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The boys working at Miccy Ds as you requested my liege @sadly-an-eldritch-god

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876 - "I'm sorry, I just can't keep pretending everything is okay." - Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

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Writing Prompt 876 - "I'm sorry, I just can't keep pretending everything is okay."

- Bang Chan

Wattpad | AO3

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Writing Prompt 876: "I'm sorry, I just can't keep pretending everything is okay." - Bang Chan

~

“Hey, baby. Are you still coming over tonight?” You ask, your voice conveying a hope that your boyfriend, Chris, is surely going to stomp on, just as he usually does.

It’s tough, really, to be in love with someone who claims they love you but rarely shows it. It shouldn’t even be this difficult. All he’d have to do is show up and spend time with you, but apparently, he always has time for everything else.

Never for you.

“Oh, sorry, babe. Were we supposed to meet tonight? I was just in the studio working on a track…” He says with slight hesitation.

You let out a soft sigh. It’s not the first time it happened, and your heart clenches with the realisation that it won’t be the last, either.

He’s always doing this. Every plan you two make comes secondary to whatever else appears in his schedule.

“Oh.” Is all you say, disappointment surely audible through the simple response.

“I’m really sorry. Do you think we could reschedule? This is really important. We are supposed to finish this song by the end of this week, and-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off. “No worries. Good luck.”

You don’t wait for him to reply before you end the call. The dress you’ve prepared for tonight is laid on the bed, the tag still on, and you frown looking at it.

You don’t know why you keep buying more clothes whenever you two make a plan to meet up. Monthly, if that. Your closet is full of dresses and blouses you have yet to wear, all of them still have a tag; they’re practically new – a reminder of all the plans he’s cancelled, of all the times he’s bailed on you because something more important came up.

With another sigh falling from your lips, you pick the dress up and look at it. It’s a beautiful red dress that will have to wait. You put it back on the hanger and place it carefully in your closet, next to all the other dresses you haven’t worn.

Maybe you should start selling them. Surely someone else would want them – someone who will actually get to use them.

A tear makes its way down your right cheek, and you hastily wipe it away with your hand. You don’t want to cry again, but hell, it’s so hard not to cry.

It’s like Chris doesn’t even care about you. How could he say he loves you, when he can’t even show up for one single dinner? You haven’t seen each other in weeks, and you always understood his need to work, but it’s getting to be too much, even for you.

The loneliness is eating away at you, and you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on Instagram and watching your friends’ stories. For the first time in your life, you feel jealousy bubbling up in your chest as you tap on your screen and see everyone being on dates, spending time with their significant others and trying out restaurants.

You’ve never done that with Chris.

It’s too risky to go out. He always says, so you never actually went out. You only had dinners at your place, saw films on your sofa and cuddled on the bed, and that’s it.

Maybe you’re just not important enough to him, to make you a priority. It’s a sad realisation to have, that you can be so in love with someone who is simply not fitting in your life at all.

Am I even happy? You ask yourself, but the tears spilling from your eyes as you grab an ice cream from the freezer and sit yourself on the sofa to watch a show to distract you tells you everything you need to know.

You are not happy, not in the slightest.

You are not happy with Chris, and it hurts to admit it to yourself, but you haven’t been happy in a long while, and you’ve just been lying to yourself.

For how long can you keep it up? You don’t even know anymore.

It was much easier to be single. Even if you were on your own, at least there weren’t any expectations that would only end up disappointing you in the end.

Not even the ice cream tastes sweet enough, but you console yourself by thinking that you, at least, haven’t done your make-up tonight, so there’s nothing to clean up. You can keep ugly sobbing for as long as you want, tasting the saltiness of your tears instead of the sweetness of the frozen dessert.

~

“Hey, babe! Are you free?” Chris asks immediately after you pick up the phone.

“Mhm.” You say, munching on another sweet mess. You should probably stop eating so much crap, but it makes you feel a tad better.

“Great! I’m on my way!”

“Oh? You’re coming here tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m just a couple of blocks over. It’s Friday, date-night. Remember?” He asks, and you almost let out a bitter chuckle.

He hasn’t kept up with your Friday date-nights in weeks, so yeah, you most definitely forgot about it.

“Alright. You know the pass code.”

“See you soon, I love you!” He says, but you don’t have it in you to say anything back.

You still love him, but you’ve talked less and less, and you simply can’t do it anymore. You can’t.

Normally, you would’ve been over the moon to know he’s coming over. You would’ve dressed up, put on make-up, done your hair… but now? You don’t have the energy.

Your door rings and you go open it in your pyjamas, and seeing Chris, you are once again on the verge of crying.

He shows you the largest smile ever and hands you a bouquet of flowers, your favourites, so you return the smile and grab them, going to the kitchen and taking the withered ones from the vase – the last bouquet he bought for you the last time you’ve seen each other. Was it two months ago?

“It’s so good to see you, baby. You're so beautiful.” He smiles, hugging you from behind as you put water in the vase.

He presses a small kiss on the back of your neck, and you can’t help but frown. Goosebumps form all over your skin and your heart starts beating faster, but deep down, you know that even if he is here now, he hasn’t been here for you in quite a while, and you simply can’t act like he has.

“Chris… we need to talk.” You say, turning off the faucet and putting the flowers in the vase, placing it in front of the window.

“Yeah?” Chris asks, and as you look at him, you notice a slight frown overtaking his features. “About what?”

“Let’s sit down first.” You show him to a chair and follow suit.

“Babe, you’re scaring me.” He jokes with a small chuckle, but seeing how serious you look, his lips immediately turn into a thin line. “What’s wrong?”

“This… us.” You say, gesturing between you two and averting your gaze for a moment. You really need to compose yourself and not start crying for the millionth time this week.

“Us? What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, Chirs. I just… I just can’t keep pretending everything is okay when it’s not.”

“Baby…” He tries touching your hand on the table, but you are quick to retract it and place it in your lap.

“I think I’d be better if we broke up.” You reply, looking straight in his eyes.

“B-break up? Wh… What do you mean?” Chris immediately stands up and kneels next to your chair, grabbing your hands. His look is pleading, and his eyes get glossy, matching yours.

“You… you are never here, Chris, and I’m tired of… of waiting for you to treat me right and finally realise that I matter just as much as everything else going on in your life. I understand your career is important and a priority, but… I should also be important to you.” You say, trying to control your voice.

It’s almost impossible to look at him, and your heart clenches so much. Everything hurts. You just wished it never came to this point, but you don’t see any other solution to the problem. It’d simply be better for you to no longer have any expectations, to no longer get disappointed every time he prioritizes something else over spending time with you.

“No… No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “Baby, you are so important to me. You surely know that?”

“I don’t think I do, Chris.” You show him a bitter smile. “I don’t even remember when we’ve last seen each other.”

“What do you mean? I came over last-” week, he wanted to say, but he suddenly remembers about cancelling. “Not last week, uhm, was it two weeks ago? Or… three? We surely met up this month…” He mumbles to himself, but as he is trying to recall when you’ve last met, you can notice the way his expression changes.

“See? You can’t even remember it either. We haven’t seen each other in months, Chris. This is not what a relationship is supposed to be like.”

“But…” Chris starts; however, he doesn’t even know what to say. You’re right, and he can’t make up any excuses, realising how much he’s hurt you. “Please let me try to make it better, hm? I’ll… I’ll make up a schedule, and try to come by more often, and-”

“No.” You cut him off, and it took you everything in your heart to say this. It’s time you put yourself first, put a stop to this nonsense. “It’s a little too late for that, Chris.”

“What?” He frowns even more. “Please tell me that’s not true… Do you… do you still love me?”

“I do.” You nod with a sad smile. “I still love you. But I can’t keep going like this. I’m sorry.”

“No!” He stands up, taking you by surprise, and grabs your face with his hands. “I can’t… I can’t accept that. I also love you so, so much, and…”

“And what?” You chuckle bitterly. “And what, Chris? We’ve been together for over a year, yet I can’t even recall us meeting more than 10 times. We never go out anywhere, you don’t even show up to our Friday date-nights anymore. You haven’t shown up in months.”

“You’re right! You’re right…” He says like a broken record as his voice cracks and tears start running down his cheeks.

“I can’t be with you anymore if you’re not going to love me right. I hope you can understand that.”

“But I can! I can love you right. Just… just give me another chance. Please.” He says, but you just shake your head and remove his hands from your face. You can’t look at him anymore.

“I’m sorry…”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I will do better, I promise. I will do my best and treat you better, hm?”

“I don’t know, Chris… I… I don’t trust you anymore.” You frown as you stand up as well, and Chris takes you into an embrace, and you wish you wouldn’t have felt so safe in his arms.

You truly love him, and it’s breaking your heart to cut this tie between you two, but you truly can’t be with him any longer and rely on empty promises.

“Just… one more chance. Please? One chance and I will prove to you that I can do better.”

“… I’m not sure...” You say after a little while, tearing yourself away from him.

“Please.” He tries again, and you despise the feeling of hope settling in your chest. You don’t want to trust him again only for him to break that trust and make you feel like this.

“I will think about it… okay? But if nothing changes and you don’t start putting more effort, I’m done.” You reply, and his face immediately lights up.

“Yes! Okay. I won’t mess it up this time, I promise!”

“You better not…” You chuckle as he presses a short kiss on your lips.

“I missed you.” He whispers against your mouth.

“Mhm, I missed you too.”

“And I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do better.”

“A lot of promises in a short amount of time, don’t you think?” You chuckle again.

“I’ll take it one day at a time and love you right, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reply, and you seriously wish that he won’t let you down again.

He is still the man you love, so you are willing to give him another chance as long as he’s proven he’d change his ways.

You just hope you won’t end up regretting this decision.

~The End~

~

Hope you enjoyed this short story!

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Storm

[pkg4mumtown]

Special Weapons and Tactics (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Original Male Character (OMC)

Rating: Teen (for now)

Summary: SSA León Navarro is an FBI SWAT agent sent to a scene that the BAU is in charge of. There, he meets the team, specifically SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Content Warnings: strong language, first person POV, non-descriptive mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence

A/N: (As of March 8, 2025, this fic has been transitioned to Hotch/ OMC as I realized I put too much detail in later chapters to still make it a feasible Reader fic. Thank you to everyone, so far. I hope you'll continue to read but totally understand if you don't!) I’ve been sitting on this fic for a while and I’m happy to share it with you! I’m about half way done with it and will be finishing it as I post the chapters. I will post about every couple weeks just so I have time to keep up with writing. I also have two Spotify playlists on my page for Criminal Minds if you want to check them out!!

Also available on AO3

July 2010

“Listen up. Target’s name is Lucas Bryant. This guy’s got a military background and possibly suffers from PTSD. He’s using various military paraphernalia to subdue his victims, believes his killings were righteous, and believes he’s at war with us, so approach with extreme caution. There’s a high chance that he won’t let himself be captured. The BAU believes he’s holed up in an attic, upstairs, or basement of some sort. Meet the BAU Unit Chief when we arrive.”

Various, “yes, sir’s,” echoed in the tactical van. Metal sliding against metal followed as last-minute weapons checks commenced.

“ETA is two minutes.”

I had been in the middle of poring over a case file when I got the SWAT mobilization order to a house in northern Virginia and was happy to step away. Words had been swimming on the pages of the file for the last couple of hours, so I’d been restless and itching to clear my head. I let myself imagine breathing out any thought of my own cases so I could be fully focused on this one.

Before the van could fully come to a stop, we were all standing and waiting for the back doors to unlock. A sea of olive green and black emerged from the van and we followed the lead SWAT agent toward the group of agents discussing and gesturing toward the house. The house was strangely well-kept, with a maintained lawn, but “No Soliciting” signs were hung on any possible surface. The curtains were all drawn closed, putting the agents even more on edge since we had a visual disadvantage.

“They’ve been briefed, Agent Hotchner,” our lead SWAT agent notified the Unit Chief as we approached.

“Great, thank you,” the tall, dark-haired agent nodded, making contact with each of us to make sure we were paying attention. “We’re splitting into three groups. The first group will go with Agent Morgan and Dr. Reid to breach the front door and head upstairs, the second with Agents Prentiss and Jareau to breach the back door, and everyone else with myself and Agent Rossi to the basement. Let’s go,” he dismissed the group, and everyone split up, having seen who they’re going with since the Unit Chief pointed them out as he spoke.

I looked at each of the other's faces as he gestured to them. The only member I was familiar with was Morgan since we were both in the FBI academy at the same time. The younger one—Reid—seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t recall as my attention drifted back to their boss.

My group followed Hotchner and Rossi to the side of the house where two doors indicated the basement access for the house. After we secured the entrance of the basement, we formed up along the side of the house and prepared for entry. I was the last in line of SWAT agents and felt Hotchner’s hand come to my shoulder. The two metal basement doors were firmly closed, prompting our breacher to check for locks. The breacher signaled that basement door was locked and unclipped a saw from his gear. He readied himself to cut the lock, giving us a signal and making eye contact with Hotchner, behind me.

“Is everyone in position?” came Hotchner’s steady, low voice.

There was a resounding confirmation over the radio.

“Breach.”

All of the teams moved immediately. Our breacher made quick work of the lock with the saw while the next agent in line pulled a flash-bang from his vest. With the doors forced open, the breacher jumped away from the entrance while the other agent lobbed a flash-bang down the stairs. As soon as it went off, everyone was following the agent down the stairs and swarming the basement. Rossi stayed outside to watch any windows while Hotchner was the last one in behind me. By the time we arrived, the room was clear and strangely empty besides the typical basement findings. Tall, metal shelving lined the walls with nothing of much interest on them and the floor was littered with boxes and grime. A lingering musty smell permeated the air but nothing else of concern.

“Anything upstairs?” Hotchner asked into the radio.

“Nothing, Hotch.”

He was understandably irritated by that answer and ordered, “Tear this place apart.”

We all got to work as he radioed with his team back and forth, looking around the room for any clues or ideas. Agents ripped into boxes and overturned miscellaneous furniture scattered throughout the basement. Hotchner grew more frustrated by the second judging by his tone over the radio, but his face didn’t show it.

“There’s electrical running down to the ground on the south side of the house,” the older agent—Rossi—sounded over the radio.

The stoic agent’s eyes snapped to the far wall to my left and moved briskly, just short of shoving agents out of his way. His tall frame squeezed between two shelving racks, stepping on a pile of trash in between as he felt the wall.

