#i know i keep saying how close to being done some of my WIPs are - and they are! a lot of them just need loose ends tied up

[teamhawkeye]

I’d really love to see more of your fics ! 💞

you must be on some wavelength with me, because I was working on one fic early this morning before i had to get up. here, have a snippet:

[rafeyswrd]

for your rafe cameron series 🧡!

i hc that rafe hates that his shy gf is a people pleaser so whenever ppl ask reader for/to do things, he tells them no and teaches reader to be selfish sometimes

sweet girl . part one.

part two.

. . . finally done with uni and travel work so!!! i have not written in too long, so hopefully i have done it some justice!! part 1 because i truly think it deserves more :(

warnings. manipulative rafe? oblivious reader. bad friends lowkey.

Rafe Cameron adored you to the ends of the earth, every breath you took called his name. He cannot think of any quality you owned in which he disliked (maybe, slightly, being a pogue). But God he could not stand how nice you were. You knew it was a bad habit, a habit that made you likeable for all the wrong reasons. 

Your heart was racing, and the base of your palms overloaded with sweat. No matter how many times you tried to relieve the stress, your mind would not stop reeling. It took days of convincing on your friends’ end, but it finally came to their luck when you’d hesitantly agreed.

Terrified. Terrified is the word you would use to describe how you felt. You were in shambles just thinking of the ocean, the deep seas scaring you in ways you would rather not imagine. But your friends needed you, after constructing a plan to get another batch of gold – all they needed was you.

“Are you ready?” JJ asked. Your shaking hands were gripping the edge of the boat before you nodded. 

You tried, you really did, only you felt the panic settle in when your legs were the only identifiable object below you that did not jitter you. Your eyes stung painfully, and you were sure they would swell soon enough. After every exhale you did, water filled your lungs and the fish that trickled by your trembling feet, did not help but cause a worrisome tremble of your body. 

It was a long while with overwhelming darkness consuming you, and time didn’t register then, not until Rafe’s angry voice was loading through your ears.

He was beyond furious. He wasn’t supposed to leave you alone today, but how could he say no to you when you were practically begging? (it did not take much — in fact.)

Rafe stood near his bed, watching your breathing steady and lashes gently flutter open. He paced near you with haste speed, before sitting down near your arms. “Do you know how stupid you are?”

“wh-what?” 

“You wanted to keep this relationship a secret,” his breath shook with every word he spat out, yet the touch on his hands were laced with gentleness. “So you better stay outta trouble. I can’t come ‘n get you around your shitty fucking friends.”

You sat up slowly, taking notice of the way your clothes lay folded on his desk chair, his own clothes hanging loosely around your body. You knew Rafe cared about you, he is your boyfriend, but it never crossed your mind that he’d find anger in your misery. 

You gulped, shrugging your shoulders yet your hands still circled by his, “I-I don’t get it, they’re my friends and they asked, it was a risk anyone would tak-”

“No the fuck it’s not, my God Y/N,” he dragged his hands over his face, before leaning close to you. “No friends would ask you to jump into the fuckin’ ocean knowin’ you’re scared shitless.”

His jaw clenched and you squint your eyes at the furrow of his brows, “Rafe…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” The frown residing on your face was evident, reaching out with one hand to clasp his rough hands with your own, and another tenderly caressing the creasing of his skin.

You didn’t understand his anger, but it was justified in your head, nonetheless. How could he ever be wrong in your eyes?

Not a second had passed and he was already mimicking the sadness plastered onto you, before using his other hand to caress your cheeks — a touch so soft sighs escaped the pair’s lips.

“Baby,” he cleared his throat, “Im- m’not mad at you. No one loves you like I do. I wouldn’t risk your life; your friends are selfish.”

He cradled your head onto his chest, wiping and pressing on your pouting mouth. “‘s not the first time either, you care too much ‘ts going to hurt you.” you shrug into his chest, heart aching at the sound of his own beating erratically breath your ears.

Rafe sighed, gulping and leaning onto the headboard, “gonna have to have me stuck by you all the time, i’ll be your backbone while you get to be all sweet ‘n shit.”

“you think i’m sweet?” a saccharine giggle escapes you at the roll of his eyes, and Rafe tightens his hold on you, knuckles white as you draw mindless patterns on his chest.

[itsmiyamore]

— cried like a baby (coming home from the bar

"Said I'm fine but it wasn't true, I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you" — Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift miniseries m.list | part 1

a/n: the next part of my drunk!Sakusa miniseries :) although most of the series is isolated drabbles, this is a semi-part 2 of the first one (though there may be minor discrepancies bc I didn't originally intend for it to be a direct continuation). I hope you all like it!

-> this fic is part of the @ficsforgaza initiative and is partially sponsored by @strawberrystepmom <3 sorry for the wait and thank you for your donation! Info on the next wip I'm hoping to get sponsored is here.

Sakusa Kiyoomi doesn't know what's wrong with him.

You've been near him all night, dizzyingly within reach and yet, Sakusa knows it is not his place to reach out. You're wearing that perfume—the one he gave you one Christmas years ago, at a time when everything was better and he didn't have conflicting feelings about you.

God, he hates feelings.

He wonders if you remember—he hopes you remember—because he remembers having to call Komori’s sister for advice on which scent to choose. He remembers your smile as you sprayed some on your wrist and brought it up to your face to sniff. He remembers you wearing it that night—the night he was so stupid that he let it all go.

But none of that matters anymore, because last Christmas he didn't get you anything, and he hasn't been close enough to you to know whether you still wore the perfume or not.

Until now.

He's sobered up enough to be a little more aware of you helping him up the stairs to your apartment and to be a little panicked because why did he tell you he was fine with spending the night?

You're kind, letting him stay because he's too alcoholically impaired—despite everything he's ever done to you. You just don't want to be driving in a storm, he tries to reason. It's your job to take care of him. But it's not; it hasn't been in a long time since you stopped being a manager for MSBY, something which Sakusa would know better than anyone if he had been a bit sounder of mind.

Once inside, you somehow manage to wrestle off his shoes and lead him to the kitchen. It's an unfamiliar kitchen, one with white tiles that Sakusa would have complained against. There’s a faint smell of lemons, and he thinks briefly of dancing and your laughter—a memory, or perhaps just his imagination.

“Stay here, alright?” you say quietly, accommodating to his current sensitive hearing levels. You set him down at the table, leaving to get him a towel, he supposes.

Your apartment is small—cozy, he supposes. The right amount of space for a single person. A sense of relief rushes through him at the observation and he lets out a satisfied hum.

(He chooses to ignore the fact that he has no right to be happy over your lack of a roommate.)

“Here, I think this will fit you,” the door thumps as you close it behind you, already changed out of your wet clothes. In your arms are a towel and what he assumes to be dry clothing for him. Your fingers burn wherever they come in contact with his skin as you help him take his shirt off and he shudders, hoping you’ll assume he's just cold from the rain.

Sakusa feels self-conscious—how long has it been since you've been intimate like this? Since you've been near him like this?

The shirt you provide fits perfectly, and Sakusa is too busy at first relishing in the familiar scent of your favorite laundry detergent (one you had stopped buying when he was around because the other one cleans better, he’d argued) to wonder why you have a men's size shirt in your apartment.

You're drying his hair when the question finally crosses his mind and he tenses. Your movements come to a stop, and you lean forward curiously. “What's wrong?” you ask, voice right by his ear, and Sakusa shivers.

He's drunk, and he misses you—he misses you like he never thought he would and it's all his fault for being a grand, stupid idiot.

But a grand, stupid idiot is what he is now as the alcohol rushes through his system, so when he says, “I'm fine,” and you insist again, he turns to ask you, “Who's shirt is this?”

This time, you tense up, gaze becoming unreadable. You stand up straight, resuming your previous motions, though much more stiff than before. “What does it matter to you, Sakusa?” your voice is clipped, and his heart clenches at the way you say his name. “You are nothing to me to be asking that question.”

He has nothing to say to that because you’re right and he regrets it—regrets asking, regrets agreeing to come with you, regrets getting drunk in the first place; but most of all, he regrets letting you go.

So, Sakusa cries.

The tears fall one by one, fat and warm as they slide down his face, then eventually he's fully weeping: hands clenched into fists on his lap and hunched over in an attempt to conceal the way he cannot control his emotions.

You're stunned, he can feel your startled gaze burning into him as a loud whimper claws its way out of his throat.

He sits up—burying his face in his hands as his body shakes violently with each sob. You’ve repositioned yourself in front of him and you’re hugging him, but he can barely register it over how much he hates himself right now. It's a disgusting feeling bubbling in his chest—a self-loathing that he's managed to suppress all these years you've been gone.

Because he's the only one to blame for you leaving.

So he takes advantage of the fact that you're here now—you're here with him—and he buries himself into you, trying to engrave anything his memory might have missed before you let him go and he has to lose you again.

“I miss you,” he sobs, “I miss you so much.” The circles you're tracing on his back pause for a moment, almost imperceptible, but he feels it and you sigh shakily.

“Sakusa,” you say. It's only his name, but it feels like a warning, and Sakusa might actually lose his mind if you ever finish your statement.

“No, please,” he begs, “I'm an idiot.”

A rueful giggle bursts through your lips, and as he glances up at you, he notices you're starting to cry too. His hand cups your face, thumb brushing away a stray tear, and you bite your lip. You seem to debate it in your head, but whatever voice of reason usually reigns seems to huff in defeat, because you lean into his touch with another sigh, eyes squeezing shut.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and it feels like salvation.

“You're an asshole,” you giggle tearfully again. “You broke my heart, you know that?”

“I know,” Sakusa’s reply is quick. “I know.”

His forehead rests on yours, angling his face so your noses brush against each other, your lips so near—the nearest they've been in too many years.

And he cannot wait any longer.

It's hesitant, really only the whisper of a kiss as his fear pounds through his body, but you respond, pushing back against him with more force. You throw your arms around his neck, not breaking the kiss as you position yourself on his lap. He groans at the sudden weight, pulling away and tilting his head back, and you take the opportunity to place soft kisses on his jaw and neck. Your hands cling to his shirt as you make your way back to his lips, both breathless and shuddering at the sudden overdose of each other.

“It's yours,” you whisper, leaning back, refusing to meet his eyes. “The shirt. It's yours. You left it and I…” This time you do look up at him. “I couldn't bring myself to give it back.

Sakusa thinks you've never looked more beautiful than you do now, perched on his lap with your hair still wet from the rain, a towel on your shoulders, and hands fiddling nervously as you peer up at him, lips bright and red—all because of him, and only him. So Sakusa leans in to kiss you again, because what does it matter whose shirt it is anyway, when he's the one here that you're kissing?

“How are you feeling?” you ask softly as he pulls away. “Is your head still hurting?”

He just hums as you hold his face in your hands. “I'm fine.”

You laugh—a proper, full, heavenly laugh that Sakusa swears could beat any symphony or concerto in the world in terms of sonic beauty. “Liar,” you accuse through chortles, “Look at you, sopping wet all over my chair and floor and drunk out of your mind—I don't think you're fine at all.”

He smiles, pulling you into a hug, more sure than he's ever been when he says, “This time, it's true.”

[sidekick-hero]

the unparalleled and precious @flowercrowngods tagged me to post some lines of an unpublished wip with no context

The sound of someone inserting their key card into the slot is followed by the handle being pushed down. Then the door to the room opens, revealing the lucky guy who will have him for the next two hours.

He’s pretty, is the first thing that comes to Steve’s mind. Tall and slender, with a small waist and very nice arms decorated in black ink. Most stunning, however, is his face. The pale skin a tantalizing contrast to his pink lips, dark hair framing high cheekbones and deep brown eyes that look at him like a deer in the headlights.

Then, the door closes with a bang.

“Guys? There’s some dude sitting on my bed, you might wanna call security. I’ll hold down the door but you gotta hurry.” Eddie’s voice trembles slightly and Steve’s torn between worry and amusement.

Faintly he can hear the other men laughing and Eddie's indignant squeak. "What the hell are you laughing at? There`s a crazy stalker in my room! Probably armed and dangerous!"

"Oh yeah, I bet he has a big gun," Garrett/Gareth snorts, and Steve rolls his eyes at the very obvious, very bad joke. The guy probably thinks he's really funny.

Eddie seems to agree with Steve, even if unknowingly. "Har-bloody-har. Jeff, c'mon, tell me you at least take this seriously!"

This is one of those nights when Steve wishes he was smart enough, or at least ambitious enough to go to college, so he wouldn't have to make money on the side dealing with shit like this. At least most of his clients were easier to deal with, if not as easy on the eyes as this Eddie.

"Eddie, trust me, you can open the door. He's harmless."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's your birthday present!" Freak interrupts, clearly losing patience. "Gareth's right, we should have just made him put a bow on his dick and be done with it. At least then we wouldn't be standing here arguing."

Steve wonders if they know he can hear every word they say. Like everyone else in the surrounding rooms, because they're not exactly quiet. He just hopes nobody calls the cops.

"He's... What the fuck? You can't just give someone a person, that's human trafficking!"

Obviously tired of making a scene outside a hotel room, Jeff just opens the door and pulls Eddie inside, trusting the others to follow. They do, closing the door behind them, and then they all look at Steve, who is still sitting on the bed, regretting all his life choices that led him here.

He gives a little wave with his fingers. "Surprise."

Eddie blinks at him, speechless, his mouth slightly ajar. Despite the situation, he remains unfairly attractive, his wide eyes stirring something in Steve that he hesitates to explore further. Steve's knowledge of Eddie is limited to his questionable choice of friends, yet he feels an inexplicable urge to shield him from the world, to keep him safe. The urge is unexpected in itself, but even more so in the intensity with which it hits him.

"This is Steve," Gareth introduces, stumbling over his words. "And, uh, well, he... yeah. Guys?" Gareth glances around, hoping for support from the others, but they remain silent. Steve rises from his spot on the bed and approaches Eddie.

As he stands before him, Steve is enveloped in a mixture of clean body spray, shampoo, and a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. Eddie's eyes, even larger up close, hold a warm hue that is captivating. Steve flashes a smile, aiming for a blend of reassurance and flirtation.

"I'm Steve, and for the next two hours, I can be whatever you need," he declares, though technically, twenty minutes have already elapsed. Nevertheless, for Eddie, Steve is willing to make an exception.

tagging with no pressure, only appreciation: @starryeyedjanai, @thefreakandthehair, @hbyrde36, @runninriot, @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, @steddieas-shegoes

[lees-chaotic-brain]

your dog did what?!

summary: they react to your dog chewing up used feminine products (feat. gojo, shoko, ino, choso, and nanami)

wc: 1.7k

cw: crack, fluff, reader has a period, kind of gross, use of pet names (sweetheart, babe, love), reader is referred to as "my girl" and wears makeup in nanami's part, swearing, gojo just being overly dramatic

a/n: if you would like to see part two with megumi, nobara, yuuji, and inumaki, or would like to see another part with haikyuu characters, look here to see how you can sponsor it!!! also this entire fic is 10000% @pandora-ophelia-blog's fault (jk ily)

jjk masterlist | blog navigation | sponsor a wip!

gojo satoru

“Who’s a sweet boy? Yes, you are! You are! Oooh, what’cha got there, huh? Wanna show daddy?” 

