#it's just been festering in my folders

[detransraichu]

I still do want to apologize for what I said, I genuinely hope you don't feel too bad, however I still want to say that your love for the trans community is really skewed, if I said that I loved the jewish community and every take I had was agreed with by nazis, it wouldnt exactly make me a great ally, again really hope the wheelchair thing didnt feel too bad, a lot of it came from my struggle with a wheelchair, my ass cannot walk either

i do appreciate the apology, as bewildering as it is!

honestly my blog is like a pinterest folder for me of the wide spectrum of radfem views that people have around these parts. not everyone is a jerk, which was fuckin wild to my detrans brain after so long in trans spaces being told they're all right-wing tradwives... what peaked my interest and led me to make this blog was me finding trans-led radfem blogs that were fighting for cis/bio women's rights and trying to find cis-trans compromises, talking abt being trans radfems or radfem allies while being trans. ofc you could say they're all fake, but i've even met irl trans ppl very open to certain radfem beliefs when i presented them out of curiosity without saying they were radfem ones. cuz let's be real, most ppl don't really know what radfems actually believe in, and know thy enemy is a pretty important thing in activism! ppl study all kinds of groups where bigotry has festered, and i don't believe radfems are like incels or nazis at all

it's late, so i'm going to ramble about what i've learned -- radfems, the ones that aren't just jerks, are basically saying: "i care first and foremost about afab rights! i want afab-only spaces in bathrooms & changing rooms, alongside gender neutral ones! i care about afab-specific issues like abortions and forced pregnancy and afab genital mutilation and trauma that only cis women & transmasc ppl face growing up, afab ppl face unique misogyny that is wayyy too often seen as a less important issue than transmisogyny instead of an equal struggle, and transfems can be misogynistic af against afab folks in a unique way that needs to be called THE FUCK OUT!! afab rights matter! afab people are more than just their body type! afab people have unique sex-based oppression!" they aren't calling for trans ppl's deaths, the grand majority anyway. they're all for gender nonconformity, they just don't believe it will ever your agab and they believe your agab matters in certain leftist discussions... like how transfems will say theyfabs and use the word afab to describe a specific dynamic between the two sexes, afab/female & amab/male

and i know "there are two sexes in humans" gets ppl mad -- from what i read about there being two sexes, radfems told me the one thing no one has been able to debunk so far is that if you google male & female it says that the male/amab sex is the group of humans that has small spermazoid gametes, and female/afab sex produce larger gametes; intersex people still fit under one of these two, and the term itself is actually seen as offensive, they're just people with DSDs. afab ppl typically are born with vaginas and go through estrogen puberty, and amab ppl are typically born with penises. radfems are saying that amab/male and afab/female are just body types that shouldn't dictate one's life, but the patriarchy and creepy powerful cis men have turned afab bodies (and afab-passing bodies) into something sexualized and objectified, and people with afab bodies are raised under misogyny from birth, which amab people typically don't go through unless they start passing 100% perfectly (and even then the misogyny they face is conditional; if someone learns they're amab, they will face homophobic disgust, like the typical movie joke of a guy realizing a girl is transfem and throwing up... that isn't the misogyny that cis women & transmasc ppl face). penises can forcibly impregnate and feel genital pleasure while penetrating, which does mean afab people & post-op transfems (the grand majority of transfems statistically still have dicks) are uniquely vulnerable against amab bodies. these are big differences that need to be talked about

radfems are saying that amab/male & afab/female socialization matters and the trans community should take it into account, and stop seeing cis women & transmascs as the one-way oppressors of transfems, when transfems are also privileged for being amab; they do not face systemic body issues that afab ppl face, and they do not know what it's like to grow up as afab, therefore sometime need to sit tf down and listen too. it's not a strict oppressor/oppressed dynamic, it's more complex. afab-unique oppression is violent and widespread worldwide, afab ppl have generational trauma and may face afab-unique issues that anyone amab cannot even begin to understand. i think everyone should listen to one another. i think transmisogyny & afabmisogyny both matter. that's what radfems are saying.

radfems often do not use the most respectful language. they say male instead of amab, female instead of afab, they misgender, they say trans-identified male (tim) and trans-identified female (tif). many have faced afabmisogyny from transfems and have nowhere to go. some are transmascs, and some are transfems and strong allies. radfems often do not mince their words. but i think, as an oppressed class, their words still do matter. if identifying as a woman makes you oppressed, and being afab makes you oppressed, wouldn't being a woman-identified afab person bring a unique oppression? don't cis, or as they call themselves biological women, matter? they don't feel a gender identity, they see their agab as just a body type, one they did not choose and may not always like, but they align with it and they want to normalize it and stop oppression against it. if cis people tell trans people they don't have a gender identity, they don't have ~womanly feelings~ inside their heads, does anyone ever listen or do they just go umm you're probably agender? if cis women say they have worries about certain gender-affirming things, bc it may bring harm their way, do we talk abt it or just mock them and call them terfy bitches? what about all the replies from trans people involving r*pe threats and forced impregnation and guilt-tripping same-sex attracted ppl for not being into the opposite agab, when some trans people also are only attracted to the same agab (transfem4transfem) or attracted only to the opposite agab. some openly admit it! yet cis people can't do the same? what about certain concerns related to medical transition, ones that many detrans people raise but no one except right-wing bigots listen to? and the ironic gender normative sexist things that some trans ppl say? why aren't there discussions abt this shit in trans spaces?? it genuinely worries me

there's soooo many of these issues, you see... and trans folks and trans allies aren't speaking up, they aren't posting about them, they aren't having actual discussions, they just brush it all under the rug as terf bs bc it makes them look bad so they want to believe all this shit is fake. that's why radfems are getting more and more fed up. i want to ease that tension. i want to do something. bc i care a whole fucking lot about all lgbtq people. trans people literally funded my escape from my abusive home when i was younger, i know y'all protect your own. i just want to throw away the misconception that cis women aren't a unique oppressed class too, and actually listen to what they're saying so we can put an end to the bullshit cis-trans war, bc the people killing trans people ARE ACTUALLY CIS MEN! the people in power ARE CIS MEN! we are wasting our fucking breath on eachother. and it needs to change. that's what my book is gonna be about and that's why i'm on here collecting receipts and having deep convos with radfems and eventually doing surveys etc

i genuinely did not know what i'd find when i started researching radfeminism. i expected something radically (ha!) different. i think the trans community could really benefit from at least learning more, if only to have genuine debates and not just slurs and threats. i really do care and i hope both communities can somehow find peace :/

#lay text #asks #radfem #radblr

[magenetratranslations]

Drizzle

Music, Lyrics, Mixing, Mastering & Movie: Mizore -   / mz0re   Art: kimi1 -   / kimiichi030   Streaming : https://linkco.re/D5bcHrf4

Inst. : https://drive.google.com/drive/folder...

Translation: Serene_Snowfall Subs: Centi

Our Twitter: https://twitter.com/the_magenetra   Current WIPS, Producer Permissions List, and Translation Terms: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jdtr8oVjZP6tjSIRtfu1JWiW4VHQa4tjMMCAzv0-KIw/edit?usp=sharing Raffle Discord: https://discord.gg/7gRYaugxTZ  

Lyrics:

周りは確かに変わり果てた 夜の目も寝ずに歩き続ける 戻らないと 還らないと 捨て置いたもの Certainly everything around me has completely changed Staying up all night, I keep on walking I need to go back, I need to return* to the things I brushed aside

惨く疼く迄粘る 灰になる迄踊る 得手勝手な発想だとしても 悶え 眩む 狂い 叫ぶ 有り得ない丑の刻の事、滑稽さ I'll persevere until it feels like I’m bloodily massacred I'll dance until I turn to ash Even if it's an egotistical idea I'll be in agony, I'll be dazzled, I'll go mad, I'll howl An impossible late night, what a joke

寂れた零雨と混ざって 噎び泣いても明日は来なくて 込み上げた脆さと虚しさが 解けるはいつか 君はもう居ないのにな Mixed with the deserted drizzle, even if I cry my eyes out, the morning doesn't come The feelings of fragility and emptiness that welled up inside- How long until they go away? You're not even here anymore

サイレンが遠鳴りを起こしてる A siren is making noise in the distance

何故僕に殺め方を教えたのですか Why did you teach me how to kill?

蒼い雨夜の月の下 Underneath the moon on a rainy blue night

腐れた眼差しを向けられた A rotten gaze was directed towards me

欲望が渦巻く疼く Desire swirls and festers

今でもフラッシュバックする Even now, I have flashbacks

今でも想いは彼のまま Even now, my thoughts are as they were

今を満たすのに必死な過客と 当然薄らぐ無告の民 戻れないと 還れないと その眼は何を映すのか The travelers are desperate to please the present, and predictably, the helpless people die out I can’t go back, I can’t return What's reflected in those eyes of yours?

焚かれた葦火 押し寄せた深縹の余波 永い旅の様で でも束の間の夢見てる様で The fire was kindled and there was the after-math of the surging deep indigo It feels like a long journey, but simultaneously feels like a momentary dream

悶え 眩む 途絶え 終わる 信じ難い丑の刻、余りに侘しく 　 In agony, it goes blurry, it ceases and comes to an end This unbelievable late night is just too miserable

壊れた悦に縋って 偲ばれど既に殺められて 積み上げた脆さと虚しさは もう消えないのか Clinging onto my broken self-satisfaction, Even I dwell on the past, they’re already killed All this piled up fragility and emptiness- I guess they won’t disappear anymore

東雲はいつ来るか 久しくなるがまだ有るか 宵闇に消えた穏やかさと 紅く燃え上がる夢幻 現だけ残る Oh when will the dawn come? It's been such a long time, does it still even exist? The serenity that disappeared in the dusk, and my fantasy bursting with crimson are all that remain in reality

寂れた零雨は降り続け 泣き疲れても明日は見えない 込み上げた脆さよ 虚しさよ 僕と消えてくれ！ The deserted drizzle keeps pouring down Even if I grow tired from crying, Tomorrow is nowhere to be seen All of this fragility and emptiness I'm feeling, Please just disappear with me!

君はもう居ないのにな You're not even here anymore

Translation Note: *This “return” could also be a word play meaning like, Return to the earth/Dying

#youtube #translation #vocaloid #Drizzle #Mizore #Meika Hime

[riddle-me-ri]

helloo! I'm new here. And I don't know how to use this app actually. But if your requests are still open, could you please write something like: Dano!riddler x reader, Edward obsessed with reader and hacked their Instagram, up to you, account and he sees their dms and bam! Bruce Wayne flirting with reader omg!!!

A/N: Aaahhh okay so, first off, hello, welcome to this glorious virtual abyss of fandom and chaos, and for a request you did perfect! Thanks so much! Secondly, sorry this took so long, but I’m still very nervous for writing Dano Riddler rip and I don’t know if I’ll ever be over it lol, also I was stuck brainstorming how to get this scenario to work in my head, lol. Like I couldn’t think of where else Eddie could meet the reader besides the diner rip, but I completely forgot his job…so yeah we’re gonna go with that! Hope you guys enjoy it!

P.S. Just read book 1 of Riddler Year One and it HELPED IMMENSELY there’s no spoilers though, but there’s a mention of Zach cause he’s just the obnoxious prick I need for Eddie and Reader to kinda bond over their dislike of lol, plus he was teased in the sneak peek earlier this month

Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence (very slightly), details of a possible panic attack? (It's Eddie but he works himself through it.

Word Count: 1.8 k

Reevesverse / Dano Riddler x Reader - Hack Into Your Heart

Edward will never truly understand why you were going out of your way to interact with him. 

No one else in the office did, so why did you bother? 

You were attractive, clearly bright, and…friendly. People liked you, normal people, not people like him. 

Yet, here you were…

“Hey, Ed! How are you this morning?”

“Uh…I..er…fine, Y/N. A-and you?” 

“I’m great! Hey, I wanted to ask you some-”

"Hey Rain Man! Hey, you got that Loeb case file ready?” 

Well, at least Zach wasn’t just rude to Edward.

“Yeah, here.” Ed flicked the manilla folder to the clean-cut man in front of him. 

“Ah, perfect! Thanks, buddy! We’ll make a killin’ with this one!” 

Zach turned to look at you and gave you a cheesy full-teeth grin. “Hey, Y/N.” He winked and went off back to his office. 

Edward shrunk within himself back into his cubicle. You were no doubt fawning over Zach’s flirty gesture and you’ve completely ignored weird ol’ Eddie–

“Ugh, rude dick.”

Wait, what?

“What?” Ed lifted his head back up. 

“Oh, sorry, geez. I just can't stand people like him. Pompous and arrogant.” 

Oh…well this is an interesting development.

Edward would never fully admit it to himself, but there was a nagging notion in his brain that identified the early signs of a growing crush. He thought he was beyond that emotion, he would be incapable to ever act upon it like a normal person. No one would ever reciprocate whatever motions he took to even try and court a partner, so he tossed the idea out of his mind. 

However, you’ve proven to make the emotion start to gnaw and fester in his gut. Made what he deemed impossible to seem somewhat possible. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to bash your head in or embrace you. 

