#guess we'll see when the game drops!

[shandidellamorte]

EDDY IS THE FIRST DLC CHARACTER FOR TEKKEN 8 OMFG

HE LOOKS REALLY GOOD THO

[nerdygirlramblings]

Ren gets something of Soap's (finally)

previous

This is by far the strangest field training you've ever experienced. And it's definitely not something you ever would have predicted. The pub is busy, even for the early weeknight hour. You stand against the wall trying to be as unassuming as possible while you wait for Price's voice in your ear to tell you your objective.

Earlier in the day, he'd said field training would be off base and to wear civvies appropriate for going out with friends. His eyes had giving you a quick once over, lingering on the patches at your neck, amending, "Nothing that would put your omega in danger, but nothing that screams military either."

You'd shown up at their barracks at 2000 in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and loosely-fitted floral top, pretty pink heels on your feet. Walking into the rec room, your teammates gave you the kind of appraising looks you usually shunned. Your omega preened at their attention. There was more in their glances than you received during other trainings, and your omega reminded you that when Price invited you into the team, he said the pack would be open to courting you.

Before your racing heart could cause any problems, Price cut the tension. "Sometimes our intelligence recovery is finding things, like ya did in the hanger. But sometimes it's more personal subterfuge. Gettin' close to someone and gettin' them ta talk, takin' somethin' off 'em, distractin' their attention while someone else does the diggin'. I know ya've never done interrogation trainin', and we'll get ya some 'a tha' eventually, but tonight we're gunna practice some real world interrogation. How ya can get all people an' all designations ta open up."

Then Ghost dropped a leather jacket on your shoulders, muttering, "'S gunna be cold in th' pub." The brown leather shifted like butter; it was worn, not stiff, but smelled a little musty, like it'd been sitting around outside. Still, there was something familiar about its weight on your shoulders, and you felt safer about venturing out for this training.

Now here you are trying to guess who Price will make your target and for what. There's a pop of static in ear followed by his warm honey tone. "Right, Ren, the group by the pool table. There's one with a wedding ring. Get his mate's name." One glance across the bar shows your team in the corner booth at the back where they have a view of the entire room.

You wander over to the game and for fifteen painful minutes you try to get the man to share the information Price asked for. You try playing pool, talking about the footie on the telly. You try to look enticing then non-threatening. You play up the innocent omega bit. His friends are happy to entertain you, chat, teach you to play, get you a drink. After twenty minutes, Price calls it. "Head to the booth, Ren." Shame creeps down your spine. You heard the barely constrained laughter and hate that you failed.

You expect teasing when you get to the table and avoid eye contact with the others as you slide into an open chair. "Hey," Gaz calls softly, raising his voice just above the din of the pub. Your eyes flick to him momentarily before skittering off again, but from the glance, he doesn't look upset or amused. "That was a good first try, Ren."

"Sergeant's right," Price adds. "Didn't give ya an easy mark to start because I wanted to see yer gut reaction. Ya have good instincts. Ya didn't barrel in, weren't blunt. Ya tried several different angles. Now we're gunna teach you a few tricks, an' we'll try again wi' someone else."

You sit and listen as they give you some tactical pointers: how to read a mark's body language, how to use your body language, the impact of light touches, how verbal repetition can get someone to open up. The whole thing reminds you of the old show Leverage and how the con artist taught the others to be better con artists. Which leads you to the realization that this is all improv: put on your part, run your scene, work towards an established outcome.

You try to remember as much as possible, not wanting to disappoint Price or the team. Finally, he slides you a pack of cigarettes. When you wrinkle your nose and grimace, he says, "They're fer you but not." He jerks his head to the bar's far end, and you track the long walnut top down to a small gaggle of women by the bar. Based on how they're dressed and how they're behaving, they're here for a good time and have been at it for a while. After giving them a once-over, you turn back, clearly confused. Price looks you square in the eye and says, "Get one of them to go out for a smoke break with you."

You nod, mission focused, and snag the cigarettes off the table. Standing, you wind your way through the increasingly noisy pub. A tall man bumps into you, nearly spilling his beer on you, his retort about "watch it!" dying as he really looks at you. Sidestepping him, you squeeze past a few tables, accidentally brushing against the people standing there. The stares you receive remind you why you don't like coming out like this. By the time you get to the bar, near the women but not intruding, you feel like you could use a cigarette.

You lean on the bar, not quite obviously waiting on a drink. The group beside you opens slightly, the woman at your shoulder taking a half-step back as she laughs at her companion. You lean forward a bit, now edging into their bubble briefly, and point at the blue drink on the bar top. Just loud enough so the woman who was sipping from it can hear, you say, "That looks fun! What's it called?"

She shifts at your voice before turning her attention fully on you. You'd left the jacket on your chair, easier to seem unimposing. Her gaze is a little predatory but not as hungry as some of the men you've seen. There's no scent blockers or mating marks on her neck, so she's either an alpha or a beta. She must quickly deem you're not a threat because she smiles wide, leans close, and says, "'S a tipsy mermaid."

You tell her thanks and flag the bartender down. "One of those, please," you say, pointing at the concoction. A quick nod and he's sliding your card before heading to another well for the alcohol he needs. When you have the drink on hand, you turn to the woman and say, "Cheers!"

She watches you drink and smiles again, a little less appraisingly. "'S good, yeah?"

You return her smile. "Yeah. Thanks for that." You make to turn back to the bar and drink alone, but she's stepped a full length back and motions you to join her and her friends. You shift closer with grin, introducing yourself and thanking her again for the hospitality. They women introduce themselves in turn. You quickly learn Molly, a beta, is getting married soon, so her sisters, Annabel and your new friend Casey, brought her and her new pack's omega, Sydney, out for drinks.

Their conversation washes over you, but you make sure to leave gentle touches on Casey when you can, a hand on her shoulder when you lean in with a question, arm brushing against hers when you stand with your drink. Little things she can write off as innocuous or flirty. Either interpretation would suit your objective. When you slide your empty glass onto the bar, Casey is eager to buy you another. You decline, citing the need for a cigarette break. She loops her arm around yours and drags Annabel along, claiming the break is to give Molly and Sydney some "pack bonding time." You snicker with Annabel as Casey drags you out front. As the pub door closes behind you, Price's voice growls, "Nicely done, Ren. Make your exit and meet us at the truck. I've got yer jacket."

You want to protest it isn't your jacket, but right now the desire to be wrapped in its soft comfort has you devising all sorts of ways to leave. Not for the first time, you wish conversations had the same mission exfils, though you startle to realize that's exactly what this is. "Thank you for the lovely night, Casey, Annabel," you say, turning to them while you snub out your mostly unused cigarette. "I've got an early shift and need to get home." Before you can take more than two steps away, Casey grabs your wrist and tugs you in, dropping a kiss on your cheek. You feel pressure on your forearm and look down to see Annabel writing two numbers with hearts. One number has an A and a beta symbol, the other has a C and an alpha symbol.

"If you ever want company pub hopping," Casey says, "call us, yeah?"

They walk inside; you're too stunned to move for a solid minute. You don't have to meet the team at the truck because when they pour out from the door, you're still standing there. None of them could see you outside, but Price could hear everything. You feel like you should be embarrassed or ashamed, but your omega reminds you this was a job, a mission, and since you aren't part of any pack, entertaining an alpha isn't shameful.

Ghost puts the leather jacket around your shoulders, and that first deep inhale of the jacket's scent is immediately soothing. It warms you quickly and snaps you out of your stupor. Ghost's hand hovers behind you, like a sheepdog helping herd you to their vehicle. You climb into the back between Soap and Gaz, who both give you proud smiles. The drive to base is quiet, the only debrief was Price, again, telling you you'd done a good job.

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed

[kanmom51]

Happy birthday Hobi

And hello hello Jikook!!!

Full clip. Notice how there are some things that aren't translated. Could be because of how fast they were talking and how hard it is to spontaneously translate a 3 person conversation. Could be because there were things they preferred to mull over before translating. I guess we'll know when the full translation comes out in a few days.

So, first we have JM.

Yes, I guess things never change.

And then...

Oopsy JM and JK.

Thank you for letting us know and making it clear that:

You spend your evenings together.

You shower together.

You have heart to hearts talking about you futures ("what kind of lives we will live moving forward") .

Oh, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for letting everyone know what was bloody obvious to us Jikookers.

YOU SHARE A DORM.

And another source:

I'm usually not like that.

But let me enjoy this moment. Just a little bit!!!

Mic drop motherfuckers!!!

JM tells us he has put on weight - bulk, muscle (and yet he won't let us see him like that).

But what about JK, you might ask...

Really JM?

Tell us you are having the time of your life without telling us you are having the time of your life!!

And we have stories.

So many stories...

If anyone thinks Jikook were annoying before with their inside jokes and games, know now that post military they are going to be absolutely insufferable.

In the very best way possible.

🤣🤣

And I'm here - with y'all - to enjoy every second of it!!!

Quite a surprise they organized for us today.

Thank you once again, Hobi, for being president of our Jikook fan club, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR SUNSHINE.

[sosasturns]

doordashin (extended) - c. sturniolo

an epilogue to doordashin: sosa’s one month anni special !!!

it had been a few days since your unexpected “tip” situation with your ex-doordasher, chris, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t replaying in your head. the guy had left an impression—one that lingered a little longer than you cared to admit. maybe it was the way he handled you like he’d done it a thousand times before, or maybe it was the smug grin he threw over his shoulder as he walked out your door. either way, he was stuck in your brain rent-free.

you weren’t expecting to hear from him again, so when a random text from an unknown number popped up while you were lounging on the couch, your heart skipped a beat.

unknown: u still hungry?

you stared at your phone, trying to process the text.

you: who’s this

you: ?

unknown: it’s chris. u still hungry or nah?

your lips twitched at the message, a mix of amusement and intrigue bubbling in your chest.

you: for food? or for something else?

unknown: idk u tell me.

you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face.

you: depends. you deliverin’?

unknown: i might be. what’s the order?

you bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. part of you wanted to keep it playful, but another part—the one that still remembered the way his hands felt on your body—wanted to see just how far this could go.

you: surprise me.

two hours later, your phone buzzed again.

chris: outside.

you put your phone down and headed for the door, your stomach doing a little flip as you opened it. there he was, leaning casually against the frame, a brown cvs paper bag in one hand and that same cocky grin on his face.

“miss me?” he asked, his voice smooth as ever.

“not even a little,” you teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“damn,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “thought i left more of an impression than that.”

“you left somethin’,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “but i’m not sure it was an impression.”

he chuckled, setting the bag on your counter. “got jokes, huh? we’ll see how funny you are in a minute.”

“what’s in the bag?” you asked, nodding toward it.

“a little bit of everything,” he said with a shrug. “figured you might be hungry for real this time.”

you smirked, leaning against the counter. “that’s cute.”

“i’m a thoughtful guy,” he said, stepping closer.

the space between you disappeared in an instant, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you flush against him. his blue eyes locked onto yours, a playful glint in them.

“so,” he murmured, his voice dropping, “you tryna tip me again, or what?”

you rolled your eyes, though the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed your disinterest. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re stallin’,” he shot back, his grip tightening.

“fine,” you said, pushing at his chest playfully. “but if you’re gonna keep comin’ around, i’m gonna need you to up your delivery game.”

“oh yeah?” he asked, his lips brushing against your ear. “what’s miss picky got in mind?”

"guess you'll find out," you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt as you leaned in, your lips brushing over his.

the grin on his face widened, smug as ever, but before he could say anything cocky, you reached up and tugged his fitted cap off, tossing it onto the couch. his shaggy hair stuck out in every direction, messy and perfectly him. his eyes darkened, the playful glint now mixed with something deeper as he slid his hands down the curve of your waist.

"you playin' games wit’ me, girl?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

"nah," you said, your fingers sliding into his hair, giving it a soft tug. "just wonderin' if you can back up your shit talk."

his lips twitched, but he didn't waste time with words. instead, his hands shifted to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you effortlessly. a surprised gasp left your lips, but it melted into a laugh as he smirked up at you.

"we'll see who's talkin' shit in a minute," he muttered as he started walking. the direction he was going wasn't clear-at least not to him.

"where's your bedroom?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he wasn't currently carrying you like you weighed nothing.

you couldn't help but laugh, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck. "down the hall, second door on the right."

"got you," he said, adjusting his grip as he made his way down the hall.

when he reached your room, he nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside before letting you down onto the edge of the bed. his hands lingered on your hips as you looked up at him, your heart racing in anticipation. his hair was messier now, the faint glow from your bedside lamp casting shadows across his sharp features.

"you good?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with mischief.

you nodded, your breath hitching as his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, brushing over your bare skin.

"good," he murmured just before he got right into it.

it was fast. dirty. intense.

there was no slow build or soft touches. his hands gripped your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he worked you open with his mouth. his tongue was skilled-almost too skilled-drawing whimpers and moans from you like it was second nature.

"can't stay still, huh?" he teased, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you pinned. "relax, baby. let me take care of you."

you couldn't relax, not with the way he devoured you like it was his last meal. your head fell back against the mattress, a gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your inner thigh.

