’ve been having the same nightmare since I was a kid and it’s felt more and more real the past few days.”

“What do you think is scaring you so much?” You cursed yourself for not being there to help him. Instead, you were out at the one place you promised yourself you’d never go again. 

The bar you used to go to with him. 

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” he said. “I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“Seriously, Spencer, it’s okay. You guys have only been gone for a couple days and I miss you so much I subconsciously grabbed one of your shirts for work this morning instead of mine.” You laughed, tugging at the collar of his button-up that you were still wearing. 

“I’m glad my absence has turned you into a kleptomaniac,” he teased, finally feeling his nerves start to settle. 

You stepped towards the road and tried to hail a late-night taxi. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to head back home and grab the Sherlock Holmes book we’re on and I’ll read to you for a change.” 

Spence fell back against the couch cushions and smiled to himself. “That sounds perfect, actually.” 

“The Sign of Four, right?”

He hummed. “Page 23.” 

“Just let me find a cab and I’ll be on my way home.” 

He briefly wondered why you hadn’t driven yourself, but his mind was focused on too many other things to overanalyze it. Instead, he tried to listen to the sound of your breathing and the light roll of thunder as it began to rain in D.C. 

-

You hadn’t meant for it to get this bad. But work had been piling up and you were trying to meet study deadlines on top of worrying about Spencer. When you were at the bar, you had Beth to cut you off, but here, at home with a full bottle drained in one sitting, you could hardly see straight. 

But at least you couldn’t feel. 

You just needed a day to give in, to let yourself drown in your dark side and then you could keep smiling, convincing everyone that everything was okay. And everything was. You could keep yourself together as long as you had times like this where you could forget how it felt to be falling apart. 

You groaned at the shrill, ear-piercing shriek of your ringtone. Had it always sounded like that? It made your head pound as if it were trying to break away from the noise through your skull. 

“Heeelllo?” 

“Y/N, it’s Derek.”

“Hey- what is it Penelope calls you- oh, right- hey Chocolate Thunder,” you giggled. 

There was a long pause on the other line. Maybe it wasn’t long, but the seconds kind of all blurred together. “Are you okay?” 

“Of courrrse I’m ffffffine,” you slurred through your words. You weren’t even trying. The part of your brain that would usually sound an alarm right about now was stuck in a haze of warm whiskey bliss. 

“Have you been…” Derek checked the hallway for anyone listening. “Are you drunk right now?” 

You gulped. “No.” 

“Christ Y/N, it’s not even noon in D.C.,” he exasperated, running a hand down his face. “Listen, I’m gonna need you to sober up real quick because I might need your help.” 

Despite every worry running through his head revolving around the idea of you drinking, Reid’s problem took the forefront of his mind. 

Your thoughts holed through the haze enough for a moment of sober clarity. “D-did something happen to Speeencer?” 

You could vaguely remember Spence calling you about nightmares a night or so ago. It felt like months. 

“I just think he could use having you here right now,” Derek said. “But, Y/N, if you’re drinking-”

“I’ll be there,” you blurted with a fair amount of effort. You hung up the phone before he could say anything else. Any drunken bliss had switched to a motivational panic, forcing your feet to move across the living room. You’d splashed your face with cold water a few times before the liquor won and you threw up the entire contents of your stomach. 

Hot tears blurred your vision more than the intoxication. Something was wrong. Spencer needed you. And here you were on the bathroom floor. 

Morgan knew. You couldn’t keep the two halves separate anymore, the dark collapsing onto the other. 

Pulling yourself off the floor, you readied yourself to pack. 

You could do this. You had to. If you lost your balance, you would fall and you weren’t sure you knew how to climb out of the pit again. 

-

Somehow, he just knew. He had to be right. Why else would his mind bring him here? Bring him back to this memory of his childhood. Spencer walked back down the hallway, and there he was, talking to Morgan and Rossi as if he had no idea what this was about. Spence’s blood boiled just looking at the face of the man that now haunted his dreams. 

His father. 

“My son? Did something happen?” 

Spencer stepped back into the lobby. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” The two Reid men stared at each other, his father’s eyes growing wide with a mix of surprise and confusion. “Hello, dad.” 

17 years. 17 years and he was only ten minutes away. It took everything in Spence’s power to not scream at him right then and there. 

The four of them went into his father’s office, where he attempted light conversation but Spence shot it down. With every seething phrase, he could feel Morgan and Rossi’s looks of concern burning into him. He didn’t care. All he wanted was to get the truth from the man that abandoned him. 

It was when he said the name. Riley Jenkins. His father looked away. He turned to Morgan as if to ask the other agent for help. Reid was right. 

He was hiding something. 

“You remember Riley Jenkins?” Spence asked. 

His dad turned back to him. “Of course.” 

“I’ve been having dreams about him for a really long time. But when we came back here for this case, it jogged something.” His voice was level enough, but the other two agents could sense him reaching a breaking point. “The dream changed. I saw his killer.” He didn’t hesitate. Spence didn’t even flinch. “And it was you.” 

A long, tense silence passed over the room. 

His father just smiled, nervousness tinting his gaze. “Interesting dream.” 

Morgan watched him, arms crossed and mind focused. “You don’t seem all that surprised.” 

“I stopped being surprised by Spencer’s mind a long time ago.” 

The agents began closing in, starting with Rossi. Mr. Reid’s demeanor changed. He grew defensive and his tone switched to anxious agitation. Morgan requested access to his files. He told them to get a warrant. 

In Spencer’s head, it might as well have been an admission of guilt. 

Morgan watched the younger man go with a heaviness in his chest. All of the kid’s anger and all of his unfaced issues with his father were manifesting into something he couldn’t walk back from. And if this was true… was he really ready to face it?

All he could do was hope that you would be able to talk some sense into him when nobody else could. 

-

For the second time that day, Spencer found his hotel room door ajar. Cautiously, he pushed it open, hand reaching for the holster on his hip. His arm fell to his side, however, when he found you, legs crossed and nose buried in a set of pictures and files on his bed. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You didn’t even look up. “Who’s Gary Michaels?” 

“Y/N-”

“Someone slipped this under your door.” You glanced up at him. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I learned how to break into hotel rooms when I was 17 and tried to hide from Aaron for a weekend in Arlington.” 

“You’ve never told me that story,” he said. Spence shook his head, refocusing. “But that’s not the point. What are you doing here?” He snatched the file from the bed and read the note attached. 

You’re looking at the wrong guy.

Right. Nothing suspicious about that. 

“I heard you could use some help and I got on the first flight out,” you shrugged, trying to hide the way your head pounded. Sleeping on the plane was definitely not a good idea. You’d already had three coffees to nurse your midday hangover and they were making your hands shake. 

Spencer frowned. “Morgan called you, didn’t he?” 

“Yes, he called. He texted me some of the details of the case so I would know what we’re getting into,” You set the files aside and stood up, crossing the room to put a hand on his arm. “He thought you would appreciate my help, that’s all.” 

“Well I don’t,” Spence snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. You stepped back. His tone was more than just agitated. It was aggressive. He’d never spoken to you like that. It didn’t frighten you. It hit you with how much he was really struggling. 

Spencer watched your face fall. His arms hung at his sides and his eyes blinked tears away until one escaped. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His voice gave out before he could finish. He screwed his eyes shut to keep from crying. The anger fueling him dissipated into guilt. Maybe he’d been trying so hard to keep everything together for your sake, that everything just made him snap. Maybe this was all in his head. Maybe he was just as crazy as he always feared he would-

His internal rambling stopped at the feeling of your arms around him, your hand leaning his head onto your shoulder gently. He opened his eyes and took you in, hands clinging to you like a life preserver. The only thing keeping him afloat in this storm. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“No,” he cried. “No, it isn’t. I don’t know which is worse. The possibility of my dad being a killer or that I’m… I’m so convinced that he is. Nothing is okay, Y/N. I don’t know- I don’t know what to do.” 

“Just talk to me,” you pleaded, putting your hands on his cheeks. “I can’t help you if you shut off on me.” 

A small smile tugged the corner of his lips. “Hypocrite.” 

“Okay, well, this isn’t about me,” you rolled your eyes. He just shook his head and pulled your lips to his. “What was that for?” 

“For being here.” 

The two of you stood there for a moment before he pulled away, walking over to the window. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He turned his head back to you with a deeply troubled expression. “Did you have a relationship with your dad?” 

An uncomfortable shiver ran through you as if sparking your hungover headache all over again.

“I never met him, actually,” you shrugged. You nodded your head in thought. “Aaron always told me he was grateful for that. All I know about him is that he was… well, my mom was scared enough of him to kill six teenage girls if that’s a fair judgment of his character.”

Spencer looked back to the window. “Right.”  

You shook off the dark thoughts and pecked a kiss on his cheek, sitting back down on the bed. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Spence exhaled slowly and laid back beside you. “There’s this boy I knew when I was little, Riley Jenkins. He was sexually assaulted and murdered. They found his body behind the dryer in his basement.”

“The kid in your dreams,” you exclaimed breathily. Spencer had told you about this particular set of nightmares before, but it hadn’t occurred to you that it had been from his childhood. 

“The thing is, I didn't even remember he existed until Morgan pulled his files and my dream changed. I saw Riley’s killer.” He moved his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “It was my dad.” He glimpsed at you to gauge your reaction, but you just sat beside him, hand on his arm, listening intently. “Riley Jenkins lived less than half a mile away. He was on the little league team my dad coached. When we talked to him, he was defensive and not just because of the accusation but… he was definitely hiding something.” 

“And you’re sure it has something to do with Riley’s death?” 

“I don’t know how,” he sighed. “But I know I’m right.” Spencer held up the note from the file. “My dad was involved in this boy’s death and I have to figure out how.” The determination in not only his voice but his eyes set into your heart. 

“Okay,” you nodded. That’s all you needed to hear. “Walk me through it.” 

-

Spencer needed to clear his head after rehashing everything with you and getting the call from Garcia. Having a file on his accomplishments didn’t suddenly make up for his dad abandoning him for all those years. But knowing he was checking in and still staying away… it somehow made him feel even worse. 

You were standing in front of a vending machine, pretending to pursue its contents when you were really eyeing the bar. 

“Morgan called in the big guns, huh?” the voice behind made you jump out of your skin, quickly jerking your eyes away. 