“Do you see any seams in the bricks?” He directed the question to me, making realize I was the closest to him but far enough to examine the wall from a distance.

“N—oh—yea! A little higher!” I pointed higher up the wall and try to follow the seam down.

I noticed a faint line—no, a wire—lower on the wall ending somewhere under Hotchner’s foot. My nerves lit on fire as I realized what was happening, but I couldn’t move toward him fast enough, “Sir, wait!”

Hotchner lifted weight off one foot to stretch more, turning to look at me as I surged toward him. He started to speak, unaware of what was happening or what I’d seen, “There’s airfl—”

Hotchner was cut off when an ear-rupturing, forceful shockwave echoed throughout the basement, bouncing off the walls and causing the unprepared to stumble. He lost his footing, disoriented and thrown off balance by the concussive blast. I even stumbled back as the blast pushed past my efforts to move forward. At the same time, he and his head were thrown forward into the industrial metal racking with what should have been a sickening thud. Everyone’s ears were ringing too much to hear it. Thankfully, the SWAT agents all had on ear protection and recovered much more quickly than Hotchner.

 I rushed over as the SWAT team’s medic and caught him under his armpits before he could collapse. His body was almost completely lax in my arms, so I dragged him away and propped him against a different rack.

“Sir, are you hurt anywhere else?”

There was no response, and his eyes were barely open and fluttering. I patted him down roughly but found nothing glaringly wrong besides the gushing cut to his forehead.

“Sir, can you stand?”

Nothing. Fuck.

The other SWAT agents were scrambling to open the false wall while being mindful of any more wires. I decided to radio the teams outside before I moved the agent.

“Basement team is working on a false wall. I have an agent down, in and out of consciousness from a concussion grenade. Possible head trauma. Extricating him now.”

“Copy.”

“I’m going to get you out of here, sir,” I assured him as his eyes finally fluttered shut, and his body became completely limp.

I secured my weapon and squatted low until his body could drape over my shoulders. I hooked an arm through his legs and held his dangling arm with the same hand so that I had a free hand for balance on the stairs. When he was as secure as I could get him, I quickly exited the basement, wanting to be out of there by the time they opened the false door so neither of us got shot.

I could only manage a brief nod to Rossi as I carried Hotchner’s extra weight from the stairs to the front lawn. I was keenly aware that the EMTs hadn’t been allowed in the staging area yet since Bryant wasn’t yet apprehended. I got to the edge of the front lawn before depositing him as gingerly as I could on the grass.

“Sir, can you hear me?” I raised my voice and took my helmet off, tossing it in the grass haphazardly.

Fetching a small penlight from one of my pouches, I removed my gloves and opened his eyes to check his pupils. Finding a somewhat normal reaction, I put the light away and got to work on treating his forehead, hoping the stinging would jostle him awake.

“This might sting,” I murmured to myself, basically.

I flushed the wound and press gauze firmly against it, feeling the agent below me tense with pain. His strong hand engulfed my wrist to roughly pry my hands away, but I persisted. I shoved my knee over his bicep and stapled his arm to the ground with my shin.

“Sir, relax. You’re safe,” I reassured him, maneuvering my arm so he could see my face and uniform. He was looking wildly around, probably looking for his team. “Look at me sir,” I requested. “I’m SSA Navarro. You have a laceration on your forehead, okay? I’m stopping the bleeding.”

His breathing began to slow, and he nodded slightly in confirmation. I took my shin off of his arm now that I knew he wouldn’t try to fight me.

“Can you tell me your name?” I began asking him some basic questions to assess for any brain damage.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, louder than he should have been responding but understandably so.

“Good. Do you remember the name of the target?”

“Lucas, mhm, Bryant,” he cringed as my hands worked on his head.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I have up?” I requested, pulling one of my hands away to show him three fingers.

“Three,” he squinted.

“Who’s your Section Chief?”

“Strauss.”

“Goo—,” I started but he cuts me off.

“You want my phone number, too?” he deadpanned, making me huff and smirk at the sarcasm.

“Well, do you remember it?” I challenged him, using butterfly style bandages to hold the wound closed before taping gauze over it.

He effortlessly relayed the numbers to me, giving me a pointed look as if to tell me he was fine now. “If you remember the number I’ll let you buy me coffee,” he rolled his eyes but briefly held my gaze with striking brown eyes, glowing amber in the sunlight. He attempted to sit up, but I prevented him with a firm hand on his chest.

My brain screeched to a halt as I mentally rewound what he just said to me. Did he just flirt with me? Crap, what numbers did he just say? 5-5-5-0-4-7…6? No—8-6. I repeated them over and over in my head.

I was broken out of my stupor when I could finally hear chatter on the radio again as my ears became more attuned to our surroundings instead of just Hotchner, “Your team is fine. The target’s down.”

He relaxed a little more and I was all too aware of the hand I still had on his chest. He was, too, I saw as he quickly glanced down and then at me but didn’t mention it. I dug my hand into another pouch and brought out an ice pack, activating it with a pop, and pressing it to his head. He took over for my hand and kept the pack pressed to his head.

“Noted, by the way,” I answered his earlier challenge with an upturn at the corner of my mouth.

He gave a hum in acknowledgment. Hotchner was silent for a while, his free hand absentmindedly playing with the grass while trying to crane his head to look at the action behind him to no avail.

“It’s weird being on the other end of this,” he murmured, seemingly to no one in particular.

“What do you mean, sir?” I adjusted myself to sit on the grass more comfortably.

“Hotch,” he corrected, focusing back on me. “And, usually, I’m the one calming victims down. Yet here I am getting flustered over an operator.”

“You could have fooled me,” I laughed, my hand twitching against his chest. Whatever flustered feeling he was talking about, it wasn’t noticeable—to me at least. His features were still void of any emotion beyond the lingering worry for the mission.

“Despite having been in SWAT, the situation was…eye-opening,” his even voice invited a brief moment of mirth.

“You were straight before you went in the basement?” I joked with pursed lips.

“Pretty much,” Hotch nearly cracked a smile. The hint of it soon faded away and he made direct eye contact with me, hoping I would understand, “That’s a joke.”

I was…unsure of how to take that. It was a joke in that he actually is straight or a joke meaning that he’s not straight? Was he or was he not flirting? I mentally sighed and gave him a neutral answer just in case.

“I’m aware of how sexual orientation works, sir,” I forced a chuckle. “Maybe that hit jostled your head a little more than we thought.”

He deflated a little, his smirk dropping, “Yea, maybe.”

In an effort to save the conversation, I latched on to what he previously said, “You did SWAT detail?”

“Mmm, yea, when I was at the Seattle Field Office…tch,” he let out a long breath. “…a long timeago. It was fun,” he raised an eyebrow at me. “Surprised?”

“Only a little,” I shrugged. “You seem capable,” I gave him a once over, imagining him in the uniform I was wearing.

In the distance, I finally saw the rest of Hotch's team leaving the house. They rushed toward me where I had their boss lounging in the grass.

“Your team is incoming,” I notified him and began standing.

I extended my hand to Hotch, and he took it reluctantly as I helped him to his feet. He wobbled for a second, prompting me to still him with a hand firmly planted on his back while his hand clutched my shoulder. If anything, my hand on his back had the opposite effect as he put pressure into my hand instead of balancing himself.

Interesting.

I would have been crazy to pull my hand back.

Rossi approached with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Close encounter with a deadly shelf down there, eh?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out in laughter at the murderous look Hotch shot at Rossi. It was only made funnier by the image of the stern agent with a child-sized ice pack on his forehead.

I quickly cleared my throat as I noticed the other agents looking expectantly at me, “Just a laceration and probably bruising later. He hit his head pretty good, possible mild concussion so he shouldn’t be alone for 24 hours. Might need stitches and probably worth getting his head checked out but I’m sure he won’t.”

Hotch winced as he accidentally put more pressure on it with the ice pack, “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

I fixed him with a pointed look, then glanced at his hovering team, “Yeah, well, they seem to disagree.”

Prentiss stepped forward, concern softening her features. She reached for his forearm, his hand quickly sliding from my shoulder to her hands and leading him away from my hand on his back, “Come on, tough guy. You’re crashing with me.”

No significant other at home? Or is she…? Hm.

It was almost possessive, but what did I know? With the nature of our work, I’m sure they were all pretty close and protective of one another. I might not be a profiler, but I got the idea nonetheless as her eyes flicked toward me like I was a stranger. Well, because I was.

Clearing my throat, I swiped my helmet from the grass and tucked it under my arm. I extended my hand to Hotch, “Great to meet you, sir.”

Despite not knowing them besides Morgan, word did tend to get around the field offices about the BAU, so it was nice to put faces to the team.

“Thank you for your help, Navarro,” my last name escaped his mouth with a low and soft hum, giving me a grateful quirk of his mouth.

Before I could lose myself in his features, I shifted my attention to Rossi and shook his and everyone else’s hand. As I got to Morgan, recognition flashed across his face.

“Navarro?”my last name questioningly fell out of his mouth in disbelief, “Leon?” A bright smile lit up his face as he realized why we knew each other, “How’ve you been, brother?”

“Good, man. I—.”

“Doc, we’re leaving!” I heard call from across the street, beckoning me to the tactical van.

I acknowledged my teammate and continued my sentence by drawing out the letter, “I…gotta go, I guess.”

“No worries, we’ll catch up soon. Let’s go out some time,” Morgan reached for my hand and pulled me into a brief hug.

“Sounds good,” I smiled at the team and jogged back to the van.

I approached the van, slowing down as I got to the open door where Ramirez was waiting for me expectantly.

“Have fun with the shrinks?” He grinned and held the back door open for me.

“Yea, they’re alright. I went through the academy with one of them,” I climbed in and helped him shut the doors before sitting down.

“Bunch of characters, though,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“Nah, it’s just…I’ve worked with them before. No offense or anything, they’re just…weird, I guess,” he stammered over his words, not quite expecting to be called out.

“And, yet we rely on them for profiles that help us get guys like that,” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the house we had just left.

“Fair enough.”

On the ride back to DC, I pulled out my phone and typed in the number I had been repeating since my interaction with Hotch. 5-5-5-0-4-8-6. I quickly saved it under something practical and not at all indicative of how giddy I felt saving it.

Spoilers, it was just “Hotch BAU”.

 I resisted typing out a text message to him at that moment, not wanting to seem…desperate? Yea, “desperate” sounded right. I decided to send it later that night, which sounded even more desperate considering he would be at that attractive agent’s house. Prentiss? Prentiss. I grumbled to myself for being stupid and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

-

Chapter 2

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @iinryer @butchdiaz and @eddiebabygirldiaz to do a 2024 year end fic round up! 125,710 words over 26 fics… damn… at least one fic a month and now I desperately want to try and finish something in the next few days so I dont break that streak for December… we’ll see… okay here we go! Thank you to everyone who’s read anything of mine, I had a lot of fun writing and I hope you had fun reading!

January

I got love to give, and give and give 1,638 words, rated T, melancholy and fluff, Hen and Buck bestieism

“What’s up with you, Buckaroo?” She laughs, poking his silly cheek.

“I love you,” he says, so sweet, looking even happier just to say it. “So much, Hen. Do- did you know it?”

“Yes,” she says, laugh still in her voice but chest a little tighter. “I know it, Buck.”

He drops his cheek to her shoulder, and then turns his head quick to kiss the spot. “Good. You’re the best. You should know it, a- a hundred- a thousand percent.”

—

Hen thinks about Buck at a party

the more we move ahead the more we’re stuck in rewind 4,278 words, rated T, the Buckley’s bad parenting

Bobby frowns at his phone, then leans over to show the screen to Buck. “May keeps sending me these memes,” he says the word wrong, and it makes Buck’s eyes sting for some reason. “And I just don’t understand what on earth this is supposed to mean.”

Buck coughs, mostly to cover up for the way his eyes are watery, and blinks at the screen. He doesn’t know how to say thank you, for any of it, but maybe he can at least figure this out.

—

After the factory fire, Buck’s parents show up at the station. It goes poorly. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: backhand slap.

only the best will do 801 words, rated G, silly wedding fluff

Buck gets a little intense about wedding planning. Chimney hides in the kitchen. Eddie is a man in love.

February

and I know I should go but I’ll probably stay 2,535 words, rated T, buddie hurt comfort

It’s unpleasant, enough that Buck screws his eyes shut and breathes and tries to pretend he’s someplace else. Chris is at the Wilson’s tonight, it’s their turn in the rotating childcare-for-date-night agreement that Hen seemed to have been eagerly waiting to sign them up for. It had been the third thing she said when they got together, right after congratulations and I’m so happy for you. Anyway, they’re going to go sit down at the Thai food place they usually only have the time and energy to order from home. It’ll be nice. Three months in and Buck still gets all giddy when Eddie holds his hand out in public. Or anywhere, really. He could slide their fingers together at the bottom of this stupid pit and Buck would feel all fluttery and starry eyed.

—

Buck and Eddie are both hurt on the job and a choice has to be made. Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo square “Take Me Instead”

won’t you close your weary eyes 3,714 words, rated T, Buck and Bobby hurt comfort, parental feelings

Bobby doesn’t actually hear the warning shout. Or- it’s possible that he did, in the moment, but he has no memory of the sound. Just Buck, 20 or so feet away, turning towards him mid conversation with a look of horror on his face, mouth open around an unheard word, arm moving slow motion up in what he's sure is a frantic wave. He does hear the sound of impact, an almost comical series of hollow metallic bonks. They'll all laugh about this later, he thinks on the way down. Bunch of pipes dropping on the fire Captain's head. Pretty sure he saw that on looney toons.

—

Bobby gets a concussion and Buck stays with him. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: concussion.

March

the going water and the gone 31,547 words, rated T, cruise ship spec, Eddie missing presumed dead, angst with a happy ending

It doesn’t take long for Buck to be cleared to leave. He’s given antibiotics for the water he swallowed, a handful of bandages to cover shallow wounds, and instructions to take it easy. Horror clenches in his stomach. Eddie is gone and he gets off with Advil and a nap.

—

Eddie is missing presumed dead after the cruise ship sinks, Buck tries to keep his promises

I’d shine up the old brown shoes, I’d put on a brand-new shirt 3,565 words, rated T, friends with benefits buck/natalia, Eddie and Buck feelings realization through giving Chris dating advice

“No, I need, like-“ Eddie sighs so hard it almost sounds like static. “I need… guy help. Will you just come over?”

