#filed under “art i got way carried away with”

[capn-twitchery]

Sweet pea for Twitch and Lilac for Grace? (or each for both, if you want)

Lilac - Does your OC have a comfort item? If so, what is it?

Grace lost most of his stuff when his entire ship ended up in the neath, and the crew had to abandon it to look for help on foot. all he really had was his clothes & sword, and uh, twitch has both of those

but he still has his hat & waistcoat! so as the last things he still has from the surface, they're comforting to him, at least.

Sweet pea - What colour are your OC’s eyes?

VERY SNEAKY ok i'll bite >:3c

uncensored version under the cut for mild eye horror/spookiness (& in case someone wanted to keep their face a mystery)

(there are eyes there, i promise, they just look fucked up)

[fawnnpaws]

extremely self indulgent but i need to bounce this off of someone… poor little art who got a cold, and he’s the type of man who acts like he has the PLAGUE. patrick comes home to art napping on the couch (normal) and goes to kiss him, realising that he has a fever (not normal). he calls you even though art doesn’t want to bother you (secretly he does, of course) and you come over and coddle him with patrick. he’s on bedrest which he is not thrilled about, and all the sleep and caretaking leads to sleepy/feverish humping when you cuddle him in bed and it’s like oohhh poor little puppy with kennel cough but he still cant even control himself…

oohhh puppy with kennel cough i’ll sob <//333 how did u know i was craving a sick fic….

poor art all by himself for the better part of the morning while patrick is at an early practice, wrapping himself up in 4 blankets and collapsing on the couch :(( he’s dizzy, his head is pounding, he just wants to sleep it off. when patrick finally gets home he almost doesn’t see art because he’s buried so deep in the pile of blankets. he’s still fast asleep, but it’s fitful, his breathing is shallow and he keeps squirming because no position is comfortable even when he’s unconscious. patrick presses a soft kiss to his temple and his skin is way too hot to be normal, so he grabs their thermometer (that you bought for them bc neither of them ever considered needing one… among many other necessary items they owe to you) and slips it between art’s lips. he angles it under art’s tongue but it takes a couple tries because even in his sleep, art will naturally start sucking on whatever is put in his mouth… patrick files the image of a very helpless sleepy art sucking on anything he gives him away for later. his temperature comes back at 101 and the beeping of the thermometer wakes him up. the whine he lets out when he opens his eyes and the room starts spinning again is downright pitiful, so patrick scoops him up, blankets and all, and carries him to his bed.

when you arrive, your heart just melts. patrick and art are laying in a heap of tangled limbs on the bed, art’s back pressed against his chest and patrick’s hands gently petting all over his body. you can tell art is miserable, but he lifts his head up to look over and reaches his arms out to make grabby hands at you.

“oh puppy, you’re really not feeling good huh?” you ask as you slide into bed, letting him adjust so his head is laying on your chest and his legs intertwine with yours. behind him, patrick reaches one of his hands over and interlocks with yours, resting on art’s hip between you.

“he went under when i got him to bed, which is helping. he’s always been a drama queen when he’s sick,” patrick says, earning an elbow to his stomach that probably would have hurt if art had any arm strength right now. you smile and press a kiss to the top of art’s head.

“don’t listen to daddy, baby, you’re perfect,” you whisper and patrick scoffs, but you see the way he nuzzles his face in the back of art’s neck, like if they part even an inch art will disintegrate in his hands. art whimpers at the closeness of the two of you. his body aches, but having you and patrick pressed against him like this is making him dizzy in a new way. his head feels like it’s full of cotton and his body aches, but he feels so safe. the warmth of his skin radiates and makes all three of you shift closer to each other. he can’t help it when his hips cant forward until your thigh is slotted between his legs. his eyes flutter and his hips continue to move of their own accord, rutting so gently against you that you almost don’t feel it. it’s the sigh that leaves his lips that gives him away, though it turns into a frustrated huff when he realizes that even rocking his hips takes a lot of effort. you can feel how hard he is already and it amazes you how quickly he can work himself into desperation.

it seems patrick notices too. “dirty puppy, you can’t even control yourself when you’re sick? needy little thing.” he grips art’s hips with both hands and starts moving them for him, pushing them up and down on your thigh. “here, i’ll help you.”

art’s mouth falls open around a groan and his tongue lolls out, trying to lap at your tits through your shirt. he can’t even muster the energy to paw at you to take it off, so you do it for him. his eyes roll back when he sees you’re not wearing a bra and his mouth latches onto your nipple in an instant. you reach under his shirt and grope at his chest, reveling in the muffled “mmmommy—“ he whines against your skin. you and patrick work in tandem, moving his body where and how you want it. you both know him so well, every spot he likes to hit when he’s humping you, every sensitive area to press on his body. he sucks harder, swirling his tongue around your nipple mindlessly as he tries to move his hips faster with patrick’s help.

“good boy, take what you need,” is all the encouragement he needs from you to cum sticky ropes in his boxers with a long drawn out whine. patrick moves him through it, even gets a little mean and keeps his tender hips going until he’s whimpering from overstimulation. when art settles it takes about .05 seconds for him to pass out again, still gently suckling on your nipple. you lift your head up slightly and lock eyes with patrick, who looks just at keyed up as you are. you jerk your head towards you and he expertly detangles himself to come lay behind you now, pressing his hard dick against your ass.

“fuck - fuck me - need you so bad, he’s so fucking cute like this - was wet the second i saw him,” you moan, hushed and frantic. patrick pulls your tiny shorts to the side and sinks into you with almost no resistance.

“jesus - fucking tight perfect pussy - i know, baby, you shoulda seen him earlier, started sucking on the fucking thermometer in his sleep,” he pants, not wasting any time thrusting into you like he’ll die if he stops. “it took everything not to shove my dick in his sick little mouth.”

“aw, you’re a good boy too, pat,” you tease and in return he fucks you harder. slow, deliberate strokes pound into you and it jostles art, but the cold medicine you force fed him has kicked in so he stays blissfully asleep. you still try to stifle the moans patrick is punching out of you, but it’s hard when he’s hitting that perfect spot inside you with vindictive precision.

“gonna cum for daddy? shit - c’mon mommy, wanna feel you cum on my cock over our sick helpless puppy.”

you have no choice but to give him what he wants, your orgasm rips through you and you grip onto art, pulling his pliant body closer. patrick fucks you through it and bites down on your shoulder hard as he cums. you come down together, breathing heavy and dazed. art nuzzles closer to you in his sleep and you decide you and patrick deserve a nap too. you have a sick puppy to take care of, after all.

[bryngmemoney]

✁FASHION FLIRT✃

Megumi Fushiguro x Reader

⭑story masterlist link

tw: none

Writing in between messages!!

🪡Chapter Seven: Snacks

Megumi turns around to see you heading in his direction. You give a wave causing him to smile and wave back. “Hey, it’s so nice to finally properly meet you!” you greeted. “Same here.”

You two continued walking until finally entering the building. “So, Gojo’s your teacher right?” he questioned. “Yeah, people think he’s annoying cause of his attitude, but personally I think it’s way better than if we had some old man yelling at us or someone who just sat there.” Megumi hummed in response. “Yeah, i get it, but after you’ve known him for so long he gets on your nerves a lot.” You smiled at him, “You know him personally?” He shrugged, “Family friend.”

You two continued your way into the small lobby entrance built into the building. Building 7 was the studio building, so there were other art majors around. Utahime’s studio was right below Gojo’s. Apparently they originally had them next to each other but Utahime begged to get swapped down a whole floor due to Gojo’s antics. Now they remodeled the room next to it to be a film studio where some of Suguru Geto’s classes take place. You know that due to running into Yuta and Sukuna on occasions.

“Can I carry that for you?” Megumi asked. Currently the elevator for the building was under repair, so you guys had made your way to the stairs. In your hand was a small tub, not really a bother to carry, it had small supplies like needles, bobbins, measuring tape, and probably other detail things you had thrown in there the night before. “Oh it’s fine, it’s not that much.” “You’ve got your bag already, i’d feel bad if I didn’t help out a little.” Granted the bag was mostly for personal things, sketchbook and a few fabric samples you had been thinking of showing to your teacher for an opinion, but deciding to give into his request you gave Megumi the okay. “Thanks I really appreciate it.” “No problem at all.”

Once you guys had walked into the room, you went to set your stuff down at a table, still a few minutes early, people were be beginning to file in. Gojo wasn’t too strict on time anyway, so some took and extra 5 to arrive. Nobara was already there, at the closest table to you, chatting with a girl you recognized as Akari, one of her models. You started to organize your things, seeing that your other friend was currently engrossed in her conversation. “Alright i’m just gonna take some measurements today, you’ll be free to go in less than an hour, shouldn’t take to long-” “Megumi!” You both turned around to see Gojo make his way towards him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “It’s been so long kid! What’s up with that?” You suppressed a laugh at how his expression dropped, and he shrugged off Gojo’s arm. “I’m here for a fitting, please let y/n work.” In reply Gojo just laughed “Okayyy, i’ll leave you to it then!”

“Thanks so much again Megumi, I’m glad I got see you, i’ll let you know when I need you to stop by again.” “Yeah, sure.” He thought about it for a second, and has been thinking about it since you first agreed to meet up. He had wanted to ask if maybe after your class was done you’d like to go out for lunch or something with him. Debating in his head he was about to work up the courage until your name was called. “Y/N??” Turning away from Megumi you saw Yuki standing there near the entrance of the room, though not calling too much attention to herself as everyone was moving around. “Oh, hey Yuki!” With that the blonde girl turned in your direction, holding up a plastic bag with the logo of a local gas station plastered on it. “Heyyyy! So nice to meet you! I don’t know if you’re allowed snacks in here, but I made a quick stop and got you something too. You could save it for later,” She placed her bag on the table, careful not to put it over any of your things. “I got a bunch so I’m sure there’s something you’d like in there.” With that Megumi decided it was probably his cue to head out, seeing as this was probably one of your other models that had arrived for their measuring. “I’m gonna go now, bye y/n, it was nice seeing you.” “Oh, bye Megumi, i’ll see you around!” “See you around.”

Author’s Note: chapter seven!! Yuki was fun to have enter the story, hope you guys enjoyed!!

Taglist below cut, feel free to comment or dm me to be added!!

TAGLIST

@iridescentrays @gumimegz @maya-maya-56 @mamafly @lunavixia @swissy23 @coltsgf @m00nglad3-mp3 @etsukis @xosren @qtnfer @oengleli @harek89 @y-sabell-a @morgyyyyyyy @getolvr @liliumaraneae @k3lbade @aiieera @dancedancey @get0sfav @chuyasthighs0 @hyssoplampflickers

[thedorkurge]

A prompt for you: Gortash forced Durge to attend some ball/masquerade/fancy event as his plus one with him.

Here you go! I got a bit carried away with it, as I tend to do... I hope you enjoy<3

You can read it under the cut or on ao3

Life of the party (2k)

Going to a party with the Gate’s nobility was the last thing Durge wanted to do. But unfortunately, he owed the banite a favor.

Gortash had insisted that it would be a good look to show up with a plus one. He wasn’t just a young politician charming his way up the ranks anymore, after all. He was on the cusp of becoming a lord. Bringing his own date projected an image of stability befitting his status. Of course he had also listed several other reasons that Durge hadn’t bothered to pay attention to. When he manipulated people, it happened from the outside. Observing until he knew who to kill and how to do it. 

The art of conversation wasn’t one he practiced very often.

The dragonborn pulled at the robes uncomfortably. They weren’t completely awful, they were dark enough to conceal any blood spatter, and made from expensive fabrics, but he already missed his own robes. It was almost impressive how robes with such little fabric could still get in the way.

“These clothes are ridiculous.”

“They’re not meant to be practical, my dear, they’re meant to be pleasing to the eye.” Enver had already spent a full minute adding golden touches to his outfit. Durge had refused any for himself- he wasn’t keen on the idea of adding more uncomfortable touches to the clothes he had been forced to wear.

“Is being unable to move considered attractive these days?”

“Don’t be dramatic, you’re perfectly capable of movement. The robes were made with dancing in mind, after all.” The dragonborn sneered at Enver’s satisfied grin. He was enjoying this a bit too much.

“If you expect me to dance, then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“And here I was so looking forward to seeing the great Dark Urge struggle for once.”

“I know how to dance. I simply prefer not to.”

Enver’s eyebrow shot up at that, as his movements stilled briefly. When they resumed, it was with a forced casualness that betrayed his interest. “Is that so? I didn’t think being Bhaal’s chosen left time for such frivolous activities.”

“I am my father’s blood, but I was raised by mortals. Do not think me ignorant in the ways of the world.”

He could practically feel the gears turning in Enver’s head as he filed away that piece of information.

“I would never, darling. I have the utmost faith that we will make a wonderful impression tonight.” He ignored the sneer on Durge’s face as he reached out to fix his collar. “But you will need a name, of course.”

“I have a name.”

“The Dark Urge isn’t exactly a name that flows well in conversation, my dear.” He said it like Durge was supposed to care about that sort of thing.

“Excellent, I shall enjoy watching the pampered nobles choke on their tongues.” A petty response, certainly, but worth it to see the exasperated look on the banite’s face.

