#it doesn’t even have to be on purpose either

[the-original-skipps]

|| Yandere?Pirate!Aventurine x Captive!Reader Headcanons || Honkai Star Rail ||

ya'll how could I resist writing about this gorgeous man? ask box is open for simping for this man. also this isn’t rainbows and sunshine so I ask you to proceed with caution if not scroll away

CW: violence. evil doings (they’re pirates obv). slight sexual content. mentions of forced capivity. slight mentions of starvation. major yandereness.

pirate!aventurine who caught you trying to stow away on his ship. When he caught you, you thought he would have you killed but what he did next surprised you. He proposed a gamble for you to aim a gun towards him and if you managed to hit him, you'd go free and get his riches as a bonus. However, if you miss you'd become his servant. You thought he was insane because if he gets hit, he'd die. However, he did not give you much of a choice to refuse as he'd have you killed if you did.

pirate!aventurine who managed to win the gamble as the gun you fired missed its mark. You were reluctant but you tried your best to win, it was either him or you after all. Regardless, despite your denial, you lost fair and square - from then on you were his captive servant. 

pirate!aventurine who as soon as he won you, makes you wear a beautiful jeweled necklace resembling the colors of his eyes. As a symbol of ownership. Going as far to order you to never try to hide it or take it off. When in thought he tends to unconsciously play with the jewels, smiling to himself.

pirate!aventurine orders you to personally bring his food everyday - breakfast, lunch and dinner. On some days he's feeling playful - he'd force you to feed him. Always making sure to have you take the first bite in case you tried to poison him. He would even purposely deny you food on some days until you have no choice but to accept him feeding you.

pirate!aventurine has you sit on his lap while he works. Whether it be finding his next treasure location, a new town to raid and so on. He'd always have you on his lap, despite your deep reluctance and annoyance. Aventurine would have his arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he reads or goes through any documents. He'd even ask for your opinion at times. Though when he's feeling mischievous, he'd let his hand rest on your thigh. Slowly hiking your dress up as he delights in your shivers as his hand caresses your bare skin - higher and higher.

pirate!aventurine who always has you follow him around as he attends to his duties on the ship. He constantly looks behind to make sure you're actually following and that you're not a step behind. He also likes to have a hand on your waist making you stand beside him as he talks to his crew. He likes showing you off to his crew - though make no mistake if they even eye you with the slightest hint of hunger. He'll make them wish they still had eyes.

pirate!aventurine likes to dress you up in the finest clothes. Since you refuse to wear dresses he stole from raiding a town, he opts to buy them instead. With his vast amount of riches, he has no trouble buying you multiple fancy dresses for you to wear. All in which he personally picks out. Forcing you to model each and every one of them - as he sits on his throne with a cup of wine in his hand. His eyes are feasting on your figure, especially where your skin is visible.

pirate!aventurine who likes to tease and rile you up because it's amusing to him. He’d even purposely leave a knife out in the open hoping you’d be brave enough to try and stab him. Which always fails as he easily subdues you, he just wants an excuse to punish you. Though he doesn’t dislike your resistance, makes it all the more fun for him to break you.

pirate!aventurine who forces you to watch him as he gets intimate with another woman or man. He deliberately looks your way to gauge your reaction, to see whether you feel disgusted or possibly even aroused. He could force you, but he much prefers to make you come to him on your own. He has all the time in the world, eventually you’d cave.

pirate!aventurine brings you around town when the ship docks. He knows you’re sick of being on the ship all the time. He likes to take you to hit up the town’s tavern for a good gamble. He’ll have you sitting on his laps as usual all dolled up, almost as an accessory to him. Not afraid to make you the prize to his opponents to up the stakes. He delights in the pleasure of seeing you panic, secretly hoping you’d cheer him on. However, try as they might they wouldn’t be able to win - he’ll make sure of it.

pirate!aventurine lets you roam the ship as you please. He doesn’t restrain you with chains and shackles. The countless eyes on this ship are already watching your every move. You’re free to entertain the idea of escaping, he welcomes it even. Because, ultimately he knows you’d never be able to escape even if you tried. 