You could hear your boyfriend cooing at your dog in greeting as he stepped through the front door, and you smiled to yourself as you continued reading your book. Then:

“EEEUUUUUGGGGHHHHH WHAT THE FUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK????”

Your boyfriend came hurtling around the corner launching all six feet three inches of himself into your lap, as he pointed accusingly in the direction he came from.

“BABY. YOUR DOG!!! HE-OH MY GOD I CAN’T EVEN SAY IT!”

He gives a full body shudder and clings to you tighter, wrapping his infinity around his foot and using it to keep your dog away from the two of you.

“BEGONE YOU FOUL BEAST!” He made exaggerated gagging sounds. “GET AWAY FROM US!!”

“SATORU!!” You shouted over his panicked screeching. “STOP YELLING.”

“But babeeeee.” He nuzzled into your neck still fending your dog off with a single socked foot. “You don’t even understand what this HORRID creature did.”

“Get off me you stupid lunk.” You push him off your lap, ignoring his indignant squawking, completely over his dramatics. “What could he have possibly done that’s that bad?”

“HE. ATE. A DIRTY TAMPON.” He flops around on the floor like a fish out of water, unable to find a better means of properly expressing his disgust. Your nose scrunches up, and you look down on him with annoyance.

“I mean, yeah it’s gross. But it’s not like he hasn’t done it before? It’s just kind of a thing that some dogs do.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS???”

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, your dog leans down and licks your boyfriend's face, dangerously close to his mouth.

“AAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

shoko ieri

“We’re returning the dog.” 

You look up from your phone as your girlfriend enters your bedroom, shedding her lab coat. Setting your phone down next to your pillow, you stand and give her a kiss. “Hey. Watch it. That’s our child you’re talking about.”

She huffs, leaning against you as you give her a hug. “Then I assume you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Wordlessly, Shoko takes you by the hand and leads you to the bathroom, opening the door and revealing the state of your bathroom. “This. It looks like shark week in here.”

You choke back a laugh at her phrasing, taking in the disaster that your bathroom currently was. Just then, your nine month old puppy trotted in wagging, excited that his entire family was home. Scooping him up, you press a kiss to the top of his furry head and present him to your girlfriend.

“Just look at him Sho. Can you really look our son in the face and tell him you’re giving him away?” You give her puppy eyes over the top of his head. “Look at how sweet he is! Who’s a good boyo, you are, ahhh I just love you so much!”

She looks at you in exasperation as you coddle and coo at the little bundle of fur, trying and failing to hide the admiration in her eyes. Finally she relents.

“I suppose since you love him so much we can keep him-”

“Yay!!” You dance around the cramped hallway holding the dog up. “You hear that? You get to stay! You know why? Because she looooves us! That’s right! She-”

“But you have to clean this up.”

“Boo.”

ino takuma

Walking out of the grocery store, you accept an incoming facetime from your boyfriend, answering with a smile and a cheerful greeting. “Hey baby, what’s up-”

“My dearest darling girlfriend.” He cuts you off, speaking as soon as you answer and not pausing to listen to what you’re saying. “The love of my life. Could you possibly please explain to me why I came home and our apartment was covered in bloody fabric?”

“What?” Concerned, you stop loading your groceries into your trunk and squint at your phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Show me.”

Obediently, he flips the camera, giving you a clear view of the red shreds scattered across the ground. You tell him to bring the camera a little closer, so he does and realization hits you over the head like a sledgehammer.

“Oh…um, so I don’t know how to tell you this…” You hesitate, knowing what you were about to tell him would most likely send Ino into hysterics. “But, uh, those are dirty pads that the dog chewed up…”

The other end of the phone is silent for a solid thirty seconds before he speaks again, surprisingly calm.

 “Say sike right now.”

You wince. “I can’t…”

There’s another moment of silence, and you watch as your boyfriend goes through all the stages of grief in a matter of seconds. Then he takes a deep breath and pulls himself together with a forced smile before hanging up.

“Give me a second babe, I gotta go call Nanamin and ask for some advice.”

choso kamo

You were cuddled up with your boyfriend on the couch after a long day, soaking in the warmth and simple domesticity of the moment when he spoke over the show.

“Earlier today your dog was chewing on something bloody and had made a huge mess so I cleaned it up.” You sit up, pausing your episode. “Cho baby, what?”

He shrugs. “It appeared he had gotten into the bathroom trash can, and at first I wasn’t going to bring it up because it was no big deal, but the more I think about it the more I worry.”

He furrows his brow, his bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “That wasn’t all…your blood, was it?” Mistaking the confusion on your face for offense, he backtracks rapidly.

“Not that that would be a problem! I was just concerned because of the quantity of blood. I know it’s not healthy for humans to lose that much blood so I got a little scared. I want to be able to help you if you’re hurt.”

“No baby, I'm not mad.” You reassure him with a soft kiss. “I’m just confused. I don’t know why there would be blood in the trash can, or why the dog would eat it. You said it was the bathroom trash can-oh.”

Suddenly you look embarrassed, fidgeting with your fingers. “Don’t worry about it Cho. It’s no big deal. I’m sorry you had to clean it up. I’ll make sure I secure the trash can better next time.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He senses your shift in mood and he doesn’t like it. “Are you okay? Can you at least tell me where the blood came from so I don’t have to worry?”

Haltingly, with your cheeks burning, you explain how a period works to him. Despite knowing that it’s perfectly natural, you couldn’t help but feel a little shy for no reason at all.

“So yeah.” You finish. “That’s what it is. Gross isn’t it…”

Peeking up to gauge his reaction, you notice that he’s staring at you, aghast. 

“That happens…every month?” He looks mildly horrified. “And it hurts you?”

“Well I mean yes, but everyone has to deal with it so it’s really no big deal-”

“And it’s happening to you right now? Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks so heartbroken, your chest hurts. “I just didn’t want to be a bother…”

“You’re not a bother! I want to take care of you! What did you say helped again?”

He leaps up from the couch, muttering as he paced back and forth before planting a quick kiss on the top of your head and running out of your apartment.

“I’ll be right back! I need to go buy some things!”

nanami kento

You’re in your bedroom putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear your apartment door open, letting you know that your boyfriend was there to pick you up for your date. 

“Give me one second!” You call out, carefully curling your eyelashes. “I’m almost ready, just doing up my makeup!”

“Erm, darling?” You hear your boyfriend call out from the other room. He sounds a little off. “I hate to disturb you, but can you come here for a second?”

Carefully applying an even coat of mascara to your curled lashes, you get up from your vanity, despite not having finished your highlighter or lip gloss. Knowing your boyfriend he wouldn’t be bothering you unless it was important. Your bare feet pad softly against your wooden floors as you leave your bedroom and enter the main area.

“Yeah, babe? What’s going…” You trail off, noticing what your dog had been up to while you were getting ready for date night. “Oh…”

Oh indeed. From where you stood in the doorway, you had a perfect view of the carnage scattered across your floor. Your dog had gotten into your bathroom trash can, and there were shredded pads galore all over your apartment. Used shredded pads.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment as you survey the crime scene. “I-I’m so sorry. She does this from time to time but normally I remember to put the trash can out of her reach. This is so embarrassing. You can just wait outside while I finish cleaning this up-”

In your humiliated frenzy you begin banging through your cabinets, pulling down your latex gloves and a trash bag preparing to clean it. “Just go wait in the car, this will only take me a few minutes-” You’re interrupted by your boyfriend taking the latex gloves and trash bag away from you.

“Hey, love. It’s okay.” Nanami leads you back towards your room, putting on a pair of gloves. “I’ll clean this up. You just relax and take your time getting ready.”

“But Ken-” You protest, looking back over your shoulder as he guides you with a warm palm pressed against the small of your back. “It’s gross and-”

“I don’t mind.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “Trust me. I wouldn’t offer if I did. Don’t worry about it.”

He looks you up and down, a small smile spreading across his face. “Do whatever you need to get ready. I just want my girl looking all pretty for our date, alright?”

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa @pandora-ophelia-blog

lmk if you want to be added to any of my taglists!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 52 - Finale

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: 🕊️

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“Alright, one o’clock,” Amber says as she walks into the room. She sets down her phone and you pull the pillow over the tablet to hide it. “Is that enough time?” 

“Sure,” you answer. You don’t have much choice. It has to be done and the sooner, the better. You want it to be done with. All of it. 

As much as you want everything to go back to how it was, you know that even this can’t make it so. Things will always be different. You will always be different. 

“I’m just going to give Curtis a call and check in.” She explains. 

“Right,” you shrug and smile at her. 

You wait for her to leave before you move the cushion. You’re nervous about the appointment. It’s going to hurt probably. You don’t think anything can hurt as much as everything that’s happened in the last few months. 

You tap the screen to wake it up. The library of videos opens and you scroll through. You spent have the night wavering between the delete button and just smashing the tablet. For whatever reason, you can’t do either. 

You close the cover again, still caught in indecision. Once you’ve dealt with the baby, you’ll be able to think. You get up and take the tablet with you to your room. You dress in your old clothes; a pair of faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. 

It’s strange being in that place again. You look around at all those things you almost forgot. Amber didn’t change a single piece of it. Your chest sinks as your eyes cling to the window. What did she think when she found you gone? You feel horrid for hurting her like that. 

You sit and pull on socks then rub together your frigid hands. The world around you is both hazy and vivid. You feel every second roll by and yet the colours and the sounds are all so distant. Today is the day. 

You hide the tablet under your pillow and go back out. Amber is on the couch. Her shoulders are almost to her ears. She’s as anxious as you are. 

“Curtis can’t drive us. He’s caught up helping out his buddy.” She explains. 

“Oh, that’s okay,” you shrug. 

“We’ll take my car. He fixed the heating issue so it should hold out,” she says, flicking her thumb against her phone nervously. 

You go to her and sit, “it’ll be okay.” 

She sniffs and sits forward. You feel her look at you, “are you?” 

“I think?” You clutch your knees. “I don’t know. I just feel... sure. Certain.” 

“That’s good. But you know, it’s entirely your choice.” 

“I know and that’s why I’m sure,” you force a tense smile. 

Her phone buzzes. She squints at the screen as she reads. “He said he’ll bring us some dinner. He should be done with Jake by then.” 

You nod and your eyes explore the room. She’s silent, still watching. 

“So much is different,” you murmur. “You know Jake too?” 

“Sure. He helped us. When you sent that message. He found you.” She says. 

You look at her, “found me?” 

“I know. Sneaky.” 

“No, it’s... good.” You lower your head. 

You linger in the lull. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s calm. Patient. There’s a rattle at the window. A strange tapping. You look over and Amber follows the noise too. 

There’s a dove outside looking in. The frost in the window has warmed to condensation in the last days. You stare at its grey feathers as it coos and quorks its head. 

“Spring is close,” Amber says. “The birds are coming back.” 

You stare, hypnotised by the creature. A second dove lands beside it. You read that they often stay in pairs. 

“Well, about an hour and we’ll head out,” Amber gets up. “You need anything, bub?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you assure her and lean back, “I’m just going to close my eyes.” 

She hums and goes into the kitchen. You listen to her as you relax into the couch. You drag your hands up to your stomach. Almost there. 

🕊️

As Amber drives, your eyes catch in the side mirror. You give a start and sit up against the seat belt. You shake off the fright as the grey car behind you slows with the flow of traffic. No, you’re imagining things. 

You lean your arm on the door and hold your head. Amber idles in the clog of the street and taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She looks ahead and clucks. You’re ahead of schedule. You couldn’t stay still and it’s a good thing you left early. 

She continues on in the slog and flips her blinker. She takes a side street away from the dense main way. Before she can circle around the block, a pair of headlights flash in the mirror. You don’t get more than a glimpse of their glare. She pulls through the back entry beside the dumpsters and curls around the front of the clinic. 

“Oof, finally here,” she shifts into park. “You think with the weather getting nicer, more people would walk.” 

“Yeah,” you agree dully. 

Your ears are buzzing. You look over your shoulder at the clinic then back to the fence ahead of you. You exhale. 

“Bub,” Amber says as she shuts off the engine. 

“It’s okay. I’m ready,” you say. “Just... something...” 

Your voice trails off as another car pulls up from the back of the lot. You turn and your chest knots at the familiar grill and emblem. It can’t be. It’s just a coincidence. 

The SUV pulls in next to you and you look up at their tinted window. His silhouette alone is enough to assure you. You reach over and grab Amber’s wrist as she unlocks the door. 

“No, lock them!” You cry out as Andy open’s his car door. 

“Bubba--” She swallows her protest and the locks thunk. “Shit!” 

Andy’s treads his the ground and he slams the door. He looks around, staring at the clinic, then scowls. He bends to look through the passenger window at you. 

“Open up.” He demands. 

“Fuck off!” Amber shoves her hand across you and flips him the finger. “Don’t make me call the police again.” 

“You fucking liar!” He snarls as he hits the window, his voice muffled by the barrier, “I knew you were hiding her.” 

“I said go the fuck away,” she leans over. 

You watch Andy in horror. You shrink down as you tremble. You’re not ready for this. Not for him. 

“Dove, Dove,” his gaze falls and meets yours, “hey, sweetie, let’s talk. I calmed down. Please--” 

You close your eyes and shake your head. 

“She doesn’t want to talk,” Amber snips. 

“Dove, you can’t--” he pauses. “Whatever you’re doing here, don’t do it. Please. We can figure this out. I know what this place is--” 

You shake your head and drone, “no, no, no, no, no, no...” 

“Go away!” Amber barks again and slaps the window. She pulls back and grabs her phone. “I’m calling Officer Jones. How many reports is that, Andrew?” 

“Wait...” you gulp as you open your eyes and grab her arm. “Wait...”t 

“Bub, please--” 

You squeeze and let her go, “he’s my problem. Let me deal with him.” 

“You can’t. He's dangerous. He’ll hurt you--” 

“I don’t care. He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.” You undo your seat belt and take a breath.  

She says your name as you reach for the lock and slide it up. The door opens from the other side. Amber latches on as you try to get out. You tug and pull away. 

You get out and close the door. Andy crowds you between the cars, his hands on your shoulders at once, sliding up to cradle your face. 

“Sweetie, sweetie, I was so afraid--” 

You grasp his wrists and lean away as he tries to kiss you. 

“Don’t touch me,” you yanks his arms down and shove him. He’s big and strong. You almost forgot that. Still, he does as you tell him. His eyes are bloodshot and his face pale. 

“Honey,” he begs. 

“No.” 

“What-- what are you doing here?” He rasps and looks over again. “You’re-- you’re-- you have to be. It’s mine, isn’t it?” 

You shake your head. 

“It’s mine. It has to be! I’m the only one. The only one!” He grabs your arms again, “Please, honey, I can take care of you. Both of you. You and the baby.” 

“No!” You exclaim and hit his chest.  

Another car door snaps shut and Amber’s shadow comes around the trunk. You look at her and give her a look. She stops, worry woven above her brow. You face Andy again and push until he stops touching you.  

“It’s not yours and even if it was, I wouldn’t want it. Just like I never wanted you,” you sneer. 

