#because there IS a link! (loose i’ll admit

[kiwitaskmaster]

It’s not particularly Taskmaster related but

I just think that more people should listen to elemeno p

(please) (nobody irl will humour me)

[r3starttt]

FOOLISH

PAIRING: roommates! abby anderson

SUMMARY: Abby being so in love with her roommate

CW: request. fluff. modern au. just some thoughts.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE LINKS DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | - abby taglist: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @grey-jedi

Abby had always been the type to quietly care for you in ways that went unnoticed by most, but meant the world to you.

As your roommate, and after spending most of her so-called alone time with you, she had grown familiar with your every nuance—the little things that made you, you, and the comfortable silences shared late at night. She knew how you liked your breakfast on busy mornings—simple, rushed—and how you treated yourself on weekends, savoring each bite of a more elaborate spread.

Abby paid attention to you in a way that made you feel seen, even when the world turned a blind eye. What had started as strangers living together had evolved into something deeper, something more meaningful.

It all began one lazy Sunday morning. You wandered into the kitchen, barely awake, with your hair in a messy bun, draped in the baggiest clothes you could find, your bare feet chilled by the cold floor. You had been awake for half an hour but remained in bed, listening to the soft noise of Abby moving around, staring at the ceiling, summoning the energy to start the day.

Abby stood by the stove, and the smell of something warm and familiar filled the air, though your sleepy brain couldn’t quite place it. She didn’t say much, just gave you a quiet smile, murmuring a soft "good morning" as she slid a plate toward you. “Thought you could use a break from cereal,” she teased with that small, endearing grin of hers. The way her eyes lingered on your face as you took the first bite spoke volumes, though no words were needed.

Somewhere along the way, she had started leaving little notes around the apartment, simple reminders to drink water, eat, and take breaks. You’d find an extra blanket on the couch, knowing she had left it there because she’d noticed you often fell asleep during late-night study sessions or naps between tasks. These small, thoughtful gestures made you feel undeniably cherished, even though neither of you had ever voiced it aloud.

One evening, after a long, grueling day of studying, you found yourself curled up on the couch, laptop precariously perched on your knees. Abby walked by, her hair loosely falling from the braid she had tied that morning, her steps light and careful. She glanced at you, noticing how exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.

You were in that foggy, half-asleep state when the soft warmth of a blanket settled over your body, rousing you just enough to fight sleep a little longer. “You’re going to hurt your neck like that,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against your shoulder as she gently took the laptop and set it aside. “Sleep for a bit. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.” It wasn’t just the blanket’s warmth that made you feel cared for—it was the way Abby always noticed the little things, like when you needed rest but couldn't allow yourself to stop.

There was a quiet trust between you, a silent understanding that she’d always be there to look out for you.

Abby was the type who’d stay up late helping you with assignments, patiently explaining things in a way that made you marvel at how someone could be so brilliant yet so gentle. Her calm, steady voice had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world when she spoke to you. And when she leaned over your shoulder to clarify something, your heart would race, but neither of you acknowledged the subtle shift in the air—the closeness, the barely restrained tension.

You would both awkwardly adjust your postures, too afraid to cross the line that neither of you were ready to admit existed.

Living with her felt easy. It was as if the two of you had always shared this space, coexisting with quiet mornings and sleepy smiles, silently dancing around the unspoken feelings neither of you could name.

Laundry became a low priority in your shared lives, and you had the habit of letting yours pile up until you could no longer ignore it. One evening, you returned home to find the apartment bathed in the soft, orange glow of the setting sun. Abby was on the couch, pretending to be engrossed in her book, but you could tell she was simply waiting for you.

After a brief exchange of greetings, you retreated to your room, only to find your laundry neatly folded on your bed. You couldn’t help but smile—relief and a tinge of embarrassment washing over you. Later, you approached her, leaning close behind her as she continued to read. “You were busy,” she said, not looking up, “I thought I’d help.”

Living with Abby was like being wrapped in a kind of unspoken devotion, her eyes quietly tracing your every move as if you were the most captivating thing in her world. She was an endearing mix of awkward sweetness, intelligence, and a warmth that made you feel entirely safe and seen.

After particularly long days, you developed a routine of taking short evening walks together. The streets were quiet, the soft glow of the streetlights casting soothing shadows as you walked side by side. Abby didn’t talk much during these walks, but her presence beside you was enough to make you feel grounded, and every now and then, your hands would brush together, the silence stretching out comfortably between you.

She had a gentleness about her that was surprising for someone so strong and capable. When she helped with the mundane things around the apartment, it wasn’t because she had to—it was because she genuinely wanted to.

Every now and then, when she offered to run to the store for basics so you could focus on work, she’d return with your favorite snacks tucked in the grocery bags, quietly placing them in your room or on the kitchen counter. It was her way of caring, her way of staying close while still respecting the space you had both carefully maintained.

“Did you eat yet?” she’d ask, her voice soft but tinged with concern. “Need help with anything?” She never asked for thanks—she just wanted to know that you were okay, that you were taken care of. And when she saw you smile or laugh, her eyes would light up, as if those little moments were everything to her. “What’s so funny, hmm?”

Everyone else could see it—the way Abby’s world seemed to revolve around you. Whether it was her shifting her schedule to make sure you weren’t alone during late-night study sessions or remembering the tiniest details about you, like your favorite tea or how you preferred your eggs. And though neither of you dared cross that invisible line, it was so clear to everyone but you two. Still, you couldn’t help but notice how her voice softened when she spoke to you, or how her hands lingered just a little too long when she handed you a book.

Abby made you feel like you were the center of her universe, even if neither of you had ever said the words aloud.

Eventually, you found comfort in sitting together on the couch, watching movies, her arm resting casually along the back of the cushions, just close enough to make you wonder what it would feel like if she pulled you closer.

Sometimes, you’d share a brief, silent glance—everything unspoken, but there, simmering beneath the surface. And in those quiet moments, it was all too clear. Abby looked at you like nothing else in the world mattered. And maybe, just maybe, you looked at her the same way too.

[rynwritesreid]

Mind games~Spencer Reid

Chapter two: Could have been me

Chapter summary: When you don't show up to work the morning after your argument with Spencer, Hotch sends the team looking for you as your life could be in danger.

Chapter warnings: Fem!reader. Kidnapping. Mentions of possible murders. Typically cm case stuff. Reader is bound and gagged(but nothing else is mentioned).

A/N: This is loosely based on the episodes where the team were been stalked but I have put a little spin on it. I'm going to take a little break, not for long just a week or two, but I won't be checking my Tumblr as much. I hope everyone enjoys this. If you're not on the taglist, and you want to be, you can either comment or follow the link (Which I still will be checking). Anyway, Jag älskar dig.

~mind games masterlist~

~join the mind games taglist~

“You know, she told the girls what you said to her, Spencer.” Derek interjected, his voice filled with a mix of concern and disappointment. “She looked up to you, I mean she basically saw you as a god. You and her could make an amazing team, but instead you dislike her, because she is on the same level as you.”

 

Spencer's face softened for a brief moment, his features betraying a flicker of regret. He hadn't realized the impact his words had on you, nor the way it would spread through the team like wildfire. It wasn't his intention to hurt you. In truth, he had been wrestling with his own demons, battling insecurities that had plagued him for far too long.

 

"I didn't mean to..." Spencer began, his voice barely above a whisper. But before he could finish his sentence, JJ interjected, her gentle tone cutting through the tension.

 

"It doesn't matter what you meant or didn't mean, Spencer. The damage is done," she said, her eyes filled with disappointment. "Y/N deserves better than this."

 

“Look, I regret what I said to her, I do. And yes, maybe she deserves better than what I said, but did she tell you what she said to me?”  Spencer paused, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

 

Derek and JJ exchanged glances, sensing that there was more to the story than they initially thought. Spencer's voice trembled with a mix of vulnerability and frustration as he continued.

 

"She told me that I act like I believe I'm better than everyone else, that I flaunt my achievements," he admitted, his gaze focused on the ground as if the weight of his words were too heavy to bear. "But she doesn't know the whole story. She doesn't know the insecurities that eat away at me every day."

 

Derek's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Spencer, we all have our battles," he said gently. "But taking it out on her isn't the answer. You two could be an incredible team if you just gave it a chance."

 

“I’ll say sorry to her, but I doubt she’ll want to work with me after all I said to her.”

 

Derek placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "You won't know unless you try. Y/N is resilient and understanding. And if you show her that you truly regret your words, she might surprise you."

 

*

 

Spencer tried to find you to apologise but he couldn’t seem to. He asked JJ if she had seen you, but she just shook her head and told him that you most likely had taken the day off or you were just late.  However, when they saw Hotch walk out his office, and look directly at your desk, they both thought something else may have happened.

 

“Emily, have you seen Y/N anywhere?” Hotch asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

 

Emily glanced around the bullpen, her eyes scanning the empty desks and filing cabinets. "No, Hotch. I haven't seen her all morning. Did something happen?"

 

Hotch sighed heavily, his brows furrowing in concern. "I'm not sure. She didn't show up for our scheduled meeting this morning, and she hasn't responded to any of my calls or messages."

 

Worry etched itself onto Emily's features as she reached for her phone, dialling your number without hesitation. The sound of ringing filled the air as the team held their breath, waiting for a response.

 

After a few agonizing moments, Emily disconnected the call with a shake of her head. "Straight to voicemail," she murmured.

 

Derek's eyes widened in alarm. "That's not like her. Y/N never ignores her phone, especially not when it's work-related."

 

Hotch nodded, his concern growing with each passing second. “I know. Spencer, after your disagreement with her last night, did you notice her go anywhere, or did she say anything to you at all?”

 

Spencer's heart sank as he realized the severity of the situation. He hadn't anticipated that his argument with you had escalated to this point. Guilt gnawed at him, fuelling his determination to find you and make things right.

 

"I didn't see her leave last night," Spencer admitted, his voice filled with regret. "But she seemed really upset. I think she might have needed some space."

 

Hotch's expression hardened; his concern now veiled with a sense of urgency. "We can't afford to waste any more time," he said firmly. "I want the team to split up and search for Y/N. Derek, you take the surrounding area and check if she went home. Emily, canvas the local coffee shops and places she likes to go. JJ, contact her friends or anyone close to her. We need to find her as soon as possible."

 

“Hotch, why are you so worried?” JJ asked, a hint of confusion in her voice. “Do you know something we don’t? I mean I’ll do all of this, of course, but you seem a lot more concerned than you should be.”

 

Hotch's gaze flickered with a mixture of apprehension and determination. He took a deep breath before finally speaking, his voice laden with worry. “There was a meeting with other unit leaders this morning, and people who joined us at the same time as Y/N have been disappearing.”

 

Emily's eyes widened in shock, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "You think Y/N might have been targeted?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

Hotch nodded grimly. "It's a possibility we can't ignore. We've already lost three team members from that cohort, and we need to find Y/N before it's too late."

 

Derek clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his phone. "I'll check her apartment first, see if she went home," he said, determination filling his voice. "If she's not there, I'll widen the search radius."

 

JJ nodded, her fingers already flying across her phone screen as she contacted Y/N's closest friends and contacts. "I'll reach out to everyone and see if they've heard from her," she said, her voice tinged with worry.

 

“This takes priority to the other case we are working. And that’s not just me stating this, the bureau want this taken care off.” Hotch declared, his voice firm and resolute. "Y/N's safety is our top concern, and we won't rest until we find her."

 

The team dispersed, each member taking on their assigned tasks with a renewed sense of determination. Spencer stood frozen for a moment, his mind flooded with regret and fear for your well-being. Guilt crept up his spine, threatening to consume him as he replayed the words, he had said to you.

 

But now was not the time for self-pity or remorse. He needed to find you, to make things right, and to protect you from whatever danger lurked in the shadows. With a newfound resolve, he grabbed his coat and joined Derek in the search.

 

Derek and Spencer combed through every inch of your apartment, searching for any trace of where you might have gone. They checked your bedroom, your bathroom, and even the closet in case you were hiding. But there was nothing.

 

"Damn it," Derek muttered under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. "She's not here, Spencer."

 

Spencer stood in the centre of your living room, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if hoping for some clue to reveal itself. "Think, think," he whispered to himself, racking his brain for any indication of where you could be.

 

His gaze fell upon the corkboard hanging on the wall, covered in pictures and notes. Without hesitation, he approached it, studying each item carefully. His eyes landed on a picture of you, and what he assumed were people who were at the academy at the same time as you.

 

“Derek, do you know the names of the other people who have gone missing?” Spencer asked, his voice laced with urgency.

 

Derek furrowed his brows, trying to recall the information he had heard during the briefing earlier that morning. "Yeah," he replied, his voice tinged with concern. "There was Sarah Thomas, Chris Matthews, and Mark Reynolds. Why?"

 

“Look at this photo, could this be them with Y/N?” Spencer pointed to the picture on the corkboard, his finger hovering above the faces of the individuals. Derek leaned closer, studying the image intently.

 

“Maybe. Grab the picture, we will show it to Hotch.”

 

Spencer carefully removed the photograph from the corkboard, handling it with delicate fingers as if it held a piece of the puzzle he desperately needed to solve. He knew that showing it to Hotch would be the next step in their search for you, for answers.

 

As they walked into the office, their faces filled with worry and determination caught Hotch's attention immediately. He approached them, his eyes narrowing as he took in the evidence bag Derek was holding.

 

"What did you find?" Hotch asked, his voice steady but filled with anticipation.

 

Spencer handed over the evidence bag, ensuring Hotch had a clear view of the photo inside. "We found this in Y/N's apartment," he explained. "It appears to be a picture of her with the three individuals who have gone missing. We thought it might be worth showing you."

 

Hotch's gaze hardened as he studied the photo, his mind working through various scenarios and possibilities. “I think Y/N is danger.”

 

Hotch's words hung heavy in the air, the gravity of the situation sinking deeper into the hearts of Derek and Spencer. They exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with a mix of determination and fear.

 

"Y/N could be in serious trouble," Derek stated, his voice laced with urgency. "We need to find her before whoever is responsible for these disappearances gets to her."

 

Hotch nodded, his jaw clenched tightly “I think the person who is responsible for these disappearances has already gotten to her, Derek.”

 

Derek's heart skipped a beat, the weight of Hotch's words hitting him like a freight train. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as rage and fear surged through his veins. "We can't let anything happen to her," he said, his voice low and determined.

 

Spencer's mind buzzed with a million different thoughts, trying to piece together the puzzle that had become your disappearance. "Do we have any leads? Any idea where she might be?"

 

Hotch sighed heavily, the lines on his forehead deepening. "Not yet" he admitted. "But we need to work fast. Whoever is behind this is organized, and they know what they're doing. We need to beat them at their own game."

 

“Spencer, go chat to Garcia, see if she has found anything or been able to locate Y/Ns phone. Derek, call Emily and JJ see if they have found anything. I’m going to call the other unit leaders who have lost members, and the academy to see if they know anything.”

 

Spencer nodded, his mind already racing with the task at hand. He quickly made his way to Garcia's office, knowing that her exceptional skills in technology would prove invaluable in their search.

 

As he entered the room, he found Garcia hunched over her computer, surrounded by screens filled with lines of code and databases. The room buzzed with the sound of beeping monitors and clacking keys.

 

"Garcia," Spencer called out, trying to catch her attention amidst the chaos. "Hotch wants us to find any leads on Y/N's whereabouts. Have you been able to track her phone or any other digital footprint?"

 

Garcia spun around in her chair, her eyes lighting up with determination. "Spence! I've been trying to crack into her phone and social media accounts, but it seems like whoever is behind this has taken extra precautions. It's like Y/N vanished into thin air."

 

"Keep trying, Garcia. We need any lead we can get. Check for any unusual activity, recent contacts, anything that might give us a clue."

 

Garcia nodded, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she delved deeper into the digital world. "I won't stop until I find something, Spencer. Y/N deserves justice, and we are going to make sure she gets it."

 

Spencer's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he quickly retrieved it to see a message from Derek. It read: "No luck here. No signs of Y/N or any of the other missing persons. Emily and JJ are coming up empty too."

 

Spencer sighed, his heart sinking at the lack of progress. They were running out of time, and every passing moment without a breakthrough felt like an eternity. He knew they couldn't afford to give up, but the weight of the situation was beginning to take its toll.

 

As he turned his attention back to Garcia, he noticed a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "Spence, I think I might have found something," she said, her voice filled with hope.

 

His heart skipped a beat as he hurried over to her side, peering at the screen. Lines of code and data flashed before his eyes, but one particular piece caught his attention. "What is it?" he asked eagerly.

 

Garcia pointed to a series of encrypted messages on the screen. "These are conversations between Y/N and someone who goes by the name 'ShadowX'. It seems like they've been communicating for some time now."

 

Spencer's eyes widened as he absorbed the information. "ShadowX," he muttered, his mind racing to recall any mention of the name during their investigation. It felt like a puzzle piece finally falling into place.

 

Garcia continued to decipher the encrypted messages, her fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced precision. "It looks like Y/N trusted this person," she said, her voice filled with concern. “They seemed close. It looks like they met at the academy, but if you look at this message, it seems ShadowX didn’t do so well and didn’t get a job in the FBI.”

 

Spencer's brow furrowed as he read the message, his mind working to piece together the puzzle. "So, ShadowX was a classmate of Y/N's at the academy," he mused aloud. "But if they didn't get a job with the FBI, what happened to them?"

 

Garcia tapped her fingers on the keyboard, her eyes scanning through the messages for any more clues. "I'm still trying to dig deeper, but it seems like ShadowX disappeared shortly after their graduation. There's no trace of them anywhere since then."

 

Spencer's mind raced with possibilities. Could ShadowX be responsible for the disappearances? Or were they also a victim? He knew they needed more information, more pieces of the puzzle, to solve this case and bring you back safely.

 

“Garcia, I think ShadowX is behind all of this. Y/N is smart, she was ahead of everybody else at the academy, I even checked her marksmanship, and she was getting top scores on that too. I think ShadowX was jealous. And look at all the other people who have gone missing, all smart, all got a job here.” Spencer swallowed hard as he realized the gravity of the situation.

 

Garcia's eyes widened, realization dawning upon her. "You might be onto something, Spence," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of determination and concern. "If ShadowX was jealous of Y/N's success and disappeared after graduation, it's possible they've been planning this for a long time."

 

Spencer's mind buzzed with the weight of their discovery. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, revealing a darker truth that sent shivers down his spine. "We need to find out everything we can about ShadowX," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "Their motives, their whereabouts, anything that will lead us to Y/N."

 

Garcia nodded fervently, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she delved deeper into the digital abyss. Her determination was unwavering as she hacked into every database she could access, leaving no stone unturned.

 

Meanwhile, Derek and Hotch returned to the bullpen after making their calls. Derek's face was etched with worry, lines deepening as he caught sight of Spencer standing beside Garcia. Without a word, he joined them.

 

"What do you have?" Derek asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

 

Spencer glanced at Garcia, who nodded in confirmation. "ShadowX was a classmate of Y/N's at the academy," he began, his voice filled with resolve. "But they didn't get a job with the FBI. They disappeared shortly after graduation, and there's been no trace of them since."

 

Derek clenched his jaw, anger simmering beneath his skin. "Jealousy and resentment," he muttered under his breath.

 

Derek's words hung heavy in the air, the weight of the situation settling over them like a suffocating fog. The knowledge that someone they had once trusted, someone from their own ranks, could be behind the disappearances was both unsettling and infuriating.

 

Hotch's voice broke the tense silence. "We need to find out everything we can about ShadowX," he said, his tone resolute. "Their motives, their connections, any possible leads. We can't let them slip through our fingers."

 

Garcia's fingers danced across the keyboard as she accessed every database available, her determination unwavering. "I'm going to trace ShadowX's digital footprint, follow every electronic trail they left behind," she declared, her eyes blazing with a mix of determination and anger. "No one disappears without a trace in this day and age."

 

Derek's eyes narrowed, his hands bawling into fists at his sides. "We'll find them," he said through gritted teeth. "No one hurts our team and gets away with it."

 

*

 

The team had left Garcia so she could continue with her research, Derek and Spencer had decided to go through the files on your desk, see if there was anything there. Hotch remained in his office making phone calls, JJ and Emily seemed lost, they had come to love you and knowing you were in danger was tearing them apart.

 

Spencer though, he was reflecting, he had come to terms to why he had disliked you. It wasn’t just because of your intelligence , or how you just seemed to make friends with everybody, it was because he knew he didn’t truly stand a chance with you. He wasn’t just jealous of you; he was jealous of anyone who would ever get a chance of loving you.