"chris," you choked out, your hips bucking against his face.

his grip tightened, one hand sliding up to press against your stomach, holding you in place. "mm-mm," he muttered, his voice muffled but firm. "stay still."

he didn't give you a chance to recover. before you could catch your breath, he was flipping you over, pulling your hips up so your knees dug into the mattress. his hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking you back against him.

"arch that back for me," he ordered, his tone low and commanding.

you obeyed, your body moving on instinct as his hand slid up your spine, pressing down to deepen your curve. the cool air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off him.

"good girl," he muttered, his fingers digging into your hips as he aligned himself with your opening.

the first thrust had your jaw dropping, a broken moan spilling out as he filled your pussy completely. there was no easing into it—he set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips driving you further into the mattress.

"look at you," he grunted, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap, watching your pussy practically swallow him whole. "takin' this dick s’good."

his hands were everywhere.

one moment, his fingers were gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there'd be bruises. the next, they were wrapping around your throat, pulling you upright until your back was flush against his chest.

"keep that ass movin’," he murmured in your ear, his hand squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

your thighs trembled as you did your best to keep up, your body grinding back against him. the way he was handling you-manhandling you-had your head spinning. every touch, every word, every rough thrust sent shivers down your spine.

he wasn't just fucking you; he was fucking you. his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "thought you said you could handle this shit," he teased, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.

"shut up," you managed to stammer, though your voice was barely a whisper.

he breathed out a breath of amusement sexily, his grip tightening as he pushed you closer to the edge. "nah, you like this shit," he said, his tone low and rough. "you love it."

you couldn't deny it—not with the way your body was reacting to him. every nerve was on fire, every thrust sending shockwaves through you.

"just like that," you gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your body trembled.

he didn't stop. if anything, he went harder, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting your leg slightly to hit a new angle. the change had you crying out, your body convulsing as the pleasure became almost too much to handle.

you came hard, your body collapsing against the mattress as waves of ecstasy washed over you. ‘n he still didn't stop. his pace slowed slightly, but his movements were still deliberate, dragging out every last bit of your pleasure.

"c’mon, shordy," he murmured, his voice rough. "one more for me."

your body was already trembling, but the way he moved, the way he touched you—it was impossible to say no.

"chris-" you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp moan as he brought you right back to that same point.

"that's it," he said, his hand sliding down to grip your jaw, tilting your head back slightly. "come on this dick… come on, mamas."

you didn't know how long it lasted. by the time he finally pulled out, your body was spent, your limbs tired as you lay on the bed, trying to catch your breath.

"damn," he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. "y’lil’ ass is somethin' else."

you managed to glare at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your chest was still heaving. "fuck you."

he laughed, reaching for his clothes. "you already did, baby."

@ sosasturns

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @allmylovc @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo

[thevoidstaredback]

The plan was set and the game had begun.

There was a meeting on the Watchtower exactly three days after the Bat Clan had decided to mess with the Justice League, so that's when they planned to set everything in motion.

Robin couldn't be at the meeting because it fell during school hours, so Nightwing had come to the meeting with Batman. He'd already had the day off, so it wasn't too much of a hasel. Red Hood and Red Robin had both wanted to come, but they also had civilian duties to take care of.

When the meeting was over, the 'main leaguers', as many others had dubbed them, stayed behind as they always did. Normally, it was just so they all could catch up, sometimes to arrange another meeting, or even to discuss more sensitive topics.

This time, when everyone but Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, The Flash, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, Cyborg, and Nightwing had left the room, Nightwing threw his arm across Batman's shoulders and said "You all should come to the Cave!"

All conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at the black and blue clad vigilante. For a long moment, no one spoke or moved. Then, Batman nodded.

"Perfect!" Nightwing's smile got even bigger.

"Um," Superman, the sweet midwesterner, flicked his eyes over to Batman's face before looking at Nightwing. "Are you sure? Bat's has never let any of us into Gotham, let alone the Bat Cave."

Nightwing winked at the hero, his domino mask not hiding it, "Yeah, well, me and the others managed to wear him down. Besides, we've all wanted to give you guys a tour! We've been to all your secret hideouts, so we figured it's about time you saw ours!"

"I'm sorry," Green Lantern raised his hand slightly, "'Others'?"

Nightwing blinked, his smile dropping. Batman straightened up. "Did you-" Nightwing cut himself off, "You do know how many of us there are in Gotham, right?"

The heroes all looked at one another. Sure, they'd heard that there was two, maybe three, working with Batman, but nothing had ever been confirmed aside from Robin working with Batman and Nightwing working in Bludhaven.

Batman fought very hard to keep a smirk off his face. Nightwing didn't even try to hide his amusement.

Wonder Woman was the one to ask, "There are rumors, but I can't say any of us know exactly how many heroes work within Gotham City limits."

Nightwing and Batman shared a glance. This added so much more to their game. They had to tell the others! This was already so much fun, but it was about to get so much better!

"Then, I guess you all have no choice but to come to the Cave with us so you can meet everyone!" Nightwing exclaimed.

The eight heroes shared looks with one another before looking back at Batman and Nightwing. Their choice was obvious to the two Bats before the group had even decided.

"Alright," Aquaman said, "When would you like us to stop by?"

Right on script. Batman said, "Meet here tomorrow at fifteen-hundred New Jersey time. We'll be here to bring you down to the Cave." Then, he left, Nightwing trailing behind him.

"Cool," Flash nodded, "Cool, cool. Totally not nerve wracking at all."

Cyborg stood from his seat. "Don't be nervous, Flash. We're actually being allowed in Gotham. Batman doesn't let anyone in Gotham."

"No," Green Arrow said, "He doesn't let anyone operate in Gotham. I've been many times."

"As Green Arrow or as a civilian?"

He fell silent and the others all laughed. He joined them.

"Regardless," Martian Manhunter said, "I think it's good he's allowing us to see his main base of operations."

"Yeah," agreed Superman, "I wonder what it'll be like."

Wonder Woman was the next to stand from her seat. "It will be quite the tour, I'm sure."

Part 2 Part 4

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Deuce Spade - Night Sky Chiffon Vignette

I heard him challenge me and I just…

[Library – Entrance Hall]

Riddle: The Princess in the Tower used a frying pan on a thief built like a brick in the closet…

[staaaaare]

Jack: ME!?

Kalim: I mean, you're the tallest out of all of us, right?

Deuce: There aren't any closets in the library… So I guess we'll need to use a supply room instead.

Jack: Hey, don't just ignore me! How were you planning on using "this" to lock me in, anyway?

Deuce: That's where I'm stuck. Housewarden, none of the books said how it was done, right?

Riddle: Correct. There's nothing written other than "The thief was locked up using the frying pan."

Deuce: So we gotta come up with something on our own, huh. Hmmm… I can't really think of what to use it for other than frying eggs.

Jack: I think "frying eggs" is a bit too specific. But I do agree, I can't think of anything else but using it to cook.

Kalim: Saaame. I can't think of anything.

Riddle: Perhaps when she came across the thief, she just happened to have a frying pan in her hands.

Deuce: I see. I guess if you're holding a frying pan, it could be used to intimidate a thief somewhat.

Deuce: Plus, maybe if I raised it up high like this…

Jack: Hmph, what, you think that's threatening?

Jack: It's said he was a thief, so he's probably had to deal with guards, or needed to run for long periods.

Jack: But the princess had been locked up in the tower forever, and never squared off against another person before.

Jack: Can't imagine the thief would ever lose to the princess unless he was somehow tied down or something.

Deuce: Who knows? The princess was always doing a ton of climbing, which woulda build up muscle.

Jack: What, you wanna go?

Deuce: Yeah, let's go!

Kalim: Ahahaha, suddenly Deuce's the Princess in the Tower and Jack's become the thief!

Riddle: You two are getting too heated. Leave your little tiff for later.

Deuce: Ah, sorry! I heard him challenge me and I just…

Deuce: …Oh!

Deuce: What if the princess didn't fight him or use force to stop him, but challenged him to something to make him listen to her?

Kalim: What's that supposed to mean?

Deuce: Jack just said, "Can't imagine the thief would ever lose to the princess," right?

Deuce: What if the thief also thought the same thing? I bet he wouldn't turn down a challenge from the princess, then.

Riddle: I see, so she used his carelessness to her advantage.

Jack: If what Deuce says is true and he lost to her in some way, I can understand the thief listening to her, sure…

Jack: But that still doesn't explain how the frying pan was used.

Kalim: Mmm… Oh hey, maybe it was used for tennis? A frying pan and a racket are pretty much the same thing.

Riddle: There's no ball, now is there? And it would be a massive issue if a ball or racket were to hit the books!

Riddle: Although, it may not be too bad of an idea to consider some sort of game that would utilize something similar to a frying pan.

Deuce: Something similar to a frying pan, huh. It'd have to have a rounded end and a thin handle…

Deuce: …A spoon?

Deuce: Oh yeah, if it's that one game that uses a spoon, then...!!

Kalim: Hm? You come up with something, Deuce?

Deuce: Yes! The "Egg Race"!

Jack: Egg Race? What's that?

Riddle: It's a common game that's played on sports days back in the Queendom of Roses.

Deuce: You balance a whole egg on a spoon and run towards the goal. The fastest one is the winner.

Deuce: I think the rules are different depending on where it's played, like some places'll disqualify you if you drop the egg, and others just make you start all over.

Jack: So, in other words, you're saying we should try playing this Egg Race thing with a frying pan instead of a spoon?

Deuce: Yeah. Wouldn't that make it a challenge that can be done with a frying pan?

Kalim: I like the idea! Oh, but… We don't have eggs. Should we ask someone to bring some?

Riddle: I find it hard to believe that an egg would fall easily from the surface of a frying pan, in the first place.

Deuce: It'll work. I've thought about that too!

Deuce: We still have a ton of sugar cubes left over that was brought in with the tea set.

Deuce: We'll stack them up high in the center of the frying pan, and whoever makes it to the goal without letting them topple over wins.

Deuce: How's that sound?

Riddle: It's not that difficult to stack cubes of sugar, though…

Kalim: Ack, they all fell over when I picked up the frying pan. It's gonna be hard to run while keeping it balanced.

Riddle: But it may be easy to implement in the library… Let us try Deuce's idea.

Deuce: Alright. So, Jack!

Deuce: IT'S TIME TO DUEL, YOU AND ME, WITH THIS SUGAR CUBE RACE!

Jack: What!?

[Library – Entrance Hall]

Deuce: Alright. So, Jack!

Deuce: IT'S TIME TO DUEL, YOU AND ME, WITH THIS SUGAR CUBE RACE!

Jack: What!?

Riddle: Ah, yes, if we are to consider this a competition between the prince and the thief, then a head-to-head duel is appropriate.

Kalim: Ahahah! Jack and Deuce, one-on one, huh! This is gonna be good～!

Deuce: If I win against you, I'm gonna have you go into that supply room over there.

Jack: You really want that duel with me, huh… What are you trying to pull here?

Deuce: Nothing? Oh, I get it. You're scared.

Deuce: I mean, if you think you can't beat me, we can think of a different idea…

Jack: Huh? Who's scared?

Jack: I didn't say I wasn't gonna do it. I'll take you on!

Deuce: The goal is the bookshelf on the far wall. The one who can make it there without letting the sugar cubes fall over wins.

Jack: Yeah, yeah, I know the rules. Let's start already.

Kalim: Okay, get yourselves lined up. Ready… SET, GO!

Jack/Deuce: LET'S GOOOO!!!!!

[dash!!]

Jack: Woah, the sugar cubes almost fell over already.

Jack: Tch… I want to pick up more speed, but running without letting it fall is taking all my focus.

Riddle: His sugar cubes almost toppled over right at his starting dash, but it looks like he recovered somehow.

Riddle: It seems like Jack has changed it up and opted to take larger strides.

Riddle: There's not a single wasted movement in his steps, he's very consistent. I'm sure his core is very well built.

Kalim: Jack's just zooming along! But Deuce hasn't moved at all from the start line.

Kalim: He's been adjusting how he holds the frying pan for a while now… Is he having trouble keeping the sugar cubes standing?

Riddle: No… Take a look. DEUCE IS OFF AND RUNNING!

Kalim: He's so fast!! But if he hurries too much, the sugar cubes'll fall over.

Kalim: …Huh, they're not moving at all. Deuce is almost caught up to Jack. This is turning out to be an awesome match!

Riddle: This is no time to be enjoying the race with your commentary. It will all come down to whether this can be considered passable for this specific anecdote.

Kalim: Oh, right. But we can still cheer for them, right? KEEP IT UP, YOU TWO!!!

Riddle: How carefree… Oh.

Riddle: Deuce has almost caught up to Jack, even though he had a delayed start…!

Jack: Urk, when did you...!

Deuce: You sure you can afford to look away? I'll be taking the lead now!!

Jack: Wait! Dammit, his running is so smooth…!

[dash!!]

