#anyway it's an excellent and interesting fic

[xiyao-feels]

which is your favourite sword or spiritual weapon?

The obvious answer is Hensheng and, yep, it's Hensheng!

Back then, when Jin GuangYao worked undercover at Wen RuoHan’s side, he had often hidden the sword at his waist, wreathed the sword around his arm to use during critical moments. Although the blade of Hensheng seemed to be soft to the extremity, attacking with lingering motions, it was in reality both sharp and haunting. Once the blade had wrapped around the opposition, Jin GuangYao would apply it with a bizarre spiritual power, and one would quickly be severed into pieces by the sword, despite its tender appearance. Quite a few famous swords had been battered into piles of scrap iron just like this.

(Exiled Rebels translation, ch 50)

Some random free-association thoughts:

- Walking around with this sword is among other things a reminder that he spied on and killed WRH! I think this can sometimes be viewed with suspicion by fandom but it actually seems to be viewed very positively by the cultivation world in the novel. It's part of the legend of Lianfang-zun—in a sense, the first part. Consider the description of LFZ's history WWX gives when he's watching the kids playing:

In these types of games, the head of all cultivators, LianFang-Zun, who was currently the most successful of all, was of course the most popular character. Although his family background was a bit disgraceful, the fact that he later climbed to such a rank was precisely why people respected him. During the Sunshot Campaign, he skillfully worked undercover for the QishanWen Sect, deceiving all of the Wen Sect’s people to a point that a tremendous amount of information were disclosed, yet they knew nothing. After the Sunshot Campaign, with flattery, wit, and countless other methods, he finally became the Chief Cultivator, fully deserving of the title. Such a life could even be considered a legend. If he was playing, he’d also want to try being Jin GuangYao. Choosing this boy to be the leader would very reasonable choice!

(ER, ch 32)

The background's embarassing, and avoided; but the spying is central, and described in positive terms. The next item on the list is becoming Chief Cultivator! There's really no sense here that the spying is shameful. (Though I'm amused WWX doesn't also mention killing WRH, lol.)

Similarly in the four panels about JGY, the first is about him spying on WRH, and the second is him killing him:

Out of all of them the four most famous sections about the current sect leader—Jin GuangYao—were respectively “disclosure”, “assassination”, “oath”, and “kind austerity”. Of course, the scenes showed how during the Sunshot Campaign Jin GuangYao hid in the QishanWen Sect and reported important information, assassinated the Wen Sect’s leader Wen RuoHan, became sworn brothers with the rest of the Venerated Triad, and rose to the position of Chief Cultivator.

(ER, ch 47)

It's very well-regarded!

- It's interesting that we get the description of Henjun breaking apart other swords where we do, because like five paragraphs later we have this:

Suibian flew out of its sheath and began to battle against Hensheng’s eerie sword glare. Seeing this, shock flashed across Jin GuangYao’s face. He regained his composure at once and nimbly twisted his right wrist. Like a vine, Hensheng wrapped itself around Suibian’s white, straight blade. He immediately let go of it, letting the two swords fight alone.

(ER, ch 50)

And yet he doesn't shatter Suibian. I suspect that although he clearly wasn't expecting WWX like this (shock flashes across his face!) he immediately realizes that he can use Suibian as evidence that WWX is WWX, and therefore Suibian intact is more useful than Suibian shattered. He's so smart 😍

- While there's no doubt that JGY kills people with it, I do think it's interesting that the signature, most famous move is destroying not the person but the sword—that is, destroying the thing that's the sign of the cultivator, this important signal it's necessary to carry, but does not actually hurt the person. Again, I'm sure he's had occasion to shatter someone's sword and then stab them, but it's interesting to me from a narrative perspective!

[muffinlance]

Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???

Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:

Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.

"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.

None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.

An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:

I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it

I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.

Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”

TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.

[thecryptidzenith]

11 for the fic game ask!

11. Bonus: recommend your favorite fic

Okay, you're getting two answers for this one because my real answer isn't a D20 fic, and seeing as that's my fandom at the moment, I'd be remiss to not rec something from it.

For the past... Jesus, four years, my favorite fic has been The Prestige by black_feather_fiction (also @black-feather-fiction) No contest. I don't do MCU fic or fandom anymore, but this is the one exception. It's just. It's so good. It's demonstrates the best use of the medium of fanfiction I've ever seen (yes, I'm of the opinion that fanfiction is its own distinct medium, but I'm not going to get into it now.)

Now the conceit of The Prestige is similar to a lot of MCU long fics: what if the plot was... good? Between the California-in-the-1840's/50's amount of untapped gold in the movies and whatever any given writer wanted to pull from the comics, there are so many elements to play with when rewriting a truly epic version of the story presented in the Infinity Saga, or even just a small segment of it. There are a lot of these, and I've read a lot of these. It's exactly my kind of thing, I love a good Plot.

The thing that's special about The Prestige is the way it incorporates the conventions of storytelling in its worldbuilding. To put it simply, an all-powerful God does exist in this universe, and he's three old women who terrorize innkeepers. The Norns/the Fates/other Mother-Maiden-Crone mythological archetypes, are real, and they control the threads of fate, so to speak. The entire universe exists as their plaything, and given the chaos and entropy of the universe, they pull stories from it. The laws of storytelling are just as influential, immutable, and important as the laws of physics in this universe. And just like the laws of physics, they can be manipulated towards a particular use.

This is how the fic opens: with Loki attempting to tell the universe a story so perfect and beautiful that the Norns cannot help but let the tale play out in real life. He doesn't quite succeed. However, the rules of storytelling are never forgotten, by the characters and by the author. Having the conventions of storytelling being a part of story's universe is a brilliant move that I have not gotten over after three years. Obviously, real life doesn't play out like a story, so when telling a story there's always some suspension of disbelief involved, because real life isn't that neat. Having an in-world explanation for the existence of story structure is something I'd never seen before and it's brilliant. And it's perfect for a story about two liars, image-crafters, storytellers, whatever you want to call them.

The story structure being built into the world is incredible, but so is the way the characters attempt to manipulate it in their favor. Even beyond the opening tableau, characters work to push the narrative in directions that will serve them. And the narrative pushes back. Every time I think about how the Fall of the Giant plot beat plays out, I fall more and more in love with it. It's the perfect blend of expectation subversion, expectation fulfillment, and effective character beats. It's fucking incredible.

Besides the rules of storytelling, The Prestige also makes reference to a lot of stories in the cultural zeitgeist in a way that's as delightful as it is earnest. The primary benefit of fic as a storytelling medium is that the audience already has a shared set of knowledge. We know who the characters are. We know how canon goes, and authors already have prepackaged tools to tell their stories with. Less needs to be established in fanfic compared to other kinds of fiction because the audience has a shared knowledge base. The Prestige takes this intertextuality further by pulling from more than just the MCU canon, but from works as varied as Mystery Science Theater 3000, Gremlins, and Alice in Wonderland. These cultural touchstones are in meaningful conversation with the contents of The Prestige and efficiently add depth in a really interesting and engaging way. Hel, even the title is taken from a Nolan movie. This fic is so deeply tied to the culture it's a part of, and I adore it.

Beyond the elements of the story that are inseparably tied to its in-universe use of narrative, the plot is very well put together. I find the bit with Ozymandias (yes, like the Percy Shelly poem) particularly clever, but it's all very good. Despite it's length, I find The Prestige compulsively readable, its writing is excellent. The characterization is excellent, the worldbuilding is engaging, the character dynamics are delightful to read about and devastating for the characters involved. I think this fic may genuinely have everything: Plot, romance, action, adventure, whump, angst, parent/child relationships, (explored from both sides) familial trauma, sexual trauma, self-destruction, sibling relationships, eating disorders--I'm really just listing tags here, but there's So Much, and I love every bit of it. I have loved every bit of it for years, and I don't care how long updates take, I Will Read It. It's the only MCU fic I've been able to read in years, and honestly? I'm not that mad about it, it's fucking incredible.

Now with all that being said, my favorite D20 fic is a lot harder to pick. I've not been in the fandom that long, I haven't read a ton of fic, and my tastes skew towards the Epic, Plot-focused, and Looooooong. Which is a bit difficult to come by (as is time to read.) There are, however, a lot of excellent fics, out there, though I think I have the most to say about The Properties of Adaine by Tangerine_Blast (also @20dimensionsoftangerine) (and by extension its predecessor, but we don't need to get into it.)

The conceit is that because of Oracle reasons, Adaine gets kidnapped by Kalvaxus as a kid and grows older thinking of him as a great paternal figure even though he sucks because her only points of comparison are Arianwen & Angywn. The interesting part is only really discussed and addressed in The Properties of Adaine, which is that she's technically an object! Legally, magically, an object--a dragon's thrall to be more specific. It's a fascinating exploration of the ramifications of DnD worldbuilding, as well as an exploration of identity, security, trauma, etc. It's a bit of a thorny subject to tackle, but so far as I can tell, it's handled with grace and sensitivity. It's doing a lot of very interesting things with the Themes, plus Aelwyn is absolutely insane (she's adopted/kidnapped by Aguefort.) which I get a kick out of. Overall, a striking story (and also one that's still being updated, which is probably why it sticks with me.)

[icharchivist]

took three flirting options for him to get protective and jelly about Teia flirting with Rook like awww babe that's so embarrassing *hides my face in hands as it's flushed red*

but i love this so much. Lucanis starting to trust Rook enough to watch out on Spite, but not correcting it when it's implied she's there for moral support while he's grieving.

And as Teia grows fond of Rook he gets immediately jealous because for once there's something there he might be able to hold on to and he doesn't want it to let it pass him by, but at the same time as he tries to express it he realizes he can't say "don't flirt with my crush" but it's still too early to call Rook a friend. This embarrassing grey zone.

(also the context that Lucanis used to crush on Viago but sucked ass at flirting with him adds a layer to it since Viago is extremely down bad for Teia and they're in a sort of situationship at the moment (did they even start dating. because. well.). So if anyone shares his taste in people and would be able to seduce them away, it's Teia. Still she's so sweet about it. and totally see right through him.)

and also Illario just being here. Lucanis is constantly sending signal he's interested in Rook right in front of Illario. That's going great.

Also RIP Caterina i guess we'll find Zara and all of that. But boyfriend.

[princesssarcastia]

god that post about child abuse got me thinking about a passage from a fantastic hal jordan/bruce wayne fic by @/fabula-unica, which is actually very sweet despite the excerpt i'm about to post. a few years ago I did my best to try and verify it and it seems like it's true, but i'll leave you with the caveat that i'm not 100% certain.

