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the-au-thor · 7 months

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Little Witch | Prologue

A/N: I've been working on this for a while but i was too shy and scared to post it. Is not finished and it's supposed to be a love story. Anyway; enjoy it if you want. Remember english is not my first language and there might be mistakes, as always feedback would be very appreciated.

Summary: You and Spencer have to deal with the fact that you are tied to each other for the rest of your lifes because of certain adorable little witch— or how to co parenting without falling in love.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader. [No use of y/n]

Words: 2.5 k

Trigger Warning: read it here!

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Little Witch

Prologue

One thing Spencer didn't like was giving lectures at the university. Surprisingly, academic work had secretly attracted him for a long time, a desire he had set aside to join the BAU. Despite carrying a gun and working with the best minds at the bureau to catch dangerous criminals, they occasionally left fieldwork to visit prestigious universities to attract prodigies to the FBI. Initially accompanying Gideon to his talks, he occasionally attended his classes. It didn't excite him; he was awkward, sad, and socially inept. People laughed at everything about him except his jokes, which he found hilariously funny but stopped making after Derek pointed out that students weren't laughing with him but at him.

Against any logic the bureau made an unusual decision: to send him to give lectures completely alone or occasionally accompanied by a new recruit who would only be there to distribute pamphlets and make a demonstration. He decided he would hate academic work. At that moment, it seemed like an injustice to be denounced with his bad mood and certain unwillingness. However, he rediscovered teaching and the fact that, unlike years ago when he accompanied Gideon or Rossi to talks, he was now a proper professor. He was looked at with respect, and even, though it made him nervous, he caught interested glances from women and the occasional flirtatious comment that didn't go unnoticed.

"Dr. Reid?" A brunette with green eyes approached him with a smile. She had a specific type of smile. The woman took a step forward, too close to his personal space. He pressed some forensic science books against his chest, making his sweater tighten around the area. Not that he was staring. It was just too obvious. Anyway, he raised his hand and waved it in the air as a greeting. She didn't seem upset by the gesture; her smile widened even more.

"My name is Naomie, Naomie Larson, and I must say I loved your seminar. I attended last semester, and I wanted to attend the current one, but my schedule is too tight," she adjusted her hair behind her ear and blinked slowly, "I was wondering... could we share a coffee and a conversation about everything I missed?" Maybe she saw his hesitation because she twirled a strand of her hair around her index finger and tilted her head, looking at him with another one of her smiles, "coffee's on me," she added persuasively.

Spencer didn't think too much and almost instinctively shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I'm heading out. But registrations for the next seminar will be open soon, and my colleague, David Rossi, will be leading other interesting lectures. There's one about the predestination of criminal minds and behavior," he tried to cheer her up when he saw her disappointed look.

She pouted slightly, then shrugged with a half-smile, trying to recover.

"I'll follow your advice. I'm even thinking of joining the FBI. Maybe I'll visit the BAU for a tour," she let out a short laugh and shrugged, "Naomie, Naomie Larson," she repeated, picking up the coffee she from the counter and giving him one last glance under her lashes, "Don't forget, Dr. Reid."

She walked away from him with a careful movement of her legs, balancing with agility, in a way that made Spencer think she was previously prepared and designed to attract attention. He averted his gaze to the barista preparing his coffee with discomfort and waited patiently in silence, smoothing the strap of his briefcase. He wasn't foolish; he could easily recognize a pretty girl, especially if she followed normative beauty standards. But it was difficult for him to see someone and simply find them beautiful according to his own standards. There had to be something more, more than primitive need, and even if it was that, it had to be governed by a more personal and profound feeling, even if it was brief. That's why he usually didn't get stuck in relationships — besides the fact that he was terrible at the art of seduction — everything for him was more laborious, especially romance.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" another female voice interrupted his wait.

This time, however, her tone of voice was neither sweet nor deferential like Naomie, Naomie Larson's. He turned and saw a woman with her hair tied in a neat bun that kept her face clear, and he could see every detail of the pristine face adorned only with natural features; thick lashes, arched eyebrows, and pink lips with a cupid's bow pronounced that caught his attention. She had a small chin with and soft dimples that gave her a childlike air. He knew that face, but at the same time, it was totally different. The last time he had seen those eyes, even a bit lighter, they were sunken and surrounded by dark circles of insomnia and abuse. He could even say that some tired wrinkles had disappeared from her face. She looked fresh, repaired, and even more beautiful than the last time he had seen her.

He knew you wouldn't recognize him; you are the kind of person who would have forgotten many things since then.

You were beautiful. You always were, even in your worst moments, and he had met you just after hitting rock bottom. Both were a tragedy it in different ways. He had lost a battle against death, and you were losing it against life; you were broken, and at that moment, it seemed like a good idea to try to fight it together, combining the forces you had left.

He had left you on the bed, crying in a fetal position, between precarious and worn sheets that could well have been translucent. You had made muttered promises that he could barely understand because he needed to move on, and you simply didn't want to. He didn't want to leave you, not because he loved you, not because he needed you, but because you mattered; you had been important, and he didn't want you to suffer. But if he had learned anything in life that they didn't teach him a college, it's that no one can help someone who doesn't want to receive help. So he moved on with his life and made the conscious decision that you wouldn't belong to his future if you barely accepted your own past. A whole year and a little more had passed since then, and under that bridge, much water had flowed, but not enough to erase sins and mistakes.

Then he wondered if leaving you had been a mistake.

"Mela?" he asked, and then let out a short and surprised laugh, dodging the hair falling over his forehead and approached you, forgetting about the personal space tale. "It's fantastic to see you. You look... different."

You frowned, your eyebrows coming together, and he noticed the change in color. You had always kept your hair in fantasy colors, and he had never known your natural hair.

"Different?" you murmured, and even your voice was different.

"Different good," he clarified, clearing his throat without avoiding his smile. "What brings you here? Are you studying? You always said you would have loved to study art history here, right?" he asked, accepting the cup the barista had placed on the counter after serving it, again.

A wave of sadness passed through your eyes, almost clouding your irises as if it were a storm. It was almost as if that comment had sharply embedded in your flesh, and then he saw you shook, looking down and then at him.

"I'm not Mela," you whispered, and he saw you swallow hard just before speaking again, "I'm her twin sister," you introduced yourself, raising your hand, but you didn't bring it towards him, just under your nose, scratching the tip with your back as if you suffered from some allergy. You didn't say anything more, just looked at him deeply, as if you were studying him not to forget him, "You look different."

Spencer furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Wait, did we ever meet?" he asked almost with fear. He never forgot faces. He never forgot people.

You shook your head, your gaze lost. For a moment, while your body was in front of him, your mind seemed to be somewhere far away.

"No. Never," you answered, and then you rummaged in the pockets of your polo dress.

That was another thing different from Mela, and then Spencer knew why you looked so familiar but at the same time so different. It was the same face, a bit more youthful and clean. And your clothing was the complete opposite of Mela's, who loved wearing jeans and T-shirts with pop culture references. That and the old Converse were the only fashion Mela knew. You, on the other hand, had a graceful and pretty way of dressing, like the typical girl next door. You didn't stand out, but certainly, he couldn't say that you were indecent or neglected.

He had to bend down a bit to get a better look at the paper you were showing him; it was an old instant photograph almost worn out in which he and Mela were at the movies with popcorn everywhere and childish grimaces.

"Do you remember this?" you asked with a serious look, as if the question were much more meaningful, "Do you remember?"

"Yes. We went to see a silent film cycle. She hadn't seen any Charlie Chaplin movies. It was her first time," Spencer answered with a furrowed brow, feeling terribly confused.You laughed with disbelief.

"Mela didn't like movies. She hated anything she had to pay quiet attention to for a long time."

That phrase didn't escape Spencer's attention, and a sharp cold went through Spencer's back with a feeling of deadly expectation.

"Wait, she didn't like...?" he knew before even receiving a clear answer. He didn't need you to nod to know that something had happened to Mela. Something irreversible.

He didn't know how to react. He couldn't say he didn't feel sadness, but neither surprise. Someone like her was precisely a person who would be constantly in that danger unless something had changed in her life since they had taken separate paths.

"She died a few months ago," you seemed genuinely distressed saying it, and your voice lightened and broke at the end of the sentence, but with a clearing of your throat, you looked at him again, "She talked to me about you. A couple of times at least. It was hard to get any words out of her about how... how you met," you said with difficulty, "But two days ago, cleaning her things, I found this photo, and then..." you observed the moment captured in the photo and looked at him, "I tried to contact you at your job, but you're never there. They always told me to leave a message. But this isn't the kind of thing you should talk about so casually," you seemed to apologize and have a deep internal debate at the same time, "I searched for you. I had to see what..." you made another pause, looking elsewhere as if afraid to ask anything, "... Do you have time? I'd like to talk to you."

He could've said no, but he needed answers. He needed to know what happened and why you were looking for him when he had only been mentioned a couple of times and was just a face immortalized on a worn-out paper.

They sat at an isolated table, one by the window, and the daylight hit your hair and skin. Spencer saw your bare fingers and perfectly manicured nails with a pale pink tone. You were the complete opposite of Mela, always so gloomy, distant, and sad. You looked transparent, careful, and serious, but not sad, at least not the kind of sadness that constantly covered Mela's face.

"How...?" he didn't have to continue asking the question. You understood the doubt perfectly, and for a moment, you seemed to enter a trance before answering.

"At first, I thought it was an overdose: she mixed some other drugs with heroin, and that was it," you answered, unconsciously scratching the back of your hand with your nails, "But then, cleaning her things, I found a note. That's when I knew it was on purpose. Mela had been sober for more than year. It made as much sense as it didn't."

Spencer nodded in silence. What could he say that would be a comfort for the situation?

"Did anyone else know about her suicidal thoughts?"

You furrowed your brow.

"Nobody. She attended her NA meetings, and no one suspected anything. I mean, Mela was always a bit melancholic and negative, but never suicidal," you stopped abruptly, as if the sentence had hit you in the face, and blinked rapidly, trying to forcefully expel the idea from your mind. "Why did you stop seeing each other?" you asked hesitantly.

Spencer, caught off guard by that question, didn't refuse to answer. Losing your twin sister had thrown you into a whirlwind, and everything was happening too fast for his usually methodical thoughts.

"Our interests changed," he replied after a brief reflection.

You slightly furrowed your brow, dissatisfied with the answer. "Interests?"

Spencer began to feel his discomfort growing in his chest, squeezing it. He felt like a suspect being interrogated.

"Yes," he replied and started to stand up. "Listen, I really am sorry about Mela," he said sincerely, looking you in the eyes. You remained seated, watching him with sadness. "I know she wanted to recover from her addiction," he murmured gently. "And I also sorry we met under these circumstances."

You then finished furrowing your brow harshly and looked at him with controlled anger.

"So, you're leaving? You know, I hesitated a lot about coming here," you stood up just as he was turning to leave the café. "In fact, I still think it's crazy," you admitted, walking toward him with a stern look. "But I had to see you. I had to know you."

Spencer let out a dispirited laugh.

"I don't think I was that important to your sister. Honestly, I think she might have hated me. Not that she didn't have reasons."