“Are you-” Buck turns away from Natalia and kind of hunches over the phone, making his voice quieter. “Are you having a penis problem?”

“What?” Buck’s never heard Eddie that high pitched. Loud, too, enough that Buck yanks the phone away from his ear and Natalia snorts with barely contained laughter behind him. When he brings the phone back in, Eddie is making a lot of blustery sounds, which Buck waits out until he finds words again. “Wh- No! No, I don’t have- I’m not having a ‘penis problem,’ Buck!”

Buck shrugs at the air in front of him. “Okay, Eddie, you’re the one who’s hiding in a bathroom and said you needed my ‘guy help,’ what was th-”

“Oh my god, Buck, I need relationship advice, okay!”

—

Chris is going on his first date. Eddie calls Buck for backup.

what useless tools ourselves 4,905 words, rated G, Buck in the hours after Eddie’s s5 breakdown

After Eddie chokes out what he can of a tragedy nearly a decade in the making, and after they go together to make sure Christopher is okay — the kid's eyes are wide where they meet Buck's over his father's shoulder, Eddie still trembling as he holds him — they sit back down at the kitchen table and Buck cleans Eddie's knuckles.

—

Buck, between the breakdown and dawn. Written for the BTHB prompt bloody knuckles.

April

when we’re barely awake in the heat of the day’s weight 1,037 words, rated M, buck/tommy early relationship tenderness

“You okay?” The man asks, voice rough with sleep though not too loud even with his mouth maybe three inches from Buck’s ear. He’s so soft. All his hard edges and he’s just so soft.

“Yeah,” Buck half-whispers, relaxing into him. “Sorry. It’s just, uh- been awhile since I woke up someplace new.” He hadn’t been paying much attention to ceiling texture when they’d stumbled to bed last night, either. It matches what little glimpses he had been paying attention to in Tommy’s charmingly vintage apartment. Brick exterior. Funny orange tiles in the kitchen. “Think it might have been since, uh…” Shit. He’d been to Natalia’s once for just a few minutes because she had an ornery roommate, and Taylor always came to his. Ali found him the loft specifically to have a nice place to wake up in after fucking. “Uh, Abby, maybe.”

—

Buck wakes up at Tommy’s place and they have a conversation about taking up space

you’ve got too much to wear on your sleeve 4,136 words, rated G, buck/tommy hurt comfort

“Uh, sorry.” He stares down at Eddie’s shoes. “I just think I’m- I’m kind of scared.” He eventually understood, intellectually, why Ali left him. It was a lot. She didn’t really get the scope of what she was signing up for. His leg had turned something fun and casual into something suddenly dead fucking serious. So, yeah, he understood, but he’s not sure until this moment that he really, actually understood. Tommy’s down that hall somewhere, and he got hurt at his job which is dangerous, and Buck is wondering how awful it would be to flee back through all the hallways and out of Pasadena to parts of the city he knows better, and go and find a nice safe girl with a nice safe job so his chest won’t ever feel like this. Or, only feel like this sometimes, with Eddie or Hen and Chimney and Bobby, or Maddie, people who he’s already seen bleed so he knows they can do it.

—

Tommy’s helicopter goes down. Buck fixes the station AC unit.

If you go down to Hammond you’ll never come back 1,339 words, rated G, early relationship buck/tommy fluff, madney wedding spec but more like madney wedding au really, prophetic daddy joke

“Oh, uh.” Eddie shrugs, stretches. “You know. Buck. It’s kind of… who he’s become, who he’s proud of being. I guess, I mean- we haven’t talked about it specifically. But yeah, I think… it’s like the turnouts, you put them on, feel good about who you are in them. And it’s the name he’s used ever since he came here, it’s- neat. Like, a clean break from when he… was young, and alone.” He shrugs again, smiles a little. “His friends call him Buck.”

Tommy’s thumb slips in the condensation on his glass. “Should I-”

“No.” Eddie’s voice is very soft. “I think… for most of his life only Maddie ever said ‘Evan’ and meant ‘I’m happy to see you.’ I think… it’s good, that he has that with you.”

Tommy just- tries to remember how to breathe normally for a second. “I am,” he says. “Happy to see him.” A funny, shaky little joy in his stomach every single time he looks up and sees Evan Buckley.

—

Eddie and Tommy talk at the wedding

May

that makes calamity of so long life 1901 words, rated T, buck/tommy fluff and angst, tragic backstories

The afternoon sun sneaking through the curtain lights him right up, glowing in his curls and against his cheek like the air itself can’t help but touch him. It makes Tommy feel kind of out of breath, kind of out of his depth. “Sometimes I think I must have made you up," he says, because the walls aren't melting but this still feels like a dream.

“I was.” Buck says it softly, and then blinks, like the words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch them. “Made up,” he says, a clarification that doesn’t make anything clearer.

—

Tommy learns about Daniel, and thinks about life and safety and caring about things

Autolysis 5,607 words, rated T, Bobby Nash goes in the blender, parental feelings, guilt grief and depression, food as a metaphor for love and what happens when you dont have enough of either

Buck dies, and he’s cold right away. They all are, this isn’t the kind of summer storm where the rain is almost warm. It’s freezing out here, even under all the layers of their gear. Bobby’s sure his own skin is corpse-cool, but he holds Buck and the harness pulls him stiff in his arms, and his body is cold, and he thinks Wait. It’s happening too fast. Wait. He’s dead, and Bobby lays him carefully on the gurney, and he rides up front with Eddie as they tear through the streets towards the hospital, frantic noise and movement reaching them from the back. He’s dead when they pull up to the doors. The human body begins to decay after four minutes, starts to consume itself, the final hunger. Bobby hears the crack of his sternum when Eddie’s palms press so far into his chest his heart starts to beat again. 43 seconds to spare.

-

Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: make it look like an accident

June

big heart, I wanna let it bleed 2,106 words, rated G, buck joins the team a little younger au, buck and Bobby feels

Buck looks happy as a dog with a bone, glancing at Bobby with a mile wide grin. It's a familiar kind of look, though it takes until they're almost at the ambulance — Buck chatting away all the while — for him to place it, and it nearly makes him stumble when he does. Robert would give him that look when he made a new friend on the playground and got invited to hang out. Please, Dad, can I go? He's sure Buck didn't mean anything by it. Bobby doesn't have that authority in his life, nicknames and Springsteen concerts nothing that adds up to a tangible connection. And the kid- well, he's not a kid. 25 years old, can arrange his own playdates perfectly well.

July

I know the words, I know the sounds 2,147 words, rated G, buck/tommy breakup because one of them realizes their best friend they’ve been in love with forever is suddenly an option, oops wrong best friend

“I’ll step on your toes,” Buck warns, turning fully towards him and vaguely holding up his hands for Eddie to do whatever it is that needs to happen to make the dancing start.

Eddie snorts, moves one of Buck’s hands to his shoulder and holds the other, and taps his shiny dress shoe very gently into Buck’s big toe. “Do your worst.”

—

Buck and Eddie dance at Tommy’s wedding

and the air was full 397 words, rated G, storm chasers au

There’s a crack in the sky, lightning glowing white hot across his field of vision, and it’s behind Buck but somehow his eyes are lit up with it. The thunder comes less than a second later.

buff in, fan dry, wash out 1,758 words, rated G, art student au, Buck and Shannon are friends and that makes his crush on her recently divorced husband kind of awkward

The old drawing — something abstract, all bold sweeping lines — slowly disappears as it wears away and gets covered by sludge. He always feels a little guilty, getting rid of somebody’s work like this. A little inadequate, trying to come up with something good enough to replace it.

—

Eddie stops by the printmaking studio as Buck and Shannon work

August

get out of the waves get out of the water 1,856 words, rated T, Eddie pov of going water and the gone

Eddie’s foot slides out from under him and his first thought is Oh shit, sorry. He’ll find that funny, eventually.

—

Lost at sea, Eddie dreams

Autobiography 13,152 words, rated M, Buck’s turn in the blender, unreliable narrator but its hardly his fault no one tells him anything about his own life, depression and suicidal tendencies, past assault, pet death that may or may not have happened, 😬, also a twine game

A dog runs into the street after a ball and gets hit by a car.

September

every moment points towards the aftermath 1,755 words, rated G, friends at the table crossover/au but you dont need to know the podcast to read but also you should listen to the podcast, they’re wrestlers, they live in New Jersey but it’s Weird

For awhile, in the beginning, every time Eddie meets Buck the other man has blood in his teeth.

October

should we talk about the weather 20,059 words, rated M, au where some people are drift compatible but without the giant robots, madney fluff and buddie angst and hen + chim bestieism

And then, in Los Angeles, 2018, Eddie had met Buck. Then, huddled over a man with a bomb in his leg, Eddie had needed gauze and Buck’s hand had moved. Then, in the parking lot bathed in the light of an ambulance on fire, Buck had inhaled and Eddie's lungs expanded. And, well, that was that.

cut through the knot 9,924 words, rated M, oh boy Bobby is in the blender again, the whole thing is a therapy session with Frank, long list of content warnings on this one I’ll just leave them on ao3, did you know i love that guy. i love that old man. sorry Bobby that i keep doing this to you

“I’ve been doing fine lately.”

“I’m glad. That’s not what I asked.”

Bobby frowns at Frank, who’s sitting as relaxed and neutral as he always is. “You’re a therapist. Don’t you need to know my… current mental state, something like that?”

“Sure,” Frank smiles just the tiniest bit. Bobby doesn’t know if that means he’s succeeded or failed at something. “But I asked: why are you here?”

—

Bobby goes to therapy. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: self harm

right here with you 1,112 words, rated G, the 118 basically in a cuddle pile as penance for what I put Bobby through in the last one

Bobby’s not convinced it wasn’t a stumble — he’s pretty sure he saw a kind of panicked look on Chimney’s face between the whirling limbs — but Buck lands on the couch somehow. There’s a lot of cushion space unoccupied, but he ends up half on top of Bobby, sort of sideways, sort of leaning against Bobby’s chest. He twists his head this way and that until he finds an angle that’s not too sore to look up at him. His grin is big and goofy, eyes a little vacant in the way that comes with strong painkillers, and Bobby laughs down at him.

—

The 118 recuperate after a rough day. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: cry into chest

November

3 new short fics in the all my life, there you go series

Family 1,211 words, 118 family feels, new buddie, Eddie and Maddie friendship

Phone calls 1,938 words, Eddie calls Buck drunk from wine night and confesses his love

Hand kisses 1,022 words, angst, Eddie’s moved to Texas and is centimeters from a big gay realization but is already trying to marry Buck anyway

Phew!!! We got through it! Hello down here! @colonoscopys @wildehacked @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @devirnis @chronicowboy @gayeddieagenda @homerforsure @ anyone who’s tagged me or I’ve tagged and who’s urls I’m forgetting, anyone who sees this and wants to brag, you dear reader, please share your stuff if you wanna!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Four sighed, taking a sip of his beer as he looked at the embers glowing and crackling in Time’s fire pit. “I hate seeing people in pain and not being able to do anything about it.”

Sky glanced at his friend, wondering where that statement came from. Nobody said anything for a moment, and then Legend piped up.

“Yet you chose to work in a surgical-trauma ICU where everyone is in pain all the time,” he quipped with a little playful smirk to take the edge of the sarcasm.

Warriors snickered, leaning back in his chair, beer bottle held lazily between his fingers. Sky almost laughed at the sight of it, recalling that he and Hyrule had been refilling the bottle with water after their friend’s first drink. The army nurse hadn’t commented on the matter.

“Oh shut up,” Four laughed as well. “I know I set myself up for this. But I… I wanted to help. And I wanted to do nursing that made me feel like I was thinking through puzzles and able to focus on as few patients as possible so I could really get into taking care of things. And I like the thrill of it. But…”

He trailed off a moment, looking around at the group relaxing by the fire pit. Twilight paused briefly in the act of throwing another log on the fire, glancing at Four, before finishing the action, sending sparks showering into the air briefly. Time and Malon watched Four quietly, bundled together under a plaid blanket, Malon’s head on Time’s shoulder. Warriors perked up from his slumped position, head tilting towards the ICU nurse while Legend’s playful smile faded. Wild and Wind paused from eating their s’mores to give Four their attention while Hyrule sat up from where he’d been laying in a burrito of blankets on the grass.

Sky watched Four try to ask what he wanted, and as much as he wanted to prompt his friend he knew to wait.

“Does it ever get better?” Four finally asked. “The compassion fatigue. I’ve only been in nursing a short while and I can already feel it. Am… am I done?”

Sky bit his tongue, remembering when he’d asked Legend a similar question. But Sky had been through a war and had been flying sick, injured, and dying patients for years now. Four was still a fairly new nurse, wasn’t he?

He supposed it didn’t matter. Everyone’s exposure and experience was different. Four very clearly was uneasy about this.

Warriors spoke up first, sitting up. “It comes and goes, buddy.”

“Sometimes you just have to stop and remember they’re people,” Legend added. “We… you know, when everyone’s worst day is your workday you have to shut it off. It’s not…”

“We have to protect ourselves,” Sky picked up for his dear friend. “We suffer when they suffer. But if you let it get to you then you can’t focus on helping them. You’re not a bad person for doing that. For…”

Well. Were they bad people for feeling nothing when their patients were in pain?

Honestly, Sky knew there wasn’t a single person in this group who felt absolutely nothing. They just redirected what they felt into something else. Dark jokes to make a bad situation funny, frustration to turn strong emotions into rambling with coworkers… they all felt it somehow.

But it did make it hard to remember who they were taking care of sometimes.

Sky was grateful he just flew his helicopter. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate much more exposure than that, honestly.

“I don’t know if it ever gets better,” Warriors finally said. “It’s kind of just something you learn to live with.”

“I’ve seen nurses who have all the compassion in the world,” Twilight noted. “But I also have no idea how they do it, honestly.”

“Oh, you mean like you, Mr Biggest Bleeding Heart in the Room?” Legend remarked. “I bet you’re everyone’s favorite CNA over there. I don’t know how the hell you deal with sick kids day in and out.”

“It’s a lot easier when you’re the tech walking in and out of the room instead of the nurse responsible for that kid’s life,” Twilight argued mildly. “I mean, I do get attached and I want to take care of all of them, but I’m also so spread out it makes encounters shorter. So like… I don’t know, not as much burnout I guess. Except for the chronic kids.”