“Dove, you don’t mean--” 

“I mean it,” you hiss. “I hate you. I always hated you but I was afraid.” You hit his stomach and he staggers back. “You’re a bully. That’s all you are.” 

“No, I love you--” 

“No, you don’t!” You holler and stomp your foot. You point at him, “you don’t love anyone. You can’t. I’m not the broken one. You are!” 

“Dove--” he stands straight and reaches for you. You slap his hand away. 

“Don’t touch me. I’m done with you. I don’t want anything to do with you!” 

“You don’t have a choice,” he snarls, his eyes darkening as his expression hardens. “That’s my baby, I have rights--” 

He lunges for you and you cry out. He doesn’t get to you as Amber launches herself between you and tackles him against his car. She’s smaller than him but that doesn’t stop her. She bites his hand as he tries to grab her neck and she jabs two fingers into his ribs. He wheezes and recoils. 

She pushes away and stands between you and him. She keeps you behind her as she stands tall. 

“Try it again.” 

“You can’t do this. You can’t keep me away from her. You can’t kill my child--” 

“It’s not yours!” You shout and peek around Amber. You squeeze her arm and step up next to her. “It’s Dr. Kemp’s. Your friend. The one who helped you hurt me.” 

“No, I didn’t--” he begins. 

“You did. I have proof. I have the videos.” 

“What videos?” He spits. 

“I changed the password,” you say. “You can’t get rid of them now.” 

“No, you’re lying. There’s no--” 

“I have them all. Every single one.” Your eyes overflow. “It’s your name on the account, not mine. The police can figure it out, can’t they?” 

He looks as if he’s been hit again. The lines in his forehead deepens and his mouths slits to a thin line. He glares at you. The way that used to make you do whatever he wanted. Not this time. 

“It’s over. I’m done with you. I never even wanted you, Andy,” you breathe. “No one could ever want you, not even me.” 

He winces and his lips part but nothing comes out. 

“And if you ever come near me or my sister again,” you twine your fingers through Amber’s and cling to her. “I will send those videos to the police.” 

He stares, eyes searching, pleading. You won’t fall for it. He can make himself look pathetic but you don’t believe him. Not anymore. 

He waits. You say nothing. He sniffs and pulls his shoulders back. His jaw grits and his eyes flash. 

“You’re just the same as you always were. Fucked in the head,” he grits and goes to turn. Before he can, you swing your foot up. It’s a low blow, cheap, but you don’t care.  

Your toes meet the front of his pants and he grunts. He staggers and falls to his knees, clutching his crotch as he shudders. You get closer as Amber keeps a hold on your hand. You bend and lower your voice as you get close to Andy’s ear. 

“I never came for you,” you whisper. 

He gurgles and you back up. There’s nothing else to say. You turn and tug on Amber. You walk away without looking back. 

As you get to the door of the clinic, the sun comes out from behind the clouds and beams against the white brick. A cheep tweaks in your ear and you turn to see the sparrows bustling in the barren branches of the bushes. They send up a chatter that fills the air. You can hear it all. You can see it all. Feel it all. 

You keep your grip tight on Amber and reach for the door with your other hand, ready to open it and all the other doors that come after it. You don’t want to hide anymore. You want to fly. 

🕊️🕊️🕊️

I just want to thank everyone who has followed along on Dove's journey. It was bumpy and took a while, and it definitely took a lot out of me (in a good way). I hope you enjoyed this.

Until next time 💗

[starrbright]

𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭| Matsukawa Issei

As the title says, this is just me writing Issei in a different light from what I've always thought of him. But a study as well of what I do think of him, can be an outside part of my series I've yet to write about him. And lastly, another venting of mine, I think I projected too much on this, really. I had a light situation that happened and bothered me so much earlier that i had to stopped writing my wip for kishibe (it'll come out this may or before, i promise this time), so.....byeeeee, i teared up at writing this. @iwaberry, @seijhoeist 😁

499 words. LMAOKSKSJSKXKSK. fluff. angst. light smut. all my y/n are afab, fat and of color. La Belle Dame Sans Merci by Marc Fishman

Issei is Issei. Full of wit he effortlessly drives to a cunning state. Persuasive. Simply a snake that slither to anyone for whatever in his gain, the sin that rises from beneath one they didn't even know was there in the beginning, the beautiful murmur that echoes, the one wouldn't dare tempt themselves to be trapped. He's never been a deceiver despite his games, truth always easy to show behind his facade as he intends—he's him.

But, unfortunately—it doesn't work on you. In some very specific cases you most need it, that is.

As his cunningly self is engraved in him, so is a part of yours that keeps you grounded, humbled, mostly too anxious, just straight up so resentful of making a mere mistake that couldn't even count as one in the eyes of many but it is for you. The want to be perfect. Your pride that embarrasses you, one that shames to think it's more about your image than kindness, that strangles you for praise.

It's all unyielding even for a man like him.

He's already found it that part of you is as said; indeed indelible. An endless cycle of episodes.

You're his lover. The most delicate for him. Despite that he tried to ease that away from you, he didn't—never deceived your mind. Then came a simple solution to him after barely thinking about it.

The most normal or rather easy to do that can anyone think of. What he has always done for you to have nothing in your brain.

What he's plainly been doing from the start; loving you.

"My baby." Issei sighs heavily against your mouth that merely kisses him back, as you're already overwhelmed with the scarce time he's began fucking you, keeping his slow thrusts in your cunt above you with his one hand tightly gripped on the headboard of his bed and the other wrapped around your wide and soft back close up against him. Keeping his steady and antagonizing pace amidst the words he praise for you, " I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. My baby. My baby. I love you. My love. My baby. " —relishing your tears, it's liquid gold to him out of what he gives you. "Prettiest thing." Says him as your tears are kissed by his lips.

You're lost in him. Always willingly bending to him until mindlessly as you want it. Moans weakly drowned by your gentle cries, before you can utter anything, he takes your lips again, tears in your mouths. "Y'know, you don't need to say a thing." He mutters between his kisses, still going with the same pace of his pleasure for you both. It's always easy to use his sharp tongue as it is for making you hear how beautiful you are truly.

" Just be good for me, doll. "

" Always good for me. "

" Lovely girl, mine. "

" You're so good to me. "

Loving you is he most loves besides being himself.

[i-hope-this-is-a-phase]

Insult to Injury

A Test Drive by Zuesue for @honelle56 (T | WIP | 3k)

#injury recovery #emotional hurt/comfort My contribution to the End of the Summer Fic Exchange. Updates each day until complete

Thank you to @fujogie for sponsoring the collection, and thank you to @jess-total-mess and @dreastmilk for betaing.

Happy reading!

Fic underneath for those who prefer Tumblr over ao3

Dream remembers when George and Sapnap got the UTV.

He's not the greatest at keeping up with Sapnap's streams, but he tries to catch as many as he can. And when both his roommates are participating, he thinks it'd be rude to miss even with all the code he still needs to get done.

When they had gotten home, Dream had asked why they'd gotten a car they wouldn’t use.

“Bro lacks the vision,” Sapnap had said, making George cackle into his hands.

“I don’t lack anything,” he had retorted, which had made George wolf-whistle and Sapnap laugh. “No, shut up. George needs a car he can actually drive so he can learn.”

“He’s stupid too,” George chimed in, and if Dream had chucked a pillow at his head, that’s his business.

“No, no, listen,” Sapnap said. “It has all the shit a regular car has, brakes, steering wheel—”

“Wow, dude knows what’s in a car,” George drawled.

“—and it has a speed cap, so George can get all his fucking driving experience without being a menace to society.”

It had taken some convincing (because UTVs are fucking dangerous according to Dream), but Dream had come around to the idea, even if it was mostly lies so they could have a UTV. And even then, it had been a good source of happiness for them in the following rougher months, which Dream only saw as a positive.

It was a random day in May when George asked if he’d watch them ride it.

“You’re so boring, we’ve been at this all day, and you want to keep working,” George laments.

“It’s not that, I’m almost done—”

“You’ve said that already. Four times.”

Dream pauses and glances away from the monitor to where George sits. There's a computer now in the gym so they can fix code as they work. George is turned toward him in the office chair, and Dream notes the tiredness in his hunched-over posture. They’ve been at this for hours, he will admit, and George has been a great help the whole time. Has been for a while actually. “I have?”

George rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “Idiot,” he says. “Break for tonight. We can start again tomorrow.”

Dream looks back at the monitor. He is really close, he just has to adjust the rendering a tiny bit and—

“Dream.”

He glances over again. George is still smiling, but there’s a no-nonsense look in his gaze. “Please? Just for tonight?”

Dream looks again at George, at the days-old stubble, the hoodie he’s been wearing for two days just so he didn’t have to abandon Dream while he’s been working, and thinks he deserves a break.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes as he gets up.”You just want me to get you food.”

George’s eyes light up, but he still scoffs at Dream. They each have to play their parts. “That’s not true.”

“Is true.” He stretches up, feeling the cracks in his shoulders and spine. “Fuck.”

George laughs. “Bro’s getting old."

“Like you’re one to talk.”

George hunches over and makes a groaning noise. “Oh, I’m Dream, and my poor back hurts from all the dicks in my ass—”

“George!” he exclaims, scandalized, and George laughs again, bright and loud in the space.

“We should do something,” George says.

“Like what?”

“Like, go out, do something active. I’m too tired to sit.”

Dream walks toward George, and the two make their way out of the gym. “How does that even work?”

“Dunno, but my butt’s gonna fall off if we don’t do something.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to lose your best asset.”

“Asset. Ass-et. Get it?” He elbows Dream’s side.

“You’re so dumb.” They’ve reached the kitchen, and George beelines for the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of water and (quite dramatically) drinks it all in one chug. “We have a fridge in the gym,” Dream reminds him.

George shakes his head. “Doesn’t taste right.”

Dream doesn’t get it, but he knows George has his quirks, like only wearing a specific brand of sock because it’s “just right” or the way he tidies his sheets but not the pillows when making his bed. “Well,” he says, “since you’re no longer dying of thirst, what do you wanna do?”

George thinks for a minute before he brightens. “Have you seen me drive the UTV yet?”

He hasn’t. Every time George and Sapnap went to mess around with it, he politely excused himself. Although he likes that George is getting "driving" experience, he has his reservations about the safety of it.

Then again, George has been quite accommodating for his antics, so maybe it’s time he returned the favor.

“No, you wanna grab Nick?”

“Yeah!” George runs off, and Dream hopes Sapnap isn’t busy and George isn’t about to terrorize him.

Even if it’s fruitless.

An hour later, Dream sits watching his idiot friends drive up sandy hills on their UTV. The off-roading park allows members to keep their vehicles there, fueled and ready, and since it’s not on Dream’s bill, he’s happy to watch them goof off all night long.

Just then, he sees the UTV careen over a hill and come crashing down thirty feet away.

“Holy fucking shit!” Sapnap yells from the driver’s seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. George whoops beside him, clearly gleeful.

A few seconds later, he sees George and Sapnap undo their seatbelts and make their way over to where Dream is sitting.

“Impressed?” Sapnap asks, breathing heavily.

Dream hums. “Thought George would be driving,” he says, “since it’s his car after all.”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Sapnap gives him a puppy-eyed look.

Dream laughs. “You’re a good driver, Nick.”

“Hell yeah!” he shrieks. George pouts at Dream.

“I’m a good driver too.”

“Not from my point of view,” he says. George meets the challenge with a blaze in his eyes. He smirks.

“Alright.” George walks off, and this time, climbs into the driver’s seat.

Sapnap plops down next to Dream and pulls out his phone, aiming it toward George. “Woo!” he screams. “Kitten’s driving!”

He can see George scoff from where he sits. He takes off, doing a tight turn before hurdling up a hill.

Sapnap cheers beside him, and Dream thinks, This isn’t so bad.

“Dream, look!” he hears. He shields his eyes and looks to where he heard George.

The UTV is now on top of the biggest hill. George is standing next to it, waving.

“I’m gonna go down it!” he yells.

“Do it, pussy!” Sapnap yells back. Dream nudges him for the comment, but he joins the cheering.

George slides into the driver’s seat and straps himself in. Dream hears the motor roar from where he sits, and he watches the UTV gun it down the hill. Sapnap raises his phone higher, most likely to get a better angle as dust billows behind the truck. It speeds down the hill, toward the ground, and—

It happens.

The UTV catches on a rock. It flips.

One.

Two.

Three times.

It slams into a hill.

It stops.

Then, silence.

“GEORGE!”

Dream takes off running toward the UTV. He was wearing his seatbelt, he’s gonna be fine. "GEORGE!"

But then why hasn't he answered yet?

“George, are you good!?” He’s at the UTV. He climbs the hill to get closer. “George?”

George is hanging awkwardly in the harness, barely sitting in the seat anymore. His eyes are open, gazing forward. He's breathing, though. Dream can hear it. He reaches out a hand and presses it against George’s face. It’s an awkward angle, the UTV is slanted on the hill, but he needs to see, needs to feel that George is alright.

George’s face is sticky with dirt and sweat when he presses a hand to his cheek. But it’s still warm and soft like Dream always imagined, and he can feel the breath on his arm.

George blinks, and Dream breathes.

“George.” His other hand brushes the hair out of Georgge’s eyes. “You alright?”

George is still hanging in his harness. Dream leans over to unbuckle him and accidentally nudges George, causing him to hiss.

“Wha—did I hurt you?” Dream asks, pulling back a step.

“Head,” George groans, and something bad curls in Dream.

“Your head...hurts?” George tries to nod but groans again.

“I don’t—didn’t hit it,” George says. Dream gently, ever so gently, cards his fingers through George’s hair to feel for bumps or blood.

He finds nothing, but when Dream looks to George to tell him, he notices something.

Dream looks at people. A long part of his career was watching his friends on streams, and, since his face reveal, he has spent a lot of time memorizing what people’s faces look like outside of a screen. He knows what George looks like, can tell how long his stubble has been growing, when he needs to take George to get a haircut, what he looks like when he's tired, upset, in pain.

As he’s looking into George’s eyes, there’s something wrong. They aren’t focusing on Dream; they’re dazed and unfocused.

And the bad feeling inside Dream gets worse.

“Let’s get you out of there.” He’s careful this time as he leans over and unbuckles George, carefully distributing George’s weight onto him as he pulls him out onto the sand.

At that moment, Sapnap appears.

“I called for help, they’re getting another vehicle to come pick us up and take us to the road,” he says, and Dream loves him.

“Thank you, Nick.” He looks back at George, who’s squinting at Sapnap.

“Look funny,” he says, and Dream chokes.

“And you look stupid.” But there’s a tenderness to Sapnap’s gaze, and Dream understands he’s equally as worried as he is.

A vehicle comes over the hill and stops next to the UTV. With a bit of maneuvering, they get George secured into the back alongside Dream. Dream has his arm slung around George’s shoulder for support as they navigate back to their car.

“We’re gonna get you checked out,” he promises. “We’ll drive straight to a clinic.” George doesn’t respond, but he presses closer to Dream, and that's enough for now.

Time both moves fast and slow as they get George to a doctor. Fast in that it's a blur. Slow as in every bump that makes George wince makes fear twist inside Dream.

He was wearing a seatbelt, he thinks. He’s gonna be okay.