 

As Spencer flipped through the files on your desk, his thoughts continued to swirl, entangled in a mix of emotions. Guilt crept into his heart as he realized how his jealousy had clouded his judgment and caused him to distance himself from you. He had pushed you away, not only because of his own insecurities but also to protect himself from the pain of seeing someone else capture your heart.

 

But now, faced with the gravity of the situation, Spencer's perspective shifted. The fear of losing you altogether overshadowed any lingering jealousy. He knew deep down that he couldn't let his personal feelings hinder the efforts to find you and bring you back safely.

 

Derek glanced over at Spencer, noticing the conflict etched on his face. "You alright, Pretty Boy?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

 

Spencer sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm trying to come to terms with everything," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I realized that my jealousy was unfounded and only served to push Y/N away. Now, all I can think about is finding her and bringing her back safely."

 

Derek nodded in understanding; his eyes filled with empathy. "We'll find her, Reid," he reassured, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We're not giving up until we do."

 

Spencer offered a small smile of gratitude, grateful for Derek's unwavering support. "Thank you, Derek," he said sincerely. "I don't know what I would do without you guys."

 

As they were about to get back into the files, they heard the distinctive clicking of Garcia shows.

 

“Guy’s!” Garcia exclaimed as she burst into the room, her eyes wide with excitement. "I think I found something! ShadowX has been using an alias, but I managed to track down their real identity. Their name is Ethan Sullivan, and he used to work for a private security firm. But get this," she paused for dramatic effect, "he was fired after allegations of unethical practices surfaced."

 

Spencer's eyes widened, his mind connecting the dots. "Unethical practices... that could explain why he didn't get a job with the FBI," he mused, his voice filled with realization. "And if he was jealous of Y/N's success, it's possible he's been targeting graduates from the academy."

 

Derek's jaw clenched as anger flared within him. "We need to find Ethan Sullivan," he said firmly. "If he's behind these disappearances, we need to bring him to justice."

 

Garcia nodded in agreement, her fingers itching to dig deeper into the digital realm. "I'm going to trace Sullivan's every move, leave no virtual stone unturned," she declared, her eyes ablaze with determination. "We'll find him, and we'll bring him down."

 

Garcia let out a triumphant cheer. "I found him!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and relief. "Ethan Sullivan is currently residing in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. It seems like he's been using it as his base of operations."

 

Hotch, who had finished his phone calls, emerged from his office with a stern look on his face. "We need to move quickly," he said, the gravity of the situation evident in his voice.

 

Emily, JJ, I want you to coordinate with local law enforcement and secure the perimeter around the warehouse," Hotch continued, his voice commanding. "Derek, Spencer, you'll come with me. We're going in."

 

The team sprang into action, each member homing in on their assigned tasks with precision. Emily and JJ made the necessary calls, ensuring that backup was on the way. Meanwhile, Garcia continued to monitor Sullivan's digital presence, providing real-time updates on his movements.

 

As they approached the abandoned warehouse, tension hung heavy in the air. The once bustling building now stood as a dark and foreboding figure against the night sky. With each step closer, the team's determination grew stronger.

 

Hotch gave a nod to Derek and Spencer, signalling it was time to move. With weapons drawn and hearts pounding, they entered the warehouse cautiously yet swiftly.

 

The interior of the warehouse was shrouded in darkness, save for eerie beams of moonlight that filtered through the broken windows. The creaking of old boards under their feet echoed through the cavernous space, causing a sense of unease to settle over the team. The air was heavy with anticipation as they moved deeper into the labyrinth of forgotten boxes and discarded equipment.

 

Derek's eyes scanned the surroundings, his senses heightened as he listened for any sign of movement. Spencer, ever the analytical mind, was piecing together the possible hiding spots Sullivan could be using within the warehouse. They moved in sync, their training and trust in each other guiding their every step.

 

As they navigated through the maze of shadows, a faint sound caught Spencer's attention. He held up a hand to signal Derek to stop, his ears straining to catch even the slightest noise. It was then that he heard it again, a muffled cry for help.

 

Heart pounding in his chest, Spencer followed the sound, leading them towards a dimly lit corner of the warehouse. There, hidden behind a stack of crates, they found you. Bound and gagged, your eyes filled with fear and relief as you saw the familiar faces of your team members.

 

Derek rushed forward, releasing you from your restraints with swift, practiced movements. "We've got you," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of protectiveness and concern. "You're safe now."

 

Spencer knelt down beside you, his gentle touch removing the gag from your mouth. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

 

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm...I'm okay," you managed to say, tears streaming down your face. "Thank you for finding me."

 

Hotch approached; his gaze steady as he spoke. "We need to get out of here," he said firmly. "Garcia, call for medical assistance and secure an exit strategy."

 

“I’ll stay with her.” Spencer volunteered; his voice filled with determination. He didn't want to leave your side, not after everything you had been through.

 

Hotch nodded in agreement, understanding the need for comfort and reassurance. "Alright, Reid," he said, his voice softening. "But be careful."

 

"You're safe now," Spencer whispered softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. "We won't let anything happen to you."

 

You nodded; your voice still shaky. "I don't know how to thank you guys," you said, your gratitude pouring forth. "You saved my life."

 

Spencer smiled warmly, his own emotions raw and palpable. "You don't have to thank us," he replied, his eyes filled with sincerity. "We're a team, and we look out for each other."

 

“I’m sorry for what I said to you, Spencer. I just wanted your approval.”

 

Spencer shook his head, his eyes filled with forgiveness. "You don't have to apologize, Y/N," he said softly. “I should be saying sorry to you, I just let my insecurities get in the way.”

 

You reached out and placed a hand on Spencer's arm, offering a reassuring smile. "We all have our moments of doubt and insecurity," you said, your voice gentle. "What matters is that we learn and grow from them."

~taglist~

@iluvreid @bitchassbecky691 @drspencerreidsthings @amatheuni@i-heart-mgg @Liidiaaag@wyntersstuff@brilliantreid @donttrustlove@btsiguess-kpop @bellesmith628 @lunaticgurly @Oureternalbond@somethingsmart123 @ula-revolution @pleasantwitchgarden @vvampwebb @alysena2 @sujan39 @nini123 @xoxo-lyss @rory-cakes @marantha @http0kms0jpg @peppersapro @mommymilkers3000@spicycalabaza @shinixpo@dr-reidsslut@donttrustlove@miss.dianaa@potatochip-111 @stars-n-stuff15 @nugget1234567@00047c@carley12041@earth2stxr@cosavuoi-me@sewmxx @bibissparkles @frgtmenotes @mdanon027 @drreidsfavwhxre @yourfavoritefangirl @sunnyyyyyyyynnus @mega-kittyglitter-1 @loliakeoghan23

red is for @ that’s don’t work

In the next chapter… will you and Spencer remain friends. Will Spencer confront his own feelings for you. Will he tell you how he feels. Will this new found friendship be pushed to the limits when an old love interest comes to visit.

[amethystarachnid]

Hi rose!!

Could i request ‘Christmas Caroling (Disaster)’ from your marvel holiday special with (platonic relationship) natasha romanoff and fem!reader? just banter, fluff and laughs! If you don’t write for Nat or don’t write platonic relationships, feel free to change any details!

Thank you!

CAROLING & SNOWBALL FIGHTS

⤷ NATASHA A. ROMANOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Natasha A. Romanoff x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, platonic

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: You're feeling bored so your best friend, Natasha Romanoff herself, takes matters into her own hands and decides to make you have som fun outside the Compound.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It’s another quiet morning at the Avengers Compound, snowflakes tumbling lazily past the frosted windows. You’ve been staring at the same book for an hour, the words blending into an indecipherable blur. With a sigh, you drop it on the coffee table and stretch, looking around the room for something, anything, to do. The holiday decorations you and the team painstakingly put up last week sparkle in the soft light, but even they can’t hold your attention.

“Bored, huh?” Natasha’s voice makes you jump. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, an amused smirk on her lips. She’s dressed casually in a dark hoodie and jeans, her red hair pulled into a loose braid. The sight is almost comical; you’re used to seeing her geared up for a mission, not looking like she’s about to suggest a Netflix marathon.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Painfully,” she replies, stepping into the room. She flops onto the couch beside you, stealing the mug of hot chocolate you’d abandoned earlier. “What’s the problem, Y/N? Cabin fever?”

“Something like that,” you admit. “I can’t take another day of sitting around here doing nothing. I swear I’ll lose my mind.”

Natasha takes a sip, watching you over the rim of the mug. She’s silent for a moment before her face lights up with an idea. “Let’s get out of here.”

You blink at her. “Out of here? Like, where?”

“Central Park,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s snowing, it’s December, and I’m guessing you’ve never seen it in full winter wonderland mode.”

“That’s because I value my extremities,” you quip, though a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. The idea is already growing on you. “But fine. If I lose a finger to frostbite, you owe me a really good story to make up for it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but grabs your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Deal. Now go bundle up, rookie.”

Ten minutes later, you’re layered up in coats, scarves, and gloves, feeling like a marshmallow on legs. Natasha teases you mercilessly about your knit hat, but you point out that at least you’ll be warm. She’s only wearing a simple beanie and claims she doesn’t feel the cold—a classic spy move, you’re sure.

The streets are bustling when you arrive in Manhattan, but the chaos is strangely comforting. The city hums with energy, a mix of holiday cheer and the usual fast-paced New York vibe. As you approach Central Park, the snow seems to muffle the noise, wrapping everything in a blanket of quiet beauty.

Natasha leads the way, her boots crunching in the snow. The paths are partially cleared, but the open spaces are covered in a thick layer of pristine white. You spot families building snowmen and kids racing each other on sleds. A few brave souls are attempting to ice skate on the frozen pond.

“This is actually kind of nice,” you admit, looking around in awe.

“Told you,” Natasha says smugly, tossing a snowball at your shoulder. It’s a lazy throw, but you still yelp in surprise, brushing the snow off your coat.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” you warn, bending down to scoop up your own handful of snow. Natasha dodges easily, laughing as your attempt sails harmlessly past her.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” she taunts, darting behind a tree for cover. You chase after her, and soon you’re both caught in an all-out snowball fight, ducking and weaving like you’re in some kind of ridiculous winter-themed action movie. Natasha is annoyingly good at dodging, but you manage to land a few hits, much to your satisfaction.

Eventually, you call a truce, both of you panting and grinning like kids. “I can’t feel my hands,” you complain, shaking the snow out of your gloves.

“Rookie mistake,” Natasha says, but she’s smiling, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Come on. Let’s walk for a bit.”

The two of you stroll along the snowy paths, the playful mood giving way to something softer. The park is quieter now, the light fading as the afternoon stretches toward evening. The snow-covered trees and twinkling lights give everything a magical quality, like you’ve stepped into a postcard.

“Thanks for this,” you say after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “I really needed it.”

Natasha shrugs, but there’s a warmth in her eyes. “You’ve been looking a little stir-crazy. Figured you could use a change of scenery.”

“Still,” you insist, bumping her shoulder with yours. “You didn’t have to. You could’ve left me to rot in my boredom.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I did that?” she asks, her tone light but sincere. The word “friend” hangs in the air, and you realize just how much it means to you. Natasha isn’t the easiest person to get close to, but moments like this remind you how much she cares in her own quiet way.

As you continue your walk, you can’t help but laugh at the sight of Natasha sneaking marshmallows from a street vendor selling hot chocolate. She insists they don’t count as stealing since she bought a drink, but the grin on her face says otherwise. You both sit on a park bench, steaming cups in hand, and watch as the first stars begin to appear in the darkening sky.

“This is perfect,” you say softly, the warmth of the hot chocolate seeping into your gloves.

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees, her voice equally quiet. “It is.”

The two of you sit there for a long time, the world around you fading into the background. For once, there’s no mission, no chaos, no looming threat—just you, your best friend, and the peaceful beauty of a snowy December evening.

You’re mid-sip of your hot chocolate, savoring the warmth, when something smacks into the back of your head with a dull thud. You nearly spill the drink in surprise and spin around, only to see a rogue snowball disintegrating against the back of the bench. Natasha freezes mid-sip, her eyes widening slightly, and you catch the faintest twitch of a smirk.

Before you can react, a chorus of giggles erupts from somewhere nearby. A group of kids stands a few feet away, their faces half-hidden by scarves and hats, but their mischievous intent is clear. One of them holds up another snowball like it’s a trophy, daring you to respond.

Natasha, ever the professional, turns her head slowly toward you, her expression unreadable. “Well, Y/N,” she says, setting her cup down with deliberate care. “You’re not going to let them get away with that, are you?”

You blink at her. “What? They’re just kids—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Natasha has already scooped up a handful of snow, molded it into a perfect sphere, and lobbed it with expert precision. The kid with the snowball barely dodges, letting out a shriek of laughter.

“Natasha!” you hiss, horrified and impressed in equal measure.

“They started it,” she says with a shrug, but the gleam in her eyes tells you she’s fully committed to this impromptu war. Another snowball flies past her head, and she ducks, motioning for you to follow her lead. “Come on, rookie. Don’t make me fight this battle alone.”

Reluctantly—and with a ridiculous amount of glee—you scramble off the bench and join her behind the nearest tree. Snowballs fly back and forth in a chaotic flurry. The kids are surprisingly coordinated for their age, and you’re pretty sure one of them is an aspiring pitcher with how fast their throws are.

Natasha, however, is in her element. She moves like she’s on a battlefield, dodging snowballs and retaliating with almost supernatural accuracy. You’re not sure whether to laugh or be concerned when she starts calling out tactics like, “Flank left!” and “Suppressive fire!”

“Nat, they’re children!” you gasp between laughs, barely dodging another well-aimed projectile.

“They’re ruthless!” she counters, narrowly avoiding a snowball to the face. “We don’t negotiate with snowball terrorists.”

Before you can respond, one of the kids sneaks up behind you and pelts you square in the back. You yelp, spinning around to see a tiny figure bolting back toward their group. Natasha cackles, actually cackles, at your expense.

“Oh, you’re going down,” you mutter, grabbing as much snow as you can carry. You charge toward the kids, who scatter in every direction, shrieking with laughter. Natasha follows close behind, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

The battle rages on for what feels like forever, until finally, you and Natasha call a truce—mostly because you’re both out of breath and can’t feel your fingers anymore. The kids cheer in victory, clearly declaring themselves the winners, and you wave a white scarf in surrender.

As you and Natasha trudge back to the bench, covered in snow and utterly exhausted, you can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe I just went to war with a bunch of eight-year-olds.”

Natasha collapses onto the bench beside you, brushing snow out of her hair. “Hey, they were formidable opponents. You held your own.”

“I think I got frostbite on my dignity,” you joke, shaking your head.

“You’ll live,” she says, smirking. “Barely.”

You’re about to retort when a new sound catches your attention—a sharp, metallic clunk followed by a muffled curse. Both of you whip around, instinctively alert. A man in a Santa suit has somehow managed to get his foot stuck in a trash can, and he’s hopping around trying to free himself, looking utterly ridiculous.

You and Natasha stare for a moment before bursting into laughter. It’s the kind of uncontrollable, tears-in-your-eyes laughter that leaves you gasping for air.

“I can’t—” Natasha wheezes, clutching her stomach. “This is too much.”

The man finally notices the two of you watching and glares. “What? Haven’t you ever seen Santa in distress?” he snaps, still hopping. That only makes you laugh harder.

“Should we help him?” you manage to ask between giggles.

Natasha shakes her head, still laughing. “I think he’s got it under control.”

As if to prove her wrong, Santa trips over his own feet and falls flat on his back with a loud oof. Your laughter dies instantly, replaced by a mix of horror and concern.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, rushing over to help. “Are you okay?”

The man groans but waves you off. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just…bad day, you know?”

Natasha joins you, her amusement giving way to a more subdued grin. “Do you need a hand?”

Santa looks up at her, then at you, and sighs. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“Nope,” Natasha says, offering him her hand. “But I will help you up.”

Between the two of you, you manage to get him back on his feet and free his boot from the trash can. He mutters a thanks before trudging off, still grumbling under his breath.

As you return to the bench, you and Natasha exchange a look and burst out laughing again.

“This is officially the weirdest day ever,” you say, shaking your head.

“Just another day in New York,” Natasha replies, her eyes twinkling. “Admit it, though—it’s been fun.”

You smile, brushing a stray snowflake off your coat. “Yeah. It really has.”

As the last of your laughter fades and the chill starts to settle back in, you hear something unusual over the faint hum of city noise: voices raised in song. You and Natasha exchange curious looks, both craning your necks toward the sound.

Down the path, a group of cheerful carolers bundled in scarves and hats stands beneath a lamp post, singing their hearts out. Their harmonized rendition of Jingle Bells drifts through the snowy air, lifting the spirits of passersby. It’s such a quintessentially wholesome scene that you can’t help but smile.

“Should we join them?” you joke, nudging Natasha with your elbow. “Spread some holiday cheer?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You? Singing? I thought you said you didn’t do public humiliation.”

“Funny,” you deadpan, though you’re smiling. “I could totally out-sing you.”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge,” she says, her smirk widening.

Before you can retort, one of the carolers—an older woman with a kind face and an almost suspicious amount of holiday cheer—spots you both watching. Her eyes light up, and before you can bolt, she’s heading your way, flanked by a few other singers.

“Hello there!” she says, her voice warm and inviting. “You two look like you’re having a wonderful evening. Care to join us? We’re spreading some Christmas joy around the park.”

“Oh, we’re just here to—” you start, but Natasha cuts you off.

“Absolutely,” she says, grinning at your look of betrayal. “We’d love to.”

The woman beams, clapping her hands together. “Wonderful! Come on, we’ve got songbooks for you.”

“Natasha,” you hiss as she pulls you along, “what are you doing? We can’t sing.”

“Speak for yourself,” she replies, her tone light but teasing. “Besides, it’s not about being good. It’s about having fun.”

You groan but let her drag you toward the group. Someone hands you a songbook, and before you know it, you’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Natasha, surrounded by cheerful strangers belting out holiday classics.

The first song is Deck the Halls, and to your surprise, you’re not entirely terrible. Natasha, of course, sings with the kind of confidence that makes you wonder if she’s secretly been trained in covert caroling as part of her spy work. She’s not half bad, though her occasional exaggerated vibrato earns some stifled laughs from the group.

When the carolers move on to Silent Night, the vibe softens, and you can’t help but get swept up in the moment. Snow drifts lazily around you, the lights of the park twinkling like stars. Natasha glances at you mid-verse, and the rare softness in her expression makes your heart swell.

“See?” she whispers when the song ends, her breath misting in the cold air. “Not so bad, huh?”

You roll your eyes but smile. “I guess it’s kind of nice.”

The next song is Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and that’s when things take a turn for the hilarious. The carolers encourage everyone to get a little animated, adding silly gestures and sound effects. Natasha, to your utter shock, fully commits. She even throws in a dramatic point to herself when the lyrics mention “reindeer games,” earning a round of applause from the group.

“Who are you and what have you done with Natasha Romanoff?” you tease between verses.

“What can I say?” she quips, shrugging. “I thrive under pressure.”

By the time the group launches into Frosty the Snowman, you’re both fully immersed. You try to outdo each other with increasingly ridiculous antics, from fake tap-dancing to over-the-top hand gestures. The carolers laugh and cheer you on, and soon even passersby are stopping to watch and join in.

At one point, Natasha grabs your arm and twirls you around like you’re in a ballroom dance. You stumble, nearly knocking over a poor guy carrying his dog, and the entire group erupts into laughter.

“I’m blaming you if I fall,” you warn, breathless from laughing so hard.

“You’ll be fine,” Natasha replies, smirking. “You’re more coordinated than you look.”

The impromptu performance ends with a rousing rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, complete with clapping and stomping. By the time the carolers disperse, you’re grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“That was ridiculous,” you say as you and Natasha walk back to the bench, the snow crunching softly beneath your boots.

“Ridiculously fun,” she counters, her grin matching yours. “Admit it, you loved it.”

“Fine,” you concede, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “It was fun. But don’t expect me to make this a regular thing.”

“Noted,” she says, her tone light. Then, after a pause, she adds, “You’ve got a decent voice, though.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she replies, smirking. “Now, come on. Let’s find something else to do before you start getting bored again.”

As you walk off together, snow falling gently around you, you realize that this has been one of the best days you’ve had in a long time. And it’s all thanks to Natasha—and her unexpected knack for turning the mundane into something extraordinary.

By the time you and Natasha return to the compound, the warmth of the interior feels like heaven. You both stomp the snow off your boots and shed your damp outer layers near the door, collapsing onto the couch in the main living room like you’ve just run a marathon.