“Dave,” you gulped as you tried to calm yourself. “I didn’t know you were here, too.” 

The older agent gave you a hard once over as if scanning you for what you were hiding. You waited for him to comment on your absence from the group or your avoidance like Aaron had. After all, you’d barely seen any of them in the past few weeks. You’d barely managed to hide everything from Spencer, let alone an entire team of profilers. Especially one as skilled as David Rossi. But if he suspected anything, he kept it to himself. 

“The kid seemed like he could use a weathered veteran like me on the case,” Dave smirked. 

“I’m glad you’re here to help out,” you said. “It’s good to see you. Even if it isn’t under the best circumstances.” Your shoulders sagged a little with the truth of what you said. 

Hiding away was lonely. 

“When this is all over, you’ll have to catch me up on everything,” he nodded. There was still a hint of suspicion in his eyes and you made a mental note to put more effort into keeping up your better half. Especially since one of them already knew. 

“You were supposed to text me when you got in.” 

Speak of the Derek-Morgan-Devil. 

You turned to the approaching agent and saw the mix of anger and worry on his features. It was the same look he gave you when you were stuck in the station together in Fairfax. But beneath the outward frustration, you saw the genuine glint in his eye. Like when they found you. 

When you killed her. 

“Must have slipped my mind,” you said. “I’m going to go grab Spencer.” 

Your urgency did not go unnoticed. Rossi looked at Morgan with a raised brow. Morgan sighed. 

“It’s a long story,” he said. 

Truthfully, as soon as he’d hung up with you, he almost called your brother. Derek might not have known everything about the situation, but he liked to think that the two of you had become friends. He knew about your previous struggles with drinking and the minute he heard your intoxicated voice, he knew something was wrong. But he also knew it wasn’t his place to tell your family and friends what you were going through. That was something you had to do yourself. 

Besides, he felt like he owed you a chance to explain. After failing to keep you safe in Fairfax… he thought you at least deserved that. 

Spencer was on one of the card machines talking to a woman who’d sat beside him. A small shot of jealousy rumbled up your spine, but it quickly dissipated when his eyes met yours, lighting up. He hurried over to you, the woman calling after him. 

“Hey, there’s like two thousand dollars on here.”

“Keep it,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “I think I figured out a way to help me remember.” 

“Did he just give two grand to a prostitute?” Morgan asked. 

“Let’s go,” you took Spence’s hand and let him lead you out of the lobby with new determination. 

-

You did not like this idea. The whole method had always made you uncomfortable and now, the thought of sending Spencer back to such a dark place freaked you out even more. Maybe a part of you feared he was right. What if his dad really killed this child? What would that do to him? 

You of all people knew the cataclysmic break it could cause inside of a person. 

Dave had offered to sit in, but you told the two that you would stay with him. Spencer was grateful. If anyone could center him back, in reality, he knew it would be you. 

You took a seat across the room while Spence laid down on the couch. Seeing the worry in your expression, he gave you a small, reassuring smile, despite the wariness in his own eyes. The hypnotherapist began the process and you forced yourself to keep still. Every nerve in your body was on edge and your hands ached for something to do to distract yourself. 

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about,” she instructed. She set the stage and you watched as Spencer fell deeper and deeper into the trance. 

You tried to focus on his face as they spoke, but images invaded your mind as if you were the one under hypnosis. Sarah Cunningham and her bottle of death loomed over you like phantoms. You took a deep breath. You were here for Spencer. 

The sound of his voice cracking helped pull you back. 

“I don’t want to be here.” 

“Okay,” the woman said. “It’s okay Spencer. Take us to where the light is.” 

The sun dipping under the horizon. The flash of the gun. The sticky, hot, spray of blood on your face. 

“Mom,” Spencer muttered. “My mom, she’s at the window. I think she’s been crying.” 

You remembered seeing Tabitha’s parents at the trial. Sarah’s tears of inconsolable grief. She was just a lost woman- like your mother. 

And you killed her. 

“I think she saw him,” Spence continued. 

“Who?” The therapist asked. “Your father?”  

Again, you force yourself to refocus, heart pounding at the sight of confused fear on Spencer’s face. 

“Do you talk to her?” 

He shook head his slightly. “No. No, I wanna… I wanna see.” 

After a moment, his grip on the hypnotherapist's wrist tightened so much she tried to pull away. She winced, looking at you fearfully. 

“What is it, Spencer?” She asked. “What are you seeing?” 

His fingers remained clamped around her wrist. His face contorts. You stand up from the chair. 

“That’s enough,” you said.

“I need you to leave this location now, Spencer,” she ordered. 

You wanted to run over to him, to take his hand to tell him everything was okay. But something inside of you was screaming to run away. Everything you touched withered and died and you were dragging him with you. 

Killer. 

Killer. Killer.

“Wake him up,” you pleaded. 

Meanwhile, Spencer watched the scene unfold as if it were a moment from someone else's life rather than his own. He saw himself, young and scared and confused, standing at the window. He watched his father over the fire. Clothes covered in blood blackened and curled in the flames. 

The hypnotherapist tried to keep her voice steady as she instructed. “I’m going to count backward from five. Five…”

His childlike terror was more than he could stand. 

“Four…”

You felt your knees weaken, the truth of your realization hitting you like a bullet.

“Three…” 

It was as if he were witnessing his life unravel and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

“Two…” 

You were just like your mother. 

“One and wake!” 

Spencer’s eyes snapped open and he gasped in short, terrified breaths. You snapped out of your own thoughts and rushed to him, everything you just felt was instantly forgotten. He latched onto your hand, eyes scanning the room in a panic.

“Spence, it’s okay. I’m right here, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You pushed aside the gnawing in your brain as his eyes fell upon your face. “It’s okay.”

Spencer looked into your eyes and found himself on the brink of tears. He knew it. He knew you could bring him back from that dark place. His solace from the nightmare of his memory. He brought your hand to his lips and slowly, his breathing returned to normal.  

-

“How is he holding up?” Aaron asked. 

You sighed, switching the phone to your other shoulder as you looked over more case files. “How do you think? Finding out your parent might be a killer…” you trailed off. 

“Yeah,” Aaron exhaled. He knew what this whole ordeal must be doing to you and it took everything in him not to fly right back to Vegas to help. 

“We’re going to be okay,” you said, reading the silence between you. You sat with Gary Michael’s file in your lap and like a train, it finally dawned on you. “Oh, my god.” 

Aaron froze, that familiar fraternal panic shooting through his head. “What is it?”

“Have Garcia look up bodies found in surrounding states in the past 20 years. Look for Gary Michaels."

“The man from the file?” 

You nodded to yourself. “Maybe there’s a reason we can’t find him.” And maybe the blood that Spencer saw on the clothes wasn’t Riley Jenkins. What was it he’d told you that his mom said? 

It’s always been about him. 

“Okay, you’re on speaker,” Aaron said. 

“How’s our boy doing, Hot Stuff?” Penelope asked, followed by a series of furious typing. 

“He’ll be better once we solve this.” You listened to the other line. A sharp, quiet wince caught your attention. “JJ, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah don’t worry about me.” 

“Oh god,” Penelope gasped. “Y/N, you are a genius. Gary Michaels’ body was found in California seven years ago.” 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Do they know what happened?” 

“No,” Aaron answered, reading the screen over Penelope’s shoulder. “But there are prints on file that were found on his glasses.” 

Another pained cry JJ attempted to hide behind her hand. 

“Are you sure everything is okay?” You repeated. 

“How often have these been?” Emily asked. 

“Seriously, I’m fine-”

“Sorry sweetie,” Penelope beamed. “But I think you’re going into labor.” 

Aaron put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get the car.” He took the phone off speaker. “Listen, I’ll call you back.”

“Of course. Take care of JJ. I’ll deal with things here.”

“And Y/N,” he started. 

You cut him off, trying to keep your mind on one thing at a time. If you thought about anything else, you’d break.  “I know.” 

-

He didn’t know what to feel. Relieved his father wasn’t a killer? Ashamed for accusing him in the first place? Guilty for everything he’d put his mom through? 

Spencer felt it all, sitting in that chair in the odd silence that had fallen over the room. He could feel you, Rossi, and Morgan watching from the other room, anxiously awaiting his reaction to everything. One thought kept in the shadows of his mind and he didn’t know what to do with it. 

He could have been another Riley Jenkins. A victim of the very crimes he’d dedicated his life to solving. 

Life has a funny way of circling back, doesn’t it? 

“We should be getting back soon and get your mother her medication,” the doctor who’d accompanied his mom said. 

“Right, of course,” Spencer agreed. 

His mom looked at him with the same loving admiration she often did. Like he was the brightest thing she’d ever seen, despite how dark his soul felt at the moment. Spence held up a hand. 

“Could you give me just one more second?” He asked the doctor, also checking his dad for a nod. 

Both approved and Spencer went out into the station, motioning you over. 

“How’d it go?” You asked tentatively. 

He thought for a moment. “Complicated, but… well?” You raised a confused brow. “I’ll tell you more later. Come with me.” 

“What? Spence, I don’t think now is the best time to-”

He ushered you into the room despite your protests. 

“Mom, Dad, this is Dr. Y/F/N Y/L/N,” he announced. 

You wanted to crawl under the desk, freezing under their eyes. 

“The girl from your letters,” his mother noted with a small smile. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”  She looked at you with the same affection she might have shown her own child. It was an odd feeling, receiving a mother’s love for the first time in so long. 

“It’s an honor, Mrs. Reid,” you said. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Please, call me Diana,” she beamed. “Spencer tells me you two are in similar kinds of work?” 

You nodded. “I’m a criminal psychologist.” 

You saw something click in the eyes of her doctor, but he didn’t say anything. Even over two thousand miles away, your last name, your life story, was a curse. 

Spencer’s hand found yours as if he could sense the cloud forming over your head. He gave you a smile and you pushed on. 

“Dad, this is Y/N. My- uh- my girlfriend,” he stammered. It wasn’t that he was unsure or ashamed. The word ‘girlfriend’ just didn’t seem to fit. It seemed so juvenile, so not important enough. For now, it’d have to do. 

“William Reid,” his father held out his hand and you shook it. He wasn’t the heartless monster you’d formed in your head. He was just a man. 

