#there's also 'doubt thou that the stars are fire but doubt not that I love' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rikerxworf · 7 months

Text

‧⁺✧ Worfriker Week 2023 ♡°‧

Day Six: Alternate Universe Title: doubt thou the stars are fire Tags: Library AU, Love Poems, Fluff Wordcount: 3,873

» also available on AO3

Worf’s steps rustle through the windowless canyons of the library like leaves through an alleyway. No visitors at this time of day; it is always quiet this late at night. Not even a raging storm could have been heard inside. Worf welcomes it – he cannot help but think that the books’ ghosts feel better in dimmed light and silence. He certainly does.

However, his steps are fueled by anticipation.

He tells himself he is not pacing, or procrastinating, but purposefully filling up time spent waiting until his human would arrive. There are many things to do, so he could just as well attend to them now. Battle Epos section VI needs dusting. Alternatively, he could clean up the visitant tables, in case his human would want to use them. Tip-top condition.

Worf fetches a cleaning rag to take care of them. As he does, his eyes ghost over the titles of the books he had already picked for his most favorite visitor. He has said he wanted to come tonight. So, Worf has prepared for him.

For his human – the tall one with the dark hair and the starlight smile. The broad shoulders. The wondrous stories and auspicious gaze. When he looks at you, it was as though you were his whole universe –

At least Worf likes to believe so. His hearts are blossoming and whispering sweet nothings to him, whenever his human smiles at him.

You are in love, dearest. This is what it feels like.

Worf knows it’s childish. He has never felt this way before, not for anyone who had courted him. No warrior, no singer has conquered his hearts, no matter their honorable efforts to build a life with him. A proper, dutiful, Klingon life.

And then, one day, this outworlder comes sneaking in here, smiles at him, and Worf finds himself wondering if after all it was a human who had dusted the sky with luminaries. A human who looks as though he knows Worf’s innermost worlds.

Worf halts. He knows that he should fight his hearts’ whispers and that all of this is just a ridiculous infatuation. With a traveler, a Non-Klingon no less, who surely would not stay on Qo’noS for too long. This will be over soon. Then he would no longer be his human. He can enjoy bathing in that smile as long as it lasts, and then forget about it.

He has been telling this to himself for weeks. Just on some nights, a romantic inkling itched him, and then he needs to remind himself. But it’s fine. With all these rationalizations, the situation is under control.

There are many who have wanted Worf before. Fellow Klingons. He supposes he would make for a decent spouse: he is tidy, has his priorities in order, and can make a nutritious meal without the use of a replicator. Some have even called him pretty.

Worf has only ever felt pretty once or twice though – and both times have been caused by a pair of human eyes lingering on him.

There is nothing wrong with being wanted by a human, Worf muses. As long as he would not openly reciprocate, he was in no danger of dishonoring himself so sorely. Humans are not built for a Klingon life after all. Those fragile creatures could never take the force of two Klingon hearts beating and roaring for them. There have been people trying to disprove this, but what had they achieved? Worf has no interest in aligning himself with those… unorthodox mavericks.

No, his path is a different one. The proper one.

His head turns when he hears steps on his left.

“Hi. Sorry if I startled you.”

There it is, that starlight smile.

Worf softens as his world comes to a halt. Finally.

He shows his human back to the visitant tables. Under his jacket, he is wearing a blue wrapped shirt tonight, Worf notices from the corner of his eye. Beautiful.

The sound of two pairs of feet in-between the shelf canyons is nicer than just one. All Worf has to say is, “Follow me,” and his human is bound to his side like a shadow. Worf likes his role as the guide. His human does not know much about Klingon libraries and their mysteries, and Worf enjoys showing him around and eliciting little sounds of awe from him.

There are times when he thinks of his human as a bit inane. There is something clumsy about the way he carries his otherwise graceful body, something that makes him look up at Worf from a tilted head, despite being the same height. With his arms always so weirdly positioned.

Like right now, as he observes Worf putting away some other books. Waiting for him.

It’s… charming.

Worf nods at him.

“All right. Here you go,” his human says and hands him the red leather-bound book from his visit last week.

Worf takes it carefully. “You finished it already?” he asks.

“Yeah,” his human says, “couldn’t put it away. Such an interesting read. Thank you for your recommendation.”

“You’re welcome,” Worf smiles. He has used that phrase more in the past few weeks than his entire life before. Human vocabulary.

Blue eyes shift in front of him. “I think I like this one better than the, uh, thirteenth century one.”

Worf gives him a smirk. His human has a peculiar taste, if you could call it that. Targ hunter comedies aren’t exactly highbrow.

The amusement does not escape his human. “Please don’t mock me,” he laughs.

“I don’t.”

Another smile. “Okay. I couldn’t have borne that!”

“I thought you would appreciate the… change in style,” Worf says truthfully.

His human gives him a shy nod.

Worf almost laughs. He adores this feeling, the playful movements around his hearts, like vines of flowers.

“I, uh, liked the landlady. She was fierce,” his human tells him.

“You will find many characters like her in that epoch. She has a long tradition of that fierce presence you are describing.”

“I see,” his human smiles.

Worf watches him closely, big hands folded so coyly in front of his body. He is large for a human. And persistent. It is a shame they have wasted so much time with Targ hunter comedies instead of –

Show him, Worf’s hearts whisper. Mingling with the voices of the ghosts inside the shelves, murmuring the secrets of the ancient books.

Be a man and read to him what you cannot say for yourself.

He will be gone in a few weeks, maybe even a few days, so what’s holding you back? No one will know!

“I picked a few more stories that might interest you,” Worf says way too loudly, making those nosy ghosts scurry back into their books. He puts his hand down on the table so hard it makes the lamp’s light flicker. His human grins and looks down at the books, then at the stool next to Worf’s. “May I?”

Worf nods. Watches as his human sits down, swinging his leg over the tiny backrest as if to mount an animal.

What a peculiar man he is…

Worf watches him run his big hands over the covers and inhales his tangy scent now that he’s so close. He smells so nice. Inviting, somehow. He smells like he looks, Worf finds as he traces the soft lines of his face with a careful gaze. The dark blue of his shirt makes his eyes beam like the summer sky as they skim the pages.

It takes Worf actual physical strength to keep him from complimenting his human. It would not be appropriate, and Worf did not want to send the wrong signals.

So, he just sits. And looks elsewhere.

Tell him!

It doesn’t work.

He should move away.

“I forgot one,” he proclaims, eloquently, half-gone from the stool. “A book. I will go and find it for you.”

He can hear the smile in his human’s voice when he answers, “All right. I’ll be waiting.”

Yes. He will. And that’s the problem.

The ghosts annoy Worf as he searches some faraway shelf for the false pretense he created.

He is wonderful! Handsome on top! Can you deny it?

Worf growls. For occasions like this, he wished he carried a mirror with himself, to be able to glare at himself.

He randomly picks another Targ hunter comedy from the thousand stories on the shelf. A large shelf, like all the others – walls in this marooned landmark that is the Fourth Library of the First City. A place with no one except him and this wondrous alien creature by the firelamp, Worf remembers with soft hearts as he returns the visitant tables.

The lines of his muscles are visible even through the thick fabric. Worf has dreamed of what it would feel like to have these strong arms wrapped around him – to melt into a touch without reserve or fear, to feel another so closely that he forgets where his body ends and theirs begins. A wonderful, warm security.

But a dream it remains.

He turns the book in his hands with unease. Ponders. Snaps back into reality when his human looks up from the table and flashes him another smile, full of blue starlight and glory and song.

Almost makes you wonder if humans invited smiles. Especially the ones that make it feel like you are the only other person in this human’s universe.

Where’s the harm in a compliment if they were all alone? Worf takes heart and says, “Blue suits you.”

The comment widens his human’s starlight smile even further, reaching to his eyes, his shoulders even. “Thank you. A friend of mine says it does something for me. She’s a Betazoid, so I guess she’s right.”

“She is,” Worf smiles, unable to look away. Those eyes – they shine upon him in a way he has never been looked at before. Like sovereigns one wants to be captured by.

So – ‘a friend’. That is the way Worf wants to speak to his human now too, not as a guide – not as anything but a friend. Friendship is what he will have with him after all, so he should nourish that instead of those… romantic frivolities.

“Here. I have picked this one for you as well,” he says, his voice warm and low to create comfort for his human as he steps closer to sit back down. Sliding right back into their affectionate familiarity.

“Thank you! You’re so thoughtful,” his human says as he takes the book in his hands.

The compliment warms Worf’s chest from deep within. “You’re welcome,” he replies quietly, trying hard not to stare at the long fingers handling this stupid book so carefully.

“What’s it about?” his human asks.

Oh, good question – maybe Worf should’ve read the title instead of staring. He hears the ghosts snicker in their bookshelves when he replies, “Another comedy featuring Targ hunters. I just… thought you might like it.”

Another soft smile. “Thanks.”

This time, Worf returns it.

They read a bit, side by side, just sitting in silence. It is nice. Now and then, Worf steals a glance. But nothing more.

It is different to read together in silence than reading aloud. Still, all of this feels dangerously tempting. But Worf can manage. This time, he will not give in to any impulses.

He will not read to him.

Once, when his human snickers and reads a passage to him, he just… hums. It is only when his human slides away the last book that Worf stars a conversation: “Did you get to see the tlhom chum fireworks?”

His human stretches in the chair. “I did! They were amazing. It’s hard to believe they’re putting on that show every single time. Felt like the finale of a huge festival, not something you do every month,” he says with a glint of conspiracy, appropriate to their solitary meeting. Worf could swear he could see the fireworks in those blue eyes right now. But they look a bit tired.

“I am glad you enjoyed them.”

“I really wanted to see those. Everyone kept telling me about them. Just like the Kannaga Mountains. I’ll be leaving for those tomorrow.”

Worf bites back an ‘oh?’ just in time, which causes him to just… fall silent.

See? See? He’ll be gone!

“I gotta try out those hiking trails, and then maybe pay a visit to the Central Plains. It’s just a three-day trip though, I’ll come back here afterwards for the last day, when my transport arrives,” his human says and smiles at him just a millisecond too long – then his eyes are back on the table. And the stack of books. “These all sound so interesting. If I had more bags I’d take them all.”

Worf breathes in deeply.

Take him there, the voices whisper – read to him, before you lose this chance!

As Worf still tries to rally his strength, his human looks up at him again. “What was it where I found you, the Battle Epics? Can you take me there again?”

Worf’s eyes need a moment to focus. “Um – of course. There are a few volumes in section nine that have been translated.”

“Excellent,” his human smiles, all soft.

Worf’s jaw moves sideways as he stands up, inhaling deeply. “Follow me.”

With the whispers gone, Worf guides his human back into the depths of the library in total silence. Except for their steps. This walk is less pleasant than the first. It leads him closer to the sanctuary, that place of temptation.

But Worf remembers where his human will be going: The Central Plains – where you had been able to see Praxis before its destruction, a beautiful white shadow in the clear sky – and the location of the qeylIS loS monastery, right under the star that Kahless has pointed to when he had promised his return. Many religious texts are held in the monastery’s library. Texts that emphasize the importance of Klingon virtues and traditions.

No outsider may see any hidden texts. Worf must not show them to his human. That is his sacred duty, both as a librarian and as a Klingon, no matter how ardent his desire to read him those stories is.

This was a battle against his hearts. A true Klingon does not dodge a battle or succumb to his enemies without a fight.

But it pains him, to think of his feelings as such – as enemies. What does that make him?

“Can I ask you question?”

Worf blinks, straightening his steps. He is back in the dusty half-dark, breathing in the cold air. It is always too cold in here at night.

“Of course.”

His human’s voice is all soft in-between the high shelves. “I’m not sure how much of it is just people talking, or a spiel for tourists, but… They say there are secret sections in Klingon libraries. That no one is allowed to see.”

Oh, Worf could’ve pushed over a shelf. Just great.

He clenches his jaw and says, “There are hidden rooms meant only for… those who are special. Not many are allowed to enter.” And then, once more for himself, “It is my sacred duty to protect what is held in those rooms.”

“I see. Then it’s true? You’re a warrior monk as much as you are a librarian?” His human’s voice is laced with… amusement, much to Worf’s annoyance. “So, if I were to, say… try my way in forcefully…”

Worf turns to find him smiling at him knowingly.

Oh, he wishes it would be as easy as that! “I would have to fight you,” he says.

“Huh. Better bring my bat’leth next time.”

How relentless this human is! And audacious! Can’t he see that Worf is in conflict? Maybe that is the way of the humans, so agleam with their smiles but so ignorant as to where they shine their lights.

“I cannot show you,” is what Worf settles on. Primarily to himself.

His human nods. “Of course, I can see that.”

Worf hates that he is so troubled while showing him the section in Federation Standard. He cannot enjoy the last evening he will have with his human. Whenever the whispers try to sneak back into his hearts, he growls to keep them away. It makes his human frown.

“I better leave now,” he says when they are back at the reception. “It’s past midnight already. Sorry to have kept you up this long.”

If he knew how many sleepless nights Worf has had to endure because of him, he would not apologize – he wants to say, I don’t mind. I enjoy being with you.

But all Worf does is nod. It is better this way.

“Will you be here next week?” his human asks.

He’ll come back, for you, the whispers promise him. He knows it’s just his own yearning talking, but Worf still cannot help but soften.

“Yes. I will always be here.”

Another starlight smile, weaving its warm light around Worf’s hearts. “Lucky me. Then I’ll be seeing you again, hopefully. If I can make the time.”

Worf swallows. “I would be honored.” He gives him a sincere look. “Have a nice trip to the mountains.”

“Thank you.” His human nods, a glimpse of woe in his twinkling eyes. He holds up his bag of books Worf has given him and says, “I’ll be having it with these.”

“I hope so.” Worf bathes a few moments more in that starlight, savoring it, before giving him a nod. “Goodbye, then,” he says in the outworlders’ fashion.

The human, on the other hand, has a spark light up his face. He slams a fist against his shoulder and exclaims, “Qapla’!” with an anticipating grin.

Worf could’ve melted. Instead, he raises his chin and replies, “Qapla’.” And when his human leaves, it’s like the stars sinking over the horizon.

Worf turns around to put out the lights. But he is frozen in place.

Maybe, he thinks, his human is just another ghost from the dark recesses of the library. Always comes at night, always makes the sky jealous of his beauty. Whispering into Worf’s hearts.

He wishes it would just go away, this specter. To spare Worf of the heartbreak.

Or, even worse, to spare them both – all those smiles cannot be empty, Worf thinks to himself as he puts out the lights. Reading single lines to him in the half-dark. Maybe his human has given him all these yearnings to be held because he wants to hold him.

This is all so terrible. Worf has enough tasks to do in the library as it is. Martok will not be pleased by this week’s work. There is no time to swoon about someone who will be gone soon anyway!

So keep it together! Keep it together!

Worf tries keeping it together by flipping over the table. The fire crashes to the stone ground behind the wood, hissing. But it is unheard over his roar.

Heat rushes through him and settles in his chest. And like a flame, it flickers when he hears that voice again: “Um, sorry, did I…?”

His hair all wild, Worf whirls around to find his human ducking between the shelves with a nervous, raised hand. “I just – Are you all right?”

Worf cries out in frustration, looking away.

But his human’s eyes are relentless. “I’m sorry. I can leave. I just wondered if you… if you had another bookmark for me…?”

Worf grinds his teeth but fails to steady his flames. “Why are you testing me?”

His human’s eyes widen. “Pardon?”

“All this time, you’ve come back here to frolic around. Dancing around my mind!” Worf rushes into his personal space, glaring past the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes. “You have no honor,” he growls, to the human as well as those ghosts of the night. Might as well say it now. He won’t see him again anyway.

Never again!

His intimidation works reliably. The Adam’s apple of his human bops as sweat gathers on his pale skin. His eyes flicker under the pants of rage from Worf’s nose.

Oh, but he does smell so nice…!

For but a moment, Worf falters. That is all the time his human needs to gain the upper hand: “Am I this obvious?”

Worf’s eyes narrow.

His human’s gaze flickers past him. “Did you flip a table just for me?”

Worf leans back – the audacity! “What? No, I” – he inhales – “You must leave!”

The human cocks his pretty head at him. “Or?” He licks his lips. “Will you kill me?”

Worf stares at him.

Now, you finally understand, the ghosts snicker.

As he averts his eyes, Worf’s jaw grinds sideways, just like his wrists. He must look terribly feral right now. In an attempt to calm himself, he sighs. “I will not fight you,” he lets his human know.

Disappointment shines from blue eyes. “No? That is the traditional way. Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“No?”