I-I couldn’t hurt them, not when they’ve been nothing but kind to me…but it is infuriating.

“Uh…y-yeah, me neither.” Ed mumbled, after a minute of realizing he never responded to you while lost in his inner turmoil. 

You shook your head. “And why does he call you that, Rain Man? It isn’t some weird passive-aggressive thing is it? Cause you shouldn’t have to put up with that, Eddie.”

Eddie. “Oh-uh..n-no nothing like that, I just…I help us-him…make a lot of money.” 

Your eyes widened, before you gritted your teeth. “See, ugh…I don’t know how you put up with him. I sure couldn’t, and I feel bad. You shouldn’t have to–”

“Hey Y/N! Do you have those invoices?” A co-worker hollered over from their cubicle. 

“Oh, shit!” You said under your breath, but Ed heard and it made him chuckle softly. “Yeah, I’m coming!” 

You looked back down to Ed before walking away, “come see me when you get a chance. I still gotta ask you something.” 

“O-Okay.” 

Just like that you were gone, drifted away back into the hustle and bustle of work. Edward was perplexed by you, but given who he is…and how he is, he knew he couldn’t go down this venture without proper knowledge beforehand. 

For once, he actually felt sort of bad about invading someone else’s privacy. Even if he somewhat did so on a legal basis and got paid for just that. Albeit, he knew this was the only way he could get to know you, the true you, without having to ask outright and risk being disappointed when it turned out to be some sort of façade. 

Edward knew he had to take social media with a grain of salt, but he knew it was a good place to start, and it wasn’t his first time hacking into Instagram’s databases. Using your full name and a picture of you available on the company’s website he was able to find your account with ease. 

He didn’t get far into your account. He found himself stricken with a small sting to his chest. He just realized out of the several months you have been here…

Edward’s never seen you smile, a true genuine happy smile. 

Not those minuscule lopsided ones that sufficed lighthearted work discussions. He entertained the idea of possibly, maybe just maybe, one day he could be the reason you smiled like that. 

It took Edward sometime to break from the hypnotizing spell your smile bewitched upon him. When he finally did, he found himself endlessly scrolling. He would get enraptured every now and again by another photo of you smiling. 

You loved animals, often had pictures of you with your pet(s) or just the pet(s). You were also very proactive against issues Ed felt strongly about. There were pictures of you volunteering at the new orphanage…the way you smiled and embraced the children. Your smile infected the children around you. 

You were different. You were different, just like Edward suspected. God, if someone just smiled down at him when he was an orphan, embraced him. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so…estranged from the rest of society. 

Nearly an hour and a half went by and he noticed a little red icon near the upper right corner of his screen. This must be the direct messaging interface–

What the hell? BRUCE WAYNE?

Bruce: Hi there, I just wanted to say I’m very impressed with your volunteer work. I admire your dedication to our fair city. I wished many more Gothamites shared your tenacity. 

Y/N: Is this some kind of prank?

Bruce: Ahh, I can see how you may think that, but nope it isn’t! 

Y/N: Hmm…your account is verified and your photos seem legit…

Apparently, Bruce sent a compelling photo that was no longer available, because your tone immediately changed. 

Y/N: Oh wow! I guess it really is you! I…um…sorry about not believing you. Can’t be too careful lol, but I appreciate your comments. I know this city has its faults but it is home. 

Bruce: It’s quite all right. It’s pretty smart of you to be on your toes. And I know what you mean, about Gotham.

Threads and threads of conversing. You told him about your volunteering ventures, what you did for work. The two of you bonded over your stories and the obvious comfortability between the two of you. 

Bruce: You’re truly a beautiful person, you know? As cheesy as that sounds, but you are, inside and out. 

Edward’s vision started slowly slipping into the vignette of red around his perception. He had to put aside his personal computer and breathe. He opened up the daily crossword and started focusing on the words, the clues and their answers. The red slowly started fading away. 

No, no, no! He stole the public eye from me– from us at the Orphanage. I won’t let him get away with this, too! Not when I can still do something about it. 

As much as Bruce slid in some compliments, they didn’t seem to move you. You thanked him for them, but never reciprocated or focused on them for too long. 

Maybe they’ll reciprocate mine? 

Now armed with the appropriate knowledge and even with an excuse to actually see you. Edward decided to make way to your cubicle. 

It seemed sort of surreal for him to interact with you in a workplace setting. Now knowing who you were when you were free and yourself. He was going to have to act aloof to that version of you, until you revealed it to him. 

He was so determined and heated at your exchange with Bruce Wayne, he didn’t actually plan out how he was going to get your attention. He especially didn’t know since you were busy on the phone. 

Edward waved his hands when he noticed your peripheral was close to where he stood. You immediately took notice and smiled at him. 

That’s close to the one in the pictures…

You held up your hand and made a mouthing motion with it, indicating the person on the phone was chatting your life away. Ed couldn’t help but slightly chuckle.

“Yes-Yes, I understand. Okay, I-I’m sorry I’ve gotta get going, I’ve got another important phone call coming in. I will update you whenever I learn anything new…okay, thank you!” 

You groaned after you hung up the phone. “You’re a lifesaver, Eddie. I didn’t think she’d ever stop talking…” 

Eddie…Eddie…he loathed when Zach called him that, but…he could get used to you saying it. 

“Oh, uh, no problem. You handled it pretty well…”

“That’s what years of customer service will do for you.” You scoffed. 

“Um-uh, y-you wanted to ask me something? I-I finally got some free time…”

“Oh my God, I totally forgot. Yes! Um, so, this is going to sound very strange and extremely forward. But…I’m hosting a Game Night at the Gotham City Library with some school kids and a few of the orphans from the new orphanage. And I’ve noticed you doing the newspaper crosswords and code breakers, I thought you might want to join.”

You were inviting him? You were going to include Edward Nashton in a local outgoing function? For the first time since he’s been alive, Ed’s brain was slightly misfiring. 

“I-I-um…I-I don’t really go out much.” Edward found himself balling up the fabric of his rain jacket. 

“O-Oh, I see, it’s okay. I know it’s a lot and kind of sudden. But maybe we could do something less…crowded? I’d love to try and come up with some puzzles for the kids to solve and actually get them to use their brains.” You giggled. “Does that sound more...manageable? You can still absolutely say no, no hard feelings!” 

“N-No…I-I um…that sounds like fun.” 

Fun? When was the last time Edward had ever said that word out loud to anyone about anything. 

Edward’s eyes widened at your reaction.

There it is. That smile…I did it…I can do this. 

“Yay! Awesome! Thank you so much, Eddie! I really appreciate it! And even if you’re not there, I promise I won’t take the credit. Unlike a certain individual.” You shot daggers at the office door right above your cubicle. Edward had no idea you were right below Zach. You poor thing. 

Edward found himself smiling back, genuinely for the first time in a long time. “I know you won’t. I believe you–trust you.” 

You got up from your chair with some files piled into one arm. You walked by him and placed your hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad, I want you too. You don’t have to be alone in this world, Eddie.” You pat his shoulder and then make your way upstairs. 

“I’ll message you with more details, ok?” You smiled at him, waving as you went further up the stairs. 

Edward found himself nodding and waving back. 

You’ll rot in hell one day, Wayne. But I’m not going to let you take them down with you…

#reevesverse riddler x reader #reevesverse edward nashton x reader #dano riddler x reader #dano edward nashton x reader #ri writes

[mamawasatesttube]

cassie and bart for the headcanon thing <3

YEAAAA cassie first :)

Headcanon A:  realistic

oh girliepop the comp het. oh sweetheart. she doesn't figure out that she was "attracted" to kon bc of gender envy until she's like 20. it feels like a huge epiphany.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

accidentally zapped herself with her own lasso once while trying to train with it. donna was watching. donna has photos of cassie's hair all sticking straight up. they went directly in the big sister blackmail folder.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

she gets mean when she's angry or hurt. usually she can keep it under control, but one time not long after "graduation day", she snapped at bart so hard kon didn't talk to her for three full days. she apologized, but the guilt ate at her for weeks after, despite the grief still festering. it was not a good time in her life.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

please god let her out of the closet let her be the butch lesbian she yearns to be. she is the butch lesbian of my heart <3 the gender euphoria she has when she cuts her hair short again and starts dressing more masc... she's (literally) walking on air. one of her friends has to tug her back down to earth before they can leave the fitting rooms at the mall

E BART!!!

Headcanon A:  realistic

cissie taught him how to braid hair! he practiced on her, which was very kind of her, because he did just tie it into a bunch of knots the first time. she said it was kind of impressive that he fucked up that bad, and made him go find kon to ttk her hair straight again. bart didn't tell her he forgot he was trying to braid it and just started tying knots for fun, but he has a feeling she guessed.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

he enjoys harassing jason todd because jason hurt tim that one time and also because it's funny. yell louder gun man!!!

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

he never did tell any of his friends that his mom called him sunshine. it felt kind of nice to keep it to himself, and anyway, he's more than used to being alone.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

he never became kid flash literally fuck that that was so stupid. he's impulse and he has always been impulse and if he Ever becomes anything else, it's mercury.

#cassie #bart #batgirlfriends #answers #god. i care them both

[queen-scribbles]

Fill #1 for @storyknitter​ bc this one spoke to me for two different OCs and I can’t say no to either 😂

---

Mallory grumbled under her breath as the stack of files she was poking through shifted and started to slide off the table. A mess of loose paper was all she needed right now--

Her wild grab for the stack missed, but another hand interposed itself and caught them. Sure, the steadying shove sprawled them across the table instead, but that was better than jumbled all over the floor.

Mallory turned to her new company and arched a brow. “If you’re actually the first one here for a briefing, I may have to mark it on the calendar.”

Mason snorted and raked one hand through his hair. “Not my fault he’s a slowpoke sometimes.”

She frowned. “He?” This was supposed to be with all of Bravo.

“Oh. Yeah. Your mother co-opted Nate and Felix for some people-persony shit, so you just get me and Adam.”

“My two favorite people,” Mallory deadpanned as she restacked the folders, her snark doing little to hide that it was probably actually true.

“Lucky you, then,” Mason shot back. He surveyed the stacks dotted on the table and her desk. “Awful lot going on, I thought this one was straightforward.”

“I do have other cases, Mason,” she said, gathering her hair up in a messy bun when it slid in her eyes one time too many. “Y’know, for my other bloody job. The one for you is-”

“Alveres? Here.” Adam stepped into the office, plucked the required folder from the top of a stack on her desk--rather than the table she’d been checking--and held it out.

Of course it was there. “Thanks.” Their fingers brushed as she took it, and Mallory grit her teeth against the way the touch made her chest clench.

Adam swiftly let his hand fall and cleared his throat. “If you devised an organizational system for... all this, Detective, you wouldn’t lose important files.”

She huffed. “It wasn’t lost-” I knew it was in here, just not precisely where. She shook her head, teeth gritted for irritation reasons now. “Let’s just... get this done. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Let’s,” Mason drawled, slouching against the wall and toying with an unlit cigarette.

“You light that in here, I kick you out,” Mallory warned. Normally she wouldn’t care, but, “There’s too much damn paper right now.”

Mason looked between her and Adam, smirked, and started reaching for his pocket.

“Mason. Don’t.”

It was an order and a request all in one, and he was acquiescing even before Adam turned to give him a stern look. “Fine, fine. Your show.”

“Thank you.” Mallory flipped open the folder and started going over what they knew, what they needed from Unit Bravo for this one, trying to ignore the festering irritation over Adam’s remark.

He’d been much more critical of many more things the first few times he was in her office. She didn’t know why this one was lingering. (Yes, she did.)

Adam headed for the door as soon as she finished. “We know what must be done. We shall inform the others and attend to it, leaving you to your...” his gaze swept over the stacks of folders around her offices once more. “...work.”

Mallory growled softly watching him leave, briefly distracted from her pique by his shoulders as he passed her. She was only human. As he kept reminding her. She bit the inside of her cheek as another scowl twisted her features.

“Don’t worry, Mallory, he likes you, too.” Despite the heavy sarcasm on Mason’s words, there was something in his clear grey eyes that made her feel incredibly seen. It was a supportive type of seen, cloaked as it was in a verbal jab. Even so, Mallory hated that feeling and folded her arms tight across her chest.

“Right, and next he’ll advance to pulling my hair to show it,” she snarked.

Mason shrugged. “Only if you’re in to that.”

Now her scowl was aimed at him. “Oh, for- We are not....” She huffed. “What makes you think I even care?!” 

He caught her gaze and held it, piercing and steady, as he leaned closer.  “Because your heart has been beating too damn fast to be standing close to someone you don’t care about, Detective.” 

Damn vampire hypersenses.

He straightened, twirling his lighter between two fingers, and smirked. “And so was his.”

There was a sparking click, the sharp scent of nicotine, and Mason was gone with a thin trail of smoke.

Mallory stared after him, arms still crossed, heart in her toes, and his words running circles in her head.

“And so was his.”

It was a long moment before she shook it off and got back to work.