You shook your head frantically. "She didn't hate you."

"She didn't hate me, but she didn't like me either. You said you could barely get any information about me from her."

"That's not the reason," your voice faded as you gave that response. Spencer saw your eyes fill with tears and your lips tremble softly. You took a deep breath before speaking again. "She never told me your name. I knew you existed, I mean, you had to. But I wasn't sure of anything until I saw the photo. Then I connected the dots."

Spencer saw the first tears fall through your cheeks as you looked again at that worn photo in your hands, a photo he suddenly wanted to destroy. It took him a while to string his words together, and no matter how much he thought about them, they still didn't make sense.

"What are you talking about?"

You looked up at him, shaking your head.

"She loved her. Maybe she feared you'd take her away. I mean, look at you; you could have if you wanted," you murmured, brushing your face free of the fine hairs that had come loose from your ponytail and revealed themselves on your forehead. You glanced around somewhat embarrassed, but no one in the café was paying attention. They were too focused on their own affairs.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Spencer apologized nervously. His head was starting to ache due to this strange situation. "Listen, you need to calm down. Our brains perceive loss as a physical threat. Your heart beats fast, you tremble, you sweat, and you can even lose track of time because your body is preparing to defend itself against something that's more emotional than physical."

You let out a humorless, choked laugh, looking around as if searching for the answer to something that wasn't there.

"What the hell am I doing here?" you whispered, lightly hitting your forehead with the palm of your hand. "I'm sorry for wasting your time, Spencer Reid."

Spencer saw you starting to walk away, and his internal alarms began to flare with fear. He didn't want it to end like this. He knew what it felt like to lose someone and the pain that came with it. He wouldn't know, however, the pain it would mean for a person to lose their brother, especially someone with whom they shared such a special connection like you and Mela.

"Wait!" He saw you walk out of the café, then turned towards him to hear what he had to say. "Why did you come and look for me?" he asked insistently, gently grabbing your arm.

He didn't do that; he didn't touch strangers unless it was a chase, and he loosened his grip when you looked at him sternly. You pulled away from him gently, even though he noticed you were controlling yourself not to do it abruptly. You took your phone out of your bag, and as you unlocked it, you let out an annoyed huff.

"I'll tell you why," he saw your cheeks redden, and you lifted your chin while showing him a photo of you with a small, smiling girl. She had almond-shaped eyes, dimples on her cheeks, long and curly eyelashes, and platinum hair. She was happy, a cute, happy little girl. "This is Matilda. In January she'll turn one. She's Mela's daughter, and I think she's yours."

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #criminal mind #spencer reid x fem!reader

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storyofmychoices · 5 months

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For the life of me, I can never remember any of my characters' birthdays besides the twins and Olivia's. I'm hoping that this will help me keep track of the others... like Nyx's birthday is tomorrow! I almost missed it!!!!

Reasons for Birthdays:

January 10: Ellie Shepherd-Ramsey [profile] [masterlist]

Ellie is definitely a Capricorn

I loved the palindrome of 0110 for her birthday

I wanted to make this Ethan's birthday too, I thought it was cute if they had the same birthday, but I already had 4 Capricorn characters

January 13: Nyx Selenastra [profile] [masterlist]

Capricorn: respectful, hardworking, patient, self-disciplined, cynical, cautious, practical, resourceful

January 13 is also Make Your Dream Come True Day and I loved that for them

January 19: Thomas Hunt [masterlist]

Thomas is a Capricorn to me. He's dedicated, professional, disciplined, organized, practical and hardworking.

January 19 is also National Popcorn Day

March 06: Alex Hunt [profile] [masterlist]

It's my birthday and Alex was my first MC / OC that I really started writing for

That's really it!

The Capricorn/Pisces compatibility is an added bonus:

Capricorns are known for their practicality, ambition, and grounded nature, while Pisceans are often imaginative, intuitive, and emotionally sensitive.

Capricorns can provide stability and structure to the relationship, while Pisces may add creativity and emotional depth.

March 09: Olivia Hadley [profile] [masterlist]

Olivia is my Pisces baby. She is so much like me, and I didn't even realize it until I read her back and saw myself.

Pisces: creative, empathetic, generous, romantic, open minded, compassionate, unselfish, loyal

My first crush's birthday was March 09 🙈

March 9 is National Barbie Day, I didn't know that when I picked it but I still like that it fits

More about Olivia's zodiac here (including compatibility with Bryce)

April 10: Daenarya [profile] [masterlist]

Daenarya felt like an Aries: risk taker, optimistic, courageous, confident, dreamer, curious, helpful, and on and on

I can't remember why I chose the 10th... I'll update when I do!

April 23: Aerin Valleros [masterlist]

Aerin felt like a taurus: clever, patient, loyal, resourceful, brooding, and jealous.

Natinal Take a Chance Day (also Lost Dog Awareness, and somehow Aerin is just lost dog who needs a good home vibes)

June 06: Felicity and Vincent Hunt [masterlist

My aunt who was like a second mom to me passed away many years ago and I still miss her. I chose her birthday June 06 as a way to remember her and keep her with me for the twins

The twins being Geminis seems so lovely!

July 25: Mal Volari [profile] [masterlist]

Leo: loyal, loving, determined, persuasive, overly dramatic, guarded

July 25 is National Wine and Cheese Day and I just think Mal would appreciate that

August 20: Trystan Thorne [profile] [masterlist]

Leo: Ambitious, dynamic, confident, courageous, charismatic, romantic, decisive, stubborn, pretentious, arrogant, smug ass (self-described)

I can't remember why I chose this specific date 🙈 It'll come to me!

August 27: Lilah Rose [profile] [masterlist]

This was my grandmother's birthday and I just like keeping her alive through Lilah

I also thought Lilah could be a Virgo: analytical, reliable, hardworking, perfectionist, intelligent, overly independent

September 22: Ethan Ramsey [masterlist]

I initially wanted Ethan to be a Capricorn with perhaps the same birthday as Ellie, but I thought he could be a Virgo: analytical, reliable, hardworking, perfectionism, intelligent, critical, picky, practical, stubborn

I love Lost so September 22 is always in my thoughts.

September 23: Beckett Harrington [masterlist]

Libra: intellectual, responsible, meticulous, love of learning/knowledge, devoted, balanced, argumentative

September 22/23 is the Autumnal Equinox, so I liked the balance of an equinox for Beckett

October 25: Bryce Lahela [masterlist]

Scorpio: determined, brave, loyal, honest, ambitious, passionate, intelligent, charming, calm

More about Bryce's zodiac here (including compatibility with Olivia)

November 26: Malia Lahela [profile] [masterlist]

Born on Thanksgiving Day 2023

Sagittarius: charming, energetic, adventurous, inspiring, generous

December 22: Emma Carlyle [profile] [masterlist]

Capricorn: respectful, hardworking, organized, patient, reliable, cautious, struggles with asking for help

December 21-22 is the Winter Solstice so I liked that for her birthday (and now that I chose the autumnal equinox for Beckett, I like that they both have a special connection to the earth)

#lovealexhunt #birthdays #character birthdays #alex hunt #thomas hunt #felicity hunt #vincent hunt #ethan ramsey #trystan thorne #lilah rose #bryce lahela #malia lahela #emma carlyle #nyx selenastra #aerin valleros #daenarya #mal volari #january2024 #storyofmychoices

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sparkles-rule-4eva · 9 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/bebeiaarts/673335597863256064/my-headcanon

Went ahead and read this post. And laughed a little, ngl.

It's basically a defense post for shipping Sonic with human girls, and a hate post towards Sonamy/Sonally shippers. Called 'em all "fanbrats." Immediate generalization, assuming all of us are the same.

I'm a Sonamy shipper, not Sonally. Why I don't ship Sonally? All I've seen of Sally -- while she's generally a good person -- she's very controlling, especially of Sonic himself. She doesn't like Sonic for who he is; she's constantly trying to make him more serious and their personalities clash an awful lot. But does that mean I hate on and judge Sonally shippers? No. It's just a ship with fictional characters, peeps. Lighten up. I don't get triggered if I see others making art for them and stuff. I just move on because it's not for me.

Ah, yeah, Amy's worse qualities HAVEN'T disappeared? Sorry, could someone remind me of a time during the IDW comics, during Frontiers, during MOSTH, when Amy was making Sonic uncomfortable with stalker-esque behavior? Right. There wasn't any. It's a little something called character development and maturity. Happens as one grows older.

And this isn't the first time I've seen people complain that they're turning Amy into Sally 2.0. Actually, they're not. Amy Rose has a heart for people that Sally never did. In IDW, Amy took over the Resistance and changed it into the Restoration because Knuckles disbanded it on a whim, and she couldn't bear to see so many people displaced and in trouble. Because she's got that heart and LOVE for people. That passion.

Amy loves Sonic exactly for who he is. (I've talked a little about this before but will gladly elaborate for those who refuse to see.) She outright said to him, "I can't change you. I don't want to change you."

She loves that he's an adventurer. She loves that he has a heart for people like she does as well. She loves everything about him -- through anything.

Another person claimed they didn't ship Sonamy because "Amy only loves the hero facade Sonic puts on." Sorry, remember that episode in Sonic X where it showed Amy was well aware of Sonic's dislike/fear of water, and instead of getting angry or disappointed with him, she made him a good luck charm bracelet to make him feel better? Or that time when she scolded Knuckles for making fun of said fear? Or when he was badly electrocuted to the point of unconsciousness and she stepped up to take care of him? Or when she dove into a giant mass of water after him, knowing she might not be able to save him but not wanting him to be alone? I could go on and on.

That love of hers, that passion, is also for people in general (he's just #1 in her heart, according to Sega). In Frontiers, she showed concern for him when he appeared to be struggling. She shared her desires to share her love with the world, even if it meant taking them apart, and he encouraged her to do so, adding that he wanted to hear all about it when she got back.

Pardon us for feeling like Sonamy is more canon after Frontiers. I'd like to see YOU come up with a platonic explanation for "Wish we were sharing an umbrella, Amy," and "Amy, I should've made up my mind sooner."

Also, it's pretty unlikely Amy is still 12. They stopped confirming their ages years ago. With how much has been happening, I wouldn't be surprised if they're all aged up several years.

"Thinking we know better than Sega themselves." Bruh, "Sega themselves" have confirmed time and time again that Sonic has feelings for Amy. The only reason (besides the mandates lol) he hasn't confessed to her is because

Sonic isn't good at dealing with feelings

Sonic isn't ready for a relationship at this point in his life/doesn't need one

Sonic loves Amy, and Amy loves Sonic. But they're both aware that Sonic doesn't want a relationship for the time being, so they're fine being friends.