The nurse checking out George is thorough. She asks questions, flashes lights, and writes her findings on a clipboard. She gets George’s details from Dream (he has George’s insurance card saved into his phone) and tells them the doctor will be in soon before she leaves.

George lays on the hospital bed. They turned down the lights in the room, so George isn’t squinting anymore. But, his face still conveys pain.

“My head’s still hurting.”

“The nurse says she can’t give you pain meds just yet.” If he didn't know already that giving pain medication would only slow the nurses down, he would’ve gone to the pharmacy himself to grab some for George. But, his mom’s voice reminds him that pain is often a good symptom of where the hurt is, and so he stays put.

“Don’t worry, George,” Sapnap says. “When we get back, I’ll let you have some of my special gummy bears.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and George snorts.

“Thanks, I guess.” There’s silence for a second. “Did you get it on video?”

“What are you—oh yeah!” Sapnap pulls out his phone and taps in his passcode. “It was kinda sick actually.”

“Can I see?” George tries to sit up, but Dream (ever so gently) pushes him back down.

“No. The nurse said no light until the doctor returns.”

“Oh, c’mon Dream,” Sapnap whines.

“Oh, c’mon, remember? He used to say that.” George has his stupid grin on his face, and Dream is only a bit relieved that he’s at least feeling well enough for mockery.

Just then, the nurse comes back in with what Dream supposes is the doctor.

“Hi everyone!” she says, focusing her attention on the figure in the bed. “You must be George.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sapnap muffling a laugh.

“I am Dr. Smith. I’m the resident neurologist for this floor.”

“Neurologist,” Dream says. “So it is a brain problem.”

She nods, but there is no tightness to her face when she looks at George. “You seem to have a minor concussion. I was told he was in a car accident?” She looks toward Dream at that.

He clears his throat. “Well, yes and no,” he starts. “He was messing around with our UTV, but he was wearing a seatbelt though, so we didn’t—I didn’t think he’d get hurt?”

She hums. “Concussions don’t necessarily occur because of impact. They occur when the brain bounces around inside the skull.”

“The UTV flipped a bunch,” Sapnap says. “Could that’ve caused it?”

“Yes, that would explain the bruising. I would still be very glad you were wearing a seatbelt, for I’m sure we would be having a very different conversation if he was without it.”

George is still hurt though, Dream’s brain adds. He shakes it off.

Dr. Smith is talking again to George. “We’ll be giving you a list of what you can and can’t do during your recovery. You’ll most likely want to avoid computer screens, TVs, anything with bright lights. You’ll also want to avoid doing anything mentally strenuous for the first few days. We saw a lack of concentration in your testing, so we want to keep on top of that.”

George speaks up: “But, my work—it's all computers and screens.”

Dream turns to George. “We can figure stuff out or take a break,” he assures. “We can pause the project for now.”

George’s face looks pained again. Dream wishes they could give him medicine. “No,” he says, “I can’t, you—”

“We can provide a doctor’s note if necessary, but using electronics will stunt your recovery. For at least two weeks, you need to stay away from screens.”

Two weeks, Dream thinks, as Dr. Smith goes on about migraine recovery. George is gonna hate this.

George looks like he’s hating this. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and his brows are furrowed. For a moment, Dream wants to smooth the lines out from his face, but he knows now is not the time.

“We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation.” Dr. Smith gives Dream a form. “We’ll get George to a room as soon as a gurney frees up.” She hands him a pen as well. “If you need help, press the call button.”

And with that, the two leave the room. George turns to face the wall.

Dream looks over the form. It’s various medical jargon and information. He starts filling it out while Sapnap goes over to George.

“So, concussion,” he states. Dream hears George scoff.

“Glad you were paying attention,” he snarks over his shoulder.

“Well, since I’ve actually been concussed before, I was going to offer to grab all the usual shit you need, but since you’re being a little bitch—”

“Nick,” Dream interrupts. He would usually let them fight it out, but Dream sees the tense lines in George’s back, and thinks this isn’t the time. Sapnap glances over to him and must see something too because he huffs and backs off.

“Got it,” Sapnap grumbles. He turns back to George. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m out?”

George turns his head back over. “Sushi?” he asks, and Dream can see a glint of mischief.

Sapnap must see it too, because he softly laughs. “Should’ve guessed that.” He grabs his phone and stands up. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying too?” he says to Dream.

Dream nods. It isn’t a question in his mind, but it makes sense why Sapnap asks.

“K, see you at home.” With that, Sapnap walks out, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him.

Dream continues to work on the form while George stares at the ceiling. A few minutes later, a team arrives to help George get up to the observation room. Dream follows dutifully behind, carrying George and his phone.

Once they’re settled in, with George in the bed and Dream sitting in a chair beside him, finally done with the forms, he finally asks the question.

“How are you feeling?”

George continues fiddling with the sheets. The hospital provided pajamas for him, as it was long past the early evening it was when they took the UTV for a spin. The lights are dimmed low, shadows casting across the room and across George’s face.

“Could be better,” he mumbles. “Head still hurts.”

“The nurse gave you pain medication, right?” He’s sure at some point a nurse came in and gave George pills.

“Yeah,” he says. “Still hurts though.”

Dream nods and scoots his chair closer. There’s a beat of silence, then George says, “I���m sorry.”

Dream looks at his face. “For what?”

“The pause—it was only for tonight.”

“The pause,” Dream says again. “You mean…for the project?”

“Yeah,” George mumbles, hunching over slightly as he continues to fiddle with the sheets.

“George, I don’t—I’m not thinking about that right now,” he says. “I’m just so glad you’re okay and that it’s going to be okay.”

George rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna be able to work for weeks, Dream. How is that okay?”

“Because—okay, look.” He reaches out and grabs George’s hand to stop him from tearing the blanket to shreds. George’s hand falls still under his touch. “The project’s been delayed so many fucking times. One more time is not going to kill us.”

He feels George’s hand twitch under his palm. “But it’s not—it was stopped before because of the code,” he starts. “Not because of—not because I couldn’t help.” He hasn’t met Dream’s eyes yet.

Dream moves and sits on the bed. George’s hand twitches again in his grasp. Dream squeezes it, gentle, soft. “George,” he says, “two weeks is not the end of the world. This stuff, this technology, it’s gonna change the world. It can wait two weeks while my best friend recovers.”

He sees a ghost of a smile flash across George’s face. He presses on: “The nurse says no screens or bright lights for at least two weeks. So, you can’t code. But you can help me render shit, set stuff up once your doctor clears you, or we can sit in bed for two weeks. But all that really doesn’t matter, because I’d rather you get better quicker than you hurting yourself because you want to help me.”

“And I’m fine waiting for you,” he adds. “We’ve already gotten this far, and we’re this close. A two-week break isn’t going to change that. Plus.” He turns to smirk at George. “Weren’t you the one before now who was asking for a break?”

George groans, but he’s smiling now, and that’s all that matters. “Alright,” George says. “If you insist, I guess I could take a break.”

“I’m glad.” He’s smiling now too. George turns his hand over to squeeze Dream’s. Once. Twice. Three times. Dream’s smile grows wider.

“I love you.” Even in the darkness, he can see George’s blush, and it makes Dream’s heart flutter.

“Idiot.” But he’s smiling too, and that’s all that matters.

[theawkwardterrier]

WIP Sunday

Tagged so very kindly by my wonderful meme bestie @lavellenchanted 🥰🥰 Here's a bit of the OL fic that I've been working on and that I'm mad about working on!

“Now that we’ve established my credentials, are you comfortable removing your shirt, soldier?” she asks, finding it easy to fall into the manner of address that saw her so well through the war. He lifts an eyebrow at the term, but doesn’t comment. “Aye, I trust my tender self to yer ministrations, Mistress, if that’s what ye mean. But I might need a bit o’ help with my shirt.” His good hand gestures to his opposite shoulder, and his smile is fading along with the light which had entered his eyes. There are plenty of patients she’s had who would have done better with a response that was stern and reminded him that he didn’t need mollycoddling, or with joking about to chivvy him from the mood he was sinking into. But some instinct, beyond the knowledge that she has built from experience, makes her do something else entirely. “Take your time,” she says gently. “I’ll help where it’s needed.” He does manage to bare himself most of the way, and not altogether terribly slowly. The trouble comes, as they both knew it would, with his injured arm. His mobility is such that he cannot twist his arm to reach up and remove that sleeve; perhaps at night he shakes it off, or has a comrade who will help him, but he doesn’t seem interested in putting himself on display in that way, and she doesn’t want him to. Instead, as he stops with the shirt draped over half his body, she makes her way around him, making certain that he can hear her movements, that she touches him gently along the back of his neck first so he can sense where she will be aiming next since she isn’t certain whether he has full feeling in his shoulder and doesn’t want to startle him. She doesn’t say anything as she eases the sleeve away from his skin, no small talk or even evaluatory questions, nothing about his shoulder or the deep scarring that she finds across his back. Jamie, however, speaks without her having to ask. It’s a terrible story, despite the calm with which he tells it: a Redcoat captain, an attack on Jamie’s sister, a crowd which watched him being viciously whipped for crimes that he hadn’t committed — including his father, who died thinking that his son had died first, and in such pain. During the war, she saw other nurses grow attached to patients, staying at a certain bedside hours after their shift had ended, singing a favorite song to dull the pain, even placing a kiss on lips breathing their last. Nothing close ever happened to her; not, she thinks now, necessarily because of Frank, but because she was better able to wall herself off and keep from true connection with the soldiers and partisans and innocent civilians who she treated…or maybe because none of them was the right one. For a barely-breathing moment, she can imagine bending and laying her cheek against the scars, letting him know that while she might have not been there to heal him then, she is here now. Beneath layers of fabric and padding, her stomach rumbles — only hunger, to be certain, signaling the hours since she finished the last of Nan’s bannocks in the cart, but a reminder of the care that she needs to take now. No foolish mistakes, not when she isn’t only protecting herself. “And how did this come about?” she asks, placing a delicate finger on the raised arch of his shoulder joint. As much as she is striving to bring herself back to that vaunted professionalism, her voice is still soft.

Tagging my buds @flyinghome-againstthewind, @smashing-teacups, @frasers-of-my-heart, and @doctorhelena, plus anyone else who wants to share some WIP fun!

[fumifooms]

I've reached a certain point in the manga now where Sissel heckles Marcille and mentions how "half breeds" are sterile.

And now I can't get out of my head the idea of a Marcille who can't become a mother herself, but ends up being able to experience something of the sort through meeting Chilchuck's daughters (even if they are all grown already.)

And allow me to go further, but also imagine that there is a point where Chilchuck does finally bury the hatchet with his wife, but have come to accept that they just don't work anymore, and decide to divorce formally on amicable terms.

The daughters therefore all slowly get to know Marcille, and even without the intent of being motherly, she dotes on them all anyway (because they're just so cute and so sweet!), and they see how their crabby father's eyes goes soft when they see Marcille interacting with them that by the end of it, they corner their father and tell him they approve.

Yes!!! YES!!!

You seem to not have finished the manga yet so I want to avoid spoilers… But no if I’m going into this topic I’ll absolutely end up spoiling some things lol. So beware, spoilers in the links I put and under the cut! I also talk about this topic/dynamics headcanons a bit here, and here, and specifically about his wife and him reconciling or not here, and my fanfic Grind Me Down Sweetly has bits and headcanons like these, but it’s an aspect of marchil with lots of potential!! Not obligatory reading btw lol, I just like to keep things as tidy as I can with things I cover many times plus there’s more stuff I won’t say here. I’m gonna be talking for a while though!!

I feel she could genuinely get along great with Flertom and Puckpatti, their personalities seem pretty compatible! Meanwhile Meijack’s more reserved, but Marcille would grow on her too. Meijack 100% would be the one who sticks more around her father as Marcille and her sisters chat enthusiastically when she first meets them, and out of nowhere she goes "She suits you." and Chil spits out his beer, but he swallows back the urge to deny it and then agrees.

One of my marchil timelines is that they stay close friends for a long time after post-canon, before maybe or maybe not dating. I like to think that after they meet, Marcille starts exchanging letters with Flertom sometimes because they hit it off and Chilchuck is like "Why are you on first name basis with my daughter!!! WHY ARE YOU ON FIRST NAME BASIS WITH MY DAUGHTER!! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN, STOP INFILTRATING ALL OF MY LIFEEEE-" <- Man who has her on his mind 24/7 and is kinda going mad over it. Hehe I’ll let you read the fic I linked in the beginning if that sounds fun to you!

I know that in my fic wips where confessions or proposals happen I tend to bring the topic of the daughters up. Here’s my favorite that lowkey guts me

Post-canon spoiler but I like the idea that when the Toudens die from age or one thing or another, if one of them forms a family and has kids (through adoption or anything) then at least over the centuries she’d still overlook the lineage of royals and would find a sort of solace from that, always being surrounded by lots of caring people. I think this is a bit healing for her single child self as well! Her notion of family and childhood are very tainted by loneliness and loss, and though she needs to accept that all hellos end with goodbye and find closure and happiness even through that, something can definitely be done about the loneliness! And as you can see with my fanfic wip, in a perfect marchil world I also think that she would fully become a part of Chilchuck’s family and generations down the line either people at family gatherings call her "great-auntie", or inversely no one really knows and just goes "oh her? Yeah that’s Marcille. She’s in the family -shrug-". The family dinners would be awkward at first since I imagine Chilchuck’s prejudices on elves come from somewhere lol, but it’d be so sweet.

But yes, back to the daughters! Marcille is 100% a mom friend who loves caring for her loved ones (I have a post examining that a bit here), there’s how she likes to bathe Izutsumi and Falin after all (Kui has said it herself that she loves when characters care for others in ways like that, which reflects in Marcille, and with Milsiril & Kabru or Mithrun & his caretakers, etc~), but I don’t think she’d actually want a kid herself if she had to choose, maybe she’d grow to want it one day but I think what kind of bonds she’s looking for currently are more platonic and such than familial in nature, that she wouldn’t want ro raise a child herself quite yet. She likes spoiling people she loves and caring for them in domestic ways, but not the ‘everything else’ part lol. So I actually think this works out great!! She 100% dotes on them as you said, but in many ways I think their dynamic would be a lot like gal pals chatting every once in a while, Flertom and her share in the latest gossip and they talk about fashion amongst other things! With Meijack being more akin to the usual stepmother dynamic where what ties them together is Chilchuck, until they grow to have a bond based on familiarity over time (I feel like due to these she’s the one that would have a mother-daughter relationship with Marcille the most since Flertom and Puckpatti would be more casual with her, but I basically think all the daughters and Marcille see each other as equals). Their common point above everything is caring about Chilchuck, and though of course Marcille would be ready to offer motherly comfort or support for them if they wanted it, the girls are pretty past that age so I don’t see it happening all that much, at least not in the first 5 years or so~ I think once Chil dies (probably not very late with how he drinks a lot of alcohol and was malnourished/"strict dieting" for what’s implied to be a very long time) the reverse is gonna happen, where Marcille is gonna be absolutely gutted and will reach out to the girls a lot to grieve together and spend time recovering together. Talking about him and whatnot. If his wife goes to his funeral and they meet, Marcille and her could potentially also have very interesting interactions.

