#but I don't know if it would really stress me out

[puckgoodfaggot]

i will once again become a shill for the sidekick app by sorted food.

it's an annual subscription but it is so worth it to me because it fixes this (and many other) problems. when you join, you get access to literally hundreds of recipes BUT they're organized into packs of three. each pack tells you what groceries you need, what equipment you need, and roughly how long each recipe takes to make. all you have to do in the evening is pick which of those three recipes you want to make. way way easier than staring blankly into your fridge trying to come up with it on your own.

the recipes have step-by-step guides, including audio guides, with built-in timers so you don't have to keep track of multiple timers on your own (they'll even say 'this is the timer for your rice' or 'this is the timer for your chicken' so you know which timer is which!). they also let you know when you've got time to clean up a bit as you go. and the recipes share ingredients across them so that you will have used up all your fresh produce and meat by the end of the week. no more food waste. plus they try to be seasonal with their produce choices! and the portions are big so i always feel full, and i cook for two so i always have leftovers. that's 6 meals a week made easy.

you can sort by low-cost options (fewer and cheaper ingredients), dietary restrictions, preferred cuisines, shorter or longer cooking times, etc. plus you can just search via text to see if they have what you're interested in. i've made so many things i never would have made otherwise because of this app. i've cooked 118 different recipes on it! it makes cooking easier, and you have less stress choosing what to make and making grocery lists, but you also get to cook new things if you want. you can save your favorites to revisit (i often do) but they put out new stuff ALL the time so you always have new options. the only stipulation i will add is that they are british, so you really ought to taste and add more spice as you go sometimes. (sometimes they nail it, though!)

we all joke about how deciding what's for dinner every day is awful but I'm not joking anymore. if I have to decide what to make for dinner one more time I might explode

[ashomodeus]

Hi all, it's been a minute... Work has been really rough. I promise I haven't disappeared again. Here's this.

Where is each brother + Dateables favorite place to... connect with Mc.

Gn!Mc, Smut warning, bad grammar, take a shot every time breeding is mentioned, food porn for Beel.

Why am I at work for 12 hours???

Thank you, Beyonce, for providing me with this phone to write. She's my ghost writer if anyone asks. If her lawyers ask, this is a joke.

Lucifer 》 His study

●With under the desk support from Mc all his stress is magically gone.

●No one bothers him when he's in his study, meaning hours... and I mean hours could go past and no one would question why he's in there so long.

●Would test Mc's limits, having them cock warm him as he finishes his last bit of work. Don't think that Mc is the only one being teased. Lucifer has always been able to focus on one thing at a time but with Mc there? Forget it. 'How would Mc look bent over there, How about on my desk, or right in front of the door for his brother's to hear MC is all his for the night'

●Mc giving him head while he's trying to have an important conference call.

●Having Mc lay on the couch exposing their filled holes threatening to drip out while he finishes his work.

●He has some things in his office for Mc like a designated drawer for Mc that only Mc and Lucifer can access like rope, towels, a change of underwear, some toys for Mc to use while Lucifer is busy.

Mammon 》His car

●Two things that he loves.

●His favorite thing is to recieve head while driving. He enjoys edging and pushing himself as far as possible until he has to pull over. He wants to pull over because he wants to be milked until he's weak.

● He would want to drive while pounding into Mc.He would never be able to drive without Mc again without having to pull over and masturbate to the idea of Mc being there.

●Mammon likes to convince Mc to go run an errand with him just for them to both to come back disheveled. Mammon doesn't want anyone to see Mc in that way and doesn't want anyone to hear them so he'll find a few places.

●Once Mc did a nude photo shoot in Mammons car and those photos will always remain in his empty wallet.

●Mammon hates messes in his car but he so his seats have waterproof covers for certain reasons...

Levi 》Anywhere with water

●Listen water can make you feel weightless. Since water is his strong suit he knows how to control water and make sure Mc doesn't drown.

●Beach trips normally involve Mc and Levi leaving for a swim and not coming back for hours. Mc would think the sand would get everywhere but devildoms sand is so much different.

●Levi loves sneaking into the shower while Mc is showering. Sometimes, he just loves to watch Mc. He especially gets turned on if Mc doesn't notice he's there watching. He slowly strips as he walks into the shower with Mc, only startling them for a second. He loves taking the shower head and putting it on sensitive places of Mc's increasing water pressure the more sensitive Mc got.

● He loves "accidentally" spilling water on Mc while gaming together.

Satan 》 Library

●Knowledge is power and just when he think he's read every book. There's a new series he can read. Once he met Mc it was a bit difficult to focus on both reading and Mc. He soon realized he can have it both.

●Having Mc read to him while he fucks them. He would stop everytime Mc would stop. He just loved felling Mc tense as he stopped.

●Another fun thing to him is that Mc would have to keep quiet since they were in a public place. The rush he got thinking of someone walking in on him having his cock rammed into the beloved Mc.

●He keeps a list of books to the said that he thinks would sound a lot better with Mc's breathy moans. He also finds it as great stress relief. They would sneak into the library after hours so Mc could make as much noise as possible.

●Sometimes when they're reading together Satan makes Mc wear a vibrating toy and silently turns it on and off when he pleases.

Asmo 》His bedroom

●Asmo is an expert when it comes to connecting. His room has all the necessities. Sound proofing, toys, ropes, leashes, wax, towels, everything. He could give Mc a facial mask after giving them facial.

●Theres a mirror on the ceiling that is right above the bed, mirrors everywhere. If Mc was having a low confidence day he would cover up the mirrors or fuck Mc in front of them in every position to show them how hot they truly are.

●Asmo room also has a camera that follows sound so he can record whenever they are fucking but of course that involves being loud enough.

●Sometimes Asmo will indulge in black coffee because he doesn't want to loose energy or stamina. He wants Mc to do so many things and make sure that Mc's mind is just full of how good they feel and how horny they are.

Beel 》 Kitchen or bedroom

●Duh

●Food play. He loves nyotaimori/ namtaimori; Body sushi, Human tray. He loves to layout his favorite foods on Mc, keeping them as protected as possible. He also would love to fuck Mc with a certain things then eat them. Ie: Cucumber. He wants to see how much of the thick cucumber Mc could take, licking the cucumber in-between tries. Then proceeding to eat it after.

●His fantasy would involve him coming down for a midnight snack and Mc is there surrounded by his favorite food. Mc being just as hungry for Beel as he is for them.

●Ever since the few nights Mc slept on Beels bed. He's been hungry. Their smell is permanently embedded into the bed. He would want to fuck Mc in that bed. He would give Mc a lot of oral. Making sure to taste every drop of them.

●He would to fill up Mc with his load to make sure Mc is as full as he is.Though he's very considerate Mc should expect a bit of soreness next day.

Belphie 》 Attic

●A place to be by himself in a cozy bed Mc riding him as he's slowly woken up.

●The attic is a quiet place. He normally dreams the most about Mc in this room. If anyone tries to interrupt their time together Belphie will quickly cum inside Mc and plug their hole with their underwear. He likes to see them squirm around at the discomfort of the underwear getting soaked with Belphie's juices.

●He likes waking up Mc with him about to cum on their face. He also loves sleepy horny sex where they can't even tell what's where.

●Belphie is extremely possessive so everything is on his stuff. It's not because he's lazy It's because their sent keeps him calm and makes him want- actually NEED them.

●He once used bedsheets to tie up Mc to the bed to overstimulate and exhaust them.

Solomon 》 Anywhere and everywhere

●Mc's room, his room, over here, over there, everywhere. Solomon is proud he scored the hottest human out there. He will fuck Mc when he wants wherever he wants. The idea of someone walking in on them makes him fuck Mc’s throat harder.

●One of his favorite places is the empty classroom right next to an active classroom.

●He admits to watching Mc change in their bedroom from an enchanted mirror he gifted them.

●He loves to tease Mc while they are out. Together they can make a single trip turn into an 8 hour errands day. Once he had Mc pinned in an alleyway while feeling them up and giving them aggressive hickies. He walked away as if nothing happened and Mc weak knees would struggle to carry themselves.Mc would get so desprate that they would drag Solomon to another alleyway and they would be at it for at least an hour.

Diavolo》 The balcony of the Castle or even hidden rooms

●He loves to show what he can offer Mc besides he massive cock. Of course he's anxious to rule devildom but he will do what needs to be done. Mc grounds him. What he doesn't tell Mc is that it's practically impossible to see that balcony. He would never jeopardize Mc or anyone's respect. The balcony gives him time to think a time to feel and reflect. Making Mc feels good makes him feel good.

●He loves exposing Mc's gaping hole towards the balcony. It shows everyone that only he can fill that hole.

●Diavolo is constantly hiding from Barbatos and he loves to drag Mc with him. Sometimes Diavolo forgets what rooms are in this huge castle so it's an adventure with Mc. Small rooms where Mc can barely move due to being pinned by Diavolo. He loves the rush of hiding and trying to be as quickly as possible. He wants to please every part of Mc.

●He loves when Barbatos finds themsawsee and he awkwardly leaves while Diavolo continues.

Barbatos 》 Mc's room

●He wants Mc to be as comfortable as they can be. He enjoys giving Mc massages. Waiting on Mc hand and foot. He wants Mc as comfortable as possible.

●He's more of a pleasure dom than anything. He gets off by just seeing Mc sprawled out on the bed shaking from pleasure. He could simply cum to the thought of it. It's private and quiet. He doesn't have to worry about anyone else except Mc. After he Mc into mush he'll be in the kitchen cooking them their favorite meal. Just to give them enough energy for a round two. He would snap photos of the exhausted Mc to keep for later just to stare.

●Mc's room is also good for Barbatos because Diavolo won't bother him as much. Barbatos only uses his demon form when he wants to fill all of Mcs holes.

●Any messes made in the room he'll clean it up. Since he knows he'll be cleaning anything that happens to get dirty. He's into a lot of WAM (wet and messy) Mainly with saliva, cum, sweat. The more the better it shows him he's doing a good job at pleasing Mc.

Simeon 》 Mc’s bedroom

●He wants Mc to be comfortable. He's never really felt as calm and confident ever since meeting Mc. When Mc looks like they are calm it calms him. Simeon feels safe to sort of lose control. He's a tease outside of the bedroom but now he can actually act out everything he wants to do. By everything, he means everything. Everyday he thinks of a new way He could fuck Mc or even have Mc fuck him.

●Mc's room feels familiar enough for the both of them. Of course it's a bit difficult when the brothers are home but that's when Simeon implements the quiet game. He slams himself into Mc and see how long it takes for Mc to almost give out.

●He loves texting Mc to meet him in their room. He's just so excited to be able to show Mc he's not just an Angel. He can make Mc feel things that they have yet to feel.

●They barely use the bed. Simeon likes to make sure there's a different position everytime. His mind is corrupted by how many positions or how many times can he make Mc cum that night.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO THEIR INJURIES ( part iii. )

ଓ.° ・ cyno ･ alhaitham ･ tighnari. genshin impact. repost. ・ ・ ・ pt i. pt ii.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ cyno

the role cyno plays is a heavy one : judgement & justice hand in hand in an act of righteousness as he deems another to fate. how quick it is for one's wrongdoings to meld into something deeper, deserved, and decayed into a sin they will learn to shoulder for the rest of a lifetime. you hold back a sigh, brows furrowed only the slightest bit in suppressed concern as you discard sanguine drenched gauze. you almost forget the danger that lurks in the shadows, expression growing grim as the seconds pass. cyno notices, smiles ever so faintly as he calls your name in gentle tones and meets your gaze.

"i guess someone--" he pauses, dramatic, and perhaps the final straw in your relationship lies in the moment he pulls a genius invokation card from behind his ear, "decked me."

you stare at him, deadpan. he stares back, also deadpan. this is far too unsettling.

"oh yeah? got decked in your bleeding knee, huh?"

