#many more scampers to add

[fallowtail]

Big fan of the Hetty Scuttle

[inside-lees-mind]

just watched a tiktok that essentially went ‘check your tone b4 u talk to my girl/dont talk to my wife like that’ and now i need protective naruto charas w this.. team 7 ?! (and maybe the other konoha 11 (+ sand sibs kinda fit this too but omit and add whoever! no pressure!!))

I love how this is definitely pretty much canon to Sasuke’s character lol

Some are modern AU, some aren’t. It’ll be pretty much obvious, but if it’s not, it doesn’t matter too much.

I only did team 7 (Kakashi, Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, and Sai) this time since the entire Konoha 13 and sand siblings can take a while and I just did all of them on my last post.(sorry no Yamato, I don’t know how to write for him tbh)

Fem reader

“Watch your Tone before you speak to my girl.”

Naruto Uzumaki

He can’t figure out why this guy is actually flipping his shit over something so small?

All you did was bump into him while you were trying to turn around from the counter in the kitchen. The party was packed, but the kitchen wasn’t quite as bad. You didn’t think you had to watch your every step so carefully.

The guy, clearly drunk off his ass, turns around and tells you to watch yourself. He throws out some basic insults, nothing too deep, but the attempt pisses your blonde, hotheaded boyfriend off.

The guy reaches for you, probably to tap your shoulder, throwing out some “flirty” comment meant to degrade you.

Naruto shoves the dude back, “watch your tone when you talk to her. That’s my girl.”

The dude, with as much respect for Naruto as he had, nods quickly, scampering off.

Naruto pours you another drink, giving you it as he pulls you onto the dance floor.

Sasuke Uchiha

Somebody talking down to his wife?

He knows damn well you can handle yourself, so he’ll stay back, but if you look at him for some help, he’s coming right on over.

He caught wind of the guy telling you off for being weak, saying you’re no help so you have no business ever being a ninja.

He can’t help but wonder what the hell this guys problem is. His wife isn’t weak. You’re one of the top ninja in the village, without a doubt. Maybe he has an issue with women?

“Don’t talk to my wife like that. You’re half the ninja she is.”

Sai

He’s right there and some dipshit has the nerve to talk down on you IN FRONT of him????

It was over something that was common knowledge to a person native to the village your team was visiting, but you simply didn’t know. You’d apologized many times. Wasn’t that enough?

He’s very subtly sassy at first. He’s monotone and flat in tone, but he’s being snarky. You can tell and the dude is catching on.

As Sai gets more pissed off, he gets more obvious.

Because it takes a bit to make him actually feel any which way, this dude is just a dickhead. And Sai isn’t having it

“Watch your tone. Talk to her right. Or we can handle this elsewhere?” Sai is smiling, but it’s a threat.

Sakura Haruno

She’s fuming when she hears somebody talking down to you. How dare somebody shit talk her girlfriend while you’re just trying to shop.

You’d gotten the last of something, since you were there first, but some Karen ass woman wanted it and was telling you why she deserves it more than you.

You’d explained kindly how you got to it first, but looked about ready to give it up and hand it over.

Sakura wasn’t going to let this woman step on your toes

“Watch your tone when you talk to my girl.” Sakura balls her hands into fists beside herself, but doesn’t raise them.

The woman is scared because Sakura is lowkey jacked and now she knows she’ll never be safe again. She gives it up.

Kakashi Hatake

This person didn’t know you were with Kakashi, without a doubt.

You were in a book store, and apparently you’d accidentally bumped into some girl and knocked all the books out of her arms. (She was carrying way too many without a basket for some reason)

You apologized, helping her pick them up, but she wasn’t letting it go.

She kept insulting your thinking skills and asked if you’re going blind. Over all, just things Kakashi knew weren’t true or didn’t matter. It was an accident. (And if you were going/are blind, it’s still, and more so, not your fault so he’s trying to figure out who tf this girl is??)

He waits to see what you do, but he won’t hesitate if he sees you need just a bit of help.

“How unhappy with your life do you have to be to talk like that?” Kakashi asks, closing his book. “You should watch your tone when you talk to my girl.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Basics: Descriptive Verbs

A verb is a word that’s used to describe an action.

Descriptive verbs - (or strong verbs) are single-word actions that add to the tableau in the reader’s mind, giving it a boost of color and energy.

In many cases, an engaging, vivid verb is more concise and telling than a straightforward, overused one.

The man ran quickly toward the smoke, versus 

The man sprinted toward the smoke.

Weak verbs are simply common ones—words that describe the bare minimum of the action. Sometimes that’s the best way to keep your writing clean and direct, but it can also lead to a lack of color, or personality.

Types of Descriptive Verbs

The most powerful verbs evoke imagery and emotion in the action of the verb itself. A dog doesn’t just eat its food—it gobbles it. The glass doesn’t just break—it shatters.

Questions to consider when replacing your verbs:

Verbs of movement: Movement is especially ripe for descriptive words. Movements communicate how your characters feel, what they want, and how they present themselves to the world. Is your character merely walking along from point a to b? Or do they project more attitude with a saunter or perhaps swagger? Are they in a skipping mood? These movement verbs can also denote a sense of place, and urgency: Depending on the terrain, perhaps they plod through mud or stagger over jagged rocks. Suspicious characters might slink away into the darkness, or scamper just out of reach.

Verbs of stillness: In real life, stillness is never entirely devoid of movement, and is equally revealing. A nervous character doesn’t merely sit, they perch on the edge of their seat. A rude character might slouch in their chair. A character who has just received terrible news may slump on the couch.

Verbs for speech and expression: With dialogue attribution, you could write an entire novel using only “said,” without having to resort to more descriptive verbs like “shouted,” “cried,” or “whimpered.” The best answer is a balance: try to keep your language from jarring the reader out of the story, but considering your character’s intent when searching for the right descriptive verb in dialogue also allows you to quickly deliver more information to the reader. When is a laugh so cruel it becomes more of a snicker, or so unguarded it bursts forth as a guffaw? Muttering a word under the breath might be a sign of dissent, while a whimper is one of surrender. Create volume in your dialogue by introducing sound-oriented synonyms, like whispers or shouts.

When to Use Descriptive Verbs

The best verbs help you hone your prose to give you the effect you wish to achieve. Think about the tone do you want to set—what feelings or mood do you want to evoke? What kind of language will best deliver the story you want to tell?

Reading your work aloud is an excellent way to both hear the sonic effects of your prose and catch awkward repeated sounds or other unintended effects. Read through your writing and make a note of where things feel too slow, or stale.

Where are the moments where your prose stalls out? Highlight all the verbs you’ve used in that section and find stronger words to heighten the tension or enhance the mood of the scene.

Reasons to Use Descriptive Verbs in Writing

Using descriptive verbs is especially useful when considering pacing; active verbs help anchor your writing in the present tense, contributing to the exciting (or suspenseful, emotional, moody, exuberant) tone you might be going for.

Weak verbs, in general, are often supported by adverbs of manner (those descriptive words that end in “-ly”). Good descriptive verbs rid your sentences of the need for too many adverbs, and can also keep state-of-being verbs (like am, is, are, and was, which lead to passive voice) in check.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[dawn-moths]

thinking about tomura being tenko’s older brother where they’re perhaps ten years apart. you and tomura first meet when you’re both eighteen, start hanging out as friends, but you’re only vaguely aware he has a sibling when sometimes he says he can’t hang out that particular weekend because he has to “babysit the brat”.

after a while, you’re able to convince him to show you a picture of his little brother. you’re curious if they look alike, and other than a few features like their eye and hair color, you can easily imagine how tomura looked at that age, too. him and tenko look startling similar to each other even with that many years between them.

“sorry…” tomura grumbles through the other side of your phone call one afternoon. “tenko’s soccer practice got canceled and now my mom’s making me watch him while she’s at work.”

he sounds annoyed, almost embarrassed by the fact that, even at eighteen, he has to obey his mother’s requests, but is ultimately contrite about his last minute change of plans having to effect you so often as well.

“it’s ok,” you assure him with your usual chipper tone, fully understanding the responsibility he has. “but, y’know…” you remind him, “if it’s ok, i could always come over and we could hang out while you’re watching your brother?”

you try and hide your eagerness the best you can. the truth is, you’ve been wanting to meet the mini-tomura for quite some time now. tomura always describes him as annoying, as a needy little brat that whines until he gets his way, but the words are never spit with scorn and there’s something soft in his eyes that always gives away the fact that he actually does care.

tomura usually just brushes off your offer, promises to reschedule with you, so you’re prepared to be let down, but that time, after a short pause of contemplation, tomura clears his throat and says, “i mean, yeah, ok. that’s fine i guess, if you want…”

“ok!” you beam, already grabbing your keys. “i’ll be over soon then!” you hang up, grab your bag, and jump in your car.

any time you’ve been over to tomura’s house (which has been few and far between, since your place tends to be the designated hangout given you usually have the house to yourself most of the time) tenko hasn’t been there. he’s been at his aforementioned soccer practice or a friend’s house or some other activity that’s kept you from meeting him.

you’re so curious it’s overwhelming, and as you pull up to tomura’s house he’s already perched on the front step, gazing at his phone until he hears your car approaching. you park by the curb and scamper up to greet him, giving him a hug as per usual, and though he’d sounded sort of defeated on the phone earlier, seeing your smiling face now makes him feel a little lighter.

“hey,” you grin, momentarily holding both his hands in your own down between your close bodies. sometimes you're reminded how adverse to any kind of physical touch tomura used to be when the two of you had first met. even something as simple as a light, playful nudge would make him flinch, cause him to keep a bit more of a distance for the rest of the day.

but over time, you're not sure exactly why but, something changed.

and it was actually him who came to comfort you that time. you'd been upset, had planned on staying in your room alone until the ache decided to pass. but then you and tomura had started texting. he'd sensed something was wrong so he'd called. he'd heard the heartbreak in your voice, told you he was on his way, and not ten minutes later he was sitting beside you on your bed with his arm around you as you'd talked to him about what had happened while you'd cried.

ever since then, he'd gotten more comfortable with your casual, familiar touches, though he still found it easier to touch you than to be touched by you.