Girl sure wishes she wasn’t right here :( Unbeknownst to him she’d be giving him lifespan buffs ad infinitum if she could

And! It was so easy for me to miss this detail when I first read The Adventurer’s Bible (the world guidebook) but Marcille’s mom remarried! Marcille has a stepfather herself! It’s interesting that Marcille’s relationship with him or her stance on her mom remarrying is left so open, but she certainly acts enthusiastic about families and kids so doesn’t seem like there’s a complex there. I think this would give her a lot of thoughts about potentially being a stepmother though! I think it might influence her in her casual attitude, where she doesn’t want to push herself as ‘the new mother’ and whatnot, and I think honestly if the girls ever wanted to vent to her about how their family situation made them feel, Marcille and them could have really heartfelt and understanding conversations.

Ah yes ah yes, might as well unload my ‘Chilchuck has a second family of clingy asses’ timeline I adore: Marcille and Izutsumi, + the rest of the gang to a lesser degree~ I already linked a post in which I talk about how Marcille’s somewhat of a motherly presence for her, and Izutsumi’s relationship with Chilchuck is def rather father-like too (post going into that here)! A post-canon Marcille hc I love is that Marcille gets a cat~ A black one to fit with her witch aesthetic, and with how the cat hairs are black like the dresses she now wears all the time so it’s less apparent that she’s covered in them lol. It reminds her of Izutsumi a bit as she goes on her journey, it’s kinda like the chickens she had around her as a kid, she loves having things to care for and spoil AND also it’s the end place of her character arc about appreciating loved ones even if they’re short-lived, and having the courage to want to know and love them anyways… It always comes back to marchil and his stupid only 20 years left to live I swear 😭 I genuinely feel like Marcille tends to keep some emotional distance from others during canon to try and minimize that effects of loss would have on her, but more on that in another upcoming post. But yeah I feel like every time she sees a stray cat while strolling out she starts tearing up a little… She wonders if Izutsumi is okay and eating well and all… But she learns to live with not fully knowing, and optimism & being hopeful are her trademark thing so she puts them to good use! Sometimes her and Chil will hang out of his shop and they’ll see a stray cat. They start leaving some food out for them. Chil is all "Bad idea! They’ll become overly reliant on our food and it’ll be bad for them!" at first but he caves. So then they watch it feed on what they gave it, and she brings up what was both on their mind. "Do you ever wonder where Izutsumi went, if she’s alright…" "You say that as if she didn’t visit three months ago. Aren’t you supposed to be the one for who long periods of time mean little here?" And a silence falls, but then after a bit he finally replies, without snark. "… I do." Marcille’s cat would 100% be a stray she decided to adopt actually. I am seeing how a marchil fic being written centered around this would work~ Before she brings it to the castle and officially adopts it, she sees it standing out in the rain all pitifully in front of Chil’s shop once and she invites it in (to Chilchuck’s despair), and from then on it’s still a stray but it has a home to go back to. And it can showcase Marcille and Chil’s relationship alongside that metaphorically and it’s like… Domesticating love… 😭 I think I hold a Grind Me Down Sweetly sequel here~ Chilchuck is so the ‘doesn’t want a cat dad who ends up being the cat’s favorite’, both with his cat daughter and the actual cat lol, and Marcille’s not a cat but he certainly wasn’t looking for another romance so hey!! Chilchuck expected to live alone forever after his wife didn’t get back together with him, but surprise!!! Ok cat tangent over I promise <3

Meeting the stepmom energy… Plus the dwarven bachelor. And the king. Maybe he didn’t make up with his wife "like how well it goes in stories" like he hoped for, but her wish sure did come true!! She met his family!! :] I’m planning a huge character arc post about this part of their interactions in canon, but optimism and hope did at least half the job <3 Especially since he hadn’t seen his daughters in years too. She’s good for him!!! And he’s good for her!!!

<3

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Here's another long-winded post about me combing through BG3 early access files in search of Aylin and Isobel tidbits - rummaging that already resulted in this post right here. Let me just say I'm pleased to have brought Aylin Silverblood some attention because, again, I think it's a dope name.

Now, obviously, Isobel and Aylin are both Act 2 characters, and early access only covered Act 1. So anything related to them is partial stuff that wasn't scrubbed from the game files for whatever reason, and a lot of placeholders (these are usually indicated by |the text being in vertical lines|). This all means that sometimes (usually!) there are no nice voice lines indexed by UUID and parseable dialogue trees, and you have to trawl through a giant localisation XML of every bit of text in the game instead. An additional complication is all these stories were in flux, but older bits of writing from deprecated iterations didn't get immediately removed from the files, so it's sometimes hard to tell what belongs to which version.

The biggest luck I've had with regards to these two is the 24/11/2021 version of the game - EA Patch #6 Hotfix #19, aka game version v. 4.1.1.1356845, aka the source of Aylin Silverblood (my beloved). Here's a handy list of the patch and hotfix history, if you're like me and interested in this stuff. I'm actually wrangling files from 5 versions of the game right now, ranging from March 2021 to July 2022 - it's been a fun time. This old datamining post on reddit really helped narrow down the timeframe for me to look into.

Why am I doing this? I genuinely find it fun and interesting! There's some neat writing to be found! I crave more Isobel at all times! And I'm always into WIP and "how the sausage is made" type stuff. Also, tons of cool inspo for fics and headcanons.

Note, because I know that's a popular EA tidbit: this is all from after the Halsin killing Isobel variant was scrapped. This is, in fact, the version where she gets killed and soul trapped by Balthazar, and Aylin gets framed for it.

I'm going to start this off with my favourite part, and that is snippets of an early version of the Aylin/Isobel reunion from 2021. I've done my best to put them in order, but be aware a lot of this is still me speculating.

|[CINE: Nightsong teleports the party to the plaza in front of Last Light. As she looks around trying to familiarize herself, Isobel notices your arrival from the balcony. Her reaction is pure shock, followed by an immediate rush down the stairs.]|

|[CINE: Isobel dashes out of the front of the inn, wide-eyed and out of breath. Nightsong stares at her, stunned.]|

Aylin: |(distant, shocked) Isobel.|

Isobel: |Aylin...|

|[CINE: Nightsong takes an instinctive step towards her but stumbles, collapsing to her knees, eyes blown with pain and disbelief. Isobel closes the distance between them in hasty steps, trying to help Nightsong up, but Nightsong tightly grips at her arms - as if the contact makes everything real.]|

|[CINE: Isobel's eyes fill with tears as she drops down to the ground, throwing her arms around Nightsong's shoulders in a tight embrace. Shaking, almost fearful, Nightsong returns the embrace - the first kind touch she's had in a hundred years.]|

|[CINE: Nightsong draws back from the hug, looking Isobel in the eyes. Isobel helps Nightsong to her feet. As the two of them stand, they keep their hands linked.]|

Aylin: |A hundred years. Isobel, light of my heart, where were you? (choking up) I found your body, I....|

Isobel: |I was dead, Aylin. For so long. It was Balthazar - he trapped my soul, he-|

Player: |[Doesn'tKnowRelationship] You were lovers? Did Ketheric know?|

Aylin: |(jaw tightens) We were lovers. Her father was against it. He saw nothing but future misery. I'm immortal. I would never age, but she would.|

Isobel: |He didn't understand. It doesn't matter when... (fearful, as if worried Aylin's feelings might have changed) ... I still love you so much.|

Aylin: |(her first genuine smile) And I, you. No trial or pain could ever change that. (relaxes a touch) It is why I couldn't leave your body, even when they came. Balthazar and that Sharran witch told your father that I was to blame.|

|And he believed them over you?|

Aylin: |(frowns) He believed what he wanted to believe. Ketheric saw his daughter dead, and he saw someone he wanted to hurt. Shar took that cruel thread, that moment of mortal pain, and used it to corrupt him to the core.|

Aylin: |I was put on trial, and I had no defence. The moment it was over, I was taken down to the temple and... well, you saw what they had done.|

|Isobel presses against Nightsong's side, face tight with worry, running her fingers in slow strokes up and down Nightsong's arm.|

|[CINE: Nightsong tilts her head back towards the player.]|

Aylin: |These heroes saved me. Without them, I'd still be trapped in Balthazar's soul cage, with Ketheric gripping my heart like a leech.|

|[CINE: Isobel's face falls at the mention of her father's name.]|

Isobel: |A *soul cage*? Gods.|

Isobel: |I didn't know. Gods, he didn't say a word to me. I ran away because it was Balthazar that brought me back. As I ran, I heard my father shouting... but I'd seen enough. There was no saving him.|

Aylin: |You are not your father, Isobel. (sad, wry smile) You were the only thing that kept me alive in the dark. When hope began to fade, I simply thought of you.|

Isobel: |[To player] Thank you. (smiles wide) I... I can't possibly thank you enough, for bringing Aylin back to me.|

|Nightsong smiles too, but she's lost looking at Isobel, completely tuning out everyone else around them. Isobel leans in, resting her brow against Nightsong's and closing her eyes, Nightsong's hand clutched to her chest.|

Then, there is an option to press Isobel for details:

|You said the necromancer trapped your soul. Why?| |Was Balthazar the one who killed you, Isobel?|

Isobel: |(hesitant, visibly guilty) I think Aylin would know better than I do. The last thing I remember is a blade in the dark. Too fast to feel pain. Then silence.|

Asking Isobel to go with you to Moonrise was possible at various points, leading to different responses:

Will you come with me to Moonrise? I could use your help. If we're going to stop Ketheric, you have to come with me.

Until there is a way to keep Last Light safe, I cannot leave. All I can do is pray. |Not if everyone is killed at Last Light in my absence. I'll do everything I can to help you from here, but I won't go with you.| |Not if everyone is killed at Last Light in my absence. If someone else could take my place, I would go with you. I swear it.|

|Nightsong is here, she will protect Last Light - let's go to Moonrise, like you promised.| |I want to spend the night with Aylin. Meet me at Moonrise tomorrow.| |Nightsong will protect the people while together we can stop Ketheric.|

Isobel: I... we need to get close to him, don't we? And Aylin can protect Last Light in my absence. Aylin: Isobel, I have just gotten you back. To put yourself in his hands again-

Looks like we would've had a flip of the current Act 2 boss fight, and Isobel would be the ally for the confrontation with Ketheric, not Aylin. Also, that one line right there that is our first indication of Succor™, gotta love it. Sadly, post-reunion I only have:

|TBD: Post Nightsong Reunion.| |How are you and Aylin doing?|

To borrow release version Isobel's stock line: KEEPING VERY WELL, I HOPE? In any case, I'm putting the rest under a cut, featuring options for calling Isobel out on her parentage, Aylin being from Mt. Celestia, and Balthazar being gross - among many other things.

At one point quite early on, Isobel's protection from the shadow curse wasn't a spell, but an ointment:

|Ointment of Selûne| |Ointment Container PLACEHOLDER| |Isobel filled this with precious doses of her sacred Ointment of Selûne.| |First get the ointment from Isobel.| Have you received Isobel's ointment yet? What protection can her ointment offer, exactly? You should see Isobel. If Marcus does crop up, I'd sooner you had her ointment to protect you. Can use that cleric's ointment to get you on your way. But I have to move out - now. Can I get some of your ointment? No more theories! It's time for action. Our secret weapon needs to travel to Moonrise Towers, which means they'll need your ointment. You have the ointment. You have the Gate Stone. Moonrise Towers awaits. Are you sure the ointment will last long enough?

What is now Isobel's Ominous Cough was a gradual weakening that was remarked upon and seemed to be there to create more of a sense of urgency:

I won't claim to know Isobel's craft, but Selûne's light is bright in her. Isobel's tough - though she was tougher at the start. I've rarely seen a cleric so in tune with her goddess, but the curse is taking its toll. The light used to be stronger, Isobel. How much more of this curse can you take? You look paler than death, Isobel. How much more of this curse can you take?

We have some nice concise infodumps on Ketheric:

After Ketheric turned to darkness, the Enclave joined with the Harpers to unseat him and his Sharran cohorts. We marched together, fought together, bled together... and in the end we prevailed.

Only it wasn't the end. Nothing seemed to kill Ketheric himself, so the Harpers decided to seal him in his own tomb, alive. They thought that would be enough. But they hadn't counted on Ketheric unleashing the shadow curse. We watched it drain all light and life away from this place, saw it twist people into abominations. The Harpers lost hope.

Ketheric wove the curse on this land. The moment he was sealed in that tomb, Shar's poison devoured everything in its path.

Fallen paladin. Champion of Shar. He was building an army bent on unholy conquest, but we stopped him. Killed him. Buried him.

It was not enough. General Thorm lives again. He's built a new army, and this time he marches under the banner of the Absolute.

November 2021 is the earliest mention of Aylin I found, mostly marked as not finalised and placeholder dialogue (and that reunion up there). The Nightsong as present in that patch is still very different from what we ended up getting - nobody was killing her, in fact people were coming to get her "kiss", and there was a whole thing where it seems like Shar would directly take control of her and you could help her overcome the curse, or abandon her to it - or kill her. 

Embrace the Nightsong and be sworn to Eternal Shadow.

Anyway, here are her lines (all of these exist as voice files, which is rare for stuff I put in this post - but they're done by a voice actress who doesn't sound like Helen Keeley, our final Aylin VA, so I don't know what to make of it all tbh):

Shar is the Nightsinger, and I am her Nightsong. I am her instrument, transforming the faithful into shadows. I've been here for centuries. Do you know how many priests of Shar came here, full of faith, seeking my kiss? I've been here for centuries. Thousands of Sharrans came here seeking my kiss. I drink their sorrow, their loss, their grief. Then I vomit it back into the world. All of them are shadows now. That is Shar's only reward. But Ketheric returned for my kiss, over and over. You're the first to survive my kiss intact. You're the only one who can help me. Please, you have to help. No one's ever resisted the kiss before. No one has ever resisted my kiss. But you are not merely *one*, are you? That thing in your head must be incredibly powerful to resist a goddess. Perhaps it's also divine in nature. Because a mind can't survive two masters. It breaks us. Shar's attention must be elsewhere. Speak quickly. She's watching now. She's waiting to steal my voice. But it won't last. Please - listen! I was captured by Ketheric Thorm, Shar's chosen. He turned me into this creature. I'm a slave of Shar. She owns me, just like that thing in your head owns you. I want to sing my own song. Not Shar's. Not *Ketheric's*. Find Ketheric. Kill him so I can be free! Slay Ketheric. His wretched existence binds me to this temple. Oh. That made her angry. The Lady returns! She has me again! *Again!* Stop! You've driven her away!

I am not your *spectacle*. Turn away before I strike you blind. Tell them to come and receive my kiss.

Some possible relevant tags, interactions, and outcomes include:

|The soul cage has greatly weakened Nightsong| |Debug: click to save Nightsong (sets the flag to talk to Isobel)| |We sided with Ketheric and doomed Nightsong.| |Companion comment!||But if his power is linked to this Nightsong, there must be a way to unlink it.| |You have taken control of Ketheric's Soul Cage| |You are bound to Ketheric's soul cage, taking his regenerative powers for yourself| |Bound to Soul Cage| |Soul Cage Key| |Soul Cage Research| |The book details the necromancer's research on the soul cage| |There is a glimpse of Isobel's ghost, as she takes her Father with her to the afterlife.| |There is a glimpse of Isobel's ghost terrified and in agony. Both Isobel and Ketheric will disappear.|

At one point Isobel delivers her own, Ketheric's, and Aylin's backstory as "a story", but sadly I can find very little of it, just disjointed fragments:

You seem to know a lot about Ketheric. He was a devout Selûnite who converted to Shar. They say it was Ketheric's purity that drew an angel down from Celestia. You're Isobel Thorm. The daughter who died in that story.