“I gave you a chance at freedom, yet you blew it away! So don’t think I’m forcing you, you willingly agreed to this gamble yourself. So uphold your end of the bargain.”

lemme know if you guys want more!

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

BRING TO BOIL

coworker!leon x reader

tags: mention of child abuse (non-explicit), semi-nsfw. i be thinking about subleon ngl

Leon hasn’t heard a word of this meeting. Virus this, real life supervillain that, blah, blah, blah. Proper noun, adjective, verb—none of it means a damn thing when you’re standing across from him, looking vaguely irritated in your little black dress.

God, what were you doing? Were you in a club? Were you with friends? He hopes you were. What else is the purpose of a dress that could bring a man to his knees?

That’s Leon’s favorite place to be, on his knees in front of a beautiful woman. He doesn’t even have to be doing anything, either, he could be happy just having his head pet by said beautiful woman.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he notices he’d been staring at the freckle on your left tit for a bit too long, clearing his throat quietly and looking away. He looks back over when you shift a little, the sequins on your dress shimmering in the fluorescents.

When there’s a sufficient pause in the briefing, you raise your hand like you’re a schoolgirl again. “Excuse me?”

Leon wishes that hand of yours was on him, preferably on his back as you scratch him up.

“Is it necessary that I’m here? It’s my day off.” You continue, the hand holding your clipboard of the meeting minutes crossing your body to land on the opposite hip, then folding your arms.

You’re leveled with an unimpressed glance over Hunnigan’s glasses. “Yes.” She says shortly, continuing with the briefing.

Leon watches your jaw flex as you hold back some sort of snarky remark, visibly making an effort to calm yourself down despite the way you’re simmering with the way you measure your breaths in and out.

It’s easy for him to tell when you’re pissed off, you’re too expressive for your own good.

The meeting draws to a close and he flips over the notes to get the gist of it—exactly as he bet earlier—before handing his clipboard to Hunnigan’s assistant and letting you wave him and everyone else out before you, chalking it up to self-consciousness.

He’s less than a foot away from the door and into the hallway when you hurl your clipboard against the wall as hard as you can.

You throw the clipboard the way you throw a punch, shifting your weight in your hips and shoulders. “Fuck!” Papers flutter to the floor as he watches the board bounce off the wall and land with a quiet thud on the linoleum, pink plastic splintered in the middle.

You stand there in silence, chest heaving and fists balled up.

Leon turns around because he could never resist a woman who could kick his ass, chalk it up to mommy being a little heavy handed in her discipline. Well, that, and he’s never seen you so pissed off.

While he can read your face like a book, you also tend to swallow your pride and any emotion in favor of focusing on the mission. Eventually, you calm down, you’ve just gotta steam about it.

He leans against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “‘S this about your day off being interrupted?”

Eyes up, Kennedy.

He watches you push a hand through your hair, hands shaking minutely with the adrenaline rush.

“Yeah.” And he can see you rearing up for a fight, as if he’s about to taunt you for being a very stupid little girl to be so upset about a day off being interrupted.

Leon holds his hands up, taking a step in. “I get it. This exact thing has happened to me more times than I can count.”

Somehow, this seems to placate you. He watches you clean up the papers, crouched down on the floor in your heels. When something’s too far out of reach, you kneel and reach out for them and he has to swallow.

“I feel like the maid.” You grumble, standing up and straightening the papers haphazardly before clipping them against the board again. “Can the world just not implode for one day?”

Leon snorts and you mistake it for him laughing at you, head snapping up and eyes narrowed.

“Hey, easy.” He speaks to you the way one does an angry tiger, taking a few more steps into the room to be by your side. Moth, meet flame. “I’m right there with you. Next time I go on vacation, I’m leaving my work phone here and not telling anyone.”

Your shoulders droop. “I should’ve done that.” You sulk, mouth twisting to the side.

