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pinksugarscrub · 10 months ago

Note

Congrats on your one year! ❤️ may I order a tiramisu with Hobie and bounty hunter!R arguing about how they do their vigilante work until R accidentally reveals why she takes paid jobs (provide for family/ relative by anonymously sending them money out of guilt for making their family think they’re dead)?

You can change up the prompt to best suit your writing imagination 😚🥹

@hyperfix-wip

Crossroads

Bard! Hobie x Bounty Hunter! fem! reader

I had a lot of fun with this as you can see. There are very mature themes including blood, violence, and implied assault. Please read at your own discretion. I tried my best to keep it vague.

Word count: 3,070

What does a bounty hunter and a bard have in common? Absolutely nothing. Why pose such a question you may ask? It’s because you’ve had the unfortunate privilege of learning this answer.

How much longer you’ll have to endure endless rambling you do not know. What you do know is you would gladly kill this man for free.

It started over four weeks ago. Enough time to witness all of the phases of the moon.

A measly drink, a moment of peace was all you wanted when the bard came crashing into the stool beside you.

Now, normally this would not have provoked you to action but after having a very high ranking target stolen from right under you. It’s safe to say you needed to blow off some steam.

You paid the barkeep for all of the damages and stepped over the groaning drunkards on your way out. Who had started and likely would have continued an all out bar fight with every patron.

Either way you were ready to retire when the bard came stumbling out. Hair braided into several and tied back by a leather band. You can recall just how irritating the conversation was then.

No matter how much you tried to deny his praises, he assumed you a hero. Trying to invoke a life debt that was quite common to pirates. You were not interested.

He stayed anyway.

You figured after a time he would come to his senses and eventually sneak off when he thought you weren’t looking. Violence did that to people. It pushed them away.

His name was Hobart Brown but he insisted on being called Hobie. He dubbed you Lily after spotting a field of lily of the valley and also because you would not provide him with your name. ‘Pretty but deadly’ he said.

He wanted to travel by the Great Sea and find adventure. You almost felt sorry for the poor sod and he must have noticed because he reassured you that being in your debt did not create a dent on his plans.

You could tell he was fascinated with you. You knew that would be short lived as you cocked your pistol and killed a man you recognized from a town bulletin board. He was worth five hundred gold.

Hobie was off put. Expression wary and heavy as he asked you that night by the campfire who you were. You simply responded 'bounty hunter' and continued stoking the fire.

When you awoke he was still there. Saddling the horses and murmuring that the next town over would be less than a day’s travel.

You did not show your surprise as you slid out of your bed roll and prepared to depart. You felt uneasy the entire trip there. It was silent between the two of you even after you passed the town’s gate.

You’re unsure of why but perhaps it’s because his company has lifted a weight off of your shoulders that you stop him by the shoulder and check into an inn. Spending more coin than you would on yourself for a more than decent room and food that you ask to be sent to his just across the hall. A proper place to rest instead of dirt clearings and forest floors.

When you sit in the first warm bath you’ve had in months it dawns on you what you’ve done. You can’t afford any setbacks. He needs to go.

You cannot handle this kind of guilt in your heart that will inevitably follow you when you have to complete a bounty so you’ll leave first thing in the morning.

A quiet knock at your door stops you. Midcount of the gold and copper pieces in your pouch. They all clink together as you let them slid back into the leather bag.

“Yes?”

Hobie’s face immediately brightens when he catches your eye. A grin you've grown accustomed to. A stark contrast to the relaxed line of your lips.

“Good evening darling. Would you like to accompany me to the nearest tavern? I would say I owe you a drink.”

You give him a pointed look.

“Come on!” He laughs. Resting against the doorframe of your large room. “I know you are just as bored out of your mind as me. We can come right back if you’re still not up to it after one drink.”

Is it the way he smiles at you that gets you or the small quirk of his brow? The challenge. You have to wonder if the man is secretly a siren. It would match with his profession of choice.

“Fine, meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man sprint to his room like his life depended on it.

The nicest thing you owned was a flowy white dress that hung onto your shoulders and went just above your knees. The holster of your gun still fits snugly around your waist along with the pouch of coin you have since emptied to seem less heavy.

It isn’t particularly cold so you don’t take your signature coat with you. In a flourish you’re out the door and waiting with the fae handing out room keys and pretty smiles.

Not a minute later you catch the sound of the steps creaking and you swiftly move around. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to-” You caught yourself before you could finish that sentence but it didn’t seem like he caught on to your blunder.

He was looking at you with a slight part of his lips. It made your hair stand on end.

Hobie could now clearly see your figure. He could see more skin than you had previously shown in the last thirty two days. Heavens did you look beautiful.

He promptly cleared his throat and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

He let out a sigh of relief as soon as your attention was off of him.

Kill him, kill him now.

The walk to the tavern was short. The loud bumbling and bustling patrons spilling out the windows meant to look like painting archways. Sets of tables outside of the tavern as well which was new but not all that surprising. The population was bigger here compared to the last town.

Hobie stumbles and almost falls flat on his face as a boisterous woman steps into his path. You’re quick to catch him. Pulling him to your side with a firm grip around his waist. The woman apologies but it's obvious by the ale on her breath that she does not really mean it.

You look up to check on your companion only to find him already staring at you. With the same distant look he gave you at the inn.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he answers. Raking his eyes over your face before smiling. “Let’s go in.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious lie. Ignoring how it bothers you that you want to know what he is thinking.

A set of two glasses is set before you. Filled to the brim with froth coating the top of the glass. Apple cider. The town specialty given by the apple orchards the two of you passed on the way in.

You’re ready to slide your pouch off of your belt when a hand stops you.

“I’ll get it.” Hobie grins—fairy feathers doesn’t that hurt his face?—and hands a handsome amount of coin into the barmaid’s hand.

She’s ecstatic to which Hobie responds with a wink. It causes a pit to form in your stomach and you find yourself reaching for your mug to find something else to do with your mouth than scowl.

“Eager are we?” Hobie teases. Reaching for his own glass and taking a drink. He moans as soon as the liquid hits his tongue. “This must be made of liquid gold.”

You have to agree as your shoulders relax. The crisp taste is so satisfying you’re tempted to take bigger gulps.

Hobie smiles as he admires you behind his glass. He has to stop himself from reaching out and wiping away the froth from your lip. Thank the stars you are too distracted to notice.

“So,” Hobie hums,“was I right in taking you out of your room?”

He avoids using the word cage like he had planned to because he does take into account how luxurious the space they were staying in was. It wouldn’t be very proper of him to degrade the money she spent. Even as a joke.

You only nodded as you took the time to scan your surroundings. Everyone was having a good time. Glossy eyes and rosy cheeks were proof of that but you could never be too careful.

Hobie frowns but doesn’t say a word. Just shifts in his chair and tries to find something clever to say.

“How is your knee?” You ask above the cheers and laughter. “The foal took a pretty nasty hit to you.”

Hobie laughs. He looks pleased at the way you initiate conversation. It feels as though he is always the one talking.

“Oh, that. I’m fine. Was my fault for getting in her space anyway.”

Your lips break into a smile at that. “You should consider yourself lucky that it was her and not the mare.”

Hobie shivers at the thought. Bigger horse shoe, bigger hit. Yeah, that would not have gone well.

“I’m normally very good with animals, you can’t blame me,” he pouts.

That peaks your curiosity and yet again, he is perceptive enough to see this.

“I was born on a farm.” He grins again as he explains. “With more than a dozen cattle and sheep. We didn’t have horses though.”

Well, you might as well humor him.

“So your family owned land in the Northern region. That’s pretty far from where I found you.”

Hobie would fist pump the air if he could. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah?” He leans forward. “You know where that is?”

You nod, taking another sip of your cider and sighing. “I’ve never traveled up there. Aren’t many jobs and I haven’t found the need to explore.”

Hobie stiffens and glances at the holster holding your gun. “Right.” He licks his lips. His voice wasn’t as steady as he would have liked. “And you? Where do you come from? Because I’m certain it wasn’t from daisies.”

A chuckle leaves your lips that sounds more like a huff. “You do not know that. Haven’t you heard of the legends?”

“Ah, yes,” he pauses. Relaxing again as he slouches in his chair. “You truly want me to believe you came from stardust and laughter?”

“It’s startdust and happiness actually,” you correct. Smiling as you feel the bubbles of cider in your belly.

“Happiness,” he nods. Clicking his tongue as he grins. “Forgive me.”

You again, roll your eyes at his playfulness. Clinking your glass with your finger as you look off to the side. He still wants an answer, you know it.

You perk up as you notice a crowd gathering around a table. The perfect distraction. With a smile you reach for his hand and pull him with you. It doesn’t matter if your heart jumps into your throat at how warm his palms feel against your own. It was a necessary course of action. To protect yourself of course.

Commercial break - You’re almost 2,000 words in, take a break. If a project, work, or homework is staring you in the face, go finish it and come back. The story will still be here 💕

You’re laughing. Actually laughing as you leave the tavern with your head on his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Hobie exhales. Disbelief still etched in his features as he kept his grin. “Where did you- how did you-”

“Family secret!” You snicker. A bit lightheaded from all of the alcohol you had just consumed. Ten times lighter but ten times heavier in coin after winning the bet.

“Oh so now you’re not even going to share that with me?” He guwaffs. Also a bit buzzed but definitely sober enough for the two of you.

“Fine fine,” you grumble. Squinting your eyes and scrunching your nose. “The secret is- my secret is-” A hiccup interrupts you but so does a cry of pain. You immediately sober up as your eyes dart toward a darker pathway of the town.