The doctor informed it was time to go and Spencer and his mother said their goodbyes. He exchanged a genuine but wavering handshake with his father before he departed as well, leaving the two of you in the room alone. 

“Of all the ways I imagined meeting your parents…” you blew out a breath broken up by a slight laugh. 

Spencer just pulled you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For the first time since he’d been here, he didn’t feel himself shaking. You grounded him despite the flying thoughts rattling around his brain. 

“Hey,” you soothed. “It’s okay.” 

He didn’t say anything for a long time. He just drank in your presence like it was keeping him from drowning in the emotions he didn’t know how to feel. 

After a while, he whispered. “I’m glad Morgan called you.” 

You held him a little tighter. Right… Morgan. 

-

Spencer had never been so afraid of dropping something in his entire life. 

“Hello Henry,” he said softly, almost scared he’d talk too loud and wake up the sleeping child. He wrapped his head around the word. Godfather. 

JJ positively beamed at him. “If anything should happen to us, it’s up to you and Garcia to make sure this boy gets into Yale.” 

“Yale. Yale?” Spencer exclaimed. “Do you want to go to Yale Henry?” 

He couldn’t understand it, but the feeling growing in his chest was unlike anything he’d felt before. A kind of want that he couldn’t quite place. Spence hadn’t given much thought to having kids before- well, maybe as a distant, alternate reality where he was normal and wasn’t afraid of everything and he could see himself having that kind of life- but now, looking into the face of his godson, he already loved him like he was his own. 

“That was your godfather’s safety school.” Spencer smiled and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I can get you into Cal Tech with one phone call.”  

He was smiling like you hadn’t seen him smile in weeks. You watched Spencer with the baby from outside of the room and felt the sinking pit in your stomach. The two of you had spent so much time dealing with the mess that was each other’s past that you never really got the chance to talk about the future. 

“I brought you some coffee,” Aaron’s voice startled you out of your trance. You took the styrofoam cup and let the liquid inside warm your palms. “How are you feeling?” He asked. 

You shrugged. “Just… tired. It’s been a long few days.” 

He hummed. It’d been so long since you’d seen your brother in person, somehow he looked different. Worry drew lines on his face and his eyes glimpsed over at you with a mix of his usual seriousness, care, and a touch of hurt. 

“Jack misses you,” he finally said. “Haley was asking if you’d stop by sometime.” 

“Yeah,” you gulped down a sip of coffee. “Of course.” 

You turned back to the man in the window. Spencer’s bright face should have brought you some semblance of security, or at least relief that he would be okay after the events of the last few days. Instead, there was a gnawing feeling inside your gut and your mind traveled back to the hypnotherapist's office.

You were a killer. 

You were just like your mother. 

“He’d make a great dad, wouldn’t he?” You whispered, hoping that if you kept your voice low, Aaron wouldn’t hear the sorrow in your words. Tears welled in your eyes, everything clicking into place in your mind. 

You could never give Spencer that. A future. You would forever drag him into the past and he deserved so much more than that. He deserved someone who could make his face light up like it was right now. He deserved a life away from you. 

“He would,” Aaron agreed with a small smile. He turned just in time to see you rushing down the hall. “Y/N?” He called after you, but you kept going until you ran into a firm, entrapping barrier. 

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Not now, Derek.” You kept your eyes low so he wouldn’t see you cry. 

“Yes now,” he ordered. The taller man put his hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place. “Avoiding me isn’t going to make it go away.” 

“I really can’t do this right now-”

“That’s too damn bad because we’re going to.” He ushered you over to a bench, clearly not going to take no for an answer. “Sit down and look at me.” 

You obeyed. When he saw your tears, his face softened. 

“Just talk to me, Y/N.”

You scoffed and wiped your cheeks with your sleeve. “Everybody keeps saying that. Just talk. Tell them what’s wrong. But what am I supposed to say? That I see the woman I killed every time I close my eyes? That I’m afraid every single day that I’m only hurting everyone I care about, most of all Spencer.” You choked back a sob. “That I’ve been so scared that I started drinking again after four years of not touching a drop just so I could stop feeling for once.” 

You covered your face with your hands. Derek didn’t say anything. He just put a supportive hand on your back and waited for you to calm down again. It felt like you were back in that police station and he was pulling you back to the ground. 

“Y/N,” he started softly. “I know that you’re tough as nails and that brain of yours is more brilliant than I even know, but you can’t do this alone.” He moved you gently so that you were sitting up and looking at his face. “You have to tell them.” 

You shook your head. “No. No, I can’t. I can handle it, Derek. I’ve been handling it, I swear-”

He stood up. With that steady voice that had more than once kept you from going over the edge, he looked down at you. The guilt pouring through his thoughts made him want to lock you in a room so you could never be hurt again. Part of him knew that this was his fault. If he had just stayed with you…

He sighed. “Tell them, or I will.” 

-

It was almost morning by the time he left the hospital. He’d found a few pamphlets about newborns and read all of them, just in case. He’d already read several books since JJ announced she was pregnant, but the idea of being a godfather made him even more nervous. 

The exhaustion of the last few days was telling on him and he was ready to curl up with you and sleep for a week. From the rollercoaster with his parents to the happiness for JJ, all of his emotions felt draining. 

Spencer unlocked the door to the apartment and, as the door swung open, he knew something was wrong. Something about the silence felt off. Wrong. The apartment was dark. There was an unsettling stillness throughout the living room. It was as if his senses knew before his mind- a feeling he knew too well at this point. 

Spence put down his bag and walked to your desk where a small note in your handwriting said goodbye. 

-

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt;  hereforsmutbcicantgetenough;  violetbossler;  hyper-half-blood;  i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48;  @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #dr. spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagines #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #dr. spencer reid #emily prentiss #the in betweens

[theshelbyclan]

Hi! So maybe a little random but you mentioned before something about writing for Enola Holmes and could you maybe just write me a short piece with Enola and Sherlock and maybe him tickling her? I really love how well you write the wholesome family stuff 😊😊

Hi! I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d be the right one to write this one, but a decided to try it anyways, because who can refuse such fluff? Just before I do, maybe check out @astheskycries (I hope you don’t mind me tagging you) for more very similar to what you asked for. Or @cas-kingdom for all the Henry inspired fluff? Hope I did your idea some justice after all 😊

———

Enola sighed deeply, “I already told you, I know I’m right.”

“Clearly not,” Sherlock answered swiftly.

“If he really had been away for two weeks, then why would he not have left his dog with the landlady, as he always does? Explain that to me, my genius brother!”

“Because,” Sherlock took a deep breath and tried his best to keep his face in check. In truth, he loved nothing more than playing these deductive games with his little sister. She’d become quite the formidable counter player in his absence. “Because he left suddenly on a Wednesday. His landlady goes to visit her sister on Wednesdays, everyone knows that.”

“But he didn’t leave on a Wednesday!” She pointed an accusing and fiery finger at him, “He left on a Tuesday, hence the curtains.”

He frowned. He hadn’t thought of the curtains yet.

“There’s a flaw in your reasoning,” Enola remarked triumphantly. “There’s something you’ve missed.”

“I have not,” he almost sulked, “It is you who has missed something. Forgotten about the pie already, little sister?”

“Oh, but that’s nothing. That just means his brother came up from the country.” Enola waved a disinterested hand, “It is you who has missed the blatant obvious.”

“Which is?”

“He’s a man who craves adventure. He is a lawyer, as you mentioned, but one who will only take up cases that lead him into danger. He’s in need of money, did you not see the state of his shoes? Still, he takes cases that don’t pay him as well as they should, but he takes those that require him to visit dark alleyways and grubby little pubs. He is, as I said, a ruffian at heart.”

“A ruffian. Really?” Sherlock scoffed.

A smile formed on Enola’s face, “I’m not surprised you missed it, but I of course did not.”

“And why did you not, but you presume that I did?”

“Well, we’re very different, you and I.”

Sherlock sat down and played a few notes on his violin, absentmindedly, “Indeed, we are.”

“I have mother’s disposition, and am more wild of spirit…”

“…which almost got you hanged!”

“whereas you are more like…”

Sherlock’s head shot up, “I sincerely hope you aren’t referring to…”

“Someone we are both very well acquainted with.”

“Enola…” he warned.

“Mycroft.”

Her brother sprang from his chair and called out, “That is a grave insult, young lady!”

Enola let herself fall down in her brother’s chaise longe, “I’m afraid it’s true. You have no appetite for danger nor fun. Just like him.”

“I’m sorry?”

And for a moment, Enola feared she’d actually gone to far and she had really hurt him. She stared at him and waited.

Sherlock looked down, but his expression betrayed no emotion. After a while, he said, “When you were little, you and I used to laugh together at Mycroft’s expense. You often stole his important papers and I’d make up riddles for him to solve, in order to get them back.”

Enola didn’t remember much about her older brothers, but this bit of information did awaken some memories, and she suddenly felt a warmness towards this one in particularly.

“He’d become furious of course and shout and stomp about the house in anger,” he continued. “And sometimes you’d steal my work too…”

“But you never got angry,” she finished. “You would just play with me.”

Sherlock nodded and walked over to his sister, “I did however chase you all around the house and in order to get my work back…”

Enola’s eyes widened.

“I’d do this!” Suddenly he dove down and started tickling Enola. She shrieked and tried to get away, but it was no use. “Sherloooooock!”

“Ah, not so clever now, are we?” he grinned down at the mess of hair and limbs and drilled his thumbs down at her ribs, which had a particular satisfying effect.

“Hahahaha, I, haha, amahah, not, aaah, a child anymohahahare!”

Moving his hands down to her stomach, Sherlock frowned, “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Seems to me you haven’t changed much at all.”

Finally, after what felt like forever, he stopped and Enola breathed heavily, “Neither have you, brother.”

He stood up straight and fixed his waistcoat, back to his nearly impossible to read face, “You used to think I was fun.”

She tried to tame her hair a little, but not with much success, “Alright, maybe you still are.” Because however much her dignity had been hurt in the process, Enola enjoyed her brother like this immensely.

“Unlike Mycroft?”

Enola smirked, “Unlike Mycroft.”

“Good!” Sherlock walked away abruptly, “That’s the fun handled, now for the danger. I have a case and I would appreciate your help with it.”