#queens fic #teasing prompts #the wayhaven chronicles #mallory denney #adam du mortain #mason #mallory/adam #mallory&mason #mason is THIS CLOSE to locking these idiots in a room and breaking off the knob sso they're stuck til one caves about their feelings #ofc adam could probably just punch through the door so idk how well it would work #but watching them pine is annoying and he knows they like each other and are both just stubborn idiots

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day three of @harringroveweek!

I chose Hopper’s Locked Office at Hawkins Police Station for today’s prompt!

This might be the first time Steve’s been in this police station and not actually been the one in trouble. Not that he’s ever personally been in the Chief's office before, usually just getting a slap on the wrist at the front desk and sent on his way while whatever lousy friend he had by his side took the heat. The unwanted luxury of having well known parents.

But that’s where he is now, here on his own accord- well, not fully, his mother sent him down here to file a report, but at least he’s not been arrested -across from a seemingly disinterested Hopper.

It’s the Chief, slouched back in his oversized chair, who’s the first to speak after reading over the claim, in a tone that’s stiff with annoyance, “Why didn’t you come to me with this sooner?”

“You were busy. And I was in the hospital.” Steve doesn’t mention that he couldn’t give a damn less about pressing charges. His excuses are scripted and he’s just as bored with this as Hopper is. Just here to uphold the family name.

His comment still earns him a scoff, “For what, a few hours? It wasn’t even that bad.”

“He could’ve killed me.” Now, that is something Steve will stand by. He might be mostly over it, but for a few nights after the fight he was pretty sure he was going blind, the pain in his head lasting for weeks still after that.

But the Chief is unmoved, pointing out bluntly, “So could’ve a lot of things. Honestly, I think the least of your problems right now, or ever, is Billy Hargrove, alright?”

And whether or not Steve actually wants to see bullshit justice this long after the fact, he still thinks he has the right to be offended by the Chiefs blatant refusal to hear him out, “Whose side are you on, Hop?“

“Nobody’s. I’m a cop, kid. Legally, I don’t take sides.”

“So you can’t do anything?”

To prove his point, Hopper closes the file, which is really just a Manila folder with two pieces of paper in it put together by Steve’s mother, leaning over it on the desk in that overbearing honesty kind of way that cops seem to do when they think they’re right, “I could. But I’m not going to. I don’t care if that kid broke every bone in your goddamn face. It’s a four month old case. It’s not going to go anywhere if we bring it up now. Come back when you have something relevant.”

“Can’t you at least press charges on him for breaking into the Byers houses? And you know, assaulting me?” Now he just sounds like a brat, but he’s got to at least try to make his case. Being told no only seems to have reignited tucked away feelings he thought he’d forgotten about that night.

“You were also trespassing, technically.” The way he tears apart Steve’s argument, it’s like he’s done this before. Steve has to consider for a moment that maybe this wasn’t the first time Hop heard the story, and maybe Billy Hargrove had done this same thing in this very office. His defense is way up now, thinking about having something in common with the asshole getting him more worked up.

Hopper cuts him off before he can let those feelings fester into another poorly thought out appeal, “Besides, the story I heard says you lied to him about where his sister was. If that was one of my daughters in that house, and some punk like you was on the other side of the door, believe me kid, I would have beat your ass too. You might not have walked away though.”

Ouch. Steve didn’t think of it that way before, and the fact that Hopper is bringing it up has to just be bad faith, right? He argues, “I was just trying to protect her.”

“From what, exactly? Being taken back home to safety where her mother could look after her instead? Real good job of that you did by taking her into the poisonous underground to fight flesh-eating monsters, by the way. Because that was a much safer option than her brother driving her home at a decent hour and avoiding all that conflict.”

“I guess when you put it like that..” Steve trails off. It’s true the Chief isn’t wrong about that, and even more glaringly obvious that he isn’t going to change his mind about it.

Hopper reiterates the unspoken, “Yeah, it ain’t a good look. So cut Hargrove a little slack, because remember, he doesn’t know shit about any of our otherworldly problems, and that only makes that situation a thousand times worse.”

“But-“ Steve tries to argue, his mind racing too fast with this new information to come up with a solid defense, but it doesn’t really matter anyways, because Hopper starts again.

“From his perspective, what he did was to protect his family, just like you thought you were protecting yours. I won’t waste valuable police time pursuing Hargrove over nothing. That’s final.”

He’s right. Steve doesn’t know what else to say. But he doesn’t get up either. Now he’s got to fret about what he’s going to tell his mother about this disastrous attempt at making things right. The last thing he needs is for her to come in here and do it herself. She’d probably try to pay the Chief off, or fake some medical records, or maybe-

Someone knocks on the door to the office, interrupting Steve’s spiraling thoughts, and whoever it is doesn’t wait for an answer to open it. Hopper's face changes to an expression that’s some frustrating cross between smugness and interest, that’s got Steve looking over his shoulder to see who it is.

Instantly, he looks away, snapping back to staring at the desk. Steve wants to crawl out of his skin when he sees who it was.

“Well, speak of the devil.”

Of course, none other than Billy fucking Hargrove would step into this room at this exact moment. Steve doesn’t look back, but he can tell from the way his heavy, booted footfalls stop just short of the door, that Billy’s just as shocked to see him there, confirmed when the other asks sarcastically, “S’it a bad time, chief?”

Brighter than Steve’s ever seen the man, and obviously scheming something, Hopper encourages, “Nope. Come on in.”

“The hell’s Harrington doing here?” Billy remarks, pulling out the extra chair and lazing down into it, kicking his feet up onto the desk like he owns the place.

“I was just leaving, actually.“ Steve makes a move to stand, but the Chief holds up his hand, the universal signal of get your punk ass back in that chair. He sinks down further than before, feeling weirdly confronted just by being in the room with Hopper and Hargrove at the same time. He stays quiet.

“He wanted to press charges against you. Sure you know what for.” Hopper explains, earning Steve a harsh glare from Billy, that the Chief quickly explains away, “Don’t get like that, kid. I told him no.”

After that it's clear neither of them really want to talk about it, the room deathly silent other than the sound of the strain of old leather boots tapping anxiously against an old tweed carpet.

As per his strange demeanor since that knock, Hopper fills the silence, “Why’d you come here today, Hargrove?”

Looking appalled that he'd even ask that of him, Billy scoffs, “Not saying it in front of him.”

So in paralleled bluntness, Hopper counters, “Too bad, because I ain’t kicking him out yet. You two need to talk about your shit so I can stop hearing about it every other goddamned day.”

“Excuse me, what?” Steve interjects, confused by so many things, the familiarity between Hopper and Hargrove for starters. Like this is something they’ve done before, talking about Steve included. It’s an uneasy thought.

But he doesn’t get an answer. Hop stands, replaces his hat on his head, and walks to the door in lieu of an answer, “I’m takin’ a break. You two work this out before I get back. I don’t want to have to consider bringing those charges back up on the both of you, alright?”

“Wait, Hop-“ Steve tries to argue, apparently entirely unconvincing as the door slams in their faces. At the same time, Billy muttered an exasperated, “Yessir.”

Somehow, it’s not surprising to Steve that Billy is more accustomed to police station etiquette than himself.

Immediately that long, expansive silence returns, stretching for a good twenty minutes until it’s apparently too much for Hargrove, who sits upright and turns to fully face Steve, asking in a demeanor that reads entirely confusing, like a cross between aggressive and curious, “You really that hard pressed about the face?”

“Yeah, I am. I missed the end of the season over it. I have every right to be upset.” God, Steve just knows he sounds like such a stuck-up bitch saying that out loud.

“Sure.” It’s one word, but it’s dismissive and bitchy coming out of Billy’s mouth. Is that what he sounds like too?

He decides, if it wasn’t already though, he’ll make it his mission to, just to bother Hargrove back, “Don’t act like you’re better. Hop said there’s charges to be brought on both of us.”

“Yeah, ‘Cause you kidnapped Max. And I know the story she gave me about what happened is absolute bullshit. Figured, I can’t beat your sorry ass again, so I’ll take you down the legal way. But chief told me it was a misunderstanding so..” Billy lets the sentence die off, obviously unsatisfied with the conclusion. His reason sounds a lot more justified than Steve’s though.

To cover his ass, Steve tries to suggest a peace offering, “Then we’re even, aren’t we?”

Doesn’t land.

“That ain’t how it works, Harrington.”

“What else do you want from me? To say I’m sorry?“

“Apologizing doesn’t make up for holding little girls hostage.”

“That’s not what happened. But honestly, why does it even bother you so much? It’s not like you actually give a shit about Max.” Steve accuses, increasingly frustrated by Billy’s inability to just listen, with it his defense rising as well.

Billy grits his teeth, Steve’s accusation a gut-punch to an already tender spot, “You don’t know a damned thing about it, Harrington.”

“I know she told me you’d kill her if you saw her that night. Doesn’t sound like something a caring older brother would do.”

“Guess what happened, Harrington. I did catch her and the only ones who got their asses beat was you and me. Clearly she was being dramatic.”

“Maybe she learned that from you, since you’re the one throwing around accusations and shit. I didn’t do anything. I was just watching after those kids.”

“Even if that were true, I know she’s not stupid enough to just run off to hang out with a creep like you. So no amount of ‘but nothing even happened’ will ever make me trust your ass.” Billy starts and doesn’t stop, their petty, repetitive arguing coming to a culmination, a moment of real emotional appeal instead of just childish he-said, she said bullshit, “I needed answers and your dumbass lying to my face landed me in the fucking ER, so thanks for still being too fucking stubborn to admit what you did.”

It was a given that Billy would snap eventually, but it’s what he says that catches Steve way off guard, “Hold on, let’s backtrack here; you were hospitalized?”

“You heard me. Don’t tell me you really live in world where none of the fucked up shit you do has consequences?” Billy sneers, almost mocking him.

Equally defensive as he is just not sure what Hargrove is talking about, Steve exclaims, “I barely even touched you!”

“Who said you did?” Billy actually explains this time, pointing to a scar in his eyebrow that Steve hadn’t even noticed before, “Got this from my old man when I brought Max home after curfew, high off of whatever drugs you had laying around that house. -Which is, as I probably already mentioned, super fucking suspicious, Harrington.”

That doesn't really clarify everything, at least not in Steve’s mind, “I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t. Let me spell it out for you, since you’re so fucking dense.” Billy’s tone drops, and it’s like he’s talking to a child, overexplaining with way too much emphasis on every other word, “My thirteen year old step sister goes missing. My ex-mil dad comes home and knocks me one for not watching her. I go out and find her on the other side of town, with you. But instead of bringing her home then, I get sedated and don’t wake up for a few more hours. My car gets stolen and wrecked before then, so by the time I stumble home barely conscious at three in the fucking morning with a dented car and a crying sister who can’t exactly seem to put into words what she saw while she was missing, my dad who was already pissed, is even more endlessly pissed now. And I think you can infer what fucking happened next, Harrington.”

And yeah, he absolutely can. He honestly feels kind of stupid for not putting that together in the first place. Interested, but trying to change the subject to avoid some of that heat, Steve asks, “Is that why you’re here now?”

“Oh, this? Just knocked myself in the head with a door again, is all.” Billy’s words are absolutely oozing with sarcasm, which Steve might say is well deserved at this point, “No shit that’s why I’m here.”

“This is probably gonna be obvious again but I have to ask. If you’ve told the police your father.. you know.. hits you, then why don’t they do anything?”

“Worked out a deal with the chief. I don’t want them locking my old man away for a little old fashioned discipline. That’s just stupid.” Billy sounds serious about that, Steve can tell if not just because of how much of his bad attitude and lies have been thrown into his face lately. It really makes him feel for the other boy, as he explains the situation, “But I have to tell Hop whenever it happens, and he gets to decide if it’s bad enough he wants to do something about it.”

Whatever he’s going through is a lot more difficult than what’s going on on Steve’s end of things. Suddenly his mom forcing him to come down to the police station and give a half-hearted statement seems a lot more trivial. He wants to make things right.

“You don’t mind that they’re interfering in your personal shit? I mean, isn’t that why you’re so pissed at me?” That’s a genuine question, and it earns him a genuine answer from Billy, who sounds more upset than angry at this point, “It’s different, alright?���

“If shit hits the fan and somebody other than me gets hurt, I like having Hopper on speed dial. Then the second that fucker raises a finger to Max or Susan, he’s done. That happens to be a lot different from you kidnapping my sister and causing trouble for all of us in my book.”

“So you didn’t do it for yourself?”

“Hell no. I’ve been taking beatings since I was like, 10. I can handle another few months of it ‘til I’m out of Hawkins for good.” Seems a little overly optimistic considering the start of that sentence, but Steve doesn’t comment on it, just letting Billy keep explaining, “If it wasn’t for my dad and my stepmom starting to argue so much about that night, I wouldn’t have even had to say anything.”

The more open they are, the less tension there is. Maybe Hopper was right about needing to talk.

Though, hostility aside now, Steve is still intrigued by Billy’s circumstances now. Questions that aren’t really any of his business keep coming to mind, but as long as Billy keeps answering them, he’ll keep asking, “You think he’ll slip up eventually and do something bad enough for Hopper's standards?”

Billy just shrugs, “Probably. Don’t look forward to it though.”

