#Diana's cabin

[mediumgayitalian]

part two

———

Getting outrun for seven miles by an eight year old is a uniquely humbling experience. Compactly humiliating, coincidentally, is being outrun by an eight year old while dragging along a bouquet large enough that it cannot be adequately contained with two hands and must therefore be carried between two people.

Lee is having something of an afternoon.

“It starts in seven minutes!” shouts Will, at least twelve solid yards ahead of them and running backwards. He does not appear even to be sweating. “Hurry!”

“Could not be hurrying more if I tried,” Lee wheezes.

(It’s not that Lee isn’t a good runner. He is. It’s that Will is freakishly fast, because he has dimples when he smiles and has endeared himself to the dryads, who have been teaching him how to sprint like the hopped up little Energizer Bunny he is. Michael has been calling him Soda Boy for ages, on account of how he so closely resembles a can of pop that has been vigorously shaken, which he hates. Remembering it brings Lee some peace.)

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”

Clamping his mouth shut in a desperate attempt to preserve energy, Lee surges forward. Michael matches him, having to run significantly faster to keep up with his long legs. Their panting forms a discordant melody of despair. Poetic.

When they stumble through the door, chests heaving, Lee considers collapsing to the ground and weeping for joy. He will never run again. If a monster chases him, he will simply fight or accept his fate. He has reached his quota.

But, for perhaps the first time in his life, there is no time for dramatics. The lobby is devoid of the massive crowds it held earlier, shadows eerie in their absence, and only the final tail end of a line shuffles through the stage doors.

Despite his internal vow, Lee sprints forward to catch up with them.

“Hold it,” says a man in a venue volunteer! vest, holding up a hand. He glances at them, resting his gaze on Will’s messy hair, Michael’s scuffed shoes, Lee’s wrinkled shirt, and pausing for quite a while on the giant bouquet. The narrowed eyes and thinned lips are familiar. Lee stiffens.

“Go on in,” the man says to the middle aged couple in front of them, who’s crease-free jackets read ‘Dance Mom’ and ‘Prop Team Dad’ respectively. He shoos them inside, complimenting the honest-to-Apollo corsage in the woman’s hand, chortling along to the man’s joke. The laughter drops from his face the second the couple is guided through the doors, and the man turns back to the three of them.

“The show,” he says, nose upturned, “has begun. I can’t let anyone else in lest they cause any…disturbances.”

“The show starts on three minutes and forty-seven seconds!” Will protests, sticking his watch in the man’s face. Completely oblivious to his murderous look, he continues, “Forty-six seconds! Forty-five! Time’s-a-tickin’, let us in!”

The man bares his teeth in a smile. “Regrettably, you are too late. You’ll have to wait for the intermission.”

Will blinks at him. He looks at Lee, at the doors, then back at the man.

“But…we’re on time. And if we come back later, we’ll miss my sister’s dance!”

The man shrugs. “This will be a valuable lesson, then.” He purses his lips, glancing again at the bouquet. “Perhaps be more prepared, next time.”

Will turns back to Lee and Michael, crestfallen. He swipes quickly under his eyes, squeezing his thumb into fists, but the tears well up anyway. “We’re going to miss it?”

Michael snarls. In one quick move he shoves the massive bouquet entirely into Lee’s arms, yanks Will by the shoulders to stand behind him, and gets right in the man’s face.

“You listen here, you slimy ratbag, you had no fuckin’ trouble letting those last scragglers in so you better clean up your act quick before I —”

A loud crashing noise makes them all jump, interrupting him. Nearly crushing the flowers, Lee whips towards the source of the sound. One of the competition banners has been yanked down, metal frame collapsing on the tile floor. Fastening screws rattle to a slow stop beside it.

“What the —”

Another banner crashes to the floor. This time, the little hands that tore it down are a touch too slow to dart away, a blonde head not quick enough to duck behind a corner.

“Hey!” the man shouts. Shoving Michael aside, and moving quicker than Lee can think to stop him, he sprints towards the corner Will disappeared behind. “Get back here! You can’t do that!”

Lee curses, trying to manoeuvre the flowers to see and run at the same time. Michael runs ahead of him, on the man’s heels, chanting shit shit shit shit under his breath. Lee’s brain takes the initiative to alternate, chanting fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck every time he takes a breath.

They’re going to get kicked out for sure. Diana is going to kill them and it’s going to be justified, because Lee is going to have to live with the noble look he knows Cass will have on when she realises they’re not there to watch. The shakey, practiced smile she’ll slap over the disappointment in her dark eyes.

Shit shit shit shit indeed.

“Lee! Michael! Over here!” whispers a voice. Lee whirls around to face it — boy does he ever feel like a puppet on a stick right now — and, for the second time in as many minutes, feels his head pound at the disorienting frenzy of emotions that bubble up when he sees his baby brother’s face. Will stands half inside a doorway Lee hadn’t noticed on the way in, tucked in the shadow of a corner.

He is fast, holy shit.

“What the hell are you doing,” hisses Michael.

“Getting us inside! Hurry up!”

Lee doesn’t need further prompting, clock ticking in his brain. Gods, how long do they have left? Thirty seconds? Less?

“Most big theatres have sideline entrances,” Will explains after Michael helps shove the giant bouquet through the tiny door. He guides them, upright to their hunching, down a tight corridor. “They’re for performers to pop up in the audience without being seen. Mama and I race each other to find ‘em when she did shows.”

Lee had forgotten, for a moment, how much of his life Will has spent in and out of theatres, bars, stages. Naomi Solace has been growing more and more famous since…half of his life, at least. Lee remembers hearing about her four years ago, when she’d done a smaller show in Queens. A friend of his had gone.

Michael reaches out and tugs the mostly-undone ponytail he’d wrestled Will’s hair into that morning. “Good job, kid.”

He grins over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

They stumble into the darkened audience in the nick of time. The second Lee steps out of the cramped little corridor, dragging the stupid flowers (he is, in fact, regretting his choices at this point in time; when he has a free moment he will add this to the list of reasons he will be kicking his past self’s ass if the Hephaestus cabin successfully recreates DeLorean time machine) along with him, the stage lights come on. An announcer’s voice calls out, “Entry 109, Competitive Open Solo: Cass Hasapi.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters. A quaint family of four gasps. He sneers at them. “Fuck, you see Diana?”

“No, is she maybe —”

“I think that’s her hair —”

“That person is way too tall, what are you —”

“I swear to the gods, I am going to kill you both,” whispers a beautifully familiar voice, and then Lee is being dragged. “Sit the hell down and shut the hell up. Will, baby, c’mere.”

Will climbs happily over the two empty seats, settling onto Diana’s lap and curling under her chin. He sticks his tongue out when Lee and Michael follow in behind him, struggling with the bouquet, muttering about favouritism.

“I’ve literally known you for six times longer than you’ve known him,” Michael mutters, sticking his tongue out right back. A grandmother with a severe bob whirls back and hushes him.

“Yeah, I’ve had all that time to get tired of your bullshit. Shut up.”

Before Michael can retort — Lee is sure he has an eloquent and devastating response, Lee has been helping him practice — soft piano drifts out from the speakers. A light turns on, pointed at the stage.

All four of them snap their mouths shut.

In the centre of the stage, Cass stands, poised. Her back is turned to the audience, arms extended above her and tilted to the right, as if reaching for the setting sun. Her hair, braided loosely back, brushes the edge of her thickly draping purple costume. Her knees are bent and locked and one bare foot sticks out like she’s trying to balance herself, like she’s mid fall.

A gravelly, male voice sings lowly along to the piano. How do you know which time might be the last? She moves along the dip of his voice, dragging her limbs through the rigid air. What I would give just to see you again? She moves with a swooping twist of her heels, twisting at the waist. Under the heat of the stage lights, her face contorts, forehead deeply wrinkled, mouth parted, breathing quickly. I’d walk to the depths of a world down below and demand to get back what some circumstance stole. She holds herself with such tension that Lee finds his own shoulders hiking up to his ears. Her chest moves rapidly, hands shaking, knees buckling. His breath goes stale in his lungs.

When the chorus starts, hard and heavy and sudden, I turned back one last time just to prove you were there, Cass hits the floor. He gasps with the rest of the audience, clutching the plush armrest, but it’s intentional, part of the dance. ‘Cause the last ray of sun made Eurydice cold. Collapsed on the floor, limbs bent, dress askew, she crawls, begging, towards the audience. Did she know? Did she know? Did she know? Did she know?

Cass does not move gracefully. She moves like a beached, gasping siren dragging herself back to the depths, like someone climbing out of a pit. Every movement looks heavy and painful. She looks at the audience and Lee is surging forward before he can stop himself, breath hitching, brain screaming: help her! help her! help her!

If I knew how it’d feel back then, I wouldn’t take another step.

Her body twists again, hair escaping her loose braid and sticking to her neck, her forehead. She claws at her throat like she’s suffocating, eyes accusing everyone watching like they’re holding her under. Each movement of her arms swell and sway on the beat, bare feet slapping the ground with every hit of the kettle drum. If you can see me it’s all in your head, but it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then.

Everything ends.

The piano fades out, the drums hit their last beat. All that’s left is the wretched guitar, taught like strings snapping, taught like the tense pull of her suspended muscles.

But I opened the door and went down the stairs; I turned back one last time to prove you were there.

As the last word fades, she drops. Not slowly, not evenly, but like whatever was holding her up crumbled to dust. Like she was shot. Her purple dress pools out around her like dark Hyacinth. She lays completely, entirely still.

The lights cut. The air in the audience goes heavy.

They come back on and no one says a word. Lee realises, as it drips onto his hands, that he is crying. Diana is, too, tear tracks too fresh to dry on her face, and Will is leaned forward so far he sways precariously. Michael’s hands are pressed harshly to his eyes.

Trancelike, Lee stands. All eyes snap, abruptly, towards him, but he ignores them. He looks straight across the rows of chairs and locks eyes with his sister, upright now, heaving, standing hesitant. She looks at him, and then beside him at Michael, and then at Will in Diana’s lap. They scramble quickly up next to him, and without any of them saying anything, they begin to cheer.

Cass’s face lights up.

With permission, much of the audience claps. No one stands as they do and as they continue hooting and hollering the claps fade quickly, replaced with stares and murmurs, but Cass still stands there, beaming, looking away and looking back like she can’t believe they’re there. That someone is there, that someone watched her, her, from beginning to end. A hand tugs on his sleeve.

“Can I sonic?” Will asks, raising his voice to be heard.

“Level four,” Lee allows.

He needs no further permission, grinning. He lets out a piercing whistle that makes everyone around them shout in alarm and Lee’s ears ring. But Cass laughs, loud and bright, so it’s worth it, and when Will looks at him in question he nods. The second whistle is definitely beyond a level four, but Lee doesn’t care. Cass looks the happiest he’s seen in a long time.

———

None of them care too much about staying for the other performances. But Cass has two more dances with her studio classes, spread out as they are, so Lee remains doomed to two hours of an aching ass and performances that come nowhere near Cass’s masterpiece. Will seems intrigued, though, by some of the pieces, so he grits his teeth and bares it. Besides, the rolled eyes he shares with Diana and Michael every time someone does something exceedingly cliche or tries and fails at depth (someone, often, being one of Cass’s teammates, shocker) makes it somewhat worth it.

By the time the judges call the last entry, though, Lee is ready to book it out of there.

The lights come back on and pop music plays through the speakers as dancers, in track suits over their costumes, congregate on the stage. Lee stands and stretches, letting Will stand on his shoulders and jump off into Michael’s arms to get some of his energy out. (And, also, ‘cause tossing a small child between them is fun. Diana jogs into the aisle so they can throw farther, but they all decide against it when a security guard glances over.)