“Oh?” his sister sprang up expectantly, “And does this involve any dark alleys or seedy pubs?”

“Indeed it does, dear sister,” he smiled over his shoulder, already halfway out the door, “Follow me. The game is afoot!”

#enola holmes #enola x Sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #sherlock imagine #sherlock x sister #henry cavill #tickle fluff #tickle fic

[ramonag-if]

Hey there! Loved the new chapter(as usual) - got me feeling all kinds of emotions that I will not be recovering from anytime soon. 😭 I just wanted to write something cause I really love your writing and story and I’ve been following this WIP since it was posted(sorry if it’s long, I just really love these kinds of things).

While I’m not really angry with our mom, I don’t think my MC is gonna want to have anything to do with her cause seriously??? You leave your child with their emotionally closed off father who never expected to care for a child and was a part of a group that killed many of your people simply for their heritage? I understand you were trying to escape and now you’re a super important person leading a rebellion but you couldn’t even check in to see if your ex and child were still alive by like sending a spy disguised as a merchant or something? Having to be asked about Ahlf by her was painful(in like the best ways but I was also kind of offended for him). It doesn’t help that my MC has also been feeling like she won’t be accepted by the Ishari people because she wasn’t raised there and whatnot so seeing that her mom just had a whole other family with a daughter who *is* Ishari. Part of me wasn’t surprised we had a half-sibling but that didn’t stop the disappointment, feeling of betrayal and even some resentment - like wow you are a fantastic writer, thank you so much for blessing us with your art. 🥰

I have to ask though, what would our dad think about Salyra having this whole other family after everything that’s happened? While I’m not entirely sure how the two feel about each other, I can imagine he’d be upset for the MC. Like how they were just left to be taken care by him when he couldn’t be that parent they needed and how her absence and unknown status clearly affected them - not to mention the fact that Salyra thought they’d be safer in a small village of a country that was rather open about their problems with Ishari. She’s right that we don’t know what happened and how it went down but I mean did she ever really expect to see us again? Was she trying or did she just decide that there was no point?(spoilers most likely so ignore that I’m just really invested). I can’t help but wonder what our recently discovered family would think? I felt my MC’s fear when hearing about our half sibling that they would honesty prefer Rana to MC because now they would have a ‘real’ Ishari daughter of Salyra to bond with. Also, my first thought to Rana maybe developing a little crush on Irus was, “Nah, you already took my mom, you ain’t taking my Prince.” I know she’s like 10, and my MC is planning on being a good older sister but we gotta draw the line at Irus. He’s my MC’s emotional support Prince. 😅

Regardless, it isn’t looking all that great for Salyra and my MC will be keeping her at arms length unless she needs to gain favor in order to get the alliance or more help in some way(Literally would do anything for Irus, completely in love with him). I am so looking for to the drama though, you write it so well. 👀

Thank you so much for playing and I'm so happy you enjoyed the update 💖😊 And thank you so much for your continued support, it really means so much to me!

It is really a complicated thing with Salyra and you are more than free to feel upset/betrayed/hurt by the way she's gone about protecting the MC. I do enjoy complicated family dynamics, it's something that I've always tended to write about in my stories since I feel like it's not always showcased as much as romantic angst. Thank you for enjoying the angst, I do have a blast writing it 😆

You will get a chance to learn about Ahlf's feelings about Salyra - there's a lot that happened that the MC was unaware about between their parents and you'll also get to see the Vinian family react to Salyra in Part 3 😬😅

Don't worry, the Vinian family already love the MC and will accept the NC regardless of their heritage. Zikar's mother is from Vinia, so they're already quite open to other cultures.

Irus is never going to abandon the MC 😆 So rest assured, Rana's childhood crush will eventually fade away.

Salyra will help the MC regardless of their relationship because she sees it as her way if trying to make up for her absence, so feel free to be as upset and rude as you want 😋

#crown of exile #answered asks #chapter 5 spoilers #salyra #princeirus #rana

[sister-rosemary-marie]

Within Your Heart, A Story To Be Told

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/F!Reader

Words: 4.7K/16.4K

Warnings: Vague reference to suicide, but no such act occurs. Intense bullying both verbal and physical. Reader is a Sister of Sin and is written to be quite plump.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

A/N: I’m keeping Primo, Secondo, and Terzo alive. Because I fucking can. However, Sister Imperator is still the only one aware of Copia’s familial connection. Copia knows Imperator is his birth mother, but not that Nihil is his father.

Everything takes place circa 2018-2019 between Terzo getting dragged off-stage (30 September 2017) and Copia being anointed as Papa IV (March 2020).

You were curled up miserably on your bed, head throbbing and your eyes itchy. You’d been crying on and off ever since getting back; too scared to even leave your room. You didn’t make a habit of keeping much food in your room, but at least you did have water from your bathroom sink. Still bruised and now hungry, you knew you would be forced to leave soon. You just didn’t know if you could keep a neutral expression that long. You’d already had a few people knock at your door, wondering why you’d missed Mass. At some point, one of the higher-ups would notice and then you’d be in even more trouble.

A knocking sound reverberated through the room.

Speak of the Devil…

You didn’t have the energy to fake your way through an explanation for your absence or for the marks on your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that whoever it was would go away. Lucifer, please please please, make them leave.

Another knocking, this one louder.

Thanks for nothing…

“Sorella, it’s the Cardinal. Please let me in. I’ve been worried about you,” came Copia’s accented voice through the cheap plywood door.

That was enough to put the brakes on your imagined argument with Satan. You scrambled to your feet, tying your bathrobe around yourself more closely as you undid the simple chain lock and opened the door a crack.

“Cardinal?” you said, your voice creaky from doing nothing but crying for two whole days. “Y-y-y-you don’t need to be worried. I’m f-f-f-fine… really.”

She was not, in fact, fine at all… you could just about hear Morgan Freeman narrating in your head.

“Sorella, I do not believe that for a second. Let me in, per favore,” he said, his expression pleading with you.

Fuck, could he hear Morgan Freeman too?

You stood back and opened the door the rest of the way, gesturing for him to come inside. At least your small living space was neat and tidy; all of your wadded up tissues stuffed into the wastebasket.

“See? I’m fine. Just haven’t been… j-j-j-just been… a little under the… weather,” you lied weakly.

“I missed you this morning. You’ve never missed Mass before and I was worried,” said, his gaze fixed on you; on your red eyes and pale face. “You’ve been crying again, sorella.”

“It’s nothing,” you quickly ducked your head down so your hair would hide your face a bit. “I’m sorry I missed Mass. I won’t let it happen again, Your Eminence.”

“Fuck the Mass! It’s you I am concerned about!” he exclaimed with such fervor that you looked up at him in surprise. He caught himself and cleared his throat, muttering a quick prayer under his breath. “Sorella, please…” he whispered, taking one of your hands in his and gently pushing back the sleeve of your robe to reveal the dark bruises from where Cantata had kicked you.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he kept a firm grip on you. “Tell me what happened, tesora. Who hurt you?”

“I… I c-c-c-can’t,” you whimpered. “They said if I told anyone, they’d d-d-d-do worse. And I’ve learned from p-past experience that they do not make idle threats.”

“Do you really think that I would not find a way to protect you from them?” he asked, his pale eye seeming to glow.

“Even you cannot protect me twenty-four hours a day,” you swallowed hard.

“I am tempted to assign one of my ghouls as your bodyguard just to prove you wrong,” he said in a gentle voice, using his free hand to cup your cheek. “Get dressed, cara… I’ll wait for you in the hallway.”

“For what?” you asked, your heart going cold with worry.

“You are not in any trouble, cara… I promise. Just, please, do as I say, sì?” he offered you a ghost of a smile, trying to reassure you.

“Uh, OK...” you whimpered as he went out and closed the door behind him so you could get dressed with some privacy. You raked a brush through your hair and pinned it back as best you could. Splashing cold water on your face brought a tiny bit of color back to your cheeks. More importantly, it washed away the tear tracks on your skin. On went clean underwear, a clean habit and veil; skipping a bra because it would take too long to wrestle into one. You’d just slipped your feet into your soft flat shoes when Copia knocked gently on the door.

“Sorella, are you nearly ready?” he asked in a gentle voice.

You opened your door and slipped out into the hallway with him. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you offered a wan smile.

“Eccellente, take my arm, cara,” he nodded at you, waiting for you to slip your hand through the crook of his arm. Once you had, he led you back through the hallways and up to his office. You’d never been on this floor of the Ministry, as it belonged entirely to the higher-ups. Generally, someone of your station would only be brought here if they were in deep shit; so, despite Copia’s promise that you weren’t in trouble, you began to tremble.

“Calmati, cara. Tutto bene,” he assured you, sensing your unease.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… usually when I get called into a meeting like this… i-i-it means that I’m-I’m-I’m about to get shuttled off to a new c-c-city,” you whispered in a shaky voice.

His eyes darted over to you, brow furrowed in concern. “No, cara, you’re not being turned out or moved. I merely want you to be p-p-present for something.”

It struck you that this was the first time you’d heard him stutter since he’d shown up at your door. That meant he was pretty confident in whatever was about to happen. Although that made it no less mysterious, you did relax slightly. Maybe he just wanted to talk to you about your initiation? But then, why couldn’t you have done that in your room? Why trek all the way up to his office?

He opened the door, ushering you in ahead of him.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw Kaser, Lynx, and Cantata all lounging in three chairs set up in front of Copia’s desk. The three of them looked from Copia to you in anger before they shifted their expressions to innocent surprise. Copia paid them no mind, steering you gently over to the sofa that sat in front of the floor to ceiling windows, perpendicular to his desk.

You tried to make yourself as small as possible, keeping your eyes fixed on your hands in your lap. Copia strode around his desk to sit down, his expression neutral and deceptively placid. He folded his gloved hands on his desk, looking at the Siblings before him.

“It has been brought to my attention that the three of you are not upholding the tenets of our faith,” he began. “As you know, the term “Sibling” is not just some cute little euphemism. You are meant to help one another. To care for each other. To protect one another. The last thing you should do is bully another Sibling. And three against one is exponentially worse.”

“Bully?” Lynx raised his eyebrows, his face the picture of innocence. “I’m not sure I understand, Your Eminence. What does that have to do with us?”