“hey,” he returns, then adds with that hint of that sarcastic humor you’ve come to love so much, “you ready to meet the little demon?”

you laugh, unable to not be amused by his melodrama. “oh, c’mon,” you say, lightly batting at his arm. “he’s only eight, he can’t be that bad!”

all tomura offers in response is a muttered, “yeah, well…” before inviting you inside.

as soon as you walk through the door, a little dog comes bounding towards you, running in energetic circles and barking as his tail wags with both curiosity and excitement. you proceed with caution around the corgi, wanting to reach down to pet him but hesitating around the unfamiliar animal.

the few times you'd been over before, tomura had let his dog out into the yard so he wouldn't end up jumping all over you, so this is the first time you're meeting him up close instead of catching glances of him through a window.

"ugh, sorry..." tomura mutters as he reaches down and scoops his dog up, the canine's tail continuing to wag even more once he's secure in tomura's arms. "i forgot to let him out back..." he then seems to realize something, his eyes widening a bit as he does a double take back at you and asks with a little more guilt in his tone, "you're not afraid of dogs, are you...?"

you wave off his concern with a swish of your hand and a crooked smile. you tell him you're not, you were just a little surprised is all.

"it's mon-chan, right?" you ask, slowly reaching your hand out for the dog to sniff.

"yeah. mon-chan," tomura confirms, readjusting his grip on the wriggling animal. "he's super friendly. just, well..." he gives a half shrug as a small grin cracks at one corner of his mouth. "he can be a lot."

"hey, mon-chan..." you coo, your tone turned sugary sweet, and the dog gives the back of your hand a few friendly licks. "awwww, you're cute, aren't you? what a good boy..."

but before you can dote over the dog too much, something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, causing you to shift your view towards the living room that sits off to the side of the main entrance.

and, lo and behold, there he is.

little tenko and his sweet little face that reminds you so much of the older brother you’ve become so fond of.

“hiiiii,” you greet the little boy with a soft voice and a smile. you know kids can often be wary when meeting new people, so when tenko just stares at you with those big, dark eyes you’re not surprised.

“hey,” tomura grumbles to his sibling. “don’t be rude. say hello.”

tenko then seems to snap out of his cautious trance, looking at his brother then back to you before saying, “is this the girl you’re always talking about, nii-san?”

tomura feels his cheeks heat and his ears burn as he sputters out something that sounds like half an excuse, half a scolding before telling tenko to go watch tv and behave. tenko obeys without any trouble and as you pass by through the living room you can see a popular superhero movie playing on the screen.

you travel down the short hall to where tomura’s bedroom lays at the very end, and once the door is shut he seems to become a little less tense.

“i’ll need to make him lunch in about an hour,” he tells you. “but until then…” he flashes you a suggestive smirk and you know exactly what’s coming.

it's one of your favorite things about hanging out together, the way it relieves the tension, lets you two unleash parts of yourself that you rarely let other people see. and tomura's been surprisingly good at it from the start. you wouldn't have guessed at a glance how skilled those hands could be, how coordinated given his usually lax, nonchalant nature...

he tosses you a game controller and you catch it with ease. “wha’dya say we pick up where we left off?” he asks, a hint of darkness to his voice that you now recognize as cold, hard competition.

you feel a look of confidence spreading across your face at the challenge and you reply in a tone befitting of a worthy opponent, “you’re on.”

the next hour passes quickly as you play your guys' favorite co-op game together, leaving you just two points from tying with tomura, and amidst your laughter and playful taunting, there’s a slight squeak as the door creaks on its hinges, little tenko peeking through the thin crack and observing, letting out a quiet gasp when he realizes he's been spotted.

“i’ll be out in a sec,” tomura tells his brother, already knowing what that expectant look means. tenko seems to linger, casting you another glance, and you convince tomura to pause the game.

“c’mon,” you murmur, giving him that guilt-tripping stare that he hates you for being so good at. “let’s go make him lunch and then we can finish this after.”

and it’s that suggestion of we, that suggestion of together, that has him pausing the game and setting his controller aside, standing from his bed to open the door to his little brother and following him down the hall to the kitchen, you close behind.

tomura takes out a tupperware from the fridge and has just popped it in the microwave when his phone buzzes from his pocket. "it's my mom," he states. "gimme one sec." he steps out of the kitchen and begins to wander towards the living room, his voice growing more distant as you hear him pick up the call. you hope everything is ok. but, for now, it's just you and tenko standing in the kitchen, the eight-year-old gazing up at you with that big, curious stare while the microwave counts down the seconds behind him.

"can i have lemonade?" he asks once you meet his eyes and give him a friendly grin.

the microwave beeps and you go to take his lunch out of it. "sure," you answer. but then, a little bit more suspiciously, you ask, "does tomura usually let you have lemonade?"

tenko nods, not giving anything away as you finish plating the other items of his lunch while tomura remains on the phone in the living room. from where you stand, if you glance just slightly around the entryway, you can see him sitting on the couch, leaning forward a bit while he continues to speak with his voice low. you just hope his mom won't be mad that he invited you over while she wasn't home.

it's not like you hadn't been over before when his house was empty, but given this is the first time you've met his little brother, you just hope you're not overstepping somehow. not to mention that, unbeknownst to you, tomura's mom had begun badgering him about meeting you before the end of summer. as soon as she'd caught onto the fact that her eldest son had been hanging out regularly with a girl, she couldn't help but become curious as to what kind of girl she might be.

a bit distracted by your thoughts, you just nod and say to tenko, "ok, sure, you can have some lemonade then."

once his chicken tenders and apple slices and animal crackers are promptly arranged on his plate and a glass of lemonade is poured, you carry tenko's lunch to the table and take a seat across from him while you wait for tomura to conclude his conversation, trying to keep your growing anxiety at bay at any possible problems that may be arising due to that phone call.

you try to listen in, though mostly hear the standard, vague, "yeah. uh-huh. alright," responses from tomura until—

"are you my brother's girlfriend?"

you blink at tenko, taken aback as you sputter over a response to that, wondering for a moment if you merely imagined it. then, once your nervous giggling and bashfulness begins to dissipate, you clear your throat and say, "did tomura tell you that?"

tenko takes another bite from one of his apple slices and says, "no. but he talks about you all the time. he says you're his friend, but i hear him talking to his friends at night when he thinks no one is listening."

you stare at tenko with an intensity you don't realize you're wearing on your face at first, the suspense eating you alive. eventually, when tenko doesn't seem like he's going to offer more, you lower your voice to something closer to a whisper, your gaze darting back to where you can barely see tomura sitting in the other room, still on the phone, and ask tenko, "what do you hear him say?"

tenko, his big eyes moving up and to the right, contemplates that for a moment as he finishes chewing and swallowing his next bite, then tells you, "i don't know exactly. i can't hear what his other friends are saying, but one time i heard nii-san say that you were special." you feel your cheeks heat and again glance over at the back of the boy you've become so fond of so quickly. "he said something about not wanting to ruin anything," tenko continues, reciting the words as if he doesn't quite grasp their meaning. but then, tenko's mouth splits into a mischievous little grin that reminds you so much of tomura, it's honestly a little scary. he says, seeming to find amusement in his next words, "one time, i heard him say you were like his guardian angel or something..."

a childish little giggle bubbles up from tenko's lips, almost as if he finds a cruel kind of pleasure in knowing his older brother's biggest secret, but this information just makes your heart all the more warmer towards tomura.

you'd spent the last couple of months suffering inside your own head about it all— about whether you really meant something to tomura, about if he cared for you as much as you did for him or if you were simply just convenient and would be discarded come any significant distance put between the two of you—

suddenly tenko seems to retract, perhaps sensing your discomfort, so you take the opportunity to clear the nerves and giddiness from your throat and change the subject.

"so, tenko," you begin, trying to straighten out your crooked smile. "tomura tells me you play soccer. do you like it?"

tenko gives a shrug at first, taking another bite of an apple slice that's had the skin peeled and cut to resemble rabbit ears. then he says, "i guess so. but i like watching movies more."

you ask him what kinds of movies he likes, recalling the superhero blockbuster that had been playing on the tv when you'd first arrived, and feel a spark of endearment as tenko's face lights up as he delves into telling you all about his favorite characters and their cool powers.

"wow! you sure know a lot!" you commend him with a beaming smile, and at the compliment tenko's face begins to turn a little red. "do you and tomura ever watch movies together?"

"not really..." the younger sibling sulks, pouting as he peels the remainder of the skin from his apple slice. "nii-san is usually playing video games in his room and my mom says i'm not allowed to play them because they're too violent..." then, before you can tell him that's too bad but one day he'll be old enough to play the same games as his brother, tenko perks back up and tells you, "but sometimes... sometimes nii-san lets me into his room on nights our mom works late and we play mario kart together."

you have to force yourself to stifle a laugh at that. i mean, it's just completely adorable, isn't it? the thought of tomura, who tries so hard to play it off like he couldn't care less about his little brother, like he's nothing more than a nuisance to him, a pest, an inconvenience, does actually take the time to bond with him anyway. at least, when no one's looking.

you tell tenko you also like mario kart, then lean in and add in a playful whisper, "but i bet he doesn't tell you about all the times i've beaten him, does he?"

tenko regards you with blatant skepticism. "no way," he says, as if he's never been more sure about anything in his life. "there's no way you can beat nii-san. he's too good! no one can beat him!"

now you laugh openly, causing tomura to glance over his shoulder just to make sure there isn't too much chaos ensuing in his brief absence, but tenko just looks confused.

"well," you reply, amusement trailing off the end of your words, "he is pretty good. i'll give him that. but unbeatable..." you quirk up one brow and wear a slight smirk for a moment before allowing your features to fall back to normal. then you tell tenko, "just give it time. one day i bet you'll be able to beat him. i believe in you!"

"you behavin' in here?" tomura suddenly appears in the entryway, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he casts his little brother a warning look.

"your girlfriend says she beat you in mario kart, is that true?" tenko blurts out, and you have to force yourself not to tease tomura when his cheeks visibly darken at the mention of you being his girlfriend.

"everything ok?" you ask to defuse the situation a little and put tomura back at ease, but then his look of bashfulness morphs into a look of slight surprise at the sight you and his little brother getting along so well.

quickly, he snaps out of it, and replies, "yeah. she was just checking in," before seeming to notice something awry about the picture here, specifically on tenko's side of the table.