After what feels like eight million years, the judges finally lumber over to the stage. The building voices hush as they climb the steps, standing in front of the gathered studios with cabled mics and stacks of foreboding envelopes.

“Welcome, dancers and families,” starts one judge.

She blabs on for several minutes about what an honour it was to judge and how wonderful everyone was. Blah, blah, blah. Lee spaces out about the time Diana’s eyes glaze over, and he looks instead to the gathered stage, observing. There are five different studios that he can see, each with about forty to fifty dancers. Mostly young women. They sit tangled together, legs on legs, arms around shoulders, feet tucked under thighs. Cass, he notices, sits on her own, at the very back of the stage. She sits straight-backed and proud, though. Chin lifted, braid resting over her shoulder.

Impossible to miss.

Two of her group dances win Diamond (Diana explains to them that this is Very Good. She thinks). Most others do not get this honour. Lee notices especially the older couple to their left looking quite sour. The glee he feels is indescribable.

“The winner for our open solo, for all age groups, was actually unanimous. It’s been a while since that happened!”

A girl near the front of the stage, who Lee recognises as the one to make a cruel joke about Cass’ mother, preens. Her solo was boring as hell. He’s not sure what she’s so smug about.

“With a score of 97.6, congratulations to Entry 109, Cass Hasapi!”

The four of them scream like lunatics.

They don’t even wait for scattered applause. Each one of them clambers up on the pristine chairs, covering them with scuff marks, and yell at the top of their lungs, jumping and cheering like chimps in a cage. Cass goes red, but she can’t hide her smile as she stands and accepts her award, grinning over at them. Michael holds up his camera and snaps a photo of her, pink-cheeked and wild-haired, glowing.

———

“Cass!”

Will sees her before the rest of them, sprinting towards the changeroom doors at top speeds and leaping up into her arms. She catches him easily, spinning them both around, pressing a thousand kisses to his hair and face.

“Hello, my darling! Hello hello hello!” Every word is punctuations with a kiss, or rather a press of her wide smile to anywhere she can reach. In seconds his cheeks are stained with her lipstick. “Oh, it has been weeks, darling boy, I missed you!”

Will clings to her sweater, face buried in the crook of her neck. She holds him just as tightly.

(Will has seen Cass more than Lee, in the past few months. He knows she’s made a few sudden trips to camp. But he also knows that she was the first one to welcome him into camp, the day his mother dropped him off, and when he was claimed she was the first to bring him home. She loves to tote him around, too, to have him trail after her for cabin inspections, holding the clipboard, or paint his nails when she’s bored. He misses her something fierce in the winters. She holds on tightly when she comes back home.)

Squeezing him one last time, she turns to the rest of them. Despite her wide smile, her mascara runs.

“You came,” she says, voice wobbling.

Michael clears his throat. “No shit.”

His voice wobbles, too.

“Come here, you goober.”

He’s the next to cling to her, inserting himself under her arm. She presses a kiss to his temple and he pinches her ribs, complaining, getting louder when she digs a knuckle into his hair. Diana jogs up and separates them, as she always does, flicking Michael on the forehead and pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, squeezing her hand.

Cass’s tears spill over again. “Thank you.”

Lee clears his throat. He feels, suddenly, like a doofus, holding a bouquet of flowers the size of him, but Cass looks at them and grins again, chuckling.

“You sell your kidney for that or what?”

Lee snorts. “No, we exchanged Will. This is a clone.”

“Did not!”

Lee blows a raspberry. “Did too. Clone.”

“I’m not a clone! I’m me!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ya-huh!”

“Alright,” Cass interrupts, rolling her eyes fondly. She kisses the tip of Will’s nose again and sets him down, turning towards Lee, hands outstretched dramatically. “Hand me my dues.”

Because she is, at the core of her, a true daughter of Apollo, even though the amount of poise and grace that bleeds from her at any given time contradicts almost directly with the guy who beams Pocketful of Sunshine directly into their brains at five in the morning every single day without fail, she kneels with a flourish. Because Lee is, at the core of him, also a child of Apollo, he goes unquestioningly along with the bit, pulling out one of the flowers to knight her before resting the entire bouquet in her arms. She has to hold it with both hands.

“You guys are ridiculous,” she says, grinning.

“They are ridiculous,” Diana stresses. “Dumbasses were damn near late getting this for you. They already had flowers, mind you. They’re just dumb.”

Will holds up his hand with his watch. “I kept us from being late!”

Diana squishes his cheek. “Thank you, sweetpea. You’re already smarter than your brothers combined.”

“Stick out your tongue again and I’ll grab it, you little snitch,” Lee warns.

Will, darting to hide behind Diana, does not heed his warning. Because he’s a little shit. bc

The walk out of the building in a gaggle of movement. As other dancers and their families walk by, glowering at Cass’ flowers and at Cass in general, Lee makes a point to catch their eyes. To smirk. To let them know, without saying a word — you were wrong. Of course you were wrong. Look at how she’s better than your bitter ass without even trying.

It warms him inside, truly.

“I’m thinking,” Diana says, walking back to the car, “that we stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. On Michael’s dollar. Will, look real excited so Michael can’t say no.”

“I am excited,” Will says, turning to face him, “so that’s real easy.”

Michael sighs. He taps his foot on the pavement, glaring. He sighs again. “You’re getting s plain cone and that’s that. You understand me?”

Will takes that as code for ‘begin negotiating’. Diana joins him, the two of them chasing Michael to the car, yelling about Blizzards and sundaes. Cass falls into step next to Lee, adjusting the flowers.

“So,” she says, shooting him a small smile.

“So,” he intones.

“Diana told me you snuck the boys out of camp.”

“…Yes.”

“Organised the whole trip, basically.”

“It wasn’t hard. I just told Michael to pack his shit and he listened, for once. So.”

“Lee.” She waits for him to open the trunk, letting him stuff the ridiculous flowers inside before facing him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Thank you.”

“I don’t —”

He swallows past the lump in his throat. How can he say it? How can he tell her about being fourteen and older than half the unclaimed kids in Hermes, still reeling over camp as a whole, and the fear that had dissipated from his chest when she stood in front of camp and said, firmly, he’s ours? About the hours she spent listening to him ramble about Pokémon, learning the game for him, mailing him cards she finds around? About the letters she sends him every week without fail, even though she’s swamped with her own shit, because she remembers the night he cried, months and years of being weird and lonely and unlike anyone else he knew? How can he explain the bubbling in his chest, the ache for her, because of her?

“Of course, Cass.”

She opens her arms and he falls into them, forehead on her shoulder, arms tight around her waist. She grips around his back, pressing a kiss to his hair. His throat is dry, choking back the thickness of his tears.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Lee.”

[girlkisser13]

artemis cabin headcanons

the hunters of artemis

• when a hunter join the hunt, they no longer get periods as a blessing from artemis. (another reason to become a hunter?? jk i love women WAY too much).

• obviously, they’re all feminists.

• most of them can't take sexist jokes, so be careful unless you want to get shot with an arrow.

• they keep in touch with the girls that have left the hunt.

• when two hunters fall in love, artemis usually shows mercy, knowing the vow spoke of leaving behind the company of men not women.

• they’ve definitely bumped into the valkyrie on more than one occasion. artemis doesn’t like them very much because she doesn’t want her hunters to become einherjar.

• she’d rather they have the peace and calmness that they deserve.

• much like the camp half-blood necklace beads, the hunters have charm bracelets. they get a charm in the shape of a moon once they arrive and then a star shaped one every ten years they serve artemis.

• trans girls are ALWAYS accepted into the hunt.

• but if a trans guy wants to join the hunt (pretransition), artemis will straight up refuse to take them, subsequently kicking of their gender crisis.

• she’ll also do this with pretransition trans women (to their great confusion).

• the minimum age to become a hunter is sixteen, unless there are special circumstances (it just doesn’t sit right with me that most of the hunters are in their preteens).

• this is a big decision and shouldn’t be made at such a young age. let these girls go through puberty and find out whether they really want to forsake men forever.

• plus, it’d actually benefit the hunters to be more physically mature; they’d be a lot stronger and therefore faster due to the muscle development.

• they have a hotline number that women can call if they feel extremely uncomfortable or fearful in a situation.

• they'll discretely escort her out and then beat the shit out of whoever is scaring her. <33

cabin exterior

• the cabin is primarily made of wood, with vines and ivy creeping up its sides, blending seamlessly with the surrounding forest.

• the cabin's roof is adorned with silver tiles that shimmer like moonlight, casting a gentle glow at night.

• carvings of various wild animals, such as deer, wolves, and bears, are intricately etched into the wooden walls, symbolizing artemis's connection with nature and wildlife.

• during the day, the cabin appears almost invisible from a distance, thanks to its natural camouflage of leaves and branches, making it a perfect sanctuary for the hunters.

• the entrance is flanked by banners with the symbol of the moon and arrows, representing artemis's hunting prowess and her role as the goddess of the moon.

• hidden paths and trails lead from the cabin into the deeper parts of the forest, allowing the hunters to come and go without being seen.

cabin interior

• the walls and floors are made of polished wood, giving the cabin a warm and rustic feel. the wood is adorned with carvings of forest scenes and animals.

• soft, silvery lanterns hang from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow reminiscent of moonlight. at night, these lights give the cabin a tranquil, otherworldly ambiance.

• the bunks are arranged in a circle around a central hearth. each bunk has a curtain made of light, airy fabric, providing privacy while allowing the occupants to feel connected to the room.

• the decor includes tapestries and rugs featuring scenes of forests, wildlife, and the moon. the cabin is filled with plants, flowers, and small potted trees, making it feel like an extension of the forest outside.

• each hunter has a personal space to store their gear. this includes a rack for bows and quivers, hooks for coats, and shelves for other hunting equipment.

• the central hearth is always burning with a controlled, magical flame that provides warmth and light. it's surrounded by comfortable seating made of logs and animal pelts, perfect for gathering and sharing stories.

• a section of the cabin is dedicated to practicing archery and other skills. it includes targets, dummies, and plenty of space for physical training.

• one corner of the cabin has shelves filled with books about nature, wildlife, and mythology, along with maps of various hunting grounds and sacred sites.

cabin traditions

• they have an annual remembrance day on the first full moon of june where they honor the fallen hunters of that year. artemis always ensures that there is a beautiful strawberry moon lighting up the sky.

• when they visit camp half-blood, they to have archery contests with the apollo kids (and other kids that have archery skills). they share their advanced skills and techniques, often leading to informal training sessions where the campers learn new tips and tricks from them.

• they hold special training sessions particularly focused on survival skills, hunting tactics, and self-defense. these sessions are a blend of physical training and imparting the wisdom of living harmoniously with nature.

• the hunters hold workshops on making traditional hunting gear, such as bows and arrows, and other crafts related to their way of life. these workshops are hands-on and give campers a tangible connection to the hunters' lifestyle.

divider by @strangergraphics

[ellenchain]

Diana's cabin | Hitman 3

Diana's little cabin everyone! 🫖

I stuck to the references from the cutscenes as best I could. Unfortunately, we don't have a very good view of her little cabin, where she seems to have been hiding for a while. That's why I took the liberty of adding a kitchen and a bathroom. And another special room - a secret room so to speak 😉

Diana's Cabin can be found in the Sims Gallery under my account ellenchain. You can find it by searching for "Snowy Cabin (Hitman 3)" (cc enabled). EA didn't want me to mention Diana by name.

Once again, I used custom content as not everything is included in the expansion pack or the base game. Please make sure to download these packages before you download my build!

I didn’t create the following content, so many thanks to the artists who took the time to create them! The links will lead you to their sites, where you can download the packages.