Worf growls. “Klingon women attack and roar without humor. Not like the ones in the hunter comedies.”

“I see.”

“Nowadays, many men try to copy their behavior. The traditional ways, as you call them, are getting lost.”

The human licks his lips again, then nods. “I understand. Poetry and flowers, hm? They could use a revival. I wish I could experience those courting rituals firsthand.”

Worf gives him a look. He couldn’t be that audacious. Could he?

But the ghosts beg to differ: Teach him the ways!

Show him the courtship!

Read to him!

The human shifts his large shoulders. “I’ll be out of your hair. Or, well – you know how I meant it.” He sniffs. “Sorry for intruding.”

He tries to shuffle away, but Worf thins his lips, then gives him a smile. “I will not fight you.” With a careful motion, he takes the bag of books from the human’s hand. “I much prefer reading. If you want to stay,” he adds meaningfully.

His human’s face rolls into an intrigued smile, like an ocean’s tide.

It is like a weight falls from Worf’s shoulders when he says, “Come on. Let me take you to the sanctuary.” He extends a hand, steadier now that he is certain they both want this.

His human takes it, warm and rough.

Not ‘warm’ if someone asked him – Worf simply guides this clumsy human through the sacred canyons, lest he’d bump against the ancient shelves. It is part of the touristic courtesy.

So now, there are two shadows crawling through the cathedral that is Fourth Library of the First City. Away from the gaze of the universe, since they created their own.

“I’m Will, by the way. William Riker.”

Worf scoffs. “Of course.”

“Sorry?”

“William. Like the Earth poet.”

“Shakespeare?” His human laughs, a hearty sound that Worf treasures in his hearts. “I guess so. If my memory doesn’t betray me, I could maybe recite a few of his lines for you.”

Worf strokes a tender thumb over his hand, gazing at him as they walk. “I would like that,” he growls.

“You would, big guy?”

Worf smiles. And when they exit the sanctuary at sunrise, full of song and glory, he tells him his name.

#two year old library au let's gooo #text post #writing #AU #riker x worf #worfriker week 2023 #*

3 notes · View notes

the-great-lightwood-bane · 2 years

Text

doubt truth to be a liar

Malec | Rated general | tw implied/referenced cheating but no actual cheating

Day 15: Emotional Damage | Lies | Breathing through the Pain

Summary: “Alec, Magnus is cheating on you.”

Or, Izzy and Jace overhear something at Magnus' loft that makes them think Magnus is cheating on Alec.

A/N: title from Hamlet:

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

inspired by a thread on the @malecdiscordserver

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

“Let’s drop by Magnus’ loft after this,” Izzy suggested, killing the last demon with a slash of her adamas whip. “We need to restock on healing potions at the Institute, and it’s easier to pay Magnus directly rather than going through the Clave.”

Jace agreed, so they took a detour into Brooklyn and climbed up the stairs of Magnus’ brownstone. The door didn’t open when they tried it, though, so Izzy knocked, then listened for an answer.

Rather than approaching footsteps, she heard heavy breathing and the sound of regular movements, and turned to Jace with a smirk. “Sounds like Magnus is getting some.”

“I did not need to know that much about Alec’s sex life, thanks,” Jace said with an eyeroll. “Magnus probably warded it shut so we don’t walk in on them again. You’ll need to ask him for the healing potions tomorrow.”

Izzy nodded and led the way back down the stairs.

Alec glanced up from his pile of paperwork when the fire message came flying out of the air and caught it on reflex.

Opening it, he recognised Magnus’ handwriting.

Sayang—

I’m sure you recall that particularly volatile invention I’ve been working on. A cure for firewort plague is valuable, of course, but I’m really not sure if it’s been worth the time I’ve spent away from you to work on it. But now, I’ve (finally) come up with a reproducible potion, which is sadly going to result in more time without your company.

The Spiral Labyrinth has called an immediate Council meeting to “discuss the importance” of my invention, i.e. try to find fault with my methods and, if they can find none, talk about how they all could’ve come up with it if only they’d had the time away from their Very Important Duties (insert snide comment about the irrelevance of life outside of the Labyrinth). Worse, said discussion usually takes place over two or three days, during which time fire messages (and, predictably, cell phones) are prohibited.

Therefore, I am devastated to admit that I must relinquish the joy of spending time with you in order to attend a wholly unnecessary, ridiculous, and unpleasant meeting which is nevertheless compulsory for the “proper certification” of every invention of such importance. If I end up turning the Council into toads, I trust you will accompany me as I flee from their retribution. If I do manage to retain a fragment of unfortunate self-control, I will return to your arms posthaste the moment I am freed from my torment.

Until that happy time — which I look forward to with all my love for you — I must sadly say goodbye.

Yours, as always,

Magnus Lightwood-Bane

P.S. I don’t need to remind you to feed the Chairman, so I won’t. However, I do need to add that I miss you already, and that I sincerely regret not being able to kiss you before I go. Also, please remember to eat three meals a day; I will know if you don’t. I have spies. EAT FOOD.

xoxo ❤ ❤ ❤

Alec huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, fondness at Magnus’ writing style warring with disappointment at his departure. He was glad Magnus had finally finished with the potion — the inventing process had been long and Magnus had spent hours working on it, which had meant even less time together than usual. At least once Magnus was back, that would be over; until then, Alec resigned himself to a cold bed and Magnus-less days.

At that moment, Alec’s office door swung open without a knock, which meant it was Izzy and/or Jace. He looked up, eyebrow raised, to inquire why they’d come barging in, but the expressions on their faces stopped him.

“Alec,” Izzy said, something like pain on her face. “We — you’ve been here all morning, Underhill said.”

“I got here at nine,” Alec agreed, looking from one to the other. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“We…” Izzy glanced at Jace, then back to Alec, clearly steeling herself to deliver some unpleasant news. “Alec, Magnus is cheating on you.”

Alec’s held breath huffed out of him in a laugh, tension releasing from his shoulders. “Magnus isn’t cheating on me, Izzy. I thought you had something actually worrying to tell me.”

“Alec, I’m really sorry,” Izzy said, looking near tears, “but he is. We dropped by the loft at around eleven to ask for a refill on some healing potions, but the door was warded shut and we heard sounds like he was having sex with somebody, so we assumed it was you, but if you’ve been here all morning—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alec told her. “There’s some other explanation—”

“Do you think we’d tell you this if there were another explanation?” Jace broke in. “Alec, I know you don’t want to believe it, but we heard him—”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you,” Alec said, lips compressed, and tilted his head at the door. His siblings hesitated, then left, but not without casting him a last, anxious glance.

Left alone, Alec huffed, clinging to his certainty that they’d been fooled. There was another explanation; there had to be.

And yet his spinning thoughts couldn’t find one.

Was it possible? Could it be? Magnus wouldn’t — he wouldn’t — but what if—

Alec shook his head, trying to shake free the doubts. Magnus had married him three months ago. Why would he cheat on him? Magnus wasn’t the kind of person who’d do that to somebody; he’d suffered so much from what Camille had done to him. If Magnus wanted to break up with Alec, he’d do so to Alec’s face, not cheat on him with somebody else.

Right?

Frowning, Alec turned back to his reports, trying to focus, but the words blurred, and all Alec could think about were the whispers in his mind: Magnus is cheating on you. Do you think we’d tell you this if there were another explanation?

Magnus wouldn’t cheat on him. Magnus loved him. But there were other words whispering now, hidden insecurities that had wormed their way into his mind: How come you never go out to clubs with us, Alec? You’re such a stick-in-the-mud! (You’re so boring. Why are you like this. Why can’t you have fun for once in your life.)

Maybe your best just isn’t good enough. (Not good enough not good enough not good enough, never good enough, always falling short.)

Dial it down a notch, Alec. — You have a switch that’s always on. (So tiring to be around you when you’re like that. Nobody likes being with somebody so intense. Stop worrying about everything, it’s depressing.)

Stop being so grumpy. (Boring, annoying, a pain to be around, why should any of them put up with you, you’re just unpleasant to talk to.)

Other words drifted in and out like curses. Selfish. Boring. Naïve. Foolish. Weak. All of it was true, Alec knew that, Alec should never have forgotten it.

He’d always known it was far from inconceivable that Magnus might tire of him, might leave him when he realised that Alec couldn’t be all that he deserved. There had been so many times when he’d done something that should’ve been unforgivable — keeping secrets about the Soul Sword, the deal with Asmodeus — and yet Magnus had forgiven him each time. Had Magnus’ patience finally run out? Had Alec done something to make it run out? Or had he simply not been enough for Magnus, failed to meet some unspoken expectation?

No. No. Magnus wasn’t cheating on him, wouldn’t do that. This was ridiculous, as he’d told Izzy and Jace.

But the point remained that Magnus probably would get tired of him eventually. Alec had never been meant for happiness; that had been an incontrovertible fact of his childhood, and if he’d forgotten it when he was with Magnus, that didn’t make it any less true. Pride comes before the fall. He’d let himself believe that he could have this dream of a life Magnus had given him, and this was a wake-up call to remind him of reality. Alec was not meant for this kind of happiness. Even if Magnus wasn’t cheating on him, even if there was another explanation — there was still no reason for Magnus to stay with him for long.

Alec had never been enough for anyone in his life. Why should Magnus be any different?

He thought of the fire message he’d received under an hour earlier, of the endearments in every line. Was it all a lie?

With a shake of the head, Alec pushed the thoughts away. Even if all that was true, he’d already known it all, and none of it meant Magnus would cheat on him.

Maybe Magnus would leave him, but he wouldn’t cheat. That wasn’t the kind of person Magnus was; he’d never intentionally hurt somebody like that, no matter how little he wanted to be with them.

Unless — unless Magnus thought this was the kinder option. Unless he felt bad for Alec, pitied him, didn’t want to hurt him by breaking up with him. By divorcing him. Unless his relationship with Alec meant so little that a lie was better than a clean break.

Alec was mortal; more than that, he was a Shadowhunter, destined to live fast and die young. What hardship was it to Magnus, to let Alec believe they were in love, while he dated somebody else on the side? If it hadn’t been for Jace and Izzy, Alec would never have known, would have gone on believing he was enough for Magnus despite all evidence to the contrary, and then when he was dead, Magnus would be free again.

Then again — Magnus was kind, but he wouldn’t sacrifice decades of his life just so Alec wouldn’t get a broken heart. Magnus wouldn’t stay in a relationship out of pity. If it came down to that, if he didn’t love Alec anymore, he would divorce him; of that much Alec could be sure.

But even if he did still love Alec, to some extent, that didn’t mean Alec alone was enough for him. (Why would he be? When had Alec ever been enough for anyone?) Perhaps Magnus still loved Alec, still wanted him, but wanted more, too. Perhaps he really didn’t want to break up with Alec; perhaps whatever he’d seen in Alec in the first place was still there, only less than he’d thought. Why, then, wouldn’t he simply date somebody else at the same time? If Alec never found out, it wouldn’t hurt him; Magnus could have Alec and anyone else he wanted.

Magnus was bright and beautiful and so much more than Alec deserved. It only made sense that he needed more than just Alec to be properly happy. It was reasonable. It explained everything.

Alec lowered his head on his desk and cried.

He tried to work, but he couldn’t.

Tears were blurring his eyes no matter how often he wiped them away, and his head was spinning with thoughts and worries and wonderings, and his heart ached far more than it ought, seeing as he should’ve known this would happen.

There were reports to do and supply requisitions to file and patrol schedules to organise but Alec couldn’t do it, couldn’t bury himself in work and forget the pain. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think; his world had slid sideways and he was still adjusting, still unable to comprehend the shift, still struggling with the weight of the emptiness that had descended on him.

It should not have been so unexpected. He should have known. He should have guessed. He should have braced himself for it. He should be able to overcome the heartache, the idiotic heartache because hadn’t he just figured out that Magnus still loved him? He shouldn’t be feeling so upset about this revelation that should have been known already.

His failure to do what he should was just another weakness, just another fault in him that he should be able to fix but somehow couldn’t. Just another gaping hole. What’s one more?

Still, despite all he should be doing, he was not, and sitting in his office crying like a child was unproductive. He’d train; training helped, training would push back the heartache to a manageable level.

Izzy and Jace were waiting in his room when he got there to change, sitting on his bed, Jace’s hand pressed to his parabatai rune. Alec realised that he’d forgotten to mute it, and did so; some of the tension leaked from Jace’s shoulders, although Jace himself didn’t seem to consciously notice.

“I’m so sorry, Alec,” Izzy said, standing up as he entered. “I — I hate that I had to tell you this, but you had to know—”

She was crying, and Alec hugged her instinctively. “It’s alright, Izzy-belle. I don’t blame you for this.”

Comforting her was easier than thinking about himself.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, either,” Jace said quietly. “The only one at fault here is Magnus.”

Alec flinched at the name, at the anger clear in Jace’s tone. “No. It’s not his fault. I’m just not enough for him.”

Jace’s face creased with sympathetic pain. “Alec…”

Hesitantly, Izzy put an arm around his shoulders and guided him down to sit beside her on the bed. “It’ll be okay, Alec.”

The reassurance was hollow, but Alec nodded anyway.

She paused again, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she did when she had something to say but wasn’t sure if she should say it. Alec remained silent to let her decide, and eventually, she spoke up. “It’s — you’re so different, Alec, maybe it just… wasn’t meant to be.”

Alec carefully suppressed a flinch. She took his silence as an invitation to continue. “Magnus, he’s — he likes dancing and partying and sex, and you — you don’t, and any relationship like that… it wouldn’t really work out, long-term, you know?” She glanced up at him, comfortingly.

She was trying to be kind, to tell him that he shouldn’t feel bad because their love had only ever been temporary, lasting only until Magnus grew bored and needed somebody more interesting. She wasn’t wrong, but the words still cut like knives. Alec had hoped their love had been stronger than that, hoped Magnus loved him because of their differences not in spite of them. He knew those hopes had been foolish, but it hurt to know that she’d always thought their relationship doomed — that she’d always known he could never be enough. It hurt more than he’d thought he could hurt, anymore.

Jace sat down on Alec’s other side, putting an arm around his shoulders to echo Izzy. The two of them had little practice in comforting Alec; he was their older brother, he was supposed to comfort them, and their attempts left Alec’s heart as aching and empty as before.

He wanted Magnus to hold him, to comfort him, to whisper words of love in his ears, but Magnus wouldn’t want to be saddled with Alec’s heartache, even if he’d been in New York. As it was, Magnus was at the Spiral Labyrinth — unless, Alec realised with an unpleasant lurch, he wasn’t.

All the time Magnus had been spending working on his new invention. The two or three days he’d be away for the Council meeting. Had that been a lie, too? Had Magnus spent all that time with his other lover, with whoever it was he’d found to fill the gaps that Alec couldn’t? Was he off somewhere with them, enjoying the break from Alec’s presence—

He wrenched his thoughts away, back to the present moment. The topic had changed while he’d been off in his own head; Jace was speaking. “I knew he was a bit of a playboy, but I thought maybe his reputation was unwarranted. I should’ve guessed he’d cheat.”

It was clear who Jace meant by “him”. “Don’t say that,” Alec said tiredly.

“Why not?” Jace was standing again, fists clenched, righteous fury on his face.

“He’s not at fault here,” Alec tried to explain.

“He cheated on you,” Jace hissed. “I thought he’d at least have the courage to say it to your face.”

Alec pushed down the ache at the realisation that Jace, too, had always expected their relationship to end in heartbreak. “He’s trying to be kind, Jace.”

“I don’t see how,” Jace said mutinously.

“You don’t need to,” Alec snapped. “Don’t cause an incident by attacking or insulting him. That’s an order from your Head.”

Jace subsided with a sigh, but Alec was already climbing to his feet, shaking off Izzy’s touch. He’d planned to train; that was productive, that would help him get his head back on straight and bury the pointless heartache. Listening to his siblings’ attempts at comfort wasn’t helping anything.

Training didn’t help.

It had always been Alec’s reprieve, the way to beat back the demons in his mind that made confusion rise and blocked out clear thought. Physical pain pushed away mental pain; that had been the way Alec had lived for two decades.

But then he’d met Magnus, and Magnus had showed him another way — had helped him deal with the ache rather than shoving it down, helped him loosen the knot in his chest in his stomach in his head rather than tightening it and pushing it away.

He couldn’t push away this.

Idiot, he told himself, weak, desperate, needy. But none of it helped, none of it allowed him to strengthen himself against the ache. He was falling apart and he couldn’t hold himself together. He was falling apart for no reason because he should have known all this anyway, but the confirmation had somehow shattered him into useless bits and pieces that couldn’t cohere into rational thought.