“You said you were raised by mortals. Surely you had a different name then?” Of course Enver wouldn’t let that go. He could never resist pulling a thread once he got hold of it.

“A name that no longer matters. I am the Dark Urge. If you refer to me by any other name, I will fashion your leg bones into blades with which I can carve your voice from your throat.” Enver got away with more than most, but when it came to Durge’s god-given name and status, even he was on thin ice.

Enver rolled his eyes. “If nothing else, it certainly matches your flair for dramatics.”

“If you think this is dramatic, then please, do keep pushing me. We’ll see what words you will have left to describe a ballroom full of corpses.”

Recognizing the threat for the warning it was, Enver lifted his hands slightly in surrender. He was already pushing his luck by making Durge attend this party, he was willing to be a bit more diplomatic in turn.

When he finally turned to leave, he was stopped by the bhaalspawn.

Durge held a dagger out to him, hilt first.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do with this?”

“Hide it. These robes have entirely too few places to stash daggers, so if you insist on me wearing them, I will have to insist that you carry these for me.”

The dragonborn knelt down as he spoke, reaching under the long coat Enver had donned. In spite of himself the human was almost flustered by the brazen move, until he felt a holster tighten around his thigh, as another, smaller, dagger was strapped to his leg.

“Is this really necessary? You have never needed a weapon to kill someone.”

“I prefer to have the option.”

With a sigh Enver decided to entertain him for now, as he tucked the first dagger into the back of his belt. Durge did have a point, after all. The robes Enver had picked out for him had cutouts that left precious little to the imagination. He was frankly impressed that the dragonborn had managed to conceal any daggers under the soft fabric.

It wasn’t just for his own benefit, though he certainly appreciated the view. Bringing Durge along served a very specific purpose, and these robes were part of that.

The Dark Urge was attractive, that much was hard to deny. Tall, angular, piercing eyes and a strong build. He typically did his damndest to hide it under layers of blood, but now there was no denying it. The robes fit like a glove, his scales shone without their usual coating of viscera, and despite being far out of his comfort zone, he still radiated a steadfast confidence. Likely because he wasn’t above killing everyone in the room if he had to.

In short, he possessed a quiet magnetism that he never put to use. 

Luckily, Enver wasn’t above putting it to use for him. 

Together they drew plenty of eyes to them upon their arrival. Enver had become a common sight at these functions, rarely considered novel enough to be a topic of conversation. He had set out to change that, and it seemed to work.

The abnormally tall bhaalspawn towered over most of the guests at the party, the sunlight shining through stained glass windows to color the white scales that were visible on his arms, sides and back. He stood tall and proud, with a look on his face that bordered on complete disinterest.

In short, he, and by extension Gortash, presented a fascinating new enigma for the nobles to gossip about. 

Only Enver recognized the barely-concealed murderous urges boiling under his skin. Likely because they were on the cusp of being aimed at Enver himself, as he placed a hand on Durge’s back to steer them towards various conversations.

Introducing the bhaalspawn as a business partner who had aided him in building the steel watch immediately endeared the patriars, setting Durge up for a night of conversation.

His plan worked perfectly, opening the door to many conversations as nobles made their way over to make introductions to his “friend”.

In fact, his plan worked a little too well. He found himself getting distracted by his partner, unable to maintain the flawless focus he usually possessed in these settings. The Dark Urge had proven himself to be a true social chameleon, effortlessly joining conversations and keeping up with the gossip- or at the very least doing a very good job of making it seem that way.

He was a hit among the nobles. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to bring a new date, but they were usually from the same circles. True fresh meat was rare. 

And Enver didn’t like it.

It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. After all, he knew no one else here would have any hope of surviving even a moment alone with the dragonborn. It was more like indignation. The way they looked at him, only caring for his appearance, as if he was a prize they could win. They didn’t know how brilliant he was. How brilliant they both were. 

Enver was used to being underestimated, he had used it to his advantage many times, but it felt wrong for the two of them, together, to be seen as anything less than the rightful rulers of the city. 

The Dark Urge was something special. A secret lurking beneath the polished appearance of the Gate, only known by a select few.

He was quickly regretting sharing him with the world. A world of people who couldn’t appreciate more than his looks and half-hearted imitation of polite behavior. A world of lesser people who felt entitled to his time, his company. Nobles who disregarded the bond that had developed between the two chosen, thinking they had a right to even try to separate them. People who believed themselves above the bhaalspawn, entitled to his attention, never knowing that it was the other way around.

Like the man who was currently running his fingers down Durge’s bicep. Honestly, flirting so blatantly with another man’s date, it was just gauche. The man was so caught up in questioning the bhaalspawn about his relationship status that he didn’t notice Durge’s hand moving closer and closer to a concealed dagger.

Enver noticed. But then again, Enver had noticed every part of the conversation. His own little group had been tuned out in favor of tracking the flirtatious movements of Irchan Pulver. 

Lady Menzel was the first to notice his split focus, as she leaned in conspiratorially. “It seems that Irchan has taken a shine to your date.”

“Indeed.” Enver’s smile was as fake as the jewels around Menzel’s neck. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

Usually he wouldn’t rise to such obvious bait, but this time was different. Enver should probably step in. Just to make sure Durge didn’t kill anyone in broad daylight, that’s all.

“There you are, darling!” He pointedly wrapped his hand around the arm that was inching towards the dagger, before he turned to greet the man. “Irchan, always a pleasure, I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow my date for a moment? The dancing is about to begin, and I would so hate to miss out.”

Irchan, who had clearly been angling for a dance himself, looked slightly irked by the interruption. Fortunately there was nothing he could say or do without being terribly impolite. After all, the dragonborn was Enver’s date.

“Of course, Enver. I was simply introducing myself to your friend. It’s always nice to see fresh faces.”

Their smiles were equally forced. 

When Enver finally pulled him onto the dance floor, Durge was too busy being upset about his interrupted murder plans to complain about being forced to dance.

“Why did you stop me?” Durge’s hands were painfully tight around his hand and waist, but Enver held firm.

“Because you were about to kill him.”

“And he would have deserved it.”

Enver didn’t technically disagree. “Discretion, dear. I thought you assassins were supposed to value that sort of thing.”

Durge’s voice was practically a growl in his ear. “I could have killed him right there, and made sure no one knew for hours.” Enver’s grip tightened as the dragonborn tipped him backwards, one large hand moving to support the human’s thigh.

It rested directly on the concealed dagger he had strapped there earlier.

Enver felt his breath hitch slightly. “I don’t doubt it. But I’d much prefer you didn’t.”

When he was finally standing up once more, he could practically feel the urges roiling under Durge’s skin. They didn’t like being told no.

Oh, what the hell. Irchan wasn’t that important anyway.

“Not in public at least. I’m never one to turn down a private demonstration.”

For the first time that night, a genuine smile appeared on Durge’s face. It was wonderfully cruel, rows of needle-like teeth gleaming in the light. 

As the dragonborn pulled him close once more, Enver wondered just how many people Durge would convince him to let him kill before the night was done.

[enderham]

Some Aventurine headcenons:

- He can't swim properly (never got to learn)

- He has a lot of plants and hires someone to take care of them when he's away. His place looks like a jungle and his balcony is overflowing with them, that's where he spends most of his time when he's in Pier Point. (If there's a cold season in Pier Point his balcony has a sliding glass window that turns it into a greenhouse)

- Thankfully offset by the plants, the rest of his IPC accommodation is just as gaudy and luxurious as his outfits. It's somewhat eclectic because he chooses decorations by process of 'ooh shiny/cool' but there's a clear preference for art nouveu and art deco even though he probably wouldn't know that's what it's called.(He likes the interior design of the reverie but doesn't know why) It's in a luxury apartment block and he had to finesse his way through the chain of command to get it approved for him.

- He genuinely likes green, it's not just cause of his stone(he's wearing the wrong shade anyway) (yeah, the plants)

- He'd wear a lot of colour and jewelry even if he weren't "rich" or maintaining an image(based on the splashes of colour on little Kakavasha's Avgin clothes)

- He doesn't have an actual birthday on file. It's logged as the day the IPC "acquired" him. The only reason he knows the standard system date is because of the massacre. The Avgin calendar is different from the standard system one, so the documentation of the Katican attack was his only way of finding out. Since finding out, all he does on his birthday is burn a Knot of Cyclicality and say a prayer. He's no longer sure if it matches up with the Avgin calendar's Kakava.

- Since he gives out money like it grows on trees and I can imagine his project plans are fairly fluid that would mean that so are his budgets too. It makes me wonder if he's got money on off-shore accounts someplace in the galaxy the IPC hasn't reached yet.

-Converseley, the jewelry he's wearing could be his final asset. I can imagine that watch to be worth at least enough to sustain one person for a year(especially on worlds with a lower cost of living). The bracelets could buy you a vehicle and his other accessories are pocket money, all in case he's gotta run.

-He can drive and he wants to learn how to pilot a ship but the IPC is barring him

-He'd never sell the earring tho

-He also carries his family's heirlooms (the shirt, necklace and charm) everywhere he travels, also in case he has to run. I believe only the most dire of circumstances would stop him from retrieving them. (I also think the charm is the earring so these two are basically the same headcanon)

- Back to the swimming, he's both afraid of submerging his head under water(having to play dead in a pool of blood, probably thinking you'll drown in it does that to a kid) and drawn to large bodies of water.

-His gloves conceal scars on his hands from the chains he had to use as a "tool"

[presleyintheworld]

This is the first chapter of my fic Man of Mystery (title subject to change) about Raylan trying to solve the mystery of Tim's personal life. The rest of the chapters will be published on AO3 (CalamityKid) as I write them. It hasn't been beta read, but I tried my best. I hope you enjoy!

Trigger warnings: references to child abuse, alcoholism, and PTSD.

☆☆☆

Tim didn’t take days off. Voluntarily, at least. If Raylan had set that bar on the ground, Tim crawled under it.

The last time, after he’d taken a bullet to the shoulder at the hands of one of Audrey’s ladies of the night, he’d lasted a three whole days inside the desolate white walls of Lexington County Hospital before convincing Raylan to break him out. He was back at his desk by the end of the week.

Art was well-aware of Raylan’s demons, the recurrent daddy issues and the self-righteous vigilante act that stemmed from them, but he’d yet to pin down Tim’s particular brand of fucked up. Why he showed up early and stayed too late. Why a mere few days out of the office seemed to make him twitch with a nondescript restless energy. Why he never smelled like booze when they both knew he’d spent the previous night losing a battle to Jack Daniel’s. It would have been easy to blame his time in the service and the vague allusions he’d make every so often to the things he’d seen there. But Tim wasn’t easy. Not in that way, at least. No, Art got the impression that war hadn’t been Tim’s problem—his initial one, anyway; it had been his solution.

There was an ambiguous nature to Tim that inspired speculation, a fill-in-the-blank of a redacted government document. He was something of a conspiracy theory in and of himself around the office, the reticent hotshot sniper with perpetually tired eyes and a stack of fantasy novels on his desk by his gun. Any real knowledge or perspective on the man was a hard-won victory, and even that seemed superficial at best, like the way a person can talk without saying anything at all. Art had read his file, of course: his body count and service record, the psych evals he’d managed to pass, but it was like solving a puzzle with missing pieces. Reading a book with a prologue scribbled over in pen. He let it slide because Tim was still Tim—steadfast, reliable, professional where it counted. He let it slide and hoped neither of them paid for it.

He'd been insisting for weeks that Tim take some time away from work. Only a day or two, if that was easier to stomach than the full extent of the vacation days he’d hoarded over the span of his career. The odds had been stacked against him even broaching the subject and he’d never been much of a gambling man, but he’d been pleasantly surprised when Tim accepted the offer with minimal pushback. It was ironic then that he was the one to summon Tim to the VFW on his first day off.

The first thing Raylan asked when Tim strolled onto the scene was a critical, “Are you drunk?” A question which, as a rule of thumb, Art thought, was not particularly something you wanted to hear asked of a US Marshal with a sharpshooter’s aim and questionable PTSD diagnosis. Or lack thereof.

Tim drunk wasn’t really that much different from Tim sober, save for maybe an indistinct haziness that seemed to settle over him, like a painter blending out the harsh edges of a brushstroke. Everything about him seemed more relaxed in a way that felt…genuine, noticeably different from the calculated sense of indifference with which he carried himself day-to-day. He was less put-together than Raylan had ever seen him at work, less guarded in a way that was so unfamiliar he was nearly unrecognizable. His usual collared shirt had been exchanged for an oversized flannel, the fabric worn in places from years of use. The edge of an intricate tattoo on his chest that could just be made out above the neckline, a set of dog tags visible around his neck despite his tendency to deflect conversation regarding his service. All pieces of the puzzle.

His hair bordered on just this side of disheveled, as if he’d only pulled himself out of bed at Art’s call. Raylan couldn’t decide if he looked his age or thirty years older. It prompted the question of what Tim would even be like in a decade or two; whether he’d be inside this very building, clinging to war stories and whiskey like so many of the aging veterans that sat around recalling their glory days. It was hard to picture.

“Was tryin’ to be,” Tim hummed absently. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye like a small child just woken from a midday nap.

Raylan cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Why?” His tone held more curiosity than concern. Mysteries were like an itch beneath his skin and Tim was the walking embodiment of one, the bastard.