Anyway. Excerpt from Getting It Right, by fabularasa on ao3.

“I’ve been thinking about X-rays,” Bruce said, examining the edges of his cone. “X-rays,” Jordan said. “Mm hm. They used to use them for everything we now use CT, ultrasound, MRI for – they used to X-ray people for anything and everything, even pregnant women, before they understood the dangers of continued radiation exposure.” “Okay.” Bruce balled up his napkin and tossed it at the bin. He missed. “Unbelievable,” Jordan said, staring at his napkin. “How the fuck do you miss that.” “The breeze knocked me off course. Anyway, the thing is, when they started X-raying children, doctors saw the strangest thing. Almost every other child they X-rayed had multiple hairline fractures. It was incredible. It rearranged what doctors had thought about the growth and development of human bone, because how could pediatricians have missed all those breaks? America must be in the grip of massive undiagnosed malnutrition, is what they thought.” He gave his butter brickle another few licks. Jordan beside him was silent. “It wasn’t malnutrition,” Bruce said. “Americans were just systematically beating the shit out of their children, and had been for years, and no one ever knew about it or talked about it. They did it for no other reason than they could, and because they wouldn’t get caught. When doctors finally figured out what they were looking at, that’s when the term ‘child abuse’ was coined. You don’t see that phrase in any medical or popular literature before X-rays. Not incidentally the national child abuse epidemic was one of the reasons for the legalization of abortion in the early 70s – people assumed that children were being beaten because they were unwanted, and that if you could just solve that problem, then child abuse would go away. As if people beat children for any reason other than evil, and as if evil could be legislated out of existence.”

god. what a country we live in. what a world.

[angstandhappiness]

DUDE

this is one of the cutest and sweetest things i have ever read my god chaoxfix you have done it again

a scene from chapter three of sink or swim by @chaoxfix​

[reiding-writing]

YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS?? omg a wonderful start to the new year!! ignore if this doesn’t speak to your soul— but would you be able to write a good old fashioned best friends to lovers, mutual pining fic for reid? i’m a sucker for the “he fell first, she fell harder” trope, like he’s been in love with her since day one and their friendship has always toed the line of something more, but she’s an oblivious genius and doesn’t realize how deep their affections for each other run……. and like when she realizes her feelings (like a brick to the head) she starts DISTANCING HERSELF OOH A LITTLE ANGST THERE and reid is like :(( what did i do :(( but it’s ok bc they smooch and make up in the end

263 DAYS — SPENCER REID!

a lot can change in 263 days.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 7.3k | flangst | masterlist.

a/n — writing longer fics like this is so fun but also so long, but it’s been nice to get back into it 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS | friends to lovers, emotional distancing, brief (almost) argument, reader gets injured and goes to the hospital (but recovers fine), happy ending

DAY ONE

You step into the conference room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a mixture of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach.

The space feels both larger and smaller than you'd imagined—a sprawling table, chairs scattered in quiet disarray, and a dozen tiny details you'd only seen in crime documentaries and shadowed profiles on paper.

The faint scent of coffee and something metallic—maybe old ink—hangs in the air, grounding you. You take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

You’re here. You made it.

“First day?”

The voice is soft, inquisitive, and it pulls your attention immediately. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of someone who seems equally curious and cautious, like a bird assessing whether you’re safe to approach.

He’s lanky, taller than you expected, with an untamed mop of brown hair and a pair of shoes that look like they’ve seen a decade’s worth of pavement. Spencer Reid, you realise.

“Yes,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “And you must be Dr. Reid.”

He smiles at the title, though it seems more reflexive than genuine. He shuffles forward a step, hands awkwardly held together behind his back. “Just Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer.”

You offer your hand to him, nervous, but inviting. “Nice to meet you, Reid.”

He nods quickly, eyes flickering over your hand like he wants to take it, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, I don’t uh— germs—”

“Oh,” You pull your hand back a little too quickly, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. “Sorry, uh—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just— conscious about it,” He presses his lips together in what almost a smile, a silent apology.

You mirror it. “It’s nice to meet you anyway,”

“You too,”

His gaze flicks over you, not in the usual appraising way you’ve grown used to from strangers, but more like he’s cataloging details he can’t quite put into words. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just pure, unabashed interest.

“You’re nervous,” He says, then winces. “Sorry. That sounded... obvious. I just meant—it’s normal. Most people are their first day. Especially here,” His voice lowers slightly, conspiratorial. “It can be... intense.”

A laugh escapes you, light and involuntary, breaking the tension in your chest. “Not exactly comforting, but thanks for the honesty,”

This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I’m not great at comfort, but I excel at honesty.”

You find yourself smiling back, even as a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t let your guard down so easily. Not here, not yet.

But something about Reid—his sincerity, the way he tilts his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only you can provide—makes it hard to resist.

“So, what brought you to the BAU?” he asks.

The question is simple enough, but the weight behind it is clear. He isn’t just asking out of politeness; he genuinely wants to know. You consider your answer carefully, aware of the dozen eyes that will likely follow your every move today.

“Truthfully? It’s… been a dream for years,” you admit. “I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of it. How people work, why they do what they do. And... I guess I wanted to make a difference,”

His expression shifts, softens, like you’ve just handed him a piece of yourself and he knows better than to drop it. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You’ll be good at this,”

The confidence in his words surprises you. “You don’t even know me,”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s something almost playful in his tone. “But I’m usually good at reading people. Comes with the job,”

“Any initial impressions?”

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might deflect. But then his gaze meets yours again, steady and unwavering. “You’re smart. Observant. But you second-guess yourself more than you need to. And... you’re kind. I think you’ll see things others might miss because of that,”

The honesty in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Kind isn’t a word you’d ever considered an asset in this field, but the way he says it makes you wonder if it could be.

“Thanks,” You say, and mean it.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the room. “Reid! Stop monopolising the newbie and get over here.”

You glance over to see another man—broad-shouldered, with a gruff boyishness to him. If you had to guess, you’d say that Derek Morgan.

Reid offers a small, apologetic shrug and gives you a quick, almost shy smile before moving to join the others.

As the team gathers around the table, you feel his presence more acutely than you should, like an invisible thread connecting you even when you’re not speaking. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to figure out a particularly tricky equation. And maybe he is.

Over the course of the day, you learn what makes Reid so extraordinary.

The encyclopaedic knowledge, the way his mind works at lightning speed, piecing together patterns and details that no one else sees.

But you also notice the little things—the way he fidgets with a pen when he’s nervous, the way his voice speeds up when he gets excited, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating mystery he’s ever encountered.

By the time the day ends, you’re exhausted but exhilarated, your head spinning with new information and possibilities. As you gather your things, Reid approaches you again, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“You did well today,” he says, and there’s no trace of condescension in his tone—just genuine praise.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the compliment itself and everything to do with who it’s coming from.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, as if unable to stop himself, Reid blurts out, “You’re going to fit in here. I can tell,”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And you’re sure about that? Already?”

He nods, his gaze earnest. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just... I feel like you belong.”

The words linger between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t quite name. You smile, soft and unsure, and he mirrors it, his expression a little brighter than before.

As you walk out of the building together, the weight of the day finally settling on your shoulders, you can’t help but think that maybe Reid is right.

Maybe you do belong here.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-NINE

The BAU has a way of warping time. Six months can feel like six years, and yet, it can pass in the blink of an eye.

By now, you’ve settled into the team, carving out a place that feels solid, even comfortable. The initial nerves have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence that surprises even you. But the biggest surprise is Reid.

Somewhere along the way, he’s become your constant. Late nights poring over case files often turn into coffee runs, his impossibly detailed book recommendations have all but taken over your nightstand, and your shared chess games have become an unspoken ritual, the board tucked into the corner of the break room practically reserved for the two of you.

It’s not that you don’t notice the way he seems to gravitate toward you—it’s just that you don’t think much of it.

Reid is Reid: attentive, brilliant, and endlessly curious. If he listens a little more intently when you speak, if his smiles linger longer than necessary, if he remembers details you barely recall sharing, well, that’s just how he is. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The morning starts like any other.

A case has just wrapped, leaving you with a rare, precious day in the office to catch up on paperwork and recover. The bullpen hums with low chatter and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, but your attention is elsewhere—specifically on the chessboard in front of you.

“Check,” Reid announces, his tone smug but his face a careful mask of neutrality. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, his expression daring you to find an out.

You narrow your eyes at the board, studying the positions like your life depends on it. “I don’t like you very much right now,” you mutter, earning a soft laugh from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice warm.

“Don’t I?” you quip, your fingers hovering over your knight. You’re stalling, and he knows it.

“Take your time,” he says, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. “It’s not like you have anything else to do today.”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this too much,”

“Maybe a little,”

The banter is easy, familiar. It’s become second nature by now, a rhythm you fall into without thinking. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you move your knight, narrowly avoiding defeat.

Reid’s brow furrows as he examines the board. “Not bad,” he concedes.

“I’ll take it,” you reply, leaning back in your chair and stretching.

“Lunch?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” you say, smirking. “Thai food again?”

“It’s efficient,” he says, as though that explains everything.

“Efficient isn’t the same as exciting,” you tease, but you grab your jacket anyway.

The walk to the nearby restaurant is brisk, the February air biting against your skin. Reid falls into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did you finish that book I lent you?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Not yet,” you admit. “But I’m close. You were right—it’s better than I expected,”

He grins, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. “Told you. It’s all about the narrative structure. Did you notice how the author—”

“Reid,” you interrupt, laughing. “Save the lecture for later. I’m still processing and I have a feeling you’re going to spoil the ending,”

He huffs but lets it go, his grin lingering.

—

Back at the office, you dive into the endless pile of paperwork waiting on your desk. Hours pass in a blur of forms and reports, the steady hum of activity around you lulling you into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s only when a steaming cup of coffee appears in your peripheral vision that you realize how long you’ve been sitting there.

“Thought you could use this,” Reid says, setting the cup down beside you.

You blink up at him, surprised but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile.

He doesn’t leave, instead pulling a chair up beside you and settling in. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet companionship as natural as breathing.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him, “you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I like being here.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you pause, a softness that feels almost... vulnerable. But before you can dwell on it, he shifts the conversation, asking about your latest case report.

The moment passes, but it stays with you, an echo at the back of your mind.