And there seem to be many options to question Isobel about her hiding the truth about her father:

Why are you lying to me, Isobel? Everyone thinks you're dead, Isobel. Tell me the truth, Isobel. Everything. Still, Isobel might have saved us some time had she been honest from the beginning. |Why didn't you tell me what happened from the start, Isobel?|

Ketheric. Don't you mean your father? Ketheric is your father. I know the truth. Ketheric told me at Moonrise. He wants me to bring you home. I need your father to trust me. He wants you back. You sent me after your father - Ketheric. I think we should discuss Ketheric - your father - first. For all you've said about Ketheric, you left out the part where he's your father.

To which I've found some responses:

And would you have trusted her? Ketheric's daughter? Why didn't I tell you that I was murdered, that my soul was locked away for a hundred years? What would I have told her? That my father murdered her fellow Harpers, but that I can surely be trusted?

[Attempt to read Isobel's thoughts.] *You see Ketheric standing before Isobel, although the memory is hazy. His words are unclear, but his tone is not - he is pleading with her.*

Brought back by the same man that killed me. Balthazar. Standing next to my father with a smile on his face.

But I'm not sure it would have mattered. To stand with that man, my father has surrendered to deepest evil.

I would love to know what the whole pleading thing is about, and what Isobel "didn't know" that she claims didn't matter anyway.

My father. After a century, he somehow brought me back. But I saw the monster he had become. I couldn't bear it... I ran. I ran until I found Last Light. It was like a second home to me, once. I've been studying the curse ever since, searching for answers. Trying to restore the damage my father has wrought upon this land. It's possible I may have to sacrifice myself. But this is my father's crime.

And then, there is this nugget I cannot place but that I like: 

|Your father's due will come.|

There is also an option to tell her Nightsong is Aylin (who was, at this point, a full celestial - no mention of being connected to Selûne, though, and in fact, if she was indeed from Mount Celestia as mentioned in the "story", she would not have been):

Isobel: My father's curse still blackens this earth. Have you found anything? Player: A celestial, chained to Ketheric's soul. Player: They called her Nightsong, but she told me her name was Aylin. Isobel: Aylin. She... she's alive. I knew she had to be, I… Player: Ketheric's necromancer took her to Moonrise. Isobel: His necromancer? Gods, you have to free her. Isobel: You have to go to Moonrise and free Aylin. When Ketheric is weak, this can all be over. Isobel: The truth is that I would give anything to see her again, and anything to stop my father. Free her, and you do both. Isobel: At least, the shell of my father. There's nothing left of the man that championed Selûne. Isobel: Find her. Free her. If Ketheric isn't stopped, all of us are doomed.

Player: |[Doesn'tKnowName] Aylin? Care to explain?| Isobel: The angel in my story about Ketheric. That was Aylin.

Speaking of Balthazar. Some lines from him:

[Introductory note: please imagine everything Balthazar says spoken with a wheezy voice, as if he's permanently out of breath.]

[I need to retrieve the Nightsong, but the temple is haunted and my minions cannot make it past the trial grounds. I cannot go there until the ghosts have been dealt with. Now that you are here on behalf of Ketheric, you will do all this for me.]

I, Fodder, am here on behalf of General Ketheric Thorm. Down in the depths of this temple writhes his desire. I am to bring it to him.

I created the Nightsong for General Ketheric, many moons... HEAR THAT SHAR? Many moons ago.

*As you hold the necromancer's mocking gaze, you can tell how it starts to dawn on him you are not the mere minion he thought you were.*

Along the way I found some more recent Patch 8 (2022-ish) gross Balthazar lines, some bits of which have actually survived to release:

She was a unique specimen even before I began my work. Aasimar. A god's blood united with mortal flesh.

Such fine clay she was. We grew quite close as I… remoulded her. Now she is General Thorm's shield. Her strength is his to drink upon. His pains are hers to bear.

If I never exceed her, I will still die happy. If I ever do something as gauche as truly dying, that is.

Utterly revolting! Makes my skin crawl! Man deserves a yeeting into the Shadowfell a hundred times over! But in order to not end on a gross note, I leave you with:

Ketheric Thorm. Murderer. Oathbreaker.

Aylin Silverblood. My true name. Nightsong was only ever a curse.

[reidingrainbow]

momentarily breaking out of my absence to participate in this month's cm fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins :3

i've had a wip cooking for over a year and even though it's still not done, i'd like to at least post this first chapter for the prompt!

-

Night Changes

[ Rated M for minors keep out ] 4038 words | moreid, mostly case-fic?

CW: trans male pregnancy (specifically spencer), nausea/emeto warning, canon typical violence, mentions of homophobia

summary: morgan and reid find out they're expecting in a... less than ideal fashion

Friday nights are always a treasured time for Spencer and Derek. After a long week at work, all they can think of is coming home to one of their apartments and falling into each other. It usually entails a delivery from their favorite local restaurant, a cheesy television show, and Clooney sitting at their feet waiting for them to drop something for him or curled up on the sofa with them. 

But other nights, nights like this, they need a little extra time to themselves. Nights like this involve Clooney being nowhere to be seen, some movie they’ve seen a thousand times, and maybe a glass of wine.

The only sounds to be heard in the room are the low drone of the television and Spencer’s soft gasps, his little hitches of breath and whimpers as Derek’s lips lave over his neck and collarbone. Derek eases the thinner man out of his lap and lays him back on the couch, his lips slowly traveling down his chest and abdomen and stopping to nip at his sharp hipbones. Spencer whines and attempts to buck his hips up into the touch, but Derek effortlessly keeps him in place with one hand. The other busies itself with unbuttoning Spencer’s pants, fingers moving deftly while he captures Spencer’s lips in a passionate kiss. Derek’s fingers slip inside Spencer’s boxers, inching closer to his throbbing–

On the kitchen counter, their phones chime in unison. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Spencer mutters, forehead still pressed to Derek’s. Above him, his boyfriend chuckles and presses an apologetic kiss to his lips before crawling off of him. They redress themselves and make an honest attempt to not look like they’d just been called into work in the middle of what was almost sex, but in the back of Spencer’s mind he knows they’ll probably figure it out anyway. He shimmies his binder back on and tucks in his shirt. While he buttons his pants back up, he notices that they definitely feel more snug than they did the week prior. He thought he’d been imagining things when he began to struggle closing his pants over the past few weeks, but now his growing waistline is undeniable. He sucks in his stomach to button the closure and lets out the breath as a sigh. “I think I need to lay off the take-out,” he says to Derek, following him into the kitchen to find his cardigan.

“Oh yeah?” Derek says, already at the door putting his shoes back on. “You and me both, pretty boy. I’m not sure how much longer we can eat like we’re in our twenties.” He pats his stomach for emphasis, as if he doesn’t have the world’s most glorious set of abs hidden beneath his silk button down.

Spencer huffs a laugh and buttons his cardigan back up. “Maybe I should cook more.” He pads over to the door in his mismatched socks, where Derek is holding his bag for him.

Derek smirks. “So we can live off of ramen? I’ll take my chances with Thai every night.”

“I can cook more than ramen,” Spencer insists. “Rossi taught us how to make his spaghetti and you even said yourself I did a really good job.” With his shoes on, he takes his bag from Derek’s waiting hands and follows him out to the driveway.

“I thought we were gonna stop eating like college students! Can you make anything that isn’t pasta based?” Derek says as they climb into his car. Spencer scrunches his face up and shakes his head as they buckle in. “That’s alright, next time we go visit my family my mom might be able to teach us a little somethin’.”

Spencer smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer and Derek step out of the elevator for the second time that day, only two hours after leaving for the night (precisely two hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-five seconds, but who’s counting) and enter the bullpen to meet the rest of the team, where JJ is lamenting about her similarly ruined evening. Derek makes a quip about “dusting off the cobwebs” that earns him a swat on the arm from Penelope, and soon enough the team is called up to begin the briefing.

Any lingering thoughts of the evening’s earlier activities are thoroughly squashed within the first 60 seconds of the round table meeting. Spencer blames the crime scene photos, the images of the deep, cross-hatched cuts on the victims’ backs, for the wave of nausea that washes over him and sends a shiver down his spine. He flips through the rest of the file in hopes that averting his eyes will untangle the knot in his stomach. It doesn’t. He breathes deeply through his nose, trying his best to stay focused on the details of the case.

He drops a hand below the table and lets it flap at his side; he needs to stim through the feeling but the thought of calling attention to himself is only serving to make the sickly feeling even worse. He manages to make it through the meeting without incident and no one seems to have noticed anything was off about him. Some part of him, distantly, wonders if anyone would check on him if they did notice. He squashes the thought before it can fester.

The meeting can’t be over soon enough.  As soon as Spencer stands, his body suddenly feels infinitely heavier. Exhaustion has crept up on him and taken him by surprise. He brews another cup of coffee before they take off in hopes of making himself feel slightly less like a zombie.

The coffee does, in Spencer’s professional opinion, absolutely fuckall. He finds himself drifting off during their second debriefing, trying in vain to fight off sleep but his eyelids feeling heavy regardless. Aaron gives them their assignments for when they land and suggests that Spencer lie down. Spencer opens his mouth to insist he’s fine, he can just make more coffee, but before he can manage any words he’s overtaken by a yawn. Defeated, he retreats to the couch at the back of the plane. He refuses to lie down, insisting he’s not that tired. When he closes his eyes and leans back, it’s just to rest them for a moment.

“-ise and shine, pretty boy, we gotta get movin’,” comes a voice above him, Derek’s. Spencer wakes slowly, scowling up at Derek while he comes back to himself. He’s fully lying down, not sitting up like he remembers, and there’s a pillow under his head and a blanket draped over him. “Come on Reid, don’t make me carry you.”

Spencer sits up, finding he doesn’t actually feel better after his nap; he feels worse, actually, like finally sleeping made him realize how much he still needed to sleep. He reaches a hand up to Derek and he takes it, pulling him off of the couch and onto his feet. He ruffles Spencer’s hair, smiling fondly when he sleepily attempts to bat his hand away. “Let’s get to the hotel, you can snore in my ear all night.”

Derek starts moving and Spencer quickly grabs his bag and follows after him. “I do not snore,” he insists. He hears the older man chuckle in front of him. “I don’t!” It only serves to make Derek laugh harder; he definitely doesn’t mind the teasing, then, if it means he can hear his love’s laugh.

“You do, but only when you’re exhausted,” Derek says. “What’s got you so tired?”

Spencer shrugs and follows him to pick up their luggage. “I’m really not sure, it just snuck up on me. I was fine all day, even earlier tonight,” Spencer flushes a little, despite his exhaustion. “I even had coffee and still almost conked out during the meeting.” Derek hums in acknowledgement, patting him on the back and letting his touch linger, only for a moment, before he turns to head to the waiting SUVs. Spencer sighs, longing for the warmth of his hands on him again, before following after him. The faster they reach the hotel, the sooner he can rest in his arms.

-

Spencer wakes up the next morning still feeling absolutely wiped of energy, despite spending the night snoring in Derek’s ear as predicted. He trudges through the morning, only just alert enough to be coherent but nowhere near his usual self. The trip to the local bar is helpful, at least, and provides some useful insight into the town and its residents.

When Spencer and Derek arrive at the police station, Spencer briefly greets the sheriff before hightailing it to the coffeemaker. This time the coffee does help, if only a little, and soon Spencer can feel the fog lifting from his brain. Within no time he’s back to his usual self, putting his 20,000 words per minute to use going through all of the case files and relaying any useful information back to the team. They hit a stride in their investigation, working for a few hours and making good progress.

Spencer feels his stomach lurch, feels a shiver run up his spine, and he blanches. Oh God, he thinks, please not here, not now. These waves of nausea have come and gone sporadically for the past few weeks, but this is the closest he’s felt to actually throwing up. The thought of it makes him anxious, which in turn makes him more nauseous, which worsens the anxiety, effectively locking him into a hellish negative feedback loop.

He mentally cycles through everything he’s had to eat today to figure out what could possibly be disagreeing with him this strongly. He comes up empty, recalling only the two cups of coffee he had right there in the station.

(He wonders, then, if he should have taken up Derek’s offer and taken a few bites of the granola bar he’d had for breakfast. The train of thought is quickly derailed by his disgust at the thought of biting into someone else’s half eaten food, and it does nothing to quell his nausea.)

Whatever it was, it isn’t sitting well now. Spencer peels off his cardigan in an attempt to stop sweating, but to no avail. His stomach lurches again, dangerously, and he shoots up out of his seat. He barely mumbles out a “Need some air,” to the rest of the team before he bolts out of the police station. He distantly hears a familiar set of footsteps falling in behind him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind until he’s outside. He takes a deep breath of fresh air, one hand cradling his sensitive stomach and the other flapping nervously at his side.

“Everything alright, Spencer?” Derek asks, laying a hand on the small of Spencer’s back. Spencer isn’t facing him but he doesn’t need to to know those thick eyebrows are drawn up in concern, eyes soft in the way they always are when they’re on him. His hand is warm, large, easily spans over his lower back. He’s rubbing a gentle circle and oh- that feels good, Spencer hadn’t even noticed how much his back hurt.

Spencer swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just felt a bit nauseous for a minute there, I didn’t want to puke in the bullpen and those bathrooms…” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “ I’d rather take my chances out here.” He turns and gives Derek a small smile. Derek returns it with a grin of his own and Spencer wishes more than anything they weren’t on duty so he could lean over and kiss him.

“I told you, you should’ve had a bite of breakfast,” Derek says, his grin never fading. “You can’t run on coffee alone, pretty boy, you need actual food.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, laughing despite himself. He turns to fully face Derek, the other man’s hand sliding from his back to loosely hold his hip. “You wanna test that theory?”

“No, I just want you to eat something,” Derek teases. “Maybe your body is trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?”

“That you should stop being so hardheaded,” There’s no bite behind it, and Derek brings the hand on Spencer’s waist up to gently pat his cheek. Spencer instinctively leans into his gentle touch, only barely, before the door to the station slams open behind them. Derek stiffens and rips his hand off of Spencer like he’s been burned and Spencer himself takes an almost comically large step backwards, far enough that he slams into the railing behind him, and shoves his hands into his pockets. Officer Vicky, overenthusiastic and perky and so, so nosey, looks up at them expectantly from the doorway.

“Everythin’ alright out here, agents?” she asks, her voice clipped. Her eyes dart up and down their bodies quickly, trying to catch them out. This isn’t their first time in the bible belt and it won’t be the last; they know how to snap their masks back on quickly, instantly switching back to coworkers whose closeness falls well within plausible deniability. 