Once the conversation reaches that dead spot, Steve decides to swallow some of his pride and truly try to make friends instead of begrudging acquaintances. Another argument doesn’t sound all that pleasant either, so he’ll take the friendship.

“Hey, you’re not half bad, Hargrove. Can we forget all the shit I said when you first walked in?” Because Steve’s been officially won over, his empathy maybe shooting him in the foot here, but as long as Billy isn’t mad at him, he can put this situation behind them.

Honestly he was ready to do that before he even came here, but this outcome might not be such a bad thing either.

Apparently, Billy agrees, “Whatever. As long as the same goes for me.”

Nothing left to argue about, an awkward silence settles over them for another few minutes until Hopper comes barging back in, with a question that confuses Steve somehow more than anything else that’s been discussed in this office today, “So? When’s the wedding?”

“C’mon, Chief-“ Billy complains, though he’s pretty much instantly cut off by Hopper, “You’ve been talking for a whole hour, and I know it was actually a conversation because I had Callahan sit right outside this door and make sure no fights broke out. So I figure, you gotta have it all sorted now, right? The venue, the date..”

“No, Hop. We’ve reached a truce. That’s it.” There’s a very specific implication here that Steve is missing. He looks between the two and doesn’t see it, doesn’t get what they’re talking about.

He’d ask, but Hopper declares first, seeming almost monotone and bored, “That’s disappointing. Be back in a few.”

And just like that, he leaves again, the lock clicking behind him once more, and the edge in the room is back to square one.

“Uh.. What was he talking about?” Steve asks, looking over to Billy for answers.

All he sees is a pale-faced, tight-shouldered Billy, who automatically explains away his question, “Who knows? The chief’s a total hack.”

Something’s going on here.

But an attempt at bringing back that short-lived moment of conviviality wins out in favor of asking more details about it, “He figured out how to make us friends despite everything. That’s not so bad.”

Billy only snaps harshly in response, “I forgave you. That doesn’t mean we’re friends all of the sudden.”

“Why not? What’s your problem with me?”

“It’s not you anymore. It’s a me problem. That also happens to be none of your business.”

“Not this again..”

“Look, Harrington. Some things are just better off kept secret. Even if I tolerate you.“

That irritates Steve, Billy's unwillingness to cooperate when not even five minutes ago they were making up. He tries to appeal to the reasonable kid that agreed to actually set aside their differences, “But wouldn’t you have said that about everything else you told me today?”

“The risk is different. Sorry I’m not kissing your ass the way you want, King Steve. I can forgive you, but I’m still my own person, and you still don’t know what kind of shit you’re dealing with here.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person.” He can tell what Billy is getting at, even if he doesn’t understand where it came from, and he tries to shut it down, but his assurances don’t work. Billy argues, “You were literally here to press charges on me.”

Now's as good a time as any to explain himself, “Because my mom found my team pictures and wanted to know why I had stitches in my face and never told her. She didn’t buy the story about a rogue basketball, and when she found out what actually happened she freaked, and then I freaked, and then before I knew it I was here.”

“Huh. What a touching way to act like you’re on my level.” That was taken the wrong way. Steve doesn’t even feel guilty about that one knowing how much his words are being twisted here. He’s honestly more confused than anything else.

“I’m tired of arguing.”

“That’s what happens when you associate with someone like me. Got too much to hide. You’ve probably never even heard me tell the truth.”

“Gonna reiterate here, you’re not a bad person for what happened. We’re over it, yeah?”

Like he’s talking to a brick wall, every attempt at soothing the situation backfires, Billy turning every word into ammunition that cuts deep into the both of them, “Alright, I’ll bite. Sure I’m not a full blown piece of shit just for fighting for my family, but what happens when you realize I’m a con? A lying, manipulative son of a bitch that would do anything to protect his own ass in the long run. Hell, I’d kick your ass again right now if you asked a question I didn’t like. I’ve got shit you don’t want involved in, Harrington, so stop being so goddamn nosy.”

“What, are you in some gang or something?” He’s being sarcastic, a better response not coming to him, and he gets an equally as biting defense back from Hargrove, “Depends. If you count the alphabet mafia, sure.”

The smugness in his face tells Steve he’s not supposed to know what that meant. But he does. He’s a certified member himself.

His own expression must give away that he understands, because Billy’s demeanor falls, and fast, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine, Billy.” He tries to assure, but the other boy is panicking, “I shouldn’t have said that.“

“Is that why Hopper made that joke?” He’s somewhere between genuinely trying to understand and trying to lighten Billy’s stress. The latter answers coldly, “Doesn’t take a genius, Harrington.”

Steve tries to redirect, “Do you.. have a crush on me?”

“Way to make it sound stupid. I’m eighteen years old in a month. I don’t get crushes.”

A flicker of hope in his chest he didn’t expect from himself, Steve presses on, almost wanting his assumption to be right, “But you didn’t deny it.”

“Do I have to? What’s there to like about you?” There’s so much spite and bitterness laced into his toned Steve can tell it’s just for show. A defense mechanism against a non-existent, but somehow omnipresent, threat.

Steve decides to make his intentions fully clear then, “That’s a shame. I was going to see if you were free this weekend?”

Billy sounds skeptical, “You’re fucking with me.”

“I know it’s a pretty big deal what you just said to me. I also know I’ve never been brave enough to say that sort of thing out loud and you didn’t even really say it, so I figured you were being honest, and I could, I dunno, take my chance.” When he’s met with silence, Steve starts to worry that maybe he’s the one who misinterpreted things, and just outed himself like an idiot, “Am I being stupid again?”

“Nah. I think I am this time.” They both exhale out some of the tension, relieved to be on common ground again, this time as more than just acquaintances hopefully, since Billy suggests, “Saturdays are good for me. Don’t be over a minute before eight though. That’s when my dad leaves for work.”

“I guess it’s a date then.”

“Yeah.”

Another stretch of silence. Steve plugs, “This got super awkward..”

“Yeah.”

And another beat. There’s nothing left to say.

“I think I’m going to leave now.” Steve blurts out, standing rather suddenly, desperate to escape the awkwardness before it can ruin a relationship that doesn’t even exist yet.

Billy gives him a little nod of acknowledgement, but stays quiet this time.

Steve doesn’t like the ambiguity of that, so he prompts, “Hey, I’ll um.. see you soon.”

All he gets is the same stock answer he’s been getting for everything, a muttered, “Yeah..”

It’s something, so it’s good enough. He leaves the office, passing the Chief on his way back. If Hopper had acknowledged him, Steve would never know, so many thoughts racing through his head all at once, mainly- What the actual fuck had just happened between him and Billy goddamn Hargrove?

Steve stops just outside the door after it closes again to catch his breath, get a hold back on his bearings, overwhelmed with the speed of what just happened. From where he is, he can overhear the rest of the conversation in the Chief’s office.

“So? That took care of a good handful of the things that have been getting you down, kid. Feel better to have that weight off?”

Billy speaks much softer than Hopper, much harder to hear through the closed door, “I.. think I will be.”

“Hey, sometimes that’s all we can ask for.” It sounds like Hopper pats him on the shoulder and takes a seat, “Now if you don’t need anything else, get outta my office, kid. Go on and live a little.”

Steve thinks of how they’ll both probably heed that advice from now on. He hopes so anyways, now that the stupid grudge he didn’t really ever care for, is out of the way.

Billy shoves past him in the now open door way, throwing a harsh, “Outta my way, Harrington,” over his shoulder as he storms straight out the front door of the station.

Watching him go, hearing tires burn out as Billy peels out of the parking lot before Steve can even make it to the door, he won’t forget the vulnerability he was trusted with behind that locked door. Probably ever. He’ll hold that image close to him every time Billy has to pretend in public that he wants nothing to do with him.

Steve could maybe get used to this.

#harringroveweek #billy x steve #harringrove #& hopper #as a passive aggresive wingman #an enemies to friends to lovers speedrun #ft some more arguing bc thats their dynamic to me #ps #i am aware of the glaring anachronism near the end and I don’t care #ej writer #story by ej! #my writing

[verfound]

WIP Game (January 2023 Edition!)

@lycorogue do you realize what you've unleashed 😂😂😂

Ok guys. You know how this works. The 'rules':

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!)  I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

How we're actually gonna do it: I am giving y'all screenshots of the MLB portion of the Hoard (currently the most active). I am tagging no one bc I don't know...the main folder has 123 items in it we're not playing that game 😂

(I also realize there's a lot, so feel free to check my #festering folder edition tag to see which ones have been discussed before. 👀)

The only title I'm putting off-limits is LBSC SA 2023, as that is this year's Secret Admirer fic and y'all have to wait until Valentine's Day for that. I can safely say I've tricked myself into another Epic. 😂

Main Folder:

House Band:

Dingo Files:

Winters:

#wip game #ask game #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #wip fic #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #y'all gonna make me regret this aren't you 😂 #HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT #fire awaaaay

[gravelish]

RAGBRAI Part 2 (Iowa)

22-29 July 2023

This is Part Two of my account of this year’s ride across Iowa. These posts have been festering in a ‘drafts’ folder for a month and a half and now I’m determined to just get them out. This one is more of a chronological account of the last few days of the ride, combined with some overall observations of the whole spectacle.

Day 5 of RAGBRAI began with a beautiful pre-dawn ride through downtown Des Moines and out of the city to the east. This was the longest and hilliest day of the week-long ride, covering about 90 miles and climbing 4000’. We passed through Newton, where I’d stayed on my eastbound ride in 2019 and Grinnell before ending the day in the twin towns of Tama and Toledo.

Day 6 included Marengo and the Amana villages, but Oxford has become the most memorable pass-through town of the whole trip for me, simply because of the heat. The fire station doors were wide open and there were tables lined with folks enjoying shade and cooling fans and ice cream. There was an old fire truck parked outside and an open hydrant spraying water across the passing riders (all walking their bikes through town). The final 15 miles to Coralville was miserable but misery shared among thousands. It was hilly and hot and humid (‘feels like 113’). People, including me, were stopping at virtually every hilltop farmhouse to sit in the grass under the trees and to empty water bottles over our heads. Everyone was checking on everyone else for signs of heat stroke. And there were clearly several riders along side the road getting attention (from other cyclists and from occasional ambulances).

I arrived at the Pork Belly camp in Coralville around 3:00. I was not looking forward to pitching my tent in the hot sun, so when I heard that they had opened up more space in the nearby Xtreme Arena for a small donation, I jumped on it. I set up ‘camp’ on the concourse, amidst many others. I didn’t even hear the sirens and commotion outside when the storm arrived two hours later. Strong winds were tossing tents around and sending folks fleeing for the arena (which they had opened for everyone by then). Pork Belly moved the dinner service and the band into the arena which was wonderful (this was still mainly just the Pork Belly crowd, so while it was crowded, it was pretty spread out given the size of the facility. Things were crazier in the main RAGBRAI camps). It was so nice to spend a night in an air conditioned space.

Saturday (Day 7) was a very early start because of the potential heat and the urgency about getting to Davenport in time to get the afternoon shuttle back to Omaha. Route finding out of Coralville and through Iowa City in the dark at 5:30 was confusing, in part because the route was designed to go through the University of Iowa and Kinnick Stadium, but that wasn’t actually open until 6:00 am and instructions weren’t clear. The 70 miles went fast and was one of the nicest rides of the trip, in part due to cloud cover. We reached the Mississippi River in Muscatine, but then followed it the final 25 miles to Davenport. I stopped for ice cream at a Beekman’s stand along the way and joined others on plastic chairs along the shoulder cheering the crowd as they rode by (in previous days, the lines at Beekman’s had always been prohibitively long and the lack of cloud cover meant little interest in sitting anywhere without shade).

I dipped my wheel in the Mississippi around 11:00 (I’ve never ridden 70 miles by 11:00 am before!). The boat ramp was crowded, but it was only a few minute wait (I heard that by afternoon the line was much, much longer). I took my time riding along the riverfront park - this is where I crossed the Mississippi River in 2019 on my way west. Then it was a mile uphill to the St. Ambrose campus, where Pork Belly was set up. I put my bike on the ‘Stupidity’ trailer, retrieved my bags, visited the shower truck, grabbed a burger and a drink, and made it onto the first (of 8?) coaches headed back to Omaha that afternoon.

The bus trip was 5-6 hours, all on I-80, but it went by quickly. Everyone was excited about finishing the 7-day ride (and having already ridden 70 miles just that morning). I think we all let our guards down, since I’m pretty sure that’s where I picked up COVID, which I proceeded to share with M and C when I arrived home two days later!

Aside from the heat and the crowds and the lines, RAGBRAI was an amazing experience. I’m really glad I did it. Once. I appreciate that many people will want to do it again and again. But it’s just not the kind of experience I ride for. I like solitude. I like the interaction with locals in their normal lives, not during a traveling festival that has turned their lives upside down for a day. I don’t like heat and mugginess and damp gear that never dries out and sleeping in a tent when the temperature never drops below the high 70s. I’ve always been a bit bugged by the collegiate focus on partying and drinking - which may not accurately characterize most participants, but which was a dominant theme leading up to and during the event. Serving up vodka lemonade slushies in front yards and crowded beer gardens and countless Facebook posts about riding from beer stop to beer stop along the route contributes to this.

