#There will be plenty of whump kisses between the two

[ohwatson]

Hie!!

Do you have any johnlock fic recs :3

( or parentlock, it consumes me )

Ooh so you want to go down this rabbit hole with me, then!

These are in no particular order, just fics I've read recently or just a handful of the many authors this fandom has to offer whom I respect deeply.

Parentlock has been all I've been reading for the last several weeks, honestly, been on a real kick & need it like oxygen!

I can't reccomend anything by JenTheSweetie on ao3 highly enough - her Parentlock is just deliciously in-character, witty and tangible. instruction manual not included and Immune to Your Consultations (feat. teenage Rosie, which we don't have nearly enough of in my opinion) have been my most recently read and are just *chefs kiss*

@lurikko also has written Ten Years (feat. scheming matchmaker Rosie) and A Weird Place (which is tagged 'Just raising their kid and being confused' and...yeah, succinct, brilliant summary, have re-read this one several times)

@arwamachine has written Indefinite Lines, a gloriously long post-S4 casefic featuring lots of lovely family dynamics between Sherlock, John and Rosie in between (one of the parentlock fics of all time, in my opinion) and I also got done reading Winning the Goat, which is so amazingly witty and comical and just generally wonderfully written.

Swan Dive by @hitlikehammers is 5+1 featuring an emphasis on the relationship between Sherlock and Rosie and is once again, brilliantly characterized and wonderful to read

Keep on Changing by philalethia is a good, spooky post-S4 parentlock fic (read it for Halloween, did not disappoint!)

I know @missdaviswrites has also written heaps wonderful parentlock stories and there are plenty of stories that feature Rosie as a character and lovely domestic/parenthood fluff out there on ao3 that I haven't listed (these are mostly ones I've read recently or that come to mind)

As for general Johnlock fics...! (Most of these, again, are what I've been reading recently or first come to mind)

until we fall asleep by @itsonlytext is set post-TLD and is angsty, tense, realistic, soft, quiet, and in-character all at once and is such a little hidden gem that not nearly enough people are talking about right now!

A Thrill Failed to Deliver by @jbaillier who I know by her dozens of stunning medical realism and angst fics, in my opinion never disappoints. Have never been happier to see an author come back from a hiatus, lol!)

An Ounce of Cure by @bakertumblings is another great medical realism fic, this time with John as the one getting hit with all the angst and whump

What it Can Be by @naefelldaurk is a spin on the end of TLD and offers a much more satisfying end, brilliantly in character and wonderfully paced.

@calaisreno just finished When Harry Met Mary which follows the events of S3/4 through Harry Watson's POV (brilliant fic for those who are sick of Harry getting reduced to nothing more than John's alcoholic sister; her role in this is brilliant, developed and enjoyable). Also read Déjà Vu which is part of her genius Off-Axis series (frankly in love with all of her AUs)

The Fallen series by @engazed is one I've started just recently but has already hooked me!

Thirst by @holmesianpose is another one I've just started, so not too far in, yet, but still wonderfully written thus far!

@gaylilsherlock wrote Cutting Out the Middle Man recently (along with the several other Johnlock fics they've been putting out at admirable speeds), featuring getting-together between John and Sherlock and Greg Lestrade as a wingman and the delicious Watson & Lestrade pub scene!

Double or Nothing by @crowson75 is a study in John's bisexuality, gripping casefic, wonderfully smutty and realistically characterized, post-S4 and finally sees these two idiots figuring themselves out.

Not a Johnlock fic (there is background Johnlock, though!) but instead it’s a Mystrade one, is The Habits of a Lifetime by @out-there-tmblr and is definitely a Greg x Mycroft story but also a beautiful and realistic 54k words of a Mycroft character study and is just too much of a favorite of mine for me not to put on a rec list.

I also highly reccomend anything written by @totallysilvergirl, @the-reading-lemon, @weeesi, and @7-percent.

Realizing so many of these are post S4 or S4 compliant but I just love some good fix-its, I suppose. Hope some of these are to your liking, as they are all certainly to mine :)

[ohanny]

pitbabetober whump edition

day 3

SET UP FOR FAILURE

FINGERPRINTS I WRONGFULLY ARRESTED

“I WARNED YOU”

kenta / kim. pg13. 818 words.

during his captivity, kenta visits kim exactly once.

by then kim’s lost the track of time. he’s huddled in a corner like a kicked dog and very much feels like one with the way his entire body is one big, throbbing bruise. he doesn’t even know if it's day or night when kenta finally slinks in. the older man closes the door quietly and pauses, arms folded awkwardly in front of himself.        

“i’m –"

“i don’t want to hear it.”

kim is shocked to hear how raspy his voice is but guess that’s what stubbornly refusing to say a word and choking down your screams while getting beaten up by thugs does to your vocal chords. it also hasn’t put him in a particularly forgiving mood. he has half the mind to drag himself upright and try something stupid but it’d be a waste of time and energy. he knows he won't be allowed to leave and while kenta would probably let him get in a punch or two, he's way too weak to make it count. instead he tilts his head back and settles on a withering glare.                      

“i warned you,” kenta tells him. “i told you to back off.”

kim scoffs. sure, kenta had shut him down every time he asked questions - why me? what’s tony’s deal with the x-hunters? is babe being targeted? how did you get that bruise? - but there's a big difference between a more or less gentle “mind your own business” and a “hey, honey, i am involved in human trafficking and black-market organ trade, you're gonna get yourself killed.”

not that it would've made much of a difference. kim can admit he is really fucking stupid when it comes to certain things. he would've gone at it differently, though, with plenty of backup. and less feelings caught during secret midnight dates. probably. even now he can't quite bring himself to regret those nights.

“i tried to keep you safe,” the older man pleads.

 “and did you ever stop to consider i might have been trying to do the same? that i wanted to get you out?” kim hisses, finally looking kenta in the eye. “i saw all the scars. i knew you were in some kind of trouble and figured it must be your father pulling the strings.” he laughs humorlessly. “but instead you were right up there with him, weren’t you? giving the orders.”

kenta flinches but hurting him back isn’t as satisfying as kim would have thought. he knows the older man isn’t a monster because a monster wouldn’t be on the verge of tears right now. but kenta isn’t a very good person. he’s a spineless coward who was beaten into submission a long time ago and if violently kidnapping his lover to drag him to the wolves didn’t snap kenta out of it, kim isn’t sure anything ever will.

“i’ll get you out,” kenta tells him quietly. “i promise, kim. i won't let you die here.” 

he sounds like he actually believes it but for kim it rings hollow. he looks down and stares at his bruised hands. he busted his knuckles during the fight in his hotel room and henchman #1 broke two of his fingers when he made a go for the man’s gun in the elevator. his eyes travel down to his knee that is visibly swollen and certainly fucked up. he’s no expert but he's pretty sure if he doesn’t receive medical attention soon, the damage will be permanent, in which case he'd have to kiss his career as a top racer goodbye. kenta keeping him alive doesn’t really matter if he doesn’t have a life to return to. 

that zaps the fight out of kim. he lets his body tilt all the way to the right until he's laying on the floor, back to the wall, all curled up to keep himself warm and protected. it's exhausting, being this angry all the time. he figures he's allowed to take a small break to wallow in self-pity now so that he can keep fighting the good fight tomorrow. or later today. fuck, he really wishes he had a window.    

“please leave,” he whispers and closes his eyes.

kenta calls his name for the last time. it comes out so soft, like a prayer, and kim's mind flashes to kenta that night they first fell into bed together – wide-eyed and shy, inexperienced but oh so desperate to please. but that memory is tainted now by kenta standing his ground next to tony. he made his choice. he didn’t even blink when he handed over the knife that could easily have ended kim's life right then and there. he bites his lip and says nothing as kenta finally walks away.

the door to his cell closes and kim is left alone. he should be relieved but somehow it hurts more than all his injuries combined.                

[obey-me-headquarters]

Horny thoughts, you say? I've got plenty of those. So I'm a massive slut for trauma play and I just. Gentle trauma play bondage with Satan. Him re-experiencing that feeling of helplessness and being trapped, but this time, someone he trusts is guiding him through it. Bonus if he starts crying at some point, so ofc you ask if he needs to stop, but no, these are good tears. He knows he's safe.

Maybe give him a handjob while praising him, tell him how proud you are of him and how good he is for you. All the things he needed to be told as a "child".

Ohhhhh, I love this!!! I really, really like gentle whump smut, so I think I get what you mean by "trauma play"

Ok, but imagine Satan shyly coming up to you and asking if you would be willing to try bondage with him. And after a very long conversation about boundaries and his comfort level, you agree to try it out.

So you start slowly, your force bondage scene can hardly be called "bondage", as you just tie one of his hands to the headboard with a tie. The knot being loose, easy to slip out of if Satan wanted to. And that makes Satan even more aware of it, how he has to make an effort to stay tied. Instead of fighting against the binding, he has to make the constant choice to stay bound.

So every time doubt crawls in, everytime the fabric shifts against his wrist in a way that makes his stomach drop, he's reminded that you will never forcibly hold him down. That it's always his choice.

The more times you two try bondage, the more "extreme" you get. Working from loose ties with fabric he could snap in an instant to strong rope. Most of these don't even have sex in them, with the main focus being Satan's safety. So you have him kneel with his hands tied against his back, your hands gently threading through his hair as you whisper praise into his ear.

At first, those scenes were short, no more than 5 minutes, as fear and doubt slowly started to creep. But as more moved on, he started getting bolder, started to associate the feel of rope against his skin with you, with safety.