“Remind me to never carol in the snow again,” you groan, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

“You loved it,” Natasha counters, stretching her legs out on the coffee table. She looks just as tired as you feel, though her smirk suggests she’s still riding the high of the day’s events.

Before you can retort, the sound of footsteps pulls your attention. Steve strides in, looking every bit the curious big brother. His eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you both sprawled out like overworked elves.

“Rough mission?” he jokes, folding his arms.

“Worse,” Natasha deadpans. “We were ambushed by snowball terrorists, then conscripted into a caroling group.”

Steve blinks, his confusion quickly replaced by amusement. “Snowball terrorists? Caroling? Is this some kind of inside joke, or—?”

“Oh, it’s very real,” you cut in, sitting up. “I’ve never seen Nat throw snowballs with such precision. It’s terrifying.”

“She’s a trained assassin,” Steve points out, chuckling. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Before the conversation can continue, Sam and Bucky wander in, followed closely by Wanda and Clint. Within minutes, the living room is buzzing with questions and laughter as you recount your afternoon adventures. Natasha, surprisingly, doesn’t downplay any of it, even going so far as to mimic your disastrous attempt at dancing during Frosty the Snowman.

“I swear, she almost took out a guy and his dog,” Natasha says, barely holding back her laughter.

“Did not!” you protest, though you’re laughing too.

“Okay, okay,” Clint interrupts, grinning. “This sounds like the most ridiculous thing I’ve missed all week. But since you two had your fun, what’s the plan for tonight? Because I’m not letting you hog all the entertainment.”

“We’re exhausted,” you point out, slumping further into the couch. “Nat and I earned a break.”

“Perfect,” Wanda chimes in, her eyes lighting up. “Let’s have a movie night. Something fun and festive.”

“Yes!” Sam agrees, already heading for the kitchen. “I’ll make popcorn. But I’m not watching any boring black-and-white Christmas movies.”

“Don’t knock It’s a Wonderful Life,” Steve says, looking mildly offended.

“Let’s take a vote,” Clint suggests, grabbing the remote. “Majority rules.”

It doesn’t take long for everyone to agree on a lineup of holiday classics, starting with Home Alone and ending with Elf. The team scatters briefly to grab snacks, blankets, and other essentials, and when they return, the living room feels like the coziest place on Earth.

Natasha claims the corner of the couch, gesturing for you to sit next to her. You oblige, pulling a blanket over your legs as Sam passes around bowls of popcorn. Wanda curls up in an armchair, while Clint takes the floor with a pillow he’s clearly stolen from someone’s room. Steve and Bucky settle in on the other couch, and even Bruce makes an appearance, looking relaxed for once.

“Ready?” Clint asks, remote in hand.

“Hit it,” Natasha says, smirking.

As the first movie begins, the room fills with laughter and commentary. Sam and Clint provide running jokes during every slapstick scene, while Steve occasionally tries (and fails) to explain the historical inaccuracies of certain films. Natasha, to your surprise, seems to enjoy herself the most, her rare laughter ringing out at the most unexpected moments.

During a particularly chaotic scene in Home Alone, where Kevin sets up traps for the burglars, Bucky leans over to Steve. “Why does this kid remind me of Nat?” he asks, deadpan.

Steve snorts. “Because she’d do the exact same thing, only with way more efficiency.”

“I heard that,” Natasha calls out, not even looking away from the screen.

As the night goes on, everyone starts to relax completely, the day’s stress melting away. At some point, Wanda conjures a tiny flurry of snowflakes above the coffee table, much to everyone’s delight. Clint insists on using them as makeshift targets, and the ensuing chaos nearly derails the movie marathon.

By the time Elf rolls around, you’re half-asleep, leaning against Natasha’s shoulder. She doesn’t seem to mind, her own posture relaxed as she absentmindedly munches on popcorn.

“This was a good idea,” you mumble, your eyes growing heavy.

Natasha hums in agreement. “Told you. Sometimes the simplest things are the best.”

As the movie’s final credits roll, the group lingers, reluctant to let the night end. Clint and Sam argue about who made the best jokes, while Steve insists on cleaning up despite everyone’s protests. Natasha gently nudges you awake, her expression softer than usual.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” she says quietly. “Time for bed.”

You nod groggily, letting her pull you to your feet. As you say your goodnights and head to your room, you can’t help but smile. The day might’ve started with boredom, but it ended with something much better: laughter, friendship, and a reminder of how lucky you are to have found this family.

[typicalopposite]

crop top tee and cut off jeans

(An idea I have had for a little while from @silversky9 where Tommy wears a crop top and Buck goes a little feral over it. We bounced the idea and it spiraled into what it is now 🫶 TW for the second half there will be mpreg. But you can stop after the first half — I’ll say when — and it’s just good ol fashion … not quite light smut!)

BuckTommy | M | 2803 words | ao3 link

It is so damn hot. 

The sun has been beating down on Tommy’s back for hours as he works in his yard, and he finally has reached the over it stage where he breaks out his special super secret outfit. 

Okay, okay… that’s a bit dramatic. It’s just— it’s not something he would typically wear. 

He slides the shirt over his head and it stops not quite halfway down his torso, then slides the loose and worn out pair of jeans up over his hips… they aren’t booty shorts… where’s the comfort in that? But… They are shorter than he anticipated when he cut the old jeans off a few summers ago. 

He steps out of the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. Not bad for an old man, Kinard… he teasingly thinks to himself. His body really is in possibly the best shape he’s been in, in a while. Thanks to his overly enthusiastic boyfriend making sure he sticks to his diet and pouts until he works out with him nearly every day… 

Not bad for an old man, at all… trying to keep up— trying to keep himself alive some days. Not that he cares too much. It makes Evan happy and keeps Tommy healthy so he can be around to keep Evan happy for a long long time. 

Plus… he has never filled out this outfit so nicely… if he does say (or well, think) so himself. 

His solidly built body, just barely, in the old faded cropped slipknot band tee worn mostly just so his shoulders aren’t so exposed to the sun— the shorts hug him a little more than they use to, but are broken in enough to still be breathable and comfy enough to spend the day outside in. 

His privacy fence keeps nosey neighbors eyes off the outfit. Not that he cares what they think— that’s a lie… he would love nothing more than to not have to see their judgemental expressions if they saw big tough guy, Tommy, dress… how he is dressed. But in the privacy of his back yard, he feels free to be a little less how he is expected to be— or act, or look. He can remove the metaphorical mask, that even after all this time… he still keeps snuggly on, and be completely just Tommy. 

And Tommy likes his cropped up top and cut off jeans. He ties a bandanna around his head to keep his curls pushed back… and his thumbs are painted sparkly purple instead of just clear— because it’s pretty and only he will see it. He smiles once more at himself, feeling the last thread of self doubt break loose and he walks out into his backyard. 

It’s still so hot, just more bearable. 

His body is drenched and the clothes are plastered to his body… but he’s almost done. The grass is cut; the weeds in his flowerbed taken care of; he pressure washed his back patio, and set up the new table and chairs he recently purchased— he has guests over pretty often now… which is still a new concept he’s wrapping his head around, but they need places to sit, he guesses. The last thing he is going to do for the day is set up a spice garden… for Evan. 

“Fresh basil is far superior to the dried flakes, babe…” he had pouted when Tommy didn’t want to pause dinner to run to the store… when he had the ingredient (just not the correct form). Did they go get the fresh basil, yes. Did Tommy begrudgingly admit Evan was correct for wanting to go get the fresh, basil… eventually. Did they take turns with each other’s punishment for being such a brat and a bitch about the situation after dinner… absolutely! 

Did Tommy go out the next day and buy everything to set up the little project, and gift, for his boyfriend…? Well… fresh is far superior to dried, so it’s a win win for everyone. 

He is so focused on assembling the wooden box he doesn’t hear the engine come to a stop just on the other side of the fence gate, he doesn’t hear the beep as the doors are locked, or Evan when he calls out once he enters the house. He is busy smoothing out the soil, poking holes down for the seeds, and is mid turn to grab said seeds when Evan gasps (pretty dramatically) after stepping out onto the patio. 

Tommy freezes. He stares and Evan; Evan stares at him. Then he smiles. 

He crosses the patio to where Tommy is standing, takes the seeds from him and sets them down out of the way, then takes Tommy’s face in his hands and pulls him into a deep, passionate kiss. “What… was that for,” Tommy asks, feeling drunk off of it when Evan finally pulls back for air. 

“What is this for?” Evan asks, equally winded, moving to mouth along Tommy’s jaw as he slides his hands up Tommy’s sweat slicked back, under the crop top, to his shoulders… then back down to the cut off of the jeans. His fingers slip under the cut and run along the curve of his ass… and he whines against Tommy’s skin. 

Tommy’s already heated skin is now on fire, for multiple reasons. He fidgets in Evan’s hold and pulls away to look at him, having to lean far back to escape Evan’s hungry lips as they move down his neck . “You’re ridiculous,” he laughs. 

“You’re delicious,” Evan counters and dives back in, walking Tommy back until Evan has him pressed— groin to groin; hardening erection to equally hardening erection — against the railing to his patio steps. Evan trails his tongues back up Tommy’s skin and only stops to nip at his ear causing Tommy to let out a whimpered yelp. “Alright, that’s it…” Evan exclaims, then he dips down and without warning Tommy is hoisted up and over Evan’s shoulder. 

“Evan!?” He is held firmly in place and carried up the few steps to the patio door. “But your spice garden…” 

“It can wait— wait…my spice garden?” 

“Mhmm…” Tommy hums, a proud smile spreading across his face as Evan turns back to look at the little handmade garden box. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then tightens his hold on Tommy and pushes the patio door open. “Oh yeah, let’s go…” he mutters, and proceeds to carry him to the bedroom, dropping him onto the bed and wasting no time climbing up on top of him. “You… are amazing, sweetheart… Do you know that?” Tommy preens at that, then shies away. “No no… look at me beautiful. I need to know you understand how much I appreciate and adore you right now.” 

Evan sits back on his heels and lets his eyes roam over Tommy’s body, he bites . “It’s just some yard clothes…” Tommy says, knowing there’s a deep blush taking over his face. 

“It’s just hot, Tommy… you look so hot in this, and you have no idea do you?” 

“You really like it?” Tommy asks softly, and he knows that voice tends to do so much more to Evan than when he drops it down an octave, making it deep and scratchy. He bats his eyes even and Evan looks ready to pounce. 

“Oh I’m going to show you just how much I like it—” Evan practically growls. He grabs Tommy by the waist and flips him over, pulling him up onto his knees. “—and you—” He stops Tommy when he starts to pull the crop top off, taking both of Tommy’s wrists in one hand and pressing them into the mattress over his head, no command to leave them there needed, Tommy knows. “—and all the things you do for me, sweetheart.” Then Evan works at the jeans, until they are pushed down just enough to grant him access. 

Evan is quick and effective. First with his mouth then with his fingers. He works Tommy open until he is writhing and begging for more and then he gives him just that. Filling him up, while also dropping down to whisper his praises and gratitudes in Tommy’s ear while he pounds into him. Tommy gasps and moans and cries out for Evan to go faster and harder, arching his back against Evan’s chest with an exasperated cry as he reaches his climax. 

Needless to say, Tommy is left feeling very appreciated and adored. 

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

STAHP! there be mpreg beyond this point! Unless you’re cool with than then — GO!

🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢🟢

(Forty TWO weeks later)

It is so fucking hot, and Tommy might actually lose his mind. 

He is huge and tired and sore… and now the AC won’t turn on. He wants to cry as he flips the switch to off then back on like Evan suggests when Tommy called to angrily panic scream about it. “The tech will be there in the morning to look at it,” Evan tells him at the end of the conversation, after nothing has worked, his voice heavily apologetic… and Tommy whines pitifully. He can’t help it. It’s Evan’s fault he is in this miserable position in the first place. He runs a hand over the large bump housing their baby girl and sighs. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I get home, okay?”

“Will you bring me some ice cream?” Tommy asks, and Evan quickly agrees without hesitation. “And give me a foot massage?” Another quick agree from Evan, and Tommy digs for more requests; because dammit, if he has to roast in this house because the doctor decided he needs to be put on bed rest while they wait for their daughter's arrival, so he can’t leave, then he is getting pampered for it. His ego and pride can be damned. Evan promises to do every single one, then he has to get off the phone; the sound of the alarm blares in the background and Tommy hopes it will be a quick last call so Evan can get home to him… even if the heat is sweltering and he will not be allowed to touch him beyond the foot massage. 

He goes around the house, opening all the windows and turning on all the ceiling fans; he goes into the garage and finds all their standing fans as well. He doesn’t even look at the thermostat to see how hot it is, the way his shirt is drenched and sticking to his body is enough to know it must be ridiculously high. 

No matter what he does it is just too hot. 

He finally can’t take it anymore and tugs his shirt up and over his bump, but hesitates pulling it over his head. It’s his nipples. They are so sensitive— so sensitive! Not exactly in a good way this far into the pregnancy… and the wind blowing from all the fans will be murderous on them! 

The problem is now the fabric is sitting bunched up on top of his stomach and that’s no less annoying than it being plastered to his belly. He huffs about a frustrated breath… then he gets an idea. 

Evan is going to murder him for using the kitchen shears but he was too desperate to get this done quickly to go hunt down his crafting scissors. He snatches the shirt off and lays it out flat on the table, eyes a line about midway up and starts cutting. He slides it back on and the edge hovers just above where his belly sticks out from his body, not rubbing annoyingly against it, but still covering his poor nipples from all the air. 

He breathes a sigh… and suddenly the idea blossoms. He thinks of his baggy pregnancy jeans… that he will have no use for once the baby is born, then hurries to their room to find them, tugging his gym shorts off and discarding them into the hamper in the corner of their room as he goes. 

One more modification later and he tries them on… definitely shorter than he intended but he’s not mad at it. He twists his body as best as he can to see his backside in the mirror and hums a pleased little hum at how he looks. Swollen, sure. But past that he fills the fit out nicely. 

And most importantly… he feels substantially better. He might even be able to get some cleaning done now…

Which is exactly what Evan finds him doing when he finally makes it home from work. “What are you—” he gasps, then trails off… Tommy stops mopping and blinks innocently at his soon to be husband. “Oh my god…” Evan sobs, dropping the bag of ice cream with his keys and his jacket and beelining straight into Tommy. His hands wander over the exposed bump and Tommy tilts his head back and softly chuckles as Evan wastes no time latching onto his throat. “Are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?” Evan whines against the mark he left behind. “I just got off work.” He presses a row of kisses around Tommy’s neck, and up to his ear. 

“Hmm…” Tommy hums smugly, letting his hands travel up Evan’s arms and wrap around his shoulders. “I had a feeling you might like it.” 

“Oh you did?” Evan asks into his ear before nipping at the lobe and sending a shiver through Tommy’s body. “So you purposefully chose to be a tease when I got home?”

“Maaaybe…” Tommy drags out, his lips twitching up into a smirk. He really hadn’t, it was just too damn hot… but he will play into this for some (hopefully labor inducing) sexy times. Evan hesitates— he has his reservations about sex so late in the pregnancy— but it’s very short lived with Tommy dipping his head and glancing up at Evan through his lashes. “What are you gonna do about it?” he asks softly… with just a bit of a needy desperation in his voice. 

That does it.

Evan growls and finally captures Tommy’s lips, letting his hands wander and roam over Tommy’s body. The bump is such a mood killer, stuck out and so in the way, but they are creative, and at two weeks over due if Tommy wants it… Tommy gets it. Evan leads him over to the kitchen island, leans him forward just a bit, and tells him to keep his hands flat on the counter top. Then he gets to work, kissing a trail over the back of Tommy’s neck, down his back and stopping at the hem of the pants. 

He eases them off of Tommy’s hips, over his extra caked up (Evan’s words of affirmation since he put on he baby weight) ass and down just enough he can easily part Tommy’s cheeks and dives in. 

It’s not long before Evan’s ministrations have Tommy’s legs trembling. “Baby…” he pleads, and Evan immediately stops, kissing back up Tommy’s back. They are nothing if not always prepared and Evan quickly finds a live packet in one of the drawers. He pushes his pants down and slicks himself up just as Tommy’s winces. 

Evan completely stops. “Are you okay?” 

Tommy nods and lets out a deep breath. “This is too much on my back,” he says, rubbing over the heavy bump. “Can we move to the bedroom?” 

“You don’t want to stop?” Evan asks, and receives a daring glare. “Okay, okay…” he laughs, and presses a kiss into Tommy’s cheek. Tommy tugs his shorts back up and takes Evan’s hand Very determined to finish what they started now, leading him to their bedroom. Evan eases him onto the bed and takes the sight before him in, groans before joining Tommy on the mattress. “How did I get so lucky?” he asks, running his hands up and over Tommy’s body, moving back to kiss him again. 

He gets back to work, this time slipping the shorts all the way off, but making a verbal note that the shirt stays put. Then he shifts Tommy onto his side, moves behind him, lines up, and slides in. Tommy arches back against Evan’s chest and his breathing picks up, as does Evan’s thrusts. “Baby… baby… baby…” Tommy chants, feeling around until he finds Evan's hand and lacing their fingers together. “Come on… come on… come on…” 

He can feel the heat pooling in his belly and he knows it isn’t going to take long at all. He bites his lips and starts to rock himself back into Evan’s thrusts, as Evan’s hand releases his and moves down to grip him. It only takes one stroke and Tommy’s vision whites out, his body goes rigid, he cries out Evan’s name…

Needless to say… the baby was born that night. 

[tw1l1te]

The Final Promise₊˚✩⊹

Chapter 6

Linked Universe x reader

Warnings: Negative mental health, trauma flashbacks, angstangstangst, some comfort

This chapter is heavier in terms of angst and trauma, just to put it out there.

₊˚✩⊹

This felt nice. Stomachs were full, a few of the boys were playing a card game, you were wrapped up in an old quilt sitting on the couch in the main room. Malon hands you a cup of tea, which you cradle in your hands, occasionally sipping on. You could feel Time’s eyes on you and it was making you nervous again. You needed air.

You whisper to Malon that you’re gonna step out for a bit, needing some alone time. She nods, a worried expression crossing her features, but you wave it off as “needing a breather from the rambunctious boys”, and she nods with understanding. 

Closing the door behind you with a soft ‘click’, you walk outside, arms wrapped around your waist. It was a bit chilly, but you didn’t want to go back in to get a jacket or blanket. You sit at the edge of the wooden porch, floorboard creaking from age and the amount of times people have walked across it. You placed your head on your propped knees, tracing the grain of the wood, thinking about your current predicament.

Almost as soon as Time crossed your mind, it seems as if fate was hearing your conflict. Time shut the door behind him and walked up to you, draping the same quilt you were cuddling with inside just a few minutes ago.

“Thought you might get cold out here.” Time stills for a moment before speaking up again, “Well, I’ll leave you-” “What was that kiss a few nights ago?” you interrupted, not wanting to miss another opportunity to talk to him about your thoughts.

The air was still for a moment, the only sound being the occasional bleat of the sheep or rustle of leaves. You hear a sigh behind you, Time coming down and sitting next to you on the porch.

“Didn’t think you wanted to talk about it, if I’m being honest. You’ve been so overwhelmed and stressed since the news of the possibility of going home and I didn’t want to overwhelm you een more.”

“I was, and still am, stressed out about it, I guess I just didn’t know how to bring it up or if you even wanted to talk about it.” you chuckled, “I guess we’re not the greatest at communication, as ironic as it is.”

He let out a breath of air. “... I did want it, if that’s what you were worried about. I liked it. I like you, Y/n, and more than just travel partners or as a friend. I want to be more than that, if you want that, that is.” he said, looking straight at you.

You’ve never heard anyone sound so genuine about admitting they like you in your entire life. Despite probably being at least twice your age (nobody knew how old he actually was, because the younger looks throw them off), he looked almost like a young teenage boy telling his crush that he liked them. It was melting your heart. 

His hand stroked your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, not tearing his eyes away from you. In the low lighting, his eyes almost looked black. His thumb made his way down from your cheek, softly brushing against your bottom lip. You felt like you were about to cry from how gentle he was being with you. The physical touch and affection should’ve scared you, but you didn’t dare move. 

Before you could blink again, his lips were on you again. You didn’t realize how much you missed the feeling until now. You softly moaned, placing your hands on his shoulders for some sort of support. You felt like you were in the clouds, weightless and no worries. 

He tilted his head to kiss you deeper, a quiet groan leaving his throat. Both of your breathing picked up a bit, the kiss becoming deeper and more desperate, as if he was scared you were going to pull away from him. 