"oh. well, you see-- i actually scraped my knee--"

"falling for me?"

cyno pauses again, clears his throat so incredibly loudly you wonder if it hurt doing so. you roll your eyes, don't bother to even hide the way your lips curl in amusement as you pinch his cheeks. his words of protest die down when you kiss him on the nose and you almost think you will hear them again with the way he frowns once you pull away from him.

"i don't love you, dearest general."

"okay, well that actually hurts to hear."

you laugh, feel his arms wrap around your waist as he looks at you expectantly. you press a kiss to his temple, see the way his countenance lightens at your affection.

"kidding, kidding. i do. i'm glad you're okay."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ alhaitham

you almost wonder if alhaitham is human -- a silly thing to ponder, truthfully, but you do not think you've yet encountered someone who seeks logic in all things and seldom succumbs to feelings and instinct. & it's unfortunate, almost -- to feel anything remotely close to love for someone who does not know the heaviness of it.

there is a strange feeling that brews in your chest : a nervousness, a knowing anxiety, and so you clench your jaw in frustration, place your focus elsewhere as to seek haven in denial of such foolishness. you wrap the bandages around his hands, try to ignore the foreign and comforting tenderness that sends shivers down your spine every time your fingertips brush.

"you are worried."

his voice cuts through steel air, forces you to freeze in your movements. you swallow hard, look him in the eye. you wish you could understand. you wish you could read him, know what lies in a dormant heart. but you don't. you don't, and it doesn't mean anything, not really, but somehow, it hurts anyway and you think you hate that the most.

"i'm not." you tell him, ignore the way he raises a brow at the short response. "it's a few scratches on your hands, nothing major. i'm only doing this out of courtesy."

"that's not what i'm talking about." alhaitham studies you further, makes you feel too seen and understood without a single explanation. you think to resume wrapping the bandages once again, but he grabs your hands, prevents you from moving away. you still, hold your breath, feel the way his hold tightens if only by a slight amount as if testing the waters.

"enough tending to me." he leans forward, closes the distance that separates you. "tell me what's on your mind."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ tighnari

"so... did you know that plant was alive?"

you imagined this would happen one day, given the nature of the forest watcher. a peaceful day turned to chaos, a leisurely exploration turned to a rather stressful yet memorable lesson. tighnari winces as you rub the ointment into his skin, red and pink patches adorning his body. he throws you a strange look, almost finds himself distracted from the pain at your words.

"all plants are alive, technically."

you sigh.

"remember when you ate that mushroom and didn't sleep for three days?"

how was he supposed to know that plant was particularly carnivorous? there's a trial and error with these things-- a system of sorts. not that he has the most optimal methods of research and learning, but he gets things done at the very least, so who can complain?

( him, probably. he is truly suffering right now. who knew plants had such sharp teeth? )

"for research. someone has to learn these things." he stares at the ceiling, entirely absentminded, until a flicker of seriousness graces his expression. "this was also for research, too, by the way. in case you were wondering."

"i wasn't."

"you are now."

"i was wondering about something i already know the answer to?"

"yes. your quiz will be tomorrow morning, pass or fail. i expect only the best results."

you scoff in disbelief, but the grin on your face betrays your seemingly annoyed visage. a quiet fills the air as you continue to attend to the numerous rashes, touch gentle as not to irritate them further.

"thank you for your help." tighnari's voice is softer now; you would have completely overlooked it had it not been for the blush on his cheeks.

you nod, silent, offer a timid smile as you press your lips against his for only a moment.

"i lied. that was your quiz. you pass."

"stop ruining the moment, tighnari."

[letters-from-himring-hill]

Oh, yeah, it's not really the best way to tackle their issues, and I know that. (Though I don't know what a better way is, because I am NOT trained for that and they have MAJOR issues.) But it is 100% the way I would default to if put in an emotionally stressful situation and dealing with unfamiliar people whom I'm nevertheless invested in convincing that their lives do have value. I'm not a big fan of having feelings around other people, or of them having feelings around me, so when I do find myself in an emotionally fraught situation that I can't solve by giving people tea or teaching them how to throw punches, I tend to either freeze up or brazen it out with bluntness, and in this case I'm going with bluntness both because, from a writing perspective, it makes more satisfying scenes, and because freezing won't convince anyone of anything except that they shouldn't have emotions around me. Which, for once, is the opposite of what I want.

im reading about cowboy phrases and sayings and like 95% of them are just solid life advice

[captainofthetidesbreath]

I will say, at the end of the day, I am very fond of Illario Dellamorte, despite it all. Yes, he managed to make every single POSSIBLE bad decision one can make, then figured out how to make a few more that nobody else would've thought possible. Yes, he was increasingly sloppy and incredibly stupid about it all. Yes, a lot of his frustration and rage is incredibly misdirected. Yes, I said before the game came out that I support him having a villain era, and I still do because it's fun and I love mess and drama—as much as he stresses me out and makes me want to strangle him because Jesus Fucking Christ.

Still, I think I like the idea of forgiving him. For me, there's something interesting in how he doesn't kill Caterina, in how he didn't ask for what happened to Lucanis and seems genuinely angry—wrong as he is to direct it at Lucanis—that the control that Lucanis so highly prized was taken from him rather than dying at his best, in how he can engineer Lucanis's death but experience a grief that still feels harrowingly genuine at the wake, in how he clearly is grasping at any possible advantage and is carelessly choosing his allies not because he believes in their goals or ideals but because he's desperately power-hungry and ambitious and no more. In how, if he is forgiven, Lucanis is impressed he almost got away with it, in how Illario goes to help the Crows in Minrathous in that last gambit.

He's a mess, and he's selfish and ambitious and vicious and contradictory. But, I have a soft spot for characters like him and relationships like his and Lucanis's, y'know? Forgiving him and forcing him to work out his life after he's burned nearly every bridge he has is just really interesting to me, especially given how Lucanis is still full of hope and affection for him alongside the hurt. How do you rebuild after all that, you don't even have the devil-may-care breezy mask anymore because everyone knows better now. Figure out where he fits now in his cousin's life, because I do think—at the end of the day—the affection and relief is still there from both sides, under it all. Deeply buried possibly, for Illario, but there.

I think there's enough pieces here to suggest that he and Lucanis have a chance to actually figure it out, and to suggest that Illario might actually get his shit together and be willing to given opportunity, time, and patience. It's also a messy choice (and a huge risk), but I do personally like the idea of forgiving him. I like the messy, insane, dramatic narrative of it. He has potential, as Lucanis himself notes. I would love to see if he can rise to it, now that he's gotten all of this out of his system.

Or, at least forgive him because there's something funny about that and I want to see what else he does if given the chance. It'll probably also be a mess, but I'd love to see what messes he gets up to when he's not plotting against the person closest to him in the world. It'll be fun! But, sincerely, I do think he can get his shit together, and I hope and believe he wants to. It's the more interesting and fun story to me, for both him and Lucanis, personally speaking.

[evansdmitri]

Lingering Touches

Zayne x MC (MDNI, implicit, 18+, touchy Zayne)

Zayne Li was well known for his control; whether it was in his field of work or in his emotions in general. Every single person who knew him would testify how calm he was, even in emergency situations where other people would freak out.

Zayne Li also well known as someone who was well known for being clear about out what he wanted. He could give instruction to his intern concerning treating patients as efective as possible in words that easy to be able to understand. It wasn't a rare case where he should give a lengthy theme in a seminar about complex symptoms and treatments and his audiences could understand it really well.

That was Zayne Li that other people know and loved. But not as your Gégé.

You took a deep breath, annoyed and irritated but also in humor. Today was Sunday and both of you promised to each other to take a days the weekend off, so you'd spent all friday and saturday tangled to each other in your bed and did every single activity known to man in bed.

As both of you busy on the weekday, you being a hunter and Zayne as the Chief Cardiac Surgeon didn't provide a lot of free time so you could only rely on weekend to pay all of the longing you both felt.

"Babe...." you warned him to stop his hand playing and fondling your oversensitive nipples--worn out of being handled the whole weekend nonstop.

"What did i do?" His eyes potraying a fake innocent as his fingers clearly still on your right boobs as both of you were cuddling in the sofa with your phone in your hand.

"Stop playing with my nips! They're so sore!" You said as you try to push his hand from your boobs, which was falling futile.

He was whining "no," as he tug the bud and smirking.

"My God! Gégé! It hurts!" He was chuckling as he trails his hand away from your boobs to your bare hips, his nails scraping your sensitive skin slowly but surely.

Even after intimate three times in span of two days, his needs hadn't subsides. Sometimes you feel his hand plucking your nipple or fondling the aerola, either under or over your shirt. After he bored he would scraping his finger to your skin, circling your hips and nestle it between your thigh--succeed at gathering gasps from you.

Both of you did have a considerate high amount of sex drive, but he had a lot more than you do--which lead him to always inisiate the action. He did have a certain way to rail you in his own way.

You gasps as you feel his finger on your bundle of nerve outside of your pants and his tongue tracing your earlobe. "Are you in the mood again, Babe?"

He answered with a short no.

"Then why are you teasing me, hm?"

"I'm not teasing you, if you get horny, then its not my fault."

"How can i don't get horny if you keep playing my body like that?" You bite back.

"Then i'm lucky."

"Just says you're in the mood for another round." You pushed him, turn your body to facing him, his hand passed your hip to pussy.

"How can I'm not in the mood when your body like this, hm?" He whispered to your ear, his hand found your globe and the curved of your hips. "How can I'm not always in the mood if your body is my type?" Then he was massaging your ass cheek.

You pull your body to above him, settling your weight above him, with his arousal certainly poking your clothed pussy. You grind his arousal with your hips, gaining a gasp and open mouth from him. Your lips turns to smirk as you feel he was pulling your pants down.

He had always been like this, never directly telling you when he was in the mood or wanted a stress reliever. But he would always teasing your body with kisses, strokes and massages, dirty talk and licks. Not because he didn't want to, but he like to saw you got horny by your own pace or because of his ministration, not because of sense of obligation.

Zayne Li did always know how to get what he want to other people. And he know how to get what he want from you. He always did.

Border belongs to @bernardsbendystraws

[rosetyler42]

Genetics has quite a bit to do with it. Everything from frame size to how fat is layed to descendants of people with food insecurity or high stress levels can be hard wired to store more fat and/or have high stress levels which make it harder to store fat.

Size matters too. For example, I'm 5' 1" and alot of my family is around 6'. All of them could eat WAY more than me because they were bigger and required more food. Interestingly, I got a large frame size for a short person since I took after my mom that way. My brother is 6' 3" and despite his bottomless pit eating habits is quite thin since he took after dad.

Exercise ALSO does effect things. Not everyone has the ability to go walking, for example, like people in wheelchairs, scooters, those that have crutches, etc. All those could have trouble exercising. Also some people are more active than others due to personality and whatnot.

Also, sometimes our weight can fluctuate over time or even just during the day for various reasons.

I myself had something of an eating disorder where I had an aversion to eating for many reasons as well as digestive issues. My parents tried to stuff as many calories into me as they could to keep me alive. And the way nutrition was taught back in the 2000s did NOT help as it made me even more scared of eating and getting fat. Going through that, I learned what works for others may not work for you, and you should listen to people who know you and your doctor's advice about your weight before anyone else. They may be dealing with shit that you don't know about or even THEY don't really know: For example, I couldn't really tell people why I had trouble eating for YEARS, I just knew I didn't like it. And it wasn't a choice either because people would get mad I took so long and if I could have eaten like a normal person, I WOULD HAVE. I've also recently learned that out of control stress and restrictive diets like trying to minimize sugar, carbs, or fruit can mess your body AND mind up even WORSE than gaining weight.

A core feature of anti-fatness is the "you did this to yourself"-view. People are very invested in the idea that size is within everyone's control. It's soothing to believe that all fat people are a small series of good choices away from becoming thin and staying that way, and that thin people are success stories by virtue of existing.

Any time we speak up about discrimination and fatphobia, someone inevitably plays that card. Trolls will say "eat a salad, pig" and well-meaning health nuts will gently explain what calories are. In either case, we're met with a "you know, you can stop this at any time." Why, if nobody was fat, thin people wouldn't need to examine their biases! It sure would be an easier time for everyone if we weren't so Around and Bulliable!