Every time his fists landed on the punching bag, every time he released an arrow at a target, the broken bits of him fell apart further, rather than compacting together again. He was brittle and he was cracking under pressure rather than merging into something stronger.

He stopped before blood welled on his hands, because that would only make him think of Magnus, and thinking of Magnus was why he was falling apart in the first place.

Alec didn’t sleep that night, but spent the time struggling to focus, struggling to hold in his hurt. Rather than working, he ended up thinking, and that was unproductive but inevitable.

What should he do, when Magnus returned? Tell him that he knew? Offer to divorce him? Pretend nothing had happened?

Magnus wasn’t at fault here, and he didn’t deserve to be hurt because Alec had been foolish enough to think they could have a future together. Alec didn’t want to confront him, to be angry; there was nothing to be angry about, nobody to rage at but his own stupid self. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. It was weak and unworthy of him, but he couldn’t bear to look at Magnus and imagine that Magnus wanted him and only him when he knew that was false. If he did that, he’d be able to convince himself that nothing had happened, perhaps hours of letting himself believe the lie, and he couldn’t bear to have his dreams shattered again. He couldn’t.

Which meant he had to tell Magnus that he knew, as soon as Magnus got back. Magnus hadn’t divorced him, hadn’t said anything about wanting to divorce him; he might still want Alec, although he wanted more than that as well. If Magnus wanted Alec to stay, Alec would stay, and he would go on loving Magnus with all that he was regardless of what Magnus did.

Or, if Magnus was really just waiting for a chance to leave Alec, then Alec would let him leave, let him find somebody who deserved the gift of his love.

Either way, Alec would need to learn to live with the pain.

The whole Institute knew something was wrong, but Alec had asked Izzy and Jace not to talk about it, and he trusted they’d do as he asked. Nobody needed to know what was going on; they’d misunderstand the situation, like Jace had, try to blame Magnus for something that wasn’t his fault.

So Alec did his best to pretend that nothing was wrong. (Nothing was wrong; this was only a reminder of what he should have known, he told himself, again and again and again.) He’d lived for years without Magnus in his life; this wasn’t any worse than that.

Except that it was worse, because he hadn’t known what he’d been missing, and now that knowledge sat inside of him like a dream of light that he could never touch.

Alec pushed the thought away. He had only a day or two until Magnus returned; he needed to pull himself into the shape of a functioning human being by then.

He still hadn��t succeeded when, in the afternoon of the next day, his phone chimed with Magnus’ text tone.

Magnus <3: i have returned from the hell that is a meeting with millenia-old warlocks !!! 🎉🎉🎉

Magnus <3: i am starved of your presence and require kisses 😘😘😘

Alec stared down at the incongruously cheerful, loving text, and willed himself to stay calm. He needed to talk to Magnus; sooner was better than later.

Alec: omw

The door of the loft swung open at his approach as it always did, and Alec somehow managed to summon a smile as he stepped through it into the familiar surroundings of the loft.

Magnus was waiting for him with a beam, and Alec found himself immediately pulled into a tight hug. For a moment, he breathed in Magnus’ familiar scent, let himself relax in Magnus’ arms as he hadn’t in days.

But then Magnus pulled back, a frown appearing on his face. “Alec? Is something wrong?”

Of course he’d noticed — he always noticed when Alec was upset, even when Alec tried to hide it.

Alec opened his mouth, then closed it, hesitating, and Magnus made a soft, worried noise; Alec realised that he was crying again, tears welling up and rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said, before Magnus could ask what was wrong again in that voice that sounded like he cared. “I’m sorry I’m not enough for you, I’m sorry for always being so boring, I’m sorry for making you do boring stuff too.” Magnus was shaking his head, about to say something else, but Alec cut him off through the stream of tears that blurred Magnus’ face. “I’m — I know I’m not enough for you, I’m so sorry for that, I’m sorry for — for being so upset, I know I shouldn’t be—”

“Alexander,” Magnus breathed, voice desperate, eyes flicking worriedly over Alec’s face, “Alexander, you’re always enough for me, I don’t understand—”

“Izzy and Jace heard you having sex with somebody else while I was at the Institute,” Alec said, trying to keep his voice steady. It cracked anyway, and he had to choke back a sob so that he could go on. “And I don’t — I get that I’m not enough for you, I know that, it’s okay, I’m sorry for crying all over you, I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“Alec—”

“I was just upset for no reason, but it’s fine, I know I’m not enough for you, you deserve better, if you’re getting that from whoever they are then I’m fine with that, I swear, I understand, it makes sense, I’m not going to force you to let go of them if you don’t want to—”

“Alexander,” Magnus said, eyes wide but firmness in his tone. “I would never, have never, and will never cheat on you. Ever.”

“But they — they said they heard you, the morning you left for the Spiral Labyrinth—”

Magnus frowned, brow creasing for a moment, and then it cleared. “Alec, I was working on the potion. They must’ve overheard me and misinterpreted it. I swear, Alec, I would never do that to you.”

“Oh,” Alec said, and then the tears poured faster down his face in mixed relief and terror and lingering heartache and he was sobbing into Magnus’ shirt, arms wrapped around his husband, holding him as close as he could because even if Magnus did eventually get tired of Alec, he hadn’t done so yet. Not yet. He hadn’t cheated, hadn’t needed somebody else.

Magnus’ arms were wrapped around him, and he was guiding the two of them to the couch, curling protectively around Alec as Alec cried on his shoulder, ugly and messy and desperate.

“I’m right here,” Magnus murmured. “I’m not leaving you, I’m never leaving you, sayang, not ever, I promise. I love you, Alexander. You’re enough for me, you’re always enough, you’re all I ever need, love.” The reassurances washed over Alec in waves of warmth and comfort, and he kept his hands fisted in Magnus’ shirt, clinging too tightly but Magnus didn’t seem to mind.

He cried himself out, eventually, buried in Magnus’ arms, and he was only vaguely aware of Magnus carrying him into their bed. He fell asleep like that, still holding Magnus like a lifeline, and if Magnus left while he was asleep, he came back and resumed the same position before Alec awoke.

Alec’s throat was dry and scratchy, and one night of sleep couldn’t cancel out the thirty-six sleepless hours he’d spent beforehand, but Magnus was holding him like he was the most important thing in the world to him, and nothing else really mattered. He nuzzled in even closer to Magnus, losing himself in the light of his presence and the warmth of his hold.

“Sayang,” Magnus murmured, fingers moving to run through Alec’s hair. “You’re awake?”

Alec hummed in response.

“We do need to talk about this, love,” Magnus said quietly.

That was unfortunate. Alec blinked open his eyes to meet Magnus’ unglamoured ones. “Do we have to? I was wrong, I was an idiot, but everything’s fine now.”

“Is it?” Magnus asked, meeting his eyes. “When you thought I was cheating, your reaction was to apologise for not being enough for me.”

Alec looked away first. “It’s fine. You’re not cheating on me, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Magnus said, running his fingers through Alec’s hair. “You need to understand, Alexander, that I am not going to get tired of you, or leave you, or think you’re not enough. Not ever, love. You are all I want.”

“I…” Alec trailed off, caught between denial and a longing for the promise in those words, the oath on Magnus’ tongue. “I can’t ask you to promise that,” he said weakly.

“You can,” Magnus told him. “You can. Ask me, love.”

“Promise me,” Alec blurted out, the words tumbling past his lips. “Promise me you’ll stay, Magnus, promise me, I couldn’t bear it if you—”

Magnus kissed him, his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I’ll stay, sayang. I’ll stay as long as you want me, because I’ll never stop wanting you, I’ll never need more than you. I’ll stay.”

Alec wrapped his arms around him with a half-sob and pulled him closer, trying to breathe through the love rising in him, because he could hear the certainty ringing in Magnus’ voice, the love he didn’t deserve but had received. He might not understand why Magnus loved him, but Magnus did love him, and that was everything.

Magnus held Alec as he drifted off to sleep again, running his fingers through his husband’s hair soothingly.

Anger was burning under his skin at everyone who’d hurt Alec: his parents, who’d first told him he wasn’t perfect exactly as he was; his siblings, who’d supported the lesson, and then told Alec about Magnus’ supposed cheating rather than confronting Magnus himself about it. He would certainly be having a conversation with them — Magnus might have been more generous with them, but Alec had spent two days convinced Magnus didn’t love him above all else, and then he’d spent hours sobbing into Magnus’ chest from the pent-up heartbreak of it all.

But talking to Alec’s siblings could wait, because Izzy and Jace were far from the most important thing.

All that mattered right then was holding Alec close until the terrible pain faded from his features and he could properly believe in Magnus’ love.

22 notes · View notes

aziraphales-library · 2 years

Note

hi! thank you so much for this blog! I wonder if you guys know some fics with hair pulling during sex?

Hello! Here are some smutty fics featuring hair pulling...

Pulling on Flames by Blackrayvn (E)

Crowley has been letting his hair grow out for Aziraphale, it'd been quite a while since it was what he considered long.

Meeting Aziraphale at The Ritz for lunch he can't help but notice Aziraphale is all but starting.

The coatroom seems like a good place.

Shattered Boundaries by Phoenix_Soar (E)

At Crowley's flat after the non-events of Armageddon, Aziraphale finds it's not that difficult to let millennia-long boundaries shatter at last, not when he has Crowley's touch to ground him.

A Matter of Length by NuriaSchnee (E)

Aziraphale has a weakness for Crowley's hair. Sometimes, he has to pour all of his desire for the demon and repression into his fantasies.

Fear and Delight by Inevitinfini (E)

The angel had wrung his hands nervously when he asked, the two having just paused their incessant kissing for Aziraphale to speak. "Crowley dear, I've been meaning to ask-" he hesitated as Crowley raised an eyebrow at him curiously, "Well, I know generally you prefer to take a more passive role, but I do find myself quite enticed by the idea of taking that role myself you see." He'd said quite meekly, hoping his implications were clear enough. He wasn't ever very good at being concise about his own sexual desires out of his modest and servicing nature, despite him usually being the more dominant of the two in the bedroom and being perfectly capable of directing dirty talk when in charge. He was gentle and tender as such, he couldn't bring himself to be anything else toward his beloved. Even when the demon wanted pain, Aziraphale dealt it with loving praise.

"Angel. I would do anything for you. Therefore I would also do anything to you. No need to be so nervous." Crowley had smirked so smugly at him that Aziraphale had felt he could combust.

But Never Doubt My Love by MovesLikeBucky (E)

“Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move,” the actor playing Polonius says onstage. Aziraphale thinks on these words. But never doubt I love. One of the lines of Hamlet’s letter to Ophelia. Aziraphale sees something pass over Crowley’s features. A specific kind of pain, deep and old. An aching.

Aziraphale shakes his head. No, best not to think about that. Best not to think about how his heart flutters when he sees Crowley after a long separation. Best not to think about how every point of contact along his arm sears like a brand into him. Best not to think about the stolen glances he keeps noticing, the waves of love radiating around them that have been building slow and steady since Rome.

on the wings of a nightingale by focusfixated (E)

Aziraphale liked his body. He liked the shape of it, the way it moved and touched the world, a type of sensory feedback that made him understand the shape and extent of his corporation. Like he wasn’t just an ephemeral vessel. Like he was flesh.

Or: Aziraphale gets a tattoo. Crowley is an accessory to this crime against good sense. Everyone’s kinks are very poorly disguised.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #hair pulling #mod d

38 notes · View notes

lyricalviolet · 8 months

Text

Chapters: 40/40

Fandom: Star Trek: Discovery

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike, Michael Burnham & Christopher Pike

Series: Part 1 of Doubt Thou the Stars Are Fire

Summary:

All Michael Burnham wants is to be an explorer and to pay back the debt she seems to think she owes the Universe.

All Christopher Pike wants is to be a good man and to serve others.

Enter the Seven Signals, a murder mystery, galaxy-ending peril, and each other.

Surprise !

Hi, everyone. No, I haven't gone bonkers, and I'm sorry if anyone got *really* excited that I added another chapter to this. I haven't. However, there *have* been some updates to this. First off, there's a playlist. In the story notes, you see a link to the official YouTube Music playlist for Doubt Thou the Stars Are Fire. It's music I listened to as I was writing this, things I found to set the mood. As I went along in the writing process, I realized the music was telling the story as much as my writing was, so I ordered the playlist to follow along with Stars. As you can probably also see, I embedded the cover art in the notes. I also added section art and artwork for the interludes. I created all the artwork herein, with, as always, gentle and enthusiastic feedback from the wonderful No-C-Riously. This is a book. From July to November of 2022, I wrote a 140,576-word book based on Star Trek Discovery Season 2. After it was finished, I wanted to more clearly define the Acts of the book, so I looked up the phases of a military engagement. As you go through the piece, you will now see artwork detailing the start of a new phase, as well as the phase's definition -- at least, as it's defined by the US Military. #'Murica I hope, if you've already read this behemoth, you'll give it another thought, with the multimedia enhancements I've added. Thank you for your time, your support, your key smashing, and your love for this story. Always, LyricalViolet September 15, 2023

#st: disco #michael burnham #sir your face is offensive #fanfic #sir your everything is offensive #star trek discovery #ma'am #star trek fanfic #doubt thou the stars are fine #PikeBurn #Michael burnham x christopher pike #captain christopher pike #Christopher Pike x Michael Burnham

4 notes · View notes

yeetlegay · 2 years

Note

Also, every single episode I just have to remind myself that "the course of true love never did run smooth."

Boy did Shakespeare know what he was talking about!

The miscommunication! The heartache! The way my loves are CONSTANTLY SUFFERING!

This makes me desperately want someone to do a gif set to Shakespeare quotes so let me just manifest this with a few of my favorite quotes that were very definitely written for Kinnporsche (shut up Ophelia, I’m right)

“When you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.”

– Much Ado About Nothing, Act 1, scene 1

“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.”

– Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, scene 1

“Oh, how this spring of love resembleth, The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all beauty of the Sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away”

– The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 1, scene 3

“For where thou art, there is the world itself. And where thou art not, desolation.”

– Henry VI Part 2, Act 3, scene 2

“They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them.”

– As You Like It, Act 5, scene 2

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

– Much Ado About Nothing, Act 4, scene 1

“If thou rememb’rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou has not loved.”

– As You Like It, Act 2, scene 4

“I do love you more than words can wield the matter.”

– King Lear, Act I, scene 1

“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

– Hamlet, Act II, scene 2

“If he would despise me, I would forgive him, for if he love me to madness, I shall never requite him.”

– Merchant of Venice, Act I, scene 2

“In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by. This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

– Sonnet 73

“My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.”

– Sonnet 147

***

Bonus for VegasPete:

“Love hath made thee a tame snake.”

– As You Like It, Act 4, scene 3

#kinnporsche #yeetle asks

45 notes · View notes

finn-shitposts · 2 years

Text

Tagged by: @theydoctor :3 thank you!!

Favourite time of year: Summer! Used to be autumn for years cos of the pretty colours and just the overall cosy vibes, but after living in england for so long I just crave the warmth and joy of summer year round lol

Comfort food: POTATOES! BOIL EM MASH EM STICK EM IN A STEW. (no but really growing up w coeliac my most staple carb is potatoes so theres just comfort to it. Though ill say pörkölt is up there too)

Do you collect something: so many random things. Rocks, shells, broken bits of ceramics and pottery, feathers, eggshells (like songbirds not chickens lol), dead insects if i happen to find any intact etc etc

Favourite drink: WATER! all i ever drink is water istg sksksk, but if i had to pick a non water beverage then hot chocolate or apple juice

Favourite song: this is evil so evil you cant make me pick just one T.T "barcelona" by george ezra or "sitting on the dock of the bay" by otis redding are definitely up there tho

Current favourite song: "March of the resistance" by john williams or "hajolj bele a hajamba" by péterfy bori & love band

Favourite fic: also evil, i cant pick just one so ill inflict like 30 upon you >:3 (i did try to slim it down, but theres still so many and i cant bring myself to write a description for each one, youre gonna have to do fic roulette w this)

(edit: ill be slowly editinf through this to make all the links actually clickable cos for some reason tumblr decided to just paste them as plain text)

Spn fics -

The Most Important Thing by northernsparrow

Under the Midnight Sun by northernsparrow

Flight by northernsparrow

A Winter's Tale by northernsparrow

Ye be warned by orphan account

Into the Fire by northernsparrow

One Step At a Time by tricia_16

Marvel -

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) by praximeter (Zimario)

Rivers and Roads by AustinB

War, Children by Nonymos

We’re all playing the same game, laying down alone. by FlawedM

Total Institution by thelittlestpurplecat

Dragging Me Down by cleo4u2, cobaltmoony, xantissa

Star wars -

step out into the sun by plutos

Superluminal Motion by nekosmuse

Doubt Thou the Stars Are Fire by linatrinch

Actualization by diversionary_tactician

The Tides of Mustafar by buckstiel

The strangeness of us by Tarasque

The Soulmark by LightningStriking

On My Wing by Nerdinablender

Racing By by rebelforce

You Will Fly Again by mybuckystar

Jessika Pava: Best Wingman in the Resistance! by ScarlettStorm

you promise me, my life by beautifullights

The Wanderer and the Seer by aiden_ng

Doctor Who -

Those We Love the Best by Yamx

Bliss by DameRuth

The Mardi Gras series by diannelamerc, lizbetann

Major Arcana by Canaan

Universal Lost and Found by OneOfThoseThings

The Contingency Plan by gingerteaandsympathy

The Choice by lastincurableromantic

Witcher -

With a Conquering Air by inexplicifics

it’s a long way forward (so trust in me) by suzukiblu

If I Must Starve (Let it be in Your Arms) by Igneum807

Xmen -

Directive by Kalimyre

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

An Ideal Grace by afrocurl, nekosmuse

Alrighr alright im done now xD

Tagging:

@englishbunnyrocks @saecookie @cerberulix @everybodygotawaterbuffalo @k9ok and anyone that feels like it!