Tim leveled him with an unimpressed stare, swaying slightly on his feet. If he hadn’t finished that last drink, maybe he’d have had the mind to confront Raylan on his hypocrisy. Instead, he just sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, fingers lingering to massage a migraine from his temples. “My boyfriend’s away and I’m codependent,” he finally said, letting his hand fall away. He didn’t give the remark any time to land before he was shouldering past them and flashing his ID to the guard.

Art just shrugged tiredly when Raylan glanced at him. He exuded the same energy as a weary parent who had long since given up understanding his children.

Raylan added this comment to the list of times he couldn’t differentiate between Tim’s laconic sarcasm and his passive honesty. The man had a way of speaking that made everything sound sarcastic and true all at once. He’d consider it impressive if it weren’t so damn annoying.

[newtafterdark]

Please release the black mold theory

I'll do my very best to keep this as short and as coheerend as possible - which will be a feat because Dan & I came up with the details of it throughout hours of going through the "Welcome Home" site.

The "Black Mold Theory" focuses on the black-ish growth that is both visible and referenced in one way or the other on several main- and hidden pages... and how it is a harmful entity towards everyone in the Restoration Project, the puppets & everyone who is interacting with "Welcome Home" in-universe, even just the smallest amount.

Now, why do I call it "black mold" specifically? Well, it looks, behaves and causes harm similarly to black mold in real life.

But with a conscious entity behind it.

The current events start with the WHRP crew receiving items that were part of the production of "Welcome Home" - with the first person to handle them remarking that everything "feels wet".

This continues as more people get brought in to help restore or simply file away art, photos, writing, merch, vinyl records... with now even a proper rule being put in place to "not touch any item with bare hands".

While that is a common rule for handling any old and damaged thing you're trying to restore... it is worrysome that the WHRP are very instant on that rule, as it is something the restoration folks would do so anyway.

Then... look at how the exibition looks like on the "Staff Only" page.

(Please go look through it yourself, it is so well-made! https://www.clownillustration.com/staff-only)

The walls are overgrown with a dark substance, looking either red or blue but mostly black, with clear hand prints on the walls and splatters of it on items & WHRP folks' notes-

It's on so many things, even seemingly pouring out of the safe from the inside. A safe that is seemingly holding old production items that were supposed to be given out as random prizes to the exhibition visiors.

And then there's the entity on the ceiling. You know, the blue-ish black mass clinging to the pipes and more notes by the crew, its fuzzy tendrils reaching out to hold itself in place on said pipes.

To observe? To watch as visitors touch the items that looked so prestine in the daylight, only to be shown to be contaminated with something when the lights are off? To now know that people are carrying parts of it our into the real world and into their own homes through having had hands-on contact with all the items present?

That is horrible enough for the people who touched it in real life - but... what if I told you that we have seen this thing in Home as well? Or more like... under Home?

When the "Welcome Home" site first went online, the mass on the Characters Page below Home looked like this. Something in the depths barely aware of the attention on it as we look into the dark abyss it's in.

Now, after the most recent update? Oh, the abyss is looking right back at us. And the black mass around it is growing as well.

The mold is actively spreading from under Wally's house, leaving him to deal with the brunt of its influence on the world he lives in.

Just how it is in the Real World, it is in the World of Welcome Home. As above... so below. Like the spiral imagery both Wally and the WHRP crew keep sketching on little notes.

Now... here is the part where I explain in detail why I call this thing "black mold" -

I've had to deal with the influence of black mold on the human body personally... and too much of this haunting entity reminds me of it.

The way black mold grows out in webs and clusters... how it thrives in wet and dark places - something that 100% happened to the items that the WHRP crew got their hands on, because old things rarely get stored in a way that keeps them from receiving lasting damage, especially water damage-

-and what it does to the human brain. Auditory halucinations (the phone ringing to one of the WHRP folks), visual halucinations & nightmares (perhaps the same member recalling a nightmare (?) of them seeing Wally sit at the end of their bed with a phone that kept ringing), sneezing (it's what the moldy bolders of the "Staff Only" page are named too), coughing, nausea, migraines, troubles with breathing, flat-out fainting... and heavy memory issues.

Everything we have seen the WHRP crew deal with... or, at least the person who is writing the newsletter, who also seems to be the person who opened the parcel that started all this - is not just happening in the Real World either. It is happening in Home too.

Memory issues are something Wally himself is dealing with as well, as we can see from the Guest Book sketches he left us so far. He can't seem to remember his past with everyone else in Home, but at least he still remembers that he loves all of his friends dearly & thinks about them a lot, even if he can't reach them right now.

We can hear the difference in Wally's voice recordings as well. To me, there is such a noticable difference to how he sounds in the actual show recordings (when things were still okay™) compared to the soundbits we have gotten through the bugs.

In those, he sounds like breathing is hard for him and like his focus isn't entirely there. Which is something that can happen if you're spending too much time in an area with high humidity, even without mold. It's exhausting to deal with and I feel so sorry for Wally, because he can't physically leave Home right now.

... now, we could leave the horror at that. This is already a dire situation for everyone in-universe.

But... what if this has happened before? What if the mold has spread so far throughout the country (or even other parts of the world) by speading itself through merchandise? And, remember - handling just a bit of something infected with it makes you forget so much already... would forgetting the entire show existed be so out of place now?

It got so much attention and so much of itself out there in the few years so much merch was produced by the Marlow company...

And look at what we're doing now. The WHRP is powered by people with their hands stained with the mold... and we keep spreading it further and further.

With every sticker we get told on the homepage to put on our own homepages, with every fanart, with every type of creative project related that we share online in so many places...

Meanwhile, Wally and his friend have no control over any of it. What can a being made of fabric, locked away in a dark moldy place do? There is no sunshine to dry the mold out. All they can do is yearn to be let out into the light as they try living and surving as the mold is trying to fully taking hold of them.

(It also is interesting how the Sally's house in Home is the only one with lights still on inside too, while everyone else's is dark. Is symbolism of light enough to keep the mold away at least in the world of Welcome Home?)

In my & Dan's opinion, the black mold is using Wally and the others like the puppets they are, Wally especially, because he is the face of the whole project after all.

Perhaps it is even taking advantage of now unfortunately ongoing thing with "mascot horror" on the internet, by focusing so much on him, but that is admittedly a reach on my part.

A last fun thing (genuinely, I'm having so much fun with these horror theories) to think about in combination with this theory that it is mold that wants to spread through merchendise-

Well, the new Makeship plush would be quite the addition to the storytelling of this, wouldn't you think? :)

This is the best way I can explain Dan's and my theory, though I am sure I might've forgotten smaller bits that lead to us crafting this theory. I don't think I will talk more about it because I rather observe than make up things for "Welcome Home", but theorizing with friends is always fun!

Again, this theory is based only on a few things we have gotten shown through the site so far, there is still so much Clown and their team want to show us, so please do not take this theory too seriously!

I for one will be genuinely excited if I have to throw this theory out the window after the next update! I am simply here to enjoy a beautiful and haunting story made by so many skilled folks! :>

[bungerisme]

Fuck it.

Murro Morton/ Wildling headcannons!!!!

None of these are cannon, but are just my general view on Murro and silly ideas I have for him. I don’t see a lot of content for him so here ya go.

Some of these are based on observations from cannon material some of them not.

Either way I hope you enjoy!

- Non-binary (he/they, general masc pref in appearance). His ass does not care about his own gender. While he prefers masculine clothes and styles it in reality does not matter to him. Perceive him how you wish.

- Unlabed in terms of romantic preference but he is acespec. Maybe poly? (Saw one piece of art mentioning having “boyfriends” plural and man. I agree. He deserves at least- two boyfriend.)

- This man is slightly delusional- as a treat. Mostly in the fact if he dated someone he’d want the fairy tale treatment. Swept off his feet or sweeping the other person off their feet in some kind of heroic act. Though due to his general social anxieties and Anthrophobia it will be a hard shoe to fill.

- during his time at the circus before he left he was INCREDIBLY scrawny and thin. Being only fed scraps and bread for most of his life, like cause of the clothes he wears it be hard to see. But if you took off his shirt he would look sickly. When he left he was able to actually eat more and has a general pudgier build but with muscular arms and legs. This is from general animal rangling.

- During his time away from the circus pre-manor, he worked assorted odd jobs, mostly as a farm hand or something similar to make money. He would carry boxes or do general animal handling jobs.

- When he returned back to the wilderness he still worked odd jobs mostly for clothes, medicine and the such but otherwise was able to self sustain.

- The reason why in so many of his files and diary entries refrences prince hood and hero’s is cause before his parents died he vaguely remembers them telling stories about how strong and beloved knights and princes were. And as he grew up under Bernard’s care after their death (someone who neglected and abused murro), Murro latched onto these ideals heavily. Always trying to be kind like the hero’s in those stories. Hoping one day he’d be loved and admired the same way those princes were.

- The stuffed dog Murro had was given to him before his parents passed as a birthday present. Even as an adult he carry’s it close to him.

- Murros instinct is to either run or freeze whenever he hears a whistle as it reminds him of Bernard. Remembering the rigorous and cruel training he had been under. While he got better, whistles do cause him to flinch.

- Murro practically helped to raise Mike as their technically adopted brothers/ cousins. Murro hates how Mike praises Bernard so much, but he bites his tongue. Just happy mike gets to live the life he never could.

- Murro helps to raise the hogs. He’s helped to raise at least a few generations both in and out of the circus.

- All hogs and animal companions are named after fruits and other edible plants. Apple being his main hogs name.

- Projection time ✨. Murro has sensitive hearing and will flinch and cover his ears actively especially if the sound echos about. While he can handle things like loud music, crowds and loud city noises freak him the hell out.

- He travels a lot. After leaving the circus he doesn’t really have a place to call his own. So he’s always on the move. His loyal animal companions following him.

- Murro is fantastic with kids! He is incredibly patient with them compared to adults where he is general cautious around them. Murro knows that kids aren’t intentionally mean or anything like that, it’s just how they’re raised, so he treats them with upmost kindness even if they’re rude to him.

- Murro is a woman respecting man. Being a hero/ prince means you gotta be able to treat women with the upmost care. While still a anxious guy he isn’t gonna be an asshole to a woman for no reason.

- Patience of a SAINT. It would take a lot to make him snap. But man when he does it’s scary but fast as he will IMMEDIATELY feel guilty about it.

- He often does not feel human AT ALL. From how he was treated in both childhood and adult hood, Murro finds that- he feels almost like an alien or an animal. He of course considers himself human but man those feelings of just. Years of dehumanization really adds up.

[iheartchv]

Hey I was hoping I could get a cod matchup? Sorry in advance for the yapping

Umm as for appearance I am 5’4” in my early twenties. I have layered curly brown hair that comes to just above my shoulder, blue eyes, freckles pale as hell, a few scars here and there that I’m kinda proud of (from various causes) I don’t really have a specific style it can range from a tank top and sweats to t-shirt and jeans or something completely wild, color coded decked out in jewelry, skirts, layers the whole bit. Relatively active build, used to be a gymnast until an injury now I just workout twice a week w a friend. Interests; I like movies top five rn probably Scream (1996), Spiderverse, 10 things I hate about you, the last unicorn, Dead poets society, +Star Wars cause I can’t leave it out. I like playing chess every now and then, I’d say I’m pretty good but I still have a ways to go. I’m also an artist, and I like music I can’t do anything music related I just like listening to it, all kinds. I like baking when I’m stressed, typically cookies during finals week at 2 am. My future prospects, or at least what they are currently, is just going to law school, after that I’m not really sure, I’ve thought ab going the military route, both of my parents served/are serving, so I’ve thought ab the possibility of being a military JAG or something in Intel, but I’m still feeling for it, I mostly like law cause I’m pretty good at it and I like knowing more than people. I’m Bi so my taste in Men/Women varies. As much as I’d like to say I don’t have a type, hot people are hot, there have been patterns in the past few fictional guys. Tbh my taste in men is shit, like I don’t have daddy issues, I have a great relationship with him, but my past fictional crushes say other wise. But basically, capability is HOT, if they’re good at something to the point of mastering it I’m entranced. Women are just pretty, there’s not much there. I’m relatively paranoid, even describing myself like this online is strange, I think it’s just growing up around military but I’m typically just cautious. That and trust issues. I’ve done some martial arts/self defense and I think sparring is really fun I just need someone to teach me. Also I am a huge simp (with shit taste as my friends say) I’m an ambiavert, so I like to be pretty adaptable depending on who I’m around. I’m also German/American but definitely more American than anything else, I ‘grew up’ in south Germany and we still have family there but since we moved here I’ve forgotten most of  the language. JFC in hindsight I am SO SORRY about all this I got carried away. I hope it didn’t come across as self absorbed 😭😅 thanks 

Sorry again 

🤔 I'll pair you with...

Captain John Price 🚬

Price might be the one to fall for you

If you ever decide/decided to join the military, him and Laswell will look through files and find you

He can't help but feel that you would bring something to the table

Recruiting you, along with many others, he'd be watching you

Through the tests, he'd be silently hoping you'd pass

When he asks to see you, you think you've done something wrong

Instead he just tells you that you've done a good job with all the training and tests he's put you through

"I admit, I thought you would call it quits anytime soon... but... you're determination surprised me."