—

The day winds down with another chess game, this one more competitive than the last. The bullpen has emptied out, the rest of the team long gone, leaving just the two of you and the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

“Checkmate,” Reid announces, his tone triumphant.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I give up. You’re officially unbeatable,”

He laughs, the sound soft and unguarded. “You’re getting better,” he says, and you know he means it.

“Flattery won’t save you next time,” you say, sitting up and meeting his gaze.

His smile falters, just for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place—something intense and unspoken. You tilt your head, about to ask if everything’s okay, but he looks away, busying himself with packing up the chess pieces.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Of course,” you say, watching him.

As you part ways for the night, that look lingers in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOUR

It starts with the little things.

You notice Reid’s uncanny ability to anticipate your needs long before you voice them. A cup of your favorite tea waiting for you on your desk after a long day.

A book you mentioned in passing, slipped into your bag with a handwritten note on why you’d love it. The way he finishes your sentences, not out of impatience, but because he’s somehow always attuned to what you’re thinking.

It’s Reid being Reid, you tell yourself. He’s observant, that’s his job. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

But then there are the things he shouldn’t know. Like how your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, a detail even you hadn’t thought about until you catch him smiling faintly at the sight. Or the way he hums along, almost unconsciously, to the songs you sing under your breath while focused on paperwork.

You’d dismiss it as coincidence, but Reid doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It’s a cold, gray morning when the call comes in—a double homicide in a rural town that has the local police out of their depth. By mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in the case, the clues coming together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

You and Reid are tasked with canvassing a suspect’s property, a sprawling, dilapidated farmhouse that creaks ominously with every step. It’s quiet—too quiet—and the sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, glancing at Reid.

He nods, his hand hovering near his weapon. “Neither do I. Let’s stick together,”

The words are barely out of his mouth when it happens. A figure bursts from the shadows, wielding a machete with reckless desperation.

You react instinctively, your weapon raised, but the suspect moves faster than you expect, slamming into you with full force.

Pain explodes in your side as you hit the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs. Reid’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect hesitates for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Reid to act. His shot is precise, disarming but not lethal, and the suspect crumples to the ground, writhing in pain.

Reid is at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he presses them against the slash on your side, stumbling through the order for a medic on his radio.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “You’re going to be okay.”

You manage a weak laugh, wincing at the pain it causes. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Reid,”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and filled with something that looks an awful lot like fear. “Don’t joke,” he murmurs. “Please don’t joke.”

His hands are gentle but firm as he applies pressure to the wound, his lips moving in a quiet stream of reassurances you barely register. “Just breathe. Help’s on the way. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

The world blurs at the edges, but through it all, you feel him—his presence steady and unyielding, anchoring you to the moment.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIX

You wake in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose. It takes a moment for the haze to clear, and when it does, the first thing you see is Reid.

He’s sitting in a chair beside you, his posture stiff, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his hair messier than usual, but when he notices you stirring, his expression softens with relief.

“You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You have a talent for understatement,”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that makes your chest tighten.

“I thought—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,”

“I’m alright, Reid” You offer gently.

He nods, but his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back a thousand words. “You scared me,” he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his arm, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m okay,” you say, and though the words feel inadequate, they seem to bring him some comfort.

For the rest of the night, he stays by your side, his quiet devotion more reassuring than any words could be. And for the first time, you start to wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

The BAU rarely has time for unwinding, but tonight is one of those rare evenings. A case has wrapped early, the unsub is in custody, and Hotch decided to reward the team with a dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. The room is filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the scent of fresh bread and marinara.

You sit sandwiched between Morgan and Reid, your wine glass half-full and your plate of pasta nearly untouched. The conversation flows easily—Morgan cracking jokes, Garcia spinning outrageous anecdotes, Rossi offering sage commentary.

You chime in when prompted, but your mind is elsewhere, your attention flicking between your teammates and the warm, intimate glow of the restaurant.

It’s when the laughter swells again, this time at something Garcia said, that you notice it.

Reid’s gaze.

He’s looking at you, not laughing, not even smiling, just... looking.

It’s not the way someone glances at a friend or colleague. His eyes hold something deeper, something unspoken but achingly clear. Admiration. Longing. Affection so palpable it steals the breath from your lungs.

The realisation hits you like a freight train, or perhaps a brick to the head, straight into your brain like it’s punishing you.

Every late-night chess game. Every quiet conversation over coffee. The way he remembers the smallest details about you, the warmth in his voice when he says your name, the way his presence feels like a comfort you didn’t know you needed—all of it comes crashing into focus.

How had you missed it?

But the thought doesn’t end there. Because as much as his gaze stirs something in you, it also forces you to confront the ache you’ve felt for months.

The way your chest tightens when he smiles at someone else. The way your pulse quickens when he’s near. The way your stomach flips at the simplest touch—a brush of his hand against yours, his knee grazing yours under the table.

Oh no.

Panic bubbles in your chest, threatening to spill over. You tear your gaze away, your hands fumbling for your wine glass as you take a too-large sip. It does little to steady you.

“Hey,” Morgan says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You good? You’ve been quiet,”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the words too sharp, too rehearsed.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, Garcia swoops in to demand his attention, sparing you further interrogation.

Beside you, Reid shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours again. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to your heart. You chance a glance at him, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he simply offers you a soft, almost hesitant smile.

It’s that smile—sweet and unguarded—that undoes you.

You force yourself to focus on the chatter around the table, the way Garcia’s voice rises animatedly, the way Rossi’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder.

Anything to keep from drowning in the realisation that Spencer Reid, your closest friend and the person who knows you better than anyone, has somehow become the centre of your world.

And worse—much worse—is the fear that you’ve been blind to his feelings for so long, that your obliviousness might have hurt him in ways you don’t yet understand.

By the time dinner ends, your head is spinning, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name, let alone confront.

As the team begins to gather their things and head for the door, Reid lingers beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Just tired. Long day,”

He nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine, Reid,” you say, a little too quickly. A little too sharply.

His expression falters, and guilt twists in your stomach. You want to explain, to tell him that your panic has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that you’ve just realised you’re in love with him. But the words stick in your throat, too raw, too terrifying to voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you manage, grabbing your coat and heading for the door before he can respond.

As you step into the chilly night air, the weight of your realization settles over you, heavy and inescapable.

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. And you have no idea what to do about it.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-TWO

The days that follow are a blur of avoidance and self-doubt. You bury yourself in work, volunteering for extra tasks, lingering at your desk long after everyone else has gone home. When Reid suggests coffee or a quick game of chess, you make excuses—paperwork, errands, a headache.

“It’s not you,” you insist each time, forcing a smile that you hope looks convincing. “Just busy.”

But it is him. Or rather, it’s you. The truth feels too messy, too raw to share. You can’t bear the thought of risking your friendship, of letting your feelings slip and watching the warmth in his eyes dim with awkward discomfort. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Cleaner.

It doesn’t feel cleaner. It feels awful.

—

Reid is nothing if not perceptive. You know this, and yet it still catches you off guard when he notices your distance almost immediately.

At first, he’s subtle about it. A furrowed brow when you brush past him in the bullpen without stopping to chat. A quiet “Are you okay?” when you excuse yourself from a team lunch, claiming a nonexistent phone call.

But as the days stretch into weeks, his concern deepens.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case debrief, he approaches your desk with a tentative smile, holding out a steaming cup of your favorite tea.

“Peace offering?” he says lightly.

You glance up, surprised, and for a moment, the warmth in his expression makes your resolve waver. But then the weight of your feelings crashes over you again, and you force a polite but distant smile.

“Thanks, Reid,” you say, taking the cup without meeting his eyes. “But I really need to finish this.”

He hesitates, the smile slipping. “Did I... do something?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You look up, startled, and find him watching you with a mixture of confusion and hurt that makes your chest ache.

“What? No, of course not,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Then why—” He stops, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What’s wrong?”

Your heart sinks. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you lie, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe them.

“Right,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably, heavy with everything you’re not saying. Finally, he nods, stepping back.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll… let you get back to work, then,”

As he walks away, a knot of guilt tightens in your chest. You want to call him back, to explain, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Instead, you sit frozen at your desk, watching him retreat with his shoulders slightly slumped, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

That night, Reid lies awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment as your words echo in his mind.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

The lie is so transparent it hurts. He replays every recent interaction, searching for the moment he might have crossed a line, the moment he lost you.

Did he hover too much? Was he too pushy with his invitations? Did he say something wrong?

The thought that he might have ruined your friendship gnaws at him, an ache that refuses to fade. He tries to focus on the logical, the facts: you said he hadn’t done anything.

But facts don’t explain why the laughter in your eyes has dimmed, why the easy rhythm of your friendship has crumbled into awkward silences and forced smiles.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and by morning, he’s no closer to an answer.

But one thing is clear: he can’t lose you. Not like this.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-NINE

It’s late when the team finally returns to Quantico, the exhaustion of a long case settling over everyone like a heavy fog. You’re the first to escape the bullpen, eager to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. But just as you grab your coat, a voice stops you.

“Can we talk?”

You turn to find Reid standing behind you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

“Reid, I’m really tired—”

“Please.” His voice is soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “Just a few minutes.”

You hesitate, your instinct to avoid clashing with the ache in his voice. Finally, you nod, letting your coat drop back onto the rack.

He leads you to one of the empty conference rooms, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks finally, his voice trembling slightly. “Because if I did, I—I don’t know what it was. And I need to know, because you’ve been distant, and I—” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

The raw honesty in his words nearly undoes you. “Reid...” You take a step back, panic rising in your chest. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. He looks up, and the hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

You stammer, searching for an excuse, but the words feel hollow even as you speak them. “It’s just... work has been overwhelming, and I haven’t had time, and—”

“Stop,” he says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you,” he says, his voice steady now, though there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “I know when something’s wrong, and something is wrong. You don’t avoid people because you’re ‘busy.’ You don’t avoid me unless there’s a reason.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I’m not avoiding you—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly. He takes a step closer, his expression earnest, pleading. “I just... I need to understand. Did I do something to push you away? Did I say something, or—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You see him flinch slightly, and your resolve crumbles. “No, Reid, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

His hurt expression cuts you to the core, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth—laying it all out, messy and terrifying as it is. But fear holds you back, the fear of ruining everything, of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I just... I can’t.”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his features. “Can’t what?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and what you see there—hurt, confusion, and something deeper, something vulnerable—almost breaks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

And before he can say another word, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE

You don’t even remember the drive to Reid’s apartment. The streets blur past in a haze of headlights and cold January air, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

The weight of your own cowardice has become unbearable. His hurt expression haunts you, replaying over and over, the echo of his words a constant refrain: “Why are you pulling away from me?”