Kalim: Deuce has passed Jack… and widened the lead!!

Riddle: THE RACE IS OVER! THE WINNER IS DEUCE SPADE!!

Deuce: YEAH!

Kalim: Deuce, you did amazing catching up. I totally thought Jack was gonna win.

Riddle: Indeed. I hadn't expected you to be able to run at such speeds while keeping yourself steady as you did.

Jack: …So it's not like you were trying to pull some trick on me, but you were challenging me in something you knew you could win in.

Jack: Tch… It's your win, Deuce.

Kalim: Huh, what's that mean?

Deuce: I knew I'd be able to win in the sugar cube race, is all.

Deuce: I've had tons of experience riding blastcycles up bumpy gravel roads and steep slopes.

Deuce: I'm pretty confident in my ability to keep my balance.

Riddle: So, back at the starting line, were you adjusting your grip on the frying pan, trying to figure out the best way to hold it steady?

Deuce: Pretty much, yes.

Jack: Looks like I got provoked into it.

Jack: I hate to say it, but a loss is a loss. I'll let myself get shoved into the supply room.

Jack: I'm ready to go. Do it now, Deuce!

Deuce: RIGHT, HERE WE GO, JACK!!

[SLAM!!!]

[Exterior Hallway 2F]

Riddle: We're finally back on the campus proper. We can still see the lanterns so clearly from here.

Kalim: It's so pretty～ I'm glad I get to enjoy this view with you guys.

Kalim: And hey, that sugar cube race thing that Deuce came up with sure was fun. We should all do it someday!

Deuce: I'm up for it. Though, I might just sweep all of you.

Jack: Yeah, right. I'll be the one to win it next time.

Riddle: I've grasped the concept after watching Deuce. If I participate, I won't stand to lose, either.

Deuce: You too, Housewarden…!? But, fine. Doesn't matter who I go up against, I'll never lose!

Requested by @farfalla049 and @skibidibabygirl.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mad

Debut: Wario's Woods (NES)

Whoa! This mermaid is Pissed! Though I guess "Mad" could just be a shortening for something beautiful and elegant like "Madeline" or "Maddison" or perhaps "Madwoman". Either way, she is one of seven bosses that Toad can fight in Wario's Woods, a drop-down puzzle game for the NES (and SNES, but we'll get to that in a minute) most notable for being the last officially-licensed game released on the console, a whole four years into the lifespan of the SNES! We've already gone over most of the Wario's Woods denizens in a couple of posts, but with the exception of the NES bosses!

Original video credit: NintendoComplete on Youtube

The bosses in this game all play pretty much identically, summoning enemies and occasionally teleporting around. To damage them, you line up the thingies of the same color next to them, as you can see in the gif above. Yuppppp. She also appeared in Super Mario-Kun, where she is shown to be a shapeshifter!

I searched everywhere for more, but since Super Mario-Kun is apparently both very poorly archived and approximately three infinities long, here's some highlights courtesy of her Super Mario Wiki page! Wario has enthralled her by poisoning the lake she resides in, and after a fight, Mario and co. cure her by....... having Yoshi drink and subsequently urinate her out. Turns out this mermaid really was Pissed after all I guess.

Anyway, after that, her true form is revealed: a big fat anthropomorphic fish in a dress. If you don't think she's just as beautiful, get out of my sight. That's where I’d leave off the post normally, but as you may have noticed, we haven't yet touched on the SNES release of Wario's Woods. This brings us to the second half of the post...

Original video credit: World of Longplays on Youtube

Name: Aqualea

Debut: Wario's Woods (SNES)

Finally, someone calls Toad out on his trademark foolhardiness! Yes, Wario's Woods (SNES) includes a mermaid boss just like its NES counterpart. The odd thing here to me is not just that they went to the trouble of making a unique character that still sticks so close to Mad's design rather than outright cutting and pasting her into WW(SNES); but that of WW(SNES)'s seventeen non-Wario bosses, only one of them seems to bear any similarity to WW(NES)'s six.

Why go to the trouble of designing unique boss casts across both releases? Why not just distribute WW(NES)'s comparatively scanty lineup into WW(SNES)'s, which is almost three times as large? I mean, as a writer for a blog which hinges around novel and bizarre designs in the Mario franchise, I should really be thankful, but from a development standpoint it is just so odd! Especially considering both versions were designed and released concurrently! I think the most likely explanation here is poor coordination between design teams, though they did still have one member in common, so who's to say?

Anyway, all of that is to say that the circumstances surrounding Aqualea's conception are kind of infinitely more interesting than her design itself. Sorry, Aqualea! Although my sapphic sensibilities make it pretty hard to write you off completely, your cute-girl-ness can only get you so far, and novelty is unfortunately very much not on your side here.

Above, you can see how the boss gameplay differs from WW(NES). Instead of taking place on a single field, it now takes place across two, as is more traditional for competitive drop-down puzzle games. I really enjoy the unique SMB2(USA)-style sprite sets every boss has for this purpose. Seems like a good opportunity for a very niche ROM hack, if you ask me!

Every boss is also given a unique "lose" sprite for when you've defeated them. These are usually just a given boss's face in a distraught expression, but Aqualea is exceptional in that regard. I will now leave you with what is, in my opinion, the single most charming lose sprite of any boss in Wario's Woods (SNES):

[simaddix]

Opening TS3 Medieval Market

Hello, my lovelies! Today I would like to talk about an opportunity for our beloved medieval (and historic) TS3 community!

Interested? Well, I guess let’s get into it and see how far it goes.

Why Discord, rather than a Tumblr Community or a personal page?

That’s a great question – and one that might be better explored as time goes on. However, here are a few perks that I’ve noticed.

1: A discord server as a download market presents an ideal solution by combining accessibility, organization, and engagement.

2: Organization – less scattered forums/websites. Discord allows structured categories and channels to keep content well-organized. We have the option to create additional channels or categories to keep content separated – so there’s less confusion when people stop using a tag, or add a new one that other’s aren’t tracking. There are also transferable roles assigned by moderators, so if someone wants to leave – there is no data lost, and the server stays active as usual.

3: Direct downloads – requiring no additional host/server. If you’re a part of the creator discord pages, then you’ll notice there is a hoard of available downloads that bypass the need to go to an alternate download site. Creators can upload their content directly into the appropriate category.

4: Discord servers have little to no spam bots (that I’ve noticed, anyway), and if there are issues, it’s relatively easy to remove those pests and keep the community protected.

5: By centralizing downloads in a dedicated server, creators can upload their content, receive immediate feedback, and build faster relationships with their community, and followers can immediately engage, comment, or download. Discord mimics Tumblr in that it allows for real-time interactions, sneak peeks, polls, events and more.

Here's what I've established so far inside the server:

A welcome channel established for people to drop into the server, and members to say hello!

More channels to host discussions, show off real life/other games/hobbies/etc. And of course, everything TS3 - because we like seeing people play!

All the "Market" tabs you could want! (And if it's not there, we'll add it to the list - free of charge lol)

The "Cargo" section mimics the creator discords a bit in that it allows you to ask WCIFs, make CC requests, trade and barter another member/creator for CC (I.E - swap CAS for BUILD/BUY items, etc), start collab projects, and more.

I highly recommend also keeping up to date with the other creator discords, there's already so much activity there!

_____________________________________________________________

Is the market meant to replace Tumblr pages, other creator discords, or personal pages?

Absolutely not! As we all know, there are many Tumblr pages/websites/servers dedicated to the TS3 community at large. Ts3 has thrived for so long partly because it has such a dedicated modding community, and hosts player-made content. However, distributing and protecting all of the content effectively while also fostering a sense of community is challenging. There has been a massive amount of effort put into the community through wonderful pages such as @katsujiiccfinds and @pis3update, (as well as all the other CC pages out there), I am personally a member of two creator discords that have been essential to me as I’ve learned to create, and now tumblr is exploring the new community options. However, the fallback of this is that hosts get burnt out, stop creating themselves, or abandon pages/websites all the time. There are many of these “ghosts” haunting Tumblr as we speak – though we all love a good comeback story, so to those who have returned, or will return, we all welcome you back with wide open arms! Right? Right! Huzzah! The point is, this discord is not meant to replace any of these options, but it might help us find a centralized location.

Modern/electrical CC will be booed – but possibly tolerated lol

This Discord is being opened as of right now – so don’t be surprised if you pop in and there’s no CC yet. These things take time – Rome wasn’t built in a day.

You will need a Discord account to follow the invite!

Paid only content will not be allowed on this discord. If you would like to upload paid content - you can always start free servers on Discord! When your content is free - absolutely feel free to add it to the market!

See you there! (Please let me know if there are any link issues!)

Personal Letter of Invitation: https://discord.gg/e6skNu9t

[zablife]

Becoming Mrs. Shelby (Part 6)

Tommy Shelby x wife reader

Summary: You and Tommy enjoy a blissful honeymoon, but your happiness is marred by an unforeseen event that leaves you questioning who you married.

Part 5 Masterlist

Draping yourself over Tommy's half naked body, your fingertips traced two faded initials inked on the inside of his bicep. Tilting your head for a better look at the swirled cursive, you studied the interlocking T and G with enormous curiosity. "Gwendolyn? Gertrude? " you guessed as Tommy caressed your back. "No, I know it...it's Grace!"

You were giggling too much to notice the way his muscles corded with tension, face contorting into a hardened mask. Rolling you off him, he turned away to extinguish his cigarette in the ashtray huffing, "You done playing bloody Rumpelstiltskin?"

His annoyed tone took you back as nothing had been off limits in the days leading up to your wedding. Clearly there were things not up for discussion. Why had you insisted on playing such a silly game?

"Forgive me, darling. I was only curious," you apologized, clutching the sheet to your front with a sudden air of embarrassment. You felt exposed, too young and naive for your venerable husband.

Your words seemed to soften him, shoulders dropping as though unloading a great burden. Slowly turning back to face you, Tommy cupped your cheek in his palm before tenderly whispering, "It's in the past."

You nodded against him, bringing your hand up to his. The giant diamond on your finger caught the light, reflecting it back to your adoring gaze. As Tommy's thumb grazed the bauble, it rekindled an air of contentment and he leaned in for a slow, gentle kiss.

"Are you happy?" Tommy asked, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"So happy," you hummed, leaving a featherlight peck on his plump lips which left him hungry for more.

Lowering you onto the bed, he came to rest beside you, caressing your curves with his soothing touch. You closed your eyes as his fingers threaded through your hair, relishing the moment of connection. The spat between you all but forgotten, you finally allowed yourself to relax.

"You like the ring?" Tommy asked, an eagerness about him you found endearing. He did so want to please you.

You opened your eyes so he would see the sincerity of your words reflected in your gaze. "My happiness isn't found in possessions, Tommy."

He grasped your waist tightly, pulling you even closer to him as he nuzzled your nose playfully. "Is that so? We'll toss it into the ocean then," he chuckled, pretending to pull at your ring.

You giggled as you stole your hand back from him. Fingertips tracing lightly over his forearm, you nodded. "Yes, I love the ring, but I'm happy because I'm here with you. It's a state of mind," you explained breathlessly as he nibbled at your collarbone. You felt his stubbled cheek smile against the warmth of your skin, content with your answer.

The rest of the evening was spent in a haze of ecstasy, Tommy having an insatiable appetite for you. When you'd both tired, limbs tangled in the soft sheets, murmured whispers of praise lulled you into a blissful slumber.

The first rays of morning sunshine had yet to breech the shades when Tommy began stirring. At first you thought he was rising for a glass of water, but as you rolled over to ask for one yourself, you realized he was still fast asleep. The sharp jerking movements of a nightmare had gripped him with such ferocity, he shook the mattress beneath you both.

"Tommy," you ventured softly, shaking his shoulder. Whatever he was experiencing behind his eyelids must have been torturous. You shook with greater insistence, longing to pull him from the depths of the dream.

At that moment, Tommy woke, his large hands flying to your throat in an unexpected show of force. As he deftly maneuvered you onto your back, you attempted to cry out, but your windpipe was constricted. Only managing to draw a few ragged breaths through your burning lungs, you tried to calm him with your touch.

"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded with a venomous hiss.

"It's...me…your wife," you managed, struggling mightily as you lay pinned under the weight of his body. Tears sprung to your eyes as you realized he was staring at you without really looking, as though his soul had left his body.

"P-please,” you begged, fingertips grappling at his wrists as the room began to spin. Vision dancing with black spots, you heard Mrs. Fitzherbert's words echoing around you. Murderous gangster...incapable of love...if he doesn't kill you first.

A sudden gust of wind battered the shutters, the heavy wood banging insistently at the window. That's when Tommy's trance seemed to break, his eyes growing wide as he surveyed his surroundings then swept down to your terrified face.

He relinquished his hold within seconds, recoiling from you with a harsh gulp. His breathing remained erratic for some time as he sat at the edge of the bed. Running his fingers through sweat drenched hair, he tried to remember what had happened.