Hobie calls after you and soon he’s hot on your heels as you race to your destination.

Pain was something you were familiar with. You dealt with it every day. Whether you were inflicting it or someone was inflicting it upon you. You recognized it. It was what you lived for now.

A sort of numbness followed. It was a comfortable routine. Find the target, pull the trigger, find the next. But right now there was a panic and fear you hadn’t felt in years. Not since this entire ordeal first began.

You don’t think. It’s muscle memory at this point as you toss a man flat on his back. Cobblestone digging into his shoulders.

You can faintly hear the cry of the woman he was previously above. Hobie’s soft voice rushing to comfort the woman. That causes some of the fear to dissipate but not all of it.

It’s fist after fist and the blunt end of your pistol as you scramble to get some footing. Something to put you on top.

With a harsh shove to the path the man’s face comes to light. You recognize it in your haze. The sketch of his picture. The number under his name. You could do that, you could fix this issue no problem.

The cock of your gun snaps Hobie out of his frenzy. Eyes wide as he quickly rushes the girl to get out before she witnesses something to add more to her trauma.

The gurgle of the man’s throat is the next thing he hears as you hold him down with the heel of your boot.

“No, no, no-” he calls out. Grabbing you by the waist and tugging back so hard you both fall. The first shot rings out and hits one of the lanterns lighting the pathway.

“This isn’t the way to do this love!” He begs, pleas with you.

You struggle in his grip as the man in front of you finally manages to catch his bearings. Wobbling onto his knees as tears sting in your own eyes.

The second shot narrowly misses his boot. Hitting a stone before rolling away into the dirt.

The third you take as Hobie grips your arm. Opposite hand gripping tightly over your wrist as you close one eye and aim. It’s like clock work. As simple and easy as breathing.

The shell clatters to the ground and so does his body. The sight makes you nauseous.

Hobie finally manages to wrap his hand around your gun and toss it away. He doesn’t know where. His heart is beating too fast to understand.

For a moment you both sit there with heavy breath. Staring at the dead man that will owe you eight hundred gold pieces once you turn his body over along with his wanted poster.

“Love…” Hobie’s voice sounds so utterly broken that it brings you back to reality.

You reach up as you feel how sticky with tears your cheeks have become. When did you start crying?

“Love,” he repeats. More strength in his voice when he turns you around to face him. “Why would you do that?”

Why? Your brows furrow in anger. Hurt. Why? He’s asking you why?

This isn’t the way to do this

“You- do you even understand what you’ve done?” He shakes his head. He himself is shaking. “Do you just shoot everything that gets in your way? That brings you coin?”

He sounds so accusing. Like you are the one that has done something wrong. You look back to the man. Pooled in his own blood.

“Is that what you think?” You finally manage to say. Fingers curling into your soiled white dress. “That I do this for the satisfaction of money?”

You find the strength to push away and stand on your own two feet because that is what you have always done.

You turn to look down at the man before you. The man you were beginning to trust. The one you were willing to give your heart to if only in your dreams because you had no one else. Because at least someone would know you existed in this life. Laughed, cried, loved.

“I don’t do this because I enjoy putting a bullet between someone’s skull!”

Hobie cowers as you step closer and that only makes your heart ache more. Placing your finger fight at the base of his skull with your hand in the universally understood gesture of a gun.

“I do it for this!” You grip onto the pouch on your side. Tugging on it so the coins scatter like locusts. “All of this because that’s all I’m good for! That’s all I can provide for my family!”

Your chest hurts as you smack your hand against it. How many times have you placed a bullet there too? Counting the man on the ground, plenty.

“I don’t want to do this,” you choke. Throat feeling tight like there was a hand squeezing at its base.

You regret letting your guard down. Drinking like you didn’t have a care in the world when in fact, you did.

“I don’t want to do this.”

You sob as you fall to your knees and Hobie can’t stop himself from reaching for you and pulling you into his chest as you cry.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper. The cider pushing forward the thoughts you held back in the deepest part of your mind.

‘How shameful’ he would say when you returned. ‘Your family shouldn’t need you after all’. Then he would shoot you dead in his office much like you did countless times before tonight.

Hobie held you so tight someone might wonder if you could breath. His own tears rolling down his cheeks as he hides the mark he’s found on your neck. A number with the symbol of the king.

Hobie regrets his poor choice of words but shit can you blame him? He cries into your neck as he vows to repay his debt to you.

A life, for a life.

#hobie brown #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv hobie #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #fantasy au #pink request ✔️#cw blood #cw gore #cw injury #cw death

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di-42 · 1 year ago

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May's Magnificent Fictions

First off let me share with you a little side note, because the brain wants what the brain wants. After an inner struggle I've finally decided to settle on using the noun "fiction" as countable when referring to works of fanfiction. I will stick to this. It has been bothering me.

And now for something completely enjoyable, let me present to you the lovely fics I've been lucky enough to read in May. I't's been a busy, at times stressful month and I haven't had the chance to read as many as I would have liked. I only made a tiny dent in my Marked for later list, which keeps growing and isn't it wonderful? I still have so much beauty, creativity and bliss to look forward to.

I'll try and tag the writers whose tumblr username I know, so they know how loved they are.

WIPs:

The first two WIPs of this list have made me realise that my new favourite trope is the "they never met" one. Or it might just be that both writers are incredibly good!

My Heart Was Always Yours by @addledmongoose

I love this fic and the author's other work so much that sometimes I worry the writer might think I'm stalking them or something! (I'm not! I promise! I only kind of start staring at my phone around 6pm on a Friday night UK time waiting for an update, that's all!). Anyway. like I was saying, in this fiction Aziraphale and Crowley never met until present day and, at the beginning of the story, neither of them knows the other is an angel or a demon. They have both been tasked by their respective head offices to retrieve Raphael's trumpet so Armageddon can start and they both want to find it and destroy it. So they embark on a journey together, thinking that the other is human. This story is so good. It has an incredibly well thought out plot, the characterisation of both, Aziraphale and Crowley are spot on, their interactions are funny and witty but also deep and very sweet. But the point that's dearest to me is that it shows the character of Aziraphale the respect it deserves, which sadly happens less often than it should. The way the writer describe the building of their relationship and their trust will fill your heart with warmth. The stoty has alternate Aziraphale and Crowley POVs and it's narrated in the first person, which will read funny at first but it will flow within the first couple of chapters and it will have been worth it!

This fiction is updated officially every Saturday but if you're very lucky and depending where you are in the world it might be Friday. Only a few more weeks to go, though, it's almost complete and I'll miss it (But I'll re-read it!) Rated M.

The Last Angel by @bellisima-writes

This is another excellent "they never met" story. In this universe, Crowley and Aziraphale were stationed on earth, Armageddon happened, and Hell won the war. All the angels have been killed, except one. This story only has the first 6 chapters out, but you can already see the wonderful job the author has done of thinking how Aziraphale and Crowley would be without having ever met each other, what would be the same and what would be different. And the same goes for other characters, too: so far we've had an insight of how Beelzebub is like in a different universe and hints at how other characters would behave as well. It is full of promise, it sets expectations that I'm hoping will be subverted and the writer is doing such an excellent job with it all. Please go and show this story some love, you won't regret it!

This fiction is updated weekly, definitely every Friday, but I understand from now on every Wednesday and Friday. Rated M.

The Escort by VinyamaDN @vinyama-23

Human AU where Crowley is an escort and Aziraphale hires him for a date. They start getting to know each other and the rest is history. This story touches very delicate subjects, but it's also funny and fluffy. Please read the tags. Rated E.

Whickber Street by Caedmon @caedmonfaith

Lovely human AU where Aziraphale has a bookshop in Whickber Street and Crowley opens a comic book shop on the same road. It's a slow burn, from one-enemy-to-lovers story, full of humour, charm and fluff. Featuring all the shopkeepers in Whickber Street, which is a treat! Update every Monday and Thursday without fail. Rated E.

Complete works:

And Now All Of My Garden Is Grown In Lavender by ilikeblue

I'm so grateful to my lovely mutual and penpal @dashuntsel for recommending this great human AU. Aziraphale is a successful queer romance author whose books are being adapted for TV. At the start of his career, his agent, Gabriel, insisted he claims to be married in order to gain more readers. Now that the spotlight is on him, Aziraphale needs someone to play the part of his husband. Did I mention that Crowley is Aziraphale's gardener and friend? I'm sure you know where this is going. This story has a little angst and lots of good vibes of trust, friendship, love and loyalty. And a happy ending! Rated E.

Lit by @fellshish

Fellshish is one of my favourite fiction writers and this piece doesn't disappoint. Making people laugh is much more difficult than making people cry and fellshish succeeds in the task so effortlessly! (They can also make you laugh while wanting to cry, but for that you'll have to read their other stories. This one is angst-free). Time-wise this story can be collocated after season 1 and is not canon compliant with season 2. Crowley enrolls in a literature course without realising it was a fantasy literature course. The book that will be read this semester is "Good Omens - The Nice And Accurate Prophecies Of Agnes Nutter, Witch". And the class will get to meet the author, Neil Gaiman. This book seems to describe only too well the event leading to the failed Armageddon, including things that only Aziraphale and Crowley would know. How is that possible? And what would happen if it fell on heavenly or hellish wrong hands? And, oh Satan, did someone say TV adaptation?? A truly amazing, funny piece that will make you feel better after a hard day at work. Rated Teen and up.