I talked to a lot of other riders on this trip. They came from a wide variety of places and personal histories and biking backgrounds. It was a great reminder of how different we all are, in what we’ve done, what we enjoy, and what inspires us, despite the fact that we all share an interest in the same thing and look sort of the same in our Lycra and our helmets.

I spent the week thinking how this ride compared with 2019. That was a tough five days, but if I ever want to ride across Iowa again, that’s the way I’d do it. And while I enjoy the landscapes of the Midwest, I’d rather be riding in the mountains or along the coast, through the forest or in a dramatic urban landscape.

#bike #bike journal #ragbrai #iowa

[a-hackneyed-premise]

📕

tell me a story please :)

Hey, thank you for the ask!

Well, it's going to have to be a Jonathan Strange one, isn't it 🤣

I've got quite a heartbreaker in my drafts folder that is about three quarters done, a soul mates AU about Strange finding and losing Arabella over the years, starting from where she was replaced by the moss wood, right up to modern day.

When he and Norrell finally escape the tower, a hundred years have passed, and Arabella has died, but he finds her soul reincarnated in someone else. He falls in love, but it's not meant to be, so Strange being the impetuous fellow he is, this happens 😭

"Do not be so dramatic. Or so hasty." Norrell took a tentative step closer. He looked as if he wanted to say something comforting, but was unsure how to proceed. After a protracted pause, he gently placed his hand on Strange's forearm, and said, "A magician has no place marrying. Look at all we accomplished together in the darkness without the distraction of women. By your own admission, the greatest feats of magic you ever performed were with me in Faerie, or while you were away at war, without your wife to tempt you away from your studies."

Strange shrugged Norrell's hand away and did not answer him, but instead glowered darkly.

"You should be grateful that she will be happy," added Norrell.

It was this last sentence which finally roused Strange into speech. "But what of me? I love her, Norrell. I. Love. Her."

Mr Norrell waved his hand dismissively. "That does not matter. Let us instead focus on the future."

"The future..." said Strange in a low tone, as a half-formed idea came to him. He hurried towards the mirror hanging above the fireplace and gazed into it. "Her soul had returned to Earth. Perhaps it may do so again in another time...."

"Jonathan?"

The use of his Christian name gave him pause, and he looked up towards his tutor. There was a fearful desperation in his eyes.

"I know you think you love this woman, but—"

"Do not talk to me of love, Norrell! What do you know of it? Nothing!"

Mr Norrell's eyes shone briefly before he turned away. "I may not have your experience, sir. I may not have your passion or romanticism. But to suggest I know nothing of love? That is a cruel thing indeed."

Strange had hurt his tutor, that was obvious, but he took a vicious pleasure in it, as if hurting the heart of his only friend would somehow alleviate the pain in his own. "What would you have me do, Norrell? Stay here with you, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives? You want us to grow old together, to allow my contempt for you to fester as it withers and hardens my heart to match yours? I think not!"

"Please, Jonathan," Norrell said, his voice as timid and frail as Strange had ever heard it. "Do not be reckless. It has always been your greatest weakness."

"Reckless?" laughed Strange bitterly. "I shall show you reckless."

And before he could utter another word, Strange opened a gateway into Faerie from the nearest mirror and stepped through, closing the gateway on his master without a backwards glance.

#answered asks #jonathan strange & mr norrell #js&mn #stuff i write

[dearvitya]

I was going to ask about An Artist, a Mutiny, and a Baby, BUT someone already did and now I'm OBSESSED with it SO ANYWAY I'll ask about All of the While, it Was You! (((it's making me think of Falling in Love at a Coffeeshop by Landon Pigg, which has me excited :D)))

AH i'm so happy i finally got to share some of An Artist, a Mutiny, and a Baby cuz it's been sitting in my wips folder forever and just festering in my brain lmfao

BUT UR RIGHT, that's where the title came from !! All of the While, It Was You takes place most of the time in a coffee shop, so it just felt... fitting :') it's a fic about widow victor. he's a high school theater teacher and years ago he met this lovely lady named elizabeth who he eventually asked out, and the first part of the story is a little flashback of snippets all the way up until they get married, throughout their marriage, and when she ends up getting sick and passes away.

after that victor is severely depressed and is just trying to learn to be on his own again, and after a few years he starts finally feeling like himself--and a big part of what helped was forming a routine, which includes going to the same coffee shop, like... everyday. and it's there that he meets yuuri !!

the story is basically just about victor trying to push through his grief and falling in love again years later, and learning to embrace the fact that he's lucky enough to experience a love like that twice in his lifetime </3 i want it to be romantic and i want it to make people cryyyy

#and i think that's the last of my wips ! there's still the holywell street wip but everyone kinda knows about that one now lol #thank u for sending this!:3 #asks #crickets-lovely-fanspace

[incognito-insomniac]

The Erim one and the Hogan's Heros one!! I am 👀ing both of those

Thank you so much @funkypoacher! I see you eying Erim. I am still working my 30 day OC challenge for him and Miranda. It will happen one day.

So DA-I Erim is the collector document for all WIPs about Erim Lavellan (except for 30 day challenge stuff which is hiding in my OneNote pages)

And you had to pick the one file I was considering throwing in my archive. Hogan's Heroes - thirteen is a very old WIP where i created an OC female bomber pilot, Captain Sadie Bates, who goes down in a field in Germany on her first trial mission then gets thrown into Stalag 13 with the rest of the Hogan gang. Aaaaand antics ensue. Because it's Hogan's Heroes.

Here are some snippets from both which are mostly all script format because I never finish anything:

Have Erim and Liam before their relationship! With bonus Scout Harding.

Liam is in a medical tent in the Hinterlands with Scout Harding, he is in the slow process of removing his leather armor. Harding is crying from laughter Liam: I took an arrow to the ass, Harding. Stop laughing. It’s not funny. It could have been in my back. Harding: Come on, it’s a little funny. Liam: Maybe once it doesn’t smart so much. I can barely walk. Harding: Oh, Janet, will he survive from this fatal blow! Janet: Most definitely. It may fester if he does not let me see it soon though. Liam: It’s a little hard to move, and she’s very distracting. Can we remove her from the tent? Harding: Oh, Hebert, you’re such a cry-baby. Liam: Shut up! Erim walks into the tent Erim: What’s going on? Harding: Captain Hebert had to return from his cushy assignment on a stretcher. Liam: I was shot in the ass Erim: That must hurt. Liam: It does! Thank you for your concern, Herald. Some people are less sympathetic. Harding: Some dwarf thinks you’re a wuss. Erim: So why am I here other than to abate the Captain’s wounded pride? Harding: He has news on enemy movements I thought you should hear straight from him. Liam: Well first off, I’d like to lodge a formal complaint. He throws off his leather chest plate, the final part of his armor, leaving him in a sweaty cotton tunic and trousers. Erim can feel a slight blush emerge on his cheeks. He tries to ignore it. Liam: We need better armor. This shit is worthless to arrows and most blades. Don’t even get me started on blunt weapons. I refuse to lead another mission before- Erim: I will speak to Josephine and see what we can do. Liam: Oh…alright. Thank you.

I read through my Hogan WIP for a while trying to find a good snippet. I forgot how much I enjoyed it (no archive folder for Sadie for now). I'll stick with the opening scene even though it doesn't really have Sadie in it because it's just so cute and has all the boys in it.

Newkirk and LeBeau are on watch outside. Newkirk sits on a barrel with a pair of binoculars Newkirk: Transport approaching. They all pile around the barrel with him Hogan: New prisoner? Kinch: Can’t tell yet. Carter: I hope it’s those Red Cross packages. I didn’t get any chocolate from the last one. LeBeau: None of us did. Shultz ate it all. Kinch: It’s definitely a prisoner, a high ranking officer most likely. They got the security detail to prove it. Newkirk: I’ve been in this camp too long, because that looks like a girl to me. He hands the binoculars to Hogan. Hogan: That’s because she is. She’s a WAC officer. Kinch: But how? WACs are only operational in the States. Hogan: That’s what I want to know.  Kinch, radio London about our new arrival. Kinch: Yes, sir.

#my wip #oc erimenthan lavellan #oc liam hebert #oc sadie bates #ask game

[ourmadmusings]

Pointed Lesson (Pt.4)

Words: 1k+

Type: Angst, as per usual. 

Summary: What has your bat been up to in the days you were so unwell? 

Warnings: Mentions of injury [reader], mentions of trauma. No real mentions of body type or race. 

PART ONE

Clinging to your regrets is the same as clinging to a drowning loved one, you can have the best of intentions, willing yourself to save them, but people will always pull you under the cold waves to save themselves -- you must be stronger than them in order to lift them above the surf, my dear. 

---

It’s quick, once it starts. You start to mumble a bit, he can see your eyes roll in your skull, you even try to move your arm to adjust your own pillow once or twice. Each time he’s on top of you fast as sin, trying to make you more comfortable, whatever task at hand is forgotten in lieu of you. He and Alfred decide to tie your arm up in a makeshift sling to try and keep you from moving it around too much soon thereafter. God forbid you tear away the stitches Alfred spent too long tying into you.

He dumps the big glass of tap water Alfred left for you after his shift of sitting, refreshing it every time he notices the bubbles start to bloom inside the glass. He says you’re coming along well, but you’d still need some serious R-and-R after you wake up. 

Bruce has found a home on the old chair you kept tucked at your small kitchen table only a few feet from your twin-sized mattress, it was the only seat in your entire apartment. 

The two men realized that your building was abandoned - the window you always left unlocked had a few live wires connecting to the poles just outside and your other appliances ran on small generators you’d set up around the house. It was cold in your small hide-away. They both assumed you’d boil your water on the stove to fill your tub based upon the dingy stains that ran a yellow ring around the top. It’s no wonder you’d gotten infected so quickly. 

Alfred rocked back his shoulders often while looking at you, undoubtedly still stiff from leaning over you for so long after you’d tried to escape your Bat, he’d set out immediately tending to your awful, festering wound. He’d even looked over at Bruce with more disappointment than he was used to seeing, “you should have done more to help, you know that don’t you?” It was…sad, mournful, the way in which he looked up at Bruce, he wasn’t used to Alfred actually scolding him anymore. Well, he wasn’t used to taking it so personally, maybe. Bruce knew you were bad-off, but he found himself kind of surprised you lived this way. 

He’d turned over more than a few favors in the long days you were lifeless, finding old footage of your dealings with Oswald, the botched deal that left you driven up an abandoned road after you were beaten and bloodied. You’d waddled your way back into view of his camera-trail with a black eye, a fat lip, and both arms wrapped tightly around your middle. You’d wandered into an old apartment, an address associated with your legal name, Gordon had said you’d left the lease half-used and stopped paying -- bank accounts emptied and billing accounts stalled. Bruce assumed it was to disappear after you got hung out to dry in your deal with Oswald, Gordon said it was typical of Oswald’s employees to do after they’d start working off debts with him.

You were simply another missing-persons, left in a folder on a desk. He caught up with you on the screen three weeks later, suited up and on the hunt. 

He couldn’t figure out what led you into the cage of the Penguin, but he knew better than to ask the man himself.

It wasn’t his business, Alfred would nag from time to time. 

Bruce was nosey, though. He’d taken some time to wander around your shabby place. Fingered the records you had piled, flicked through some books on leather-working and a few manuals on electric wiring. Popped your fridge open to almost-moldy produce and an old box of take-out. Your sink held a single bowl, your fork, and a rusty pan. Your stove was jimmy-rigged with a tube from a gas-powered generator - a fire hazard, Alfred remarked with a smirk. 

Your bathroom made Bruce’s chest heave all over again. 

You’d left mats of old, blood-soaked gauze all over your small single-sink, tossed into the trash-bucket tucked between the sink and small toilet, and one had soaked in your old claw-foot tub, leaving rust-colored streaks down into the drain. 

It really was no wonder you’d gotten so infected. 

He wandered idly on heavy legs back to your table, sticking a hand out to steady himself, and he stared at you. Long and hard. This was his fault, wasn’t it? 

For the upteenth time in a month he finds himself back in that dank alley, crouching with you lamely between his legs, arms outstretched on the dingy brick like a member of a gospel choir. It replayed like an old record in his mind when he wasn’t replaying it on big monitors in the cave. Alfred warned him about dwelling on things like he’d made a habit of doing, but for the first time in a long lifetime he finds the dark tendrils of want waking up in his stomach. The cold hands find their way up his spine, gripping his lungs in their icy grasp until they’ve crawled up behind his eyes. 

His nose stings and his eyes burn deep in his skull.

It’s a heavy thought in the bottom of his brain, wet and soggy, it slaps around his skull like a soaked napkin, sticking to walls after it’s been hurled around. He wants, for the first time he can remember, to walk to your bedside. To slide you over in the small, hard bed and crawl into the dingy sheets wrapped tightly around you, move your head to rest on his shoulder, he wants to wrap an arm around your waist and feel the soft puffs of your breath on his nape, he wants to feel your heartbeat, he wants to know you’re alive, you’re still breathing, that you’re fine, just hurt. 

You’ll be fine. 