As you coughed and sputtered behind him, his attention was brought back to the room and he looked over his shoulder at you cautiously, afraid what he might find. Witnessing the harm he'd caused, he let out a shaky sigh. "Fuck, Y/n, are you alright?" he asked, desperation in his tone that unnerved you. Coming to kneel before you on the bed, he urged you speak to him.

Your fingers traced the fresh bruises he'd left at the base of your neck as you began to shrink away from him. He wasn't the tender lover from the night before, but a terrifying stranger who'd just attacked you. His presence made you tremble and an overwhelming urge to vomit overcame you. You might have screamed if you hadn't been swallowing back the bile rising in your throat and you certainly didn't have breath to call for help.

Despite the darkness, Tommy noted the way the whites of your eyes shone back at him indicating a wide eyed fear he never intended to inflict upon you. "No, no...I didn't mean it..." Tommy rushed to assure you, capturing you in his arms, but your rigid posture concerned him. "I'd never hurt you," he promised, stroking your hair. "I'd never hurt you..."

Part 7

[fandomfics]

Anything for You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Reader

Description: undercover jobs are always risky, but when you're caught going against the gang you and Dean have fallen in with, Dean is forced to do something drastic.

Masterlist

A/N: I love Dean. That is all

⚠️Warnings⚠️

18+ MDNI

Past/memories in italics. Canon typical violence, language, use of restraints, alcohol use, drunkenness, dark themes, human trafficking, murder, talk of vamps, no actual vamps appear. unprotected p in v, oral F receiving, angst, fluff, smut. The whole 9 yards. Not proof read.

Smut under the 🔥

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You are on your knees on the hard concrete, sitting on your heels, blindfolded. The rope that binds your wrists behind your back digs into you, the friction burning your sensitive skin. The smell of blood invades your nostrils, you can only hope it's not Dean's.

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"This could take weeks. We need to make sure that we don't blow this before we find the nest. " Dean sighs putting his head in his hands.

"We'll be fine. As fucked up as it is, them using a shelter as a cover will help us. My intel says they mostly pose as volunteers, they just hand the people off, No kidnap or torture at this stage. We pass the info to Sammy when we get it," you gesture to him across the table, "and he'll let the other hunters know the drop point."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You curse yourself under your breath as you remember those words, you should have been prepared for the unexpected. Your sense of time is distorted, your body is weak, you just want to fall to your side and pass out. You resist the urge and continue straining your ears to hear anything outside of the concrete room you are in. Nothing. Every pair of shoes you have are modified to carry a blade of some sort, You take the silence as your que to remove it and work at the rope. Periodically you stop to listen for any indication of footsteps, when you are satisfied by the silence you continue.

After what feels like an eternity, you're finally able to free yourself. When you draw up the blindfold you see the bare concrete room with a single light dangling from the ceiling and a door in front of you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The shelter you stand in front of is quiet and unassuming, the sign above you flickers momentarily, 'Hope's Haven'. Your gut clenches, places like this are supposed to be safe for the less fortunate. You're spurred on to take out this threat and move forward, duffle slung over your shoulder.

Dean is hot on your heels as you enter the building, "We're the new in-house caretakers." You say plainly, looking over the receptionist, wondering if she's part of this whole game.

"Door at the end of the hallway." She considers you and Dean for a moment before returning to her computer.

You pass several doors, every one marked, men's and women's dorms, family dorms, restrooms, showers, cafeteria, rec room. The door at the end of the hallway is marked volunteers only.

Behind the door is a staircase that leads to the small volunteers dorm, a few individual rooms and bathrooms, and a door marked 'Do Not Enter.' each door of the dorms has a white board on it with the names of the occupants, you quickly find the one marked with yours and Dean's chosen alias'.

"I'm surprised you let me pick the names. No protest either. I expected more from you Dean." You chuckle as you start to unpack your things.

His eyes narrow as he realizes he's missed something, "what do you mean?"

"You know," you stiffle a full on giggle before continuing, "Stevie Nicks is a woman right....and Lindsey Buckingham is a dude."

"Really?" Dean says Incredulously. "I guess it's a good thing no one ever thinks twice when we give our cover names..."

You can no longer keep your laughter in, bursting out in a fit as you fall back into the bed. "Right, no one EVER second guesses them." The sarcasm in your voice evident as your laugh dies down.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You hear footsteps approaching outside the door and reposition yourself to sit against the wall, replacing the blindfold, hands behind your back with your small knife in one.

The creak of the door causes your muscles to tense, but then you hear his voice.

"Fuck, are you okay?" You can hear Dean making his way across the room to you as you quickly bring your hands up to remove the blindfold. He drops to his knees next to you and cups your face in his hands waiting for your reply. When you don't respond quickly enough he lightly taps your cheek with his hand, "Hey!"

"I-I'm fine." You look at him in shock, "Dean...why are you covered in blood?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I told you to fucking wait for me!" Deans exasperation was clear, "You think they really believe that you weren't in that office snooping?"

"Would they let me go if they didn't?" You plop down on the bed in your shared room and start to take off your shoes.

"Maybe not, but you still should have waited dammit." His voice was quiet, almost inaudible. You pause briefly before continuing in a totally different direction.

"Come on, it's the fourth night we've been here, stop sleeping on the floor. I'm not gonna give you cooties." You say playfully trying to change the subject.

"Fine, I guess that's a suitable punishment for making me worry."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You've barely slept, huddled with your back against the wall, Dean takes up most of the bed. As much as you would love to just cuddle up to him, he's your best friend. You've harbored a bit of a crush on him for years, but you know he doesn't feel the same, you've accepted that.

You're letting your mind wander until he begins to shift beside you and suddenly his face is inches from yours.

"Dean." His name a hoarse whisper. When he doesn't stir you try again, this time louder, "Dean!"

His eyes open slowly, "hmm?" When he is finally able to focus he realizes how close he is. "I told you this was your punishment. I'm not moving." You push his chest trying to get him to move but he doesn't budge.

"I can't sleep, you're taking up the whole fucking bed." You whine, exasperated from your exhaustion.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you a bit closer as his eyes slowly close again. "Come on. We're friends, you don't have to be afraid to touch me, get some sleep." He turns away from you and gives you a bit more room. You follow suit, turning to your other side to face the wall and finally drift off.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When the alarm wakes you in the morning you feel the heaviness of Dean's arm draped over your waist. He stirs behind you and swings his arm back to turn the alarm off before leaving it back where it was.

"Mornin'" His voice is groggy

"Dean...what are you doing?"

"Shit, sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?" He starts to move away but you catch his hand before he can, keeping it firmly planted where it lays on your stomach.

"No, it's nice." You are emboldened by his touch and allow your fingers to trace over his hands.

You feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear, "Yeah..." He quietly agrees before lightly kissing your cheek. Your heart swells and flutters and you have to stop yourself from overthinking this. He isn't confessing his love your you, he's just enjoying cuddle. It doesn't mean anything.

You wait a couple minutes in silence, enjoying a little taste of domestic bliss with Dean before reluctantly pushing his arm away and speaking again, "Come on, we gotta get up." You sit up and stretch, turning to Dean, "Come on!" He turns to lay face down, the pillows muffle his clear rejection at the thought.

"We've got shit to do. Come. On." You stand on your knees and push at his body again, trying to roll him out of bed. When that doesn't work you begin to poke and prod at him.

"I don't wanna." He groans.

As a last resort you stand up and start bouncing up and down, it's childish, but you're having the time of your life annoying Dean until he turns and sits up. You stop your antics, standing above him within arms reach, out of breath and giggling. His face softens and he smiles.

"You're a god damned pest, ya know that?" He chuckles and finally swings his legs over the side of the bed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"We can talk about it when we get out of here." Dean says as he helps you up from the concrete floor.

He checks you over before grabbing your hand to make a run for it. Everything is oddly quiet and you meet no resistance on your way to baby. In an instant your on the road making your way out of town in silence.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You've barely slid out of the bed when you hear the door open. Some of the bigger goons of this operation stand on either side of the door as the woman you assumed to be the receptionist in your time here walks in with a look of disappointment on her face.

"You can't just barge into-" Dean starts protesting before one of the men point a gun at you. He stops and keeps his eye on him with a glare. "What do you want?" Dean says harshly.

"Her." The woman states rather plainly.

"Why?"

"She violated my privacy, caught her snooping through my things."

"What? No I didn't!" You try desperately to lie.

"Honey, I got you on camera."

Deans face drops as he looks to you, his face contorted in surprise and anger.

"Oh," she feigns pity, "you didn't know what she was doing without you? Wonder what else she gets up to behind your back?"

You're both too stunned for words as she turns with one last statement, "lock her up, don't torture her too much. She may still be useful. And Stevie, you'll need to work extra hard around here if you ever want to see her again." She snaps her fingers and the men drag you off to the room.

"Just do what they say, help them finish the job. don't worry about me." You try and tell Dean as he calls after you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An eternity passes in silence and night falls. A neon sign in the distance advertises a motel with a 24 hour diner across the street, you sigh in relief knowing he'll stop.

When you've showered and eaten you both lay in your respective beds in the dark. Dean has still barely said a word to you, the tension has made you anxious. You fade in and out of consciousness, your thoughts never ceasing. You remain restless.

You look to the clock on the nightstand. 3:17am. You run a hot bath, hoping it will help to ease your tense muscles, you pour the lavender shampoo in the running water, hoping the calming scent will ease your mind.

You let out a sigh as you sink in, your thoughts still lingering on the question you've pondered since leaving. What did Dean do that would cause him to be so distant?

Your snapped out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the door. The water has grown cold and you're unsure how long you had been in there. "How much longer you gonna be? I need to piss." You hear Dean's gruff voice from the other side of the door.

"I'll be out in a sec." You quickly dry yourself off and dress allowing Dean the restroom. You sit on his bed, lights on, waiting for him to finish. He doesn't seem surprised, but he still doesn't want to talk.

"Dean, tell me what happened."

"I saved you, end of story." His climbs back into his bed and turns away from you. "Get the lights will ya?"

You scoff, "if it's that fucking simple, why can't you talk to me about it?"

He remains silent, no sign of any change. "Fine." Tears sting your eyes as you move back to your bed, turning the lights off on the way.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You sit in the kitchen of the bunker with Sam. Same thing you've done a million times before.

"It's been three months Sam. Has barely talks to me. It fucking hurts."

"He still won't tell me anything about it either-"

"Yeah, but at least he doesn't treat you like the worst thing that ever happened to him, like a plague. We used to be so close, now we're practically strangers. I don't know if I can keep living here like this. I don't want to."

You hear footsteps retreating away towards the library and look to Sam.

"Well go tell him that. I don't want you to go, but I don't blame you either."

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You walk into the library to see Dean sitting at a table, hunched over a book, deep in thought.

"I'm leaving, I can't live here anymore." You say matter of factly.

"Okay. Have a nice life." Dean doesn't look up from his reading.

You march over to where he sits and fling everything in front of him off the table in a rage.

"What the fuck happened to you Dean? You have made these last few months an absolute living hell for me. We were best friends, we shared almost everything with each other." Your tears fall freely as you scream, he avoids your eyes.

"You can't even look at me. Like whatever happened is my fucking fault, but you're too chicken shit to say what it was."

You start to pace around as he stands up to leave.

"You're gonna run away from me again?" You stalk forward and shove him back, "Just tell me you hate me, you don't want to be near me, you don't want anything to do with me anymore. Something, anything. Give me some god damn peace Dean Winchester." You try to push him again and he catches your arms before they can make contact with his chest and you struggle to free yourself from his grip.

"I wish you left sooner. I thought maybe you woulda got the hint sooner. You're making this whole thing harder for both of us." He finally looks into your eyes after months, you're clearly in pain. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief of his words, as a sob shakes your body and your legs stop working. He catches you and sits you in the chair he was occupying.

You feel as though the man you thought he was is dead, and you sit in front of a facsimile of him, mourning the loss of someone who was once dear to you.

His hands slam on the table and you flinch at the sudden noise. "You want to know why I don't talk to you? Cause I killed five people. People, not monsters. I didn't think twice about doing it. I did it to save your sorry ass."

You sit in stunned silence as he leaves the room. You're heartbroken, you never would have expected him to be so cruel to you of all people.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Torture? Absolutely the fuck not. Dean is going to take down every one of them before they can touch a hair on your head. He gets dressed and opens the door to find one of the large men guarding it.

"What? You supposed to follow me around?"

He nods solemnly. Without warning Dean pulls a small knife from his pocket and stabs the man right in the neck. As he begins to fall Dean catches him and drags him into the room before holstering the knife and continuing on.

His rage bubbles in his gut, consuming him entirely, his body moves without a second thought. His mission to rescue you is clear, damn the job, damn these fucking people.

One by one he finds each of the other people and puts them down without hesitation.

Something snaps when he finally releases you and is running for the exits. He just murdered five people. They weren't good people by any mans, but they weren't monsters in the literal sense.

The entire ride to the motel was silent, his mind was overwhelmed with the thoughts of how far he went to rescue you, how much it scares him that he was willing to take these humans out, for you. The fact that he would do it again a hundred times over if it means you're safe.