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when every moment away from him feels like a slow unraveling.

By the time you reach his door, your nerves are frayed to the breaking point. You hesitate for a moment, your hand poised to knock, before finally forcing yourself to take the leap.

Three short raps echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opens after a moment, and there he is—Spencer Reid, standing in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression wary but softening the instant he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice uncertain.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered. You take a shaky breath, clutching the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to the moment. “Can I come in please?”

He steps aside immediately, his concern deepening as he watches you.

Once inside, you pace the small living room, your hands trembling, your mind racing. Reid stands by the door, watching you with a mix of confusion and apprehension, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing, your back to him, and close your eyes for a moment, gathering every ounce of courage you have. When you turn to face him, the words tumble out in a rush.

“I have been avoiding you,”

He knew that. But hearing you say it tears him up just a little.

“because I’m an idiot,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Because I thought it would be easier to push you away than to deal with the fact that I—” You falter, your throat tightening, but you force yourself to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Reid.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise, but you keep going, afraid that if you stop now, you’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“And I was scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared you’d look at me differently, scared of losing you. So I distanced myself, and it was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. And another, until he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” he says softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, his eyes searching yours. “You’re brilliant and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m not... like I’m not so different. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I kept it to myself, even though it killed me to see you pull away.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, a rush of relief and disbelief and something achingly tender.

“Spencer...”

He steps closer, his hand lifting to cup your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—coffee and faint traces of his shampoo—wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms. “Don’t be,” he says, his gaze soft and unwavering. “We’ve both been scared. But we don’t have to be anymore.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb, his touch lingering.

“Does this mean I can invite you to coffee again without you running away?” he asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice—”

His smile widens, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, a soft brush of lips, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what to expect after so long of keeping everything bottled up.

But as the seconds pass, as your heart beats faster and your pulse races with the rush of finally having everything laid bare between you, the kiss deepens.

It’s overwhelming, more than you ever imagined. The gentle pressure of his lips on yours sends waves of warmth through you, and it’s as if everything else—everything you’ve been afraid of, everything that’s kept you distant—melts away in that single, perfect moment.

The tension, the months of pining and longing, spill into the kiss, filling the space between you with everything you’ve been holding back.

You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his hands moving to your waist, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His lips are soft but eager, the kind of kiss that says everything words couldn’t express.

The world outside this room fades into nothingness—the hum of the city, the quiet night air, the noise of your past self-doubt—all of it is gone. It’s just you and him now, tangled up in each other in a way that feels so natural, so right.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and when you look at him, the expression in his eyes is one of pure awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something he’s dreamed of for so long but never thought he’d get to touch.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

You laugh softly, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, the electric feeling of his arms around you. “I think I have some idea,” you say, smiling through the haziness of your emotions. “I’m not that oblivious,”

He smiles, a little sheepishly, and presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well… I guess we’re both just really good at pretending.”

“Not anymore,” you say, your voice filled with newfound certainty. “No more pretending. No more running. From now on, it’s just... us.”

Reid’s smile widens, and he nods. His hands move to cup your face, the touch tender, reverent. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, I won’t let fear get in the way again,”

You nod, your chest swelling with relief. You feel the same. Fear won’t keep you apart any longer.

The transition from being friends to lovers feels seamless, like something that was always meant to happen but only needed the right moment to click into place.

There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing. It feels like this was the way things were always supposed to be, as if every conversation, every shared laugh, every moment you’d spent together was building toward this.

“You know,” he says quietly, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice, “I think I’m starting to like this ‘not pretending’ thing.”

You chuckle, your heart full, and pull him into another kiss, this one more relaxed, more comfortable. There’s no rush now—just the simple, perfect feeling of being in his arms, of knowing you don’t have to hide anymore.

When you pull away again, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice a little thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve both been through.

And as you stand there in his arms, the world outside his apartment feels like a distant memory, something far away that no longer matters. All that matters is the feeling of being together, of stepping into the future with him, side by side. No more fear. No more distance. Just you and him.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX

Returning to work after that night feels surreal, like stepping into a world that’s familiar but somehow brighter, sharper. Everything feels new, but also so wonderfully right.

The team notices almost immediately. They’re profilers, after all.

It starts with the little things—your hand brushing against Spencer’s as you both reach for the same file, the soft, shared smiles exchanged across the bullpen, the way you instinctively gravitate toward him during team meetings.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up the first time he catches Spencer stealing a glance at you, his expression so openly fond it borders on dreamy.

“Something you want to tell us, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases one morning as Spencer sits at his desk, clearly distracted.

Spencer startles, his ears turning red as he fumbles with his pen. “I—uh, no, nothing.”

From her desk, Garcia narrows her eyes suspiciously, then looks at you, her gaze bouncing between the two of you like she’s connecting the dots. “Wait a second. Are you two—?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say quickly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your attempt at sternness.

“Oh, we will talk about this,” Garcia says, grinning triumphantly. “Just as soon as I gather my emotional support snacks.”

Hotch and Rossi, ever the professionals, don’t comment, but the knowing looks they exchange speak volumes.

So does the HR form that magically appears on your desk the same afternoon.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE

A quiet afternoon, as the team prepares for a lull between cases, Spencer walks into the bullpen holding a carefully wrapped package. The sight of him—nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hair slightly mussed, his tie askew—makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, setting aside the file you’ve been working on. “What’s that?”

He holds out the package, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. “It’s for you,” he says, a little shyly. “I’ve had it for a while, but… I was waiting for the right moment,”

Curiosity piqued, you carefully unwrap the package, your breath catching when you see what’s inside: a first-edition copy of a book you’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, a rare find you never thought you’d own.

“Spencer,” you breathe, running your fingers reverently over the worn leather cover. “This is—this is incredible.”

He shrugs, his cheeks flushing pink. “I remembered how much you loved it, and, well… I wanted you to have it,”

You stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, by the quiet devotion it represents. Setting the book aside, you rise from your chair and step closer to him.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently on his shoulders. It’s not your first kiss, but it feels just as electric, just as full of promise.

When you pull back, his eyes are bright, his smile soft and radiant. “I think I like this ‘new chapter’ we’re in,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with affection.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart swelling as you brush a stray curl from his forehead.

As you return to your desk, the book resting on the corner like a talisman of everything you’ve built together, you steal another glance at him.

He’s already immersed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he catches you looking, he smiles—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

This is where I’m supposed to be, you think. And Spencer would agree.

[novarex]

Drow Reference Material for your OC and Fanfiction Purposes

This is not a complete list, but here are some references I use often when trying to write thins that are somewhat lore accurate.

This is one of the coolest books I have in physical form. Fortunately for you, you can get the whole book for free in digital form here. I used this CONSTANTLY when writing fics or formulating OCs.

Published in 2012, the same year the Legend of Drizzt book Charon's Claw released, it goes into INCREDIBLE detail about drow culture and the city of Menzoberranzan itself. 10/10

Published in 1992 , Menzoberranzan City of Drow, has a lot of interesting information, but some of it might be old and out of date. There are a few things I noticed that have been changed. This is still a great source of more drow information.

There are two Drow of the Underdark books... this one is for the Forgotten Realms setting and in 2e. The 2007 one is more for other settings as was pointed out to me.

Drow of the Underdark 2e - link in case the one below doesn't work on mobile

Published in 2007, Drow of the Underdark provides more insight into drow culture. There are, however, aspects of this that are outdated. I take some of these older books as if they were written by a person who was observing the drow as an outsider with their own prejudices and preconceived notions.

Demihuman Deities has a ton of text on lots of gods. Good reference for drow gods and just about any other god you want more information on.

Drow language translator - I don't know how accurate this is, but I use it for fanfiction writing anyway.

Excellent resource for Legend of Drizzt and related Forgotten Realms books. Timeline is very valuable when writing fanfiction.

CLCIK HERE TO GO TO REDDIT POST

DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT DROW? COME JOIN MY DISCORD SERVER! Due to the nature of drow works and culture, this is an adult level server. Thanks!

[adventures-in-mangaland]

Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

So I hear there's been some fandom drama? Guess it's time for another fic rec list! This fandom is so lovely, so let's focus on the positive and give all the love to our writers and artists. You guys are so talented. ♥️

Work It Harder, Make it Better by dear_monday, two_ravens

Olympics AU! And kind of Sk8er Boi? Charles is an Olympic skateboarder at the end of his competitive career and Edwin is a rising star in the world of dressage. They fall in love at Paris 2024. Amazing writing, as always, and I also enjoyed Niko and Crystal as members of the skateboarding and equestrian teams having their own Olympics Romance and Jenny as Charles' world-weary coach.

Twin Flame by Leandra

Another "He was a punk, he did ballet" romance! This time, everyone is alive and the boys meet when Charles watches Edwin perform at his little sister's ballet recital. The romance and Charles as a big brother are very sweet, which is great as this fic also covers some heavy themes. It's set in the 90s so there's discussion of homophobia, the AIDs crisis and Charles' canon child abuse. Suffice to say, his bisexual awakening is quite fraught. Recommended!

Love for Hire by lucrow

Edwin hires Charles to freak out his parents with his obnoxious fake boyfriend. What could possible haaappeeen? And yes, it's a ballet/punk romance too. 😅 Anyway, it's giving fantastic banter, lots of emotions and great use of trope! I also enjoyed Edwin's relationship with his mum in this fic, excellent parental feels.

so I try to talk refined by shadowquill17

Charles finds out about the Cat King taking on his appearance and (somehow) arrives at the conclusion that Edwin isn't attracted to him. Charles having body image as well as chronic self-esteem issues was interesting but kind of heartbreaking. Read it for Edwin's agonised attempts to verbalise his sexual attraction to Charles without exploding. That's love right there.

A Royal Pain(e) (series) by handwrittenhello

Royalty AU! I love a bodyguard romance from time to time and this one is lovely. Lots of yearning.

Turnabout's Fair Play by LikeMmmCookies

Edwin enlists Niko and Crystal to teach him how to flirt with Charles. It starts off cute and awkward and ends up Master Of All He Surveys, which is very Edwin.