Pardon the rant, lol. And jsyk, this isn't necessarily a persuasive speech. If this convinced you to ship Sonamy, cool! If it didn't, I don't care. Again, these are just ships with fictional characters. I have fun with them. I don't get outraged if people don't ship what I do. If you don't like it, move past this post and keep scrolling. See if I care. 😂

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inthepeakymidwinter · 1 year

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First Edition (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Y/N loses a family member and comes to stay with old neighborhood friends....The Shelby's. Word Count: 876 TW: Drinking Tags: @theshelbyclan @globetrotter28 --------------------------------------------

My grandfather had passed away shortly during the midst of an industrial revolution. It wasn’t excellent timing, but thankfully I knew the Shelby’s. Their mom was close friends with my mom when we were all young children. I hadn’t seen them in ages as they were always busy with their new betting shop but somehow once my grandfather’s bakery went under after he passed they allowed me to stay with them for a short while. Thomas, the middle child, had offered a place to stay at his newly purchased mansion. I was very grateful for the Shelby’s indeed.

I was sitting in the home library. Sulking in my own sorrow and looking for decent books to read. It was then that I noticed an old favorite of mine ‘Persuasion’ written by Jane Austen. It reminded me of when I was a young teenager in Small Heath, entrapped in a love triangle with the young Thomas Shelby and his younger brother John. Johns happily married now with a lot of children, but Thomas is a widow, and I chose to avoid marriage ever since I was 17 years old. I carried a lot of independence with me and prided myself on it.

As I found myself lost in thought I noticed the door to the library creak open. I turned my head and saw the owner of the house catch my glance with the same chilled stare he gave me once he returned from the war. A lot of people I knew were different after the war, but Thomas Shelby was in his own special category all to himself. I didn’t know what he’d been through. He would never dare to let me in…but I do know that whatever he experienced hit him so hard that I could barely recognize him once he came home.

“Lost in your books again huh Y/n” He teased as I had put the book ‘Persuasion’ back into its place on the book shelf.

“It seems as if it’s the one vice I can’t seem to give up these days…sorry…I didn’t mean to go through your things” I apologized, recognizing that not everything in someone’s home should be touched.

“By all means, Y/n go ahead. These were all my wife’s. She loved reading as much as you did when I first met you, don’t feel bad” Thomas reminisced.

“I’m sorry for your loss” I gave my condolences and all he did was nod in acceptance. We stood there in silence for a few moments before he walked towards the minibar in the room and poured himself a glass of brown liquor. He cleared his throat, took a sip from his glass, and sat on the leather couch that was conveniently placed in the middle of the room.

“Feel free to take all the books you want Y/n…They’re all first editions” He offered. As blown away as I was by the offer, I couldn’t accept something so priceless.

I smiled and sat next to him on the couch. “I would never do that Mr. Shelby. They’re much too valuable” I told him. He stared deeply into my eyes for a minute until he shifted in his seat and adjusted his posture.

“You know you are still one of the select few of people who still have the privilege to call me by my first name, Y/n” He stated seriously.

I stared into his baby blue eyes for a minute, completely enamored with his beauty until I had to snap out of it. His good looks and charisma still strike me all these years later.

“I wasn’t sure where we stood exactly…after all this time” I mentioned.

“I think you know exactly where we stand” He spoke softly and brought a hand to my cheek, softly caressing my face.

“I’m not the same as I was all these years ago, Thomas” I sighed.

“I’d never dreamed you’d be” He spoke.

“A lot has changed” I frowned and took his hand away from my face as I remembered what happened with my grandpa.

“I know… I’m sorry” He apologized and sipped his glass.

“I never thought our families would have separated. I thought I’d always spend my days with you, John, and Arthur” I said and held his hand.

“-and I never thought I’d get married to anyone but you” He spoke honestly.

“Why are you doing this, Thomas?” I asked in all sincerity.

He looked at the floor and back up at me. “We’ve both lost people, Y/n. I don’t want to lose you too”.

I nodded my head and stood up from the couch. The thought of Thomas Shelby actually liking me back all these years later was too much for my mind to handle. “I need to go have a bath…I had a long trip” I spoke softly and shuffled my way out of the room.

“Y/n one more thing” He shouted from across the room. “Yes Thomas?” I spun on my heels and answered his call. “Sleep in my bed tonight…My staff hasn’t finished the guest room yet. I’ll sleep on the couch if you don’t mind” He insisted.

I nodded my head slowly and walked out of the room in a daze. Did he just call me to his bedroom?

#thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

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starwrittenfates · 4 days

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𝐌𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐞-𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦

Note: These are just my headcanons for Astarion's life Pre-Cazador and Pre-Vampirism. While obviously Astarion can't remember anything about his previous life (thanks to all the trauma Cazador gave him), I still think it's important to explore and something that will at the very least be vaguely reflected in my portrayal of him. WARNINGS for graphic and trigger warning things because...it's well...Astarion.

Going by the fact everything happening in Bg3 is taking place during the year of 1492 DR, and the fact Astarion mentions being trapped with Cazador for two centuries (and not to forget Astarion's grave reads he died at age 39), that means our spawn is at least 239 years old and was at least born sometime in 1229 DR (or close to it.) The Forgotten Realms Wiki for Astarion says he was turned by Cazador in 1268 DR.

Looking past his mask and going by his true personality (and just a tiny bit of his physical appearance), I think Astarion is not only a High Elf, but his subrace is a Moon Elf. The Moon Elves were known to be "the most impulsive of the elven races with a strong distaste for complacency or isolation. Moon elves longed to be on the road, traveling and exploring the untamed wilderness that lay between cities and nations. This extroverted quality was part of the reason why moon elves got along uncommonly well with other races. Moon elves, rather than feeling that interaction outside of their race diminished or weakened them, believed that interacting with other races, humans in particular, was the best way to spread the values of the Tel-quessir races, thereby strengthening their culture." And with the fact Astarion comes off as an ENTP to me...this fits perfectly.

Now as for his physical appearance, Moon Elves were known to have Black, blue, or silvery white hair color. As for the eyes, green or blue with golden flecks. Now, obviously he doesn't know what his original eye color was. I actually like how that's an option to ask him about in the game, but I think they were originally blue before they became red due to vampirism. (As for the way Moon Elves were known for wearing their hair, you can't tell me he didn't at least have a ponytail long ago.)

Astarion's parents were from Evereska, where he was also born. Eventually, because of Moon Elves not being one known to settle down for too long, his parents decided to go to Baldur's Gate.

Despite only being in his 30's (still considered a kid by elven years, who only considered you an adult at 100+), Astarion wanted to prove himself capable enough to be an adult anyway and after much persuasion, his father got him a job as a Magistrate.

He would sometimes make some unjust rulings, but one in particular was what set him in the sights to be attacked by an angry group of Gurs who didn't like it at the age of 39. They left him beaten and for dead until Cazador Szarr took his opportunity and "rescued" Astarion in the nick of time, bitting him and turning him into his spawn. However, in order to become a vampire spawn, you can't just get bitten by a true vampire, you have to be buried first too.

Astarion's parents were heartbroken and devastated from the death of their only child. In the game, Astarion mentions how he woke up in his coffin and had to punch a hole through it, and claw his way through six feet of dirt before being met by Cazador, who was waiting for him and how from that day on he was his. With this knowledge, I believe it was Astarion's parents who paid for his funeral services, which makes it even more sad. (I'M SORRYYYYY. I"M SOBBING TOO)

Because of this, his parents moved away from Baldur's Gate, not wanting to be reminded of the incident and moved to Evermeet before eventually passing away at the normal elven lifespan (350-750 years.)

And because of the fact that Astarion became undead at age 39, that means Astarion is his child elven name, not his adult elven name, which makes sense since Astarion means = Little Star.

#starwrittenfates headcanons ;;#ABOUT ;; Astarion Ancunin #// At first I was like “Great lets just get this out there. Imagine cute little Moon Elf Astarion”#// and then this ended with me sobbing my way through all of this cause I HAVE TO BE ANGSTY AND SO DOES ASTARION WHHYYYYY #ASTARION WHYYYYY #come cry with me I have tissues and chocolate

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avesque · 2 years

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the greatest love of all time | eddie munson

one (1) st4 v2 spoiler, fem!reader. 0.7k words.

“eddie!”

he’s never seen anything quite like this before. he always knew you’d look best in a white dress with a bouquet in hand and a veil over your head. eddie always knew. he’s dreamt of it to the point of tears.

“hey—” sweetheart. he almost staggers backwards when you nearly jump into his arms. you’re still warm, still soft. you fit perfectly in his embrace.

you smell sweet. like vanilla. definitely vanilla. funny, he’s never thought of how you would smell during your wedding day. all he’d seen was the image of you walking down the aisle, to him, and everything else bled into the background.

his hair is shorter now. still wild though a lot more tamed than back in high school. the ends kiss his nape. your gloved hands are caressing his nape, he realizes belatedly. a small, fond gesture it seemed you’ve never outgrown.

“you look beautiful.”

your smile is blinding as you step back, tucking an invisible curl behind your ear. there are no misplaced strands in your updo. you’re perfect.

“thank you,” you say bashfully. you stare at him and he stares back. you don’t blink; he doesn’t, too. he likes to think the burning sensation behind his eyes are caused by your impromptu staring contest.

the silence borders in awkward. steve breaks it.

“hey man.”

eddie clasps his hands and bumps shoulders with him. “congratulations.”

he feels like an acid geyser just set off inside his stomach. it’s sick. it should be the other way around. it should be steve congratulating him (and you). it should have been him waiting for you at the altar instead of sitting on the pews, watching you walk past him. he should be standing there beside you right now, like he should have all those years ago.

before he got scared. before he ran. but he didn’t run this time and maybe it took more than a few, long days of persuasion from dustin, but he finally opened the invitation you gave him.

save the date, it read. y/n y/l/n and steve harrington request the honor of your presence on their wedding.

the dread was so heavy it almost made eddie throw up. it was the promise of his cowardice; in exchange of the one he broke.

he used to always tell you he’s going to love you forever. that was true. up to this day, even as mrs. harrington, eddie’s heart is still wholly and irrevocably yours. but he also used to tell you he’d never leave you, and you used to tell him you’d never leave him; that it was you both against the world. y/n and eddie. eddie and y/n.

but the murders happened and every arrow seemed to point to eddie.

and anything that leads to eddie leads to you.

so he ran. he remembers you saying, “you’re the best at loving me.” clearly, you haven’t seen him run from his problems.

but he did it all to protect you. to prove you are innocent. to prove that you had nothing to do with him; and at that point in time, you didn’t.

his one last act of bravery is being here. seeing you loop your arm around steve’s, leaning your face fondly against his arm… eddie almost wished he didn’t come here.

but he sits at the table with the kids that aren’t kids anymore. they each have their own partners that attended the wedding with them. eddie’s the only one who brought just himself.

he watches you and steve sway in the middle of the dance floor, arms around each other. there’s a hollow feeling in eddie, a shudder running through his skin like he’s remembering what it was like to be that close to you.

eddie succumbs to one last act of cowardice. this is for the best. for you and steve, for him. this place is too full of you, holds too much of the greatest love eddie has and will ever know.

his car speeds across the highway, zooming past the leaving hawkins sign. one last shot of doing what he’s best at: running.

#eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson #stranger things angst #ave.eddie #ave.folklore #why do i end up quickly finishing the ones that aren’t drafted and not my wip :(#ave.scrawls

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daedrabait · 1 year

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A little face reference for Faelon, one of my ldb ocs. He's the oc that I post about the most lately, and the one who I ship with Mercer Frey.