Gate Duty by Ginger_cat @gingiekittycat

Not really a crossover, but a Good Omens fiction with elements of The Good Place. You can absolutely read it and enjoy it if you haven't seen The Good Place. placed in time post season 1. Aziraphale is called back to heaven to Gate Duty and he's decided to go despite Crowley's protest. Crowley has Beelzebub assign him to Gate Duty as well, so they don't have to spend 300 years apart. So they set to out to judge the souls and decide whether to send them to the good place or the bad place, as they have rebranded heaven and hell. In the process they meet a few souls that you might or might not know, not the focus of the story. This fiction manages to be funny and incredibly angsty at the same time and it was incredible to see how some of the details in it would resonate with season 2, which wasn't out at the time the fic was written. Rated E.

Of Size And Other Matters by LCwrites

Lovely from strangers to lovers, fake relationship human AU. Aziraphale needs a date to accompany him to an event hosted by his brother, Gabriel. Crowley receives a text from a stranger, clearly by mistake, but why not having some fun? I really like the dynamics between them, the ease and the trust. A tiny bit of angsty pining but quickly and happily resolved. Rated E.

One shot:

Not Nice by Sad_chaos_goblin @sad-chaos-goblin

Great one shot that follows the wall slamming scene!What would have happened if the former nun hadn't interrupted their "Intimate moment"? This fic is a treat, sweet and hot and fluffy all at the same time. Rated E.

April's list here.

June's list here.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfiction recommendation #good omens fanfic rec #good omend fic rec #good omens fiction #good omens fic rec #thank you for my pornography #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands

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masterwords · 2 months ago

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excuse me if my feelings show

Summary: When Derek is promoted, Strauss is insistent that he have an office - and quite frankly, she would love to see Hotch in the bullpen again. Derek refuses to take anything else from Hotch, so he proposes what he thinks is a brilliant compromise: they can share the office.

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Foyet arc, medical problems (anyone who knows how I write Hotch should already be expecting this anyway), swearing

Notes: After some discussions on discord, this idea wouldn't get out of my head. I know I said I was going to finish more of my WIPs that are posted, and that's still true - I have two of them that have final chapters written, they just need some editing, but this…this had to come first. It's cute. Have some cute. This is my first time in a LONG time posting a whole fic here, also. Maybe I'll do it more often?

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

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

"With all due respect, ma'am," Derek started angrily. Hotch was giving him a stern look from over her shoulder, a look that told him to back off but he wouldn't budge. He couldn't. If she was going to respect him as Unit Chief then he had to put his foot down and make a stand about things sometimes, and simply put, he was willing to die on this hill. "Hotch didn't just go AWOL. He didn't wake up one morning and decide to make sketchy judgment calls…no offense Hotch…"

"None taken," Hotch muttered under his breath, though they both knew he'd be logging that one for the future. He always did.

"In case you and the Director have forgotten, he was attacked in his home by a serial killer. I think you and I would both be pretty hard pressed to behave any differently after surviving something like that. All things considered, I think he's doing pretty damn well." He made sure to lock eyes with Hotch after that last bit, as if it might erase the memory of the comment about his judgment calls but it didn't look likely.

"Is there a point to this tirade, Agent Morgan?" Strauss looked annoyed and impatient, two things that gave Derek some small pleasure as he continued. If she wanted to push him, he could turn this into a veritable filibuster just for the hell of it, keep her locked in this bullpen hell all afternoon.

"Oh, there's a point…the office. Hotch's office. I told you before we left that I didn't want that office, that he belonged in that office. This team has been through a lot and anything we can do to keep some semblance of normalcy, I think, is worth the effort. You went behind my back and made the change anyway, violating his privacy in the process. That makes the second time in two months that he's had to endure that, and for what? I explicitly said I did not want his office."

"I outrank you, Agent Morgan." It was a warning, a clenched jaw reminder of where he stood. He didn't back down.

"Yes, ma'am, you do. But the BAU is my team, this is my space, and I should have some say in what goes on here. You shouldn't have done that without my consent and I think you know it."

Hotch watched the showdown from a careful distance behind Strauss with pride, and not just a little fear. Derek standing up to her made him feel good, made him certain now that Derek was the right choice, though she might not see it that way. She had allowed him to make the choice when she wasn't required to, she gave him the opportunity to save his team before sweeping changes came down from above but she could so easily sideline them both and bring someone of her own choosing in if she felt like she was being undermined. There was a careful balance to stick here and Hotch watched with a knot in his stomach while the two stared each other down, each searching for the upperhand…or simply the easiest way out of a stalemate.

"Morgan," Hotch said when the silence had gone on just a beat too long. He had no patience for the politics of this job and he would shut it down with whatever authority he had remaining. "I'll take your old desk. It's okay."

"No it isn't. I already had Garcia move your things back into your office. We'll share, if you don't mind. I'll stay because I agree, the team leader should have an office with a door that closes for privacy in situations that require it, but I won't kick you out of your space. This is temporary, after all."

Strauss cleared her throat. "You both keep saying that, but the truth is…there is no way to tell, is there? You may never catch Foyet, this situation may become permanent. The sooner you both come to terms with that the better. Share an office if you must, but don't come complaining to me when the realities of sharing an office rear their ugly heads. And please remember…you share the office, not the job. Anything else?"

"No ma'am, that's all. Thank you." Derek always knew how and when to close. He would have liked to give her a bit more hell over that last comment, as if the two of them were conspiring against her or in cahoots in some nefarious plot to overtake the Bureau, but he bit his tongue and that was that. The two men watched her as she turned and walked away, toward her own office, and waited until she was out of sight before they looked at one another and breathed a sigh of relief in unison. "Well I think that went pretty good, huh?"

"You're on thin ice," Hotch replied with a smirk. Derek didn't seem to care much, a trait that would serve him well as they embarked on this new adventure. "Where did she have my things moved?"

"Who, Strauss? Some dusty old office down the hall that's being used for storage. Garcia found three boxes of your things stuffed in a corner beside some old copiers and a busted fax machine. Anderson helped her bring them back up."

"Figures."

The two of them spent the morning in their new shared space unpacking boxes and trying to figure out how to make it work. With only one desk, that would be tricky, but Hotch said he was fine with making the couch his primary workspace because the team leader should be the one sitting behind a desk. "Like it or not," he'd said as Derek argued with him for the eighth time that day over minor details like where to keep the stapler or the extra box of pens (because Derek had a habit of chewing the caps and Hotch had always been more than a little picky about using a chewed up pen), "there is an image that needs to be upheld when you're in a team dynamic. You were once their partner, now you're their leader, and they need to see the difference. Just like they need to see the difference in my position. I really should be down in the bullpen with them."

"Not a chance, Hotch. This isn't a promotion, it's a placeholder."

"You deserve to have your own team and I doubt anyone is going to see it any differently going forward. Your name is going to end up on a lot of short lists for openings."

"I'm happy right where I am."

Hotch hummed and pulled the lid off of the last box, one full of framed photos and marksmanship awards. He made a soft, almost pained sound of distress as he pulled the final frame from the box - the glass shattered in a jagged star shape over Jack's tiny fingerprints in the shape of a butterfly. The sight of it took his breath away and it took every ounce of dignity he had at his disposal not to cry right there on the spot. It wouldn't be the first time Derek watched him break down, but he really couldn't afford it right now.

"What is it?" Derek asked, noting the shift in the mood of the room instantly. He stood at the desk and peered over, eyes catching quickly on the shattered glass in Hotch's lap. Fuck it all, he thought. Of course a piece of glass was easy enough to replace but that wasn't the damn point…he'd sent his family into protective custody just weeks before, and this little memento was what he had left of Jack…and Strauss' bullshit had jeopardized it. "Did the paper rip?"

"A little," Hotch said, his voice tight. "It's fine."

"No, dammit, it's not fine."

"Morgan, you can't go wage a war with Strauss over this. It isn't worth it."

"Not worth it? That's all you've got left of your kid, dammit." Derek was filled with immediate regret, his voice raised an octave too high for the somber tone of the office as he spit some of the cruelest words he thought had ever come out of his mouth. Hotch flinched and Derek felt even worse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Obviously that's not all…he's all good out there with Haley…it's just…she had no right taking your stuff down and look what happened."

"I can get a new frame," was Hotch's reply, his voice still quiet and too tight. Derek waved his arms helplessly, frustrated and nearing the end of his rope.

"That isn't the damn point and you know it."

"I know. And I appreciate your concern, I do, but you can't go burning bridges with her on my behalf." Hotch set the frame down gingerly and went back to the other boxes at his feet, no longer wanting to hold it, or even to see it. Derek's righteous indignation over the art had hit him square in the chest.

Derek pulled out his phone and turned on some music for them to listen to for the rest of the morning, unpacking boxes and organizing drawers and filing cabinets until they finally had a system they thought was workable. He put on The Beatles just for Hotch, because he needed a win. Derek could sit through John Lennon's nasal whining for an album or two.

It wasn't like this was the first time they'd worked in close quarters. Before the BAU moved up to the 6th floor, they shared a cramped space in the basement with hissing pipes that kept the office about ten degrees warmer than most people's ideal working conditions. Hotch happened to love it and when they moved up above ground, he snagged one of the old space heaters from storage and kept it stashed under his desk. It left the smell of ancient cooked dust in the office when he turned it on full blast, pumping heat out against his shins from beneath the desk, but no one bothered him about it as long as they didn't see it.