Until he's comfortable enough to be completely tied to the bed. Naked and vulnerable, with you sitting between his legs. Your hands tracing up and down his thighs, never breaking skin contact. A constant reminder of "I'm here, it's ok, you're safe."

For once in his life, Satan feels safe and trapped. For once, he feels excited as he feels the shackles around his wrist.

You giving a hand job, whispering praise all the while. How he's a good boy, your good boy. How you're so so so proud of him. And when he starts to tear up, you're there to kiss the tears away

[eirianerisdar]

not a question but I just had to tell you that Icarus is my favourite piece of literature ever. the concept as a whole is *chef’s kiss*, and as a lover of all things Charlos and an absolute sucker for platonic intimacy, your story is perfection. kudos is not enough i want to climb through the screen and hug you for writing it xx

Thank you for your love of Icarus! I'm about halfway through writing the next chapter but real life dermatology diploma + extra work presentations + I'm supposed to be on holiday is getting in the way. I'm grateful for everyone's patience these last two weeks.

Icarus started out as only Maxiel-centric but nearly every platonic driver pairing has crept in, lol. Charlos is just so. Easy to write platonic intimacy for. I mean look at the IRL content they give us for free.

While the next chapter is mostly focused on Daniel and Max I want you to know there is a 20,000 word Charlos outtake section between this last chapter and the next that I will write as an add-on after the end of the whole fic (covering 2022 French GP and the summer break). It's indulgent whump and hurt/comfort and platonic intimacy and codependency and I would have put it directly in the main fic if it wasn't for the fact it would throw off the pacing. It has Carlos and Charles literally having a heart-to-heart overlooking a sunset Madrid vineyard with Piñon romping around their feet, for goodness' sake.

There'll still be plenty of Charlos in the fic, but this particular section will be tagged on to the end of the fic in extra outtake chapters.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

ANB Drabble: Adam's Treehouse

A New Beginning Masterlist | Comfortember Masterlist | @comfortember

~ Comfortember | Day 5: Treehouse ~

Content: Implied minor whump, loss of bodily autonomy, parental whumper, minor implications of childhood (sexual) abuse, suicidal ideations.

This takes place when Ryker is nineteen. No actual minor whump takes place, nor are there any graphic conversations about it, but it is implied.

-

Nobody had been able to get in touch with Adam today. Ryker tried, through his own phone and by getting their friends to contact him as well. Nothing worked. 

So after waiting out most of the morning in hopes of a response, he said his goodbyes to Carlos and grabbed his bag before starting in the direction of Adam’s place, hoping he’d find him hiding out in the one place only he knew about. If not, he’d have to ring the doorbell and potentially speak with his partner’s mother, someone who he really did not like and who did not like him back. 

Quietly, he snuck past the front of the house and trekked down to the gate at the bottom of their backyard. It was rusty and creaked with every movement, meaning that if Adam was where he thought he was, he would definitely have heard him coming. 

Sure enough, a head appeared a few seconds later from up in one of the largest trees on their property. It was home to one of Adam’s few safe spaces. A treehouse filled with emergency food, old bedding and all the plushies he’d ever collected over the years. The moment he saw it, Ryker visibly lit up and began trudging through the long grass to get to the treehouse, relieved just to see his face. 

After hooking his bag on one of the smaller branches, he climbed his way up the permanent steel ladder that was there and was met with a light kiss upon making it to the top. 

“Whatcha doin’ here?” Adam asked quietly as they both crept through the archway that led to the inside. To block out unnecessary light, the piece of fabric that he used as a makeshift door went up, meaning the only light now was coming from the window on their right. “Not used to you coming by without an invite.” 

Ryker hummed, already seated in the corner where all the bedding and plushies were kept. “Was concerned. Everyone’s been sending you messages but you never responded to any of them.” 

“Ah. That would be because I got my phone confiscated.” There was some obvious agitation as he said it. Without waiting for Ryker to get comfortable, he collapsed dramatically on top of him and let out a heavy sigh that could be felt against the younger man’s chest. 

It wasn’t often that he initiated contact like this. Ryker didn’t move, concerned that one wrong touch would have him getting up again just as he got settled. It wasn’t until Adam guided his arm around his neck, hand naturally settling on his shoulder, that he relaxed a little and nuzzled his nose against his temple. 

“Isn’t it embarrassing?” he eventually heard him mumble. “Still under my mother’s control in my fucking twenties.” 

“We’ll get out eventually.” He chose not to comment on the things he didn’t agree with. They’d spoken about it plenty of times in the past and it was clear by now that it wasn’t helpful. “Another year or two and we’ll be on our own, doing everything we haven’t gotten the chance to do yet. I promise.” 

Adam’s voice was slightly muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “Like what?” 

“Well… I’m gonna take you to the beach, for starters.” He ran the palm of his hand lightly up and down the smaller man’s arm a few times, a way of soothing him some more. “We’re gonna watch the waves and play in the sand and find shells ‘n’ shit. You’ll be free to dye your hair eventually, too, if you still want it by the time we’re gone.” 

Adam’s hair was soft and light in between his fingers, allowing him to push it out of his face a little in a way that caused him to hum thickly. “I’ve always wanted that.” 

“I know,” Ryker murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he thought back to all the times Adam had talked about eventually colouring his hair. It wasn’t even just about changing the colour itself. He just wanted control over his body and what happened to it. Right now, with their current living circumstances, that was far from possible. “I’ll eventually be able to afford ongoing medication for my ADHD. We’ll both be able to get jobs and keep whatever money we make. How exciting is that?” 

It wasn’t until he felt a few damp drops on his shirt that he realised Adam had started to cry. He brought him a little closer and allowed the small smile to curve back into a frown, his heart sinking as the man’s fingers gripped at his shirt. 

Just as he went to apologise for upsetting him, Adam shakily spoke up. “It all seems so far away,” he whispered. “I can’t see myself even being alive this time next year, let alone planning to move. You know?”

“Yeah.” Ryker forced himself to swallow the growing lump in his throat, and he adjusted his position a little so they were better able to look at each other before reaching out a hand to wipe at Adam’s tears with his sleeve. “I can’t either.”

"So, what do we do?"

The younger man shrugged numbly. "I don't know. I suppose the most honest I answer I have is that we'll just have to make it through every day until we eventually realise that we can leave."

It clearly wasn't the answer Adam wanted, though it was the answer he'd been expecting. For a moment Ryker assumed that he was going to pull away as the expression on his face deepened and his eyes started to dampen. However, instead he pushed himself even closer and tucked his face away against his chest with a small, depressed noise.

Neither of them said another word. The lingering fear and anxiety in the atmosphere, blanketing them in a way that felt just as suffocating as if it were real, said more than their words ever could.

-

Comfortember taglist: @topsheepstudent

ANB Taglist: @choppedflowermuffinchild @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @lumariane @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @paniatheweirdone @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @whumpdreamz

[toothbrushfingers]

Lureabies: Chapter One

Not really sure if this counts as fluff or whump but you

get the jist

Note: I don’t have an account on ao3 (might make one in the future idk) so i have to post the whole thing her

Takes place shortly after httyd 2

Characters: Snotlout Jorgenson, Åse Haddock (oc)

Summary: Snotlout and Åse are chased by dragon trappers into an unfamiliar part of the woods, when suddenly they find they can no longer keep themselves awake. / Mild Spoiler v

Lureaby dragons (original species) lure them in and poison them

Sorry any mistakes, enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’re surrounded. This was just supposed to be a scouting mission, but they were spotted by trappers. There were maybe 40.. 50 of them, and it was only Åse and Snotlout. The others sat on the other, far side of the island waiting for them to return, and it wasn’t a very small island by any means.

A few moons past, Hiccup had heard word of a large band of dragon trappers left over from Draco’s fleet, camping out on this island; trapping dragons and selling them to various buyers for various reasons at various prices. He’d sent Snotlout and Åse to scout them out to be sure the rumors were true. If they were, they’d deal with them. And as Åse and Snotlout soon found, they were indeed true.

The hunters made chase, but never once fired one of their many cross bows at the two vikings. Only holding them at the ready. But seeing as they were severely outnumbered, the two ran for it. Goldwing and Hookfang had been hovering above the trees a few yards behind them, out of sight prior. The Berkians had originally planned on hopping on their dragons and taking off, but that was now out of the question. The dragons couldn’t get to them through the thick forest canopy and anytime they tried to even get close, the trappers would fire what seemed to be dragon root arrows. Lovely. And if either dragon fired? More arrows. They had to stay out of arrow range, but that also meant out of blasting range.

They were surrounded at every side but front, so run they did. It was almost as if the trappers were herding them somewhere, but they didn’t have time to worry about that now.

Soon they came to a bramble, and assuming the trappers wouldn’t follow them in, they dove in head first, crawling towards safety. Thankfully it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Snotlout would know, he’s fallen into plenty of unforgiving bushes. And they were right, those trappers turned on their heels in defeat and retreated. After a few seconds of dragging themselves along the dirt, they found themselves in a bit of an odd clearing. Large trees stood around them, blocking them in at all sides, only allowing small bits of golden sun reaching in the kiss their leaves. They’d definitely never been here before.

“Can you uh.. see.. a way out?” Åse spoke, winded. She realized they hadn’t spoken that entire time, only using some hand signals to communicate. “Uhhhh,” Snotlout looked around as he hunched over, hands on his knees, lungs begging for more air than they could take in, “yeah- Yeah! Over there..!” He pointed with an exhausted enthusiasm to a small clearing between trees. It was reminiscent of a path, thought the ground not worn.