Under the cut, I'm gonna include some more in-depth information about him and his backstory. Feel free to read it if you'd like.

Cw for mentions of cannibalism and canon-typical violence.

Faelon's basic info:

Gender: cis male; he/him

Sexuality: bisexual with a masculine lean

Race: Bosmer

Age: he's somewhere in his 40's; exact number unknown due to memory loss

Height: around 5'5" (he will never admit this)

Love interest/who he is shipped with: Mercer Frey

Morality: Very low. He will steal, kill, or manipulate just about anyone who gets in his way if the mood takes him. He helps people almost always for his own gain and to make them more pliable to him/further his reputation - very manipulative. He sometimes spares people but it's almost always at his own whims and depending on his mood. He usually lets people live just because he thinks it's funny or he feels like it, or because it benefits him in some way.

He is a cannibal whose first remembered meal was the flesh of the wizard who had enthralled him. He later becomes the Champion of Namira.

He wears an amulet of Dibella and worships her for elevated blessings of persuasion and seduction.

Stats:

- master stealth archer

- master lockpick

- adept pickpocket

- very high speechcraft

- great alchemist (he learned by trial and error) (eating ingredients and poisoning himself several times)

- moderately decent at enchantment

- wears exclusively light armor

- terrible with melee weapons. Good at brawling, though.

- terrible at magic. Knows only enough to get by and cast apprentice restoration spells.

Backstory:

Faelon's memory of life before waking up in a wizard's cave nearby Riften is completely wiped away by thrall magic. He only finds out who he was and where he's from by meeting Inigo, who is apparently an old companion who shot him with an arrow and left him for dead 10 years ago in order to avoid splitting the reward the person who hired them was offering.

Faelon remembers nothing about who he used to be or where he is from, but he remembers basic things like how to read, write, talk, eat, kill, etc. He also retained his marksmanship skills.

When he awakens, he kills and eats the wizard who was his master and reads her journals, figuring out that he was a thrall and some tiny bits of info about the way he was forced to live. He finds her map and travels to the nearby city of Riften. By traveling to Riften and following Inigo's notes, and then talking to him, Faelon learns his own name and gleans measly information about who he may have been. Inigo also helps Faelon a lot in his early days of confusion, rage, and vulnerability.

He later learns that he has a younger sister named Baela that he raised from childhood before going missing. He doesn't remember her at all, and Inigo had neglected to mention her for fear of making things more complicated and th assumption that they would never come across her again. They reunite in the Ragged Flagon and this makes Faelon's feelings and confusion much more complicated. They eventually form a complicated and shaky bond while travelling together. (I will prob share more about this later)

He ends up joining sides with Mercer Frey and has a complicated physical (and later romantic) relationship with him as they work together to con the Thieves Guild, eliminate their enemies, and steal the Eyes of the Falmer together. (I will very likely make a post exclusively about their relationship in the future)

Personality:

Faelon holds a ton of anger about what happened to him and for being powerless for so long. He will do just about anything to come out on top of everyone else and is very arrogant and self-serving. He's a sadomasochist. He's very flirtatious and manipulative, and he loves exploring new places and collecting wealth and shiny things. He loves blood and gore. He is also very easily amused and will laugh at just about anything.

#my art #my writing #my ocs #oc: faelon #character reference #oc information #bosmer ldb #dragonborn oc #skyrim ocs #mercer frey x ldb #skyrim #tes ocs #tes bosmer #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr

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nostradamus0 · 1 month

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I'm so curious, what's your bookbinding process? How did you get into it?

oooh that's such a cool question, thank you!

Oddly enough, getting into bookbinding was a way for me to process grief.

I bound my first book years ago, as a portfolio project in college. It was fun, but it never went beyond that. The professor for that course, who I took many poetry courses with, had a profound impact on my life and my writing, and he passed away unexpectedly in December. He was a phenomenal poet and one of the most gentle souls I've ever met, and I was devastated when he died.

I was rereading some of his books and looking at the notes he wrote to me on the first pages, and remembering how he owned the only book in the world that was just my words, and how I'd signed it for him and written him a letter just like he did for me, and in the grand scheme that's not much, but it felt like this tether keeping him with me. It was a kind of human connection I shared with no one else, and it felt so special and unique.

I remembered how it felt when he asked me if he could keep my book, how honored and proud I was that he liked my writing, and I felt this overwhelming urge to do that for someone else. To show them how much their words mean to me by crafting them into something we could hold in our hands.

Also I'm the son of a librarian and if I didn't prefer physical books I think I'd be disowned—

Anyway, on a lighter note, bookbinding process! I'm not sure if you mean how I physically make the books, or how I choose what to bind, so I guess I'll answer both just in case lol

I've been mostly binding my favorite fanfics, the ones I reread the most and/or lose my mind about the most. But I've also been working on binding Persuasion for my aunt because she adores Jane Austen and we read it together last summer, as well as an anthology of poems a relative wrote in the late 1800s for my grandfather. I love making things for people, so I think I gravitate toward binding books/fics that make me happy, but will also make someone else happy, if that makes sense? I've kept most of my binds, but all the other crafts I do, like knitting, I always make for someone else.

As for the binding process, I've been trying out a lot of different binding methods since I'm still pretty new to the hobby and want to learn EVERYTHING, so I don't have a particularly structured process. I don't even always start with the typeset—sometimes I see a fabric and think "I know exactly what to bind with this!!!" and then I make the bookcloth first. But the typesets are definitely the most difficult and time-consuming part for me since I am not technologically savvy, but it's also fun so it's fine lol.

#thank you for this ask!! it was lovely and i was a tad dramatic but i honestly needed to get some of that off my chest so it's good lol #asks #fazedlight

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triviareads · 2 months

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i just finished a novel you recommended (bed me duke! excellent!) and moved on to my usual annual re-read of northanger abbey and do you have any recommendations for romance novels for each austen couple? i think that would be pretty cool!

I love that! the Bed Me series has never failed me so far, and I'm very excited for book 4, Bed Me, Baronet (the hero's a blond and possibly a virgin based on ALL his friends speculating about him in each of their books lol). As for romance novels based on Austen couples, I'm gonna be a little selective here because I haven't actually read Sense and Sensibility (but I vaguely remember watching the movie) or Mansfield Park:

Pride and Prejudice

There are lots of romance novel adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, and there are even more claiming to be inspired by the "enemies to lovers" aspect of P&P EVEN IF IT'S NOT AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS ROMANCE. So my best recommendation would be Pride and Protest by Nikki Payne; it's a modern adaptation set in Washington D.C.; Liza is a local radio DJ and activist who meets Dorsey (a Filipino adoptee) and realizes they're on opposite sides of the gentrification situation occurring in DC. I loved how the book dealt with the class difference along with the added layer of race. It also modernized the "proposal" aspect really well imo because randomly asking a gal to marry you without even dating wouldn't necessarily work in the modern era BUT the proposal Dorsey put out there still felt inherently degrading to Liza even if she'd hooked up with him already (another change from the original, and an appreciated one).

Persuasion

Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas: I'll forever recommend this; McKenna and Aline were childhood sweethearts before they were separated by her father the earl, because McKenna was a stableboy. Now he's uber-wealthy and resentful about what happened all those years ago BACK for REVENGE and by revenge I mean he's going to seduce Aline and... that's about it lol. Never has a man come back with more loathing/self-loathing with a plan that's so half-baked even his drunk friend is like "but are you sure buddy".

Full Moon Over Freedom by Angelina M. Lopez: Another second-chance romance; Gillian asked Nicky to take her virginity when they were teenagers and teach her about sex stuff before leaving for college. Now she's back and divorced, and they're skirting around each other and having multiple clandestine encounters even though they think it's all temporary. While there's not much of a class difference, you get the sense Nicky thought of himself as her bit o'rough and she was an unattainable princess-type to him.

The Legend of Lyon Redmond by Julie Anne Long: Second chance romance with love at first sight; There were a couple aspects that really reminded me of Persuasion; there's very similar language to Anne where Olivia is described as having "withered away" since Lyon left, and she refuses all other suitors. And! Lyon is a sailor like Wentworth except, well, not on the legal side of things lol. It's also just super romantic when they do reunite years later.

Emma

Bed Me, Baron by Felicity Niven: George and Phoebe are long-time friends who've known each other since she was a baby. She asks him for sex lessons so she can help her please her future husband who she's engaged to (not George lol). While there's not much of an age gap in this one (4 years), George Danforth is daddy so that should square you away there.

Olivia and the Masked Duke by Grace Callaway: Here's an Emma/Knightley-ish age gap, plus, Ben and Livy were family friends/friends since she was a kid. Later on, she sees him having sex with another woman in the stables and it's basically her sexual and romantic awakening, so she spends a lot of the book chasing after him while he's running for his life.... until he isn't. Sex-wise the vibes are daddy dom/mildly bratty.

Sense and Sensibility

The closest I could think of in terms of Marianne/Col. Brandon was Rosalind and Torrington from A Recipe for a Rogue by Kathleen Ayers. Like Marianne, Rosalind is initially horrified that an *older man* like Torrington might want to marry her (the number of old man-girdle and secretly balding hair jokes.... hilarious) and Rosalind avoids every attempt her mother makes to match them. Torrington is attracted to her from the get-go and slowly woos her by way of exchanging recipes, baked goods, and licking food off her thighs.

tbh I have no idea who'd fit Elinor/Edward's vibe.

Northanger Abbey

It's actually very hard to find heroes who have Henry Tilney's playful irreverence paired with Catherine's sweet naivete so I'm holding off on this one for now!

#book recs #kathleen ayers #angelina m lopez #grace callaway #felicity niven #julie anne long #lisa kleypas #nikki payne #historical romance #romance novels #contemporary romance #ask #jane austen #pride and prejudice

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she-karev · 3 months

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Out of Nowhere

Age Rating: 12+

Chapter: Five of Six

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

AN: I hope you guys are liking this chapter. Let me know what you think and like and reblog. The gif above is Amber at her most violent and hopefully it satisfies you as you read on.

Summary: Amber helps Jo get Jenny away from Paul with help from Andrew who confronts him. Her friendship with the interns grows stronger at the end of the day as they help her when Paul confronts her.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Boyfriend, Family, Domestic Violence, Satisfying Punch, Friendship.

Words: 4117

Jo and I stand discreetly behind the stairs in the lobby waiting for Paul to be lured away from Jenny by Dr. Robbins. We came up with a plan to get Paul away from Jenny so Jo can talk to her and get her to admit Paul is hurting her and get her to leave him. I got Andrew and Qadri to stand out in the hall and distract him so we can have more time and text us if he’s coming.

“I know we can trust DeLuca but are you sure about Qadri?” Jo asks me, “Did you give her the details?”

“Just that you were helping a woman get away from her abuser.” Jo still looks worried, “Don’t worry she’s one of the good ones we can trust her to do this. I’m saying this as the good one.” I say with a grin and Jo grins slightly, “Are you sure he’s hurting her? I mean what if you antagonize him for no reason?”