[darlingcameron]

New idea: Rafe is friends with an autistic reader(female I apologize) mentions of good aversion, sensitivity to noise, swimming, masking.

"Is the food okay, dear?" Rose places a hand on your shoulder which you try to contain your uneasiness but you were a little weary of her and physical contact was something you were still getting use to so you tried your best to mask it.

You offer a smile and nod, "Oh yes, Mrs. Cameron it all looks so good I'm just-"

"She's autistic, Rose...I'll just bake her something else." Rafe speaks up, placing his napkin down and gets up from his seat and you felt heat rise to your cheeks as you didn't want Rose to feel offended or make anything awkward, "No! Rafe I-i can try it- look!" You almost clumsily pick up your fork, circling the spaghetti around your fork but then looks at it for a moment, the sauce seeming almost offensive towards you and you shake your head. "Yeah, no nevermind..I'm so sorry...I know you put so much effort into this I just-" you rambled on as your people pleaser tentacles start to kick in and you look around fanatically between Rose and the plate in front of you.

"Y/N for the love of God, shut up-its fine just come with me and I'll see what I can make for you- let's go." He snaps his fingers towards the door that leads inside and you sheepishly smile at Rose before rising out of your seat and walk inside.

Rafe follows, sliding the glass door closed and goes over to the freezer. "What would it be? Chicken nuggets and fries again?" He looks over at you, holding the handle to the freezer and you shrug, "I don't know kind of getting bored of that being a safe food." You say as you lean against the counter, feeling awful and like you were a nuisance towards him and his family. "But I can deal with it."

"Nonsense, I'll just keep looking. Hey, how about some apples and peanut butter? Both healthy and contain protein." He asks, opening a cabinet and looking around, moving things about.

You wave him off, "honestly I can wait...I can just go hole and order mcdonalds."

"McDonald's isn't exactly a healthy choice." He says and you shrug, "there's a Chinese place down by where I live."

"And I think you order so much that thats the reason they're still open."

You roll your eyes. "Really Rafe, I can just wait..."

"Then you'll get cranky from your blood sugar dropping and you'll start to get panicky...remember the last time? You kept hitting your head and I thought you were gonna have a concussion." He sighs, running his hand through his hair as he closes the cabinet, looking over at you.

"Whats up with you tism people and fast food?" He asks, walking over to you.

"Convient, you don't have to make it or stress for like 30 minutes looking for what may look good, and if you order from a place enough it's a no brainer on what to eat." You shrug as you explain.

"You need to have a home cooked meal at some point." He states, placing his hands on his hips and staring down at you.

You chuckle, "Well until you become my personal chef I'd have to wait...you're very patient with me." You mumbles the last part, fiddling with your hands and he takes hold of them. You noticed his hands felt warm and you look up at him, "You're special to me."

You tilt your head at him, "Is that a special needs joke?"

He grins and wraps his arm around your shoulder, "Could be but you're still special...c'mon...let's go get some mcdonalds and worry about our health when we're old." He escorts you both to the front of the house.

"I'll still be eating chicken nuggets at 50."

"If you're alive by then with your health choices."

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 87 (Ghost Night at the Salty Paws Saloon)

Though rare for bars to welcome ghosts with discounted prices, the Salty Paws Saloon in Fisherman's Wharf wanted to embrace any form of sim who dared spend simoleons at their middling establishment.

Their new Ghost Night was an experiment promoted in the Ambrosia Society's final newsletter, and Heather and Conrad had come on a mission of their own.

"You really think it's possible the man you met outside the historical museum could be here?" wondered Heather. "At Ghost Night?"

Conrad shrugged. "I haven't seen or heard trace of him since that night, and without his name I don't know how to find him. Besides, you're the one who suggested he might be a ghost."

"Yeah, but I was kidding."

Brindleton Bay had little in the way of nightlife. The Calico Lounge and Yacht Club down the road was where higher society danced and socialized, but spending the night surrounded by ghosts in a dive bar was just fine for Heather and Conrad.

In the early days of their relationship, when Ash was still a baby, they'd come here after watching seals at the pier. They'd share a basket of fries and maybe watch a sportsball game or two on the big screen. It was even where Ash learned to pull himself up to stand, and would always be a sentimental place for them.

Now with busy careers, two kids, and the added stress Conrad tried to keep to himself, it had been too long since they'd been out together. Considering their laid-back dating style, it was unsurprising they'd chosen such an untraditional night out.

Conrad pulled out his phone so they could mug for a selfie. "After everything we've seen with the Ambrosia Society newsletters, are you not just a little curious?"

"Of course I am. I want you to find an answer to at least one mystery taking up space in your mind. You're so stressed lately with work, the kids, and now with George Brindleton, closing the book on something would be good. And I want to help you, like always. It's just...What are you going to do if you find out the old man is a ghost?"

"Find out what he wants, I guess? His unfinished business."

They were both a little hungry, but the food at the Salty Paw was usually terrible, so they settled for sharing a bowl of chips from seats at the bar. The place filled first with human patrons, but as the night wore on, several ethereal beings floated into the pub.

One took a seat at the empty barstool to Heather's right. He gave them both respectful nods, and they returned the polite greeting, unsure what to say next. What sort of small talk were you supposed to make with a ghost?

But this man took an immediate interest in Heather, taking care of the small talk on his own. "Good evening, miss. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My friends call me Felix Psyded, Esquire. Lawyer, entrepreneur, and founder of the University of Britechester."

Conrad smirked. "They call you all that? I think I remember reading urban legends about you when I was in college."

"I've read them. None are true. I haven't stayed haunting the halls of my own university. I've been trying to visit as many places as I could."

"As a ghost?"

Felix turned up his nose at Conrad's surprise. "And what do your friends call you?"

"My friends call me Conrad. Pretty much everyone else calls me Sargent Gordon."

"Well, Sargent, what brings you out to pay full price for drinks on a night for sims in my predicament? Are you here to remember lost souls in the spirit of the day? Maybe a war hero?"

"My fiancee, Heather, and I are on a date tonight."

"And we're looking for someone. He might be a ghost. If he is...maybe you know him?"

The ethereal lawyer nodded warmly. "Miss Heather, I've been a ghost for many years and I've met many like me. What's his name?"

"That's the thing, we don't know it. He said he's lived in Brindleton Bay all his life, came out of the museum and offered to show Conrad around the lighthouse after hours."

"It's hard to get far without a name, and I haven't spent that much time here over the years. What does he look like?"

"Well, he's not...translucent," said Conrad. "He's elderly, tanned skin, wavy hair, mustache...I met him once outside the historical museum but I haven't seen him since. I haven't been able to get out to Deadgrass Isle much lately, either, but no one at the museum knows him, and I'm starting to think if he's not a ghost, I imagined him completely."

Felix sniffed. "Sounds very generic. Maybe it is all in your head."

"Forget it. I don't see him here, anyway."

"I'm not saying I couldn't help you. I've become a bit of a ghost historian in the many, many years since I expired."

"Why haven't you crossed over?" asked Heather. "Do you have unfinished business?"

"I most certainly do! Today is the anniversary of my death - I died all the way back in 1915, before this day was even known as Remembrance Day. And I came here to drink myself into a stupor so I can forget how I died far too soon."

"Your unfinished business is to just drink your pain away every year?"

"No, Sargent. I pine for the life I could have lived! I had just opened the University of Britechester with a ribbon-cutting ceremony and the linguistics professor told a very good joke. I laughed harder than I intended. You might say I became hysterical - very unbecoming in my day - and the next thing I knew, the Grim Reaper himself was offering to help me cross over. I told him thank you, but no thank you. Even if I couldn't live as a human, I wasn't going anywhere."

"That's a terrible reason to die, because something was funny," said Heather, as she and Conrad both took a drink of their cream colas in perfect sync. But Conrad finished his in a single gulp, and Heather noticed.

Felix sighed. "That's not even the saddest part. When I died, I lost my love. She remarried another man and had a family and all but forgot me, while I spent her years on earth unable to move on. She's spending her afterlife with her husband, and I can't say I blame her..."

"That's rough," acknowledged Conrad. "I'm sorry."

"I would be willing to keep helping you, if you can point me in the direction of someone who's here for the Ambrosia Society. I've heard the Watcher's put an end to emotional deaths, and I can laugh as hard as I like without keeling over a second time! I was hoping to finally meet someone who can make ambrosia."

Heather smiled. "I could do that. I've learned how! I haven't made it yet, but we have the ingredients. We took the society up on their challenge for our own reasons, but we could always get more ingredients later. Will you help us figure out the identity of the old man at the museum if I make you some ambrosia?"

"I would be honoured to help you, Miss Heather. Though I do have one more imposition to place on you. Would you allow me to stay in your home tonight? Brindleton Bay has little in the way of empty rooms, and I would only ask for a humble sofa to rest."

Conrad wavered. His phone beeped and he checked the call display, cringing when he recognized the San Myshuno area code in the unlisted number.

"Is that work?" asked Heather. "Do you need to answer that?"

Ximena had finally returned the call he'd placed yesterday in frustration, but she'd waited until the evening, when he was more likely to be with his family. He put the phone back in his pocket. Ximena would have to wait, and Rafa, too. Wherever he was.

"It's not work. It's an unlisted number, probably just spam." He turned to their new ghostly acquaintance with a frown. "Listen, we've got kids at home, Mr. Psyded."

"Esquire. Felix Psyded, Esquire," complained the apparition. "And I'm very good with children. I'd like to have one or two of my own someday, should I get to live again."

Heather and Conrad stood to speak quietly. "Ash and Lavender will both be in bed by the time we get home," she reasoned.

"And when the kids wake up in the morning?"

"Maybe...maybe meeting a real ghost is how I can start talking to Ash about life and death. He's so smart - too smart for his own good sometimes, I think. But if he learns about ambrosia and death flowers now, maybe one day if he ever hears about the curse, it'll all be easier to talk about."

Felix poked his head in with interest. "Who's curse?"

Conrad snapped his head back. "Just a minute, Felix Psyded, Esquire."

"You're not having a very good night. Are you, Sargent?"

"I did notice you kept giving moon eyes to my fiancee."

"Both of you, stop! We'd be happy to have you over tonight, Mr. Psyded. Esquire. But please don't get off on the wrong foot with Conrad or come home and scare our kids."

"You have my word, I won't possess a single piece of furniture!"

They spent a few more hours meeting several ghosts who made their way to the bar for cheap drinks, hoping against hope that the man from the museum might eventually turn up. But after midnight, they gave up waiting and settled their tab, bringing a giggling Felix with them.

"I'm so excited, I'm vibrating. Can you hear me?"

But Heather and Conrad were quieter. She knew something was bothering him, and she wanted to know what it was. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: I didn't initially set out to schedule this post on Remembrance Day. This is just where the last week of Reaper Rewards stuff fit in my existing storyline, but how fitting, in a way. 🌺

NOTE 2: On one hand, Conrad should be romancing her extra hard considering he's lying, but if he tries over-romancing unflirty Heather she'll know something's up even more strongly. So they get a dive bar date night to fulfill the last tasks of the Reaper Rewards challenge.

[slay00ryu]

The Chaotic Duo.

A Ronin x Misaki fic

︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Misaki was sitting on top of a building. Shotgun by their side, phone in their shaky hands.

<@hitmeupp>: Anyone wants to be my assassination support?

This was yet another time when they send a message like this to the server, they always did that when the target was either too dangerous or they had a very shitty day. This was the former, their clients hired her to kill a CEO of a big filming company who was also entangled with some shady mafia business. The amount of armed men around him was really getting on the poor assassin's nerves, they just wanted an easy kill, is it so much to ask for?

Well while they were cursing their client in their head, they heard a silent DING, someone dmed them!

<@goreboy>: heard you Needed some Support

<@goreboy>: what's up?

Well, that was unexpected.