As much as he doesn't want you to leave, he is afraid of the lengths he will go to, the things he will do for you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sam finds you in the library an hour later, hunched over the desk, still crying. He kneels beside you and puts a hand on your back to sooth you. You immediately turn into him and engulf him in a hug as you explain what happened. Your ever dutiful friend listens to every word as he allows you to cling to him, rubbing your back.

"I'm so sorry," he says as he squeezes you tightly. "I understand if you still want to leave, but you need to rest a bit now." You nod into his shoulder and he helps you up, guiding you to your room and laying you in bed. As he leaves you turn to face the wall and cry yourself to sleep.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the middle of the night you find yourself in desperate need of hydration. On your way back from the kitchen you turn a corner and collide hard with Dean. The glass in your hands drops to the floor and shatters sending water and sharp shards across the hallway. You're about to berate Dean, take all your anger out on him until you realize he's been crying.

He turns and makes his way back to his room without a word and you follow close behind.

"What the fuck do you have to cry about Winchester? Huh? You tore me to pieces like I didn't mean a thing and you're crying?" You scoff.

He ignores your words and you keep going. "Still don't want to talk? You killed those people. Not me. I told you to finish the job, not to worry about me. You decided to do all that yourself. So stop taking it out on me you selfish prick. Hate me all you want, but that was your decision."

He stops in his tracks just as he crosses the threshold of his room and finally turns his head to address you. "I don't hate you."

"Unbelievable."

"You're not going to leave me alone are you?" He turns to you fully now, "You aren't getting it. I killed those people because the thought of them touching you in any way was terrifying to me. The thought of losing you forever filled me with blind rage. You were careless and got yourself caught and I couldn't deal with it. The fact that I could do that for you fucking scares me. I was the monster."

His door slams in your face and you are left speechless. You have no idea how you feel, your thoughts are jumbled and you want nothing more than to quiet them down.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You and a bottle of rum occupy the kitchen for the remainder of the night. You talk to yourself, to the bottle, to imaginary Dean as you play out how future conversations may go. You're emotions are scattered to the winds and you just want to drink until you're numb.

Half the bottle is gone and your head lays on your folded arms at the table. You hear someone walking in but all you can do is groan pitifully. Your vision is blurred and your head is fuzzy but you recognize Dean's voice through it it.

"Jesus Christ," you hear the bottle being picked up and unceremoniously slammed back down. "This isn't going to help."

"Yeronetatalk" your words slur together.

Without another word he lifts you from the chair and takes you to your room. As much as you want to protest, you can't, you're too drunk. He lays you in your bed and leaves for a few minutes. He returns with a gallon jug of water, a cup, a trash can, and some aspirin.

He pulls a chair up next to the bed and puts his head in his hands. He spends hours there with you, mostly asleep, but taking care of you when you're not, holding your hair back, urging you to drink water.

"I'm sorry." You hear him whisper when he thinks your asleep. "I didn't want this."

Your heart hurts. So does everything else. Your eyes open and he urges you to drink more water and take the aspirin.

"Dean," his eyes meet yours. "I'm sorry...for being reckless. I should have waited for you. You're right. But don't you dare blame me for what you did."

"I'm sorry too. I know it wasn't your fault that I did it for you. I just wanted you to leave so I wouldn't have to worry about losing you in the worst ways imaginable. I wanted you to run off and find a nice normal guy to settle down with and live a nice normal life. I've been....selfish. "

Again you're left speechless at the vulnerability that Dean is showing. He's finally talking to you again and dropping his innermost thoughts, it's dizzying.

"You're one of the most important people in my life, my best friend, I love you."

"Dean, I love you too, I never wanted to leave, you just made me feel like trash. Like nothing. I don't know what this means for our friendship, but you really fucking hurt me. Im not going anywhere though."

"I don't just love you as a friend. That's not what I meant." He whispers "but I understand, I wouldn't want to even be my friend after what I've done to you."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day him and Sam leave to go take care of a simple haunting. They should only be gone a few days, a week at most with delays. You take the time to try and do things you enjoy. You relax. For the first time in months. Now you know everything, it still hurts, but you aren't in the dark anymore.

You use the time to think about what you want. You think about Dean saying the words you've wanted to hear for so long. Even after all that you are still in love with him too.

You spend the next four days mulling everything over, weighing all of your options, going through every scenario in your head. Every outcome.

This is the first time in the years that you've known him that Dean has ever done anything to purposely upset you. You understand why. Can you forgive him?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You hear them return and rush to Dean's room to wait for him. You play with your fingers nervously as you sit on the bed, it feels like time slows as you wait.

"Oh, Hey." He says somewhat suspiciously as the door opens.

"Hey," a small smile graces your lips. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah....yeah. " he drops his duffle in the floor and sits next to you on the bed, suddenly finding his hands very interesting.

"I forgive you. You should forgive yourself too. Those were terrible people. They knew what they were sending those people into. They knew they would die."

He looks up to you in surprise, "They were still human though."

"They've led hundreds of people to their deaths, knowingly. Fuck them. I know you Dean. You wouldn't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"I did though... I hurt you."

"Okay, but you usually don't." You place your hand on his. His eyes meet yours before you continue, "That's why I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"I think you do, so get over it and accept it because I'm in love with you too. You're never getting rid of me now."

"You can't be serious." You cup his face with your hands and pull him in for a gentle kiss which he eagerly returns.

"I am," you say pulling away, "get some rest, you're taking me out on a date later. And I want something fancy. Pick me up at eight."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

At exactly 8pm, Dean knocks on your door. He extends a single red rose when you open the door, a wide goofy grin adorns you face as you look him over in his suit. You take the rose and place it in the glass of water at your bedside before returning to him.

"You look beautiful. You always look beautiful." You look down as a blush comes to your cheeks.

"Thank you," you reach up on tip toes and kiss him on the cheek. "You look handsome as usual." You smile up at him.

"So, where are you taking me Mr. Winchester?" He extends an arm and you take it as he leads you to the garage.

"It's a surprise." He winks and your heart flutters.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Truth or Dare?" Dean asks you, it's your first night at the shelter and you and Dean are passing time with a game.

"Uhhhh, truth."

"What's your ideal date?"

"What an odd question from you," you laugh, "a picnic under the stars, dancing slow in the moonlight, maybe a bit of wine."

"That is so fucking sappy." Dean laughs and you stick your tongue out at him playfully.

"Whatever. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What's your ideal date?" You chuckle maniacally.

"Whatever gets me laid." He laughs heartily and you roll your eyes.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Close your eyes." Dean holds you hand as he drives, after about 15 minutes of driving the car comes to a stop and Dean takes your hand. Your confused when you step out and feel the crunch of gravel beneath your feet, after a short walk it turns to grass.

"Okay, open your eyes." Dean drops your hand and leans down to press play on a. Old boom box and Lady by Styx begins to play. You stand on a hilltop, a tree before you is covered in fairy lights, on the ground is a blanket that's been laid out, he sets a basket on the ground and gestures for you to sit. The moon is full, the sky is littered with stars, everything is perfect.

"I know it's not fancy like you said... But-"

"You remembered." You whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"Of course I did." He smiles. You enjoy a charcuterie board, conversation, wine. You spend a while just enjoying each other's company, laying on the ground staring up at the stars. The tape that was playing finally ends and Dean switches to a new tape before standing up and extending his hand to you.

Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley begins to play and you take his hand. He helps you up and pulls you close, "dance with me?"

You nod your head, one hand clasped in his as the other rests on his chest. His other hand pulls you by the waiste, impossibly close. You sway slowly, looking up into his eyes. "You're so fucking sappy." You grin.

"Anything for you." He looks deep into your eyes before continuing, "I want to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Before I ask, I want to promise that I will always be honest with you from now on. I won't ever hide anything unless it's a really cool surprise for you."

"Okay," you giggle

"Will you be my girl?"

"Abso-fuckin-lutely." You bring him in for a kiss. It's soft and sweet, you feel a warmth flood through your body. "And I promise to try and not be so reckless."

He smiles and plants a quick peck on your lips before pulling away to get a velvety rectangular box out of his jacket pocket. He opens it in front of you and you can't help but laugh boisterously at his cheesy gift.

A dainty silver chain with a "D."

"You hate it." He says looking down.

"No, it's the cheesiest fucking thing and I absolutely adore it. Help me put it on!" He moves behind you and clasps it around your neck before snaking his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder. You rest one hand on his and cup his face with the other.

"I'm never taking this off." He gives you a little squeeze and sways with you to the next song that plays. "I love you dean." He hums contentedly.

"I love you too." He says softly before kissing your neck. A small moan escapes your lips and you feel him smirk into your neck. You tilt your head and allow him to continue and he takes the invitation with no hesitation. A shiver runs down your spine when he hits your pulse point and you turn in his arms tilting your head up just as his lips crash into yours.

🔥

This kiss is deeper, voracious, his desire is evident in the way he holds you to him, and you're returning it right back to him.

"Dean," you pant after breaking the kiss, "do you think we'd get caught for public indecency out here?"

His eyes widen as he takes your meaning, "Babe, it'd be worth it even if we did."

You giggle as he backs you up against the tree and kisses down your body, when he's on his knees he looks up to you, "Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"I want you. I want to feel you inside of me, I want you to claim me."

"Fuck." He moans out before pushing his hands through the slit in your dress to remove your underwear. He shoves them in his pocket, "Those are mine now." He winks before hiking one leg over his shoulder, displaying your dripping cunt to him.

He immediately dives in, the obscene sounds of him devouring you mixed with both of your moans cut through the silence of the night. His hands gently caress your legs leaving a delightful tingle that causes you to shiver as the bark of the tree digs into your back with a pleasurable pinch of pain. He moves his focus to your clit as he allows a finger to prod your entrance.

"Yes, please, Dean..." You whisper breathlessly. He hums, sending a vibration through you and you can't help but buck into it. Your hands weave into his hair, gently pulling as you continue to roll your hips into him. He fully inserts his finger and curls it right against your sweet spot, eliciting a squeak of surprise from you that quickly turns to a moan.

He adds another finger and continues pumping them into you, moaning every time you pull his hair and grind against his face.

"Dean...fuck, just like that.... I'm gonna cum." Your cunt tightens, pulsing as your release hits and you cum hard on his fingers as he helps you ride it out. He immediately laps it up and removes his fingers. You moan as you watch him lick them clean. The lower half of his face is covered in your slick, igniting your desire to feel him again.

You grab the lapels of his jacket and yank him to you, his mouth finds yours again and you taste yourself on him. Your hand travels down his chest to the hard outline of his cock. You gently run a finger over it, teasing him until he's a shivering mess.

"Babe please." He whispers into your mouth. You make quick work of releasing him, he hikes your leg up, keeping one hand on your thigh as he lines up to your entrance. He slowly rolls his hips until he's fully inside of you.

He continues languidly rolling his hips, his free hand cups your face as his forehead rests against yours, his eyes firmly gazing into yours. The connection you feel is deeper than just the physical way your bodies are melding.

You call out his name in a breathy moan and his hips move a bit faster, "where?"

"Cum inside me, please Dean. I want to feel you."

"Fuck, you drive me wild. Cum with me." Your hand finds your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. Your eyes close involuntarily in bliss, "Eyes on me beautiful."

"Almost...."

Another wave of pleasure washes over you, you pulse and contract around Dean as you both cry out in pleasure. You feel him spill inside you with a few final languid thrusts. He stays there, cradling your face in his hand, catching his breath.

After his breathing steadies, he releases your leg and puts himself away. He takes one of the extra cloth napkins he brought and pours some water on it before getting on one knee in front of you. His hands guide your foot to rest on his leg to open you up to him once more and he cleans you up, lovingly planting kisses to your inner thigh.

[eff-plays]

"Lmao EA thinks Veilguard failed because it wasn't a live service. Are they fucking stupid?"

This is a charitable take ^^^^ This is an EXTREMELY charitable take, and let me explain why.

EA wants a live service game. They want it BAD. They know nobody else wants it, but that doesn't matter. They want it, because to them, it's infinite money. If they just keep throwing devs at it, no matter the devs' actual passion or areas of expertise, they believe they'll hit the jackpot. When you have almost-infinite money to throw at a problem until it spits out the final infinite-money glitch? That's what you do.

When Destiny dropped and did big fat numbers back in the day, EA got so hard they couldn't think, looked over what devs they had locked in their basement, and picked out BioWare as their lab rat. BioWare just finished Mass Effect, right? That was some sci-fi bullshit, just like Destiny! Make them make another Destiny. But by the time it came out, it was too late. People were tired of the genre, and Anthem was so nothing and made by devs who couldn't care less, so it fizzled out like a wet fart. Alright, that was a big fail, but hey!! Inquisition made big money, so get BioWare on another live service, this time maybe fantasy-flavored? Except oops, looks like we used up all the goodwill with Anthem and people are really pissed about us making Dragon Age, an exclusively single-player game, multiplayer. Ugh. Okay. Fine. Scrap that, I guess. Gotta save face, for now. Let's um. Yes, let's just axe some devs from this, ya know, we gotta make money too right? Can't spend TOO MUCH on a singleplayer game. Oh no!!! It came out and it sucked?? Well, obviously it's not OUR fault. The game is as good as it could have been under the circumstances ... you know, not being a live service game. We wanted it to be live service, gamers, but YOU said it should've been singleplayer! And now it failed to meet expectations! See? We told you! Alas, if only it'd been a multiplayer live service instead ...