"You've got guts, spirit. I like that"

He wants to take you under his wing and train you

He was right about you; there was something special there

Though he didn't know just how special you would be to him later on 🤭

After many months and near death experiences later, he'd come to realize he cares about you... a lot

💞

When off duty, he will take you somewhere to talk

Price doesn't play games, you know that

So... he tells you that he really likes you

All this time he'd spent getting to know you, he felt something he hadn't in a long time

One time, when he looked like he was about to fall asleep he was surprised that you showed so much concern for him; You wanted to do something, anything, for him

His hand gently held yours, showing how gentle he can be

"If you'll have me, love, I can make you happy... even if it takes my whole life to"

[robotsrawesome64]

Heyyyy saw you would like some COD matchups

I'm American, but my mother's side is Slavic. I'm white, 5'6, shoulder length brown hair. I wear glasses and have a coquette aesthetic. I'm not skinny but I'm not plus sized so idk what to call myself lol.

I'm quiet and come off and kinda weird when you don't know me (I have under developed social skills due to C-PTSD). I stay to myself, make jokes that don't even seem connected to the current interactions, have a hard time maintaining eye contact. I love space and art, I have ADHD, Bipolar, and C-PTSD. I'm extremely loyal, can see right through people's bullshit, and am extremely understanding of people's unconventional habits. When you get to know me, I'm more chaotic. Not in an "I'm so random🤪😎" way but "I have an idea, I've thought it 70% of the way through, and we will see how it goes together"

If I were in the COD universe I'd probably be a sniper. I know that's a basic answer but my reasons are due to my hypervigilence, good eye tracking, great at shooting (shoutout to Thanksgiving traditions), and preferance for overall quiet and strict environments.

My top 5 characters are Simon Riley, Nikto, Gaz, Konig (Canon, not fanon), and Krueger.

Feel free to ignore, ik that writing can be really draining!! <3

I matched you with....

KU-KU-KUH KRUUUEGER 📣📢♨️❗❓💢💯🆘

^graphic design is my passion

TYSM for the first ask :,,DD So I got carried away, gonna see if ur into it but if not give me a shout to remove any of the warning stuff/private it etc !! (this is on me lmao) dont wanna scare you off w warnings, its overall fluff but i gotta tag em correctly

W: bbgifying fictional war criminals, violence/murder(described Krueger kills hostiles, implication you have), intimidation(Krueger likes killing/is ego aggressive to hostiles/brief aggro jealousy to others), ally very wounded (brief, blood mention, theyll be ok offscreen dw), unexpected gunshot on the range(all g, it was an ally), stalker-y (lately announced presence, lies that the public german nickname 4u he uses isnt affectionate, pre-dating jealousy), vague bad mental health mention, getting triggered mention, unspecified negativeish Krueger coping mechanism, vigilance(nothing happens but ur partners wanted/tense mission), you guys shooting, long mandated proximity, brief 'is bad man?', worry, long read more, light cliffhanger + HC that you were assigned callsign 'Cere'!

(This is a delulu long 2 off, next inbox ask i get to im gonna chill & try bulletpoints instead :p)(req are closed rite now TYSM for them&lt;3 !)

===============================================🌙

"You're assigned with Krueger? Oh, buddy." Your fellow KorTac operator eyes you with sympathy.

It was the equivalent of a teacher seating the 'troubled' kid next to the 'good, quiet' kid.

Flash back to pre-assignment: as soon as you met him you didn't need to look into any files to know he was a two-faced bitch. He was pretty socially inconspicuous if not for your watchful eye. Low-effort charisma, flattery, egotisical swagger. Heedless apathy if someone that wasn't helping him needed help. All the calm confidence in the world and he's always at least hiding some part of his face. So suspicious for a dude whose job is murder.

Krueger was 'friendly', but he wasn't the type to get invested in getting to know 'the team'. Meaning, once a blue moon when you both decide to stay in a social space together, the max of your interaction is him staring from across the room and snorting at you. A joke of yours had fell on someone's deaf ears and a solid 4 seconds later he chuckled at it. Or at you. Unclear. You'd felt his blatant gaze burning you through the hood as soon as you'd started talking. Anyway, now you both looked "weird".

Maybe it was a sniper thing? You couldn't afford to get rusty as you settled on the faction base's range; one eye closed to focus down the scope. That familar 'pchow' sound: hit. Cock, reload, hit, repeat. Hit. Hit-hit, wait what? What was supposed to be your target dents in front of you as you hear the same sound, but from along the range. Jesus christ. Someone else was practicing too. You still yourself and resume through their tampering/co-shooting. Once you've had your fill Krueger conveniently had too, revealing himself as your competitor to purr a praise at you as you passed by. "Very nice."

Anyway, that mission you two were sent on. Heavy snow, low hills and wind-swept shrubland before forest. Hostile base right in the middle in which you've been ordered to clear by any means. There was no way they'd be able to send in a team yet without getting spotted, which is where you guys came in. A sniper either side. Hit your shots; everything will be okay. Miss? There's only so many places it could've come from.

There was something beautiful in that moment in the calm before the storm. Only the crunch of snow as you settled into position, impossibly small as you painted the final dot in the break of snow back to white. Above you, an even wider sprawling landscape of almost clear blue sky with a few sparse strings of cloud. You could see the faint impression of the moon. And…another planet? Something smaller, stationary, glinting. It was possible to catch planets during the daytime, sure, but you might know that this wasn't their usual positions. You think you've just witnessed something very special.

Married to that sight was the chill of wind over your many layers, and Krueger muttering eerily calm communications in your ear via radio. It's not like sniper fire could be silent, but you had a window of opportunity with the suppressor temporarily hiding your position. You'd shoot together.

He slowly counted down like he enjoyed it. Regardless of his distracting yapping you both hit, and he shamelessly hissed praise as he eagerly loaded his next.

Cut to your report back, your half-smile fades at a joke that didn't land with your befuddled superior. Krueger snickers. This was a long-range mission. Somehow, you were standing to attention in front of them, half your sniper hood burnt up (??) and Krueger standing a little more lax next to you splattered in blood. Now- you had clutched the mission. Thanks to your half-plan in response to Krueger getting ahead of himself, in which upon your very stressed communication you both went all-in on.

You remember a moment in the scuffle in which you were pinned by the last hostile after rescuing a screaming damsel Krueger (you didn't know he hit that pitch). You half expected the knife stuck through your attackers neck to pierce you too, before Krueger threaded the needle and double-neutralized your attacker with a snap of the neck. Panting, he leant out a hand for you to take, with a tilt of his head. "Thank you, bruder." You'd worked surprisingly natural together come the highest pressure. He didn't want to die, and you wouldn't let him. But God, he gave you a headache.

To your dismay/morbid interest you were assigned as a duo together again. And again. And again. Through trial and error you got more and more used to how each-other worked on the field, to the point his more bloodlust-y spontaneous ventures seemed quite tempting. With the guidance of your planning, of course. You swear you could hear him smirk on the other side of the radio when you finally seemed just as enthusiastic as him. Others joining you on your assignments would have to scramble to keep up with the pace of your symbiosis.

When he wasn't screaming and shouting for his life from the consequences of his own actions/in combat/violently taunting his enemies with concerning egotistical aggression, it was quite peaceful. Something about being able to focus together, but apart. Beautiful landscapes to the sound of his soothing dry tone.

And so, sue you if you hung out a little more.

"Come; you're needed." He'd half-joke with a pat on your back if he saw you alone, inviting you to sit with him and Nikto. The life-or-death nature of your field didn't really breed cliques, it's just when you could pick, two other 'offputting' neurodivergents were much less exhausting (once you'd mostly figured they weren't planning to kill you). Sometimes Krueger would be trying to say something and both you and Nikto would lose focus and have a lighter episode at the same time, which could be funnily validating despite the circumstances.

Nikto's threateningly gruff, jovial energy was kind of infectious. It might just come up in conversation: your mother's heritage. Ooh, Russian? Was it Russian? Do you know a second language? Krueger participated in the conversation, but…fuck, why were you looking at Nikto like that? No, no, you should just learn German with him instead. You'll have enough time for it together when you travel for your next mission.

It was very few and far between where Krueger had given anyone a nickname. Acquaintance German speakers would give him weird looks when he called you 'asterisks/little star'- "Sternchen," with a lingering tone. He'd non-chalantly play it off when you asked, oh you know, explaining it meant star, like the callsign you got assigned. You might explain, oh no, 'Cere' is a dwarf planet.

"Oh, really?" He seemed very interested as your eyes lit up into conversation about something you seemed to like.

Upon your explanation, he thinks your callsign suited you very well. Cere: an exceptional astronomical body usually hidden to the human eye. The largest object in an asteroid belt in-between Mars and Jupiter; muddy and icy; sporting brines, carbonates and stunningly shiny cryovolcanoes. Incredibly underrated for a beautiful busy planet that screams potential life.

He still called you sternchen, ft. "Mein sternchen," that one time. He was aiming for a cutesy secret term of endearment, but 'asterisks' technically worked too. You were his 'yes, and'. Shit, was he really thinking like that? I mean, he wasn't totally shy to it. It's just most of his previous attractions were short-term and pretty baseless for a reason. Especially with co-workers that actually had an allegiance to who they were working for.

Which made it all the more natural for him to unblinkingly step over and in the pool of blood of the person you were both tasked to protect when he saw you go down. He shouted scolding concern as he rushed to help you out even though you weren't even half as hurt.

Or when you felt shit, to say the least. You were stationed together in Berlin for an unpredictably long wait for a high-priority target. A safehouse in the middle of plain sight with you guys on deck. Blend in as civillians, barely working, just…waiting to be called on. It felt like leave, except you were living with Krueger.

It was definitely a little stressful for him to be back in Germany. He didn't intially realize his unconscious unconventional coping mechanisms set you off too, until he did, and he was at your side if you ever needed something. Helping you wasn't a big deal as far as he was concerned; he didn't have the capacity for afflictive empathy to get particularly tired of it. He'd stare at you with a limited calculative look as he tried to think of what might make his (..work)partner a little better.

Oh, staring? It was a natural habit of his to unabashedly look right in the eyes of people he considered safe/close. Just outside he tried to keep his anonymity, but here he offered to also hide his face or something indoors whilst he checked himself for that habit. Wouldn't be anything new.

Neither was finding the right words to avoid misconception/upset; casually, calmly squashing any worries.

Or when he kept bouncing his leg after being in too long when he sat, and you met eyes whilst fidgeting yourself. Yeah, no-one needed to say it to know it was time to go out.

Just two solid, fit foreigners with inconsistent tan lines. Yeah, no pressure. Played it off as his American other-half visiting for the summer holiday, or something. Not that he at all minded. An older couple observing you when he used his nickname for you (it..just meant star, right?); when he put his hand on your back to guide you somewhere less dodgy; or when you both stood close like you liked him to inconspicuously mutter information. In one of those moments you thought he might be a bit too much of a natural at this.

But you couldn't exactly leave each-other; he spared the details but let you know the faces to look for. And when his description trailed off, he tried drawing instead. Uh, yeah, no offence, but you couldn't tell what that was. You tried instead for him, kind of like a police sketch artist. Regardless of whether you drew often or not, he'd walk a little closer in interest, hand on the back of your seat to look over your shoulder with an impressed noise. "You made them too handsome, sternchen. That-oh yeah, much better." He'd joke.

Art was a pretty good way to fill the time. Alongside Krueger teaching you a little German to apply it later- maybe at a till. If you wanted to buy paints or something, go crazy. Company money, right? Fashion was fun, too. Unsure if you'd ever get the opportunity again to have packed nice-nice clothes for a job. Unlike him; he was underdressed compared to you. Sometimes literally.

Whenever the sunlight beamed in through your little window at the right time of day, he'd lay in it like a cat, sleeveless/ shirtless if you were comfortable. Men. Which was of note since he couldn't exactly flash them outside, but aside from the few scars (a couple of which you remember how he got them.) he had some cool (..?) tattoos. Shame he couldn't get one from you. Not that he'd back out if you busted out the ol' stick and poke. But hey, plenty of empty space left for illustratory practice to bide the time?

Time seemed to go quicker. Krueger singing under his breath around the small flat-thing as he tried to occupy himself; laying next to you on the floor when you felt bad; routine window sunbathing; eagerly crafting an elaborate game with you via worryingly stacked things from around the place just to take aggressive turns with each-other making it break everywhere and fall. It was the human equivalent of two ping pong balls in a box. His stories being your podcast as you did art; him sitting still-ish for you and being amused by the cute bow he'd been awarded to his bicep (not that he could compare to your style); loosely giving his hands back to you behind his head so you could fidget with or hold them, whatever you want.

If you liked him back? He confidently didn't think it was just an act of care anymore from the way your gaze lingered on him- which he reciprocated. He'd speak back calmly and try to hide the twitch of a smile with a satisfied tilt back of his head.

He'd hold you like he would've done anyway if you needed him, with the added flair of lulling his head to rest against next to yours as he calmly talked your ear off before bed. Maybe as he lightly traced your cheek where his hand laid, if he felt braver.

Your shared enemies always seemed to go down harder, more violently. Other operators caught snarky comments.

You weren't quite sure how it'd all come to an official head, or not. But as far as you were concerned, with your head on his shoulder, it wasn't too bad to be assigned with Sebastian Krueger.