Ronin usually doesn't text her when she sends a message like that, it's usually Angel who helps them. Maybe she sent Ronin because she's busy? Yeah, that's probably it.

"Dude oh my fucking God, I am dyinggg here. Like seriously, how guarded can a guy be?" They sent him a short voice message, if Angel really sent Ronin to the rescue then he wouldn't be surprised by the voice message, right?

<@goreboy>: heh seems Like the Best assassin in The Whole fucking japan is really Stressing over a small fry

<@goreboy>: who's The target btw?

"Oh shut the fuck up, I can get stressed!- oh shit he almost looked this way... oops" They send the message and then sent another one. "Some guy who worked with the mafia, the money for him is high."

<@goreboy>: damnnn alr Then maybe shoot him Before He sees ya

<@goreboy>: we Don't wanna our Fav assassin dead

They chuckled at his respone.

"Awh stop or you'll make me blush while i'm killing someone." They said jokingly, Ronin could hear them loading their gun in the message.

<@goreboy>: maybe I'd like to See ya All blushy hm?

Misaki didn't see that message until after they left the rooftop, Ronin's message really did make them blush.

<@hitmeupp>: Oh stfu

<@hitmeupp>: He's dead

<@hitmeupp>: Thanks for the help

<@goreboy>: when You need help Call For the devil and He Will help You out

Ronin chuckled after he sent that reply.

Would he really help the assassin the next time they need help? Never say never, he could as well replace Angel and take some of her worries off of her shoulders, right? Also it's important to keep the server's members alive and out of jail.

Misaki in fact did use Ronin's help, texting him directly to help her out and he was there every time. His replies were different from Angel's, well that was to be expected, they are two different people with very different personalities.

Ronin was encouraging them more in the devilish style, he was flirting with them to keep their mind off of the nerves, made jokes about the target and fed Misaki's ego about them being THE assassin.

<@goreboy>: hey Wanna Call?

<@goreboy>: i'm Bored

Misaki was surprised to receive this DM, Ronin wants to talk, and he wants to do this only with them. Weird? Maybe a little. But he could consider Misaki's interest piqued.

<@hitmeupp>: Ofc babes

Immediately after sending that on their screen was a pop up.

@goreboy is calling.

They picked up without a second thought.

Normally Misaki wouldn't show anyone their living arrangements, but only did they know Ronin for two whole years, he also was pretty open about being in possession of their IP address which meant that he knew where and how they live.

"Hey, hey. What does the big devil want from little me?" Misaki asked once the call connected.

"Not much, jus' bored, and you're quite good at amusing me." Ronin replied with a confident smirk glued to his voice.

"Woah, am I your clown now?" They asked with a fake hurt in their voice.

"More like my personal chaos maker." He was obviously flirting with them, and Misaki wasn't going to let him have his fun alone.

"Maybe we could make chaos together then?" They joked, there was no chance for them to do it together in real life, even if Misaki wished that they could meet up... Wait, what?

"About that." Ronin's voice cut through Misaki's thoughts. "I just happened to get my hands on a plane ticket to Tokio, was wondering if you could be my guide." Ronin's words made Misaki's eyes widened.

"What!" They fell from their chair. "Ouch... wait, wait, wait! What do you mean you have a plane ticket? And to Japan?"

"Don't ask so many questions, you don't need to know." Of course Ronin wouldn't answer, he has to be a fucking mystery. A hot mystery who's really helpful...

"Yeah sure whatever, so you want me to be your guide?" They crossed their arms over their chest.

"Who's better to show me around than the best assassin the whole Japan ever saw?"

"Are you seriously feeding my ego just to get me to agree? Wow Ronin... Why does this actually work every time?" They whined. "Of course I will show you around." They smiled.

"Great, I'll be there next week."

"Wait, what-"

Aaand he hang up.

Yeah. very Ronin style.

"He's coming here? Oh fuck! Ronin IS coming here! Oh my god..." Misaki's voice was mix of stress and excitement.

They started to feel something for Ronin a while ago, but they didn't really know if it would work out. But with him showing up so randomly? Maybe it was a sign?

"Oh my god! Why does it make me so fucking excited?" They groaned and fell on their bed, their face buried in a pillow so they could scream their excitement out.

A week had passed without Misaki even noticing it.

They are standing near the airport exit with the most cheesy and cringey welcoming cardboard ever: "Here stands the devil's servant" written in English, with some edgy stickers all around the words.

It didn't take Ronin long to find them and he was barely keeping in his laughter when he approached Misaki.

"Damn, such a warm welcome. Makes me feel like royalty." He said with that cocky smirk of his.

"...Why are you even hotter in person?" Misaki asked bluntly.

"You're not too bad looking yourself, quite on the contrary, you look so much better in person." He said, Misaki didn't know if he was genuine or if it was just the regular teasing, but their poor heart still took the damage.

"Uh um, yeah! We need to get to your hotel!" They changed the subject, which was answered with Ronin's chuckle.

"Sure, lead the way darling."

The assassin couldn't say that their time with The Butcher was boring. It was anything BUT boring.

Not only did they spent some fun time at the local karaoke, ate some amazing food or did other fun activities. Ronin also made sure to do some illegal activities together, going around abandoned buildings, setting trashcans on fire, Misaki watching Ronin kill a guy, or Ronin waiting for Misaki after their assassination.

They had a good time together. And undoubtedly they grew closer. Close enough that Misaki stole Ronin's shirt from his hotel room and he let her do her thing.

"You're drowning in it." Ronin's voice came from behind Misaki who just put the t-shirt on.

"AH!" They yelled and turned around. "Man learn how to walk and make sound please?" They said and glared at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway... You can keep it." He came closer to Misaki. "Suits you." He smirked.

Misaki's face turned red.

"Uh.. um... thanks?" They weren't sure how to interpret his words, but oh lord even without a proper interpretation their heart went crazy.

"Told you, you're my chaos maker." He whispered into their ear. "And we can just bring chaos to the world together."

Was that really the Devil's confession just now?

[dors-ee]

Oh yeeees it's the one where he's like "lots of mouths and teeth, yes so good" 🤣 Still laughing at it. And if I remember correctly you find it like on the island to kill Ghilan'Nain? Tension is high, you are toward the end, and you find that 🤣 (or in his temple which... same thing. Extra tense and stressful and you get him saying that 🤣) "my big dragon" "she wrong but eh. Will concess cause she sad.", "Give my drgaon lots of mouths and teeth. and bigger. Yeah so cool. My dragon is so cool. My dragon is the coolest" (him with Davrin and Emmrich, speaking of their kids. "Mine can fly!", "Mine learnt to talk!", "Mine is big and he'll get lots of mouths and teeths!") and showing a strange form of care for Ghilan'nain.

Some side thoughts -not joking :

like... for me it strips him of some of his prestance, BUT also gives him something more. and even this act of "taking" some mythos out of him thematically works bc well we are told again and again : they are no gods.

It is shown that he cares in a weird way when he gets Ghilan'nain in Hossberg, and here when he, in his weird and a bit condescending way, cares for her mood... There's also the codex fragment with Ghilan'nain, answering to him about Andruil. I don't remember what she says exactly, but it seems she answers him about... a concern? about this. Or just that he spekls of bringing back Andruil (I believe that's what she answers "no let her be" or something like that, for me, is a way of showing a sort of care.).

He also cares about his dragon size, "mine is the biggest! nah!" and seems to share at least a fragment of Ghilan'nain's love for "lots of teeth and mouths". Which if they really are siblings, I thought it was a nice touch to show that one. Both freaks... and both brilliant, even if now blighted.

He is a bit thicker of a cardboard with those elements. More so than when Mythal speak of him having been twisted too, as a spirit.

And I'd rather fight with such an opponent rather than just a cardboard villain that is just vile. Elgar'Nan has a bit of depth, even in his talk with Solas, it is interesting how he reacts. It isn't just pure villain mocking his opponent. Or at least didn't feel like it. speaking of this talk the subject of the other evanuris also for me there was something in how Elgar'nan reacrs and speaks, of that, of the past, etc. Does he only wants to bring his empire back for the sake of power and his ego as a god, like a pure villain... or bc he misses it and misses the other evanuris too? Maybe I'm reaching with this one.

It also is this dialogue bringing how Elgar'nan was brilliant too. and maybe it's just me but I did feel something at the mention of his descent and the dulling of his mind with the blight. Of the loss of this core element of him, and the brillance of him -representation of the brillance of the eleves, also lost?-. He lost his empire, his fellow gods and himself. Like... even what made him a good opponent, a good bad guy, is lost now. He lost himself first when he got twisted as a spirit, thrn became a god/slaver, where he still had lesst was a good bad guy apparently and would-be-wrong-God. But now he doesn't even have that. What a fall eh? for a "risen god".

Don't know if this passage is clear sorry. Writing not confusing and clear literary analyzes is hard enough in my language (my big issue I had during my bachelor degree in literature. Managing to write my thoughts clearly and with structure) so in english x).

Although why having a dulled mind would make him speak the common tongue? shouldn't it be rhe reverse and he's speak his native tongue only? (aka elven) isn't common a learnt secondary language for them?

Yet again : just a tad more development and scenes with him to flesh him not only as this very threatening scary guy but also as a character, as in more of a person, that would have been nice. Helped with the build up too.

elgar'nan, all-father, the eldest of the sun, he who overthrew his father, god of sun and vengeance: NOPE MY DRAGON WAS DEFINITELY BIGGER, HE SHRUNK IN THE WASH

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

epilogue

previous parts:

1 2 3

in which you and reid are visiting your brother in hospital after he tried to commit a suicide

tw: mention of a suicide attempt

contents: spender reidxfem!bau!reader, it's an epilogue, please check the previous parts if you missed them!

words: 3.1k

You couldn’t believe those words came out of your mouth, but they did. And what’s more, they were sincere.

It was late in the evening when you were heading back to the office in Quantico. No case ever ended with just catching the unsub – after that came the long hours of report writing and paperwork. After everything you’d been through, the team almost forbade you from taking on that task. Instead, they insisted that you go straight home and get some proper rest.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, like a child whose mother insists they zip up their jacket. Hotch was nowhere to be seen, Morgan was listening to music with his eyes closed, Emily and JJ were absorbed in their conversation, and Rossi… well, Rossi was doing whatever it is Rossi does. So, you reached for the case files and tucked yourself away in a quiet corner of the jet. You wanted to go over everything again, even though you knew that as soon as you saw Logan's photo, all the unpleasant memories would come rushing back with relentless force.

 But before you could open the folder to the first page, someone simply took it from your hands. You looked up to see none other than Reid—blue shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up, a look of perpetual sleeplessness, his usual worry, and… joy. Small, but noticeable.

You, too, were almost disturbingly happy. Escaping death filled you with a mood akin to the high after smoking two joints back-to-back. Of course, it would only last for a brief moment; by tomorrow, you’d likely be tossing and turning in bed, plagued by nightmares. A familiar pattern.

"I don’t even want to see you trying to work right now," Spencer said, taking a seat next to you and placing the folder beside him, just out of your reach. Or at least far enough that you’d have to put in some serious effort to grab it—and your sore ribs had no intention of letting you do that.

"Then what do you suggest I do?" you asked, rolling your eyes. "I don't want to sleep."

"Kafka on the Shore?" he suggested.

"I've already read it. By the way, what was the deal with the soldiers and the hut in the woods at the very end?"

"Well, that's an element that leaves a lot of room for personal interpretation."

"Thanks for the explanation, that told me a lot," you chuckled. You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to get more comfortable in your spot, but the movement triggered a wave of pain. You hissed.

“They should have kept you in the hospital for at least one night,” Reid said, suddenly straightening up. “Do you need anything? There might be some ice around… or I could just leave, and you could lie down…”

“No. You’re staying,” you decided firmly. He raised an eyebrow at your abrupt response. You quickly followed up with an explanation. “Well, I’ve finished reading my book, and you took my files. So now you’re responsible for my potential boredom. It’s your duty to entertain me.”