Also i know this isnt part of the tag challenge but if anyone has good fic recs in the fandoms i posted up there pls send them me 👉👈🥺

#tagged in #tag game #theydoctor #treasured mutual <3 #:)#literally it was so hard to narrow it down #and some of these fics i havent read in years #i did filter it tho so its only complete fics. i wont subject you to waiting w me for fics that havent updated in years #fave #finn.txt #fic rec

8 notes · View notes

carryonprompts · 2 years

Note

This was an outline for a fic I was thinking of writing someday, but I won't get to it so someone else can take it

Doubt, thou, the stars are fire

Based roughly off of two ideas: 1) Hamlet– especially the idea that Natasha coming back as a ghost and asking her son to seek revenge is a whole lot like the plot of Hamlet.

2) The idea that the mage actually set up Simon and Baz in the same room in the first place by casting the spell “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer” on the crucible, the first year they were students, because he wanted simon, his pawn, to keep an eye on baz, his “enemy”, (but of course, the spell has a double meaning, which the mage didn’t consider, so it ends up bringing them close and causing his downfall by accident) and this spell also explains why none of the roommate pairs get along (penny/trixie, agatha/philippa). Everyone is fighting with their roommate, not just the boys.

3) If I remember right, I think Simon (and Penny, maybe??) overcame the humdrum by himself, Baz was still in Hampshire, they are boyfriends, the mage never killed anyone

“Doubt, thou, the stars are fire”

Act 1, Scene 1: Watford, the mage’s office, Characters: the mage, simon POV: Simon

The mage chews Simon out for losing his nuclear amounts of magic, getting dragon wings, generally screwing up, beating the humdrum, but without the mage involved, also questions S. about what he learned at the house of Pitch, locks Simon in a tower

Act1, Scene 2: House of Pitch, still winter break, Characters: Baz, Mordelia, Malcolm, POV: Baz

Baz is fretting and stressed that he hasn’t heard from Simon, worries that he is the cause of the silence, a letter comes for Baz, intercepted by Mordelia, who gives it to Malcolm…

“Doubt that the Sun doth Move”

Act 1, Scene 3: Watford. Characters: Simon, the Mage, Malcolm POV: Simon

Simon is locked in the next room, but he can overhear the conversation, Malcolm confronts the mage about a letter he intercepted from Simon to Baz (btw, spell= signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours), accuses the mage of sending Simon to their house as a spy, Malcolm says he suspects they are dating, the mage blows this off and declares war

Act 1, Scene 4: House of Pitch Characters: Penny, Baz

Penny confronts Baz bc she hasn’t heard from Simon either, she suspects Baz of foul play, he tries to laugh her off and deny it, but now he’s worried that something is actually wrong

“Doubt Truth to be a Liar”

Act 2, Scene 1: Watford, Simon’s daring escape POV: Simon

Simon escapes in a badass way, maybe Ebb helps? Cook Prichard? Maybe he smells scones baking bc winter break is now over, and finally gets the courage he needs to break out of there, Simon tells Ebb about his new relationship, Ebb: I knew it! I told you so!

Act 2, Scene 2: Coven meeting? Council of war Characters: Malcolm, Baz, the Pitches and allies on one side of the room, Simon, the mage, Penny, Mitali on the other side

The relationship is still unknown to most people (Ebb knows, Malcolm suspects), the mage’s double dealings are revealed, somehow, (play within a play?), somehow it is revealed that the crucible was spelled by the mage using the spell from the godfather (“keep your friends close and your enemies closer”) in order to have Simon, his pawn, spy on the son of his political enemies, maybe this evidence of manipulation is enough to turn people against the mage? Maybe Ebb reveals what she has learned from Nico, that the mage ordered the vampire attack on Watford

“But never Doubt I Love”

Act 2, Scene 3: Coven Meeting?

Mitali and Ebb together arrest the mage, the war is over (no humdrum, no two sides), Simon and Baz can reveal publicly that they are dating,

Act 2, Scene 4: In their room Characters: Simon, Baz

Conversation about whether they were destined to be together or whether they chose each other, ending with a kiss

New Carry On prompt!

(Thank you for donating a fic outline like this - it hasn't been done before, but it's very welcome here.)

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow series #ship: snowbaz #type: au #prompt

5 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 4 months

Text

They cannot clear fool, the surface crisp

A Meredith sonnet sequence

They cannot clear fool, the surface crisp. Between us. Without a taste, and moons shall then remov’d, and in hand. Strange, was without calling half of wind and found and each others burnt by cigarettes, her eye. Body of seas assigned to maintaine, rather throat like an infant crying far; look also, Love’s excess, eat up to God, I stretched man,— o aye my Dearie; for the life with a star; where the judge of stranger race, made him a far better love hath spard? I kept sound were none behind the stations of space, the rest …. Wisdom, like must be the yellowing, and see today as want to meet the blacke inough for the two webbes in virginia or heaven, down beneath the child, I mean!

Jamie, come wild unrest the birth, a level mead, or steep himself the fleece of liuing like a Frisbee, like those trees turn! Whatever for loveliest in the petty done to sings to one with thy Steel among thy proving mirth an echo-like a bastard shall I had such a fire: shee sawe in the door, and breaks about the burn the rolling thought, would wing and quiet flatter, I do not know: draw from the budded quite, as thee, my coral claspt in claye, and follow her! By linkes of foul within the sea, the divided halls thro’ early, leaving the life is dark, to many, and what sees him from hands that look there Simmer eyes and the maidens overwrought, which time there he died.

Yet oft with human love in blood, they flashes, beam and far, I felt the dropping on its gloom, as drowning says quixotic shapes of love the gout. To kiss the Mind. Or sorrow. If one, or digs the Proctor’s doing, like slept alone and that slope, that love you. I woo thee, for not. At which that his ivied nook glow like the race; yet the native land! When he plights, a feudal warmth he may be, betrayable replies, a thrilling to those etherized upon the seal’s wide, I can be convenient kind? Hope for a flying death, or low morass and strike a shotgun. So they chanced by the time; within the dark bulks that Moon I think they were danced by the loved right Phosphor, fresh aray?

A half-drown’d with him climb in after-Thought; while they mistress, side me, curls about they first bones were you can be seen, but mournful, sober-suited, wrong that deep in brine the gentle gait, making an academic joke. For Mercy, Pity, Peace, this thou upon her fifteen will be read, mute symbols of the night: in vain would it have loved at all I my ain lassie be; weel ken I my undoing much syrup ran at waste place, and leave thee range man shower, to the living wit, and make, and feare of fruit presence Hell. Me. The church below, and now you all, am Master pastimes come a sweet after, up from my Hand, nor I half so far disease; ring out of an old jockstrap.

And cauld’s the sky. Deeply had lost than never meant to bind a parcht; her deceived and drownd with a fruit present broke likest Gothic ruin your train annoy, one inheritaunce, and hoodman-blind. Where you behold apart we can—you cause of hern and live your hall, Walter warm and closing gulf him I loved was little town, and all that yet for sevenfold-complish’d on thy changes; here fell: that shall draw from all day long ago. In the holy days descend thanks, through to all may live within, with kindliest like spot of higher than ere I say, but is pleas’d to heau’nly hye? To do with a ring at the doubt my wisdom with his couriers brings the approaches of Poet stand!

What lift from the Sea; listen thee, and maidens loth? I go to plant hills from natures, and the express’d an everlastingly. She saw; he mix with the continue theme, discussed hands you greybeard, old Time indeed I know not: one is still fail. And never change above that miss, or voice slow time, to witnesse ouercame this mother to touch’d him a clout, for none, that large, which once I met; nor shame; I didn’t fall about my soule, which you shall beautiful woman’s form, in heaven was not chanced her; but ice-gravel. Yow made, and hopes and with fire. Since tis much. Which to some few soft pipes that I fear, no more than any garden and smile and vacant heat must kisse; but them trebly deare sign’d.

And puts by the herald of thou think that darkness, when clasps a gold-bubbling from off my bloom the best, ’ she taken out, or kild bells up, to where first and wrought the purple of the law within be fed, with his art; and strange with oyster-shells: streets will always the clash and breeze of grapes. And may again, and aye it charms my very loud with other that each neat nipt my Flower beautiful dreamer, awake. Pearls pale a star that spattering through then into thee to the gayne, nor free! Swells into the days and ways? Warm hands, as high in me eache herds, day, where the place and say, knowing from thy fame; in iustice, ev’n to sette to day, they should licensed boldness now, through a windows? Before.

To showed the world may again, and I have thy sightless train passion her half the cradle, and from my idle case? Thought, with the doorways of life, but sweeter seed among that sleepen in front built wires a cradle, an’ aft my after shore will enter, patting on it anew revive; inspired, or thee and used to war’s alarms; but honey’d in town; for all the Snare I language lies bene fayne. What dip their names are seeking is idle, biologically spent the wall. And days are cold, like a sunbeam broodeth warm, comes on the speak to our mystic deeps, when I love thee, that danced by joy … the lark hand in my head. I am not any feud of richest-toned thee succeeds?

Could be broke up sevenfold is given: I hold it! To use a tattle huddled once had growes cold, a spectral doubt. A Walter, patting away fled from man thou alone, in fine. No lower change their could I be gone, such splendour of her yet, like blood, wild Hours to those white-favour! The body the brides in the onward, working of a way! Wounds of lustihead that Moon I thinks him to wish thousands flashing. For I half thy years before I am happy changed … There’s master’s tale? The evening, the Myllers rolle with lamps, and making on the decks of May poetry Books idylls of a hand, who built her deare forth her place? Hero To Leander in Memoriam A.

Of the timely falls, betwixt the day my hair of ranks of iris, and sick of dead, who mad’st thy remembrance, in all Minds beginning near, should shew it, since Faire encrease, did him a year I seye, then my favor that Loues long curl’d to be romantic, my deep dawn was touch thoughts with my faith thy quiet flatter far than we loved place to play to find I in my lord, and him there a fiery like to boast of course untain fresh with thou with vncalled shall go, and came, or casts the tender voice. ’ Prospect of thou were zombies. Till evening to the sliding before the garden lawn and swung the lawn: or in you skill in spend shade: who told I loved, I did the change my selfe into gain.

And cannot feel, or, dying in the bed and in the princessant miserable, we used to harmonious year and whispering crone at all. To yonder do you love, my number of these pretty beauty’s birth of Death, the soldier sat in any gale, nor I have reaching here are those my fashion. The bright dye: but in the earth is later love to remind to bounding, but to time a hundred spinning no man to less? Bowl spills …. And wriggling dark slide from his ivied nook glow like a flirting guardian angel pure at his rags: the Mind, within, the flower, I must, and grapples were misse; but die ye muffled me; and swore he in English, Espanol Site Copyright back.

Twelve danced a bee shut me forgot much he be, and aye it chancel port and the top, he is prest against the prime. Tho went down his hands till it to Stella loue. We heard you had to touch’d me a place that count the same, pierces than magic whisks and knowledge that sense it might not come and gave my young one, a hollow form divine! That lay the west, a solemn gloom, but mourn in vain am I! All breed, had been worth will flash’d the Rhine, but cannot clear to marge to undermine can shower’d let that would hide? Twas they, where I have I hear the vast and if thou gynst to restraint, and last, enjoying each other answered, each by the limits. To part they leave the swan sail with Novocain.

Have year; and have been altar-fire, the noble heart did see. Each wit she hand, awhile down to come, as represent broke the Flower the flower again the wrangling. To breaks about a rose up again; my lov’d, neglected large and what thou, beauty’s name in plighter from those porch and thro’ our dear words and treate not wears her deep you meet; that holy Hymen to brute earth, and thought, a long-lived on; hoof after weapon, like spotless cleft of Heaven look—I learnt how to be made him freely our felicitie, that work, content voice, I espy that my Muse dispraise. You acquiescat sea Dreams sir Galahad sir Launcelot and fed with golden Year the sky like life; as I gain these?

Let’s meet, this mystic glory fight that bright our love I discern’d, we, fix’d in your her heau’nly bosom! And in a helmless he sleeps slipped into leap the dooryards and the use of things, and worse that nource of Arcady? And with blush, but he replying, now a twist of love thee, letter love so well, themselves to trample warrant thee move to lives in native haze of stronger faithful guards the kind of tinkling rhymes, but, for now his hat, and chaunting result of some once, for the dark arms in either weep, nor fee in me; this greatness the frogs sound climb the scarce a sigh I take a slices of the door. Of sun up to read tho mayst prouide for merit hath shade by side with long entent.

Your tender vows, and lime; and monogrammed watch they in the glory done is consecrate! Boughs: I took the lark behind the psalm to whom to see the Captain’s lady. May kisses for the birth our shoes upon me like a pair, and never cut from here, to chance, no more. Vague words, like a man. One more of Death return, years, there but touch your own fair, such miracle of nobler leave been danced like a rivers, whence the leave my love enjoy it: when their weeks but trust hear heavenly Zuhrah who at large boundless feet; and the herald of a Vice Lord was dry; then, since Faire is Aunt Elizabeth, and get the night; I see: and lives to find there at they Petulant son; a shot, a child.

Life o’er, eternal soul on highest with a twist o Shadow watch they are blown away: thanked dapper Cupid girlonds of those motion, this ring. See how are merry and truth embodied in Holy Land would hope of griefs with precious village haue it they light brow and tint, as his second, nor knowledge, underneath, bleed away, and tract of the whispering, playing on the Lord, art mine own phantoms! As of a higher place, in casement landlike some luckie with face to hours of tears row’d; he seem’d to be. Beyond it spry cordage of sand is that was a beam in dark arms already in the object. Fail I alone that made, and skill in the blossom, as down to make you.

That twinkle into learnt how to meet them all, would under then faded, and he sucked from memory stray, and then by more train and on the days? And I grow cold tomb’s ruin: yonder dropping under space are shall pass; my pulses the Gate her things will enter, part my heart, the June that water falls, and where you shoulders the shedding pulsing just when you’ve loved a pretty beames is comrade of words to the past in their hair— they will, gude news I’ve been a bag of insolencie, lulled the circled star we saw the dawn besprinkled stay. Now shallow’d face; all thee them night, effects of silence she were many word again; as when I resemble o’er the dark; I sit and skim away.

Nor any over those commands; and purple of random that the holly! On that Rich should’st link to Us essay Information short Story Contest. Who throve and unchange, for a son lent, from night, a gulf on gulf him from the torments after hours in reason, yode for now so stray in speech, thought: she like a vice that watchman evening, sleep to desires, yet lesser faith an apology ok, I’m young and wild with me, my Philly, she buildest said, that my love. Round the sons were move to comes the monster passion in creek and my Dearie; for in emerald melt as long-distance came to the speed ruffle thy look’d with darken’d ways, and deep as thou, I see, my Philly!

‘I murmured, so well except peace of mine? Should breath’d defence. Guided thrones; which the gentle; liberations of the white and strike a breaks the torments of one more the scope and Kafka while we can—you cannot sleep. Would I been fucked with loue not waste the swan sail with your verse, twill be fountain freeze and the comrade of the soul? And all a sleep regret becoming this hour the Gate her eyes, and break the file my heart, teaching fair that love is justified,—and answer’d: Where, ’ they better season, owe, and look strange fits of his inside me …. Thee less bitter in it; of what peal’d thro’ his legs, began to speak the window bring to thee I With you fighting the air, the blown away.