You reluctantly pulled away for air, chest heaving a bit from the lack of oxygen. You kept your hands on him, placed flat on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. Moving up to his face, He was warm too, not fever warm, but warm enough to insinuate that he was blushing, even under the near pitch-black sky. 

He suddenly cleared his throat, “We should head inside Y/n, the others might get… ideas.” he trails off, eyes still on you.

You inhale, “Time? Can we… keep this between us? For now?” you ask.

He nods without a word, offering a hand to help get up. Taking his hand, you stand up, holding the quilt under your arm. He lets you go in front of him, back into the house.

~

A few hours later, you were in bed, sharing a room with Twilight and Wild. The two had already stripped off their armor and had their comfy underlayers on for bed. You sifted through your pack, looking for your pajamas.

“So where’d you and the Old man go earlier?” Wild asks. Shit. You didn’t think it was that obvious, but they were heroes for goddesses’ sake. They noticed the smallest things.

“I-I wasn’t feeling well, mentally I guess. He just comforted me about my worries.” you mumbled, trying to look busy.

“Oh you both looked comforted,” Wild says, rolling his eyes. You stilled. He knew, they both knew.

“Was it that obvious?” you asked, anticipating the answer.

Twilight stood up from the chair in the corner of the room, “I’ve never seen the Old man so red and embarrassed. Either ya revealed his most embarrassin’ secret or you both got busy.” he smirked, leaning against the door frame.

You stared at him, “What are you implying?” you asked, eyes slightly narrowing. You wondered where this was going.

“I’m not implyin’ anythin’, just teasin’.” he said, but that was only half true. You could tell. You hear shuffling behind you, and a soft thump on the bed. Wild was sat on the bed, busy with his Sheikah Slate. You turn back to Twilight, finding a shift in his eyes. Something was off, but you couldn’t tell. He seemed to look past you.

Being fed up with his confusing behavior, you grabbed your clothes and went into the bathroom to change. You made sure to lock the door, as lately certain members liked to ignore the door. You did not want to deal with being walked-in on tonight.

~

Twilight knew he’d gotten a bit too bold there. He didn’t know what he was thinking, accusing you of being affectionate with the Old man. It was none of his business, and he knew that. Then, at the same time, why did he care? Why did he care if you liked Time? Or anyone else for that matter? You aren’t his. He doesn’t own you. No one does. You can do as you please.

But… he wants you. 

He doesn’t know how or when he’s thought of you in that manner, but he can feel it. He can feel it patching up his heart piece by piece ever since Midna left him on that day, oh so many years ago. She may have felt the same, he never truly knew, but she’s long gone. You saw her leave. But you were there with him when she left him. You didn’t leave him. You didn’t leave when you saw him turn into a beast. You didn’t leave when you saw him fail over and over again. You didn’t leave when Midna did. He could hear you talking to him, consoling him, talking to him.

You stayed.

You came back. Back to him. 

And he didn’t want to lose you. Not again. Not after all he’s been through and fought for. 

He wasn’t fighting for Midna, or for the princess, or even for Hyrule.

He did it all… for you.

~

You settled into bed, which was huge, but felt constricting with a man on either side of you. Wild placed his slate on the nightstand and blew the candle out, muttering a ‘night’ to both of you, turning away from you.

Despite being in a soft, plush bed again, you couldn’t sleep. You stared at the ceiling, your thoughts running at 100 miles per hour. You and Time’s shared kiss earlier. That moment with Sky in the bathroom. Now Twilight’s sudden interest with what you were up to earlier.

What the fuck is going on with everyone?

You turn to your left, needing to lay in a different position, the last thing you were expecting was Twilight still being awake. 

You frowned, he wasn’t usually the type to be awake this late at night, especially with all the exhausting and physically taxing adventuring the Chain has been doing.

He was looking at the ceiling, what you had been doing just a moment earlier.

“Twi.” you whispered, poking his shoulder. He jumps a bit, turning his head to face you.

“You ok?” you ask. He takes a breath.

“Just thinkin’.” he whispers in response. He’s lying.

“Don’t lie to me, Twi. Please.” He closes his eyes, biting his lip in frustration.

Exhaling, he turns his entire body to face you. You were now laying face-to-face, about a foot of space between you. 

“You remember that one time we were running from a couple of Lynels while in Wild’s Hyrule?” he asks.

You roll your eyes, remembering the absolute insanity that you and Wild decided to pull.

“When ya used Wild’s Master Cycle to distract the Lynels into a different direction, all while laughin’ yer ass off? I was starstruck.”

You stopped breathing. This isn’t the direction you expected the night to go. No, not at all.

“In such a tense situation where we were all runnin’ for our lives? You were lightin’ up Hyrule with that radiant smile of yours, speedin’ away while two of the most dangerous monsters were racing toward you.”

“I mean… I wasn’t about to let you all get trampled. Regardless of how experienced y’all are, I could see the panic in all of your eyes.”

“Still, I was both so scared for you and amazed at your courage to distract the beasts. Not just anyone would do that for us. For me.” he whispered, taking your hands in his.

“I want to be there for you, Y/n. Protect you. I couldn’t bear losing you, not after all we’ve been through and all you’ve done for me. It’s my turn to be there for you.”

And with that, he closed the small distance between you two, propping himself up on his elbow to slightly hover over you and reach a comfortable angle.

His lips were soft, contrary to how you thought they would feel. He smelled like pine and wood, a musk that was dark but comforting. The slight stubble on his chin scratched slightly against your chin, but it felt nice. You’ve always liked stubble on men, but especially on him. It ignited something in you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him the signal that you were enjoying this. That you wanted this. You continued kissing him, kisses as soft as a feather, and yet as hot as the lava in Death Mountain. 

When you felt his fingertips go under your tunic, you nudged him away on instinct. 

“Why won’t you let me touch you, Y/n? You’re mine, and I should be able to do as I please. What, you fucking scared of me-”

“Darlin’? You ok?” he murmurs, worried eyes flicking across your face.

You nod, not saying a word.

Rough hands pinning you down.

“What, you don’t want me to touch you? I bet you’ve been seeing that bitch-”

“Y/n?” Twilight asks again, “Are you sure you’re ok? Did I go too far?”

You shake your head, “No, sorry Twi. Just got lost in my thoughts again. And, no, you didn’t go too far. I liked it. I wanted it.” you said, giving him a small smile. He hesitates.

“I promise, Link. I liked it, I like you. A lot.” you said, cradling his face in your hands. You almost never called any of them ‘Link’, it got too confusing in the group. You only called any of them by their birth name when talking to them alone or if you were upset at them.

He kisses your palms, eyes still on you. He was way too good at making you red. A feeling that was rare and unusual, but more than welcome.

“Right, well, as much as I want to continue, we should get some rest. Plus, we don’t wanna wake up Wild with any… romantics.” he whispers, tossing a glance behind you at the sleeping hero.

You smile, already nodding off in Twilight’s warm embrace. You felt safe. Happy.

₊˚✩⊹

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.4}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: forgot to mention this in ANY of the previous parts but i do have a silly spotify playlist for this silly man. includes a LOT of hozier because... i mean.... y'all know exactly why. (Link)

Word Count: 5.9k

“I’m not sure that I’m understanding.” You frown, leaning against his desk, raising a hand to scratch at your head, combing over his words once more, trying to make sense of them through whatever means necessary. “You’re going on a trip? You? Gale Dekarios? Mister stays-in-his-tower-all-day, the same man who sends me just to fetch fresh water?” You laugh, truly figuring he was joking. That, maybe, he was trying to play you for a fool – and yet he looked so terribly solemn, the opposition an unsettling sight, and his expression only served to further disorient you.

“Yes, the Wizard of Waterdeep is leaving his tower. I know such a feat is quite unimaginable, but I assure you, I speak with complete honesty. I have matters to attend to that require my presence elsewhere. I’ll be leaving you to the tower, though you won’t be completely on your own. Tara will remain here by your side,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. His hand pauses when it rests on his hairline, holding back the front strands to clear his view, and he looks down at the hide pack grasped in his left hand. He angles his head back up at his bookshelf, pondering which of the story is most necessary to bring along with him. 

“Damn, it wasn’t the flowers, was it?” You chuckle awkwardly, breaking your attention away from your mentor to look at the flowers you’d picked yesterday, showing their first signs of wilting despite sitting in a vase of fresh water. You had only Gale’s misfortune with plants to blame. He hadn’t opened up last night, despite your ambitions, but they’d brought a smile – and the faintest of blushes – to his face, and that was good enough. Though now in retrospect the offering-slash-gift seemed a little too forward, and your attempt at a joke stemmed from the mildest of insecurities that maybe the indigo petals had given him the wrong idea and rendered him uncomfortable. 

“Pardon?” He asks, standing up straight again, his backpack hanging loosely from the curled fingers that held it, and you look back at him, meeting his gaze. You can’t quite place the reasoning behind why your stomach sinks, but there’s no mistaking the discomfort of a growing pit in your abdomen. There’s a nearly mystical forlornness in the creases on his face, and his eyes appear dim; you’re sure it isn’t the lighting in the room that makes them out to be so cheerless, as he faces the sun and it lights his features up in all ways except emotionally. 

“Is everything okay, Mr. Dekarios?” You ask, your tone quiet and more anxious than you mean to let on. No longer leaning so casually against his desk, you dare to take a step towards him, head craning to the left as you search his eyes, though you only find them to be harshly guarded from your inspection.

“There’s truly no need for such formalities,” he replies, straightening out his posture and taking in a quick breath, a dreadfully forced smile replacing the careful line that his lips had been forming. He lifts the backpack, jostling it, and nods his head. “I’m alright. Well, save for the slightest traces of stress, if I may be so daringly sincere as to admit it.”

You pause your approach, not wanting to scare him should he prove skittish if you get too close, and you fold your hands behind your back, glancing at the contents of the traveling pack he holds. You can’t see much, but you are able to make out the off-white cylindrical shape of a scroll. “Might I inquire why it is that you’re feeling stressed? If you know why, that is.” 

Gale contemplates the request, a commonly seen – at least on Gale – introspective expression knitting his eyebrows, urging you to remain patient as he crafts a response. Eventually, he concentrates on you again, subconsciously dipping his head. “I expect the trip to be a long one, is all. I fear I’ll miss this sentimental belfry. As dusty and aged as it is, I’ve spent countless hours inside of these walls – If it weren’t for Tara, I’m quite sure I would’ve made friends of the bricks and family of the columns long ago,” he muses, his sarcasm tainted with uneasy contrition. 

“Well, you know it’ll be waiting for you whenever you come back. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep my perfect fire bolts to my own trained hands until I have you to supervise me again,” you laugh, tone purposefully parodic to lighten the mood, but the older man quickly shakes his head.

“Oh, gods, no – you’ll be doing no such thing,” he forbids, his immediate frown quickly softening out of instinct, as though he means to hide how serious his disapproval is. “You proceed with your studies and your practice, even if it is only Tara who can be present to guide you. I expect the flame to be perfected upon my next arrival,” he chuckles, and you find peace in his relaxation. Unfortunately, his pleasant expression is momentary, and the amusement in his smile fades as quickly as it came, leaving you with an unfamiliar turmoil in your gut, some twisting mix of doubt and rue.

Intent on making said amusement return, you don’t allow your own dissatisfaction to reveal itself, instead choosing to gloss over the strange ache by shrugging and rolling your eyes, further pursuing your playful façade. “Well, with you as my mentor, I’m certain I’m already on my merry little way to being the next Mystra – I’ll most definitely have a seat at the table of gods by the time you return.” Your lighthearted tease earns a quick cringe from the wizard, the outer corners of his eyes creasing as he virtually recoils, and then chokes out a fractured chuckle, shifting his gaze to the left.

Before you can ask what agitated him to the extent of deserving such a reaction, he speaks, the distress forcefully plucked from his face. “Beware – that’s quite the promise you’re making. Though it would be nothing short of an honor for this old stone nest to have hosted a premature god.” 

“A bigger honor to have mentored one, no?” You remind him, cocking an eyebrow. 

“I’ll be pleased so long as you manage to remember me, even once you’ve reached such admirable degrees of power. Praise my name to the high heavens – should you be so inclined.”

Why his response feels so incredibly despondent, you can’t really place. His tone takes on a strange, distant hurt – as though he were dejected by the mere idea of your potential (though rather improbable) apotheosis. However, such an attitude from the man who was, himself, mentored and sponsored by the very goddess you so jokingly threatened is… certainly implausible – it has to be – so you brush off the feeling as nothing more than a result of his unrelated stresses accidentally bleeding into this topic. Clearing your throat, you approach him, and the next expression on his face comes in the form of suspicion, though whatever mild paranoia might be cursing him isn’t strong enough to convince him to step away from you. Once comfortably close, maybe even a little too close, you look to the books decorating the dark wood shelf, pouting as you contemplate. “Fiction?”

Even if it does take him a second to process what you mean, he nods, clearing his own throat and shifting his attention to the variety of options, all of them being books he’s read far more than once, but familiarity never did keep him from enjoying the plots, or so he liked to tell you. “Indeed. I’m aiming for something to keep me company in the case of free time. Stories tend to pass that time quicker than studies, and… I’d rather leave any education material behind – for you, of course.”

“Do you plan on having a lot of free time during your trip?” You ask, merely aiming to keep the conversation up as you scan his choices, weighing the possibilities as you try to imagine what he may enjoy rereading the most.

“In all truthfulness, it may only be free time that I find myself with,” he sighs, a quiet thump following his admission, and you look down towards the noise to find his travel pack now resting on the ground. Slumped, and open wider than it was previously, the contents are revealed to your prying eyes; the silver glint of a blade, the scroll you saw previously, a jeweled ring that glows with a faint orange, and at the very bottom is a lazily-wrapped bedroll, haphazardly stuffed into the pit of the bag. You expected to find a change of clothes, a little bit of gold for wherever he plans to visit, but find only an absence of what you deemed traveling necessities.

“Where are you going?” 

Turning your body reveals that Gale had moved across the room while you were investigating his package, and now he stood hovering over his desk, one palm flat against the surface. You were left only to watch the back of his head as he chose to gaze out at his balcony rather than meet your curious – and very concerned – stare. You know something is wrong, you’ve known all along, and you’d thought, or at least very desperately hoped you were overreacting. At least then you could ignore your aimless quells and instead put that energy towards cheering him up and making things better, but you are quickly realizing that whatever disturbs him is far outside of your pay grade, and understanding your hopelessness as an assistant is no help in overcoming his contagious dread. “North,” he answers, devoid of emotional attachment, his tone as dry as his throat. You shift your weight from your right hip to your left, an idle adjustment to bear whatever burdens he carries, aiming to prepare yourself for where this conversation could be leading.

“And… what exactly is waiting for you up north?” Your body moves forward in a slow three-step stride, your action haunted by the same hesitancy you exercised upon first meeting him, as if you don’t know the man who stands in front of you now. 

“Solidarity.” He inhales, slow and restrained. Then his head drops, releasing that same breath. He continues; “You’re a good soul. A fine housemate – an even better apprentice. You deserve transparency, but I’ve allowed our conversations to remain fogged by my own guilty conscience. Of course, all secrecy has really done is riddle me with more guilt, and yet I prolonged your innocence.”

“I’m… not following,” you speak tenderly, the tension rising both in the air around you and in your throat, grieving whatever confession he teases before he’s even announced it. 

“I won’t be returning. This trip will be my last. Due only to my own faults – there is no blame to be shared, before you ask.” He stares down at his desk, but then his focus shifts, and he watches your frame out of the corner of his eye, head just barely turned to see more of you in his peripherals. “I understand I’m asking a lot of you. To abruptly entrust you with the care of this tower, and my belongings, and darling Tara, it is a callous and inhuma–”

“Why?” 

Gale falls silent, his mouth closing, his preplanned defense never making it off of his tongue. There’s stillness for far too long, neither of you managing a word. It makes you wonder if he’s trying to be cruel, leaving your mind to its wandering, silently panicked thoughts. You can’t help but begin trying to decipher the codes in his body language, in the interactions you’ve had with him recently, in the hints of his teachings gone unsaid, or in the secrets he’s never shared. 

Just as you find yourself on a cliff’s edge of emotions, throat stinging with the urge to cry, your mentor stands up straight and approaches you, stopping when he’s a few inches away. He reaches for your wrist. He holds it, tenderly, the delicacy of his touch posing a silent request. Only after investigating the melancholy hazel of his eyes do you lift your wrist towards him, allowing him to guide it until you find yourself in a distantly familiar position.

He stands before you, holding your wrist in the space between your bodies while his spare hand takes a hold of the neckline of his robe, sliding it several inches down his chest, revealing the full mark of the weave, scattered brown hairs hardly shielding the brand from exposure. From there, he raises your wrist a little higher, and you recall the last time he allowed you to get this close, the memory leading you to straighten your hand and lay it against the pulse of the blight. Your touch is gentle at first, but when he gives a small nod, you ease your concerns and press more firmly, feeling the surprising softness of his skin, the texture of the hairs on his chest, and the distant beating of his tortured heart. 

Last time, you recall being mildly surprised at the heat it produced, as it had been centralized in such a small location. This time, you feel the artificial warmth radiating off of his chest from further regions than just the pinpoint location of the orb. And it’s much higher in temperature than you remember, his ribs home to a silently raging furnace. You can’t help but feel intimidated – not by Gale, but instead by what he contains. It beats much like his heart, but it’s slower, and yet even more determined. While you hardly understand why, you feel connected to a starving malice within him, some inhuman spirit that seeks a meal you aren’t sure truly exists, at least not in this realm. 

You look up at him, his eyes trained on the hand that rests on his chest. You’ve never seen worry so clearly displayed on his face; his eyebrows aren’t furrowed, but they’re firm, drawing faint lines in his forehead. His mouth doesn’t frown, it idles, waiting for the words to come to him before he makes any attempt to speak. His story is told in his eyes; the way he counts your fingers as they stem a connection with the weave, grounding himself in the stir of emotions, his gaze troubled and lost, nothing more than a clueless shell of the powerful sage he makes himself out to be. The powerful sage he’d made you believe in.

“It is the only god I answer to.” Gale meets your eye, the emotions that swirl behind his irises cause them to tremble, and you feel as though he seeks something from you. “It is all that I am; a vessel for the weave. I cannot run, I cannot hide, I cannot escape it. Try as I might to keep it satisfied, there is always more that it craves. This wildfire within me will reign carnage unforeseen by any prophecies, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. The artefacts – they hold it back, but I’ve found it burns with newfound impatience. It wills for destruction, whether it be the body of the host or of those around me. As difficult a choice as it is to make, it is an inevitable one, and I much prefer the former of my options. I’d rather no books be written about the Wizard of Waterdeep than bard’s fables on the extirpation caused by his shameful gluttony.”

“So you’re going north?” You whisper.

“So I’m going north,” he repeats. “I’ll travel until I reach empty plains, perhaps even uninhabited mountains. Some place quiet, some place lonely, some place where my curse will not befall others. This is my fate, and mine alone. I only pray that my final chapter is selfless enough to rewrite Selûne’s judgment of me.”

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?”

Gale hesitates, and you see the ridge in his throat flinch as he gulps. “I thought it to be a mercy; to spare you from the truth was to spare you wholly. In hindsight, I recognize that this cat would claw its way out of the bag no matter the precautions I took, and my secrecy ultimately worked against my intentions – which I assure you, were nothing but the best – to protect you. Recently, if I may confess, I’ve come to doubt my decision to take you in.”

Your eyebrows flinch, you blink, unsure how you should respond – unsure how he expects you to respond. “Doubt?” You ask, deciding to allow him to share his story before you form an opinion on the matter.

“I believe I was desperate – not that I was fearful,” he clarifies, though the thin, watery line that sits on his lower eyelid betrays his defense, “but I reckon I didn’t think over my original promise to you as thoroughly as I should have. The truth is, I needed a second life. A chance to extend my own through a means that I understand, and have always understood, to be impossible – ambitious at best. I worry for Tara. I worry for this home. I worry for the secrets contained in my journals, or the studies that I have spent my entire lifetime, as short as it will soon be, perfecting and building. I yearned for an insurance; a way to prevent my existence from being a worthless one. If my intelligence enlightens no minds, if my studies save no lives, if my talent manipulating the weave means nothing, then I am nothing. I only wish to be more than a mere vessel for this scourge in my chest.” He pauses, his gentle hold on your wrist growing a bit firmer, and he closes his eyes, as though ashamed of the confessions he whispers. “My worries led me to you, believing you to be the answer to them. I never could have predicted that you would become my greatest worry of all.” 