"hey," tomura lightly scolds his brother. "you know mom only lets you have lemonade on the weekends." you immediately begin to apologize, saying that when he asked you thought it would be ok, and feel embarrassed that you let yourself be manipulated by a child, but tomura assures you it's fine before returning to interrogate his little brother who, admittedly, looks very guilty now.

"did you lie to her?" he presses, and for a moment you're afraid he'll make tenko cry. tenko denies it at first and you observe with growing anxiety as the argument between them ramps up a bit.

it isn't until you reach over to place a hand over tomura's, which has been firmly planted on the tabletop as he leans in over his brother, that he seems to simmer down a little.

"one time will be ok, won't it?" you ask him, not wanting to ruin the moment you'd just shared with tenko, feeling like you'd gained a little more of his trust. you use your secret weapon, the one thing tomura can never say no to whenever he sees it— that sweet, pleading stare you give as you gaze up at him, the look that makes his stomach flutter and his head haze over with thoughts he'll be revisiting later once he's alone.

"fine," he concedes, some of the rigidity that had captured his limbs leaving him as he steps away from the table. he looks directly at his brother and concludes with a warning, "but just this once."

you're relieved, and tenko appears to have returned to his prior state of unfazed contentment, but tomura still seems impatient about something.

"c'mon," he says, beckoning you up from the table to follow him back to his room. "we still have a game to finish."

you give tenko a parting smile before humming out an amused, lilting little note, trailing after tomura as you chirp out a mischievous remark of, "are you gonna actually help us win this time? or am I gonna have to carry the entire round again?"

he lets out an incredulous, albeit amused, chuckle, surprising you by throwing his arm around your shoulders and tugging you in closer to his side so you almost stumble down the hallway. "oh, just you wait..." brazen, he murmurs in your ear, his voice low and dark, now allowing the butterflies in your tummy to unfurl their delicate wings and take flight, "by the time we're done with this round, the other team isn't even gonna know what hit 'em..."

and, with that, you once again return to the confined space of his only slightly disheveled bedroom, the tv screen still bearing the scores from your last game. although, admittedly, as you continue to sit side by side, knees nudging one another here and there when things start to get a little too desperate or rowdy, you can't help but find yourself a little more distracted and self-conscious than usual.

because you swear you catch tomura glancing at you in between rounds from the corner of your eye, something softer, something warmer than you're quite used to possessing his crimson gaze.

it's a side to him you've rarely gotten to see, but you hope he'll learn to wear it a little more openly around you as time goes on.

besides, when his little brother had asked if you were his girlfriend, he hadn't quite said no, now had he?

[aemondsbabe]

Love is Patient and Kind

summary: hand holding & dry humping || you aren't ready to take the next step with your monk, luckily for you he has the patience of a saint

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dry humping, very fluffy, osferth being cute and understanding and ruining other men for everyone, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to day one of 12 days of smuff!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as part 1 to Wind’s Howling or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist

gif creds to @thecruel!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Are you sure you do not wish for me to carry that, my lady?” Osferth asks for the millionth time, nodding his head at the basket, laden with various herbs and medicinal plants, in the crook of your elbow. 

For the millionth time, you merely shake your head with a crooked smile. “I wish only for your company, monk,” you glance over at him as the two of you walk through the forest, admiring the way the early afternoon sun casts a golden halo through his hair, “I told you as much when we left camp this morning.”

Osferth merely nods in reply; your man is one of few words. A soft blush blooms across your cheeks at the thought – your man, but it was as good as true. Osferth was the first man in Uhtred’s company you felt comfortable with when you joined their cause all those months ago when they’d stopped in your small hamlet in need of a healer; you’d been by their side ever since.

In the months since, your relationship with the monk had steadily grown from hushed whispers around the campfire in the dead of night, when sleep eluded the both of you, to heated glances, delicate touches, and stolen kisses. More recently, Osferth had all but insisted on accompanying you nearly everywhere you went, which is how he’d come to follow you as you walked through the forest to gather the variety of curative plants you need.

A content sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head up, taking in the way the tips of the trees stretch up toward the blue sky. “I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like,” you joke, your heart squeezing proudly in your chest as the monk chuckles next to you, “But hopefully this summer will be dryer than the last.”

“I have prayed many times for sun,” Osferth says with a nod, blue eyes soft as he gazes at you, “Unfortunately, the Lord seems to ignore those requests.” The corner of his lips tilts up as he huffs a laugh at his own joke. 

Suddenly, a branch snaps loudly not too far off the winding path the two of you have been strolling down. Osferth acts quickly, ever vigilant, and takes your hand to usher you behind him as he draws his sword. Your breath quickens as you peek around his shoulder, pressing yourself tightly against his back as your hand grips his; you’d been assured by Uhtred’s scouts that the forest surrounding camp was perfectly safe, but in these times danger seemed to creep up from every corner. 

A buck appears a little ways down the path, followed by two more deer, each sparing you and the monk only a quick glance before scampering into the forest once more. The two of you let out a collective sigh of relief as Osferth sheaths his sword with a shy smile. 

“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break, my lady?” He suggests with a soft smile, “We’ve been walking since morning.”

“I think we’ve earned a break,” you nod, gazing up at him through your lashes, the two of you still close enough that you could make out soft flecks of green in his blue eyes, “I believe I saw a clearing a few paces back.” 

“Lead the way.” Osferth nods, keeping in pace with you as you backtrack to where you’d spotted a lush clearing through the trees only moments ago. As you walk, nearly shoulder to shoulder, the monk silently takes your hand again, his rough fingers threading together with yours. Neither of you speaks, though you can nearly feel his pleased smile from your periphery, twin to your own. 

After only a few moments, you veer off the path as the two of you step into a sizable glade, the trees giving way to a field of tall grass. Your hands stay clasped as you walk together, basket still tucked in your elbow as you lift the skirts of your linen gown to prevent it from snagging on the high blades of grass; your chest tightens once more when you glance down and notice how Osferth takes great care to step over any flowers in his path, the ones that sprinkle the meadow with pops of yellow and lilac. 

Soon, you come to a spot where the ground seems to be drier, however the monk grasps your forearm to stop you as he slips the thin, grey wool cloak off his shoulders and drapes it over the ground.

“Osferth,” you gently admonish, though a smile does creep across your lips at the sweet gesture, “I am perfectly capable of sitting on the ground.”

“A lady should not have to,” he says simply, nodding to the cloak, “Please.”

With a final glance, and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you comply, setting your basket down before relaxing atop his robe. After making sure you’re settled, the monk joins you, setting his sword to the side as he sits and leans back on his hands, scanning the treeline. 

“It’s so lovely here…” you smile as you glance around, a soft breeze causing the grass to rustle around you.

Osferth sits up beside you, a relaxed smile on his lips as he takes your hand and pulls you closer to him. “I find the company to be far lovelier,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, never taking more than you seem keen to give. The two of you easily fall into a lazy rhythm, your lips moving together as he guides you to lie against his chest. You lay your hand against his chest, right over his heart, thankful that he’s forgone his usual leather armor and chainmail today as you feel his warmth through the soft tunic he wears. 

He sighs against your lips, his fingers gently weaving into the locks of hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and making you cling to him all the more tightly, his other hand wrapping around your waist before settling in the small of your back, holding you to him. 

After a few moments, the two of you part to catch your breath and he studies you with a warm gaze as you relax against his chest. “We are meant to be stopping in a town tonight.” Osferth says simply. 

“That we are.” 

“We could get a room together,” he breathes, making you gasp as he trails kisses across your jaw, “Just the two of us.” 

Immediately, you tense up and untangle yourself from him, sitting up with a sigh. He quickly sits up next to you and you can feel him eyeing you with concern, though you dare not meet his gaze. 

“My lady, I didn't mean to offend you…” He says hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“You didn’t offend me, sweet monk,” you turn to him with a bashful smile, “I am simply…I don’t know if i’m ready.” 

“Ready for what?” His head tilts to the side as he eyes you curiously. 

You chuckle nervously, unsure of how to broach the topic. “Osferth, I have heard enough tales of your…prowess around the campfire to know that my skills do not match your own.” 

The crease between his brows only deepens as he continues staring at you, blue eyes flitting between your own. “My prowess?” 

“With more…intimate relations…” You say slowly, glancing away from him. 

“Oh,” he says softly before his eyes widen comically, a dark blush cascading over his fair cheeks, “Oh!”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his dumbstruck expression, your lips quirking up into a soft smile despite your nerves. 

The hand on your shoulder tightens as he leans closer to you. “My love, you need not fret over it,” he whispers, blue eyes conveying a deep seriousness, “We can get a room at the tavern and not do anything at all.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion – you’ve always been told to expect a very different answer from men. “What?”

He huffs out a soft laugh and pulls you back down to lie on the grass with him once more. “I mean what I say,” he says softly, one hand stroking your hair, “We can get a room and just kiss or cuddle or merely talk, I don’t care.” You look up from where you’ve had your cheek laying against his chest, the emotion in his eyes shocking you for a second, “I just want to be with you.” He whispers finally.

You can feel yourself blushing as he speaks, the apples of your cheeks heating up deliciously under his kind gaze. A girlish giggle erupts from your lips before you can stop it, which only makes him laugh too as you bury your head against his chest and bite your lip, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and campfire smoke. 

After a moment, the two of you calm down and you finally look back up at him, “Kissing sounds good…” you nearly whisper, suddenly shy as he surveys your face.

Osferth merely chuckles, low in his throat, and rolls the two of you over. Normally, this is when you’d be pushing any other man off of you with some mumbled excuse, but you can’t help but feel safe with the sandy haired monk, taking him at his word that whatever you were willing to give would be enough.

“We have time, and plenty of herbs already,” he rasps, his voice thick with an arousal you’d only heard on a very scant few occasions when the two of you had shared frantic kisses in the night once the rest of the men were asleep, “Why wait until tonight?”

A small giggle escapes you once again as the blush on your cheeks extends down, almost all the way to your chest, but you nod nonetheless, your arms coming up to snake around his neck as you pull him down to you. A small whimpery breath escapes you when his lips touch yours yet again, and he responds in kind with a low groan, the sound rumbling from his chest. His lips are soft against your own as the two of you move leisurely; once again, he lets you set the pace, only licking at your bottom lip after you do the same to him first. 