The two trudge forward at the same pace, calling for their dragons. But neither came. They couldn’t help but worry for them and hope they’d just gone for help. Surely the trappers couldn’t have gotten them.. Right..?

They followed that path for what seemed like years, making note of the glowing sun fading in and out between sweet smelling branches.

The two walked in silence now, hand in hand, equally exhausted, when Åse suddenly stopped, seemingly frozen in place. Snotlout turned see her, confused. “Are you ok?” “Shh shh! Do you hear that?” she held a finger in the air and looked around silently. “Alright, I think you’re a little more tired than you thought cause-“ She cut him off by waving her hands around him and quickly pressing a stiff finger to her lips. Snotlout, concerned and confused, looked around. It had been maybe 10 seconds when he started to try and speak again, quickly cutting himself off as he heard a soft humming sound.

He turned to her, eyes wide and brows knit tightly together. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he couldn’t quite find any sound in his throat. All he could do was follow the noise, intrigued.

“Wha- Lout! Where are.. you.. going..?” Åse found herself becoming just as curious as he was, taking his hand once more and following his lead further on into the trees. The humming continued, growing louder with each step they took.

After a bit of walking, they found themselves in a small field of grass and flowers, surrounded by more trees and every side. The trees were dark and shrouded; usually either of them would be frightened, but oddly enough they each felt strangely calm.

Åse spun on her heels, glancing around. “Whoa,” Snotlout began, “Ah! What the-“ “Hm?” Åse turned to see Snotlout waving lethargic hands around his head. “Bugs?” She asked, having no energy to say much more. “No.. something… something sprayed.. me..” Snotlout’s movements became more and more sloppy as he clumsily made his way to Åse., booted feet not wanting to cooperate.

Noticing, she met him half way, catching him as he fell forward. He mumbled nonsense to himself, eyes dancing around his head like a baby seeing color for the first time. “Lout? Hey! Hey look at me,” She snapped fingers in his face, watching him hardly react, becoming increasingly more worried, “Lout what’s going on? Talk to m-“ Åse was cut off by a strong mist hitting her in the face from seemingly nowhere.

After a moment, Åse was beginning to understand what was happening to Snotlout. She suddenly felt 1000 times more exhausted than she had before, eyes begging to shut. All the colors around her became more vibrant, spinning round and round with her head. She should’ve been scared, but she could only feel joy. Pure euphoria. Her brain was full of thick, unforgiving fog. It blocked out most coherent thoughts until she could no longer hold herself up. She settled in near Snotlout, who at some point had lost his helmet ‘When did that happen?’. Heads together, feet pointing in opposite directions.

Snotlout looked up to her, grinning a giddy-ish grin, before raising an arm lazily to play with her auburn hair. He giggled in a sense, before lazily mumbling loving nonsense. His words were unclear, but Åse knew what he meant. She grinned, raised an arm to cup his face. After a moment, his eyes slid closed, and his arm dropped. Before Åse could even try to be alarmed, her body gave in and she succumbed to the comforting darkness that had been begging her to be let in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed chapter one, hopefully chapter two’ll be up tomorrow but no promises 😉

[itssoinevitable]

I just want to add something to anon number 2 (and how they might solve that relationship between Gerald and Audrey). Been thinking about the kiss ever since the Christmas Special (like we all do) and I agree that she cannot simply dismiss it as a mistake. However, I also believe that she would not abandon Siegfried now that Tristan has gone. I think her sense of duty is so high that she would put that over the relationship with Gerald. After all, Skeldale has been the place where she finally found happiness and a (surrogate) family again. So in my ideal little fangirl world, she lets Gerald go to Hull, explains to him that she has made the hard decision to stay in Darrowby and that, although she cares for him a lot, she cannot leave her family again. This would be the only logical solution for me right now. And it would be so lovely if Gerald is the catalyst that made Siegfried realise that he feels more for Audrey than he can admit right now.

@owlsie-hoot is that you?? omg long time! So happy to hear from an old mutual & friend. Also yes yes yes, beautifully put! 100% agreed that Audrey will not abandon Siegfried or Skeldale House. Not just out of a sense of duty, but from a place of loyalty and love. Like you said, she found happiness and family here. She clearly loves Tristan like her own son, and a mother would always wait for her child to come home. And she loves Siegfried too, so much, in whatever way it may be. She has set down roots at Darrowby, and she feels it is her home.

That said, I'd kind of like to see her struggle with it a bit. ( not too long, maybe just an episode or two. ) I'm so torn between wanting a lowkey exit for Gerald, and a scenario where he does ask her to marry him and go to Hull. Actually, the Season 3 CS kind of already framed it that way because it put a lot of pressure on Audrey to choose a side of herself, so to speak, and to choose between the two men in her life. There was urgency for both parties, with Tristan receiving his call up letter and Gerald leaving for Hull.

Imo it very was poignant that Audrey stayed as long as it was strictly a family issue; when Tristan and Siegfried were having their big showdown in the kitchen. But then, when Siegfried was alone and hoping to process his feelings with her after, she felt she was out of time and chose to find Gerald instead. ( painful as it was, I am glad she did something for herself this once. also if it helps Siegfried realise what an oaf he is, all the better. ) I just hope that if she has to make a similar decision again on a bigger scale, with higher stakes, that there should be something else on the table making her stay. ( like the quiet realisation that Siegfried has deeper feelings for her, even if they aren't ready to go there yet. )

Yesss, I definitely think Gerald is going to be one of the factors that makes Siegfried realise his feelings for Audrey in Season 4! Although I don't think it will be a big whump epiphany kind of moment, do you? I was recently rewatching Season 2, where Diana is in the first couple of episodes, and I really hope it will be more like that tbh. Because Audrey actually bristles every single time they're in the same room together, or anytime Siegfried even mentions Diana. I mean, this is a woman who is literally supportive of everyone; she is so understanding when James is pursuing Helen, always encouraging when Tristan likes a girl. But to Diana, who is never been nothing but nice to her -- she really can't stand Diana. She does warm up eventually, but it’s interesting to have had her dislike someone that much to begin with.

And I really hope we're going to see a Siegfried version of that next season. Lots of jealous bristling, but also his signature tantrums and explosions, plenty of shouting about something completely different, when he's actually angry with himself Gerald and terrified he's going to lose Audrey. Everything he used to do with his repressed love for Tristan, but now he does that with Audrey.

[constant-brain-fog]

I was looking through your TBB art with the boys again as a pick-me-up and just wanted to, once again, tell you how much I love the pieces you've done with them. The Crosshair gets hugs from his brothers one is my favorite still.

The affection between the boys, especially between Hunter and Tech with Crosshair still means so much to me. Both hugs hold so much emotion in them and are so much of what I wish we could have/some day may have in the show. But with that unlikely, I will always cherish that hug piece you gave us and how different each hug is, and the emotion within them.

Your pieces are just nice to return to when I need some soft TBB content.

Then the piece with Crosshair saving Tech after he's injured is fun whump for Tech that I enjoy as much as the soft hug piece you drew. I always look forward to more pieces of your take on the boys, especially Tech, Crosshair and Hunter. If you ever need any ideas, I am starved for more soft content between the brothers.

A forehead kiss or hongi kiss, more hugs, all that warms my heart and looks so good in your style. No matter what, I always hope to see more of your TBB art.

Have a pleasant week!

ngl this right there made me cry T-T

I basically haven’t been drawing for two whole months, and it’s been a bit rough, I’m finally getting back into it and honestly, this right there might make me come back even sooner! You have no idea how every other message you’ve sent my way has been living rent free in my head 🥹

heart so full love plenty! <3

If you have headcanons or things you’d want me to draw, pls pls pls send them my way I’ll try my best to do them! My DMs are always open!

I hope you have an absolute banger of a week! A million kisses on your forehead 💕

[musclesandhammering]

“Sylki isn’t even a m/f pairing cause they’re both genderfluid!”

↘️ I really really wanted Loki to be canon genderfluid, but the problem with that is that in Ep 5, they do everything in their power to make both Loki and Sylvie seem Very Very cis. All the Loki’s straight up say they’ve never seen a female version of themselves, and Sylvie says that she was born a woman (and never shows any sign of presenting as anything else). Even if Ep 5 hadn’t happened, though, the only mention of anything gender-related is a little Easter egg in Loki’s file that says “Sex: Fluid”. Easily missed by a casual viewer, so not much confirmation at all.

“You’re biphobic if you have a problem with Sylki!”

↘️ Putting aside the fact that I’m actually bi myself… In real life, it’s totally valid for a bisexual person to only date the opposite sex, but on screen “Show, don’t tell.” is the golden rule. There are plenty of problems with Sylki other than the fact that it’s a m/f ship. However, it’s extremely frustrating for queer people to see the writers patting themselves on the back for giving us one (1) throwaway line that can be easily edited out for homophobic audiences, and then to see absolutely no further acknowledgment of Loki’s supposed attraction to men, along with him being shown openly flirting with 2 different women. It just seems awfully convenient to be able to tell and not show where m/m is concerned and then to show m/f where it isn’t even necessary.

“You just hate that a woman got in the way of your two white dudes kissing!”

↘️ If Sylvie was the main character and she had pretty good chemistry with a woman, and then all of a sudden a male variant of her was introduced and a romance was forced between them, I’d be pretty pissed about that too. I don’t want Sylvie out of the picture! My ideal scenario would be her and Loki being Chaos Twins. And I don’t even want Lokius to be canon! Again, my ideal scenario would be Chaos Twins with their best friend/handler Mobi. This isn’t about her getting in the way of another pairing, it’s about how this pairing in particular is just Not It.