“Abbastanza. Don’t be coy. It does not suit you,” Copia replied, his voice carried a note of venom in it. “Are you truly going to deny your behavior towards Sorella (Y/N)?”

“Sister (Y/N)? We barely even know her! Why would we do anything to her?” Cantata whined, whipping up some excellent crocodile tears. “Please, Your Eminence! Whatever she told you, it’s a lie!”

Copia remained unimpressed. “Lower your voice, Sorella Cantata. There is no need to yell.”

“But she is lying!” Kaser finally spoke up, although he had chosen anger over surprise. “We’ve never touched her!”

“Mm-hm,” Copia murmured in a completely unconvinced tone. “Sorella (Y/N)? would you mind showing us your forearms, per favore?”

You swallowed hard and pulled the sleeves of your habit up, showing the dark bruises mottling them from elbows to wrists. You were visibly shaking, and you couldn’t lift your gaze from the carpeted floor to you right.

“We had nothing to do with that, Cardinal. If she says it was us, then she’s lying. Our word against hers. And there’s three of us,” Lynx said, his voice calm and completely reasonable.

“Oh, she’s told me nothing about who did that to her. In fact, she was quite adamant about not telling me,” Copia said, typing briefly on his laptop.

“Then, I… I don’t understand why we’re all here, You Eminence?” Lynx shook his head, making a subtle gesture for Cantata and Kaser to remain silent.

“I can only imagine that it must have escaped your notice that there are security cameras throughout the Ministry and its grounds,” Copia said before turning the laptop around, showing the footage of your beating.

All three of them paled significantly, jaws dropping open.

“A picture is worth a thousand words, no? I wonder how many a video is worth?” Copia finally allowed some of his fury to bleed into his voice. It made the hairs on the back or your neck stand up, so you could only guess what the other three were feeling.

“Your Eminence,” Lynx began in a small voice.

“Oh, do tell, Fratello. I would love to hear how you’re going to try and spin this in your favor.” Copia interrupted him, both eyes glowing dangerously as he looked up from the screen to them. “I don’t suppose you’re familiar with the phrase nessuna pietà?”

All three shook their heads timidly.

“It means ‘no mercy’. For our purposes, it means ‘zero tolerance’.” He stood from his desk, walking around behind their chairs to loom over their backs. “I want the three of you to go back to your rooms. Pack your things. And get out.”

Several things happened so fast that you weren’t even sure in what order they had happened in. Lynx stood up with an outraged shout, turning around as if he was going to sock the Cardinal in the jaw. You gave a yelp and stood up so fast that your veil fell back from your hair. Barely even moving, Copia caught Lynx’s fist in midair. He was shorter than Lynx by a few inches but was clearly much stronger. The doors slammed open, causing you to scream again, admitting Copia’s ghouls inside. They were unmasked and un-glamoured, something you’d never seen before. They were more terrifying than you had ever guessed; vicious fangs and claws, eyes gleaming like Copia’s, tails swishing like angry cats. The ones that had hair (or maybe fur?) across their shoulders and back had their hackles raised as they crept forward as a pack, keeping low and ready to strike.

The biggest of them separated from the rest to place himself between you and what was happening, clearly set to protect you if one of the former Siblings decided to make a lunge for you. This close, you could hear him snarling and growling in his chest, as well as clicking sub-sonically. He sounded like a very pissed off velociraptor and you were incredibly grateful that this horrifying sound was not directed at you.

“Care to re-think that move?” Copia asked in a chilling voice. “I suggest you get out of my office and out of my Ministry before I instruct my ghouls to remove you themselves. And they will not be overly particular about what order your body parts will leave in.”

The clicking amongst the ghouls intensified, as though they were excited by that prospect. Lynx had the good sense to quail as Cantata and Kaser carefully stood and headed for the doors, shying when the ghouls snapped or snarled at them. Only then did Copia release Lynx’s fist, shoving him back in the process. Lynx looked as though he might protest again now that he was free, but wisely thought better of it, skulking out after his friends. Only once he was out of sight, did you sink back down onto the couch.

“Follow them. Make certain they do as they’re told,” Copia said, his voice low. The ghouls chuffed their agreement with him, taking off in the trio’s wake. The big one near you stayed, although he climbed onto the sofa, past you, to perch on the back like an overgrown cat. You fought very hard not tremble but were not very successful.

When Copia turned back to you, all hint of anger gone, he looked from your face to his ghoul’s. “Mountain, you’re scaring her, caro,” he said in his once-more gentle voice.

You felt the ghoul slip his glamour back in place, allowing you to finally recognize him as the drummer from Ghost. “Sorry, jefe, I didn’t know she’d never seen a ghoul in true form. My apologies, Sister,” Mountain smiled as he hopped back down to the floor, turning to wink at you with a smile.

“It’s fine,” you spoke for the first time since entering Copia’s office, your voice a good deal higher than usual.

“Go join the others, Mountain. I will take care of our Sorellina,” Copia instructed, kneeling in front of you as the ghoul headed out after his packmates. One gloved hand rested on top of yours, the other stroking along your jawline to coax you into looking up from the carpet. “All well, cara?”

You nodded shakily and took a deep breath. “Yeah… yes. I think I’m okay. But…” your gaze wandered from his eyes to the door. “Was that not… maybe… a bit harsh? I mean… where will they go? I doubt they have places to return to.”

He smiled and shook his head at you fondly. “Are you seriously trying to speak on the behalf of people who beat the shit out of you?” He tilted your head until your foreheads met, hand sliding into your hair. “You are far too kind, amore. They are lucky I allow them to leave with their lives intact. I was very close to just letting my ghouls tear them to shreds. But I felt you would not want to witness such violence.”

“You would be correct, yeah,” you said, still shaking with residual adrenaline.

He tsked softly, sliding his arms around you and coaxing you to slide into him. “Vieni tra le mie braccia, amata.”

You surrendered to his warm embrace eagerly, letting him cradle you against his chest and murmur soft words in Italian to you, very few of which you understood. You didn’t have any more tears left inside of you, or you would have been weeping into his cassock. That did not stop you from clinging to him tightly, dry-sobbing against his heart.

“Shhh, amore. Ti ho preso. I’ve got you,” he crooned to you softly, cradling you against him with one arm and using his other hand to stroke your hair back gently. “I am so sorry that you went through that, amore mia. I should have considered bullying as a possibility as to why you were hiding the night I found you.”

“Not your fault!” you were quick to correct him, pulling back just enough to see his eyes. “It’s mine really. I’m a very… t-t-tempting target, so I’ve been told.”

“Normally, we encourage giving into temptation, but not if it hurts someone else,” he shook his head, brow furrowing. “Who told you such cazzate?”

“One of the priests at my school. When I was, like, eight years old or something,” you supplied with a sigh. “When someone who is a major authority figure in your life tells you shit like that… it sticks. And they’ve always just told me to suck it up my entire life.”

“Povera ragazza. I suppose that explains why you never told Sister Imperator about them. Or Papa Terzo. Or me,” he said in a gentle voice, tucking your head back under his chin.

“How did you find out anyway?” you asked curiously.

“After I didn’t see you at Mass, I got worried. I asked around and no one had seen you in days. Sodo, though… he mentioned that he’d seen you listening in on our rehearsals and that he thought he saw that someone had grabbed you from behind. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, but when he recognized you…” He sighed softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We went to security and had them bring up the feed and we… saw what happened…”

You swore softly, not liking that he had seen you at such a low point. Surely, he thought you were pathetic for not even trying to fight back. That you were a loser.

“You are… so strong, cara,” he whispered. “I was picked on from time to time in my younger days. But always just words. I cannot imagine how terrible it is to be physically bullied as you were. I do not think I would be able to stand it in silence, as you did. As you felt you had to.”

“I’m not strong. If I were, I would’ve tried to fight back,” you said softly, the fatigue of the adrenaline crash starting to set in.

“Three against one, cara? Even a seasoned fighter would struggle against those odds. You were wise not to fight back. They only would have hurt you more,” he said, shifting you more fully against him, feeling you start to go limp in his arms. “You must be exhausted, amore. Would you like me to take you back to your room?”

“Don’t want to be alone,” you murmured.

“I could… bring you back to my… to my r-r-room,” he suggested hesitantly. He didn’t want to press your boundaries after all you’d been through.

“OK,” was your sleepy reply as you made to sit up so you could walk to his quarters together, but he held you in place.

“Just hold on to me, cara,” he instructed, waiting until you did so before straightening and standing with you in his arms in a bridal carry.

The very unfamiliar sensation of being picked up chased away the weariness for a moment. “Cardinal! What are you doing? I’m too heavy! You’ll hurt yourself!” You weren’t sure how old he was, but he had to be in his late forties to early fifties. Prime period for back injuries, you were sure. And even if he were a strapping young man, you were no featherweight. Even Kaser had complained that you were heavy.

And yet Copia held you easily, without groaning or straining or anything you would have expected. You remembered then how he’d caught Lynx’s fist midair, barely even moving. “Woah, um… you’re… really strong, huh?”

Stellar conversationalist, as always.

“No great credit to m-m-me, I assure you,” he smiled, cheeks turning a bit pink, his stutter slowly creeping back in now that his anger was simmered down. “I’ve done nothing to cultivate it. It’s j-j-j-just a quirk of mine.”

You hmmed softly, not knowing what to say in response. You laid your head down on his shoulder, one arm remaining around the back of his neck and the other resting naturally over his heart. You could feel it beating hard but tried not to read anything into it. He’d just been spitting mad and nearly attacked, of course his heart rate was up. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was holding you so close. You were just glad that his quarters were at least on the same floor as his office. Making him carry you up or down stairs felt like that would be pushing it.

His flat was dark when he carried you inside, but he knew his way around perfectly. You panicked slightly when he bent to set you down, placing you on a very cushy and well-loved couch.

“Solo un momento, tesora,” he said, pausing to stroke your hair back.

The darkness quickly gave way to soothing, warm-toned lamplight courtesy of mounted fixtures meant to look like old gas lamps despite being electric. “There, cosi va meglio, sì?”

Being asked a question in Italian, a language you had almost zero experience with, filled you with a millisecond of panic. Still, you were able to parse out that he was asking you about the lighting. “Yes, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Prego, tesora.”

