#‘‘this is a new world to us and we’re learning about it but we’ve still just barely scratched the surface of its secrets and wonders’’ feel

[xcosmicsans]

Thinking again about the difference in size between rbg arc kangaskahn vs xy arc kangaskahn…….

[myrleius]

what remains when the sound fades — bakugo k.

timeskip bakugo k. x patient fem!reader│wc: 3.8k

synopsis: Bakugo’s almost deaf now. But at a hospital he never meant to care about, with a girl who falls asleep without warning, he learns that maybe silence isn’t the end.

cw/tags: fluff, angst, hard of hearing!bakugo, made-up illness for fem!reader, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers

The doors slid open with a sound Bakugo couldn’t quite hear anymore. He just felt the pressure shift in the air, a faint vibration under his skin. 

He stepped into the hospital lobby anyway, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, shoulders drawn tight beneath the fabric.

No appointment today. No injuries or bruises to patch up either. But somehow, this visit felt heavier than the others combined.

His boots tapped against the polished tile—at least, he assumed they did. These days, sound was more of a memory. His hearing aids buzzed softly in his ears, letting in pieces of the world like light through cracked glass. Voices blurred, distant and muddled. Sharp one moment, swallowed the next.

He still wore them though. Most days. When he remembered.

He stopped by the reception desk. The nurse glanced up, clearly recognizing him. Pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite wasn’t exactly subtle, even in civilian clothes. 

He didn’t bother speaking.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly wrinkled sticky note—bright yellow with a tiny inked flower blooming in the bottom corner. Yn had given it to him months ago, back when he'd muttered—half ashamed—how much he hated asking people to repeat themselves.

The message was simple:

Hi. I’m hard of hearing. Can you write things down for me, please?

He held up his phone next, showing a photo of yn—caught mid-laugh, paint smudged on her wrist, eyes shining with something quiet and untouchable.

The nurse smiled gently and scribbled something on a notepad, turning it toward him.

She’s on the third floor. Art event today.

He nodded his thanks and made for the elevator, the paper note folded carefully back into his pocket.

As he waited for the elevator doors to open, he let himself replay the conversation from this morning.

“I’m losing my hearing,” he’d said, blunt and brief. “It’s almost gone.”

He expected disbelief. Or pity. Or those strained silences people always gave when they didn’t know what to say.

But it didn’t come.

Kirishima just slammed a hand on his shoulder, grin bright and unwavering. “Damn, man. That’s rough. But you’re still gonna kick ass, right? You’ll figure it out. And if you need backup, we’ve got you.”

Kaminari blinked, then leaned forward, curiosity overtaking any hesitation. “Wait, so does this mean you won’t hear me when I’m being annoying? Sweet—uh, I mean, not sweet, but—can I learn sign language just to mess with you?” He grinned, dodging the half-hearted swipe Bakugo took at him. 

Sero snorted. “Dude, you already ignore us half the time. What’s the difference?” When Bakugo glared, Sero held up his hands. “Kidding, kidding. But seriously, if you ever need us to repeat shit or write stuff down, just say the word.”

Mina didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, new rule. We’re all taking sign language classes. Also, don’t think this gets you out of game night. We will mime everything if we have to.”

And Deku—the one who’s known him longest, who’s seen him at his worst and his best—didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained steady, analyzing, before he nodded once. “You’ve already been adjusting, haven’t you? The way you’ve been positioning yourself in fights, relying more on visuals…” Of course he noticed. “You’ll still be one of the best. And… if you want help finding resources, or training workarounds, I’m here.”

No one stiffened. No one treated him like he was broken. And that hit harder than he’d thought it would.

And now, standing alone in the quiet of the hospital, he wasn’t sure if it made the weight in his chest had eased or fucking doubled.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped inside, pressed the third-floor button, and leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t here for anything urgent. Wasn’t even sure what he planned to say.

He just… needed to see yn.

They’d met a few months ago when his hearing started going to shit. She was always here, a familiar figure in the waiting rooms and hallways, worn hospital bracelets like second skin. At first, she was just a girl with the tired eyes and bright laugh who somehow made the place feel less suffocating. 

But she was more than that. 

She understood, really understood, what it felt like when your body turned against you.

He hadn’t expected to find someone like that in the middle of this nightmare.

Yet there she was. Her presence, gentle and steady, made it easier to breathe. She didn’t pry. Didn’t talk just to fill the silence. And she knew exactly how to sit with this kind of slow pain that didn’t have clean answers.

But when he needed it most, she always seemed to know what to say to help him hold his shit together.

The doors open, scattering his thoughts like startled birds. Before he could gather them again, his feet carried him out.

The third floor was loud.

Not in sound—Bakugo barely caught snippets of laughter and the thuds of feet—but in color, in motion. The hallway was lined with drop cloths and plastic sheets taped across the walls and floor. Furniture had been pushed back. Paint buckets sat open, and kids ran by waving paintbrushes like flags.

It smelled like wet acrylics and masking tape.

Bakugo didn’t need to ask who was responsible.

“Hey! No paint in anyone’s eyeballs, got it?” came a voice from further down the hall. “We want windows, not lawsuits!”

He turned the corner just in time to see yn balancing a tray of mini palettes, swerving between kids and elderly patients like it was a practiced dance. A brush was tucked behind her ear. Paint dotted her sleeves. Her smile was effortless.

And then her eyes met his.

She brightened instantly. “Bakugo,” she called, walking over. “You don’t have an appointment today, right?”

Bakugo shook his head and signed stiffly, fingers sharp with feigned disinterest, “Had extra time. Figured I’d see what you’re up to.”

Yn didn’t miss a beat. She was fluent by now, between her own years in this hospital and months of chatting with him.

“Oh, so you missed me,” she signed back with a cheeky grin, handing him a clean smock. “Got it.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t refuse it. He slipped it on, its sleeves straining around his biceps, while surveying the windows. Every one of them, long panes stretching the whole corridor, was already a riot of color—splashes of sky blue, cartoon suns, stick figure heroes, one ambitious mural of a dragon and a bakery somehow mashed together.

“What the hell is all this?” he asked aloud this time.

Yn adjusted her stance, instinctively positioning herself so he could see her lips, just in case he hadn’t caught her words. They’d practice this enough that she didn’t even think about it now. 

“Window canvases,” she said. “They’re replacing the glass soon, so I asked if we could paint on them instead of just throwing them out. Figured it’d be good fun for the others. Plus, my friend’s gallery agreed to exhibit them, so they get recycled and displayed. Cool, right?”

Bakugo folded his arms. “Let me guess—you bribed the staff, didn’t you?”

“Hey! I got permission from the hospital director,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Now quit stalling and help me out.”

They spent the next hour darting between stations. Yn played the ringleader—passing out fresh brushes, hyping up shaky stick figures like they were masterpieces. Bakugo kept a closer eye, steadying ladders, pulling kids away from spilled paint, reminding a particularly rowdy pair of teens not to paint each other’s faces again.

It was loud. It was uncoordinated. It was a mess.

And it was… nice.

He wasn’t giving orders or chasing down villains, but he could still do something here. Still be useful.

One of the older patients tugged on his sleeve, holding up a brush. She pointed to the top corner of her window, then mimed her arm not reaching.

Bakugo didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a chair, climbed up, and filled in the empty corner with simple strokes of yellow.

When he stepped back down, the woman gave him a toothy grin and signed, slowly but clearly, “Thank you.”

He blinked. Then nodded, almost sheepishly.

Yn watched it all with a warm, quiet smile.

By the time the last of the patients shuffled off to their rooms, the floor had fallen quiet.

The sunset bled through the painted windows in long, glowing streaks. Everything was bathed in amber. Where once there was sterile white, there was now a wash of color—skies, forests, tiny heroes flying beside flowers, scrawled messages of hope and names written with confidence.

Bakugo stood at the center of it all, arms folded, head tilted back. Even the ceiling had caught a few stray splashes. The low hum of his hearing aids filled the silence, a steady static he’d grown used to. Tonight, it felt less like noise, and more like… presence.

Yn drifted to his side, her shoulder nudging his.

“Think they’ll let me do this again next year?” she asked, voice light and teasing.

Bakugo huffed. “Not if they see what you did to the walls.”

“They’re covered. Mostly.” She gestured to the plastic sheets still clinging to the walls, though tiny paint splatters had seeped into the creases. “Besides, they're repainting the whole floor anyway. I just… sped things along.”

He shook his head, a low laugh slipping out despite himself. He glanced over. Her hair clung to her forehead, cheeks flushed, fingertips stained in streaks of color. Despite the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, triumph sparkled in her eyes.

“You did good,” he signed. Hands slower than usual, but sure.

She didn’t hesitate to sign back. “You helped.”

He looked away at that. His hand twitched at his side before he shoved it into his pocket.

A moment passed.

Then another.

“I… told them,” he muttered, more to the empty hallway than to her. Fuck if he knew why. Maybe just to prove it mattered. “The other heroes. Told ‘em I can’t hear for shit anymore.”

Yn didn’t react. She just waited, giving him space to let it out.

Bakugo stared out at the windows, jaw tight. “I didn’t think I’d be able to say it. But I did. Told ‘em I’m still learning sign, still working on reading lips. But I’d still… probably need someone to help interpret if my aids crap out. Might miss shit or mess up.”

A pause. And his throat worked again. “I didn’t expect them to—to take it so well. Just an, ‘Okay. We’ll adjust.’ They didn’t even look at me like I was broken.”

Yn’s hand settled on his shoulder, the touch feather-light. “Because you’re not.”

“But I’m slower now. I can’t do the same field work. Can’t hear civilians shouting. That used to fuck with me so much.” He exhaled sharply. “But they said they’d work with me. That they’d adapt or whatever.”

“Then that’s their call,” she said, shrugging. “They know what they’re signing up for. And they asked you to stay anyway.”

His gaze flicked to hers. Something tight and uncertain lingered beneath the surface.

“You ever think people say that shit just to be nice?” he asked, voice scraping low. “Like, they believe it now, but deep down, they still think you’re… a liability?”

Yn paused, thoughtful. Then tilted her head. “Would you?”

Bakugo blinked. His mouth twitched. “Fuck no.”

“Then why assume they would?” she asked, sliding her hand down his arm to catch his hand. “They’re not stupid, Bakugo. They’re pros. They know what a liability looks like. I don’t think they’d risk the safety of people on someone they didn’t believe in.”

His brow furrowed, mind scrambling to find the flaw in her logic. There had to be one.

As if sensing his spiral, she cut through with quiet certainty. “You’re not weak, Bakugo.” The word landed deliberately, dismantling his unspoken fear. “You’re just changing. That doesn’t diminish who you’ve always been.”

Bakugo was silent. He let her words sit, feeling its weight. Then, slowly, his hand turned, fingers lacing with hers.

“I just… I get scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “Not about being deaf. About being fucking useless.” His thumb brushed her knuckle, an unconscious plea. “I thought it meant I was done. That I couldn’t be a hero anymore.”

“You’re not done. You’re just learning a new way to fight,” she said, her voice was softer but the steel beneath it never wavered. “And if anyone’s stubborn enough to make it work? It’s you.”

She leaned in until their shoulders touched, forcing his gaze up. “Imagine it—first deaf hero in the charts. Kids with hearing loss seeing someone like them up there.” Then her smile widened, teasing again. “Unless… you’re actually considering retirement?”

He snorted, real and unguarded. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Then you’re not done.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Because you get to decide that.”

Her words sat in his chest like a live wire.

Bullshit. 

Heroism was supposed to be hard. He'd welcomed that—the broken ribs, the sleepless nights, the impossible choices. But this wasn't another challenge to overcome. It was a permanent fucking handicap. Deafness wasn’t an enemy he could punch. It was a door slammed in his face.

But.

His hands flexed against his thighs. The same hands that had once sparked with explosions now knew the shape of signs. The same body that had lunged into battle without hesitation now calculated angles, light, vibrations—workarounds.

Was that weakness? Or just another fight?

The hospital hallway stretched too bright, too quiet. He could still see the other heroes’ faces when he’d told them. No flinching. No whispers. Just nods, quick adjustments. They planned to work around it. Like pros. Like equals.

Bakugo slowly felt the warmth of her hand then.

He gritted his teeth. Fuck. A long-buried memory resurfaced—one he’d almost let slip away.

Heroism wasn't about perfection. It was about persistence. About dragging yourself through hell with whatever pieces you still had, just to keep the light in others’ eyes.

A breath shuddered out of him. Fine. Fine. If the world wanted to count him out over something like this, they’d learn the same damn lesson they always did.

Because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t lose. Not to villains. Not to fate.

And definitely not to himself.

He breathed out slowly. His heart beat steady in his chest.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he reached out and ruffled her hair with excessive vigor, fingers combing through the strands just to wreck them completely. 

“The hell?” he asked, voice full of forced insult, but his touch was gentle. “Since when did you get smart enough to say shit like that?”

Yn squeaked, batting his hand away. But she didn’t move far. Because she felt it, too—the way his hand hovered for a moment too long. Shaking, not from strain, but from everything it took to admit he was scared.

She could’ve called it out. Could’ve gone soft. Instead, she smirked and poked his cheek. “Says the guy who needed me to spell it out for him,” she fired back.

He scoffed, but his hand lingered, sliding from her hair to cradle her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone—lighter than his usual rough handling, but just as deliberate. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerously close to tender. “Guess I needed that.”

He barely heard it, but he saw her breath hitch.

“Oi.” His squint was all mock-suspicion as his thumb brushed the flush spreading across her skin. “The hell's this, huh? Sunburn?”

“Shut up.” She tried to twist away, but his grip shifted to her chin, holding her in place.

“Ain't wearing makeup,” he mused, leaning closer. “So unless you're running a fever—”

“I swear to god—”

“—must be me.” The smirk in his voice was audible. “Damn. That's embarrassing for you.”

She huffed, but didn’t pull back this time. Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, right over his chest.

The light from the painted windows spilled across her face just then, making her eyes look like they were glowing. Blue paint smudged her cheek, a messy contrast to the red flush beneath it. And her lips, damn it, they looked so soft. So inviting.

He’d imagined this. More than he’d ever admit. Would she go all soft and sigh, feeling warm like her hugs or laughter? Or would it be all teeth and fire, like when she’d snap a comeback with that infuriating grin, leaving him itching for more? God, either would ruin him.

Bakugo leaned closer, their noses brushing. “Hey… I’ve been thinking—”

And then her body tipped.

His reflexes moved before his thoughts did.

He caught her easily, arms looping around her middle as her knees buckled. Her head dropped lightly against his chest, her weight sudden but familiar.

“Shit,” he muttered, adjusting her in his hold.

Her breathing was soft, even. Completely out like a light.

Right. Her sleep spells.

She’d explained them the first time it happened—some kind of neurological disorder with no warning signs or real triggers. One moment she was awake, the next she was out cold, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. She’d joked that her brain had a faulty “off switch.” Nothing dangerous, just… inconvenient. That’s what she called it.

But it still scared the hell out of him every time.

“Ruined the moment, idiot,” he mumbled, brushing her hair back.

She didn’t respond, obviously. Just nuzzled unconsciously into his chest like she always did when this happened.

Bakugo sighed and looked around.

The hallway was empty. Lit gold. Quiet

He stood there for a long minute, holding her steady, his heartbeat slow in his ears. Her weight wasn’t heavy. Just… warm.

This wasn’t the kind of saving he was used to.

No villains. No collapsing buildings. No flash of cameras or crowd roaring after.

But maybe… that was okay.

Maybe saving people wasn’t always about being the strongest. Sometimes, it was holding someone when they fell. Watching over a hallway of kids so they could paint suns. Catching a brush before it hit the floor.

He looked back at the art. 

At the handprints. 

The names. 

The hope.

Bakugo exhaled.

Yeah. He could still be a hero like this, too.

When yn woke up, the first thing she noticed was the dim lighting. It was night outside, the curtains pulled but still faintly glowing at the edges. The overhead light cast a soft halo around the room—just enough to see by.

The second thing she noticed was the dry taste in her mouth and the dull ache in her back, which meant she’d been out for a while.

The third thing she noticed was the very broad figure slouched in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed and chin tucked low against his chest.

Bakugo.

He was fast asleep. His hearing aids were out and tucked into a little case on the table beside her water cup. His hair was messy, a smear of green paint still streaking one forearm like a leftover memory of the day.

Yn blinked at him, a slow warmth blooming in her chest.

“You could’ve gone home, dummy,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. Of course not.

She pushed herself up slowly, limbs stiff but cooperative.

The motion must’ve stirred him, because Bakugo’s eyes cracked open a second later. Red, sleep-heavy, a little bleary.

He blinked, squinted at her. Then straightened with a quiet grunt, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re up.”

“Was I out long?” she rasped, reaching for the water.

He grabbed his hearing aids and slid them in. “Five hours.”

“Mm. That’s not bad.”

He gave her a flat look. “You missed dinner.”

She smiled, unbothered. “Worried I wouldn’t get my pudding cup?”

“I ate your pudding cup.”

She laughed. “You thief.”

“It was melting,” he said, smug.

She looked at him for a long moment.

The curve of his shoulders. The stupidly hot smirk. The stubborn warmth in the way he always stayed, even when it wasn’t convenient.

Then, she held her arms out with all the drama she could summon. “Pity hug. Now, you monster.”

He gave her a look—half amused, half exasperated—but stood up anyway and leaned down to hug her, arms looping around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands found the back of his neck, fingers toying lightly with the tips of his hair.

He didn’t pull away. Just rested his forehead against hers, eyes half-lidded and soft.

“Did I miss anything?” she murmured.

“Mm. Something pretty major,” he murmured back. “Life-changing, even.”

She chuckled. “Can I still experience it? Or was it a one-time thing?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a lifetime thing.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect. There was too much grinning, too many half-laughs between presses of lips. But it was good. Warm. A tiny pocket of peace carved out of everything else.

And then, it changed. Just a little. He leaned in again, his hand sliding lower, and lips parting with unsubtle intent.

Yn made a sound of protest, half chuckle, half warning, and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Hey,” she said, breathless. “We are in a hospital.”

“No one’s watching,” he muttered, cocky. “I’ll be quick.”

“Bakugo,” she warned, trying to look stern.

His grin went lopsided. “Be glad I waited ‘til you were awake. I was tempted earlier.”

She groaned. “Oh my god.”

But she was still tangled in him, still laughing, and he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment—gentle, polite, and clearly a nurse’s way of saying wrap it up, Romeo.

Bakugo sighed dramatically. “There goes our chance…”

“Text me when you get home, all right?” she said, hand still on his chest, ignoring his whining.

He leaned in, kissing her forehead. “I can smuggle you out, you know.”

She flicked his arm. “Out. Go. Before they revoke your visitation rights.”

He laughed and headed toward the door, pausing just before he stepped through.

“Oh,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder. “By the way. You’re my girlfriend now. Just letting you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. That’s it? No asking?”

He shrugged. “I figured the kissing made it pretty clear.”

She tried not to smile, but failed. “Fine. But you’re buying me pudding next time.”

“Noted.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Yn lay back against the pillows and let the silence settle.

Officially dating a half-deaf, overly-confident exasperating pro hero with a pudding problem.

Not exactly how she thought the day would end.

But it felt good. Solid. Like something she could lean into without fear of breaking it.

And even if he was a thief… At least he’d finally stolen something she’d wanted him to all along.

[ild-rllrcstr]

The Second Seat part 2

Lando Norris X You (female driver) / slight angst / 2.4K

part 1 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

Summary You worked your way up to Formula One, contracted with McLaren, defying all odds. You play the team game: humble, strategic, and willing to follow orders, even if it means sacrificing podiums so Lando Norris can be the world champion. Every lap you sacrifice, every time you hold back, the world starts to doubt your talent. Lando sees it all. So he makes a choice: to give you the race, the recognition you deserve, and maybe his heart. You came for the drive, but you stayed for something more.

Warnings swearing A/N I'm trying to write something each day, and here comes the second part! Might still have one or two more parts of this coming, but let me know who I should write next! Although I speak French and English neither of them are my native languages so bear with me if there are mistakes (don’t hesitate to let me know also!)

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The atmosphere of the club was at its peak, but Lando was strangely not his usual party self. Something’s really bothering him. And Carlos noticed. He noticed how Lando took a long amount of time to show up, and he’s not that into the party even though he won Monaco and set the fastest record, again. 

“I thought by this time you’d be on the table dancing in your underwear by now. Monaco win? Fastest lap? Come on, champion.” Carlos stumbled down onto the couch next to Lando. 

“Yeah. Big night.”Lando’s pulled a weirdly fake smile staring blankly at whatever Charles and Pierre are doing, some French songs, clearly having trouble concentrating.

“So? What's going on? You’ve been weird the whole night. You ghosted us until midnight.”

Lando looked at Carlos, wondering if he should talk to about this, but he is not the best at hiding his emotions and thoughts. 

“It’s… Y/N, she seems to be having a hard time because of the race.” Carlos nodded, getting what Lando was talking about. 

“From P5 to P9 hurts, we’ve all been there, we know how it feels.” Lewis said firmly with compassion on one side, sipping his drink. 

“Please. As if she was gonna take Isack. She looked like she might, we’re in Monaco, we all know, and consider the rookie she is, she just had to blocked all our way like a rental kart session, it’s freaking stupid…” Lance, being a bit drunk, complained on the side as soon as he heard your name. Still mad about being blocked earlier in the race.

“Watch it, Stroll,” Lando shot a deadly glance at Lance. 

The slight raised in voice caught the attention of the others. Charles’ eyebrows wentup. Pierre paused mid-sip. Even Isack widen his eyes.