He yearns to change the past in a way he’s known his whole life. He yearns to pull you to him in that dark alley, to take the time to carefully remove your mask instead of letting you yank your hair as you removed it yourself, to actually hug you the way he knew you’d wished for while your forehead, red and bruised from thunking into the brick, rested on his chest. He yearns to carry you so carefully all the way home. To sit you on the metal table Alfred has wrestled him on top of so many times, to patch you up the way he’d had someone do to him. He  wasn’t sure why he’d assumed you had someone to help you the way he did. He felt downright idiotic for it, though.

Alfred had correctly assumed your shoulder was starting down the lines of becoming septic, rotting your blood away like a raw-nerve in a rotted tooth. The knife had stuck so deeply into you, just a hair's breadth away from a lung, he’d whistled that it was a wonder you’d gotten back into your suit after just a week or two. 

That sucked the air from Bruce’s lungs in the moment - how much pain had you been in when he let you get so angry with him on his rooftop? Why did you let him ask so much of you if you needed help? Why didn’t you ask him for help? 

It’s like a punch to the face, he sinks down into your chair. He almost considers slipping his glove off, almost considers taking your hand in his in that passing thought, almost considers rubbing a thumb over the tendons. 

You had asked for help, hadn’t you? 

He spent two weeks staring into an open window, a beacon of pain, he’d spent days watching you tear yourself open, over and over, before patching yourself back up and coming to find the mask that wouldn’t let you see what was tucked below. He thinks about how you’d sunk deep on to the lip of your tub, curling yourself over as the throbbing undoubtedly played between your ribs, an out-of-tune melody that he’d blocked out. Just the same way he knew you had all those months prior, after Oswald left you to rot in the gutter then, too. Maybe you hadn’t even thought of it as an invitation, but he felt hollow in that second. He felt eaten out, raw, he felt tired.

It sits on the floor beside him. You’d torn your mask from your head, sobbed so lamely into the wall, prayed at him to pull the knife from your shoulder, and he left you alone in a cold, dark apartment, hadn’t he? It makes him mad, he thinks, that he’d been so stupid. So fucking brainless to leave you the way he did, with that stupid helmet stuck on your neck and suit soaked from the drizzle. Shoulder torn open and bare to the world, begging for the peace of comfort. You’d crawled up your fire-escape and sobbed into balled fists as you washed the cut, biting into raw knuckles as the pain played you a sad tune. You’d placed the pitiful resources you had over it and patched your suit to hide it from him - from everyone. It’s the familiar purrs of regret curling up on the floor next to him.

He doesn’t know he’s reached out and taken your feeble hand in his. He doesn’t know when he’d fallen asleep, either, but he wakes to you thrashing in your bed, screaming at him to get off, to Alfred telling him to get you to relax, his mask feels tight around his skull as he’s pleading with you to cool it! 

He can’t shake the fondness blooming behind his lungs as he sees your bare face, devoid of your mask, cheeks flushed and hair mussed. He lets himself drift in the sea of what-if’s for just a second. He thinks about what it would look like if you weren’t on death’s door and in an old, ratty shirt, maybe in his shirt. In his bed, in his home, and he had been able to crawl into bed with you earlier, and you’d smile at him. Your sweet, chapped lips would meet him with whispers of ‘i-missed-you’ and ‘welcome-home’s.’ But it’s Alfred in his head - “the stitches will tear! Stop that! Do something!” is all he’s met with.

He remembers that people like him don’t particularly deserve those types of fantasies, and he’s torn back into reality, pinning you to your hard bed, sweat soaking your hairline, and fear deep-set on your pretty face. 

Right - cowards don’t deserve the thoughts of happy endings. How foolish of him.

a/n: I reworked the orginal plot for this chapter, the first draft was way too moody for me to post. and anyways, i think it’s fun to write from bruce’s pov. hes just such an angsty dude its almost too easy. i wont make a habit of it, but i thought it would be fun to explore bruce’s perspective of how you lived, you dont have the money he does so you make do -- and for the record?? your crib isnt ratty, it may be shabby but it’s not nearly as drab as bruce makes it out to be, but his perspective of shabby is a lot different than that of the average man lol. as always, let me know what you think!! im enjoying this so far. 

#battinson #battinson x reader #battinson x y/n #battinson x you #the batman #the batman x you #the batman 2022 #batman x reader #batman x y/n #batman 2022 #batman oneshot #batman x you #mine #not edited #not archived

[lazarusinashesmods]

Easy Sentiment Cheats v0.8

Ever get tired of how complicated and somewhat ineffective sentiment cheats are, particularly in removing sentiments? Not only do you have to type the name of both Sims—which sometimes doesn't even work—you have to remember the tuning name for every single sentiment, which means you have to constantly look each one up. On top of that, even if you remove a sentiment by typing all of that out, it doesn't fully remove it!

It's a massive pain and it's especially bad for storytelling purposes. Easy Sentiment Cheats fixes all of this. It allows players to easily assign sentiments through a pie menu which is divided into four categories, ensuring that adding a sentiment is only a few clicks away. ESC was made using only Base Game sentiments, so players without Snowy Escape can still use it! A Snowy Escape edition is planned in the future for those who would like easy cheats for those.

More info and download under the cut!

Instructions

Once installed, go into the game, click on a Sim, and sort through the pie menu. You'll see a pie menu called Sentiment Cheats. In that pie menu, you can either add or remove sentiments.  Every sentiment that comes with the base game is included within four pie menus: Positive Sentiments, Negative Sentiments, Positive Romantic Sentiments, and Negative Romantic Sentiments. Romantic sentiments have been sectioned off so that they aren't added by mistake to family members and such. Pick whichever sentiment you want and your Sim will have it toward the Sim you have chosen.

How It Works

Every sentiment in the game comes with a unique relationship track—a relationship track is exactly what it sounds like; it tracks your relationship with another Sim. What each interaction does is set your relationship track for the chosen sentiment to 100. Because of that, you can only add sentiments to your Sim about another Sim. In other words, you cannot use this mod to give someone else a sentiment about your Sim. However, if that Sim is in your control, you can easily just select them and do that.

On removing sentiments: This version only has four sentiments that can be removed. To be frank, they're tedious to code. For that reason, I've only included sentiments that I've seen players complain about in this version. The reason they're tedious is that each sentiment comes with a relationship bit. The relationship track is what affects the moodlets your Sim gets, but the bit is what affects their autonomy. For example, a Sim with the Festering Grudge sentiment toward another Sim will get tense and angry moodlets. In addition, when they interact with that Sim, they'll autonomously do mean actions. Once the track is set to -100, the moodlets will stop appearing, but one Sim won't stop insulting the other until the bit is gone.

For the sentiment to be truly gone, the bit must be removed, which is quite a lot of work to code for every sentiment on the backend. Currently, the sentiments that can be removed are Festering Grudge, Furious, Deeply in Love, and Deeply Connected. With time, every sentiment will be included in this mod! The immediate ones on my bucket list are Hurt, Deeply Wounded (this one bugs me to no end), Closer from Happy Memories, and Closer from Quality Time.

Caveats

There's only one big caveat. Some sentiments simply cannot coexist. It's well known that a Sim can only have one long-term sentiment, but they also cannot have conflicting sentiments. For example, if a Sim has Deeply in Love, it will conflict with Furious about Cheating; one will have to give way. As a general rule, positive sentiments subtract from negative ones and vice versa.

Even if they don't outright conflict, sentiments of opposite polarity don't like coexisting. A Sim in my daughter's dorm has the Guilty sentiment toward her. She also has "Closer from Happy Memories", which, when acquired, lessened the length of Guilty.

All of this is to say that if you have a Sim with negative sentiments and you add a positive one, you might need to add it three times before it fully registers. Such is the case for adding a sentiment like Deeply Connected when you have a Festering Grudge sentiment. Even if you do this, the bit will still be there, so running the cheat to remove it will be a good idea.

Also, a minor one: the menu will appear on your active Sim if you click on them. The options do nothing, but it appears.

Age Restrictions

Children cannot add romantic sentiments or have them added to them. They also cannot add "Open-Hearted" to teenagers and adults for obvious reasons.

Installation

Unzip the .zip file and place both the .package file and the .ts4script file in your mods folder. Please note that you must have XML Injector for this mod to work correctly! If you have done these steps correctly, you'll be good to go! 🙂

Compatibility

This mod's code is completely new and does not change any in-game resources, so it shouldn't conflict with anything.

Download for free on my Patreon!

#big mods #s4 mods #base game mods

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Though I Can't Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love For You

Summary: Spencer’s always been ambivalent about his birthday, but self proclaimed lover of birthday’s Y/N attempts to change that.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Spencer’s kind of a sad bitch. Question: Why do I like writing sad Spencer?

Word Count: 2.5 K- ish

Author’s Note: prompts come from here this one is 4,8,25 from @shemarmooresfedora !! please go check out her blog on here and on Ao3!! Also, I’m stilling taking requests for numbers. I’ll update for which ones have been taken 💕

Though I Can’t Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love for You

Birthdays were always hard when all you had to do is go home to an empty house. No sounds of friends crowding the dining room table, no laughter from family members, no well wishes or pats on the back. All there is, is the stillness of silence and the emptiness of solitude. Spencer thought that he was used to it. He remembers the way the sun felt on his face the morning he woke up on his 18th birthday. His first thought wasn’t it’s my day, but it’s the day I put my mom away. The day Spencer became a man, was the first day he really wished he was a little boy again.

Ever since then, birthdays have always been a sore spot for Spencer. They just bring up sour tasting memories of his mother refusing to get out of bed or his father staying late at work to avoid coming home to a wife who doesn’t remember her own husband or a son who he can’t seem to understand. Birthdays, for Spencer, have always been just another day. Or at least, that’s what Spencer tells himself on the long ride up the elevator to the 6th floor of the BAU.

The bullpen is dark when Spencer walks out from the elevator. Paperwork and manila folders clutter the desks. Even Spencer’s workspace seems to reflect himself: frozen in time. He sits at his desk, a photograph of him and his mother placed at the right corner smiles up at him. A newer photograph, one of him and Y/N, sits right next to the one with his mom. There’s one with Derek and Penelope, one with him and Gideon at his Academy graduation, and one with him and JJ, who’s holding Henry. One of him and Luke at a bar, Penelope in the background drunk and singing.

Spencer loves photographs, but recently he’s been obsessed with them. Ever since his mother’s diagnosis, the fear that would ever forget the faces that find a home in his heart paralyzes him. These pictures may very well one day tell a much more older, much more grayer Spencer the story of his life. Today, in his mind, is another day closer to his fate.

His birthday means he’s another day closer to forgetting the way Y/N eyes sparkle when she drinks too much rose, or Henry’s laugh at Spencer’s magic tricks, or feeling when Derek calls him his brother. No one, not even Y/N, knows that Spencer has a drawer filled up of photographs he’s collected over the years. He can’t deal with forgetting the principles of electromagnetism, but forgetting his family? Spencer wouldn’t have anything left, but the smiling faces of familiar strangers, whose names are just out of reach.

Spencer rubs his eyes with the ball of his palm. He knows he’s not going to get work done. Spencer spins in his swivel chair and he’s nearly startled out of his quiet thoughts when his phone rings.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, swallowing his emotions as he shuts the drawer on the shiny faces.

“You really need to start checking your caller ID, Spence,” Y/N says, with a chuckle. Spencer can practically feel the way she’s smiling. For some reason, her teasing never made him feel bad.

“Well, what do I owe this pleasure?” Spencer asks. He drums his fingers on his desk, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“It seems like we have a missing person case,” Y/N starts, “6’2 male, brown hair, some say his eyes are green and some say they’re brown, so we’ll go with hazel, and he’s like ridiculously smart, but also kind of dumb for avoiding his girlfriend on his birthday,”

Spencer sighs as he launches himself into a long spin in his chair. He’s not surprised that Y/N is calling him; she’s always loved birthdays. She’s always been someone to someone. It’s taken some time to adjust to the fact that Spencer is Y/N’s someone.

“Are you coming to rescue me?” Spencer asks sheepishly. He leans back in his chair, watching the elevator. Y/N might think she’s slick, but Spencer’s sure he knows her better than he knows geographical profiling.

“Maybe, can you tell me how fast elevators can travel up to the 6th floor?”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to fire statistics on top of statistics, but is silenced by Y/N’s arrival. Spencer tries to remain neutral, remain ambivalent about this day being something more than any other day, but Y/N makes it difficult.

As soon as her feet leave the elevator she launches herself at Spencer, not caring that he’s less than capable of catching anything. In a tangle of arms and legs, Y/N manages to sit herself on Spencer’s lap. His hand snakes around her waist; he holds her so tight that it’s almost like he’s afraid she’s going to get blown out like birthday candles on a cake.

“I can’t believe you thought you could sneak out and come to work, on your birthday of all days,” Y/N says quietly, she threads her fingers through Spencer’s hair. She likes how long it’s gotten and his curl pattern is almost fully restored to their original health from before he went to prison.

“How’d you find me?” Spencer asks, thinking that birthdays might not be so bad if they all involve Y/N sitting in his lap and trying to braid his hair.