Now, you let your lips curve into a frown, and he seems further wounded by your physical reaction. “More than a vessel? That’s–” You can’t prevent a scoff from leaving your throat, and you shake your head. “You’re not just the orb, Gale. You’re a person. You were a man before it, and you’re still a man now, aren’t you?” 

Gale’s hurt turns to confusion, and he shakes his head as well. “You’re not understanding.”

“No, I’m not,” you cut back, disbelief clear in your tone. “You’re the Wizard of Waterdeep. You act like you’ve never done anything of importance.” You retract your hand, and Gale is hesitant to release his grip, but he does nonetheless. “What are you even running from? If you want to make a difference, then stay and make one. Did you eat a bad meal? Are you seriously thinking straight?” You question, brows furrowed. 

“Your words flatter me, but I fear I haven’t made myself clear. I can’t stay. This mistake is not a mere embarrassment, this is not just an attempt to flee from my problem. There is no avoiding this fate. I’m going to die.” 

It’s unlike you to feel genuine frustration – anger – at a situation, especially one brought on by Gale’s words, but you can’t help the near boil in your chest. “You sound pathetic,” you huff, and Gale’s lack of insult only irritates you further. “Look around, Gale! Look at you.” You point at the black circle on his chest, prodding it with your finger. “You told me, when we first met, that you were a prodigy. That you were a master of the weave. I mistook you for arrogant, but that was being modest. You were, you are, Mystra’s chosen – who are you talking about now? Because I know it’s not the Gale Dekarios who has sheltered me, taught me, and supported me. I know it’s not the Gale Dekarios I’ve shared books and home with for the last year and a half.”

“You sound like my mother,” he chuckles, as if anything about the situation is amusing. “I’ve heard this speech before. You need not waste your breath on an inevitable doom such as myself. Please, save it. There are much better words to spend your time crafting.” He doesn’t scold you, he doesn’t defend himself, he merely deflects your disagreement, and you scoff – you’ve heard self-deprecation from him before, all of the prior remarks being attempts at humor, but there’s no sarcasm lacing his tongue this time around. 

“Do I mean nothing to you?” You ask, stern, barely keeping composure. 

That question seems to stir something within him, and he frowns. “Of course you mean something to me. You mean plenty to me – more than you may ever understand. Don’t be foolish.” 

“Yet you keep refusing to hear me out.”

“There is nothing to hear out,” he argues, a short sigh leaving his lips, signs of a growing irritation. You feel the need to latch onto that – to see him get angry means that he cares, and you needed to know that he cared, because he spoke about his own death as if it held the same importance as a simple meal. Like this suicide mission he threatened was a mere walk in the woods. It made you sick. 

“Grant me an audience, if you care. Even if you don’t care about yourself – if you care for me, as you’ve said you do, all I ask is that you listen.”

“There is no changing what I’ve been afflicted with – there is no undoing this curse I’ve wrought upon myself,” he continues, taking a step back and closing his eyes, searching for some kind of calm. If he believed you would grant him that mercy when he refused to have any mercy on you, he was more of an idiot than you’d ever expected. 

“You’re being unreasonable. For such an intelligent man, you’re closer to a jester than any wizard I’ve ever known. You are not just this curse – You are a scholar, and an accomplished sage, and a friend, and a son, and a mentor!”

“For the love of all that is blessed – stop talking!” He barks, shaking his head, his eyes squinted, his stress forming shallow lines across his forehead. He takes a moment, breathes, and then opens his eyes again and steps forward, placing his hands on your shoulders as though to steady you. “No matter your words, I am still a threat to every living being around me. The orb is unstable, I know this for a fact. I am living on borrowed time. Should I stay, I risk leveling the entirety of this city we call home and dousing it in a thick red paste that was once the breathing civilians. I have studied this feat, and all that may relate to it in even the slightest parallels, and there is no solution. No amount of words – read or heard – can prevent fate. Yell and bicker to your heart’s content, but know that it will all amount to nothing.”

“You speak without a care in the world for yourself. Aren’t you scared?” You’re pleading at this point, unable to grasp the idea that he’ll be gone so soon, that this disappearance has been building for as long as you’d known him and yet you remained utterly unaware. It was the content of nightmares, and yet he stared you in the face with such assurance. 

“I am terrified,” he sighs, grip tightening on your shoulders. “But I must trust destiny’s path for me. I will walk this road alone, just as I truly deserve. Your ‘great mentor’ is no more than a shell of a mortal man, and I have survived off of my greed alone. I could not be content with everything Mystra so graciously offered me, and I am facing the consequences of that naivety.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, you shake your head – you aren’t sure what else to do. You’re completely lost, unable to help the man you pledged your allegiance to. The man who took you in, who looked after you and asked only for your assistance in return for his undying generosity, is in need of assistance and you, his only trusted assistant, are completely unable to help him. It feels cruel, to him and to yourself. 

“Mystra was not merely my mentor. She was everything to me. My entire world revolved around her, and to an extent, it still does – She guided me to possess the wonders of the weave in ways I never imagined possible, and did it all while allowing me to share a bed with her, and find a place within her heart. I owe my life, body, and soul to her, and yet I was not pleased with the power she lent me.”

Only further confused, you blink several times, his words finding your mind a difficult place to settle in with the tornado of thoughts and feelings that raged within your skull. “You– You were her lover?”

“I understand it’s hard to believe, a mere mortal man laying with her holiness, and it only deepens the canyon that is my regret. I believed I could prove my undying love for her through means no other mortal has ever even dared of imagining. Well, through means only one other man has ever dared attempting. Do you recall the story of Karsus?” He asks, taking in a deep breath, and you reply with only a small nod. “See, when Mystra was resurrected to rule the weave, there was a part of the weave that remained inaccessible to even her great power. A fool I was, to believe I could retrieve that final piece without repercussions. In my pursuit of professing my boundless affections and gratitude for her, I opened a pandora’s box, and when Mystra learned of my disobedience to her orders, she left me. Rightfully so.”

“She what?” Your jaw slacks, the buffet of this new information providing only a headache where you expected answers. It made sense, now, why he was so touchy at the mention of her – this curse he found himself hexed by was caused by his feelings for her, feelings you never even knew existed, and she’d abandoned him in his time of need?

“As you know, the piece became one with my body, and has left me with an incurable appetite for the magic contained in enchanted artifacts. The temporary stabilization those consumptions provided has long past fled, and I find the orb entirely out of my control. Without satisfaction, it threatens to rupture, and it will reign tragedy on my surroundings with my body as the time bomb – you understand I do mean that quite literally. I am a danger. A threat. I am the blight within me, no matter your objections, however passionate and good-spirited they may be.” 

It isn’t only the presence of his hands that make your shoulders feel so heavy. It was far too soon in your apprenticeship for him to part, but with the urgency in which he spoke, it wouldn’t be long before he left. You were angry – or, at least you most certainly should be angry. You should be yelling at him, scolding him for springing this on you at the last possible moment, and you even go so far as to lock eyes with him, prepared to voice your pounding thoughts, and yet it’s the eye contact that renders you speechless. The only thing you feel aside from your confusion is a stirring guilt. Your mouth falls open, tongue seeking the words that your throat lacks, and you shake your head, pleading with him, pleading with his fate. 

Gale looks at you with pity. It stings worse, like salt in the open wound that was your bleeding heart, to know the man who would soon be forced to tangle with death took pity on you. The hands on your shoulders pull you in, and you lean into his chest, expecting to cry, but you can’t even manage tears. His arms wrap around you, and your upper half falls limp, relying on his strength to support you. Strength you’ll soon be without. 

It’s stupid to cry, and you’re almost glad that you fail to do so. It’s stupid to be worked up over. The entire situation is hopeless. Perhaps there is solace to be found in understanding that it’s inevitable, that there is nothing you could possibly do to change the circumstances, but you struggle to see that as a silver lining. 

There was still so much to learn – so much he needed to teach you. He was leaving you a fortune, a home, even a companion, and yet you were utterly ungrateful. He didn’t understand, he couldn’t possibly understand, that you’d only ever be satisfied with him, and there was no point in communicating that now. It would only serve to increase his guilt, and he deserved what little peace may come with believing you’d somehow manage without him. Eventually, you aren’t sure how long it takes exactly, you return the hug, your hands clasping behind his back. 

The mood is long past soured, but his warmth is unchanged. The comfort he provides is as persistent and reassuring as ever, even if it does little to quell your concerns. Your appreciation of him thus far, as endless as it has been, has certainly not been enough. So you appreciate this moment as much as you can, burning it into your memory. His warmth, the faint, familiar scent of sandalwood and sage, the sound of his breathing – his presence as an entirety. Memories would never do him justice, you knew that, but memories would soon be the best you could manage of him, so they had to be perfect, clear, permanent. Even when you tighten your hold on him, refusing to give him up so easily, he doesn't say anything, allowing the bliss-laced ignorance of fate to linger for a little longer. Where you just about burrow into his chest, his hug is much gentler, polluted by the bittersweetness of his proclamation. Although the contact is minimal and noticeably restrained, his chin rests on one of your shoulders, his stress evident even in the reticent huffs of his breathing. 

However much you wish otherwise, the hug too comes to an end, and Gale pulls away, leaning down to be perfectly eye-level with you, an all-too-familiar snide smile on his face. He holds your jaw with one hand, while the other remains on your shoulder, and both hands squeeze where they rest. “I have no doubt that you’ll make me proud. All I ask is not to let this place rot away without me. I don’t expect you to carry on my studies, or ‘gain a place at the table of the gods’. I only wish for you to find success. Follow your dreams, the whole spiel. Wherever you may find that happiness is entirely up to you. I’ll rest easy so long as it is found.” 

You return his smile – as empty as it is, you want to give him hope. Of course, it’s hard to pull from an empty trough, but perhaps he doesn’t mind. With a pat of your cheek, he stands up straight again, taking in a breath and returning his attention to the books he’d been perusing before the whirlwind of a confession. Helplessly attached, you lean against his side, shifting your attention as well. After a few moments of scanning, you approach the shelf and reach for the faded orange cover of a book, the silver words embedded on the spine having lost their shimmer long ago. Gale tilts his head, curious at your choice, and you glance over the cover before handing it off to him.

“The Would-Be Saint,” he remarks, taking hold of the book and looking over it himself. In search of a confirmation, he looks up at you, meeting your eye. You nod, and only then does he reach for his traveling pack and slip the book inside. 

“When do you leave?” 

“I’ll make my departure this afternoon.”

“I’ll miss you.” The words have to be squeezed out of your still tensely tightened throat, and you offer another small nod, not wanting to say more for fear of cracking. The two of you would never see one another again – you want to leave him with a positive image of you, you’d hate to add to his worries. Staying strong wouldn’t make up for your inability to fix the situation, but at least it was something.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replies, still smiling, and you wonder if he is attempting the same false composure as you. Your perception of him could never be ruined, or even damaged, but you remind yourself that you should still be grateful for the generous thought. 

Then, there’s a moment where you can’t quite read his eyes, as the anguish in his expression is clouded by some other, notably foreign, emotion. It lasts just a moment – and then he looks away, towards his balcony, and clears his throat, and the mystery vanishes. It leaves you with a new, small but certainly present, twitch of discomfort, and you attempt to follow his lead, distracting yourself with the surroundings. 

“I need to gather a few more items to bring along with me. If you’ll excuse me,” he says, dipping his head and moving towards the door. You reach for him, catching his arm and stopping him in his tracks. He looks back at you, his face slightly red, but you assume it’s due to the vulnerability he expressed in the conversation.

“Please don’t leave without saying goodbye,” you request.

He sparks a small smile, and he shakes his head. “I would never. I’ll return to you for a better final moment. I’d hate to leave this off on such a melancholy note.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You hold his gaze for an extra moment before releasing him, trusting him wholly; he wouldn’t lie to you. Especially not about this. He gives one last nod before walking away, and you decide to spend the rest of your morning in his study, picking up spare items that are out-of-place, making the room a little neater. It’s a nervous tidying, most certainly, but you hope it will keep you busy. And you want his final viewing of the study to be a pleasant one, not one tainted by his stressed irresponsibility. 

–   –   –

“I’ve made a mistake. A terrible, nightmarish, dire mistake.”

“Oh, you’ve made plenty of those, Mr. Dekarios. What is it this time?”

“I can’t leave. I can’t possibly leave.”

The tip of her tail flicked, and then a low purr followed, vibrating with a sense of pride – of amusement. “Foolish boy. You’ve realized, haven’t you? I’d believed you’d be clueless enough to remain completely unaware; you had me worried for a moment there.”

“Worried?” He squints at the Tressym, confusion replacing his guilty expression.

“You didn’t really think I’d be so eager to release you? Oh, you doubt me. I’m wounded. You don’t have the heart to disappear. You just needed a reason to stay.”

“I don’t want a reason to stay.”

“But you’ve found it, haven’t you?”

“Against my better judgment.”

Another purr, this one sounding more akin to a chuckle. “What mistake have you made, dear?”

“I’ve allowed my heart to overrule my head.”

“A wondrous thing, love is.”

“A treacherous thing.”

[humanradiojmp]

Pomni the Human (redesign)

Pomni is one of the few remaining humans in the remnant of… whatever this place was before it got destroyed. She spends most days gathering whatever resources and supplies are available from the land and the few standing factions. But with the world essentially dying, there’s only so much available for anyone. Regardless, she and the head wizard she resides with make do with what they have. Despite the growing tension amongst the remaining people and the steady increase of monsters and the forgotten, Pomni still tries to keep her spirits up and help anyone she can. A little kindness and decency can go a long way in a time like this. It at least can't make things worse than it already is...

So… I redesigned Pomni a little bit. it might not look that different from the original, but if you were to compare the two side by side, you’d see the difference. The main reason I redesigned her is to fit with this idea I had where parts of the world are based/inspired by the 1970s to the 90s (because clothing design for characters is not my strong suit and I like older style clothing, alright?). Pomni has been redesigned to be loosely based on the 70s, with the research giving me some interesting trivia of the past. Did you know they had a bodysuit version of every kind of top in the 70s? Every. Kind? I do now.

You probably guessed by the character blurb, but this is going to have some fantasy elements. Expect some unique creatures making up the residency here as well as magic and monsters. Not to mention the lore I'm going to fluctuate between sprinkling in here and there and dumping onto your laps. And don’t forget that there’s some sort of cosmic being that watching and waiting for the right things to consume and leave no trace of anything behind.

One more thing. Something I wanted to do with anything I made for a while is have music that goes with it. Whether it’s a song or a track, something that adds a little extra bit to the art and stories I post. This post, other character posts, as well as some lore bits will have music that matches to some degree. I’ll have both the Spotify link and a YouTube link for whichever is more convenient.

For Pomni, Stayin’ Alive by TheBeeGees. Totally not because it’s what she and everyone else is doing in the post-apocalypse world they live in. I admit this one is more of a joke, but everything else is accurate and serious (mostly).

YouTube link here

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

Sacred New Beginnings

Anon requested “Alec moving in with Magnus and how it happened (Post COHF)”

I had initially copied the fic into the ask and saved it as a draft, but tumblr being tumblr somehow made that disappear, so here we go again. Link to Ao3 in the title.

*****

It’d been a week since the New Year’s ball dropped in Times Square.

Alec didn’t really know what that meant. Was there a literal ball dropped at Times Square? Anyways, Clary had told Jace about it, and Jace had pretty much integrated it into his vocabulary, and it was now rubbing off on Alec. It was kind of annoying.

They didn’t really do much to celebrate the New Year, since Clary and Isabelle - and even Jace though he wouldn’t admit it, were carrying the hole of Simon’s loss.

Alec… Alec wasn’t sure what he was feeling about it. He was obviously grateful to Simon - Simon had sacrificed himself so that Magnus could come home, after all. But underneath it all, there was a sense of guilt. A strange feeling of helplessness. He should’ve been able to save Magnus. He should’ve done something to save Simon.

There was no point dwelling on it, however. All he could do was move forward.

He and Magnus were slowly working on building their relationship back up.

They talked on the phone everyday - Alec had always been awkward with phone calls. When you were talking to someone face to face, and there was a silence, it wasn’t awkward because other gestures would fill the gap. When you’re on the phone, however, there’s always an expectation to keep talking. 

But it was different with Magnus. Magnus always called him at the oddest moments - when he was making potions, or taking a stroll somewhere. One time he called from the shower and Alec had almost dropped his phone.

They also went on a few dates, half of which were spent at Magnus’s home. It was a strange feeling, being there again - it was all so familiar and so alien all at once. Like returning home from a long vacation.

Today, Alec decided to drop by after a long patrol for a shower, and just to spend some time with Magnus. 

Magnus was thankfully still awake - Alec had given him a quick call beforehand since it was late, and since he didn’t have his key back yet. Alec still found himself reaching for his pocket for the key, sometimes. He didn’t know when Magnus would give it to him, and he didn’t know how to ask, either.

Later, Magnus was lying on his side, watching as Alec had stepped out of the bathroom, having already changed into a loose fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. There was something shimmering deep under the surface of Magnus’s eyes.

There were lots of times when Alec saw a faraway look on Magnus’s face, or just any look that he didn’t know how to decipher, and let it go. Now, though, they were trying to change things.

So, he knelt down next to the bed, tilting his head so he could meet Magnus’s eyes, and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Magnus’s eyes slid down to his shirt - he reached out with a slender finger, tracing it down Alec’s front. “You changed inside the bathroom,” he pouted. “I wanted to see your abs.”

Alec chuckled. He leaned in closer, folding his arms on top of the bedspread and resting his chin on them.

“What are you really thinking of?”

Magnus blinked slowly, languidly, as if he was drunk. Alec wondered if he actually was.

He rose slowly, balancing himself on one elbow. His other arm was stretched out, fingers brushing along the side of Alec’s face, curling in the wet locks of his hair.

”I’m thinking,” his voice was slurry. “I want you to bring us both a cup of coffee each, then you tell me about your day and I’ll tell you about mine, and then we can fall asleep together.”

Alec’s eyes fell half shut as he imagined the picture Magnus was painting. That was how most of their nights ended before… before…

He caught Magnus’s hand - the one fiddling with his hair - and pressed it against his damp cheek.

Magnus’s hand was cool, but Alec felt warm all over.

”Are you drunk?” Alec asked.

A sudden bright flash of a grin appeared on Magnus’s face. “On you, baby.”

Alec laughed. “Magnus!”

Magnus was laughing along, eyes crinkling. Alec sometimes had images in his mind, of those crinkly lines permanently etched onto Magnus’s face.

He would never see that sight. But it was alright.

Magnus was now sitting upright, legs dangling over the side of the bed. His hands were both on Alec’s face, holding it in place as he planted an infinitely tender kiss on his forehead.

“I miss you,” he whispered with a sigh.

”I’m right here,” Alec said.

”You are now,” Magnus sighed again.

Alec leant back a little, just enough to look into Magnus’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Magnus’s eyes were serious, lips parted slightly as if something heavy rested on the tip of his tongue.

”Magnus?” Alec asked gently.

Magnus shook his head, his hand caressing Alec’s face.

”Alexander?” He said gently. Alec shivered. He’d spent weeks thinking he’d never get to hear his name spoken like that again.

”Hm?”

”What do you think about… you know…”

”About what?”

Magnus hesitated a moment. “About living here again.”

Oh.

Suddenly, Magnus’s behavior all made sense.

Alec’s heart skipped several beats at once.

He wanted to say yes immediately. He wanted to say that he’d always thought of this place as home.

But the truth was that he’d spent weeks trying to forget home. He’d realised the hard way that even when you found home, it was always a place that could be ripped away from him.

Alec must’ve been silent too long, because Magnus lowered his head and said, “I can’t understand if you don’t want to-“

”No!” Alec hurried to say. “No, I- I want to. It’s just…” Alec bit his lip. “I thought we were supposed to take things slow?”

Magnus looked relieved for a second, and then pouted and sighed exaggeratedly.

”Alexanderrrr,” he whined, throwing his arms around Alec and burying his face in Alec’s neck. “Fuck taking things slow! I miss you. I miss waking up next to you and I miss showering with you and eating with you. Chairman misses you. The coffee machine hasn’t seen any action in two months and neither have these sheets and I just-“

Alec laughed, his own arms now twining around Magnus’s neck and pulling him in closer.

”Alright, alright,” he said. “Just give me a few days to sort out things at the Institute and then I’ll move in, okay?”

”Okay,” Magnus agreed with a sigh, his breath warm against Alec’s skin. “I’m glad.”

”Me too,” Alec said, relaxed at last.

Finally, he had returned home.