“Yeah” he agreed with a smirk “It’s my duty” 

"So, how do you plan to do that? Are you going to dance? Sing? Juggle?"

"I can't dance or sing, and I don't have anything to juggle. Is it enough if we just talk? Or is that too common of an entertainment for you?"

You pretended to think for a moment.

"Fine, I guess."

"Then what are you planning to do when you get back?"

"Visit Jeremy."

"Oh, right, sorry…”

"Come on," you interrupted, waving your hand. A moment of silence followed as you hesitated before speaking again. However, you remembered that you had decided to stop staying silent about your worries and problems, at least in his presence. "It's just... it really stresses me out. I don't know how I should talk to him, I'm afraid I'll panic when I see him..."

Spencer cleared his throat before answering. 

“That... can really be tough,” he said, not bothering to lie or reassure you that everything would go perfectly. “But hey, remember that he’s probably looking forward to seeing his big sister. Even if you start talking about something you think is silly, he’ll be happy just to have you there.”

He made you smile, though the corners of your eyes began to gently dampen. You wiped them discreetly, not wanting to burst into tears on the jet.

"I hope you're right. And I hope he doesn't hate me for not being there for him..."

You stopped, feeling him take your hand. You realized you had been clenching it into a fist for quite some time.

"I don't know Jeremy, so I can only guess how he'll react. But I'm sure of one thing—he definitely doesn't hate you."

For a long time, you simply stared at your hand in his warm grip. Your fingers relaxed, releasing the tension that had been between them, becoming limp yet yearning for the touch.

"Spencer," you said suddenly, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if I can ask you this... but... you've been there for me this whole time and... okay, I’ll understand if you say no, but... would you maybe... want to visit him with me? I don't know if I can do it alone."

You waited for his response, your heart beating faster with each passing moment. Maybe it was too much? Maybe you shouldn’t be asking him for something like this; maybe it crossed the line of your acquaintance? Just a year ago... no, even a week ago, you never would have imagined you’d be begging anyone for something like this. You would have forced yourself to do it alone, ignoring your fear.

He simply smiled.

"Of course, you can ask me to do that. And I'm glad I'll be able to accompany you."

*

The sound of quickly pressed keys echoed as you gave the hospital receptionist your brother’s last name.

The stark whiteness of the place and the blinding, intense light felt like a scene straight out of a horror movie. The thought of seeing Jeremy soon made you tremble. You had so many questions for him, including why he even tried to take his own life, but you knew you couldn’t ask them just yet. He didn’t need an interrogation to satisfy your curiosity; he needed support.

You were so overwhelmed at the thought of seeing him that you shifted impatiently from foot to foot. You felt stressed but also excited. After all, he was your little brother, and you missed him. Standing beside you, Reid smiled slightly, noticing your behavior. If you were hurting him by squeezing his hand as tightly as you could, he didn’t let it show.

"Who are you to the patient?" the receptionist asked.

"His sister."

"And you?" she turned to Spencer.

"A frie—" he began, probably intending to say friend.

"Fiancé," you interrupted, quickly offering a word that began with the same letter. You worried that if the woman found out he wasn’t connected to you or Jeremy, she might ask him to stay in the waiting room. You didn’t expect him to go into Jeremy's room with you, but you wanted the reassurance that he’d be right outside, not on the other side of the hospital.

Reid first looked at you like you were crazy. You tried to silently signal him to join in on your desperate act. Luckily, he caught on incredibly fast.

"That's right, fiancé. Basically, husband. We're getting married... tomorrow," he improvised, nodding with such conviction that he almost seemed to believe it himself. "Well, actually, not tomorrow, but the day after, because tomorrow is Sunday, and we’re Catholic. In our religion, 

“Darling,” you gritted through your teeth, seeing the receptionist’s confused expression.

“In any case, I’m very close to the patient,” he emphasized.

If he said anything more, you would’ve nudged him with your elbow.

“Well… in that case… the patient is in room number fourteen. It’s that way…” She pointed in the right direction. You thanked her with an overly wide smile. “And… congratulations.”

“God bless you,” Reid said as he waved goodbye.

You quickly turned around, so she wouldn’t see your burst of laughter. As soon as you were out of the receptionist's sight, you hit him on the back so hard that a woman with a cast on her arm almost dropped her coffee. He laughed, and you awkwardly tried to hide how much the whole situation amused you as well.

“If I had let you say one more word, she wouldn’t have let either of us in,” you complained. “She would’ve thought we were freaks. Religious freaks. Or maybe point us to the psychiatric ward.”

“Hey, I’m not the best actor. You should know that,”

“I didn’t know. I’ll remember for next time, though I’m not sure if there will ever be another situation where you’ll need to pretend to be my husband.”

"Fiancé," he corrected. "You decided that yourself."

"Basically a husband. You decided that yourself."

You didn’t say anything more, only grabbed the edge of his coat sleeve to slow his pace. You were standing outside room 14, right in front of the door. You didn’t even peek inside; you weren’t ready to see Jeremy just yet.

“I need one more minute,” you whispered.

“Take all the time you need,” he replied gently.

 The playful mood that had accompanied you both was gone. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you stood on tiptoe and began adjusting his poorly tied scarf. 

“Sorry,” you muttered under your breath. “It’s been bothering me since I saw you.”

"I'll wait for you here, okay?" he asked quietly. Because you were so close to him, he barely had to raise his voice at all. "Jeremy doesn’t know me, I don’t want to just show up unannounced..."

“Are you coming in or what?”

You turned around, startled, to see none other than Jeremy. Lying on the hospital bed, poking at a container of chocolate pudding with a spoon, and most importantly, awake. 

At first, you were surprised, but soon emotion took control of your body, and you ran to him as if he were about to disappear.

"Oh my God, I can finally see you..." His shirt, which you hugged tightly, muffled your words.

"The pudding spilled on your jacket."

"I don't care."

He chuckled into your hair, holding you tighter. You stayed like that for a moment, desperately holding back tears. If even one had surfaced, you would’ve fallen apart like a child.

ou pulled away after a long time, immediately noticing that his eyes were also filled with tears. However, he quickly wiped them away with his hand. Still, he was a sixteen-year-old boy, and crying in front of his sister felt like public humiliation for him, a shame that would last forever. You tried to do everything you could to avoid looking at his wrists. Both hands were wrapped in bandages, and from the conversation with your father, you learned that they had put in a lot of stitches. You focused on looking at his face—young, similar to yours, with the same blue eyes.

"Are parents visiting you?"

He shrugged.

"Father, surprisingly, more often. Mother drops by irregularly and talks about strange things. Apparently, our neighbor's dog has worms, and it really pisses her off. My mother, not the neighbor. Though, probably the neighbor too..."

You didn't know why you started crying.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." you mumbled, your words slurring. “I should have gotten here earlier, and I didn’t. I regret so much that I didn’t, I’m sorry. I should have been here the moment you woke up.”

He didn’t say anything, letting you lament. Finally, you wiped away the last tear, then apologized to him about eighteen more times. You sat together in silence for a moment, busying yourself with wiping the dirty jacket. He wasn’t joking about the pudding.

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged.

“Tolerable, I guess. By the way, who was that guy who came in with you?”

You turned toward the entrance, but Spencer was nowhere to be seen. He must have sat on one of the chairs outside the room, and knowing him, he’d probably started reading some medical brochure.

“A friend,” you replied briefly. “I hope it doesn’t bother you that I brought him... It’s just…”

You didn’t know how to explain that you couldn’t have made it here without support.

“He works for the FBI too?” he asked, suddenly curious. “Would he tell me more about the job than you do?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pretending to be dead serious.

“I won’t let him tell my little brother any graphic details.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“To me, you are, and always will be.”

He looked like he was holding back from sticking his tongue out at you.

“Call him,” he asked. “I’d love to meet your friend. Is he a friend, or a friend?”

“Jeremy, you’re ridiculous…”

But you fulfilled his request. Spencer stared at you with wide eyes when you told him that your brother wanted to see him. As he entered the room, he almost tripped over... probably his own feet, since there was nothing else to trip on. And that’s how the rest of the visit went, the three of you together. Jeremy alternated between complaining about the hospital food and bombarding Reid with questions about absolutely everything related to being a profiler. He had always been fascinated by it, but after everything that had happened to you, you couldn’t, with a clear conscience, recommend that job to him. Spencer had been explaining everything in detail to him, and for the next hour, you almost felt like an intruder in their private conversation, which amused you instead of offending you.

Spencer left a moment before you, giving you a chance to say goodbye to your brother privately. When you finally released him from your embrace, promising you'd come back tomorrow, the same nurse who had spoken with you at the reception entered the room. She was checking Jeremy’s condition as you headed for the exit.

“Wait,” she suddenly said. “I think your husband left his scarf.”

She held up the purple scarf, indeed Reid's. You were about to thank her and take it when you noticed Jeremy’s mouth hanging open, and with horror, you realized what she'd said.

"Forgive me, dear sister, but what the fuck?”

*

“So, he’s convinced that we had a secret, spontaneous wedding that you didn’t tell him about?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

In reality, Jeremy had probably realized immediately that there was a misunderstanding, but he just couldn’t pass up the chance to tease you. He would likely bring it up again for the rest of your life. You were also worried that you'd get an angry phone call from your mother asking why you didn’t mention your “wedding,” but overall, you were content with how the meeting went.

You both walked together in an unknown direction, neither of you sure when you should part ways or if you even wanted to. You didn’t want to, but you had no idea about him. The weather was much better than in the town where you had spent the last few days. The fewer trees meant that autumn wasn’t as pronounced. It was only present in the chilly, gusty wind.

"If you don't have any plans, how about going out to eat?" you suggested.

"Sure." Reid agreed immediately, and the corner of your mouth twitched at the speed of his response. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Well, anything. There's a good restaurant on the corner of this street... Oh, God, I just remembered, I owe someone dinner as a thank you."

"Dinner? As a thank you?" he repeated with a strange look on his face. Before he could say anything else, he caught himself and snorted. "Interesting. Just curious, is it someone I know?"

"Oh, you know him." You continued with a barely suppressed smile. "Do you remember James Rivas? The forest ranger?"

Reid literally stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Dinner? With him?"

"That's right. Well, he saved my life, so I guess I owe him that."

You were shocked when you learned how your team knew where to find you after you were kidnapped. The bunker Osborne took you to was unknown to the local authorities, hidden deep in the forest, far from any paths. When the rumor spread through the town about who was responsible for the murders and that an FBI agent had been kidnapped, the forest ranger showed up at the police station. He revealed that he knew the place where you might have been held because, as a child, he used to go there with friends, including Logan Osborne.

But of course, you had no intention of taking him to dinner. You just wanted to laugh at Reid's reaction.

"You're absolutely not owed anything by him!" he blurted out with emotion, a hint of anger in his voice. "If he'd only remembered that he knew about the existence of some bunker, you wouldn't have been kidnapped in the first place. You wouldn't have had to go through that hell, and I wouldn't have been losing my mind the whole time, not knowing what happened to you. Plus, have you forgotten what an awful person he is? He's arrogant, self-absorbed, and full of self-admiration—do you really want to have dinner with someone like that...are you laughing?"

He furrowed his brow, completely confused by your reaction.

“God, Reid, I was just joking! I’d rather die than spend another hour with that jerk. Especially voluntarily,” you explained, laughing between words. Something in his remark made you smirk. “Were you really losing your mind when I was kidnapped? “

“You’re impossible," he snorted. “Where’s that restaurant?”

“Wait, don’t change the topic and answer my question”

He simply looked at you, tilting his head to the side.

 “Isn’t it obvious?”

taglist: @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @nightfullofparadox

thank you everyone for reading <3

[covenha]

Synopsis: Sunoo realizes that his love language is acts of service. Pairings: sunoo x fem!reader Genre: fluff! so much fluff I got cavities from writing this WC: 1356 Warnings: mentions of academic stress and insomnia a/n: I had fun writing this one, really had to destress from all the studying I've been doing these past few days so this fic is a lil self-indulgent whoops. anyway, this is also a work of fiction so don't forget to touch some grass after reading! lmao jk but as always feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated! and requests are open so if you guys want me to write something lmk :))

Sunoo can admit, he always felt like he was pampered.