CK3 Wall Deco Skull Trophies: curseforge

Ironic Windows: TSR

Weapons: ModtheSims (also used in the safehouse in case you already have that)

I'm not sure with this one, but it's worth the download anyway :) Kitchen stuff pack (see what’s in the pack) (also used in the safehouse in case you already have that)

Everything is free to download - but you can always support the artists!

If you see some things displaced, please use the cheat “bb.moveobjects” to relocate them.

Diana has lived in it for some time, it should all work so far and not lead to any problems - except that she likes to sit on the hay and thus cuts through the other hay bale. Also, some items are 'floating' when you have the walls down, because I placed them with a little cheat. But that's just a visual thing!

If you find more, please let me know 🤗

---

Packs that I own (and have probably used): Vintage Glamour, Vampire, Seasons, Holiday Bundle, Get to Work, Eco Lifestyle, University, Cottage Living, City Living, Pets, Castles & Palaces, Party Crashers & Party Night

[yourgodlyparent]

Artemis: Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon

Hunters of Artemis 🌙BDE 🌙Don’t trust people in power 🌙Pragmatic 🌙Always ready to dole out some tough love

Cabin 8 Roman Aspect: Diana Link in bio for more Artemis info 🌙

[kindred-spirit-93]

hello yall i come with tidings.

cavetown released a cover of mitski's my love mine all mine. drop everything and give it a listen its hauntingly beautiful

i woke up today and chose emotional devastation: been thinking about the apollo cabin all day and severely and irreparably wounded my feels in the process (see under the cut for a lil more)

heres a recipe for falooda bc ive been craving it and my childhood innocence this morning

look at it its so pretty! rose is such an underrated flavour i think

ill probably make another post, but for now: i came across this and it got me thinking about (and crying for) the apollo kids.

i genuinely have no idea if the chart is canon material or a bunch of headcanons (not that it matters ofc) but yeah im building off of it regardless lol

hilal (still unclaimed by hades) khalil's first and dearest friend at chb is diana (from the foster system) and TIL u can get brainrot from ur own ocs and their fantastical interactions with even more fantastical characters. i hurt all over and regret everything ;-;

anyway they grow very close in the short time they spend together (ill make a seperate post with headcanons and little things for diana bc shes my favourite and id die for her and she deserves concept art too).. also still figuring out their orientations so theres that

hilal grows flowers and learns to braid them into cass's hair (like rapunzels), they giggle while comparing similarities in cuisine (her mortal family is also greek) and pretend to fight over dishes

amir and hilal both love having a buddy during iftar and suhoor; chatting about everything from traditions, favourite foods, and eid fun times. enjoy each others company and swap books regularly.

it was no secret that micheal's features were sharp and that his tongue was sharper, and what with his general bad temper and foul mouth it was expected that the pair wouldnt get along. that was until after some incident where hilal lost it and yelled at him for 10 whole minutes, letting a few strong words 'slip' for emphasis. they reconciled their differences later and although the pair never became friends, they both held the other in high regards. micheal definately teased hilal for having a vocabulary to make a seasoned sailor blush. she decorates his scrapbooks sometimes

will is a baby that hilal adores (shes part of the will protection squad) and the two only grow closer after the premature deaths of their loved ones. but before that they often held tea parties where they talk only in thick accents (southern and british respectively) before dissolving into fits of giggles. in some ways will is hilals brother before nico. she knows him very well (and sees right through his innocent exterior he fools chiron with)

more will: he is absolutely wild and i will not be convinced otherwise. hes loud and playful and very energetic. a bit too much. he also has a lil ponytail (someone draw this pls) and enjoys talking about classics and is very chatty, much to the chagrin of his siblings's ears and hilals amusement & delight. loves using big words but frequently stumbles over them (cuteness overload)

long before being claimed by hades, the apollo kids welcomed her and gave her a space to call her own. and there goes the waterslide.

[dianaladrislovebot]

as a former percy jackson kid (who hasn’t read the books in years and is incredibly rusty) i have thought of nothing but the show since it’s come out, so what happens when i do a gone hcs godly parent edition 👀

[kindred-spirit-93]

diana my beloved - for her i think of the sun behind the clouds. when you are in the shade, you can feel the warmth but you arent in its field of vision. the light you see when you close your eyes. sun rays peeking through rustling leaves. warm and cool at the same time

cass - the sun that beats down while you work in the field; strong, glaring, but not unmerciful. lively and fierce. graceful and powerful. a force to be reckoned with.

phoebe & kate - since theyre twins i initially though of dawn and dusk; similar yet different. opposing in trajectory but unified by the the skies that hold them. the stillness of the world when the sun just appears behind the horizon, and the quietening of natures orchestra, welcoming the night and the music it brings

One thing I like to hc with the Apollo Head Counselors is that they all represent a time of which the sun is out.

Lee - Dawn/Dusk

Mainly dusk, but pretty much imagine him in browns, oranges , dusky yellows and reds and the like.

Michael - Twilight

Starts after the fall of Dusk,short lived. Haralds the start of darkness and but also first light when it falls. The darkess time in which the sun is out. I see him muted/ dark blues,dull browns and blacks. Maybe a touch of greyish pale yellows.

Will - Daylight

Longest lived, bright, it's what most people think about when they think of the sun. With his golden sun kissed hair and sky blue eyes its pretty on the nose. I see him in bright/light yellows and blues.

Idk why I thought of posting this, I just love them and wanted to share my thoughts.

Think it is pretty obvious how I tend to draw them, but it's fun to write it out ^^

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

John & Jessica transition from September to October (while moving from Saturday to Sunday) this weekend at the Deluxe Cabin. So if you have any favorite songs that mention September, October, autumn, fall, or Indian summer - or even Saturday or Sunday - get your requests ready.

Tracklist

Playing tracks by Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Diana Krall, Kurt Elling, Veronica Swift and more.

[j-jared]

Where are my children?

I know we love dp x dc

"Phantom is in the Justice League" this or "Danny joins the Batfam" that

(I do love it, please recommend me fics and posts)

But where is the dp x pjo? Is it hidden in the archives of this site? Are you telling me I need to seek out Ghost King vs Ghost King content - as if Nico and Danny wouldn't be tossed into the Hades cabin together because Chiron's staring down this half dead child like ".. I guess that counts?"

Would the Gods be pissed off to learn the Underworld and Tartarus are just one section of the Infinite Realms? You're telling me High King Phantom wouldn't stare at them like "well... I can't really fix that issue, guess I'm YOUR god now"

BETTER YET, IS THERE PJO X DC?

You're telling me Batman WOULDN'T try to adopt all these super powered children? Or is this a Diana issue? Probably, right?

"And this is Diana- what, no. No, not Artemis. Hazel, no, this is not the goddess of the moon."

"Well, my father is Zeus-" "Diana please don't encourage them."

Is there content for this??? I will take crumbs.

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 13

______________________________

"We have to get off this ship" Annabeth whispers "the amount of monsters here aren't normal, something is going on" she says

You were about to agree then a loud clang was heard, you four quickly hid

Looking at the window you see straw dummies with orange camp half-blood shirts, a Dracaenae (dragon women) rips the dummies and the other monsters cheer

"—Don't push me Agrius!" You feel both Annabeth and Percy stiffen as the sudden voice seeps into your ears

"Luke..." Percy shudders, This Luke guy and his friend were arguing, something about gambling, wait no- that's a metaphor for taking a risk

"it will pay off!" Luke yells "They'll take the bait... Now let's check in the casket"

Tyson whimpered "Leave now?"

Silence...

"please..." He muttered after

The remaining three of you came to an agreement, Percy looked eager and Annabeth looked worried

You sigh "We can't, if this guy is talking about something that relates to camp or something worse, we have to find out"

And if possible beat the shit out of him and drag him back to camp to explain

Annabeth volunteered to go alone, saying she had a camp that turned her invisible so it'd be fine, it was met with both you and Percy objecting and saying everyone will go or no one will

"I vote no one goes! Pretty please?" Tyson pleaded, and it ended with three kids crawling and walking like spies with a big cyclops nervously chewing his fingernails trotting behind

Someone opens the door for Luke and the monster, not another monster... A demigod!

"that's Chris Rodriguez! From the Hermes cabin!?" You exclaim and then you clasp your hands to your mouth after realizing you were too loud

Annabeth looked heartbroken "there are more traitors...?"

______________________________

A certain king of Atlantis is sat across Bruce, the looming presence between the two, but there is a sense of respect shared

"As a father myself I feel like you should know something" Aquaman sighs

The blonde haired king reminisces the feeling of losing a child, his baby was abducted by someone he trusted and he got his little boy back at the end, it was a dreadful feeling

The feeling that no matter how many good you'll do next, the person you wanted it to be for won't be here to benefit, "Diana was mistaken, Your child was spotted by one of my merguards on the sea, they're alive and I thought you should know-"

"Where?! Where is my kid right now?" Bruce had jumped from the table to shake Aquaman's shoulders

"they are at sea on a ship... And I'm afraid they might be in danger, as the ship is heading for the sea of monsters- or what you humans call the Bermuda triangle, and I can't stop it-"

"Why not!? Aren't you the king of the ocean!??"

"Calm down, I am the king of Atlantis, not the sea nor the ocean, do not mistake me for my emperor, Lord Poseidon"

Bruce takes a deep breath, "Why is my baby there?, how can I get them?"

"I believe your child is on a quest, a quest given by the gods, mortals cannot interfere, you only have to wait for it to be over, there is also a chance they may not get out of the quest alive, Bruce... Don't try anything" Aquaman tries to warn

"I'm not letting my child stay in a place called the sea of monsters, I'll find them" he says

The king looks at him with sadness "Unfortunately you cannot find the sea of monsters, it finds you, it doesn't matter if you search the whole ocean, if the sea does not want you finding it, you won't, you are gonna have to trust your child that they have the means to survive this"

Silence took over, then a gentle heartbroken voice appeared "you just told me my baby is alive, and if they die again, I don't know how I'll pull through this time"

"I'm so sorry Bruce, I'll take my leave"

______________________________

"We are SO gonna die here" you whisper in Percy's ear

Annabeth shifts as to the four of you tiptoe into the Captain's door, that's when you hear them, muffled sounds, you push your ear through the door

Luke talking about a casket and a golden fleece, the fleece you guys are looking for! What will Luke use it on?

"I can't hear anything!" Percy frustratingly says, Tyson pushes his ear through the door and speaks, he speaks in Luke's voice

"—the prophecies ourselves, those fools won't know which way to turn" Tyson says

He copied Luke's voice... You forgot cyclops can do that, how... Creepy.

Nevermind the visible uncomfortable tension that Tyson veiled on the you, Percy and for some reason especially Annabeth, Tyson continues to mimic voice, this time a deeper gruffer voice "you really think the old horseman is gone for good?"

You gasp, they are talking about Chiron, then Tyson laughed, it was Luke's laugh "They can't trust him anymore, not with the skeletons in his closet, the poisoning of Thalia's tree was the last straw"

Annabeth shivered, then she yelled "Tyson stop! That's creepy!", Tyson shrunk "I was just listening"

"keep listening" Percy says

Tyson closed his eyes again "—Quiet! I heard something, just outside the door" and before I could tell everyone to hide

Luke opened the door and saw us

A cyclops, a child of Aphrodite, Athena and Poseidon

"Percy! Anne! Long time no see... Who are these two?" Luke gestures to me and Tyson

Fuck.

______________________________

Bruce: I hope my baby is strong enough to complete their quest so we can reunite

(Name): I am so going to die here

@yunloyal @sirenetheblogger @00hellohello00 @spqce-bun @casspen-starlight @eyeless-kun @ghostdoodlen @ratchetprime211 @delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar @sheep-from-rad

[chaoticallyfluffy]

I want more of the JL acting like normal celebrities.