I will love you (I really love you) by ghostinthelibrary

Charles has a feelings realization and tries to confess to Edwin. Repeatedly. From a cock-blocking enchanted statue to a Hellhound, it's farcical and fun. This fic has been living in my head rent free for months.

seasons of mists by laiqualaurelote

Edwin hires Charles to be the barista in his book shop's cafe. Two cosy AUs in one! And it even comes (appropriately) with its own reading list and fanart! Very cute, excellent autumnal vibes and a superb imaginary book shop. I'm genuinely so devastated it's not a real place. 😭

Ariadne's Thread by hobbitsdoitbetter

In which Edwin is demisexual and trying to make it work with Charles. Love to see some ace spectrum representation!

you know the problem with history (it keeps coming back like weeds) by aletterinthenameofsanity

Amnesia AU! And kind of Secret Relationship? Edwin has Not So Temporary Amnesia that made him forget a whole romantic relationship with Charles early in their partnership. And Charles never told him... Surely this will have no impact on the events of canon?? 😬 I loved this twist on the trope!

scraped to the marrow by Anonymous

Edwin learned black magic in Hell and kind of went to the Dark Side. I love the trope of "Everyone thinks Character avoids violence because they're scared/weak/nice/bad at it, but actually they're a bit too good at it" and this fic does it well. I love regular Edwin, but Lord Bone was also pretty cool.

To Walk Back Into Hell by Asidian

Charles goes to Hell in Edwin's place, so naturally Edwin needs to find a way to rescue him! Interesting Hell lore and I loved all the Charles love in this.

It does not stop by williamvapespeare

Now he's safe from Hell, Edwin finally works through his PTSD. Emotional, but peak Emotional Support Charles for the win!

signed, sealed, delivered by sulfuric

Outsider PoV of the boys and the agency through the years from the perspective of the Ghost Postman. He's kind of underrated as a side character, but there are so many Implications about the Dead Letter Office, so I enjoyed the worldbuilding. And the supernatural community of London gossiping about/shipping the boys (they're just like us, for real). Love that trope.

not so secret by lola_prongs

Social Media/Celebrity AU! In which they're both actors and Charles relentlessly thirsts after Edwin on Twitter. Great use of social media/epistolary storytelling.

Like a record, baby by singtome

Another celebrity/social media AU, but this time Charles and Crystal are budding rock stars and Edwin is their manager. Also Edwin goes viral as the mysterious #HotGuyatUnity after his picture's taken at an event and Charles *tries* to set the record straight. This one's funny, generous with the yearning and UST and is part of a series that also touches on the darker side of the music industry/celebrity, which I appreciated. And it also has this excellent visual representation of the online drama.

@ghostinthelibrarywrites @tumblerislovetumblerislife @shadowquill17 @neurodivergent-fangirling @whatthehorsedoicallthisblog @shazziez @many-gay-magpies @extremely-eager-reader @atariakana @guardianspirits13 @colourmornings @herebehunters @avoiceofnerat @littlepocketuniverse @overlord-of-chaos @fairandfatalasfair @handwrittenhello @every-moment-a-different-sound @williamvapespeare @laiqualaurelote @dear-monday @dear-lucrow @aletterinthenameofsanity @likemmmcookies @bibliomancer7 @c-rowland @nobledragonflying @hobbitsdoitbetter

I've tagged some people again. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

[aziraphales-library]

hey mods!!! I loveeee your taste in fics, you awesome ppl always have amazing ones on hand!! I was wondering if you knew any fics where Aziraphale and Crowley are just absolutely silly and ridiculous lol, it’s soo cute!! Thx for all the fics, and have a nice dayyy

Hi! You might like to check out our #humour, #humor, and #crack tags for silly fics. Here are some more silly ones for you...

You're Telling Me a Shrimp Fried This Rice? by absolutely_obsessed (G)

"A 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘱?" "Oh, yes." "The little..." Crowley lifted his hand up and held his pointed finger and thumb about three inches apart, "little buggers in the ocean?" "The very same," Aziraphale confirmed. "𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 that?" "Quite right, my dear." "𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺?" Crowley asked, 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 baffled. "Really."

Fighting A Duck For My Pants And Winning by ineffablefool (T)

"Missed connection. You were the angel sitting on this park bench, I was the demon fighting a duck for my pants and losing. If you saw me, please call me. (PS. I got them back - let’s hang out!)" (Based on a Tumblr prompt. Human!Crowley is a disaster, but fortunately the very pretty angel he disaster'd in front of appears to think that's endearing.)

Dear Raphael by asideofourown (T)

The thing was, even after Crowley Fell, Heaven forgot to delete his login to their system. The only half interesting thing he had ever found in Heaven’s archives was their newspaper, even though it was a dreadfully dull rag. But even then, Crowley was never inspired to truly interfere with the Celestial Observer’s contents until the late 1600s, when advice columns were invented on Earth. As always, brilliant inspiration struck him like… like whatever inspiration strikes like. So Crowley resolved to meddle, just as a side project. Maybe if he got enough angels heated at each other, he could report it as a victory to Hell. Anyway, Dagon had always liked gossip, and the Celestial Observer’s new advice column was a ready source of that. It was pure genius. [Crowley, demon of Hell, becomes Heaven's foremost advice columnist]

"And I Would Never Say 'Pickle'!" by SanSanFanFan (G)

What if they hadn't been able to switch back again?

You Know the Answer (So Scream It Out Loud) by his_infinitevariety (G)

“Between us we have 12,000 years’ first-hand knowledge of all of human history. I think we can manage a few silly quiz shows.” This is apparently what happens when Crowley convinces Aziraphale to watch a bunch of British quiz shows with him.

Haunt Your Own House, Thank You by musegnome (E)

The line had at last dwindled to almost nothing when Aziraphale looked up with his best plastic customer-service smile and saw sunglasses. “Hi,” said Crowley with a grin. “Someone told me I needed to order something if I didn’t want to get tossed out on my ass.” “An excellent suggestion on Someone’s part.” Aziraphale’s exhaustion melted suddenly away. “What can I get you?” The grin turned wicked. “I want a footlong.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t we all.”   (Or: The story of how Crowley, and Ouija boards, got banned from Subway. Inspired by the famous Ouija Boards and Seances are Not Allowed at the Subway photo.)

- Mod D

[cor-lapis]

I decided to have a go at doing my own redesigns because these three are my favourites and I love them very much. further notes + sources under the readmore (warning: lots of text). I did my best with the research, but if there's anything I overlooked, I'd really appreciate people letting me know :)

Tighnari:

My main source for Tighnari was this excellent thread, from which I looked up each item of clothing individually. Since djellabas tend to be quite long, and Tighnari needs mobility for forest ranger activities, I figured he would cut and re-hem the lower half. He also has a lot of clothing pieces that are traditionally multicoloured, but to keep his design cohesive I decided to use the same colours across different items, but using a larger palette of colours than I would usually. I like the bright colours on him a lot though!

There are also some minor details I just changed because I wanted to. The flower on his chest is now a nilotpala lotus, because I thought it was nice to include his acension material/the material he asks you to help gather. The dirt stains/scuff marks are because rainforests are muddy and I wanted the design to emphasise Tighnari being very practical and hands-on with his work (see also, the specimen belt).

Finally, I shrunk the magnifying glass on his back (because I'm pretty sure it's meant to be his first magnifying glass toy and that thing is very large for a child to handle) and gave him an undercut because it seemed right. Also, I merged his front and back trailing cloths into a scarf type of thing that he could wrap around his nose and mouth to prevent inhaling spores from mushrooms.

Collei:

COLLEI my beloved. I had a mild nightmare trying to figure out a specific source culture for her design, but nobody seemed to know specifics and her outfit wasn't matching with any traditional dress I looked up, so in the end decided to keep the overall look the same. Just in case I assigned her something else, but then it turned out I missed her actual inspiration.

Anyway, I made her shoes simpler (no fur, heels, and open toes in the rainforest seemed reasonable to me), and gave her shorts. I liked the green colour because it's pretty unique under a dark dress, and pairs nicely with Nahida's white dress + green undersides. Amber's tie stays, but I made most of her jewellery smaller since it felt a little clunky for a trainee ranger.

Her earring and necklace(?) are allusions to the Evil Eye and the Khmissa/Hamsa, both symbols of protection. Especially considering the fact they're meant to ward off evil, and very common across multiple MENA cultures, it seemed fitting for Collei to have them. Also, she has Eleazar scars, and I used the design for her stockings as inspiration for the combination knee braces (similar to those used for arthritis, since Eleazar also causes stiff limbs and I HC that people affected would probably still need some recovery support)/knee pads (in the case of a fall). I like the idea that Kaveh would have helped make them for her (tangent but the fic Here is the House explores similar ideas; it's really really good, I heavily recommend it). Finally, she has curly hair because I thought it would be cute.

Cyno:

Here's the thread I found for Cyno. The main critique was to do with the eras from which each aspect of his clothing drew inspiration, but I admittedly wouldn't be able to do much about this without a lot of research. One thing I did try and verify was the small strip of cloth on the left of his chest, and I found a few wall murals where the people seem to be wearing similar strips of cloth? (example here; rightmost figure) Therefore, I didn't remove it, but if someone wants to explain Ancient Egyptian clothing history to me I'd be really interested to hear it 6.6

I might iterate on the design in the future, but for now the changes are mostly HC territory. Cyno wearing his hair in locs (a protective hairstyle) makes sense for someone who does a lot of hiking after rogue scholars, and I also gave him quite old and faded top surgery scars because healthcare is canonically free in Sumeru (thanks for that information, al-Haitham)(though tbf Cyno makes bank anyway). I also adjusted the colours a bit, since Genshin tends to use desaturated shades for metallic elements.

I also considered giving Cyno more scars, but figured that it could indicate Hermanubis' presence that someone you'd expect to get injured a lot is relatively scar-free (i.e. some sort of godly healing factor/resistance to damage). However, we know next to nothing about Hermanubis, so Cyno having a lot of scars also makes sense. This paragraph is mostly just a cry for help cyno story quest 2 literally any more elaboration about the nature of Hermanubis' pact and the Temple of Silence.