Your thighs spread as your kiss deepens and you moan again when he slots himself between your thighs, the linen of your dress hiked up just above your knees. A shiver rolls through you at the feel of him on top of you, so warm and weighty.

“Is this alright?” He breathes, navy eyes blinking between each of yours as he checks for any signs of discomfort from you, visibly relaxing when he finds none.

Wordlessly, you nod, bobbing your head eagerly as you pull him back down. His hands roam carefully over your body as your lips and tongues move together, breathlessly licking into each other's mouths. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hardness pressing against your center, a pleased hum emanating from your chest at the realization that you’ve affected him this much with only a kiss; the pride in your heart twists into something different, something deeper as a knot forms and begins tightening in your belly.

“My lady –” Osferth mumbles as he starts to pull away from you, an apologetic smile on his handsome face.

“Don’t!” You say quickly, tugging him back to you and surprising even yourself as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, “Please, I – It’s good.” You confirm breathlessly, eyebrows quirked up with need as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah?” He asks, unable to wipe the pleased grin off his face as he settles back on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off of you as he presses against your center again.

You nod, already threading your fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to draw his lips back to yours. A breathy, high-pitched moan leaves you at the feel of his clothed length pressing against you, the ties at the front of his breeches only adding to the pleasurable sensations that zap through you as he starts rolling his hips against your own.

His pace quickens as he breaks away from you, panting against your skin as he traces wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. Your head lolls to the side as you whimper and whine underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his hard cock twitch against you, even through the fabric of your smallclothes.

You’re quick to match his pace, using the leverage of your legs wrapped around his middle to ruck yourself up into each thrust, earning grunts of pleasure from the monk. 

“My lady,” he groans, one hand fisting into your hair as the other trails down to run appreciatively over the bare skin of your thigh, “Y-You are bewitching.” He gasps, mouthing at your neck, his cock no doubt leaking into the leather of his trousers. 

Your only reply is a choked out moan of his name as your back arches underneath him, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter as the ties of his breeches rub over your pearl deliciously, your smallclothes no doubt soaked. 

Blessedly, Osferth seems to understand the desperation in your voice and movements and pulls back to look at you, both of his hands quickly grasping yours, fingers threading together as he holds them to the earth beside your head.

 “Sweet girl,” he grunts as he gazes down at you, a rosy blush cascading beautifully over his high cheekbones, “P-Peak, my lady, please,” he pants as his fingers tighten against your own, “I’m, God be good, I’m right behind you.”

You nod frantically, your only sound a choked out sob as you tense underneath him when his hips rut perfectly against yours, the knots of his pants catching against your sensitive bud in just the right way to tip you over the edge. You twitch underneath him, white knuckling his hands when you feel your center clenching helplessly around nothing as pleasure buzzes through you. 

Osferth reaches his end mere seconds after you, humping against you two or three more times before tensing, his eyes squeezing shut as his own high washes over him, cock spasming in his breeches as his spend leaks into the waiting fabric. 

“You’re beautiful,” you declare softly, the words tumbling from your lips as soon as you think of them.

The monk blushes somehow more heavily above you, though a soft smile graces his lips. With a soft sigh, he falls to his side, bringing you with him. Your cheek once again finds its home against his chest and you smile at the sound of his heart thumping wildly as he pulls you closely to him, one arm wrapping protectively around you as he tucks the other under his head, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You flatter me, my lady,” he says lowly, a pleased rasp to his voice. “You are truly an angel,” he continues after a moment, “A beautiful, precious angel.”

You smile contentedly, his heart thudding steadily in your ear as you let your eyes drift shut, happy to stay in this still, safe bubble with your monk for as long as the outside world will allow.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house. 

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth. 

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand. 

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease. 

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots. 

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet. 

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then. 

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips. 

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses. 

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom. 

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

[ghoulie-67-baby]

Good for nothing- BAU team.

Summary: On a case, you run into a figure from your past that you harbour a lot of anger about. It’s about time you unleash it.

Warnings: Vulgar language, Bad breakup, toxic relationship, cheating (main theme), descriptive language about being caught cheating, manipulation and mentions of controlling, abusive relationship.

Pairing: BAU team x fem!reader (platonic).

Word count: 1,543.

"Y/N?" Ice ran through my veins as the disgustingly familiar voice filled my ears. My fingers hesitated from where I had been rearranging pictures on our board, twitching in annoyance. I could feel the eyes of my team on me as they waited for me to answer the voice.

"Adam," I shot out through gritted teeth. Of course, it was just my luck my ex-fiancé would turn up when we were on a case.

"What're you doing here?" I took a breath, composing my face before turning towards him with a blank stare. Why the fuck did he think I was here? Was there a circus in town? If so god knows he'd fit in seamlessly.

"I'm working," I bit back the urge to add 'obviously' to the end of my statement. "This is my team, my job." He looked slightly lost as his eyes flitted around the room, unsure of the many eyes flickering between us.

"Oh, I see. Well, I guess I'll speak with you later." He attempted a smile but it looked more like a grimace, spinning on his heels and practically running to the exit.

"Like hell, you will," I muttered under my breath, suppressing a shudder of disgust as I watched him scamper away. I switched my attention back to the room, a few looks of amusement being thrown my way.

"So, Adam?" JJ's voice was playful and teasing but I fake gagged, imitating throwing up so she got the gist of my emotion towards the cop. "Oh, no Adam huh?"

"Not unless you want your heart ripped out and stomped in the mud honey, no Adam." I spat, the name feeling dirty in my mouth, before returning to my work.

A couple of days had passed since Adam had made his presence known and we had managed to close the case, catch the unsub and deliver the victims back to their families safely, but I couldn't get rid of the itch of annoyance in the pit of my stomach. Realistically I knew it was because when I broke up with him I had left without a word and never dealt with the shit he'd put me through and now I was presented with the opportunity to blow up and let it out.

We were back in the precinct packing up all of the evidence and case notes before we left, collecting what we needed before the trip back to Quantico when he surfaced again, lingering in the doorway like a bad smell. I finally noticed him when he cleared his throat and shuffled into the room.

"Y/N, are you free for that talk now?" I bit back a grin at his audacity and straightened up from the table, glancing his way momentarily before my eyes met Rossi's who shrugged and helped Hotch with files.

"Nope." I popped the P, smiling at him sweetly.

"This is the least you could do Y/N, seriously." The hair on the back of my neck stood as I clenched my fits, nails digging into my palms. "You're the one that left remember." I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes for a moment as I took in his words. I should've known this was the road he would take. It always was my fault. It didn't matter how big or how small, he never did anything wrong and damaged me enough for me to still hold bad habits from it to this day like apologising for everything and finding fault in every minute of my existence.

"The least I could do?" I seethed, back straightening and eyes staring daggers into him as the tension in the room became suffocating. The air became still as my team stopped in their tracks, wary of how I was reacting. "The least I could do."

"Yeah, that's what I said," his voice shook slightly but he pushed his shoulders back challenging me and staring at me down his nose.

"Of course," I spoke with a sickly sweet voice, "what is it you want to say, Adam?" I smiled at him, coating my anger in sugar as he nodded like he was entitled to this.

"You up and left. The month before our wedding. You broke my heart and I think I deserve an explanation, a reason." He feigned his sadness, eyes sparkling with something twisted as my team stared at me in shock.

"I broke your heart?" I questioned, still sweet enough to cause him some cavities. "Oh, I do apologise. I didn't think it would hurt you that much, you poor thing." The sarcasm practically dripped from my mouth, my eyes portraying fake sympathy as I leant on the edge of the table, close to where Spencer practically gawped at the shit going down. "Tell me Adam, did I break your heart when I cancelled the wedding, or when I took all my stuff whilst you were at work the following day or when I keyed your car. Did that hurt?"

"Yes it hurt, we were supposed to be together forever. You and me against the world and you shrugged it off like I meant nothing." I looked around the room, met with amusement from Derek, shock from JJ, Spencer and Emily and indifference from Aaron and David but I let their emotions spur me on.

"Maybe you could have remembered that when I found you in our home, in our bed, balls deep in some other wining bitch whilst I had just picked out our flowers and cake for our wedding because you said you were working a long shift. Maybe you could have remembered that when I gave you a second chance after the first time I found a girl with your cock buried down her throat on our sofa or maybe that was just me overreacting right. Maybe I should have stayed and lived out a miserable good-for-nothing husband who would rather fuck some random whore that his own wife." My voice had risen in volume as I ranted out angrily, aware of how Derek's amusement had fallen and instead, he had stepped closer to me as if trying to provide comfort and protection. Hyper aware of how tense my team had become as if all wound up to spring into action if I flew at the asshole before me. But the one thing I was most aware of was the way his facade had dripped and instead of the poor little man with the sad story he had become the controlling, self-serving ass I unfortunately knew too well.

"You wouldn't have come home to that if you did your duty as a girlfriend properly, not my fault you never fully satisfied anyone." I held back my flinch as the sting from his word spread through my chest. "I'll bet you don't sleep at night."

"You think you have that big of an impact on my life?" I laughed, packing away long forgotten. "You think I can't function now just because you decided I wasn't enough for you?" My smile was sour and wicked, amusement getting the better of me. "Let me tell you something sweetheart, I couldn't give less of a shit about you anymore if I tried. Yeah, it hurt, fuck me it felt like hell knowing I wasn't enough but then I realised that I had the world at my fingertips and boy did that feel good. I didn't dwell on little old you for long Adam, I went out and made the world my bitch. My only regret is I didn't cut off your dick and feed it to you for being a snivelling, conniving cunt that thinks so lowly of women and poisons any he gets close to. So, was that explanation enough for you?" I asked with a smile, ignoring the way my heart pounded my ribcage and my stomach bubbled.

"Fuck you, you whore." Adam ground out, finally realising he wasn't going to win this competition and I wasn't going to bow to him and cower with fear of disappointing him. With a red face and neck, hands shaking with anger he span around and stormed away.