Batman and Chappel Roan working together on a competitive cooking show against teams of Kylie Jenner and Danny Devito, Kanye West and Kesha, Taylor Swift and Superman, etc. They are a surprisingly good team who work together great. They end up winning the whole thing and a bunch of wholesome memes start trending about the two of them adopting you after your awful parents kicked you out. Superman and Taylor Swift are surprisingly a TERRIBLE team. They’re disqualified because they never finished cooking their meals as they were too busy arguing. They are memed to be the parents who kicked you out and desperately need a divorce.

Wonder Woman going on a survivor-like reality show about a bunch of celebrities stuck on an island together and all the contestants are whining about things like “My hair is so frizzy and Chad is SO hot, I don’t want him to see me like this omg” While Diana has already chopped down multiple trees, used the wood to make a cabin for everyone, hunted a wild boar which is currently roasting over a campfire she also made with the leftover sticks and leaves, and cracked the coconuts from the tree. The rest of the show is mostly a normal reality show. The other contestants never have to lift a finger and can peacefully gossip and have drama while being well fed, housed, and hydrated. The only real difference is that every few minute the camera switches to Diana wresting a grizzly bear or catching fish with her bare hands.

The masked singer where there’s a person in a colourful parrot costume singing on stage and everyone has to guess who it is. People have guessed many celebrities like Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, or even Lex Luther, but they mostly guessed famous singers because the guy is GOOD and there’s no way he doesn’t sing professionally. He sang songs like “Party in the USA”, “Call Me Maybe” and “Never Gonna Give You Up”. People were going crazy trying to figure out who he is. The time finally comes for the reveal. The man slowly takes off his parrot head and... it’s Batman. The crowd goes wild.

The Flash (Barry) and Green Lantern (Hal) make a podcast and spend the entire time going on long rants about their respective interests. Flash talks about forensic science and chemistry for an hour while GL hums in interest or asks questions every once in a while. After that GL rambles about airplanes and engineering for another hour while Flash enthusiastically nods and adds in related stories every so often. Twitter diagnoses them with autism.

Captain Marvel has a TikTok account where he posts himself trying suggestions from his fans. Some of his most popular videos include him juggling a bunch of chainsaws (perfectly, btw), pranking JL members, bedazzling Mr Minds prison jar with fake crystals and speech bubble stickers that make it look like Mr Mind is saying things like “I’m DUMB”, and his most popular by far, citing The Santa Clause rules to Black Adam and convincing him that since he killed his father technically that makes him his new dad (the horror stopped Black Adam in place mid battle, giving Marvel the perfect opportunity to punch him in the face. The punch has been slo-mo’d and memed to oblivion). His Batman mandated PR team has been begging him to stop for months but in response he posts himself TikTok dancing (terribly) in front of a green screen in the background showing an image of the emails while asking for more suggestions.

If anyone has any ideas like this or fics to recommend plz tell me In the comments, I love the Justice League just casually being celebrities.

[mediumgayitalian]

part one

———

Finding parking is, as expected, hard, largely in part because Michael wants to get them all killed.

“— yeah, that’s right, shitwad! Back off! We were here —”

“Will you please shut the fuck up,” Lee hisses, jamming the switch for Michael’s window. Unfortunately, Michael is sticking his fucking head out of it, so it won’t close.

“This fucking guy! This fucking guy thinks he can swoop up to our spot —”

“Motherfucker we’re in Wilmington, do you want to get fucking shot —”

“He can wait his godsdamn turn like everybody else! Hey, fucker —”

He succeeds, finally, in yanking his brother back in by the scruff of his neck and speeding away from the shitwad in question.

“I can’t believe you let him walk all over us!”

“If I end up with a bullet hole through my windshield, I am kicking your ass, Michael. I won’t need to worry about some trigger happy mortal taking you out. I’ll kill you.”

“Drama queen. Now we’re never gonna find a damn spot.”

They do, in fact, find a damn spot. Within forty-three seconds of Michael saying that, actually, Will points out not just a parking spot but a pull-through, which Lee takes, smirking. Michael aims a kick for his knee.

“Go help Will unbuckle, you bitter bitch. I gotta grab something.”

Ignoring both Michael’s grumbling and Will’s insistence that he can unbuckle himself, thank you very much, Lee jogs over to the trunk. He grabs his and Michael’s bows, just in case, and carefully grabs the bundle of roses he bought from the stand across from his apartment. The stems are a little crushed, but the flowers all seem fine, full and bright, sunny yellow. Even the paper is relatively uncrinkled, folding delicately around the thorny leaves.

Michael nods when he sees them. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” Lee tosses him his bow, slinging his own over his back. It flickers with his quiver under the Mist, settling eventually to look like a small backpack. “Got ‘em this morning.”

“Can I hold them?” Will asks.

“Sure, kiddo.”

He lays them gently in his arms, the same way Cass has taught him to bundle herbs and plants when they gather for poultices. Every step is suddenly much more deliberate, avoiding potholes and cracks in the pavement so he doesn’t trip and crush them under his body. When he nearly walks in front of a car, not paying attention, Michael plants a hand on his head, guiding him around like a claw machine.

“Okay,” Lee says, holding open the door. “Let’s find Diana.”

The lobby is crowded. There are people everywhere — families, grandparents, and of course dozens of dancers, shining hair pieces glinting in the low lights, tutus and rhinestones peeking out of studio sweatsuits. Faces heavy with stage makeup bleed into each other. The building is abuzz with sound, chatter and laughter and shouting and twenty different songs playing at once. Lee can hardly believe they’re all fitting in the same building, and almost convinces himself it’s actually enchanted, smaller on the outside. He glances down when Will backs into him, flowers clutched tighter to his chest, and rests a firm hand on his shoulder. He hooks his finger around Michael’s hoodie, too, and for once he doesn’t complain.

“You see her?” he shouts over the noise. Or, well, Lee’s pretty sure that’s what he said. He shakes his head, anyway, and Michael scowls, standing uselessly on his tiptoes. Even if that didn’t put him just barely over most people’s shoulders, the throng of people is too thick to see much. People elbow and push each other around to meet up with family members, and groups of dancers do their best to practice their routines in what limited space is available. Lee has felt less claustrophobic in Times Square at Christmas.

In a stroke of brilliance, in his very humble opinion, he lets go of Will’s shoulder, puts both hands under his arms, and hauls him over his head, settling him on his shoulders.

“Keep an eye out,” he shouts.

Will grins, tugging on Lee’s hair with his free hand in confirmation.

One hand clamped over Will’s knees, the other still hooked on Michael’s hoodie, Lee starts to wade through the crowd. He can start to see, as he gets farther from the door, the entrance to the stage, the ticket stands, the coat check. Several banners hang temporarily from the ceiling and stick to doorways, welcoming them all to the Twenty-Sixth Annual Believe Dance Comp!, and a table laden with trophies sits proudly by the stage doors.

Sitting under one of the banners, Lee notices a group of girls of varying ages, all wearing the green and purple Stage Lights Dance Academy Cass sometimes wears. He guides them closer, scanning each stage makeup-ed face to try and find his sister, but stops short before he gets too close.

Two girls, sitting at the head of the group, mime twisting their hair, exaggeratedly anxious looks on their faces. The rest of the girls roar with laughter.

Lee feels something heavy settle in his stomach.

“You think anyone will come for her?” a younger girl asks, hushed so that Lee can barely hear her over the crowd.

One of the older girls snorts. “Are you kidding? The only way her mom will come is if there’s an open bar!”

Lee is reminded of the one and only time he’d fought a group of empousai. There’d been a trio of them a Central Park, on a field trip he’d gone on with his ninth grade class, surrounding one of the oak dryads. They’d crooned at her, tugging on her leafy hair and trailing clawed fingers down her handmade dress, calling out backhanded compliments. But Lee’s skin felt like it was crawling, he remembers, and the dryad had been tense, green tears building in her eyes. Every bleat of their laughter had grated his ears, and he’d snapped, eventually, ripping off his bow and picking them off one by one. The third one had seen him, chasing him away from his group, but he’d been so mad that he wasn’t even scared. The dryad hadn’t done anything. They got nothing from poking at her. They’d just done it to be cruel, because it was fun for them.

“I don’t even know why she has the gall to show up. She missed the final practice.”

“Miss Breanna likes her, that’s why,” one of the girls scoffs. “Of course she can skiff off practice and still compete. She thinks she’s so much better than us.”

Michael shifts forward. Lee throws out an arm to stop him, shooting him a warning look.

“You think anyone’ll take your side?” he murmurs.

“They’re talking about —!”

“I know, Michael.”

“They can’t talk about her like that!”

“I know, Michael.” He forces his jaw to unclench. “I know.”

“Yeah, well, favourite or not,” another dancer says wickedly, “her seats will be empty again. And she’ll walk out empty-handed and alone, like she always does.”

Most of the adults milling about the lobby hold flowers, like they do. Except unlike them, their bouquets are large, unlike them the stems are not crushed, unlike them they are wrapped in ribbons, in embroidered banners. One is, even, shaped as a ballet slipper, and Lee notices the oldest girl in the group, the one who made the joke about Cass’s mother, eyeing it, smirking.

He pictures Cass holding it next to all the other girls from her studio. With their big, normal families, their wide smiles, their fancy cameras, their beautiful, expensive bouquets. Pictures the smirks that will be sent her way, the whispers. They can’t — gods, what was he thinking?

“What time is it?” he asks.

Michael glances at his watch. “Quarter to.”

“Hm.”

In her frantic IM, yesterday, Diana had ordered them to be here by noon. From what little he knows about dance competitions, Cass’s performance will be sometime after that, nestled among the many. When exactly, he doesn’t know.

If they leave now, wagering, they could miss it. And that would be the worst thing of them all. But…

“Will,” he says, suddenly getting an idea. “C’mere.”

He reaches up and sets Will back on the ground, clutching his hand as he weaves through the crowd, beelining for the far corner. He stops at a sign with a little stick person on it, gently taking the flowers from Will’s hold and passing them back to Michael.

“Listen to me carefully.” He crouches to Will’s level, meeting his eyes. “Diana is — somewhere, in there, getting Cass ready. Michael and I can’t go in there. We need you to go in and act really confused.”

“That will be very easy, because I am confused,” Will protests. “Why do I have to go in there? I don’t even really know why we’re here!”

“Just — go in,” Lee insists. “Trust me. If I give you more instructions, it’ll ruin it.”

Huffing, Will goes.

“Brilliant,” Michael mutters. “Lose the kid and Diana. Great plan, Lee.”

“Come on, does no one trust me?”

“No one knows what you’re doing, dude! You hang around Carter for five minutes and suddenly you think you’re Mr. Plan Guy —”

Lee flushes. “That is not what this is about!”

“I am not missing this! I swear Lee, if we’re late —”

“We’re not gonna be late!”

“Why is it that every boy on Earth is actually stupid,” hisses a new voice. The change room door busts open, damn near cracking under the heel of a heavy boot, and Diana comes striding out behind it, Will perched on her hip. Her short dark hair sticks out in every which way, shoulders tense as a line, mouth twisted in a scowl. Immediately, Lee and Michael snap their mouths shut.

“Hey,” Will complains, pouting.

She adjusts her hold on him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not you, sweetpea. Only Thing One and Thing Two, over here.” She glares at them. “Why did I find him wandering around in the change room? I told you to wait for me in the lobby! I swear you two want to — ruin this!”

“Hey,” Lee says, flinching back. “You know we don’t, Diana. That’s not fair.”