Look. They know. They're fully aware and they can very much hear and see all the criticisms thrown at Veilguard, and at live service games in general. The problem isn't that they don't get what gamers want, it's that they don't CARE. They want infinite money, and to them, having one good live service is so much more valuable than having a bunch of little one-off sale games. Do you understand?

"But BG3 and Elden Ring and etc etc made so much money and it was singleplayer!!" Yeah, but did they make Fortnite money? Did they make INFINITE money? No. They didn't. EA. Wants. Infinite. Money.

And they want to keep trying to get that one infinite money glitch, so that little comment about "oughough if only it'd been a live service game" isn't a misunderstanding of what players want or a poorly-thought-out argument: it's propaganda. They're trying to twist Veilguard failing into a justification for why their next game will once again be an attempt at a live service game. "See? You guys wanted singleplayer but then it failed 😔 We simply CAN'T justify making another singleplayer game, not when it SELLS SO POORLY. It's okay though, WE know what people ACTUALLY want, and we'll do it next time :)"

It doesn't matter to them how many single-player games must fail and how many devs must be sacrificed, how many players must be upset and alienated, because if they hit that infinite money glitch ONCE, if they get ONE Fortnite ... Then none of it will matter.

So yeah. This isn't stupidity. It's plain and simple greed.

[newobsessionweekly]

Puppy Bradford

part 1

Main Masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: You consider fostering Charlie after his mom's passing, but things don't always go as planned, they are better when Tim proposes to you.

Fluff

Requested: yes

Words: 4k

The weeks after Charlie's initial stay at your home saw a transformation none of you anticipated. Tim's grumpiness was gradually replaced by a quieter acceptance, and Charlie began to see you both as the support system he desperately needed.

"Hey, Y/N," Charlie called one evening, the excitement in his voice palpable through the phone. "I got an A in Geometry!"

You smiled, pride swelling in your chest. "That's amazing, Charlie! I knew you could do it. Tim's going to be so proud when he hears."

"Yeah, he really helped me study," Charlie admitted, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Can you tell him I said thanks?"

"Of course, sweetheart. He'll be thrilled," you replied, glancing at Tim, who was engrossed in a football game. You nudged him playfully, and he glanced at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" he asked, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Charlie got an A in Geometry."

Tim's face softened, a rare look of pride shining in his eyes. "That's great. Tell him good job and to keep it up."

This became a regular occurrence. Charlie called you often, updating you on his progress at school, sharing his successes and his struggles. Each conversation filled your heart with a sense of purpose and joy, knowing you were making a difference in his life. Tim, too, found himself eagerly awaiting these updates, though he tried to mask his growing affection with his usual gruff exterior.

"Hey, Y/N, guess what?" Charlie's voice crackled through the phone one afternoon. "I made the basketball team!"

"That's fantastic, Charlie!" you exclaimed, "We'll have to come to your first game."

"Really? You and Tim would come?" His surprise and joy were evident.

"Absolutely. We're your biggest fans."

Tim and you make it a point to visit the hospital every few days, ensuring that Charlie and his mom, Lisa, have everything they need. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of medical equipment become familiar as you navigate the hallways.

Every time you walk in, the air feels heavy with unspoken words and lingering fears. Lisa's frail frame lies against the pillows, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you. Charlie hovers by her side, offering what comfort he can.

"Y/N, Tim, you didn't have to come again," she would say, her voice frail but warm.

"We want to," you would reply gently, setting down a basket of fresh fruits and some books. "You're part of our family now."

Tim would give her a reassuring nod, his eyes softening as he took in the scene. "Is there anything you need, Lisa?" he'd ask, always ready to lend a hand.

Her gratitude was palpable, her eyes brimming with tears at the kindness you both showed. "You two are a godsend," she'd whisper, "I don't know what we would have done without you."

You'd sit by her side, holding her hand, feeling the frailty of her grip. "We're here for you, Lisa. For both of you."

"I can't thank you enough for everything you're doing. Knowing Charlie has you two... it makes this a little easier." Lisa said softly.

Tim, standing at the foot of the bed, nodded respectfully, "We're happy to help. Charlie's a good kid. He deserves the best."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked between the two of you.

"I've made peace with what's coming. Knowing my son won't be alone, that he has you both... I can go in peace. Thank you."

You squeezed her hand gently, your heart aching at her words. "We'll take care of him. You have our word."

The phone rang late one night, jarring you awake. Groggily, you reached for it, your heart dropping as you saw Charlie's name on the screen.

"Charlie?" you answered, your voice thick with sleep and concern.

"Y/N... it's Mom. She's... she's..." he said, his voice breaking.

You sat up, your heart aching. "Oh, Charlie, I'm so sorry. Tim and I are on our way, okay?"

Tim is already moving, grabbing his keys and your jackets. "Let's go."

The drive to the hospital was silent, the weight of the news heavy in the air. When you arrived, you rushed through the hospital corridors, finding Charlie sitting alone in the waiting area, his face pale and eyes red from crying.

"Charlie," you called softly, moving towards him with Tim close behind.

He looked up, his face crumpling with relief and grief at the sight of you. You pulled him into a tight embrace, your heart breaking for the young boy.

"We're so sorry," you whispered, holding him close. "We're here for you."

Tim knelt down beside you, placing a comforting hand on Charlie's back. "I'm so sorry, kid," he said, "We're going to get through this together, okay?"

Tim exchanged a glance with you, silently communicating his thoughts. He then turned back to Charlie, "How about you come home with us tonight? Dinner's ready, you can get some rest. We'll come back in the morning."

Charlie looked between the two of you, uncertainty and exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I don't want to leave her," he said, his voice trembling.

"We get that," you replied softly. "But we want you to be safe and taken care of. We'll come back first thing in the morning. Your mom would want you to take care of yourself too."

Tim nodded, "She's right, Charlie. It's important you stay strong and healthy. We’ll call the school in the morning and let them know you’ll be taking a few days off."

Charlie hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Okay," he whispered, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his grief. "Thank you."

The days turned into weeks, and Charlie had become a permanent fixture in your home. His presence brought a sense of warmth and life to the house, despite the somber circumstances that had brought him there.

You and Tim did everything you could to make him feel welcome and loved, supporting him through the funeral and the tough days that followed.

"Hey, Charlie, want to help me with dinner?" you called out one evening, poking your head into the guest room that slowly turned into his own.

Charlie looked up from his homework, "Sure. I'll be right there."

As he joined you in the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride watching him chop vegetables.

"You're getting pretty good at this," you remarked, handing him a bowl to mix the ingredients.

He grinned, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Thanks. Tim's been showing me some tricks."

Your boyfriend wandered into the kitchen just then, a tired but contented smile on his face. "Smells good in here," he commented, leaning against the counter.

You smiled back at him, a warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him. "Charlie's been a big help," you said, nodding towards the boy beside you.

Tim's smile widened, and he ruffled Charlie's hair affectionately. "Good job, buddy," he said proudly.

Later that evening, as you and Tim sat together on the couch, you couldn't shake the thought that Charlie's stay with you might be more permanent than originally planned. You turned to Tim, the question weighing heavily on your mind.

"What's going to happen to Charlie?"

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, he's a minor, so he'll probably be put into foster care," he explained, his expression grim.

You frowned, the thought of Charlie being sent to a foster home unsettling. "But he's been through so much already," you protested. "He shouldn't have to go through even more trouble."

Tim nodded in agreement, his brow furrowing, "I already talked to Social Services," he admitted. "They said the judge will likely consider foster care over emancipation."

You chewed your lip, mulling over his words. "What if... what if we fostered him?" you suggested tentatively.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at you, his expression unreadable. "Foster him?" he repeated, as if trying the idea on for size.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yeah. We've been with him through everything, Tim. We care about him. What do you think?"

He contemplated for a moment, his gaze distant. Then, to your surprise, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You know what? That's not a bad idea," he admitted.

You couldn't help but smile, "Timothy, I never thought I'd see the day when you wanted to foster a teenager," you teased, nudging him playfully.

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "Hey, I have a heart, you know," he replied, his tone gruff but affectionate.

You laughed, leaning in closer to him. "I know," you said softly, reaching for his hand. "And it's one of the things I love most about you."

His expression softened, his gaze warm as he looked at you. "I see Charlie as a son I always wanted," he admitted, "And I think we can give him a good home."

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently. "I think so too," you agreed, feeling a swell of gratitude and love for the man sitting beside you.

Tim leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'll talk to Grey and Luna in the morning," he said, his voice filled with determination. "Luna can help us with the process of becoming foster parents."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Leaning into his embrace, Tim held you close, his arms strong and reassuring.

Next morning, as the three of you gathered around the table for breakfast, an unspoken tension filled the air. Tim focused on flipping pancakes, while you tried to find the right words to broach the subject with Charlie. The smell of fresh coffee and syrup filled the kitchen, but the comforting scents did little to ease the anxiety gnawing at you.

"We wanted to talk to you about something," you began, meeting Charlie's gaze across the table. Your voice was calm, but your heart raced.

Charlie nodded, his expression guarded. "Okay," he said softly, his tone wary.

"You've been staying here for a week now, and..." you trailed off, searching for the right words.

"And you want me to go," Charlie interjected, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I bothered you enough."

Tim turned off the stove and wiped his hands on a dish towel before stepping over to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning forward with a serious expression. He placed a hand on your back and another on Charlie's shoulder.

"No, buddy," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We want you to stay here with us."

Charlie looked at both of you, surprise and confusion flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"We know how hard this is for you," you continued softly. "Losing your mom... it's not something anyone should go through alone. We want to help you, Charlie. We want you to finish high school, have a good future."

"We know the foster care system can be rough," Tim said, his gaze steady on Charlie. "And legally, you'd be put into a foster home. But we want to be those foster parents. If you want that too."

Charlie's expression hardened, his grief morphing into anger. "Why do you even care?" he snapped. "You don't know me. You think you can just replace my mom?"

"We're not trying to replace anyone," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "We just want to help."

"Help?" Charlie scoffed, "You think I'm just some kid you can take pity on?" he spat, his voice laced with bitterness.

Tim's jaw clenched, his expression tight with frustration. "That's not what we think, kid," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "We care about you."

But Charlie wasn't listening. He pushed his chair back abruptly, the screech of metal against tile echoing through the room. "I don't need your help," he said bitterly, his tone final. "I can take care of myself."

You watched helplessly as Charlie stormed out of the house, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you realized that your efforts had been in vain. You turned to Tim, your eyes pleading for understanding.

Tim placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, pulling you into a tight embrace. "We tried," he said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. "We did everything we could."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express your grief. The loss of Charlie felt like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you with its intensity. You buried your face in Tim's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

"I thought we could help him," you whispered.

His hand moved up to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I know," he said softly. "I know."

As Tim prepared to leave for work, you stood in the hallway, your heart heavy with the weight of the morning's events. He turned to face you, his expression tender and filled with understanding.

"Hey..." you called out.

Tim stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "I know," he said simply, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. "I'll keep an eye on him."

You clung to him, finding solace in his strength. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tim pulled back slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We'll figure this out."

Weeks passed, and Charlie found himself shuffled from one foster family to another, never quite fitting in. Each new home brought fresh disappointment and the deepening sense that he didn't belong anywhere.

You and Tim dedicated yourselves to the process of becoming foster parents. The paperwork was extensive and the wait felt endless, but you both knew it was worth it.

Tim reached out to his ex-girlfriend Rachel—who worked for CPS — and with her help, he managed to keep an eye on Charlie's progress. What he saw only confirmed his fears: Charlie was not adjusting well to his new life.

"How's Charlie doing?" Lucy asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "And how's Y/N holding up with everything?"

Tim tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road. "Not great," he admitted. "When we told Charlie about the foster care system and that we wanted to be his foster parents, he didn't take it well. He's been bouncing from one family to another, and none of them seem to be a good fit for him."

"He'll come around," she said softly. "Whether you like to admit it or not, the kid has a place under your skin and vice versa. He's just hurting right now. He'll come back asking for help when he's ready."

"Yeah, tell that to Y/N. Maybe she'll listen to you." Tim sighed, a heavy sound filled with frustration and worry. "I don't like seeing her so sad because of some puppy. I don't want to tell her 'I told you so,' but I did tell her it might not be a good idea to get involved with him."

Lucy gave him a sympathetic smile. "Tamara did the same, and now she's the best roommate I've ever had."

Tim chuckled softly, "Jackson would disagree with you."

"Bradford, someone's asking for you at the front desk."

Grey approached them as soon as they walked back into the station. Tim watched Lucy process the suspect before he headed out to meet his visitor. With a nod of acknowledgment, he made his way to the front desk, his steps quick and purposeful.