[atopvisenyashill]

I read through your Jonsa meta linked in your bio and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to really love Jonsa but the part where you say J*nerys evidence is weak sauce like I do like the ship but I only want it if it doesn’t go like the show and it also isn’t just some boring king and queen of the seven kingdoms crap but do think what people call foreshadowing for the ship is no stronger than Jonsa foreshadowing but I get dog piled by other J*nerys shippers for admitting this. I do think some common evidence for Jonsa is questionable. Like that GRRM was originally going to have Janos be hung until someone ELSE pointed out that Jon would probably do it the northern way and behead him, or that lady Ashford didn’t end up with the Targaryen suitor. But even still I don’t think that the evidence for J*nerys is strong. Like sorry I don’t think Dany being called bride of fire implies she’ll marry Jon I think she already is the bride of fire. I used to hate Jonsa but I realized that I feel very neutral to it. What I hate is the thought of a love triangle with Jon, Dany, and Sansa. The idea of Dany going mad because she loves Jon but Jon loves Sansa is just so tired and boring and sexist. I understand that a lot of the spite towards J*nerys fans is earned because they can be just as spiteful but my first introductions to Jonsa were in the context of this love triangle and the attitude was so spiteful that it put a bad taste in my mouth for years. But even when I did hate it I felt like other J*nerys fans were being hypocritical when they made of Jonsas for their theories. And I got shat on and accused of being a Jonsa myself for saying so. Like it’s eyebrow raising that George revised his Stark family tree to include a marriage between a Jonnel and a Sansa. Regardless of what George originally wrote, Jon beheading Janos is compelling. I do see the vision even it’s not for me. Jon and Dany don’t know each other exist. I think the only thing that really gives J*nerys leverage is that they loved each other in the show and I’ve always had a hard time believing that George actually gave D&D like two plot points and turned them loose to do literally whatever they could come up with. If the show didn’t exist, you’d be hard pressed to convince me there was a viable chance J*nerys would happen and I really just hate the animosity between Jonsa and J*nerys shippers

I’m gonna take this point by point bc it’s kind of a lot and I want to address it all!!

do think what people call foreshadowing for the ship is no stronger than Jonsa foreshadowing but I get dog piled by other J*nerys shippers for admitting this.

LISTEN i’m glad you agree lmaoooo because my number one bitter hater issue re: the ship war IS that imo the “evidence” for both is kinda opaque, but only one is treated as being legitimate fan analysis. like, people will call sansa’s ghost wolf a reach but dany hearing the lonely wolf is full proof even tho this is the exact same thing. or the entire hullabaloo around how when you use the ashford tourney theory to be about Not Jonsa it's valid analysis but when it is about Jonsa then that's just pushing your ship. it’s the silliness of the argument that drives me crazy, that one take is considered “just starting a ship war” and one is the “proper” reading of the text. we don't know who is properly reading the text because we don't have the entire text yet!!!

I do think some common evidence for Jonsa is questionable. Like that GRRM was originally going to have Janos be hung until someone ELSE pointed out that Jon would probably do it the northern way and behead him, or that lady Ashford didn’t end up with the Targaryen suitor.

WAIT OKAY i'm not trying to convert you here lmao, merely explaining my reasoning for those because I know I talk about the Jason/Ashford thing a lot specifically so - the janos slynt thing for me is less the specificity that jon cuts his head off and more that sansa wishes for someone to kill janos for his hand in ned’s death and jon, without any knowledge of what janos did or how it affected sansa, sees straight to the sort of person janos is and executes him. more so about the idea that sansa is praying for a hero only for the hero to be the bastard brother she had dismissed, the only brother left to her now (or so she thinks). it's about the little ~invisible thread~ tying them together even when they're unaware of it.

as for the ashford tourney theory, i actually do agree that people put a little too much stock in the last targaryen suitor aspect of it BUT. EYE personally have been on that "it's hinting towards brienne" train literally since I heard it, and you can see that in the posts I've made about it, that I think it's about dunk/brienne interrupting the tourney to save sansa - it's just that part of saving sansa includes bringing her to her dark haired targaryen brother-cousin. especially bc imo valarr does feature heavily enough in the original dunk adventure, with his short scene after Baelor is killed, and how both valarr and jon have a lot of issues surrounding not measuring up to The Perfect Heir (baelor/robb), and being known for being kinda prickly, and the whole Doomed By The Narrative aspect of their characters, and this isn't something that valarr parallels with the other targaryen boy, aegon/young griff. BUT also I just think the whole convo surrounding this theory is annoying tbh alsdjf I think there are three concrete avenues it could go down (jon, aegon, or brienne, or some combo of the three even) and I find it. frustrating that this theory started out as a {redacted} theory that is clearly meant to push A Specific Ship And Reading Of The Text but if you apply the theory to literally anyone else, you get accused of doing just that. like are we not all just pushing A Specific Reading (aka OUR OWN READING) Of The Text here??

But even still I don’t think that the evidence for J*nerys is strong. Like sorry I don’t think Dany being called bride of fire implies she’ll marry Jon I think she already is the bride of fire. I used to hate Jonsa but I realized that I feel very neutral to it. What I hate is the thought of a love triangle with Jon, Dany, and Sansa. The idea of Dany going mad because she loves Jon but Jon loves Sansa is just so tired and boring and sexist.

NO YEAH. it's the same with the "blue rose" thing like.....the blue rose/bael the bard story isn't a happy one? "sweet smelling" is often used in this series as a mask for a deadly, poisonous center. I think "bride of fire" is a callback to catelyn's "wedded to his war" more than anything, that like you say, dany is already the bride of fire, she chose the fire when she burned mmd and walked into the pyre, and i kind of bristle at the idea that her being the bride of fire is tied to whatever man she's fucking. the point is that she is foregoing being the bride of a man for being the bride of fire to me!! and also VALID i don't like the love triangle angle, i don't like love triangles because i think they're usually so lopsided where you're clearly supposed to pick a specific leg of the triangle, and i just HATE the idea that either dany or sansa or jon's stories are heading to a love triangle because it's not particularly compelling to me that they're fighting over the same stupid boy (i can call him stupid, he's my son). especially as you say, the idea that dany might turn on jon because she wants his love and he won't give it - bleh. annoying, tired, been done a million times. this is why i'm also not overly fond of the idea of him being the one to kill her (but i like the idea of him taking the fall for it regardless).

I understand that a lot of the spite towards J*nerys fans is earned because they can be just as spiteful but my first introductions to Jonsa were in the context of this love triangle and the attitude was so spiteful that it put a bad taste in my mouth for years. But even when I did hate it I felt like other J*nerys fans were being hypocritical when they made of Jonsas for their theories. And I got shat on and accused of being a Jonsa myself for saying so. Like it’s eyebrow raising that George revised his Stark family tree to include a marriage between a Jonnel and a Sansa. Regardless of what George originally wrote, Jon beheading Janos is compelling. I do see the vision even it’s not for me. Jon and Dany don’t know each other exist.

i bolded that one line because YES EXACTLY it is very eyebrow raising that he revised the family tree to include that. like WHY. WHAT? imo, if there was a like a Jonos Targaryen who married a Daenerys Targaryen in the targ family tree, EVERYONE would be insisting that's Jonerys proof so I think it's funny when people brush over it. Or like, the fact that it's Jon and Sansa that dream of having children. The fact that it's only Jon and Sansa who are referred to as the blood of Winterfell. There's something here that's being hinted at, and it's compelling! I think I definitely do get being initially turned off because of the ship war - part of my initial, idk, aggressiveness towards dany on the reread was the DEADLY combo of YEARS of watching The ASOIAF{redacted but if you know u know] People dogpile jonsas and sansa stans constantly for literally just writing meta, making theories, like every other goddamn person + growing to just completely hate show!dany and emilia's acting specifically. then as i was rereading i was like oh actually book dany is not only vastly more interesting as a character than show dany's writing or acting could ever be, i also just don't have to let all the targ nation stans completely ruin a character i actually really like.

like this theory specifically by stumpy (which is another post that got dogpiled massively for no goddamn good reason by the asoiaf{redacted} people) about aegon being the sun's son and jon being the mummer's dragon set my brain on fire and made me realize so much of what i hated about dany's character was actually just the wank surrounding her. i'd completely resigned myself to the idea that jonerys was gonna happen for so long and i was so depressed ver it because i thought it was a stupid, shitty ending and i was just going to hate a large part of the ending forever and then i read that and i was like "oh actually maybe there's another option??" like who gives a shit, we're never getting the next books anyway alksjdfl. also FOR THE RECORD i also HATE the idea of a love triangle between those three, and i think i kinda break from a lot of jonsas (tho not all) in that i also don't like the idea of jon killing dany (again, i want it to be arya and for jon to take the fall. if jon is killing anyone, i like the idea of it being drogon much more than dany). like, i don't want any hetero targ fucking here. i think there could be something here in that both dany and jon feel they have to be attracted to each other but in reality are just Not Interested (for a variety of reasons) but i don't actually want them to do the deed at all and I've been firm on that since I was like, 16 lajsflkfd.

I think the only thing that really gives Jnerys leverage is that they loved each other in the show and I’ve always had a hard time believing that George actually gave D&D like two plot points and turned them loose to do literally whatever they could come up with. If the show didn’t exist, you’d be hard pressed to convince me there was a viable chance Jnerys would happen and I really just hate the animosity between Jonsa and J*nerys shippers

WAIT WAIT WAIT THIS IS WHERE SNOWSPEAR COMES IN. I can write more on that, I know i've mentioned it before, but I think that show!Dany got a lot, perhaps even most of Aegon's storyline in the books and that includes a relationship with Jon. I'm not saying they'll straight up fuck on page (george is alas too heterosexual for that) but I do think the vast majority of their story arc in season 7 where Jon is going back and forth with Dany and growing close to her while being wary of her is actually a relationship he'll have with Aegon. I think that makes much more sense thematically and also it doesn't piss me off lmao.

I think in general, they took his plot points and just kinda peppered it throughout the character's actions with no regard for whether it makes sense for that character. Or are just being straight up misleading about what it is they got from him - like their insistence that "hold the door" is from him, for example, I think in actuality here George told them that Hodor will be killed while Bran is warging him and purposefully leaving him behind, and they came up with that dumb ass hold the door -> hodor thing on their own. same for arya killing the night king - EYE think arya tries something against dany, but they gave it jon because they thought it would be more romantic (and they already combined dany and aegon) and went "well arya killing the night king would be sick as fuck, that's basically the same right?" like, i think there's something of what george wrote in there, i just think it's both confusingly folded in and also spread around a lot.

i think i even explained that to my sibling once (who doesn't read the series but does like some of the characters) that I think because they combined so many characters, that they wanted this friction between tyrion and jon, between sansa and dany, but had cut so many story lines and disregarded so many characters, that they just changed up the romance a bit (which we KNOW they do because look what they did to Jeyne W. and the entire Dornish plot).

anyways, yeah the tldr is that ship wars are stupid as shit and it's really hard to not become a hater when a large part of the fandom is constantly discounting your opinion because you ship a thing they don't like, and then claiming YOU are the one egging on the ship war when you are just existing in your goddamn corner. like i don't even use the vs tag half the time specifically because of that shit ya know. i'm not arguing whether my opinion is "right" or not with someone who thinks they're superior and smarter than me just because they think THEIR incest ship is valid but MY incest ship is gross and self projection.

[jebiknights]

countless other things

I got an @obiquinbingo around when they first started and then just... never did any of the fills lmao. But now I'm getting back into Star Wars and finally finished some of those old fics <3

Don’t be stupid, Kenobi. You that afraid of sharing a bed with me?” Quinlan scoffed with a roll of his eyes. -- Padawans Obi-Wan and Quinlan are forced to share a bed after Quinlan is injured on a mission. Obi-Wan is reluctant for reasons he doesn't understand, or perhaps doesn't want to admit. ObiQuin Bingo: Only One Bed

AO3 Link

As Obi-Wan surveyed the room he and Quinlan managed to rent for the night, he fiddled with his braid – a nervous tell he desperately needed to rid himself of. The dim star that hung ever present in the sky barely lit the small but tidy room. A single bed was pushed against the wall.

It could probably fit two people if they tried, but he wasn’t particularly eager to. Mostly it was because he was afraid of jostling Quinlan’s injury, but also… an odd anxiety was growing within him.

"You take the bed, I'll take first watch," he offered as he turned to give his fellow Padawan a tired smile. 

Quinlan shook his head, the locs that had fallen loose from his hair tie bouncing off his chin with the force of it. 

“You’re just as tired as I am,” he insisted, “and we should be safe enough here. The Force will look after us for a few hours.” 

“Then I’ll meditate. You’re the one who was thrown around, and that way I can still keep an eye out in the Force for any problems,” Obi-Wan said, looking away from him as his face heated uncomfortably. “Just in case. I’ll be fine.”

Maybe it was the guilt making him feel this way, he wasn’t sure. Something in him was screaming to not get into that bed with Quinlan. He moved towards the chair tucked into the corner in hopes it might have a cushion he could move to the floor. Admittedly though, he couldn't actually tell if it had padding at all in low light.

“Don’t be stupid, Kenobi. You that afraid of sharing a bed with me?” Quinlan scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He grabbed Obi-Wan's wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

Obi-Wan stole a glance at him, unsure if it would be weirder to stay turned away or to look at him. A smirk was crawling across the Kiffar's face, dimmed as it was by the teen's exhaustion.  Quinlan’s gloves rubbed against the skin of his inner arm, and it was all he could do to not yank it away.

“I just don’t think there will be enough space with your injury,” he said finally. “Not to mention with the way you toss and turn, I’d get a more restful sleep on the ground.” 

The Force pinged with the half truth and he knew that Quinlan had caught it. It was the only answer he could come up with that spoke to this feeling of unease. The only answer he was willing to admit to.

“It’ll be fine for a few hours. We should be able to fit if at least one of us sleeps on our side. Besides, then you can keep an extra close eye on me, doc.” Quinlan wiggled his eyebrows at him.

Obi-Wan felt the heat in his face start to rise again, but he willed it away with a roll of his eyes. He was honestly too tired to keep arguing the point, uneasy or not.

"Fine, but you're the one sleeping on your back. Otherwise I think you may accidentally suffocate me in my sleep." 

“Hah, kinky,” Quinlan wheezed out a laugh, reaching for his side in an aborted movement.

Worry seized in Obi-Wan's stomach, strong enough that Quinlan seemed to feel it through his shielding. His Force presence, tinged with mild pain, brushed against the spiky worry.

Selfishly, Obi-Wan let himself be soothed.

“Lay down first; I’ll crawl on from the end once you’ve situated yourself,” he said after a moment.

Quinlan didn't argue any further, radiating satisfaction from getting his way, and let himself fall onto the bed with a pained 'oomf'. Obi-Wan reached out as if to help in some way but was waved off. Once Quinlan was situated as comfortable as he could make himself, he reached up to tug his hair tie free from the few locs it still pulled back. 

Only then did Obi-Wan feel ready to risk laying on the bed himself. The two of them – nearly grown by the standards of their species – were pushing the limit of what the bed could handle, but they both managed to achieve some semblance of comfort. Heart racing frantically, he forced himself to relax.

Quinlan turned that tired smirk back onto him again. “See? Was that so difficult?”

“Ask me again after we’ve actually slept.”

“Always a critic…”

“I am not!”

Quinlan didn’t bother responding. Instead, he just laughed and laughed at the indignant expression that was surely on Obi-Wan’s face. Obi-Wan huffed and let his head fall into the crook of his arm, warm with the sound of his friend’s amusement. Exhaustion was quickly overtaking them both now that they were no longer standing.

It didn’t take long for Quinlan to drift off into sleep, a small grin still on his face. Finally safe. Finally able to slow down.

Rest didn’t come as easily for Obi-Wan.

He felt warm, unreasonably warm, and not just from the heat Quinlan was radiating. Weary to the bone, and yet sleep didn’t come for hours. Some part of it might've been the worry that plagued him all night, the need he felt to keep watch while Quinlan rested his injury.

That wasn’t all of it. He knew it wasn’t.

Something still felt off – with him, with the situation. Something he couldn’t parse out or maybe didn’t want to parse out. 

(Something that was tickling in the back of his head, in his chest, in his stomach.)

This was far from the first time they had shared a bed – they’d done it multiple times during the Stark Space War, and even once or twice on more recent missions. Sharing beds in general was common for initiates (though Quinlan largely grew up away from the Temple) when they needed the touch and comfort that was key for growing up healthy.

Being in bed with Quinlan was nothing new.

So why did it feel like something was different?

Obi-Wan huffed, pressing his back against the wall so he could get a better view of the room. Quinlan shifted in response, murmuring quietly before settling with his face turned towards him.

His hair was spread out around him like a halo, like in Nabooian stained glass portraits. He looked surprisingly relaxed for all that he was stuck sleeping on his back with a cracked rib. 

Obi-Wan wanted to laugh at the way his mouth was hanging open like a youngling, a single loc dangerously close to falling inside. He reached out and delicately brushed it from Quinlan's face, careful not to wake him.

With warm cheeks, Obi-Wan snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned.

What the kriff was he doing?

Quinlan was his best friend, outside of Bant. Quinlan might be his best friend, period, actually. Regardless, tender was not an emotion he would ascribe to their relationship.

And yet…

His chest felt bruised, looking at him. Like he was the one who had cracked a rib. There was so much he already knew about Quinlan – how he looked when he was mad, when he was sad, when he was showing off, when he was euphoric over a grift gone right – and yet he longed to know more. 

Longed to know what he looked like when blissfully happy.

Longed to know what it felt like to kiss him. 

Obi-Wan dropped down to hide his face in his arms again. Unwilling to face the truth he had been ignoring this entire mission. From maybe even before this mission. If he had it his way he would keep ignoring it, keep repressing it (something his lineage was great at), but faced with this familiar closeness… Well, he was only human. 

He had a crush on his best friend. 

Which meant he was truly and utterly karked. 

Sleep was further from reach than ever. 

[soleminisanction]

I’ve been thinking about Steph and cass lately, especially with my recent re-read of Batgirl 2009. You’re totally right in that Steph does not even once spare Cass a single thought or even speak about her at all in the entire run. But it also got me thinking, didn’t this exact scenario already play out except with Tim? I’ll admit it’s been awhile since I’ve read her run as Robin, but I feel like once she got the mantle of Robin (again, taken from someone else- this time Tim) she never really spared him a second thought either. And then when she gets the Batgirl mantle from Cass, she never spared her a second thought. I know that the writers probably did not intend for this sort of characteristic to shine through, but it’s interesting nonetheless that this has happened twice. Does Steph just view people as disposable? Or as extensions of herself? And that’s why the second she gets what she wants from them or can’t get anything more from them, they drop in importance in her eyes and she doesn’t spare them a second thought? What are you views on it? (Also supergirl showing up in the middle was so damn random lmfao, did they have any previous links before that issue? Or even after that issue? I feel a bit bad for Kara that she constantly has to be besties with whoever the newest batgirl is T-T)

That is how I tend to view her, when I'm not taking steps to deliberately soften her character (like with Batgirl, Repentant). She does think about Tim a few times while she's Robin, but it's mostly in passing -- first explaining to Cass why she's in the Robin suit in Batgirl; then because he got a hold of her over the phone, briefly; and then because her last case involved an assassin, Scarab, who was hired to kill people who looked like him. Once that's established, he's out of her thoughts.

After that she thinks of him again in the lead-up to War Games, namely in the "Prelude," from Batman 12-Cent Adventure #1, which is partially an excuse to do set-up/recap flashbacks for anybody tuning into the event who hasn't been reading Batman regularly, but is also when we actually get to see the Incident that kicks off the gang war -- and it's told from Steph's perspective.

And a little later on when she hears his school got shot up, she's devastated, fully bursts into tears and is terrified that she might've gotten him killed.

That said, her writing in War Games is largely an outlier -- for all the problems with that story (and there are so many problems, don't get me wrong), it legitimately has some of the best, most selfless and heroic characterization Steph has ever been given. It's tragic heroism, but it's still genuine heroism all the same.

The rest of the time... Yeah, she just doesn't really seem to make many connections or think much about other people when they're not directly involved in getting her what she wants. That's the vibe I get, too.

As for Supergirl: they did actually establish that. There was a 4-isuue World's Finest miniseries in 2009 that told one semi-ongoing story but also used each individual issue to team up a member of the new "Batman Reborn" Batfamily up with one of the similarly-revamped "New Krypton"-era Superfam.

Issue #1 was where Tim (as Red Robin) was reintroduced to the 15-year-old Chris Kent Nightwing (and Thara Ak-Var Flamebird). Issue #2 was Damian and the Guardian. Issue #3 had Babs call in Kara to rescue Steph from a death trap and then they teamed up. and Issue #4 had Dick-Bats and Clark come in to bring most of the threads together for a big finale.