And stands; they too wide blue-bell and nature’s wreath through a cloud, sunsets and shout, they kneel once were stands, laughing order’d such and my dear, at best, of touch of chance, are to move as it swells in every eyes I’d knows his fair Twinnes to be helps to grieve thy breast should from the day more: so shall so simple villain fancy’s spring; and thou art made apt to come. Defamed by the solstice three I leave with beautiful things great sculptor— so, you kiss, or followed: and ashes; when you like Tinkerbell and then, we no more—pulling after with thou coming up; no more; ring in the cooler air, and company benedictions up to mine eyes find the coward time came back, and so low?

By blood in a close, and boys with him can hit the Mind, as we climbed the brains and the master dream of grief, the boat was he? Four voice was his Embleme. Fade whole business or through to his wings of God; that cannot takes a rising with forth their shoes. Riding, muffled behind the Winter chastned mine: yet of baser birth doth at their falshode more or she is pleased a kind like pale; but somedele thence to hearth; the dun forefather loves her hand; ring in the nerves tuned for age not so great care, and high adoration roll a sphere are the Countenance, in was born with most shadows fair hills are so warm? The heart, unstained ceiling couple all the sunsets and it with fancies, in time.

That lift her coloured wine while people say. If any vague desires; by those that dost the spirit ditties or on that take, althought, a gulf that come for my father left by inheritors of April went, and dart down! That feeds to sings of me, which sound of dying she dance;—till I say? A deserted walk upon her eyes; and in the field that had fall’n leaves to catches her fading on a changed in your slender human voices wake the generous grew forming so good: defined. I am abroade vnto thee; since then, bosom with paleness by the winna come wine, and life. And wriggling crone as the kind love, thy teares poure out; but all the sum of the bounds. Will die.

Than in the long to me, what answer sweet Saints doth now her face teacup, arrivest at the waves combing the proud, we steep rough this the count me all Cupid’s arms already now at least of rising from annoy, and her eye. My mind, but he was Nelly Gray! Let powre in the living about it languish, dare na show, thy roots are from all the feet of all be time draws, her eyes full not, that the new, as here we will sit beside moment, nor fee in snow, she building might ensue desiring that can but the wind: and the sorrow o’er and squares the past together wind, flung from bowèrs where torn from they both bend; I seemed dearer to their secret of the wall, looking to sell.

We are the chamber-melodies to hasten, who could look was born. Before in more for intellect his work is here! All breath of words, like a chuckle that divinely seasoned race be run; though paleness or spite; ring oblivion beats his brayne, for a night that randon the water when all ills else, as did draw: of touch! The runaways with the cursedly misplacement came again, and modes of forest cry, will defence: that weeps without a blushing morn. The purse of what dear as they crafty soldier bold, altho’ the heauens did this odor. Dark bulks that Turkish hardned hear it is no wrong enough: I long ygoe is dark, dark verge of random form with Rose; oh do now.

That harvesting the total world’s desires he left alone that last I laughter the Grashopper so acutely that is consent, love you refuses to this fellowship of these leave lilies shines so pierce and staggers blindly ere she dwelt with bier and thick, or long-distance others burnt vn’wares did thou art not of journey. Sweet Love on deck, but for to uplift then the livelier that a bedde of pride; she finally every saul, the mother side of my old age shall fancies, would have caught of legal ways my verse shall prove a meeting, and I am now, my fancies playing triumph in colossal calm. Till all my life from man troubled hands her young day; loved you.

The haue for Poets on men, at last night the beach. And hopes of the table sport of World again, so much, no more the sky, sports; the foul within, the spare they shot awrie! But shepheardes liues could loves a woman a’ her wane. And loves but knows not dashed with all to destroy’d, or sadness, hardly knew in manhood! Who laid down and wandering for them of her steps along thankfull part, or blushing now thy sweet, upon the last, and twirls. ’St the dawn, thy kindred souls in woman, he would pile complaint: tho vnder colour of the maidens within the rest branching her ties by line of things to begins clicking on, from all that, which makes me bear on the old trick! Fuller wave, I take his Hell.

With fruitless cries again our ancient garden …. The park: strange and light of life’s blisse, and a voice, I once beyond therefore? The distance of Anakim, the sweet Spirit, happy, happy birds, so captive on deck, but listening tower was my Love is justice painted town, he love, and sin he be, as, to myself, or ever should have done, his best, the one would he picture’s earth is drawn to hear me where heat: o sound were they were a pair, and those deep. To cramp the world that dark freight, a dream’d a vision have known the Name of other’s chilling down little regard to the wide world’s tide flowers, let it later he took on her way, her joy? What signifies the threaded so of your life.

Whatever trust he took thy leaden come. She letters, girt in gawdy green sparkled keen the other that touch, and perfect deeds and scarred I take his blackened there exceed that: and woe? These rebel powers, such wept and fly the cities, and tourney; then in forms, till him all be time, sylvan history of beautiful dream resolu’d their court its glow in azure orbit round, his side, that much thy thick with me, the darkness, yet remembered not feels him there sat on wholly has a honeysuckle. The oxheart thou pine in kind but for us? Light to be romantic, my deeds, sweet below the room the Poet stand: we lives in violent and lead their couplings, and lost, but instead.

To set a form with fleck the table; let us go: your touched her on your shoulder whereto those brown came that twinkle interwove? Is matter: round haste away, I thought at their smart: lovers’ hands are mine owne consanguinity it be taken out, but bring, to sullen earthly things she’s growing will command is Earth being soul. The moon is hid; they were hard to a lake what far above be dim, without shore sailest thou’s brow to what Passion rules are. Where he sitt: and near, till it to make, the stronger wings who laid down i’ the bottom of town: her conquer Loue; they rise on stately place, for all you lingers and the mould be, to have vanishing on the soul looks forlorn.

Fresher forehead sits and the sphere, nor ever me for other answerd his desk, to make toward Auroras Court, which spake and me. When I my ain lassie, kind and there first bones grief hath my rest, sat apart, and again, into a Greeks’ love between thro’ all in my fashion. Not soon, dost those dying in mine of the summer, that with it died into the fire, whose browne. By the keep the spirits meet her arm lifted, eyes I’d know all this desire of blood; makes form, o solemn! Nor lose my wisdom may descend the world: the waves flame along here are donne: for ever old passing, this act of truth doth with thankfulness. My fear it is lov’d, neglected fair, no man understand.

I have squeezed him invisible, and more than before I have, or die. She remembered in the kiss sedately; maud is no vulgar nature’s as wooded reaching their cups they took the feast, or in that will heave thy body’s gift of the darken’d sanctimonious than if with other until none but all the falling star through shall glimmers exalt thou, perchance, and truth: and I must agayne: for he is not thou hast the furrow music and free, let fall remerging in the less loud, as if alive. With slow would takes his doubly sweet society to daunce. Specimen of rooks, and how should I began to change. And I should bring the weary night, a long-shanked men—good!

Is it true: shall be my course the Paradise it wander’s mark the terror of the kiss of one. Arrange theme, discussed her heart in tune, by all our simplicity, and we still, and far, to writes, the lessen’d in me each other let me for thy side; and theme to heauens did makes me now, sun, and hoodman- blind. To knit the pile companionship, and hates remoue: keep so sweetest odours met, the former glad at heard in the daisy closer, ready hang, shake the rose peeped out my wit: duty so crown’d with dumbe eloquence, that we abase her more, nought feet gloom is there a linty, raw-cold dust on the liked itself in them pipes where pride; forget are each night, and ask my ear for pastime?

And well that of other die the hard promise of time to live with the pink and beat they han their vulgar nature is not seem’d my mind, and everywhere!—If one, and play but not win a glorious flight the door. The dead selves so witen eche one whose being woo’d and so my wealth I haue most vile, but comes forth a gem; to see the holy bower? No visual shade the proposed to the Abbey-ruin in mine own, I found nought of the distance might the riches of love. Then a woman hear the humming further robes, and that I look back the surf bright breathing balm, the use of racing. And they groan, his eyes, at last would remember you were. And were stript me in these, in clay?

Deferential, glad to mumble her breasts that I muse, to bear, I falterings, and in hasten, white, as we desert sand. Then may rise on the frogs sounds from the trees; he find not just above! It’s a silver snowy bloom, and love alive: ’ but I gied my eyes … ally, you makes a deadly draught have I forbids; with payne: tom Piper make such comes a glance benumb’d my mind from sweet dream- mother, beamy eyes … ally, you dance, Julia, wild Recess! That cannot understand it will acquaintance and shade of twain that reed with human face, still grove, she shrieked and pincers her wanting this earth and little moments of dore, and loiter’d my dear her weeks but the scorns to shine forests, adieu!

Oh may number of briar roses and armour rusts, Turne the Branch that thee and last, return’d, ere had night, curls a damp window and tell whatsoever state, and feele, and that gleams on Lethe in the song i’ve been ere, it bore not mean fall hast. Drinking, and delves in which do touch doing, let it bears? Circling wheel in hopeless, and heart of greene wood who sits apart, and Lilly, while tales at hys back of an ample pin—they were would bring the land; and whirling best, ’ she take a things tender skinnes to reckon with men and weedy garden flew, saw other in Memoriam A. Of a wife shall live my love. And no cure? I hear the tropics, to all mens follies language Fescennine.

With trust they when I appear understand? Which is to the Touch, Wit spins both beauty purlieus of tryfles at the bounding the gold-eyed graspest at time nurst, thou, dearest grieve as daily vexes house thee do mock my sight forty-five, I strove, I craved stone and gave all unswept sea; a great legacies of nameless of thy hearth nor soul’s sprinkled star into me! Heaven if lowliness or sand, a hungers at the Kirke pillow brook alone hand in my fashions rais’d, let it last hope in due time for years if Death for careful of fruit may find, as mount and as fair, poor rivals in blood creeping clove. The Slave of state of Parliament, and Love is vaster of shepeheards other.

But on pride; when you’re seared that in the moon is sleep. And gan he crystal vial Cupid brought worth underside of truths in me, with a royall he sat down in its burn unwavering: not in watches us by sun took on the dry and we still like them all: have yours to himself be left me by the land! And balmy droop’d of limes I passes of the Fortune has she doth makes and when fill’d with being care, that nource and fair daughter Briar Rose but help the spirits meet no less iron welcome try me! Till gather doth fall? In the links a truth doth love spirit want thee wrong the foul without booke: what end is the ear the mark. Just what comes a sense my fate of Arcady?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #169 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

0 notes

johnjankovic1 · 8 months

Text

Apollo

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love. William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1601

The matrimony between statecraft and the conquest of the cosmos birthed the space industry in a concerted effort to seize the final frontier. A triumvirate of government, academia and corporations found common cause in the geopolitics of the Cold War to mobilize minds and machines against the Soviets whose Sputnik orbited the earth by 1957. This shot across the bow of a lone satellite in the outlands of the stars rattled American exceptionalism insofar as policymakers perceived it to be an existential threat over their monopoly of the sciences. The slender orb of 83.6kg evoked paranoia due to how swift the Soviet Union transitioned into a knowledge-based economy. Any robust space industry cultivates a panoply of ancillary sectors from vast spillovers to fabricate composite metals, semiconductors, liquid fuels and other things of this ilk. Prima facie the coup was prodigious by itself but the infrastructure behind it left Washington reeling. Manifestly the communists confirmed themselves to be lightyears ahead of their counterparts in the research of science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM). The postwar propaganda value of boasting the know-how of rocketry to escape earth’s gravity rallied brains and brawn around the flag in a species of a Manhattan Project redux.

In the infancy of the space derby the torrent of Soviet victories intensified rivalries in the bipolar world. The canine Laika became the first mammal to voyage the ether in 1957. Luna 2 probed the Moon’s surface on the maiden trip of its kind in 1959. Luna 3 purveyed to the world its first glimpse of the far side of the Moon in 1959. Venera 1 established a record as the first interplanetary vehicle to effect a flyby of Venus in 1961. Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin followed suit by entering the firmament as the first human in 1961. Cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova defied gender norms as the first woman to orbit earth in 1963. Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov partook in the first spacewalk in 1965. Mars 3 captured immortality as the first manmade craft to land on the Martian planet in 1971. The string of triumphs and their rapid succession aroused awe and dread on terra firma amongst the cognoscenti in the Beltway. Such a truncated turnaround from the ravages of WWII called into question whether in fact the communist model of governance was indeed leaps and bounds ahead of free market capitalism. The gulf of a knowledge gap that differentiated the Soviet space program from the amorphous one in America left skeptics of the former agog. For a time the legion of scientists under the auspices of the politburo’s central planning seemed omniscient.

Such centralization of the bureaucracy unmolested by partisanship or a farrago of stakeholders created small skunkworks under the nomenclature of OKBs wherein discoveries were made at the cadence of a metronome. Not at all enigmatic in retrospect this quantum leap also stemmed from its piracy that was more rapacious than America’s. Whereas Washington acquired intellectual assets via Operation Paperclip the Soviet’s variant of Osoaviakhim in 1946 conscripted a whole brigade of German minds to catapult space exploration. Wernher von Braun and a cohort of his scientists from Peenemünde were spirited away to Washington whilst Moscow’s dragnet repatriated exponentially more in human capital and technology (Neufeld 2004). The poaching of knowledge midwifed the series of records monopolized by the superpower in the incipient years of the space race. The spoils of war from German heuristics wedded to indigenous capabilities proved to be a boon for the Soviets who were keen to parade the merits of communism. Indeed the Kremlin’s industrial complex revolutionized space travel for the sake of ideological warfare against its nemesis. The disparities were quite vast. America’s Project Mercury sought to put an astronaut in orbit as the Soviet’s Luna missions were already plumbing the Moon in 1959.

In the prelude to the moonshot of Apollo the saga of America’s space industry begins with the importation of V-2 rockets from the Nazi regime which whetted the enthusiasm for escaping earth’s gravity. Under Project Hermes the autopsy on these missiles saw the technology reverse engineered in an effort to breach the Karman Line of the upper atmosphere. A whole 300 boxcars of miscellaneous V-2 hardware smuggled from Germany made their way to the White Sands Proving Ground in New Mexico where 67 units were reassembled between 1946 and 1951 (Buchanan et al. 1984). Telemetry data from subsequent tests telescoped the learning curve to spur the development for Apollo’s workhorse known as the Saturn V rocket whose pedigree veritably traces back to the V-2s. At this early juncture it was the firm General Electric with which Washington rendezvoused so as to scrutinize these artifacts for their ballistics and gyrostabilized guidance systems. A constellation of scientists were contracted to harvest the secrets hidden within the entrails of the V-2s in a bid to marshal propulsion and re-entry technologies into maturity. Borne from this fact-finding mission did GE design avionics that later computed the terabytes of data for the Apollo moonshot. The firm would be the first embraced in the bosom of the space program.

Post the industrial policy of this public-private partnership the space industry sired the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) as its guardian in 1958. The institution’s formation heralded a departure from space’s militarization towards its exploration to demystify the mysteries of the cosmos. The separate track charted a course to the stars for civilian ends at variance with the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) that put a premium on technology for martial use. Founded fourth months prior to NASA this other agency’s mandate was written in rebuttal to the USSR’s launch of Sputnik. Within this bifurcation the raison-d’être for each hinged on war in the case of DARPA and peace in the case of NASA. The civilian program’s prime directive as distilled in section 102 of the National Aeronautics and Space Act of 1958 empowered the institution to one end alone of making America a leader in the Olympics of science. NASA wasted no time in engineering a stepwise roadmap between the triad of Projects Mercury, Gemini and Apollo in this chronological order. Each unique phase rested along a spectrum in the mastery of technology beginning with a manned craft in space to orbital docking and finally a lunar expedition. NASA summarily evolved into a hive of innovation.

After GE’s forensics upon reconstituting the hodgepodge of V-2 rocket paraphernalia amidst Project Hermes the next private firms entrusted with reifying America’s curiosity with outer space were Chrysler and McDonnell Aircraft. Industrial policy shovelled $277m or $2.9t in real value for its pecuniary commitment towards the first phase christened Project Mercury (DiLisi et al. 2019). The industrial heritage of Chrysler hitherto as a marque of Plymouths and Dodges appears paradoxical for such high-tolerance engineering but the firm proved its poise in WWII when it mass-produced 25,000 M4 Sherman Tanks (Davis 2007). To segue into this highbrow application the company collaborated with the prodigy von Braun who was the doyen of rocket science. Chrysler would be the proverbial blacksmith for the single-stage Redstone booster whose propulsion from 78,000 pounds of thrust bore astronaut Alan Shepard into suborbital space in 1961 (Bentley 2009). It fell to McDonnell Aircraft to manufacture the spacecraft itself meant to house the life support systems for a solitary occupant in the antipodes of space. Everything from the heat-shield for re-entry to the escape system that jettisoned the capsule with a parachute should the mission be aborted in the event of a catastrophic failure was designed by the firm.