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. She was in P5. You think she suddenly forgot how to drive? No need to see the front to know that you’re boxing. It was for you to box clean, and she followed it like a good little number two.”

“Come again?” Lando’s now standing up, fuming. Carlos quickly stood up between the two.

“Number. Two. It’s the eighth Grand Prix now, isn’t it obvious enough? They’re making her your shadow, and you know it.” Lance smirked. “I don’t know why you’re this mad, it’s for your benefit, and she seems to be happy enough to just be sitting in a seat with us, no?” Lance was absolutely drunk out of his mind. 

Fernando quickly stood behind Lance, trying to stop the conversation, it was going too far. 

Lando was leaning forward, Carlos quickly held him back just in time, whispering in his ear, “Lando, too many people around, not a good moment.”

“Come on guys, sure it was shit call, but we all know strategy is strategy. It is like this in this competition, we’re not new to this. That’s respectful for Y/N’s teamwork, I got no beef. Perhaps we should be the ones learning a thing or two.” Alex stepped in between, helping Fernando to hold the drunk Canadian back. 

Lance was quickly retired to another corner with Fernando and Alex to make sure he doesn’t get involved in this anymore, seeing how drunk he was. Carlos and Charles are sandwiching Lando, making sure he calms down. 

Lando said nothing. But his fists clenched, jaw tightened, and the way he was staring into his untouched drink says everything.

“You know what, tomorrow, my yacht, we’re going on a ride, just to chill it out, it might help her. It’s her first time in Monaco, can’t have her leave my home town on a bad note.” Charles picked up his phone right away. 

“Allô, ça va merci, est-ce que c’est possible préparer mon yacht pour cet aprèm?”

(Hello, I’m well thank you. Is it possible to prepare my yacht for this afternoon?)

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next day, you woke up with your head slightly spinning from all the crying you did last night. You probably cried yourself to sleep. 

‘16h à la porte, on attendera jusqu'à t’es là.’ - Charles

(16h at the port. We’ll wait until you show up.)

You looked at the time, it was already 13h, you dragged yourself to the shower, trying to reduce your puffy eyes and the weight behind them. You ended up ordering room service for some ice to help, along with some light food.

After a moment of hesitation, you pulled on a white maxi dress that hugged your shape softly, flowing like peace. One of the outfits you packed in the hope that Monaco would feel like a vacation, which was almost forgotten because of the race. You texted Charles apologising that you’ll be late for a bit.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

“En fin! Elle est là!” 

(Finally! Sh’e here!) 

Charles and Alexandra warmly greeted you.

“Merci pour m'inviter.”

(Thank you for inviting me.)

You smiled softly.

Even Leo wagged his tail like he knew you needed softness today.

“Mon chouchou!”

(My darling!)

You knelt to greet Leo with a little smile. You’ve built your little friendship with the little guy quickly throughout the races. The wind carried your perfume, your hair fluttering elegantly. 

Lando did not understand French, but hearing Charles’ loud voice, he came out of the cabin. You were kneeling down, playing with Leo and didn’t really notice him. Once you stood back up, Lando got a full sight of you.

For once, you are not in your fireproof suit, not with a helmet and tired eyes, not in the simulation, not with data sheets, but in something flowing and softly white, but still with a soft smile you were clearly forcing to wear, which made him pause.

He had one hand in his trouser pockets, another one holding on to his drink tightly.

“Wow, am I in the inner circle already?” You energetically smiled and joked when you entered the cabin, seeing only a couple of the drivers were on the yacht. 

Good actress. Lando looked at you on the side, somehow seeing through you, not understanding why you are like this. 

Lando almost caught you red-eyed last night, and you really don’t need more people on your tail.

The others chuckled. “You speak French, that’s already a fast lane ticket to this circle.” Pierre joked back. 

You were surrounded by your new friends, everyone was on the dock enjoying the sun. Carlos and Rebecca were laughing over a Uno game going on with Lando. Lewis was lounging quietly, sunglasses on, but you felt his gaze check on you once or twice. Pierre had his arm draped lazily over Francisca’s shoulders, the two whispering between bites of fruit. It was all easy, golden, safe.

“Don’t let the media get to you,” Lewis said gently, handing you a drink. “You did what was asked. That’s more than a lot of people would do.”

Charles approached and continued, “If it were reversed, if Lando were told to hold up traffic for you and he did, people would be calling it ‘brilliant teamwork.’ But when you do it, it’s ‘lack of pace.’ Fuck that.”

You smiled, small and tight. “It’s fine. Really.”

“Non,” Charles said firmly. “C’est grave,” (It’s serious.)

“They used you. And you took it.”

“It’s just part of the job,” you replied, trying to make it sound light.

Lando was not sitting far, he was hearing the conversation with the Uno in his hands, losing count of the cards he was pulling for the +4 card. He dropped the cards and stood up. Too suddenly.

“Stop saying that,” he snapped.

Everyone fell silent.

“Why do you keep pretending it doesn’t matter?”

Your eyes flicked up to him, startled but calm.

“Because maybe it’s not yet the time for me to start acting like it matters. That’s not what McLaren needs from me right now. Like I always said, I’m doing what my team needs me to.”

His jaw flexed. “McLaren needs your silence, then? Your obedience? You think that’s loyalty? It’s survival. That’s not the same.”

Everyone was watching intensely, this was not what Charles organised this cruise for.

Lando took a step closer, voice lower but shaking.

“You had Hadjar. You had him. And they made you back down. Then you held off half the grid with dead tires like it was nothing.”

You stood, keeping your expression even.

“Maybe it is survival for me, being the only female in this competition. It was done for you, but what’s done is done. Enjoy your victory and we move on.”

“No,” he said, voice cracking.

“You move on. But to what? Another Grand Prix where you can’t show people what you basically sleep in the simulator and a swarm of data sheets for? You act like it never hurts. Like this doesn’t eat you alive. But I see it. I saw your face yesterday. And I fucking hate that you won’t let yourself say it out loud.”

You swallowed. The wind curled around you both. His chest was rising too fast. No one said a word.

Lando was right, but so were you.

“…It’s not your job to hate it for me,” you said, quieter now.

Lando’s reply came after a beat. “Yeah. But someone has to, and you are clearly not doing it.”

Lando left for the other side of the dock, Carlos followed. Charles and Alexandra came to make sure you’re okay. It took you everything to not break down in front of everyone. 

“Suis désolé pour ça, je voulais pas de mettre l’ambiance comme ça.”

(I’m sorry for this, I didn’t want to make the vibe like this.)

You sighed and softly apologized to Charles and Alexandra, feeling guilty.

“T'inquiète pas ma belle, c'est pas ta faute.” 

(Don’t worry, my pretty, it’s not your fault.)

 Alexandra gave you a tight hug.

“J'avoue qu'il aurait pu t'approcher sur ça plus gentiment, mais c’est parce que Il tient vraiment à toi, tu sais. Il était à deux doigts de se battre avec Lance hier. Je lui ai jamais vu comme ça.” 

(I admit he could’ve approached you about this more gently, but it’s because he really cares about you, you know. He was this close to going into a fight with Lance yesterday. I’ve never seen him like this.)

Charles leaned on the rail while Alexandra kept you in a cute side hug.

You looked at Charles with your eyebrows frowned. That’s when he told you what happened yesterday at the club. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The atmosphere was saved by dinner, although you and Lando sat on the opposite side of the table, the perfect corner to avoid each other. You sat between Alexandra and Lewis, both have been extra nice with you the whole afternoon, making sure you feel better, at least you looked like you felt better.

After dinner, on the ride back, you sat on the end of the yacht, watching the sunset. The hum of the motor and the wave were calming, along with the wind and the orange rays of sunset. It was so peaceful that you just let your mind empty.

You heard footsteps, but didn’t bother to turn around. The person sat next to you, mimicking your position. 

Lando. 

Both of you sat there for a long while without talking, just feeling how the wind blew through.

"Thank you for defending me yesterday at the club, Charles told me." You quietly said.

“Lance was drunk and stepping out of the line." He paused, "I’m sorry for lashing out like that earlier.” He quietly said, looking straight at the water.

“You’re not wrong. But if my little sacrifice can make it easy for everyone, I do think it’s worth it.”

Your words were frustrating him again, but he tried to calm himself down, since it did not end well the way he reacted earlier. 

“You don’t owe them comfort. You don’t owe me silence either. You are my teammate, but we’re supposed to push each other and not starve one to feed another, we’re McLaren we can have enough for both of us.” 

He wasn’t just angry anymore. He was hurting.

You turned to look at him, and there was something raw in his eyes, the kind of frustration that only comes from caring too much, like he’s begging you. 

“I don’t want to be the reason the team loses trust. If I break down, it’s not just me who suffers. It reflects on every woman trying to get into this sport. I believe the team has its plan, and I want to trust their decisions.”

 “So you’re just going to bleed for everyone in silence?” It was pure bitterness in Lando’s voice.

You smiled faintly. “If that’s what it takes.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and there was something in his gaze that burns hotter than an F1 engine running at 200km/h.

“I can’t stand watching them waste you.” Lando gritted his teeth.

“They’re not wasting me. I’m still here. And you’re getting the huge top rank gap between you and Lewis.” You were saying so, but you can’t look straight in his eyes to say these words.

“Yeah, but for how long before they break you, trying to make you small? And to be honest, I won’t feel like a real champion if I’m getting it like this”

Silence again. The air between you was tight with everything unsaid.

“Don’t care so much, Lando. It’ll hurt you.” You stared at the line where the sun disappeared into the water.

Lando almost whispered, “Too late.”

You looked up at him, heart pounding for reasons that had no longer anything to do with racing anymore.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

“Should I go see if everything’s okay over there?” Carlos asked, eyes fixated on the two at the end of the yacht.

Everyone was trying to be subtle, but 8 of them all squeezing near the cabin opening to see what’s going on was very obvious and somehow comic. 

“I think we can leave them alone for now.” Charles was concerned, but the situation didn’t seem to need interfering for the moment.

“It’s scary when Lando is like that, it’s new and unpredictable,” Pierre muttered, stating what most were feeling. 

“Are you guys for real?” Lewis distanced himself from the others, looking at them as if they all had three heads.

“What?” Charles voices everyone’s confusion.

“Do you guys seriously not see why might be the reason he’s like that?” Lewis smirked.

The others looked at each other, still confused. Then Alexandra’s eyes widened and she looked back at Lewis in disbelief. Lewis shrugged, confirming what Alexandra’s thinking.

“Merde, ne me dis pas qu’il l’aime” Charles whispered.

(Shit, don’t tell me he likes her.)

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[cherryblossomfairyy]

Shake It Off.

Pairing: spencer reid x popstar!reader

Summary: Glimpses into the chaotic, glittering life of popstar Y/N and her quiet genius : the relationship going live, new music, dates, rumors and rings. Along the lyrics of the song "Shake It Off" by Taylor Swift.

Masterlist

a/n: ngl i kinda lost the plot, but enjoy! wc: 7,8K

cw: intimate moments

Spencer Reid adjusted his messenger bag awkwardly as he stood backstage at your concert. The energy of the stadium buzzed behind the curtains, a mix of bass, screaming fans, and your voice soaring through the speakers. It was a world completely unlike his usual one of serial killers and behavioral analysis. Garcia had practically shoved him into attending. “She likes you, Reid! Go see her perform! Don’t overthink it!” The final notes of one of your many hit songs echoed, and the crowd erupted. Then came your encore — and your speech. “I know some people say a lot of stuff about me — in the tabloids, online, even on late-night TV,” you said, breathless, sweat-slicked, smiling like you couldn’t be touched. “But y’know what I always say?” The beat dropped. “Hey, hey, hey. Just think, while you've been gettin' down and out about the liars and the dirty, dirty cheats of the world. You could've been gettin' down to this sick beat” Spencer chuckled despite himself. You had told him once that you hated gossip — but that you’d learned to “shake it off.” It sounded like a defense mechanism, and he recognized it instantly. He used intellectualism. You used glitter and glittering lyrics. Backstage, after the show, you threw your arms around his neck. “Did you hate it?” He shook his head. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. It was… fun.” You grinned. “Is that a Reid-certified review?” “Statistically speaking, the combination of upbeat music, synchronized dance, and audience interaction creates a dopamine response in the prefrontal—” You kissed him before he could finish. “Just say yes, baby genius.”

A week later, you were curled up on Spencer’s couch in one of his oversized cardigans, scrolling through your phone. The latest tabloid headline flashed: “Pop Princess Parties While Profiler Pouts — Trouble in Paradise?” You let out a frustrated groan and dropped the phone. “God, they make it sound like we’re in some reality show.” Spencer looked up from his book, concerned. “Do you want me to file a cease and desist?” You laughed, weakly. “No. I just— sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, they’re going to twist it. I post a video, they say I’m showing off. I don’t post, they say I’m hiding something. I never miss a beat, I’m lightning on my feet, but they still say I’m fake.” He set his book down and sat beside you. “Do you want to stop?” “I can’t stop,” you whispered. “I don’t want to stop. I just… wish people would stop talking about me like I’m not a person.” “That's what people say, mm-mm.” Spencer reached for your hand. “I know what it’s like to be misinterpreted. When I joined the BAU at 22, no one thought I belonged. They called me a robot. Mocked me. Assumed I was weak.” You turned toward him. “And what did you do?” “I showed them what I’m capable of,” he said softly. “Eventually. And so will you. Because you’re the strongest person I know.” You blinked at him. “I thought I was the smartest.” With a sweet smile you said. “You can be both,” he smiled, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Let the world spin. We’ve got our own rhythm.” Outside, cameras might be flashing, but in this quiet moment, you felt invincible — not because of fame, but because of him.

You leaned into Spencer’s chest, his cardigan sliding off one shoulder. “I hate how they think they know me,” you murmured, your fingers brushing the back of his neck. “The real me.” He looked down at you, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “I do,” he said. “I know you.”

There was something about the way he said it—low, reverent, like a secret being confessed in the dark—that made the air between you shift. Your heart thudded with the same rhythm that pulsed through arena speakers, but slower… heavier. You tilted your head. “Then prove it.” His breath caught, eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t answer with words. You closed the space between you with a kiss, slow at first, until his hands found your waist and pulled you into his lap. He tasted like cinnamon tea and something distinctly Spencer—warm, a little hesitant, but all-consuming once he gave in. As your lips moved against his, your hands wandered—beneath the hem of his sweater, over the sharp lines of his ribs and the softness of his skin. His cardigan slipped further down your arms as his lips trailed to your jaw, then down the column of your throat.

“You’re not some pop persona to me,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You’re Y/N. The one who snorts when she laughs. The one who steals my FBI sweaters and sings in the shower off-key.” You laughed breathlessly. “I never miss a beat,” remember?” Spencer smiled against your skin. “Then why is my heart completely off tempo right now?” You tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling. “Maybe we need to reset the rhythm.”

That’s all it took. The way he kissed you after that—like he’d been thinking about it all week, maybe longer—was less composed, more needy. You gasped as he lifted you with surprising strength, carrying you to the bedroom like he already knew every step in this dance. Spencer laid you back against the pillows, his gaze dark but soft, reverent. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured as his fingers traced your thighs, slow and deliberate. “I’ll tell you if I want you to keep going,” you teased, breathless. That earned a smirk — rare and devastating — just before he leaned down, kissing a trail from your ribs to your hips, peeling fabric from your skin like he was unwrapping a secret.

He wasn’t rushed. Every movement was patient, like he was profiling your body — learning what made you tremble, what pulled gasps from your lips, what made your back arch. His mouth followed his hands, exploring you with maddening slowness. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered into your skin, “but not because they say it on magazine covers. Because I see you.” You pulled him up, your hands tangled in his hair, kissing him deeper, needier. “I want all of you, Spencer. Now.”

When he entered you, it wasn’t frenzied—it was complete. He moved with rhythm, like he was composing a symphony only you could hear. Each thrust was laced with emotion, soft moans, whispered affirmations: “You feel incredible.” “You’re everything.” “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your fingers dug into his back as your bodies tangled, sweat-slicked and desperate, riding that high together—until you came undone in his arms, trembling with pleasure, calling his name like a melody. He followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck with a broken moan, as if letting go in your arms was the safest thing he’d ever done. The room was dim, the only light a soft amber glow from his bedside lamp. You lay curled against Spencer, your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Neither of you spoke for a while. There was no need. Finally, you whispered, “Do you think it’ll always be this complicated? Me in the spotlight. You in the line of fire.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Maybe. But I think… when we come back to this—this room, this bed, this… us—it won’t matter what’s outside.” You traced circles on his chest. “They’re already speculating about us. If I post you, I’ll get hate. If I don’t, I’ll get accused of hiding you.” Spencer kissed the top of your head. “Then don’t post anything for them. Just live for you. For us.” You smiled, half-asleep. “That’s kind of poetic for someone who quotes Freud and quantum physics.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his voice a lullaby. You sighed contentedly. “You know, the next time they say I’m ‘dating above my IQ,’ “Got nothing in my brain. That's what people say, mm-mm” I’m just gonna say, ‘Damn right I am.’” Spencer laughed, low and real. “Well, the haters gonna hate, right?” You turned to face him, hand on his cheek. “And I’ll keep shaking it off. As long as I have you to come home to.” And in the quiet, wrapped in each other, nothing else mattered.

It started with a red carpet photo. You were in Milan for a music awards event — Spencer couldn’t make it due to a case in L.A. You’d FaceTimed that morning, but now he was scrolling through Twitter on the jet back to D.C., and there it was:

Y/N looking cozy with chart-topping DJ Luca Thomas — new collab or something more? “Cause the players gonna play, play, play.”

The photo showed you in a glittering backless gown, laughing with the tall, annoyingly handsome producer, his hand just a little too familiar on your lower back. Spencer felt something twist in his chest — irrational, he told himself. He trusted you. Still, the image burned in his mind like a profile he couldn’t shake. When he finally saw you that night, already jetlagged and in one of his shirts, you greeted him with a smile and open arms. But his hug was tight. Possessive.

“You okay?” you asked, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You and Thomas looked... close,” he said, voice casual but eyes sharp. You pulled back, blinking. “It was press. You know how red carpets are—everyone gets touchy when there's a million flashes going off.” Spencer didn’t respond right away.

“Wait,” you said, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Are you jealous?” “No,” he said too quickly. “I’m… concerned.” “About?” He exhaled. “I’m not used to dating someone the whole world wants. And I know I’m not... flashy. Or charming on camera.” You cupped his face gently. “You’re not a stage show, Spencer. You’re home. Luca Thomas is a playlist. You’re the whole damn symphony of my heart.” “It's like I got this music in my mind. Sayin', "It's gonna be alright"

His brows furrowed, then softened. “That’s oddly romantic coming from someone who once rhymed ‘Ferrari’ with ‘party.’”You laughed. “Come here, genius.” You kissed him slow, hand slipping under his sweater. “I’ll prove who I belong to. Again.” And he let you.

Two weeks later, you were performing at a major charity gala, and you pulled a surprise move mid-show. The crowd screamed as you stepped forward in a shimmering black jumpsuit, mic in hand, music dropping to a hush. “I’ve got someone really special in the audience tonight,” you said, scanning the front row where your friend, garcia and Spencer sat, awkwardly in a tailored suit Garcia forced on him. “He doesn’t like attention. Or loud noise. Or… people.” Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“But he likes me for me. And that means more than any award I’ve ever won.” Gasps and coos from the audience. “So, Dr. Spencer Reid… this one’s for you.” The band kicked into a dreamy acoustic version of “the lakes” — stripped down, even slower, almost reverent — and your eyes never left his the entire time.

Backstage after, paparazzi swarmed the exits. Spencer instinctively reached for your hand, unsure. “You sure you want to be seen with me?” he asked, teasing, but a flicker of doubt in his voice. You squeezed his hand. “I need to be seen with you. Otherwise how will the world know my taste is impeccable?” A camera flash popped. You leaned in and kissed him — soft, public, no hiding. And for the first time, Spencer didn’t flinch.

The kiss made headlines by midnight.

“Pop Queen Y/N Confirms Romance with FBI Genius — Worlds Collide in the Best Way”

“Dr. Reid? More Like Dr. Steal Your Girl”

“Some Fans Swoon, Others... Not So Much” Your social media exploded. @ ynupdates: Y/N kissing Spencer Reid on stage just fixed my trust issues. @ Dr.Reidpage: My FBI crush is dating a popstar. I’m both betrayed and so proud. But, of course, the haters were loud too. @ popgossip24: Why is she dating that nerdy FBI guy?? She could have anyone. @ foryoupage: He looks so awkward, like he doesn’t even belong in her world.

You rolled your eyes scrolling through the comments, curled up next to Spencer in bed, his shirt half-buttoned, hair still messy from sleep. He looked over your shoulder. “Should I profile their insecurities one by one?” You laughed. “That’s what I love about you.” He kissed your cheek. “Not that I need to remind you, but the players gonna play, play, play, play, play...” You joined in with a grin. “And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate...”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what do we do?” You grabbed your phone and posted a photo of the two of you: Spencer mid-laugh, wearing your sunglasses, you in his cardigan, holding a coffee mug that said 'Talk BAU to me.'

Caption: ” I keep cruisin'. Can't stop, won't stop groovin.” #softlaunchcomplete #shakeitoff #reidsmine #hatersgonnahate

The post racked up 4 million likes in four hours. Garcia texted: “YASSSSS. He is trending. I repeat, Dr. Reid is trending. Protect him at all costs.” Later that day, paparazzi caught the two of you walking hand in hand near Quantico, coffees in hand, sunglasses on.