The mini overall is... okay, though there's some characterization I'm not fond of, and something about the art style just. Really empathizes how much I fucking hate Steph's ugly Batgirl costume.

(Why. Does she wear her fucking belt so loose. They do it so it'll hang akimbo on her hips but it's made of huge weighted pouches, it'd spin around her waist when she tried to grapple like a goddamn hula hoop!!)

[torreshalstead]

It Seemed Like a Good Idea - Chapter 21

Summary - Hailey’s US visa was due to expire, which normally wouldn’t be an issue as the CPD would get it renewed but due to a backlog of paperwork, this wasn’t possible. This meant Hailey was faced with the real possibility of having to leave the country, her job and everything she held dear. That was until Jay offered up a solution which would allow her to stay in Chicago, in Intelligence, with him - they could get married. Getting married was a good idea, right?

Chapters - 21/21

Chapter Title - The Honeymoon

Notes - I can’t believe we’ve reached the end of this story. All of your love and support has meant the world and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Thanks so much for reading ❤️ AO3 Link

‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’ Hailey asked after they had been on the road for a little over an hour. Jay just turned and threw one of his signature smirks her way before returning his gaze to the road.

‘Not a fan of surprises?’ He asked, already knowing the answer. His wife, he couldn’t believe he could actually call her that now without any additional pressures being attached to the word, was a planner. She liked to know what was happening and when, and relinquishing control was not something she succumbed to easily. But he also knew; she would love this surprise.

‘Jay,’ she sighed, shaking her head a little but when Jay looked at her out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was smiling. He reached across and took her hand, linking their fingers together and letting them rest on the centre console.

‘We’ve got about two hours left to go,’ he admitted, watching as the cogs started to spin in Hailey’s head as she put together the direction of travel, the familiarity of the route and the arrival time. She was an elite detective after all, putting clues together and coming out with the right answer was her forte.

‘Wait,’ she said, curling up her legs as she spun in her seat to look at him, her eyes wide in excitement. ‘Are we going to your cabin?’

‘We’re going to our cabin,’ he said with a grin. He let out a small chuckle as he heard Hailey’s intake of breath.

‘Our cabin?’ She asked, clearly confused by his choice of words.

‘Well, we are married now, what’s mine is yours and all that,’ he said with a shrug. He had spoken to Will about it already, about adding Hailey’s name to the title and deed of the cabin and he was completely on board. That way, should anything happen to him and/or Will, it would still stay in the family. Because that’s what she was, his family.

‘Jay, you don’t need to-’ she started but Jay cut her off with a gentle squeeze to her hand.

‘The cabin belongs to the Halstead’s,’ he said calmly, ‘and you’re a Halstead now, maybe not in name but you are Hailey. The cabin belongs to you too.’ He chanced another look at her although the traffic on the highway was starting to pick up. ‘It’s the family cabin Hails,’ he added, ‘you’re my family.’

‘Jay,’ she said and Jay didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes would be brimming with tears - he could hear it in the shake of her voice. ‘I love you,’ she whispered quietly after a moment of silence.

‘I love you too, Hailey,’ Jay said, giving her hand another squeeze and turning his full focus back to the road. ‘You can rest your eyes if you want, I’ll wake you up when we get there.’

——————————————————————————

It felt weird being back at the cabin with Hailey again, but the good kind of weird, the kind where you feel it in the depths of your stomach and it makes you want to grin at everything. She was still dozing in the passenger seat, the grip on his hand loose but their fingers still linked together. Since they had finally come to their senses and admitted how they felt about each other, the need to be touching each other, even just the smallest of touches, had increased exponentially. If Jay could spend every hour of every day just holding his wife in some shape or form, he’d be a happy man.

Still, the last time they had been here it had all been an act. At least on the outside. He had known even then, that his feelings for her were not just platonic - hell he’d never brought a girl to the cabin, friend or relationship. But he wanted to share it with her. Wanted her to know a bit more about him, where he came from and wanted her to experience a place that meant so much to him. Because she meant so much to him. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

But now, being back here and getting to kiss her on the dock, wrap his arms around her as they snuggled in front of the fire and tell her he loved her as often as he felt it. It was going to be perfect.

Glancing back over at the peaceful form of the blonde haired love of his life, he debated waking her up or pulling the cheesy move of carrying her into the cabin. He decided to unload the trunk first and if she was still asleep then he would make the call.

He hadn’t packed them too much. Unfortunately their time at the cabin was limited to two days as that was all the time off he could get approved and as happy as he was to spend the entire time naked, he wanted to show Hailey all the wonders the lake fronted cabin had to offer, and that would involve them being dressed for at least a portion of the time.

He’d also packed a limited supply of groceries - the nearest restaurant didn’t deliver and some of his mothers recipe books were still tucked in one of the kitchen cabinets and he intended to wow Hailey with a couple of them. He knew he didn’t need to impress her anymore but he also wanted to spoil her, treat her like she deserved to be treated and they always say a way to a girl's heart is through her stomach. He wasn’t sure that was anatomically correct but still, his mothers chicken pot pie recipe was calling his name.

With everything unloaded and put away, he was back with his original dilemma. To carry his sleeping wife into the house and risk her potential wrath for him being too old fashioned or wake her up and risk her grumpiness at being pulled from her slumber too soon. They hadn’t slept much the past couple of days, had been far too occupied getting to know each other on a different level so her needing to recoup some energy wasn’t too unusual. And she looked so peaceful asleep, like whatever weight she had been carrying that day had completely evaporated.

His mind was made up. He softly opened the passenger door, unclipping the seatbelt and sliding his arms underneath her, pulling her against his chest and kicking the door closed. She shifted a little in his arms but Jay just smiled as she buried her face into his neck. It seemed to be one of her favourite positions, her face tucked tightly into the space between his head and his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. It was adorable the way she buried in deeply, like she didn’t want to be apart from him. Jay’s only complaint - when her face was tucked in like so, he couldn’t reach it to kiss it. And kissing her had become his new favourite hobby - something he was sure he would never get sick of.

Walking slowly toward the cabin, trying not to jostle her too much he let his mind wander. If you’d have asked him just a couple of months ago if he thought they would ever have ended up here, as much as it would have pained him, he would have said no. No matter how much he loved her and had hoped with every single fibre of his being that she could possibly feel the same way, he had never let himself really believe that. It felt like too much of a happy ending, and it was just out of reach.

‘Are you carrying me over the threshold?’ A soft voice broke through his thoughts and he let out a little chuckle. He hadn’t even thought about it like that, had just wanted her to get a little more sleep if she needed it.

‘Go back to sleep,’ he chuckled, continuing up the steps into the cabin.

‘You’re such a fool,’ she sighed but he felt her snuggle just a fraction closer to his chest.

‘And you love me despite my flaws,’ he smirked, making his way over to the couch. But when he tried to set Hailey down and pull his arms out from under her, her fingers gripped tightly to his shirt and wouldn’t let him go.

‘Stay with me,’ she murmured. He couldn’t say no to her. So the next couple of hours were spent napping on the couch, Hailey using his chest as a pillow, his arms tight around her and their legs tangled together. It was what he had never daren’t to let himself imagine - it was perfect.

——————————————————————————

‘I promise I won’t let you fall in,’ Jay said, offering Hailey his hand as he stood in the wooden row boat. The boat was already moving a little too much for Hailey’s liking so her feet were glued to the dock as she shook her head ferociously.

‘You can’t promise that,’ she said, crossing her arms over the unattractive buoyancy aid that she had rescued from the outside storage unit next to the dock. She wasn’t sure it had been worn in the last 10 years but she wasn’t going to risk getting into the boat without it. She knew how to swim but getting caught in the middle of the lake which looked freezing for want of a better word, did not sound like a fun way to spend their honeymoon.

‘I promise if you fall in, I’ll rescue you,’ Jay offered, wiggling his fingers at her with a smile. ‘Pretty sure if I let my wife die on our honeymoon, people might ask questions.’ He chuckled and Hailey couldn’t help but giggle.

She knew she was being stupid, she could swim, it was only a small lake and she had Jay. She trusted him with her life at work day after day, she could do this right?

‘Okay,’ she said tentatively, taking a small step towards the edge of the dock. ‘But if we end up in the water, you’re going to have to warm me up later!’

‘That was already on my list Hails,’ he said, his boyish grin firmly on his cheeks. ‘Come on, I’ve got you.’

‘Okay,’ she repeated, another small step brought her right to the edge, her toes hanging off the dock. One small step would put her in the boat next to Jay. On the water. In a boat.

‘Hailey,’ Jay said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Have you always had a fear of boats?’

‘It’s not the boat that’s the problem,’ she said frowning, trying to get her feet to move just a fraction more but it was like they were made of granite, heavy and unmoveable. ‘It’s the potential of drowning.’ She heard Jay laugh and turned her frown on him. ‘Do not laugh at me Jay Halstead!’

He raised both his hands apologetically. ‘I’m not laughing at you Hails, just shocked that I didn’t know.’

‘Well, I joined the police academy not the boat academy,’ she said through gritted teeth. Why wouldn’t her feet just move damn it!

‘The boat academy?’ Jay scoffed.

‘Jay will you just pick me up and put me in the damn boat,’ she groaned.

‘Are you sure?’ He asked, his jovial tone vanishing from his voice and Hailey knew why. He would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, and she loved him for it. But this was just in her head. She wanted to row out into the middle of the lake with Jay.

She’d never admit it to anyone unless under the influence of a good number of whiskeys but she loved the Notebook and the scene with the rowboat had always been one of her favourites. And call her a hopeless romantic but a boat ride with her husband on an empty lake - well it was more romance than she thought she’d ever experience.

‘Positive,’ Hailey said, nodding her head. ‘Once I’m in I’ll be fine,’ she said, trying to assure both him and herself.

‘Okay,’ he said, climbing back onto the dock. He dropped a kiss to her lips which she let herself get lost in for just a moment before his hands came up underneath her armpits and lifted her up as if she weighed little more than a bag of flour and dropped her gently into the waiting boat.

Hailey froze, the boat rocked with her movements so her logical brain told her if she remained totally still, so would the boat.

‘Hails, sit down,’ Jay said gently, pointing at the empty bench. ‘It’ll rock less if you’re sat, I promise.’

She breathed out and slowly bent her knees until her butt met the wooden bench beneath her. Jay had been right, seated the boat felt like it was a lot more stable.

‘I’m coming in now too,’ Jay said, climbing back into the boat and unlooping the rope from the cleat, pushing off against the dock and letting them drift towards the middle of the lake.

As much as she had been apprehensive about the boat initially, sitting there with Jay gently rowing, the only sound was the water against the oars and the birds from the tree line, it was so peaceful. The view she had of Jay’s toned arms as he dragged the oars through the water was also not one to scoff at. She had initially scolded herself for ogling him until she remembered that he was her husband and if that didn’t grant her permission to appreciate the body that he worked so hard to maintain - what did?

She let herself relax more as they continued their journey with no destination, the enjoyment of each other’s company and the fresh Wisconsin air their only companion. She loved Chicago, the bustle of the city was programmed into her bones, but getting to take a step back, step away from the noises and the continued busyness, well it was like a reset button for her soul.

Hailey didn’t know how many favours Jay had to call in to get them both assigned to two days off consecutively and together, and if he had told her what he was planning she probably would have said it wasn’t worth it, that they had already been married for months and a honeymoon seemed like a foolish idea. But she was so glad he hadn’t. After the chaos of the last few months, this was exactly what they needed. Peace and Quiet. Together.

——————————————————————————

‘This is perfect,’ Hailey said as she sipped on her mug of hot chocolate, the marshmallows bobbing around in the steaming liquid. Her legs were thrown over Jay’s and the blanket tucked around them both as they shared a single Adirondack chair that Jay had dragged down to the water's edge. ‘The stars are so bright out here,’ she said as she let her head fall back to take in the view of the night sky.

‘It’s the one thing I miss when I’m in the city,’ Jay said honestly, his fingers were drawing patterns on Hailey’s thigh, she could feel the warmth even through her leggings.

‘I can see why you like it up here,’ Hailey admitted.

‘I like it better with you,’ he said and Hailey could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Thank you for sharing it with me,’ she said, taking another sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the liquid heat her from the inside out. She thought back to the day they had had and couldn’t remember a time she had felt quite so happy and so free.

After Jay had successfully navigated the lake and brought her safely back to shore, he offered to take her on a walk to show her the rest of the lake but Hailey had had other ideas and had tugged him into the house by the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t the sex by the fireplace that Hailey had planned for later, she hadn’t had the time or the forethought to build a fire before disrobing Jay of his clothes, her own had been divested before they had even made it halfway up the stairs.

Once her legs had stopped their shaking thanks to the skills that she had been unaware that her husband had possessed until very recently, more fool her, they made their way downstairs and had pottered around the kitchen making dinner together. Jay had wanted to make her dinner but she had insisted on helping, which really meant sitting on the counter and reading out the instructions from his mothers handwritten recipe book. It also gave her the perfect position to be able to capture Jay with her legs every time he tried to reach into the cabinets behind her.

‘Why didn’t you bring this back to the city?’ Hailey asked after one such capture, gesturing to the book open next to her.

‘Mom always loved it up here,’ Jay said with a little shrug, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, ‘seemed right to leave a piece of her up here.’

Hailey smiled softly, pecking him on the lips before letting her legs fall back down again letting him continue with his cooking.

They had eaten the perfectly prepared pot pie before Jay offered a hot chocolate for dessert and suggested they drink it by the water. It had been the most perfect day.

‘Thank you,’ Hailey whispered quietly. The night was silent apart from the sounds of the water meeting the shore and their own breathing so there was no doubt Jay had heard her words, but he stayed quiet.

Hailey knew he knew what she was thanking him for, it was the same thing he had told her all those months ago not to. But she meant it as something more this time, thank you for marrying me but thank you for trusting me enough with your heart as well. They were both guarded people, people who somewhere deep inside themselves weren’t completely believing of the fact they were deserving of love. But they were. And Hailey knew they both realised it now. They had just needed a little pushing.

She made a mental note to send Will a big thank you card when they got back to the city.

——————————————————————————

‘Come on Hails,’ Jay said loudly as he ran ahead of her, his laughter echoing back through the trees.

‘I’ve only got little legs!’ She yelled back. It was only partly true, she was shorter than him by at least a foot but in a flat out running race on regular terrain she would smoke him. However this was anything but.

They had been halfway round the lake, about a mile and a half from the cabin when the heavens had opened. It hadn’t been on the forecast so they were not prepared and were currently legging it back to get out of the rain. They were already soaked to the bone and Hailey was certain at this point there wasn’t a single part of her that was dry. She was also at a significant disadvantage - Jay knew this trail like the back of his hand whereas she was having to watch her feet to avoid every root and stray log that crossed the path.

But still she was laughing. Normally she would hate to have been caught out in a situation like this, highly unprepared splashing through puddles and mud in nothing more than her running sneakers, her hair plastered to her head and the rain soaking her socks. But Jay was hooting and hollering in front of her, betting that whoever got into the house first got the prime spot in front of the fire and first dibs on the shower.

She knew her husband well though and knew that there would only be one shower happening and they would find a perfectly good way to warm each other up.

‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate if you beat me,’ he yelled from his position a couple of paces in front of her.

‘You’ll make me one anyway,’ she yelled back, but as she jumped over a broken tree trunk, her feet slipped on the wet mud and she came crashing down to the ground with a loud thud.

‘Hailey!’ Jay yelled, spinning around and racing to her side. He pushed her hair out of her face, the worry etched across his cheeks but was met with Hailey laughing.

‘I’m fine,’ she chuckled. ‘Just a little bit muddy,’ she shrugged before reaching up with one muddy hand and cradling Jay’s cheek. ‘Anyone ever tell you Halstead, you’ve got such pretty eyes.’

Jay’s eyes widened in sudden realisation as Hailey proceeded to smear the mud across his cheek, laughing as she did so. ‘Upton, you’re going to get it now,’ he said, his brows furrowing in mock anger.

‘Well I hope so,’ Hailey winked before dramatically holding out her hand, ‘you going to help your wife up Halstead, or just leave me in this puddle.’

‘I’m debating leaving you,’ Jay growled before taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.

If she hadn’t been muddy before, she was covered now, head to toe.

‘You’d never leave me,’ Hailey said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, not caring that she was rubbing the mud all over him as well.

‘Never,’ he said, clearly not minding either as he leant down and kissed her softly. ‘But I’ll still beat you back,’ he said, grinning and turning round to continue his way back down the path, only to be tripped by a wayward root and land in his own muddy puddle.

Hailey bent double with laughter, the real deep kind of laughter that bubbles up from your stomach and your whole body shakes.

‘That’s it,’ Jay said, reaching up to grab her hand and tug her down into the mud beside him, which she landed in with a wet thump.

‘Well you always said where I go you go,’ Hailey smirked and sealed her lips to his, the rain and mud long forgotten, her husband’s lips her only thought.

——————————————————————————

A few hours later, they are wrapped around each other in front of the roaring fire, the blankets from the coach acting as both cushion and cover, but neither Hailey or Jay were paying much attention to the hardwood floor underneath them. Their focus was on each other and nothing else.

Hailey folded an arm over Jay’s shoulder and used it to prop herself up so she could look at him, her other hand trailing across his bare chest, absentmindedly connecting the freckles she had already memorised.

‘What time do we have to leave?’ She asked softly, her voice the only noise apart from the crackling in the fireplace.

‘In an hour,’ Jay said reluctantly. They had both avoided talking about leaving from the second they had arrived, but they knew it was coming. They had to be back in the bullpen at 8am tomorrow so needed to drive back tonight to get some sleep, theirs was not a job one should do without at least a few hours of rest.

Hailey hummed in response, she didn’t want to leave. She had never felt as carefree and content as she did at the cabin, with Jay.

‘But we can stay right here until we need to leave,’ Jay said, clearly sensing her apprehension. ‘I’ve already packed the truck.’

‘I knew there was a reason I married you,’ Hailey muttered, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips.

‘There was,’ Jay said when she pulled back, ‘a visa.’ He smirked and Hailey grinned.

‘That’s true,’ she chuckled. She was glad they could laugh about it, she had been worried initially that it might have been awkward, but it hadn’t been. It was their story.

Sure it wasn’t the most normal of roads that relationships took, but it was theirs and Hailey didn’t think she’d change a single moment of it. Because that crazy road, with all its twists and turns, had led her right here. To this moment in time.

To Jay.

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Stisaac

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale, Jackson Whittemore

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood and injury, hurt Stiles, Stiles accepts the bite to save his life, near death experience, broken bone

Words: 2055

Prompt: BTHB square Setting a Broken Bone

Ao3 link Masterlist

--

Before Chris took Allison away to France after forming a truce with the Hale pack, she taught Stiles everything she could about archery. The once fragile human now fills out his clothes, got stronger, and damn good with a bow. So whenever the pack decides they want fresh venison for dinner, he joins them.

It was as close to running with wolves as Stiles could get as a human. Adding what Allison taught him with Derek teaching him how to track, Stiles became an amazing hunter. In the traditional sense. Just as good as the supernatural creatures he surrounds himself with. Minus the extra teeth, glowing eyes, and enhanced senses. 

Alli and Derek got him close enough while still clinging to his humanity. It’s not that Stiles doesn’t want the bite. You can blame his stubborn nature, but he’s determined to prove that he can survive just fine as is. And while he’s done a great job so far, Stiles has made it clear to Derek that should it come to life or death, give him the bite no questions asked. 

He’s stubborn, not stupid. 

Stiles even annoyed Deaton into showing him what it means to be a pack’s emissary. It was important to Stiles that Derek had someone he trusted to look out for the well being and safety of his pack. And that couldn’t be Deaton because deep down, whether Derek will admit it or not, he never fully forgave the man for not warning his mother about Kate. Stiles promised to be better. 

And so far, he has been. 

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Isaac asks, catching Stiles staring at his feet while they walk through the preserve in the early evening.

One guess what the pack wanted for dinner tonight.

“Just wondering if the deer can hear my stomach grumbling and that’s why we haven’t seen any.” Stiles grins at the wolf, “if we don’t find one soon, I might be eating wolf tonight.”

It was supposed to be a joke. But the look Isaac gives him makes Stiles’ cheeks burn. “So you think I look tasty?” His words, no matter how cheesy, spread the heat down to Stiles’ chest. He trips over a root trying to respond about how he meant Jackson or Boyd. Isaac chuckles, “Not as smooth as you thought you were?” 

No, Isaac. Because you’ve been Stiles’ crush ever since he laid eyes on you. 