“You just want Loki for yourself, you’d be mad at anyone he was paired with!”

↘️ No I… really don’t? I’m gonna get mauled for saying this, but I don’t even find Loki particularly attractive. Tom? Sure. But Loki? Mmmm… not exactly. Aesthetically pleasing maybe. Intellectually I know that he’s pretty hot, but he doesn’t do anything for me :/ I also really really hate reader inserts sooo yeah lol. And if you’ve seen my blog you’d know I ship him with a lot of people, both male and female.

“Sylvie is her own person so it’s not really selfcest!”

↘️ Except the writers have gone out of their way to make it clear that they are the same person. Not exactly the same, but they’re similar enough that it’s clear that they’re versions of each other. Plus they canonically have the same parents, very very similar DNA, and essentially the same basic origin (adopted, Asgard, etc). They’re not exact clones of one another but they very much are slightly different models of the same person.

“Selfcest isn’t the same as incest!”

↘️ No, it’s even worse lmao. Imagine two people that share parents, DNA, and some life experiences, but they’re even closer than twins…. Lol yeah.

“Ok but you gotta admit selfcest is pretty in character for Loki lololol”

↘️ No it’s not… One of my favourite things about Loki in all 6 movies is that he never had a love interest. Never even a hint of a love interest. And even in this show he makes it clear that he’s never really been in love before- never had anything “real”. And, this considered, people saying that it makes sense that his first and only canon love interest would be a version of himself implies that he’s incredibly narcissistic. Which, despite what some shitty writers try to tell us, he’s not. His narcissism is performative. It’s posturing. He’s incredibly insecure and self-loathing and that ends up manifesting as violence in some instances, and that’s his whole problem. The exact opposite of narcissism. Quite honestly, Loki would never trust or even like himself enough to be romantically interested.

“You just want Loki whump, you hate to see him happy!”

↘️ I do enjoy Loki whump on occasion, but at this point we maxed out on the whump meter about 3 movies back… I absolutely want this poor man to be happy, for once in his damn life. And the show gives us everything but that. Just like people said Ragnarok gave us a happy Loki, when in reality all we got was a humiliated Loki that was beaten down even further to build other characters up and give the audience a laughs… which is pretty much exactly what’s happening here. Not all the time! There’s some super progressive moments for his character development and mental health, but overall? The show isn’t giving us a happy Loki at all, and Sylki definitely hasn’t resulted in a happier Loki so far.

“They have great chemistry though!”

↘️ I’m sure any two characters could have good chemistry if the writing team put 85% percent of their effort for the whole show into squishing a man and woman together and making them kiss, even going so far as to build the plot around it, when they could’ve spent their time and energy improving other aspects of the series.

“Ok you have to admit the blanket scene was pretty cute!”

↘️ Yes, I will admit that! It was adorable actually! But given the myriad of issues I listed above, one cute scene isn’t enough to make me hate the ship any less.

[reddieweek]

Reddie fans, get ready!

This will be the third annual Reddie Week! It is a prompt-based challenge designed to encourage creators to create, and to show appreciation for those in our fandom. There will be a week’s worth of prompts, and a two-week posting period starting 12 September 2021 - 25 September 2021 with a total of 21 prompts (3 per day) to choose from.

In order to avoid fatigue, this year you will have two full days to post content pertaining to that day’s prompt. Which should hopefully give you plenty of rest time in between creating!

All types of fanworks are welcome (writing, visual art, fanmixes, etc.), the only criteria is that they must feature both Richie and Eddie. We ask that you properly warn for anything potentially triggering. Please have the warnings at the top of your post somewhere, and in your tags.

Please feel free to follow this account for reminders, and to see reblogs of everyone’s work. You can share you work by tagging it #reddieweek or tagging @reddieweek in your post.

Any questions? (See our FAQ for extra info!) Concerns? Ideas you want to share? Send this blog an ask or message the mods: @eddieeatsass​ and @fuji09​​

For ease of planning, the prompts are as follows:

Day 1&2 : Accidental Dating / FBI Monitor AU / I'm Your Biggest Fan

Day 3&4: Whump / The Chosen One / Regency AU

Day 5&6: Doppelgänger / High School Sweethearts / De-Aging

Day 7&8: Ancient Egypt or Greece / Space AU / Tunnel of Love

Day 9&10: Mythical Creature / Shop AU (coffee shop, bakery, florist, etc.) / Bachelor Auction

Day 11&12: Dark AU / Game Night / Spaghetti Kiss

Day 13&14: Boarding School AU / Blind Without 'Em / Underwater Ruins

We also have an AO3 collection which we encourage you to add your fanworks to! Where to keep up to date outside of tumblr: Discord and AO3 ♥  We hope you’re all as excited as we are! Happy creating!   ♥

[whump-8-days-a-week]

Intimate Whump

The whumpee tensed at the footsteps in the hallway drew closer to the door. Her hands clenched into fists, wrists straining against the zip ties that bound them to the armrests of the chair. She wished she could close her legs; her ankles were zip-tied to the chair legs, and even though they’d left her clothes on, she hated how exposed the position made her feel.

The door clanged open and it took everything she had not to visibly jolt at the sound. The whumper strolled in, shuttling the door behind him, and the smile that tugged at his mouth as he appraised her made her stomach churn. This was it, then. She had information he wanted, but she’d be damned if she was going to give it to him and endanger the lives of everyone on her team.

He didn’t waste time. He crossed the room quickly and she braced herself. Would it be a backhand to the face? A punch to the abdomen? She tried to steel herself for whatever was coming, but she wasn’t ready for him to reach out and run his fingers along her face, lightly, tenderly. She flinched at the touch, and for an instant he tightened his grip on her face and held her there, forcing her to look at him. She was scared, and she knew he saw it. Was that amusement, dancing in his eyes?

He released her suddenly and stepped behind the chair. Not seeing him and not being able to anticipate his next move was hell, but she resisted turning to look for him, instead resolving to stare straight ahead. The minute dragged on. She couldn’t hear him pacing. Was he leaning back against the wall, watching? Or was he hovering just behind?

Another touch answered that question. Her breath hitched as he rested a hand on her shoulder, and soon the other hand mirrored it. A few seconds more, and she felt his thumbs apply pressure to the back of her neck, pressure that rolled forward across her shoulders and back again. And again. Rhythmic. Patient.

“Tense, I see. Maybe I can help you relax,” he said as he massaged her, and her chest tightened with revulsion. She told herself that he was just trying to mess with her head - but being aware of this didn’t stop it from working. She squirmed in the chair, leaned forward, anything to put some distance between them, knowing it was a futile effort. He chuckled darkly and applied more pressure, gripping her shoulders, pulling her back against the chair. “Come now, what kind of posture is that?” He remarked, continuing to knead the muscles of her neck and shoulders.

After a long, drawn-out minute, his left hand left her shoulders while his right hand stayed put massaging her even as his left hand went to caress her face again. He tucked some stray hairs behind her ear and danced his fingers down her cheek, then the side of her neck. Her resolve to remain staring steadfastly forward faltered, and she twisted away from him, away from his touch, and he hissed in displeasure. In a heartbeat, his right hand was off her shoulder and instead tangled in her hair. He grasped a knot of hair in his fist and wrenched her head back, sending a searing pain shooting through her skull. Her head didn’t have far to go - he stood flush against the chair, and his grip on her hair forced the back of her head to press against his stomach, forced her to feel the rise and fall of his breathing as his other hand traced the hollow of her neck, the slope of her collarbone, the exposed skin of her arm. She struggled to evade him, and he laughed again, this time in a sharp, loud bark.

“Sweetheart, there’s nowhere to go,” he said, low and quiet. He still gripped her hair, but he’d bent down to speak directly into her ear, so close that his lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke. “This is where we are now,” he said, twisting her hair hard enough to make her gasp. “You have information I want, and I have to persuade you to give it to me.”

A thin line of fire alighted on her upper arm, and she let out a scream of shock and pain. He’d produced a knife from his belt and made a short, wickedly painful cut. An instant later, one of his arms snaked around her torso, groping briefly at her chest before rising up to hug her head in an almost gentle chokehold. The crook of his elbow pressed against her airway, his hand stroking her hair. A sob escaped her throat, then a loud cry as he made another cut, this time an inch or two long, along her upper chest and collarbone. He pressed his nose into her hair and breathed in deeply. Tears ran down her cheeks - yes, from the pain, but also in response to the intimacy of his touches, an intimacy that felt incredibly violating.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” He growled, scraping his nails across the cut that bloodied her chest, and fresh pain radiated from the torn skin. He kissed the crown of her head as she screamed. “Am I bring persuasive enough?”

“I’m not betraying my team,” she said, her voice hoarse but defiant. Determined.

His teeth lightly tugged at her ear as his knife cut into her arm again, and he tightened the headlock so she couldn’t even throw her head back as she screamed. He laughed, and this one was hearty, booming, and it chilled her to the core. He pressed against her and kissed her temple. Grinding his thumb into her arm’s newest cut, he whispered, “Then I suppose I have to find a stronger argument to persuade you. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. We have plenty of time.”