OK, prego you understood. It was you’re welcome. Like the mass-market pasta sauce. You must have answered his question, though, since he broached it no further. You also had the vague knowledge that he’d been calling you a variety of pet names; tesora, amore, cara, amata… Amore was love, that you knew. And cara, well based on The Addams Family, cara was something along the lines of dear. Tesora and amata were mysteries, though.

“I should look into learning Italian just so I can understand you,” you commented, offering a shy half smile. “Sometimes I have zero idea what you’re saying.”

“Oh! Did I-? Cazzo, I did, didn’t I? Lapsed into Italian, that is,” Copia breathed out a soft huff of frustration. “My apologies, Sorella. I sometimes revert back to Italian when I am nervous or upset.”

Not wanting him to feel awkward about it, you leaned on your usual coping mechanism of humor. “OK, now cazzo I do know! I don’t know what that says about me that I do know quite a few swear words in languages I do not otherwise know.”

He gave a short laugh, “Everyone learns curses first. I’m fairly c-c-certain that the first words I learned in English were also swears.”

With the light, you were able to look around. There’s was nothing super-fancy, like you might have expected. He had a wide range of video game systems and games, as well as a pretty in-depth movie collection. An adult-sized tricycle stood in one corner, making you start to smile. The Cardinal was clearly not a boring man behind his cassock and paint. You were tempted to ask if you could try the trike out, but you were so tired, you weren’t sure you could get off the couch.

A metal rattle and some excited squeaking drew your attention towards the windows where an enormous metal cage stood. Inside were felt hammocks and hidey-holes and tunnels. It looked like the Ferrari-level version of those hamster habitats you’d had as a child since you’d been denied a dog.

“Rigatoni, be patient. It’s Ravioli’s turn,” you hear the Cardinal murmur softly.

The lure of a cute animal gave you the strength to stand and walk the few feet over to the cage. inside, several pairs of beady eyes focused on you, whiskers twitching curiously. “Rats!” you gasped softly.

“They’re quite friendly, I p-p-p-promise!” the Cardinal hurried to assure you, mistaking your delight for revulsion. “And they are v-very c-c-c-clean little pets!”

“Oh, I know that!” you quickly assured him. “I love pet rats! I used to have hamsters as a kid. My mom wouldn’t let me get a rat because they grossed her out.”

Your admission seemed to shock him, his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. “You-you like… rats?”

“Pet rats, yeah,” you clarified. “If a street rat ran past me, I’d probably shriek. But fancy rats are adorable! And so smart! What are their names?”

“This one is Ravioli,” he said, indicating the black and white one sitting in his hand and munching on an almond. “This little troublemaker is Rigatoni,” he pointed at the grey rat pacing impatiently just inside the cage door. “The black one is Tortellini. And the albino one is Penne.”

“So, pasta names. That’s so cute! Are they all girls?” you slowly reached in, offering Rigatoni your fingers to sniff at. She deemed you acceptable and hopped onto your hand.

“Sì. And all littermates. They have b-b-been together their whole lives. I find that sort of… s-s-sweet, I guess?” he nodded, handing you another almond to give to Rigatoni.

“It is sweet,” you smiled at him in delight after giving the little grey rat her snack. “Lucifer be praised, you are just too cute!” you cooed at her, stroking her tiny head with one finger.

If Copia hadn’t already been head over heels for you before, he definitely would have been after that display of affection for his beloved little pets. He put Ravioli back and fished Tortellini out of her cozy little hammock. More interested in snoozing than in snackies, Tortellini yawned widely and made grumbling squeaks. “Oh. Don’t complain, rattino. You love mandorle.”

You were still petting and fussing over Rigatoni, gently scratching her little ears as she munched on her snack. “Do you only like rats? Or do you like animals in general?” you asked, genuinely curious about Copia’s seemingly vast extremes. He’d been ready to kill the trio on your behalf; and now he was so gentle and sweet with his little pets, whispering to them softly in Italian.

“Oh, I like all animals to some d-d-d-degree. R-r-r-rodents just happen to be my favorite; most are so very small, but also fierce. I suppose I wanted t-t-to see the same in myself. I know most people see me as… odd, maybe even c-craven. I just have a v-very long fuse. Slow to anger, b-b-but as you saw, once my anger is roused, I can be rather ruthless.”

“I shall take care never to anger you then, Your Eminence,” you said softly, returning Rigatoni to her cage and her sisters.

He looked at you with gentle eyes, taking in the curl of your loosened hair and the faint blush on your pale cheek. “I could never be angry with you, tesora,” he whispered softly.

“You’ve called me that before. What does tesora mean?” you ask, finally catching one of his little pet names.

“Tesora? Literally, it means t-t-t-treasure. But we Italians tend to use it the s-same way you might use the word darling,” he said, looking away with his own cheeks going pink.

“You called me something else earlier… um… amata, I think? What does that one mean?” you asked, your heart tightening in your chest. These were words of affection, even of love. He’d called Mountain caro, but you’d never heard him call anyone else pet names from this buffet of Italian endearments.

He looked down, swallowing hard. “Beloved,” he finally said, his voice low in both volume and pitch, the single word making your heart drop to your stomach and then rocket up into your throat.

Beloved was… not a casual pet name, so far as you knew. It was something you called a spouse, a fiancée, or a lover. Not something you called a mere friend.

“Your Eminence-,“ you began.

“Copia,” he interrupted you softly.

“I’m sorry?” you blinked at him, not recognizing his name for a split second.

“Copia. Please call me Copia. When we’re in private,” he explained, finally looking up from his contemplation of the floor.

Something about being given permission to call him by his name pleased you even more than being called amata. “Copia,” you repeated, noting how he took a deep breath after hearing his name from your lips. “Is that t-true? Calling me… your beloved?”

You were standing to his right, and as such, could only really see his green eye, far more expressive than his diamond white eye. Trepidation, hope, desire, fear… “Sì, Sorella,” he finally said, looking down at his hands as if he felt he should be ashamed.

“Y/N,” you said softly, reaching over to claim one of his hands in yours. “If I’m to call you by your name; you should call me by mine as well, yeah?”

His gaze slid to your joined hands, then up to your face. “Y/N,” he whispered. You’d never heard anyone say your name so sweetly before, caressing the very sound of it. It made you gasp softly, your heart hammering so hard that you were sure he could hear it.

Your shallow breathing, shock, and the exhaustion of the last few days finally caught up with you, you went white and swayed on your feet. The last thing you felt as the world went black was thin, but strong arms surrounding you.

FOR THE LOVE OF (deity of your choice) PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG! COMMENT! VISIT ON AO3 AND LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS!

I NEED FEEDBACK!

#ghost the band #ghost #the band ghost #AO3 #ghost fan fiction #cardinal copia #copia/reader #reader insert

[crystaiskiess]

Okay, first, I had planned to post something today in honor of s3 (!!!) (another one of those scene + show edits) but didn’t have the time, but I’m going to make one like this week (maybe end up using scenes from this chapter because aaaa).  Second, I have so many thoughts about this chapter that I’m going to leave a comment on it on ao3.  So, here are my aaaaa thoughts and my ao3 comment will probably actually sound coherent lol.

The relationships!!!  I love how you write relationships in their complexities.  Morgana and Arthur’s relationship being a focus in this really fits, especially the difference in the beginning versus the end.

All he could feel was her absence. They were like two pieces of cotton woven to make a string, his life does not exist if not alongside hers. Even when they were not directly interacting he would see her at every moment throughout the day. Now, her empty seat at dinner seems to dominate the space, consuming his attention, memories of her in the halls and his chambers haunt him like a ghost. The one time he dared to go to her chambers the emptiness felt like an aching wound. Morgana entered his life when he was five years old, he doesn’t know a time when she wasn’t in the castle with him. She has always been a sister to him, and he misses her like a limb.

That being in the first four paragraphs, god my heart was being torn out of my chest already.  I knew the chapter would hurt, but I hadn’t been expecting it to hurt that fast.  I sat down, finally able to read after running errands, and was immediately kicked in the chest at full force.  Then we have Morgana’s perspective later, and once again, kicked in the chest.

Morgana looks up from the cauldron with a start. “Not Arthur.”

That one line had me have to stop for a second because I love the dynamic.  They love each other so very dearly that they see each other as siblings without even knowing they’re siblings.  Often times, we don’t get to see that explored in fics because it’s kind of hard to know in canon.  Or at least my opinion because we don’t understand if Morgana has entirely changed or there’s still some “good” (for a lack of a better word) left in her.

I will say that Gwen’s pov of Morgana actually made me want to sob.  Honestly, your writing just makes me feel all the emotions of the characters, so it’s not surprising that they’re in some distress that I’m in distress.  As I’ve said before, you have such a strength in emotion writing.  If you have any tips, please share because I’m always blown away every time I read OAFK (which has been several times). 

Where Gwen had once kept careful distance, Morgana pulled her in with both hands into her open arms. They grew beyond the role of maid and mistress, developing a true friendship that Gwen cherishes more than most other things in her life.

I’m trying to not like quote it too much, because it makes these get so long but it’s these two sentences that just started off their established relationship and getting ready to see what it is now.  Also, the knowledge of how Morgana feels/felt for Gwen doesn’t make it hurt but does at the same time.  I’m pretty sure it’s chapter nine where we’re introduced to Morgana’s love for Gwen, but it’s chapter thirteen where she thinks that Gwen knows she loves her (or maybe I misinterpreted that).  They both love each other so deeply, regardless of if in different ways, and seeing that fall apart a little just hurts.  It hurts Gwen, so it hurts me.

I have many thoughts and feelings about Morgana and Merlin, but that will make this probably 2k+ words long, and I’ll just do it in a comment on the chapter!  Also, do not feel bad about changing the update schedule!!!  You take the time you need to update!  There’s nearly 300k words currently, we can just reread it a million times.  It’s fun because you get to see more and more details every time!