“We’re fine, thank you,” Derek says, returning the officer’s plastered on smile with one of his own. “We’ll be back inside in a minute.” Over his shoulder, Spencer presses his lips into a line and gives a small nod.

Officer Vicky takes the hint (for once) and heads back inside. Derek and Spencer sigh in unison, then chuckle a little. 

“You sure you’re alright, sweetness?” Derek asks, once more because he can’t help it.

“I’m fine, really, don’t worry about me. I’ll even try to eat lunch today,” Spencer replies. Seeming satisfied with that answer, Derek relaxes and they head back inside. 

They take their seats at the table, Spencer’s being on the table, and dive back into the case files. “Alright, where were we?”

-

Spencer likes to pride himself on his excellent planning skills. He goes through every step of the operation, analyzes every possibility, tries to think of everything that could possibly go wrong.

He does not, however, consider the possibility of being shot in the neck tonight.

It’s funny, he thinks, how he always knows that someday, something horrible could happen to him on the job. It has, in fact, quite often. Being kidnapped and drugged, watching his girlfriend die in front of him, being infected with anthrax. These things happen; hazards of the job. And yet, every time something does happen to him, he’s blindsided by it.

He’s not thinking any of that, though. He’s not thinking much of anything as he crumples to the ground. Distantly, over a whistling kettle and the gunfire and the ringing in his ears, he hears Derek scream his name. Hands are on him, whose hands, he knows these hands. Before he can identify them, he’s propped up into a sitting position. Everything is blurring together – all the sounds, his vision is dark around the edges. Someone is holding his neck, Alex is there. She’s telling him to keep his eyes open, which is very unfair, because he’s never wanted to close them more in his life. She’s telling Ethan to stay with her… Ethan? That can’t be right, he could’ve sworn his name is Spencer. Who is Ethan? Spencer is cold… and tired…so tired. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he’s staring right into the sun. No… it’s a light. He’s in an ambulance. The sirens…  They remind him of the tea kettle noise he heard earlier.

“What?”

It’s Derek’s voice, coming from his left. Spencer’s hand reaches toward him before his eyes follow. “Do you hear it?” he slurs, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth to form the words. He’s dizzy, and everything is far too loud, and he’s about to close his eyes again when Derek grabs his hand and holds it tight. Spencer squeezes back, weakly, but it eases the concerned crease of Derek’s brow minutely.

“Spe-Reid.” Derek says, catching himself. Last names only while in the field. “Reid, you gotta stay with me, eyes on me-” The EMT says something that catches Derek’s attention, but he quickly redirects it back to Spencer. “That’s good, stay with me.”

Spencer closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he’s in a hospital bed surrounded by figurines and Alex and Penelope are there, making an honest attempt at pretending they haven’t been staring at him.

To say the rest of the night is a whirlwind would be an extreme disservice to the word “whirlwind.” Spencer doesn’t know the probability of being shot twice in one night by two different people, and he could almost definitely calculate it if he wasn’t so tired. He’s been up all night; between being stirred awake for check-ins every hour and the multiple attempted murders, he hasn’t had much of a chance to do more than doze off.

Penelope has stepped out of the room, stating that she needs water and the room still smells like gunpowder and she desperately needs to be where the gunpowder smell is not, leaving Spencer and Derek alone for the first time since that morning.

Spencer shifts over in the bed, motioning for Derek to come join him. The older man lowers the guardrail on his side of the bed and climbs in. Spencer immediately turns to face him, slotting his body up against Derek’s like they’ve done countless times. Derek’s strong arms wrap around him, one hand coming up to stroke Spencer’s hair while the other remains free for Spencer to hold, interlocking their fingers and resting their hands in the space between their chests. They don’t share words, as they often do when they cuddle, but instead opt to silently enjoy each other’s presence. Both men are worn out, exhaustion seeping into their bones, and this little moment between them is enough. The calm quiet, Derek’s warmth, the sound of his heartbeat… it’s enough to nearly allow Spencer to sleep properly.

“Knock knock,” comes a voice from the door, in time with the actual knocks on the glass door. Spencer’s doctor – his real doctor – is standing in the doorway, clipboard in her hand. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you guys, but I need to check in with you after that whole fiasco.” 

Spencer reluctantly pulls away to allow Derek to slip out of the bed and give the doctor room to work. She works quickly, taking his blood pressure and checking his breathing, and as soon as she’s completed her examination she moves out of the way so Derek can take his seat on the bed with Spencer.

“Alright,” she says, thumbing through his chart. “Everything looks good, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” She moves to leave but turns back to Spencer. “Did I have a chance to go over your bloodwork with you after the surgery?”

Spencer shakes his head and Derek glances between him and the doctor, thick eyebrows upturned with concern. “No, you didn’t go over it with me… are my levels abnormal?”

“There’s nothing urgently wrong, aside from your incredibly low iron. Try to get more iron into your diet, you’re in danger of becoming anemic – but that’s not what I wanted to bring up with you.” She switches her attention to Derek, where he’s perched on the end of the bed, looking more anxious by the second. “Are you his partner?” Derek nods, and she turns her attention back to Spencer.

“Doctor Reid, are you aware that you’re pregnant?”

A beat. Another beat. A beat, that’s actually Spencer’s heart coming to a complete stop, scientific improbabilities be damned. “I-” He’s having every possible thought at once, he’s sure of it. “The-” Derek whips his head to look at him, expression unreadable. Spencer’s face is surely cycling through expressions at random, like the five stages of grief in roulette. “I’m…” His heart is pounding in his ears, he’s never felt every emotion at once before and it’s all so much. “Baby?” is what his brain finally settles on as a response. 

Spencer barely processes that he’s moving, slowly sitting up and reaching a hand towards the doctor. “May I see my chart?” He asks, his throat suddenly going dry. She nods and hands him the folder. He flips it open and Derek leans over to read along with him. He quickly gives up, however, because he can’t keep up with Spencer’s speed reading. Spencer’s finger moves across the page, his lips mouthing along with his reading. He soon finds what he’s looking for and freezes.

Pregnancy Test – Positive. 60-62 days [9 weeks]

Spencer blinks at the paper. Blinks again, like what he’s looking at will change. “Nine weeks?” He asks quietly. He’s not sure who exactly he’s talking to. Is he really so disconnected from himself, obsessed with his job, that he didn’t notice anything was off? For over two months?

The doctor nods, keeping her expression neutral in line with their reactions. Spencer hands the folder over to her and she slips it into the pocket at the end of the bed. “I’ll leave you two to discuss this privately. You should be ready for discharge soon, a nurse will come by later with some forms for you.” She leaves, and Spencer barely processes it. His mind had stopped moving the moment he was given the news.

Spencer is distantly aware of Derek reaching out to him, taking his hands in his own. They cling to each other like a lifeline because, in this moment, all they really have is each other. Spencer’s whole body feels numb, and he’s sure his face is reflecting it, but when he looks at Derek… he still can’t tell how he feels. He looks… scared. That look in his eye, a look of fear and uncertainty, it looks out of place on him.

Derek takes a shuddering breath. “What are we–” He’s cut off by his phone ringing, his work ringtone. He sighs, suddenly looking so, so tired, and reluctantly lets go of Spencer’s hands to check it. “It’s JJ… I don’t have to go, I can stay here with you. They’ll be okay without me.”

Spencer opens his mouth to reply and finds nothing comes out, no matter how hard he tries. 

[It’s okay,] he signs. [Go, the team needs you.]

Spencer briefly wonders why, even now, he can’t say “please stay, I need you” just this once. He chooses not to examine it.

Derek sighs, looking down at his still ringing phone. “Alright, pretty boy. I’ll be back soon, I promise. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, after we’ve both had some good rest.” He stands up, leaning over to place a kiss on Spencer’s forehead, then his nose, then his lips. Spencer’s whole body visibly relaxes, and he presses his hand, middle and ring fingers touching his palm and his remaining fingers up, into Derek’s chest. “I love you too,” Derek murmurs against his lips. He pulls away, and Spencer watches his demeanor switch from that of his doting boyfriend back to the FBI agent.

Penelope returns right as Derek is leaving, and Spencer must do a much worse job at hiding the fact that he’s having a crisis, because she is immediately at his side asking him what’s wrong. To be fair, his inability to mask has caused countless uncomfortable situations in his life, but nothing prepared him for the sheer panic that fills his body while trying to come up with a believable lie to tell the only person who always manages to see through his excuses (who simultaneously cannot keep a secret for more than a few hours). Penelope must pick up on his shift in mood, however, because she stops questioning him and takes her seat next to the bed. Spencer crosses his arms over his stomach and curls in on himself, facing away from her. 

Penelope watches Spencer, all furrowed brows and bitten fingernails and nervous energy, and sighs. She knows prying will just agitate him, but she’s getting stressed out just watching him stare into the middle distance and chew on his fingers, not unlike his mother. She’s not sure how to make him feel better, which she hates, because making people feel better is, like, her whole thing.

Maybe more jell-o will help.

[enidtendo64]

I just finished Wednesday today and I'm full on the wenclair ship!!!! so I'm glad to have seen your art just as I'm done lmao. if you read wenclair fics do you have any recommendations?

OOOOH Okay nice nice!!!

I'm so sorry this is so late but I hope you still want some recs, bc I def got some for you! I tried to keep these pretty succinct and not too many bc a lot of these are pretty long reads but these are some of my fav Wenclair fics to read and reread! I made sure to put different types/genres of fics in here too so there's a diverse list of flavors on here! Most will be complete but I'll throw in some WIPs i've been keeping an eye on!

If We Make It Through December by overnights: If you love FLUFF and Enid interacting with the Addams Fam! A wenclair STAPLE tbh, fake dating, Enid being invited to the Addams Mansion, and CHRISTMAS fic all in one! The dynamics between the Addams and Enid are always sweet, and Wednesday and Enid just teeter on that close friendship to oh, maybe it's love??? thing and it's so sweet to see. It's just very lovely and wholesome! A great execution of that 'fake dating but oops you were in love all along haha' trope!

Magus et Lupus by wigglewyrms: Ok like I had to rep one of my pals in here but in my defense this is genuinely so good and one of my favorite wenclair fics before we even became friends! It's a fun fantasy Wenclair with dialogue that's just so fun and snappy and witty! You're gonna have fun reading their conversations and then you're gonna get caught up into the world and the story! The plot is very fun and the end is a very fun payoff! I think I might have overused the word fun a lot for this fic but like that's just what this fic is--It's entertaining, it's engaging, and it makes you feel like you're having fun reading wanting to know what's next or what's this person gonna say or etc. It's a fic you read and you feel good! 100% Recommend! I even drew art for it if you're interested (which I should honestly repost on here soon)

I'd recommend their other stuff too-- Stubborn, Single Minded, and Obsessive is great if you like the slasher horror genre with a dash of Addams Family Values Lore, and their most recent one that's a WIP, When The Moon Shines Red is a very fun fic focused on Enid's werewolfisms but dangerous, with a very sweet friendship to relationship evolution between Enid and Wednesday!

i know the end by thriftedstars: If you're an angst lover like I am, you're gonna LOOOOVE this! A sort of groundhog's day type of fic, it focuses on the day of the last episode of the first season--Enid, Wednesday, Tyler, Crackstone, all that entails in that night. It's a really fun read just to know what happens next and how Enid gets out of the situation but also to see the girls' relationship grow in this terrible situation. Lots of emotion! Listen sometimes you just need the hurt for the ending to be sweeter! Recommend wholeheartedly!

curtain call by hanjisgirlfriend: on the complete opposite side of the last fic, Curtain Call is an enemies to friends to lovers Wenclair that does an amazing job of capturing that kind of high school love story kind of vibe but like also a dash of youthful nostalgia. It gives me the same vibe of like, if I was listening to the Kids album by Mac Miller--They're kids and they're friends and they're growing up and they're growing up together. I HIGHLY recommend as well, like it genuinely makes my heart lighter thinking about how sweet this is.

raven in the den, wolf in the nest by Barbara_Lazuli: So you might be familiar with the author's name--Artist, Comic maker, Writer, literally what CAN'T she do!!! This fic is another fake dating fic but a different flavor from the first one! This one really dives into both Enid and Wednesday's relationships with their mothers, as well as the building feelings they already have for each other. Their bond in this fic is nothing short of sweet and heartwarming, and I genuinely think this is one of the best fics in the tag! Just got so much substance! Also all the Addams family media references and the Loona refs-- like Barb if you read this you're a champ for making Wednesday play Sonatine and also listen to Hula Hoop and just for making this in general????? Seriously how are you so talented bro

queen of the night by heyfools: Look, a flower shop AU hits okay? And this? THIS HITS. Wednesday is an owner of a flower shop, Enid needs a job, and we know where this is going. But man the way you get to know both characters a little more--their histories, traumas, likes and dislikes and their personalities beyond "appropriately polite cowoke" (well, polite for Enid, not so much Wednesday at first) it's soooooo good! You have a journey along with the characters and you really get invested in their relationship! A great read, especially if you wanna read something like in the afternoon light with a nice lemonade maybe, or like just a very relaxing fun read!

Forged in Blood by RiseAboveTheAshes_203: Okay so this one is a HEAVY HITTER! We're getting into the big bois! It's a 100k fic about Wednesday and Enid basically dealing with the consequences of Enid becoming a blood wolf-- and bro you are seated, belted, strapped into the ride every step because PHEWWWW what a RIDE! It has really interesting lore building upon werewolf society in the show and also witchery and magic from the Addams family. And all of that is great and amazing but the real star of this is just Wednesday and Enid being Wednesday and Enid--they are DEVOTED to each other! Even if they don't quite understand the full means of it yet, and if it gets them in trouble sometimes. It's amazing to see their relationship grow and them understand what they truly mean to one another and it's a captivating love story that also happens to have fun world building for the show and amazing moments that just leave you so tense to know what happens next! I was so tuned in when this was still a WIP I remember refreshing the tag every lunch time for a while for a chapter I was HOOKED, and I'm sure you will be too!

A Kidnapping By Any Other Name by Ravenmoon33: So bear with me this is gonna be a long one; Ok! So this is the other WIP I've put in here (aside from When The Moon Shines Red) and let me tell you--this fic changed my life fr. Some TLDR lore about it tho--the version I linked above there is a revised version! They have an old version they still have up on their account and honestly I also HIGHLY recommend that version too bc it had me in bed giggling kicking my feet like ROMANCE. ROMANCE WAS MADE in these ao3 walls!!! (The flower scene???? No spoilers if you know you know but OOOOOOOOGGHHHH I would not shut up about it for WEEKS Im so sorry to my friends and my poor gf) but I also highly recommend the new version as well! If you've read the first version and are keeping up with the new version, the new things are also so good and you can tell the author is so locked in and excited with what they've added and what they've changed, I honestly recommend both;

So onto what it's actually about-- Enid is "kidnapped" by Wednesday and is "forced" to stay at her best friend's mansion for the summer. And you know what happens? LORE. So much worldbuilding on Addams family lore like it's AMAZING!!! You read about new characters the family past and what it means for Wednesday and Enid, and if that's not enough, there's also the MYSTERY aspect too because Weds and Enid will have to deep dive into that lore to figure out a problem in the present and it's so much FUN to like try to figure out how things go together! I love that aspect of both the versions so much that it's only rivaled by my immense love of how everyone's relationships are written! Enid's relationships with the other members of the Addams fam, especially Morticia, is so healing and heartwarming, and we see Wednesday's different dynamics with her family and how Enid affects her and helps her grow and you see those relationships with her family members grow because of it! And of course, the obvious, Wednesday and Enid basically having a love story for the ages cause JESUS, this is ROMANCE. Wednesday BIG FUCKING ROMANTIC Addams!!! It's amazing omg I wanna say more but I also don't bc I don't wanna spoil but I absolutely cannot rec it enough, even if it stays unfinished it will still be genuinely one of the best wenclair fics for me.