"You wish!" I yelled after him, a satisfied smile on my face as he slammed the door. Taking a deep shuddering breath, I collected myself, rolling my shoulders and pulling at my shirt sleeves before facing my team with a calm smile.

"That was kinda hot." I burst out in laughter as Emily blurted out, the tension melting away from me. A few laughs made their rounds in the room and I took a seat, knees shaking as the adrenaline faded from my body.

"But seriously, why didn't you say anything? If I'd have known he worked here then I would've found a way for you to work away from him." Hotch questioned, concern in his eyes.

"Honestly, I didn't know, he must've moved towns." I shrugged, "But in fairness, it felt good getting that out of my system. God knows I've waited long enough."

"On a serious note, I think we should let you get pissed off more often." Emily continued with a grin, winking at me suggestively.

"Yeah, I second that." Derek laughed, pulling me into a side hug, his warmth settling my thundering heartbeat.

[007chan]

so silly!!

despite what everything sunoo said on twitter, sunoo found himself unable to properly look jay in the eye. 

presenting their project was nerve wracking enough he didn't want to add the stress of facing his crush after his "relationship" announcement. 

preparing to ignore jay entirely, sunoo rushes to pack his bag to leave the lecture hall. he's halfway through stuffing his notebook in his bag when he hears someone clear their throat. 

sunoo feels his heart beat faster immediately knowing whos standing in front of him without even having to look up. "hey." he murmurs, fiddling with the zipper on his book bag. 

"hey sun, good job today." sunoo looks up at jay briefly to smile at him, feeling his face get hot. 

"thanks jay. you weren't too bad yourself." he winks, slinging his bag onto his shoulder, "i'll see you around okay?" sunoo turns to walk out internally cursing at himself for being so pathetic. he can't even talk to his crush for more than five minutes without scampering away like a scared mouse.

"wait." jay grabs sunoos wrist, spinning the boy to face him again. "are you.." he pauses. jays grip on sunoo tightens slightly as if he's bracing himself for something. 

"are you and riki together?" sunoo notices jays face falter before returning back to a neutral expression. the tallers free hand twitches, eyes falling to his feet. 

sunoo feels his ears burning, he wasn't expecting jay to confront him like this(or at all really). he releases a shaky breath plastering a tight lipped smile on his face. 

"yeah. we are." the shorter boy hears the quiver in his voice and prays to the gods above that jay didn't notice it. 

jay nods, hand falling to his side dejectedly. despite his actions when jay looks at sunoo again there's a smile on his face. "i'm happy for you guys. that's cool. that's..yeah. cool."

sunoo finds himself giggling at the taller, finding his awkwardness cute. "thanks jay.”

at the sound of sunoos giggle jays smile widens. "get lunch with me? my treat." 

sunoo nods enthusiastically cheeks turning pink. "i'd love to." he rushes to jay's side linking their arms together as they walk to the cafeteria.

sunoo feels his heart swell as he laughs at a stupid dad joke jay makes, both of them completely oblivious to the japanese boy watching with a clenched jaw and an aching heart. 

SUMMARY: riki has seen many things as sunoo's neighbor. he's seen him late for school rushing out the door, he's seen him help his mother bring in groceries, and he's even seen him get dropped off by friends. what riki hasnt seen is sunoo asking him to be his fake boyfriend.

merry christmas and happy holidays guys!!! ❤️ ...plz dont hate me :3

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boy next door masterlist

tags: @heejamas @miniw0nz @sunghoonzzzz @enhasnoo @rairaiblog @lov3lyaaru @hoonfangz @chandmyseven @sunkismau @cheesepuffcat

[thebearer]

the milestones menu: teddy's toast

prompt: you and carmen tell teddy some big news.

the rest of the milestones menu can be found here!

contains: fluff. dad!carmen x mom!reader but truly just fluff :)

3 tablespoons granulated or brown sugar

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Pinch of kosher salt

Unsalted butter, for cooking

4 slices of brioche bread

In a small bowl, stir together the cinnamon, sugar, and salt. Melt some butter in a nonstick skillet over medium-low; you’ll want enough to lightly coat the bottom of the skillet when melted. Swirl the bread around to absorb the butter. Cook until light golden brown. Add another pat of butter. Sprinkle the toasted tops edge to edge with a thin layer of the cinnamon sugar. Cook until the underside is golden brown. 

“Daddy.” It was hardly a whisper, teetering on the edge of a hiss. Carmen’s vision blurred, still foggy with sleep, making out a mess of curls in front of him. 

“Daddy,” Teddy’s voice was louder this time, ticking up in octave the way yours did- a sweet coo you always used when you were coaxing her out of bed. Carmen’s heart swelled, she’d picked up on that. Teddy was acting more and more like you every single day, and Carmen couldn’t be happier. 

“Yeah? Yeah, ‘m up.” Carmen groaned, rubbing the heel of his hand to his eyes, rubbing out the sleep in them. His body ached, sore from the long week. Hamstrings burning in the most miserable way. “What’s up Teddy Bear? You sleep good, hm?” 

“Yeah.” Teddy giggled, pushing up on the edge of the mattress. She was still too little, which selfishly made Carmen smug. She was so big now, four years old. He blinked, and now she was her own little person. 

“Where’s Mama?” Carmen muttered, looking around. It was too late in the morning for you to be in bed. The doorway was vacant of you leaning against it, a tiny smile and cup of coffee cradled to your chest, soaking in watching Teddy and Carmen interact. 

“She’s throwded up again.” Teddy frowned. “She not feel good?” It was a question, head cocked to the side and brows furrowed.

“I think she ate somethin’. Got her tummy all messed up.” Carmen muttered, tickling Teddy’s little tummy, leaving her squealing and kicking in his arms. He hoped it would distract her. Stop her from asking too many more questions. 

“Are you hungry? Mama made you breakfast yet?” Carmen asked, sliding out of the bed with Teddy on his hips. 

“No,” Teddy shook her head, tiny, chubby fingers poking at Carmen’s chain. “She was gonna until she gots sick.” 

“Oh,” Carmen nodded slowly, opening the door. Anchovy chirped, stalking in and out of his legs, head nuzzling against his calves while he walked. He wanted Teddy down, the toddler and the cat had been inseparable since birth, but Carmen liked to tell himself Anchovy was excited to see him. 

“How about we make somethin’ that will make Mama feel better?” Carmen suggested. He could hear you in the guest bathroom, water running and vent going to drown out your heaves. It had worked at the beginning, but now Teddy was catching on. 

“What?” Teddy asked, head tilting to the side so sweetly Carmen wanted to squeeze her. 

“What do I make you when you’re feeling gross?” Carmen asked, settling the toddler on the counter, one hand on her hip to steady her, the other preheating the oven. 

“Soup?” Teddy chirped. 

“In the mornings.” Carmen tried again. 

Teddy thought for a moment, a grin spreading across her face. “Teddy’s Toast.” 

“Yeah,” Carmen smiled proudly. “You think that will help Mama feel better?” 

“Uh-huh.” Teddy nodded, curls bobbing when she shook her head. “I helps?” She pointed at herself, lips rounding cutely when she asked the question. Carmen was sure his heart might just swell and burst out of his chest, she was so cute sometimes. He didn’t know how he’d handle two. 

“Yeah, you can help. Get me the bread?” Carmen put her on the ground, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before nodding to the pantry. 

Teddy scampered past you, nearly knocking you over in the process. You looked sick, a little woozy still. It was less now, just a little upset in the morning, then you were fine. 

Carmen’s eyes flicked over to you, rounding with concern. “Hey, mornin’, baby.” He muttered, a hand running across your back when you met him. “You feel alright? You good? Need some ginger ale or Sprite?” 

“I just need water.” You swallowed the spit that filled your throat, still a little sensitive from the retching moments ago. 

Teddy swung the bread on the counter, jumping with raised arms to Carmen so he could lift her up- so she could ‘help’ him cook. 

Carmen passed you a glass of water, which you took gratefully, lifting Teddy on the counter. “Gotta sit still, Dorothea, alright? You start movin’, you’re down.” He gave her a stern look, which she just waved off with a cute nod. 

“Teddy,” You cooed, voice still a little raspy. “Did you go wake up Daddy?” 

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “‘Cause you-you was sick, Mama.” 

Carmen’s eyes met yours, a knowing look shared between you. “I was. Thank you for getting Daddy. That was a good thing to do.” You praised her lightly. 

Teddy beamed, looking at Carmen gleefully while he cut the butter into slices. “Now we make you breakfast, Mama.” Teddy nodded. 

“Oh? What are you making me, Chef Teddy?” You asked, head leaning into the palm of your hand. 

“‘S a secret.” Teddy whispered, fingers pressed to her lips. “Surprise!” 

“Oh, it’s a surprise, hm?” You asked dramatically, hoping to reach her level of excitement. 

Carmen smirked, wrist rotating the butter on the pan. “Yeah. You’ll like it, honey. Promise.” He winked at you softly. You flushed, cheeks tingling with heat. He could still make you flustered, still make you swoon. 

“Yeah, pwomise.” Teddy added with a little bob of her head; her own nod of approval. 

“Hey, Teddy. Could you do Mommy a big favor?” You ask, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Could you get Mommy’s phone from the living room and bring it in here? Two hands, please?” 

Teddy nodded, Carmen setting her down so she took off, two feet pounding against the hardwood floors. “Do you think we should tell her?” You asked, sipping the rest of your water, eyeing Carmen carefully. 

“Tell her now?” Carmen pointed towards the counter, sprinkling the sugar mix on top of the browning toast in the pan. 

“Yeah, I mean… She’s catching on.” You mutter, hearing Teddy’s rough grab of the charger ripping out of the wall with your phone. “Might as well tell her before she starts telling everyone I’m sick and they get worried.” 

“Yeah, we-we can do that.” Carmen nodded, flipping the toast gentled in the pan. “If you want, honey.” 

“I think it would be best. Try to do it and then I can get the thing out of the closet for her.” You mutter, Teddy running back in, announcing triumphantly she found your phone. 

“Thank you, my sweet girl.” You coo, lifting her in your arms, peppering her face with kisses while she squealed and squirmed. Carmen tensed at you lifting her, eyes glaring at you in warning before turning back to the food in front of him. 