Conclusion

I wasn't intending to write one when I started the explanations but this got REALLY long so if you made it this far, thank you so so much ToT please check out the links; the threads especially were a great resource, and I'm grateful that people take the time to make them <3 genshin's character design department are cowards but I'm glad I learned some new things through the redesign process

[sgt-tombstone]

y’all don’t mind if I ramble about a fic idea that’s been knocking around in my head for a while but will never get written, do you?

cool

it’s a grumpy-and-sunshine-professor AU where Simon is a history professor studying the history of death and Johnny is a professor of chemistry studying pyrotechnics. They both have fierce reputations within their departments; Johnny for being a lenient grader and an excellent teacher, and Simon for being a complete hardass

They’re secretly married to each other, but no one ever takes classes with both of them, so there hasn’t ever been a student that has found out. Johnny talks about his husband constantly, never by name, but his computer background is a picture of two unmistakably masculine hands with matching rings, obviously a wedding photo, and he usually starts class with a little story about something funny that his husband did the day/night before. It’s well-known that his husband is blond, massive, and an utter sweetheart. They obviously adore each other, if the weekend date stories that he tells are any indication (always innocent, of course)

Simon, on the other hand, never talks about his personal life at all. He starts class on the dot, getting straight to the point without any fanfare or chitchat. He’s a man of few words, and he uses them well and efficiently. He wears a ring on a necklace, and it sometimes slips out of his shirt during lecture, but no one dares ask (stories are told of the one student who did, and got a glare so acidic that he had dropped the class on the spot)

Then along comes (insert OC’s name here), who is a biology student focusing on infectious diseases. Johnny is her advisor and she adores him (not in that way, she’s a lesbian and he’s obviously besotted with his husband). She had him for her introductory chemistry classes and he was the only reason she passed; she’s trusted his judgment and advice implicitly ever since. So when she asks what class she should take for her required history elective, he recommends a class called The History and Impacts of the Black Death, and it sounds right up her alley but the professor listed gives her pause. She’s heard of Dr. Riley, of course; nearly everyone on campus has heard the stories of traumatized history majors avoiding Dr. Riley’s classes (ironically) like the plague. But she trusts Dr. MacTavish, so she registers anyway.

The class is tough. In her opinion, it’s way too difficult for an elective class, especially on top of her other upper level science classes, but she hasn’t gotten this far without knowing how to step up to a challenge, and Dr. Riley’s scathing feedback on her first assignment has her digging her heels in instead of throwing in the towel. The topic is interesting; she’d never really looked into the history of infectious diseases, and the Black Death is morbidly fascinating. She struggles a bit with the historical aspects of the class at first, especially when Dr. Riley expects his students to already have a firm grasp on Medieval history and she very much does not, but she’ll never pass up an opportunity to do some external research to catch up to where the rest of the class—populated mostly by history majors—is in their studies.

Towards the end of the semester, close to the end of November, the student’s mother finds out about her girlfriend and kicks her out late at night. With nowhere else to go, she remembers that Dr. MacTavish is both openly gay and has invited groups of students to his house for club meetings and field trips. It’s a little awkward, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so she walks to his house in the rain. When she knocks on the door, Dr. MacTavish answers with clear concern, and he waves her inside quickly. She explains her situation, panicking about the entire thing because she’s standing in her advisor’s house at 10pm, her parents have just cut her off, and she’s scared and wet. Dr. MacTavish calls into the other room, presumably to his husband, asking for a towel.

The last person she expects to round the corner is Dr. Riley, holding a fluffy towel and an expression equally as concerned as Dr. MacTavish’s. His husband.

She has to sit down.

They sit and talk as she dries off and warms up. Johnny makes her a cup of hot chocolate while Dr. Riley—Simon—builds a fire in the fireplace. She huddles close to it as they talk, and she eventually ekes the story out of them; how they met, how they hated each other at first, how they fell in love. Simon is talkative and animated, drawing energy from the man sitting beside him, and the student finds herself enchanted by the two of them, the side of her professors that she never gets to see. It should feel like a breach of privacy, a line crossed, but it feels like staying up late with her uncles. They make up the guest bedroom for her and all go to bed, reminded that they all have class tomorrow.

The student ends up staying with some friends, couch-surfing in their apartment until she can get her feet back under her, but she spends several nights a week at the Riley-MacTavish household, delving into the intricacies of infectious diseases and their connection to society with Simon. She enjoys the friendly arguments the two professors get into and often chooses sides arbitrarily to keep them on their toes. She switches her advisor from Johnny to Simon (Johnny pretends to be upset, but he’s secretly overjoyed that Simon is connecting so well with a student), and ends up writing a thesis paper under his tutelage.

Idk how it’s gonna end yet, maybe with a far future scene where she sees the two of them at a conference and throws herself at them, wrapping them both in massive hugs. It earns her several very odd stares, especially from those who know Dr. Riley’s reputation, but she doesn’t care. They were there for her in the darkest night of her life, and she’ll always have a soft spot for both of them

[threepandas]

Like A Dangerous Cat: Yandere!Aizawa

See, here's the thing. (And don't get me wrong, to each their own.) I come across Yandere!Aizawa fics time and again, that forget his crucial truth. This man? THIS man... is fuckin EXHAUSTED.

No sexy body or "ooooh~ IMPRISON ME sempai~♡" energy is gonna motivate him enough to get out of his damn sleeping bag. No today, not tomorrow. Not EVER. He's best friends with Nemuri, for god's sake. He's seen finer tits for far less effort.

And HURTING you? Why would he do THAT? You got something to confess? He has more then a few cops on speed dial. He WILL if he must... but for your sake. Do Not Make Him Do That.

It's his napping time.

He gets that so, SO fucking rarely.

But! Does this mean he can not become a Yandere? Are we cursed to a hot hobo-daddy-less Yandere-free world?

The FUCK it does!

He has SO much love to give. And is that not the CORE of the Yandere? The love? The OBSESSION. Hey, real quick, how much of his personality has he completely reshaped around the hole Oboro left in his life? How far do you think he would GO for Mic? What do you think he would DO?

The thing is? He's not the sort of Yandere that would ever hurt or humiliate his Darling. Oh no, he'd sooner die. Take you all with him. No...

No he's a HERO.

He's gonna PROTECT them. Make them HAPPY. Bask in the light of it, like a cat on a sunbeam. And? HOW he protects them? What he needs to DO, to make sure everything is SAFE? That their dreams come true and their path is full of nothing but rose petal n light? Well... they don't need to know about THAT do they?

That's his JOB, isn't it?

To be a HERO. To PROTECT. Keep watch, just in case.

And? He is the sort of Yandere you'll NEVER notice. Others will. They'll never get the chance to WARN you, but they'll notice. Or, they'll already be so wrapped up in his madness, that it all feels normal.

You'll just... start finding your life easier, all of a sudden. Little things will start going your way. Then bigger and bigger. That creep who kept cat calling you? Finally stopped! The rumored pervert around the neighborhood? Caught! Oh! Look! You didn't even KNOW about this sale!

Wonder how the ad even GOT to you...

Still, you'll brush it off. Pet some cats. Wonder why all the guys who used to hit on you STOPPED. Figure they were messing with you. Oh, hey! Promotion! You buy nicer coffee for the weird hobo looking Hero that uses your balcony as a patrol rest stop.

You DID offer.

Even set up a lil coffee maker out there. Electric kettle. A lockable snack box n stuff. You figured he wouldn't trust food left to the open air. It's suspicious, right? He knocked on your sliding door and asked about it. You guys had a conversation and everything. Was pretty cool.

And? Slowly? He'll pull you in. Vague thank you notes becoming polite but generic "how are you"s. Which of course meanders in to questions about things you mention. Longer responses from you. More and more notes. Until? Oh, he just HAPPENS to be early today...

Slowly, carefully, dragging you into his friend group. Letting Mic do the heavy social lifting. Letting Nemuri do the loud girls nights. Letting you roam free, happy and oblivious. Careful as he peppers in the benefits of working for UA. Good pay, excellent protection, unmatchable care package...

Ah, but he's rambling, you were mentioning your unreasonable boss?

And of course, his friends will tease. He has a "crush". That's one word for what he feels. They suggest dates and hookups. It sounds awful. He has an almost comically low sex drive. You would too, with working hours like his. WOULD he though?

The second you showed interest. In anyway you'd have him. Like it's his life's MISSION to get you off. He'd do RESEARCH. Deep dives. Your computer? Hacked. Your search history? Gone through with a fine tooth comb. He found your smut stash WEEKS ago. Has copies of every title, been going through them like he's studying for a final.

He's been friends with Nemuri for YEARS. Knows things youve never even considered. If not from HER, then from her 18+ Hero work friends. They're loud. He's vaguely annoyed that it actually HAS become useful knowledge.

And? The thought of having you completely, taking you apart, holding you, boneless and soft and warm against him? Makes feels like some horny teenager, for how quick that does it for him. He has FANTASIES of what he would do to you, if he actually had enough time of to be well rested.

Wants to pamper you. Wants to limp, bruised and sore, to your apartment, so you'll WORRY. Want to pamper HIM. Want to focus on him. Pay attention to him. Be soft and careful and gentle with him. Your poor wounded hero...

Ah, he bets he could convince you to let him sleep, propped up in your arms.

It'd be so WARM.

In the meantime? He'll slowly get you used to him. Use Mic to do it. That's right, every hour is cuddle hour. It's good for mental health and hormonal regulation. Perfectly logical, really, to get some casual touch from trusted friends, right? Honestly, there's nothing to see here. He's harmless. Of course he can help braid your hair. Sure you can lean against him. Cold? Let's share a sleeping bag.

He's harmless.

Like a grumpy cat.

A big, dangerous cat.

[hoshinasblade]

Hi I love ur Hoshina fics sm!

Anyway you were asking for headcanons last time, do you think our Hoshina sends dick pics to his s/o? I'm not sure if you write nsfw but it will be fun to read if ever! Thanks x

HAHAHA anon, this is so interesting. minors, please don't interact with this one.

honestly i dont think hoshina is above sending thirst traps - he would be the type to send you a picture of him topless while still sweaty after his workout, and he'll probably throw a peace sign or two and tell you that he's just tryna be cute. liar liar, pants on fire. he gets his kicks on knowing he can fluster you with that. im a bit hesitant on dick pics though, and it's not because i think hoshina is a prude - hell no - but i think it's because he was never able to get a good angle ever so he doesn't think it's sexy enough for you to look at. and let's be honest, if he's gonna send you a picture of his immaculate junk, he would rather go to you and show it personally. im assuming he's got more privileges and therefore freedom so he can roam around even after-hours or get out of the base when he's not that needed.

one nsfw headcanon i have for this guy though is that though he never sends dick pics, he excels at moaning audios. his voice would be deep and husky from both sleepiness and lust, and he would just sound really, really hot. you mentioned to him once that you liked him dirty talking during sex and it activated a switch in his brain that you can't turn back off. he had definitely sent you multiple voice messages where you can hear him moan while he's touching himself. you overheated the first time you listened to it.

also yes, i have some nsfw prompts lined up, just gotta look for some momentum and chance to write. i know i yap a lot here but i also work full-time so that makes writing a bit hard for me since my process takes longer than i sometimes intend it to be. it's always worth it though hehe i like writing for hoshina. if you have a specific nsfw scenario you want me to write about, feel free to let me know and i can possibly whip up even a drabble or a one-shot for you.