“Well, techs make a hell of a difference,” Four noted. “I’d be so screwed without you guys.”

“Back to the point,” Twilight frowned, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m sure even the kindest nurses have moments when they just can’t let themselves get hurt anymore. You’re not a jerk for being worn out from constantly watching people suffer.”

“What’s important, love, is getting out and having moments like this,” Malon piped up. “You boys all tend to self isolate when you’re not working, and all that does is make work your entire life. Take time for yourself but go out in the world too. We’re all here for each other. That’s why we had this tonight.”

Four sighed a little, glancing down at the fire. Sky elbowed him teasingly, smiling. “Hey. You can’t be any worse than Legend.”

The travel nurse perked up, face flushing and eyes wide with irritation as Warriors wheezed. “HEY!”

Everyone started to laugh while Legend rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. But Sky knew it was just theatrics; after all, he and Legend had talked about this very thing a few weeks ago.

Healthcare broke people. They all knew that. But a little crack here and there could be supported, one person holding the other up. Sky wasn’t sure how long any of them could last in any one area, but he knew they’d try to make it work.

[goddessofroyalty]

Love your work!!! Have you done a fic during Silco’s last pregnancy?? (Baby Vanco) How old were Jinx and Vi during this?? It would be cool to see a fic of what they thought about having a new sibling and just them helping out during his pregnancy. I’m a sucker for family fluff and angst :) sorry if this ask is a bit weird.

This is going to be one of those prompts where you probably get random additional things that technically fall under it as a “so I had an idea and wrote it” (I already have another possible scene milling around in my head). But this is long-enough for a prompt fill and anything else can just be random bonus extras between other prompt-fills.  

Also Silco thinks he’s having another boy. He has told everyone he’s having another boy. He is not having another boy.  

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg 

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

Powder appears as Silco is sitting up in bed finishing reading the last report of the day while he waits for Vander to finish closing the Last Drop. The late hour of her apparence isn’t that unusual even with Silco doing her hair now almost ritual between them, she can easily lose track of time with Ekko or the little toys she makes. Suddenly racing in because she’s realized even the Lanes are falling asleep and she hasn’t had her hair done.  

The way she slams the door behind her and storm over is less common, but, despite her enthusiasm, she can be a sensitive child at times. And her sibling’s words cruel as siblings can be.  

She avoids his eyes as she climbs onto the bed, handing him the brush and giving him her back. Fiddling with one of her little mouser toy. 

"Powder,” Silco says as he puts his report to the side and undoes the braids he put her hair in in the morning.  

She shrugs at it and Silco sighs. He knows pushing her will just result in screaming and yelling. After a day of listening to Piltite Council members doing it he doesn’t want to get it from one of his children as well. So he runs the brush through her hair – she will talk if she wants to, and, if not, he’s working from Zaun tomorrow he can question her siblings about what set her off.  

“Mylo said you’re having another baby,” Powder says finally, her fingers twisting mouser in her hand. “He said you’re replacing me.”  

“What did I tell you about listening to Mylo?” Silco asks as he parts the left side of her hair and starts the new braid.  

“No to. That he only says things because he knows they’ll get a reaction out of me,” Powder says in well-practiced copy because they’ve had this conversation so many times. The youngest two seemingly determined to get under each other’s skins however they can. Mylo with sharp words he knows will cut and Powder through setting up traps for her brother to stumble into and pushing him aside whenever she can. “But you are having another baby, aren’t you? I heard Vander talking to Benzo about it.”  

Of course. 

Silco can keep all of Piltover unaware of the full extent of his business despite spending half his time amongst them for almost a decade but he cannot keep something from his children for more than a day. 

“We are.” Lying isn’t going to help the situation.  

“Why?”  

Because accidents happen and apparently 42 isn’t old enough to not have to worry about sex resulting in pregnancy.  

“Because we are.” Silco ties off the end of the braid and places it against Powder’s back. His hand no longer can completely cover it from how big she is getting. Not far off presenting herself and able to spend the day entertaining herself even if she still needs Vander to remind her to eat proper food and not just sugar.  

They’re going to be starting from newborn again soon.  

“Are we not enough?” Powder asks, turning to look at him with sad confused eyes.  

Silco cups her face, wiping under her eye to prevent the gathered tears from falling.  

“No. You are more than enough.” She is so bright and will achieve great things if she is given half the opportunity, he is sure. “This isn’t about you. Or them. Or anyone. This is just a thing that is happening. I thought you would be happy about it – you won’t be the youngest anymore.”  

Jinx leans against his hand on her cheek, twisting her lips in contemplation.  

“What if I like being the baby?” she asks so quietly Silco has to strain to hear it. 

“You are hardly a baby now Powder.” Maturity coming for her faster each and every day.  

He reaches out with his hand not against her face to grab hold of one of hers and bring it to his stomach. There is nothing there to really show or see of the pregnancy, still far too early even for him. But it will help get his point across.  

“You get to be a big sister instead,” he says and that seems to pull a small smile from her sullen features joined with a small pleased hum. “They’ll look up to you like you do the others.”  

“I don’t look up to Mylo! He’s mean!” she protests childishly but her somber mood seems to have faded with it. Brushing his hand on her cheek aside so she can rest her head against his stomach as well, the hand not on it wrapping around him.  

“I can teach them all the secret passageways I know that the others don’t,” she whispers against him. “And I’ll show them how I made mouser.”  

“It will probably be a few years before that Powder,” Silco says, running his fingers through the side of her hair still down. At least she seems excited about it now instead of scared.  

----------------- 

“Are you going to Piltover today?” Vi asks, awake and dressed. Both things she isn’t usually by the time Silco leaves in the morning when he is in Piltover for the day. All of their children preferring to sleep in until Vander finishes his morning tasks and drags them up for breakfast.  

“I am.”  

“Can I come too?” she asks. Which is also unusual. The appeal of going to Piltover quickly lost for the children after Silco started to bring them to his office and social events. Now viewed as a punishment instead of a forbidden playground. He wishes he had done it earlier – they might have avoided the whole Talis explosion situation if he had.  

Vi does have her little crush on the Kiramman girl she thinks they’re not aware of so the request likely has something to do with that. By lunchtime she’ll be trying to sneak off, claiming to be going to see Viktor when caught.  

Saying no just encourages them to sneak up there themselves.  

“I’ll be in meetings most of the day.” A day full of people gawking at his now showing pregnancy. He’s picked up the habit of starting them off with a now well-practiced acknowledgement that, yes, he is in fact pregnant, and, no, it was not planned, do they need him to walk them through how babies or made or can they begin?  

“That’s okay. I can keep myself entertained.”  

Silco knows a pointless argument so he agrees. Vi trailing behind him to his Piltover office. His eldest daughter lying along the couch and going back to sleep as he starts his work for the day.  

Silco shuts the door quietly when he leaves for his first meeting to not wake her.  

He returns to her sparring against invisible foes. Moving around the office with quick, light feet, punching the air and dodging imaginary blows.  

“I can arrange a car to take you home,” he offers after she realizes he’s there and mumbles an apology for the grand crime of being a bored teenager.  

“No, no, it’s fine,” she says, going to sit back on the couch. Hands resting on it either side of her.  

She swings her legs over the armrest and kicks at the side of the couch as he goes back to work.  

Silco leaves and returns for another meeting to find her still there. Lunch comes and passes with no attempt to leave to get into mischief or visit the Kiramman girl. Vi instead lying on the couch with her eyes closed despite it being clear she isn’t sleeping.  

She peaks up at Silco from one eye when he stands over her. What is actually happening clear.  

“You don’t need to stand guard over me all day.”  

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she protests and he raises his brow at her because she is far from the best liar among his children. “I’m also keeping you company.”  

“I have never needed that either.” He has spent many long days in his Piltover office alone with his work.  

“Well, you weren’t pregnancy before either,” Vi mumbles.  

“I have been pregnant before,” Silco corrects even if he knows Vi means since he took up the position of Zaun Representative. “And I managed without a young alpha following me around everywhere.”  

“You had Vander though. And Sevika.”  

“Not always.” Silco quickly raises his hand before Vi can get any ideas about Vander abandoning him while he was pregnant with any of her brothers. “We have always been busy people Vi. And we cannot afford to sacrifice progress towards our goals just because I happen to be growing a child inside me.”  

Vi mulls the words over with the same furrowed-brow expression that Vander gets. She may not be his by blood but there is no denying she her father’s child. The almost irrational want to be there to protect him coming from Vander as well.  

“You can continue sitting around my office all day if you must but I am sure there are things you would rather be doing than being bored on a couch.” There are things Silco would rather do than listen to the grips of spoilt Piltites and read report after report about how fixing Zaun is just too expensive or too difficult for them to bother even trying. There is at least a benefit for their people for his suffering. “I’ll get a car to take you home.”  

“Do I have to go back home? Can I go do something else?” Vi asks and Silco knows exactly where she will be headed.  

Telling her no and that she is going home will save him some headache.  

“Just don’t do anything that will have Cassandra bitching at me about you,” he says, massaging the bridge of his nose. He blames his hormones for how he can’t say no to her pathetic face. “I’m too pregnant to put up with her shit.”  

---------------- 

“Do you need something Powder?” Silco asks when his youngest daughter slips into his office. She probably just wants to draw on the floor while he works.  

“Can I give him something?” Powder asks, coming to stand beside Silco’s desk, her stuffed-bunny in hand.  

“Give who something?”  

“The baby.”  

Silco hums at it. Picking the girl up by the underarms to seat her at his desk. It takes actual effort to do now compared to when he could easily settle her on his hip while he went about things.  

“That will be a bit difficult considering he’s currently busy trying to break my ribs,” Silco informs her, earning a little giggle from her. His children at times seem entertained by how their younger sibling is making him suffer. “What do you want to give him?”  

“Bunny,” she says, patting at the stuffed rabbit now sat in her lap.  

“Bunny’s your favorite though.” Even the most unobservant parent would know that from how she screams to high Janna if one of her siblings even looked at the thing wrong.  

“I know. But I’m getting bigger,” Powder says, playing with the ears of the stuffed toy. “And what is he going to sleep with?” 

“We can get him something of his own.” The plan had been to just take out Mylo’s old things from where they had stored them to hand on to their first grandkid. They could afford a new stuffed toy though.  

Powder’s expression tells him it isn’t the right answer.  

At least the new one will be easily to understand and keep happy for a few years. Babies needs so much easier to decipher and appease than teenagers.  

He reaches forward to cup her face because touch, at least, seems to hold true at providing comfort at all ages.  

“At least wait until he’s born and then you can decide if you want to give him bunny. You might not like him any more than you do Mylo.” And the world would have to be ending for Powder to let Mylo even hold the stuffed toy for a minute.  

“No! I’ll like him more than Mylo!” Powder immediately protests before collapsing forward onto him. Silco wrapping an arm around her to ensure she doesn’t fall. “Mylo’s mean. He won’t be mean.”  

“Babies can be mean sometimes.” Despite his gentle temperament now, Claggor had landed his share of blows as a baby and as soon as Mylo had teeth, he figured out how to use them to express his displeasure with whoever was nearest to him.  

“He won’t be though,” Powder says, hand rubbing along Silco’s stomach. “He’ll be nice and will want to play with me even though the others don’t.”  

“Not for a while Powder,” Silco reminds her before she gets let down by a newborn’s inability to do much more than sleep and feed and shit. “He’s going to be very small at first.”  

“Pst, yeah, obviously. He’s got to be small enough you can squeeze him out,” she says, sagging against him as if he’s ridiculous for thinking she might not know that. “But once he’s bigger I’ll play with him. And teach him all the things I know. I’ll be a good big sister. I promise.”  

“Of course you will be.” Silco leans over to rest his forehead against the crown of her head. He hopes she will be and doesn’t find her new sibling boring. They’ll need the help of the older ones to be able to balance a new child with their work and responsibilities to their community.  

------------------ 

“Mylo move!” Silco can hear Vi hiss as he makes his way into the kitchen in the slow waddling pace that has become his gait in the last few months of the pregnancy. This one no more forgiving on his body than the others.  

“What?” Mylo hisses back, lying across the lounge-chair Silco found the most comfortable with the extra weight of the baby, feet hanging over the armrest, before noticing Silco. “Oh shit.”  

Vi practically drags her brother out of it to free it for Silco. He possibly would care more about how rough she had been on her brother if the curve of the chair wasn’t the exact thing he back needs to feel actually supported. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Claggor asks as Silco makes the effort to settle himself in the chair.  

Vi elbows him in the side for it and Silco gives them both a look because he does not have the energy to deal with arguing children while Vander is still busy with the morning delivery.  

“I have started to look forward to the horror that is labor,” Silco answers. Both Claggor and Vi are alphas and one day they’ll be responsible for putting an omega being in a similar state as Silco is currently. They should know what they are signing them up for before they do. “Which is no doubt the point. Make you grateful when the true pain starts because at least it means one way or another it will be over soon.”  

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Vi offers, her two brothers nodding in agreement.  

“Not unless you can go back in time and remind your father and I that we are not so old that we do not have to worry about our actions resulting in a baby trying to break my spine while they grow in me,” Silco says. Sighing at the wide-eyed expressions he is met with. His warnings about pregnancy apparently have more weight with him being pregnant while delivering them. “I told you this is the price to be paid for new life. This will be the fourth time I’ve endured it. And I will. Because I know he will be worth it, the same as his brothers were.”  

“Still doesn’t seem fair though,” Vi mumbles.  

“By now you should know few things in life are.” Despite all the work both he and Vander have put in their children still only have a spec of the privilege enjoyed by those born in Piltover.  

[sidneysussex]

welcome to dadwc! sending you "I can't seem to understand you" for Tarquin and/or Ashur :)

I never write anything about these two quickly, so this is… novel. I feel like I’m learning so much from @dadrunkwriting already. Thank you for the prompt!

It’s all new at headquarters. There are people coming in and out that Tarquin doesn’t know, supplies being delivered that they’d never have been able to get on their own, a dirty great mirror thing in the back that goes straight to the Fade (or sort of, and Tarquin is still trying to work out who thought that was a good idea, a magic door straight into the back garden of the gods who started all this in the first place). It’s all new and Tarquin doesn’t like any of it and he’s not exactly keeping his feelings a secret.