Teddy sat in your lap in the nook. You weren’t sure why you wanted to hold her, cuddle her softly while she babbled to you and Carmen, feeding you pieces of ‘Teddy Toast’ with an excited screech. You’d blame the hormones, mixed with the anticipation of telling her the news. 

“‘S good?” Teddy asked, turning to you with bright eyes- identical to Carmen’s. You wanted to melt. “Feel better?” 

“So much better.” You nodded. “How did you know this would make me feel better, hm? You’re so smart, aren’t you Teddy Bear?” You baby talk her, pressing kisses to her cheek. You know you shouldn’t anymore, she was four, growing up now, but how could you not? She was still so little to you. 

“Hey, you done?” Carmen asked, wiping Teddy’s hands when she nodded. He pushed the plate away, eyes cutting to yours carefully. “Teddy, we gotta tell you somethin’, ok? Somethin’ big.” 

Teddy stilled, ears perking at Carmen’s words, his tone. “Big?” 

“Mmhm.” You nodded, smoothing a hand down her curls. You moved her, turned her in your lap so she was facing both of you. “You know Mama’s been getting kinda sick lately?” 

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “‘Cause you ated something.” 

“Right.” Your eyes cut to Carmen’s. “Well, not really ate something… Do you remember when Aunt Sugar had baby Jamie?” You started. 

Teddy’s lips twisted in thought, nodding. “And you remember Aunt Sugar had Jamie in her, uh, belly?” Carmen tickled her tummy softly, a lopsided smile spreading across his face at her little squeals and giggles. 

“Yeahhhh…” Teddy sang, collapsing into Carmen’s arms dramatically. 

Carmen snuggled her to his chest, nose pressed to her hair, looking at you. “Well, Mama’s been a little sick because,” You took a shuddering breath, clammy hand smoothing over your tummy. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, so nervous to tell your toddler. 

“Because Mama has a baby in her tummy.” Carmen finished it for you, found the words that were choking in your throat, struggling to make their way out. 

Teddy frowned slightly- confused. You wanted to laugh, she looked so adorable. “A baby?” 

“Mmhm,” You nodded. “Your baby. Well, our baby, but your baby brother or sister.” You and Carmen paused, looking at Teddy, analyzing her every little move- every tiny tick and quirk as she thought silently.

“There’s… There’s a baby… in there?” Teddy processed it slowly, pressing a tiny finger into your ribs. 

“Yeah, right in here. That’s your baby brother or sister.” You nod slowly, voice calm and even, hoping to help her understand. 

“That’s why Mama’s been a little sick.” Carmen added. 

“Because of the baby?” Teddy clarified. 

“Because of the baby.” Carmen nodded slowly. 

“Because you ated it?” Teddy’s brows furrowed, looking up at you. 

You and Carmen paused, looking at each other. You’d played hypotheticals for weeks now- what if Teddy was upset, how would you say it, should you tell her until you’re out of your first trimester, what if Teddy didn’t want the baby? 

You hadn’t planned for this. 

“Uh, I didn’t…” You looked at Carmen for help. 

“Mama didn’t… she didn’t eat the baby.” Carmen said slowly. 

“Then how’d it getted in there?” Teddy asked, throwing her tiny little palms out for emphasis. Not at all affected by the news of a sibling- oh no, your child was worried about how the baby got in your tummy. 

“Uh,” Carmen looked like he might throw up, looking at you for help. 

“Daddy put it-” Carmen’s eyes widened, face reddening furiously. “I mean, Daddy and I got it at the store, and-and we have to grow the baby.” You stuttered, heat rising up your own cheeks. “Like-Like the flowers we grew in the backyard, remember?” Teddy nodded. 

“It’s like that. A little baby seed that has to grow in my tummy, then you’ll have a brother or sister in a few months.” You said as calmly and confidently as you could. 

Teddy was silent, nodding slowly, finger tracing on the table slowly. “Are you- You have any questions for us, Teddy Bear?” Carmen asked hesitantly. 

“Where did you buy the seed at?” Teddy turned to look at Carmen. 

“Target.” You said smoothly, ignoring Carmen’s bulging eyes at you. “Anything else? Are you feeling ok?” 

“Can I buy a baby seed?” Teddy asked, little hands pressing into her chest. 

“Absolutely not.” Carmen scoffed, louder than he meant it to be, harsher. 

Teddy’s eyes rounded softly, shining with hurt. You glared at Carmen lightly. “No, baby. You have to be older to buy it.” 

“A lot older.” Carmen added, holding the tiny toddler closer to his chest. 

Teddy thought for a moment, silently processing everything. “Do you have any more questions, baby? I know this is a lot of big news. It’s ok if you do.” You say softly, grabbing her little hand in yours. 

“Can we go to Target today?” Teddy asked, eyes shining bright and excitedly. “Yeah. Yeah, we can.” You giggled, tickling her sides softly. You grinned, beaming at her. She looked just like Carmen, but she was just like you. You hoped the next one would look just like Carmen too, act like him too.

[meganegatari]

going to the library with girlfriend ellie.

☆: another random, self indulgent af blurb. i love libraries, and ellie, and drabbles, and writing fluffy things for y'all. this one's definitely not my best work, but i really wanted to put a little something out anyway. there's something so healing about writing fluff.

trek, trek, you hear behind you, as you race through the endless sea of tall shelves, the musty scent of old paper filling your nose. like a machine you scan the aisles, picking up book after book excitedly. you open it, read and decide, yes, this one too! the peace of libraries has always brought you comfort, and hallucinating whilst staring at a dead tree reading has always been your favorite activity. but you’ve run out of things to read which warranted yet another trip to the greatest place on earth. unfortunately for her, you've tasked ellie to be the carrier of all the novels.

"baaaaabe, do you really need this many??" she whines and pouts, as she trails behind you and struggles to keep up.

you turn back to look at her, almost stumbling with a huge stack in her arms which is almost taller than her, it's honestly unbelievable how she hasn't toppled over yet. she frowns at you, earning a chuckle on your part. she's so cute.

"just a little more! you agreed to come with me, els, you knew what you were signing up for. and yes i do need that many, books are my life. books and you, of course."

"but my arms are gonna fall off..." she steadies herself and huffs. "fine, but let's sit down in a few minutes, 'kay?"

grinning widely and and nodding, you take a few of the books from the top to ease the weight, then you skip off happily once more to peruse the shelves, searching for something to grasp your attention, and vaguely convinced you heard ellie tsk-ing behind you. after a bit she goes to sit down on the armchairs in a little corner with a cozy lamp, slumps into the cushions with a grunt, and is relieved she can finally set down the stack she was carrying. you're too absorbed in walking around to notice, but ellie is watching you with a smile from her seat, wondering how in the world she got lucky to have such a curious minded, smart, and loving girlfriend. you meant the world to her. as you scampered around, collecting more and more books, you catch her eye and wave, and her heart just about jumps out of her chest then and there.

when returning to your tired girlfriend, she's keeping herself occupied by checking out the synopses on all the books, with genuine interest.

"i'm back!" you say in a cheery tone, cheeks warming as you add, "may have gone a bit overboard this time, sorry for making you carry it all."

"hey! no, no, i love doing this with you. honest." she smiles warmly back at you, taking half the stack you're carrying in her arms, dividing the entire haul between the two of you. the two of you begin to walk to the desk to check out, until her emerald eyes light up and she remembers, "do they carry comics here?"

"uh, i think so.."

"BE RIGHT BACK-"

she suddenly dashes off with no warning, leaving you with the sighing librarian as she has to take a look to see what they've got.

this little outing turned out better than you had expected. next stop, a hole in the wall cafe for some lunch.

☆: not sure how i feel about this one honestly, but wanted to write a little something. hope y'all still like it! oh also, does the tiny text bother y'all? lemme know and i'll use the regular one, this one's aesthetically pleasing to me, but could be annoying. ellie n her comics own my heart.

[acesartemis]

Buddietommy - werewolves and banshees (had to add a sprinkle of teen wolf to the mix)

oh man tw it's been so long!! i tweaked the banshee lore bc i thought it was more interesting than just screaming. oh, and i changed the buckleys birth order bc it fit better.

It happens the first time when he’s eight.

Evan had gone to bed early, not feeling well and his bones had hurt all day. When he told the neighbor that had stepped in to watch them while his parents were at the hospital with his younger brother Daniel, she had dismissed it as “growing pains”, gave him an aspirin and turned back to her sitcom reruns.

He felt his heart race, and race, and then it felt as if his soul had flown out of his body only to slam back in. And he was screaming.

Maddie rushed into his room and held him through the rest of the night.

The next morning they learned Daniel had died through the night.

He kept his mouth shut. He had no idea what had happened but knew it wasn't good. Nor a coincidence.

That night he packed as many clothes into his backpack as he could and fled.

It happened more times after that, and every time it did he fled.

But as he grew and came into himself, the “attacks” were fewer and fewer. He tried to keep his contact with people to a bare minimum, in any case, worried that his mere presence was the cause of so much death.

After years on the run he’s drawn to a minor national park dense with foliage and massive trees. He manages to scrounge up scrap wood to build himself a quaint hut that keeps him sheltered from view. He's within walking distance of a fast food restaurant that is big on food waste. It's a nice little set up.

And it's here he is months later when he hears a guttural howl nearby. He immediately grips the gun he filched a few cities back and leaves his hut to investigate.

Sticking to the trees, Buck follows the noises—another howl, grunting, and whimpering. Sounds that do not belong in a stretch of trees.

He pokes his head around the third tree over to find two male figures in the brush.

“Fucking hunters,” the one standing growls while the other one is crumpled on the ground, the source of the howling and whimpering.

Buck's eyes follow the standing one’s form down to—

“You’re not going to get it open by sheer force,” he blurts out. He claps a surprised hand to his mouth as the other men turn to him as one, one electric blue eyes and one blood red. His blood runs cold.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” Buck stammers. His grip tightens on the gun. “There's a lever…”

Just then fire flares up his leg; his ankle feels like it's getting crushed. His eyes flick to the hunting trap shredding the other man’s ankle.

Oh no. It's happening again.

He grits his teeth and immediately flees and runs and runs, even past his hut, to a backup pit he'd dug for himself just in case his hut were ever compromised.

He nods off when the pain and adrenaline subside.