“Y/N and Reid: Lowkey, Lovey, and Unbothered”

You whispered to him as cameras clicked, “You know we’re a meme now, right?” He nodded. “Then let them meme. I have you. That’s the only headline I care about.” And despite the chaos, the headlines, and the noise — when he looked at you, it all melted away. You were just Y/N and Spencer. And the rest? You’d “shake it off.”

The event was huge: a cross-industry charity gala bringing together top names from music, film, and federal service. And somehow, that meant you and Spencer walking the red carpet together for the first time — officially.

You were radiant in a sleek, deep crimson gown, sparkling under every flash. Spencer was in a classic black tux (thanks to Garcia), looking criminally handsome and only slightly panicked. “Just breathe,” you whispered, looping your arm through his. “I memorized calming breathing techniques in five languages. None of them apply when someone yells ‘kiss her again for the camera.’”

You laughed and leaned in. “You’re doing amazing.” Just then, a reporter waved you over. “Y/N! Dr. Reid! Over here — can we grab a quick word?” You nodded and led Spencer to the mic. The reporter, bright-eyed and clearly thrilled, smiled. “Okay, first of all — couple of the year, easily. You look stunning, and Dr. Reid, might I say, very dashing.”

Spencer adjusted his glasses. “Thank you. I let someone else dress me today.” You squeezed his hand. “Garcia. She’s a miracle worker.” The reporter grinned. “Now, Y/N — you recently went viral for dedicating a song to Dr. Reid at your concert. And then that kiss backstage broke the internet. What made you decide to go public?”

You smiled at Spencer. “Because the truth deserves a spotlight, too.” “Besides,” you added with a wink, “the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate…” The reporter gasped. “You didn’t. That was iconic.” Spencer cleared his throat. “She warned me when we started dating. She’s not subtle.”

The reporter turned to him. “Dr. Reid, you’re usually pretty private. How does it feel to suddenly be in the entertainment spotlight?” He looked thoughtful for a second. “Well… it’s unusual. There are more sequins and fewer serial killers than I’m used to. But if it means standing beside her, I can adjust.” You visibly melted. So did the crowd.

One final question came in: “Any advice for dealing with the public pressure, Y/N?” You leaned into Spencer. “Find someone who sees you — not your followers, not the headlines. Just… you.” And as the cameras flashed and the world buzzed, you and Spencer walked down the carpet like you belonged — because you did. Together.

Spencer Reid had been shot at. Kidnapped. Drugged. Tortured. He’d once outsmarted a cult leader in a Mexican prison using only a rubber band and his knowledge of obscure mathematics. None of that prepared him for a red carpet event. Flashbulbs popped in chaotic rhythm. The sound was overwhelming. Everyone wanted something — a smile, a wave, a quote. But none of it mattered, because she was beside him. Y/N.

In a red dress that made his thoughts short-circuit. Not because of the fabric or the cut — though yes, that too — but because of how comfortable she looked in her own skin. How she glowed. She held his hand like it grounded her. She made the cameras seem irrelevant. And when she quoted Shake It Off with a wink at the interviewer, he felt something bloom in his chest he hadn’t quite named before: pride, maybe. Or awe. Or something dangerously close to forever. after the tiring event they went to her place, to relax and come down of the high.

They stumbled through the front door, laughing.“Okay,” she said, kicking off her heels. “Be honest. Did you hate it?” “I’ve delivered psychological profiles to murderers who were more relaxed than I was tonight,” Spencer admitted, loosening his tie. “But… no. I didn’t hate it.”

She raised a brow. “Even the part where that one reporter called you ‘America’s most dateable genius’?” “That was… unsettling.” “Hot,” she corrected, pulling him closer. “It was hot.” She kissed him, soft and playful at first. Then slower. Deeper. She tasted like champagne and cherry flavoured gloss and something sweet he couldn’t name. “You gonna help me out of this dress, Dr. Reid?” she murmured against his mouth. His brain short-circuited again. “Statistically speaking, zippers in tight-fitted gowns are—”

She turned, pulling her hair to one side. “Zip. Now. Or I’m gonna call Garcia to do it..” He swallowed, fingers slightly shaking as he undid the zipper. The dress slid down like a whisper, pooling at her feet. “I’ll never understand how this is both an outfit and structural engineering,” he mumbled, mesmerized. She stepped out of the dress and into his arms, smiling. “You’re the only structure I care about tonight.”

They ended up tangled on the couch — her legs across his lap, your laughter echoing around the apartment, interrupted only by kisses and the occasional: “Wait, did that reporter really ask if I was training you for fame?” She smirked. “You’re untrainable. That’s why I love you.” He paused. Looked at her. “You… do?” She blinked, realization dawning. “Oh.” “I mean,” she rushed, “yeah. Kinda. Not in a pressure-y way. In a… I think I already do and I don’t want to not anymore way.”

Spencer smiled — slow, soft, a little stunned. “Good,” he said, brushing her hair from her cheek. “Because I love you, too.” And outside, the world kept spinning. But in here, it was quiet. In here, they were just Spencer and Y/N. And they didn’t need anything else but eachother — not tonight.

It had been a hell of a week. A whirlwind of PR meetings, rehearsals, and an exhausting photo shoot where your stylist insisted on taping you into an outfit so tight you couldn’t fully breathe. All you wanted now was sweatpants, tea, and Spencer’s arms around you. When you walked into your apartment that night, it was quiet — except for the soft hum of jazz playing from the record player. Spencer wasn’t on the couch, but a small note sat on the coffee table. “In the bedroom. No shoes allowed. — Spencer”

You smiled, kicked off your heels, and followed the scent of cinnamon and paper and something faintly musky — his cologne. Inside your bedroom, candles flickered low, casting golden light on the bed — and sitting on the duvet was a box. Wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine. Very Spencer.

Another note sat on top, written in his careful, neat handwriting. “For the girl who can sell out stadiums and still makes time for Dr.Who reruns with me. Thought you could use something... grounding. Love, Spencer.” You sat down, heart fluttering, and opened the box. Inside was a first edition copy of your favorite childhood book — the one you once told him you used to read backstage when you were 12, nervous before performing at school talent shows. Pressed inside the front cover was a Polaroid of the two of you at a used bookstore, both in sunglasses and hoodies, hiding from fans.

Below it, in his handwriting again: “You’ve always been magic. Even before the spotlight.” You didn’t even realize you were crying until you heard the door creak behind you. Spencer stood in the doorway, holding two mugs of tea. He paused. “Too much?” You shook your head, eyes glassy. “No. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

He walked over, set the mugs down, and wrapped his arms around you from behind. “I just wanted to remind you that before all the noise, the cameras, the flashing lights… you were already enough.” You turned and kissed him — slow, deep, and grateful. And that night, the gift wasn’t just the book. It was the silence. The stillness. The way he saw you, even when you forgot how to see yourself.

It was supposed to be a cozy morning. Rain tapped softly on the windows, the two of you curled on the couch, legs tangled, sharing a blanket and sipping coffee. Spencer was reading aloud from a book about obscure ancient symbols. You were only half-listening, more focused on how happy he looked — hair still messy, glasses low on his nose, smile soft.

Then his phone rang. His whole body shifted. He stood immediately, the warmth disappearing from beside you. “Reid.” A pause. “What? Where?” You sat up, heart dropping. He was already pulling on his jacket.

“There’s been a shooting. An agent’s down. They need us at the scene — Quantico dispatched the jet ten minutes ago.” Your throat tightened. “Do you have to—?” “I have to.” You stood, walked over, grabbing his hand. “Be careful.” He looked at you like he wanted to say a hundred things — but settled on, “I’ll call you when I land.”

It has been radio silent ever since he left. You have been waiting, scared, by the phone for hours. For an update, a message, a call, anything to know he’s save. It was 2:07 AM when you saw the first headline.

“FBI Agent Caught in Hostage Situation During Ongoing Case — No Confirmed Fatalities”

Your stomach dropped. No confirmed fatalities. But no names, either. You tried calling. No answer. Then texts. “Are you okay? Please, Spence, say something.I don’t care about protocols — I just need to know you’re breathing.”

The internet was relentless. People already tagging your name alongside vague theories.

@ fandombuzz: Y/N’s FBI boyfriend was allegedly injured during today’s standoff? @ nosycatlover: If that nerd dies I swear I’m never listening to her again.

You were spiraling. And then — finally — your phone lit up. Unknown number. You picked up, voice cracking. “Hello?” “Hey…” Spencer’s voice was low, exhausted. “It’s me. I lost my phone during the evacuation.” You closed your eyes, chest heaving. “I thought—God, I thought I was gonna lose you.” “I’m okay. A few bruises. But alive.” You felt the tears hit, hard and fast. “I can’t shake it off, Spencer. Not when it’s you.”

There was silence for a second. Then you heard the break in his voice,he whispers softly to you “I’m sorry for scaring you, I hate this feeling. I promise I’ll try harder to update you.”

“You better, I can’t breath right until I know you're safe."

The Next Morning – When He Comes Home The second he walked through the door, still in his wrinkled FBI vest, you launched into him — arms around his neck, lips crashing into his. “You scared the hell out of me.” “I scared myself,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “All I could think about was getting back here. Back to you.” You touched the side of his face gently. “Next time you go running into danger…” “Yes?”

“You take me with you. Or you take a damn tank.” He chuckled, voice hoarse. “Noted.” Then you whispered, “Promise me you’ll always come home.” “I promise,” he said, eyes locked with yours. “Because wherever you are… that’s home.”

The venue was glowing with golden lights, music pulsing through the rooftop as the crowd swayed in a slow-burning rhythm. You were in a deep purple-colored dress that shimmered every time you moved. Spencer was beside you in a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up, tie long forgotten, curls soft and touchable. And most importantly? You were blissfully happy. Until—

“Oh my God!,” a voice cut through the bass-heavy track behind you. You turned. There he was. Your ex. Wearing smugness like cologne. And beside him? His new girlfriend — clearly dressed to outshine someone. You.

She blinked at you, mouth slightly parted. “Wow. You look… different.” Spencer stepped closer to you instinctively, hand on your waist. You gave her a once-over, then smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, different’s always been my thing.” Spencer leaned in, whispering in your ear. “That him?” “Mm-hmm,” you murmured. “The ex-man. With the dramatic accessories.”

“My ex-man brought his new girlfriend”

“But I’m just gonna shake…” You looked Spencer straight in the eye, grinning. And you did exactly that. You grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, not even glancing back as you twirled into his arms, the crowd cheering around you.

“And to the fella over there with the hella good hair.”  You sang the line to him, giving him a big wink and “Won't you come on over, baby?”. Spencer laughed — loud and real. Dragging your fingers through his curls playfully, trying to kiss him as he pulled you close, then spinning you out and back in like he’d been dancing his whole life. “I’m the fella with the hella good hair?” “You are,” you said, lips brushing his jaw. “And you’re mine.” His voice dropped, low and warm. “They can stare all they want. I’m not letting you go.” And he didn’t. “We can shake, shake, shake.”

While your ex watched, bewildered at how little power he had left over you, you were wrapped in the arms of the man who actually saw you - sparkling, alive, unbothered. So you danced. And laughed. And didn’t look back.

You were humming as you kicked off your heels, still high from the energy of the night. “I think I actually enjoyed that,” you said, flopping onto the couch and tugging him down beside you. Spencer didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you. You tilted your head. “What?” “I just… I watched you tonight,” he said slowly, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “The way you danced, the way you smiled when he walked in. Like he was nothing. Like the past didn’t even scratch you.”

“It didn’t,” you said softly. “Not really. Not compared to this. Compared to you.” He smiled faintly, but there was something deeper in his eyes. “I think tonight made me realize how terrified I am of losing you.” Your brow furrowed. “Spencer—” “Not because of him,” he added quickly. “I know I’m not that kind of afraid. It’s just… you’re brilliant, and radiant, and fearless. You walk into rooms and change the atmosphere. I walk into rooms and analyze the oxygen.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “You walk into rooms and make me feel safe in a way no spotlight ever has.” His eyes closed. He inhaled the way he always did when overwhelmed — sharp, then slow. “I don’t know how someone like me ended up dancing with someone like you,” he whispered. You kissed him gently. “Because there is no one on this world that can make feel as loved as you ever have. I feel honored that I get to hear all your briljant thoughts.” You sniffled, realising how true your words are. “And because you’re “the fella with the hella good hair,” you teased.

He laughed under his breath. “And,” you added more softly, pulling his hand over your heart, “because this? It beats louder for you than it ever did for anyone else.” Silence stretched between you — not awkward, but reverent. Then he kissed you. Not desperate, not rushed. Just real. And when you curled into him on the couch later, his voice barely audible, he whispered something into your hair that made your eyes sting. “I don’t just love you. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anything.”

The lights dimmed. The roar of the audience softened into an expectant hush. Tonight, the cameras weren’t your enemy. The crowd wasn’t pressure. Tonight, it was just you and him.

Spencer Reid sat in the front row of the Music & Media Impact Awards, utterly still except for the nervous way his fingers tapped on his knee. He looked breathtaking in a charcoal suit, hair freshly trimmed but still curling slightly at the ends. His handsomeness wasn’t loud — it never was. But to you? He was the only one in the room.

And tonight… you were going to tell the whole world why. The stage lights flared. You stepped into the glow, mic in hand, glittering gown catching every spotlight. The crowd erupted. You leaned into the mic, heart racing. “This next song isn’t on the album,” you began. “I wrote it in secret, after someone walked into my life who reminded me that love doesn’t have to hurt. That it can be kind, quiet, and still make you feel like a damn hurricane.” “I'm lightnin' on my feet. And that's what they don't see, mm-mm.”

The crowd murmured. Spencer blinked, visibly startled. “This one’s for the man who never tried to dim my light — only ever held up a mirror so I could see it for myself.”

The piano began. And then you sang. “Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night. My baby's fit like a daydream.” Not about heartbreak. Not about fame. But about a boy with brilliant eyes and messy hair who could recite Shakespeare and statistics in the same breath. About late-night bookshop dates, whispered kisses behind closed doors, and dancing barefoot in the living room to jazz no one else heard.

Your voice cracked once — but it only made the lyrics hit harder. Midway through, the camera panned to Spencer. And the world saw it. The way he looked at you like he was watching the stars breathe. The way his lips parted in awe. The way his eyes — red-rimmed — never left your face. When the final note fell, the crowd rose to their feet. A standing ovation. Roaring applause.

But all you saw was him — standing too, hands trembling slightly as you stepped off the stage and walked straight into his arms. “Was that…” he started, breath caught, “for me?” You pulled him closer. “Every note.” He kissed you right there, in front of the world, in front of the flashing cameras and open mouths and stunned press. And somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered: “That’s not just a song. That’s the real thing.”

By morning, the internet was in meltdown. @ PopCrave: Y/N’s surprise love ballad at the MMIA leaves crowd sobbing — and Dr. Spencer Reid in tears. @ cultureunfiltered: Pop star writes new song for FBI profiler boyfriend… and yes, this is our Roman Empire now. @ DailySleaze: Dr. Spencer Reid: Hot Nerd or Heartthrob Hero? A deep dive into why smart is the new sexy.

Your DMs were chaos. Your team was losing their minds. And your fans? Unhinged in the best way. @ ynnation: We don’t want a bad boy, we want a genius in a cardigan who’ll annotate our heart. @ brainyxyn: "He never dimmed my light — only held up a mirror." HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME CRY BEFORE COFFEE.

Meanwhile, Spencer had tried (and failed) to mute the noise. “Do you know how many ‘hot nerd’ listicles I’ve been involuntarily added to?” he asked that night, holding up his tablet. “I think someone made a Buzzfeed quiz titled ‘Which of Spencer Reid’s Ties Matches Your Emotional Damage Level.’” You snorted. “Okay, but do they get it right?” “I got ‘The Maroon One That Says You Need Therapy.’” “Accurate.”

He gave you a long-suffering look — then smiled. “They don’t know the half of it.”

Two days later, you came home to a note on your piano. Do not open until I tell you to. Also: turn off your phone. I mean it. —Spencer. You obeyed. He arrived 20 minutes later, wearing a cozy grey sweater and carrying a manila folder. “I wrote you something,” he said, clearly nervous. “But I… I don’t do songs. I do science.”

You opened the folder. It wasn’t a love letter. It was a proof. Titled: "The Mathematical Probability of Forever: A Personal Hypothesis.” It included: • A Venn diagram titled "Your Chaos + My Logic = Something Sustainable” • A timeline with key events labeled things like “first eye contact” and “first mutual book hangover” • A small scatterplot of serotonin levels from his daily journal entries since meeting you • And at the bottom, written in the margin beside an impossibly sweet equation: “You are the constant in every variable I can’t control.”

You blinked, tears rushing in uninvited. “Spencer,” you whispered, voice cracked. “This is… this is everything.” He fidgeted, suddenly shy. “Does it make sense?”

“Yes, ofcourse,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. “It makes sense, it makes feelings. In the best way possible.” He buried his face in your neck, voice warm with relief. “Good. Because I think I just scientifically proved that I’m in love with you.” You laughed, a little teary. “Guess we’re peer-reviewed, then."

Spencer had never been inside a recording studio. He walked in cautiously, wide-eyed, eyes darting between the mixing board, walls padded with soundproofing, and your lyric scribbles scattered everywhere like clues to a case. You stood in a pair of Spencer’s mismatched socks in the vocal booth (for good luck), headphones around your neck, humming softly into the mic. Spencer sat outside, watching you through the glass with the reverence of someone who couldn’t believe they were even allowed to.

“I’m stuck,” you said over the intercom, pressing the button. “Bridge is mostly done.

Just need a good ending, something grounded.” Spencer tilted his head. “What’s the bridge?  You recited it:

“I was spinning in circles, chasing my doubt. Trying to find what life’s all about. My heart was a puzzle with pieces misplaced. ‘Til your love came in and softened the pace” He thought for a moment, then mumbled, almost to himself: “Now you’re the variable that stabilized my chaos.”

You blinked. “Say that again.” He looked startled. “What?” You burst into a grin, slamming the intercom button. “That! Spencer! That is the line!” He flushed red. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to write a lyric.” You laughed. “You just accidentally wrote the entire soul of the track.”

Two Weeks Later – The Announcement You posted a black-and-white photo. You. Spencer’s hand in yours, just visible. The edge of a page. A scribbled line in pencil. “You’re the variable that stabilized my chaos.”

And below it, the caption: New Album: CHAOS THEORY Out this fall.

The internet imploded. @ PopCrave: Y/N’s new album title confirms long-rumored scientific influence from her FBI boyfriend. @ brainyxyn: *CHAOS THEORY?? That’s literally Reid-coded. She's naming an era after his entire worldview. @ spencergfactual: This is how you love someone like Spencer Reid. You name your art after their brain. @ culturedromantics: We are getting an intellectual, emotionally literate love album. Buckle up.

Spencer just looked at you over his book that night, stunned. “They really think this whole thing is about me?” You kissed his temple and whispered, “That’s because it is.”

CHAOS THEORY (Launch Night)

The venue pulsed with anticipation — intimate, moody, lit with deep violets and golds. Just a few hundred fans, press, and industry insiders packed in to witness the live debut of your new album. Spencer stood backstage, fidgeting slightly, wearing all black. He’d been quiet all day — proud, yes, but tense. Like your success was a miracle and he didn’t want to breathe too loud in case he broke it.

When you walked past him toward the stage, he gently caught your hand. “You okay?” you asked. He nodded. “Statistically? This may be the night the world realizes what I’ve always known.” You blinked, thrown. “What’s that?” He leaned in and murmured, “That you're brilliant in ways no algorithm can measure.” And with that, you took the stage.

The setlist was a ride — deep, aching ballads, glittering pop confessionals, even a spoken-word interlude called “Parallel Lines” that referenced one of Spencer’s journal entries.But the moment of the night?

Track 7: “Paper Rings ” —an upbeat, sparkling, chaotic-love anthem that had the entire room on its feet. You twirled, laughed through the lyrics, eyes finding Spencer in the wings.

“Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet. Now I've read all of the books beside your bed./ I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings./ Blue ink vows and quantum things.”

And the crowd lost. its. mind. Twitter exploded before the song ended: @ popwitch: UM is Y/N saying she'd marry Spencer with PAPER RINGS? @ wifeyynnation: Blue ink vows. And quantum things?? She’s so gone for him I’m SCREAMING @ diamonddetectors: Not to alarm anyone but there is DEFINITELY a gold band on her right hand tonight. Engagement ring flipped around?! You were still breathless, glowing from the lights and adrenaline, when Spencer met you at your dressing room door. “That song,” he said, eyes soft and unreadable, “you really meant that?” You nodded, still catching your breath. “I don’t need a diamond. Just you. Paper rings would do.”

He kissed your forehead — then reached into his coat. And handed you a tiny origami ring, made from a torn-out page of one of his journals. Inside the fold, in tiny perfect print: “Proposal probability: inevitable.” You laughed. You cried. You kissed him until the makeup smudged. And somewhere down the hall, a photographer caught the flash of gold on your finger as the door shut behind you.

By 8am, the headlines were out of control: @ EntertainmentDaily: Paper Rings and Real Sparks: Is Y/N Secretly Engaged to Dr. Spencer Reid?! @ thePOPhour: “I’d marry you with paper rings” — Popstar's new song ignites engagement rumors after suspicious hand photo surfaces. @ GossipGenie: FBI refuses to comment on whether Dr. Spencer Reid has proposed to global pop sensation… but our hearts say yes.

Clips of your “Paper Rings (and Theories)” performance trended for 48 hours straight. And the fans? Fully unhinged.

@ ynnation: If they don’t actually get married with a paper ring and they don't adopt a dog and call him Schrödinger, and make him the ring bearer, I will sue. @ spencerfiles: He gave her a homemade origami ring. WE ARE LIVING IN A NOVEL. @ engagedintheory: I calculated the trajectory of this relationship based on

Spencer’s facial expression during that song and yes. It’s a proposal arc.