“Yeah, well, now you know.” Leon muses, gently taking the abused clipboard from you and taking care not to look you in the tits instead of in the eye.

He sets a gentle hand on your shoulder, leading you out of the meeting room. “Maybe you should get changed.” He says carefully, his hand having migrated down to between your shoulder blades.

Then, an idea occurs to him, a small smile appearing on his face as he says casually, “Not that I’m not thankful for the view or anything, but—“

“Leon!” You swipe at his arm and he has to fight a lovesick giggle. Mission accomplished, your mind’s off your disrupted day off and he has your hands on him.

Leon has to stifle a piteous sigh when he sees you again, this time in a leather jacket and jeans. On one hand, he’s grateful you’re not torturing him anymore. On the other, he’s never gonna be able to get that view out of his head. On the other other hand, you walk around looking like that, no matter what you wear.

He’s between a rock and a hard place, except he’s the rock and the hard place.

The helicopter ride is always bumpy to wherever you’re dropped off. At least it’s somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere this time, Leon’s full from his previous, more exotic missions.

You fold your arms around yourself once you’re off the helicopter, looking around with a frown on your face.

Leon chuckles quietly, pushing a comm into his ear and threading it over the shell. When you have trouble, he reaches over and helps you pull it on. “You’re still mad about being called in on your day off?”

You grumble, holding your hair out of the way for him. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Oh, of course.” He threads the cord around your ear, making sure it’s snug and coming to your side, keeping the wire pressed to your skin with his fingertips. “I think that once we have something to fight, you’ll quit brooding so much.”

“I don’t brood.” You huff, stuffing the comm thread down your shirt.

Leon looks away to preserve your dignity.

“That’s more you, in any case.”

Leon smiles, jamming his hands into his pockets. “That may be true.”

You sigh, pulling your hair up. Leon imagines tracing the slope of your neck with his nose, mouth watering at the thought. “Let’s go, I wanna be able to go home and brood in peace, sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You’ll never know the kick he gets out of being able to say that to you.

Real-life supervillain and cronies gone, you can focus on information. He was right, you look a lot lighter when you’ve had the chance to beat the shit out of something and kill it dead. You walk with a little spring in your step, now, and he so dearly wants to sweep you into his arms.

He refrains, but watches you hunch over a table and break into the mainframe of this little facility for a moment. He needs to write a cease and desist for your jeans, God. While you do that, he scopes out the rest of it, his hand on the gun at his hip with a flashlight in the other hand.

Pause, glance, listen down one side, then the other. Too quiet, it shouldn’t be this quiet. If Raccoon City taught him anything, if something’s quiet, something’s wrong.

Pause, glance, listen down another side. Leon wanders down the hall slowly, senses primed for whatever jumps out at him.

He gets his wish, tackled from the front by some abomination of nature and hitting his head on the linoleum on the way down. When it spits stomach acid at him, he dodges with a sluggish grunt, trying to shake it off and get out from under it.

At least he isn’t being choked.

Still, Leon can’t grab his gun or knock the thing silly, he’s not even sure this thing has a brain he can concuss. It’s almost sad that this thing and him are about equal in strength, maybe he should hit the gym.

Leon’s saved when you put two holes in the thing’s head. Unfortunately, it looks up and bares its teeth at you, getting up from straddling him as some drool lands on his face.

You empty the chamber into it with fear rapidly appearing on your face. He knows that look, he’s felt it more than once. Leon spots the fire axe on the wall and gets to his feet, breaking the glass with the butt of his gun and yanking it out.

He cleaves the abomination in half, splattering him and you in blood. “Are you okay?” He huffs, hauling the axe out of its shoulder and tossing it aside with a metallic clatter.

You nod, wiping some of the blood off your face. He wonders if you can hear after using a gun without ear protection, but that’ll be catalogued later, when you’re both home.

Leon registers the burning on his face a moment later, wiping fervently at his skin and wiping it off on his jeans.