Mae asks him if he’s all right and he tells her he’s fine. (His feelings about her haven’t changed; he still thinks she’s fucking fantastic and also more than a little bit terrifying.)

Dorian asks him if he’s all right and he tells him to fuck off. It’s Dorian. It’s allowed.

Ashur asks him if he’s all right and it’s the very last straw.

“What d’you think is all right about this?” he asks. “Blight and—and gods and dragons and—how does it even work, anyway? Are they gods, too, the dragons? Are they our gods? What the fuck are everyone’s gods doing all over Minrathous? Where’s the blighted Maker, then?”

Ashur waits until he’s certain Tarquin is finished (which is impressive; Tarquin isn’t even sure he’s finished) and then says, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

It doesn’t help, because there’s no reason he shouldn’t have asked. Tarquin’s just—he doesn’t even know. Angry. Maybe. Not at Ashur. But it’s stupid to be angry at a dragon and even stupider to be angry at a god, so he’s got nowhere else to point it but at Ashur.

“Yeah,” he says, “but it’s your job, innit? Make sure we’re all okay or, or at peace or whatever it is. We’ve all got jobs to do.”

“I don’t expect anyone to be at peace with what’s happening,” says Ashur. “I just… want to know if I can help.”

“Well, you can’t,” says Tarquin. And that’s unfair, too, because Ashur probably could help if Tarquin wanted him to. He’s never been good at that kind of thing, though—wanting help, asking for help, taking help when it’s offered. People help themselves; that’s how it works. And when they can’t, the Shadow Dragons help them. Tarquin doesn’t need help. There’s nothing to need help with. It’s the people out in the streets who need help—the people they’re supposed to be protecting. From dragons. And gods. Somehow.

“You ever think,” he says to Ashur, “that we’d be a lot better off if someone had knocked some sense into a few of those magisters before they went and stuck their grubby hands all over the Golden City?”

The look he gets back from Ashur is not what he’s expecting. It’s a little confused (and that happens often enough), a little contemplative (which happens less often), maybe a little fond (and Tarquin isn’t thinking about that, not right now).

There’s a thoughtful hum and the corners of Ashur’s eyes crinkle up, just a bit. You’d have to have been watching to see it—only Tarquin has been. He always is.

“Fuck off,” he says, because it seems like the thing to say. It often does, with Ashur.

Normally, Ashur tolerates it (at best; at worst, he radiates disapproval and Tarquin’s shoulders tense as he pretends he hasn’t noticed because it’s the only thing he knows how to do when it happens). Today, there’s a soft huff—almost a laugh, but not quite.

“You know,” Ashur says quietly, “I just can’t seem to understand you.”

“What’s to understand?” asks Tarquin, wielding the question like a polearm, keeping them safely distanced. “I work, I come here, I hit things. What else is there to know?”

Ashur says, “I don’t believe that.”

And that makes Tarquin angry all over again, because what would Ashur know, anyway? He can believe what he likes.

“Yeah, well,” says Tarquin, turning to the stack of notes and maps Ashur has piled up on the table between them. This is safe ground. They can talk about hideouts and strike zones and raids all afternoon and they won’t—almost certainly won’t—tread onto the strange, shaky areas between them where nothing’s exactly what Tarquin expects, or Ashur, for that matter. “We’ve got work to do.”

Ashur nods and comes around to Tarquin’s side of the table to get a better look at the maps. Their shoulders brush as he leans in and Tarquin doesn’t think about it, doesn’t think about understanding and not understanding, doesn’t think about anything except what they’re supposed to be doing right now.

There’ll be time for that later, maybe. Whatever it is; whatever it means. After the gods and the dragons and the war and the blight, after everything, if they’re lucky, there’ll be time.

[sunshine-and-her-ikevil-stuff]

20 days 'til Christmas - Prompt: Gingerbread

So I decided to actually do this prompt last minute. Since I have a lot of fun memories of decorating gingerbread houses. Made for Ikemen Advent, hosted by @candied-boys and @queengiuliettafirstlady.

Wordcount: 700

Liam x reader, Victor & reader (could be considered platonic or romantic), Victor-typical antics, fluff, no editing

“Here are the delicious gingerbread walls and roof the staff made. And the candy and icing to hold it all together.”

Victor took the piping bag and used it like glue for the roof of his partially finished gingerbread house. He piped a dot of icing and stuck a candy in it. “Tada!”

You and Liam politely clapped.

“Thank you.” Victor took a brief bow.

“This sounds like fun,” Liam said.

“Yeah. Thank you for getting it all prepared.”

“No need to thank me. All our lovely castle staff are the ones you should be thanking.” Victor smiled warmly. “Now, would you like to try?” He held the piping bag out to you before you could answer.

“Sure.” You took it. He guided you to pick out some gingerbread pieces.

“Just hold it steady and squeeze the icing onto it gradually. Make sure to use enough icing so it doesn’t fall apart. The ic-” He got a puzzled look on his face. "Hm, or is this frosting?”

“Huh? I thought it was interchangeable,” Liam said.

You stuck two walls together. “They’re different. I think frosting is thicker, so this…”

Victor hummed. “But I feel icing suits it better.”

“Me too, for some reason,” you paused from starting on another wall and held up the piping bag.

“Oh oh! Maybe it’s more about the ingredients.”

“You might be right, Liam. You’re a genius!”

“I think we got off track.”

“Right! Now-” Victor looked down at your complete, undecorated gingerbread house. “Oh! You’re already done. You go-getter!”

You smiled and shrugged.

“You’re a prodigy! I’m sure you’ll have no problem teaching Liam. Now, I’ll go tell the rest of the cursed boys that it’s ready. Toodles! I can’t wait to see what you make.”

Just as fast as he came to get you, he left.

You laughed to yourself and Liam joined in.

“That Victor. “ He said. “He always has so much energy. I wonder where he gets it from.”

“I have no clue.” You would have thought being in charge of Crown, with everyone who’s in it, would be exhausting.

You handed him the piping bag and showed him what to do when he asked.

“Thanks for staying here and decorating with me. It would be awkward if I was the only one here.” You genuinely were enjoying it, but it’s always nice to share the moment with someone else.

His face lit up. “Of course. I usually go along with most things Victor plans unless there’s a rehearsal. Plus, I like spending time with you.” He winked.

Your face warmed as you smiled. You carefully picked out candies and cheerfully lined them up as you planned the pattern for the roof. You picked up a peppermint and examined it before a thought came to mind. You giggled.

“You think Harrison’s going to come in just to snitch the candies?” 

Liam’s smile mirrored yours. “Oh, he’s definitely going to. Should probably pick out everything you want now before he takes them.”

“Good idea.”

You borrowed the piping bag back from Liam while he picked out his own candies. You outlined the door with the icing. Then attached what looked closest to a doorknob with a dot of icing. You continued and made windows and did your best to decorate them. Most of the candies were just slightly too big. You considered getting out a knife.

Liam admired what you had so far and gave a hum of approval “That looks really nice! You’re really good at that. Ever consider becoming an artist? I know you’d be really good at it.”

The corners of your mouth turned up more. “Thank you.” You glanced back at his. He was struggling a bit, but he was so meticulous and it still looked good. “Yours looks good too.”

His eyes widened and he stared at you. “Huh?”

“It looks good. I like it.”

His smile quickly returned, but something looked far away in his eyes. “Aw. Thank you. You’re so sweet and cute.”

He always said that. This time you decided to get him back.

“So are you.” You bopped him on the nose.

He blinked a second before recovering. “Hey now.”

You both started laughing and finished your gingerbread houses together.

[reblog-house]

Ice Creams of Divorce

Characters: Bdubs, Cleo, Scar, Etho

Wc: 920

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 244, “Critical Ice Cream”

Ao3: Here!

“Mhmm,” Bdubs exaggerated delight with a mouthful of ice cream. “Delicious, right Cleo?”

Cleo didn’t respond. Bdubs turned to his left and they were glaring daggers at Etho from across the table. Etho, on his part, was bent towards the table trying to bring the ice cream to his face, but every time he moved the spoon closer, Cleo’s face hardened.

“Mom,” he whined. “The ice cream’s good, right?”

Cleo glanced at Bdubs and let out a small smile. “Of course, Bdubs.” Then looked back at the odd one out and continued frowning.

“Yes, Bdubs,” Scar said, across the table with his mouth full. “The ice cream is delicious. But it would be even better without Mister Deadbeat over there.”

“Come on, guys! He’s trying to reach out! Right dad?” Etho tried to speak but Bdubs continued. “Look! He’s here!”

“Yes, Bdubs, and that’s exactly the problem.”

“But! You guys were all in for the idea of inviting him! And it was all VERY civil during the meal! No one clawed the other’s eyes out! It makes no sense!”

“Oh, that was before dessert.” Scar said nonchalantly and Cleo nodded firmly, like that made any sense.

“So what!”

“I…” Etho spoke up, and all the eyes turned to him. He gulped, audibly. “I think I should probably… get going now.”

“What! No, dad!”

“Oh?” Cleo raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Is your little friend group calling? Asking when you’ll stop ‘babysitting’?”

Bdubs gasped. “Oh, don’t you speak of TIES like that! They’re great people, I’ll have you know!”

Cleo and Scar looked at him and then at each other. He couldn’t read their minds but he didn’t like whatever was happening, no siree! 

“Right… Scar, could you and Bdubs go for a walk?” they said, eyes never leaving Etho.

“Gladly!” Scar said, pushing his chair back. A crash followed. Scar looked down and pouted. “Awe, my cane, not again.”

Bdubs wanted to say ‘told you so’ but he didn’t think it would be the best idea.

Still, he muttered, “Told you not to hook it on the chair.”

Scar was close enough to hear him, but he clearly ignored it. Or maybe he was just too focused on trying to get his cane from the floor that he didn’t listen. He was like that.

He should help him get it.

At once, it hit Bdubs. “Wait, no!” Eyes on him again. He corrected his tone. “What about we don’t go?” 

Bdubs could probably count the amount of hairs on Cleo that turned gray in the length of the conversation.

“Pray tell, why would you not?”

“Because you would kill him and he couldn’t defend himself! No offense Etho.”

“None taken, sadly.” His voice grew sad. “I’ve already been called washed up and past my prime—”

“That’s a lie!”

“—Cleo would kill me instantly. I’ve accepted it.”

“Look at what you did!” Bdubs said to his mom. “The comment still hurts him!”

“I never said he was washed up! Everyone else said that but me!” They tried to defend themself but the cards weren’t in their favor.

“Clockers! Etho!” Scar said suddenly. He was already standing, cane in hand. When did he pick it up? “We’re getting too off-topic now! Come on, Bdubs.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bdubs…” Scar said with a threatening voice.

“I wanna hear what mom’s gonna say.”

Cleo sighed. “Take a seat Scar. Finish your ice creams.”

Bdubs had completely forgotten about it, and by the looks of it, so had Scar. Both scoops had already half-melted.

“Look, Etho… I hate putting the children in the middle of this—”

Bdubs wanted to retort that he wasn’t a child. So he did. They all ignored him.

“But if you want to be present in their lives, we could strike up an arrangement. Won’t suddenly drop Bdubs on you nor will you visit unannounced. You could call ahead and decide when to see them. That could be a thing. Nothing’s stopping you.

“If, however,” she continued, “you’re gonna be an absent father, could you be at least absent?”

The room grew dead silent.

Then, cackling. 

“Oh my god.” Scar said as he laughed.

A puff of air escaped Bdubs. Then, he felt something start to rise to his throat, stuck there for a second. 

And it escaped.

Bdubs laughed.

His eyes closed and he didn’t hear his parents join in, but their exhales felt less tense now. Almost fond.

After a bit, they stopped laughing. The air was silent, but no longer thick. Bdubs looked at his dad.

Etho breathed, then said, “Yeah I would… I think I would like that. The first thing. If Scar doesn’t mind. I know he hates me.”

“And that won’t change any time soon,” Scar said like a reminder. “But whatever makes Bdubs happy. Just remember, you mess with one of us, you mess with all, Mister Slab. Clockers stay together above it all. Remember that.”

Etho nodded firmly. “I will.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Cleo said. “You can’t take Bdubs to your crew of friends. I don’t trust they’re good role models for him.”

“Mom!”

Etho hummed. “You know, yeah, I see what you mean.”

“WHAT.”

“We’re a bit rowdy,” he added thoughtfully.

Cleo groaned. “Don’t ever say that again or I’ll rescind the invitation.” They rested their arms on the table. “So, are we on the same page?”

Etho looked at Bdubs, then at Scar. Then, back at Cleo. And with determination in his voice, “Yes. We are.”

[lilypadlys]

Mushy May Day Fourteen - “Shut Up I’m Taking Care of You”

Ship: Cirrus/Phantom

Notes: Even though I'm falling behind I plan to still finish Mushy May, I may just end up doing it in my own time :) Prompt list by @forlorn-crows. See prompt list here

Word Count: 776

Read on AO3 or below the cut

They’re finally back at the hotel. Cirrus longs to just sink into bed but there's so much to do. With Aether back at the ministry, the air ghoulette has taken it upon herself to step up and take over his pack wrangling duties. This means getting everyone to re-glamour, get them off the bus with all their overnight bags, help Copia pass out room keys, and make sure everyone gets to their rooms alright. Only then can she finally shower and pass out in bed.

She’s happy to do all of it; don’t get her wrong. She’s never one to back away from bossing her fellow ghouls around in order to keep them in line. Still, it's a lot. She’s not sure how Aether does this full time.

Tonight everything seems to be going smoothly until Phantom tugs on her sleeve looking a little hesitant.

“What’s up, Bug.” She says tiredly. She ends up portraying an exasperation she doesn’t mean and winces when he pulls back.

“Nevermind.” He whispers.

“Hey it's okay love bug. I’m sorry, I’m just tired. What can I help with?”

“I was wondering if I could room with you tonight?”

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” She hands him a key card. “Go ahead and head up. I’ll be right there.”

“Kay.”

Phantom grabs his own as well as her bag and heads off. As he disappears off to the elevator, Cirrus gets everyone else settled. Fortunately everyone is too tired for shenanigans and they just head off to bed quietly. Cirrus catches the elevator with Copia. She figures the ride will be quiet, both of them exhausted when he surprises her.

“Are you doing alright Cirrus?”