——

A kick to his foot awakes him. Buck scampers up, shakily raises his gun. He met with growls and those peculiar colored eyes from last night.

“What are you? A vamp?” the red eyed one asks with a sniff.

“What? No? I'm… a guy?”

“Pfft,” the blue-eyed one, shorter one scoffs. “You’re a somethin’.”

“You a hunter? That your trap back there, huh?”

“What? No!”

“What are you then?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I heard howling and—hey, you got out of the trap!” he notices.

The red eyed one glares. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m, uh… I don’t know. It was like I was drawn here. And I thought it was my fault…”

“Your fault?” the blue eyed one asks at the same time as the red one says: “Drawn here? So you are something.”

“Yeah… like, death has followed me? So I thought… I don't know.” Buck feels like he's discombobulated and words are just fleeing his mouth.

The red eyed man inspects him, stalks around him. He nods. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

“Last night? Was it? Before I ran into… you. What are you doing?”

“Look, I don't know what you are but you’re skin and bones. Come back with us to the den and have a meal. Maybe we can figure out your deal.”

Buck's stomach twists. “Um… that's not a good idea. I don't do… people.”

“Good thing we’re not people,” the blue eyed one says with a… truly wolfish grin — were those canines? — and they share a loud laugh.

Maybe Buck has finally lost his mind from being alone too long. But the promise of food, even if it's the last meal of his life and they end up murdering him, has him following.

[true-blue-sonic]

Espilver Week day 1: Invisible

"The Wisps are truly remarkable creatures, are they not?” the chameleon muses one warm afternoon.

With a smile Silver nods at Espio’s question, studying their strange companions fluttering and cooing around in the distance. The two of them had been exploring around following a tip Sonic had provided them with, and Silver has to admit: the Lost Hex is nothing to sneeze at. Windy Hill could not be better to just wander through with his beloved at his side, his quills fluttering and Espio humming contently at the breeze. But the fact Wisps had come rushing right over with coos galore means that the place isn’t as alone and deserted for lovebirds to spend their dates at as Sonic had proclaimed, even if Silver doesn’t mind it. There’s worse companions to have than a bunch of curious aliens.

“They always look so funny. And they’re so nice to us too,” the hedgehog answers, giving the Red Wisp that had snuggled itself into his hands and refused to remove itself from the decadent affection elicited on it since yet another caress over its head. Espio has found himself a similar object of the Wisps’ interest, with how a Magenta one is doing its very best to stay balanced on top of his crest where many of its siblings have fallen off already. The antics make Silver laugh, which makes the Wisps laugh and Espio too, and that is the sweetest reward of all.

The Red Wisp’s tentacles twitch and curl like the flame of a fire, Silver studying it curiously. “I wonder where they get their special powers from. What creates Hyper-go-on,” he brings up. It's question he’s wondered before, but during wars and racing events there’s not much time to ponder those things over. The Wisps seem to know, though; or at least, they respond with a whole bunch of chatters that Silver can’t follow in the slightest. “Sorry, we don’t have any communicators,” he apologises.

“We’ll have to make do the old-fashioned way. Guess-work. Let us see… It is either something very special or very mundane,” Espio nods from where he grabs and scrutinises the Magenta Wisp so closely Silver can only presume his look of seriousness is tremendously exaggerated, though it wavers at the response of cries the hedgehog swears are disappointed. At least that means he kind of has an idea what’s going on!

Wriggling a finger onto the body of the Red Wisp and grinning at the giggling squeal it elicits Silver hums. “I guess it doesn’t matter so much. But it’s nice the Wisps have managed to make their home here. It’s a great place to live,” he muses, more to himself than to Espio; but Windy Hill is gorgeous and just ambling through it with Espio as the sun shines on his face and the trees sway in the breeze gives plenty of room for happy thoughts. No wonder the Wisps so delightfully chase each other around and draw Silver and Espio’s attention towards flowers and critters scampering around without a care in the world. And even Espio looks carefree, the other drawing a deep breath of the fresh air with a smile on his face.

“Indeed. I can imagine it gives them plenty of space to use those powers of theirs.”

“Certainly,” Silver agrees, a Blue Wisp squeaking loudly and immediately transforming in a cube the moment he and Espio look over. “Very impressive,” the hedgehog encourages their new friends. “What’s your favourite power, Espio?”

“Psychokinesis,” the dry retort comes… as does many an adorably angry leer from the Wisps cluttering around them. “Okay, okay,” the chameleon relents with a chuckle. “I like… Crimson Eagle best.”

Silver’s lips twitch up in a grin. “Because it allows you to fly?”

“Shush, you,” Espio chastises him fondly as Silver very elaborately takes to floating in the air. The hedgehog can see some reasons why his beloved would like the ability to fly best… “Which one do you enjoy?” the other adds, Silver’s ears shooting right up.

“Jade Ghost!”

“…Because it allows you to turn invisible?”

“No, because it allows me to focus on my missions without everyone constantly getting in my way-” Silver falls right into explaining… before blinking. “Oh. Because I’m invisible and they can’t see me.”

That elicits a snort from Espio’s side and a delighted coo from a Jade Wisp in the distance. "But I'm not playing favourites," Silver assures the Red Wisp he's holding still, that's quite promptly taken to pouting- and shrieking, as its Jade companion comes rushing right over and bonks it right out of Silver's arms.

The hedgehog gasps by instinct, as his hold promptly houses a completely different Wisp that expectantly chirps at him and tugs at his fingers. Beside him Espio laughs, as does the Magenta Wisp smugly sprawled out in Espio's grasp with an air that it would not be removed so easily. “Eager, aren’t you?” the chameleon smiles at the Jade Wisp, that coos in approval with its little mouth forming a grin. Its red companion has taken the change less well: mad squeaks and growls fill the air around Silver and Espio, three eyes narrowed angrily and a tendril shaken as if it’s a fist. Adorable, Silver stops himself from cooing out loud. Espio clearly thinks the same, a fond golden gaze meeting Silver’s. “Both of you, pipe down," the chameleon soothes. "You’re reminding me quite a bit of a certain someone when you act like this, heh.”

“That’s not true! I also like Jade Ghost because it means I don’t need to constantly attack people which costs way too much time," Silver huffs back, Espio laughing most teasingly from where he gets shoved by psychokinesis. Incorrigible, that beloved of his, the hedgehog decreed with a shake of his head; even if hearing Espio laugh like that always makes him flutter on the inside. "But I guess you are not bothered much by that, are you, little one? You did just push your friend right away to get some attention. I would never do such a thing myself," he adds to the Jade Wisp he's holding, Espio taking the angrily-jabbering Red Wisp to soothe and cuddle instead while the hedgehog shoots a teasing little grin to his own charge. It promptly makes a similar peeved noise as its friend, Silver muffling a laugh as it bonks its head against his stomach…

And a zap of energy going through him makes the fur on his spine rise, though as Silver looks down at the Wisp he can look quite a bit through himself, too.

“Huh,” Espio remarks over the giggles and squeals from their various companions. “Your friend there didn’t like to hear that, tenshi.”

With a curious hum Silver sticks out his hand: he’s very much still here, but also very much translucent, a green aura radiating from his body and the Wisp flying right out of his grasp through his arm with plenty of cheeky coos. “Jade Ghost,” the hedgehog easily determines. Not as complete as he’s used to, but pushing a hand through his stomach is easy as can be.

“That’s creepy,” Espio’s teasing judgement comes.

Laughing at the Jade Wisp fluttering around his head with scolding chirps Silver shakes out his glowing quills. “Aw, come on. Can’t handle a bit of see-through-ness?” 

“Excuse me? I am the expert at see-through-ness,” the chameleon retorts; and quite suddenly it looks as if the Red Wisp is floating into nothingness, the creature squeaking in alarm as Espio disappears with a gale and some leaves fluttering around him. “I am still here, my friend. You would not be held up if I was not,” the ninja’s disembodied voice assures it, Silver’s ears twitching in amusement. Yes, Espio does not become intangible when invisible…

“That’s true! He’s right here,” he smirks, and Espio’s noise of warning does not deter him from pushing his translucent hand right into where the other’s body must be.

A full yell and a startle follow, Espio’s purple colours rushing right back from where he jumps away. “Silver!” the chameleon huffs at him. “That’s cold!”

“Heh. Sorry,” Silver retorts, not at all apologetic.

“Incorrigible,” he gets scolded... though Espio’s attempt to grab twitching grey ears and give them a tug promptly finds itself foiled as his hand goes through Silver’s head instead. It leaves the two of them laughing, as does the Jade Wisp prodding away at Silver’s body. “Alas, I have been defeated by the power of the Wisps. I guess I’ll just have to get used to my beloved always being half there,” the chameleon bemoans playfully. “I would give you a kiss… but it cannot be achieved. You are intangible.”

:"...Oh. Heck." With his quills shooting right up in horror Silver blinks, staring at himself and his see-through body: that is quite a good point, actually. But not one that is irreversible! After all, Wisp powers always run out right when he doesn't want them to; surely this half-formed Jade Ghost has only been kept active because its responsible Wisp has been battering at Silver relentlessly this whole time. “Hey,” he pipes up to their Jade companion, who has crossed two of its tentacles to pout at him. “Sorry for painting you as a Wisp-bonking menace. It was a compliment.”

Jabbering something back the Jade Wisp rubs its little face, or at least Silver figures; but with a final bonk and mad cackles it flies off, the hedgehog chuckling as well. Before he knows it the usual grey of his pelt as returned, his hand pushing into his stomach instead of through. “Well! Now you can kiss me,” he grins at Espio, eager as can be-

Before squealing in disdain as the other shoots over and tugs at his ears after all.

“There. My revenge has been had,” the chameleon smirks, Silver wriggling in his grasp and laughing at the flailing of the Red Wisp finding itself rather stuck between their two bodies. Eventually it breaks free with similar peeved jabbers, though Silver is a bit too preoccupied to really pay attention to that: Espio's hands run over his back and his quills, their faces so tantalisingly close a kiss is mere seconds away after all.

Huffing a breath into Espio neck first, just to make a statement, Silver snuggles even closer. “Rude,” his protest comes; but so does his coveted kiss, his arms wrapping around Espio’s body and purrs rumbling in his chest from where he gets petted so lavishly.