“I know what I saw.” Jo says with conviction, “It was like looking in a mirror seven years ago. I’m doing what I would want someone to do for me when I first dated Paul and save me years of pain and misery. I’m doing that for her so she can see what took me years to see.” I nod understanding that she has more insight into this than me, “You don’t have to stay you can go.”

“Hell no.” I say bluntly, “I’ve been waiting to pull one over that piece of shit.”

“You know I’m starting to see the similarities between you and Alex.” I catch Arizona and Paul walking away leaving Jenny.

“Heads up.” She turns around and we approach Jenny together who looks at us confused.

“Hi. We need to talk and we don’t have a lot of time.” Jenny looks confused but follows us to the waiting area. Jo and Jenny sit across from each other on the couch and I sit in the armchair.

Jenny can tell what this is about and clarifies, “Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Paul I don’t need help.”

“Did he tell you to say that?” I ask Jenny who looks at me confused.

“I said the same thing when I was with him, but I was lying. I was lying to myself. I was lying to everyone around me.”

Jenny scoffs in disbelief which I expected of course, “Oh, my God. He told me you were crazy, and I thought that's just something people say about their exes. In your case, he was clearly right.” Jenny tries to stand up but Jo gently brings her back down.

“You know, Jenny, it's okay if you don't want to talk to me. You don't have to say a word. Just please listen.” Jenny listens with a dismissive look, “There was a dinner party with his colleagues. I talked too much to the man sitting next to me. Paul said that I made a fool out of him. I laughed because it seemed so I laughed. And his eyes went dark, and that's the last thing that I remember before waking up the next morning with my eye swollen shut.” I look at Jo in sympathy as she continues to tell her story, “I thought it would be the only time. I'm sure that you did the first time, too. But he just got smarter after that. He made sure that no one could see the bruises. He would apologize and then tell me it was my fault all in one breath, and he was so persuasive. He told me I was wrong so many times that I believed I was wrong. He told me I was crazy so many times that I believed that I actually was crazy. The last time, I woke up to him kicking me in the back because he'd read my e-mail and saw the name of a man that he didn't recognize. He kicked me so hard; he broke my ribs and almost ruptured my kidney.” Jenny looks frightened by Jo’s story and I tell her about my own.

“Jenny where was Paul last night?” I ask calmly, knowing the answer.

She turns to me and swallows before speaking, “We were at the hotel.”

“Was he with you all night? Around midnight last night was he with you or did he step out?”

Jenny pales at my question, “He…He said he was getting some air.”

“Did he rent a black Lexus when you got here?” Jenny’s eyes widen confirming it, “Was the license plate beginning with F56?”

“How do you know that?” Jenny asks in a hollow voice.

“Because he followed me in his car and drove behind me to see where I lived.” Jenny’s breathing turns shallow, “After that he called and texted me from an unknown number and followed me around the hospital and harassed me.” I pull out my phone and showed her the message board causing her eyes to widen in shock, “Look at the times and tell me if he left you during so he could take pictures of me to try to scare me.”

Jenny looks up at me after seeing the messages and asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m the sister of the man who fell in love with Paul Stadler’s wife.” Jenny looks at me clearly rattled, “And I can tell by your expression that it means I’m a new punching bag of his.”

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

Andrew waits outside the lab several feet away waiting for Paul to exit so he can distract him enough for Jo and Amber to retreat. It’s taking all he can not to go in there and punch him for scaring Amber to near death but he reminds himself that’s not what she needs right now. They’ve only been dating for a month but the thought of Amber being in danger makes him nauseous with worry. He wants to help her and if distracting him is the way then he is happy to do it. Just then he sees Paul exiting the lab with an impatient face clearly ready to leave. He takes a deep breath before putting on a bashful grin and approaches him.

“Hey, Paul Stadler?” Andrew tries to sound like a usual fan boy, “Are you the Paul Stadler? The guy who revolutionized fiber optics?”

“Yes I am.” Paul says with a slight annoyance, “Listen I appreciate the praise always happy to meet a fan but I gotta go somewhere.” Andrew blocks his way.

“Well actually I have a question for you about your research.” Paul exhales irritated but doesn’t show it, “There’s an innovation surgical contest coming up and I would like to compete with my focus being on minimally invasive general surgery and that’s just your area. If you have a minute I would-”

“I don’t have a minute.” Paul says sternly, “Now look you can email my resident at Orlando Medical any questions you have but my fiancé is waiting for me so if you’ll excuse me.” Paul tries to go around him but Andrew stops him with a flat palm against his chest. He lightly pushes Paul back who looks at him confused.

Andrew lets his true face show and it is one of anger but he speaks to him in a low and cold voice, “I know who you are Paul. I know what you did to Jo Wilson and what you’re doing to Amber Karev. And I’m here to tell you that you are extremely lucky it’s me in front of you and not Alex Karev because you would be eating through a feeding tube. Trust me I know better than you think.”

Paul still feigns innocence, “I’m sorry I don’t know who you think I am but I’m not-”

Andrew has none of it, “Drop the act Paul it’s just us.” Paul stops and his face shifts to that of cold malice as he stares down with DeLuca. Andrew grins satisfied that he’s facing the real guy behind the act, “Yeah there it is, there’s the guy that Jo ran away from. She told me about you, she said you would hit her in her face if she bought the wrong item or did something else that made her run away and change her name.” Paul’s eyes narrow as he reveals this, “You know this martyr act of yours? It’s not fooling anyone, not me and not Amber. What are you doing following her? Are you afraid to face Alex? Or is scaring women what you call foreplay?”

“…DeLuca, is it?” Paul asks coldly, “I know all about you. Tell me how much did it hurt when you first woke up after your whore girlfriend’s brother almost beat you to death.” Andrew inhales sharply while Paul grins as he struck a nerve, “Because I gotta say your chart gave me nightmares I can only imagine what it was like for you.”

“You think you can provoke me?” DeLuca asks knowing his move, “Bring up my past trauma, make me attack you and you look like the victim. I’m able to control my emotions Paul you should learn to do that.”

Paul doesn’t back down, “I’m sure you would’ve appreciated Karev learning that before he bashed your face in and almost ended your career.”

“Keep bothering Jo and Amber and you’ll know firsthand what that was like for me.” Paul shakes his head dismissing him, “You think you’re so invincible but I got news for you Paul. In this day and age guys like you are exposed for the shriveled-up women beating cowards that you are. And the jury always believe the women over you.”

“You know it was difficult for my PI to get your girls records from before she started high school.” Paul explains, “I mean she took care of that with the name change but once he looked up Amber Stevie Evans, he found a treasure trove on just how much of a mess your ghetto trash girlfriend is.”

DeLuca’s anger rises at the mention of how much Paul invaded Amber’s life before he got to Seattle. He tries to keep calm and speak in a low voice to not attract attention, “You know if I didn’t know who you were I would think Amber should be worried but looking at you right now and hearing just how pathetic you really sound. I see it’s you who should run for his life instead.” Andrew informs him, “She’s not some defenseless girl you can beat down Stadler. She will hurt you and I’ll stand by and watch her beat the crap out of you like you did to Jo. And if you keep talking about a girl, I care about like that I’ll-”

“Oh, what would I talk about?” Paul says smugly, “Would I talk about the sealed juvie record? Or do you want to go back further to the abusive deadbeat dad?” Andrew inhales sharply as Stadler continues, “Or how about the brother, the other brother because that is a story I would love to tell.”

DeLuca steps closer and faces Stadler with a vengeful look, “You keeping a dossier of every moment of her life is just more proof of what a sick bastard you really are. Are you sure you can sway a judge then?”

“I’m a well-known physician.” Paul says confidently, “My family is full of surgeons and I have a sparkling clean record. Your girlfriend on the other hand is the lowest of the low and not just in hospital ranking.” Andrew curls his fist to keep from punching him, “I don’t know what she told you about herself but let me tell you as someone who married a street rat. When it comes to messed up broads.” Paul whistles under his breath that pisses DeLuca off, “You won the freaking lottery my friend.” Andrew looks at Paul with a murderous glare, “Now get out of my way, my fiancé is waiting for me.” Paul pushes past DeLuca and walks down the hall only for Qadri to step in front of him and play the role of fangirl to keep him busy while DeLuca pulls out his phone to text Amber.

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My phone beeps and I look to see Andrew texted, ‘He’s coming.’ I turn to Jo and Jenny who is still in denial, “He’s coming back we need to go now.”

Jo looks scared and pulls out her business card, “You know what?” She writes her info on the back, “This is my cell phone number. You call me day or night, and I will get you out of this.”

I stand up and look at the hall in anxiety, “Come on we gotta go, let’s go.” Jo finally stands up and follows me to the hall behind the stairs just as Paul comes out of the lab hall and approaches Jenny. We stand and watch with Meredith, Arizona, Andrew and Qadri as Paul and Jenny calmly leave the hospital arm in arm. Andrew puts his arm around my shoulder reassuringly and I exhale in relief and lean against him.

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

After handling the patients in the pit and transporting them I thank the surgical gods when my clock out time comes. It’s almost sundown when I enter the locker room exhausted and I see that Helm, Schmitt and Qadri are also there to get a drink of water. The power and AC were turned on a few seconds ago to our relief.

“Figures the power comes on just as we’re about to leave.” I put my combination in, “Rough day?”

Helm groans while sitting on the bench, “Remind me why I decided to go to med school.”

Qadri takes a sip of water leaning against her locker, “Yeah I know, where was I on career day?”

I notice that Schmitt is sitting on a bench drinking orange juice with a IV pole right next him and saline attached to his arm, “What’s up with him? Did Glasses get overheated?”

“Glasses is now Blood Bank.” Helm informs me with a smile, “Grey’s patient was crashing and needed blood the banks were locked so Schmitt transfused the woman directly in the middle of surgery.”

My eyes widen at that badass story, “Damn look at you being the hero Blood Bank.”

Schmitt groans clearly feeling the aftereffects, “I’m happy to help.”

I grin at his state and face my locker getting my clothes out. I put my shirt on when Qadri approaches me and whispers, “How did it go? Did you talk to the fiancé get her to call someone or go to a shelter?”

I take my scrub bottom off and respond in a low voice, “I think she was more scared of us than of him but hopefully it made a difference. You didn’t tell anyone it was Stadler you were stopping right?”

“No, I didn’t even though I’m curious on how you know a well-known surgeon is beating up his fiancé.” I put my jeans on and ignore her question, “Do you know him or something?”

“Or something.” I grab my purse and close my locker, “Are you guys good without me?”

Helm rolls her eyes, “Unlike some residents She-Karev, we don’t need you occupying our space.”

I scowl at Helm’s comment and decide to fight back, “At least I have someone to occupy my space instead of wasting my time being a jealous virgin.” Helm scoffs and stands up to go to her locker. Qadri’s eyes widen at the insult but I ignore her, “I’m going home.”

I walk past Qadri and make my way to the door but a scary presence stops me dead in my tracks. Paul Stadler is standing in the doorway with Jenny by his side. He has a grin that puts chills in my spine. I walk backwards till I’m back in my previous spot with Qadri, Schmitt and Helm watching me warily until Paul comes to view and they stay silent.