“I can’t believe this.” He mutters, not even bothering to worry about his shirt rapidly succumbing to the acidic blood. You glance down, eyes wandering to the spots of skin you can see. “You get called in on your day off and I almost die because this thing is acidic.”

“Was.” You mutter back, putting your empty gun in the holster. Good, you’re still in good spirits. “Maybe I should be asking if you are okay.”

“I’ll be fine.” He’s a little woozy from hitting his head, but he’s a big boy, he’ll live. He might not if you check him over, only thing you’d be missing is a sexy nurse outfit.

“Good.” You hold up a thumb drive. “I got what we needed.”

“Good.” Leon takes your hand and pulls you out of the facility—but he’s maybe not the best man for navigation right now. You swiftly change roles with him, leading the two of you out of the facility and to the rendezvous point.

When you’re finally back at HQ being checked over, he slides a page over to you, his number messily scrawled on it. “Next time you’re wearing a dress like that, call me.” He murmurs, eyes half-shut, “Almost brought me to my knees.”

Chalk it up to the concussion.

[myrtlebranch1019]

Why Davrin is my favourite companion in DA:TV.

With characters like Neve and Emmrich in the game—both of whom are well-written and fall under my favorite character archetypes—it was surprising to find Davrin climbing into the number one spot on my list. For starters, I’ve never been particularly invested in the Grey Warden storyline outside of Origins and my Hero of Ferelden. I don’t typically gravitate toward Grey Warden romances either. All things considered, I would’ve expected Davrin to rank lower for me, certainly not first. But I always try to keep an open mind about characters, even if I’m not initially drawn to their subplots. Surprisingly, not only did Davrin become my favorite, but the Grey Wardens turned out to be the only faction whose writing I genuinely enjoyed.

Why Davrin stood out to me

Let’s start with what made me connect with Davrin specifically, because at the end of the day, preference is deeply subjective, and relatability is often a key factor. Nonetheless, I do feel Davrin's writing doesn’t get enough credit for how realistic his arc is. Everything we learn about his past points to him being the classic "small-town misfit" (in his case, a Dalish clan misfit) who wanted to break free of his bubble. Growing up, I had a similar mindset. I believed there had to be more to life than seeing the same faces, hearing the same perspectives, and following the same predetermined path.

In one conversation, Davrin mentions how his clan felt rejected by his decision to leave. That resonated with me, but what struck me more was the subtlety in how this rejection was portrayed. In my experience, the person who leaves often carries the weight of perceived rejection far longer than the community they leave behind, which typically moves on. This nuance was reflected in Davrin’s journey—how that sense of rejection motivated him to pursue his path without looking back. It’s a mix of choice and pride, and it’s telling that he only becomes eager to reconnect with his clan near the end of the game, after he’s accomplished what he wanted.

Then there’s the moment of failure that every person faces when they leave behind everything they know—when the unknown turns out to be far more brutal than anticipated. Davrin doesn’t shy away from this, admitting that he ��got his ass kicked” and went broke. That particular conversation during his first personal quest hit close to home for me. As a Dalish elf, Davrin likely faced additional obstacles, such as the pervasive discrimination elves endure in this universe. His banter with Bellara (easily missed but incredibly insightful) sheds light on those early days of hardship: how he came to appreciate the things he’d once taken for granted, how he desperately sought purpose to make all his struggles worthwhile.

What I appreciated most was how realistic and difficult his journey felt. He didn’t simply leave his clan and immediately flourish; he had to mold himself into who he wanted to be, enduring setbacks and moments of doubt along the way. Leaving wasn’t painted as an objectively good or bad decision—it was a necessary step for his self-discovery. It also wasn’t framed as a critique of Dalish culture, which I found refreshing given BioWare’s frequent criticism of the Dalish. Davrin wasn’t used as a narrative tool to disparage their way of life; instead, his story highlights that he didn’t fit in and needed to explore a different path. Which is why he is the perfect character to decide the future of the Griffons, whether they will follow tradition or the road less travelled. (By the way, I felt the moment lost its impact when the final decision was left to Rook. I firmly believe that Davrin should have been the one to make the ultimate choice, with the outcome influenced by prior conversations.)