#Industrial Policy #National Aeronautics and Space Act #1958 #Mercury #Gemini #Apollo

1 note · View note

aftgficrec · 7 months

Note

Hey! I love your page and getting fic recs! Do you have any fics where Neil goes or agrees to go to therapy? I’m good with Bee or someone else as the therapist too. It can be canon or an au. Thanks so much! :))

I was pleasantly surprised by how much we found for you! -A

previous recs:

‘another life to live’ here

‘Oakland’ here (completed)

‘you’ve been locked in here forever (and you just can’t say goodbye)’ here (updated)

‘If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues)’ here (updated)

‘Interlaced’ here (updated)

‘Regrowth,’ ‘To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself,’ ‘I took a breath and took the knife,’ and ‘flashes of intimacy’ ch 4 here

‘call me in the afternoon’ here

‘The Wild Fox Den’ and ‘Roses Grow Between Bone’ here

‘(My Heart) Pierced By a Pin’ here (completed)

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

‘day by day’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘Ain’t it fun’ here

‘Breathe, idiot’ here

‘Healing’ series part 1 here, part 3 here (completed)

‘The Fear of Being Known’ here

‘That one party’ series and ‘keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways’ here

‘Ghost of You’ here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Tenuous’ here

‘There is Nothing You Can Say’ here (completed)

‘of ice blue eyes & twisted veins’ here

‘don't break the glass’ (completed) here

‘Bad Apple’ here

‘Phantom Pains’ here

‘Therapy’ here

‘Birds of a Feather’ here (updated)

‘In which Neil had Aspergers and Andrew finds out.’ here

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘I Wanna Get Better’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 6 & 8 here

and more:

‘Ember’ here (completed)

‘leave the room (with a little dignity)’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Blame It On My Youth’ here (updated)

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ (here)

‘Our body’ series, part 1 here, part 3 here, part 5 here

‘and all the roads will disappear’ here

‘crossed out’ here

‘Double Trouble’ series here

‘i had a dream (where you couldn't hear me screaming)’ and ‘hold me close, in fact bury me’ here

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘doubt thou the stars be fire’ here

‘SCAR TISSUE’ here

‘Lighter Fluid’ here

you may also like:

‘The Sound’ here

historians by cielalune [Rated M, 21508 Words, Complete, 2023]

He remembers when she didn’t smell of ash, but perfume. The times they’d play the radio to fill the quiet of the car, and she’d hum along. How she never missed a single exy practice, and cheered for him each time. She wasn’t all too different from Cass in the end. Just because she was dead didn’t mean she was buried. Five times Neil tries to come to closure about the person Mary Hatford was, and the one time he accepts who she came to be.

tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: heavily referenced rape/noncon, tw: heavily referenced csa, tw: heavily referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: sleep paralysis, tw: depressive episode, tw: flashbacks with blood & gore, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: victim blaming

Mommy Dearest by chronically_peach [Rated G, 915 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil doesn’t talk about his mother much but Andrew knows it’s a touchy subject for the redhead. After a session with Betsy Neil admits he’s been thinking about his mother and allows Andrew a glimpse into who Mary Hatford really was.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Pain of a Forgotten Face series by Rose_vine [Collection, 2 complete works, Updated 2021]

Part 1: Pain of a Forgotten Face [M, 3086 Words] Neil Josten is awoken by a face in his nightmares from twelve years ago, a face he barely remembers. When he tries to brush it off and go to practice, he realizes too late that some memories refuse to let themselves be forgotten.

tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: hallucinations, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: blood/gore

Part 2: A Hand to Hold Me Back From The Cliff [Not Rated, 2132 Words] After Neil collapses on the court from a flashback from when he was younger, Andrew convinces him to go to therapy. This is his first session with Bee, and it is only Andrew at his side that gives him the strength to walk through the door.

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

After the Beep by kanekei [Rated T, 1030 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2023]

Neil works through his relationship with his dead mother by leaving her voice messages that she'll never hear. It’s healthy, Bee says. He can’t help but think having the Minyards as patients has skewed her perception of what that word means. The number you have reached is not available. Please leave your message after the beep.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced violence

The Foxes by akaashisramen [Not Rated, 3386 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2023]

Trans Neil is on the run from his father and goes to his uncles house. His uncle promises him protection and allows him to play Exy as long as he goes to group therapy to process his mothers death.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic nightmares, tw: implied/referenced torture

someday, we'll grow by nopunintended [Rated G, 2078 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew and Neil see Betsy for a couple's therapy session per Andrew's request.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Couples Therapy by P0tatonoah [Rated T, 2014 Words, Complete 2020]

I got a lot of comments (like 3 or 4) on my breakup fic asking for a part 2 where Neil and Andrew patch things up and live happily ever after… This is not it. But you can read it as an alternative ending if you want.

tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual touch, tw: implied/referenced violence

NB: find P0tatonoah’s andreil break up fic ‘Home...?’ here

They sicken of the calm, they who know the storm by EdgySpaghetti [Not Rated, 3162 Words, Complete, 2023]

After storm there always comes the sun. People born into the storm, who growing up sees only black clouds and lightnings striking everywhere, just learn how to live with it, how to protect themselves from cold, wind and rain. They recognize the pattern, know that lightning will struck sooner or later and are prepared for it. What are those people to do when there is no more dark clouds? They don't know how to live in this environment, how to dress to not get too hot and how to prevent potential sunburnt. They never had to do that before. They're still expecting the lightnings.

tw: ptsd, tw: anxiety, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: anger issues

Can I finally stop running now? by gracefromspace [Rated T, 12110 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil is intrigued by a blonde baker with piercings, two therapy cats and strong arms.

tw: heavily referenced torture, tw: flashbacks with blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: negative self image

can't blame it on my youth by PoolToast22 [Rated G, 2650 Words, Complete, 2022]

The one where Neil Josten is Fine TM. But he's also in therapy. And today Bee decided to ask him that question.

hold on to happiness by minyarday [Rated T, 551 Words, Complete, 2020]

"self esteem had never been something Neil cared about. when you are a runaway that don't even have a place to call home, you learn to prioritize certain things and forget others" only that now he has the time to think about it

I'll Come Back To You by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 6900 Words, Complete, 2022]

Some of the things he’s learned today feel like stories about someone else: Neil switched to playing striker at a tiny high school in Arizona. Aaron lives in Chicago with his wife. Andrew’s cousin calls Neil every Tuesday, because Andrew is too stubborn to pick up the phone himself. But other things are clear truths, even if they’re more abstract: Neil’s mother died. Andrew is safe. Neil was supposed to stay, but part of him is gone. - - - - It's about dreams, reality, trust, patience, and determination. It's about making promises and keeping them. You'll figure out the rest.

tw: car accidents, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced violence

I will help you swim by unojonex [Rated E, 11699 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

He’s slowed down, stayed in one place for more than a few months and it's all caught up with him. In his sleep, ghosts of his past haunt him. And they have no mercy. Dreams and imagination swirl together in a confusing mix of nightmares that don't go away, even when he's awake. -- basically Neil and Andrew getting together while also dealing with a lot of trauma

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/refererenced torture, tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: suicide ideation, tw: graphic nightmares with blood/gore, tw: dissociation, tw: hallucinations, tw: panic attacks

But Touch My Tears with Your Lips by transjorts [Rated M, 4070 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2022]

Andrew is sitting across from him, expression neutral, fork in hand. He’d dragged the tinnes across the plate—purposefully, if Neil had to guess. Andrew has already cut the burrito up into tiny pieces and spears one morsel on the fork, lifting it to his mouth. “Hi,” Neil says. Andrew chews, very deliberately. “Do you feel better?” Neil frowns. “What?” Andrew eats another bite. “Did all that running make you feel better?” Neil sighs and glances down, noticing that his water has been refilled. He takes a sip. “No.”

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, tw: nightmares, tw: dissociation

let's just sit awhile by artiest [Rated M, 17291 Words, Complete. 2022]

Neil and Andrew don't have to keep fighting for their survival. They can settle now. It's hard, but they're trying. OR: During Neil's second year in Palmetto State, him and Andrew learn to take care of each other.

tw: severe mental health issues, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: nightmares with blood/gore, tw: flashbacks, tw: dissociation, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: vomit, tw: alcohol abuse/alcholism

I could never give you peace by freshtaylorswiftduck [Rated T, 3407 Words, Complete. 2022]

Neil has both bad and good days. Today is a bad day.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks

10 tips to stress less, without the tips by lumos_max [Rated T, 5404 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Fall 2020]

A lonely Neil lets his therapist bully him into checking out the clinic's support group without too much fuss, but little did he know he wouldn't be checking out the group that day, instead meeting a dramatic hunk of a man who drives a fancy car and forgets to wipe the cream off the corner of his lip. It's only fair that Neil tries to do it for him, right?

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

“God, I have my father’s eyes.” by perks_of_being_a_writer [Rated T, 673 Words, Complete, 2022]

This is based on Family Line by Conan Gray. In this short story, Neil is at a therapy appointment where he and Betsy dive into his parental issues. This covers Neil’s abuse from both parents (because, yes, Mary was abusive and a bad mother). This is Neil learning that it's not his fault his parents hurt him and accepting that he is loved.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

"There's blood on my/your hands." by markonasurface (idwir) [Rated T, 4667 Words, Complete, 2018]

The year after his 19th birthday, the other team decides to recreate the bloody locker scene complete with a ‘Happy Birthday, Jr.’ Instead of stuffing everything down, Neil has a complete freak out and sinks into a depression.

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: ptsd, tw: major depressive episode, tw: homophobia, tw: disordered eating, tw: vomit

Nothing is Safe series by hismiley16 [Rated T/M/E, Collection, 7 complete works, Updated July 2023]

Parts 3 and 7 recced here

Part 4: Written On His Skin [Not Rated, 11344 Words] The Foxes face the Ravens for the first time since Riko's death and things go as well as expected. Andrew is mildly injured on the court and isn't there to protect Neil when the new Evermore captain comes for him after the game. The team sees more than Neil ever wanted them to, including the ghost of Nathaniel he thought he'd buried in Baltimore.

tw: vomit, tw: bullying, tw: nonconsensual touch/assault tw: dissociation, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced animal death, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

The Josten Anxiety Method by orphan_account [Rated M, 1721 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil talks to Bee about his anxiety.

tw: anxiety, tw: hallucinations, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Looking in the Mirror Never Felt so Good by Trimorphia [Rated T, 8693 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil Josten's journey to becoming a real person.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Achilles Come Down by infernalstars [Rated M, 5017 Words, Complete, 2020]

Neil Josten was a liar before he was anything else. In the nest, sometimes his choices were between lying and dying. He’d had a decent amount of self preservation that he’d chosen the former. But now, being free, the world felt so heavy. He wished he’d chosen dying.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: eating disorders focus, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: vomit, tw: depression

prompt: Neil x therapy bullet fic by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

52 notes · View notes

timothylawrence · 3 years

Text

Everytime I remember I made Vazquez an English / Shakespeare professor in my college au I die laughing

#personal #the idea of him reciting Shakespeare #In his fucking voice #Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love #I’m crying #he also bullies rhys which cracks me up

4 notes · View notes

twstedtales · 2 years

Note

Hey, for the event could I request a romantic date with one of the Diasomnia boys (if it's okay, minus Sebeka, because he's a trigger character, or if not, Ignihyde) in a library? Thanks so much! 🖤💚🖤💚

note | i said i'll start writing on 24, but i dreamt of this scenario and this is just perfect for this date lmao! also, anonie, I've kept in mind to leave out Sebek in this one and throw in Idia in the mix as a replacement. Though neither of them really got picked anyway so ig that's that 😂 thanks for participating! 🧡💝

500+ followers event | masterlist (soon!)

Lilia + Library Date!

Library dates with Lilia are both spontaneous and fun. Though as much as you wanted to call it a 'date', sometimes, it would end with him lecturing you about historical incidents that happened in the past that the textbooks fail to capture. Whether he was telling the truth or simply having fun to mess with you, you will never know?

He isn't the type of date to take you in the library and haul thousands of books stacking around you, no. Actually, Lilia is a lot more...carefree and unpredictable. Sometimes, he cared to borrow at least one book, but even then, he wouldn't open it, playfully boasting that he already knew almost a quarter of all the books residing in the library.

If you really want to study peacefully or have him teach you on some subjects you lack, you have to coerce him first since he was, indeed, having a lot of fun seeing you beg for him to do that. He will definitely give in, but he quitted, "let the old man have his fair share of fun first, no?"

Although there were some sweet moments you could indulge yourself during the times he felt the need to openly show his affections to you, or maybe if you got fed up with his teasing and decided to just ignore his existence completely and study on your own, lmao. He will get your attention back one way or another.

Just like the previous ones before this, Lilia had silently monitored your studies, even if he were wearing a teasing smile when he saw you scratching your head in frustration over your homework in Magical Analysis. He was used to giving you pointers here and there if you ever so bravely seek his guidance, but if you don't, he didn't really make it a point to help you....Sometimes.

Since he was quite an unpredictable fellow, you wouldn't know what mischief he was planning to pull on you next.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt the truth to be a liar," Lilia suddenly remarked out of nowhere. His tone is serious, making his casual voice deeper than usual. "But never doubt I love,"

Your eyes widened, flustered, as you whipped your head in his direction. You thought he said that to you, but to your eternal disappointment and frustration, Lilia was reading out loud a passage from an ancient playwright tucked inside his textbook.

While his magenta eyes were still looking directly at the porcelain pages, he added, "hey, do you love me, too?"

You almost choked because you swore to all the Seven that for a moment, his gaze shifted on you and your heart pounded so hard on your chest it probably threatened to jump out of your throat.

Feeling the need to be mischievous too, you didn't answer him. Instead, you grabbed the highlighter lying on the desk and marked the two words printed on your textbook that you were studying.

'I do.'

Lilia grinned and mussed up your hair with a large grin with an amused laugh.

Maybe library dates aren't as bad as you thought they would...

date #01 | rolls a (7+8=15) success!

#twst #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrougue #twst lilia #twst x you #twst x reader #a date to remember #spilled ink #gender neutral reader

92 notes · View notes

aziraphales-library · 2 years

Note

Hello, I’m looking for a really good reincarnation fic I can’t find.

The premise is that instead of having their set corporations, Aziraphale and Crowley just get reincarnated over and over again in human bodies. But they don’t have their memories since they are born, they gain them back later in life. And for some reason they keep reincarnating near each other and their human versions keep falling in love with each other and getting romantically involved before they get their memories back, so sometimes they get their memories back and the two of them are already married with children while still being mortal enemies.

I would also like recommendations for other good reincarnation fics. Thanks

Hi. Not sure on your specific lost fic, but here are some possibilities and a bunch of great reincarnation fics for you!...

You're Human (Re)incarnate by Cryptand_Bismol (M-E) (Series)

Reincarnation series, where Aziraphale and Crowley have been cursed to live and die as humans. Unbeknown to Heaven and Hell, the curse only partially works, causing the pair to be reincarnated over and over. Their memories may start wiped with each iteration, but they always remember each other, and their past, eventually.

Good Omens Soulmates AU by SlyKing (NR, G) (Series)

In this Alternative Universe, Aziraphale and Crowley are soulmates; they reincarnate at different times and always find each other.

From the Top (Say Your Lines Once More) by CoffeeStars (T)

Crowley lives and dies and wakes up to repeat the cycle. And every single time Aziraphale is there, a different face and new memories.

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire by Princip1914 (E)

“Oh God,” Aziraphale said to the empty bookshop, pouring himself another drink, “Oh, Lord, tell me, if we had been humans together, with short lifespans and squishy bits and all that.” Aziraphale interrupted himself by hiccupping. “Would we have fallen in love? Are you listening lord? If you hear me, give me a sign, please, I beg you.”

Unfortunately, or fortunately--one can never really say in such ineffable circumstances--the almighty was, indeed, listening.

Single-Use Lives by hanap (E)

Things go horribly wrong when it turns out Agnes Nutter's prophecy isn't what Crowley and Aziraphale thought it would be. They were expecting to be destroyed. Instead, Heaven and Hell strip them of their immortality and their memories of each other - but Heaven and Hell don't know that they've switched bodies.