“Hey.” Paul starts with an alarmingly calm voice, “I heard that you were with Jo when she talked to Jenny. She gave me Jo’s card.” Stadler flaunts the card with Jo’s information in the back and I stop breathing at the horrific sight, “She told me all about it and she told me the lies you said about me, about how I followed you last night and today.”

I look at Jenny who looks down in shame but I’m angry at her for betraying me, “I tried to help you.” I inform her coldly, “We both did and you set us up for this psycho.”

“I’m the psycho?” Paul asks incredulous, “Are you really calling me crazy here after the stunt you pulled to force my fiancé to lie about me too?”

Qadri gets in front of me in a protective stance, “Dr. Stadler you need to go right now.”

“She put you up to it didn’t she?” He asks Qadri who looks scared as well not that I blame her, “It wasn’t a coincidence her boyfriend and coworker stopped me from getting to my fiancé in time before your sociopath friend tried to poison her against me was it?”

I pull Qadri behind me and pull my pink handheld taser out of my backpack, “If you touch either of us my 21-million-volt taser will turn you into a goddamn rotisserie.”

“Whoa what’s going on?” Schmitt asks standing up and going to my side.

Helm also stands by us and I would be shocked she wants to protect me after our row five seconds ago, “Amber?”

“I’m just trying to have a conversation with your friend here.” Paul says acting like he’s not verbally attacking us, “She just snapped and decided to threaten me.”

“Really?” Qadri asks not buying it, “Do you normally corner people you want to have conversations with and point fingers at their friends?”

“I don’t socialize much but I’m pretty sure you made all the wrong moves here.” Helm says in my defense.

Schmitt stands up straight and speaks to Stadler, “The ladies told you to go so go.”

“No she is a liar. She wants to put me jail so she paints me out to be this stalker in her sick delusion.” I scoff at Paul’s claim but he continues “She is crazy but I guess it’s to be expected with parents like hers am I right?” I start to feel uneasy at that little tidbit and my friends are still standing there but they look at me confused. Paul smiles in a way that makes me want to punch him, “They don’t know do they?”

“Shut up.” I say in a low angry voice.

“See this is what I mean.” He faces all of us, “You say she’s your friend but how much do you really know about her? Better yet does the chief of surgery know she hired a girl who’s genetically predisposition for schizophrenia and addiction?”

I don’t have to look to see the slightly shocked faces my peers have right now, “I said shut the hell up you cold hearted son of a bitch.” I say louder but he ignores me and continues.

“How old were you when you realized your mother’s sickness was genetic huh? I mean it happened to your brother unless there was another reason, he tried to kill his teenage sister. On the other hand, you might get lucky and just end up shooting heroin like your old man.” My eyes water at my bloody past being revealed by this psycho asshole who keeps going and walks closer to me with a vicious grin, “Paranoid schizophrenia can get you to make up fantasies like that and be convinced their reality. Yeah, she walks around like she’s Cinderella in scrubs but she’s really just a crazy little whore like her mother.” My vision turns red and suddenly I can’t take it anymore. I punch him as hard as I can in the face causing Qadri to gasp and Jenny to shriek in shock. He stumbles backward and I can see his nose bleeding. He looks up at me in mild shock like he expects me to go along with his verbal assault, I guess he mistook me for the rest of the women in his life.

Speaking of his fiancé bends down to check on him, “Paul are you okay?”

“Shut up!” He yells at her and stands up looking at me like he wants to murder me but I don’t back down. I turn my taser on and hold it up in his direction causing him to freeze in shock.

I breathe heavily and look at him like the trash he is before telling him the cold hard facts, “You think you can scare me with some pictures and my fucked-up past? Think again!” His eyes widened at my statement, “It’s gonna be your word against mine and who do you think their gonna believe? I’ll make it so you’re gonna get what you dished out to Jo and Jenny from your cellmate.” I chuckle darkly, “It’s foreplay for you right?”

“You dumb bitch.” Paul says in a low and cold voice looking at me with pure hatred and I roll my eyes at his insult, “My record is clean unlike yours. She went to juvie too did you know that? An officer will look at that and believe me.” He grins at me victoriously even with his nose still bleeding, “What could you possibly do to me?” Suddenly he’s pulled away from us to the ground and I see that Casey walked in most likely when he started his rant and decided to intervene. Jenny looks at Paul in shock as he’s on the ground and looks at Casey in fury, “What the hell?!”

“That.” Casey answers his question, “I can do that to you.” He turns to me with concern, “Are you guys, okay?” I’m shocked by what just transpired but I nod and Casey glares at Paul who stands up and hovers over Casey who doesn’t back down, “Get out right now or I’ll call security.”

“She attacked me!” Paul said frustrated but Casey doesn’t flinch, “All of you saw her punch me when I didn’t lay a finger on her.”

“Maybe not physically but I could get your license taken away after I tell the police you got someone to hack into her records.” Paul’s eyes widen at that and Casey continues, “I worked in cybersecurity in the Air Force. Unlike you I know that juvenile records are sealed when you turn 18. The only way you can get into those is with a warrant or a black ethics hacker. I’m not sure intention to harass gets you access the legal way.” I look at Parker impressed and slightly scared that this usually sweet guy turned into The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, “Now you have ten seconds to get out or I’m gonna explain all of that to the FBI right outside, one…”

Paul fumes but leaves the room dragging Jenny roughly by her wrist. I exhale in relief that he finally left and sit on the bench. Qadri sits with me and holds me rubbing my arms. I’m not usually rattled by a toxic alpha male but in this case it’s an exception. I just had my horrible and ugly past exposed to my peers; my worst nightmare came true. I expect them to run away like the others did but they don’t. Instead, Qadri is holding me, Schmitt has his hand on my shoulder, and Parker is looking to see that Stadler is leaving. Helm is busy holding and looking at the taser I dropped on the ground after Paul left.

“You carry a taser with you?” Helm asks me in genuine curiosity. Maybe I’m overly tired but that strikes me as ridiculously funny for some reason. A giggle escapes my throat, first one then another. I’m all but rolling on the floor as I laugh uncontrollably, no doubt looking insane in front of my peers.

I calm down but still grin as I explain, “I’m sorry I’m tired and I get really weird in serious moments I’m sorry.” I exhale to control my breathing and the gravity of the situation hits me as my grin falls. I close my eyes, lean against my knees and let my tears stream down my cheeks. I would’ve fallen apart but being here, surrounded by my friends who never left my side and helped me. I think for the first time I feel like I can count on these guys and strangely it makes me feel stronger.

#greys anatomy #amber karev #alex karev #jo wilson #mine #elizabeth gillies #giacomo gianniotti #satisfaction

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stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage · 1 year

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[half agony, half hope] ch1: the night before, there was a thunderstorm

ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 Read on AO3

Pairings: Warden!Carver/Merrill Rating: M [for future sexual content] Summary: Merrill had every reason to reject Carver the night before the Deep Roads expedition, as much as it… Creators, as much as she didn’t want to. Carver left her home that night, and she hasn't seen him since. He has a new life with the Grey Wardens now, and Merrill's accepted that their friendship, and the chance to be more, has ended.

But, five years later, Hawke comes to the Hanged Man with some exciting news: Carver's coming home.

Note: I've worked on this long, self-indulgent, multi-chapter story of mine for what feels like ages. It's loosely based on Jane Austen's Persuasion; the basic premise of two people who were in love break up after a persuaded rejection then reunite years later, and the story title is a nod to it. It's set between acts 2 & 3, and Carver's a Grey Warden serving in Fereldan... because we need more fics with Warden Carver. So I hope y'all enjoy the first chapter!

Also HUGE thank you to @pi-creates for beta-reading and putting up with my nonsense in writing this fic!

-x-

A pretty evening, one not long after Merrill first left her clan to settle in the alienage of Lowtown, ingrained itself in her memory for the past five years. To think so much time had passed and yet she could recall it all verbatim.

No matter how many hours she sat before the eluvian, focus trained to repair the mirror with so little progress, or how often she distracted herself with the companionship of her friends in the Hanged Man over drinks and cards… there always came that moment.

It usually struck her when she spent too much time cooped up in her home, eyes sore and mana drained from every desperate attempt to make the eluvian work. That night would rush through her mind like adrenaline in blood.

The heavy onslaught of angry rain against her door, and the even angrier rumblings that shook all of Kirkwall. Gooseflesh that spread along her damp skin, prickled at the heat of fingers on her cheek. The way her breath caught. Heart pounded. Butterflies trembled in her belly.

Those soft brown eyes, reflective like a polished tiger’s eye stone, that peered down at her through dark lashes.

The scent of wet dirt and steamy tea, and something else so familiar that Merrill couldn’t describe it as anything other than as him.

“Merrill…?”

Five years ago, the Hawke brothers, as well as Anders and Varric, went on an expedition to the Deep Roads.

The night before, there was a thunderstorm.

Unassuming as it was at first, the air flowed with in an electric gust that carried the warning of the impending rain. They’d gone to the Wounded Coast in search of replenishing Merrill’s stock of embrium, elfroot, and what other herbs and greens she could find. She hadn’t expected Carver to offer his company for the trip; surely he had much to do before such an expedition, and he still chose to spend that time with her.

Kirkwall tended to be so dull and dusty that Merrill welcomed the rain, but Carver hadn’t shared her enthusiasm.

“Haven’t you heard?” he had asked, glaring up at the sky. “Fereldan dogs don’t like to get wet.”

“I thought it was cats who don’t like getting wet? I wonder why. It’s not like a little rain hurts anyone, unless it falls into your eye, I suppose. Or you catch a cold and die. But you’re not a dog and… Wait. Oh, that was dirty, wasn’t it?”

“What? No!” Her playful accusation made him trip over a loose rock. He paused. “…Not intentionally.”

“Then you do like to get wet?”

“Merrill!”

A giggle had bubbled up out of her at the way he blushed when he scolded her, biting his lip to suppress a grin. But one look at her and he was laughing, too.

Carver had the sweetest dimples when he smiled. She remembered them fondly, and had even poked them a few times. But only when he was extra grumpy and needed cheering up. To be the one who made him smile like that gave Merrill the strangest rush. She made him lose composure. She flustered him.

It was only fair; he made her heart race just the same.

The two of them spent a lot of time together back then, whether they were following Edgar all over Kirkwall, or just enjoying each other’s company over drinks and cards—which both of them were terrible at—in the Hanged Man. He hadn’t been the most talkative, especially when compared to his brother, but Merrill never understood the scorn he tended to receive within their little group.

Oh yes, he could be rather surly and grumpy, and he could bicker with just about everyone. But he was quiet with her. Kind. Awkward at times, but so was she. Carver was reserved in such a curious way, yet passionate when he allowed himself to be. Merrill hadn’t many friends when she first arrived, but she counted him as one of her closest. He made her happy, and… there was a loneliness in him that she recognized, and their friendship…

They hadn’t made it back to Lowtown before the rain hit with full force. Drenched, they ran through the muddy streets against the sharp onslaught of wind. Merrill laughed gleefully the entire way, splashing around in the puddles until mud slathered her feet and leggings. Carver followed close, less thrilled about all the mud, with arms raised above his head to shield himself as best he could. Many colorful swears were shouted.