“Hmm?” She blinks at the question. It’s not surprising that he cares, Copia has always openly cared about the pack. She just doesn’t feel like she warrants the check in. Everything is fine. She tells him as much. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“Thank you for being such a big help. Just remember to also take care of yourself, sì?”

“Yes Papa.”

The elevator dings and they step out onto their floor.

“Goodnight my ghoul.”

“Goodnight Papa.”

Cirrus heads to her room feeling odd. She’s fine. Right? When she reaches her door, she shakes her head to clear it and steps inside.

“Hey Bug.”

Phantom’s head pops up from the blanket nest he’s created on the bed.

“Hey Ciri. I got the shower heated up for you and your pajamas laid out on the bathroom counter. I didn’t know if you were washing your hair tonight but I got your shampoo out just in case.”

Cirrus smiles but raises a brow. “And what’s all this for?”

Phantom shrugs. “Wanted to help.”

“I appreciate it but if you need the shower you can take it first.”

“I showered at the venue. I knew you would need it cause on hotel nights you always wait.”

Cirrus chuffs. “Are you calling me smelly?”

“No,” Phantom huffs, getting up to gently push Cirrus towards the bathroom. “I know you’re always too busy looking after everyone else to worry about yourself.”

“Okay, I’ll be quick. Are you sure you don’t need it or anything else?”

Phantom pulls a pout. “Shut up, I’m taking care of you alright?”

Cirrus giggles at the display but her heart melts a little.

“Go shower and then we’re cuddling and I’ll brush your hair.” Phantom tries his best to make it sound like a demand even when the end of his sentence pitches up like a question.

Still, Cirrus relents. “Okay, okay. Thanks sweetheart.”

She gives him a kiss on the brow and ducking into the bathroom before Phantom takes it upon himself to shove her in there. She finds the shower running as promised and at the perfect temperature. She showers and allows herself to actually take her time, washing her hair and enjoying the steamy air. After drying off, getting dressed, and brushing her teeth, she emerges to Phantom fluffing her pillows for her.

He pats the spot next to him in the blanket nest and she curls in and gets settled. He already has her hairbrush in hand and the second she’s comfy, he's running it through her hair. She feels much of the tension she’s been carrying the last few weeks begin to melt away and she can’t help the purr that hums in her chest. Phantom’s own purr quickly follows.

They don’t talk; they just enjoy each other’s company and warmth. Only when Phantom notices her nodding off does he coo to her.

“Get some sleep Cir.”

“Mmm…kay…” She doesn’t even try to protest. Just snuggles into him and drifts off into peaceful dreams.

[criminal-mids]

#7 - Hoodie

Prompt: Borrowed Hoodie 

Sickie: Garcia

Caretaker: Morgan 

Word Count: 1,411

“Hah? What? Since when!?”

Garcia can’t believe it. She swears she hadn’t heard a word of this until now, and she usually keeps a tab on office renovation schedules because she knows the noise bothers Reid.

“Listen, lady, we’re just the repair guys, it’s not our fault your bosses didn’t tell you. Take it up with them. We still have our job to do. Feel free to work somewhere else.”

“Some- this is my place!” Garcia tries not to shriek, but she can’t help it when they’re shoving her oh-so-carefully painted minifigures aside for their dusty work bags. She rolls her chair over just in time to prevent an elf from being crushed and scoops the rest of her plastic children into her skirt, just to be safe.

“And the aircon is old and falling apart, it's an OSHA violation waiting to happen. If you wanna be in here when it causes a spark, be my guest.”

“UGH!”

The repair only takes a half hour, and truthfully, she is grateful, grumble as she may. A fire or even too much smoke could kill her hard drives.

The real problem is when they finish.

“Um, could you turn the heat up a bit, please?” Even through her chattering teeth, she tries to be kind to the repairmen. She knows how hard they work.

“Sorry, ma’am, not yet. We’re still workin’ out some kinks. The HVAC’s been updated and we’re still trying to patch in the new system and the old system together. As I said before, other parts of the building will be warmer, but hey, you’re welcome to remain in your fortress of solitude if you want.”

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

‘Can’t they see I’ve got a complicated setup?’

But, she shows no outward aggression. She’s not really that upset, just cold. “It’s fine. Thank you for your help. Could you at least tell me when it’ll be fixed?”

“Sometime in the next few days.”

She can tell that’s as good as she’s getting so she nods and waves as they head out.

Instead, she directs her ire towards the faulty machine itself.

“If I could hack you I would, but you're older than me, so you're safe . . . for now.” She holds up the minuscule screwdriver from her glasses repair kit as she glares at the aircon.

- She was being dramatic before, but she really is well and chilled now.

‘Ugh. Isn’t this just Bonita?’

“I’m a California girl, I wasn't meant for the cold.” She whines to her screens.

‘If I catch a cold, I’ll really be annoyed. And everyone knows my brain goes to complete mush when I’m sick. I’m useless. I can’t afford to be out of commission, not when the team seems busier than ever. Maybe I should move outside. I can always come back in here real quick if I need more computing power. The team’s still on the jet, so I’ve got some time to compile files.’

-

“Garcia, we need a list of all homicides involving victims with cuspids removed. Go back at least 10 years. We think this may be our unsubs signature.” Hotch’s voice is firm, but calm, as usual.

“You got it, cap’”

‘All those records, I’ll need my office for that, ah, oh well.’

She hurries back to her little corner of Quantico, opening the door to find that it has, somehow, gotten colder.

Still, she sits down and gets to work.

-

Just as she hits send and gets up to retreat to the land of warmth, her screen dings.

It’s Rossi this time.

“What can I do for ya, Italian amor?” Penelope finds it hard to keep a cheery tone with the cold blasting at her, making her lips quiver, but she hopes she manages.

Her effort is wasted because Rossi ignores the quip, pressing straight to business. Another request that requires her big screens.

“All these records are from the way back when before our good friend the internet. They’re unorganised at best. Combining through all of them will take a while, I’ll pull as many as I can, and send them to you as I get them.”

“Good.”

He hangs up. She sits back down, huffing.

“Potential OSHA violation? This is an OSHA violation right here!” She mutters, pulling her cardigan around herself. 

‘If I’d known I’d be working in Antarctica today I would’ve worn a jumper.’

Nevertheless, she begins.

—

Her hands are freezing, her fingers stiff and every click of the keyboard takes conscious effort. Okay, maybe she’s being dramatic, but she’s a California girl! Can you blame her?

Just when she thinks she’s done, more files under the search parameters come up. It’s unusually demoralising.

‘If only I had a jumper or something. Note to self, pack extra clothes for future emergencies. . . . Wait, emergencies! That's it!’

She springs up, with newly formed determination, and heads out to the bullpen.

She has a destination in mind, but as she draws closer, doubt creeps in.

‘I hope he won’t mind. Is this creepy? No, it’ll be fine, I’ll wear it, then put it right back like nothing ever happened at all. That’s what I’ll do.’

She reassures herself as she approaches Morgan’s desk. Everyone has two go bags, just in case they don’t have time to wash one set of clothes before departing again.

Garcia knows that in this bag she’ll most likely find one of Morgan’s many grey or black hoodies. And she’s right.

It’s right on top. She takes it gingerly, slipping it on, careful not to disturb her hair ornaments. It’s warm and soft.

With the extra layer, her office feels almost normal. 

Her typing speed quickens again until she’s at normal capacity. Rossi gets the data within the next 15 minutes.

She sighs, happy with her work.

And, now that she takes time to notice it, ‘This hoodie does smell nice.’

She catches herself, then remembers she’s alone and takes another deep sniff. Morgan’s detergent has a pleasant smell that reminds her of him. Yeah, this was a good decision.

—

“Give us the best you got, pumpkin.” Morgan teases

“Oh, that’s for your ears only, handsome.” 

“I know. I’m going to transfer to video call, so you better be decent.”

“Never.” She teases with a theatrically breathy sigh.

The video chat opens revealing the team gathered around a desk, and maps in front of them.

“So Garcia, what did you find on-”

Prentiss cuts Reid off, “Wait, is that Morgan’s hoodie?”

Penelope blanches. “Wh-hat?” After a second of hesitation, she looks down, hoping by some miracle that all she’ll find is her cardigan and dress, but she already knows. She can still smell the detergent. “Oh, I- they were fixing the aircon in my office and it’s colder than the Fortress of Solitude in here so I just . . . I honestly don’t know what I was thinking! I wasn’t, I was just really cold! I can take it off. Let me just . . .” She fumbles with the hoodie, starting to pull it over her head.

“Slow down, baby girl. You look even cuter when you’re in my clothes, and I can’t have you catching a cold now can I, hmm?”

Penelope makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and squeal. “ . . . okay.”

Rossi clears his throat loudly, “Now, tell us what you found, we’re running out of time to find Kate.”

“Yes, at your service.” Still shaken, but with a new warmth in her chest, she continues.

—

“Baby girl, you in here?” Morgan’s familiar warm timbre drifts in from the door over the audio of an RPG game.

“Yes.” She blushes fiercely.

“I talked to Max and he said the system would be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank god. . . . I guess I should give this back to you then.” The end of the sentence is noticeably less enthusiastic than the beginning.

“Well, I was actually thinking you should keep it. Gotta mark my territory, don’t I?”

Penelope giggles, getting up to hug him.

He smells even nicer in person . . . like home, sometimes more so than the dozens of candles that fill her flat.

“Yeah.” then softer, “I’d wear a collar for you, Derek Morgan, you know that.”

“Tempting, but that can wait till tomorrow, it’s late, and even girl geniuses need their sleep.”

What a day, huh? And tomorrow she could come back to a warm office. Gideon was right, like he always said, life really is about the small things.

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

birthday week prompt: "i hope to celebrate many more with you like this." taking a bit of icing off the cake and putting it on their cheek .

For Reggie and Carrie but in specific mean girlfriend and her hopelessly in love boyfriend who likes when shes mean to him.

god. you really do like to challenge me, don't you? i imagine this is going to be too tame for you and too much for others 😅 but hope it's at least halfway satisfactory

Reggie scoops a finger full of icing off of the cake. He’s just about to put it in his mouth when he’s interrupted by Carrie clearing her throat from the doorway. 

“Seriously?! You couldn’t at least wait until after everyone else had seen it.”

“But… yummy,” Reggie explains needlessly. 

Carrie rolls her eyes, “Would have still been yummy in the half hour you could have waited.”

Reggie offers his finger to her as a peace offering. Carrie eyes him warily before accepting it, opening her mouth slightly so that she can lick it off. 

When she’s finished, he takes a clean finger and scoops off another bit of the frosting for himself. 

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

“When am I ever?” he replies cheekily. He looks at his finger and back at Carrie, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

She sees through him immediately. “Don’t even think about it,” she warns. 

“Think about what?” he asks innocently, looking back at his hand.

“You know exactly what.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“Reginald Peters, I will break your fingers.”

“Promise?”

Carrie huffs out a frustrated breath. When Reggie gets into these moods, there is very little she can do to deter him. There’s a lot about him that she’s managed to hack but when he’s into her threats… Well, they’re less effective than she’d sometimes like them to be. “I’d have to redo my makeup.”

“Pity.”

“You have guests waiting.”

“So? It’s my birthday. They can wait.”

“Reggie,” she warns again.

“But I could lick it off of you,” Reggie murmurs. 

Carrie feels her knees weaken and tries to nonchalantly lean back against the counter. “You don’t like the taste of my makeup.”

“I’m happy to suffer for you.”

Reggie can sense her resolve softening. He reaches out with his (mostly) clean hand and rubs a thumb over her cheek. 

Carrie glares at him

He decides to tempt fate and smears the finger full of frosting down the other side of her face.

She grabs him by the wrist, harder than is probably entirely necessary, and makes a show of licking his finger clean. He watches intently, mouth gaping.

“I believe you said you’d do something about this?” Carrie challenges, turning her iced cheek toward him.

Reggie snaps his jaw closed and nods. He leans forward and runs his tongue up her cheek, cleaning the frosting off of her face. He fights back a grimace at the taste of her foundation and tries to focus instead on the sugary sweetness and the poorly muffled sounds she’s making. 

Satisfied that he’s gotten all of the icing from her face, he trails his tongue down to her jaw and sucks lightly until she pushes him away. “That’s enough. You have people waiting for you.”

“For us,” he corrects. “And fuck ‘em.” 

He tries to lean in for a kiss and Carrie presses a hand to his mouth, pushing him back. “No, not ‘fuck ‘em.’ I have a reputation to uphold. You can wait.”

Reggie whimpers at the thought. 

“And if you can’t be good…” she trails off, letting experience speak for her.

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You’d better be.” She pinches the underside of his arm. “And you’d better hope that fixing this doesn’t take very long,” she adds, gesturing to her face. “Go greet your guests, I’ll be right down. And for god’s sake, don’t touch that cake again.”

“Yes’m,” Reggie readily agrees, stopping just short of offering her a mock salute when she glares at him. 

It turns out that Reggie had caused barely any damage to Carrie’s makeup and she joins the party in no time, hosting and mingling like the seasoned professional she is. 

When the party’s over and the house is finally cleared out, they work to clean up what they can of the mess. Yes, there will be cleaners coming in tomorrow but Carrie’s not one to leave a disaster in her wake. 

Reggie walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “I hope to celebrate many more with you like this,” Reggie murmurs into the back of her neck.

“You’d better,” Carrie snarks back. 

“Nobody understands why we’re together, you know.”

“Yeah, well. It’s none of their business. Are you happy?” Carrie brings a free hand up to his head and runs it through Reggie’s hair, giving a light tug to accentuate her question.

“Of course. Perfectly. Are you?”

“As happy as I can be.”

“I guess that’s what matters, then.”

“Exactly. And if they give you any grief over it, they can answer to me.”

Reggie coughs out a dry laugh, “Yeah, okay.”

She turns in his arms and drapes her own over his shoulders. “If they love you like they say they do then they can keep their thoughts to themselves. They don’t have to understand me. Or us. But they do have to respect you.”

“Respecting you is part of respecting me.”

“Yeah, I don’t really care what they think of me to be completely honest.”

“Okay. Well, I care, Care.”

“That’s great for you.” She retracts her arms and turns back to what she’d been previously occupied with. “We have stuff to do. Now get to it if you want the rest of your birthday gift while it’s still technically your birthday.”