She scrubs a hand down her face, sighing. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just —” She presses another kiss to Will’s cheek and sets him down, leaning on the doorframe. “It’s been a rough morning. She keeps trying to call her mom, and — well.”

Lee hates that those girls were right. He hates it. He hates that they’ve been right before, that Cass has walked off the stage, face blank, alone. Hearing their giggling, probably. Twisting her hair around her fingers as she tries to hold it together.

His jaw tightens.

Not this fucking time.

“What time is Cass on?” he asks

“…Her solo at one-thirty,” Diana says. “But —”

“Great.” Lee grabs each brother’s shoulder, pulling them back. “We won’t be late, Diana, I promise.”

“Wait! Lee — dude, what are you —”

“We’ll meet you inside! Save us seats!”

“Lee! Get back here!”

“Seats!” Lee calls, glancing back. He makes a vague gesture in return to her incredulous, spread-wide hands, trying to convey the Situation. “We won’t be late! Promise!”

“I’ll kill you if you are!” she relents. “Be fucking back on time!”

———

In hindsight, it would have been smarter to take the car.

For whatever reason, both Lee and Michael assumed there would be a flower stand just outside the theatre. Neither of them had seen one on the way in, but it made sense. If Lee had a flower business, he’d probably put it next to a theatre. Where else would you put it?

Regardless, there isn’t anything close across the street, or even on the whole block. Will sits on his shoulders again, because it’s easier than trying to guide him, and every so often he glances at the watch Beckendorf made him, calling out the time.

“Will,” Lee begs, veering around a street corner, “you are not helping.”

“I am so!” He checks his watch again. “Twenty-seven minutes ‘til Cass starts. That’s why we’re here, right? To watch Cass dance?”

“So long as we make it in time,” Michael stresses. “Shit, Lee, maybe we should just head back. The flowers we have are fine —”

“Cass deserves more than fine.”

Michael snaps his mouth shut. “I know that.”

Lee slumps. “I — know you know. Sorry.”

Their steps fall in synch, footsteps making level prints in the light dusting of snow. On occasion a passing car drowns them out, but for the most part the only sound is their breathing, and Will picking at his nails. The shifting of their jackets.

“You’ll never undo it, Lee.” The road cross button makes a heavy click noise under Michael’s fist. The countdown for the walking man is loud, four, three, two, one. Three of the little lights are broken, making it look like its chest is cracked open. “There’s some shit you just can’t fix.”

“I’m not trying to — fix her,” he argues weakly. “I’m just…”

He can’t push away the horrible ache in his chest. The rapidly expanding feeling, the sinking chasm of expecting and hoping and being disappointed. Of looking out into the crowd to find a familiar face and not finding one. Of hearing giggles as you walk past and clenching your teeth, knowing. It balloons, pushing out on his ribcage, forcing its way up his throat.

Michael stops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. Lee stares at a spot at the air above his shoulder, swallowing roughly, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, Lee. You think competing with those assholes is gonna — go back? Gonna magically bring her fucking — hell, bring Dad?”

Lee looks away. “Of course not.”

“We’re going to be there. That’s what matters, isn’t it? That’s what’s really important.”

“Oh, to hell with high horses, Michael. I’m fucking tired of — of pretending it’s okay!” He starts forward again, ignoring the twinge of pain in his skull when Will grips his hair, yelping at the sudden surge forward. Michael jogs to keep up. “It’s — fight these monsters, train these kids, lead your cabin. Ignore the fact that your dad couldn’t be assed to visit a few times a year, he’s an Olympian, after all, you understand. Well, I’m tired of it! I’m tired of —” he trips over a crack in the sidewalk, barely catching himself — “I’m tired of being so damn understanding!”

For a moment Michael says nothing. Lee’s breathing is heavy, shakey, and it takes effort to still the tremble in his hands.

“The girl,” Michael says eventually. “The prissy one, who sat closer to the door.”

“…What about her?”

“I just.” He chews at his bottom lip. “I’m not saying I disagree with you, dude, but you have issues, dude, and shit you need to work out. For real. Besides just —” he gestures broadly at the mostly empty street — “ranting into the air.” Slowly, a smirk spreads across his face. “It would be really, really funny to see her face if Cass walks out with a bouquet three times the size of hers, wouldn’t it.”

Lee matches his grin. “It would be.”

“Betcha she’d seethe.”

“Probably turn purple.”

They turn to each other, finally back in synch.

“Nineteen minutes,” Will pipes up.

Lee startles. He checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Let’s go.”

———

part three

[awordsmith]

paper dreams 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer take your daughter up to your mountain cabin to go ice skating for the first time.

katcember

who? dad!spencer x wife!reader  when? s7  category: fluff  content warnings: proofed! nothing really, all fluffy goodness, reader drooling over spencer's forearms... reid with warmth  word count: 8.4k a/n: i tried something a little different in this fic, where i use '–' as a namesake, i'd really like to know if you like it or dislike it, your feedback helps a ton! ...enjoy!

The day was waning, barely any orange was confined to the sky; the storm swirled in blues and greys only. The air had turned frosted, and the wind was ever present–all the hints that winter was here. Your daughter’s 5th birthday… 

You and Spencer had been debating about whether or not going up to your newly bought mountain cabin in Mapleshire was a good idea, but his coworkers had seemingly convinced him, much to your appreciation. 

He’d dropped you off at Mommy and Me for the last class before the holiday wrapped itself around everyone and their social presence. He’d spent the day getting the car ready, it would be a long trip, especially at this time of day. You said goodbye to —, whom you had met at the start of Mommy and Me, and who had been great friends to you and —, your daughter. 

You held —’s hand, pulling her close. Though she was wearing a coat, you couldn’t be too sure if she was warm enough or not. She had her father’s eyes, a mix of your’s and Spencer’s complexion, and a mole on the side of her neck, which you again attributed to Spencer, but more so toward Diana, his mother. She had a sneaky mole right behind her ear, you remember her mentioning it when she held — for the first time.

A smile stretched across your face at the memory, but then — tugged on your arm, and you left your thoughts in your head, focussing now on your daughter, “look, it’s daddy!” She pointed toward Spencer as he pulled up in the black jeep you’d bought together specifically for trips such as this one.

“Yeah,” you kissed her forehead, “yeah, I see him.” She puffed out her chest as she began marching forward, you laughed at her attempts to open the glass door.

She frowned, watching as Spencer emerged from the driver's seat. You sent him a wave and a smile when he rounded the jeep–hands stuffed in his pants pockets–and leaned against it. 

He returned your smile when he saw you, eyes dancing with playfulness. You opened the door and your daughter ran out, her hair bouncing with each step, between the two, you thought she looked like the little mischievous main character of a Hallmark movie, trying to get her parents back together, or some other wild cinematic plotline like that.

You paused your walking midstep, heart and mind working in sync to capture the image before you: Spencer–the father of your child, your husband, and best friend–lifting the bundle of joy you’d made together, spinning her around like a fairy. The soundtrack of her giggles and his laughter mixed with a backdrop of a cold, misty, magical Christmas behind them.

The laughter stopped as Spencer set — on her own little feet again, a contented sigh escaping his lips, but visible in the chilled air. “Hi,” he said, tilting his head, eyes tracking up and down your frame.

Your heart warmed as it had when you’d first met, “hi,” you replied.

“Hi!” — shouted, then shivered, “I’m cold.”

You shared a look with Spencer, though they were both warning, they were two different types. Spencer ignored your eyes as he bent down, taking your daughter’s hand in his own, shaking it, “hi, cold, I’m Dad.”

You face-palmed, chuckling into your hands when your daughter snatched her tiny arm away and turned to you in annoyance, stomping her foot, “Mommy, he did it again!”

Spencer stood in mock shock, holding a hand over his chest, “wha–how dare–I did no such thing.”

— turned to him, though you couldn’t see it, you were sure she looked unimpressed. She walked around them as you stepped forward, meeting Spencer near the car. You gave him a peck on the cheek, pulling away as you heard your daughter’s failed attempt at opening the car door. “Open it!” She shouted, crossing her arms.

“Alright,” you nodded, “come on.”

You pulled open the door and helped her into her new car seat. It was black, matching the exterior of the jeep. The seats were leather, to which you had a hate-love relationship with. You were thankful Spencer already had the heater blasting, — looked pleased as well.

When Spencer slid into the car on the other side, he faced you, pulling your hand into his. Though you’d been married 5 years, he still managed to give you butterflies. 

You were the same age, though you were a few months older. You’d met in college through a mutual friend, and though he was earning his 3rd degree and second phd and you were in your first year, you’d hit it off. A year of friendship turned into two years of dating, and yes, you were young, but you honestly didn’t see yourself marrying anyone else.

Your parents, of course, wanted to meet him first, though you spoke about him constantly and they seemed to really like him. You remember the first time he’d taken you to see Diana around the end of your second year of dating–before he’d asked you to marry him.

He had been nervous, though you weren’t sure why. She seemed alright, she had Alzheimer’s, but she wasn’t any less of a person, in fact, you really enjoyed her company and saw her regularly when you were free. You’d talk about everything, but mostly about Spencer. You hadn’t thought to tell him about your little visits, but Diana had slipped up about it–and why shouldn’t she have? She had no idea it was a secret to him.

You had feared seeing him after the fact, sur he would be mad at you. You recalled the trembling in your hands–unable to control it as you met him for coffee. You thought it might be the end of your relationship, so when he pulled out a ring box and proposed, you were more than a little shocked. Though you shouldn’t have been, it was just like him to pull something like that, as you’d come to find over the years–as you should have perceived from your years of knowing him...

“—,” Spencer whispered your name, pulling your attention to his soft, aglow gaze.

You smiled, squeezing his hand in yours, “what did you forget?”

He scoffed, but his grin grew, “I can’t believe your first thought is that I forgot something.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked around the car, noting the bags in the open cargo compartment behind your daughter. She smiled at you and you smiled back, asking if she wanted her tablet. 

She nodded enthusiastically, though Spencer muttered a small complaint as you rummaged through her backpack. You nudged him on the shoulder as you handed it back to her, “start driving.”

He’d argued with you a little when you’d said you’d wanted to buy one, but, as it was you whom he was arguing with, he’d given in pretty easily. It wasn’t as if you had her on it all the time, only for times like this–on long road trips, or when the sitter needed to keep her occupied when cooking. 

You had slowly moved — out of diapers within the last year, though two years ago, she’d taken her first step at age 3. She was a spontaneous child, and thankfully, Spencer was home to witness the gracious moment, and you thankfully had gotten it all on video. You cherished the memory of him holding her hands as she forced one foot in front of the other.

“I love you,” you whispered as Spencer cranked the music up.

His eyes crinkled, heart swelling, “I love you too.” You didn’t say it often as you both found it unnecessary, you both already knew it to be true, which is why when you did say it, it was notable–because for you to say something that didn’t need voicing, meant that you just wanted to say it, and that, that was special. 

Spencer pulled into a gas station. You huffed a laugh while he avoided your eyes, “I knew it.”

He held up his hands in defense as he stepped out of the car, “Listen, I–I never said I forgot.”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, your nose scrunching up, “yeah, you just failed to check the tank.”

“In my defense,” he leaned his head into the car, the door halfway shut, “I was running errands and packing all day.”

“And when you say ‘all day’–”

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna pump the gas now.” He laughed, closing the door with a thud.

You snorted and threw your head back, shaking your head. “Mommy?” — called, “Can we go in the store?”

You eyed the amenity, “we should get snacks for the road, huh?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Definitely.” You covered your chuckles at her inability to pronounce the word fully. It was both adorable and endearing.