[perseephoneee]

four times we almost kissed and the one time we did (kol mikaelson x f!reader)

warnings: slight blood sharing, mostly frusteration

a/n: unfortunately for my sanity, i have fallen in love with kol. why? i couldn't tell you. the actor drives me up a fucking wall. but the character? i am down for bad. so here ya go. feel free to request more kol or over tvdu characters!!

↳ masterlist ↳  want to be shipped with a fic character?

[1] First meeting

Magic has existed in New Orleans for as long as anyone can remember. The prevalence of voodoo-- NOLA's most giant "tourist trap"-- originated in 1791 with enslaved West Africans who moved to Louisiana to grow a community for as many free people of color. That spirit meant that many of its inhabitants descended from that original society or were drawn here for its magical properties. Your family was one of the latter, a bunch of witches seeking solace in a place that nurtured it. Except with magic came strife, and eventually, other creatures came knocking at the door. Enter the Mikaelsons, New Orlean's resident vampire family that was always at the center of whatever drama was happening. Right now, something involving all those magically oriented. 

You made it a point to stay clear of the fight. Not because you didn't care– you did– but because it wasn't your fight to be had. That's how you stayed alive in this neighborhood; you knew where to stick your nose and when to stay clear. Besides, all the commotion with one of the Harvest girls (Cassie, you believe her name was) and the witch's distaste of vampires meant tensions were high. You could help the community from the background anyway; you didn't need to make yourself known.

At least, that's what you hoped. But things rarely turned out how you wanted, and this was one of those times. Walking through the back streets of NOLA was never an excellent idea, but it was shorter, and you just wanted to get to the metaphysical supply store before it closed. You needed more laurel leaves to create protection charms around your house, especially with the uptake in strife in the recent year. 

Which is how you came upon a witch killing three vampires in the alley.

You wanted to turn on your heel and leave, but the witch noticed you before you could. You didn't recognize him, so you were unsure what coven he belonged to. He was tall enough to probably tower over you, with golden curly hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut your fingers if you touched it. He was unbelievably handsome, and you hated that it caught your breath.

"You shouldn't be here, luv," he crooned, his English accent thick. He sauntered down the alley, coming up to you with narrowed eyes. 

"I don't recognize you," you countered, shifting your weight as you crossed your arms. It's best not to let him know that you're flustered.

"New in town," he smiled, a cocky grin that told you that he absolutely knew the effect he had on women. It left a bad taste in your mouth. "New Orleans is a big city; I'm surprised you would know everyone."

"I know witches," you said, peering up at him. 

"Ah, are you a magical thing yourself?"

"What do you think?" You arched a brow. He stepped closer, reaching up to twirl a piece of your hair around his finger. You recoiled slightly but didn't pull back. Never show fear; that's one thing this town taught you. 

"I think you're a pretty young thing," he hummed. "I'm Kol." He peered at you as if waiting for you to offer your name. You didn't. 

"Not interested," you pulled back from him, letting the hair he had touched fall back in front of your face. He stepped back into your space.

"I don't know, darling," he smiled, leaning closer so his breath fanned your face. It was minty like he had just had an Altoid. "I think you're interested." You hated admitting that this tall, handsome stranger (such a cliche) was right. And you really hated that if you leaned up slightly, you could feel the warmth from his lips. He stepped back, though, hands in his pockets. The same hands that had used magic to wrangle the undead life of the vampires behind him. You took that as a sign to start to leave, walking backward before turning on your heel and ignoring the gaze of the witch behind you. 

"Never got your name!" He chimed. You smiled to yourself.

"Figure it out yourself."

[2] Cemetery watch

Disgruntled. That's how you felt. Chaos had grown over the past weeks, but you didn't see Kol again. A sliver of disappointment, as you did find him cute, but also a relief. You know enough flirtatious bastards to not want to add more to your life.

You weren't thinking about him today, though. You were thinking about your grandmother, who lived in the cemetery right outside your block. A popular cemetery for Wiccan rituals, it made sense for your grandma (the high priestess of your family) to be buried there with heavy praise. 

You were laying a combination of roses, lavender, and rosemary for protection when the hair on your neck stood up. Feeling a presence, you soon turn around, making eye contact with the stranger who approached you. 

Definitely not a witch; his aura was too dark for that. He was tall, with tousled brown hair and eyes that lingered on you for far too long. He was cute, though, even if he was dangerous.

"Hello darling," he purrs, stalking closer. 

"Can I help you?" You sigh, crossing your arms as you peer at him with suspicion. He wears a cocky smile and a look that tells you he would love to have a taste.

"Don't remember me? I'm hurt," he puts a hand on his chest, feigning pain. You look at him closely, but the only recognition is in the pet name. Darling. Not many people called you darling. 

"Kol," you said. "You're shorter." His face had a hint of shock before settling into amusement. 

"That was uncalled for," he laughed, walking closer to you. In closer proximity, you could see that he was, in fact, very handsome, and he was definitely aware of that. 

"I'm reiterating my previous question, can I help you?"

"When my family sent me on this mission to track down the 'wisest witch in the quarter,' I was not expecting you," he looked down at you with gold-flecked eyes. "The beautiful girl who wouldn't give me her name. Except now I know it's Y/N."

"I thought you were a witch," you took a hesitant step back, trying to create space. 

"Temporarily," he sighed. "Now I'm back in my original form of vampire." The way he said it gave you pause, as if he was resigned to the fact but not happy about it. You could relate. If you lost your magic, you would be devastated. 

"You said something about your family?" you coughed, changing the subject. 

"There's someone working against them, and we would prefer if they don't kill us," Kol shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up at the clouds above. "People tend to hate us, Mikaelsons."

"You're a Mikaelson?" you hissed. It was because of the Mikaelsons your home was in constant disaster. "Why should I help you? Any of you?"

"For the most part, we don't want to cause trouble. It just tends to find us. Helping eliminate a threat means fewer problems in the quarter," Kol sighed, stepping closer. His fingers brushed your cheek, delicate as if touching the grass in a meadow. "Also, you'd get to spend time with me."

"Why would I want to spend time with you?" you breathed, voice wavering slightly. Curse your damn hormones for being swayed by a vampire of all creatures. His thumb came under your chin, allowing him to bring your face closer to his. Kol smelled like fresh snow and evergreens, and you knew that if he leaned a little bit closer, you wouldn't stop him. In the process, likely offend the ghost of your grandmother who was probably rolling her eyes at you right now. Before you could offend all the ancestors with your choices, Kol stepped back, resuming his cocky grin and leaving your breath lodged in your throat. Without a second thought of the implications, you made your decision.

"Fine, I'll help you."

[3] Late night spell-casting

Late nights in the Mikaelson compound meant one thing. Coffee, and lots of it. 

You made a deal with the Mikaelsons after you agreed to help them that in exchange for your time, they had to buy you cafe drinks whenever you liked it. Elijah was the most taken aback, but Kol chuckled as if he found you amusing. Still, they found it a small price, not expecting how much you valued your drinks. Most nights, it was coffee, sometimes tea, or even hot cocoa. Quite honestly, you just liked having the power to make them run around. 

You sat at one of their many couches, a book of shadows in your lap and a notepad in your hands as you made quick notes about possible spells that could combat the evil at hand. A couple of ideas swam in your head, but you wanted to exhaust your options before risking anyone else's life with a botched spell. Still, you had been at it for hours and started getting sleepy. You yawned, feeling your eyes close slightly. Thankfully, footsteps alerting you to the presence of one of the originals had you sitting up and shaking off your fatigue. Unfortunately, that original was Kol with your coffee order. 

Kol was precisely what you thought he would be. Flirtatious, cocky, impulsive, and too attractive for his own good. You hated when murderers were cute; it made life confusing. There were moments, though, when the two of you were performing recon or pouring over spell books that you saw a side of him that only showed when his guard wasn't up. He was calmer, more academic, and a lot more unsure of himself. The only thing you hated about seeing that side is it made you like him more. 

"How's my witchling doing?" he chimed, dropping off your coffee and settling beside you on the couch. You told him that being called darling felt ridiculous, so instead, he found a new nickname, which was even worse. 

"The usual, I suppose," you yawned again, leaning your head against the back of the couch. 

"Take a break."

"You realize it's your life on the line, right?" you huffed, turning to look at him. 

"My life will always be in danger, Y/N," Kol hummed, taking your books out of your lap with a minor protest from you. "That's not going to change tonight."

"Don't underestimate me," you grabbed your cup, taking a deep sip and looking at him over the lid. 

"I would never underestimate you," he grabbed your coffee and stole a sip himself, earning a growl from you. "Half the things you say shock and confuse me."

"It's my charm."

"Let's do something fun," Kol stood up, trying to drag you with him. "Research is bloody boring."

"We have two very different ideas of 'fun,' Mikaelson," you curled up into a ball on the couch, peering up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. An idea sparked in your head, and you turned a devilish smile to the brunette. "How about tarot cards?"

You found an old deck in the compound, creating a space on the table in the central area to lay out the spread. Even though having your cards would be better, you thought you could probably make do with these. You gave Kol the cards to shuffle and watched as he spent meticulous time connecting with the cards before handing the deck back to you. You started laying out the cards on the table, forming a cross with four cards separate on the side. You tucked your legs underneath you, curling up on the floor so you were huddled by the table. Kol joined you, his back against the couch as he peered at you straightening up the cards. 

"You realize you're going to flip them over, right?"

"Shut up, Mikaelson," you chimed, finishing your organization. He watched you with a small smile, and you made the effort to ignore his stare. "We'll start with your Present card."

“Boring,” Kol sing-songed. "Tell me my future."

"I have to go in order, to give an accurate reading."

"Darling, the cards are already laid out; you can do whatever you want," Kol leaned closer to you, squinting his eyes in amusement. "I live my life in futures; who cares about the past?"