[witchersgoldenbard]

1&12&15&25

is it too much sry i couldnt choose i wanted to ask u all of them <3

it' never too much hi nonnie ily 💛

FANFIC END OF THE YEAR ASKS

1 - favorite fic you wrote this year

Oh, I gotta be honest with you, it has to be Tell Me About The Light Behind my Eyes. An obvious choice, seeing as it's my wip of 60k words and counting, but I got to explore so much through this story. I made friends in the comments section and it really was my gateway into the whole fandom. If you know me, you know I never really stop talking about this story - and I'll take this moment to make a formal apology to everyone who has ever talked to me :D

12 - favourite character to write about this year

To the surprise of no one, I sure love to whump that bard. And to make him happy. And to see the world through his eyes. Jaskier is my beloved and chaotic projection screen, and I love him so, so much.

15 - something you learned this year

Oh, there are so many things I've learned hhh where to start?

One of the things I learned through Light, and this is gonna sound cheesy, is that sometimes healing is not about fixing. Sometimes healing is all about creating a safe space for yourself or someone else to fall apart. Sometimes healing is more painful than the initial ache. But healing is always, always, about some kind of love.

Something else I've learned is that being vulnerable is important and almost always worth it. If I can let these characters be weak and vulnerable, if I can explore their trauma and the way they respond to life, then I can do the same for me. It's really all about projection, innit.

And another thing I've learned is that I am indeed a multishipper :D I wasn't before I joined the Witcher fandom, but now look at me, they've all kissed each other 😌

and so many more things but hhh the question was for one thing and already i failed

25 - a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

one of my favourite fics, that i still think about to this day, is

The Lesser Evil by @dont-tempt-me-frodo (E | 78k)

1674 and piracy is rife throughout the Caribbean. Plenty of work for a Pirate Hunter such as Geralt. But when he takes a contract to hunt down a pirate captain who is interfering with important trade, a harsh truth arrises that will question his morals and he will be forced to choose between two evils, and risk the one thing he never thought he would find. Love.

And the entire Geralt Deserves Soft Things series by bedalk05

This series is almost entirely pure fluff, featuring shifter!Jaskier and a whole lotta cuddles and feels all around. Most of these can be read as a stand-alone

drop me some more asks if you want

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Forty-Eight // Jay Halstead x Reader

Description: Jay was the one to find you.

Warnings: Major Character Death. Major Whump.

Words: 2898

Pairings: Jay Halstead x Reader

A/N: I just hurt myself. I am sorry...

A little more than forty-eight hours ago, he was waking up next to you in bed. The sheets were tangled around you both as sleep slowly left, allowing the daylight to wake you. Your bare skin was against his, warm and soft. It was familiar, comfortable. He never wanted to let you go, kissing along your neck, sure to make you both late for work. 

A passion filled night turning into a lazy morning. He was sure you’d be late for work, but being so close to you was more than worth it. Traffic could be to blame, or a faulty alarm clock. Anything but the truth. Though, it didn’t matter. The connection between you two was magical, something nobody could deny. Not even Voight. 

Forty-eight hours ago, you were sitting at your desk across from his, laughing at a joke Adam made. Your hair pulled back to keep it out of your face, save for one strand that never wanted to listen. Jay couldn’t help but stare, not sure how he got so lucky to not only have you as his partner, his friend, his confidant, but the woman he got to share a bed with. He had to be the luckiest guy in the world, his eye catching yours as you directed that smile at him. 

Forty-seven hours ago, a case came calling. A young woman dead in an abandoned house in Austin. She had y/h/c hair, similar complexion. If he was being honest, she could have probably been your sister if you’d had one. 

Forty-six hours ago, the two of you were in the car, driving back to station to start working on leads to catch her killer.

Forty-five hours ago, you sat on your desk as her picture was taped to the white-board, brow furrowed. He knew every case hit you in a different way. You just wanted to make the world a better place, make Chicago safer every day. It was your home. 

Thirty-seven hours ago, the two of you dragged yourself back to your shared apartment, exhausted from the day’s work. There was no passion that night. Instead, it was groans as you laid down in bed. A quick kiss goodnight, before holding each other until sleep overtook you. 

Twenty-eight hours ago, they’d gotten a lead, but you weren’t there. Nobody was worried because you’d promised to bring them lunch. That’s what you were doing -- or what they thought you were doing. 

Twenty-seven hours ago, Jay started getting worried. You should have been back by then, but you were nowhere to be found. Your phone went straight to voicemail. The tracker on your car still had you at the restaurant, though a call to the manager said otherwise. He said you’d left almost an hour ago. 

Twenty-five hours ago, a note showed up in a box left on Trudy’s desk. How nobody saw who dropped it off would always be a mystery to Jay. Maybe if they’d paid attention, or if it hadn’t been as busy, or if the cameras were at the right angle they would have been able to see. Instead, they were left with a box with a picture of you. Ropes were around your wrists, gag in your mouth. Jay could swear he saw tears on your cheeks, though nobody else did. Maybe it was his imagination, but he knew there would be no sleep until you were home in his arms. 

Twenty hours ago, they caught their first big lead, leading them to an abandoned house in Garfield Park with no sign of you anywhere. Jay felt like he couldn’t breathe, didn’t know what to do besides work himself to the bone to find you. Again, there would be no sleep for him until you were home. 

Fifteen hours ago, Voight yelled at the team. Why couldn’t they find a single lead, a single clue that would lead them back to you. Jay didn’t want to imagine what your captors were doing, based on what the autopsy revealed on their first victim. Your picture was taped next to yours. Top priority. Intelligence wasn’t the only team looking for you, far from it. Every team in Chicago was looking for you. You were one of their own. 

Ten hours ago, Voight told him to sleep, even if it was on the couch in the break room. Jay was no good if he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He’d been staring at the picture on the white-board, your picture from the day you graduated the academy. It would be the same picture at your funeral if they didn’t find you in time. Jay didn’t sleep well, but got a couple hours. When he woke, he knew that was wasted time. 

Four hours ago, they finally caught their big break in the case. A disgruntled criminal you’d arrested early in your career had gotten parole. They were narrowing down where he could be keeping you.

Three hours ago, the team was getting ready in the dungeon as you so called it. Jay was strapping his vest on, not even letting Voight entertain the idea of taking him off the case. He was going to be there when they found you. He was going to be there for you, to make sure you were okay even if you weren’t. He was going to be there for you even if you were never okay again. 

An hour ago, he sat in the car next to Voight. Neither man said anything on the drive to the address. Jay’s hands were steady despite his heart pounding. Soon. Soon you’d be back in his arms. Soon, he’d be taking you home and making sure you were okay. Soon. That’s what he told himself. Soon. 

Twenty minutes...Thirty minutes ago, they were parking their cars just a couple blocks away as to not spook their suspect. Voight was directing them on the plan, who was with who. Where each team was going. Voight put Jay with Kim. It was go-time.

Ten minutes ago, Jay was the first to breach the house, gun drawn with Kim right behind him. Room by room, they cleared the basement and first floor before moving to the second. His heart pounded in his ears. So far, it didn’t seem like you were there. 

Two minutes ago, Jay finally reached the second floor. His hand was on the doorknob of one of the upstairs rooms, knowing you were going to be there. It was the last room of the house. He didn’t hear the radio going off, telling them the suspect was found dead in the backyard. His hand turned the knob, pushing the door open. 

One minute ago, Jay’s life was completely different. He had a future planned out with you. He had a ring in a drawer, waiting to ask you to marry him. He had the idea of the perfect life with you. He could see your kids running around, a smile on your face as you looked up at him with those eyes. You were his future. One minute ago, he had everything. 

“No,” he whispered, hand dropping and gun clattering to the floor. 

He took a step before falling to his knees next to you, not sure when the tears started. Was it before or after the sting of the hardwood hit his knees? He didn’t hear Kim suck in a breath behind him, too focused on you. Skin pale, unmoving. He knew he shouldn’t touch you, shouldn’t contaminate the crime scene. But this was you. Y/N. His partner. His confidant. His best friend. His future. 

“No!” he said again, louder, more forceful as he pulled you to his chest, not caring that the vest was the only thing that separated the two of you. 

Blood matted your hair, lips parted slightly. The same lips that forty-eight hours ago were kissing his skin. The same lips that he’d kissed a thousand times and was expecting to kiss a thousand more. Ropes were still tied around your wrists. Bruises were evident from where you tried to free yourself, knuckles bloody from the fight you gave. If he didn’t know any better, he could think that maybe you were sleeping. If it hadn’t have been for the gunshot wound to your abdomen, blood soaking the front of your shirt. 

“You’ve got to wake up,” he cried, a shaking hand stroking through your hair. Despite the blood being dry, that didn’t stop it from getting on his hands. “You can’t leave me, Y/N. You’ve got to wake up.” 

A radio keyed up behind him, but he didn’t move. “We found her,” Kim finally said, voice shaking. “He killed her.”

Jay paid no attention, falling back from his knees to his ass hard, bringing you with him as he cradled your body. Sobs coursed through him like the waves of an ocean, wracking his body. You couldn’t be gone. Just forty-eight hours ago, you were with him. Just forty-eight hours ago, you were living and breathing and laughing. Oh, how much could change in forty-eight hours. 

-----

Forty-eight hours ago, Jay was sitting in the bedroom of an abandoned house in Englewood. The hardwood floors stained with your blood, the paint peeling off the walls. He was sitting in the bedroom, cradling your body in his arms as he cried. He cried for the love that he lost, for the future he would never get with you. He cried because of the memories that were always only going to just be that -- memories. 

Forty-six hours ago, Adam drove him home to the apartment you shared. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, not knowing what to expect when he walked in. His chest was heavy and tight, trying to will the tears away as he entered the apartment. 

“One of us will be over in the morning to check on you. Will’s on his way right now,” Adam told him before leaving. 