The thing was definitely a fire hazard. Derek remembered making a comment about the way it smelled, the phenomenon of the forever dusty interior. No matter how often it was run, it always managed to smell like it had been in storage for a century.

Derek had already moved it from its hiding place, stashing it in a crevice near the couch so Hotch could pull it out and use it when he needed it. Derek didn't mind the extra warmth but he definitely didn't need it. He was used to the smell after nearly a year of Hotch running it in their little basement room once the pipe situation was fixed, and used to the way Hotch did things in general. They found a way to work around each other when their systems didn't quite match up, and he hoped that they could settle back into that routine without any trouble this time around. Each of them had their own peculiarities when it came to their spaces and it had worked at one time, it should work again.

Hotch would be lying if he'd said he hadn't been lonely when he was forced to vacate his desk in the bullpen, moving into this office where there was no one to visit with all day. No one to joke with or complain to. Derek had missed him then and he thought it was entirely possible when this came to an end and the shared office separated again he would feel the same. This time, at least, they had a bigger and closer team - it would be less of a blow to his system, but it would still hurt.

Hotch showed up earlier than Derek most days and had the office to himself for an hour or two every morning, but he was forbidden to stay later on principal. Derek was the Unit Chief, therefore, he should be the last one out the door. He relinquished the first one in the door simply because he didn't see any reason to try and beat a man who didn't sleep to the early bird spot.

Hotch often found himself coming back anyway, hours later, preferring to sleep on the stiff old couch over his lonely apartment.

His office wasn't haunted by the memory of Foyet straddling him in a pool of blood. The office wasn't an homage to everything he'd lost.

Derek knew Hotch was sleeping there, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. It was none of his business, really. That was the long and short of it.

He would creep in early so he could hit the gym before work, and if Hotch was asleep on the couch, he simply kicked his go bag and briefcase inside the door and shut it again. It was likely that Hotch heard him, he wasn't exactly a deep sleeper, but he didn't get up immediately.

Derek also knew that his sleep was inconsistent at best. He could see it in the bags under his eyes, in the deep purple crescents that made him look bruised and sore. He'd lost a lot of blood in Foyet's attack and as Reid so often loved to point out, that has a lasting effect on the body. It takes a while to recover from that. Hotch wasn't exactly on the fast track, not sleeping and barely eating.

The first week they shared an office, they were almost like ships in the night. Derek was being pulled into meetings with people he'd never met before, people he would prefer to have kept that way. Budget meetings, HR meetings, safety meetings. You name it, they had a meeting for it and they were slamming his calendar to high hell. No wonder Hotch kept them well-stocked with cases, he was running from the endless onslaught of meetings that could easily have just been emails. He needed a break from all of the talking, all of the justifications, all of the begging for money and the explaining what exactly it is his team is good for again.

After things settled a bit, they found that they were together more often and working in quiet camaraderie like old times. Occasionally one would make a comment aloud, a comment that might strike up a rapid-fire conversation just to add a little life to the stifling air around them, and then they would settle back into amiable silence. Derek was settling into his role as resident paper pusher, and Hotch was loosening his grip on things he never should have been doing in the first place. The team wasn't loving the dynamic shift and the increase in their paperwork load but if Hotch was adamant about one thing, it was that Derek didn't fall into the same traps he had.

This was a temporary situation in theory, but if it became permanent the last thing Hotch would ever want is to see Derek's life trickle away and be consumed in the way his own had.

"I like this," Derek said one morning as he walked into the office freshly showered after a couple of hours in the gym. Hotch looked like he'd been there all night, rooted to the spot. He'd just put away Foyet's files, stuffed them back into his briefcase before Derek walked in. "It's kinda like still being in the bullpen, but with more privacy."

Hotch concurred in silence - he had a splitting headache after spending all night awake looking for any sign of Foyet's whereabouts through a series of intense internet searches that always came up empty. He knew they were going to be fruitless, Foyet was a master at hiding and sneaking around in shadows, but it was at the point now that he had no choice, he had to do it. It was bordering on obsession, or possibly even a compulsion. He typed the same words into the search bar in the same order every single night at least three or four times before he was satisfied. Before pulling out the paper files and hunting for new information, something he might have missed.

"You really should have your own space," Hotch said, looking up from the file he was browsing. He had a stack of consults from JJ and a stomach ache, a truly glorious combination for the morning. While sharing an office with Derek was going well, he found he missed the privacy to suffer in peace. Derek was always so cheerful in the morning. "People are going to want to talk to you in private."

"Whatever they need to say to me, they can say in front of you."

"That is only going to fly for a while, Derek. Eventually my role on this team will be reduced back to Lead Profiler and there will be no overlap between us. Strauss has already made it very clear that we do not share the job."

"Good thing I'm not ready for that yet."

"I believe you are."

They agreed to disagree on the topic for the time being, though Hotch preferred to think about it as him deferring to Derek's leadership. That was what he did now. In many ways, it was a comfort knowing that Derek was in charge. That Derek had his back and that he could relax, at least to some degree. He could focus on his own priorities knowing that Derek would take care of the team.

Hotch was grateful. So grateful. Derek didn't have to accept this hasty promotion, he didn't have to do anything he was doing. It wasn't his responsibility to take on Hotch's life as everything fell apart and it certainly wasn't his job to put any of it back together. Yet here he was. No matter how Derek downplayed it, the magnitude was not lost on Hotch.

But Hotch's gratitude was beginning to grate on Derek little by little. He wasn't doing anyone a favor, he was doing the right thing. It wasn't just for Hotch it was for all of them. It was because he believed in what they did and he believed in the people they had.

Derek turned on his music when it was clear that Hotch was in a sour mood, and while he kept the volume relatively low, he didn't put on his headphones. Normally he would, he just didn't want to. He had no way of knowing that Hotch's headache was splitting his skull in two and the repetitive beats of Nas were about to drive him way past his limits, all he knew was that he needed music in order to work and he couldn't spend one more minute listening to The Beatles.

Hotch, no matter his discomfort, wouldn't say anything. This was Derek's office now in spite of the fact that they were sharing it. This was his space and he was allowing Hotch to continue using it when he didn't have to, so instead of complaining about the music that was slowly killing him, he scooped up his files and his coffee mug and headed for the door in a hurry. The looping beats were suddenly making him feel very, very sick.

"You headed out?" Derek asked. Hotch grunted.

"I'm going to sit outside and get some fresh air."

Derek recognized that as code for Hotch having a headache, a fact that wasn't alarming in the least. He'd needed a lot of afternoons of fresh air when they were stuffed into the basement office. The man was prone to intense bouts of insomnia and high levels of stress, both of which offered him an abundance of irritating ailments like headaches and stomach aches, though they were usually the kind that were easily tempered by some Advil or a handful of Tums. Derek knew his music hadn't helped but…he needed it, and it certainly wasn't the root cause of the problem. There were plenty of tables in the sunshine that Hotch could post up at, he wasn't going to feel guilty for this one. They probably needed the time apart anyway. If Hotch came back he'd put his headphones on, he wouldn't be rude, but he was glad for the time alone.

Hotch didn't come back, in fact, he ended up leaving for the day after sending a quick text saying he needed to go home and lay down. "If we get a case, I'll meet you at the airport." And that was it, that was the last thing Derek heard from him for two days.

He sent texts, curious at first and then panicked, but was met with silence.

"You coming in today?"

"Hello?"

"Hotch answer me dammit."

"Did you quit?"

Just a few hours into the first morning of Hotch's absense and he was terrified that something had happened - it was Foyet all over again, only this time he was ready to move. He was packing up his things and getting ready to hit the road when Strauss showed up in his doorway and told him that Hotch would be taking a few days off.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner," she said, taking in the sight of his panic. "Everything is alright. He'll be back in a few days. If you need anything, I'm available."

When he asked why Hotch was taking time off, she simply said "you should ask him" as if he hadn't already tried that. As if she wasn't a last resort. Why would Hotch tell her and not call him? It didn't make any sense and it made him angry. And under that anger, it terrified him. Something had to be wrong, incredibly wrong.

On the surface, he didn't like Hotch making him look like he couldn't lead his team. Deeper than that, he wondered if he'd done something to shake up their relationship beyond repair. Could the music have been that offensive? Did he do something to piss Hotch off?

"I know ur taking time off but could u just tell me ur ok?"

"Hotch? Come on man."

After a deluge of increasingly desperate and ignored texts, Derek decided his only course of action was to show up on his doorstep.

He couldn't shake the worry that came with the silence.

He didn't come empty handed, though. He'd gone to great lengths to have Jack's hand prints restored and framed. It had cost him significantly more money than the little finger paint and construction paper preschool art was worth, but he just couldn't stomach the fact that his promotion had led to the damage. It wasn't just about the picture or Jack's tiny hand prints. It was a gift steeped in the hope that Hotch would have more of these pictures to frame, that he would get to sit back and watch as the size of the hands grew, that he wouldn't miss it all. They would get Foyet and this would be one small drop in his bucket of memories with his son.

This seemed as good a time as any to give it to him.

The building had the smell of a fresh cleaning, the sickly sweet chemical smell of floor polish was almost overpowering. He hadn't been here since Hotch was in the hospital, hadn't seen the place since he'd begun trying to live in it again. Derek had patched the hole in the wall and ripped out the damaged carpet when Hotch's landlord said it would take several weeks to get their contractors out. They didn't have several weeks, and Hotch couldn't just go stay in a hotel after getting out of the hospital. Derek had guys who could come out the same day and help him get it done, and a good thing too because Hotch ended up getting himself released from the hospital days before he really should have. He fast-tracked his hospital stay and as Derek was about to find out, was reaping the rewards of his poor choices.