“Shut up,” Stiles scoffs, choosing his next step more carefully. He’s a hunter for god’s sake, Stiles has been trained out of his clumsiness. 

“Aww, did I hit a soft spot, Pretty Boy?” Isaac practically whispers in Stiles’ ear. 

When the fuck did he get that close? 

Chills run down Stiles’ spine from the wolf’s words and proximity. That was a lot to digest in thirty seconds. Much more than Stiles can handle while trying to hunt deer. Rather than give Isaac the satisfaction, Stiles focuses on the task at hand. 

Another few moments of silence and they spot a doe eating in front of a large tree. Stiles crouches behind a bush, Isaac beside him, and removes an arrow from his quiver. He takes a steady breath before knocking it. 

“Hit her in the heart, I’ll take care of the rest?” Isaac whispers so as not to spook her. 

Stiles nods. It’s their method and has always worked for them. They work. Derek knows it; it’s why they’re always paired together on hunts. You just won’t catch Stiles saying some embarrassing shit like that out loud. He’s impulsive, yes, but his brain cells still work. Isaac will never see them as anything more than pack and Stiles has to live with that. 

Stiles takes a breath in time with the draw of his bowstring. Holding it, he aims for the heart. He won’t miss, Allison made sure of that. On the exhale, Stiles looses the arrow. But before it can hit its mark, the doe takes off, a set of glowing blue eyes bound towards them instead. 

There’s no chance of a reaction, of trying to defend himself or see if Isaac can jump in between. The only option is to brace for impact. If blood wasn’t rushing through his ears, Stiles probably would have heard the snarl before being body slammed into the ground. It’s a quick blur, but the wolf resembles what Peter looked like when he could fully shift, just a little smaller. 

Isaac’s roar as the omega runs away barely makes it through Stiles’ ears. He doesn’t even get to register the pain in his side from the landing. Or the dirt he had to spit out. He’s already spun and crouched, bow at the ready for the wolf to make its next move. 

“Talk to me, Is,” Stiles’ eyes dart around the tree line the sun has mostly fallen behind. He can’t see shit. “Where is it?” 

“I don’t know,” Isaac hisses, golden eyes struggling to locate their attacker. “I can’t even smell it.”

That’s not good.

A twig snaps to his right, Stiles trains his bow immediately. Not realizing it’s a trap until Isaac yells, “Stiles!” that it was just a diversion. 

Stiles turns only halfway before the beast lunges from the shadows. Its teeth clamp around Stiles’ forearm, the bow falling to the darkening forest floor. At first, he doesn’t feel much other than the trail of blood sliding down his arm. Too much shock, adrenaline, or both coursing through his veins. Then the wolf thrashes. Flinging Stiles’ around by his limb like a dog with a chew toy. 

Skin shreds and something definitely cracks and Stiles feels it then, letting out a blood curdling scream. White hot fire shooting up his arms, causing a ringing in his ear. It hurts to fucking bad, but he can’t get free. 

“Derek!” Isaac howls. His claws sink into the wolf’s sides while Stiles tries to get his arm free without doing more damage. 

He’s already lost feeling in his fingers. 

Using the last shreds of strength he can muster, Stiles drives his free elbow down on the wolf’s head repeatedly until it finally lets go. He grabs his bloody arm, holding it to his chest, stumbling to the ground. 

Stiles can feel the bone sticking out of his skin. If he looks, he’ll pass out. Adrenaline sure is something, he’s in pain that’s for sure, but at least he stopped screaming. The blood loss is already making his vision swim, he needs to stay conscious. Not that it would really matter if he ends up dying. Seeing death coming and being powerless to stop it would be almost as insulting as watching that thing kill Isaac. 

The sun is well behind the trees now, all he can make out are two blurry shapes bouncing around. Stiles is fucking cold. He should really assess the damage. See if he can fix it while Isaac fights. But that just seems too hard and the grass is comfortable. It’d be totally okay if he closed his eyes right now. 

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Isaas says, sounding so far away, but the dull drag of pain being taken washes over him with the wolf’s words. It’s almost like he’s speaking underwater. He half feels Isaac lift his head into his lap. But those golden eyes, those are in sharp focus. “It’s gone, okay? You’re going to be just fine. But you have to keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me, Pretty Boy? Huh? Let me see those eyes.”

“What happened?” What sounds like Jackson’s frantic voice asks.

Stiles can’t be sure. He’s well past loopy, looking up at Isaac, slurring, “why you ‘lways call m’ pretty boy?” 

Someone kneels beside him, lifting his shredded arm.

Isaac chokes on his laugh, “because you are my pretty boy, Stiles.”

“Because he loves you, moron.”

Yeah. Definitely Jackson. 

Stiles makes a noise that was supposed to be a chuckle, but it just comes out more like an amused grunt. “I love you too, Isaac,” Stiles grins, full and dopey.

“Isaac,” Derek snaps with no heat. Purely to get his attention rather than scold. “I need you to hold him still. I have to reset the bone. The bite will save his life, but it won’t fix that.”

“But it cured Eri-”

“It will mend it together, yes.” Derek bites off a growl, “but it won’t put the bone back in his body. 

Why does Derek sound so angry? Stiles is over here on cloud nine. He can’t feel a thing, which in hindsight should be a bad thing. But Isaac has feelings for him. That’s all he cares about. Although Stiles admittedly is very tired. If only he could rest his eyes, just for a moment. Then he could get his bearings and work shit out. Just a few seconds, it’ll be okay, really.

“Shit,” Derek curses, “he’s slipping. Isaac, hold him.”

He only needs a moment, Derek, it’s fine.

Crack.

It’s startlingly silent for all of half a second before Stiles screams. Loud, long, and high. That hurt just as much as the actual breaking of his arm. He wails, trying to lurch into a sitting position, but Isaac’s hold is true. Both he and Jackson are quick to take his pain. Stiles’ skin is clammy. He’s hot and cold all at the same time. Wide awake from the shock of it all and ready to pass out. 

And when Derek’s teeth sink into his flesh, he does.

—

Stiles wakes with a start the next morning in Isaac’s room. What the hell is he doing in the wolf’s room? 

“He’s awake,” Derek says. 

But when Stiles looks around the room, the Alpha is nowhere to be seen. The only person is Isaac sleeping soundly in a chair beside his bed. So then how was he able to hear Derek? What did Stiles miss?

“Isaac?” He says, the wolf grunting softly in response. “Isaac,” Stiles repeats, more firmly.

The Beta jolts awake, inhaling sharply before his blue eyes land on Stiles. “You’re awake,” Isaac beams, reaching over to hold his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine?” Stiles says, confused as to why he wouldn’t be. He can’t really remember much from the night before other than him and the wolf walking through the preserve together for dinner. “Why am I in your bed?”

“You-” Isaac shakes his head, curls flopping over his eyes, “you don’t remember?” Stiles shakes his head no. “We were attacked last night. You got hurt, you were-” the wolf takes a shaky breath, “you were dying. Derek saved our life.”

Memories flash in the back of Stiles’ mind. The rogue werewolf, the way he screamed when it bit his arm. All of the blood he lost. Derek snapping his bone back in place. The bite. And Isaac. Admitting that he loves him through Jackson’s snark. He’s a werewolf now. 

“You love me.” It comes out as more of an accusation than Stiles intended. 

Isaac ducks his head for a second, hiding the smile curling the corner of his mouth, “I do. Have for a long time, Pretty Boy. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” the other wolf whines in the back of his throat.

Not even remotely wanting to hear an apology or that whine again, Stiles uses his newfound werewolf strength and drags the Beta into bed with him. “That thing came out of nowhere, Is,” the wolf says, Isaac curling around his body. “I don’t expect you to be sorry for that. Not with how fast it moved. Besides,” Stiles adjusts himself so he can hold the other wolf, “you did your best and stuck by me the whole time. I have nothing to be mad about just as much as you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“You still got hurt,” Isaac retorts, squeezing tighter. “And turned into a werewolf because of it.”

“Meh, it was bound to happen eventually,” Stiles reasons. “All I care about is that we’re both safe now. And that I love you too.” 

Isaac looks up at him with a soft smile, “so that wasn’t just the blood loss talking?”

“You tell me,” Stiles grins, leaning down to seal their mouths together, adoring the way that Isaac melts into the kiss. 

It definitely wasn’t the blood loss.

[teememdee]

15, 24, 33! if someone has already asked you one of these questions, jump to the next number on the list! <3

Hello sorry this took me a while to get to!!! Thank you for your ask and in my usual fashion I’ve answered with way more details than necessary.

(link to ask game!!)

15- What's your favourite League-related fanfiction? If you can't pick, feel free to answer with multiple!

Hmm tough esp as these days I really just re-read my own works or pure smut But I’m gonna go for fine & scandalous by robiland. This is THE Akalynn dynamic to me, the reason I’ve never written an Akalynn focused fic is because this gave me everything I wanted. As always I can never just give one answer I also have to give a shoutout to Keep the Leash Loose by UmbreonGurl that made me fall in love with Kahri as a ship and dynamic… 4 whole years ago. And I’m still here lol

24- What character has the most fitting voice/voice delivery for their character? Alternatively, for non-speaking characters, best sound design?

Evelynn absolutely. Mara Junot is such a fantastic voice actor, and she nails Eve’s character perfectly, the seductive and teasing tone is just spot on. I love her performance as Jenda’kaya in the Ruination audiobook as well. She’s fantastic.

I also really like Thresh’s voice and performance, Mark Oliver is fantastic and it’s funny he’s also the VA for Garmadon from Ninjago, which I was a massive fan of as a kid.

I really should have an answer on the sound design question as that’s literally the career I’m pursuing, but I don’t know off the top of my head. The speaking monstrous characters like Fiddlesticks and Naafiri sound great, and I think I’ve listened to Vel’Koz’s noises before but I don’t remember.

33- Any song(s) you associate with a particular character?

Oh I have whole playlists.

Jinx’s playlist is all pop punk / alternative, my fave song off of it is probably “weapon” by Against the Current. “I swear I didn’t mean to be a let-down” fits her too well.

For (K/DA) Kahri, the song that always makes me think of them if it comes up on shuffle is “Love Bites” by Wolftyla. The rest on the playlist fit them, but this one is literally sung by Kai’Sa, I think Ahri bites, and in my headcanon world they keep their relationship a secret from the public for a few years. It’s such a fun song. Only line that doesn’t fit is “it ain’t love but this is close enough” because it IS love for them but I can overlook that.

For Star Guardian Kahri, my playlist is half early 2010s pop edm with star/space related lyrics and half actually based on my fanfiction. The song that fits both these categories the most is “Stay the Night” by Zedd and Hayley Williams. What a banger, they don’t make songs like that anymore

For (K/DA) Akalynn… sorry for being a swiftie with that playlist lol. However the song that I associate with them the most is “honey” by Halsey. “she’s mean and she’s mine” like that’s THEM. I made a whole annotated lyrics thing making them fit. I’m so serious about this

And then for Kassadin / Kassfam. I’ll admit a lot of this playlist is just vibes. “FIND YOUR WAY BACK” by Beyoncé and “Never Get Used To” by Seinabo Sey I took off someone else’s Kai’Sa playlist, but the rest are my own original picks. I know “Red Like Roses pt.II” is a RWBY song but it’s about them to me now. Kai’Sa gets first verse, Kassadin second. And I know what you’re thinking. Why is “All is Found” from Frozen 2 on here? And my answer is that I have my headcanons about Kai’Sa’s mother singing to her, and a “river full of memory” makes me think of the Void. It works, trust me.

Thank you so much for your ask!!

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch.3

Honeyed Words, Bitter Deeds

Previous: Ch.2 - All Eyes on Us || Next: Ch.4 - Bedlam and Burglary Fic Masterpost

Fic Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Chapter Summary: Ariene returns from Goldenglow, and gives Brynjolf a piece of her mind, and Brynjolf grows more and more intrigued by the new recruit he's brought on board.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 1,772

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

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For somebody who had just successfully pulled off what had been labeled by all accounts to be an impossible job, Ariene did not look happy. 

She stood in the doorway of the training room, her arms folded across her chest and her face twisted in a frown. Loose strands of her hair were plastered across her forehead, and her armor looked like she’d dragged it through a bog and then thrown it up a tree, but she was back and she was alive, and Brynjolf couldn’t have felt more relief in that moment when he saw her.

“Well look who it is,” he said, forcing his voice to stay light and unbothered. “Word on the street is Goldenglow's been hit. Good job, lass.” 

“Oh, it’s been hit,” Ariene growled. “But let’s get one thing perfectly clear. I signed up to be a member of the Thieves Guild. I’ll break into houses, pick pockets, and run whatever scams you want, but I did not ask to fight an army singlehandedly. If that’s the type of work Mercer expects from me then I’m out, understand?” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, lass,” Brynjolf said, holding up his hands. “What do you mean army?” 

“There weren’t eight guards,” Ariene said with a scoff. “Or ten, or even twelve. There were over two dozen.” 

Brynjolf’s eyes widened. 

“Two dozen? Are you serious?” 

“Do I look like I’m joking? There were twelve in the house itself, and at least that many roaming the grounds outside. I couldn’t even get close to the hives without being spotted.”  

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” Brynjolf asked anxiously, but Ariene continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. 

“That should not have been a one man job. One person maybe could have handled breaking into the safe without getting caught, if they were very quiet and very lucky. But expecting one person to light those damn hives on fire without any trouble? Complete and utter lunacy. There needed to be at least two strong fighters on that job, maybe more. I can’t believe that–”

“Ariene,” Brynjolf interrupted, his voice firm. “Were you hurt.”  

Ariene sighed. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, rolling her right shoulder. 

“Are you certain?” Brynjolf pressed, and she nodded. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. I had to swim off the island though, and a handful of the ones who were left spent ages scouting the surrounding countryside looking for me. I had to lose them in the woods before doubling back towards the city.”

Some of the tension bled out of Brynjolf’s shoulders.

“Well, I’m glad you made it back in one piece,” he admitted. “Wait…a handful of who was left? How many of them did you take out?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ariene said immediately. “Not all of them, which is why I was so late coming back.”

“I understand that. But the fact that you did pull it off solo-”

“Just because I can handle that kind of heat doesn’t mean I want to,” she said, cutting him off. “I won’t…” she paused, considering her words. “That can’t happen again,” she eventually said. “If it does, I walk.”

“Fair enough,” Brynjolf said, and Ariene blinked. 

“I– really?” 

“Listen,” he said, lowering his voice. “Between you and me, I think you’re right. You shouldn’t have been sent alone, not after Vex’s report. There’s accepting the risks of the job, but then there’s acting like an idiot. If Mercer tries to pull another stunt like that, I’ll put a stop to it. And if it bothers you that much, he doesn’t have to know just how many guards were really there.” 

Ariene was silent for a spell, and for a moment Brynjolf wondered if he’d somehow upset her further, but then she took a deep breath.

“Thank you.” 

She didn’t elaborate, and Brynjolf didn’t need her to.

“Don’t mention it, lass. Now, to business: were you able to crack the safe?” 

Ariene nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled letter.

“Yes, and here's what was inside.”

"Let me take a look at what you found.” He took the letter and scanned it quickly. “Aringoth sold Goldenglow? What's that idiot thinking?”

Ariene frowned. 

“Why does it matter who owns Goldenglow, anyway?” 

Brynjolf blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“We had an arrangement with Maven,” he explained. “We kept an eye on Goldenglow Estate to make sure the honey kept flowing. If the workers had a dispute, we'd rough them up. If competitors tried to buy honey from Aringoth, we'd steal the shipments.”

“All this over honey?” Ariene asked, and Brynjolf nodded.

“Maven’s fortune comes from her meadery. Without a nearby and steady supply of honey, the place can’t keep up with demand. In return for our services, Maven allowed us to extort Aringoth and bring in a huge payout.” 

“And now that Aringoth’s sold the place and is keeping the Guild out…”

“He’s keeping Maven out.” Brynjolf shook his head. “But he’s a fool. He has no idea the extent of her fury when she's been cut out of a deal…but I'm certain he'll find out. If only this parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol. Any idea what that might be?"

Ariene leaned over to look, and Brynjolf’s heart sped up. His instinct was to pull away as she drew closer, but he forced himself to remain still.  

“No idea,” Ariene admitted, her brow furrowing. “Though I’d like to give them a piece or two of my mind over this line here,” she added, tapping the letter. 

Brynjolf looked to where she pointed and grimaced. 

I think you’ll find the Thieves Guild is far more bark than bite and will likely avoid Goldenglow Estate rather than thin their already dwindling numbers. 

“No wonder Aringoth hired mercenaries instead of the city guard,” Ariene mused. “Buying the guards’ silence over an unexpected death is far more expensive than buying a gang of thugs who don’t give two shits who they kill as long as they get paid afterwards. 

“Aye, which is also why our outfit avoids that type of work,” Brynjolf agreed. “We’ll rough someone up here or there if need be, but in general a mark is worth far more alive than dead.” 

He shot Ariene a curious look. Most petty street criminals didn’t know how much it cost to hire a band of mercenaries, or to keep city guards quiet. His guess had been that the lass was a simple thief from Cyrodiil who moved north when her luck ran dry, but was there more to her story than that?

“I don’t recognize that symbol, at any rate,” Ariene said, and Brynjolf sighed. 

"Blast. Well, I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer.”

He started walking back towards the cistern, and Ariene fell into step beside him. 

“As for you,” he told her, “you're off to speak to Maven Black-Briar. She asked for you by name.” 

She raised an eyebrow.

“Sure, but will I come out of there alive?” she asked.

Brynjolf laughed, and shook his head.

"Don’t worry lass, if it was like that she wouldn't be asking for you, she'd be calling on the Dark Brotherhood. It's just business."

“What does Maven want from me?”

“That's between you and Maven,” Brynjolf said firmly. “And I prefer to keep it that way. But don't worry about it. Maven's business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people.”

“Speaking of which…” Ariene said, holding out a hand.

"Of course... your pay,” he said with another laugh. He pulled out a coin purse and passed it over to her. “You're smart as a whip, lass. Keep doing right by us and there's plenty more where that came from." 

The pair came to a halt just inside the ladder that led up through the hidden entrance in the crypt, and Ariene paused, fiddling with the bowstring that lay across her chest.

“One more thing,” she said. “Did Maven actually ask for me by name? She asked for Ariene Anneius?” 

A hint of worry had crept into her voice, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Brynjolf took note of the behavior with interest, but didn’t comment on it. As much as he would like to dissect the mystery that the lass presented, there was business to be taken care of, and the last thing he needed was for Maven to be kept waiting. 

“She asked for the person who pulled the Goldenglow job,” he said simply. “I don’t think she actually even knows what your full name is.”

“Right…right. Good. I’d better get going then,” Ariene said. “I’ll see you when I get back?” 

She sounded hopeful, and Brynjolf couldn’t help but smile. 

“Aye, I’ll be here, just like always. Now, Maven wants to see you right away. I suggest you head right over.” 

Ariene nodded and quickly scaled the ladder, disappearing from view. Brynjolf watched her go, turning what she’d said over in his mind. 

Ariene Anneius. 

He’d heard the name Anneius recently, though where he couldn’t remember exactly. Not from the lass herself, that was certain. That was the first time she’d said her full name to any of them as far as he was aware. Part of him itched to pry, to dig into her past and find out who she really was. It wouldn’t take much, a few well placed inquiries with the right people. But the look on her face when she’d asked if Maven knew her name gave him pause. 

It had been more than just apprehension, it was fear. 

Everyone in the Guild had a past, and for many it was a past they didn’t like discussing openly. Brynjolf had known Niruin for two years before even realizing that the elf had left a fiancee behind when leaving Valenwood, and Sapphire still didn’t talk about her past with anyone. 

Gallus had always said that it didn’t matter where someone came from before coming to the Guild, what mattered was what they could bring to the Guild now. And while he hadn’t known him well, Brynjolf had looked up to Gallus in the short time that he’d worked under him. His leadership was something that Brynjolf had respected immensely. 

If Ariene wanted to share about her past, then she would, in her own time. Brynjolf wouldn’t betray the trust of one of his people by interfering. Besides, he had plenty of other questions that needed answering.

He looked down at the bill of sale in his hand, the strange symbol taunting him with its mystery. 

Time to get to work.

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Previous: Ch.2 - All Eyes on Us || Next: Ch.4 - Bedlam and Burglary

AN: Initially this chapter contained one more scene, but I felt as though the two of them didn't fit very well thematically, so we get two shorter chapters now instead of one longer chapter! Thanks for reading, don't be shy about reblogging or commenting! I know this fic isn't my usual readership's taste, so if you read it, thank you so much <3