Jay was thankful he didn’t stay, locking the door behind him before pressing his back to the wood. He wasn’t sure he could go any further without you there, knowing you’d never be there again. He was never going to hear your laugh, or see your smile. He was never going to get to hold you, or tell you he loved you. He was never going to get that future he imagined with you. And his heart shattered, sobs coming from him again as he buried his face in his hands. You were never going to be there with him again, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

He’d experienced plenty of loss in his life. His mother dying. His friends. People coming and going. Yet, you were the last person he expected to leave him. You’d promised him at one point. You’d promised you’d never leave, and yet here he was. Crying alone in an empty apartment you’d never get to come back to. 

He cried for the future he’d never get, but yet the same one you’d never get to see. He still got to live his life. You didn’t. And if he could trade you spots, he would do it in a heartbeat. Because you were stronger than he could ever imagine himself to be. You’d get through this gracefully, not like him. 

Forty-three hours ago, Will showed up and held his younger brother as he cried. When he tried to take him to the bedroom to let him sleep, Jay wouldn’t budge. He begged Will to let him sleep on the couch, not able to sleep in the same bed that you’d shared. Will obliged, letting Jay sleep on the couch while he kept watch of his brother from the chair. This was going to set Jay back.

Forty hours ago, Jay woke up screaming. Screaming because he couldn’t save you. Screaming because he couldn’t get your dead body out of his head. Screaming because he blamed himself. 

Thirty-eight. Screaming. 

Thirty-six. Screaming.

Thirty-four. Screaming.

Thirty-two. He finally gave up on sleep. As did Will. He’d gotten up before his younger brother, making breakfast for him, knowing he needed to eat something. For a moment, Jay let his eyes remain closed as he thought that maybe you were home. That maybe it was all a nightmare he would wake up from. Until he saw his brother’s face, pity staring down at him with a plate of eggs. 

Thirty hours ago, he began planning your funeral. It was considered a line-of-duty death. You would be memorialized. He didn’t leave his apartment the rest of the day, Will telling the team it wasn’t the best time for them to come over. Maybe tomorrow. 

Sixteen hours ago, Will sedated his brother. He didn’t want to, but Jay had left him no choice. Jay was inconsolable with grief. He’d never seen his brother like this before, and he’d seen him at his worst. After their mother died, Jay was sad, but not like this. After Erin left, Will was able to glue the pieces back together. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do that again. Pieces were missing, pieces you took with you to the grave. Will had gotten his brother into bed, hoping that the sedative would help with the sleep.

Five hours ago, Jay woke up to Voight shaking his arm. The man stood in his dress-blues, solemn look on his face.

“It’s time, Jay,” he told him, letting Jay get himself ready in peace. 

He wasn’t expecting to wake up in your bedroom, tears coming to his eyes again. He was sick and tired of crying. He just wanted to be okay again, not knowing if that would ever happen. He took a shower, shaving his face. He tried to ignore the stranger that stared back at in him the mirror with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He could imagine you behind him, wrapping your arms around him as you pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. You would laugh and tell him to stop hogging the mirror.

But you weren’t there. You were a ghost in his memories. 

He exited the bathroom, pulling on his uniform, making sure it was straight. No wrinkles. Everything in place. Only the best for you. He pulled the ring box out of the drawer, placing it in his pocket before walking out to the living room. 

The entire unit was there. Each of them looking at him. He could see the sadness in their eyes, on their faces. Yet, he was consumed too much by his own grief that he had no words of comfort for them. 

Now, he stood next to your open casket at the front of the church. He was the last one there, nobody daring to move you until he was ready. They all knew one way or another that the two of you were together. 

He was tired of crying, pulling the box out of his pocket. 

“I was waiting for the right time,” he said softly, voice cracking. “I wanted you to have everything and more. And I couldn’t-” He grasped the side of the coffin, staring down at your face, unmoving still. “I couldn’t save you. And I’m sorry.” 

“You can’t blame yourself.” He chuckled, able to imagine what you’d say to him if you were there. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he told you, squeezing his eyes shut as tears dripped down his cheeks again. “Until I see you again.” He placed the ring box in your hands carefully. A part of him wanted to slide the ring on your finger, but knew he wouldn’t be able to. He never go to ask you to marry him, so why would he get to slide that ring on your finger. It was more fitting that it go with you to the grave. Carefully, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before turning and walking down the aisle of the church to go outside. 

He stood with the rest of Intelligence, waiting for the radio to go off. 

“Final call for 5021 Henry.” There was thirty seconds of complete silence. “5021 Henry is 10-7. End of watch August 8th, 2019. Detective Y/N Y/L/N served this community for the past eight years. A sister to us all. You may rest now, your watch is over.” 

The bagpipes played as the pallbearers carried your casket out to the hearse. Police cars lined the streets, every officer saluting until the hearse drove away to the cemetery. 

Jay was thankful that Voight had requested the burial to be more private. There would be your memorial, your name carved into the monument for those lost in the line of duty. This was for them to say goodbye. You had no family left, so it was just Intelligence standing around the grave-site. The priest said a few more words, everybody else silent as he spoke. The only other sound were the sniffles of the team, trying to keep it together. 

Jay didn’t want to say goodbye, but had no other option as the wooden box was lowered into the earth. How could so much change in forty-eight hours? He tried to imagine your smiling face in front of him, the feel of your fingertips on his skin. He didn’t know if he’d ever be alright, but for now, he could imagine.

[starrysky-whumpfics]

Uhhh I can’t think of a sentence rn, but can I request a comfort/fluff piece for Dmitry and Anya?

OMG YES. LOVE THIS YES. Also rip, I’m sorry that this is late. 😭 Literally life keeps hitting the chaos button

This is an edit of one of my very first fanfics for the Anastasia musical! Also featuring my OC Alexei, as he is technically an OC for this fandom, but I also use him apart from it so that my writing doesn’t stick to one fandom always. Hope you enjoy though and thank you @starnight-whump for requesting!

——————————————————————————

The fourth of December, Alexei Dmitriyevich Sudayev was born to parents Anastasia and Dmitry, blessing them with a child that they would swear to love and provide for.

It had now been two weeks since then and Anya was taking a brief moment to study herself in the bathroom mirror, her eyes looked so tired and weary, a side effect of endless nights awake. She also began noticing all her scars, ones from the past and some a result from pregnancy. So many of those scars haunted her, reminding her of all that she lost and of the life that she used to have. She hadn’t realized before though just how many there were, how much her trauma had affected her appearance, or her self-esteem. She usually didn’t care much about her appearance, it wasn’t all that important to her, but lately, with the stress of the new baby and navigating this new phase of life, it was something that just happened to cross her mind.

Dmitry would never let her forget how beautiful she was to him though. Every morning when they awoke he would press his face to hers and mutter “You’re so beautiful” to her before kissing her forehead softly. She smiled to herself thinking of it, but soon that smile faltered. He hadn’t done that since Alexei was born. Maybe it was because he always graciously tended to their child in the early morning to let her sleep, but even that possibility didn’t really help her feel much better. There was always a small thought lingering in the back of her mind. ‘I chose him, but did he choose me?’ Dmitry tells her all the time that he’s been in love with her ever since that day when he was ten and she was eight. But that was the Grand Duchess Anastasia he had fallen in love with, not Anya.

Anya laughed to herself out loud. “I’m being ridiculous. I am Anastasia as much as I am Anya.” She murmured to herself quietly.

Anya was finally interrupted from her moment alone at the sharp shrill of a babies cry, little Alexei had woken up from his afternoon nap. She quickly made her way into the living room where his crib was situated at the time being before being intercepted by Dmitry.

“Don’t worry I got this one. You should go back to resting, doctors orders right?” He said with a smile.

Anya shook her head and bent over the crib to pick up their son, cradling him in her arms to soothe him. “It’s been two weeks, I think I’m plenty rested enough to care for our child.”

Dmitry just shook his head and carefully picked up Alexei from Anya’s arms despite her attempted resistance.

“You look exhausted Anya, did you even sleep last night?” No, but she wasn’t admitting that now.

“Be careful just grabbing him! You’re going to drop him doing something like that.” Anya quietly quibbled, not wanting to cause the finally calmed, and once again sleeping Alexei to start crying again.

“I’m not going to drop him, you act like I haven't raised a child before.” Dmitry retorted back, also speaking in a hushed whisper.

“As far as I’m aware, you haven’t!” She argued back with an eye roll.

The whispered debate went on for a few more moments, but ended, as per usual, with them kissing and briefly apologizing and then going back to the daily routine.

Dmitry loved Anya. Everything about her made him feel like the happiest man alive. Even when they fought he loved her, because when she was angry this fiery look took over her eyes that pierced right through him like a thousand swords. Anya always had this shining glow about her that seemingly changed depending on her mood. A mixture of orange and red when she was angry, yellow and blue when she was happy, purple and blue when she was upset, and green when she was entranced and euphoric. She was green when she looked at him, when they kissed, when he said he loved her. But today, today was different. Today she seemed gray, even during their small spout of bickering earlier she was gray.

“I know that you worry about me, you just worry too much. I can take care of myself sometimes.” She had said to him when he had asked how she was doing, sounding concerned for her. A long time ago, Dmitry had claimed that worrying wasn’t like him, but that had been the greatest lie of all time because worrying was all he did. ‘Is Anya okay? Is Alexei okay? Am I okay? Did I leave the water running?’ All that aside, he would make sure that she was okay tonight. He was going to put all other personal issues that he may have aside and make sure she was happy again. Because as long as she was happy, he felt that he was as well.