Reggie doesn’t need to be told twice, quickly finishing his task and helping Carrie with hers so he can see what she has planned for the rest of their night.

[quiverwingquack]

71 with glitchless for the fic prompts? <3

I'm always down to write for glitchless! Thanks for the request. (Here's the prompt list for everyone else!)

“It’s like they’re always waiting to catch you off your guard,” Gyro mutters. He’s hardly even focusing, hands busy dismantling a glitchy piece of the cloud. “And then they mess things up.”

Gandra laughs, a nervous but pretty sound. “Something like that, yeah.”

Gyro looks up, just for a second. She’s typing something on a hologram keyboard, her bangs hanging halfway in her face, a band-aid across one cheek after their fight with Beaks. Her free hand is shaking a little, betraying her worry with so many new people, but she’s still smiling and doing her best to finish her work. He turns back to his own task before he starts blushing.

Fenton was right. She is incredible.

“When you aren’t paying attention, they watch you,” he presses something wrong, and the glitch turns the familiar blue of a computer error. He frowns. “And then things go haywire as soon as they start going well.”

“Exactly! Huey said you’d get it. That you, uh… how did he phrase it? You didn’t start out a hero either.” She sits down beside him at the workstation, reaching for his tools. “But something tells me it wasn’t FOWL you got mixed up with.”

“It was just as bad,” he admits, turning the glitched piece so she can look at it. “My old mentor tried to destroy Tokyolk.”

“Very cool of him,” she says sarcastically, squinting and tilting her head as she looks over the glitch. “I bet you weren’t getting paid near enough for that.”

He laughs. It’s been a while since he’s talked to someone he felt could actually understand him, much less joke about the things he’s dealt with. “Of course not, when do they ever?”

“Never. At least, not with Bradford.”

“I was almost glad when he turned out evil,” he flicks his hand, creating a set of hex keys, then pulls out the smallest one. “He’s a terrible boss. Always talking about budgets and turning down good projects.”

“He really is!” Gandra laughs again, leaning over the glitch with a screwdriver in one hand. This time, she sounds a little more comfortable. “You’d think after decades of master planning he’d at least be a good villain, but he’s just some tightwad in a suit.”

“That’s Bradford, alright,” Gyro laughs too. But he’s distracted now, spinning the hex key between his fingers. She hates stuck-up businessmen almost as much as he does, and she’s prickly but kind, and her hair is falling over her very blue eyes again like it’s a shield, but she’s letting him past it. He remembers Fenton telling him earlier, in a hurry, that she was a “really good person and so understanding and just like us, if you’ll give her a chance” and he gets it. He gets her.

She’s a scientist with big dreams that the world keeps burying. A hopeful heart she’s had to hide, because sometimes plans don’t work out and people aren’t kind to new ideas. He understands that all too well. It’s what he bonded with Fenton over, despite their many differences—they see each other, all of each other, like nobody else has ever been able to before. And though they’ve barely met, he knows why Fenton’s fallen in love with her, and he’s trying to keep himself from doing the same.

After all, what are the odds they both look at him the same way?

“I think that should do it,” Gandra declares, a hint of triumph pushing through the anxiety. “That might be all of them.”

“It should be,” Gyro agrees, looking around at the beautiful landscape. “You two built something really… special. I’m impressed.”

“Oh! Um, thanks. Thank you,” all of a sudden, she’s blushing. “Fenton said you’d be happy to help work out the kinks, but I was worried it would go wrong and… well, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” He sighs, pushing away bad memories of past disasters. “That’s the hardest part of inventing things. But I’m… glad you trusted us.”

“I’m glad I trusted you too,” she looks away, her voice suddenly turning soft. “It’s… nice to know someone else understands, I guess. Nobody else has before.”

“Yeah,” Gyro looks out over the yellowed sky, the jagged clouds drifting past. He could never have invented something of this magnitude alone, but working together has brought one of Fenton’s elaborate ideas to life. And though he’s loathe to admit it, his former intern is becoming a great scientist in his own—

“Hi, Dr. Gearloose! And hi Gandra!” Fenton chirps, suddenly behind them. “M’ma had to head home, and honestly I’m kind of relieved. She can be so protective sometimes, and I know she means well, but—well, I can take care of myself. And I trust you guys! I think I managed to convince her it’ll be okay if I stay late to work on the Gizmocloud a little while longer.”

“Gizmocloud. What a stupid name,” Gyro remarks, before he can stop himself. He’s trying to be the mentor Akita could never be for himself, but sometimes Fenton’s personality and his just… clash.

“That’s what I said!” Gandra declares, reaching over to kiss Fenton’s cheek. “We’re still workshopping.”

And there, beside them both, watching the pixelated waves roll and taking in a view they’ve built together, Gyro decides he could get used to this. He could get used to being loved and part of something.

[charbend]

System Overflow Chapter 2

Frank sat in his chair, still spinning from his rough landing. He stared helplessly at the screen in front of him, which moved to keep itself a fixed distance in front of his face. He stood up sharply, his chair sliding back into the wall of his cubicle.

The cubicles next to him were empty. He could still feel the warmth from Jason’s hand.

His breathing started becoming panicked. “They’re gone. Okay. Some weird flash of light took my friends. Were we friends? Jason would probably think so, but I don’t know about Sanjay.”

He chuckled nervously. Probably not the thing to be worrying about right now.

Looking past his cubicle group, he tried to spot anyone else who might still be in the office. There weren’t many people on this floor, so a visual inspection was quick. He was alone.

“Is there anybody else here?” he called out.

All he heard back was the air conditioning kicking in.

Okay. Deep breaths. Maybe everyone who’s left will be at the emergency meeting site. Right? He glanced around. This feels like it could be considered an emergency.

He stepped out of his cubicle. The screen followed him, and he eyed it warily. “You told everyone that the teleportation thing was going to happen, right? Any chance you could tell me something helpful, instead? Something that will make me feel a little less like the sky is falling?”

The screen didn’t respond. It maintained the same message:

Unable to finish teleportation operation. Emergency procedures engaged.

Please wait while procedures are confirmed…

Error! Planet [Earth] does not fit any emergency procedure conditions!

Engaging Auto-Sweep to clean loose ends.

“Hmm. No. Well, I guess I should get to my own ‘emergency procedures’ then.”

He tried side-stepping the ominous message, but it remained resolutely in the center of his vision. Frustrated, he swiped his hand at it, and it slid to his peripheral vision, compressing into a neat little notice with an exclamation mark.

“Oh, great. I have a personal heads-up display now. Just what I always wanted…” With his vision now clear and feeling like he had a bit more control over the situation, he set off. 

Okay, first step in meeting at the evacuation site: find a map to the evacuation site.

He heard a crashing boom from outside.

I’m sure that’s fine.

<O/%%%%%/O/%%%%%/O>

It was not fine. He stood on the second floor landing of the stairs, where he had found emergency exit procedures. He’d had a moment to look at them before his attention was drawn out the window beside the map.

Frank worked in an office that its architect might sell as a ‘timeless look for industries of all kinds’, but could charitably be called a brutalist enclosure for humanity. ‘Office’ and ‘Park’ were not words that should be joined together.

This office was considered accessible, which meant that it sat right off the freeway. From the window that Frank stood at, he had a good view of the road.

He was glad he hadn’t gone out for lunch yet.

The entire roadway was a wreckage of steel and wheels, the occupants having either crashed when magic screens showed up in their faces while driving, or disappeared entirely, leaving vehicles to drift aimlessly.

This was the first time he’d seen people since his coworkers had been teleported.

Unfortunately, this was also the first time he’d seen dead people. He turned away, queasy.

This isn’t good.

With a little prompting, he pulled back up the notice.

Error! Teleportation capacity exceeded.

8,126,934,201 / 7,000,000,000

“This is happening everywhere.” He glanced back out the window before looking away. Guess it’s not gonna be climate change that gets us.

He dismissed the notification again, letting it collapse to the side of his vision. He stood back up, and continued down the stairs. The assembly point was downstairs. Hopefully someone would be there.

<O/%%%%%/O/%%%%%/O>

Even after waiting for a while, no one else showed up. He was alone at the office.

Frank sighed. “I never thought I’d find myself wishing remote work was abolished.”

He looked around the little courtyard. If it weren’t for the unwelcome notice in the corner of his vision, it would be a lovely day. The sun was out, giving a nice, gentle warmth as he sat on a bench in the middle of the nice, manicured lawn. There wasn’t even a single plane in the sky to break the calm of the day.

Suddenly, a new screen popped into view.

Auto-Sweep process engaging.

Errors to resolve:

[Users] on world

Unusual energy signatures on world

Unknown Skills detected

His stomach sank. “What now?”

Resolving: Unknown Skills detected

Categorizing Skills...

Integrating Skills...

Unknown Skills no longer detected

Resolving: Unusual energy signatures on world

Analyzing energy signatures…

Integrating energy signatures…

New Skills created!

Resolving: [Users] on world

Error! [Users] on world that has been evacuated.

Recategorizing [Users]...

Another pop-up appeared in Frank’s view. This one appeared to be a status sheet, though it was filled with all manner of data that he couldn’t parse at a glance. What did draw his attention, however, were a few lines at the top:

Frank Vila

Human [User]

As he looked, it changed to:

Frank Vila

Human [Native]

Then it disappeared.

Resolving: [Users] on world

Error! [Users] on world that has been evacuated.

Recategorizing [Users]...

[Users] recategorized!

[Users] no longer on world.

All errors resolved!

Beginning terraforming…

The blue screen stopped updating, and a green screen appeared. Frank ignored it, compressing it to the side of his view immediately. He laid down and looked at the sky. “I was not ready for today.”

The clouds scudded by as he lay there, letting himself have a moment to just be, without worry.

Distantly, another explosion sounded.

“Yeah, okay, so much for that. Let’s take a look at the information I have, shall we?”

He flipped open the blue screen, the log of messages he’d received still present.

“Whatever this is, it looks like it was trying to teleport everyone on Earth. Obviously, it failed. That means there are definitely still others out there. At least…” He squinted at the numbers. “One billion and some change. That feels like a lot, at least.”

He scrolled up further. “I guess the 7 billion lucky winners are off in the ‘tutorial phase’, whatever that means. Jason and Sanjay are probably there, and…” he was struck by a thought. “My family! They’re caught up in this too.”

He reached for the phone in his pocket, before he remembered that it was still at his desk. I need to check in on them. Right now I have no leads on what is happening to them, or where they are. I’ll need to get my phone, but I’m concerned about this latest message. All the [Users] on the planet, which I assume is everyone, are now considered [Natives]. He tilted his head. “Hmm, feels a bit like a downgrade, but I don’t know where everything fits in. It said it’s some System, right? So, a [User] feels pretty straightforward, but [Native]? I have no idea.”

He glanced at the green notification at the side. Maybe this will give me some clues. He pulled the green notification over, letting the blue screen disappear.

Type changed to [Native]!

[Native] : generally reserved for unintelligent life, [Native] provides System access. This access can expand and change as [Native] is affected by terraforming. For more information, see [Lifeform] type.

The screen vanished shortly after he finished reading it.

“Okay. So, definitely a downgrade,” he said shakily. “Subject to terraforming can’t be good, can it?”

He stood up on wobbly legs, and gave one last look around. No one had shown up yet. It was time to move on. He started heading back to the office. “If I can get in contact with my family, great. If not, maybe I can reach out to someone else. Sanjay seemed to have an idea of what was going on; maybe someone else does as well.”

His stomach growled. Jason had some food stored away, too. Anxiety straddling his shoulders like a child he’d never had, he made his way back to the office, eyes peeled for signs of this ‘terraforming’.

It didn’t take long to find him, as a glowing blue squirrel jumped him on his way in the building.

***

You can find this on Royal Road! (https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/83902)

[faelune-home]

FFXIVWrite 2023 #18: Fish out of Water

(A/n: This prompt was too perfect for Yuri's settling in arc, especially after the literal previous entry, so we continue with her perspective again today! Admittedly, this is a bit wordy and waffly, but I felt like I hit a lot of points for her - her homesickness, loneliness, and just general temper problems and how short she gets with others.

Being pushed onto errands she didn't ask for and busying her with work when she was doing something else, on top of not being great with new people, she feels like she'll literally snap at someone eventually aha.

I hope it all came across with her here.

Word count: 1580)

Yuri was almost at her limit with this city and its scholars and the inane back and forth they insisted on having her do for all these stupid errands. Needing a book for Krile that was still in one professor’s pile of things, but oh, they’d give it to her if she sent off some paperwork to the market vendor at the other end of the city, but then that vendor needed some help with getting some boxes down to the pier, and then the customs officer needed something as well–

Kami give her strength, she was this close to snapping back at someone and insisting they do the work themselves. Oh they would say they’re too busy, but everyone was busy, she was busy too, she was supposed to be back with Krile at the last bell! 

Though for a small blessing, Krile at least seemed to understand when Yuri showed up, unknown box in arm, explaining why she still didn’t have that book, but she did have a paper addressed to the Students, though she couldn’t recall where she’d picked it up from amongst the chain of work from the day. It was a struggle to keep the bite out of her words, it wasn’t aimed at the other woman.

“Here, why don’t you leave that here and go take a rest?” Krile had suggested, gesturing at the box, “I know someone that can take that up for you, save you some of the work. I’m sure professor Antoinaut will be finished by the time you return.”

The Last Stand was one of the only places that made decent food in the city, much to Yuri’s dismay. Not that the food itself was disappointing, it was as delicious as it had been described to her, and she would take the trip across the city, no matter how taxing her day had been, just to eat there. Better than the tasteless sawdust these scholars seemed to call bread, nutritional value be damned.

But truly, Yuri’s woes lay more in the lack of connection to her home, especially in the food. They certainly knew of Hingan dishes, and some few recipes had made their way into cookbooks upon the library shelves at Noumenon or even in the Last Stand’s kitchens. And bless the chefs, they’d made an attempt at some of them when she’d asked, even if they had to substitute much of the ingredients due to the last minute order, and the results were certainly…passable. Still tasty, and filling for what she was looking for, but compared to her memory of home, it was still somewhat different, enough to make her feel homesick.