Tim's heart skipped a beat when he saw Charlie standing there, his posture tense and his expression uncertain. Charlie stood up quickly as Tim approached, his eyes avoiding Tim's gaze.

"Officer Bradford," Charlie began, his voice trembling. "I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you and Y/N. I'm sorry and I'm sorry for running away.

Tim's expression softened, his heart going out to the troubled teenager before him.

"Charlie," he said gently, his voice carrying a note of compassion. "It's just Tim."

The boy's eyes flickered with surprise, a hint of relief washing over him.

"Tim," he echoed softly.

Tim placed a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder, the gesture conveying more than words ever could.

"Kid, I understand," he said,"We all have our moments. But you're not alone in this."

Charlie's gaze dropped, his guilt weighing heavily on him. "I'm just so tired of feeling like a screw-up," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to do better."

Tim nodded understandingly, his grip on his shoulder tightening ever so slightly. "You can, Charlie," he said firmly, his voice brimming with conviction. "But you're right, there's someone else you need to apologize to."

Charlie's breath caught in his throat, the weight of his actions settling heavily on his shoulders. "Y/N," he whispered, the name a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused.

Tim nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Y/N cares about you, Charlie," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "We both do. And we're not giving up on you."

A flicker of hope ignited in Charlie's eyes, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You still want to help me?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Tim returned the smile, a sense of resolve settling over him. "We're not here to judge you. We want to help you. If you're willing to put in the effort, we'll be there every step of the way."

Charlie looked up at Tim, his eyes shimmering with gratitude and hope. "Thank you," he whispered, "Thank you for not giving up on me. I... I would be beyond grateful if you still want to help me. If you don't hate me."

"We don't hate you, Charlie," he said firmly, "And we're not going anywhere."

The familiar scent of your cooking filled the room, providing a sense of comfort and normalcy. As your boyfriend and Charlie stepped inside, Tim saw you setting up the table for dinner, arranging two sets of everything with meticulous care. The clinking of plates and silverware was a soothing, everyday sound that contrasted with the emotional whirlwind outside.

"Hey, baby," Tim greeted softly, his voice carrying the warmth of a long day finally coming to an end.

He walked over to you and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. You leaned into the kiss, savoring the brief moment of connection. The touch of his lips was reassuring, grounding you in the present.

Tim then turned his attention to the table and added, "You might want to make three of that."

You looked up, curiosity in your eyes. "Who's joining us?" you asked, looking at Tim's expression for clues.

Tim didn't answer immediately but instead pointed to the door where Charlie stood hesitantly, his posture tense and uncertain. Your face fell, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked back and forth between Charlie and Tim, trying to process what was happening. The emotional impact of seeing Charlie there, vulnerable and seeking solace, hit you like a wave.

You walked towards Charlie, your heart pounding in your chest. Each step felt heavy with the weight of the past weeks. As you reached him, you enveloped him in a warm, tight hug, your arms wrapping around him protectively.

"It's so good to see you, Charlie." You could feel Charlie's shoulders relax a little under your touch. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold."

You settled at the table, and Charlie's face lit up at the sight of your delicious food. He took a deep breath, the familiar aromas bringing a sense of peace.

"I missed this so much." The words seemed to break the ice, melting some of the tension in the room.

"You're welcome here whenever you want," you replied warmly, your eyes shining with kindness. You reached across the table, gently squeezing his hand.

"Or," Tim interjected, "you can just stay here with us."

"Tim..." you began, surprised by his straightforwardness. You turned to him, eyes wide with shock and a hint of hope.

"I'd love that," Charlie said, cutting through your hesitation with a hopeful smile.

"What?" you asked, stunned.

"Look, Y/N, I'm so sorry for snapping at you," Charlie confessed, his voice sincere and eyes downcast. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. After everything you've done for me, you deserve better." His voice wavered with the weight of his regret.

You gently took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Oh, sweetheart. You had a rough time, and I understand that. We understand that. We're here if you need to talk, whenever you're ready."

Charlie took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Actually, I was hoping I could stay here with you guys. Tim told me about the fostering process, and I was hoping it was still a thing."

You looked at Tim, your eyes wide with shock and hope. When he smiled and nodded, a wide smile spread across your face.

"Yes, of course."

Charlie hugged you tightly, and you felt his relief and gratitude in the embrace. Tears of joy streamed down your face as you held him, your heart swelling with emotion. The warmth of the hug conveyed all the unsaid words and feelings.

Tim cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. "Actually," he said, "I was thinking adoption would be a better option."

"Are you serious?" you asked, your voice filled with disbelief, turning to look at Tim with wide eyes.

"Yes," Tim confirmed, reaching into his pocket.

You watched him with bated breath as he pulled out a small box. Your eyes searched his for answers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"What's this? Tim? What are you doing?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Tim took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. "I thought maybe it was best all three of us to share the same last name. I never imagined adopting a teenager, especially not one I arrested. But you, baby, you make me want to be a better man. And I can't do any of this without you. You showed me the bright side of this world, and you light up my life. Will you marry me? Because this kid's life is in your hands, and I don't want to do this without you 100% in."

"Yes, Tim. Oh, God, yes!" you exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down your face as Tim slipped the ring onto your finger and the touch of the cool metal sent a shiver down your spine.

"You're such a jerk," you teased, laughing through your tears as you playfully swatted his arm. "You almost ruined a beautiful moment."

"I just made sure you'd say yes," Tim retorted with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear.

Charlie grinned, the tension easing as he watched the exchange. "Do I need to call you mom and dad or something?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, no, no," you laughed, shaking your head. "I'm too young to be called a mom. But if you want to..."

"I think I'm good," Charlie said, smiling with a mix of relief and happiness.

"But you can call me Officer Bradford," Tim added, his tone teasingly gruff as he gave Charlie a playful nudge.

"Oh, stop it. Leave the kid alone," you said, nudging Tim back. "He's joking, Charlie. You need to get used to his bad jokes."

Tim grumbled, "You should be glad I'm not into dad jokes like Nolan."

"And that's why you should never call him dad," you quipped to Charlie with a grin.

"Roger that," Charlie responded, chuckling as he settled back into his seat.

[glassautomaton]

What Is the First Magic, Anyways? (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love FGO Spoilers)

Out of the five instances of True Magic, the Second and Third are known about in some detail, the Fouth is a total unknown from what I can gather and simply hasn't been expanded upon in the lore quite yet, and the Fifth being shown, but not explained in detail, which is its own post. The First Magic falls somewhere in the middle here, where a few vague things are known about it and the person who attained it, but not much in the way of details.

What we do know for sure is that the Magician of the First Magic was Yumina, the First Witch, who founded the Meinster lineage and used the First to create Ploys, which were passed down to Alice Kuonji, considered to be the last pureblooded Meinster by 1989 following the 'death' of her mother. Based on some information about Witches and the Meinsters in particular from the FGO collab from back in April, I think I can hazard a strong guess as to what the First Magic actually is: authority over Mystics/Mysticism itself.

Some spoilers for FGO's Lostbelt 6, though nothing critical to the plot, as well as this translation of Alice Kuonji's FGO profile.

First off, some basic information about Witches and Yumina that was dropped a solid decade after Witch on the Moly Night first came out, because Nasu's a fucking comedian:

This establishes a few things, first and foremost that Alice is actually Yumina's descendant, that Witches aren't human and are instead closer to faeries (although I'm not sure if they can be considered true faeries as this is phrased like they were created by an individual rather than born from the land or the Inner Sea), and that the daughters of Witches are essentially the next vessel for a singular consciousness, such that lineages are more like a single individual with several reincarnations. Not all of this information is actually completely relevant to this point but how insane is it that Alice got a lore drop for the first time in a decade and it was buried in the ass-end of a six-year-old mobile game? I just needed to get that off my chest.

Alice's profile reinforces this by seeming to allude that Alice's mother and her ancestors were all the same person, as well as the third paragraph using similar wording to how True Magic is often explained.

Crucially, the final line also states that Meinsters stand in defense of Mystics from humanity's constant march towards order, which inevitably destroys Mystics by coming to understand them, as is one of the overarching themes in Type Moon in general. Yumina's lineage seems to be actively pushing back on this.

Knowing Nasu, I could stop right here. See, it's thematically cohesive with the Meinsters and Alice's character arc of growing past the reminders of her family's past and learning to appreciate the present, and thematic cohesion is really all you need in Type Moon, established lore and rules be damned.

However, I think that my point is supported by the Ploys, which are all products of the First Magic. We'll start off with the Three Great Ploys, which we know were created by Yumina proper and not any of her later descendants/incarnations.

Flat Snark, Oil of the Moon, is the Great Ploy that's featured most prominently in Mahoyo. This is pretty straightforward - the prose in the scenes that feature it describe it as Magic, and it functions by transforming the world inside of its domain into a landscape of fantastical insanity. It is, quite literally, draping the landscape in Mystics once again. Even the air becomes dense with mana, similar to the atmosphere in the Age of Gods (as shown in Absolute Demonic Front), when Mystics were at their most common and well-integrated, before humanity had begun to push it back as much as they had.

The Thames Troll is the second of the Great Three Ploys, and one that, at first glance, seems to be by far the most simple - it's a massive golem that can get stronger based on what it's built out of. Alice states she has poor compatibility with it, and therefore can only use its first two forms, that being wood and clay/brick/stone, with its final two forms being iron and steel, then silver and gold. Thames uses the environment to create its body, be it the woods the first time we see it or the brickwork in the park during Alice's fight with Touko, which would mean that further forms would likely do the same. As Alice says that the final form would overshadow even London, this would mean that Thames is capable of annihilating entire cities. However, considering it would need iron and steel nearby to do so, it could likely only become so powerful when being used within a more advanced human settlement, likely for the express purpose of destroying it. Therefore, Thames is the Ploy that most directly serves the Meinster's goals of opposing humanity and safeguarding Mystics.

The final of the Great Three Ploys, which isn't directly stated in Witch on the Holy Night but instead FGO, is Wandersnatch, which frankly could and probably should be its own post. There's a whole hell of a lot going on with that thing.

The long and short of it is that the Ploy consists of a dense fog, and numerous entities within it. Only by glimpsing Wandersnatch's true form in the fog can one escape, which makes the Ploy itself act as a microcosm for Mystics in general - it's an impossible, insurmountable obstacle that can only be weakened and overcome by observing it and learning more about it. It's little surprise, then, that Yumina herself choose Wandersnatch to inhabit while her current descendant doesn't yet harbor her consciousness - much of Wandersnatch’s presence has to do with Yumina attempting to exert more control on Alice in order to possess her and incarnate.

Ultimately, though, the smoking gun for me isn't one of the Three Great Ploys, but the most common one we see used: Diddle Diddle, Alice's favorite Ploy. This one has a simple function, that being that it strengthens Mystics in a certain area when dropped on the ground. Which is simple, yes, but also just absurd. You mean she can just crank out little Christmas tree ornaments that can singlehandedly counteract the one consistent force present in every single Type Moon property? She can just do that? Alice, and only Alice, can just say "nuh uh?" That's not attainable through normal magecraft, and has got to be an application of the First Magic through the Ploy. Considering how straightforward the effect is, it seems to pretty clearly point towards the First Magic being tied to Mystics.

As a final note, I also think this makes sense of Nasu's note that the First Magic was discovered after the Third but named as such for a special reason relating to its nature (although this is from an unofficial translation from the Fandom wiki so take this with a grain of salt). It would be very in keeping with what we know about mage society for them to say Mystics are more foundational and important than souls.

[peachhcs]

yesss i loved that side angst plot where samy just starts being scared to tell will stuff and is holding back because she still is nervous from him breaking up with her out of the blue

part 4! i actually love, love writing angst, so here's another blurb about the injury & i can add more if you guys want a fully developed fic

au masterlist

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5, part 6, part 7

ever since the headline dropped, will couldn’t sit still. he paced back and forth in the living room waiting for any update about samy. there had been nothing from gabe since the two talked when it happened and there was nothing from the family either.

the blonde was growing worried. why wasn’t anyone calling him? did they forget about him? did he not matter in telling because he wasn’t there anymore?

will was really starting to spiral.

patrick walked into the common space where he saw the younger sharks player looking a bit too pale then usual. “will? you okay?” the older man wondered.

the blonde spun around, “huh? yeah. sorry. i’m fine.”

“you don’t look fine. everything okay, kid?” marleau was basically will’s unofficial mentor and guardian living with him for a year, so he did want to make sure the boy was truly okay.

“well..my girlfriend, samy, got hurt in her game and i haven’t heard anything from anyone about how she’s doing,” will finally expressed his concern. patrick frowned.

“oh no. what happened?”

“i guess she hurt her shoulder when someone hit into her. they cut the stream and she needed to be helped off the field,” the blonde continued which made patrick’s frown even deeper.

“well, shit. that’s not good. you haven’t heard anything?”

will shook his head. just as he did though, his phone started buzzing on the coffee table making the entire wooden structure vibrate. he grabbed it, not even looking to see who was calling while patrick listened in.