Even your label leaned in, dropping a cryptic teaser: “Track 13 is classified.” Which, of course, sent your fans theories into orbit.

Spencer had never planned anything like this before. Not a press conference. Not a field op. Not even one of the 187 surprise birthday parties Garcia tried to rope him into.

This was different. This was you. So he made a list (of course).

Proposal Outline – v3.4 by Dr. Spencer Reid Objective: Propose to Y/N using personalized symbolic logic and emotionally resonant memories, while maintaining discretion and maximizing emotional impact. Stage 1: Location • Initial pick: the bookstore where we first hid from a storm. • Revised: planetarium after-hours, private viewing of Cassiopeia (her favorite). Request meteor simulator. Stage 2: Object • Custom ring: inscribed with the phrase “stabilized chaos” in Latin. (Ask Garcia for engraving vendor.) • Also: duplicate origami ring, sealed in glass as keepsake. Stage 3: Delivery • Monologue: include quotes from her favorite poets + Alan Turing + something dumb I said that made her laugh. • Close with: “There is no formula for love, but I would still spend my life solving for you.” Stage 4: Contingencies • In case of tears: pocket tissues. • In case she says no: improbable. Statistical margin of error: 0.002%.

He closed the notebook and looked down at the velvet box in his hand. He wasn’t nervous — not exactly. He was ready. And so, so in love. He just needed the stars to align. Literally.

"It's like I got this music in my mind. Sayin', "It's gonna be alright"

You thought it was just a late-night surprise. Spencer had been vague all day — “Wear something warm,” “Trust me,” “No, I’m not hacking NASA again,” and “Yes, it involves stars.”

The car dropped you off at a quiet observatory in the hills just outside D.C. Security led you through a side entrance, and when you stepped into the main dome, the lights were low... and it was just the two of you. No astronomers. No public crowd.

Only the hush of awe and the curved ceiling above, suddenly alive with constellations. Cassiopeia blinked into view. Your favorite. Spencer had remembered. Of course he had. You turned to find him, but he was already standing in the center of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other reaching out to you. "Come here."

You walked slowly to him, the silence thick with something beautiful and terrifying. He was wearing his soft grey cardigan — the one you always stole — and his expression looked somewhere between reverent and undone. “I’ve been preparing this,” he said, voice shaking. “For weeks. Actually, months. Realistically? Since about three minutes after I met you.”

You laughed softly, your breath fogging in the cool air. “You are unpredictable,” he continued, “which, for someone like me, should be unbearable. But instead… you’ve redefined what safe feels like. You made chaos feel like home.” Behind him, the stars flickered and spun — a slow cosmic dance. He pulled a folded page from his coat pocket. It was torn from one of his journals. A star map, annotated in his handwriting. You glanced at it, confused — until you saw what he had circled. You. A point in space marked in constellation. Labeled “Constant.”

He dropped to one knee. The room stilled. He opened a velvet box — not just any ring, but a delicate band with a tiny engraving on the inside you’d later find said "amor est scientia" — love is knowledge. “I don’t have a formula for forever,” he said softly. “But I know the constant in every equation I want to solve for… is you.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Could only nod — then say it: “Yes.” His hands trembled as he slid the ring onto your finger. You kissed him. Hard. Gripping his cardigan like you’d never let go. Somewhere in the rafters, a meteor simulation streaked across the digital sky. And beneath it, the genius who thought he didn’t deserve this kind of love finally understood: he was her muse too.

Back at Quantico, the BAU squad had never seen Spencer this nervous—and glowing—at the same time. Garcia was the first to notice the ring during on of their family dinners. She squealed loudly enough to make Morgan nearly drop his glass of wine. “Reid, you did this without me knowing?! I demand every detail!” she demanded, practically bouncing in her chair.

JJ smiled warmly, “It suits you both perfectly.” Morgan clapped Spencer on the back, grinning. “Man, I thought you were just gonna propose with a PowerPoint. Proud of you, dude.” Spencer adjusted his glasses, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “I tried to incorporate some astrophysics, but yes… I proposed.”

You laughed and leaned into Spencer, feeling the familiar comfort of your chosen family. Hotch nodded approvingly, “Congratulations. You two deserve the happiness.” The room was filled with laughter and teasing, everyone eager to hear the story of the stars and the paper ring. You felt completely at home, surrounded by the people who had been there through everything.

Weeks later, in the quiet after the storm of the album launch and proposal rumors, you sat down with your guitar and a quiet heart. Inspired by Spencer, the team, and the moment you just lived, you wrote a song—something unpolished and raw, meant only for him. You called it: “Constellation”

A soft ballad about finding a constant in the chaos, about love as a guiding light through the darkness. You sent the track to Spencer in a private message, no pressure, no release date—just a gift. His reply came quickly, and it made you smile like nothing else could: “I’m crying. The science checks out. This is the soundtrack of my life.”

And in that quiet exchange, away from the flashing cameras and screaming fans, you both knew: this was just the beginning.

You had never intended to release “Constellation.” It was your secret song—your personal love letter to Spencer, tucked away from the spotlight. But somehow, an early demo leaked. The reaction? Instant and overwhelming.

@ PopStarIntellect: The most beautiful surprise is Y/N’s secret track “Constellation,” a stellar love ballad that sounds like it was written for the stars themselves. @ lyricdetective: “Find a constant in the chaos”??? Clearly about Dr. Spencer Reid. Fans are losing it. @ reidnation: @ reidBAU I didn’t think I could love this couple more. But this song? I’m shattered. In the best way.

Despite the leak, you and Spencer just laughed. “Guess the universe has its own PR team,” you said. He grinned, pulling you close. “And their taste in music is impeccable.”

It was a rare Saturday morning when the two of you had zero plans. You woke up to Spencer reading aloud from a vintage astronomy book while you made coffee. “Did you know,” he said, “that the Crab Nebula is the remnant of a supernova observed in 1054 AD?”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “I love how you find poetry in science.” He looked at you, eyes soft and warm. “Because you are my poetry.” You spent the day like that — lazy breakfasts, stolen kisses, writing lyrics on the porch while Spencer decoded a crossword puzzle.

Later, you two sprawled on the couch, playlists humming softly, fingers intertwined. At one point, Spencer pulled out his notebook and scribbled a new idea. “For our next song,” he said, “a love letter with equations.” You laughed. “Of course you do.” He kissed your forehead. “Because you taught me love isn’t just in feelings. It’s in logic. It’s in constellations.” And there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you both knew: this was the life you’d been waiting to write.

[kandlewick]

“Huh. The stars are different here too.” You really shouldn’t be surprised as you laid back against the cold roof of the Ramshackle dorm, arms outstretched towards the sky. Cassiopeia, Orion, Andromeda… not even the Big and Little Dipper were there, everything was new and foreign to you. The night sky was something you use to take comfort in as a child, knowing that no matter how far you were from home, you were still under the same sky and stars. Here you felt… lost. There was no morning star to guide you home anymore. Everything was so different and strange. You felt a little tickle in the back of your throat. gn reader x malleus (platonic or romantic)

“What was that, child of man?”

“It’s nothing really, Horton.” You turned your head slightly and met the gaze of your quiet companion. Malleus stood beside you, his eyes lowered, a quiet mix of contemplation and curiosity at the sight of you. Whether he knew it or not, his tall form kept the chilly winds away. You shake your head, offering him a small smile and shrug, “I try not to think too much about it but…” you couldn’t help but let out a sigh, a deep one from in your chest, “I really am far from home.”

“Yes, you are.” Malleus’s gaze never left yours as you turned away to look back at the sky, a forlorn expression forming on your face. You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to consider his next move, as if trying to plan out the best course of action. It was almost funny how unuse to human interaction the fae prince was with his piercing stare and slow blinking eyes, almost alien. You could almost understand why some people would find the prince an intimidating figure even without the title and prestige.

You hummed, “It’s funny to think about, with how different our worlds are, how much is the same but just slightly different because of the ability to wield magic. We’ve hardly learned about our own oceans, yet we’ve mapped the stars farther than we could ever possibly go in a single lifetime. Isn’t that amazing?”

“What an odd concept. Just what do you plan to do with this information?” Malleus cocked his head to the side, eyes wide in curiosity, “If humans like you live such short lives, what do you gain by this?”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his wording but seeing Malleus’ eyes narrow and a pout forming on his face, you quickly hide your smile behind your hand, waving it off. You hadn’t meant to, he was just so honest about his curiosities. But the thought did give you pause and so you grew quiet. You sat back and pondered this before coming to the only conclusion you could think of.

“I guess we’re lonely?”

“Lonely?”

“Ah, yeah. Lonely.”

You figured Malleus could understand that. 

“We can hardly get along with ourselves but the idea of being alone on a rock surrounded by nothing but empty space for billions of miles, dead planet after another is…” You let out a breath and drew your legs close to your chest, your fingers tightly entwining. Despite not being alone here on the roof, all of a sudden you felt so lonely. You had very quickly learned how to compartmentalize the anxiety, the anger, the fear that came with being in a new world. It was easy to ignore the gnawing worry in your chest clawing at your throat every time you thought of home, about your job, about your life. Out of sight, out of mind, right? However, sometimes in the quiet of the evenings, you could feel it crawl its way back into your heart. The cold night air seemed even chillier than normal, even with your companion standing by your side.

Malleus finally lowered himself down next to you as you became quiet, a nameless expression on his face. He wasn’t used to comforting others, you could tell, by the way he seemed to fidget in his own strange ways. His gloved hands were in his lap, his eyes less narrowed, and he kept peeking at you from behind his hair. If you weren’t used to how he normally acted, you might not even have noticed but you did. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“But to make up for that loneliness, we sent out a spacecraft — two to be exact — to adventure farther out than mankind could even hope to reach. Their names were Voyager! They were thrown deep into space to learn and study and show us all the beauty our universe offered. Oh, Malleus, I wish I was able to show you.”

“Perhaps if given a description, I could attempt to recreate it for you.” His words were kind, an offer to give your memories a physical form. It was a sweet thought.

You hummed and leaned back, looking up at this world’s universe., “Sadly, the spacecraft couldn’t be powered indefinitely. Last I checked, it only had 10 years left of its life before it stopped speaking back to us… but that’s ok because on them, we left a little present.”

“A gift? Perhaps your universe isn’t so lonely after all if you’re attempting to offer something to whoever finds it.” Malleus’ hand reached up and cupped his cheek in thought, as if the idea of throwing a present into the vacuum of space wasn’t something fantastical. You wondered if Twisted Wonderland has ever wanted to explore its stars. Would they have a reason to? There didn’t seem to be any sort of arm’s race from what you’ve picked up.

“Yes! We call it the golden record! On it, we’ve stuffed it full of a bunch of stuff we thought was important to us. Music, our language, photos of us.” You slowly closed your eyes and smiled, “Everything we could have possibly have put in it, we did.”

“Then are you not something similar to that?” Malleus asked.

You turned quickly and stared up at him, his bright green eyes nearly piercing yours as he blinked down at you. His face was gentle, tender while he softly continued, his shoulder nearly bumping into your own. “A Voyager. A traveller. You are far from home but you’ve shown me plenty of things I’ve never experienced before.”

You flushed from his words, a dark blush creeping up your neck. You could feel your ears burning while you tried to break eye contact, instead choosing to stare at a particularly uninteresting loose board barely hanging on on top of your roof. Malleus paid you no mind and continued, his voice reaching you even over the winds that chill your bones.

“You are what we, — No, what I — know of your world. You are my Voyager. Thank you for traveling so far to reach me, Child of Man.”

[skaldish]

Nostalgia is a form of grief

Clearly, I don’t mean all nostalgia. There are times when we look back on something and go “Yeah, that was awesome,” and reminisce in that space for a bit before returning to the present.

That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about persistent nostalgia that comes with a sense of yearning; the kind of nostalgia we continuously turn towards for relief from the present. This kind of nostalgia is a form of unprocessed grief.

There’s a lot I can say about nostalgia of this sort. For one thing, many people don’t recognize that it IS unprocessed grief. For another, it seems to reflect a specific phenomena.

There was a study floating around here at one point about fans of baseball. When researchers asked fans of different generations when the game was at its finest, the fans all gave different dates, but those dates all correlated to the time each fan was about 12 years old. Interestingly enough, this is also the age most people seemed to have been when they experienced the stuff they’re currently nostalgic about.

Why is this? I think it’s because 12 is a sweet spot in our cognitive development. We’re old enough to track the goings-on of the world around us, but still too young to really pick up on the nuance, complexities, or problems behind everything. Unless we’re someone who went through some complicated stuff at that age, we experience the world exactly the way it appears to be, which makes it feel untarnished and “pure” in character. But as we grow older, we become increasingly aware of life’s imperfections, which creates an illusion that the world is steadily marching into a state of decline. That’s when we start turning towards nostalgia as a source of comfort.

I remember when my generation (the millennials) would talk about how we didn’t want to grow up to be the kind of old folks who got entrenched in conservative thinking, who waxed poetic about the good old days and criticized anything new and progressive. Only, we thought this attitude was the result of aging itself. Now that I’m older and watching my peers chase the highs of bygone experiences, I realize nostalgia is probably the culprit. When people make a habit of longing for the past, they grow bitter about the present, resistant to any new changes made to the world, and get stuck in familiar patterns of thinking. Conservatism is just the eventual byproduct of this process compounding on itself.

Now here’s the good news! This kind of grief is no different from any other kind, and can be processed the same way—by moving through it and letting ourselves feel the loss fully (and there are plenty of books and youtube videos on the subject). Once we’ve processed it, we can fully orient ourselves to actually being in the present.

“But that sounds bad!” you say. “I want to get away from the present!” Well, I’ve got good news about that too—even though things are pretty dicey right now, all time-periods have had their chaos. And because the world’s always had its chaos, it means we could always find the means to navigate it.

I think one trick to handling what appears to be an increasingly-complex world is learning how to use an increasingly-complex mind. Remember, what we perceive as the world unraveling as we get older is just our brains picking up on more stuff.

The catch is that our society doesn’t actually teach us how to use this greater, adultier cognition, which involves things like “how to manually resource our mental faculties,” and “how to care for and guide the inner child.” But this field is still pretty rough, decentralized, and mostly found within niche pockets of society, in the realms of cognitive therapies and spiritual mindfulness practices and the like. Unfortunately, this means I can’t point to specific methodologies yet. Society at large still thinks of the brain as a machine that runs on automatic transmission, rather than a stick-shift that carries the collective experiences and opinions of its ancestors.

But even with this state of affairs, having awareness that this kind of nostalgia = grief is half the battle. That alone does us plenty of favors.

One final thought I’ll leave you with: We can’t process grief if we’re busy being containers for all the world’s hardships. You must take breaks from all the bad that’s happening, and you must try to do so by seeking a source of pleasure other than nostalgia. Find a new experience for your inner child to be fascinated by. I know that seems like a lot to do, but it’s about teaching the inner child that gratification can be found in new experiences and not just in old ones. That alone will safeguard you from the plight of having a bleak outlook for the future.

[dashcon-two]

Our First Update!

Hi everyone! Wow, the reception to DashCon 2 online has been insane. We are so incredibly grateful for the support! We know that there haven’t been a ton of updates in these past few weeks, but we promise that we’ve been planning a bunch behind the scenes. We're going to be going over a lot of information here that we covered in our newsletter, along with some more behind-the-scenes details. 

If you haven’t subscribed to our newsletter, please consider doing so! We’ll be putting out monthly summaries of important updates, alongside regular short posts here on our blog and these longer summaries.

NOTICE 07/9/2024: We're currently having some trouble with the newsletter and cannot guarantee that you'll receive our summary right away. We're sorry for the inconvenience and working hard to resolve the matter

WHY HAVEN’T THERE BEEN MORE UPDATES 

Frankly, a lot of the stuff we’ve been working on is pretty boring. We’ve been working a lot on budgeting and logistics, what you’d expect from a con that’s still pretty early on in development. We also haven’t wanted to rush announcing anything just to have something to put out; we don’t want to make promises that we can’t keep. We have more in the works, we promise, but we’ve been taking time to make sure that we’re laying a strong foundation for all future plans. 

To be completely honest, we originally planned on publically announcing our plans in mid-September, which has definitely impacted our publication schedule. When we learned of Strange Aeons’ DashCon video we realized that it would be a great time to reach out to her (which we’d already planned on doing), and go public with our plans. We were also concerned that if we went public after her video it would be assumed that this was a cashgrab aiming to ride the hype from her video. Because of this, we’ve had far less to announce than we would’ve necessarily liked. However, we’re now at the stage where we’ll have a more consistent update schedule going forward. 

OUR TEAM

To start, we have received a lot of questions about our team and experience. The DashCon 2 team is a mishmash of people in and around the convention world. For specifics you can consult our  About Us page, but as a collective we have people who have worked professionally as event/programming coordinators, volunteered at conventions/festivals/renaissance fairs, and of course, we've all been attending conventions as guests for over a decade. 

If you’re interested in potentially joining our team, we’ve now opened up volunteer applications for people interested in helping organize DashCon Two. Please fill out this form, and we’ll be in touch soon!

Our team is also working hard to connect with other people in the con scene, especially in our local area. We’d like to give a big thanks to Jenn from Dangerous Ladies for consulting with us and shouting us out on Twitter. Please check her out on Twitter @dangerousladies!  If you’ve been involved in con organization and wouldn’t mind having a quick chat with us, we’d love to hear your two cents! Please contact us through this form.

VENUE

Unfortunately we don't have a specific venue confirmed yet. We’ve been in contact with a variety of venues available around our preferred date, but we're still negotiating the details. We cannot confirm anything until paperwork has been signed, but know that not matter what, we will be paying for our venue in advance.

Because of some new venue updates (that we can't talk about yet), the date of our event may be subject to change, but will remain within the month of July.

VENDOR APPLICATIONS

The team is thrilled by the excitement so many Canadian artists have for vending at DashCon 2. Vendor applications are not open yet because we haven't yet signed for the venue. Once the venue is confirmed we'll be able to finalize our numbers, including attendee expectations and price.

Thanks for reading! The DashCon 2 Team

[tanobatcher]

see you later

hunter x gn reader summary: you’ve been lucky to befriend a certain group of refugee clones on pabu, with a special interest in the one they consider their leader. saying goodbye becomes difficult when you realize you don't want him to leave despite the circumstances. warnings: nothing explicit but i might have snuck in a kiss 💋 a/n: i just finished my tbb rewatch and this idea came to me during s3 ep11 when they decided to leave pabu but obv this would take place before the empire came and fucked everything up!! bc imagine how cute it would've been if he met someone there omg :(

Rumor has it that your new friends won’t be around for much longer. Small whispers of people’s business always travel fast across this island regardless of whether or not the gossip is intentional. Sometimes, you overhear conversations that have nothing to do with you or your immediate circle. Other times, you discover that decisions relevant to the pit in your stomach have already been made without so much as a word in your direction.

Of course, they don’t have to tell you anything. From what you’ve learned about them, they come from wildly different lives than you. Something as trivial as your slight disappointment wouldn’t stop them in their tracks as a point to consider. But you know you’ll miss them when they’re gone. You wonder how long this farewell will last.

“Do you have a minute?” Someone asks you from behind, breaking you away from the conversation with the rest of the docks. It’s Hunter, for there’s no one else on this island who raises goosebumps across your arms at the sound of his voice like he does. You stay behind and let everyone clear out in slow waves until all that’s left is the two of you by the shore as the sun sets on the distant horizon. Finally, when the world feels quiet again, you turn around and look at him with a somber frown itching at your lips.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, already knowing the answer to your question.

He shakes his head, setting his jaw with a determined clench. “No. I’m sure you’ve heard, but I wanted to tell you that we’re leaving Pabu. Soon.”

You nod, trying to treat this like an inevitability and nothing more. “How soon?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, “Better to be quick about this…before it’s too late.”

You hesitate before stepping closer and taking his hand with a comforting squeeze. “You’re not a hazard to this place, you know. We’ve never had any reason to fear our safety here.”

“We can’t risk changing that,” he responds firmly.

The tired lines on his face begin to crease when he looks down at your joined hands, which feels retaliatory to your instincts. Your face warms as you pull away, unsure if this just crossed a line. It’s difficult to remember that you barely know him when the time you spent together thus far has felt so normal. That’s what being at home is like, though. And time is relative, especially when he’s brought more light into your life than anyone ever before. But right when you start to believe you can reach a deeper part of his heart, he decides it’s time to go. Perhaps he’s just too good to be true.

“I understand,” you hear yourself saying.

“Thought you would.”

You hug your arms across your shoulders as a slight breeze begins to pick up with the approaching nightfall. He watches you closely until you ask, “How’s Omega with all of this?”

His eyes soften at her mention, distracted from his constantly circling thoughts about her. “She was a little upset, but she’ll be fine. The kid’s tough.”

“Besides,” he meets your gaze, “This is necessary…for everyone.”

You nearly squirm under the pressure of his stare, still not completely used to his natural intensity. He’s a soldier, so different from your average self. Despite knowing what it feels like to lose your place in this galaxy and run away to the extent of your exhaustion, you can’t compare the degree of the events that brought you both here. Which is exactly why you need to feel okay with this. For them.

“Yeah,” you offer a shy smile, “And you’ll be back when things settle down again. Right?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be like last time. We’ll have to see.”

“Right. Of course.”

Observing the lingering hope in your eyes despite your attempted acceptance of this uncertain situation, he sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t wait around for me. You’re better off forgetting we were ever here.”