Additionally, while the stoic warrior archetype isn’t typically my cup of tea. (For example, while Blackwall is a complex and well-written character, I never really connected with him). With Davrin, I enjoyed that the stoicism is tempered by his snarky sense of humor, boldness, fiery passion and a softer, nurturing side that emerges in his relationship with Assan. Beneath these layers, there are moments in the game when his dialogue hints at deeper fears and vulnerabilities. His line about Wardens having an “expiration date” stood out to me, overall, the post-Weisshaupt conversation is a fascinating moment that deserves more attention. While the game resolves it quickly, there’s something poignant about how Davrin’s overwhelming need to belong and have a purpose makes him the quintessential "army dreamer." This aspect of his character—the drive to prove himself and tie his self-worth to a cause and subsequently an accomplishment is subtle and easy to miss beneath the more heroic motivation to protect others, but it’s still there.

For the Adventurous Misfits

I could write much more about Davrin (and probably will in future posts), but ultimately, he’s my favorite because he represents the adventurous misfits. He’s for the ones who leave their safety bubble only to get brutally punched in the face by life. For those who tie their self-worth to their achievements and set impossible standards for themselves. Anyone who tries to avoid caring, because they’re only capable of caring too much. And lastly, for those who despite everything, refuse to give up. Davrin’s journey is one of self-discovery, resilience, and growth, and it's a story that feels both deeply personal and universally relatable.

[padfootastic]

oooh i have thoughts about codependent golden trio, stay with me for a second:

- ron and hermione slowly training harry out of his touch aversion by consistently showering him with small, gentle, touches. they never make it a Thing, it’s so casual harry himself forgets it’s happening a bit, but it’s crucial for him to become comfortable with being touched by anyone

- slowly, as years go by and harry’s nightmares become worse, ron progressively moves from calling his name, to waking him up, to putting a hand on his shoulder(s), to practically moving into his bed to wrap himself around harry. the first time it happened, ron’s face was fire truck red and harry was baffled to the point of incoherence (and for a second, it seemed like all their progress so far would be undone) but as before, they slowly chipped away at harry’s defences with steady support

- hermione, who was able to tweak the protean charm for the DA, created a more specific one more her and ron. if the nightmares were particularly bad, he would ping for her and she would immediately bustle up to the boys dorms. this is rly how she became so comfortable up there and after a bit, the other boys realised why she was there and let her go about the golden trio business in peace.

- and so you have harry waking up with ron and hermione in his bed pretty regularly. they were able to figure out how to expand it pretty early on (combination of some theorising and dobby’s magic) so now all that’s left is figuring out nightly configurations. more often than not, it’s either hermione or ron in the middle bc harry cannot abide being boxed in both ends. but both of them always have an arm of leg on some part of harry, as if to reassure him, even in sleep, that they will never let go.

- some point on fifth year, when he’s so fucked by the voldy visions, the only way he gets any sleep is when ron’s tucked him under his arm and on his lap, or hermione has her hands carding through his hair and head on her thigh, turned towards her stomach as if protecting him from the world. he falls asleep in the common room armchair in front of the fire with ron’s hand around his calf, massaging lightly, and hermione perched on one side of it, arm around his shoulders.

- during the horcrux hunt, this only became more common. there were very few nights they did not sleep in the same bed. privacy was almost nonexistent. they often had to bathe one another when they couldn’t get out of bed due to the grief, or went catatonic with shock etc etc.

- after the war is when people slowly started realising their tendency to be so close. until then, no one really paid attention to these three kids, atleast not so closely. but now all eyes are on them. and so the adults, the order and the weasleys and remus and sirius, see how they go into the same room at the end of the day, come out of it together in the morning. how harry using the bathroom doesn’t stop hermione from going in to brush her teeth, or ron walks around in just a towel without any hesitation when it’s the two of them but yelps and covers up when anyone else walks in.