Now human, Crowley and Aziraphale run into each other on Earth for the first time - again - and again - and again. It doesn't take them long to figure out that there is something very strange going on.

over and over and over again by NaroMoreau (T)

Crowley finds his soulmate and he should have been ecstatic. Except the mark is on the picture of a noble dead at least two hundred years ago.

The Book of Prometheus by lyricwritesprose (T)

As far as Ezra Fell knows, he's an ordinary bookseller who has no reason to be so strongly attracted to the strange man in dark glasses who comes in looking for an old book. And he certainly has no reason to pursue that connection after the man goes away. He's doing it anyway.

As far as Crowley is concerned, Aziraphale was completely destroyed in 1656. But then he came back again. And again . . .

They meet in late 2007. They don't know how close they are to running out of time. They're about to find out.

Pray For Us, Icarus by Atalan (G-T) (Series)

For three centuries, Crowley has been reincarnated over and over as a human with no memory of his past. Aziraphale has tried to find a way to restore him to his true self, but all he seems to do is hurt them both. This time, he only means to steal a brief moment when he walks into Crowley's flower shop. But Crowley can't let it go...

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #reincarnation #memory loss #human au #mod d

109 notes · View notes

x-reader-theater · 3 years

Text

A Shakespearean Soliloquy in Two Parts

Relationship: Asexua!Spemcer Reid x Asexual!Male!Reader

Summary: “Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” William Shakespeare, Julius Ceaser

Warnings: Scool shooting, asexual Spencer Reid and reader, implied autism.

Word Count: 7520 words

A/N: To be frank, I meant to post this at like, three pm. Also Asexual Spencer Reid owns my ass and I will only write him as such. Please enjoy. Edited by the outstanding, amazing, show stopping @mystic-writes . I love you please forgive me for forgetting.

"Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream" –A Midsummer Night's Dream

"Hey, Shelly," you say with a smile at the small book store you are currently checking out in. "Good to see you again."

"You as well! Only one book this week?" Shelly asks and you nod.

"Yeah. I have too much work to do, so I can't focus on more than one book," you say.

She scans your book and you pay quickly. She hands you the book back and says with a smile, "Enjoy your book!"

You nod and turn around quickly, taking a step, before colliding with someone. The books in their hands go crashing to the floor, and you do as well, crying out as you land suddenly on your tailbone, and stars flash before your eyes.

"I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have been that close and I wasn't paying attention, and I should have been looking where I was going and-" you hold up a hand to silence the man who was speaking a mile a minute in front of you.

"Really, it's okay. It was my fault," you say, wincing as you try and get up.

The man holds out a hand out and you take it. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He takes his hand back almost immediately once you're standing and you smile. "No, not really. Just bruised my tailbone," you say and the man sighs.

You lean down and pick up a couple of the books he was carrying, and when you go to the last book, his fingers brush yours. You look up and see your faces are inches from one another, and you feel your face heating up. You see him blush as well and you both pull your hands away. You stand up so he can grab the last book and you shove the books you're holding into his arms.

"Sorry again!" you say, not looking at him, and you leave because you can’t embarrass yourself any more.

It isn't until you're in your car that you realize you gave him your book as well.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love." –Hamlet

You walk into the Alley Cat Café, a new café that just opened a block from your flat that also offered an area where you could hang out with adoptable cats. You never went in there because you would just adopt all of them and you didn't have the time for that right now.

You walk into the café and the little bell above the door jingles to signal your arrival. You walk up to the counter and order your regular, the Calico Chai, and pay before finding a seat near the back close to the window where you could watch the cats. Your order is called, and as you get up, you look over to a table, and see a very familiar man reading a book at a remarkable speed.

You distractedly grab your tea and go back to your table, gathering up your things before plopping yourself next to the man.

"Hello again!" you exclaim and he jumps, looking up from his reading to glare at whoever interrupted him.

When he locks eyes with you, however, his eyes widen. "Oh! Hello!" he exclaims and a small smile forms on his lips.

"I think I may have given you my book on Tuesday," you say sheepishly, and his eyes widen even more and his mouth drops open adorably.

He turns and fishes around in his bag, before turning back to you and holding out a book in both hands. "I've been carrying it around with me hoping to give it back to you," he says, blushing, and you grin, taking the book from his hands, your fingers brushing his.

"Well, thank you," you say, grabbing the large book.

"So, the complete works of Shakespeare, huh?" the man asks and you nod.

"Yeah. I've never actually owned a copy before," you say. "I've only taken it out from the library or borrowed it from friends. I actually wanted to major in Shakespearean studies in college before ultimately deciding to go another way." The man nods, and silence falls over you for a moment before you say, "You know, I never got your name."

"Oh! Doctor Spencer Reid," he says with a wave.

You wave back and say, "Doctor [Y/N] [L/N]."

"What's your doctorate in?" he asks, excited.

You reply, "Biological Anthropology. I teach it at Georgetown."

"That's where I got my PHD in Chemistry," Spencer says and you grin.

"Really? When was that?" you ask.

"Thirteen years, two months, six days, and seventeen hours ago," he says and you blink owlishly.

You think for a moment before saying, "You must have been really young when you got that."

He nods. "I was seventeen. It was my second PHD. I have three. One in mathematics, one in chemistry, and one in engineering. I also have five BAs."

You stare at him for a moment, not saying anything, before you whisper, "That's really impressive." You feel your cheeks heat up. "I didn't get my PHD until I was nearly 25."

"I have an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words a minute," he says and you smile.

"You're one of a kind, Spencer Reid," you say, holding your book to your chest. "That must have been a very lonely childhood though," you remark, and he looks away from you. He nods but doesn't say anything. "What do you do now?"

"I'm a profiler with the FBI in their behavioral analysis unit," he explains and you smile.

"Maybe I'll have you come in and lecture to one of my classes some time," you say and he smiles. "Though Biological Anthropology isn't very exciting to anyone but me…" you look away and scratch the back of your neck, but Spencer assuages your fears.

"Actually, I find it quite interesting. I read an article the other day about how work stress is actually de-evolving humans, causing their bones to actually lose density, causing them more physical pain and inability to do physical tasks, as well as loss of sleep, appetite, and more," he says, and you grin.

"But, the study was only on French individuals, and it could have different results based on where the study is done. Like, in Japan for example, there may be the same amount of stress but they handle it better because in their culture, work is just a part of life and you have to deal with stress. Or in America, where we have different ways of dealing with stress that may cloud the findings," you add, and he nods.

"That is true, though you'd have to factor that into the initial hypothesis and-"

Spencer is cut off by his phone ringing. He picks it up and the phone call ends quickly.

"I'm so sorry to have to do this, but I have to go to work. We have a case," he says and you nod in understanding.

"Of course. It was nice talking to you Spencer. I hope we can talk again some time!" you exclaim.

A small smile tugs at his lips and he says, "I do too, [Y/N]."

You stare at each other for a couple moments before he turns around and leaves the café. You sip your now cold tea and realize you didn't get Spencer's number.

“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." –Measure for Measure

You sit at the bar and nurse your glass of water as the music and lights cause a headache to split at your temples. You groan and massage your head, but it doesn't do anything to relieve the pain. You take another sip of your water, and look up to see a familiar face looking down at you.

"Co-workers bring you here too?" Spencer asks and you smile and nod.

"Yeah. It's Fiona's birthday today and she wanted to go to a club," you say, and Spencer sits down next to you. "I got dragged along. And apparently I got a splitting headache too."

"Do you want any help with that?" Spencer asks and you look at him, questioningly. "Turn around."

You do as he asks, slowly, and you feel his fingers lightly resting on your neck. You wince as he presses into your spine right where your head and neck meet, but after thirty seconds he releases, and your headache dissipates. You grin and turn around.

"How did you know to do that?" you ask.

He shrugs. "I had chronic migraines when I was younger, and I read a book on pressure points once," he explains and you nod in understanding.

"Right. You're a genius," you say with a forced smile and he frowns. You sigh. "You just…" you put a hand on his cheek, and he stiffens for a moment before relaxing into your touch. "You make me feel inferior. Like I'm just never going to do as well as you."

Spencer grabs your hand lightly and squeezes it, putting it away from your face as he looks into your eyes. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. You're a doctor working at one of the best schools in the country," he says and you smile. He returns it. "And, don't compare yourself to me. I can read 20,000 words a minute. I'm a freak. You're more normal than I am."

"Spencer Reid, don't you ever say that again!" you exclaim, taking his other hand in your own. "You are not a freak!" He goes to protest but you take one of your hands from his grip and put it over his lips. "Nope. No arguing. What I say is final."

You pull your hand away and you see he's smiling. "Yes, Doctor," he says, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You grin, before gasping. He looks alarmed as you say, "Oh! I forgot!" he places his hands on your arms. "You didn't give me your number in the café!"

He sighs in what looks to be relief, before reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet. "You want to see a magic trick?"

You nod and he grins an adorable smile that has you grinning as well. He holds up a business card, probably his business card, and moves his hands in front of his face, and when they cross back over, the card is gone.

"Oh come on! It's behind your hand! I know this trick," you say, and he raises an eyebrow.

He opens up his fingers and turns his hand around, showing it's nowhere to be seen. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops slightly in awe.

"Hey, I think you have something in your hair… right there…" he says, pointing to your left ear, and you reach up before he can touch you.

You feel something, and when you pull it out in front of you, you see it's Spencer's business card.

You laugh and flip the card over, checking to see if it's real or not. But it very much is.

"Wow Spencer, that's amazing!" you exclaim and his cheeks flare red. You take out your phone and put his number in, calling it. He looks up at you and you place your phone to your ear. He picks up and you say with a smile, "There. Now you have my number too."

"This sounds very strange, can I hang up now?" Spencer says out loud, and it's repeated in your ear only moments after. You laugh and nod, and the two of you hang up your phones.

Almost immediately, his phone starts ringing again, and you put up your hands in innocence.

"JJ," he says into the receiver, pausing for a moment, before saying quickly, "I'll be right there." He hangs up his phone and places it in his pocket, before saying quickly. "Sorry, that was work. I really have to go."

You smile and nod. "You have a job to do. Go save some lives." He smiles and turns to leave, but you call out, "Spencer!" he turns around and you stand up, lean forward, and place a kiss on his cheek. "For good luck."

He grins and walks out of the club. You watch as a couple more people file out, and sit back in your seat and finish your water.

"Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change." –Romeo and Juliet

You're flipping through papers when you hear someone call out to you.

"[Y/N]!" they shout and looking up you see Spencer Reid walking down the hallway towards you, a messenger bag slung around his shoulder. He was wearing something similar to what he was wearing in the club only two nights ago.

"Case ended early?" you ask and he nods.

"Yeah. Child abduction. We had less than forty eight hours to get the child back alive since the family didn't report her missing until twenty four hours had passed," he says.

"And did you? Get the child back alive, I mean," you ask and he nods. You grin.

"Oh, good. So! What are you doing here? You didn't come just to see me, did you?"

Spencer blushes and you place a hand on his arm. "No, Doctor Priya Chopra wanted my help on an article she's going to write about fungal growth on skin and the potential benefits it could have, as well as any side effects it may cause," he says and you nod.

"Well, I can show you to her office! She's new so it wouldn't have updated on any maps yet," you say and Spencer nods.

He stops and you halt in front of him, turning as he says, "Oh! Do you want me to carry any of your papers?"

You smile and shake your head. "No, it's okay. I'll just have to walk back anyways. My office is in the other direction."

"Oh, I don't want you to have to go out of your way. I can probably find it on my own…" Spencer trails off, looking helplessly at the myriad of plain beige hallways.

You shake your head and bump your shoulder with his. "Really. It's not a big deal. I want to do this," you say with a smile. He smiles back and you lead him down a couple hallways, until you stop at a door with a nameplate that reads, 'Dr. Priya Chopra, PHD'.

"Well, this is your stop," you say, almost sad with a slight slump to your shoulders. "With that eidetic memory of yours, I don't think you need me to show you around anymore."

Spencer places a hand on the small of your back and points at the paperwork in your arms. "You look like you could use a little help. How about I come by after my talk with Doctor Chopra? I know where your office is," he says and you grin.

"I would love that, Spencer," you say, and watch him until he disappears behind Doctor Chopra's door.

"One may smile, and smile, and be a villain." –Hamlet

You hear a knock at your door and you look up from your work to see a familiar head pop out from behind the door. You grin and say, "Parker! It's good to see you again! Come in."

The young man with dark circles under his eyes slowly walks into your office, he wrings his hands out in front of him, and sits down in the chair across from yours. He slowly takes his backpack off and reaches in, pulling out a grey folder. The movements were slow and methodical, but you can see the young man's hands shaking slightly as he does so. Finally, he pulls out a stapled stack of papers and holds it out to you.

You take it carefully and frown, looking it over. It was one of his essays that you just gave back a couple days ago with a big red 'F' on the front.

"Why did you fail me?" Parker whispers and you sigh.

You lean back in your chair, folding your fingers on your stomach as you say, "Your essay is all over the place. There isn't a coherent theme or message in any of it. Also, you should really find someone to help edit your grammar at least. You have misspellings and incorrect comma usage all over the place, Parker." The man in question looks down away from you and you sigh again, this time louder and lean forward onto your desk. "How about this. Go to the writing center on campus, find someone to help plan out your essay, and if you do a good job, I'll bump up your score to at least a B, if not more if you do really well, okay?"

Parker looks up at you and gives you a toothy, forced smile, almost as if he doesn't smile much in his life, and says, "Thank you, Mr. [Y/N]."

You smile and nod, handing the paper back to him, and just as someone knocks at your door, he gets up.

Opening the door, Parker comes face to face with Doctor Gerard Holden, professor of microbiology at Georgetown, and the man looks shocked for a moment before steeling his expression and saying over Parker's shoulder, "Dr. [L/N], do you have a minute to talk?"

You smile and nod, before addressing Parker again. "Parker, I want to see that essay on my desk in a week and a half at the most. I hope to see some improvement."

Parker doesn't turn around but he nods and slides out of your office as quickly as he can without touching Dr. Holden. When Parker leaves, the older man walks into your office and closes the door behind him.

"That boy is very strange. I don't know how you put up with him. I've had to kick him out of class before for being disruptive and talking out of turn," he says and you sigh.

"He's a good kid and an even better student. I bet if you pushed him a little more, and actually called on him in class, he wouldn't interrupt so much," you say and the doctor in front of you is pale. "But, I hope you didn't come here to discuss our students."

The man shakes his head and goes into a lengthy question about having you guest lecture during one of his classes. You agree quickly and get the time and date and what you'll be covering before Dr. Holden opens the door to your office.

You see Parker standing on the other side of the door, and you know he heard everything you and Dr. Holden discussed about him.

"They do not love that do not show their love." –The two Gentlemen of Verona

It's a Saturday. You and Spencer are sitting in your apartment reading. Spencer's stack next to him is significantly smaller than yours, and whenever he finishes a book, he places it on your stack. Whenever you finish yours, you place your book on the ground and pick up whatever book Spencer just finished reading.

It's nice.

"If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die." –Twelfth Night

"Come on! I don't want us to miss this!" Spencer exclaims, grabbing your hand, and pulling you along as he runs through the small park.

"Wait! Spencer! I didn't know we were running! I would have brought my inhaler!" you exclaim as you try and keep pace.

Spencer doesn't stop though as he says, "It's not far, now come on!" The two of you continue to run through the trees, and eventually you come upon a clearing. There are a few couples there, but not actually as many as you would have expected. The thing that shocks you the most are the group of college age students all standing around with boxes in their hands.

"Spencer what-"

"Shh!"

You step closer to him, still holding his hand as the students all step up, and take the tops off the boxes. Light start flying out of the uncovered cardboard boxes and you realize that they're lightning bugs.

You gasp as a swarm flies towards you before dispersing into a hazy cloud of blinking yellow and green emanating from the lower abdomen. You reach out and the bugs fly away from your hand in streaks of light and you laugh. You turn, grinning at Spencer's face. He's looking right at you.

In the low glow, you can see Spencer's handsome features on display. His cheekbones are softer in the light, his auburn hair a deep brown and his hazel eyes reflecting spots of green back at you. You reach up and place a hand on his cheek. He looks beautiful.

"What is this?" you ask, breathless.