His words hit exactly where it hurts, calling you out on the feelings you thought you were hiding so well. He’s smarter than that, though, quiet and calculating in every move that crosses his attention. But your pride can’t let you down just yet.

You fold your arms over your chest. “Who said anything about waiting?”

He smiles slightly, amused by how riled up you suddenly are. “Just thought I’d mention it.”

“Noted.”

That feels like the end of this conversation, but neither of you moves to leave. He doesn’t mean to push you away like this. He doesn’t want to, actually. You don’t realize that you—like the rest of this island—have been so good to all of them, almost enough for them to believe they have a chance at keeping the disillusioned normalcy they’re now leaving behind. Hunter never meant to lose focus, and he hasn’t completely. Grief and responsibility keep him grounded enough. But looking at you when you’re right in front of him, so open and pliable to his presence, feeds a tugging desire he’s not in a position to fulfill.

He opens his mouth to reply, startling into silence when you abruptly throw your arms around his neck and inhale deeply. His hands instinctively raise from his sides, hovering around your figure with surprise and hesitation. You assume he’s not going to reciprocate until you feel the weight of his palms flattening around your torso and the squeeze of his fingers that soothe your racing heart. The impending reality of his absence suddenly overwhelms you, extending beyond the fact that you’ll miss his company. You’re afraid of anything happening to him out there, not even knowing where he’ll be. He tells you not to wait for him, but maybe that’s all you can really do.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d really miss me,” he murmurs.

Your stomach flutters as his words melt into your skin, so close and exclusive to your ear. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tell him, “I might be too busy for that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. Wrecker’s not gonna be here anymore, which means more work for us. I’ll definitely miss him.”

“Right…”

You laugh at the skepticism in his tone and step back, nearly slipping out of his arms. But his hands don’t fully leave your body, keeping your fronts together as you search his expression for some truth. It’s not as obvious to the naked eye, but he liked it here. Not just for Omega, his brothers, or his entire family’s peace. For himself, too, even if that isn’t anywhere near his highest priority. Maybe he’s been catching his breath, only to feel winded by the coming change all over again. Maybe he’s been dreaming forward, just for his nightmares to follow his trail.

The humorous buzz drains from your spirit as you consider these thoughts, looking at him while trying to find the perfect consolation. But he doesn’t seem to need any of that. You’re not really sure what he does need, so you simply cup his face with careful and caressing hands that smooth over his scars. His eyebrows briefly furrow at the unfamiliarity of your gentle touch, but he doesn’t reject it.

“I wouldn’t want to think this is the last time I’ll ever see you,” you say quietly, “So…just make sure you come back.”

“I shouldn’t promise that,” he replies before clarifying, “For my sake, at least.”

“You don’t have to.”

Suddenly, you realize that your faces are much closer than they were just a few moments ago. It’s like you’ve caught each other in your orbits, gravitating towards a decision you won’t ever come back from. You don’t want to, though. Testing the waters, you lean forward until his mouth is just hovering over yours. His eyes widen in response to the kiss you softly press to his parted lips, and his subtle surprise remains when you pull back just enough to see him again. He regains his composure quickly, though, almost smug in his returning smile.

“What was that for?” He rasps, sliding his hand up your back.

You’re breathing the same air now, noses touching and foreheads resting against each other. Swiping a teasing finger across his cheek, you reply, “For good luck.”

He makes a “hm” sound under his breath before dipping his head to kiss you on his terms. It’s clear he’s in control as he tilts his head at a sharper angle, and all you can do is just follow his lead and hold onto him for stability. His shoulders are hard in your hands, but his lips are soft against yours each time he coaxes a quiet gasp from the many noises you imagine you can make for him. The kiss eventually pauses, and you run your hands across his upper back while drowning in these last moments with him.

“Now I really can't say goodbye,” you confess, avoiding his gaze.

His fingers find your jaw, pushing slightly so you’re looking at him again.

“See you later, then.”

Your eyes round from the unexpectedness of this response, as it feels a lot more playful than his usual demeanor. But when he smiles reassuringly, you can only smile back and wrap your arms around him in another embrace. Resting your chin against the crook of his neck, you look out into the ocean behind him and linger with the setting sun. There’s only a little bit of orange left in the darkening sky, but the morning will return tomorrow. The day after that, too, and you’ll see him eventually as if the time hardly passed. The minutes, hours, or complete rotations won’t matter. Because you’ll be right here, thinking of him until this constantly moving galaxy decides to let you catch up.

[drdemonprince]

I see you post against the global blackout on insta and I understand the sentiment, that it doesn’t make a difference but actually we’ve got major Palestinian civilian advocacy groups saying This is what we’re doing and why, and it feels like the West goes “oh there’s no point let’s not bother”. But in actual fact it’s Something. Which is better than nothing. It’s so easy for us to say it’s not worth it. Because we don’t want to give up a day of paid work, social media and online shopping. But when people in Palestine and the major charities actually on the ground working with them want this, isn’t it actually a show of solidarity regardless of our views on it, the actual impact, and our own in inconvenience? Regardless of impact.

Not shopping for one day isn't all that inconvenient. I don't know about you but I have no buy days all the time. It's not much of a sacrifice, if a person wants to do it and feels that it's a good exercise or symbolic or what-have-you, they should do what they feel is right. But showing respect to a people and a cause means being willing to discuss tactics, express disagreement, identify whose political ideals are in alignment with yours, and convey what one personally thinks is right.

Just because a person is Palestinian doesn't mean that their political ideology or theory of how political change happens aligns with your own, or with any kind of leftist politics. There are a great many Palestinian public figures who are not in any way revolutionary or liberationist. The majority of the charities that exist in Gaza are created and controlled by people in imperial countries, and all these charities operate with harsh restrictions placed upon them that limit how challenging to the existing status quo they can be. Many of them have explicit policies of normalizing the apartheid regime.

And just because a person is affected directly by the genocide doesn't mean they have expertise in tactics or economics -- in fact, it is outrageous that the entire Western world is relying upon a people who are actively being genocided, still, to give us our marching orders and plan our wing of resistance for us. Solidarity isn't just standing around waiting for a people in crisis to tell you what to do. It's organizing and tacting action, lending your support, your expertise, your money, your time, taking a stand for something, asking questions, suggesting alternatives, proposing new acts, participating actively in resistance on every level.

It's also important to keep in mind that the calls we see that come from Palestinians the most often are the ones who have been elevated to the status of Influencer or Head of a Nonprofit-- with all the competing motivations and financial and social incentives that involves. We are not hearing from a lot of Palestinian people on the ground who lack a sizeable platform, who do not have internet or phone access, and whose organizing and resistance take forms that are not social media friendly. The call to "listen to Palestinian voices" is a lot more complex than simply doing what a person on social media -- even a number of popular figures! -- has to say. No person or group can speak for a whole people, or a whole movement.

I believe that taking a single day off from shopping is appealing because it asks so little. It demands almost no organizational work or effort from Americans. It's inert and ineffectual, provably so, but something a person can pat themselves on the back for doing and then go back to their day. It's like almost every form of "activism" that has been promoted on social media for years now -- and it's telling that people won't learn, won't build the infrastructure necessary to make something more dramatic or longer-lasting happen, that members of the imperial core just keep sitting around on social media expecting other people to tell us what we should do to end the imperialism and genocide we are complicit in.

We need to do a whole lot more than not shopping for one day, and we need to do a lot of things that cannot be posted about on social media.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Road trip; Winchester brothers x sister reader

*Author's note*

This was a request submitted to me anonymously so to the anon out there I hope this story finds you and that you like it. Took me a while but I finally came up with a cute little fic. However it maybe less of a raodtrip roadtrip fic and more of reader bonding with her brothers over a road trip but I hope you and all the readers out there like it nonetheless.

Taglist:

@queen-paladin

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@remussl0vers

____________________________________________________

I was currently reading up on some books that the Men of Letters had in their library about Celtic mythology.  After that last selkie case, I wanted to read up more on Celtic lore and see what else there is out there since the personal Winchester knowledge is severely lacking in that department.

“Yo (Y/n)! Meeting room now.” I heard Dean’s voice call out as I heard a knock at the table I was sitting at.  I jumped in my seat and I said.

“Jesus Christ Dean, you know how I feel when you sneak up out of nowhere and just yell at me. Especially when I’m reading.”

“I swear you and Sammy with your books.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t kill you to learn something new.” I muttered under my breath as I closed the book.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. C’mon let’s get going.” I walked out of the library with Dean following behind me and as we came to the meeting room, Sam sat at the globe table his laptop closed.  I took a seat next to him and whispered, “Any idea what he’s planning?”

“I have no idea.” He whispered back.

“What I have planned is no need for concern nor whispering now shut up you two and listen up.” Dean said as he took the seat across from us.  “Now look, we’ve been at this hunting thing for a long, long time. We’ve been everywhere across the country more times than most people take their entire lives. But when was the last time we gave ourselves a little vacation?” Sam and I looked at each other perplexed.

 “A vacation?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. A vacation Sammy. You know the thing that people do when they want to get away from it all—”

“I know what a vacation is Dean. But you know what we do isn’t a normal 9 to 5 job, right?”

“Yeah. But look at what Jody and the girls have been doing. They make time for themselves every now and then. Especially after finding Kai’s evil twin.”

“Question though Dean,” I asked slowly raising my hand. “Why bring this up now?”

“Haven’t you guys noticed that ever since we beat God at his own game, there hadn’t been as many cases to go to lately. Besides that selkie case, the last real case we fought in was like what….two, three weeks ago?” Sam and I shrugged in agreement. “So really, what’s the harm in the three of us getting out of this dusty old bunker and seeing the sights for real this time.” A bark soon came up and our newest family member Miracle came running up and Dean knelt down and gave Miracle some scritches.  “See? Even Miracle agrees with me.”

“You know it still seems weird to see you so affectionate with dogs. All these years and you finally allow us to have a dog.” I stated.

“I never hated dogs. We just couldn’t afford to keep one since you know we were always saving the world one apocalypse at a time. Now, this big guy can stay with us, ain’t that right boy?” Miracle let out a bark.

“He is right. I mean it’s been two days since the selkie incident and usually we’re out the door with another case or a new lead on our big bad of the year. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to get out for a while.” Sam said.

“(N/n), even if you say no you’re still coming with us cause we’re the oldest here.” Dean tried to out argue me but I told him.

“Did I say that it was a dumb idea? All I said was this was out of character for someone like you. But I wouldn’t mind getting out of here and seeing the open road without a constant threat breathing down our necks.”

“Then we’re agreed. Pack only the essentials and meet me outside in 10 minutes.” Dean and Miracle soon headed up the stairs and once the door to the bunker shut I said to Sam.

“He definitely has a destination planned out.”

“Oh yeah. But let’s just pretend we don’t for his sake.” Sam suggested as he gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder before heading to his room while I headed to mine.

We put out stuff in the trunk and I got in the back with Lucky at my feet while my brothers took their usual spots up front.  Once the doors closed Sam had asked Dean.

“Dean, since we’re going off the books for this particular trip. Do you think that maybe just this once you could lend the music control to someone else?” Dean gave Sam his raised brow and ‘bitch please’ face.

“What’s the number one rule in the car (Y/n)?”

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole and piggyback rocks out.” I said petting Miracle’s fur.

“And this is why one day she’ll be taking your seat cause she doesn’t complain about my music choices.” Dean started Baby up and her engine let out that beautiful purr before Dean drove her out from the garage and we set out on the open road.

I’ve been raised out on the open road.  Being a hunter meant never really settling down in one place for too long.  I could name every interstate and exit ramp by the time I was 10 years old.  But here and now, this was different.  Seeing the trees whiz by, the clouds that spread across the Blue sky, the sun shining off Baby’s hood and rearview mirrors, this trip felt—comforting.

Soon coming through the radio was Kansas infamous song ‘Carry on my Wayward son’.  When the acapella voices of the band came through the speakers of the car, Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“C’mon Sammy! You never go wrong with Kansas. This is practically our theme song.”

“Our theme song?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Now suck it up and take it all in.” as Dean and I began jamming out to the song, him playing the drums on the steering wheel while I did my air guitar before the two of us began singing.  Our voices drowned out by the volume of the song but it didn’t deter the passion that Dean and I had as we would belt out the song.  Eventually Sam got in on the action as he’d play the piano part on Baby’s console.  When the guitar solo came up, Dean proclaimed.  “Take it (n/n)!” I then proceeded to copy the famous guitar solo as my brothers cheered out to me and the three of us closed out the song in a high note.

“What’s say about making a youtube cover of that song?” I suggested.

“Might not be a bad idea. Never too old to learn to play the guitar.” Dean said.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a youtube star.” Sam said.

“Sam, do I need to remind you of the time we went to that world where our lives was a tv show and all the fanfics my actress had both read and written for being a tumblr star as well as an actress?”

“No need to bring that up thank you (Y/n).” Sam stopped me as he held his hand out.

“You guys getting hungry?”

“Baby sis you always read my mind. There’s also a rest stop around the bend from the food exits. We can have ourselves a little picnic there and give Miracle some exercise, what’d you say boy?” Miracle let out a bark of agreement.  About a quarter mile later, Dean took the exit and we pulled into the first fast food joint we saw and ordered our meals before driving towards the rest stop about a half mile down from the restaurant.

Dean parked the car and once the engine stopped, we all came outside and stretched ourselves out after a few hours of driving.  I leashed Miracle up as we walked towards the picnic tables up ahead and sat down to eat our food.

“But in all seriousness Dean, where exactly are we going? And will we be getting a motel room to at least sleep in tonight?” I asked.

“My dead little sister, sometimes you just gotta take in the journey and not worry about the destination.” Dean responded as he bit into his double burger.  I dipped my fries into my chocolate milkshake and Sam said.

“I still can’t understand why you do that. Everytime you get a milkshake or a frosty you dip your fries into it.”

“The perfect balance of sweet and salty, as well as hot and cold Sammy boy. Don’t knock it till you try it.” I said dipping three fries into my shake and stuffing them into my mouth.  Miracle laid his head across my lap as he looked up at me with those puppy dog eyes of his.  “Oh no mister. Chocolate will kill you, but I can give you this.” I tore a portion of my chicken sandwich and fed it to him after telling him to wait and be a good boy.

“(Y/n), don’t feed him human food.” Sam reprimanded me.

“Apparently you don’t know what Dean does in the mornings after finishing his breakfast.”

“(N/n) we had a deal don’t you tell him.” Sam let out a disgusted groan.

“Seriously Dean? You let him lick your plate before putting it into the sink?”

“It gets washed in the end.” Dean tried to reason while I stood up and gathered up my trash all the while picking up Miracle’s leash to take him for a little walk around the back so that he could do his business.

“I swear I love stirring the pot to get those two arguing over the dumbest things. Guess Gabriel rubbed off on me in more ways than one.” I said to Miracle as I tossed my trash into the trashcan before we entered the trail behind the rest stop.  Miracle started off by peeing at the first thing he had sniffed which was a sing pole for the ‘please clean up after your dogs’.

I walked him through the forest trail and he practically peed at almost every tree and bush we came across.  As we walked my mind trailed back to all the people that we had lost, especially Cas, Jack and Gabriel.  Hell Gabriel was my Guardian angel, who would’ve known at the time but it did make sense.  Whenever he made an attempt to mess with my brothers, he always made sure to never have me be harmed or be involved in any insane scheme he came up with.

The day he was killed in the apocalypse world when we tried to get Jack and Mary back was the day I was most devastated.  Right until the end, he made sure that I didn’t get hurt and ultimately sacrificed himself to Michael so that I and my brothers could escape and get out alive.  I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even realize that I had bumped into someone causing the two of us to fall to the ground.

Miracle had came up to us huffing and whimpering his tail wagging and I immediately got off the stranger and said.

“I am so sorry I should’ve paid attention to where I was going I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no it’s completely my fault. What I get for just standing in the middle of the trail.” He responded.  When I got a good look at him, I almost felt my heart go boom.

He was pretty cute.  Dark almost black curly hair that framed his face in both an adorable yet mysterious way.  He had hazel eyes that held both wonder yet mischief behind them.  His clothing wasn’t anything too extravagant, a Bob Dylan t-shirt and dark pants and he wore a few rings on his fingers and a metal bracelet as well as a watch.  And a jawline so sharp and strong it was unfair that someone around my age could look this handsome.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna exchange licenses or proof of insurance?” I finally spoke up trying to keep the blush I was feeling rising at my cheeks at bay.

“No, no, the fault was entirely my own.” He said with a charming smile.  Oh Christ even his smile was to die for.  Miracle then went up and gave him a sniff as he let out some happy whimpers.

“Miracle no down!”

“It’s fine I’ve got a dog at home just like this one and she’s an affectionate little girl. Although she’s not so little anymore even though she thinks she is.” He said laughing as he gave Miracle some scritches on top of his head.

You know how dogs can be trained to detect cancer or find weapons or drugs at airports.  Well my brothers and I have been training Miracle to detect whether someone was human or not and he always let us know by either growling (Werewolf, vampire, demon, wendigo, shapeshifter), lay down (djinn, vetala, reapers, witches), or to stand completely still but firm for ghosts, ghouls and everything else.

And with how he was acting, I knew I could relax since Miracle would never react this way towards a normal human being so I knew this boy could be trusted.

“What’s her name?”

“Dixie. Found her dumped at the side of the road when she was just a puppy.”

“I swear, humans can be such monsters.”

“Tell me about it. But with time, food and water, she was acting like a normal puppy should and has been for the past 10 years now. How long have you had Miracle, you said his name was?”

“Yeah, we’ve only had him for a year now but we didn’t get him as a puppy. Was left behind at a gas station.”

“Aww poor guy, well lucky for him he found a good family to take care of him.” We stared into each other’s eyes for a moment and it felt like my entire world was flipped upside down.  I awkwardly cleared my throat and said.

“Well we uhh—we better get back. My brothers will start to think we’ve been kidnapped or something.”

“Yeah, yeah I better get back on the road myself. Got a long way to Georgia.” He said in the same manner of awkwardness as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and we both stood up.

“Georgia? Funny you don’t seem to have the accent. No offense.”

“None taken, I’m just heading down that way to help out my aunt. She got injured pretty badly and I said I’d help her at her shop.”

“Such a gentleman, don’t see many of you out in the world.”

“Oh we’re out there. Just gotta know where to look. But I think it’s ungentlemanly to not introduce myself, I’m Paul.”

“(Y/n).” the second we took hands, I felt a spark of electricity surge through me and I let out a tiny gasp.  There’s no way I could be falling for this guy so fast could I? No, no, no it’s just a crush. Just like with Jack, it’s not real.  But then again I knew the term soulmates were real thanks to that one cupid who talked about the destiny of John and Mary Winchester being together.

Snap out of it (Y/n)! when I realized we were still shaking hands, I nervously took back my hand and apologized but he told me no worries and the two of us decided to walk out of the forest trail and we continued to talk to one another.

“So you went to college in New York to study law?”

“Yeah, One more semester and I’ll finally be done after seven years.” Paul told me.

“My big brother Sam tried to study at law school in California but unfortunately it didn’t work out for him.”

“Oh that’s too bad. Was it the stress cause there have been times where I’ve wanted to quit because of the immense pressure. That’s why I didn’t even try for Standford since they’re so strict.”

“I think it’s that school rivalry talking.”

“Or that.” We both laughed softly.

“So what’s the city of New York actually like?”

“Hold on, I thought you had said you’ve been to everywhere across America.”

“I have. But the only part of New York I ever went to was in upstate. I’ve never been to the actual city. Is it true you can pretty much get anywhere by walking?”

“Most part. But I take the train since my campus is in the heart of the city and I’m taking lodgings in Queens. You know if you’re ever in the area I wouldn’t mind showing you around the city sometime. I can show you all the hot spots and where to get the best pizza.”

“I’ve heard Chicago’s is better.”

“Okay that is a straight up lie! They deep dish their pizza in grease and I will proudly stand by that!” he proclaimed.  I giggled softly when I heard Dean’s voice cry out.

“Yo (Y/n)! Time to hit the road let’s go double time!” I groaned and Paul said.

“That big brother or eldest brother?”

“Eldest brother. I gotta go, it was real nice to meet you Paul. And again sorry about running into you.”

“Like I said, I was the one just parked in the middle of the trail. Take care of yourself (Y/n), you too Miracle.” Miracle let out a bark as he allowed Paul to rub the top of his head and I urged him back towards Baby.  As we came up to the impala, Dean asked.

“Who’s the boy?”

“Just get in the car.” I got Miracle into the backseat before following in after him and shut the door.

“He got a name?” asked Sam.

“Don’t you start too, I don’t need the big brother protection program on my ass.”

“Oh don’t you worry baby sis. Cause we’ll get you to talk one way or another about him.” Dean said as he got into the car before revving Baby up.

We continued the drive long throughout the night and by morning we finally reached Georgia by mid-afternoon. As we drove through the county Dean soon took the exit towards Blairsville, each time he took the exit that had that name.

“No destination huh Dean?” I mocked as I now sat in the front with him while Sam took the back to rest.

“Can’t hurt to make a couple of stops along the way.”

“Yeah well can we at least check into a motel? I feel so sticky and gross.”

“That’s good. That way no boy tries to flirt with you like the boy we met at that rest stop in Missouri.”

“Oh my god Dean not this again.”

“No, no, no. You gotta know this baby girl. Boys at that age are after one thing and one thing only. Besides in our line or work, he could’ve been a monster for all we know.”

“He wasn’t because Miracle acted the same way he does around you in the mornings. He didn’t give any of his training cues when he smelled Paul.”

“Paul? Who names their kid Paul?”