HELLO !! im so sorry it took me so long to get to this, i read it immediately but it made me so happy i truly didn't know how to respond (also genuinely squealed over your ao3 comment too, you dont know how much it means to read analysis about my work i love it so much thank you)

morgana and arthur's dynamic is truly one of the most important things to me so im so glad you enjoyed this chapter and how i addressed them, i feel like the idea of her turning truly on arthur seems impossible to me when he technically had done nothing to her yet to make her feel betrayed, so it was important to me to show how much they love each other (this may come to hurt teehee)

and yes gwen and morgana !!!! the tragedy of what happens to them shouldnt be overlooked and there's absolutely more of that to come so look forward to that 👀

and thank you for your kind words about the update schedule !! it means a lot, it wasn't my ideal situation but id much rather continue posting regularly and just more spaced apart than have to hiatus so its the way it has to be !!

seriously thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind comments and all your thoughts i keep coming back to them it just makes me so happy !! and thank you again for reading !!

#oafk #tj talks #not-rome

[can-of-pringles]

When I'm Alone with You - Chapter 7

Rating: Gen

Warnings: None except references to depression

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Copia decides to go outside, needing some fresh air during his break.

Also Read on AO3

With the promise of seeing Silas again, Copia had found some motivation to leave his room more often. However, that didn’t mean the grief and guilt he was feeling had gone away. It still clung to him, attempting to drag him down in sorrow. But he had other things to keep him going. Silas, at least, was a welcome distraction.

While on his break, he decided to go outside; needing some fresh air. Despite how big the Ministry building was, it still felt suffocating; weighing down on him. He sat by himself on one of the stone benches, taking a deep breath and looking up at the clouds. No one else was currently outside, which was nice. Just him and nature.

Copia had avoided Primo’s garden for now. It would’ve hurt more with all the childhood memories he had of spending time with him gardening. But he knew it hadn’t been tended to since his death. He could only imagine how mad Primo would be if he knew his garden was being neglected. Once he could get his courage up, he’d visit and start caring for the lonely plants. It was the least he could do to honor Primo. He owed it to him.

“Hi,”

Copia turned his head at the sound of Silas’ voice, smiling at seeing the man walking towards him. “Oh, hello…. what brings you here?”

“I’m on break too and I, um, wanted to try to find you… see if you wanted to hang out?” He shrugged and glanced away for a second.

“You were thinking of me?” Copia thought, looking down at his shoes.

He looked back up at him. “Sure. I would like that.”

Silas smiled and sat down on the bench next to him, remembering to keep a respectful distance to be polite. He didn’t want to impose, and he wasn’t sure how close of friends they were yet.

“I see why you came out here. It’s nice.” He remarked, looking around at the scenery. He peered up at one of the trees when he heard a bird chirping.

“Yeah, sometimes I just need a break from being in the Ministry…” Copia sighed. “Nature can be calming.”

Silas looked at him, trying to hide his worry. “Yeah, I understand.”

They sat in silence for a moment, mostly listening to the birds and watching the leaves on trees sway slightly in the breeze.

“So, I know that it’s usually me giving out the song recs, but maybe you have one for me this time?” He asked, fidgeting with a loose string on his sweater.

Copia tilted his head when he looked at him, trying to think. He hadn’t listened to any music since that terrible day. There was some sort of mental block preventing him from listening. He just couldn’t.

“Ah… no, sorry. But actually, I need to write some music soon… y’know, for the project.” He frowned, fidgeting with his hands.

He certainly wasn’t in the mood to be writing anything, but he knew that Sister Imperator would be breathing down his neck if he didn’t try soon.

“It’s alright. But since you don’t have any songs to recommend, maybe you could tell me more about the Ministry’s project?” Silas prompted.

“Oh, really? I didn’t think you’d be interested.” He tried hiding the surprise in his voice.

He hummed and shrugged. “Well, it’s more like general curiosity. I’ve worked here for so long, but I don’t know much about the band.”

In actuality, Silas tried to think of a slight distraction for Copia. Maybe talking about something would help cheer him up. He knew he had been upset about the Papas’ absence, but with how depressed he’d been acting, there had to be more to it. Or that was what he’d theorized.

“Okay, then… let me gather my thoughts.” Copia furrowed his brows.

Silas refrained from chuckling at his focused expression. “Maybe we could walk and talk? It might help with thinking.”

“You know… that’s actually a good idea. But let’s just stay around here… I don’t want to go near the gardens,” he murmured.

Silas nodded, not pressing as to why he didn’t want to see the gardens. They both stood up and began to walk down one of the long, winding paths.

“So, what do you want to know?” Copia looked at him.

“I guess I’m just curious how a church started a metal band…? Or is it rock? Both?” Silas gestured vaguely. “I understand it’s not your average church, far from it, but still.”

Copia chuckled. “Depends on how you look at it. Many outsiders debate Ghost’s genre, but it’s mainly both. Honestly, we’re not too rigid with genre rules.”

“You probably just make what you think sounds good,” Silas commented.

“I mean… yeah? But to answer your first question, Sister Imperator decided that spreading the Ministry message through a band would be greatly successful, hence Ghost. She and Papa Nihil started it.” He explained.

“Wait, you’re telling me that Sister and Papa Nihil used to sing together?” Silas’ eyes widened. His tone was in disbelief.

Copia couldn’t help but laugh, eventually quieting down to some chuckles. “No, no, she didn’t do any of the singing or songs. She’s more like a manager…”

“Oh… sorry for the stupid question.” Silas fiddled with his hands.

“No, it’s alright. I probably didn’t explain it well. She and him had met back during the sixties-ish and she had convinced him to join… eh, something like that.” He waved his hand and shrugged slightly.

“Still odd for a church, though I guess Sister is odd herself. I don’t mean that in a negative way, of course, she’s usually okay for a boss,” Silas stammered, not wanting to get in trouble.

Copia couldn’t help but think about the blood on Sister’s hands. He kept silent for a second before remembering Silas’ concerns. He looked at him and tried giving him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I know what you meant.”

Silas nodded.

“I suppose now you’re next in line to lead Ghost? That’s what everyone’s been saying…” He changed the subject.

“Yes, soon it’ll be me.” Copia nodded, secretly thankful that he had stopped mentioning Sister. “I’ll have to start summoning my own Ghouls and write songs.” He kicked a stray pebble.

“The Ghouls help perform the songs, right?”

Copia nodded slowly, trying to figure out what Silas knew and what he didn’t. Apparently, he knew enough to know about who the Ghouls were. However, being in the position of a janitor, it probably wasn’t too difficult to figure out. He had access to the majority, if not all, the rooms in the Ministry, including where the Ghouls tended to hang out.

“How did you know that?” He gave him a confused look.

“Well, I’m not entirely clueless. It’s obvious that they’re not human… and I know the Ministry has them around for doing other tasks other than band stuff.” Silas explained.

“And you’re not… shocked?”

He pressed his lips into a fine line, almost conflicted. “I’ve had time to get used to it… I mean, I always knew there was supernatural stuff going on here. That’s the whole point.”

“Ah… so you follow the Ministry?” Copia asked.

“Just because I know what happens here doesn’t mean I worship or follow, no offense. It’s not my thing…”

“None taken. You have to do what feels right for you,” he replied.

Silas nodded. “I guess it’s easier to have the Ghouls perform than have people audition?” He tilted his head, changing the topic slightly.

“They have a natural… or I suppose, supernatural talent for it. They’ve been helping the Ministry for as long as the Ministry has been around.”

“And how long has it been around?”

Copia paused and slowed his pace, stumped by the question. “Ah, well, I honestly don’t know… a long time, even before Sister Imperator.”

That made sense. If other religions had been around for hundreds of years, why not this one?

“I have another question.”

“Go ahead.” Copia glanced at him.

“We’re at the Sweden location of the Ministry, yet everyone here speaks English, and you and the Papas have Italian accents… I guess I’m a little confused about the language situation?” Silas chuckled nervously.

He had to speak English for his job but didn’t mind too much. In a way, it reminded him of his childhood back in the U.S.

“Sister Imperator only speaks English. She knows bits and pieces in other languages, but not enough. That’s why she runs the ministries like this,” Copia explained. “The Papas and I grew up in Italy at that ministry location before being transferred here a while ago.” His chest still ached from mentioning them, but he’d mostly gotten used to it.

“She prefers when people speak to her in English, but that didn’t stop everyone else from speaking to each other in their native tongue. I remember she used to hate it when we were kids and we’d speak in Italian behind her back.” He chuckled.

“Oh, I can imagine.” Silas grinned. “I remember being a kid and speaking Swedish and the two reactions I’d get were either the adults around me were amazed that a Texas kid knew Swedish, or that it was weird and that I should stick to English…”

Copia gave him a curious glance, raising his eyebrow.

“Texan mother, Swedish father.” Silas picked up on his curiosity, casually answering his unspoken question.

He silently mouthed ‘ah’ and nodded, focusing back on the walk.

“You know Swedish, right? I just meant you’ve been here for… a while now,” Silas asked. “No judgment if you don’t,” he quickly added.

“I’m not fluent, but I’m working on it…” Copia smiled sheepishly, glancing at some nearby flowers. “Um…” He frowned as he thought, trying to think of something to say. “Jag tycker om pratar med du… sorry if that’s wrong.”

Silas smiled. “No, I think you’re getting there. You probably just need some more practice to feel more confident at speaking it.”

“True that,” Copia said.

“I need more confidence in general…” He thought.

“At least we’re probably in the same boat of not knowing each other’s native language well… wait, I guess half native language for you?” He muttered under his breath near the end.

“Yeah, you’ve got me there. I don’t know any Italian…” Silas winced slightly. “You’re already one step ahead of me since you know three, well, two and a quarter-ish of languages.”

“If you’re ever curious about learning, just ask.” Copia smiled.

“Sure.” He returned it. “Same goes for Swedish.”

Silas glanced down at his watch, frowning lightly. “Okay, I really should get back to cleaning… and your break is probably almost over as well.”

Copia sighed. As nice as it was to spend time outside with Silas, he knew they both needed to head back inside and work.

“Yes, you’re right… I enjoyed our talk. Thanks for spending time with me…” He clasped his hands together.

“Course, it’s nice having someone to talk to. Talk next break?”

Copia nodded, leaving Silas to head off back to his office, but not before he called his name.

Silas turned around.

“See you later!” Copia waved shortly.

He did the same and smiled before turning and heading back.

Once he was gone, Copia lowered his hand and started walking back. His step felt lighter than it had when he originally came out there. This friendship was turning out good and definitely was a wonderful distraction from the rest of his life.