(The waiter took her order, familiar with her requests after the brief time she’d spent in the city, leaving Yuri to people watch while she waited. The back and forth of the pier was the same as always, freight deliveries, gleaners going to and fro, some with a scholar chatting by their side. Many faces she still didn’t recognise in the throng - an idle lalafell standing around under the awnings in wait, a pair of students chatting by the water and pointing to the daylight skies, a miqo’te woman chatting away to Dickon at the desk, a box under arm.)

Even as she slurped her way through an oden bowl, her mind kept going back to the winters when old lady Yoko would prepare a big pot for the town’s young ones, or when Raiden would try to show off to the younger children with the heaps of konpeito he’d brought them back from his travels to the other town. And memories of the old faces just made her feel as though she stood out all the more keenly. 

There were few Hingan or Doman individuals in Sharlayan, most of them having moved with family from a young age and long since settled to consider the city their home. The few that were transfers on their own educational leave were still too estranged for Yuri to connect to, leaving her with just her father to talk with. But even he would be leaving soon for new pastures, his time at the institute come to an end.

She had to wonder how he managed so far from home. Perhaps his travelling had long since desensitised him to homesickness, his taste for knowledge and experiencing other cultures and discovery winning out over the pangs for the familiar. The appeal of travel and the world's wonders had her ensnared from a young age due to her father’s tales, but Yuri had always been wary of following in his exact footsteps for fear of that growing distance; the only solace to her that he never forgot her or mother during his long absences being his ever frequent letters and gifts home.

(A chill wind blew through the restaurant, making her shiver despite the warming meal she ate. Damn this city and how far north it was! She’d never been good with the cold, and the thought of travelling to lands as prone to cold as this did not sound appealing. Her father would surely tease her, a scholar should be willing to brave any weather after all to sate their curiosity. But damn it all, she didn’t like it! It seems others dotted around the pier felt the chill as well, as she could see scowls on faces and small clusters moving out deeper into the city. And that same miqo’te with a few new boxes piled in her arms stopping short and visibly shivering with the breeze.)

Those letters did still stoke the fires of her own curiosity, hence why she was even here, taking her own first step into the wider world, even if it was a smaller step than her own father had done, instantly setting off for the furthest corner he could reach. And as much as the menial work she’d been set with here was grating on her, almost fit to burst and scream at the next person who asked for a favour–

No. No. That wasn't fair. Perhaps every other market stall owner and studium professor was a pain about asking for more and more help when she was already on an errand, but the Students themselves - Krile and G’raha - had been more than welcoming. They’d taken their time with her to help her settle in and make sure she was alright with the work at hand - more boring affairs such as filing and organising the Annex, but given the state of it, she could understand the need.

They hadn’t asked her to do anything more strenuous than errands around town - which is what ended up flaring up the worst of her temper, but again, that was mostly everyone else sending her on extra trips at the same time before she finally returned to the Annex - but they always offered to help guide her if she needed it.

And often, she was turning it down as a way to showcase her own independence and not have to rely on them overmuch. But now she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe someone was present, her trips would cut straight to the point. But then they would be busy as well, organising their own work and keeping track of any far flung agents, could she really take up their time for a simple delivery to the library or a pick up at the docks?

Yuri sighed. It’d be best to ask rather than assume. Maybe if she went back now, with her food finished and temper cooled, she could broach the question.

She waved down a waiter to collect her empty bowl - delicious and foreign as it always was - and set off from the restaurant. A faint dusting of snow began to fall. Well, as much as she disliked the cold, she couldn’t help but enjoy the snow fall. It rarely lay and caused the problems snow usually would. Perhaps some form of magicks running through the marble path tiles? Or was that a tad too far even for the vaunted scholars of Sharlayan? Or maybe it was, since they managed to keep their plentiful water features from freezing year round.

“Ah welcome back,” Ojika welcomed her with a bow, “Enjoy your meal?”

“Well enough,” Yuri nodded back, “is Krile here? Or G’raha?”

“G’raha stepped out - something to do with a gleaner request in Labyrinthos - but Krile is here, and she was waiting for you actually. She has a guest she would like you to meet. Step right through.” Yuri’s interest was piqued, though she remained careful as she made her way through to the main hall.

The door was wide open and voices could be heard as she walked the corridor. She slowed to avoid her clicking heels from catching their attention before she arrived fully at the door, standing at the entranceway until she was noticed.

Krile spied her instantly of course, facing her way as she was while their guest had her back to the doors.

“Ah, there you are. Pleasant meal?” she asked. The other figure - fluffy tail twitching, her ears perked up at the sudden and silent arrival - turned. That miqo’te…

“If it’s alright with you,” Krile started, already gesturing to their extra addition, who herself was beginning to smile broadly, pointed teeth on show, “I’d like to introduce you to someone. She might just understand some of what you’ve gone through personally, if you recall our own chats before now.”

[activatebutterflyshield]

Day 5! Okay, this WIP is really hecking long (5000+ words and counting) so I’m splitting it up into a few posts over the next few days. It was a response to a @/writing-prompt-s’ prompt, but I lost the original post. Again. Whoops!

-

Debt (Part 1)

-

Albatross got up to answer the desperate rapping at the safehouse door. Everyone but Magpie was sleeping off the training, but the right-hand man was too worked up to rest. Pulling on his peaked hood, he looked through the peephole Magpie had installed, and saw… Lily of the Valley?

She was certainly the plant-powered heroine, but the ragged figure looked almost nothing like the fearless super they had time and time again faced in open battle and negotiations alike. Lily’s long hair was limp and soaked in the rain, framing a face of running makeup and eyes red from crying. She wore plainclothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but they were muddy and torn and maybe even scorched besides being fully soaked through. Her arms were covered in bruises and a few hastily bandaged cuts. She was also barefoot, her feet swollen and red from running across the Los Angeles concrete.

Without hesitating, Albatross threw open the door as fast as his clawed hands could undo the four locks and two deadbolts. It slammed against the wall, and Lily flinched at the noise before looking up. Though the hero was nowhere near Albatross’ six foot four inches, she had always projected confidence and power to equal every member of the Murder of Crows. But now she was far tinier than her five foot two frame, hunched and shivering in the storm.

“A-Albat-t-tross?” Lily stammered, stumbling forward slowly, “I-I-I didn’t know where else to—“

Her words cut off as she fell into the warehouse, caught safely by Albatross’ waiting arms. He supported her with one wing and one arm as he re-bolted the door, before picking her up easily and striding into the common area.

Magpie looked up, his never-still fingers still clacking the keys of his computer. “What was that no— Lily?”

Albatross nodded. “Soaked through, beat up, and robbed blind, I reckon. Wake up the Murder. I gotta lay her out somewhere…”

The techie was up and off to the resting rooms before Albatross had finished speaking, computer station abandoned. He laid Lily out on the second-hand dining table the Murder used for meals and planning, carefully inspecting her injuries.

Four sets of running feet hammered down the hallway as the rest of the Murder burst into the common area. Swallowtail came first, her arms full of spare clothes and first aid equipment. Magpie and Harpy entered next, followed by their leader, Midnight Raven. All of them came to Albatross’ side at the table.

“Oh, Lily,” Swallowtail muttered, wringing her hands as Harpy began first aid, “What happened to you?”

Magpie had broken out his camera, taking detailed photos of the heroine’s injuries. “A super must’ve done this, no way could some punk burn Lily in the middle of a storm with a Zippo.”

“What do you make of this, Raven?” Albatross asked him.

“Well,” the leader of the Murder responded, casting his eyes over the unconscious Lily, “She either trusts us, or was in such a bad position that we were the best option. But I agree with Magpie; those burns were made by a super. The shape’s around the size of a hand, and they’re where a mugger would grab someone, on the arm and around the torso.”

Harpy looked up from applying a new bandage to a large, rough cut on Lily’s forearm, not even pausing while he spoke. “I think one of the gangs is responsible for this one, boss. Claw marks, burns, bruises, and mud? We’re nowhere near a park, so that’s at least three different powers, possibly more.”

Raven nodded. “How long ago do you think this happened, Harpy?”

“Not more than an hour ago, I’d say. If she ran straight here and collapsed, and given her condition, I’d bet on no more than thirty minutes ago.”

Raven nodded again. “Alright then. It’s what, nine-thirty? Get some rest. We’re up and moving as soon as Lily tells us more.”

-

Lily came too around twelve hours later, laid out on a slightly threadbare couch and under a well-worn blanket. She felt her arms, wincing as she grasped new gauze bandages over where the masked attackers had clawed and burned and stabbed at her.

A familiar deep voice and a strong hand on her shoulder interrupted her. “Don’t, it’ll just break the scabs.”

Lily jerked around, instinctively trying to pull out seeds from pockets that didn’t exist, nearly falling over in the process. Harpy reached out to steady her.

“Careful. I don’t want to have to dress them again, Lily of the Valley.”

She righted herself with some difficulty before staring in disbelief at the villain who had apparently treated her wounds. “W-What? You… dressed my wounds?”

Harpy nodded. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I? Never mind, Raven would like to hear about what happened to you last night.”

Lily only became more confused. “Why would he want to know? A-And why would I tell him, anyway?”

Another deep voice answered her from somewhere else in the room. “So that we may uphold the golden rule in your place, Lily London.”

The heroine spun around again, managing to keep her balance as she took in the figure of the Midnight Raven, flanked by Albatross and Swallowtail, each of them familiar adversaries. The Raven was tall, but shorter than Albatross, and even without his mask on, his face still seemed shrouded in shadow.

“Why would you ever do anything for me, Shadowpinner?” She hissed, trying to wriggle out of Harpy’s firm grip on her shoulder.

Swallowtail cocked her head at the heroine. “She isn’t acting like the Lily who I remember.”

Raven nodded. “Indeed. Magpie?”

A shorter man stuck his head from around the doorframe the other villains had exited from, long bangs covering his eyes and slightly glowing circles slowly spinning around his head. “Yeah?”

“What exact injuries did you see on Lily last night?”

“Uhmmmm…” Magpie trailed off as he worked to recall the memory, “three claw-like cuts, two burns, more than ten distinct bruises, several mud smears, and what looked like a needle injection site.”

“A-An injection site?” Lily stammered, stopping her struggle, “Like a vaccine?”

“Or a drug,” Albatross realized.

Raven’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “Magpie, are there any drugs that require injection and can cause confusion in the victim out there on the streets?”

His head ducked back behind the doorframe for a few seconds filled with the clacking of keys before it came back out.

“Indeed there is, boss. A little liquid called Syrup, aka Honey, aka Simple Stuff, aka a lot of other names that reference its viscosity and supposed sweetness. Created by one of the family gangs, the Golden Hornets, whose power has something to do with intensifying the strength of already available drugs. It makes people drowsy, then confused and overly paranoid when injected, but taken orally, it’s basically a painkiller.”

“That would explain Miss Of the Valley’s behavior,” Harpy said, “But not why she got beat up. Who has access to this Syrup?”

More key clacking preceded the response. “A decent number of people. It seems the Golden Hornets are just the producers, and they sell it to other gangs, most notably the Dog Whistles, the Sawsharks, and the Quicksilvers, who then sell them on the street. But… there has been some, er, disagreements over the right to distribute Syrup. Mainly between the Dog Whistles and the Lion Queens.”

“Never heard of the Queens before,” Swallow commented, “are they upstarts?”

“Yes. All the police reports have them as being no larger than 20 members, not a proper gang yet, and wanting to carve a place for themselves.”

“You got any photos?” Raven asked.

Keys clacked again, longer this time, before Magpie’s head returned. “Some. Not very quality, just security footage and some lucky newsie’s action shots.”

He turned to Lily, still frozen in Harpy’s grip. “Could you describe what your attackers looked like? What they were wearing and such?”

“If you stop manhandling me, Cloudjumper.”

Harpy let her go.

Rubbing her shoulder and suspiciously eyeing each of the villains in sight, Lily sighed as she sat up. “There were seven I could see, but only four attacked me. Every one wore a standard kerchief mask, yellowish-brown and shiny. They wore some kinda uniform, but all I can remember is that they had coattails and high boots, and that they were colored dark brown. The four who attacked me were all as bald as Golden Lighting and African-American, but the three who didn’t had lots of hair, dark in color.”

Her hands hovered over her bandages as she continued.

“The one with claws was tall with a furry tail, and their eyes were hazel. The one with earth powers was shorter and had armor of some kind on their arms, with brown eyes. The one who punched me was medium height with a short mantle of sorts, and had really dark eyes. And the one who injected me had blue eyes. I couldn’t tell if they had other powers before I got away. And at least one of the long haired ones had wings, not feathered.”

Magpie had ducked back behind the doorframe in the middle of Lily’s account, his keyboard noises ceaseless for thirty seconds after she finished. Harpy gently patted her shoulder as they waited for the techie.

“Jackpot!” Magpie’s head re-emerged, and his crosshairs were spinning like tops. “I got an ID on everyone you described! Long-Wings is probably Melody Mitchel, a commander among the Lion Queens. And the four toughs are definitely some of her known lackeys; Terryl Tyson is Tail-Claws, Renell Rose is the Earth-Armor, Stefan Smith is Ten-Punches, and Violet Victorson is Blue-Injector. All have been arrested, but not charged, as members of the Queen Lions gang, save Melody. This is the clearest picture I could find.”

He shoved a bulky laptop out on a swivel chair, its screen showing a gory blown-up newspaper photo of ten figures dressed in the coattailed uniforms fighting with ten other figures dressed in the silver and grey trench coats of the Dog Whistles.

One had a full head of frizzy hair and bat-like wings, leaping from a rooftop with shoeless feet baring clawed paws. One had a furry tail and was but a streak as they shoved a hand into the chest of a Dog Whistle, blood flying. One was far shorter than their opponent, guarding their head from a heavy tail’s descent with their oversized rock gauntlets. One had a short mantle over their uniform and was fist fighting a Dog Whistle with curly horns. And one was just a shadow in an alleyway, holding something and standing over a slumped form.

Lily backed away from the photo as the Murder crowded close.

“T-Thats them, for sure. They’re the ones who… got me.” The last two words came after a pause; the heroine was still denying that she had been bested.

Raven nodded. “I assume that you already know where these Lions hunt, Magpie?”

“Yup.”

“Well then.” The villain turned to Lily, who was eyeing him with suspicion again. “What would you do, Lily London, if you were able, and if the Wild and Free were by your side?”

There was no hesitation in her answer. “Get them. Get even with my attackers, and knock the whole of the Lion Queens down a few pegs.”

“Then that is what we shall do.”