“You’re just saying that because you’re not the one paying,” you joked, but again she nodded her head and said–

“Definitely.” You sighed, unbuckling your seat belt and sliding out of the car, Spencer rounded it, asking what you were doing.

“— wants to get snacks.”

You pulled open the backseat door, unbuckling your daughter. She hopped out, landing on her feet. Spencer’s eyes widened and he bent with her, arms splayed out as if she might fall. Your heart swelled at the worry in his eyes–his expression.

He glanced up at you with a frown, you bit your lip, fighting the urge to attack him with kisses. “Be safe,” he said, keeping an eye on — as she skipped in front of you, toward the shop.

“We’ll be fine,” you assured, pausing, watching his expression, and before hesitating a moment longer, you pulled him down by his collar and kissed his cheek.

Spinning around instantly after, you chased your daughter before he could react. Blush darkened your cheeks both from the bitter air and your actions. The inside of the convenience store was a flame of warmth to the gloom of the outside. “Mommy!” — called, swaying on her heels as she waited for you in one of the aisles.

“I’m here,” you came up behind her, eyes wandering around the candy. You looked up and caught the gaze of the store clerk, you smiled briefly, then went back to collecting snacks. “Do you think Daddy wants coffee?”

Your daughter halted, her fingers that were running along a row of MnMs coming to a cursory halt. She turned to you with a look you’d begun to distinguish as her “Hotch stare”. Well, Spencer had originally caught onto it and had given it its name– one you didn’t understand until you’d met the man himself. 

Spencer had typically tried to keep his work life and home life separate–especially before the marriage–but after you’d had —, he’d wanted the team to meet you, and you, of course, had wanted to meet them for some time before.

Your first introduction was at a Christmas party thrown by one of his team members. He’d been working as an FBI agent for almost five years when you’d gotten married, you’d fallen pregnant with — not long after. 

He let his coworkers meet you exactly a year after — was born. Her birthday fell in December, which was the month Spencer took the most time off, other than your anniversary, though you never held him accountable if he only stayed a few hours between cases, you knew he did the best he could, which was also why you took the most trips in December.

Spencer had been clear with everyone that he would not answer work calls, and everyone knew that in December, he meant it. He blocked agent Morgan one time, though the poor guy had been calling Spencer in as a joke, that was about the only thing he never found funny, and he still didn’t

“Right,” you plant a hand on your hip, “you’re right.”

For someone so young, your daughter was incredible at picking up on social cues, you knew it was rare for geniuses to give birth to other geniuses–but for Spencer and —, you thought it was entirely possible.

— followed you over to the drink station, arms full of different candies. As you made two cups of coffee, one sickly sweet, — wandered over to the chip aisle and collected a few more things. You smiled sardonically at the total, huffed about paying, paid, and braved the grim winter once more. You felt like Anna on that mountain in nothing but a gown.

“Heh-hey, there you are,” Spencer opened his arms for a hug, but instead of hugging him back, — walked around him and demanded with a shiver–

“Open the door, Daddy.”

You snorted at Spencer’s guffawed look, shrugging when he looked at you for help. He sighed, opened the door, and helped her into her car seat. You approached him as he shut the door, enclosing your daughter in the heat and coziness of the car. 

You waited for him to turn before saying, “Open the door, Daddy.”

He rolled his eyes, but followed orders once more, waving a hand as if to say, ‘yes, your majesty’. You bit back a laugh and set the cups of coffee in the middle console. “Thank you,” you grinned up at him, sliding your body into the seat a moment later, sighing when you found the warmer still on.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered with a forced frown, shutting the door when he was sure all of your person was inside. You laughed as he made his way to the other side of the car.

“We can switch off,” you said an hour on the road, — was munching on something from her bag, ignoring the world around her.

“I’m fine,” Spencer brushed away your offer.

“I know,” you persisted, “but, if you need to,” you clamped a hand over his, drawing his eyes from the road to where your palm met the top of his grip on the steering wheel. His expression softened and he smiled, giving you an appreciative glance before turning his attention back to the road once more.

Ere long, you arrived at the cabin. It was stuffed securely on the side of a mountain, but the gap from the mountain to the road wasn't big and you trusted it. You had to pass through Mapleshire, the small mountain town that sold you the land, to get to the cabin. — was out cold in the backseat, so Spencer went to open the door and get the fireplace going while you kept the car on and began pulling out the luggage with as little noise as possible.

You had the entire weekend planned, —’s birthday was Sunday, and you already knew what you wanted to do for her. You had thought about it for a while, though you always knew you wanted to introduce the sport on her birthday, you didn’t know which would be the right age. She’d barely started walking two years ago, and you thought it was too soon for her fourth birthday. This year though, she was confident, and you were sure she could learn it just as she’d learned to walk, with her father’s hands guiding and leading her, and you, there to capture the memory for when she wanted to look back in the years to come.

Spencer ran back outside to watch — as you headed inside with the first set of bags, you switched off until all things were safely secure in the cabin–it was more of a lodge, but the word ‘cabin’ had a coziness to it.

The snowy home wasn’t completely deserted as Mapleshire was less than ten minutes away and neighboring cabins surrounded the mountains. There was even an actual lodge, where tourists stayed during their time away from everything else. You’d lodged there once when you were in the market for a winter home.

You wished you could stay there all season, but alas, you had work, Spencer had work, and — had daycare. Though, you were debating about asking if he might want to come next weekend. You could make it tradition, and maybe… when — got older, you could stay for the entirety of her school break, though Spencer may have to work a little throughout, his presence would be more than enough.

You shoved the thought away as you prepped — for the trip through the shivering breeze that only seemed to be alive at this height and around this time of night. She shuddered and tightened her hold around your neck, her legs–under the blanket Spencer had wrapped around her when you’d first pulled her out of her car seat–tightened. “Mommy?” Her slurred question pulled a tight frown to your lips; you rounded to the cabin’s front porch–your steps hurried as they endured the thickness of the snow. Spencer would have to shovel a walkway in the morning.

The soft yellow glow and toasty heat of the fire was like a blanket of cookies fresh out of the oven draped around your shoulders, suffocating you in love. You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing in the aroma, “Mommy?” — called again, head tilted to the side, eyes groggy.

“Here,” you slipped your shoes off, shut the door behind you, and stepped down the hall toward the room you’d curated for her when you had time off. Spencer had picked a few things out, including the bed sheets and comforter.

The room was still pretty chilly, though you weren’t sure if you should let her sleep in the living room tonight as you and Spencer still had a lot of unpacking to do. You’d need to go into town early in the morning for a bit of shopping, you’d probably end up eating breakfast at Windrift, the diner in town.

You settled — into bed, tucking the extra blanket around her, “here, let me see your shoes.” you whispered, yanking up the cloth just enough to reach her feet. She’d been dressed in comfy clothing, but you wanted to take her jacket off. “Give me your coat and then you can go to bed.”

She huffed but listened. “We’re here, aren’t we?” She said in her broken words, her voice trembling with both sleep and toddler tongue.

You smoothed down her hair, “yes, sweetheart now get some rest.”

You stood to move, but she sat up instantly, “Wait–the light.”

You frowned, — hadn’t been afraid of the dark since–well–ever. You didn’t have a lamp ready and you couldn’t very well keep the big light on. “Tomorrow,” you smiled, “tomorrow we’ll look for a lamp.” Some antique stores must have something you could use.

“But–” though it was dark it was as if you could see her lip quiver with the tone in her voice. It must have been because she wasn’t used to this area, it was new territory for her, and she’d never slept anywhere she hadn’t been before.

You sighed, feeling bad, maybe you could give her your phone’s flashlight, just until you were ready for bed, then she could sleep with you and Spencer–or until she fell asleep. You were approaching her bedside again, reaching into the back pocket of your jeans when Spencer appeared in the doorway, knocking slightly, “What’s going on?”

“—’s afraid of the dark.”

“I am not,” she turned on her side, sleep beginning to leave her, which scared you. You couldn’t have her up at this hour.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you reached over, rubbing her side.

“Hold on,” Spencer said, slipping away.

You sighed, you’d switched seats with Spencer a third of the way through the journey, and had switched again when you’d stopped at another gas station, — had been asleep by then, and you were both already so tired.

“Here,” Spencer stepped through the threshold of the room and headed to the other side, where — now faced. “Here,” he murmured her nickname, “look at this.” — watched as he plugged in a nightlight, the room aglow softly with yellow light; it mimicked a fireplace, like the one in the family room. “Better?” Spencer brushed a lock of hair out of her face, her smile as bright as it could be at that moment, you were sure.

“Thanks, Daddy.” She mumbled.

He stood as her eyes fluttered closed and she nuzzled herself into the pillow. Spencer left the door ajar when he met you in the hallway. You nodded toward the room, “when did you buy that?”

He waved his hand, biting back a smile, “it was supposed to be her birthday present. I’ll just have to get her another one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know about it.” You scoffed, crossing your arms as he walked back toward the living room.

“You don’t know all of my secrets,” he halted his movements and spun around, his eyes flirting as he reached behind your ear and pulled out a single rose, “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed as a caustic expression grazed your features. You took the rose from his hand, it was real–your breath caught as you watched his figure disappear behind the corner to the drawing room. Grinning, you twirled the rose between your fingers, he was just full of surprises, wasn’t he?

You woke up with a good weight over you, something warm pressed against your face. At first, you thought it might have been a very small creature, but upon opening your eyes, you saw —. “Morning, Mommy.” She giggled, not fully pronouncing ‘morning’.

“Oohh,” groaning, you brought your hands up to your face and rubbed the sleep away. You sat up, — falling to your waist as you caught her back. “Where’s Daddy?”

— leaned in, cupping her hand over her mouth as she whispered, “Still sleeping.”

“Oh no,” you frowned, “now, we can’t have that can we?”

Her continued giggles were all the confirmation you needed to wake your husband up. You began shaking him, — slid off of you, and now between the two of you, cupped Spencer’s head, smoothing down his hair as she whispered in his ear, “Daddy, wake up!” Her voice went high at the end, louder than the other words.

Spencer stirred and you held a hand up to muffle your giggles. “What year is it?” He grumbled, eyes peeling open.

“Daddy!” She squealed like he’d just asked a question with the most obvious answer.

“Yeah,” he stretched, grabbing — under her armpits and spinning her around to sit her in his lap as he sat up. He looked down at her with a lopsided smile, “Hi.”

She covered her laughter with her hands and looked up, whispering, “Hi,” like it was their own, little secret. You wanted to capture this moment on camera, but perhaps that would ruin the moment, and you were sure there would be other times like this–so you deigned to just watch. 

The soft glow of the winter sun cascaded along your husband and daughter. You thought to leave them to their own devices while you went to take a shower. Rounding the bed, you pecked Spencer on the lips, “I’m gonna wash up.”

“Ewheww,” — scrunched up her nose, but a smile was adjacent to it.

You could hear them begin a tickle fight and pillow war as you reached the bathroom. It didn't have a tub, but a stand-up shower surrounded by fogged glass. You brushed your teeth while waiting for the water to heat up. You’d take — a bath in the hallway bathroom while Spencer took a shower afterward.

An hour and a half later the clock read 9:30 am. — was ready, wearing one of her favorite winter outfits. She looked like she’d be warm even when you stepped outside and headed into town.

“Ready?” Spencer found you and — in the den, he’d just come back in from shoveling a path to the car, and he was snow-bitten.

“Yep,” he kissed your cheek.

“Did you want to go to the movies later?” he motioned with his hands.