The first thought he had when Hotch opened the door was that he looked like an absolute wreck. There was nothing else he could even say about it. His hair was a matted mess, he hadn't shaved in what looked like days, and he was wearing rumpled pajamas. There was a pillow crease still on his cheek - it was pretty obvious he'd pulled himself right out of bed to answer the door and for that Derek felt a little guilty, especially noting the level of discomfort standing seemed to cause him.

"You look like shit," Derek said when Hotch let him in. His apartment was a disaster, stacked boxes, laundry draped over the couch, dishes filling the sink. The air was stifling, both too hot and without any circulation. It took Derek's breath away.

"Thanks," Hotch muttered. "Appreciate it."

"Where have you been?"

"Sick," Hotch muttered and without even a hint of hesitation or modesty, he lifted the hem of his sweatshirt just far enough to reveal a fresh patch of gauze taped over his stomach, the skin bright red and swollen where it surrounded the stark white bandages. It looked hot and painful. "I developed an infection and was told I had to take a few days off. It was not my decision."

"You couldn't call?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me? Hotch, come on man. I had to hear it from Strauss that you were out for a few days…don't you think I should be the first one to know? Couldn't you at least answer your texts?"

"To be fair, I didn't call her, either." It was a flimsy excuse and he knew it. He just didn't want to get into a conversation, he felt stupid enough already over letting it get so bad in the first place. He'd known for at least two weeks that something wasn't right, but the symptoms came and went so frequently that it was easy enough to push aside as just another delightful side effect of the healing process. It wasn't until the splitting headache and nearly passing out walking down the stairs to get some fresh air that he was actually concerned. "My doctor was required to report it to her. They put me on a heavy dose of medication that means I can't be in the field until I've finished the course."

"How long is that gonna be? Or do I have to ask Strauss?" He was being a little rude, and maybe it was unfair, but he doubted it. Hotch should have called him and they both knew it.

"Three days until I can return to desk duty if I take public transit or get a ride, six before I can be in the field or drive. The medication has some side effects that make it nearly impossible for me to function."

"Damn Hotch."

"I'm sorry I didn't call. I haven't been able to do more than sleep and I wasn't up for a conversation. When my doctor said she had to report it, I figured that would suffice. It was stupid of me, I know, but this is the first time I've really been out of bed since I returned from the doctor's. It hasn't been great."

Derek, realizing that he was still holding the framed handprints, handed the wrapped gift to him. "Here," he said quietly. "Open it later."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow and held the package carefully, like it might break. Like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

"So, you been here alone?" Derek asked, clearing his throat. He was suddenly very self-conscious about the gift and wanted desperately to change the subject.

"Haley's sister Jessica has been dropping by just to make sure I've taken my medication. She's obviously not cleaning up after me, she's simply checking for signs of life she says."

Derek watched helplessly as Hotch walked to the couch and set the gift down before grabbing his robe, sliding into it and pulling it around him tight. He was cold. He seemed in good spirits, though, all things considered. Good spirits but exhausted and pale. The air was stifling and Derek wanted desperately to open a window, but he had a feeling Hotch wasn't doing much of that these days. They still didn't know how Foyet got in.

"I have a stack of files I brought home with me when I thought it was just a migraine coming on. I'll get them done tonight, I'm feeling better than I have in days."

"Don't you even think about it." Leave it to Hotch to have his insides be riddled with infection and think it was just a headache from not sleeping well (or at all) for a few nights. Leave it to Hotch to still believe he should be doing paperwork - if he could open his eyes and sit upright, he could hold a pen and sign his name. The man was infuriating sometimes. "Give me the files."

"Under no circumstances will you take on work that the rest of us can and should be doing." Hotch was firm on that, had been since day one. Derek was to do his job and his job only, everyone else would take on the rest of their paperwork now that Hotch wasn't doing it anymore.

"I don't think you get to order me around anymore," Derek said in a huff. Hotch cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, stepping to the challenge.

For a moment they stood, practically nose to nose, each man refusing to back down. And then Hotch did something that each of them had thought about a thousand times over in the years they'd known one another, something that they'd both wanted and nearly done and backed away from over and over and over again for reasons too numerous to count. Too stupid to fathom, in some cases.

Hotch reached up, grabbed Derek's face, and kissed him. Hard. And before he could gasp and back away, mortified by what he'd done, Derek's arms were locked around his waist, holding him in place. Whether he wanted to pretend it hadn't happened or not, he wasn't going anywhere. So he let himself be held, he relished the way they fit together like pieces of a puzzle, the way he could feel Derek's heartbeat thundering right up against his own.

"I think we just broke several rules," Hotch whispered when they finally came up for air. Derek grinned, pressing his nose against Hotch's cheek, afraid to put distance between them yet. He might never get this back if he let go too soon. "Chalk it up to another one of my sketchy judgment calls."

"I don't think they've thought up rules for our specific situation yet," Derek replied, choosing to ignore the second part entirely. It wouldn't be the last time he heard that phrase used. He would never live it down and right now that didn't matter. He'd always thought Hotch's pettiness was kind of sexy, even if it was more than a little irritating how often it was directed at him.

"No?"

"No."

"Good," Hotch said, smiling his way right into another kiss. If he had it his way, they would spend the rest of the day doing exactly this. He was suddenly very willing to share a whole lot more than just an office with Derek.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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tipsyon-tea · 6 months ago

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Blind Spot - Deleted Scenes - Ch 2

Much of chapter 2 was originally meant to be in DG's POV, but got rewritten and changed. I still have the wips, just be warned that the scene plays out slightly different from the final draft.

For those who haven't read the main fic, this is an altered take on DG trying to scare an MC that can see in the dark.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

She was a difficult one to get a read on. It wasn't that DG didn't trust his friend’s judgement, but he did wonder if Chewy had gone off the deep end, talking about her being all shy and sweet.

His expression fell as the two eerie discs of light appeared in the storeroom, slowly rising up to a standing height. Cat eyes. It wasn't much use turning the lights off if the shortstack could see in the dark. He liked it more when they were uncertain, calling out in the dark. She had been such a jumpy little thing before, all flustered and out of sorts over a joke, but this silence wasn't nervous. He knew what it felt like when prey was getting ready for a counterattack.

He briefly considered how far he could take it. Whether it would be worth calling her bluff. His hand resting thoughtfully on the handle to the door, knowing if he closed it he'd be cutting off that night vision of hers. It would disadvantage him as well, but he was willing to bet he had far more experience fighting in dark places.

He was still at work though. Damon might get antsy if he messed with her too much anyway.

He flicked the light back on, laughing to himself when she startled at the brightness. A muttered curse reaching his ears as the broom clattered to the floor. Cute that she thought using it would have helped her. He wanted to see what sort of face she’d make when he ripped off that precious sense of security. Though unfortunately for him, it made things easier for Damon if she still had that on.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, putting on a false air of cheer as he crossed the room to grab the dustpan and brush off the shelf. He watched her blink a couple times, her gaze narrowed as she finally cleared them of the spots. “I couldn’t resist~ I was hoping you’d have a more interesting reaction, but I guess you’re not all that bothered by the dark.”

“...how do you figure?” She looked over at him, sounding confused, only to stiffen when she saw him approach. How precious. Her gaze flickered to the arm he had partially hidden, and he made no effort to hide his grin as he tucked it further out of sight.

He came to a stop, grinning at her wary expression. He recognised that look. The apprehension mixed with uncertainty, waiting to see what he did next. He liked it on her. Despite being so jumpy, he got the feeling she wasn’t a total pushover, which was a shame. It'd have been easier to work with her if she was.

“You got cat eyes,” he said, tapping the side of his head. He grinned when she realised.

“Oh, right.” She raised a hand to her eye, touching the markings on her cheek. It was lamentable that she already knew his toy gun was fake from before. He wanted to see how she reacted, backed into a corner and begging for her life.

“Ah well, guess I'll have to find another way of messing with you.” He pulled a dustpan and brush from behind his back, waving it at her with a teasing grin. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to smash a singular coffee jar, but the shelves behind her did seem to be for loose stock.

“By making me jump for it?”

He chuckled. Not that he hadn't considered it. It was just more fun to see her confusion as he walked past her, kneeling down to begin sweeping up the mess. “That's an option,” he agreed with a chuckle. “It was cute you thought the broom was going to save you.”

“It was a solid Plan B,” she said, not sounding impressed.

He could feel her stare on his back, but paid it no mind. There was a beaten up box nearby that he grabbed, folding over the flaps to hold the glass and coffee from the dustpan. "Whatever you say, doll-"

“Oi, dumbass!” The echoing voice of her coworker cut him off, and his eyes narrowed with displeasure. Rasmus, he’d said his name was. DG wasn't a fan. “What’s taking so long?!”

“Fuck me. Here we go,” she muttered. Her grip tightened around the broom, stomping over to the door to poke her head out, and DG had no shame in letting his gaze roam down the view he got. Those pants were certainly doing her favours, and he was no Damon, but he was tempted to take a photo for his best friend’s viewing purposes. “Give me a minute! I’m cleaning up!”

“Cleaning up what?!” The prick’s voice was getting closer. DG decided he may as well. It took all of two seconds to open the camera and click the button, grinning to himself as they continued their shouting match. He typed in a quick message for his dear old buddy, attaching the image before he clicked off the phone.