They were both breathless by the time they made it inside Merrill’s home, a sad pair of sopping friends tracking water and mud on the wooden floor. She didn’t mind, though, and insisted he wait the storm out with her.

He initially refused to remove his shirt or pants even though the material clung to him uncomfortably. Merrill didn't have anything for him to wear, but she was hardly disturbed by the idea of seeing him undressed, and reassured him so. That didn't help, but eventually she coaxed him out of his shirt. He accepted the blue blanket she offered, quickly covering up by the fire. Humans were strange about their bodies, she learned.

Merrill made them tea and grabbed her own blanket. Together they sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, but Carver was quieter than usual.

“Are you nervous? About the Deep Roads?”

“A little.”

“You and Eddie will come back in one piece. Varric and Anders, too. If any darkspawn tries to bite you, you’ll just stab them!”

“Right.”

Maybe Merrill should’ve known. She missed things, sometimes.

Carver refused to look at her, instead staring into the fire, deep in thought. The way she watched droplets fall from his hair and run over his jawline, down his neck, one might think it was the most interesting thing in the world. It sort of was. Strangely.

Merrill bumped his shoulder with hers and tried to offer him an encouraging smile, but the contact only caused him to take a sharp inhale. He clutched the blanket around himself tightly.

“Merrill?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking about some things. We’re leaving tomorrow, and I don’t know when we’ll be back. I… do you—I mean, have you ever...”

Carver swore under his breath, and wiped at his face. When he twisted around to face her, the frown he wore was different. As if it were directed at her, but more… frustrated. Desperate.

“Look, Merrill, I want—I was wondering if you ever… thought about me?”

Yes. More than she ever should’ve.

By Andruil, she still did.

But confused, she had replied, “Sure. Usually, I wonder if I’ve said something wrong to you. I haven’t, have I?”

“No, nothing wrong, I just mean….” He broke their shared gaze to peer down at the wooden floor, and in a quiet voice, one much softer than usual, said, “…I think about you.”

“Oh? Good things, I hope?”

Stupid, stupid Merrill.

He smiled at her then, a small one. Those dimples revealed themselves.

“Yes. Good things. You—” Carver paused, staring at her before tilting his head. “Uh, you have mud on your face.”

“Oh?” Merrill moved to rub it away, though she imagined she had mud on more than just her face with how many puddles she splashed in. "Did I get it?"

"No, other side, uh," Carver hesitated before lifting a hand, and asked, “May I?”

Merrill hadn’t expected his gentle touch to make her nerves sing. His thumb started at her temple, smoothing specks of dirt away, all while Merrill peered up at him with big eyes. Heat bloomed across her cheeks when his hand moved to wipe away dirt by the corner of her mouth.

An inconsequential flash of light outside. Distant thunder.

The blanket fell off his shoulder, exposing part of his bare chest. Merrill's hands twitched, an urge to reach out and run her fingers over the thin, fine hair that grew there.

Carver had made her nervous before. Not in a bad way, of course, but in that she worried she’d said something wrong and offended him. That she'd done something to make him not like her anymore. But this nervous feeling was different. It pooled in her belly, and pumped her heart faster. She was all too aware of how close they were in that moment.

He paused his movements, but didn’t remove his hand. Merrill was supposed to say something; a thank you, a comment on how kind he was, or one on how she thought only dwarves grew hair on their chests; a note on how the glow of the fireplace bounced off his tanned skin and danced in his eyes beautifully, something.

But for once, even Merrill couldn’t find the words to ramble like she did.

Then Carver’s gaze drifted down.

Settled on her lips.

His brow softened. Mouth parted to speak, but no words came. His thumb caressed her cheek.

The realization hit. A gasp caught in her throat. Merrill shuddered. Their breaths mingled as he drew closer.

Slow. Cautious.

She didn’t pull away.

Those eyes, pupils blown, met hers with a silent question, one she didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t think. The warmth of his hand nearly stung as the heat spread through her veins to pump her heart faster and harder.

The way he looked at her. Eyes fluttered shut. Deep inhale.

Earthy rain.

Him.

Carver’s nose brushed hers. Her name barely above a whisper.

“Merrill…?”

His top lip, feather-light, grazed hers, ooh—

A clap of thunder.

A gasp, and Merrill jerked away.

Carver immediately leaned back, too.

“Oh, uhm, well,” she stuttered out, scrambling to her feet with the blanket pooling around her ankles. Merrill wasn’t just at a loss for words as her thoughts raced so dizzyingly fast, it was like she never knew words at all in that moment.

Carver had nearly kissed her, and Merrill couldn’t untangle why he’d want to do such a thing, but more so—she nearly let him.

Creators, she wanted him to kiss her.

Upon looking back, she couldn’t believe she’d been so oblivious, not just to his feelings but to the affection she held for him in return. That she wanted him to kiss her—no, that Merrill wanted him to hold her against his chest while he kissed her deeply, to feel his hands everywhere and to lay her against the blankets on the floor... it terrified her.

In that moment, she said nothing as it all washed over her. Carver remained on the floor, face scarlet with shame.

“I…” he seemed to be at a loss, as well, yet he found his voice before she did. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I thought—I should’ve—” Then he was on his feet, still clutching his blanket around him. He sighed, though it nearly sounded like a wince. “I should’ve asked if I could—I didn’t mean… shit.”

More thunder roared outside, but neither noticed.

Merrill stared at the floor, and managed out, “It’s okay.”

They stood in silence for what felt like forever, only the drum of rain against the roof to fill the silence.

Carver shook his head and began to pace.

“I’m sorry,” he said once more. “But Merrill, I…” The more he struggled, the more exasperated he became. “I care for you. A lot. Very much. You’re probably the closest friend I have. Shit, sometimes it feels like—like you’re my only friend here and you’re… Maker’s breath, you’re brilliant, and funny, and beautiful. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

She could hardly believe him, yet he spoke so sincerely. Not even she could mistake the meaning of his words. Wet heat prickled behind her eyes.

“And I was wondering,” he continued as he drew closer. Merrill had to tilt her head back to look at him given how tall he was, blinking back tears. Something she never heard in his voice wavered his words; a trepid vulnerability as he asked, “Do you—could you ever feel the same way? About me?”

No matter how many times she replayed all of this in her mind years later, how she justified her decision, the regret still lingered inside her.

“I’m sorry, Carver.”

Merrill had every reason to reject Carver that night, as much as it… Creators, as much as she didn’t want to.

She could admit that to herself now.

But the Keeper’s voice whispered in her ear, admonishing such things with a tight fist wrapped around her heart. The Keeper would never approve, and her clan would have even more reason to despise her. To hold such affection for a human went against everything Merrill was brought up to know. Anything she might’ve felt for Carver couldn’t be real.

It’s a keeper’s job to remember; she’s supposed to preserve who they are as the elvhen.

Back then, she still held onto a thread of hope that if they could just see—if they would just listen to her and trust that everything she did was for the people, they would welcome her back with the love she knew they could hold.

But five years later, the clan still remained at Sundermount, and with more contempt of her than she could wrap her head around. The Keeper, the woman Merrill could closest call “mother,” made sure the clan remained cold. It killed poor Pol, and with his death came reality; the Keeper wouldn’t ever listen to her, and the clan wouldn’t ever welcome her back… not even if she did fix the eluvian, proved herself strong and clever and worthy of a keeper’s position.

Merrill spent too much time shoving those feelings aside to dark corners with plans of leaving them untouched. She told herself that she did care for Carver, but could not love him, not romantically. Even though he too was one of her closest friends, and he listened to her ramblings and never made her feel stupid for it. He explained human things that puzzled her and often helped her with things around her humble home. He went on scavenging trips with her and sometimes brought her things like flowers or pretty stones because they reminded him of her, and he thought she’d like them.

Thoughts of brushing the dark hair from his face as they sat there that night, of tangling her fingers in it as she kissed him… to push the blanket off his shoulders and confess she thought of him, too. Maybe she wouldn’t have been completely sure about a relationship, but if taken slow...

Merrill wished she had stopped him from leaving. That she'd grabbed his still damp shirt before he did, and asked him to stay... just a little longer...

But Merrill’s remorse didn’t stop there. She held her rejection of him close to her heart, but even closer she held the day after; the day Carver, Edgar, Anders and Varric left for the Deep Roads. She had intended to see them off, to wish them luck and say goodbye.

But Carver’s hurt was clear as he accepted her answer, and Merrill believed he wouldn’t want to see her. She didn’t want to make things awkward, and…

She should’ve gone.

Why didn’t she just go?

Carver left her home that night into the pouring rain and she hasn't seen him since.

Merrill had the chance to see him and the others off for the expedition and she didn’t go. She knew it’d be uncomfortable for both of them, and she had assumed… she assumed he’d come back. Carver would come back, and they would talk then. They would work it out. Remain friends. And maybe...

But he didn’t come back.

Edgar broke the news the night he, Anders, and Varric returned to Kirkwall. He stood there in her home, exhausted in every sense of the word, and told her Carver caught the blight. He was taken away by the Grey Wardens.

He didn’t know if he’d ever come back.

Merrill tried not to cry, not when Edgar himself was on the verge of tears, but it all overwhelmed her. The disbelief. The hurt, the regret. Anger drowned down by grief. The way Edgar, who wore his confidence well and always had his wit prepared, stood before her looking lost for the first time since she’d known him… not a single clever word on his tongue.

For three months, no one knew if Carver survived.

A terrible, awful three months.

It was only when Anders wrote to the Hero of Fereldan that they got their answer: Carver survived, and had agreed to serve under Warden-Commander Rosalie Tabris in Fereldan, at Vigil’s Keep.

Merrill wanted to write him. Wanted to talk to him. See him. Apologize. Tell him the truth, and…

No. It didn’t matter anymore.

To know he lived was enough.

Merrill could dwell on it all she wanted. Nothing would come of it.

Couldn’t.

Carver was a Grey Warden. He had a new life. Without her.

And Merrill lied to herself every time she was reminded of him: she’s okay with that.

#dragon age 2 #carver hawke #da2 merrill #carver/merrill #carver x merrill #dragon age fanfiction #da2

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thisaintascenereviews · 11 months

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Don't Listen To Critics: Why Music Criticism Is (Almost) Pointless

Give or take a decade ago, I was what you would call a "music critic." I was always really into music, and after awhile, I found myself really analyzing it and dissecting the stuff I listened to. I would read Alternative Press when it was relevant, and I would visit Absolute Punk when it was around, which would inspire me to want to write my own after seeing people publish theirs. I started by writing on Facebook, and then after awhile, I got the opportunity to write for a couple of sites, but I also posted them on a relatively popular Facebook page I ran with my best friend around a decade ago. I had a lot of fun doing that, but within the last few years, I got very tired, jaded, and bored with writing reviews. I just lost all of my passion for it. Eventually, I would come back to writing in late 2021 and early 2022, but it took me a few years to get back the inspiration and motivation to write anything. I wasn't going to write as much as I used to, because if you remember, I would listen to ten albums in any given week and write about all of them. It was way too much to keep up with, and I just got so burnt out, I quit. Being removed from the "music critic sphere," and ultimately just writing about stuff whenever I see fit, even if it's once a week or once every other week, has opened my eyes and been very freeing over the last year, but I've thought a lot about my days as being apart of that community, and I've come to the conclusion that critics don't really matter.