“Dean knock it off. Our sister knows how to take care of herself she could well beat Paul’s ass if he tried anything to her.” Sam groaned as he finally woke up from his nap.

“I can’t tell if you’re on my side or not there Sammy.” I bluntly said.

“Be thankful I know what you’re capable of doing on your own. You’ve been a karate master since you were 14.”

“I wouldn’t say master but I know a thing or two.”

“Still, I don’t want you talking or flirting with any boys while we’re here. You’re our sister and you’re too young for that shit.”

“I’m 18 years old Dean. I’m an adult and can make my own decisions.”

“Not when it comes to boys you’re not.” I let out a groan as I turned away from him and crossed my arms over my chest.

“You really are a stubborn ass.”

“Better to be a stubborn ass than a neglectful asshole.”

“What Dean’s trying to say is we’re this protective over you because we love you and we don’t wanna see you get hurt. Any more than you have in the past, especially now since we’ve finally managed to get our lives to normal since defeating God.” Sam piped in as I felt his hand on top of my shoulder giving it a loving shake.  I looked behind him and placed my hand on top of his.

“I know, but you guys also need to understand I’m not the same frightened little girl you found curled over her dead mother’s corpse covered in blood. You guys taught me everything I need to know in defending myself, so did Gabriel and Cas. Bobby and Jodi. So can I just try to live out whatever normal young adult life I can on my own and if I ever need you guys to bail me out or a shoulder to cry on, I’ll call you?”

“I can live by that.” I turned to Dean and said his name.  He let out a sharp breath.

“Just when I think I can out argue yah, you always tend to play the heartstrings card. And even though I hate chick flick moments, I guess I can agree to those terms. Just as long as you let me have a go at whoever pressures you into sex or drugs cause that’s where I draw the line of not getting involved.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Dean continued his drive through Blairsville and we soon saw the reason why he had wanted to come here.  All over the county there were banners, flyers and signs for the upcoming Great American Pie Festival.  Pies, parades, fireworks, food trucks, games and prizes were all promised and it all began tonight.

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” asked Sam.

“C’mon Sammy, after all that we’ve done for the world I deserve me some damn pie! Now like (Y/n) said we’ll check into a motel, get cleaned up and then get us some pie.” He sniffled and I asked him teasingly.

“Are you crying Dean?”

“What? No I’m not crying, you’re crying.” He brushed off my statement as he kept driving down the road until we reached the closest motel.

“Dibs on the first shower!” I called out as Dean turned off Baby once we reached the parking lot and we all came out of the car.  Sam took Miracle for a walk while Dean and I got ourselves checked into a room.  Once we got into the room, I grabbed a spare set of clothes and my bath essentials and headed towards the bathroom to take a nice, hot relaxing shower.

A few hours passed and after getting ourselves comfortable and situated in our hotel room it was now time to head out to the main street where they would kick off the festival with the firework show and then by noon tomorrow they would have their big parade.

My brothers and I followed the crowd of people as we could hear everyone’s excitement for this year’s Pie festival.

“This is my destiny. I was born for this, I was made for this.” Dean muttered to himself.

“Dude are you seriously giving yourself a pep talk right now?” asked Sam incredulously.

“Shut up Sammy I need to get into my Zen pie mode.” Sam and I looked at each other and shook our heads.  The second we got to the main pie gallery where all the pie shops were set up, we stopped and Sam and I could see on Dean’s face that he had just seen the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  “It’s….just so beautiful.”

“Just don’t OD yourself tough guy.” I said patting his gut softly.  Dean shoved me playfully and was the first to walk through the streets of pie.  “Shall we Sammy?”

“After you.” He told me and we both walked into the gallery square and took in all the sights the festival had to offer.  Balloons and banners all over the square, multiple shops and food trucks on every corner, hundreds of people all walking around already with their pie purchases and soon we found a bench to sit on.

Sam and I sat down and waited for Dean to find us with his treasure hoard.  As I looked around I said to Sam.

“Could you imagine us being in something like this during our many apocalyptic savings?”

“If it were up to Dean, we’d come to it in a heartbeat but at the time. We had bigger fish to fry. Now I think we might just end up going to every pie fest across the country.”

“I don’t think it’d be so bad. I mean we did have a good drive here. Not too much traffic, decent weather. Even Miracle seemed okay with the trip.”

“Yeah he did. And probably best that we left him at the motel, we still need to work on his approach towards people.”

“Tell me about it. Plus all this food, he’d be all over everybody.” After a few minutes of watching the crowd, Dean finally came in with a large box but he had to quickly spin around to avoid someone nearly knocking it over.  He gave the man his best death glare as he came over and sat on the opposite of Sam.  We looked down and that box held at least eight pies all ranging in various flavors.

“Didn’t I tell you not to OD? At this point all them pies will put you into a pie coma.” I said to Dean.

“You know you worry too much (n/n). Plus I can’t have a little sister whose thinks pie is a dried up heave of dough. That is sacrilege!”

“I never said that. I just said I can’t eat pie by itself. Now pie with ice cream sign me up any day of the week.”

“I’ll tell you where the ice cream truck is at if you take at least one bite of this pie, by itself.” Dean then handed me what looked like a pumpkin pie smothered in whipped cream.  He tossed me a fork and I picked it up before standing up.  I walked over to Dean and just as I was about to plunge the fork into the pie, I then shoved the pie into his face which caused Sam to bite back a laugh.

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve always wanted to do that to someone. And it’s just as funny as it is in cartoons.” Sam and I both soon started laughing as he high fived me.

“Funny.” Dean said as the pie finally fell from his face.  “Real funny there kid.”

“Hey Dean, you got a little something there on your face.” Teased Sam as Dean gave him his bitch face before Sam started bursting out laughing and I walked off shaking my head snickering under my breath.

I walked along through the crowd and soon found the ice cream food truck and as luck would have it, it lied right beside a chocolate pie shop.  Vanilla ice cream and chocolate pie, oh hell yes.  I jogged over to the food truck and ordered a small vanilla cup and paid the guy what I owed before jogging over to Aunt Mina’s Pies.  I dinged the little bell and was soon greeted by a familiar voice.

“Welcome to Aunt Mina’s how may I—(Y/n)?”

“Paul? We’ll all be damned.”

“Small world ain’t it? You and your brothers here for the pie festival?”

“Yep. Believe me, you mention the word pie and my eldest brother goes crazy over them.”

“He wouldn’t have been the one carrying the box with eight pies including one of my aunt’s apple pies, would he?”

“That’s the guy.”

“So what can I get you?”

“One of your best chocolate chip pies please.”

“Coming right up.” he gave me a wink before leaving the window and called out the order as he began prepping the pan.

“So your aunt’s a pie maker?”

“Not to toot my own horn, but my aunt makes one of the best pies down here in the south. Even her shop over at New Orleans say that she’s the best damn pie maker they’ve ever had. But since her car accident she’s been needing help run the various shops. My older sister is running the main one in New Orleans while I’m helping out with the festival. Then of course my cousins co-own the shop up in Philly.”

“Wow, proud family business. What my brother wouldn’t give to have his own pie shop. Though if it were up to him he’d eat all the merchandise rather than sell it.”

“It’s tempting. I remember the first summer I helped my aunt out in this very festival. I was so hungry by the end of it all, I had eaten about five of her coconut cream pies. It was well worth the beating I took later that night.” We both laughed before my pie was finally ready.

“How much do I owe yah?”

“Nothing, it’s on the house.”

“Paul no I-I can’t…..”

“Consider it a first time festival welcome freebie.”

“You sure you won’t get in trouble?” I whispered as I took the pie from him.

“Who knows. But if you’d really like to pay me back, would you mind joining me in watching the fireworks later tonight?” once again I felt my cheeks grow hot and I said.

“Will you provide another slice of pie for me?”

“I’ll sneak one out if I have to.” He gave me another wink as he smiled mischievously.

“Then I’d be honored Paul.”

“Great. How about meeting me back here in 20 minutes? I get off around that time.”

“It’s a date.” We both were shocked at my wording and I quickly tried to fix it but that’s when I heard Dean’s voice say.

“What’s a date?” we both looked and there stood both Sam and Dean looking at us skeptical.

“Dean, Sam. This is Paul, he’s offered to allow me to be his escort to the fireworks show later tonight.”

“Did he now?” asked Dean as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes sir. Just as a friendly welcome to the festival. She told me that it’s your first time here at our little pie festival. Lots to do over just a weekend and it can get overwhelming.” Paul said to my brothers.

“I’m sure it does.” Said Sam with a curt nod.  I looked at them widened eyed and annoyed desperately trying to get them to remember our conversation in the car.

“I promise I’ll be the perfect gentleman and you two are more than welcome to join us.” Oh god please no Paul why did you have to suggest that.

“That sounds like…..” Dean first started off but Sam interrupted him.

“Actually we’re good. Fireworks really aren’t our thing but you kids go and have fun.” Dean turned to Sam but Sam arched a brow at Dean and gestured with his head.  Dean glared at Sam and he said to me.

“Be home no later than 10.”

“Midnight.” I suggested.

“11.” Dean negotiated.

“11:30.”

“Fine 11:30 and not a minute later young lady. And you, Timothee Chalamet don’t you dare try any funny business. Cause I’ll know.”

“Yeah okay Dean, let’s go before you get us kicked out.” Sam escorted Dean away.

“Wow. Your brothers are pretty protective over you aren’t they?” exhaled Paul.

“You don’t know the half of it. I apologize for them, I’ll understand if you don’t want to watch the fireworks with me anymore.”

“No, no I still want you to join me. I can understand protective siblings, you should see my sister. You know how mama bears are super protective over their cubs, well they ain’t got nothing when it comes to my sister. God did she ever used to embarrass me when I was a teenager.”

“It’s tough being the youngest sibling.”

“I’d toast to that. So like I said, meet me here in 15 minutes?” he said looking down at his watch.

“Yeah, see you then Paul.” I took my pie and ice cream and walked away still feeling that blush at my cheeks.  When I went back to the bench I had seen that both my brothers were gone.  I looked around but couldn’t spot them anywhere when I felt a vibration in my pocket.  I set my food down and took out my phone to see a text from Sam.  I unlocked my phone and read the message.

Sammy-boy: Headed back to the motel, had to check up on Miracle before the fireworks started. You know how he gets. Have fun and be safe, see you at 11:30 on the dot.

“Thanks Sam.” I sat down at the table and poured my ice cream cup next to my pie and proceeded to eat my dessert.

[the-apocrypha]

Cottagecore Series DVD Bonus Features

By popular request: the deleted scenes of how Dream and Hob ended up confessing their respective Big Secrets to one another. Below the cut are a series of conversations that take place a few days after Dream announces his pregnancy with Orpheus, and they are incredibly angsty. They also heavily feature abortion as a conversation topic. These were originally written to intercut with at least two miracles but didn't end up working out due to tone issues, and also don't really work as a standalone fic, so. If you're interested--enjoy!

The possibility of a child—their child, their own, of them—had occasionally crossed Hob’s mind, in the same way that other fantastical things like dragons and public libraries did. Fleeting. Unformed. Simple, wonderful little daydreams. 

The reality of it was both impossibly more exciting and terrifying than he could have ever imagined. 

Hob thought of a beautiful child with tiny pointed ears and glowing amber eyes. He thought of a babe born to the world still and pale, never to draw a single breath of life. He thought of all the stories his mother used to tell him, the skipping games and the toy swords and songs that lived inside of him, waiting to be passed down to someone small and new. He thought of a fae child, enamored of the forest and magic and books of learning, with little use for its mortal father. 

Once, when Hob was young, his mother had been called to help an ewe who had been laboring for the better part of the day. Twin lambs, both trying to emerge at the same time.

They’d had mutton for dinner, that night. And for many nights after that. 

Hob could not stop thinking about it. About everything.

What if the child came out completely human. 

What if the child came out completely fae. 

“You told me once,” Hob said, the words leaving his mouth even as lead weights sank pits into his stomach, even as his heart said don’t ask this don’t ask this don’t do it, but he had to, he had to know. “You told me once. That it took you a very long time to grow up.” 

Dream paused. “Yes,” he said, at length. “But time in the realm of the fae is not so… linear as it is here. It is—it was subject to neither law nor order. Time was fickle. Changeable.” 

“You said that it was almost a hundred years.” 

“That was… a guess,” Dream said. 

Hob stared. 

“It was unusual,” Dream added. He did not meet Hob’s eyes. “It. It was a choice I made. The rest of my siblings came of age much faster than I.” 

“How fast?” Hob asked, heart in his throat. 

Dream swallowed. 

“How fast?” 

“The child is half mortal, Hob it should not—it will not age as a fae child would. It cannot, it—it will not have the same power, the same gifts, and moreover, the laws of this universe would not allow—” 

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Hob asked, eyebrows raised. “Like you knew that a mortal man couldn’t get you pregnant in the first place?” 

Dream flinched. 

Hob sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “I’m just. I’m just thinking. We don’t know what we’re going to get, eight months from now—” If they were going to get anything at all. “—and we’ve got zero precedent to go off of, here. It. It could be anything. It could grow like a human and take sixteen years and be done. But, it could also…” 

“It will not,” Dream said, but there was a traitorous wobble in his voice.

“It could,” Hob insisted. “It could, Dream, and we just. I just want to be prepared for that. I want you to be prepared for that.” 

Dream stared, like the whole world was crashing down around him. As if he had not considered this at all. “No.” 

“Yes.” 

“Hob—” 

“But, listen—listen, it’ll be okay,” Hob said hurriedly, and took Dream’s hands into his own. Put on the bravest face he could muster. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way, for. For as long as I can be. Even if it means being stuck in the terrible twos for an entire decade. You just might have to do the teenage years on your own, that’s all. And. You know. The thousand years that come after that.” 

Dream closed his eyes. 

Hob tried desperately to rally. “And, hey! The good news is, at least I won’t be around to give any dodgy sex talks when it comes time for that, since I obviously—” 

“Hob,” Dream said. 

“Though clearly pregnancy prevention isn’t your strong suit either,” Hob allowed. 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s eyes were open again, and they were full of tears. 

“Hob,” Dream said again, and it caught in his throat. “Hob, I—I am not going to live for another thousand years.” 

Hob frowned. “But—”

“I made,” Dream said, and with the next blink the tears spilled over, “a bargain.” 

The reason that Hob had kept it a secret for so long (was because he was a coward) was because, in his opinion, there had been no good that would come of the truth. 

Dream had assumed that the people of Eskham had turned against Hob for being a hedgewitch. He’d assumed in turn that mortals were prejudiced against any being with magic, which was a category that happened to include the fae but more importantly included Hob, who did not have the ability to summon tornadoes or fell ancient oaks. Dream still sweetly seethed about the injustices Hob’s own people had done upon him. He had yet to even once seem concerned for his own safety. 

This was fair. 

Dream had, after all, taken out an entire village of mortals in one wrothful fell swoop. 

Now, Dream had confessed what had happened in the aftermath of that massacre—what he had so readily sacrificed, to save Hob’s life—and it had been devastating in its own right. It had left Hob awake at night, imagining what it would be like to grow older and older and older, while his child did not. 

But it had also pulled on the string that unraveled whatever remained of their tapestried joy at the possibility of impending parenthood. The happiness was gone. The happiness should never have existed in the first place, because the ache of its absence was far worse than to have never known it at all. Hob could not believe he ever felt such simple, mindless elation at what had quickly become a question to which every answer was more horrifying than the last. 

Hob thought of a babe with perfectly pointed ears, stolen away in the night, drowned in the river. 

Hob thought of a child with huge, phosphorescent eyes, tied to a stake above a pile of dried tinder. Screaming.

Hob thought of black-nailed teenager who had had forty-odd years of childhood with its parents before they succumbed to old age, and left their child alone in a world it did not belong in. Orphaned. Ostracized. Hunted. 

It filled Hob’s stomach and left him unable to eat. It pressed down on his chest at night, and he could not sleep. 

And he knew what he needed to do. 

At the same table where Dream had confessed not three days ago, Hob sat himself heavily on the bench. 

Dream stared back wanly. He’d spent most of the morning vomiting copiously, which perhaps made this timing even worse, but Hob knew if he did not say it now he might never say it at all. 

“Dream,” Hob said carefully. The words stuck in his throat like glass, and they tore him open one by one as he forced them out. “There’s. The other day, when you told me about the bargain you made. I—there’s something that I should. Something I should have told you, before—something. Something.” He swallowed. “Something I. Something.” His nails dug into his palms. His heart was pounding in his ears. “Something—” 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s hand splayed across his chest is like ice on fire. Hob sucked in a breath, and relished the burn. 

He seized Dream’s hand in his own. Looked Dream in the eyes. Prepared to pull this one last thread of sanity for the person he loved more than anything in this world. 

“Something,” Hob said unevenly, holding onto Dream like a lifeline, “that I should have told you a long time ago. About. About Eskham.” 

Dream tilted his head, brows drawing together. “Eskham?” 

Hob nodded. 

“What about it?” Dream asked. 

He had no idea. He had no clue. 

“That day,” Hob said, and he was gripping Dream’s hand hard as if he could prevent the inevitable withdrawal. “When they came for me.” 

And Dream nodded. He reached out with his other hand to rest it on Hob’s forearm—a gesture meant as supportive that only served to make Hob’s stomach drop to new depths. 

But this was not about him. This was not even about Dream. It was about their child, carried one day into a town square with pitchforks at its throat and devil spawn in its ears. It was about deserved truths. 

“That day,” Hob said again. He swallowed against a dry tongue. Against the heart that was trying to escape through his throat. “That day. The mob. They weren’t looking for me.”

Dream stared. 

Hob’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be sick. 

He watched, as Dream’s face went from confusion, to realization, to—

Bloodless. 

Grey. Dead eyes and parted lips. Staring, but not seeing. 

“I—defended you,” Hob made himself say. “I wouldn’t tell them. Where you were. I told them that I loved you, that you were just as natural as any other creature in this realm and that I would rather die before I let any of them hurt you, and—” 

Dream yanked his hands back. 

Hob tried to hold on, but he wasn’t quick enough. Not strong enough. 

“You,” Dream whispered. 

“I don’t regret it,” Hob said frantically, almost angrily. He was losing control, the tidal wave of panic and horror sweeping him out to a roiling sea he could not swim in, and he barely knew which words would leave his mouth when he opened it again. “I haven’t regretted it for a single second, Dream, not once, not ever, I’d have burned on that stake a thousand times over before I let them touch you, I’d—” 

And Dream bolted. 

Hob leapt to his feet to follow—but his calf muscle seized, and he careened to the side and just barely managed to grab the table at the last second. Stood there, panting, gripping the table as his calf cramped hard enough to render the entire leg useless. Staring at the empty doorway. 

He deserved this, he supposed. 

It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

The summer air was thick and sweet beneath the canopy of the forest. The trees mostly blocked the breeze, but so also the warmth of the sun, which made it about as pleasant as any place was during the midday heat. They were sat at the base of an ancient yew tree that Dream favored, not far from the cottage, and had been for some time. Ravens chattered and rustled softly overhead. A large halo of bird shit was slowly accumulating around them. 

Dream inhaled as if to speak, for the third time in about as many minutes. This time, though, the words came. 

“I do not want. Our child. To be hunted.” 

Hob closed his eyes. “I know.” 

“We do not know what powers it will be born to. What features it will be born to.” 

Unspoken—the slimmest chance, the highest hope, that it would somehow be born wholly mortal. 

A mortal body. A mortal magic. A mortal lifespan. 

“We’ll do whatever we have to, to protect them. Whatever it takes. You know we will,” Hob said, and even as anxiety turned his stomach over, rage flared through him hot and fast. “Anyone that tries to lay a finger on our child, I’ll—I’ll kill ‘em. I would. Anyone. Everyone. And if they think I’m terrifying just wait until they meet the thirty-foot forest nightmare right behind me that can summon hail and rent the earth.” 

Dream swallowed. “Hail and earth. Did not save you.” 

Hob tightened his grip around Dream’s waist. “Yes it did.” 

“You—” 

“Yes it bloody well did. You saved my life that day, you fought, and if you hadn’t been there I—” 

“If I had not been there,” Dream interrupted darkly. He barked one harsh, bitter laugh. “If I had never inflicted myself upon you in the first place, then no mob would have ever come for you at all. You would be—” 

“Lonely,” Hob said. He tried desperately to keep the frustration from rising. “I told you. I would have been lonely, and bored, Dream, and I would have died in that house feeling as if I’d never truly lived at all. You are the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

“I nearly killed you,” Dream said. 

“You saved—”

“And now,” Dream continued, staring into the depths of the forest, “I have attempted to thrust a child upon you, without your consent. I have tried to sentence you to spending the rest of your meager years consumed in the care of a creature that will only suffer as a result of my own hubris—my own selfishness—and it will resent us. It will hate us. It will hate me, and it will be right to do so for—” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Hob said, scrambling around in front of Dream, and cupping his face. 

Dream stared determinedly to the side, with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. His breaths came uneven and jagged. 

“You and I both know that you didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” Hob said fiercely. “You didn’t know better. I didn’t know better. Right?” 

“Hob—” 

“This isn’t something that you’ve done to me. To us. Neither one of us is to blame here. Not one little bit. And it wouldn’t matter anyway if it was, because whatever happens, you know that we’re in this together. We’re going to do what we always do, and make it work. Figure it out. Pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood, all of it. Together. Yeah?” 

Dream set his jaw, and at last met Hob’s eyes. Slowly, he reached up, and pulled Hob’s hands away from his face. 

“You argue. That we are absolved of any guilt, for what strife our child may face in life. Because we held no intention of conception, in our couplings,” Dream said. 

“...Yes?” Hob said, eyebrows raising. “I don’t think we can be blamed for bringing a child into the world when we didn’t know it was possible in the first place.” 