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'Jag tycker om pratar med du' = I like talking with you (basically)

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #copia x oc #silas x copia #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #ghost band oc #ghost oc #silas petersson #ghost band fanfic #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfiction #my writing #pringles writing

[ragingbookdragon]

Still Life To Live

Vasco x De Sardet

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Wee-bit of Angst

Author's Note: Legit this is the first female De Sardet I've written besides the one with Kurt -Thorne

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She wakes with a sadness still ever-present in her chest as she stares out the window, at a bird-less, sunless sky. The sheets smell like Constantin’s soap, and she can’t help but feel tears come to her eyes. She hasn’t been able to leave his room since they returned from his burial. She misses her cousin, no, her brother. Constantin was all she had in the world other than her mother. The two young cousins growing up, thick as thieves, only for it to end in such a poetic yet so tragic way. She missed him so. Missed laughing with him. Missed being around him. And she missed the moments where she wasn’t plagued with knowing his blood was on her hands, even if in the end it wasn’t his fault but the madness.

“If you know, why do you continue to blame yourself?”

She blinks a few times, coming to realize that her dear cousin is kneeling beside her; her lips wobble as she reaches out, taking his hand. “I miss you.”

“Oh, I miss you, dear cousin,” he murmurs. “But you cannot spend the rest of your life here.” His smile is so soft. “I may not be here in flesh, but I am always with you in spirit.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I will not accept something you needn’t apologize for. Cousin, you saved me. You set me free.” His hand gently leaves hers, resting on her head. “If you want to honor my memory, don’t sit here and wallow while the ones you love worry for you. If that is not enough, then you must remember who you are and what you are called to do here. You have responsibility and it isn’t going away simply because I am gone.” He pats her head. “Promise me, you will get up and go. That this pain will not hold you down. I may be gone, but you have gained the world in terms of family. That old man, Kurt, the girls.” His eyes hold a shimmer of humor as he jabs, “And that Naut.”

Her laugh is watery, tears slipping down her cheeks and he’s quick to wipe them away.

“Dear cousin, there is more life to live. Promise me.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded her head. “I promise.” As he pulls away, she grabs his hand and stares into his eyes. “I love you, brother.”

Constantin, in all his spirit, simply smiles and leans over, kissing her head. “I love you, dear sister.”

She blinks once and he’s gone, the place where he was kneeling empty, all that remains of him is merely a feeling in her chest, but something in the air has changed and she rises from the bed for the first time in almost three weeks.

Her entire body aches from not moving and her stomach grumbles like there is no tomorrow. She can tell there is loss around her body, a gauntness where muscle and fat should be, but the mind and such strong emotion could always play with the body, suppressing hunger. She pulls a dress on, tightens the fabric of the corset to fit her frame as she ties various lines of linen and silk to appear somewhat appropriate.

A quick facial wash in the basin of water is all that can suffice for now, as she follows Constantin’s orders of moving on. She has so much to do, so many people to check in with, to greet, lives to maintain, rules to enforce, treaties to sign now that she is essentially acting governor before a new one is assigned.

She inhales deeply, readying herself for the surprised faces of the people as she opens the doors and steps out. Surprisingly, there are no servants, and she takes it as a small mercy, escaping the upper floor to the stairs where she walks down quietly, thinking of how she will explain her absence.

It is only when she hits the ground and walks out into the throne room that she sees her first companion speaking with another emissary; they look up at the doors and the old man smiles at her.

“Child,” he simply greets, and she smiles back at him, a little weak but one, nonetheless.

“Petrus.” She walks over as the emissary bows and leaves them.

“It is good to see you out of your room.”

She nods. “Forgive me, for—”

“There is no need to apologize for how your grief affects you.” He looks at her. “Your cousin was the only friend you had growing up. To lose that so fast…grief is merely an understatement to what you felt.” He reaches up, brushing a stray tear. “We have simply bided our time before you came out.”

“Where are the others?” she asks, looking around curiously.

“Kurt is at the barracks training, Aphra is more than likely returning from Hikmet with new supplies, and Síora went to visit her clan.”

“And what of Vasco?” she inquires, feeling something awfully funny in her chest.

Petrus frowns. “Ah, yes, Vasco…”

“What? Is he alright?”

“Oh, he’s fine, but he is leaving port right now.”

Her eyes widen, heart breaking and panicking at the same time. “He’s leaving port right now? Like this moment now?”

“Indeed.”

“B-but he—but we!” she runs to the window, stares out to see the top of the Seahorse and she feels her chest erupting. She never meant to push him away in her grief and cause him to leave. “Oh no…”

“Child…”

“I have to stop him!” she shouts, already hiking her dress up to sprint for the doors.

“Wait!”

Petrus’ calls fall on deaf ears as she runs down the steps to the grand doors, yelling for the guards to open them and they do, just in time for her to burst down the front steps for all of New Sérène to see. It takes her all of three minutes to run like hell is at her heels to get to the docks and she passes Admiral Cabral who only looks up because a sailor gets her attention.

“Lady De Sardet?!” she calls in shock, rising from her desk to run after her. “What on earth are you doing so frenzied!”

She doesn’t answer but runs to the edge of the dock where sailors are busy moving cargo that didn’t get packed into the Seahorse; it hasn’t even made it twenty feet from the port, so she isn’t too late, but she is late.

“Vasco!” she yells, cupping her hands to her mouth for better reach. “Vasco! Wait!”

She hears something from the ship before he appears at the stern, his confusion giving way to shock but a gladness is in it. “De Sardet! What are you doing here!”

Her hands come to her chest, massaging the ache growing as tears fill her eyes. “Please, don’t leave without me,” she begs. “If you’re leaving, let me come with you. I’ll sail with you, please, don’t—”

“De Sardet! Look out!”

Her turning is too slow, and she is barreled into by a sailor carrying far too many boxes at once. And for all her balance training, she loses it all as she is knocked backwards, foot caught in her dress as she screeches, trying to catch something or someone before she falls down into the frigid water.

The world ripples above her and she tries to fight for the surface but the weight of her dress and undergarments are too heavy and she sinks despite her struggle. Water invades her lungs, and she feels like stone as darkness and cold seep into her body, even as hands reach for her.

***

“She still hasn’t come out?” he asks softly, glancing up towards the third floor.

Petrus sighs. “Of course not. She lost the last remaining family she ever had.”

Vasco bristles, as if he isn’t aware of such a thing. “I know she did.”

“Then why assume she has come out of her grief.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I merely meant that…” he falls silent, scuffing his foot; something about being around Petrus made him feel like a child again. “I just miss her.”

The old man smiles sadly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I know you do. Even though we all do, you do much more.” He squeezes before letting go. “Believe me, if she comes out, I will be the first to send her your way.”

Vasco nods, inhaling deeply as he puts the tricorn back on his head. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Safe travels to San Matheus, Captain.”

***

His heart stops in his chest the second that De Sardet hits the water and comes up once before the dress pulls her back down and Vasco is cussing a storm as he strips from his belts and coat down to his tunic, pants, and socks before diving overboard for her.

The water is freezing, shocking him to his core but the sun shines enough to lead him to the woman sinking down; he grasps her waist, pulling hard as he kicks his legs with fervor until they break the surface, and he sucks in air as a rope lands near him. He wraps it around his arm and tugs, waiting for the sailors to yank them aboard and when they do, his feet hit the ground, letting go of the rope as he lays De Sardet down on the deck.

She’s unmoving, cold, and unconscious, and Vasco yanks a sailor’s knife from his belt, cutting up the front laces of her corset, ripping it open, and she snaps awake, rolling onto her side with harsh coughs as water makes its way up her esophagus. He rubs at her back, taking the blanket from Jonas who’d gone into his cabin to get it from his bed, and lays it over her shoulders as she rests on her side, breathing heavily.

“De Sardet,” he calls softly. “Are you okay?” She nods, swallowing salt as she nods and shuts her eyes, feeling a shiver run down her body from the chill of the air on her thoroughly drenched body. Vasco gets the hint and picks her up with ease, barking, “Get us back to dock!” the sailors are in a frenzy as he makes his way to his cabin and shuts the door behind him, sitting her down on his trunk at the end of his bed.

He moves methodically, stripping her out of her wet dress and undergarments to her bareness before she can even stop him; he wraps her tight in the blanket before he goes over to his chest of drawers and changes from his own wet clothes before he returns with a long tunic and a pair of cotton pants. This time, he looks up towards the ceiling as she dresses herself, or at least tries to before she mutters, “I need help.”

Vasco looks down, sees her shaking hands, and gently helps her into the shirt and laces the pants so she’s dressed. He then takes her to the bed and situates her before he crawls in beside her, wrapping his arms and legs around her, warming her as best he can.

She breathes deeply and turns in his grip, nose brushing the column of his throat as she tries to practically get in his skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and he hugs her tight.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. That jackass sailor ran into you.”

“That’s not what I’m sorry for,” she answers, and pulls back despite the warning in his throat, looking into his eyes. “I shut you out and you’re leaving. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Vasco, I never meant to push you away.” Tears fill her eyes and she’s almost blubbering at this point. “Please don’t leave me. I need you, Vasco. If I have to give this all up to come, I will, but please don’t leave this island without me.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” he calms, gently caressing her face. “Tempest, I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you’re—”

“I’m just going on a supply run to San Matheus.” He frowns. “Didn’t Petrus tel—” his scowl is much worse. “That old bastard.” Vasco lets out a sigh and takes her face in his hands. “I was simply going to San Matheus to deliver supplies and come back.” His golden eyes bore into hers. “My Tempest, I would never leave you. And even if I were to, I would never go without saying goodbye.”

Her expression is downright pitiful as she asks, “Promise?”

Vasco huffs fondly and he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “My Tempest, I swear on my honor as a Naut and my love for you.” He kisses her softly. “Rest, my Tempest. I’m here.” Her fingers clench in his tunic as she buries her face back into his chest, breathing in gunpowder, sea salt, and leather, letting sleep wash over her in his comfort.

#vasco x de sardet imagine #vasco x de sardet imagines #vasco x de sardet #vasco x reader imagines #vasco x reader imagine #vasco x reader #vasco imagines #vasco imagine #vasco #de sardet #de sardet greedfall #petrus #petrus greedfall #greedfall fanfic #greedfall fanfiction #greedfall