[mischievouslymoony]

Under the Same Sky

Part 2: Under the Same Sky

Pt. 1

______

The next time you saw Marlene, it wasn’t in the quiet sanctuary of the library, but in Potions class. The classroom was buzzing with noise as students filed in, chatting and settling into their seats. You were flipping through your notes when Professor Slughorn announced, with a flourish, that he’d be pairing students for a brewing assignment.

Your stomach dropped as you glanced around the room, already dreading the prospect of being paired with someone who wouldn’t take the work seriously. As Slughorn’s voice carried through the room, calling out names, you waited anxiously. Then, you heard it:

"Y/N and McKinnon."

You blinked, surprised, and caught sight of Marlene standing a few tables away. She seemed just as taken aback, her eyebrows raised slightly as she glanced in your direction. For a moment, you considered asking Slughorn to switch, but before you could, Marlene was already moving toward you, her usual confident stride softened by a slight smirk.

“Well, well,” she said, plopping down on the stool next to you. “Looks like we’re partners in crime this time.”

You offered a small smile, still unsure of how this would go. Marlene was friendly enough in your last encounter, but working together on a project? You had no idea if she’d be interested in actually putting in the effort.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray your nerves.

Slughorn began explaining the assignment: a tricky Draught of Peace potion, known for being difficult to get just right. You’d need to balance the ingredients perfectly, or the potion would be ineffective—or worse, explosive.

Marlene scanned the instructions on the blackboard before turning to you with a determined glint in her eye. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

You hesitated, unsure if she was being serious or if this was just her going through the motions. “I, uh… I thought we could divide the ingredients and prep them separately, then brew together?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said easily, already rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll handle the powdered moonstone and the syrup of hellebore. You take the valerian roots and the porcupine quills?”

You nodded, a bit surprised by how quickly she fell into the work. Marlene seemed relaxed, but she was precise as she measured out the moonstone and carefully prepared the hellebore. You found yourself easing into the task, the initial awkwardness fading as you worked side by side in comfortable silence.

As you sliced the valerian roots, you glanced at Marlene, who was focused intently on her own task. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and there was a certain grace to the way she moved, efficient but unhurried.

“So,” Marlene said suddenly, breaking the silence. “You’re pretty good at this.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Oh, um, thanks. I just… like Potions, I guess.”

She grinned, stirring the mixture carefully. “You’ve got a good eye for it. That’s rare. Most people are all about flashy spells and duels, but Potions? It’s an art.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her words. It wasn’t often that people appreciated your interest in Potions—it was usually seen as the boring, less glamorous side of magic. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Marlene said, glancing up from the cauldron. “My mum’s a healer. She always said that Potions were half the reason she could do her job. People always forget how important they are.”

You didn’t know much about Marlene’s family, but you found yourself curious. “Is that why you’re good at it too?”

She shrugged, her expression softening. “Maybe. I don’t know if I’m ‘good’ at it, but I grew up watching my mum brew stuff. It sort of rubbed off, I guess.”

The two of you fell into a rhythm after that, working together smoothly as you brewed the potion. It was surprisingly easy, the usual tension you felt around others disappearing as Marlene made the task feel like teamwork rather than a chore.

About halfway through, you realized something: you were actually enjoying yourself.

“So,” Marlene said after a while, glancing at you with a teasing smile, “how does someone as quiet as you manage to fly under the radar so much? I feel like I barely know you.”

You felt your face heat up at the question, caught off guard by her interest. “I don’t know,” you said with a small shrug. “I guess I’m just… not the type to stand out.”

Marlene tilted her head, studying you for a moment. “I don’t buy that. You’re smart, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I bet there’s more to you than you let on.”

You chuckled, a little embarrassed. “I’m really not that interesting, Marlene.”

“Everyone’s interesting in their own way,” she countered, flashing you a grin. “You just have to dig a little deeper.”

Before you could respond, the potion began to simmer, the soft bubbling sound signaling that it was nearly done. You both leaned over the cauldron, watching carefully as the pale blue liquid swirled gently.

“Moment of truth,” Marlene said, holding her breath as she added the final ingredient, stirring the potion clockwise exactly three times.

To your relief, the potion settled into the perfect shade of silvery blue—exactly as it should. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“We did it,” you said, feeling a small rush of pride.

Marlene grinned, clearly pleased. “Not bad for our first try.”

As Professor Slughorn came around to inspect your work, giving the two of you a nod of approval, you felt a sense of accomplishment. Not only had you succeeded in brewing a difficult potion, but you’d also spent the entire class working with Marlene—and, to your surprise, it had been… fun.

When the lesson ended, you began packing up your things, expecting Marlene to head off to her group of Gryffindor friends. But instead, she lingered by your side, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said suddenly, her tone casual but her eyes curious. “I’m heading to the Three Broomsticks with some friends this weekend. You should come.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her correctly. “Me? Really?”

She raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah, you. What, you think I’m just going to forget my amazing Potions partner?”

You hesitated, the idea of hanging out with Marlene and her friends feeling a bit daunting. But the way she was looking at you—genuine, inviting—made you feel like maybe this wasn’t just a one-time thing.

“I… sure,” you said finally, giving her a small smile. “I’d like that.”

Marlene grinned, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

As she walked out of the classroom, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of excitement. You hadn’t expected to form any sort of bond with Marlene McKinnon, but somehow, it had happened. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to realize that this unexpected friendship was something worth holding on to.

---

[paigelts05]

Frostbite [FNAF]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Frostbite-FNAF-900526667

Published: Dec 12, 2021

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843413

For me, the span of October through February is spooky season, and in the Goretober prompt lists, I saw Frostbite crop up in a few. I usually prefer blood, but I thought I'd do something without blood but still gorey in a way. And what better candidate for this prompt than Mike. I just feel that it fits; H location Michel almost burns, so C location Mike almost freezes. It's a great parallel, and also C location Mike's airy vibe really fits with the whole almost freezing to death thing. Also he has splints because I've broken his legs at least twice. Maybe three times. He doesn't wear them at Freddy's because why risk more metal in the legs, but outside of Freddy's, it's easier to you know, not get your legs crushed. And as this would be set post 1997 and before he's recovered from a certain thing that happens during the second to last week of Freddy's being open, but Mike's last week of actually working there, enough to wear more discreet ones under his jeans, he wears these clunky splints that may or may not be based off the ones that Luca Balsa from IDV has. =°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

It was November, 1997. "I know it's a bit soon, but I can go." Mike had told his mum, the chief of police, that he was going to help investigate an old storage site. There had been reports of activity that was either paranormal or criminal, so Mike had insisted on going, just in case it was the former and not the latter. Even though his legs hadn't had time to fully heal, he insisted. After some convincing, he was allowed to go, provided he didn't go alone. Two other officers and a rookie went with him. Just in case the threat was human, they brought weapons, but he had a hunch that weapons would be not necessary. The site wasn't too far away; just an industrial estate north of the city centre. It was a mass of concrete walls and plastic roofs, with some pure metal containers tacked onto the sides. The place looked both clean, and unkept. Amongst the many buildings, it was apparent that half were unused, and that even if they were available for rental, no sane person would use them. Dirt and leaves clogged the path towards the buildings, and everyone had to trudge through the cold wet foliage to even get close. Mike's attention was quickly grabbed by the central unit and it's cold storage. He felt a ghostly presence far colder than the bitterest winter chill. That had to be the place. The other three followed Mike as he walked into this abandoned storage unit, the epicenter of the abandonment. The side door to the building opened smoothy, a stark contrast to the dilapidated ruins they were walking into. He ignored the ruins of the storage unit around him, heading straight towards the cold storage. Despite the building having no power for either heating or air conditioning, the building got colder and colder the closer to the cold storage he went. Opening the door felt like stepping into a blizzard, and even the officer who came prepared wearing a thick winter coat felt the same chill that Mike did; an unnatural twinge that was colder than the ice that had formed on the walls and coated the floor. The cold storage was supposed to be powered off. Mike flicked on his torch and cast the beam inside; the only things that he could see were some unmarked crates that carried no scent yet an aura of pain, unmarked boxes strewn across the floor and shelving units, all left in a hurry, and the faint outline of something strange. The lights may have been out, but the room was freezing, as if it were fully functional. A thick layer of Frost coated every icy surface which crunched underfoot as they proceeded into the darkness. The rookie waited at the door, just so it wouldn't be closed behind any of them, just to be on the safe side. The rest carried on. The darkness spread for what felt like forever, even with a torch to aid their lack of vision. Walls weren't apparent until they were an inch from thier faces, and boxes seemed to appear on the floor out of nowhere, and that left Mike leading by intuition alone whilst the other two followed. With a little bit of looking, he found the electrical box and the cover swung open as if it hadn't even been locked. Looking inside, everything was coated in a thin layer of ice, but it was clear that it just needed to be switched on. Once the switch was flicked, a buzzing filled the cold storage unit and the lights flicked on, row by row, with a heavy click. Mike turned to look at his colleagues, but as he looked around, he found that he was alone. He wasn't too far from the door, as the unit was a lot smaller then what you'd expect it to be from navigating it step by step in the pitch black. He could see the whole place for what it was. Thin shelved were lined up around the room in haphazard coridoors, and the crates he saw before were more numerous than he expected. The ice on the majority of the floor was untouched, with the exception of the trail of footsteps around the room. Three tracks became two, became one. Mike inspected the footsteps closely to try and figure out what happened to the others, finding that it looked as if the they both had ran off, the footsteps doubling back and around, running towards the door. Mike ran to the door himself and tried to get it open, but it wouldn't budge. From outside, he heard voices. "You idiot, he's still in there!" One voice. "I didn't close the door, I swear, it did it on its own!" A second voice; that one was the rookie. "Well how's that possible if the mechanisms broke!" The third voice; everyone but him was outside. "I don't know!" Rookie's voice again. "Why did you let the door close?" That was the first voice again. "I didn't! It scared me away!" Rookie's voice. They were scared? "What did?" One again. "Same thing that made you two run out here bawling your eyes out." Rookie again, but why wouldn't anyone mention what made them run off? "Hey!" Mike yelled, "it's ok. I'll see if the electrical box has an auto release for the door on this side, seeing as there's nothing at the door here. You check for another way of opening it on your end." "Ok!" The rookie replied, and Mike could hear them already scrambling about trying to find a way to open the door. With a relived sigh, Mike went back to the fuse box. The trodden down frost cracked as if it had never been stood on, and with the power now on, the cold was only amplified by the presence of whatever was here. The cover of the electrical box wouldn't budge. It had a thick layer of frost and ice covering up the lock and hinges, as if it wanted to pretend that it had never been opened. Mike found a length of shattered pipe and begun to try and break the ice, but it was useless. Mike begun to question if he had really opened the electrical box the first time. He tried to open it again, taking a more gentle approach, yet it was still as cold as the rest of the room. The only thing proving that he had opened it before was a marking left imprinted on the ice by his hands where the ice had momentarily melted that would be impossible if the electrical box had never been opened. The hum of electricity was a reassuring and terrifying noise; a confirmation that he had opened the electrical box, yet a reminder that now the place was switched on, he was on a timer before he would freeze, just like the packages and papers and ribbons and crates that were strewn across the sparse shelving units, unmoving and encased in frost. He shook his head and figured that whatever was in here with him wasn't human and wasn't planning on letting him go any time soon, and that the only way out was to find out what it wants. Trying to bit take deep breaths, the icy air filling his lungs, making each breath feel like he was a step closer to freezing. Mike walked around, letting himself be guided by not his mind, but his instincts. Many of the boxes seemed to have an aura of sadness, fear, and pain, but none strong enough for him to investigate. Yet after walking near some particularly large boxes, he knew with his instincts and heart that he had found something. As Mike reached out to open the box, he saw his hands had become paler than usual as white frost seemed to form on his skin, or was it under his skin? He only just registered the pain of the wounds that the cold had begun to create on his skin, but he had to work through the pain to survive: just like he always did. Ignoring the numbness in his hands, he prised the lid of the crate and looked inside. A linen sheet had been tucked over something. Removing the sheet let him see an unmoving body underneath, hair and what was left of the physique matching the description of a missing person from just before this place got haunted. Mike grabbed his radio from his belt. The buttons felt stiff, but he managed to send a signal. "I've found a body. It's the missing person from a while back. Maybe now they've been found, they'll leave this place. Also the electrical box is frozen over, I -" Mike lost his grip on the radio and it fell to the ground with a crack. Splinters of ice and plastic covered the ground, but Mike didn't linger. He headed for the door, the frost under his feet just as fresh as it was the first time. He tried the handle. It didn't budge at all. He tried ramming into the door, but there wasn't even a notable thud. Then, he went back to the only other place he could think of: the electrical box. It had thawed. He opened it, but where a button for opening or even unlocking the door looked like they should be, there was ice and frost covering the labels, and some holes that used to contain buttons, perhaps long ago. He tried to turn off the power in a last ditch effort, but the button seemed frozen in place. Feeling Defeated, he closed the electrical box. He clutched his head and sunk to the ground, unsure of what to do next. Everything was getting so cold. He kept his hands under his arms to try and warm them up, but streaks of frost white continued to grow along his pale completion. If he could see his own reflection, he already knew his face would have similar patches of pute white. His tears had frozen into a thin layer of ice, and even his breath was cold now. He shivered as he tried his best to stay warm, but he didn't know if he could. He didn't know how long he'd have to last or how long he has left before he would freeze to death, but that timer was outside of his control. Everything was out of his control now. As the icy air tried to put him to sleep, a sudden banging at the door kept him concious. The sound of ice falling on ice gave him a bit of hope, but not much. The lights seemed to dim, and even the boxes nearest to him became a blur. A loud crash of a door snapping off its frozen hinges should have jolted him awake, but it didn't. What felt like too long later, something warm put his arm over thier shoulders and dragged him to his feet. He knew all of his weight - albeit not much at all - was being held up by this person. But it's not like he could help. He heard talk about the crate he had opened and it's contents. Talk about one of them getting the box to the station and the other two would take him to the hospital. He felt movement, and then felt warmer. The air was thicker out here and tasted like wet leaves and grass. Despite the November chill, it was warmer than the cold storage. He heard one of them talking on the phone to someone, whilst another fetched a regular blanket and a picnic blanket out of the car. "We can't just put him in the car, we've got to let him warm up gradually!" The rookie said as she laid the picnic blanket on the ground and helped the one that was holding Mike up in gently setting him down. Everyone begun to move around, dealing with the rest of this incident. Mike had almost forgotten on what terms he had come here; it was dealing with a ghost for work rather than his usual dealing with ghosts off the clock, so his colleagues would be doing all the talking and hopefully most of the paperwork too (everyone but the rookie owed him one for last week). His attention then drifted away. Mike didn't feel as if he could focus on his current surroundings. His gaze drifted beteeen the trees around him, and the frost on the edges of the leaves that remained. He then took a look at his own hands and noticed a similar pattern of frost on them. °*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•🌹•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°•°*°