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed. 

Hob opened his mouth, but Dream continued too quickly. 

“Ignorance acquits us from blame in the conception of this child, yes.” Dream’s hand moved, in the periphery of Hob’s vision, delving into the folds of his robe. “But we are not without agency, in these early months of pregnancy.” 

Dread swung sudden and hard into Hob’s chest, like a fist. 

“...What do you mean?” 

Dream held out his hand between them, and uncurled his fingers. A cluster of flowers rested there. 

Tansy. 

“It sings to me of… release,” Dream said. His thumb brushed over golden petals like spikes. “Of choice. Liberty. Of the harmonization of poison and medicine, as one.”

Hob took in a deep breath, because he was, for the first time in days, hopeful. 

Hob was also terrified. 

Hob was sick, sick, sick, sick. 

“I believe,” Dream whispered, eyes boring in Hob’s, “that it would be enough. To—take care of it.” 

There was a cup of water on the table, steaming and yellow with tansy. 

Choice, Dream said it sang. Release. Liberty. The harmonization of poison and medicine, as one. 

But to Hob, it was silent as a grave. 

Dream was holding the cup so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The steam had long disappeared from the cup, leaving only a stagnant yellow tonic. Hob had offered to leave the cottage twice and allow Dream some privacy, and on the second time Dream had grabbed his hand, hard, and he hadn’t let go since. 

Hob’s fingers ached where they were threaded through Dream’s, but he did not complain. 

He sat in silence, and watched Dream raise the cup to his mouth. 

Watched him inhale. 

Watched him close his eyes. 

Watched him press the rim of the cup to his lips. 

Watched as Dream froze, and was perfectly still for an eternity save for the tremble of the cup in his grasp—

And the cup slammed down onto the table, sloshing poison everywhere, and Dream gasped, “I cannot. I cannot, forgive me, Hob, I—” 

Hob grabbed him and pulled him in hard. “It’s okay—” 

“—I cannot do it, I cannot—” 

“—you don’t have to—” 

“I should,” Dream snarled, gripping the fabric of Hob’s tunic and pushing back. There were tears streaming down his face. “I should end it, I should be rid of it. It is. It is the only humane option, the only option that guarantees that—that—” 

“I know, love,” Hob said miserably, his own throat going tight and hot. “I know that. But—” 

“Hob,” Dream choked out. He tried to inhale, but could not. “Hob, I can—hear it.” 

Hob’s heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went numb. “Y-you—” 

“I can—” Dream slapped his hands over his mouth. He stared at Hob in horror. 

Dream, who could hear the songs of river stones and the herbs in the garden. Who communed with foxes and ancient oak trees alike. Who had come to Hob with news of this pregnancy but without explanation as to how he knew. 

“You can hear it,” Hob repeated blankly. 

“I should not have told you,” Dream said, shaking his head. His eyes were blank and unseeing and wet with tears. “I. I should not have told you, I told myself I would not, I—it should not matter. It does not matter.” 

“What does it sound like?” Hob asked. 

Dream looked up at him. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“Dream, what does it sound like?” 

He shouldn’t ask. 

He couldn’t not know. 

“Like. A songbird,” Dream whispered. 

A songbird. 

“The most beautiful—” Dream choked on a sob. “The most beautiful songbird, Hob, the most wonderful songbird in the world.” 

And Hob. Hob, quite abruptly, could not imagine a world where he did not one day get to hear that song. He could not imagine a world in which he did not get to hold their child in his arms this winter and instantly fall in love with whatever features the world had seen fit to give them, mortal or fae or some splendid combination of both. 

He could not imagine what it would be like, for Dream to sit at this table and drink down poison and then listen to the song of their child go silent. 

Dream sobbed in his arms. He begged for forgiveness—from Hob. Their future child. The universe. I have failed, he said, over and over again. Selfish, and weak, and worthless, he named himself, and he would not be consoled with any combination or repetition of words Hob had to offer. 

But still, the tansy sat untouched. 

Eventually, it went out the window. 

And the songbird lived another day.

[anim-ttrpgs]

The Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy October 17th Beta update has launched today on itch.io for free!

Happy Halloween! We pulled out all the stops just to get the update out in time for you to prep and play it for your group’s Halloween game! The free adventure module that comes with it, “Horror Harry’s Haunted House”, takes place on Halloween after all! In it, your investigators will solve a “murder mystery” in a charmingly spooky haunted house escape room. It serves as a sort of investigation and survival training ground for you and your PCs to learn the ropes before jumping into more Call-of-Cthulhu-esque adventures where death is around every corner. (You can even get two more adventure modules over on our patreon)

Download the new rulebook here on itch.io! Even if you download it for free, just checking it out, talking about it, reblogging this post, etc. helps us out immensely. We are a diverse, largely queer team setting out to slay a dragon, we’ve already been working on this for four years, and we need all the community support we can get!

If you’re wondering what Eureka even is, watch this trailer, or read this post if you don't wanna watch a video.

If you’ve ever tried to run a murder mystery in D&D, what you really needed was Eureka.

If you’re coming from the August beta release, which I assume you are, lemme tell you that a lot has been improved. I’ll go over some of the highlights, and post the full changelog under the cut. It’s still free, but if you could throw a bit of money out way on the itchio page, even if you’ve paid before, that would be a massive, massive help. We’re actually a bit over budget even with the relative success of the Kickstarter, plus for one of us this is their primary source of income.

Trait Overhaul

There’s a few new Traits, and nearly every single existing Trait has been redone to make them better and/or more interesting. Each Trait will now have an even more significant effect on your gameplay experience.

Combat Overhaul + World's Best Grappling Rules

Combat in Eureka is now better than ever, and it was already really good - plus, now you can actually comprehend the dang rules! The previous combat rules, I admit, were a dense and confusing slog to read through, even if they worked really well once you understood them. Now, thanks to our editor, you can understand them! Instead of being split across four chapters, it’s now just two chapters. One chapter explains weapons and is mostly just for stat reference, and the other chapter is focused on telling you everything your character can do during “dangerous situations,” which are not just combat, but really just any kind of scenario where a character can get hurt. As a special highlight to the combat overhaul, Eureka now boasts the first ever set of grappling rules that are viable, realistic, and fun to employ at the table! I’m serious when I say I have never seen them done like this before, and think they offer an actual leap forward in something that TTRPGs have struggled with since early editions of D&D! I also put a lot of my own judo and other martial arts experience to work here.

Monster Overhaul

A lot of what I said about the pre-overhaul combat sections of the rulebooks were also true of the monster PC rules. They were dense, hard to reference, and disorganized. Well not anymore! All six playable monsters in Eureka have been completely rewritten using the skills I have gained as a game designer since first writing them, and, like the regular Traits, they have all been at the very least tweaked to be more interesting and have a greater effect on gameplay, and some have been changed entirely with all new subsystems! Witches brew potions now, fairies actually have stuff to do with the names they collect, and more! Plus, speaking of Traits, every monster can have more regular Traits now, to really help flesh out their personality!

CHANGE LOG 

Copy-editing Progress: Thoroughly copy-edited up to p. 302. Half-ass copy-edited up to p. 322.

WHOLE BOOK

Stuck most of the $42+ kickstarter backer submission info into the very back of the book just to get it out of our email inbox and to allow the whole team to be able to more easily see it and work with it. Going to be doing more to integrate this stuff into the actual rulebook soon. 

Changed the headings to hopefully be more legible. Please give us feedback on what you think of this change.

CHAPTER 1

Changed the limitations on how Comfort is used to restore investigator Composure. 

Fixed a typo in the investigation example of play. 

Made it so that Composure rolls for fears in the “Ridiculous” category don’t even always need to be rolled when these things are encountered. 

Moved Character Health and Status, Grievous Wounds, Healing, and Healing Example sections to Chapter 1. 

Changed Partial Incapacitation to give -2 modifiers instead of -1. 

Overhauled the rules for injuries, incapacitation, and grievous wounds completely. A ton of it is changed. 

Added codified rules for medical facilities and what to do in the case of investigator death. 

Added “The Creeps” optional rule. 

Tweak to When is the Party “Split” section regarding how long to go before jumping between groups.

Lots of new art has been added.

Tweaks to Be Prepared to Lose section.

—---------------------------------------------------

Additions to the What is Eureka For section

Changed comforting factors and exacerbating factors for Composure rolls to be +/-2 instead of +/-1 so they make a real difference.

New snoop

Changed the font of the section headings in the Ticking Clock section. Let us know what you think of these headings compared to the other headings, because we are considering changing all the headings to be like this.  

Better clarified some stuff about how Ticks work when an adventure starts at some random time of day.

—-------------------------------------

More art has been added

Made travel take more time and matter more

CHAPTER 2

Changed the CQC skill to Close Combat, as this is more clear and obvious what that means at a glance

Made lots of copy-editing progress. Many paragraphs are shorter and convey the rules more clearly. 

Changed the way the Burnout Trait works. It now causes the investigator to lose flat Composure each day rather than affecting their Composure rolls. 

Changed the Death Wish Trait to not suck.

Changed the Elementary! Trait to use Visual Calculus instead of Social Cues.

Changed Go With Your Gut Trait to not suck. 

Added that wallets and like basic clothing and stuff have a WP cost of 0

Added glasses to item list

Added rope to item list

Added hand warmers to item list

Changed Arithmomania trait to where it only gives a +1 base bonus to Paperwork, and the bonus for having a lower Ignorance of Quantity Tiers of Fear rating is more investigation points. 

Changed Femme Fatale to add a +1 Seduce bonus instead of +2. 

Totally redid the Hardy Trait. 

Added -1 modifier to I’m Okay You’re Okay Trait

Redid the Just Built Different Trait. Now it allows a character “no sell” an incoming Superficial Damage attack once per Scene, reducing the damage to 0, among a few other things. 

Added Renaissance Man Trait. 

Removed Love Me Trait. Might try to reword it another time, but it was too similar to too many other traits and wasn't very interesting. 

Completely reworked Lover Trait. 

Many new snoops have been added.

Changed the Mad Genius trait to be called Lovecraft Protagonist and changed what it does. 

Removed the investigation point cap on Man of Action Trait. Also changed the name to Ask Questions Later. 

Changed My Glasses Trait to only provide bonuses to Knowledge Skill Investigative Rolls. 

Changed Nightstalker Trait so that it provides a bonus to all Interpersonal Rolls while trespassing 

Changed None of My Business Trait to suck less.

Changed Not Finished Yet Trait to suck less.

Changed Showboater Trait to suck less.

Changed Skeptic Trait to suck less.

Smalls is now a real Trait instead of just a joke Trait. 

Removed the +1 Bonus from the Unpredictable Trait.

Changed Wicked Trait to not suck. 

Changed Wizened Trait to suck less. 

Woo-Woo Trait no-longer based on Blacked Out Skill. 

Moved “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” here and changed the title to “Disabilities are Disabling”

Changed Basic Physical Therapy on the Wealth Point Item List from 3WP to 2WP. 

Added new section “People Change”

Made Blissfully Ignorant trait immune to “The Creeps.”

Made the Technically… Trait have a +2 bonus instead of +1.

Updated the Hard Boiled Trait to work with the new way that injuries and incapacitation works.

Moved the Hardened Hearts snoop to be the Wicked snoop instead. 

Changed “Empath” Trait to be “Empathetic” instead. 

Made “Did You Know…” a better and more usable Trait

Made Hard Under Pressure a better and more usable Trait.

Changed how the WP cost of an item affects the modifier for rolling for it in-adventure. The modifier is now half the WP cost rounded down. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Gave a proper name to the Wealth modifier attached to certain homes and vehicles, it is now called the Property Modifier(PM).

Lowered the price of firearm ammunition by 1WP

Lowered the price of desktop computers by 1WP

Lowered the price of cameras by 1WP

Combined various hand tools into one entry on the item lists and moved them to Misc.

Made hotels something that is prepaid in WP similar to food budget. 

Made Large Apartment less expensive and Tiny Apartment more expensive

Moved Baseball Bat and Axe out of Weapons and into Misc. 

Changed how Food Budget works.

Removed Net Skill Limit mechanic entirely

Edit to the duration of the bonuses for Femme Fatale

Changed Ninja Trait to a +2 bonus instead of +1

—----------------------------------------------------------

Made “Sleep On It” Trait give 1D6-1 investigation points, and still give Composure.

Added “Real Capybara Hours.” Sometimes jokes are just for us.

Added animals to item lists

CHAPTER 3

Moved the section “Deadly Combat, Permanent Consequences” into chapter 2. 

More art has been added.

Moved Character Health and Status, Grievous Wounds, Healing, and Healing Example sections to Chapter 1. 

—------------------------------------------------

Changed the name of Chapter 3 to “Dangerous Situations.” We are planning to put all the combat and other dangerous stuff into one chapter called “Dangerous Situations” and merge combat, chases, etc. into one thing rather than splitting it up and having it in a bunch of different chapters.

Made it so that the Speed mechanic works with Theater of the Mind as well, and removed that other awkward mechanic with rolling Athletics for how many turns it takes for a character to cross a large distance. 

Complete restructure of the way the mechanics for movement and action are explained, as well as defining things as both Movements and Actions. 

Created a Chapter 2.5. In the future when we are ready to shift the chapter numbers, Chapter 2.5 will become the new Chapter 3 and the current Chapter 3 will become Chapter 4. Chapter 2.5 currently houses the statistics of weapons and other combat items. The plan is that a first-time reader will read the weapon statistics in Chapter 2.5 before they read the combat rules in Chapter 3, which will inform the way they understand Chapter 3. 

Changed damage value and special attributes of pepper spray. 

Made brass knuckles do 1 penetrative damage. 

Made stun guns do 2 superficial damage.

Made it so that bulletproof vests do protect against 1-damage weapons. 

Moved and rearranged like everything from chapters 3-6. 

Close range bonus for guns is now +2 instead of +1

Simplified Stopping Power rules (the actual way it works has not changed, we just rewrote it so that it gives the same mechanics in like a tenth of the word count)

Separated open-faced helmets and full-face helmets, and made it so that wearing a helmet along with body armor gives a -1 penalty to incoming attack rolls. 

“Single Load” is now called “Internal Magazines”

Shotguns at extremely close range now have similar stopping power to a rifle, but at 5-10 yards they still have their double stopping power. 

Changed how Rate of Fire works for guns. Just making it a number instead of distinct actions. 

Made it so that Quick Cycling affects basically all guns except automatics, meaning characters with high Firearms skill can now fire semi-automatic pistols at 3 bullets per Action.

Streamlined Stabilization. It is no-longer a roll and instead a penalty that worsens the more bullets are being fired at once. 

Made Bipods give +2 Contextual bonus instead of +1 to single stationary targets.

Changed Reactions and made them more broadly applicable and usable as a rule.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Overhauled Grabs, Throws, Holds, and Escapes to make them a viable option in a lot more scenarios.

Defined “On the Ground” and made it its own section.

Made knock out blows and throws ignore Armor. Knock-out blows are still somewhat penalized by helmets.

Added A Real John Woo Film Optional Rule

More art has been added

Hastily updated the random chase obstacle tables for the new Movement/Action system.

Updated the example obstacles to be more in line with how we designed obstacles for the obstacle tables. 

Redid how Poison works. We meant to make it less convoluted but accidentally made it more granular instead. We did write it better so it will at least feel less convoluted. 

CHAPTER 4

Merged this chapter with chapter 3

CHAPTER 5

merged this chapter with chapter 3

CHAPTER 6

merged this chapter with chapter 3

CHAPTER 7

Added “Psychological Warfare” mechanic. 

—--------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 8

The Blacked Out Skill has been changed in two major ways. First we made it more obvious that the Blacked Out Skill applies even to knowledge of the supernatural that is not necessarily true. And also rather than working the way that every other Knowledge skill works, the Blacked Out Skill now gives leads to where answers might be found rather than immediate concrete answers. 

THE GORGON IS FINISHED AND FULLY PLAYABLE!

Added that Alt. Witches have to make their supernatural ability composure rolls at +0 instead of +3. The +3 was a typo.

Started work on the complete monster overhaul.

Vampires have been completely rewritten. Most of their abilities and themes are the same, but the way the abilities work has been overhauled and improved in many cases, as well as now being formatted and structured in a sane and easily-referenceable way. 

More art has been added. 

Changed the +2 Contextual Close Combat bonus for the Werewolf Trait to a +1 Base Bonus

Wolfmen have been completely rewritten. Most of their abilities and themes are the same, but the way the abilities work has been overhauled and improved in many cases, as well as now being formatted and structured in a sane and easily-referenceable way. 

Fairytale Witch is currently being rewritten/overhauled. 

Changed Incredible Strength Mage Trait to have a +2 Close Combat bonus instead of +3.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Clarified that gorgon blood does not heal gorgons.

Changed the way that monsters interact with Composure and their Tiers of Fear during the act of preying on other people. Instead of just ignoring it or having a bonus (i somehow left both of those conflicting rules in and no one told me), a relevant Composure roll is still made when a monster eats someone, but they do not lose Composure points from it even in the event of Partial Success or Failure. This keeps the narrative benefit of a Composure roll to show the monster’s emotional state, but without making hunting numerically pointless.

Finished the complete fairytale witch overhaul. 

Made the Close Combat bonus for superhuman strength be just +1 for the vast majority of instances. The only exception is wolfman forms. They get a higher Close Combat bonus because their transformations actually make them bigger and taller and this helps a lot in Close Combat.

Reduced Athletics bonus of Incredible Strength trait to +2. 

Merged the Alt. Witch with Mage, and made Mage a Misc. supernatural category instead of its own separate thing. This is going to be a really messy transition for chapter 8 so please bear with us. I am making a brief run though the chapter to clean up the biggest discrepancies this change creates, but I probably won’t get them all until the editor and I have time to actually go through and copy-edit it. 

“Mage” is now its own trait, and what were previously called “mage traits” are now called “mage powers”. Mages now have between 1 and 6 mage powers as part of their mage trait, with worse composure rolls the more powers they have. 

When they engage in their True Nature, monsters now have a chance to recoup some or all of the Composure they lost as a result of using their powers to hunt prey. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fully overhauled the fairy rules. Just one more monster to overhaul! Woo! 

Changed the Curse of Slumber to take effect the next time the victim falls asleep rather than knocking them out spontaneously.

Overhauled the changeling rules to go along with the overhauled fairy rules. 

Clarified something about the vampire’s In Lizard Fashion ability, they wouldnt be able to use this to stop a speeding truck.

Removed the hard limit on how many people a wolfman could eat at once, and also added rules for what happens if they shift to a smaller form with people in their stomach. Made similar tweaks for vampires. 

More art has been added 

Fully overhauled the Thing from Beyond, and that completes the full monster overhaul. All Monsters now consist of a single Trait, rather than needing a pair of Traits. 

Gave vampires’ “wearing the evening” ability a maximum distance of 50 yards and also it is a Movement now 

Made a few more adjustments to some of the monster sections to bring them up to date with the new Movement/Action mechanics. 

Adjusted all instances of poison in the monster sections to account for the new poison rules.

[nevermorewebtoonnews]

Flynn and Trace announce new project as Nevermore Junior

To the surprise of many fans of the property, Nevermore creators Kit Trace and Kate Flynn have announced their newest project: Nevermore Junior. The new comic, aimed at readers between the ages of six and eighteen, takes the beloved Webtoon and reimagines it in a world with no triggering content, no conflict, and no unanswered questions whatsoever.

While not much is yet known of the reboot, the two creators have released a summary:

Lenore and Annabel have been best friends since they met at a slumber party at Lenore’s manor, where she lived happily with her family. When their parents send them both off to the same boarding school- Nevermore Academy- the two’s friendship is (lightly) threatened by the emergence of a whole bunch of new friends for them to make! As they navigate their average teenage social lives, they’ll have to balance friendship and classwork. The well-meaning but eccentric Deans have lots of different games for the student body to play, after all, and only one winner will get to become valedictorian!

Reporters at Nevermore News got the chance to ask both creators a few questions about the upcoming comic, and began by asking writer Trace what sparked the idea for the project.

“Readers had a lot to say about the unanswered questions in the mainline story,” they said. “Sometimes, if a question we pose isn’t answered soon enough, they start to worry it’s a plot hole. Neither of us want our readers to be confused, and we know now that the original seems to be too complex for those without fully developed brains, so we decided to create a version that they could enjoy, too.”

Flynn then treated the reporters to a sneak peek of the first two episodes, where best friends Annabel and Lenore are dropped off at the sparkling and beautiful academy by a charming steamboat. As the two start up the walk, they talk casually as a cute little deer follows along in the back, holding their suitcases. They are greeted at the front gates by Deans Merry and Mourn, two kindly young men who promise to help them along their academic journeys.

“There’s no death in Nevermore Junior- too upsetting, and not good for algorithms,” Flynn explained. “We also got rid of any spectres or supernatural elements, partially for that reason and partially because the original’s Amontillado Arc was considered too convenient, given they found an empty cellar, and bricks, and other masonry supplies. We took that critique and put what we learned from it in here- having characters gain supernatural abilities to help them along their journey was also incredibly convenient, so we wrote it out.”

“We hope that our younger and/or more sensitive and critical fans will find a new home in Nevermore Junior,” Trace concluded. “We’re still testing things out- such as character name changes, as Poe references could definitely trigger someone who had Poe-based trauma, and aging characters down so they’re more relatable. But we’re satisfied that everyone will love what we’ve created here.”

Nevermore Junior has no official release date yet, but our reporters are continuing to keep an eye on this new project as it unfolds.