“Do you seriously have to ask that? Only the Oracle of Quantico,” Y/N teases and Spencer rolls his eyes, thinking he should have known that Garcia would be the one to track his location for Y/N.

“It’s vaguely illegal for a federal agent to tap into those databases, especially for a civilian,” Spencer counters. Y/N, smiling at him, dips her head down to press light kisses on his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose.

“So’s an ex-Army Ranger giving me his key card to sneak into the BAU,”

“Luke’s in on this too,” Spencer tries to sound upset, but his heart swells at the thought of Penelope, Luke, and Y/N all instigating for his birthday.

“Of course he is, I had to bring out the big guns for my Spencer’s birthday,” Y/N quips. Her fingers climb up Spencer’s sides, tickling him. She likes the kind of laugh that he lets out when she tickles him. It’s a laugh that’s unguarded and full of life. It’s a laugh that doesn’t hold anything back. It’s a laugh that relieves the pressure that festers deep inside him.

Y/N’s hands may make him laugh, but nothing makes him beam more than hearing Y/N call him “my Spencer”. She says it so simply, like my doesn’t even exist, like it’s an involuntary muscle being flexed. For Y/N, loving Spencer came as easy and effortless as breathing.

“You do love birthdays,” Spencer says, looking up at Y/N. He spins them around in his swivel chair, giggling as she lets out a gleeful squeal. Spencer grows dizzy, but he thinks he’s dizzier from Y/N’s love than from spinning in his chair.

“I love your birthday more than any other day, even my birthday,” Y/N says, getting up from Spencer’s lap to pick up the canvas grocery bags she brought with her.

“I was never one for birthdays,” Spencer says quietly. Y/N, more than anyone, knows Spencer’s challenging past. She knows his fears and she knows his dreams. She haunts his every waking moment; somehow a mercurial threat and a constant promise at the same time.

“I know, but I’m sure I’ll make you grow to love them,” Y/N says, “I wasn’t sure which flavor you wanted so I got all of them. Wawa has a surprisingly good selection of Turkey Hill,”

She takes out three gallon sized cartons of ice cream. One coffee with chocolate chips, one butter pecan, and one Moose Tracks. She hands Spencer a spoon and a napkin before sitting down on the floor and opening a carton of the ice cream.

“I do love dairy,” Spencer says, eyeing the ice cream, but considering the consequences of eating the creamy desert. Spencer shoves the statistics about the effects of dairy on a 40 year old with lactose intolerance down and takes his spot next to Y/N on the floor.

He goes to open his carton of ice cream, coffee with chocolate chips, but before he can dig his spoon into the tub, Y/N grabs his wrist.

“No! Spence, wait. Here, take these. And you need to light it,” she says, plopping a couple lactose pills in his hand and digging out a pack of candles and a lighter from her bag.

“Y/N are you out of your mind! We can’t light something in the BAU, god, Emily will kill me,” Spencer says nervously.

“Spence, do you really think Emily Prentiss is going to give me shit for lighting a candle for your birthday in the middle of the office. That woman lives on the edge,” Y/N waves him off and lights a single candle.

Spencer, staring at the lit candle, listens as Y/N sings “Happy Birthday” to him. Sitting criss cross on the floor of the BAU, he watches as the candle light illuminates Y/N’s face. She looks almost ghostly in the dark with the flickering light making her eyes glow. Y/N wishes the song and grasps his hand and squeezes hard.

“Make a wish, baby,” Y/N tells him. She really believes in wishes. Spencer wishes he could believe in wishes. He desperately wants to believe that Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are somehow tying knots in the places where his string has been cut.

But more than anything, Spencer can’t bear to forget the face of the women across from. He can’t bear to one day not recognize the way her hand feels in his. He can’t accept the possibility of Y/N being anything less than the person he knows best in this world. Spencer doesn’t particularly care for the metaphor of the light going out. But his fears are put at bay when Y/N leans over and pecks his cheek. He can feel her grinning against his skin and like some virus contracted through touch, it’s contagious. Y/N breaks apart from Spencer and motions for him to eat some ice cream. They sit, shoulder to shoulder, against the front of Spencer’s desk eating their ice cream.

“Thank you, for making my birthday special. It’s been a hard year,” Spencer says, letting the tension in the air speak for itself, “my mom didn’t remember me the other day. I hate seeing her like that,”

“I know, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much. That’s why you need to tell me these things,” She says, setting down her ice cream. Y/N places her hands on Spencer’s shoulders, guiding him to place his back against her chest. His head rests in the crook of her neck. Spencer can feel her steady heart beat against his back. It’s a constant, patterned drum amidst the chaos of his mind.

“Can we take a picture, you know, just to remember this day,” Spencer asks, his voice laced with trepidation. He can feel Y/N nod, and move to grab her phone from her pocket.

Spencer sits up and scoots over to open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulls out an old camera, one where you have to wait for the picture to appear on the print out. He likes the charm in older things, you really have to work for it. He likes the effort that you have to put into getting the picture made.

“Going old school, I see,” Y/N teases as she catches sight of Spencer’s old camera. He returns to his spot, snuggled against her back. Their legs stick out on the floor, his much longer than Y/N’s. Her arms snake around his torso, holding him tight. Spencer holds the camera out, facing them to capture their faces in some archaic selfie style.

The light flashes before Spencer’s eyes, and Y/N’s kiss on the top of his head burns a hole that instantly leaves him craving more. He’d let her draw any pattern she desires, as long as her kisses are the medium and he is her canvas.

“Can you tell me what you wished for?” Y/N asks, her voice low.

Spencer, looking off into the distance, makes a disgruntled noise. He can feel Y/N’s fingers crawl up his sides and her arms encasing his body. She’s shielding him from his demons, but little does she know that the most menacing foe is his mind.

“You’re really not supposed to, but considering you’re my wish I think you have the right to know,” Spencer offers, “I wished that I’ll never forget you. Never forget this life we made together,” He feels his chest constrict. Mentioning his fear makes it seem more palpable; more real.

“Spencer, have you felt that way for a long time?,”

Spencer takes a deep breath, letting the floodgates open.

“I’ve felt like this my whole life, Y/N. I’m terrified to forget you. To forget our children that I haven’t even met yet. Forget who I am. I’m terrified that I’m going to leave you behind in a murky past that I can never remember,” Spencer says. He chokes back the pain. He doesn’t want Y/N memories of him to be marred by fear and darkness.

“This is about your mom, right. Spencer, listen to me. I’ll love you even if that comes true. I don’t need you to recall my face to know you still got love for me. And you're not leaving me behind. I won’t allow that. I’m not leaving you behind, baby,” Y/N says, her voice the most soothing cure.

She’s a power mixture of biochemicals and neurotransmitters. She heals him at an epigenetic level and restores him piece by piece. Her medicine is love.

Or maybe her love is his medicine.

“I’ve never been this scared of losing something, because I never had someone to lose,” Spencer mumbles, he twists his head so his breath is warm against Y/N’s neck. Somehow in this twisted position, Spencer has never felt safer.

“You can’t lose something that can’t be lost, my Spencer. I’m not going anywhere,”

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn,” Spencer says kissing along Y/N’s collarbones.

Like the pictures in the drawer, Spencer tucks away the fears of the future. He swallows the threat of forgetting everything because the promise of love swallows him whole. He craves a future with Y/N with the possibility of forgetting who she is over the life he’d live if he left her behind.

She said it best, even if one day he can’t recall her face, he’ll still have love for her.

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

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[harrywritingsbyme]

Calm

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

This One Too

A/N: I’m not gonna lie…I had no idea what I was going to write for tonight😭. So I went “dumpster diving” in my want to write folder and old drafts and I found these concepts from a tiny while ago that I absolutely loved. So I did a hot lil something something with them...I hope it doesn't suck and you guys like it! Enjoy🙃

Jealousy, something that you and Harry we’re very familiar with. But mainly Harry though. See, despite the fact that he’d been with you for years at this point and had been married to you for a little over two years, Harry still got jealous. In fact, Harry was even more jealous now than before he slid the sparkling ring onto your coveted left ring finger. Just the thought of anyone coming less than five feet of you with an obviously flirtatious disposition made his flags go up and his jealousy levels spike. And to be completely honest, it was all because Harry was selfish. He wanted you all to himself, and anyone who even attempted to come in between you two went on his radar and he’d go on the defense. Now even though in most situations his jealousy was unwarranted and too much for the situation at hand, you did still enjoy it a bit. You loved when Harry was possessive over you and made it known to others that you were his. It was a really nice mix of soft and sweet along with hot and sexy. 

And judging by what was going on between you and Harry right now, it was guaranteed that you and Harry were going to be enjoying a heavy dose of that sweet and spicy jealousy. The two of you were enjoying your night out at a mutual friends birthday party, and you both were having a really good time mixing and mingling while managing to stay joined at the hip for the majority of your time there. But as you continued to glide through the party with Harry, you were contently sipping on your drink which led you to quickly empty your glass and be in need of a refill. Once you unwrap yourself from Harry, let him know that you’re going to get another drink, and inquire about whether or not he wants his drink refreshed, you weave yourself through the cluster of people and over to the bar where you place your order. And in this small window of time between leaving him and placing your order, you manage to walk right into the number one situation that would cause Harry to become jealous. Talking to an attractive guy that he didn’t know at the bar. 

Now even though the sparkler on your left hand was supposed to stop any flirtatious advances towards you, it didn’t. Despite clearly being married, you were still approached by males and females who wanted to “break off a piece” in the words of Harry. And to make matters worse, you went above and beyond to make yourself up. You spent a good amount of time getting yourself together for your night out with Harry. You looked so good that you two were extremely close to not even making it out the front door. So if Harry was looking and practically drooling at the thought and/or sight of you, there was so doubt in his mind that others were looking too. And he didn’t like that one bit. So once he saw you chatting it up with a guy who’s identity was unknown to him and who was pretty obviously checking you out and flirting, Harry’s disposition immediately went from calm cool, and collected, to calm collected, and defensive. The only thing that stopped him from swiftly coming over and injecting himself into the seemingly “harmless” exchange was a friend of his that stopped him right in his tracks. And if it wasn’t for that friend, Harry would’ve marched over to where you were, pulled you away from the man who from his vantage point was up to no good, then give it to you real good as he constantly reminded you that you were his and only his. That’s what could’ve happened. But instead of all that, Harry’s jealous fire was momentarily tempered to just a sizzle. Being at just a sizzle meant that he could do the unexpected right now. 

Being at just a sizzle allowed him to politely, but not so politely pull you out of the conversation and pull you both out of the party. From the outside, everything seemed oddly fine. He didn’t have a prominent scowl on his face as he drove you both home and he didn’t have an intense grip in your thigh. He simply had a hand on the steering wheel and the other loosely planted on your thigh. Seeing him so calm was very interesting to say the least. When you saw him in your peripherals at the party, you were kind of expecting and looking forward to having a hot jealousy filled quickie in the bathroom. You were expecting and hoping for him to fuck you like he hates you but because he loves you. But no, you got a calm cool and collected Harry who simply escorted you both out of there. The only thought you two had in common during the entire ordeal and the entire ride home was that you were going to get it upon arrival.

Now you were on the money about getting it at home, you were just off at the timing. You were thinking right against the door or in the living room since he’s had time for these jealous thoughts to fester as he drove. And he did let his thoughts fester in his mind and bring back the fiery feeling inside of him. Harry was definitely, if not more jealous and possessive once you two made it back home. He was more than ready to rip your clothes off and go to town on you as he made sure that you remembered who you belonged to. But yet again, he didn’t jump right in the way you expected. He simply walked you both into the house and right upstairs to get ready for bed.

At this point, you were on edge. When was he finally going to do something?! You knew he was hard and you knew that he was jealous. This was the perfect combination for a round or many of hot and rough sex. But in this situation, he simply went about getting ready for bed and helping you get undressed as well. You were buzzing with anticipation and you were constantly thinking of the many possible segways into what was bound to happen. You were all types of confused, excited, at the prospect of finally getting what you wanted. And your dream finally came true once you and Harry quietly went through you guys’ entire nighttime routine and were in bed. Even though you weren’t necessarily trying to end up in a situation where Harry was jealous and desperate to establish in your mind that you were his, you weren’t mad at it by any means.

“You know I love you, right darling?” Harry asks randomly, propping himself up onto his elbow to peer down at you.

“Mhm.” You hum up to him in response, making sure to send him a soft and reassuring smile in the process.

“Good.” He simply replies, bringing his free hand down to the side of your face. “Because I’m gonna fuck you like I don’t.” He continues, bringing the hand down to wrap around your throat and tightening it right as he mutters the last word. Harry was hard and Harry was jealous; it was game on for him. He wasn’t going to hold back; and to be completely honest, you weren’t expecting him to. As soon as his hand tightened around your throat, a shock went to your core and you were ready to take every last thing he gave you until you were just a pile of numbness.  “I swear to you. I won’t stop until your legs are shaking and the neighbors know my name.” He growls, bringing his face down closer to yours and keeping his hand on your throat as he moves on top of you and pushes up the bottom of his t-shirt to uncover your lower half. He then gives your throat one more tight squeeze, making sure that he was pushing your head down into the pillows before releasing you. While you’re panting to catch your breath, Harry is snatching any and every (even though it was only two things) piece of clothing off of your body. After getting you fully undressed, Harry is quick to push you over and tug his own t-shirt and boxers off as well. Now that he’s fully naked as well, Harry doesn’t waste a single second to wrap his hand around and tug at his cock. He was finally free of the confines of his pants and he was finally going to be inside of you after a long night. 