[multiples-fandomswontkillme]

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

[bambiswriting]

Consequence of Krell - Part 1

Part: 1, 2

Captain Rex x Tactician!Reader (she/her) 

Summary: You have joined the 501st and 212th in the campaign of taking Umbara, and now you have to apprehend and arrest the turned Jedi, Krell. But what happens when Krell turns his sights and hurts you?

Warnings: Descriptions of heavy injury, strangulation, choking, vomit, blood, burns, lightsaber wound, head injury, angst, hurt, death. Not a light one!

Word count: 2k

-

The shield dissipated to reveal the imprisoned clones. You watched as Jesse and Fives took the blasters outstretched in Rex’s hands while you stood on the elevator pad with Tup and Kix. The nervous energy was thrumming from each of them. You were of equal mind. Fives, your best friend, glanced over Rex’s shoulder at you. He nodded and attempted a comforting smile. You dipped your head in a sedated reply. Your stomach sat heavy, a weight ready to pull you under. But… no. You couldn’t focus on it. Not now. You had to do right by them. The grief was already at a mounted peak, but there would be time to sit in it with them later.

You didn’t comprehend the sensation of the pad rising until a blaster bumped against your left side. On your right, Rex’s eyes casted sideways to search your glazed ones. Your pupils were involuntarily flicking left to right, searching the empty space between identical heads for a solution. Anything other than this - an alternative to the loss that would continue once you reached the upper level of the command station. Rex grasped your two fingers closest to him and tenderly squeezed. You squeezed back. A silent promise of companionship to one another.

The doors opened, a cruelty from the Force, and clones immediately filed out, surrounding Krell. The objective was to cut off each inconceivable exit, but every man in the room knew it would make no difference should the Besalisk ignite his sabers. Many of them would not leave the tower. And perhaps you would go with them. You took your stance between Rex and Fives, with a desperate plea to the galaxy to allow you to maintain their safety. A hologram by the door pulsated back online, and the noise made you jump, setting the lump in your throat deeper. You aimed your blaster at the fallen Jedi.

Rex straightened. “General Krell, you’re being relieved of duty.”

He turned, slowly, and somehow that was equally as terrifying as staring him directly in those sickly yellow eyes. His two pairs of arms persisted in a fold behind his back, with optimal access to his weapons. The pressure in your head was building. Rex hadn't yet raised his DC-17s. He was the most vulnerable person in the room. You unknowingly squeezed down on your trigger.

"It's treason, then." Those words carried the condemnation of a death sentence. He bared his teeth in such a way that it would have appeared he was smiling.

Finally, Rex pinned his blasters on the target. "Surrender, General."

If the situation owed to it, perhaps you would have laughed. The mere use of a title, still, was abhorrent to you.

Krell initiated a stalk towards Rex, centering himself in the room and widening his stance by the parting of his feet. Please, no.

"You're committing mutiny, Captain."

"Explain your actions."

The clones moved deeper into the room, cutting off the window at which Krell was just policing the Umbaran landscape.

"My actions?"

"For ordering your troops against one another."

"Oh, that." He raised his head, proud, and gestured nonchalantly. "I'm surprised you were able to figure it out… for a clone."

Your clench around the trigger was building.

Out of your left eye, you had identified movement from Fives. You assumed it was a gesture of advancement. But you didn't turn to confirm this. You couldn't move. Your limbs were paralysed.

“Surrender, General. You’re outnumbered.”

You felt the air around you turn stagnant. A rushing noise built in your ears, and then your feet tipped forward, toes dragging along the floor. The gravity shifted underneath you, and you were pulled towards the beast at full speed.

Quicker than it began, you stopped, making contact with one of Krell's fists. Nothing you had endured in this war thus far compared to the instantaneous pressure around your windpipe. Within seconds your eyes felt close to bursting. You couldn't hear the commotion around you, as your blood was pulsing rapidly in your skull.

Safety mechanisms released in every which direction. Rex pinned his pistols, now gripped in a vice, on Krell's skull. "Drop her."

Krell turned to you, talking steadily along the shell of your ear. "Your feelings for him - all of them - are strong, but they weaken you. They compromise your resolve." He raised you off the ground, your legs squirming as you frantically clawed at his fist.

"She intended to shoot me, for you," he squeezed again, sight tunneling on Rex. A noise like a whine escaped your mouth. “Half-breed."

Rex couldn't make the call. Krell's movements were quick and precise. Any one of his blaster bolts timed with a purposeful shove could hit you. His blood was turning acidic.

"Yes… I sense the fear in you. The anger. The fury. Take your weapon. Strike me down."

Your helpless wheeze cut through the rest of Rex's resolve like glass. Your arms had slowed their fight to return the stolen air to your lungs. You were going limp. Your heart was trembling. His hands shook.

"This is the art of war. Executive decisions must be made."

You felt something in your neck crack.

Krell bowed his head. "And you lack the ability to instigate them."

His arms at his back frayed and thrusted forward, sending the men hurtling to the ground. Rex hit the door and his blasters fell with him, skidding out of reach. He leapt with speed to his feet, in time to see the green blade of a saber come down against your back, splitting your armour, through to your jacket and then along your back. If you could breathe, you would have screamed in agony. The image of your eyes wide in torture would haunt his nightmares forever. Krell threw you carelessly across the room, slamming against the wall. Your head suffered the brunt of the contact, and your body collapsed in a heap.

Fives' voice broke into bottomless rage. "I'll kill you!"

The clones needed no instruction. They opened fire. A second double ended saber entered the battle. What followed was a myriad of needless lives lost. Krell cut down men with no remorse. His sabers spun and pivoted, deflecting blaster fire and creating a shield around him. The plasma shuddered audibly, sound reminiscent of gunship engines, faulting, stuttering and eventually declining in an air battle. He leapt between men, massacring war heroes. Most were fortunate, decapitated or impaled immediately and granted an instantaneous passing. Others were left with pieces missing and didn’t have such a luxury of a fast death. They bled out until painfully slipping away. Orange and blue chipped armour was diced and thrown every which direction, 501st and 212th assuming a role of puppets, and Krell was the master. The Besalisk sliced one clone through the gut, and kicked him at Rex, who jumped aside in a dodge. Krell ceased momentarily, just as the remaining men dragged themselves back on their feet, and his eyes bore into Rex.

“I will not be undermined by creatures bred in some laboratory!” His exit was open. He turned and jumped through the window, glass shattering around him and falling to the ground below. He spun in the air and landed on both feet, the shards from the tower raining around him. Then the clones below began shooting.

He should have run straight to the elevator and pursued the fallen Jedi. But the stability of what would normally be his auto piloted instincts had fragmented. The smell of your burnt skin crippled Rex's mind. You were face down, and the wound across your back was glowing as it continued to melt the area in its circumference. Kix ran over then, seemingly directing his focus to you. Unbeknownst to Rex, the medic had already done a sweep, and concluded that no one else in the room who had been on the end of Krell's sabers had survived. He hadn't registered that Kix was speaking to him. Everything sounded muffled. "I've got her, go!"

"Rex, come on!" bellowed Fives.

He staggered on his feet, bile threatening to spew over his lips. Rex clasped a hand over his helmet, shaking his head violently. Damn it, snap out of it! He just… needs to see your face. He needs to see that you're alive.

"Rex!" followed Jesse, taking a large step forward and tagging him on the arm. Rex finally jolted, and cast his eyes to the elevator. The men stood, waiting expectantly for his lead, all of them far worse for wear. He picked up his fallen weapons, ran in and spun to face the door, casting another pained expression on your failing body as the level ascended out of view and he went below.

-

The 501st and 212th sprinted out of the command tower, Rex in lead. They followed the trail of broken glass, passing by a cluster of Umbaran ships. Just then, Dogma stepped out from behind one of the transports, blaster trained on his brothers. "Hold it right there!"

Rex whipped out his DC-17s. "Lower your weapon, Dogma," he commanded.

He hesitated briefly, shaking his head. "I… I can't do that, sir."

Rex's patience was already worn into the ground. "That's an order!"

“It’s my duty.” Dogma flicked his aim between them. "You're all traitors!"

Rex deposited one of his blasters into its holster, then removed his helmet, an attempt to show some relation and find a common ground. "I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us,"

Tup lifted his blaster to Dogma.

"But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions." He stared intently at Dogma, his brow pinched.

Dogma switched his barrel on Tup. "Dogma, don't do it."

"Damn it, we don't need this right now!" Fives threw his arm down and scowled. "He hurt (Y/N)!"

That broke something behind the tattoo across his eye. "Is… is she alright?"

"We don't know," Jesse said dejectedly, angrily stuffing his blaster into his other hand.

Tup shook his head. “He just… cut her down. A civilian.”

“He’s the traitor, not us! (Y/N)’s not a clone. She wasn’t made to die this way!”

“That’s enough.” Rex’s words weren’t meant to come out as pained as they did. It was like there was a thick wad of sandpaper in his throat, grinding his voice down to a pained shadow of his usual resonance.

The truth is, you were no longer a civilian. You made the choice to enlist in this war, to try and make the galaxy safer for the future generations. It’s one of the things that drew Rex to you - your selflessness and willingness to join a battlefront, to do the right thing, where others would turn and run the other direction. You were hands on like that, believing in doing it yourself, or not at all. Others would have called you mad.

As much as he admired that about you, it was also his downfall, because he knew you wouldn’t walk away. You wouldn’t leave his brothers. You loved them like family. Hell, they were your only family. And they loved you. Perhaps that would mean he would lose you to it all one day. Perhaps he had lost you already.

Rex squeezed his eyes shut and drew his brows tightly together. He sucked in a breath.

Dogma lowered his weapon, and he was tackled by troopers without any protest. He stretched his arms out in front of him and released his blaster. They pinned either arm behind his back and secured his wrists together with binders.

Rex hesitated. "Take him to the brig," he ordered, pulling his helmet back over his head, then pointing to a couple clones.

"You two, get up there and help Kix! The rest of you, don't let General Krell escape!"

"Yes, sir!" They shouted as Rex and the others ran into the treeline.

[babymetaldoll]

"The Sean Hotchner effect" (Spencer Reid / Reader)

My gif 😉

Requested: Yes

Summary: Spencer is jealous 'cos reader (and the rest of the female team) thinks Hotchner's younger brother is hot.

Warnings: Cursing

Category: Fluff

Word count: 4,5K

A/N: I can' believe I actually wrote a fic! I've been so busy taking care of my grandparents I've just been updating DIWK, 'cos those chapters were long written and edited. Hope you all enjoy this little story, I'll bring you a more next week, hopefully! send you all my love!! be safe babes!

Masterlist

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Working at the BAU, the team was used to seeing the worst of human behavior. Murder scenes, abuse, psychopath, you name it.

That's why seeing the apparition that walked into the bullpen that morning was such a big shock for us, the team's females.

- "What are you doing out of your bunker?"- Elle asked Penelope, who was standing next to my desk. I whipped my head, surprised to see Garcia there, out of the blue, not even looking at us. Instead, her eyes were fixated on someone who wasn't Derek.

- "I was on my way to file the things that I... file?"- Garcia made a pause as Elle and I slowly turned and looked at the guy our tech analyst couldn't stop staring at.

He was gorgeous. Tall, blonde, perfect smile. The kind of guy that could definitely get every girl's attention. We didn't get many of those at the BAU that often, except, of course, for Dr. Spencer Reid. My best friend was hands down the hottest agent in the whole FBI, and I enjoyed having him near. But this guy was completely different.