It’s not like he didn’t like it. Heck, he enjoyed the feeling of his members being attentive to him. The way that Jay cooks meat just the way he likes it. The way that Jake lets him get away with mistakes in his grammar because it’s just “part of his charm.” Or, the way that Jungwon always let him have a few bites of his sweets even though Sunoo definitely said he didn’t want to order one of his own. 

Which is why it was such a refreshing feeling to be with you. He never really knew what his love language was until he met you. So here are the three times that made him realize his love language was acts of service.

It was late at night, midterms were coming up and things were not looking up for you. With so many enzymes to memorize and so many cascades to internalize, if you had to look at one more diagram with arrows one more time, you were simply going to go clinically insane. 

“Why won’t this get in my head?! Who even named these stupid enzymes? Argininosuccinate synthetase? Sounds like something Elon Musk would name his child.” You bonk your head with your notebook, clearly on the brink of insanity. 

“Hey,” Sunoo’s soft voice cuts through your inner monologue. “You doing okay? Is it the krebs cycle again?” You sigh.

“There’s just so much to study for, I don’t think I can cram it all inside my goldfish brain.” You pout at the notes scattered across the desk in the room. 

“Hey, babe, you don’t have a goldfish brain. C’mon, you’re one of the smartest people I know.” Sunoo starts to get up from his lying position on the bed. 

“You don’t have to get up, Sun. I can manage this on my own, just need to whine about it first.” You give him a little smile while shrugging your shoulders. 

Sunoo drags the bean bag chair at the corner of the room and sets it right beside you. 

“Okay, we have a few hours before your exam. We can work with this. We just need to mix some active recall into the review!” Sunoo beams up at you as he lay in the bean bag, notebook in hand. 

And for the rest of the night, and well into the morning, Sunoo helps you study for your godawful Chemistry midterm. The look you had when you got back your results, passing your midterms exams with the brightest smile on your face, he just knew that he had to protect that smile.

One thing that Sunoo learned about you quickly was that you loved to drink matcha. Sure, to him it tastes like grass, but he liked mint chocolate things so who was he to judge? You loved going to this cafe two blocks from your apartment, it was owned by an old Taiwanese couple who immigrated a couple years ago. You were one of their longest regulars. So it was quite upsetting to find out that they were closing up shop for good.

Ever since that cafe closed, you have tried looking around for the next best matcha but, sadly, none have come close to beating their matcha latte. One month into the search and you had all but given up on your matcha latte dreams. That was until one day you woke up to the smell of green tea in your kitchen. 

“Sunoo? What’s that smell?” You nose around the hallway leading to the kitchen. 

And much to your surprise, a glass of green goodness is being served up on the kitchen island. 

“Sunoo? Is this what I think it is?” You ask in surprise at what you see. You go up to him and hug his side. He throws his arms around your waist, hugging your form. 

“Well, I know you’ve been looking for a matcha latte replacement and haven’t found one yet, so I decided to do a little digging. Asked for their recipe and tried to make it myself. I hope it tastes okay.” He mushes his cheek against your head then smiles down at you. 

“Sunoo, you really didn’t have to do this….” You look up at him. You felt all warm and fuzzy. 

“Well, I can’t have my little girlfriend go for too long without her matcha latte. She’s gonna start tweaking.” He teases. You just poke his cheek and decide to taste his drink. 

You knew that whatever it tasted like, you were going to love it anyway. But one sip of the green drink and you felt your heart soar at the familiar taste. 

“Sunoo, this tastes amazing!” You look back at him with a surprised look in your eyes. 

“Really?”

“No, really! Like it tastes just like how they make it. How did you pull this off? I’m actually so impressed right now you don’t even understand.” You keep taking sips of the drink, savoring the green tea goodness. It feels like an old friend has come back from the dead.

“Well, I actually found the son of the owners and emailed him asking for the recipe. I really didn’t expect to hear anything back from him but he surprisingly gave in.” He smiled. His heart felt like it could burst from the compliments you gave him. 

“This is too much. You didn’t really have to do all this for some silly drink that I like, noo.” You put down the drink and hug him. 

“But I wanted to. Really, if it means seeing you happy I’d go to Taiwan myself and ask for their recipe.” He kisses your cheek. You sigh at this. 

“You’re just the best.” You hug him tighter. He beams at this and you guys revel in each other’s warmth. 

It was going to be “one of those nights” you feared. Sleep had yet to take over your body despite the many hours of tossing and turning in your shared bed. Sunoo lay beside you, soft snores and even breaths coming from his side of the bed. Deciding that you were not going to be sleeping anytime soon, you get up from the bed and head to the kitchen. 

You trudge towards the kitchen and grab a glass of water. You look up at a clock to check the time, 2:37 AM. You decide to do some cleaning up in the kitchen to pass the time. As you are wiping down a surface in the fridge, Sunoo’s voice startles you.

“y/n? What are you doing up?” You jump a little as Sunoo makes his presence known. He notices this and softly apologizes. 

“Couldn’t really sleep. So I decided on kitchen duty.” You motion to your gloved hand wiping down the fridge shelves. “Sorry if I woke you up. You can go back to bed. I’ll finish up in a bit and try to fall asleep again.” 

He silently walks up to you hugging you from behind. Then he mumbles something into your hair that you don’t quite catch. 

“Noo?” You ask him to repeat himself.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?” 

So that’s how you end up buying ice cream at a convenience store at 3 AM. As you guys walk back to your apartment, Sunoo looks down at you happily snacking on your ice cold treat. Your ruddy cheeks from the cold autumn breeze nipping at them, your tired eyes from the lack of sleep, and your hair haphazardly thrown into a bun. 

“What is it?” You ask him, noticing how silent he is.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. 

“Is there something on my face?” You motion towards your face. 

Sunoo just smiled at himself, telling you that there was nothing on your face. And as the two of you neared the entrance to your apartment he mulled over some thoughts. Even though he was munching on some mint chocolate ice cream, which he could argue was one of life’s best delicacies. He thought that maybe, no surely, he liked being the reason you smile a whole lot more. 

[hyenafu]

I know this might seem like a bit of a random question, but what are some criticisms of Slightly Damned you can't stand, and what are some you think are at least somewhat valid? I only ask because I do have a few problems with the comic (not really gonna go into here because I don't want to come off as too critical obviously) but I feel like some of the more noteworthy ones have been too long established to just change it altogether, and the best one can do is make something better from its foundation (which I must say, you've done a really good job at ^^)

The complaints that I think are the most unfair are by bigots who think my comic is only getting more inclusive because I'm pandering to wokeness or whatever. These people are also the most likely to misgender me and have no idea what they're talking about. They just can't stand the bare minimum of gay and are often hypocritical, using fallacies as the basis of their arguments. It's tempting to want to argue back, but when has that ever worked on the internet? I think the most valid complaint is that the pacing of the comic is too slow. Sure. Not much I can do about that one. My comic alone doesn't pay all my bills. If I focus exclusively on work, I get depressed, so I have to goof off sometimes. I'm just one person. I don't have a team. I'm doing the best I can already. Another valid complaint is that people don't like my blend of humor and drama. Sometimes readers find it inappropriate or jarring. It's valid because I recognize it as a difference of opinion and understand why they feel that way. But I don't care. I like my weird mix of goofy faces and drama. I sometimes make jokes during periods of great stress in real life. I love all the wacky faces and over-the-top cartoon action among dire circumstances in comics like One Piece and Usagi Yojimbo. Like, it's just my style, man I don't seek out unsolicited advice about my comic. Some people may think that's snobbish of me, but the truth is, very little of what you find that way is actually valuable.

"And as to those critics, she said that she’s managed to do something that might make us all better off- she doesn’t read the comment sections. In perhaps the most roundabout poignant part of the talk, she likened receiving feedback about her work as being like consuming food. She would take a pie from someone she knew and trusted but compared taking unsolicited barbs from strangers as “licking a handle on the subway.” She used to pay very close attention to that kind of critique because she felt that it somehow would make her a better creator but ultimately decided that it was only toxic." - I HAVE SEEN OLIVIA JAIMES, THE CARTOONIST BEHIND THE NEW NANCY, by Rocko Jerome (2018)

Besides the outright hateful sentiments, a lot of unsolicited criticism can be categorized as "I don't like this story because it didn't do what I wanted it to do." Which is fine. I do the same thing when I try to process stories and talk to my friends about them.

But I don't get in the author's face to tell them I think they did a bad job. At the end of the day, no matter how crap I think someone's story might be, I'm not psychic. I don't really know if they did exactly what they set out to do. For example, people have never stopped giving me crap about the death of certain characters. But their whining has only made my convictions stronger. I don't like when other stories don't take deaths seriously, with a real sense of permanence and grief that is not easily solved. To someone else, seeing that character be alive might have solved all sorts of problems they had-- but that's not my story. I've had someone tell me that the focus on Buwaro and Kieri's mushy romance is too distracting to the main story. I don't think that person knew that a large part of why I started making this comic in the first place was as a vehicle for my OTP. I also want to make said vehicle entertaining and worthwhile. If I didn't succeed for that person, that's fine. But don't tell me that half the reason I made the comic is distracting from it. What do they know about what I want? What do you really know about what the author wanted to achieve? That isn't to say that my comic is immune to scrutiny. Of course it has problems; every story has problems, depending on your perspective and the basis by which it's getting judged. I've solicited and received thoughtful criticism and helpful advice from teachers, my advisor, my friends, and from reading/watching tutorials. Some I agreed with, others I chose to ignore. Sometimes it just took a while for me to come around. I hope I never stop learning and improving. Like you said, I have to keep working with the foundation I already set. But I don't feel trapped by it; my creativity is being challenged in new ways. I have a lot of playing pieces and now I get to see what kinds of connections I can make between them with my older, more experienced (both good and bad) mind. Since Slightly Damned is a story serialized over a long period of time, a certain amount of it is made up as I go along. I do have plans and goals, of course, but I'm also discovering this world alongside my readers.

[vryfmi]

there's one major thing that's been nagging on me about l&co adaptation ever since my first watch: if we were to get season 2, how would they set up the conflict of THB?

i can get behind some of reinterpretation of characters and their mannerisms, character traits (i.e. Lockwood dressing less formal and not being a know-it-all, Lucy being less hateful towards George, seeing Kipps as he's actively losing his talent, George Karim being iranian and being very close to his culture in a form of cuisine), some are good, as a fan of books i'd be eager to get to know these characters along side their book counterparts.

but alas, i can't see these characters as the same characters in both medias because too much of their characterisation was changed, and it's really hard to blame on pacing or the lack of screen time. it's the writing. some changes going as far as making me question, what were they supposed to do with this groundwork in the second season.

how would runners set up a conflict of L&Co overworking themselves after gaining fame over solving the bone glass case and accepting all calls they were getting, if show!Lockwood out right says in episode 4 that he's not interested in boring cases? not only does it get rid off of a major characterisation of Lockwood as someone who's, yes, in it for fame, but most importantly he became an agent to "avenge" his family. avenge isn't even the right word, i think. he doesn't want others to be fallen victims to a visitor, doesn't want to see other people lose their loved ones, lose their family to ghosts. not only does it make show!Lockwood rather vain and only fame driven, instead of someone dealing with deep personal trauma, but also loses one of the key points of Holly's introduction to the team. (i also love the reading of LW naming his agency Lockwood&Co as something less selfish and more about him paying a tribute to his family, that without them and visitors taking them away from him, he wouldn't start his agency and wouldn't be able to help other people.)

speaking of Holly's introduction, what exactly would have been her role at the start in the show? L&Co don't seem overworked from the 4 cases they had (2 related to TSS out of 4 in the book, Wimbledon gallows + Bickerstaff's, not counting Wilberforce's ghost and a bunch of not mentioned in dialogue cases i. e. Mrs Barrett's tomb). that already solves the problem of trio not having free time to do chores around the house. but say show says "and now they're overworked" instead of showing, sure, but it doesn't get rid of George's stress cleaning habit.