[Final delivery for the night~]

“The roller door is open. You’ve got the lights out even though I keep telling you to keep them on-!” Rasmus stopped when he arrived in the doorway, doing a double take as he spotted DG. “And what is he still doing here?!”

“He's helping me clean up the coffee,” she said sourly, leaning against the frame. DG watched with interest as her demeanour shifted, much less of that forced politeness showing. “It got knocked over when I was grabbing the cereal box.”

“Just helping out.” DG finished sweeping up the second pile they had, dumping it into their makeshift bin. “The lights were on me. And your co-worker helped me out, so I’m returning the favour.”

“Don’t cover for her,” Rasmus said, shooting a glare sideways. She waited until his eyes were trained back on DG before throwing her hands up in inarticulate frustration. DG would’ve felt sorry for her, if it wasn’t also hilarious to watch her lose her shit.

“You can go,” she said to DG, stomping back into the room to continue sweeping up the grains of coffee. “It’s my mess, so I’ll deal with it. Thanks for the help though.”

“...aren’t you meant to be watching the store or something?” DG said, grinning at the fuming Rasmus.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re closed. And if your job is done then you’re welcome to leave.”

DG shrugged. There wasn’t any particular reason he should stay. He wasn’t about to stick around for the sake of Damon’s crush. “Sure thing, bud. I’ve loaded it onto your stacker truck, so all you have to do is drive it into its place.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The coworker was clearly not over DG’s earlier prank. Honestly, some people needed to loosen up.

“Well, it was certainly a pleasure doing business with you,” DG said, shooting a wink at the girl over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Rasmus followed him out, closing the roller door almost as soon as DG was outside. DG gave it a bit, but he didn’t hear any shouting start up again, so with a shrug he closed the doors to the van and hopped in the front.

♪⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅♪

#br<3ken colors #br0ken colors #DG #fanfic #fanfiction #oc #deleted scenes #blind spot

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puzzleglum · 6 months ago

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I wrote about 2000 words worth of analysis and theorizing on the Lanyon and Hyde confrontation! You can read it here (and I also recommend reading it on either a desktop/laptop, or the Google Docs app, because the comic images might be blurry otherwise):

But the thing is...it's not quite done! I meant to write ALL of my thoughts on these two and this Talk they're gonna have, but I ran out of time. Holidays slowed me down, and then I got sick. Still am, in fact. Life, you know? It just keeps throwing curveballs, even when you REALLY just want to be writing essays on webcomics.

I think the thoughts I've written in this document are reasonably complete on their own, however! And the main reason I wanted to share them is because there IS a good chance tomorrow's update will either confirm or deny some of what I've already put in this. Theories are perishable goods! It is how it is. So I didn't want to waste my chance to put it out there before the newest page drops. After all, I'll probably have to rewrite some (or even a lot) of this essay, if it turns out I'm like, super wrong about stuff. XD But that, too, is the joy of theorizing!

So to anyone who wants to read my thoughts so far, please enjoy! And tell me what you think! I'd love to read any and all feedback folks got. Positive AND negative. That's how we improve, after all! :D

One final clarification: this is only a Part 1 of the broader essay I have in my head, that I've been slowly working on for quite a while now. Consider this WIP essay a kind of prelude to the other essay I'm planning to write, about how the Henry Jekyll Rescue Mission might go. Anyway, enjoy!

#the glass scientists #tgs #tgs theories #tgs meta #tgs hyde #tgs lanyon #tgs analysis

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graveofcalaxes · 3 months ago

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WIP Wednesday! 📜🖋️

(Gonna be away from a computer for the next few days, so I made this post at midnight and scheduled it to post early in the morning! I will be asleep when it goes up. Hope it's not too early for some of you 😅 If it is, sorry!)

Tagged by @labskeever! Consider this your no-pressure tagback, Vin!

Also I'm feeling a bit brave today, so I'll be taking the initiative to no-pressure tag some (just some! I'm still too shy to tag more ><) of the other tesblr folks whose works I've seen around here and I've always wanted to say hello to: @skyrim-forever @falmerbrook @madam-whim @moriche @umbracirrus

This week, I finally have some writing to show you all! I was hoping to get something Oblivion-related up in time for its anniversary, but wellll :/ So instead, here's a little (read: big) excerpt I was able to type up for my Skyrim fic featuring one of my favorite OCs, Elelil Heart-Eater.

It is worth noting that she is not my dragonborn OC, she's just the OC centered at the College of Winterhold. Anyways, enjoy!

It is in the evening when Elelil Heart-Eater returns to the College, abruptly dropping by the Arcanaeum with her heavy cloak covered in both snow and… scorch marks? The half-Bosmer swiftly brushes past the many precariously balanced bookstacks, her short stature seeming even smaller against the backdrop of tall shelves. Not that he would ever say it aloud, but Phinis is somewhat thankful at her arrival, what with her mere presence shooing a hovering Arniel away. Her overall reputation both inside and out of the College aside, the unusual wooden mask she always covers her face with outside of the premises does nothing to help with how others view her. But in cases like this, Phinis personally thinks it's quite helpful. The relief he feels at finally having some peace to read immediately leaves him when she drops four small but recognizable objects—a necklace, a ring, and two daggers—onto the table before him, the loud clunking drawing a sharp glare her way from the ever gruff Urag. Elelil ignores him, falling heavily into the seat across from Phinis. "I got your letter on my way back. I looked into it," she says, her voice muffled by the mask. She leans back in her seat and pulls the hood of her cloak down. "Unfortunately, I found them." "…It seems you have. A shame." Closing his book, he reaches forward to pick Yisra's necklace up, the intricately engraved silver pendant in his palm now warped and discolored. "So, all four of them have…?" "Died, yes." She sighs before shaking her head. She tugs the wooden mask off, letting it clatter onto the table as she rubs her deathly pale, gaunt face in exhaustion. "I told them not to do their field research alone, but of course none of them listened. What a waste." "I hate to say it, but those apprentices may have been too afraid of you to have even heard you." He offers. "Of course they were." Elelil scoffs, her yellow-orange eyes flashing dangerously. She crosses her arms and grits her teeth, her sharp canines reflecting the light of the nearby candelabra. "If even the Archmage's word, along with my decade of being here with no incidents whatsoever, isn't enough to assuage students' fears, nothing will." "What's done is done, I suppose." Phinis reasons, carefully laying the necklace back onto the table's wooden surface. "In any case, thank you for looking into it. I'll let the Archmage and Mirabelle know what happened to them tomorrow morning." "Of course," Elelil nods her head. She runs a hand under her hair to free it from the confines of her cloak, the ends of some of her frizzy brown locks clearly singed. "It was no issue at all since it was on the way back. Speaking of," Elelil turns in her chair, finally acknowledging the orc librarian standing behind the counter. "Urag, I lost the book." Urag bristles lightly, his fists clenching on the counter. "I… see. I'm assuming there's a reason." "You are usually more meticulous about that." Phinis agrees, unconsciously fiddling with Ilas-Tei's ring. "If anything, you tend to overprepare." "You know me, I care just as much as Urag does when it comes to growing the Arcanaeum's collection. I wouldn't lose something like that without a good reason." She sighs, letting her head loll over the backrest of her chair. "It burned to ashes, along with the rest of my pack. I had to get a new bag." Urag raises a brow. "How? Did you run through a fire on the way here?" "In a sense. I was passing through Helgen." Elelil breathes heavily through her nose as she rubs her forehead in irritation, leveling Urag with a grimace. "The surprise executions the Legion decided to hold there were one thing. The dragon was an entire other one."

In addition to my writing just noooot happening last week, I was also too busy in general to participate last Wednesday 😭 But I'm here now!

I wanted to mix things up with the College story by implementing one of the unused quests as a way to introduce Elelil somewhat early in the fic. Not that the fic is gonna see the light of day anytime soon, I have two other fics that need to come out first, but unfortunately, I can only really write whatever and whenever the mood strikes.

Just like last time, if anyone reading this is like me and has been wanting an excuse to post your own WIP, feel free to use this post to consider yourself tagged! Just be sure to tag me in your own post cuz I wanna see your stuff!

And please let me know if any of you want to be tagged by me for these in the future!

#tesblr #skyrim #phinis gestor #urag gro-shub #wip wednesday #oc: elelil heart-eater #fic: to my dearest sister #my ocs #hana's old documents

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gwendeeagain · 8 months ago

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What do you think of Siblings Karushuu AU ?

Short Answer:

It's fine, they're cute... I guess. I don't care much for it, not because I dislike the idea, but because I feel like them being siblings doesn't really add much to their existing dynamic.

Long Answer:

I attempted to write Siblings!Karushuu early on. I have 1 complete oneshot, and I think one WIP (I don't remember if I published it in my Scrapbooks collection).

Thing is, I'm not sure what exactly about them being siblings is a draw as opposed to them being unrelated or just interacting in any other premise.

The both of them already have quite a robost family setup that influences their personality - Karma with absent parents, Gakushuu with his too-present father (and ?absent mother).

Sibling AU fics that I've read tend to shoehorn in Gakuhou to be Karma's father, which is expected since he's an established character in canon, and his role can't be omitted without too much damage to the rest of the plot. (Furthermore, if you're the kind of person who is writing a Karushuu siblings AU, you're clearly interested in the Asano family dyanmic (that's actually all there is to Gakushuu) so you're just not going to omit Gakuhou.)