When evening rolled around, Anya and Dmitry were praying silently that Alexei would sleep through the night, also knowing that was like praying for a miracle. When they themselves were ready for bed, Anya went to turn off their bedside lamp, but Dmitry stopped her.

“Anya wait. Can we talk about something first?”

“I suppose, but tomorrow when you say I look tired again I’ll be sure to remind you that the one who told me to sleep more kept me up longer.”

Dmitry just jumped right into what he needed to say.

“I know that you said everything is okay, but I can tell when something is wrong. I just need to know that you’re okay because I love you and I want to help you if something is wrong. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m not going to laugh or get mad. I’ll just listen and then say whatever really needs to be said. And if you want, I won’t say anything but just know that I’m here for you.”

He sat up next to her, placing a hand on hers. Anya sighed and decided to give this a try.

“Have you had a thought that maybe didn’t make any sense at first, but the more you think about it the crazier it gets but at the same time, becomes more and more true to you?”

Dmitry nodded in response, allowing her to go on.

“It started with these,” she showed him the old scars that had been plaguing her mind, then the new ones that only made the matters worse, “and then I noticed you weren’t doing that thing you used to do every morning. And I know that’s ridiculous to be bothered by but it just had me thinking even further about us as a whole.”

Her voice trailed off and almost shuddered when she realized what she was leading up to say, the words that had been trapped deep in her mind for so long. An arm wrapped around her, and the sense of a cold hand touching her shoulder comforted her. Dmitry’s hands were always cold.

“Am I enough for you? You fell in love so long ago with Anastasia, the girl of your dreams. And sure, I used to be her a long time ago but now I’m just Anya aren’t I? Anya who has scars on her and in her mind, who isn’t as perfect as she used to be, and who isn’t what you were hoping for? I know I can’t be everything, but I want you to be happy too. You always say how much I gave up for you, but never what you had to give up for me.” Anya could feel her eyes filling with tears and wiped them away.

“I try to be her every day for you and at first it started so easy but it’s so hard because as much as I remember now, it’s never going to be enough to be who I was.”

Anya was lost and confused, more than ever. She discovered who she used to be almost three years ago, but she never bothered to discover who she was now. Who was she in this mix between Anya and Anastasia?

“I didn’t want to tell you any of this because so much time has passed that it just seemed too ridiculous to even think that it was on my mind.”

She regained her composure to try and act like everything was okay now. But the sound of a low and worried “Anya…” from Dmitry brought all of the emotion rushing back.

Dmitry looked at Anya crying and knew he had to say something. Strong, radiant, and confident Anya crying was the most heartbreaking sight for him to see.

“You are everything that I want Anya. You shine in so many ways and if you could see yourself the way that I see you, you would just be amazed. Those scars that you’re so worried about mean so much, because they show that you have survived and how strong you are, and they are a mark of how we now have a family. I love everything about you. I love you for who you are now and I’ll always love you no matter who you are. Whenever I see you smile, any doubts or fears that I had just go away because just knowing that you’re here with me is enough. I see you shine and I know everything is going to be alright. You aren’t ‘just enough’ for me because you’re more than enough. I love you Anya, please don’t forget that.”

Dmitry felt unnatural and vulnerable revealing so much emotion all at once, but he needed her to understand. He then felt arms wrap tightly around him, knocking him over slightly, but he just wrapped his arms right back around her.

“I will never forgot that Dima..” She said softly, the use of his childhood nickname making him just as weak as it had the first time she ever used it on the bridge.

“There are so many shadows in my life but you shine through all of them. That day on the bridge, god it feels so long ago now, that was the first time I felt home. I know now that everything is going to be alright as long as we’re in this life together.”

Dmitry pulled out of the tight hug and kissed Anya on her forehead.

“You’re so beautiful. And if you ever need reminder, I’ll be your mirror, and you can even be mine. Just look to me and you’ll see just how much you shine.”

“Thank you….” Anya whispered quietly. “Thank you for everything.”

The two wrapped each other in their arms and didn’t say anything out loud. They just sat on the bed and held each other tightly. Hours passed and the only thing that caused them to break apart was the sound of a cry from the living room. Anya and Dmitry untangled from each other and stood up to tend to the baby, they held hands all the way to the crib. And eventually the night ended with all three of them curled up on the couch as a happy family.

[morceid]

Buttery, Tear-stained, and Perfect

SPENCER REID X DEREK MORGAN

Summary: Derek comforts Spencer after the untimely death of his mother

Word count: 1164

Category: whump

Content Warnings: major character death, grief

A/N: thank you @jemilys​ for helping me decide if this should be a moreid fic or dad spencer fic. ily 💋

Spencer Reid loved sending letters to his mother. He bought vintage style stationary just for her. For him it was just some stationary, but to Diana, it was everything. It was like a secret sign of trust that reassured Diana that she was getting letters from her son. From the only person that still truly cared for her through her mental illness.

Spencer much preferred talking through letters than over the phone. There were certain things you could portray through writing that you just couldn’t over the phone. And even though Spencer’s eidetic memory would keep him from forgetting, the sight of the permanent words on paper meant so much to him. It would keep Diana alive not only in his memory, but also through her trembling but flowy handwriting.

Lately, the letters became less and less. It wasn’t unusual for her to do so especially considering her declining condition. Then one day, they were in New Jersey for a case. It was rough for everyone. They had been there for a week trying to search for the unsub. Sometimes if Spencer was on a case for this long he would ask his building manager to send the letter to wherever he was, but the thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet.

Until she was walking into the New Jersey police precinct.

“Mrs. Boswell? What are you doing here?”             

“Spencer. You received some mail recently and they said they were gonna call you but I think it might be better if you heard this from me, I just-”

Almost as if on cue, Spencer’s phone started ringing.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Boswell, I have to take this, it’s the facility my mom is at.”

As Spencer put the phone up to his ear, he heard the beginning of the fateful message. He had thought of it and studied it for years. From the day he admitted her. Sometimes he spent entire nights reading over the message and memorizing it. It was the message the clinic sent to you when your loved one passed away. It had been a frequently asked question as to what the message about the death of a loved one would sound like from the clinic and Spencer dreaded the day he would get it since he was 18.

“Hello, this is an automated voice message for DR SPENCER REID,” the computerized voice spewed. “We regret to inform you that patient number 81256813, DIANA REID has passed. WE send our love to you and your former loved one. Call this number for more info. 1-800…”

The voice became clouded in Spencer’s mind by his own thoughts. It hadn’t even hit him that Derek had walked out of the area they had set up and was now calling his name. His mind swam with thoughts of “Who am I without my mom?” and “how could she be gone?” and finally “So that’s why Mrs. Boswell is here. They sent all of her belongings.” but that was the quietest thought of them all.

Before Spencer could control himself he was stumbling backward and into the arms of his coworker. He felt himself about to drift from consciousness and when he woke up he was still in Derek’s arms. Derek nor his unit chief knew why Spencer had passed out until they talked to Mrs. Boswell. Hotch ordered Derek to take Spencer back to the hotel room and to let him settle, at least until he woke up.

Spencer was curled up into Derek’s side and his tears had been streaming down his face, onto Derek’s black button up. He planned on keeping his eyes closed for a little while longer, just to savor the moment, but there was a knock on the door that penetrated the silence and made Spencer sit up fast.

“The door is unlocked, Hotch.” Derek called, putting his arm onto Spencer’s shoulder and pulling the pale man back to his body.

Hotch opened the door and walked in holding the box of mail Mrs. Boswell had when she had entered the police station. He set it on the edge of bed and pat Spencer’s knee in his odd, dad-like way.

“Sorry to hear about your mother. You don’t have to work the rest of the case if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks, Hotch.”

Hotch left the room as soon as he had entered, leaving Spencer and Derek to talk.

Spencer, still sitting in Derek’s lap, leaned forward and opened the box. Tears spilled from his eyes again and he pulled out her old scrapbook. Derek still had an arm around him and the two flipped through the pages together. There were occasional chuckles from Derek who was laughing at the pictures of Spencer when he was little.

“You know what my favorite thing is in here?” Spencer flipped to a page nearer to the front of the book, around the college age pages. “Her peach cobbler recipe. It was so simple, but she made it every year on my birthday, without fail. It’s just peaches, box cake mix, and butter, but it’s the best thing i’ve ever eaten in my life.”

Spencer turned towards Derek and realized how close they were. He felt Derek’s warm breath ghost over his lips and saw every single fleck of sincerity in his eyes. They glistened despite the dark molasses color they were. He closed the small distance between them with his lips and moved his right hand from the leather bound book to Derek’s chin. He pulled him by the chin just a little bit so Derek’s lips would part much like his mother did when she was making sure he was listening.

As soon as Derek let Spencer’s tongue enter his mouth Spencer pulled away.

“I- I’m sorry I just- ah- let’s just get back to the book. I- uh, I used to beg my mom to laminate the recipe because she would always get it covered in butter. But I guess now it’s covered in tears.” Spencer chuckled through his last words but his tears were coming out faster, harder, and more plentiful than they had before.

“Hey, kid,” Derek took Spencer’s cheek in his hand, forcing Spencer to look at him. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t say anything about me just being empathetic. Because I have wanted to do that for such a long time, and if you noticed I didn’t pull away. You’re sitting in my lap for christs’ sake! Come here.”

Derek closed the distance once again, this time getting a proper feeling of the kiss. Spencer tasted of every single sweet thing in existence, along with a slight saltiness from his tears. His lips were like pillows on a bed he could lie on for hours. Derek felt his own eyes prick with tears of happiness as he pulled away.