Holly was introduced as a help, as a support to the way L&Co was already running and over the books she became more than just an assistant but a beloved part of the team. without proper reasoning as to why Lockwood & Co had to get an assistant, Holly's introduction could be messy and unprompted, something like checking a box in the list of what has to happen instead of making it story driven. something like what happened to skull's character.

and a final thing that im iffy about is the ending of the first season. somehow show rushed through and speedran Lockwood's suicidal arc as well as managed to call it out by the end of show's TWS storyline, where books didn't show any progress even by the end of TEG.

but im saying call it out, not resolve. i'd actually appreciate it if show made an effort of showing that such tendencies and lack of self-preservation aren't just resolved in a second, someone saying "stop being suicidal" doesn't magically fix everything. and yet, show still speedran things, especially given that events of the show happen in only 10 days instead of a year, and Lockwood's already made very aware of his reckless behaviour aka throwing himself in danger for people, and, what's even more questionable, for people he barely knows. which, again, contradicts his character and the way he navigates trauma.

these character and plot deviations and inconsistencies may not seem critical at first, but they might build over the course of the series and lead to a complete shift in overall narrative and spirit of L&Co as a story. which i wouldn't want to see as a fan.

to put it simply, i can see why fans want for show to be picked up for a second season, but i can't see how writers could make it coherent because they wrote themselves into a corner.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 21/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3

Yeah, I don't even know y'all. Some people stress bake or stress clean, I stress-hammer out like 12k words in four days? Thank you to everyone who is following this :) I still love everyone in this bar!

“Hey Sally?” Evan very deliberately did not look up from the book he was looking through, staring at the brittle, yellowed pages as though they held the secrets of the universe instead of some faded illustrations of different types of protection runes,

Hmm? Sally replied, the lazy, half-asleep tone making Evan smile.

She had curled up right in front of the living room fireplace, having started a roaring fire pretty much the instant Evan’s parents had departed for dinner with a couple of Dad’s work colleagues. The fireplace was purely decorative…there wasn’t a flue, and usually the firebox contained only a set of decorative candles. Sally adored hearth fires, though, and took every opportunity to transfigure herself a fully functioning fireplace whenever his parents went out in the winter.

“You know that spell we were working on today?” he tried to keep his voice light, nonchalant. As though he just wanted to debrief on the lesson and get his familiar’s feedback, like he had a thousand times before.

He never had been able to fool Sally, though. He heard a faint rustle, and when he finally looked up from the page he had been staring at blindly for the last twenty minutes, Sally had gotten up from her indolent sprawl. Her tail curled neatly around her feet and she was watching him steadily, her mangled ear twitching back and forth.

Aye? Sally’s voice was the perfectly calm, steady tone she always took when she was about to have a serious conversation with him. Clinical, almost. He appreciated it…sometimes when he talked to his parents or others in his coven, he felt like he spent half the conversation trying to parse out how they really felt just through their tone. There was never any bullshit with Sally. No hidden agendas or meaning.

“You teach me a lot of things like that,” he started, frowning down at the pages of the huge book in his lap. It was some tome Sally had had his parents borrow special from a coven library in Philadelphia. The book was bound in calfskin, and its pages were thicker than he was used to…vellum, maybe. The ink had mostly faded to a rusty red and the spidery handwriting was hard to read.

I do, Sally acknowledged.

Evan licked his lips and finally set the book down carefully on the couch cushion beside him. “Why?” he asked, voicing the question that had been racing through his head in faster and faster circles this last week. Ever since…

You heard me arguing with your mother, didn’t you? Sally sighed.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly.

That had been happening a lot, lately. Especially on nights after his weekly call with Maddie. He was so worried about his sister—she sounded so tired when he talked to her these days, and he kept getting the feeling that she was holding something back. Trying to keep him from noticing something. He was so tempted to go up to the house she and Doug had bought right after their wedding; just show up unannounced and refuse to leave until she told him what had her sounding so sad whenever they talked. He just wasn’t sure how that would be received.

He hated that he no longer knew how Maddie would respond to something.

Regardless of how your parents feel about me or my lessons, they entrusted your training to me. Your mother may complain all she likes, but there is little she can do to me and she knows it.

“She said you’re training me like people are still trying to burn us at the stake,” he said, and Sally sighed.

Evan, she began. You are extremely powerful. And I would never have you be ashamed or fearful of your magic, but nor would I have you ignore the realities of it. The lessons I give you, the methods and spells that I teach you…yes, they were designed for times and situations that are long gone. But they are also spells that require more discipline. More deliberation. More control. You are quite strong, little love. But that means you must also be quite skilled.

Which was the line of reasoning that he’d heard Sally use when his mother started in on why she was teaching him such old-fashioned ways of casting, and adding spells that no one used to her regimens. It made sense. And Sally never lied to him. He didn’t even really have a suspicion that she was lying to him. But…

“You were scared,” he said finally. “When you said it wasn’t like I’d ever have to use the defensive magics you were teaching me. I could feel it.”

Emotions bleeding through the bond between a witch and their familiar was just a fact of life—but Sally was old enough and disciplined enough that he rarely picked up anything from her that she was not deliberately allowing him to sense. The spike of fear he’d felt from her during that argument, though…that had not been deliberate. Sally never let him feel it when she was worried or afraid.

Ah. Sally looked away from him, her golden eyes fixing on some point over his shoulder.

“I just—Sally, all these spells. And the practice. Does it…does it mean something?”

Divination has never been one of my talents, Evan, Sally said gently, cutting straight to the heart of the question Evan was too afraid to ask. She uncurled her tail from around her feet and leapt primly up onto the couch, staring at him until he sat back against the cushions so that she could climb onto his lap. His hand automatically drifted to the thick ruff of fur around her neck, scratching gently as she pushed her forehead against his, purring softly.

“You don’t have to have a full divination dream to know something’s coming,” he said. Reading the future wasn’t one of his talents, either. Divination magic had never run very strongly in the Buckley coven line. Still, he knew familiars all had at least a little instinct for it. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deliberate in the lessons that Sally had been drilling him on for the past five years. Something beyond simply trying to teach him better control through more difficult spells.

Evan. I…it isn’t something specific. Only a sense. Neither stronger nor weaker than any such feeling I’ve had about dozens of my witches over the years. I’ve learned to listen to such senses when they come, but I do not feel the need to be ruled by them. Don’t read too much into it.

Evan swallowed, his hand stilling in Sally’s fur. “What is it?”

Sally closed her eyes briefly, sighing to herself. That I must do my best to make sure you can stand on your own. That if I love you—and oh, my boy, I do, I love you as my own, don’t ever doubt that—I must make you strong. Strong enough to thrive when others would see you wither. Strong enough to…endure.

“You make it sound like someone is coming to try and burn me at the stake,” he said shakily. Sally’s comforting purr ceased, and she sat back in his lap, reaching up with one paw to bat at his cheek.

If ever they do, I will make sure you know how to make them regret it, little love, she swore vehemently.

*

Evan held it together as he helped Tommy—and he was helping now, not mostly dragging, so hopefully that vampire regeneration was kicking in better now—out of Greenway’s house and onto the porch. He took a moment run back inside and grab the leatherbound book from where he’d dropped it on the floor when the explosion happened, shaking his head dizzily when he straightened again.

Pain throbbed dully behind his eyes, and he was still sweaty and panting, but he didn’t feel nearly as shaky as he was expecting to after using such intense magic. He was even able to slip himself and Tommy through the between and back into the car without much difficulty, though he had to take a moment to breathe through a flare of nausea once they were settled in the seats…him driving, of course.

“You gonna be able to manage?” Tommy asked urgently, reaching up like he was going to lay his hand on Evan’s shoulder before he seemed to realize just how bloody it was. Not that it would have made much difference. Thank God Tommy had let him borrow a few changes of clothes, because what he was wearing now was just as ruined as the previous set he’d been wearing.

He’d feel a little guilty about it, but Tommy was basically holding his own liver in place while the hole in his torso healed, so he doubted his vampire would care much about ruined clothes. He took another deep breath, silently assessing.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, I’m all right,” he said, and couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He…he really did feel pretty good, all things considering. His head hurt, but it didn’t feel like someone was trying to explore his ocular cavity with an ice pick the way it usually did when he strained himself. His heart wasn’t pounding painfully in his chest, and best of all, his magic didn’t feel depleted yet.

Sure, he wouldn’t be able to cast another control hex right now; probably wouldn’t be able to fire off more than a couple of weak fireballs. But he also didn’t feel like he was on the verge of passing out. It was strange…but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Are we going back to your house?” he asked as he accepted the bloody keys that Tommy dug out of his pocket with a slight grimace, wiping them on his pants leg before sticking them in the ignition.

“Not yet,” Tommy grunted. He looked down at his chest and probed at the wound, hissing out through his teeth. Pain had deepened the creases and lines on his handsome face, and he pressed his head back against the headrest as Evan drove, closing his eyes. “I want to go off-grid until this heals up.”

“How long is that gonna take?” Evan asked anxiously. He didn’t like the idea of Tommy being down for the count if they encountered anyone else on their tails, especially with his magic not at a hundred percent either.

He liked the idea of Tommy hurting even less.

“Few hours,” Tommy said, gritting his teeth as he reached around the seat and grabbed the hoodie he’d been going to use to cover himself as he ran for Greenway’s porch originally. He tore it into a couple of pieces and wadded one up, stuffing it against the wound in his chest with a grunt of pain. “Can you…” he started, leaning up a little and offering Evan the other part.

Realizing what his vampire wanted him to do, Evan took it without looking away from the road and quickly stuffed it against the entrance wound in Tommy’s back. “Uh, hate to tell you, but I don’t think the seats are salvageable at this point.”

Tommy huffed out a short laugh and immediately had to wipe the dribble of blood that spilled from his lips away. “I’ve been thinking about getting a truck for a while now, anyway. It’ll heal faster if I also don’t have to replace half my blood supply.” He was quiet a moment, and then said, “I’m going to need to hunt.” He sounded apologetic. “It’ll take hours to expel all the debris and close up the organ and muscle damage…bagged blood won’t cut it. I won’t—look, Evan, I won’t kill anyone. It’s been a long time since I killed anyone for blood. But yeah, I’m gonna need you to find a neighborhood where no one’s gonna mind anyone else’s business very hard. Once I get a couple of good drinks, we can grab some clean clothes, and—”

Evan saw an exit coming up on the highway. “Do you have any cash?” he interrupted. Tommy frowned, and then jerked his chin towards the glovebox.

“Few hundred in there. Why?”

Evan didn’t answer, instead taking the exit and following the signs past a few gas stations and fast food restaurants. Tommy watched him a moment, before leaning back against his seat again and closing his eyes, clearly trusting whatever Evan was planning to do. He frowned, though, when Evan pulled the car to a stop and he opened his eyes again to find that Evan had parked in front of a cheap-looking chain motel.

“Evan, whoa, we both look like we just we fucking murdered someone,” he said, his voice still rough and strained with pain.

“I got it,” Evan said quietly, before murmuring a simple spell—one most witches mastered by the time they were seven or eight years old. A brief rush of warm wind sprang up out of nowhere, swirling through the vehicle and around his body. The blood that had been drying into a tacky mess on his clothes, hands, and face dissolved into nothingness, and Evan was left just as clean as he’d been when they first arrived at Greenway’s house.

“That must save you a lot of money on laundry detergent,” Tommy said as Evan leaned over and opened the glovebox.

“It is nice not having to haul things down to a laundromat,” Evan agreed, digging around until he found a thick, manila envelope folded up under the car’s registration. He opened it to find several bundles of bills—small denominations and worn enough not to arouse suspicion—a leather wallet, and even a few passports from different countries. “This…seems a little paranoid,” he said, raising a questioning eyebrow at Tommy. His vampire shrugged one shoulder.