- "Who is that?"- Elle asked and stood by our side.

- "The Future Mr. Garcia,"- Penelope whispered as the tall young man walked over us and cut us one flirtatious smile. I couldn't help it and returned the smile.

- "Hi"- I smiled and waved- "How can I help you?"

- "Hey. I'm..."

- "Sean!"- Derek Worst time ever Morgan ruined the whole moment as he walked over and took that hot guy away from us. Now at least we knew his name was Sean.

- "You must be looking for your brother."- Morgan said and tapped on his back.

- "Yeah."

- "Right this way"- and that's how that apparition was gone from our lives and directed straight to... Aaron Hotchner's office?

- "Brother as in?"- Elle asked and turned to us, confused- "That's Hotch's brother?!"

- "Maybe Hotch is adopted,"- Garcia whispered, not taking her eyes from Sean until he disappeared behind the door.

- "I feel scammed. We didn't get the hot brother"- I sighed and shook my head- "Well, I might have never solved a case with that smile around the bullpen"- Elle and Penelope giggled, but someone coughed behind my back, and immediately, I knew who he was.

- "Who are you guys talking about?"

Spence Walter Reid was standing right behind my back, and the look in his eyes wasn't as sweet and friendly as I was already used to. He was upset. I just didn't know why.

- "No one"- I lied and looked away.

- "Who were you all staring at?"- Reid asked. I quickly returned to my desk (right in front of his), grabbed a few files, and pretended to be working.

- "Aaron's brother"- Elle explained- "Apparently, we got the wrong Hotchner."

- "Sean?"- Spencer frowned and looked at us- "He just got into Georgetown law school. Maybe he came to pick up his brother to celebrate."

- "Who is gonna celebrate?"- JJ walked over, holding a bunch of folders, and looked at us.

- "Hotch and my future husband"- Garcia sighed and kept looking over at Aaron's door.

- "Sean, Hotch's brother is here, and believe me, he looks nothing like his brother."

Elle smiled and moved a chair across from her desk to make sure she had the best seat in the room to see Sean when he walked out. I shook my head as Elle winked at me.

- "Stop pretending you didn't see him, (Y/N). You were the one who talked to him."

I swear, I could feel Spencer's eyes on me, burning my skin. I slowly turned around and looked at him with a small, innocent smile. But all I got in return was a stern look.

- "I just... wanted to... help him"- I tried to excuse myself, but Elle laughed, and Garcia followed.

- "Sure, babe. He looked like he was hopelessly lost in the BAU. He needed your help to find his brother."- I don't know why Elle was acting like that, but she made sure Spencer would be even more upset than he already was.

- "Stop it! I just asked if he needed any help."

- "Oh! and you would have given him a hand with anything he needed, wouldn't you?"- Elle chuckled and winked again.

- "Oh sweet Jesus, I would. All he has to do is ask, and he..."- Penelope got carried away in second, and she only paused her words when Hotch's door slammed open, and we all looked at Sean storming out of the office.

- "That's Hotch's brother?"- JJ asked, surprised. Elle nodded and literally bit her lips as she stared at him, walking over. Penelope barely even blinked, and I made my best not to make eye contact with him. Instead, I looked at Reid. And he locked eyes in mine, but again, his look was cold.

- "I don't see it"- JJ stared at Sean as he clearly argued with Hotch. I stayed still, sitting behind my desk, looking at the files.

- "You know what?! Don't profile me, Aaron!"- Sean yelled, and I could only imagine Penelope's crush growing bigger with each word that came from his mouth.

- "Now I see it!"- JJ followed Sean with her eyes as he rushed out of the BAU.

- "I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you walk away."- Penelope whispered, and we all giggled.

- "Do you think Hotch is hiding that ass?"- Elle asked, and I couldn't hold the laughter.

- "I didn't want to think of that!"

- "Oh please!! (Y/N) stop being such a goodie-goodie!!"- Elle smacked my arm and shook her head- "You stared at his ass. Deal with it. You are single! You don't have to pretend you don't see a hot guy when you see one."

- "I saw him. He was cute. I'm just... not... that... affected...."

- "You don't have to pretend,"- Spencer said suddenly and raised an eyebrow- "Your body language indicates that you are nervous. You are blinking rapidly, our pupils are dilated, and you've been bouncing your knees since you sat down. Obviously, Hotch's brother affected you."

I opened my mouth to answer, but Hotch himself interrupted us and announced we had a case. Spencer just kept his eyes on mine for a few more seconds before walking away quickly to the conference room.

- "Looks like pretty boy is jealous,"- Elle teased and stood up too- "I don't know why if he ain't your boyfriend."

- "I know he ain't my boyfriend, and I'm sure he is not jealous. You are all just acting like school girls around a hot guy."- I tried to argue as I stood up and followed them to the conference room.

- "Oh honey, when you see a guy like that, you just can't help it."- Garcia smiled and sighed- "He was the sugar that got me going for the rest of the day."

- "It's only nine am."- JJ added, and Garcia just sighed.

- "That's how good it was."

The case was in Terra Mesa, New Mexico. A clearly angry Hotch announced wheels up in thirty, and we all headed back to our desk to gather our things.

- "Hey, I brought you back your copy of The Illustrated Man"- I walked to Spencer and handed him over his book- "Maybe after the case, we can get a coffee and talk about it."

- "Maybe not"- he grabbed it from my hands and put it on his satchel.

- "Why not?"

- "I don't feel like it."- Spencer avoided looking at me. He just closed his bag and walked away from me.

- "Hey! What did I do?"- I asked him and followed him, but he didn't even look at me.

- "Spencer, I'm talking to you!"

- "And as you can notice, I don't wanna talk to you."

His answer stopped me in my tracks and left me speechless. Spencer got into the elevator and pushed the button to close the door as fast as possible.

He had never acted like that with me. He had never talked to me like that. Shit! He had never been an asshole with me before. I had seen Reid being a jerk with people when he is mad, but he had never been like that with me. And all that just 'cos me, and the girls were a little unprofessional?

Apparently, Spencer was furious with me because during the whole investigation, he kept avoiding me. Of course, it didn't help that Hotch paired me with Reid and Morgan to talk to a young girl who had been abducted from the crime scene.

- "So, pretty girl, I saw you yesterday. Your eyes were shining when you talked to Sean"- Morgan started teasing me the second we got into the SUV.

- "I don't know what you are talking about."- I whispered and looked outside.

- "Oh please, you, Garcia, JJ, even Elle, the four girls were drooling over Hotchner's younger brother."

- "That's not true"- I denied right away- "We were all surprised. I had no idea Hotch had a brother."

And Spencer just snorted at my words.

- "What?"- I turned around and looked at him. He was sitting at the back seat, alone, arms crossed on his chest, avoiding eye contact.

- "Maybe you should stop talking about Hotch's hot brother and focus on the case."- his voice was cold and distant. I tried to read him, but all I could see was anger.

- "Ok, kid."- Morgan chuckled and shook his head - "No need to get all defensive."

- "I'm not defensive. I'm just saying we have to solve a case. People are dead, and you are still rambling about how hot Hotchner's brother is. We are not a fucking gossip show. Enough with it already."

I widened my eyes as I stared at him, bitter and angry. Not really a good combo. Spencer is one passive-aggressive asshole when he is mad, and you don't want to deal with him under those circumstances. Believe me.

But Derek just laughed and continued driving. He winked at me and pretended Spencer hadn't said anything hurtful or even evil. But, to be honest, Morgan looked composed and even amused. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was actually enjoying that awkward ride.

I wish I could tell you that was all Spencer did that day, but no. He actually exceeded himself in the art of being an asshole.

- "We are looking for a cult leader."- Reid started giving the profile to the police department- "Typically men between the age of 25 and 35"- he made a pause and looked at me.

- "What?"- I whispered, thinking maybe he wanted me to continue talking.

- "Nothing. I thought you were going to start giggling or sighing."- Elle and Morgan looked surprised as Gideon frowned, not getting Reid's comment.

- "Over a sociopath underachiever with an extremely abusive childhood?"- I asked him, as I continued describing the profile- "Why would I?"

- "I don't know."- he shrugged and continued walking around the office -"I thought after yesterday, it was going to be your usual behavior around men that age."

- "Reid"- Hotch's voice was cold and severe. Spencer looked at him and turned around to find an empty seat. Aaron continued giving the profile, and I turned to my best friend, enraged. I wasn't going to tolerate that passive-aggressive attitude.

- "Fuck you."- I mouthed and stared straight into his eyes.

Avoiding and ignoring Reid was a challenging task to achieve. Hotch was nice and wise enough to keep us apart for the rest of the day, but that didn't stop him from staring. And his eyes burned my skin each time we were together in the same room.

I made my best effort and avoided looking at him the whole time. But I felt him staring. And though I was honestly mad at him now, a part of me just wondered what on earth was he so upset about?

I found out the whole truth later that night, back at the hotel. I was already in bed, trying to forget about the case, 'cos it had already been solved, and we were supposed to go back home early the following day.

I was alone, 'cos my roommate Elle was in the hotel bar with JJ and Morgan. I didn't feel like going. I just wanted my pajamas and do nothing.

Fine, that's not what I wanted to do. I wanted to be with Reid, talking about The Illustrated man, or any other book, drinking coffee, making jokes, laughing.

But he was mad at me, and now I was mad at him too, which meant things weren't going to be smooth between us in a long while. We had only fought once before until that day. It happened when we first became friends, and we argued over some random Star Wars fact. He didn't admit he was wrong, and when I showed him I was right, he got all defensive and refused to talk to me for a whole week.

Of course, this time, it was going to be a hundred times worse.

I debated whether I should or shouldn't call Reid and yell at him when I heard someone knocking on my door. Of course, I thought it was Elle, so I dragged my weary body from the bed, arguing I had explicitly told her she had to bring her key when she left the room.

But no. It wasn't Elle. In the hall, looking like shit, I found Doctor Spencer Walter Reid.

It wasn't a good sign the way my heart skipped a beat the second I saw him. It didn't get any better when the two of us just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and I felt my whole body tremble only by his presence. I couldn't control it even if I wanted to. I loved him, and it was getting too hard to hide.

- "What are you doing here?"- I made sure my voice was as upset as possible and even made an extra effort to furrow my brows as I stared into his eyes. His look had softened, and you could tell he was nervous. He scratched his hair and fixed his nerdy glasses before speaking.

- "I needed... I wanted... I want to talk to you."- Spencer finally said and sighed, looking at me.

- "Why would I want to talk to you after you humiliated me in front of the whole police department?"

I spat each word and tried to slam the door on his face, but he stopped me before succeeding.

- "Wait, please, (Y/N)"- he pushed the door open and followed me inside the room.

- "Get out, Reid!"- I argued immediately, but he didn't listen. He actually closed the door behind his back and stood behind me. I refused to look at him, 'cos I knew what would happen if I did: I would forgive him too quickly.

- "(Y/N), I'm so sorry. I know I was an asshole. I didn't mean it. I was completely out of place."

Spencer literally vomited his speech in less than three seconds and stayed wordless and silent afterward. I crossed my arms on my chest and stayed still. I really didn't want to talk to him.

- "I'm sorry"- his voice was now a tiny whisper that somehow got inside my heart, melting the fortress I kept building against him.

- "Why did you do it?"- I asked the most straightforward question, but he didn't answer. Spencer stayed quiet for at least two minutes. So I turned around and faced him. His eyes were red, and he was fighting the tears back.

- "Why did you humiliate me, Spencer?"

- "I didn't mean to."

- "So? I don't care what you meant. You did it anyway. You fucking humiliated me in front of the team and in front of the whole police office, and why? 'Cos you were mad at me for being unprofessional? Excuse me, but I think what you did lacked more professionalism than anything I had ever done."

I knew it was a mistake. I knew I didn't have to look at Spencer while I spoke. But I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to cry either, but I was already too upset and way too tired, so the tears started falling down my cheeks. And his followed quickly.

- "I'm so sorry,"- he repeated and bit his lips, staring at me.

- "Why did you do it, Spencer?"- I asked him again, 'cos I still didn't know why he had hurt me so deeply.

- "I was wrong..."

- "Why did you do it?"

I asked for the third time, and my eyes got lost in his. Spencer was holding his breath and debating himself. I could almost hear his thoughts, 'cos it was clear he was overthinking everything going on inside his head.

But he didn't say anything. Spencer just wiped off a few tears that rolled down his cheeks and shook his head. The silence in the room was overwhelming, and all I managed to do was to sigh, disappointed and broken-hearted, and walk to the door and open it. I only wanted him to leave, but he didn't even move. He just looked at me, clenching his jaw, fighting the tears back.

- "I did it because I am in love with you."

Spencer whispered in the most anticlimactic way possible. I frowned, confused, as he didn't even move. I stared at his gestures, his face blood-red in a weird mix of embarrassment and anger.

- "I love you so much it's driving me insane, (Y/N). I've been trying to tell you how I feel for weeks, but I just..."- he ran his hands through his hair, openly frustrated with his own way to deal with the situation, as I just stayed still, trying to understand what was going on.

- "I know it was stupid, and I wish I could do it differently, but I didn't know what to do. But then I saw you looking at Sean, and I knew you would never look at me the same way, 'cos I know I'm not..."