[calliesmemes]

EPIC: THE MUSICAL — ACT ONE

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS featuring lyrics and dialogue pulled from EPIC: THE MUSICAL by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, a new concept album adapting the story of Homer’s Odyssey into a musical.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

❛ I know that I’m ready. ❜

❛ I don’t think that you’re ready. ❜

❛ Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger. ❜

❛ I could raise him as my own. ❜

❛ Please don’t make me do this. ❜

❛ The blood on your hands is something you can’t lose — all you can choose is whose. ❜

❛ This is the will of the gods. ❜

❛ You’re as old as he was when I left for war. ❜

❛ Will these actions haunt my days? ❜

❛ Every man I’ve slain is the price I pay. ❜

❛ I would trade the world to see my son and wife. ❜

❛ When does a man become a monster? ❜

❛ When does a reason become the blame? ❜

❛ Six hundred men under my command. ❜

❛ The problem’s not the distance; it’s what lies in between. ❜

❛ My kingdom is waiting. ❜

❛ So Captain, what’s the plan? ❜

❛ Look! There, in the distance. I see an island. ❜

❛ I see a light that faintly glows. ❜

❛ Something feels off here. ❜

❛ I say we strike first; we don’t have time to waste. ❜

❛ We should try to find a way no one ends up dead. ❜

❛ You can relax, my friend. ❜

❛ I can tell that you’re getting nervous. ❜

❛ Is this how we are supposed to live? ❜

❛ Here we have a chance for some adjustment. ❜

❛ Give it a try, it's not that hard. ❜

❛ This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms. ❜

❛ Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart. ❜

❛ Stay back, I'm warning you. ❜

❛ Kindness is brave. ❜

❛ Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you? ❜

❛ I see you changing from how I've designed you. ❜

❛ Have you forgotten your purpose? ❜

❛ My life has one mission. ❜

❛ We'll make a greater tomorrow. ❜

❛ Enlighten me, what's your name? ❜

❛ If you're looking for a mentor, I'll make sure your time's well spent. ❜

❛ If there's a problem, we'll have the answer. ❜

❛ I still intend to make sure you don't fall behind. ❜

❛ Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind. ❜

❛ It’s almost too perfect, too good to be true. ❜

❛ Who are you? ❜

❛ We’re just travelers. We come in peace. ❜

❛ What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep? ❜

❛ Your life now is in my hands. ❜

❛ I’ll take from you like you took from me. ❜

❛ There’s been a misunderstanding. ❜

❛ Maybe you and I could make a deal. ❜

❛ I’m so glad we see eye to eye. ❜

❛ If we're defeated, they're good as dead. ❜

❛ No backup, no chance for support. ❜

❛ Our foe must be thwarted right here and now. ❜

❛ Show me how great is your will to survive. ❜

❛ Stand up and fight for your lives. ❜

❛ Defeat is not allowed. ❜

❛ We must live through this day, so fight! ❜

❛ You’ve hurt me enough. ❜

❛ You won’t live through this day. ❜

❛ We must move quickly, we don't have much time. ❜

❛ But captain, what'll we do with our fallen friends? ❜

❛ We are not to let them die in vain. ❜

❛ Our comrades will not die in vain. ❜

❛ Mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use. ❜

❛ The blood we shed, it never dries. ❜

❛ I am neither man nor mythical. ❜

❛ You're a warrior meant to lead the rest. ❜

❛ That's just like you, why should I be surprised? Selfish and prideful and vain. ❜

❛ Every time someone dies I'm the one who is left to deal with the strain. ❜

❛ This way, you won't plague my life. ❜

❛ What a waste of effort spent. ❜

❛ At least I know what I'm fighting for. ❜

❛ Since you claim you're so much wiser, why’s your life spent all alone? ❜

❛ This day, you lost it all. ❜

❛ Is it nature or divine or a blessing in disguise? ❜

❛ Our home's in sight. ❜

❛ Brace for a storm, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. ❜

❛ I'll ensure that we prevail. ❜

❛ We're taking too much damage to survive. ❜

❛ At this rate, we won't make it out alive. ❜

❛ Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do. ❜

❛ You've heard the legends; this proves they're true. ❜

❛ Don't forget how dangerous the gods are. ❜

❛ How much longer til your luck runs out? ❜

❛ I still believe in goodness. ❜

❛ I just don't wanna see another life end. ❜

❛ You're like the brother I could never do without. ❜

❛ Don’t forget how much we’ve already faced. ❜

❛ I need to talk to you in private. ❜

❛ I can't have you planting seeds of doubt. ❜

❛ I ask for your assistance so we at last can go the distance. ❜

❛ Sounds too easy, what's the catch? ❜

❛ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. ❜

❛ The end always justifies the means. ❜

❛ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. ❜

❛ Time for me to be the father I never was. ❜

❛ Why are my eyes and my heart and my soul so heavy? ❜

❛ It isn't very often that I get pissed off. ❜

❛ I'm left without a choice. ❜

❛ I’ve gotta make you bleed. ❜

❛ I need to see you drown. ❜

❛ Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. ❜

❛ You are far too nice. ❜

❛ I've got no mercy left to give. ❜

❛ The line between naïveté and hopefulness is almost invisible. ❜

❛ I am your darkest moment. ❜

❛ What have you done? ❜

❛ Any last words? ❜

❛ There's only so much left we can endure. ❜

❛ I'm not a player, I'm a puppeteer. ❜

❛ I can’t sleep now knowing everything we've done. ❜

❛ I must say what a brilliant speech you gave. ❜

❛ I don't know who you are nor why you're here. ❜

❛ One wrong move, then you're done for. ❜

❛ All I hear are screams, every time I dare to close my eyes. ❜

❛ I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died. ❜

❛ I am the prophet with the answers you seek. ❜

❛ I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you. ❜

❛ How has everything been turned against us? ❜

❛ How did suffering become so endless? ❜

❛ Do I need to change? ❜

❛ What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along? ❜

❛ If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away — would that make us stronger? ❜

❛ I must become the monster. ❜

[witchoflegends]

Radioactive Wounds [3] - Passing Time

Pairing: John Walker x Female Reader

Summary: 

When a new international threat pops up on the radar of the New Avengerz, they are forced to go undercover and need the help of an ex-Avenger. With one phone call from Bucky Barnes, you are reluctantly pulled back into the world of heroics. It is only one mission, but can your own reservations about the new team be pushed aside long enough to get them out alive? Or will it be too much for you when you're simply trying to move on from the past? Will you crack under the pressure or will something else?

Warnings: slow burn, one sided affections (you had a crush on Steve), rivals to lovers, explicit language

AO3 link if you want to read it there. Note: AO3 will always get updated first

Masterlist

AN: I wanted to build up more of the team's relationship with the reader in this one. Cause when I say slow burn, I want to mean it. I hope I'm doing the team justice here. Also, I think it's important to mention that my take on Antonia is that her vocal cords are strained and she uses a mix of speech and Russian sign language to communicate. Still not beta'd. My current hope is to post a new chapter every Saturday or Sunday. Motivation be willing. Lastly, I will be starting a tag list. So let me know if you'd like to be tagged on new chapters.

Over the coming weeks, the Avengerz passed around the lab’s spare key like it was candy. Alexei talked his ear off with his ridiculous stories. Always loud and proud. Not that you minded much as you quickly learned how to tune him out. Antonia on the other hand, was your quiet observer. She didn’t say much, because of the strain it put on her vocal cords, but she had taught you a few words in Russian sign language. In a way, she felt like your own personal bodyguard. Ava loved scaring the shit out of you, but would always bring you food to make up for it. Yelena would bring you more things to test. Trying to get a better understanding of what could help and what wouldn’t. Bob was the one most interested in your powers. Asking all kinds of questions about what you’d used them for in the past, how quickly they worked, and so forth. It actually made you feel kind of special, and his days were the ones when you were the least productive. It was needed though. Then there was Bucky. Your biggest support. Whether it being to make sure you were taking care of yourself or to run through your notes with you, he was a constant. John, on the other hand, was your biggest headache. Walking around like he owned the place and constantly questioning you.

Sometimes they came in pairs too, but not more than that. Yelena with either Ava or Bob, Alexei following Bucky around like a puppy, Ava and Antonia, John and Bob, or Bucky and John. The last pair were the ones you saw the most often. You were starting to get used to constantly having other people around, and you knew they’d leave you alone if you asked. Well, everyone except for John, that is. He seemed to revel in being in your space or pushing your buttons. As if his very presence was a challenge to you.

“What are you talking about?” You sit back in your chair and take a sip from your coffee cup.

“Well, I’m no scientist bu-”

“Obviously.”

John gives you a look before continuing as if he hadn't been rudely interrupted. “But I thought this stuff went a lot faster than it's actually going.”

“Oh, I'm sorry the study of magical powers isn't moving along as quickly as you like,” you replied sarcastically. “We're not all Wanda Maximoff or Dr Strange that can change reality. There's limitations here. Just like any science.”

He puts his hands up in gentle defeat. “All I’m saying is that the way Bucky talked you up, you were smarter than this. I mean, there’s obviously so much testing on plants can do. I mean, we’re not worried about the plants. We’re worried about the walls.”

“And we’ve established that I can only change organic material. Are you dense or do you just love having me repeat things?”

“No, I get it,” he shrugged passively. “I just thought we’d be getting Tony Stark levels of smarts. Instead we have average smarts doing the same thing over and over and over again with different subjects. That’s called insanity, sweetheart.”

“I’m insane for talking to you, that’s what it is,” you mutter as you pick up your pen and return to your notes.

John chuckles softly as he makes his way over to you. Leaning down, he rests his forearm on your back. Putting some, but not all of his weight on you. “Oh come on. I’m helpful! I came up with the whole plant idea. We’ve been on a roll together.”

“Yeah, and that’s the only good idea you’ve had since.”

As you’re talking, John’s arm starts to feel weaker. He glanced down and sees it turning green. Before he can truly process what is happening, it gives out and he falls to the floor behind you. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Your mouth forms a fake pout as you turn in your chair to look down at him. “I thought you touching me and getting in my space meant you wanted your arm to be the next test subject. Was I reading the room wrong?”

Luckily, his arm starts reverting from the plant-like material back to its original form before he can demand you to fix it. John pokes and prods at his arm for safe measure before using the other one to lift himself from the ground.

“Get out.” You demand flatly. All the sarcasm and fake innocence gone from your tone.

“Fine,” John huffs. “It's boring here anyway. I don't see why any of us bother.”

“And give the key back to Bucky. He's the only one supposed to have it anyway.” The only reply to get from John is the slamming of the door behind him.

~

The next ones to visit you are Bucky and Yelena. With tacos from a nearby food truck in hand. You’re grateful for the much needed food break. That is, until he brings up one of the last things you wanted to discuss.

“Can we talk about what happened with John the other day?” Bucky asks.

“I’d rather not,” you reply between bites.

“I will!” Yelena says excitedly. “It was badass, is what it was. He came home with his tail between his legs and would not shut up about it. I loved it.”

The laugh that escapes you is uncontrollable and you have to force down your food so you don't choke. 

Bucky shakes his head. “What happened to being a team and not bringing each other down?”

“I'm not part of the team,” you remind them. “So I think if he invades my space like that, I'm allowed to retaliate.”

“I know he’s a little hard to deal with, but I promise he means well.”

Setting your taco down, you stare at Bucky. “He basically called me stupid,” you deadpan.

Yelena perks up at that, “What did he say?”

Bucky groans. He’s too old for this.

“Said I was average smart, not Tony Stark smart.”

“Oh,” Yelena nods. “He definitely called you stupid.”

“Right?!” You’re glad to have someone around to validate you. It’s nice to have that. You’ve kind of missed the feeling of someone having your back for silly things like this. ”Then he gets in my space, leaning on me like a table or something.”

“No no no. That’s not being team friendly at all.” She’s shaking her head with a teasing tilt to her voice and it makes you smile.

“I'm a glorified babysitter,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You're at least an au pair.”

That earns a full on laugh from Yelena and a suppressed smile from Bucky.

~

It was late. Far too late for him to be heading to the lab, but John was restless. He couldn’t sleep and needed to get himself moving. So he had decided that he was going to take a nice long walk. At first he hadn’t realized that he was going in that direction, but he recognized the area a few blocks away and he still wasn’t feeling like turning around. Why he actually entered the lab, he wasn’t sure, but he had not been expecting to see you slouched and laying on your notes when he did. This was the third time he’d caught you sleeping at your desk like this. It couldn’t be good for your back, or your sleep.

Sighing, he made his way back onto the street and started his search. He knew there was a Target nearby and they’d have exactly what he needed. Once there, he picked up a twin size air mattress -he had wanted to get a full, but there was no way it was going to fit in that small space-, some pillows, blanket, and a sheet set. All in a navy blue. Sure, he couldn’t have taken you home, but he felt like waking up in a different place as to where you fell asleep would be disconcerting. Didn’t want you thinking you’d been kidnapped or something.

Once he got back to the lab, he made sure you were still fast asleep before setting everything up out in the hallway. The noise of blowing up the mattress would definitely have woken you up. Which he did not want since you would probably end up yelling at him. Best to let the two of you keep the small bit of peace you both had. So he carefully maneuvered everything inside. Placing the bed against the far wall. Pillows propped up as best he could.

Then came the part that was either going to make or break this whole thing. If you woke up while he was moving you, then all of it would have been for nothing. John hoped you were too tired to notice. Still, he did a preliminary test of your awareness by gently brushing some hair out of your face. When you didn’t react, he took that as a good sign. Carefully, he tucked an arm under your legs to give him the support he needed to turn you. His other arm rested under your back and slowly hoisted you up. Then, with careful steps, he walked towards the mattress and knelt beside it. Then he slowly shifted you until you were centered and pulled the blankets over you.

Light peaks through the windows when morning comes. You groan and immediately feel as though you’re sinking. Reaching out to grasp at something, your hands reach the edge of the air mattress that has semi deflated throughout the night. Rubbing at your tired eyes, you try your best to sit up. You were still in the lab, but you didn’t remember going out and getting an air mattress. If you had, you probably wouldn’t have gotten a whole set of sheets to go with it. Especially not in your tired haze.

You attempt to reach for your phone, but only end up pushing yourself half off the mattress when your bodyweight pushes most of the remaining air behind you. Letting out a huff of air, you roll yourself the remainder of the way onto the floor. Then you’re groaning as you stand up. Back and joints stiff, but not as stiff as they would have been if you had spent all night bent over the desk. Reaching for your phone, you realize it’s dead.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself and go searching for your charger. At least you didn’t have work today. That would have been a mess. Trying to rush home to get cleaned before heading into the office. Which you honestly didn't feel like doing. So you settle for taking a nice long shower when you got home that night.

Plugging in your phone and setting it back on the desk, you finally notice the piece of paper that was torn from one of your notebooks. With a simple note scribbled on it.

‘Desks don’t make good beds. Get proper sleep tonight.’

Even though there’s no identifier as to who left it, or went out of their way for you last night, you can’t help the small smile that forms. Whoever had done it took a lot of care to make sure you were okay. You thought it might have been Bucky because of how he looked out for you, but he probably would have just woken you up and told you to go home. Bob was a sweet enough person to, but he wasn’t strong enough to lift you. Neither were Yelena, Antonia, or Ava, and Alexei wouldn’t have come to the lab so late. The remaining possibility was one you didn’t even want to think about, so you simply tucked the paper into the back of one of your notebooks.

A few hours later Antonia came to check on you since you hadn’t answered your phone. She gives you a look when you glance up from your work, and she doesn't need to say anything for you to understand.

“My phone died,” you tell her. 

“Charger?” It’s like you can practically feel her scrutiny from across the room.

“It was in my bag and I forgot to plug it in when I got here. It’s fine.”

You try your best to brush off her concern, but he had a keen eye. Knows how to pick up on things no one else would. So it’s no surprise that she notices the rolled up air mattress with pillows and sheets folded neatly on top.

She taps you on the shoulder to get your full attention. Then she’s pointing towards the mattress and signing a question. ‘You sleep here last night?’

“I, uh-” Why were you so embarrassed to admit that you slept in the lab? You were a grown woman for crying out loud. Everyone had slept in awkward and weird places before. “I guess I did. I thought I had a breakthrough, but now I’m not so sure.”

‘You guess?’ She’s not questioning the potential breakthrough - even if you wish she would.

“Yeah. I fell asleep at my desk.”

Antonia gives you a pointed look. She knows you’re saying as little information as possible to hopefully get out of a full explanation. It’s not like you actually had one though.

“I don’t know, okay,” you admit. “I thought I fell asleep at the desk, but I woke up on that.” You gesture towards the mattress. “I assumed it was Bucky or something.”

She shakes her head and tells you, “training.”

“Then that means-” You shake your head. “No. Just no. He’s annoying and a pain. There’s no way he’s nice enough for that.”

“He’s not so bad,” she says with a shrug.

“Well, I don’t want him to be nice!” Even to your own ears, you can hear how childish you sound. Still, that doesn’t stop the slight pout that forms.

Antonia signs the word for ‘team’ and you shake your head again.

“I’m not part of the team. This is one mission. One job, and I’m done.” You’re adamant about that. No amount of taking care of you or making jokes with the team would make you change your mind. This was a means to an end.

She sighs softly and pats your head. As if to say, ‘whatever you say’ and you don’t have the care to argue. You blame it on being overworked and tired, but even that thought doesn’t have much conviction behind it.

You did not need to be thinking about John fucking Walker. You needed to figure out a way to use your powers for something useful. Yet from the moment he was given the shield, you hadn’t trusted him. A yes man for the government was not who should be carrying the stars and stripes. Captain America was always what America was supposed to strive for, and John was what America was.

Though, you had never expected the horror that came from him facing off with the Flag Smashers. Seeing the shield covered in blood made your own boil. It was at that moment you had decided you were never going to like John Walker. Now he was being nice for some reason, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it. So you set to focus on the task at hand. That way you could remove yourself from the New Avengerz and John Walker as soon as possible.

tag list: @lisiliely

[runawaymaven]

guilty as sin? paul x reader - part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Over the next few days, life with Sam and Emily slowly began to feel less foreign, but the looming knowledge of everything you had learned about the Quileutes still lingered in your mind. Werewolves. Imprinting. Protectors of the tribe. It sounded like something out of a storybook, yet here you were, living it.

Sam had been patient, answering all of your questions about the legends, his transformation, and what it meant for the pack to protect La Push from the "Cold Ones," as they called the vampires. The more you learned, the more you realized how different your new life in La Push was going to be compared to your old one in London.

You were still trying to adjust when you found yourself sitting at the kitchen table one morning, watching Emily cook breakfast. The smell of sizzling bacon filled the air, and you were grateful for the normalcy of the moment. It was peaceful—until the door swung open, and the pack barged in.

"Morning, Y/N!" Quil greeted you with a grin, already grabbing for food. "Settling in okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," you said, offering a small smile. "Still getting used to... everything."

Embry, who was pouring himself a glass of orange juice, chuckled. "Yeah, we’re not exactly a quiet bunch."

“No kidding,” you teased, feeling a bit more comfortable around them than when you first arrived. Despite the chaos, they had a way of making you feel welcome. Even though everything was still overwhelming, their energy was infectious. Well, most of the time.

You glanced up as Paul entered the room, his gaze locking with yours instantly. He hadn’t spoken to you much since the night he explained imprinting, but you could feel the pull between you every time he was near. It was strange—almost like gravity, an invisible force drawing you toward him.

Paul sat down next to you, not saying much, but his presence felt... reassuring. There was something calming about him, despite how intense he had seemed when you first met.

“How are you feeling?” Paul asked quietly, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m... better,” you admitted, unsure of how else to describe it. You still had so many emotions to sort through—your mother’s death, adjusting to a new family, and of course, the whole werewolf thing. But in the midst of all that, Paul’s concern felt like a steadying anchor.

Paul nodded, his expression soft. "Good. Remember, I’m here if you need anything."

Before you could respond, Sam cleared his throat, standing at the head of the table. “Alright, guys, pack meeting tonight. We’ve got some things to go over.”

“What’s going on?” you asked, curious but also feeling a bit out of place. You still weren’t entirely sure where you fit in with all of this.

Sam glanced at you, his gaze thoughtful. “We’re tracking a few things around the perimeter, but nothing you need to worry about. You’re safe here.”

You nodded, but a sense of unease settled in your chest. It was hard not to feel like an outsider in their world, even if they were all trying to make you feel like part of the family. It was a lot to take in.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting on the porch, needing some air. The quiet hum of the forest was soothing, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the breeze wash over you. This place was different from the busy streets of London—quieter, slower.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Paul appeared beside you. You hadn’t noticed him come outside, but you didn’t mind. There was something about his presence that put you at ease, even when you were still figuring out what imprinting truly meant.

“Want to take a walk?” he asked, his tone casual, though you could sense something deeper behind his words.

You nodded, standing up to follow him. As you walked side by side through the forest, the silence between you was comfortable, the tension you’d felt around him easing a bit. After a few minutes, Paul spoke up.

“I know this is a lot, Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “But I meant what I said before. I’m not going to push you into anything. I want you to feel... okay here.”

You glanced up at him, his sincerity clear in his expression. “I appreciate that,” you replied softly. “It’s just... everything is happening so fast, you know? Losing my mum, finding out I have a brother, moving here, and now... this whole imprinting thing.”

Paul stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes locking with yours. “I know. And I’m sorry you’re going through all of this. I wish I could make it easier.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the sounds of the forest surrounding you. There was something about the way Paul looked at you that made your heart race, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was the opposite. You felt safe with him, even if you weren’t sure what the future held.

“I guess I just need time,” you said quietly.

Paul nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

The warmth in his words stayed with you as you continued your walk, and for the first time since you arrived in La Push, you felt like maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.