Unfortunately I've observed that this rarely influences anything about Karma. Karma either remains as he is in canon and it's explained that he's a black sheep in his family to have ended up in 3-E, or the plot puts him in 3-A and it's explained that he either has an impending transfer to 3-E/it's his last chance; or that his nepotism is what keeps him in 3-A. Karma's values and principles about academics and the inherent worth of human beings is rarely affected in these retellings (because that's what people like about Karma) but because that's Gakuhou's main shtick, it feels like the whole premise didn't matter at all.

There's even less to say about Gakushuu's mother because neither Karma nor Gakushuu's mothers are present in canon anyways and it's easy to just explain them away as unimportant, given how much space Gakuhou takes up in the mind. Usually I read that their mother takes off with Karma and leaves Gakushuu alone with Gakuhou, so... no changes there.

Another potential appeal is the sibling dynamic between Gakushuu and Karma - but then I'll just question what exactly about a sibling relationship differs from... any other relationship between two unrelated people. Karushuu in canon already has the sort of snarky-bantering-rivalry energy anyways, if that's the thing you're looking for. I've seen fics that write them as estranged by having their parents split them up as kids, but then that's essentially the same as a childhood friends AU. I guess we really can't replicate familial love and the obligation of being blood related unless it's this specific context. The idea that they're cut from the same cloth, only separated by time, but they will eventually reunite... oh hey, we can make them soulmates, put a curse on them, or make a demon pact.

There's also the resentment angle, as overcompeting siblings tend to have, "you look like the other parent" acidity if we throw in a divorce plot. But that doesn't affect their existing interaction, I feel - it gives them different things to say when they fight, but they're still rivals as they would in canon.

I don't know. My point is that I guess I can't think of a premise that would interest me in a sibling au above any other au if I had the option. Any differences that do arise feel miniscule and don't affect the broad strokes of whatever I'm looking for in a fic.

...Not even incest, which is a hot take. Yeah, I read/write and enjoy incest. But come on, whatever Gakushuu and Gakuhou have going on in canon already is far more interesting than anything I could ever manufacture for sibling Karushuu. The strange enmeshment and tension that the canon Asanos have in Mamasano's absence, ...could work similarly to sibling Karushuu's furtive us-against-the-world codependency under their Father's omniscent gaze... if you're into that sort of thing. I could be, but more often than not the Asano family dynamic pulls me away from looking elsewhere.

I mean, I'm just not into the siblings thing. You could be. Don't take this post as my condemnation of Karushuu siblings, I still enjoy reading them and the quality of the fic takes precedence. I've had my expectations pleasantly subverted before.

Hehe thanks for the ask! I love rambling

#assassination classroom #assclass #gakushuu asano #akabane karma #karushuu

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heromaker-if · 2 years ago

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do you have any other ifs that we can read whilst we wait😭😭🫶🫶

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask and your patience! 🥰

I do have some other IFs that I worked on in the past but I don't recommend playing them (I was still learning how to write at that time, so they aren't great). But if you want some IF reccs, I can recommend some IFs I've read recently.

(Sorry for the tags friends, and for the rants!)

(Released) My all time favourite is The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction - it's just genuinely so good and it always gives me the vibes of one of those shows you watch after dinner, that becomes part of your routine and you want to see desperately what happens after, and the characters become part of your memories, almost like people. It's just UGH such a good IF. If you like nostalgic hometown horrors, this IF is for you.

(Released) Very close favourite is Blood Moon by @barbwritesstuff - WEREWOLVES GUYS!! I've replayed this game so many times. It's one of those games that after you finish, no matter how long of a break you take from it, you always return to it. I love the "found family" of this game, even though it's not really found, it's just... family. I miss them! The romance in this story is also written so beautifully.

(Released) Another fav is The Golden Rose by @anathemafiction - it was one of my favs while it was still in WIP and after it's released I took so long to play it cause I never wanted to finish it. Like, I grew so attached to its story that I didn't want to let it go. 😭 Very well written characters and the descriptions of things, places, feelings, expressions, mannerisms, is so endearing and eye-catching, never a second where I skipped a line, I was CAUGHT. If you like a story with ominous beginnings, middles and ends, this is for you, not to mention the whole religion themes that are so interesting to dive into.

(Released) I miss this one so much but The Soul Stone War by @intimidatingpuffinstudios - there's two books out for this one already and each one is better than the previous. It's fantasy and about powers and there's a dragon lady that you can romance, and the POLY IN THIS IS BEAUTIFUL! Very soulmate-y romance and just generally captivating storytelling.

(Released) Nothing will ever hit the same as The Passenger by @the-passenger-if - there's just something so familiar, so memorable about this story. I don't think in my next lifetime I will ever forget it. It's about an eldritch horror battling with humanity and it's raw primal role as a monster. It feels short but only because you're so into it that time passes you by, but the tone and the flow of this story is very well done (as well as the characters! 🥰).

(WIP) I feel like everyone and their mothers know about Infamous by @infamous-if - but I'm going to talk about it anyways. It's a BAND IF, yes, music, yes, adrenaline, fame, and all the bad decisions that come with it. It's only one chapter out right now, but it's very worth it. I guarantee you the brainrot you will get from this game is going to consume your life.

(WIP) A somewhat popular one as well is Body Count by @bodycountgame - I haven't seen a game do the whole modern reality TV show with a tinge of horrifying brutal horror as well as Nell has, and even though it's still in its early stages, it's very well done and interesting. Lots of ROs to choose from, and genuinely funny humour to laugh about in between the crying sessions of a favourite character dying.

(WIP) Haven't heard that many people talking about this one to be fair but Chop Shop by @losergames - Also a very early stages game, but it's very adrenaline inducing and has so much potential that has me shaking in my seat. I'm already half in love with the cast and I can't wait to go need for speed and play a super chaotic individual.

Also any game by @hpowellsmith, they're amazing at creating consistent well written stories that have such great characters and even better representation. They do it so well, and I've been a fan of them for years now, definitely one of my role models!

I'm sure there are many more IFs out there that you NEED to play/read, but my mind is blank right now, and these are the only ones I could think of. I also don't have as much time to get into an IF, but I'm getting there (thinking of getting into Shepherds of Haven - which you should!)

#WOW THIS WAS LONG #sorry yall #ask #anon #other ifs

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bettsfic · 1 year ago

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Hi, Betts! Apologies if you‘ve already answered something of the sort before, I tend to forget that tumblr exists for a few months every once in a while, so I‘m not super up to date with all the topics you‘ve previously discussed! But. I‘ve been writing fics for a couple of years now and, after getting medicated for my adhd, I‘ve also established a pretty reliable and enjoyable system to finish the (long) fic projects I start! However, every time I try to work on something original, I usually tap out after 5-10k words. The excitement, the itch, the brainrot, the daydreaming, it‘s all there but I just lose my motivation at a certain point. Part of it is that creating and writing original characters is incredibly challenging. I‘m using to having a solid base when I write fic characters so it makes sense that having to come up with that base all by myself is new and slightly overwhelming, but ok, I already have ideas to deal with that. However, there is also the fact that I *know* my original stories won’t see the light of day for a hot while — not like my fics that I get to share on ao3 — and that kills my ends up killing my motivation more often than not… I think! Some of my friends and mutuals have offered to beta/read my original stories, so that could help, but since I‘m here writing this, I still haven’t found that push to properly work on my original wips. (Also, I feel like my original writing style is just 10x worse than my fic style… but maybe that‘s just the normal new project bad kind of writing?) I was wondering if you have dealt with something similar and whether you have any tips and tricks to convince myself that my original wips are fun and worth the effort too? Love your advice and your fics :3

when you've written fanfic for a long time, there's one creative muscle that can atrophy, and that's building parameters. in fanfic, the most ridiculous, far fetched AU is still grounded in some way by the text it's responding to. you're playing a game that more or less already has rules. but in original fiction, you have to write the rules before you can play the game. a lot of times that means you write an entire book to figure out the book you're trying to write, and then you rewrite the book.

i almost always come to a grinding halt at about 10k of any original project because that's how long it takes me to find the parameters of the inciting incident. and once i have the parameters, i start over. usually there's one or two paragraphs i keep and which end up guiding the rest of the project. sometimes the parameters are never set and i have to set the whole thing down until a solution comes to me, which can take months or years.

as for external validation/motivation, if you can find a couple good cheerleaders who will read chapters as you finish them and who get invested in the story you're writing, i find that can offer a simulacrum of the immediate satisfaction of posting/updating a fic. i had to have cheerleaders through my first two original novels. i can motivate myself now and don't need them anymore, but lacking them does make writing original work a very lonely endeavor. but if you have good cheerleaders, do whatever you can to keep them. buy them little trinkets, send them birthday cards, kiss them on the mouth. because that kind of friendship and dedication can be such a rarity in the grand scheme of things.

and as always, writing is an endurance sport. it can take years to build up the patience, discipline, and drive to write a novel. even if it doesn't feel like it, getting down a bunch of false starts is still progress. like chess, it's good to know your opening moves, and that initial 5-10k of parameter-building goes waaaaay faster when you know you're going to scrap it anyway. all you're looking for in those early words is that one paragraph that turns the ignition. and once you're on the road and headed in a direction, there's no better feeling than seeing your word count go up and getting obsessed with your own world and characters.

#also i've said it a hundred times but it's good to write short form for a long time before attempting long form #also also sorry for all the mixed metaphors #writing advice #process #motivation

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rosesradio · 6 months ago

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2, and then 14-22. Realistically I'd ask all the questions if it wasn't a bother but these are the ones I'd love to hear the most. I know it's still a lot though so nbd if you don't have answers!

i went ahead and answered all of the 2024 look-back questions !! 💌

How many fics have you worked on since January?