There was no bigger force in the universe than the one that moved my body unconsciously against Spencer. I grabbed his face with both hands and planted a kiss on his lips to shut him up. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just did it 'cos I didn't want to listen to his rambling anymore. For once, probably for the very first time ever since we met, I wanted to shut Spencer Reid up. And the best way I could do that was kissing him until my lips felt numb.

I didn't even let him hesitate. He jumped as soon as I touched him, but he didn't reject me at all. Instead, he wide opened his eyes and stared at me as I winked at him, deepening the kiss.

Spencer's hands slowly found their way to my waist and held me closer to him. His lips were soft and warm, moving carefully along with mine, and as he relaxed into the kiss, the better it got.

I had wasted so much time (mostly at work, bored, avoiding paperwork) fantasizing about kissing Spencer. How his lips would feel and taste. If he would make any noise, if he'd be rough or soft... and now there I was, getting all the answers I ever needed.

My heartbeat faster when I opened my eyes and saw him, deep concentrated into the endless kiss. My hands played with his hair, and I felt him hum, pleased with my movements. I couldn't help myself and smiled, not stopping the kiss.

- "What?"- Spencer asked, but his lips didn't move from mine. Neither of us wanted to stop.

- "Nothing,"- I whispered and shook my head softly- "I just like kissing you."

- "I like kissing you too,"- he answered and moved his hands from my waist to my cheeks and held my face. His hands were so big I could feel him covering most of my cheek. He made me feel secure, safe. Loved. All that only from cupping my face.

- "I love you."- Spencer whispered and opened his eyes. I looked at him and sighed, trying to keep myself together, when all I really wanted was to yell and jump and act like a teenager in love.

- "Me too."

That was all I managed to answer, though I knew he deserved better. He deserved to know how much I loved him, how crazy I was over everything he did. Everything he was. But I couldn't tell him that, not at that minute at least. That night I couldn't really speak much because all I wanted to do was to kiss him. I wanted to kiss Spencer Reid until my lips burned.

But he didn't let me fulfill my dream. As soon as he heard me, he stopped the kiss and stayed very, very still.

- "What happened?"- I panicked, I don't know why- "Did I overstep..."

- "You love me?"- he interrupted me, and his eyes filled with tears. Happy tears. His smile was soft and warm as he stared at me, waiting for an answer.

- "I do,"- I murmured and blushed. Was it too late to blush? Maybe, but I couldn't help it. Not when he was looking at me like that. Like I was the most beautiful woman on earth. No. Like I was the only woman on earth for him.

- "I'm so sorry..."

But I really didn't want to listen to his apology. I had already forgiven him. All I wanted was to kiss him again. And again.

I crushed my lips against his, and this time, I felt him smiling into the kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he locked his around my waist. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his body as he relaxed a little more, and his fingers started caressing the small on my back.

- "Come here."

I took a few steps back, and he followed, keeping as close to me as possible. Finally, I dragged him to my bed, and he laid by my side. Our legs were intertwined as we melted on that mattress, just kissing.

I honestly never imagined I would kiss Spencer. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it and tasted him (and the moment) in slow motion. He sighed and smiled as his lips and tongue played with mine. One of his hands held my waist as the other played with my hair.

It was heaven. I didn't imagine anything better than being on that bed kissing Spencer Reid. He whispered he loved me again, and I sighed. For a second, it felt I was in a dream.

- "Ok, mama, get out of that.... WHOO!"- Derek, JJ, and Elle stormed into the door and caught Spencer and I kissing on the bed. I felt like a teenager all over again.

- "What the..."- Elle asked was holding the key in her hands, eyes wide opened, in shock.

- "My man!"- Morgan was about to start clapping when JJ grabbed him and Elle's arm.

- "The guys need some privacy. Come on, let's go. You can sleep in my room, Elle"- JJ smiled and closed the door behind her back, but less than a second later, Derek walked in again.

- "Smile to Garcia!"- Derek waved, holding his phone. Spencer closed his eyes and covered his face, embarrassed as I grabbed a pillow and threw it over him.

- "Get the fuck out of my room!"- I shouted, and JJ had to pull Morgan's sleeve to get him out of there. Once the door was closed (again), we waited a few seconds in case Derek tried to interrupt us one more time. But he didn't. Spencer's cheeks were burning red, and he looked so embarrassed it was too sweet. So I leaned over him and kissed the tip of his nose.

- "Hi,"- I whispered and smiled. Reid chuckled and moved closer to me, reaching my lips.

- "Hi."- I sighed, strangely relieved to feel his lips on mine again. I was like my body had already gotten used to kissing him and wanted to do nothing else from that moment on.

- "Hi,"- I repeated and smiled.

- "Hi,"- Reid said again and wrapped his arms around me, moving me until I was sitting on his lap. Life was perfect.

- "I'm so glad Hotch's brother came to visit. He should come more often,"- I murmured and giggled. Spencer frowned and shook his head.

- "I think we are good."- he answered and narrowed his eyes.

- "If he hadn't come, you wouldn't have gotten so jealous, and we wouldn't be kissing right now."- I added, and rubbed his lips with mines, just to make a point. Spencer smiled and fully kissed me.

- "I will send him a muffin basket to George town, then."

- "That's very thoughtful. I love that about you."

- "I love everything about you,"- Spencer whispered and sighed, staring into my eyes.

- "Does this mean we are dating?"- I had to ask. Spencer wide opened his eyes and didn't move for a few seconds -"I'm just asking 'cos you said you loved m and I love you, and if you love and I love you, I'm pretty sure dating would the logical thing to do. But if you don't want to, I would totally understand. I mean, maybe I am assuming..."- Spencer's lips against mine ended with my senseless rambling, and he chuckled into the kiss.

- "What?"- I asked him but didn't move my lips from his. Already that might have become my favorite way to talk to him.

- "You are adorable when you ramble."

- "Shut up"- and Spencer smiled

- "Would you be my girlfriend?"- he simply asked and rested his forehead against mine as he stared at me. I smiled and sighed, pretending to be considering my options. I didn't have any. I wanted to be his.

- "Yes,"- I whispered and kissed him one more time- "I would love to, just promise me you will never be a passive-aggressive jerk with me."

- "Never"- Spencer kissed me, and his hands held me tighter- "I'm so sorry."

- "Just kiss me a few more times so I can properly forgive you"- Reid smiled and crushed his lips against mines.

- "Anything for you."

**

Spencer taglist

@calm-and-doctor

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @all-tings-diego

[specialagentlokitty]

Lisa cuddy x reader - other life

Hi x could I request Lisa cuddy x reader where the reader is on houses team and they have a crush on cuddy. With them ending up together please! Thank you and no worries if you don’t want to <3 - Anon💜

You couldn’t help looking at her as she walked past. You thought you were being sneaky but apparently not because Cameron smiled as she slid next to you.

“Does Cuddy scare you?” She asked.

You jumped slightly, shaking your head you awkwardly looked away as you quickly gathered some files from the desk to take back to the office and go over.

“Then whyd you stare at her?” She asked next.

You avoided the question and tried to leave the conversation but apparently your friend was having non of it because she followed you.

Suddenly a gasp left her mouth, she jogged in front of you and blocked the door to the office.

“You have a crush on her?!” She whisper yelled.

“No...” you mumbled.

“Oh you so do.” She teased.

You hid your face between the files and gently kicked her in the shin.

“Please don’t tell anyone!”

“I won’t, your secrete is safe with me.” She laughed.

You smiled sweetly and made you way into the office, sitting at the table with Chase and Foremen as you split the files between them all.

Cameron made sure whenever Cuddy walked past that you knew, she would nudge you, or call your name.

A few weeks had passed, and you were called in from a day off, so when you rocked up all clad in leather, and a bikers helmet under your arm everyone was stunned to say the least.

“Looks like our sweet innocent (Y/N) has a bad side.” House chuckled.

“Damn, I didnt think this would be how you dressed outside of work. Looking good (Y/N)!” Chase smiled.

You awkwardly looked away and mumbled a Thanks before glancing at them again.

“So... Uhm.. What’s up anyways..?”

“We just needed you to fill in some missing paperwork.” Cuddy smiled.

She looked as if she was trying hard not to look at you, but when you glanced to her, she was peering at you from the corner of her eyes.

She grabbed a few papers from the reception desk and turned her back towards you.

“It won’t take long, they’re in my office.”

You nodded and trailed behind her, catching the wink that Cameron sent you way.

Following behind your boss, you gently closed the doors behind you, and set you helmet on the floor, stripping yourself of your leather jacket, you revealed a white vest with faint red stains dotted on it.

Cuddy watched you as you neatly folded the jacket, setting it on the floor with your helmet.

You had a full sleeve tattoo, roses and thorns that went from your elbow to your wrist.

“I wasn’t aware you had tattoos.” She said.

You quickly spun round, hiding your arm behind your back.

“Sorry! I know the hospital doesn’t approve of tattoos, it’s why I try to hide it.” You mumbled.

“May I have a look?” She asked.

You blushed a little and nodded your head, walking over you held your arm out to her.

She carefully held it making your skin tingle a little where she touched. She slowly inspected the work of art on your skin before letting your arm go.

“It’s a beautiful work, if you don’t mind try keep it away while at work.”

“Of course, thank you.”

She smiled and handed you some papers and a pen.

“It isn’t much at all, I’ve noted where you need to fill in.”

“Thank you... sorry to trouble you...”

“Not at all (Y/N).”

You knelt at her desk to start filling in your missing work.

While doing that, Cuddy tried to keep her eyes from you but she couldn’t. She was intrigued by this new side of you.

“May I asked what you were doing before you came here?”

“I was in a rally, we gather on the track and race.” You replied softly.

“I see. It seems like a rather... extreme sport for someone of your personality.”

You smiled up at her as you stood, sliding the paper and pen back over.

“It is, but I really enjoy it. They guys are some good friends of mine.”

You headed over and pulled your jacket back on, you went to zip it up but you were stopped by Cuddy suddenly in front of you. Pointing to the stains on your vest.

“Is That why there’s blood on your clothes?” She asked concerned.

“Sometimes landings are hard to stick.” She grinned sheepishly.

She frowned but never said anything, just allowed you to zip the jacket up and tuck the helmet under your arm.

“I mean... if it’ll make you feel better you can come watch some time...”

You were expecting her to say no, but as always you wanted her to say yes. You wanted to spend time with her, and for her to see your favourite thing in the world.

“That is inappropriate.”

“Sorry...”

You went to leave, but she quickly grabbed your arm making you stop. A sly smile on her face.

“Just don’t let anyone find out, okay?”

“Of course! I’ll text the address I’ll be there all day.”

You gave her a small wave and jogged out with a huge smile on your face.

Hours had passed, and you were laid on the floor, covered in dirt and oil as you tinkered with a bike in the garage.

“Hey kid, there’s a guest for you!” A biker called.

“Huh!?”

You shot up, head smacking off the bike, you groaned and stood up, heading over to the counter you grabbed a clean rag and pressed it to the sore spot, making your way outside.

To your surprise, Cuddy was stood there dressed in casual clothing.

“Cuddy! Sorry I completely got carried away!”

“It’s alright, and it’s Lisa outside of work. Are you okay?” She asked pointing to your head.

“Yeah... I think so...”

You took the rag away, there was a little blood on it but not muched so your shrugged, cleaning the oil from your hands you tossed it behind you.

“What would you like to see first?” you asked.

“Preferably a band aid on that cut.”

You grinned a little and nodded, leading her into the bar, you headed to the back to search for some.

“You can order, it’s on my tab.”

“Thanks.”

You pulled out the medical box and set it on the bar, grabbing what you needed you put it back.

“Again?” A man sighed.

“Sorry Jax...” you sighed.

“Be more carefully idiot. And get your lady a drink, don’t be rude!”

You raised your hands, leaving the medical supplies you turned to Cuddy.

“The man has spoken, what can I get you?”

“How about a beer.” She smiled.

“Ah, a beer for the hard working lady.”

You whipped one out and opened it, sliding it over to her, you made your own drink and friend around.

Cuddy motioned for you to sit next to her so you walked around and sat at the bar.

She grabbed an antibacterial wipe and opened it, bringing it up to your head.

“It’s gonna sting.”

She pressed it on and you hissed slightly, but allowed her to clean the wound. When she was done she grabbed the bandaid and gently covered the small cut.

“Thanks...” you said shyly.

She smiled and you guys drank for a bit before you showered her around.

“This is the garage, it’s where we store bikes that don’t work. Some are for parts others are being fixed up.”

“You were working in here, right?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m fixing up a bike for my friends kid. He died a few months ago, and wanted his daughter to have his bike.”

Cuddy looked at you staring at the half put together bike in sadness.

She teached out, taking your hand in hers ah laced your fingers together.

“You’re a good person. That’s really sweet of you.”

You gave her a pained smile and turned around, pain melting away into happiness as you led her out and back into the bar.

“This was pretty fun. It’s nice to see what you’re like outside of work, it’s definitely a huge shock.”

“Yeah, most people never guess this is my other life.” You laughed.

She laughed and looked at you, leaning forward she pressed a kiss to your cheek and pulled back. Whether it was real or if she drank too much you didn’t know, and you didn’t wanna know either.

“Can we do this again sometime?” She asked.

“I’d love that Lisa.” You smiled