Tumultuous Waters: Wednesday Season Two by KrackenoftheDeep: So we're here at the last one. I didn't really list these fics out in specific order but I did save this specific one for last bc I genuinely think this is my favorite Wednesday fic. This is like a full ass season 2! It's a telling of how season 2 could happen, continuing from season 1 and picking up the ball the first season threw with stuff about the Morning Song cult, a deeper dive of Crackstone and Goody, more worldbuilding about the outcasts and the school, and best of all-- THE Wednesday and Enid dynamic that to me would be so fucking ideal for season 2 if Timothy Burton wasn't a COWARRD!!! /j /maybe

The growth Enid and Wednesday have in this fic, along with the exploration of the other characters, more investigations not just by Wednesday but also the other nightshade members helping and getting involved as well! You really get to feel so many things for these characters, and all of that pays off in one of the most satisfying endings for me in a fic like the author really fucking knocked this out of the park I felt like giving a standing ovation!

I genuinely don't think the Wednesday writers could like, live up to this. At least for me, it's that good. This is everything I've ever wanted for a Wednesday s2 honestly and I honestly, HONESTLY could not recommend this enough.

And after you read this, you can follow along the author's sequel to this fic, The Infinite Black Sea: Wednesday Season 3. Again, also highly recommend! A new mystery afoot!!!

I'm so sorry I didn't expect this to get super long but sometimes you just gotta give tens where tens are deserved!!! There are so many more great wenclair fics out there that deserve a reading and loving, like I know the tag can look a little scary sometimes but seriously there's some great gems there underneath all the scary stuff lol

These are just some of my personal favs, and honestly thank you to all the authors here yall are doing God's work fr!!!

[baurbiediv]

it kills me

pairing → joe burrow x reader

warnings → swearing, accused cheating, joe being a bootyhole

synopsis → you’ve given up almost everything to love & be with joe, and when you have given him an ultimatum, one of you isn’t willing to give up the other one. but is this everything that you wanted?

authors note → surprise surprise! new series based off the lovely song by melanie fiona, it’s been stuck in my head nonstop for the past few days + since there’s no school/classes for me tomorrow i’ll do my absolute best to get my wip’s done and published!!

additional notes → not proofread, y’all know i can’t spell fr

-

you knew how passionate joe was for football the minute you saw him step onto the field to play for lsu.

there was a fire that burned inside of him so very brightly, and he wanted people to see that for themselves. joe was very grateful to have met you throughout the duration of his time attending lsu.

you two couldn’t have met in the most cliché way possible though, you’d taken a position as an athletic trainer out on the field along with your best friend & roomate, eden.

you’d gotten close with everyone, and even players on the team, but you’d caught the attention of a certain player, none other than the infamous star quarterback, joe burrow.

now, initially, you’d never really paid that much attention to him because you wanted to focus on yourself and what your path would be after college. but obviously some people would only experience college once in their entire lifetime, and of course you needed to make the most of it.

but of course, joe pursued you and he continued to take interest in you little by little. whether it was him purposely going out of his way to take a longer route to his classes, or ‘accidentally’ bumping into you at some random college party being held during the weekends.

it just so happened that tonight would be one of those nights where you miraculously bumped into each other at a party. eden had begged you constantly throughout the week to come join her at this party, and to which you finally complied.

eden stood in the bathroom doorway leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and the biggest smile plastered across her face, “you know y/n you’re very easy to convince.”

the only thing that you could do was purse your lips together and look at her with blank eyes. “so ignoring that lie, do you really want me to go to this party or are you trying to get with ja’marr? cause i mean i can make it happen-“, before you could say another word she screamed and disappeared into the bathroom before you could say another word.

“exactly.”

-

you wouldn’t admit this, but you purposely got ready an additional two hours before you initially had to leave. obviously eden noticed this but she wouldn’t say anything.

and so when the time came you two were out the door. hopping into the car and on your way, eden started giggling in the drivers seat. you didn’t pay any attention to her as you were occupied with fixing your lip gloss on the overhead mirror.

“y/n, i noticed you getting you ready way before we needed to leave, someone you seeing there?” she said nudging your arm, keeping your focus on the mirror.

you didn’t even look in her direction, “i don’t know what you’re talking about e, i’m just going to look good, feel good, and have the time of my college life.” you said, knowing you were lying out of your ass.

eden playfully rolled her eyes, “y/n, you know damn well i know you better than anyone else, plus that lie was literally horrible.” you sighed before closing the overhead mirror and you looked over at eden before admitting, “okay, i literally have not been able to stop thinking about joe for the longest time and i know it’s stupid because he could probably be fucking with me but i do like joe and i don’t know if he feels the same and ..”

eden squealed loudly and clapped her hands together enthusiastically before placing them back on the steering wheel. you looked at her with a ‘huh’ kind of face, “y/n you made it so obvious, any time you two get around each other, you both get all googly eyed” she said.

now that she said that, it didn’t take you long to realize that she was right, undeniably joe was charming, you knew he took an interest in you but you didn’t want to be heartbroken by his typical quarterback antics.

you wanted to believe that he was a different guy from the rest of them. “i know, i just don’t want to be hurt, i should trust him though, he does seem like a really sweet guy though.” you sighed, before you knew it eden parked the car a few houses down from the actual house.

she turned in her seat and looked at you, “look y/n you know i love you and i’m going to always give you the honest truth always, go for it. you i’ve never seen anyone chase for you as bad as he does,” you smiled as you both laughed at that, “and hell, even if you two actually do hit it off, who knows where you’ll be foe the next couple of years? and if you don’t hit off, fuck it, you’re hot as fuck and you know that.”

she smiled at you brightly as you hugged her tightly. “thank you e, i love you.” she patted your back and pulled away from you, “you know i got you, i’d never have you looking crazy out here anyway.” you both laughed again.

-

walking up to the front lawn, there were bodies that lingered around the porch and some that sat on the grass. you were walking side by side with eden when you heard ‘my shit’ by a boogie blaring from inside the house, you both quickly made your way into the house trying to find the center of the music.

time was passing by, you were smiling from ear to ear already enjoying yourself singing along to your favorite song with your best friend.

and shortly after you two found yourselves in the kitchen enjoying the array of different vodkas & tequilas, when suddenly people started scream and hold their phones out. being the two goofy people you were, you peeked your heads out the kitchen walk way like it was kind of cartoon or sitcom.

trying to see between the amount of people, low and behold, there they were, joe burrow & ja’marr chase, two of the most promising players that were to ever step onto the lash football field. both you and eden grinned excitedly at each other before taking your places back at the kitchen island.

you two couldn’t seem to keep your excitement and giggles down to the slight buzz of the alcohol but it was nothing that you couldn’t handle. after what seemed to be hours when in actuality it had been about 10 minutes, joe & ja’marr had walked into the kitchen, obviously you and eden hadn’t noticed due to you two having your backs turned to each other.

“is that my girl eden?” ja’marr said which caused the both of you to jump slightly and turn around. eden’s face lit up as she quickly made her way to hug ja’marr.

you smiled at the both of them, you knew she had a huge thing for him but you never knew if they actually took it to the next step. you took this as the time to just make your move, at this point it was now or never. “hi joe.” you said as joe’s face lit up, “hey y/n.” he opened up his arms and you took this chance to walk over to him and hugged him. at that moment your head was spinning and you couldn’t pinpoint where your mind was in that exact moment.

when joe’s arms wrapped back around you, you felt your entire body relax into his touch. the way he felt, the way he smelled was more intoxicating than the alcohol you consumed which made your head spin.

you looked over and say eden silently cheering you on. you winked at her and smiled. after a while you pulled away from joe as eden did the same with ja’marr. you looked at eden, she had look of brewing up an idea.

“ja’marr what is she thinking?” joe said before bringing his red solo cup to his lips,

“you’re asking the wrong person, you should be asking her!” ja’marr said as he pointed to you while laughing.

quickly, you held up your hands in defense. “let’s play cup pong! since you guys don’t have a game this weekend, all limits are off! loser has to skinny dip and jump into the pool.”

“i’m in.” you said giggling while grabbing the cups and setting them up. unbeknownst, joe was watching your every move, your skin glowed (complimentary of the fenty body glitter) in the dimly light kitchen.

few people had passed through the kitchen but didn’t care to acknowledge the four of you, which you mentally thanked. you poured the small amounts of tequila into the cups and downed the minuscule amount that was left.

it was you & eden on one team then joe and ja’marr on the other. “who starts first?” joe said as she placed his hands onto the kitchen island.

damn he looked good.

“we’ll go first!” eden said as she quickly grabbed the small neon purple ball, she bounced the ball onto the table and watched it land in the cup on the other side.

you noticed ja’marr sending small glances at eden, but she was too oblivious and made it her sole mission to win this game of cup pong. but you occasionally noticed joe sending you glances as well, too flustered to do anything you quickly looked away to avoid any eye contact feeling as though you’d just pass out from nervous he made you.

joe was very aware of how he made you feel, and he was determined to make you his. minutes passed by, eden had managed to completely demolish them by leaving only two cups left.

“man you guys actually suck.” you said laughing.

“i’m used to throwing long distance, not short distance.” joe said with a look of fake hurt on his face as he dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

you shook your head laughing as eden handed you the small ping pong balls, “y/n don’t mess this up!” she teased, “eden, they literally have 6 cups left to our 2, i don’t think we’re losing this game any time soon.”

-

“alright! time to skinny dip! chop chop!”

eden said clapping her hands. ja’marr playfully rolled his eyes, “do we actually have to?” he said before taking his shirt off. “you ask that while taking your shirt off, so yes, you answered your own question.” joe sighed as he took off his shirt.

you laughed as joe handed you the rest of his clothes along with ja’marr handing his to eden. joe took his glasses off and placed them on your head, “don’t need these getting damaged.” he said before diving head first into the pool.

man were you enjoying life right now.

-

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[aristocratic-otter]

Welp, I wasn't going to post today...but then I realized that the final chapter of Heart in the Well will go up before Sunday, and that'll render the excerpt I carefully picked out obsolete by then. So I scrambled to pick bits from my other stories just so I could post this one excerpt. Go me!

The good news about Heart being done? I've got a new WIP plotted out that I'm super excited about, but I wouldn't let myself write anything until one of my WIPs finished. So next week or the week after, you should see the first words from that fic, a very very angsty Watford era canon divergence.

In the mean time, thank you to : @monbons, @messofthejess, @rimeswithpurple, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @best--dress,

@nausikaaa, @youarenevertooold, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @artsyunderstudy, @j-nipper-95, and

@facewithoutheart for the tags over the last two weeks. I'm having so much fun reading and watching your stories and art. This is such an incredibly talented fandom, it's endlessly inspiring. Plus, I get to meet some of you soon when I see Rainbow in August!

Here's my teasers for this week:

Here’s one from each of my official WIPs

From Saving Simon Snow: 

I shake my head now, thinking about it. I’ll just have to keep close to Simon, or at least, as close as he’ll allow me. At least my vampire anatomy gives me an advantage there; I can listen to what’s happening with Simon from three rooms away (I won’t, unless it’s a matter of his safety. It’s a gross invasion of his privacy otherwise) (fortunately, I had to learn to tune out the chatter of my peers by my 2nd year at Watford, or I would have gone mad). 

From the Heart in the Well

He looks back at me and then frowns. “Well, come on then,” he says, impatiently. 

“Come on, what?” I say, exasperated. The water’s up to my breastbone now, and I’m starting to feel a little panicky, so my voice comes out higher pitched than I’d like. 

Now, he rolls his eyes. “I need your tie,” he says as if it were obvious. It was not obvious. “Take it off, please.” At that, I shiver a little. I never thought there’d be a day where Simon Snow would be telling me to take off my clothes.

From Snow Fox: Penny, learning you can’t go home again (especially if you’ve signed on with the Snow Fox)

I step onto the road and walk briskly towards the house I grew up in. I can tell when I’ve been noticed. Several heads swivel my direction, and the murmur of conversation in the camp ceases. I keep on as if I haven’t noticed however. As I draw closer, I nod distractedly at some of the boys nearer to my path. They don't nod back. They’re watching me with narrowed eyes and I shudder internally. What do they see when they look at me?

From TikTok Dancer: Quite a bit racier than what I usually post, but still Tumblr legal, I think

Years from now, if I, for some odd reason, try to explain how my first time having sex felt, I won’t be able to. There’s no describing it.  I’m planning to get a degree in words, for fuck’s sake, but right now, all language has left me, sailed back to England probably. I’m left with caveman grunts and desperate whines. Every particle of sensation in my body has gathered between my legs, and every atom of will I have left is devoted to an attempt to meld my body with his. I’ve almost succeeded–we’re nearly one creature now, moving in frantic, panting unison. 

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

I know he’s been looking for me. I know he’s probably forgiven my great sin. He shouldn’t. Forgiveness requires that the person who receives it is contrite, is sorry for what they’ve done. 

I’m not sorry. I’d do it again today, if the circumstances were the same. 

Even being estranged from the only person in this world that I care about is still better than the permanent separation that would result if we were rescued. 

I believe that we’ll be friends again someday. Some day when the pain in my chest and stomach have dulled. And that day is worth waiting for.

From Cupid’s Shield:

I’m left gaping at where he just stood. It’s suddenly clear to me how much of his vampire abilities Baz has been hiding, because I was looking right at him. 

I never saw him move. 

All I know is suddenly he’s above me, and my arms are above my head and prisoned to the bed by his hands clamped around my wrists. I’m so stunned that I don’t even struggle. 

His knees are on either side of my hips, and he’s staring down at me like I’m his next meal. 

From my COBB project:

I know I should be worrying over tomorrow, and what my team will face out there. And I will be worrying over that—tomorrow. Tonight, I’m far more worried about the hours ahead. Hours of, once again, sharing a room with the only man I’ve ever loved. A man who’s never looked at me as anything other than a posh prick. 

That’s my fault, of course. It could have been different, all those years ago, when we first met at Watford Uni. I was excited, back then, to meet my roommate. Excited, and nervous. I freely admit I’ve had a privileged upbringing, and this would be the first time I’d ever shared a room. 

My childhood was mostly lonely, so I didn’t mind the idea. I’d thought it’d be nice to always have someone nearby to talk to. 

Of course, everyone knows how that turned out.

As others have said recently, please let me know if you no longer want to be tagged and I'll take you off of my tag list. Unless I hear otherwise, I assume you're like me, and like to hear from people even if you're not feeling like sharing yourself.

Tags and cheers to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed,

@frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash,

@moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee,

@tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix,

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@noblecorgi, @hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @mooncello,

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