I’ve written several drabbles and things that haven’t made it to ao3, though using my ao3 stats, i’ve posted 30 fics in 2024.

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

I’ve expanded and delved further into themes and things I’m interested in—especially with quite a few ships and dynamics I haven’t tried before! (Like jercy, lukercy, lukethan—arranged marriage, getting back into x readers a little, etc.)

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

obviously pjo lol, that inspired 27 of the 30 fics 😅

How many fandoms did you write for this year? Three (spider-man got one fic and hsmtmts got two)

What ships captured your heart?

i’d have to say valdangelo, they were the focus of two of my longfics (one still a wip). but honorable mentions to lukercy and jercy for some good smut 👀 and lukabeth for helping expand my darkfics

What characters captured your heart?

Leo, nico, hazel (this is more for the later IR chapters that are written and not posted 👀), and annabeth. oh and Jason and Percy and Luke. just all of them !!

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

lots of new ships, but i think spider-man was the only new fandom

What fic meant the most to you to write?

i’d have to say ceaseless eve and ivory rain (yes i’m pairing them they can’t be bought separately lol). i put a lot of work and bits of myself in those fics and had a lot to say about the world i created there—and i have a lot more to say still <3

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

honestly anything fluffy and smutty—cucciolo, a jasico first time fic, comes to mind. it was just so sweet and hot and captured just the right dynamic <3

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

probably ceaseless eve. it was just before i was going into knee surgery (tfw knee surgery—gunshots), and to set that up to post so i could read comments when i was in recovery was so nice :-) i just know that feeling will be even better when i’m done with ivory rain

What fic was the most difficult to write?

honestly ivory rain. longfics have always been difficult, but i’m trying things i never have before. it’s exciting and intimidating and frustrating all at once, but i know once people read it they’ll see it was worth it.

What fic was the easiest to write?

any of my smut fics lol, that’s why they’ve multiplied like rabbits 👀

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

ceaseless eve (mid-revision…please don’t ask about the revision process 🚬) is 103,315 words. i’ve written several shorter drabbles on tumblr only but the shortest posted work is a moment alone, which is 795 words.

What were your go-to writing songs?

i have a writing playlist of instrumental songs, i can’t listen to songs with lyrics lol

What was the hardest fic to title?

I have a hard time with all of my titles. I remember specifically struggling with a lesson in overcoming fear and hidden in darkness, cloaked in sheets—for the most part though i just extract a little phrase of what the fic is

What's your favorite title of the year?

again, ceaseless eve and ivory rain. they’re stupid and pretentious and i hate them so much <33

Share your favorite opening line

“When boiling it down to the basic strategy, the absolute most straightforward logistics…working a service job was a lot like charging into battle.” The opening line to ivory rain…it’s cringe, it’s sillygoofy, it’s leocore babey

Share your favorite ending line

“We need to make sure you're good and rested up, anyway, for the Sunday matinee…" is a good closing line from spoils of war. it reveals something and leaves the reader wondering and dreading.

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

"You're asking if I burned your letter," Leo said stonily.

"Not necessarily," Nico started, his heart jumping in his chest.

"Look," Leo said, his gaze flitting towards the trees. "I was pissed. I still am. I'm not gonna lie and say I've cried over you like a wife waiting for her husband to come back from war. But I was pissed because I was worried, okay? So if you think I would burn the only evidence I had that you were okay just because I was mad?" He shook his head incredulously. "Then you don't know me at all."

it’s a tie between this and simply the “welcome home, nico” line in ch 3 of IR. there’s just so much pining and angst and friction and ultimate love that’s so fun to convey through the dialogue with these two

Share your funniest line

If Leo's therapist had seen the bunker, had really explored it and noted all the red flags (ranging anywhere from unhealthy isolation habits to illegal safety hazards), she probably would have determined that the bunker was enabling him.

That's because the bunker was enabling him.

i think it’s like the rhythm of this little paragraph, it just reads like a standup joke & is once again very leocore lol

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

i think i’ve just been surprised by my brainstorming process for IR—it’ll be easier to explain once the fic is posted, but yeah the story’s taken me lots of places!

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

i use Wattpad drafts 🫣 sometimes i’ll use tumblr drafts and the word counter website depending on what i’m trying to do, but for the most part it’s wattpad

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

finishing CE—and i just know finish IR will be 10 times that :’)

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

i don’t think so—maybe take a nap or get ice cream :-)

How did you recharge between fics?

…i don’t. i just go long periods where i don’t write, or i’ll just do inbox drabbles

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

nope, just fics! i wish i worked on drawing though 👉👈

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

i took part in the lukercy birthday bash! i posted two fics (around 14k each) for that, both of which can be found on my ao3

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

@heavens-vault, my lovely editor/beta reader/my person—IR wouldn’t be half of what it is without her. and ofc anyone who’s ever enjoyed my fics enough to leave a comment & lmk, it is very much appreciated 💌

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

nothing i guess 😅

What would you like to write next year?

i hope to finish IR (i’m almost halfway through), maybe participate in the lukercy valentines bash, and maybe get started on my next longfic which i’m keeping close to my chest lol. it’s all pretty ambitious and i’m sure I’ll be working on plenty of drabbles in between, but I look forward to it ! 💌

#pjo #valdangelo #asks

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suzukiblu · 2 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday Game

Taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

file names:

feral Kon and liger pups

omegaverse nursing

the wet nurse omegaverse

weird Kryptonian bonding rituals

YJ accidental baby acquisition

snippet from "feral Kon and liger pups":

Kato needs fed his supper, so Panthera is going to feed him his supper. She's a very big cub now and so now Mother and Father trust her to feed Kato and mix up his special food for him and take him out on walks for his daily exercise and comb his dark, curly mane every morning.

But Tigris and Leo are not very big cubs, and the two of them just knocked over the whole week's worth of medicine doses that Panthera is supposed to mix into Kato's special food.

Oops.

"Oh no!" Tigris cries in distress, hiding her face from the sight of all the shattered vials and spilled medicine on the storeroom floor as Leo whimpers worriedly and hides his entire self behind her. Panthera, as a very big cub and very grown-up princess and very good big sister, decides to solve the problem.

"It's okay, Grissie," she assures her, and then she carefully sweeps up all of the glass and cleans up all of the spilled medicine and washes all of the floor so no one will smell the medicine in here any stronger than usual, and then it's fine. Sacker will send more medicine next week like always–he's very regular with Kato's medicine deliveries, even when the castle hasn't ordered anything else from his store–so all she has to do is pretend like Tigris and Leo didn't spill this week's delivery, and it'll be fine. Panthera's the only one who feeds Kato now anyway, so no one else has any reason to notice his medicine is missing.

"Were we naughty?" Leo asks nervously, and Panthera reaches over and pats his little head.

"Accidents aren't naughty, Lee-Lee," she tells him firmly. Mother and Father don't even need to know. Tigris and Leo are only four, but she's six, so she can definitely still take care of Kato even without his medicine. It's only to make him behave, anyway, and Kato is such a good boy, and Father tamed and trained him so well. He doesn't really need his medicine to behave, she knows. Not for just a week.

Panthera knows that humans are wild and dangerous, of course, but not Kato. Kato naps contentedly in sunbeams every chance he gets and sleeps at the foot of her big-cub bed every night and lets her braid his mane and sits very patiently when Tigris and Leo want to climb all over him or ride on his back or shoulders. Sometimes he bites, yes, but he never bites them. And he wears a pretty golden collar with Mother's royal seal on it, and pretty silken tunics that a wild human would only ruin, and likes to be petted and hugged and kissed and once threw that mean mercenary Killa all the way across the courtyard for trying to hurt Grandfather.

So Kato is a very good boy, Panthera knows.

She makes sure everything is definitely all cleaned up, then shoos Tigris and Leo out of the storeroom and off to play, and takes Kato his supper in the courtyard like usual. He's dozing in the last of the day's sunlight before it sets, because he loves the sun more than anything but her and Tigris and Leo. Even more than hunting or playing or having his hair combed or being petted, even.

Though maybe not more than hugs. Maybe.

"Here, boy! Here, Kato!" Panthera calls, and Kato perks up and darts over to her, half-crouched like always. He bumps their heads together and nuzzles her temple, purring happily, and she scritches her claws lightly through his mane. Human skin is pretty tough–she's never scratched Kato even accidentally–but it's nicer to be gentle with him anyway. He likes it. Though he also likes when Father scruffs him and Howler and Growler wrestle him and Gorr gives him those heavy pats he always does, but Panthera still knows he likes her pettings best. She never pulls his mane or ears too hard like Tigris and Leo do, and he cuddles with her whenever she wants and always goes to her first.

Sometimes Howler jokes that maybe Kato thinks Panthera is his cub and laughs about it. Panthera thinks maybe he actually does, but she doesn't mind. Maybe someday Kato will have real cubs, though, if they get him a mate or breed him. She doesn't really know how humans raise their cubs, but she bets Kato would be a good sire either way. He likes her and Tigris and Leo best, and he's patient with all the nobles' and servants' children, and even the children who just come up to them in the streets of Roam, whether he knows them or not.

He's less patient with adults, especially rude or mean ones. But animals have a sense for when people are bad, Panthera's always heard, so she's not surprised by that.

#meme #omegaverse #wip wednesday #wip: feral kon and liger pups

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