Sighing, you decided to obey the nosey vampire and flip over his cards for Future and Near Future. The two cards revealed were the Lovers and Ace of Cups, respectively. 

"In your Future is a strong romantic relationship," you start, pointing out the Lovers card featuring two swans intertwined. "This correlates to the Ace of Cups, which signifies new beginnings. Since the Ace of Cups is in your near future, you'll likely encounter someone you'll soon develop a deep, long-lasting relationship with." You turn your eyes to Kol, raising an eyebrow. "Shocking, considering your personality."

"It's not that shocking," Kol quipped, leaning closer to you. "We're here, aren't we?"

His pupils were enlarged as he gazed upon you, and his glance to your lips told you exactly where his mind was. You couldn't deny you weren't thinking the same thing. It didn't help that Kol was dangerous in an enticing way. Ignoring all rational thought, you leaned in closer, nudging his nose with yours. Your heart was beating erratically, and you heard the sharp intake of breath he took. His fingers traced up your arm, each finger leaving goosebumps in their wake. What were you doing?

"How's the research going?" a voice called from the hallway. You scooted away immediately, but Kol stayed where he was. His jaw clenched as he suppressed a growl. Freya appeared, not aware of the situation and probably not caring anyway. 

"I have a few ideas," you coughed, taking a deep breath to calm your beating heart. 

"Great, I'd love to hear them so I can stop having stressful dreams," Freya chuckled, moving over to the couch. You sent Kol a glance as you passed your journal to Freya. The look he gave you told you that what started wasn't over. And the worst part was you didn't want it to be over. 

[4] Injured after a fight

A headache. That's what you were nursing. 

A sharp ringing pierced through your ears, the lights above you blurring into a bad abstract painting. A figure appeared above you, and you slowly registered that it was calling your name. You squinted your eyes, the action causing a splitting pain as the shape of Kol formed in front of you. Worry creased his brows, and blood splattered his face. 

"Y/N, Y/N, can you hear me?" Kol asked, cradling your head. You nodded, grabbing his arms to help pull yourself up. Chaos was erupting around you, and the stifling smell of magic was enough to knock you out again. That's what had happened. It was an ambush, and despite your abilities, you were blasted back into a wall, probably with a concussion and broken bones. It was times like this when you were envious of a vampire's healing skills. "I need to get you out of here."

"They need our help," you grimaced, catching Klaus ripping off someone's arms in the background. Kol caught your gaze and bothered with a slight smirk. 

"I'm sure Nik is fully capable of handling himself. Plus, my other siblings are here, and Freya called Vincent. They won't miss us."

"I'll be fine," you tried to say, but it ended in a wheeze as the effort of sitting up caused pain in your lungs. 

"You will not. Can you stand?" Kol watched you struggle for a second before picking you up. In a normal situation, you would've complained, but considering all you felt was ow ow ow ow ow you thought better than to complain. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he sped out of the scene and back to the compound. Kol laid you gently on the couch, kneeling before you, biting into his wrist and holding it to your lips. "You need to drink."

"I don't want to be a vampire," you mumbled, brushing a hand across your forehead. Your fingers held blood on them, and you became dizzy with that knowledge.

"I won't let that happen now, drink," Kol insisted, his voice having a hard edge. Considering he was a stubborn bastard, you relented. You hesitantly grabbed his wrist and brought it up to your mouth. The blood slid down your throat cleanly, but you had to suppress the urge to gag anyway since it was blood. You felt your bones click into place, and your headache dull to a memory. You finally looked up, catching Kol's gaze on you. How was it intensely erotic to have someone watch you drink their blood? There must be therapy for issues like this, but you didn't really care. How he looked at you was akin to a predator waiting to devour its next meal. You knew if you let him, he would fulfill every potential vampire fantasy one could have. He touched your cheek, touching your lips where his blood was just a second ago. He pulled away, red coating his fingers, and you suppressed a groan when he sucked the leftover blood. 

"Kol," you whispered, your voice raspy. He sat up at eye level, leaning down as if to kiss you. Of course, things weren't that easy, as his family burst into the compound right at that moment. You wanted to let out a scream of frustration but ended up being caught off guard by Klaus dropping a head by the entryway. 

"Glad to see our little witch is okay," Klaus chimed, looking pretty proud of himself. If Kol were a cartoon character, he'd blow smoke out of his ears. 

"I'm alive," you sighed. Klaus walked over, ignoring his brother's glares, and patted you on the shoulder. That was the closest thing to the affection you were getting from the hybrid. As the rest of the family delved into a conversation about the ambush, you finally got up and looked at the original kneeling on the ground before you. "We'll finish this later," you smiled, pretending to ignore the slight growl that left Kol's mouth as you walked off. 

[5] Evil has passed

"I thought you would've left."

Kol stood in the entryway of his bedroom at the Mikaelson home while you stood (guilty) by his bookshelf. 

"I was returning this book I borrowed from you," you said innocently. Putting the book back on the shelf, you turned to the man before you, trying his best to plaster on a convincing smile. The threat has passed, your job was over, and yet you were melancholy. These people had caused problems throughout your home since they arrived, yet your temporary alliance ending was something of sadness. You were tired of pretending it was for any reason other than Kol. Kol started as an annoying individual who sought to drive you up the wall, but now was someone you saw a kinship with. Your long talks on history and adventures across the globe were moments where you saw his guard fall, and you loved every second of it. It helped that he was pretty to look at. 

"I guess this means goodbye then, doesn't it witchling?" Kol sighed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. You could swear he sounded disappointed, but you didn't want to get your hopes up. 

"Depends," you crossed your arms. "I could be persuaded to come back."

"Persuaded?" Kol inquired, that mischievous glint in his eyes telling you he would ensure a way to keep you around. "Any particular reason?"

"If someone wanted me around, I guess," you smiled, a tiny grin but good enough for Kol to stroll towards you until he towered over your figure. 

"I'll give you a good reason," Kol murmured, a devilish smirk on his lips. "Something that we kept getting interrupted for in the past." He cupped your face in his hands, lowering his lips so they were a hairsbreadth from yours. 

"Don't be a tease," you breathed. Letting out a dark chuckle, he pressed his lips to yours. It was surprisingly light, not hungry like his usual personality. He tasted like a fresh snowstorm and an evergreen forest, and you know you could get drunk on that alone. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you brought him closer to you, deepening the kiss and earning a light groan from the vampire. Kol's hands tangled in your hair, one of them going to hold your waist. Every touch of his was coldfire, and you were so glad that you were finally alone to burn in him. He tilted your head back, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat that caused you let out a moan. He nipped the junction of your neck and shoulder, kissing over it until he was back at your lips again, leaving a searing kiss. Kol pulled away, glancing at you with eyes abysmal. "What took you so long to do that?" you breathed, a grin covering your face as Kol laughed, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

"You're all mine now," Kol smiled, kissing you again. "Always and forever."

[vixstarria]

Kinktober Day 23 - Body Swapping

For every day of the month of October I will be posting a little snippet following prompts listed in this post. Most of these will not be full fics, but rather short snippets, set-ups, and, in a few cases, copied bits and pieces of fics I have already published. But, if there is a lot of interest and feedback on any of the snippets, they might just evolve into full fics, so keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: Tell me this isn't exactly how this would go, I fkn dare you.

“We’ll have about an hour. Are you ready?”

The scroll had cost a small fortune on the black market, came with no guarantees, and was illegal to possess to begin with. The vendor claimed it would fully swap their bodies. Not just provide illusionary images of one another - completely switch them, sensations, abilities, weaknesses and all.

“Do it.”

Asmodea braced herself and used the scroll before she could change her mind.

She was immediately struck by the heightened richness of her senses - she already had perfect half-elven eyesight before, but now everything she laid her eyes on was clearer to a degree she had never realised was possible. She could make out the most minute sounds from afar. Her sense of smell seemed to have gained a new dimension.

It worked! By the gods, the scroll actually worked…

After a few dazed seconds, she realised that her mouth had been gaping in awe, and she shut it. A fang immediately snagged on her inner lip, piercing it. Asmodea yelped in surprise, tonguing the cut. Within seconds, it healed completely. She carefully opened and shut her mouth again - the fangs feeling unnatural and obtrusive in her mouth.

“Godth,” she lisped, trying to get the hang of working her mouth despite the fangs. “How long did it take to get used to thith?” No answer followed, and she looked questioningly at Astarion, who was wearing her body.

He had stayed completely still, barely breathing, hardly blinking. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, she realised.

Oh. Right.

“Come now, you’ve seen your mirror images,” she said, softly. “This shouldn’t be a shock.”

“They didn’t quite convey the… the finer details,” Astarion said, absentmindedly, continuing to stare.

Asmodea quelled her urge to cringe at the sound of her own voice, and instead did a little spin with a flourish, and flashed him her best imitation of his devilish grin.

“And what do you think?”

“I think you have excellent taste, darling” Astarion smiled, before finally tearing his eyes away from his own image. “Anyway. Let’s not waste time.”

Their clothes were quickly discarded.

“Do you want me to touch you..?”

“Not yet, just let me see for myself first… Gods, you may as well be half-deaf and blind, but I need to gorge myself on blood before my skin gets even close to this level of sensation…”

Astarion was careful and methodical, almost scientific in the way he glided his fingers over his female flesh, repeating the motions he’d performed on her countless times - no doubt making mental notes of the sensations and filing them away for later use.

Meanwhile, Asmodea was gyrating her hips, trying to get her penis to spin like the sails of a windmill.

“You need to be more aroused to get a proper idea of how that feels,” she said, watching him.

“In due course,” he murmured. “…And will you stop that?”

“In due course,” she mimicked him, looking him square in the eyes, the penis continuing to fly.

He sighed and resumed his efforts, his fingers slipping inside, probing and searching. He frowned in concentration.

“You really can’t reach it yourself,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yes, I’ve told you that,” she rolled her eyes. “But while we’re err… exploring uncharted territories and all… Can you finger my ass real quick?” she asked, turning her back to him.

“Finger your own ass,” he muttered, “I’m busy.”

She half-turned to look back at him over her shoulder, conjuring up the saddest, roundest eyes she could manage. Astarion swore under his breath as soon as he looked up at her.

“I had no idea it was that effective,” he muttered. “Fine! I’ll scratch yours, if you scratch mine... Is there any oil anywhere..?”

My Kinktober masterlist and prompts post