- they see how hermione hates having her hair touched but will happily fall into a light doze when one of the boys is playing with it, and harry, who will go stiff as a board when someone so much as brushes against his side, will literally melt into a puddle when ron or hermione hug him tight. they’ve never seen ron as calm, or as settled, as when he’s around the other two—he has a purpose, and it’s never been more clearer than in those moments.

[arlathmyheart]

Interesting. I reckon both yes and no.

Rook is a people person who helps others much like felassan.

However Rook is still in the leadership role and fighting against the (surviving) evanuris like a young fen harel did. They are unexperienced but smart and willing/forced to act when necessary.

Rook bridges the gap as a kind of conscious fen harel who never loses sight of the cost of sacrifice. They keep their principles intact presumably.

Like felassan ROOK keeps morale high and stands with their cause. For instance they never see themselves as akin to a god.

Like solas they end up having to make hard decisions, some of which they regret.

Notably Rook has millennia less experience of various wars and memories from fighting the evanuris than solas. Thus less regret etc.

Rook mostly differs from solas in their ability to move on from their regrets etc.

What is interesting is how solas uses his regrets. He cherishes some and he values memories. He paints his or wishes to forget some. They work slightly differently for him. This may or may not be due to his spirit nature.

What will they call you when this is over?>

As rooks dialogue after the treviso/minrathous choice shows they go forward by choosing either: confidence, pragmatism or acceptance.

Later in game datv plays into the idea that rook acts as hubris (fen harel) to a solas who is becoming too prideful akin to elgarnan. They ruin his plans. They show him that he could have another path. They show that he could be beaten.

Rook maintains that the veil must remain. The cost is too great. Solas would only sate his conscience and not deliver the world/elves. Very pragmatic.

Solas seems to tell himself that it is for mythal to an extent (and all he has sacrificed). It is hard to tell if this is a overjustification or not. They have so much history. Plus we don’t learn if he was truly bound and enslaved to her will or just loyal to her due to their friendship/kinship? And her benevolence.

We do know for sure that Solas also sacrificed a lot of himself and others lives. He let spirits/people die for him as well as giving up his spirit form and essentially his own principles (his actual nature of being) He was a spirit of wisdom that she weaponised. This twisted him from his purpose to pride.

The main difference seemingly between the two is that rook is not from a spirit (presumably) and that they do not work alone (or else you get a bad ending)

Rook also doesn’t seem to have a mythal figure guiding them except for perhaps the player? Or even Solas himself.

Rook then acts as a young solas who had instead trusted his friends (if he had many/any? This is something that we don’t really learn. The relationships solas had were very strained despite time as he says himself). Thus Rook may be akin to a version of the past fenharel had he talked with felassan and chosen to act on his advice.

Presumably this would have changed the outcome of the past and solas may have then acted differently. This would not change the nature of pre veil mythal however.

The painful irony is that becoming the dreadwolf was presumably solas’ first main action against mythal/the evanuris after years of not being listened to. This was when he finally took a stand and tried to change things for the better. Felassan was the one who helped create the myth of the dreadwolf. He was supposed to keep solas in check.

Oh my god. This unplanned essay has made me think that more accurately: VARRIC is truly the character akin to felassan.

Going by masked empire and celene/briala as parallel to mythal/solas as the two have an odd/abusive relationship where each uses the other while maintaining a somewhat loving relationship.

Solas has his chance to rescind the past somewhat with Varric at the ritual. Varric tried to give him another option. Again Solas refuses this. This is expected given felassans fate in TME.

To listen to Varric/felassan in that moment would be for Solas to forfeit the past and to accept all his wrongdoings ended up just that. That unwittingly down the line he had made exclusively bad decisions despite having best intentions. (He is smart enough to half predict/know this and so he can only really either blame himself or mythal for it is she who is the one that continued forcing his hand and not listing to his reservations) She made him take a body, she maintained that to end a war titans should be sundered. He was the one who went along with it and made the dagger and (made/utilised?) the prison for the titans dreams. He followed her regardless thus being complicit in the events that unfolded.