You shook your head, “I’m not sure, maybe we could come home and make smores, or something. I really just want to spend time alone as a family today, before all the circus tomorrow.” You pressed your hands against his chest and looked up into his goldened eyes. “Maybe after we finish skating tomorrow,” you amended. You were determined to teach your daughter how to ice skate, even if it took her some time, you loved the idea of sharing something so magical with her, and perhaps a movie at the local theatre would be a nice way to end the day before heading back up to the cabin.

Spencer nodded, “Okay, I’m fine with that.” 

You smiled, eyes now back on your daughter who seemed entranced by the idea of tying up her beret herself. You took it from her hands and tied it for her, patting her shoulder thereafter, “Come on, we need to eat.”

— dashed out the door and toward the car, the crunch of the snow beneath her small feet warmed your heart. She wore little brown mittens which further disabled her ability to open the door.

Spencer started the jeep while you helped — in her car seat. “Where are we going?” She asked as you strapped her in.

You glanced at Spencer, and he answered, “A cute little diner.”

“What’s a diner?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, had you never said the word diner around your daughter? Then a seldom expression fell to your face, or maybe she just forgot. “It’s a restaurant,” you shut her door, but not before bopping her on the nose.

She grimaced, whining, “Mommy I thought I told you to stop that!”

You huffed and crossed your arms as you slid into the passenger seat, “you let Daddy do it.”

“I do not!” She harrumphed, mimicking your actions.

You turned to your husband, eyes accusingly, “You liar.”

He held up his hands, falsy shocked, “Hey, now…”

“Mmmhmm,” you looked him up and down, unimpressed. “Drive, Daddy.”

He chuckled, pulling his seat belt over himself, and clicking it into place.

You played Christmas carols for —, laughing as she clapped and sang along. Ere long Spencer pulled into a lot across the street of the diner and wasting no time, the three of you headed toward the crosswalk and entered Windrift.

“Whoa,” — laughed, skipping to and fro. You asked her to keep calm and she promised she would do her “absolute best,” as if it were some kind of mission. 

While Spencer was led toward a table, however, you and — paused to play one of the mini-games the diner had in the front. You were caught up in securing a teddy bear from the claw machine (— being your number one cheerleader) when Spencer cleared his throat and appeared behind you like the grim reaper.

— laughed, saying you were in trouble. You whined as Spencer drug you away, you 0; claw machine 1.

You and Spencer ordered for — first, then he let you order, and finally, he placed his. The hostess read back everything she had scribbled down on her tiny notepad and hurried off toward the kitchen.

The red-stained, glass-shaded lights hung above you and every booth in the diner. A jukebox sat a few booths behind you, propped up against the back wall of the aisle. It looked like it’d been haunting Windrift since the place had been built. “You think it still works?” You nodded toward the music player.

Spencer shrugged, “we can ask.”

“No,” you waved your hand, “it’s fine.”

Your food came thirty minutes later, you were done around 11, and now back in the car, you were headed toward the only grocer Mapleshire had. It didn’t have a name like most other places in town, the lettering at the top simply read ‘grocer’.

You wandered around with a cart, grabbing essentials such as water and cereal (— was really specific about the cereal she preferred, you blamed Spencer for speaking so elaborately when she was in your tummy, she now had his curse of using words that were abnormal for a 4-year-old’s vocabulary. 

You headed back up to the cabin, unpacking the very specific cereal — claimed she’d die without. Most of the morning had gone by already, there were maybe 5 hours left until it was —’s bedtime. You thought of ways you could waste time, briefly, you thought you might have time to take — out on the ice, but then you recalled how exactly you wanted it all to happen, and thought it best to save it for tomorrow.

Instead, you and Spencer roasted marshmallows in the den via the fireplace. You were certain this would also be —’s first time learning what things like ‘roasting marshmallows’ and ‘smores’ meant. 

You loved that you would be there for everything–but you absolutely cherished the idea of Spencer being part of it all too. You knew he felt the same and you also knew he’d have to be dead for him to miss anything.

“I want another one,” — patted her stomach. 

You noted the chocolate around her mouth as she yawned. You smiled, glancing between your daughter and your husband, “Actually, I think it’s time for bed.”

— huffed, but she didn’t whine, “Can we eat more tomorrow?”

“Only if you clean up super nicely and bed head right-right now!”

She glanced at Spencer, but then frowned and turned back to you. Leaning in and holding up a hand, — whispered so softly so that Spencer wouldn’t be able to hear–but he did. You were sure of this as he stood, prepping to follow his daughter toward the hall bathroom. “She called me your loyal knight?” His eyes popped as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You grinned and kicked your feet up on the coffee table, stretching your arms behind you, “I believe that means she knows who rules this family.”

“With an iron fist,” Spencer clicked his tongue as he walked away.

You laughed and sat up again, reaching for your mug. Spencer had made cocoa and you had the bright idea to buy whipped cream and cinnamon powder to sprinkle on the top, one of your better concoctions.

Around 7:30 pm, you heard — and Spencer leave the bathroom, heading for her bedroom. “All done?” You shouted from your spot on the sofa.

“Yeah!” Came Spencer’s shout a few seconds later. You stood and made your way toward your daughter’s room, finding your husband tucking her in tightly. The nightlight on–once again mimicking the fireplace in the den. It glowed softly, lighting up the room like a candle would, though lower to the floor and not in the center of the room, it shone well.

You had just stood up from kissing —’s forehead when she called, “wait.”

You and Spencer shared a look before turning to your daughter once more, “yes, what is it, —?”

“Can you tell me a story?” ‘Story’ came out as ‘sory’ and you wondered if you should begin booking her first dentist appointment soon.

Another look shared between Spencer and you told you you were thinking the same thing, — had never before asked for a bedtime story, just as she had never been afraid of the dark before the night prior, but you supposed children changed over time. Her brain must be developing, and so her personality–her fears and everything in between were now growing.

“Yeah,” you said, moving back toward your spot near her twin-sized bed. Spencer joined you, crouching as you settled on your knees.

“What–what story do you want to hear about?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“All-alright,” Spencer swallowed, hesitant, “once–once upon a time there was a-uh,” he turned to you visibly terrified, though you couldn’t fathom why.

You picked up where he left off, “a daring knight,” you wanted to snort because of course that was the first fantasy character to pop into your head–just because — had said something about it earlier.

“A knight like Daddy?” She asked.

“Yes, yes,” you nodded, unconsciously feeling around the space for Spencer's hand, “a knight like Daddy” He tugged your hand toward his thigh and held it, rubbing minuscule circles into your palm with his thumb.

“Then…was there a queen like Mommy too?”

“Uh, yeah,” you smiled, “the Knight protected the Queen, they were very close.” Your heart thudded in your chest, but as you moved on with the story it began to calm and you could see —’s chest begin to rise and fall in a slow rhythm.

“I think she’s asleep,” Spencer whispered after a time.

“Yeah,” you squeezed his hand, “let’s go.”

The hallway was chillier than —’s room, so you ran toward yours to grab a blanket. Spencer followed you, leaning against the doorway as you wrapped yourself in the knitted quilt. “Are you planning to take a shower tonight?”

You shook your head, shuddering, “tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably best, it’s too cold now.”

“Are you gonna clean up?”

When he said yes, you thought to follow him, but paused at the last moment and decided to prep the bed so he could change into something more comfortable and fall asleep more quickly.

You lit a candle as you worked, snorting when you heard Spencer curse down the hall as he more than likely stubbed his toe on something. You were always telling him to wear the house slippers you bought, but he never listened. “Serves you right,” you muttered under your breath.

A little while later, Spencer appeared in your doorway, “hey,” you muttered.

“Hi,” he watched you, and you couldn’t put into words exactly what expression he used when he looked at you. It was a mix of emotions you’d seen over the years, it was as if you’d given him the moon–as if you had decorated the night sky just so he’d have something to watch when the sun left his sight.

You could see it in his eyes, but he wasn’t a poet, and he wasn’t trying to beat around the bush, “thank you,” it said, but what you thought it meant was ‘I love you’. 

“Knight?” You crossed your legs under the covers and faced him as he flipped the light switch off and approached his side of the bed.

“Yes?” He smiled cheekily.

“Back there, you were acting a bit strange.”

He averted his gaze which he only did when he was nervous, embarrassed, and/or hiding something–lying.

“Spencer?” You questioned, reaching over to grab his hand. He let you. He also let you force his head back toward yours. You searched intently, looking for an explanation to his odd behavior, the only light visible from your phone once you held the flashlight up to his face.

“I couldn’t–” he huffed as if trying to find the words, “I’ve never heard a bedtime story…” he admitted, biting back a frown–though it only served to bring a pout to his face.

Your heart did that thing it always did when he looked extra adorable. “Spencer Reid,” you called, his eyes finally finding the courage to return to you, “would you like to hear a bedtime story?”

Were it anyone else, he would have thought they were making fun of him–teasing him, even, but it was you. You and your perfect laugh, you and your warm hands, you and your kind, loving, heart. He smiled and pulled you to his chest, “— —, will you tell me a story?”

You snuggled close to him, giggling as he brushed a lock of your hair out of your face–it tickled. “Always,” you agreed, whispering, “close your eyes.”

You watched his eyes flutter shut, you could smell him, he smelled good, though he was dirty with the day's events, he had that ever-lasting scent to him–coffee and old leather. It was like he’d stepped right out of one of his Victorian novels.

“In a place–long ago–not too far away, there lived a girl in a small village.” He hummed against the beginning of your story and you smiled. “For most of her life, she thought it was herself against the world, and she wouldn’t let the world beat her… little did she know, however, it wasn’t the word she should have been afraid of,” your whispers filled the calm confines of your room.

“She braved the earth alone, fighting every day like it was her last, until she came upon a boy, who seemed the exact opposite of her.

“He laughed at the oddest of things, elated the queerest of sayings. He could go on and on about nothing and everything, and for once, the girl wanted to listen to someone other than her own thoughts.”

Spencer chuckled, though he tried to hide it. You didn’t mind, you loved that he was enjoying your story. 

“The girl and boy became friends, but that’s when she realized there were things far scarier than the world.”

“And what was that?” Spencer quirked a brow.

You pushed yourself up and out of his hold, his eyes flew open as you leaned over and murmured into his ear, “love.”

You pulled back, noting his raised brows, “why was love scarier than the dangers of the world?”

You wanted to squeeze him and never let him go, overjoyed at the fact that he was taking your story seriously. You were sure–had it been anyone else, they would have laughed, telling you it was enough. But not Spencer, because Spencer was Spencer, the only reason you needed to love him.

“Because along with love,” you began, “rejection existed. Everything has a balance, true love is to unrequited love what summer is to winter–and that–that was scarier than anything… Because it meant that the girl could indeed be hurt, and she was human, which made it more fatal than any physical wound she could have ever encountered.”

“Then end?” Spencer raised a brow, looking up at you.

You huffed, a tranquil expression settling over your features, “perhaps.”

He shook his head, but a delicate smile appeared on his lips, “thank you.”

You huffed with pride, “always,” and nudged him with your head, like a cat, he thought.

The morning isn’t as bright as the day before, the curtains weren’t drawn back, but what caught your attention first was the buttery aroma floating from the hall and into your room. The door was left ajar, you raised a brow, a half-awake smile dawning on your face.

You rubbed your eyes, ridding yourself of the crust that built up the night prior. There was a soft glow, however light it might have been, rolling to the side of the bed and planting your feet on the floor, you found the source. It was the nightlight Spencer had bought for —’s birthday. You smiled, she must have brought it in when you were sleeping, and an empty bed meant she, along with her father, was awake.

You stood, stretched, and right your consciousness before following the scent that woke you up so calmly. You paused for a moment, taking in the picturesque scenery before you. Crossing your arms, you leaned against the wall where the walkway ended.