“hello?”

“hey? will?” it was luke and for a second, a moment of relief rushed through the blonde, glad he was finally hearing someone’s voice.

“yeah? what’s up? is she okay? how is she? is it bad?” he rushed out all of his questions in one breath, patrick quickly squeezing his shoulder so he’d slow down.

“um, yeah. well..maybe. it’s been kind of crazy. she’s in surgery right now—“

“wait, surgery?” the boy’s mouth hung open, eyes bouncing over to marleau.

“the doctor said she tore a tendon when she got hit and fell. they said immediate surgery was needed..i dunno all the details though. mom knows more than i do. you can talk to her if you want," luke said but his voice faded out of the blonde's mind.

will's heart sunk at the idea of samy needing surgery and he wasn't there to be with her. sure, she's had surgery before back when she broke her elbow when they were younger, but that was different back then.

"will?" luke pulled the younger boy back into reality.

"sorry, i-i'm good. i hope the surgery goes okay," will's voice fell quiet, the only thing keeping him grounded was patrick's heavy hand on his shoulder.

"we'll keep you updated. i'll have her call you when she's well enough."

"yeah, thanks," the two hung up.

"so is she okay? what surgery?" marleau wondered as he watched the younger blonde sink onto the couch looking way worse than he did 5 minutes ago.

"shoulder surgery. she tore a tendon, i guess," will's voice faded off.

"shit, that sucks. i hope she gets better soon," patrick sympathized and all will could do was blankly nod.

the day went on and the whole time will waited for another call. he stared at his phone like it'd disappear if he looked away. the hours ticked by and the more worried the blonde became when no updates came. he constantly checked samy and luke's locations that were still at the hospital in boston. eventually, gabe and ryan's locations ended up there and for a split second, something in will's heart twisted seeing them there.

he knew they were close and treated samy like a sister, but it was something about seeing them getting to be there for her and he couldn't that spun his brain hard.

finally, will's phone buzzed. he grabbed it from the coffee table again, running to his bedroom and ignoring marleau and his wife's eyes following him in concern.

"hey, will," it was gabe. not samy.

the blonde deflated just a little bit, "hey. what's up?"

"we just saw samy. she's doing well. surgery went well," gabe cheered and first, there was relief flooding through will's chest, but that feeling was quickly followed by..hurt?

why hasn't samy called him yet?

"really? i'm glad. did she just get out?"

"yeah, she got out like four hours ago. ryan and i just saw her for an hour. seems to be in good spirits," the hurt continued building as gabe kept talking.

"oh."

"i think she was happy to see us after her mom hovering over her since she woke up," the darker-haired boy laughed and will couldn't even manage a fake laugh.

"she hasn't called me," the blonde couldn't stop the words falling from his lips. gabe fell silent for a second.

"oh. i mean she probably will soon. she's probably still coming to and stuff," for some reason, his words didn't sound convincing to will because four hours was plenty of time to come to and call your boyfriend to tell him you were okay—at least in will's opinion.

"yeah, right," the sharks player muttered.

"i can put her on if you want? we were just about to leave the lobby," gabe offered.

"no, it's okay. i'll call her later. she's probably tired and needs to rest," the blonde mumbled as he glanced at his clock and saw that it was almost 10pm in boston.

"yeah, yeah. don't sweat it, smitty. ryan and i are gonna head out, but we'll talk to you later," gabe's chirpy mood returned.

"yeah, talk to you guys later," they hung up.

will dropped his phone and that twist in his chest turned into more of a painful knot. the thoughts he had earlier began plaguing his mind. why wasn't she calling him?

[starguardianniom]

Von Lycaon, Hugo Vlad and Bangboo Butler

Ok so I finished the bangboos vs ethereals events completed everything and yes we do see Nicole and Lycaon dropping their respective bangboos Amillion and Butler to take the exams, and at the end of the very last exam when there's nothing else left, guess what interesting conversation I get with the coach?

You mean that hot vampire guy who was Lycaon's best friend *cough*boyfriend in my head*cough* and is now his enemy, that guy? His name is really Hugo then it's now confirmed in game, yes!

OMG DOES THAT MEANS HE'S COMING SOON CAN WE PLAY HIM I HAVE WANTED HIM SINCE SEEING HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LYCAON'S AGENT STORY I AM SO INTERESTED IN HIM I SWEAR HE, HARUMASA AND BILLY ARE MY HOLY TRINITY!!!!

Guess we might not have to wait too long before he appears and hopefully we can play him later on~ He's so handsome, Hoyo knows my type very well~

The Mayflowers' heirloom? T.O.P.S confidential files? Seems like Hugo is busy.

You're talking about Butler Bangboo right? Wait does that mean Butler used to belong to both Hugo and Lycaon and when they parted ways Lycaon took Butler with him? And it says Hugo is it's parent? It almost sounds like child's custody over a bad divorce to me when put like that in context. XD Hugo and Lycaon are the Butler bangboo's parents now omg!! It sounds proud of itself and it's parent for being phantom thieves, guess Butler is still a criminal at heart unlike Lycaon, I wonder if it will try to meditate between the 2 if they meet up again.

Hugo being a bangboo coach and boy does his list of jobs keeps getting longer, bangboo coach, phantom thief, Mockingbird, Butler's parent, old friend of Lycaon, foe of Lycaon... my future third husband in this game after Billy and Harumasa I will have them as my harem.

So it looks like Butler still doesn't mind that Hugo is a phantom thief and not around, and still seems to like him funnily enough, but probably keeps it a secret from Lycaon?

Already happened buddy.

Ok so yeah this event seems to hint that we'll see Hugo soon possibly, if we're lucky it might be in chapter 7 or before... Anyway it seems to tease Hugo's arrival, I doubt they just said his name here just to never mention him again, they did link lots of past bad guys to the main plot, like the hacker at the beginning, the sacrifice, Lucius, Null_Face, maybe Hugo will be connected too. I wouldn't be surprised if Harumasa is also connected, the drug in his agent story was probably to make sacrifices and he probably almost became one since Kirishima did say he was supposed to die but his master didn't have the heart to kill him so who knows.

I'm so excited, can't wait to see Hugo in the flesh~

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Bitter Sweet Symphony

Summary: When reader finds out she's pregnant, she quickly realises the only person who's truly there for her isn't the father of her baby, but in fact her partner; Sonny Carisi. Slow-burn, angst, friends to lovers. Chapter 1: Unforseen Circumstances.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,”

The bar was quiet but those words spoken by the man in front of you was the loudest thing you’ve ever heard. You watched as he scoffed slightly, gave a small smile and looked into the brown liquid in front of him, “I mean it, I thought I’ve loved people before but you,” He finally looked up and met your eyes, “I love you. With every part of my heart,” A smile broke out on your face, “Awh Rafael, I never knew you to be such a sap,” You joked, bumping your knee into the ADA’s own, “But I love you too,”

“Come on, pick up, please pick up,” You whispered as you sat on the white tiled floor. Your back against the cubicle door, facing the porcelain toilet in front of you. The phone once again diverted to message bank and you could have screamed. You felt the frustration build up in your chest as you felt the lump in your throat grow. Your call list showed the same phone number repeated every minute for what seemed like a lifetime, but your clock showed it was only twenty. The small device laying on the ground beside you made the lump grow thicker, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. You were so tired, your heart was about to jump out of your chest. Pregnant. 5+

You needed air, you needed to get out of the small cubicle and to think. You needed someone, you needed anyone. You needed him. “You in here?” You heard the familiar Staten Island voice call out. You had left your partner waiting by your desk with a rushed apology and an accidental shoulder bump. As the door creaked open, Sonny Carisi's eyes scanned the dimly lit restroom, searching for any sign of his missing colleague. His concern spiked as he spotted your figure huddled on the floor, phone abandoned beside you.

"Hey, what's wrong? What’s happened?" Sonny's voice was soft, laced with worry as he approached you cautiously. His heart sank at the sight of your distressed face, the anxiety evident in every line. For as long as he had known you, you had always had a strong façade. Whether it be in the face on a perp or a victim, you never showed your game face. He used to joke about being the poker champion due to him never being able to accurately guess how you were feeling but now as you looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and in that moment, he knew something was dangerously wrong. Without hesitation, Sonny dropped to his knees beside you, his hand reaching out to gently grasp yours.

"I've been trying to reach him," You choked out, your voice thick with emotion. "But he's not answering. I don't know what to do, Sonny,” Your throat tightened again, the panic bubbling in your chest, “I can’t do this without him, I don’t know what to do.” Sonny could see the tears well up in your eyes as you placed your face in your hands, trying to hold back the inevitable tears that were about to start flowing down your face. “Wha-what do you mean? What’s wrong?” He asked, his hand moving to your back, starting to rub small circles on it. His eyes drifted down to where the pregnancy test sat, his eyes widening slightly at the words written on it. “I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do,” You sobbed out.

Sonny's heart clenched at the desperation in your tone. He knew who you were referring to, knew the significance of those unanswered calls. Rafael Barba, the man you loved, the father of your unborn child.

"Hey, hey," Sonny murmured soothingly, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "We'll figure this out, okay? We can sort this out. We can sort everything out, But right now, let's get you off this floor and somewhere a bit more comfortable."

With Sonny's help, you rose unsteadily to your feet, leaning heavily against him for support. As you exited the restroom, Sonny kept a reassuring arm around your shoulders, guiding you back to your desk where your belongings lay forgotten.

"I'll drive you home," Sonny offered quietly, his gaze filled with unwavering support. "Or wherever you need to go. I’ll let Liv know you’re not feeling too well and I’m taking you home."

You nodded gratefully, feeling a rush of gratitude for your friend's unwavering presence in this moment of crisis.  As you gathered your things, you couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of fear and uncertainty that had settled over you like a suffocating blanket.

What if Rafael never answered your calls? What if he had left you alone to face this terrifying reality? It had been weeks since baby Drew and the trial, weeks since he had last seen you with a night of passion and a simple goodbye in the form of a kiss on the forehead, it had been weeks since you had even heard his voice. Was he avoiding you? Had you done something wrong? A part of you wondered if you should have reached out to his mother in case something had happened to him but another part of you screamed about how intrusive that was. You had only met the woman once in the short time you had been together.

The drive back to your apartment was a blur of city lights and distant sirens, the silence between you and Sonny heavy with unspoken words. You found solace in his silent companionship, his presence a source of comfort considering how your life had blown up with just one night. Your stomach was still in knots, still wondering what your plan was going to be. Were you going to keep it? Could you even be a mother? Could you handle pregnancy and all the pain you go through? Doubt seeped into your mind as you tried to think of yourself as a mother, could you put aside everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve for the sake of a tiny human?

When you finally arrived home, Sonny helped you inside, his steady hand on your lower back was a lifeline in the darkness. As you sank onto the couch, exhaustion washing over you like a tidal wave, Sonny hovered nearby, "I'll stay with you if you’d like," Sonny promised softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "For as long as you need me. They don’t need me back at work just yet,” “What do I do Sonny?” You whispered as he came to sit next to you.

Sonny settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight in your life. He glanced at you with a mixture of concern and determination in his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered your question.

"We'll figure it out together," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the uncertainty clouding your thoughts. "First things first, you need to take care of yourself. I can make you some tea or grab you something to eat if you want. Then, we can talk about what you want to do next."

You nodded, grateful for his offer of support. As Sonny busied himself in the kitchen, you couldn't help but replay the events of the evening in your mind. Rafael's absence weighed heavily on your heart, leaving you with a gnawing sense of emptiness. You checked your phone once again, shoulders slumping slightly when the notifications remained the same as earlier. Your finger hovered over the call button, wondering if maybe he was just busy those few times but you knew, deep in your heart, that that wasn’t it at all. He was avoiding you all together. Sonny returned with a steaming mug of tea, placing it gently in your hands before taking a seat beside you once more. His expression softened with empathy when he saw you throwing your phone lazily on the table in front of you,  he reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, reminding you that even if Rafael wasn’t there, you at least had someone by your side.

"I just don't understand why he's not answering," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "We were supposed to be in this together, he told me that he would always be there no matter what but now...I don't even know if he knows. I sent him a text with what’s going on but he hasn’t even seen it."

"I wish I had all the answers for you," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "But what I do know is that you're not alone in this. No matter what happens, I'll be here for you every step of the way. Doctors appointments, if you decide what you’re going to do, whether that be recovery or needing snacks at 3am you just ring me and I’ll be there. Always. "

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words, overwhelmed by the depth of his unwavering support. In that moment, you realized just how lucky you were to have someone like Sonny by your side, someone who would stand by you through the hardest moments of your life. At what first started as partners, with you mocking his moustache on his first day and him giving it back just as hard, to you now being each other’s confidants; you’d almost go so far as to say you were best friends. Almost.

"Thank you, Sonny," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He offered you a small, understanding smile, his eyes filled with compassion. "You don't have to do this alone," he said firmly. "We'll do this together, I promise."