Therefore Solas is also to blame for not acting against her and letting her continue with her version of events. (that is a lot of guilt) He does not move against her until he becomes fen harel. However in acting as fenharel he also ends up acting alone, thinking it the better option.

However young Solas still wants the best for Mythal (and hopes she will join his rebellion) but he ultimately loses Mythal when she tries to chastise? The evanuris for experimenting with the blight and they murder her.

Ironically in doing this she acts alone and it is her deference and pride of godhood that likely made her think she would be untouchable. If she didn’t care about her title she may have joined solas. Is she acted on solas’ advice solas may also have had more cause to trust in others beyond using them for his rebellion.

However we can’t truly tell if instead Mythal was utilising politics/manipulation for control rather than bringing more war on the elves. (a kindness?) We just don’t know enough about it.

“In desperation” then solas plots his revenge and seals up the blighted gods. This is no mean feat. He also doesn’t tell felassan his plans. The veil was created as a side effect of his powerful spell which thus altered the world and lead to the fall of elvhenan. He is far more ruthless now and yet imprisons the gods rather than killing them. (Presumably they could be freed if they managed to move past their regrets which would require them to self reflect or even feel remorse at all for their past tyranny). They are very powerful and hard to kill.

We don’t find out how exactly the prisons work as another is made. Presumably the first is the black city which also contains the blight. The second is the regret jail that rook is familiar with.

The difference here then must be varric’s effect on Rook. Or possibly more relevantly the inquisitor.

Varric acts as mentor and story teller. His is a slight guiding hand. He maintains actual faith in the inquisitor (no matter what they say) and imparts his kindness onto rook. He tries to change solas’s mind. His written stories will shape others thoughts.

He feels guilty for the lyrium dagger. He has lost Hawke. He by all rights is like felassan in TME.

Now the inquisitor themselves is one of the only living people in thedas that can conceivably understand how SOLAS felt during his rise to infamy as FEN HAREL. They are the closest to god like status in modern thedas and the inquisitor, having killed Corypheus, knows what it is like to raise an army or to fight a false god (or Titan?) on their own.

Inquisitor relied on their advisors and interestingly solas/Varric in their rose to power. They both shape how inquisitor feels about spirits or faith.

If anything then the inquisitor may be closest to a pre veil mythal or evanuris who is trying to keep a status quo of peace in a breaking world. Like solas they acted as a god and saved the world.

Ironically fen harel too has the option to be like the other evanuris. He both is and isn’t part of the pantheon. The question of their godhood lies in their morality and lust for power.

Now to change his mind solas hears from: mythal, rook, and inquisitor.

I think we are righting past wrongs to an extent: THIS MIRRORS THE REGRET DEMON STORY BEAUTIFULLY. TRICK WEEKES YOU!!!

Rook offers Solas another option despite it all (like Varric/Felassan) to give up the past. It is a lot of trust to simply hand him the dagger and yet a spirit will become what it is expected to be.

Rook keeps their faith in solas despite his betrayal. This could be a similar idea to how a young solas still followed mythal. It is a complex relationship depending on the players pov (datv solas = preveil mythal) (rook = preveil solas)

Fix 1- ROOK/YOUNG SOLAS LISTENING TO HIS FRIENDS AND STAYING TRUE TO SELF AGAINST FEN HAREL/MYTHAL. - sate conscience

Mythal (Mythal) concedes her part in using him and twisting him to pride . That they both did awful things that were wrong. He is released from her service.

Fix 2- FORGIVING HIMSELF FOR THEIR PAST BAD DECISIONS - forgive himself/mythal

The inquisitor (post veil Fen harel) tells him that he is free to find a better way. He now can see the way.

Fix 3- CHOOSING A NEW PATH FOR HIMSELF - freed spirit

It is sad and he is alone (unless solavellan) but now freed Solas chooses to seek atonement. He starts to move forward. I think he is so brave and I love him for it.