There's nothing adherently wrong with music critics, and if you yourself are one, or you follow them on YouTube or other platforms, that's fine, but what is their purpose? When I used to write reviews, I always felt as though a review was like a persuasive essay; I was to persuade the reader to feel the same way as I do about an album, whether I liked it, loved it, or hated it. Nowadays, though, that thinking is all wrong, because I don't care if someone feels the same way I do, nor do I want to change peoples' minds. I noticed that a lot of critics tend to want people to feel the same way they do, almost to get their readers or viewers to validate their opinions. The opposite is true as well, because a lot of fans will only watch or read a certain critic, because they like and/or dislike the same things, but if they disagree, they feel betrayed and invalidated. Most people understand that opinions are something we all share, and they're all different, but certain music fans are very fickle and defensive over things they like, almost like they take an obsession or ownership of that band or artist. People take their fandoms way too personally nowadays, regardless if you're a critic or fan, and validation is something that both sides seem to really crave.

As a writer now (I wouldn't even call myself a critic, honestly), I just write about what I want, whether I enjoy it or not. If I have enough to say about an album, I'll talk about it. Critics, especially when I was writing a lot more, tend to listen to anything and everything, especially things that are in the conversation, versus what they really care about. That's why a lot of sites have specific writers for specific genres, because not everyone wants to listen to everything. I couldn't explore what I wanted, because I had a sense of FOMO in terms of the new releases of the week, and I felt as though if I missed out on those, I'd be missing out on what people might have to say, or how people will react to what I think. I felt as though I had to act a certain way, let alone dislike or like certain things, because I wanted to seem "cool" or accepted by people. Critics have a certain reputation to uphold, and if your taste isn't great (taste is subjective, anyway), people aren't going to take you seriously. I was always afraid of that, but these days, I don't care, because I just want to talk about what I want to talk about, regardless of what it is, or what genre it is.

The title of this short little essay is misleading, because critics are important in some respect; they can offer nuanced and interesting takes on things, or they can introduce people to things they otherwise wouldn't hear or see. Validation is still a big part of criticism, I think, because people just want their tastes validated, but at the same time, critics are just people. They're not any more special than you. I'm just a guy, and so is your favorite critic. I think there's a fine line between being a fan and being a critic, because I always wondered if I could be a fan before a critic. Well, I know these days that I definitely am a fan before a critic. I listen to what I enjoy, or I forget about things I don't, and just focus on what I enjoy. I won't only be positive to everything I talk about, because I might have thoughts one way or another, but I don't feel pressured to listen to things I don't otherwise care about. It's a very freeing feeling. I felt so exhausted by having to keep up with everything, versus what I wanted to, and that's what burnt me out. Feeling like I needed to hear everything, and that's impossible. By having only a few albums that I'm listening to in any given week, versus ten or fifteen, I can spend much more time with them and have more to say, versus only spending a couple of listens with a lot of things.

If you watch or read reviews, or you're a critic yourself, I hope I didn't offend you in any way, and if I did, I'd look a little deeper as to why you're offended, because I'm not saying just merely talking about music is bad. It's the constant validation that both critics and their fans tend to have towards one another, as music fans want to be accepted by their favorite critics, but critics also want to be accepted by their fans, and it's how much a lot of critics tend to listen to, especially if they want to keep up with the zeitgeist. It's almost impossible to do just that. There's more of a nuanced conversation to have, I'm sure, but these are just some quick thoughts on the subject. I wanted the title to be a more provocative, even though I don't totally feel that way (although I do to an extent, since I don't take critics as seriously as I used to, being that I don't let them dictate my tastes, nor would I want anyone to dictate their taste based on what I have to say). I love writing about music, and I love the way that I do now, because I don't feel burnt out anymore. I wouldn't call myself a critic anymore, I'm just a writer that talks about music.

#music critic #review #writing #writer #write #author #reviewing #music reviewing

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cherryfinolahobbes · 2 years

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A/N: A scene I’ve had in my head and drafts for far too long. If I get up the brain power there is a part two which has the potential for some spice.

Summary: When you’ve waited almost seven years for the moment, you think it has to be a grand affair. Roses and fireworks and crystal wine glasses. Sometimes the perfect moment is waiting in line in the bookstore.

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

Parings: Wong/OFC (Cherry)

Tagging: @silvergryphon @diarythebookwyrm @empressofthelibrary @strxngemxgick @supremestrangeness @shieldagentnatasharomanoff @mastersofkamartaj

(If you’d like me to tag you in my stories. Please let me know!)

*****

She couldn’t quite remember how she’d ended up with her arms around him.

Not that she was complaining.

Cherry had expressed that she’d wanted to go and get in line for the newest volume of her favorite book series. She still enjoyed the hardbacks even if she read a lot on her tablet. She loved the scent of fresh pages, and today the author was signing. It was exciting and Wong had agreed to go with her. Since they weren’t looking to be stared at the whole time they were in line, Wong had opted for a more conservative and modern look. He left the plum and golden robes behind for a pair of khaki slacks, a simple turtleneck and a long flannel coat. Cherry had to admit she didn’t know Wong even owned more clothes than the robes he typically wore.

Despite her not knowing, she didn’t think he looked any less handsome. In fact, she found herself looking at him more. The coat flattering his frame, adding an air of dramatics his robes lacked, and it made her appreciate him more. Cherry wondered vaguely if she should change up her own looks.

Cherry and Wong had been in each other's orbit since the Blip...going on nearly seven, eight years now. It was hard to believe that neither of them had landed a successful move on the other.

There was the date that Tony had engineneer that had ended in diaster when he accidentally awakened an eldritch demon. How was he supposed to know the candles he'd bought in the antique shop for the evening had been cursed?

There were the concert tickets that Stephen and...everyone had the vague notion someone else had been involved, but no one could agree on who it was, had bought for Cherry and Wong, but it was interrupted when the band's lead singer was kidnapped by his spurned super powered ex girlfriend.

There was the kiss that had happened the closest they'd ever got. A fun night of karaoke with Shawn and Katy, both warm from drinking and laughter. Cherry had stumbled and Wong caught her and the kiss just...happened. There was no one to tease them, no one to push them together or force them act before they wanted to. It had been so natural. Cherry had wanted it to go on forever and then...the sky split open into a million purple shards. New York was in danger and Wong had to return. That was over a year ago and he'd been so busy they never were able to return to that place.

Now they were standing in a line in the biting autumn air and despite her peacoat, woolen skirt, tights and gloves, Cherry was cold. The line had been a slow to move and Cherry was worried she might be hypothermic before they got inside the bookstore. She had her hands tucked under her arms as she shifted on her feet miserably.

Hearing a soft chuckle, she looked over to see Wong with a warm expression on his face before he motioned for her to come closer to him, "Come here,"

It didn't take much persuasion from him for Cherry to find herself naturally leaning into his side, soaking up the warmth from his form, and then one hand and arm snaked inside the long flannel coat. It was much warmer under the layers of thick fabric where all of his body heat was trapped and before she knew it, she had her head nestled against his shoulder, both arms under his jacket, hands resting against his shoulder blades.

This. This was much nicer than shivering by herself. She'd worried at first that maybe she'd been too forward, moved too fast, but Wong didn't voice any argument. He kept one hand naturally in his pocket and another across her shoulders, thumb working rhythmically against her spine. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the warmth of him and the sound of his pulse under her ear and the scent of him. The smell of fresh clothes and incense that came and went as earthy and then changing to something spicy.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like this. He didn't press her to move forward and Cherry was certain she'd heard him murmur for a couple people to go ahead of them. She didn't care. She didn't want to lose this small moment like so many others.

Finally, Wong leaned his head down closers to hers. She could feel the heat of his skin, the swirl of his breath, and the magnetic pull she always felt around him, the need to be closer to him.

“The line is moving, if you don’t want to get too far behind,” He murmured softly, his voice velvety in her ears and she shook her head.

“I don’t care,” She said, realizing just how childish she sounded, especially as the Sorcerer Supreme chuckled softly.

“You don’t care? we’ve been out here for almost an hour and youre freezing,” He pointed out, his tone tender, and she felt her cheeks flush. She still had her head tucked against him, but now that he needed an answer, she knew she should look at him. There was an overpowering sense of girlish bashfulness that came over her. The feel of her fluttering stomach and her pounding heart, surely he had to feel it as close as they were, and the attraction she felt for him, all coming together in a powerful storm of emotion she hadn’t felt since she was in college. She knew from her ears to the apples of her cheeks to then bridge of her nose, she had to be crimson as she lifted her eyes to him. Wong’s face, that was usually so unreadable to those who didn’t know him, was soft for her in that moment. Amusement glittering in his sharp eyes and his mouth pulled into a barely lopsided smile.

He removed the hand from his pocket, the other still across her back, and brushed away her curls with blunt fingers. He followed the motion through, tucking several strands behind the pinkened shell of her ear. The contact electric, as she rarely let anyone as close as she let the sorcerer supreme. “If you truly don’t want the book we can-“

He never got to finish she sentence as much like the night outside the karaoke bar, the kiss just happened. Cherry was fairly sure she had initiated it, lifting up on her tiptoes before he was done, but she swore she felt his hand thread through her curls to cup the back of her head before their lips met.

It was like a sun igniting between her lungs. A white hot burning thing that she thought she’d never experience again as her fingers tightened into the fabric of his shirt. The kiss was slow and luxorius as Wong set their pace. It was like they had been, sure and thorough, as he pulled back enough for breath, but never enough to truly break contact with her lips, before leaning back in to start the process all over again.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there. It was long enough for several of the others in line to share secretive smiles and shuffled past them. If they only knew what this moment meant. A moment both Wong and Cherry believed needed to be grand and momentous as they both had waited so long, only for it to come in a moment of quiet, mundane stillness.

When they finally pulled back and the stars that skittered in her veins died down and she caught her breath, Cherry murmured, “I don’t want the book…I don’t care what we do…I just want to be with you,”

Wong studied her a moment before with a gesture, he spun open a portal that made several people in line squawk in surprise. The portal revealed a stack of glossy bound books. Wong reached in with a free hand, keeping his other around her, and withdrew a book. He handed it to a bewildered Cherry before depositing a heavy coin on the stack of books before closing the portal.

“You can’t-“ Cherry began, looking torn between being shocked and amused and Wong raised a brow at her.

“That coin would easily purchase dozens of those books. I think I can,” He corrected her before spinning another gateway open. “Come on. I think I know a place you’d enjoy,”

She was reluctant to leave her space against him, but took a consolation prize as she untwined herself, of pressing her hand to his cheek and leaning in for another soft kiss, this one sweeter and more familiar. It left them bright eyed and smiling before she slipped through the gateway, leaving Wong to follow and close it in a shower of sparks.

#cherry masterlist #wong #mcu #wong x oc #wong x reader #fanfic #soft #fluffy things #marvel #doctor strange #first kiss #slice of life #mcu oc

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