— was sitting on the counter, mixing a bowl of some kind of composite, Spencer spun around in the kitchen, almost as if he’d choreographed a dance for exactly that purpose. “Having fun?” You called after a second, both bodies stopped instantly, and both heads jerked in your direction.

You covered up a snort, noting pancake mix on —’s tiny nose. “What’s so funny, Mommy?” She asked a grin spread across her face.

“Nothing,” you waved a hand, stepping forward, “you take a shower?” You propped yourself up on one of the barstools.

“Forturnalty, yes,” he smirked triumphantly, “— here was able to keep her promise of letting Mommy sleep while Daddy got in the shower.”

“He made me,” your daughter accused, “he said if I wanted to surprise Mommy, I had to.” Her words blended, causing the swelling in your heart to increase.

“Aww, thank you, baby.” You leaned over the counter and kissed her forehead.

“Ew, Mommy, your breath stinks,” she waved a hand in front of her nose, leaving the mixing spoon in the bowl.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your hands, backing away slowly while Spencer died in the background. “Mommy’s going to go brush her teeth.”

“And shower?” Spencer idiotically added.

“That’s okay,” you pointed a finger his way, “I’m going to remember that.” 

Spencer’s face fell, he held up his hands–almost like he was mimicking you–as if he’d done nothing wrong, “ooo, Daddy’s in trouble.” — whispered, eyes wide.

“That he is, —,” you nodded sternly, “that he is.”

An hour later, you were showered, and and dressed–and your breath no longer smelled of mold. Pancakes were stacked on a plate on the counter near Spencer–who was washing dishes while — still sat at the counter, now eating a plate of chocolate chip pancakes, nose fully free of mix.

“Hey,” you rounded the counter, leaning over Spencer to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured, looking down at you with the eyes of a man sick with love.

“What are we doing today?” — asked with her broken speech, you grabbed a few paper towels from the roll and rounded the counter, sitting beside her to wipe her mouth of the chocolate. Spencer slid a plate of pancakes in front of you–a bottle of water came soon after.

“Thank you,” you accepted the utensils and began slicing through your delicious breakfast.

“Always,” he sighed, throwing a kitchen rag over his shoulder. He unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, you let your eyes fall over his arms as he seemingly continued washing the dishes. 

Watching him made you wonder why he hadn't rolled his sleeves up in the first place, but then you understood he had just begun washing them when you went to kiss him, and the sink was still full, and there was still a couple of dirtied kitchenware scattered across the area.

You hadn’t realized you were drooling until — said something about it. Spencer craned his head slightly to get a look and you dropped the fork in your hands to wipe the saliva. He snorted once he saw you and you glared, though couldn’t help your eyes tracking over his exposed skin.

You huffed, determined to finish your pancakes without looking at him. You were angry-stuffing your mouth full of buttery, chocolaty goodness when — reached over and tapped you, “Done, Mommy.”

“Alright,” you sighed, setting your fork down, you were ¾ done, but you were more than ready to start your day, you would just have to get back to your breakfast later.

Spencer cleared the counter as you stole — off to her room, no doubt to get her ready for what you had planned. He’d spent hours going shop to shop just to find the right pair of skates, and even then, you were a nervous jitter about ‘what if the skates don’t fit her’ and ‘what if she doesn’t like the color’.

He’d reassured you more than enough times that they were fine and — would love them regardless of the color or model or make, though he knew he’d have rubbed your back and kissed your cheek however many more times you needed.

He headed toward your shared room, grabbing your scarves and mittens. He wrapped his around his neck and yours around his arm. The mittens were stuffed into his pocket as he began packing a bag for the trip.

There was an ice ring near the edge of town, it was Mapleshire’s biggest attraction, though it had separate times for children and adults, or rather, people who knew how to skate. If you left now, you would arrive right when they opened, around nine.

The car ride was smooth, — was wearing her mayoral coat which you’d picked out, especially for this day, and a plaid skirt, which Spencer had bought specifically to match the coat. It was adorable how his geeky, book-nerd style was evident, even in the form of his daughter’s clothing.

—’s snow boots protected her socks from getting wet as she jumped up and down, excited with the view–the anticipation. 

“Happy birthday.” You smoothed down the top of her head, “Come on, let’s get wristbands and sign that waver.”

Well, Spencer got the wristbands and signed the waiver while you and — sat on one of the benches behind the barrier that separated everything else from the ice. The sky was gray, but not gloomy–just the opposite. 

Children of all ages surrounded you, from toddlers to teenagers, parents, of course, were there too. Some had cameras like the one that hung around your neck, others had their phones out, already recording.

You preferred your camera because it was meant to capture scenery like this, the focus was great and it automatically blurred the things around your center point.

“Ready?” You finished tying —’s shoes, she loved the brown of the base of the skates and the blue laces, of course she did, you had no idea why you’d been so worried when picking them out. Spencer stood in front of you as you laced your skates. “I’ll get her used to the ice, let the skates get cold.”

He nodded and held his hand out for the camera. You pulled it from your neck and set it in the palm of his hand, large hands–you’d noticed this the first time you’d met him, they were slender, like musicians, but long too, which was why you’d first thought he was a pianist.

“Alright,” you leaned down, keeping — close to the wall, “first, we need to get our skates cold, so we're going to stay close to the wall.” You forced her in front of you, one arm under her armpit, the other holding onto the wall. Both her hands were clutching the wall and you were surprised at how calm she was. She wasn’t crying, or begging to get off because she was scared to fall. You thought she was being very Spencer-like, or perhaps, this was all —.

A few minutes later, Spencer had called you over, letting you know he’d bought and placed your bags in a locker. The only thing he'd kept was his phone and the camera, now strapped around his neck. He shrugged over your mittens which you had neglected to put on until now, and which you desperately needed.

He took a few photos of you as you slowly moved more toward the middle of the rink, your skates getting colder with each round you made. You decided to stop when you almost bumped into a father and son, Spencer making his amusement known as you embarrassingly skated toward him again.

“I think that’s enough for Mommy.” You huffed.

“Maybe you just need a little more practice.” Spencer batted his dumb, long eyelashes.

“Daddy!” — shouted, but a smile grazed her tiny face.

You sighed, patting her on the back, “thanks for trying to pretend.”

“With pleasure.” She nodded aggressively and tried to furrow her brows into a very serious, very Hotch expression. Unfortunately, it was undermined because of the way she pronounced pleasure as ‘pweajer’. 

You smacked Spencer’s arm for snorting, then held out a hand for the camera. He slid it over with grace, taking —’s hand in his. “Let me show you how a pro skates.” 

— had fallen a couple of times, but she’d taken it like a champ, she was learning the ropes easily, she was a natural–it almost felt ironic in a way.

Your first date with Spencer had been to an ice rink, it was on a whim, sure, but it was still so incredibly special to you. Sometimes you thought how, if the restaurant hadn’t overbooked that day, you never would have walked down that street at the exact moment the ice rink opened in town. 

You never would have stood in line for half an hour eating street food with too loud children, never would have found out how good a skater Spencer was and how horrid you were. (Skating on ice was undoubtedly different from skating with rollerblades–though that also had an ironic notion to it.)

Spencer probably wouldn’t have cracked up every time you fell, wouldn’t have helped you up after every fall, and wouldn���t have fallen himself trying to catch you that last time. You wouldn’t have shared so much so easily with each other that quickly.

You recall the exact moment you knew it would be him or no one. The moment you knew you’d made the right choice in confronting your feelings; it was the moment you knew you were either going to marry him or die single.

He’d just helped you up for the millionth time after trying to hold in his cackle. And just as you’d calmed down, holding the railing, a kid–a girl–fell and began crying. There were no parents in sight, no adults, so it drew your attention immediately. Spencer–without a single second of hesitation–skated toward her and bent down, obviously asking her if she was okay and if she knew where her parents were.

He was able to locate the father, in a few seconds, skating her over to the exit. She must have been no older than six or seven. Time around you moved forward, but the image was ingrained into your brain. You knew he didn’t think so, but to you, Spencer was nothing less than perfect.

— called your name, pulling you back to reality. She and Spencer were skating toward you slowly, he was skating backward, holding her hands. He kept glancing behind him to make sure it was clear. Your heart warmed as the chaos around you froze, like the ice before you. You held up the camera and snapped a photo, the image perfect, just like your husband.

He would be there, you realized, for everything, just like he was here now: in front of you, holding your daughter’s hands… 

Her first school recital, her first crush, her first disappointment–her first heartbreak. He would be there for and after every single one. Picking her back up, hand in hand to lead–to guide her; showing her how to move one foot in front of the other, and you would be there to capture it all.

The illustration in front of you looked like something out of a fantasy; a paper-drawn dream.

a/n: more than halfway through writing this fic, i remembered i'd wanted to listen to seeing blind by Niall Horan, but it played it the background along with willow by Taylo while editing... ily cari !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[heartfullofleeches]

Final girl Yan and Zombie (amab) Darling- A darling sacrifice to and now puppeted by an ancient even who forces them to kill all who wander into it's domain. Darling leaves warnings around the forest to stay away, but the area is a prime vacation spot for college students during the summer with the lake hiddened somewhere at it's heart. They don't want to hurt anyone, but they must obey their master. Diana can see the hesitation in their remaining eye and it's the first thing she falls in love with as they let her escape the first time.... alongside their massive physique.

Demon: Human... Have you brought me my vessel yet? There's something strange about that girl's body.... I must have it]

[Zombie Darling shakes their head - staring at the ground]

Demon: No?! Why not?!

[Zombie Darling mimics removing their clothes]

Demon: She....removes her clothing everything you come close to her? It's clearly a ploy to scare you off from attacking her-

[A clearly flustered Zombie-Darling pulls at their belt]

Demon: You are certain she is trying to bed you? Well, then use that to your advantage

Zombie Darling: !!! .......

Demon: I DON'T CARE THAT YOU WERE STILL A VIRGIN WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE JUST DO IT!

-

[Zombie Darling arrives to Daina's cabin with a few dead plants in hand]

Final Girl Yan, waiting for them at the window: Baby! You came back! You didn't answer my question the last time you came.... so, does your penis still get hard?

[Zombie Darling immediately runs back into the woods]

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Mercedes-Benz W140, 1990. Designed under Bruno Sacco, who died last week aged 90. Sacco had said "A Mercedes-Benz must always look like a Mercedes-Benz" but he admitted that the W140 series S-class was one of his less successful designs suggesting that the car's glasshouse was 4 inches too tall. Sacco had wanted to give the car a sleeker profile but one of the many requirements for an S-class is that the cabin should have enough headroom for two 190cm (6’3”) adults to sit comfortably one behind the other. The Mecedes W140 is also infamous as the car in which Princess Diana was killed when it hit a pillar at high speed in the Pont de l'Alma underpass in Paris in August 1997.

[kindred-spirit-93]

diana's original doodle in my head, again im going off of this post

for a child of apollo i think she really enjoys the shade, in my mind shes a gremlin who loves the shinies and collects things that reflect the sun (beads, buttons, pretty rocks, you name it) and has a bag she take everywhere with her (hm i wonder who else does) full of trinkets

it also helps that shes the head of the medicinal herb department and spends a lot of time with plants. gremlin diana folks

more bandanas bc theyre so pretty i might cry

diana daughter of apollo brainrot part i

i spent like an hour and a half on this, i may provide context tomorrow, ive got lectures first thing in the morning and my brain wouldnt let me be till i drew this, with my fingers, on my notes app, on my phone, at one am. bon apetite

nooooooooo u cant see her freckles! dangit the quality isnt great but such is life ig

also we are going to ignore the fact that her hair is even and pretty in the side profiles but really shabby in the other one mkay? thank yew. pun intended (i hate myself too lmao)