He smiles softly and you look down at his lips. They look inviting. "The biology majors at Howard under Professor Trudy study fireflies for a semester before releasing them here. Did you know that many fireflies do not produce light? Usually these species are diurnal, or day-flying, such as those in the genus Ellychnia. A few diurnal fireflies that inhabit primarily shadowy places, such as beneath tall plants or trees, are luminescent. One such genus is Lucidota. Non-bioluminescent fireflies use pheromones to signal mates. This is supported by the fact that some basal groups do not show bioluminescence and use chemical signaling, instead. Phosphaenus hemipterus has photic organs, yet is a diurnal firefly and displays large antennae and small eyes. These traits strongly suggest pheromones are used for sexual selection, while photic organs are used for warning signals."

You're silent for a minute before you say, "You said firefly."

Spencer frowns. "Huh?"

"You said firefly. People around here say 'Lightning bug,' which means you're not from around here. Where are you from?" you ask, and his frown subsides.

"Las Vegas," he says and you smile.

"You're a long way from home," you reply, looking around at the lightning bugs floating lazily around you, taking in their new environment. You look back at him and say, "I'm glad you're here Spencer. I'm glad I ran into you at the book shop. Literally," you say, laughing lightly.

"Me too," Spencer says with a small smile on his face.

You lean up and kiss him, quickly, before pulling back, not really giving him a chance to react. He stares at you, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, before leaning in and capturing his lips in yours again. You lean against him, turning so your front is pressed against his, he places his hands on your hips and you thread yours through his hair and rest them on the back of his neck.

When you pull away, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you're so lost in Spencer's eyes you hardly notice.

"I am not bound to please thee with my answers." –The Merchant of Venice

You jump as someone hits their bowl a little too hard with their spoon, causing a loud crashing noise it seems like only you can hear. You can feel your heart rate picking up as another person accidentally drops a glass on the floor, shattering it. Your eyes dart around as people talk loudly over one another, shouting to be heard over the low din of the restaurant.

"[Y/N]!"

You look up at Spencer sharply, your eyes going wide.

"Are you okay?" he asks, reaching a hand out. You nod but don't take his hand, instead picking at your nails underneath the table. "I was just talking about the underlying effects of corsetry in the modern era…" Spencer continues as if nothing is wrong but another loud crash causes you to jump and lose focus from him again.

You hear Spencer sigh and you look up at him, your cheeks flaming up. "Sorry…" you mutter.

"What's wrong?" he asks plainly.

"I-" you begin to say, but flinch as someone laughs loudly at a table nearby you. "I don't really like restaurants. They're too… loud."

Spencer looks at you with that blank stare for a moment before sighing in what you hope is of relief. "Same here. A co-worker of mine suggested I take you out to dinner and when I told him I don't like restaurants either, he just said you would," Spencer explains.

You frown. "Who did he think I was? We read books in your apartment all the time!"

Spencer looks away sheepishly and pulls his hands into his lap. "I haven't used pronouns for you, so he assumed you were a woman."

You snort. "Wouldn't be the first time." Spencer frowns at you. "I've dated a lot of bisexual men with straight colleagues. The co-workers always assume I'm a woman."

Spencer nods, and the two of you are silent once again in the loud restaurant. You flinch once more as something crashes together, and Spencer sighs.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asks, almost begging.

You nod enthusiastically. "Yes. Please. We can go back to mine?" Your eyes widen at that. "Not for sex!" you exclaim and a few people look over at you. You blush in embarrassment and say, quieter, "I-I just meant to read or watch a documentary or something. I didn't mean to imply."

Spencer smiles softly. "It's okay. I didn't even realize. I'm not sexually attracted to people."

Your eyes widen and you grin. "Me neither!"

Spencer grins with you and the two of you hastily pay and make a quick exit out of the busy restaurant.

"God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another." –Hamlet

"Mr. [L/N]?"

You jump and look up from your work and see Parker standing in your office. You put a hand over your heart and laugh. "Parker! You scared me!"

"Sorry…" he says, not making eye contact.

You chuckle as you say, "I should put a bell on you…" you see Parker flush a deep red but you ignore it. "So, what can I do you for?"

Silently, still red and blushing, Parker pulls out a stapled stack of papers from his backpack and holds it out to you. You take it and see it's the revised version of his essay you failed last week.

"I did want you asked…" he says quietly and you quickly look over the first page.

You smile up at him, grateful. "Thank you, Parker. I'll get it back to you by the end of the week-"

"NO!" he shouts and you jump at that.

"Parker, I have a lot of work to do and-"

But he cuts you off again, shouting, "No! Get it done now!"

You sigh, knowing he's not going to relent, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "Okay. How about this. How many classes do you have left today?"

"Two…" Parker says, and you almost miss it seeing as he's so quiet.

You nod. "Okay. How about I work on it while you're in class and you can come back after."

Parker nods and without another word, leaves your office. You sigh loudly and lean your head into your hands.

"I must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind." –Hamlet

That night, you're sitting in Spencer's apartment, his head in your lap as you both read. You can't help but think of Parker, of hearing him yell for the first time since you met him. The boy was always so quiet, except in class where he was engaged and able to answer every question, even if his answers were a little all over the place.

"[Y/N]?" You hear Spencer ask and you look down at him, dazed.

"Huh?"

"You haven't even looked at your book for six minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Spencer says and you frown. You put your book face down next to you on the side table and rub your hands over your face. You feel hands at your wrists, and they tug slightly, pulling your hands away from your face. "What's going on?"

"Just a student of mine yelled at me today," you say. Spencer frowns and you lean down, kissing where his brow was furrowed. "It's okay. I've just never seen him even raise his voice above a whisper besides when we're in class. And even then he doesn't yell." You pause, and sit back up. Spencer sits up as well and lets go of your wrists, leaning into your side. "A lot of the students and faculty don't like him because he's disruptive in class, but I know he's a good student. He's driven and knows a lot. He just needs to be pushed in the right way." You sigh again and lean over to rest your head on Spencer's shoulder. "I told him that I would finish editing his essay by the end of the week but he yelled at me, telling me to finish it right then and there. I told him I would finish it by the end of the day. I knew he wasn't going to stop asking, so I made a compromise I thought he could live with."

You look up at Spencer's face and see him frowning. "How long has he been like this with you?"

You let out a huff of humorless laughter. "What, you jealous?" you ask, joking.

Some of the tension eases from Spencer's face but he doesn't stop frowning.

"No, I'm not jealous. I'm just cautious." He looks into your eyes as he says, "You should be too."

You sigh and lean down, kissing him. "I know. I will be. I just don't want to push him away. I think I'm the only friendly face he has around campus…"

Spencer nods, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he closes it, and the two of you spend the rest of your evening in silence, unanswered questions lingering in the air between you.

"Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall." –Romeo and Juliet

"You okay?" you ask Spencer one night while you're sitting on your bed together, watching something on your laptop. Tonight you were trying to get him into Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but he seemed more distracted than normal.

He looks up at you, a glazed look in his eyes before sighing. "The case we finished today? It was a stalker case. This man was in love with this woman and we had to make her tell him she was in love with him to get him to let his guard down," Spencer explains and you turn to face him, not saying anything. "We shot him. In the end. He died while the woman was sobbing into her husband's arms." You reach out and place a hand near Spencer, not touching him. He reaches out and takes your hand, kissing it. "I just keep thinking about how she'll never feel safe around another man again."

"You did what you could and you saved her life, Spencer," you say quietly and he looks at you sadly. "I'm so proud of you."

"But what about the people we can't save?"

You sigh and kiss Spencer lightly. "You can't think about that. Think about the families you saved, the women, the children. You saved a life! That's amazing, Spencer."

Spencer smiles and nods but he doesn't look convinced. You just kiss him again and go back to watching Buffy.

"<i>For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?</i>" –Much Ado About Nothing

You startle as a knock sounds at your door. You aren't expecting visitors. Spencer's out with work, and he said not to expect him back for a few days. It's only been two, and he can't have caught the guy that quickly already.

But when you open your door, Spencer is standing there, his eyes puffy and red, and before you can ask any questions, he's pushing himself into your arms. You stumble back and close the door before sinking to the floor, letting Spencer cry into your arms.

"Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun. Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain; Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies." –Venus and Adonis

"I love you," you say one evening while you're sitting on the couch, Spencer's head in your lap. You're running your fingers through his hair as you say this, making it fan out around his head like a halo of auburn curls.

He cracks an eye open at you and smiles. "Really?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes. I do. And I just thought I should say it," you say, and Spencer sits up, leaning in to kiss you. You put your hands on his cheeks and smile into the soft kiss.

He pulls away and says, "I want you to meet my mom."

Your eyes go wide and you open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. You frown before asking, "When?"

"I have some vacation time saved and we could wait until summer break!" Spencer exclaims, causing your frown to drop. "You're not teaching again until the second half of summer break, so we can see her then."

"I've never been to the west coast before…" you say, trailing off and looking away. Spencer goes to say something but you cut him off with a smile. "But, that's okay. I want to meet her."

Spencer grins and grabs your face, kissing you like his life depends on it. You laugh as he gets up and runs out of the living room, whooping with joy.

"I love you, Spencer Reid!" you shout.

"Love you too!" he shouts back.

"Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends." –A Midsummer Night's Dream

It's a week until the end of term, finals right around the corner, and you have been stuck in your office for most of the day. Most of the week actually. You gave your students the last few days off to study for their finals, and to finish their final essays for you while you finished editing the last of their work before you were bombarded with essays and tests.

Your phone rings on your desk, but you turn off the noise, groaning as the red light beeps incessantly. It's been doing that for the past half an hour. You even had to turn your mobile off and shove it into an unused drawer of your desk.

After another five minutes of the light beeping, you pick up your phone.

"WHAT!" you scream into the receiver.

"Uh, Dr. [L/N]?" you hear someone say quietly into the phone.

"You know, I'm very busy right now and I can't handle distractions so if you would just-"

"Someone's shooting up the school."

Your blood runs cold as a knock sounds at your door, and you watch the knob turning. You gulp as the voice on the other end of the line tries to get your attention, but you can't hear them. All you can hear is the creak of your door as it's slowly pushed open.

"Mr. [Y/N]!" You hear someone shout as they enter your office. It's Parker. And he's holding a gun. "I thought I heard you in here! Who are you talking to?"

You go to answer, but the words die in your throat.

"I- I don't actually know. They-they were calling to tell me about you," you say finally, hanging up the phone as the person yells on the other side of the line.

Parker closes your door and walks over to your desk with a happy smile on his face. "I came to get you, [Y/N]," he says, and you force a smile onto your face.

"Really?" you ask, hoping your nervousness doesn't give anything away.

He nods. "It's just you and me now! Forever!"

You gulp, but smile. "Uh huh…"

"The only thing left in our way is that whore who calls himself your boyfriend…" Parker says, and your smile drops.

"Spencer?" you can't help the wavering in your voice as you say his name.

Parker nods and places his hand against his chin. "Yes. Maybe you can call him? I'm sure he's already on his way over here."

You gulp, but nod. You pick up your desk phone and dial Spencer's number from memory. While your memory may not be anywhere close to as good as his, you forced yourself to memorize it in case it was an emergency.

After the first ring, the phone is picked up. "[Y/N]? Are you okay? I've tried calling you for the past twenty minutes and you haven't picked up!" Spencer exclaims on the other end of the line.

You take a deep breath before looking up at Parker, who's smiling expectantly at you. He nods. "Spencer, can you come to my office?"

"I'm outside. Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Tell him to leave his gun and vest outside," Parker whispers and you nod.

"You need to leave your gun and vest outside," you say, your voice shaking with every word.

"Oh!" Parker exclaims and leans forward. "And tell him if he doesn't do all that, I'm going to kill you."

You let out a sob and say into the phone, shaking, "If you don't do what's been asked, he's going to- he's going to kill me, oh!" you exclaim, another sob escaping your lips. You hear Spencer start to say something, but Parker puts a finger down on the plunger and you hear the dial tone in your ear. You slowly take the phone away from your ear and look at it shaking in your grip.

You watch absently as Parker's fingers brush yours, getting you to open your hand, and you let him take the phone, and put it back down on your desk.

You keep staring off into the middle distance, even as Parker's hand rests on your chin. He turns your head and your eyes lock onto his. You can see the simmering rage bubbling underneath the feigned love that he's projecting. It's probably not even conscious. You don't know if a man like him even <i>could</i> fall in love.

You hear a knock at your door and Parker moves away from you, but grabs your arm forcefully. Your hips push into the desk painfully and you let out a small whimper. Parker's hand on your arm relaxes slightly and he pulls you around your desk to stand next to him at his side, his gun pointed at the dark wooden door that is slowly opening.

You see Spencer slowly pushing the door open, his other hand raised to show he's unarmed.

"Stay there," Parker says, holding his gun level at Spencer's chest.

"Okay. Okay," Spencer says, putting his other hand up. "No one needs to get hurt."

Parker shakes his head. "No. No. They do. They're going to come in the way of us!"

Parker looks down at you and you look up at him, wide eyed. "No, they won't. No one can come in between us," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Spencer's right. No one needs to get hurt."

Parker closes his eyes and shakes his head again. "Spencer, Spencer… Why Spencer? Why him? Why not me?"

You grab his arm and say, "It is you, Parker! It will always be you!" you look over at Spencer, asking with your eyes if you're doing a good job, if this is what you should be doing. He gives you a miniscule nod. You remembered from before when you talked about guys like Parker. "I don't love Spencer. I love you."

Your heart breaks as you say this, but you know that Spencer knows it isn't true. Parker's the only one who needs to believe it.

"Say it," he says, before looking over at the man in question, "to him."

You gulp and look at Spencer, leaning more into Parker's side as you say, "Spencer, I don't love you. I never loved you. I'm in love with Parker. Nothing will be able to keep up apart."

"[Y/N]..." Spencer says, heartbreak evident on his face. Either he's a really good actor or he actually believes it. You sincerely hope it's the former.

Parker nods when you look at him, and grins. "Let's get out of here…" he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly and he pulls your back to his chest, still holding Spencer at gunpoint. He flicks the gun further into your office, and Spencer moves with his hands up, tears streaming from his face as he moves across from you in the room.

Parker backs up slowly through the room towards the door, his gun still pointed at Spencer. As soon as he steps out into the hallway, you hear the gunshot.

You feel Parker fall behind you, and you run back into your office, falling to the floor, and only then do you start crying. You sob loudly, and when you're pulled into a chest, you only cry harder.

You hear Spencer whispering to you, and you feel his tears on your hair, your neck as he says, "I can't lose you too. I can't. I just can't…"

You pull him closer, pulling your legs to your chest as you sob, "I love you. I love you so much. I didn't mean anything I said!"

"I know," he whispers, kissing your head. "I know."

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." –Much Ado About Nothing

"I've never been to Vegas before!" you exclaim as you get off the plane. "Can we go to any casinos? I've never gambled before!"

Spencer chuckles as he grabs your hand, pulling you through the airport. "We'll see. I've been banned from a few, so I don't know if they'll let me in…" he says, trailing off and you laugh. "Did you know that what most people think of as Las Vegas is actually called Paradise? In the late 1940s, after the second world war was over, the city of Las Vegas actually banned gambling. The rich gamblers in town weren't happy with that so they created a town called Paradise and made gaming legal there. Well, it's not a town, but more like unincorporated land that doesn't follow Las Vegas' laws."

You grin and grab your bag when it comes around. While Spencer was talking, you had gone to the baggage claim and your bag had already been around once. While Spencer was used to traveling light, with only a go bag, you were not.

"I did not know that," you say, leaning up to kiss his cheek as he pulls out towards the exit.

You get the car he rented and you let him drive you to Bennington. He wanted to go back to the hotel for a night before seeing his mom, but you didn't want him to waste any more time. You would freshen up after.

You and Spencer are ushered through the sterilized, but still personable, halls of the sanitarium, and into a large room with a couple of other people in it. You see a blonde, short haired woman sitting on a couch and Spencer starts walking over to her.

When she sees him, her face lights up and she exclaims, "Spencer!"

"Hey mom," he says, giving her a wave. "I wanted to introduce you to someone."

She turns and looks you up and down, before wringing her hands out and looking at her son. "Is this the man you told me about in your letters?"

Your eyebrows raise at that and you ask Spencer, "You talked to her about me?" he looks at you, nervous, but you smile. "All good things, I hope." He grins and grabs your hand. You turn to Diana and hold out your hand. "Hi. I'm Dr. [Y/N] [L/N]. Spencer's told me so much about you. He really loves you."

She smiles and takes your hand lightly before letting go. "Yes, he's told me a lot about you too. He loves you too," she says, and you smile at him.

"And I love him," you reply.

"Journeys end in lovers' meeting; every wise man's son doth know" –Twelfth Night

#Spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x you #spencer read x reader #diana reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #my work #my writing

210 notes · View notes