“It used to be important to be able to disappear…quickly. Supplies are different, but the habits haven’t changed.”

Sally used to talk like that. Evan nodded thoughtfully and counted out a couple hundred dollars in twenties and tens out of the stack of cash. “Be right back,” he said, and checked to make sure there was no one around who might see the absolute bloodbath the cabin of the vehicle had become before opening the door. He jogged across the parking lot and into the rundown lobby, where a bored-looking clerk sat behind the desk reading a celebrity magazine that looked to be about two years out of date.

“Hey, can I get a double for the night?” Evan asked, deliberately pulling out the stack of cash instead of his wallet. He knew how places like this worked—had taken advantage of them more times than he cared to count, especially in the first few months after he’d been banished.

“Gotta sign in,” the clerk said, completely ignoring the ancient computer next to him and shoving an old fashioned register across the counter. He did not ask for Evan’s ID. “All I’ve got left is a single, unless you wanna pay for a suite.”

Evan shot the clerk a deadpan look, well aware that ‘suite’ in a place like this just meant the hot water probably worked reliably and the carpet might get vacuumed more than once a month. “Single is fine,” he said, singing a completely random name on the register and counting out twenties on the counter until the clerk gave a satisfied grunt. It wasn’t like Tommy needed to sleep anyway.

The clerk handed an honest-to-God metal key dangling on a big plastic keychain over. “Room 106. Corner on the side facing the McDonald’s. Ice machine’s broken.”

“Shocking,” Evan said under his breath, but smiled politely when he took the key, making a mental note to check for bedbugs and be prepared to cast a more intense cleaning spell once he and Tommy got to the room.

That was less of a production than he was anticipating. The room was fortunately on the far corner of the motel, the cracked and weed-choked parking lot empty around them (right, only had a single available his ass) and the security cameras very obviously just for show. Evan cast a look-away charm over Tommy anyway, helping him into the room as quickly as possible and settling him down on the foot of the sagging bed.

The room was like every other no-tell motel room Evan had ever stayed in—dingy and smelling strongly of mildew. The only furniture was the aforementioned sagging bed—a full-sized mattress, at least, small mercies—a rickety table and chair, and a couple of nightstands on either side of the bed. Evan clicked the lamp sitting on one of them on and turned back to his vampire with a worried frown.

“All right,” Tommy said, grimacing as he plucked at the wadded up piece of sweatshirt still packed into the wound in his chest. Evan’s stomach turned a little at the sight of the bloodied hole—he hadn’t had time to examine it closely or even really think about what was happening until now. “As soon as the sun’s down, I’m going to head out and hunt…this should be mostly closed by then. We need to call Howie. And let’s look at the…fuck…” He broke off, hissing suddenly and hunching over.

“What?!” Evan demanded, stepping forward, his hand hovering uselessly over Tommy’s shoulder, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him worse. Tommy shook his head.

“Debris. I think some splinters just punctured my liver again. God, I hate getting impaled.”

“That, uh, that happens a lot?” Evan’s mind was racing, his eyes glued to the way Tommy’s face was creased in pain.

“I feel like once is enough to decide getting impales sucks, but yeah…you live long enough, you get to experience the wide range of ways people can fuck each other up multiple times.” He sighed, cracking his neck back and forth a couple times in what Evan was coming to recognize was a nervous gesture. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Evan blinked, confused. He wasn’t the one currently rebuilding his chest cavity.

“Your magic—Evan, you can’t tell me that wasn’t a major spell. And everything else you’ve done…” Tommy trailed off again, the lines on his brow deepening. It was concern this time, though, not pain.

“I don’t…uh, I’m not—” Evan looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as he probed at the glow of magic in the back of his mind. He hadn’t taken the time to think things through at Greenway’s house. He had only reacted.

It was only after he’d dealt with the blond vampire that the thought of consequences had even occurred to him, and he’d waited for the effects of using so much magic to slam into him even as he concentrated on getting his vampire out of the house and into the car safely. That hadn’t happened, though. It still hadn’t happened. He didn’t exactly feel great…and he was definitely tapped out as far as major spells like the control hex and would be for a while. He was weakened far more than he would have been if he still had a coven bond to fall back on. But this didn’t feel any worse than a moderate hangover. He’d had worse headaches after some of Sally’s more intense training sessions.

“I’m okay,” he said finally, wonderingly.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he looked Evan up and down. “Are you sure?” he asked, doubt thick in his voice.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” He couldn’t explain it…but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy stared at him, and he shifted uncomfortably before dropping down into the single chair by the round table that was the only other furniture in the room. The chair rattled ominously under his weight.

“I wasn’t just asking about your magic,” Tommy said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Evan froze, just blinking at his vampire stupidly a moment, before he let out a shuddering breath. How could…how could Tommy know… “I don’t feel guilty for what I did back there,” he admitted, his voice almost too quiet for his own ears. “I should, I know I should—”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy interrupted firmly. His words were still ragged, his voice tight with pain. But he stared at Evan steadily, nothing but absolute surety in his tone. “That was self-defense, Evan. Don’t think anything else. Those vampires would have killed me and taken you straight to Ortiz…you saved both our asses back there.”

Evan took a deep breath, looking down at his hands again. “I wanted to hurt them,” he said. “They…I never met any of the other witches Jo—Greenway was working with, but I, I, I know the reasons they must’ve had for going to him. And, and he killed them. Maybe he didn’t actually do it himself, but he let them die. He was going to let me die. And those vampires helped. I wanted them to hurt.”

He was angry. He was so incandescently angry at the people who were pulling on all the strings that had entangled him. Innocent witches had been killed, and for what? Politics? Because some vampire didn’t want to share power? Evan’s life hadn’t been that great, but it had been his. He’d been eking out a living, had almost made it to a point where he might have been able to start building something a little more permanent for himself, almost to the point where he might have been able to be…if not happy, at least content. And it had all been ripped away from him because of Ortiz, Greenway, and whoever else was working with them. Once again, he had a target on his back. Once again, he was being hunted for something he didn’t fucking do.

More than that, though…they could’ve killed Tommy right there. It was pure luck that the chunk of Greenway’s desk had missed his vampire’s heart. Tommy could have died right in front of him, and Evan was no longer startled by the wave of revulsion that washed through him at the thought, the way his magic stirred angrily at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let anything happen to Tommy; would not be able to bear it if anything happened to Tommy. He was done fighting the instinct.

“They deserved it,” Tommy said softly. Evan looked up at him, startled. “Don’t feel bad about wanting to hurt people who already hurt you. Who would’ve done worse if you’d let them. Would you have done that to them if they’d been willing to walk away and leave us alone?”

“What? No!” Evan sat up straight in the chair. “I’d never…that’s not what magic’s for!” I wouldn’t…”

It took him a moment to realize that Tommy had sat back slightly, and was just looking at him with an expression that made Evan’s stomach flip slightly. It was…soft. Softer than Evan thought he had seen his vampire’s face so far, a small smile on his lips that Evan could only describe as fond.

The effect was somewhat ruined by the blood that still smeared the corners of Tommy’s mouth, but it still made Evan fall silent.

“That’s why you shouldn’t feel guilty,” he said simply. “You’re a good man, Evan. But that doesn’t mean you can never show your teeth.”

How many times had Sally tried to drive the same sort of lesson home to him?

Before he could respond, though, Tommy shuddered, cursing to himself in a language that Evan couldn’t identify as he suddenly dropped the piece of sweatshirt he’d been holding against the wound in his chest. “Damn it, give me a minute,” he hissed, before he squared his shoulders and dug his fingers into the still gaping hole in his chest.

“Tommy!” Evan leaped to his feet, but Tommy just shook his head, rooting around in the meat of the wound, a grotesque, wet sound filling the room until he pulled what looked like a clump of bloody tissue from his chest. He held it up, and Evan realized with a flash of horrified disgust that it was another chunk of wood.

“Goddamn it,” Tommy groaned, dropping the bloody mess on the floor between his feet. “How much longer ‘til sunset?”

“Couple hours,” Evan said distractedly. He bit his lip, looking at his vampire—the tired slump of his shoulders, the lines of pain that creased his handsome face. Tommy was hurt…and until he healed more, he was in greater danger. They both were, really. And Tommy was going to have to go out to…to hunt. If he wasn’t going to kill anyone—and Evan believed him when he said it—he would have to be out longer.

Tommy was hurting.

“Would witch blood heal you faster?” he asked.

It was Tommy’s turn to freeze. He went still as a statue, his blue eyes boring into Evan’s before flicking down to his throat and back. “Evan,” he breathed out. “No. I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

Evan took that to mean that the answer was yes.

He swallowed, and again Tommy’s eyes zeroed in on the bob of his throat. “You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He stood up, and took a step towards his vampire, who still sat frozen, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Whatever spell held Tommy still shattered, and he shuddered again, though this time Evan didn’t think it had to do anything with the pain of his wound. He took a deep breath, as though scenting the air around Evan, his hand twitching upwards before curling into a fist and slamming back down on the bed.

“Are you sure?” Tommy said, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. Evan’s stomach flipped again, a shiver running through him that he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine too closely.

“You can do it without hurting me, right?” Evan asked, and now Tommy reached for him, pulling back with a grimace of distaste when he remembered the bloody mess he was.

“I’d never hurt you,” he said, a fervency curling through every word that made it sound like a promise. A vow.

Evan breathed out, his magic humming through him in wild approval. “Then let me help you,” he said.

Tommy’s eyes sheened over with scarlet light, before he visibly reined himself back in. He looked down at his bloody hands and held them up towards Evan almost beseechingly. “I—can you?”

With a small smile, Evan murmured the spell, his vampire’s hands whisking clean in a matter of seconds. Immediately, Tommy reached for him, curling one hand around Evan’s wrist, loosely at first and then tightening when Evan made no move to pull away. He tugged lightly, drawing Evan closer.

“How do you want to do this?” Evan asked, “Um, are you gonna—” He made a gesture towards his neck and was surprised when Tommy instantly shook his head.

“No. No, not there,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. His hand tightened on Evan’s wrist again, his thumb brushing gently over the pulsepoint. It was strange. He knew, intellectually, that Tommy could crush his wrist into powder with barely any effort…could throw him down and drain him dry, and Evan wasn’t sure if he’d be able to defend himself against it.

But Tommy wouldn’t do that to him. He knew it; down to the marrow of his bones he knew it.

Tommy would never hurt him.

He nodded his permission to Tommy’s unasked question. The red glow grew brighter in his vampire’s eyes, eclipsing the blue entirely, and when Tommy spoke again, Evan could see the hint of fangs in his mouth.

“Lie down. I won’t take much, I promise. But just in case.” Tommy let go of him, getting painfully to his feet so that they could trade places.

Evan grabbed the bloodstained comforter off the bed and tossed it to the floor. He was mildly surprised to see the sheets underneath appeared to have been laundered recently…at least there were no creepy-crawlies waiting for him. He kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the mattress, looking up when he heard Tommy swallow roughly.

“God, Evan,” Tommy murmured, so low Evan wasn’t entirely sure he was meant to hear it. “Thank you,” he said, louder, before slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Evan’s hip. “I—it won’t feel like it did at Gerrard’s party without the thrall,” he warned. “I could put you back under,” he offered uncertainly, but Evan could tell he didn’t really like the idea. Truthfully, Evan didn’t either, remembering the helpless way he’d rutted up against his vampire’s body under the effects of the thrall with a blush. He shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just take what you need.” He offered his hand up, and had to look away when Tommy slowly took it, something disbelieving and tender in his red, red eyes.

“I can stop myself,” he promised. “If it starts to hurt too much, or you start to feel dizzy or sick, just tell me.”

“I trust you, Tommy,” Evan said, and knew in his heart that it was absolutely true.

Tommy closed his eyes and pulled Evan’s hand closer to his mouth, inhaling against the soft skin of his inner wrist with a quiet groan. “Evan,” he murmured, his name sounding like a fucking prayer in his vampire’s mouth.

Then Tommy bit down, sinking his fangs into Evan’s wrist.