He is scared of dying alone and yet his life sustains the veil. He is scared to die and yet also scared to be alone. Plz give him Lavellan tho guys he is a good boy at heart.

This was unplanned. It is imperfect and it is late but it is my current musing on the subject. I may revisit this writing in time.

Honestly? Rook is more a foil of Felassan than Solas, Inky is Solas' foil.

[turtleblogatlast]

The fact that Leo can go literally anywhere on earth to be alone with his thoughts at a single moment’s notice is something that shakes around in my head all the time. Like, portals and teleportation are amazing and convenient abilities both in and out of battle, but they could also so easily be used to run away as well.

I don’t think Leo ever would, at least not most of the time. He loves his family too much, and is too dependent on their love and attention to cut himself off so suddenly like that, but it’s a very real possibility nonetheless.

It’s a good thing Leo’s overall temper is more on the mild side and he prefers going to his room or something to complete solitude, because it really is dangerous for a kid to have the ability to isolate themselves like that at their fingertips.

[seagreenstardust]

I know I’m so lasered in on bkdk that I don’t often talk about togachako, but one of the things I’ve noticed this time around is how often Toga will lump Izuku and Ochako together when she’s talking about the people she loves. As far as Toga is concerned the two of them are interchangeable nearly from the beginning. If she means she loves Izuku romantically (as much as she’s able to understand it), then she’s also saying she loves Ochako romantically.

And it will never not floor me that Toga straight up compares Izuku and Ochako’s relationship to her own with Jin, then says immediately after how Jin was like a brother to her. In canon someone compared izu*cha to a sibling relationship. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the way bkdk and togachako are written feels incredibly intentional. If they haven’t been building up to an eventual canon ending then this is the cruelest longest running fake out of all time

[touchlikethesun]

it’s that time of year again, and i get so annoyed when my family is like “oh you’re so hard to get gifts for” and i’m just like. i’m literally not. i am so loud and open about my interests, the quickest of google searches will turn up dozens of little knickknacks i’d love. i’m not hard to get gifts for, you’re just not listening to me.

[robertsbarbie]

hmmmmmm

[aquarri]

Hii!! I saw lots of posts about Harry renewing with Columbia and getting or buying a really expensive car. But I don't understand what I'm missing....if he is renewing with Columbia is that bad? Or good?....and why?.....also do you think harry is only doing it for the money? Because money being Harry's drive doesn't seem like him (of course I don't know him, but I just mean that him singing to Columbia again might be for a bigger purpose :)

we don’t know if harry signed again with columbia, but people are speculating and are saying he would get a 150M deal based on adele’s contract, they also think he got the ferrari for a “signing gift” for himself so to speak

[backtodecembertv]

for the past 8 months we keep either almost hooking up or actually doing it, then we fight, barely talk for a while, then eventually make up and pretend it never happened, except i resent him more and more. i think we’ve spent half this time in the barely-talking phase. why has he not found another girl in all this time. this is just the toxic pattern of two people with mutual attraction and, more importantly, severe attachment issues. he runs away at the first sign of conflict (but comes back when it blows over), and i cannot let anything go.

[kavehater]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[turtleblogatlast]

One of the biggest things that makes me see Leo as trans is absolutely the size of his carapace in comparison to his brothers’.

And I’m not talking about height! I’m specifically looking at his shell here, because when you compare him to the others, particularly Donnie who is nearly the same height as Leo, it’s very clear that Leo’s carapace is much longer in proportion to the rest of his body.

Like - standing side by side, even though Donnie is shorter his carapace ends noticeably higher up than Leo’s does. And I like this not only because it really helps push the idea that Leo could very likely be trans (or intersex!), but it’s also just a fun design difference between them.

(It also lends way to future scenarios of Donnie eventually getting taller than Leo, but sitting down still has Leo being the taller one haha.)

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[nereidprinc3ss]

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.”