As he tugs at his cock, you can feel his other hand come between your legs and begin to move up and down your folds. You felt him push his two fingers up and down your slick folds and nudge at your entrance while he grunted and relieved himself a bit behind you. As he did this you tightened your arms around the pillows beneath your head and you soaked up any form of touch from him. Knowing Harry, even though he’s mad and ready to just pound you into oblivion, he’d build up to it and just leave you both hanging in the name of making you suffer. So you were definitely praying that he’d do more and not stop all together. He did say that he wasn’t going to stop until you were shaking and the neighbors knew his name after all.

After a couple more tugs to his cock and rubs to your soaking cunt, Harry finally pushes further to the place that you both are looking forward to. Keeping his hand around his cock, he lifts himself up from his kneeling position between your legs and into the position of hovering over your body with his other hand that was once between your legs planted on the bed for support. Then without warning, Harry begins to sheath his cock between your walls. Even though he was supposed to be Mr. Tough Guy and in charge right now, he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a little whimper. Your walls just felt so good around his cock. Like so good. And he wasn’t the only one whimpering. You too were a mess at the feeling of his cock stretching your walls to accommodate your size and twitching while it’s moving deeper and deeper into you. He was so big that the thick veins on his shaft were pushing into your spongy walls, causing you to feel them glide against you as he pushed into you. Now as he slowly fills you with his cock, Harry also begins to slowly lower himself down onto you until he’s fully on top of you body. You were sandwiched between his body and the mattress, your legs were pinned down by his, and his mouth was in your neck right by your ear. He was ultimately setting you up to be a mess around him. 

“Now you’re gonna be a good girl and take it right?” He asks, keeping his mouth right on you as he spoke.

“Mhm.” You whimper shakily, waiting for him to finally start and give you what you’ve been anticipating.

“Words!” He snarls, lifting his hips to send a sharp and unexpected thrust into you.

“Yes!” You gasp, feeling his cock slam right up into your sweet spot.

“Good girl.” Harry hums delightedly before continuing his thrusts. He consistently lifts his hips up, slightly pulling his cock from you just to slam back down into you sending his cock into the deepest parts of you. As he does this, you’re full on whining into the pillows. The way he was relentlessly fucking down into you as he grunted into your ear about how you were his and that he was the only one who would ever do this to you. It was absolutely amazing.

After pinning you down and fucking you right into the mattress, Harry was ready to switch it up. He wanted to see your face as you took every inch of his cock. He wanted to watch you fall apart as he imprinted his cock into your delectable walls. So to make a long story short, Harry is quick to lift himself up from your back and flip you back into your original position in front of him. When he does this, you’re still clutching onto the pillow that was once beneath your head as you anxiously wait for him to slam back into you. Before he does though, Harry latches onto the pillow and tugs it out of your tight yet weak grip and tosses it onto the bed behind him with a cynical smirk plastered across his face. He then brings his large, and still ringed hand around your throat before lining his cock back up with your entrance and pushing back into you. Again, he goes straight into thrusting down into you. As he did, your hands frantically searched for something to grab onto as you took the deliciously hard thrusts. From this angle, you could feel him really hitting those spots inside of you and you could feel his balls slapping against you.

Harry on cloud nine right now to say the least. You felt so good around him, clenching and shaking as you took his cock. And you looked so pretty with your glossed over eyes and as you choked on your moans. 

“Now m’gonna let go and I wanna hear you use that little voice of yours. Understand?” Harry pants above you, continuing to shove his cock deep into you. With the pitiful look still spread across your face, you feverishly nod your head yes. “And if you scream loud enough, I might let you cum.” He offers, loosening his tight grip on your throat. And once he does this, you’re screaming. You’re going on and on about how good he feels and how you can feel his cock all the way in the pit of your stomach.

“Please Harry!” You loudly cry out to him, feeling your body become warmer and number with every thrust. 

“Wanna cum?” Harry grunts, beginning to slow his thrusts down to more staggered and sharp ones since his own release was fast approaching.

“Need to.” You whimper, feeling your strength to hold back dwindling by the second. But luckily for you, Harry manages to send three final thrusts into you that send you both right over into your releases. The both of you can feel each other contracting and convulsing with every spurt of your orgasms.

 The both of you were beyond and completely out of it by the end of your earth shattering releases. And despite all of the numbness and soreness that was coming your way, every last second was worth it.

Masterlist

#Harry Styles #Harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #my harry writing #concepts of h #harrywritingsbyme

[tomtenadia]

Leaving my soul behind (ALB AU)

 So, ALB reached 5k hit on AO3 so I thought about a present. It had been in my mind for a while but then this morning it happened.

This is a POV of Rowan connected to chapter 19 when he finds out that he is going to deploy again. We see most of that scene from Aelin’s POV but bird boy’s mind is in full overload and well... there is angst.

There’s a mention of his tattoo. Later on in the story you will find out what the tattoo represents. 

Anyway, enjoy this double feature tonight.

__________________

Rowan was busy at work developing some classes for his students. He would gladly admit that he loved planning his lessons just as much as he loved executing them and seeing his students go through the manoeuvres and drills. The training jets were still grounded but they could use the simulators for now. Not the same thing, but until the engineers guaranteed him that the planes were safe he was not going to let them fly. He was not losing another student. He would not be able to survive the pain a third time. 

Rowan was finishing up the details of a flying routine he wanted them to try, when Lorcan’s assistant popped in his office telling him that his CO had requested his presence.

Rowan groaned loudly, why couldn’t Lorcan do his job in peace without annoying him? With reluctance he stood and went to see the man.

He knocked at the door and the man’s voice told him to go in. He didn’t even bother to salute and just plopped on the chair opposite from Lorcan with familiarity.

“I respond your summons, oh mighty leader.”

Lorcan didn’t respond. He just threw a file in front of Rowan.

His world stopped.

The folder. He had seen it far too many times, the yellow envelope with a red confidential stamped on it. They were about to leave again, and they had been back for only a couple of months. His heart tightened in his chest as all he could think of was Aelin, how he was going to tell her that his job needed him again and that he had to leave.

He grabbed the folder and opened it, scanning the standing orders and hope left him when he read their destination.

No.

No.

No.

His first deployment there had been pure hell. He had lost many friends. People he had shared most of his career with. People he cared about. That mission had chipped away at his soul, the way the job had been doing since things got serious. Away. One piece at a time. He knew what his job entailed when he had signed up. It was not all fun flying on cool jets. He knew that from the start having heard the stories from his father. But as the years passed and the list of friends he lost became longer, he started feeling a deep pain in his soul.

And now he had Aelin. Since the night after the theatre when she had forced the topic on him, things had developed between them and now the idea of leaving her made him want to scream.

“We are leaving tomorrow.” Was all he managed to say.

Lorcan nodded gravely. Things will have to be extremely bad if they were required to leave this quickly.

“Leave everything you were doing and spend time with the captain.” Admitted Lorcan and Rowan looked up at his CO in surprise.

In the past Lorcan would have told him to get on with the day job until last minute. But now…

“You need to say goodbye to Elide. You can’t just leave.” He knew the pain it would cause. He had done that to Aelin the first time and it still caused him anguish, even if there was nothing between them at the time.

“I will come at the station later. I have a few urgent things to finish.” Lorcan’s eyes locked on Rowan’s “I promise.”

Rowan stood and left and slowly walked back to his office and for a moment he collapsed back on the chair. His elbows on the table and his head in his hands, while his heart broke one bit at a time.

For the first time he was scared. 

He had been worried while he was with Lyria. But as they relationship festered, missions had become a way to get away from the hell that his life had become. His marriage had been doomed from the beginning but he never realised it, probably because a part of him still had a spark of hope of making it work.

But now with Aelin… how could he leave her?

He was the worst soldier in history. In a flicker of desperation he had thought about call it quits on the spot. Throw away years of hard work for her. He looked up at the photo of his graduation from the academy and saw a cocky nineteen years old with a smug grin who at the time would call graduate from flight school the best day of his life. Little did that young man know that far down the line he would start questioning his life choices. Question a job that brought with it only death and deep unyielding pain. His right hand brushed the left arm, where his tattoo was hidden under the uniform. 

Eventually he switched off the computer and decide to go to Aelin, not willing to waste another minute away from her when they had hours left together.

He drove to the station with a heavy heart and tried to find a way to tell her without breaking her heart. Emotions overcame him so he just pulled over in a quiet corner and took a few deep breaths. He felt as a hand was gripping hie heart in a tight hold. He closed his eyes and focused on her smile, her laughter and brought his nerves back under control.

A few minutes later he felt like driving again and he continued his path to her.

At the station he parked along the pavement and took a now familiar route inside. The apparatus floor was quite and all the vehicles were in. Good.

Noise hit him as soon as he entered the common room as he saw the guys playing video games. A slow day then. 

In the distance Aedion spotted him and walked to him.

“In her office.” He told him assuming that Rowan was there for Aelin. He nodded and walked away, following the now very familiar corridor that lead to were she was. He ran his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture and took a deep breath and then knocked on the door.

“Aedion, ask me one more time if I want to come and play and you’ll find yourself on truck duty for a month.”

“I am afraid I would not know what to do on truck duty.”

As he stepped in and she recognised him, her blue eyes lit up in joy and Rowan felt like dying at the idea that he was about to extinguish that light. Gods, he so didn’t want to do that. He was about to do the only thing that he promised he would ever do: hurt her.

She walked to him and kissed him. It was soft and gentle when all he wanted to do was to claim her and burn the feel of her body flush to his in his mind. He was a lost man.

As he pulled back he grabbed her hand and quietly uttered the words he had been practicing in his head “we need to talk.”

The range of emotions he saw flash in her eyes almost brought him to his knees. He saw hurt and when he heard her ask him if she had done something wrong he realised it had been the wrong thing to say.

“I have to leave you,” he heard himself add while he held her as tight as he could.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Rowan was stunned by the question but then realised that from her point of view that was what it sounded like. Damn he was the worst at communicating and was making a mess of this.

No. Breaking up with the best thing that had happened in his life was the least of his desires. Quite the opposite. He wanted to be with her. Everyday.

“No,” he whispered to her while he kissed her in the desperate hope of letting her know that he loved her.

“The guys and I need to leave for deployment tomorrow.”

She did not respond. Not right away. He felt her body inch closer and her face snuggle in the crook of his neck and her fingers fist on his back. His arms went around her back and squeezed her in reply. He was in pain. Leaving the wonderful woman in his arms was heart rending and he wished he hadn’t signed up again after his twelve years were over. He was giving up time with her to follow the orders of people who had been quite ready to throw him under the bus and blame him for a death he hadn’t been able to avoid. 

He kissed the top of her ear and then her temple to try and calm his soul.

“I thought you were breaking up with me.” The pain in her voice was too much. All because he was the worst at communicating. 

“Why would I give up on the best thing that had happened to me in a long time?” He had meant every word and he wanted her to know it. Tell her that he was only leaving her because duty mandated it. That if it was up to him, he would never leave her side. Ever again.

He kissed her deeply, losing himself in her and when they came back up for breath he told her everything and he let her address her fears because she had every right to be scared. He had explained to her all that his job entailed, he had been clear from the beginning. She understood the sacrifice that was asked of her but had still agreed to commit to him. And now their relationship was going to be tested. A fear gripped him again. They hadn’t been going out for long and it was the worst timing ever. And a part of him was terrified that she would leave him because it was too much.

“You are my reason to come back.” He had whispered to her. Knowing she was waiting for him was enough to make sure he would get out of every engagement alive.

***

The next day had arrived quicker than expected and he was now standing in front of his jet with Aelin in his arms.

There was so much he wanted to tell her, so many promises he wished to utter but in the end all he could say was I love you while kissing with all the love he felt for her, hoping to impress the feeling upon her. Make her understand that leaving her was just as hard on him as it was for her. He had the night from hell. He had stayed with her in Aelin’s quarters and held her throughout the night while she slept. And in the end he found himself praying ancient gods he barely believed in, to let him come back to her.

He eventually forced his body to pull away from her. His hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around,

“Now walk away and don’t look back.” Saying those words had costed him all the little sanity he had left. But it was the easiest way. For both, because he had a feeling that the moment he spotted tears in her eyes he would not be able to step away.

“I love you.” One last confession as he stared at her figure took a step away from him, his soul slowly crumbling apart.

He watched her disappear through the heavy doors knowing that his soul irrevocably belonged to her.

“I love you.” He whispered one last time to the winds and closed his eyes to brand in his mind the feeling of her lips against his. The shape of her body underneath his fingers. Her scent. Her laughter and her smiles.

He was leaving in body. Because the essence of him, his heart and his mind would stay back with her.

Where they belonged.

Guard my soul for me, Fireheart. It’s yours.

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@courtofjurdan

@whimsicallyreading

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