“When we get home from this case, I promise you, I will make you that peach cobbler.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Spencer. This recipe is buttery, tear-stained, and perfect.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

chris going to nat during a storm and refusing to get in the bed but nat comes and sits with him instead to comfort him 🥺🥺🥺🥺

@whumpmasinjuly‘s day 6 prompt is ‘water’! My inspiration for this morning (thanks for this prompt, Anon, although I think it probably isn’t quite what you were thinking) fits pretty well!

CW: Conditioned fear/phobia, brief reference to head-banging/negative stimming, vague, brief references to emotional torture and past noncon

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker

Ronnie swam up out of sleep to see the top of a small red head peeking up over the side of the bed, big green eyes in a pale lightly-freckled face. She blinked, letting out a slow, soft exhale, trying to find conscious words. “... baby? Tris? What’s... what’s up, honey?”

Outside, thunder rumbled, softly menacing. Wind blew the falling rain against the window in patters of sound. Ronnie squinted at the alarm clock on the side table, looking at the red letters faintly glowing in the dark. 2:38 AM. 

Paul would have just finished his lunch break, she thought idly. 

Tristan was already climbing up into he bed before he even tried to answer. “I, I scared of storms,” He said in his soft, sweet, high little-boy voice. Not quite her baby any longer, but not yet old enough to not think of Mommy first when he woke up at night. “Too loud. Too too too too too loud, hurts my skin.”

“The... thunder hurts your skin?” Her mind wasn’t keeping up with this, not at all, and Ronnie groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillow as Tristan clambered gracelessly over her. He settled himself alongside her, wriggling under her heavy blankets and twisting his fingers in her sleep-shirt, letting go, again and again and again. 

“Big noises hurt,” Tristan murmured, his own voice sleepy again already. She felt the softness of his hair as he tucked himself under her chin, and she sighed and slid an arm around thin shoulders, held him tightly, felt his fingertips tracing patterns over her stomach through her shirt, stopping to tap, here and there, humming in a low tuneless song only he understood, something he kept inside his head. “Big, big noises hurt my, my skin, Mommy.”

“S’okay, baby,” Ronnie whispered, tightening her arm, feeling more than hearing his happy little sigh in response. She looked towards the blinds and watched lightning flash on the other side. A few seconds later, thunder rumbled again, low and distant, moving away.

“Can, can, can can can-can... can can I sleep with you, Mommy?” 

Ronnie huffed laughter. “Well you already are, Tris, aren’t you?”

Tristan didn’t answer, but his fingers gripped a little tighter into her shirt and Ronnie watched the storm through the blinds until she felt her young son’s body relax, heard his breathing go slow and even, sweaty and warm the way that children sleep, pressed against her with the perfect certainty of a child that his mother could save him from the things he was most afraid of.

Ronnie felt a lump in her throat and swallowed against tears that threatened in her eyes. Tristan wasn’t quite like a lot of children, and he wasn’t enough like the ones like him, and she wasn’t sure she could give him safety for as long as he’d need it.

Ronnie Higgs wasn’t a woman who cried, but she had shed plenty of tears over her little boy and he wasn’t even five yet.

She turned her head a little, pressing a kiss to the sweaty strawberry blond hair so like his father’s. The three of them only had each other, and with Paul gone so much for work, Tristan had always seen Ronnie as the center the world turned around.

The thought that she would have to keep carrying him through life - Veronica Higgs, who barely graduated high school and had a baby growing inside her when she walked across the stage to take that diploma from a disapproving principal whose eyes dropped visibly to the rounded bump of her stomach, Veronica Higgs whose husband could just as soon get shot as promoted within the Garden, Veronica Higgs who had fought for two years to get a diagnosis for her son only to realize how little she understood once she got one...

She was the one he ran to when frightened and the person who carried him screaming out of Target when the world overwhelmed him and had held him when he tried to bash his head into a wall and the responsibility, the weight of being his mother when she hadn’t even been ready to have a baby in the first place, she was twenty-two years old with a four year old who needed someone stronger, older, a better barrier between him and the world... it was terrifying.

Right now, though, he was just like any other kid, coming to his mom to sleep in the big bed when the storms raged outside the window.

"God, I hope I can be this for you for as long as you need me,” Ronnie whispered, and felt some deep trickle of fear inside her at the thought of what would happen to Chris if she were gone and he had to navigate the world alone.

The storm passed, but Ronnie still laid awake in the dark, holding her sleeping son tight.

------

The creak of the attic door opening wakes Nat up, from deep sleep to perfect alertness in seconds, and she sits up in bed, her hand moving instinctively for the phone to call Nine and tell him to scramble, they’re compromised, get ready to pick up what rescues can make it through the tunnel this time-

Time of raid, 1:15 AM-

“Nat?”

Chris’s voice is soft, a little higher-pitched than it usually is, trembling. Nat yawns, and turns, letting the phone fall back onto the side table, blinking as she sees his red hair first, always - ducking his head into her door, in the wide expanse of an attic she’d renovated into a large master suite when she first got the house. 

“Chris, what’s up?” Nat’s brown hair tumbles in loose waves, free of its daily braid, around her shoulders. She slept in soft plaid pants and an oversized t-shirt and always had, and she pushes back the covers to swing her legs off of the bed.

Outside, thunder rumbled, and Nat exhales. “Ah,” She says, without waiting for Chris’s answer. “Because Jake is gone?”

There’s a pause, and then Chris creeps forward into the room, his hands twisting and untwisting at the hem of the big shirt he wore, almost certainly Jake’s. The teenager she’d taken in looks younger than usual, and Nat wonders - not for the first time - what kind of soullessness it must take to look at someone so young and feel actual desire to ruin them.

“It’s, um, it’s-... it’s storming,” Chris says in a low voice, flinching as a flash of lighting briefly illuminated the big picture window at the front of the house, in what Nat liked to call her ‘reading nook’, not that she ever had time for reading any longer. “I don’t, um, I don’t like-... I don’t like to be, to, um, to be alone, for storms, my Sir-”

“I know, Chris.” Nat feels weariness pushing down on her shoulders, her back aching. She did her best to keep herself in shape but some things just go, after a while, and she’d discovered that her forties were going to be the decade where her back decided to just give her the middle finger every fucking day of her life. “I know you don’t like storms. Did you ask Antoni-”

“He, um, he’s, um... he’s-he’s... he’s awake, I just-... I just, um, I want-” He stops, and there’s a look of confusion on his narrow, pretty face. In the dark his eyebrows seem strangely absent, their coppery-light color washed out by the dim light brought on by the storm and a streetlight outside. “I want-... I want to sleep with, um, with you, please.”

Flash of lighting, crack of thunder that rattled the windows. She hears the first cracks of tiny pebble-sized hail as it smacks against the window. Even in the darkness she can see Chris’s eyes widen in a sudden panic as he all but throws himself across the room, leaping into her bed and throwing his arms around her.

Nat catches him, one hand in his hair and the other across his shoulders. He’s trembling, his entire body shaking and heart racing, a pulse she can nearly see beating in his throat, green eyes white-rimmed with panic. 

“Ssshhhh, Chris, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s just a storm. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, honey.”

Chris buries his face against her neck, breathing harshly, fingers twisting and twisting and twisting her t-shirt, rocking himself forward and back against her. “I hate storms,” he whimpers, and Nat’s heart breaks. “Hate storms, hate, hate them, hate them, hate hate hate-”

“I know,” Nat says softly. “I know you do. It’s okay, honey. No one’s ever going to make you be outside for a storm ever again. We’ve got you, here. You’re taken care of. We’ve got you.”

Nat’s phone buzzes and she glances over at it, seeing it light up and quirking a faint smile when she sees it’s a text from Jake.

Dime-sized hail here, bad storm. Addie and I watching movie still. Watch out for Chris?

Already on it, Nat thinks, her lips twitching in a wry smile. 

“Can, can can can... can I stay with you?” Chris whispers against her neck, and Nat sighs, pulling him down into the bed with her, shifting the blankets back up to cover them both. A lanky, lean-muscled teen boy is no small thing to have in a bed, and her back is going to regret her choices in the morning.

For now, though...

“Mmmn, looks like you’re already staying with me, doesn’t it?” Nat teases, lightly, and hears his relieved exhale in response. They lay there in silence for a long time, and she can tell from his breathing and his occasional shivering, full-body shudders that briefly tense every muscle, that he hasn’t fallen back asleep.

The weight of keeping her rescues safe, right down to giving them someone they can go to with even the smallest fears brought on by the bigger terrors that they’ve had to survive... sometimes, it’s terrifying.

She’s just some farmer’s kid from the Midwest, grown up but no closer to understanding her place in the world than she had been in high school. She doesn’t feel like a different person than she was then, most of the time. She feels exactly as scared and overwhelmed, and tells herself what her father always said-

One foot in front of the other, and you’ll find you’ve gone miles further than you ever thought you could go.

“I hope I can help you for as long as you need me,” She murmurs, sliding an arm around Chris’s muscled shoulders and holding him tightly, just another boy scared of the storm outside his window, looking for someone to hold onto.

The storm passes, but Nat lays awake, listening to Chris’s breathing and praying to God that she and Jake could keep him safe. All she can do, in the moment, is keep her arm around him and hold him tight.

She hopes that if his family is still out there, somewhere - if someone is looking for this sweet boy - that they will know, somehow, that someone holds him when he’s scared, now.

At least... she blinks back the heat of rare tears and lets her mouth move in a prayer without sound.

Please, God, let them know someone is there to hold their son until we find out where he belongs.