That is, until he gets rammed in the back by a madly-cackling Wisp and the zap of energy makes him stumble; through Espio, who altogether shrieks at the sensation, and after that they spend a lot of the afternoon chasing after their mischievous Jade friend and trading pecks once Silver has become tangible again.

Next time they’re getting a Crimson Wisp to play with because at least those don’t make Espio become translucent, Silver determines, but for now he’s perfectly happy to snuggle with his beloved into the grass from Windy Hills, content as can be.

@espilver-week 🍀

[notallthoseinheadspace]

Little hurt/comfort speculative post-canon TBB piece since I suspect canon is going to be all hurt.

Echo and Tech talk out their time under enemy control. PG, Gen.

CWs: PTSD, panic attacks, grief, mentions of injury

STRONGER

“It doesn’t get better if you don’t talk about it, you know.”

Snarling, Tech whirled around, unaccustomed anger biting under his skin. “You don’t - ah.” Wincing, he ducked his head and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the lights flickering to life across the island as he pushed his repaired goggles up to rub at the scars that spiderwebbed across his face. “Apologies, Echo. I did not realize it was you speaking. And, if you will forgive the insensitivity of the statement, it is… easy to forget that you were once The Algorithm.”

“Really,” Echo answered drily, gesturing to himself with his scomp link. Tech shrugged, slipping his goggles off entirely and letting them dangle from his wrist as he rubbed at his scars further.

“To me, you are as I have always known you, simply in better health than when we… initially met.”

“When you unplugged me from a cryo-tube I was wired into being forced to calculate plans to kill as many of my brothers as possible, you mean.”

“Well… yes.” Wincing, Tech slid down to sit against the sun-warmed paving stones, propping his back against the wall. After a moment, Echo settled beside him, close enough to very gently knock their shoulders together.

“I am aware that discussion of traumatic events can help reduce their psychological impact,” Tech began hesitantly, staring down at the goggles he was restlessly twisting in his hands rather than looking at Echo. “However, that would first require me to have a greater understanding of both my own prior psychological state and recall the conditioning I was subjected to on Tantiss, which I do not, and also comprehend why Crosshair was immune to such conditioning when I was not, and-”

The frantic, ever-hastening tumble of words was halted by Echo’s hand gripping his shoulder, giving him the lightest of shakes - everyone was treating him as though he was fragile, now, as though his scars had not healed.

“Tech, breathe.”

Tech sucked in a deep breath, then winced and coughed weakly, one hand rising to rub at the starburst scar high on his left pectoral, the bacta patch on it not entirely removing the pain. Perhaps everyone’s current treatment of him was not unwarranted.

Echo kept the hand on his shoulder, the gentle grip grounding, until Tech’s breathing had regained a more normal rhythm, and for several minutes they sat in silence, watching the moon-yos scampering about in the trees.

“I don’t imagine Crosshair’s going to use his rifle again,” Echo said softly, apropos of apparently nothing, and Tech exhaled sharply with another wince.

“I am certainly fortunate to have survived. A direct hit from a Firepuncher rifle bolt, particularly one modified as Crosshair’s has been, would typically result in death regardless of the quality of one’s armor.”

“I don’t think he’s ever been grateful to have missed a target,” Echo remarked, “even if you did pop up and declare ‘Crosshair, you missed,’ you little shit.”

“It was an accurate observation! I have not known Crosshair to miss a target without injury being involved, and I was unaware of his tremor at the time, so I had no basis for comprehending such a phenomenon! Also, I did not ‘pop up’ - ”

“No, you stayed down long enough to give all of us heart attacks, because your damn helmet fell off - ”

“I do not understand what the - truly inadequate, I might add - state of the Empire’s armor has to do with inducing myocardial infarctions in the squad - ”

“ - and we saw your face on the assassin Crosshair had just shot - ”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“….he would not be the first of us to kill a clone,” Tech said softly, leaning a little more heavily against Echo’s shoulder. “I would not, in fact, even be the first clone he had killed, and I was willing to give my life to ensure the survival of the squad previously. His actions were objectively correct, even if he had been aware of my identity at the time.”

“If he’d been aware of your identity, he never would have taken the shot,” Echo countered, shifting enough for his head to rest ever-so-gently against Tech’s.

“Not taking the shot would have been illogical. I was a threat to the lives of the squad at the time.”

“Feelings aren’t logical or objective, Tech.”

“I am aware, which is why they are often difficult for me to process. I am struggling to even categorize the emotions my experience as a CX-trooper have left me with, although I have identified guilt, inadequacy, anger, resentment, and what I believe to be grief. I was unable to resist the programming as Crosshair was, despite having been deliberately engineered for my intellect, for the strength of my mind, while Crosshair, who was created to - to shoot accurately - was able to resist the entirety of the reconditioning, and to escape Tantiss with Omega’s help, while I was so fully under the command of our enemy that I not only destroyed our home, I returned our sister to them!”

His voice had been steadily rising throughout, and it shattered into sharp gasps on the last words, prompting Echo to turn and gently pull Tech against his chest, wrapping him gently in an embrace and rocking them gently from side to side, stroking Tech’s hair as the other clone trembled against his chest.

The moon had fully risen by the time Tech’s breathing slowed again and he drew back slightly from Echo’s embrace, turning so that he was resting with his shoulder against Echo’s chest and his head tucked under his chin.

“I should have been stronger.”

“You were plenty strong, Tech.”

“Echo, I am aware you have not been present for significant portions of my - ”

“Tech. I can read a damned report whether I was present for something or not. And I’m not focused on what you did, I’m focused on what you didn’t do.”

“…please elaborate.”

“You landed the charges on the Marauder while Wrecker and Gonky were outside of it and gave them time to get clear, rather than blowing it up with them inside. You didn’t shoot Hunter, you shot down the pilot of the ship he was trying to hijack and let him swim away. You scared the civilians here, but you didn’t hurt any of them.”

“I killed numerous members of Rex’s team on Teth.”

“Do you want me to tell you how many deaths I’m responsible for? Because I’ve calculated that, you know. Should I have been stronger?”

“Echo, our situations were completely different and comparing them would be pointless. Furthermore, you were not deliberately mutated specifically to have a significantly increased intellect which should have offered immunity to - ”

“Have you considered that it wasn’t intellect that protected Crosshair?”

“Clearly it was not a matter of his intellect, as mine did not… ah.”

“He didn’t outsmart it, he out-stubborned it.”

“That hypothesis seems entirely reasonable, yes. However, I shall not endeavor to test it.” Wincing, Tech sat up slowly, bracing himself on one of Echo’s knees to rise to his feet, then offering a hand down, which was calmly accepted.

When they were both standing, Echo jostled their shoulders together gently. “So, feeling better?”

Tech blinked. “…somewhat, yes, thank you.”

“Anytime, brother.”

FIN

Short and kinda bad but I just needed them talking it out and Echo being his good ori’vod self. Tech is Not Coping Well and needed a hug.

The initial idea of this had less talking and Cody was there at the end telling them they both now understood how regs felt after Order 66, but that version failed to materialize when I got to my keyboard.

[dastardly-imbecile]

Mechanical Butterfly (II)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

---

Viktor doesn't run from Singed. Silco sees the burgeoning inventor in the young girl he found, after Vander. Collaborations abound!

---

Wordcount: ~2072

Despite Viktor’s origins, the undercity is unfamiliar to him. Much of the childhood he can remember was spent in Singed’s old lab—as close to topside as Zaun ever got, a place where the water was mostly clear, and children of both cities gathered to play. Shame to think that those golden years of early childhood, no Piltover or Zaun, just children scampering about in the sunlight, would soon rot into rivalry. The former becoming enforcers and the latter street thugs, all those tattered remnants of childhood simplicity gone to the wind. 

Of course, he never got that experience of playing anyways—nothing about his body was quite built for scampering. No, what he remembers is the darkness of the cave, bioluminescent plants entangling along slick walls, the sound of running water always present in the darkness. 

It’s dark here, too, deeper in the undercity, but in a different, more distasteful way. No sunlight manages to reach this low, blocked by smoke or the broken spines of jagged buildings, stacked one-by-one atop each other, crowding out the space like too many rats in a box too small. He misses the cave, for the fresh air and the open space and the lack of people. 

He knows the necessity of abandoning it, though: possibly-impending war means that no borderlands are safe, and now that he’s getting actual work, it’s more convenient, and also the secret third reason that Singed always skates around: he’s working on something that even Viktor isn’t privy to, and the cave is now a secret storage for whatever that is. 

He’s curious, but he knows better than to pry. If Singed means to tell him, then he will, and if he does not, then not a force in all of Runeterra will pry it from his lips. Something to do with his daughter’s coffin, he’s sure, something to do with the large, cloth-bound thing that he dragged into the lab after the explosion. 

When the three leave, with promises of returning for the first lessons tomorrow, Singed looks at him wordlessly, waiting for his verdict. 

“That’s Silco?” is the first thing he asks. He knows the name, of course, all of Zaun is passing those five letters around from mouth-to-mouth like a pipe. The new lord of this place, the source of the flaming plume of smoke that’s been clogging the sky for the past few weeks. He knows the face too: remembers it from years ago. When he was only a few months into working with Singed, insofar as ‘working’ meant feeding Rio and lurking around the cave, the man who’d come to talk on business. And business—that leads into the last way he knows Silco. 

As the man who, directly or indirectly, almost killed the man standing before him. The explosion. The burn. Viktor remembers staying up late, working—because otherwise he would not know how to expel his nervous energy—hearing a commotion at the lip of the cave. Rushing out to see Singed limping in, skin scorched red and blistered, bleeding bright Shimmer from all orifices.

He’s healed, in the weeks since, preternaturally quickly—a process that most certainly has something to do with the Shimmer—but during bad nights, Viktor still sees it. He never screamed, through all the pain, simply collapsed upon the floor and reached for Viktor’s hand. 

So ‘that’s Silco’ is a statement woefully inadequate, filled in only by the silent language that both of them have learned to speak in. 

“He’s a powerful man,” Singed replies, rubbing absently at the right side of his face. The burnt. 

“Was I wrong to accept?”

“I can’t say.” He turns, shuffles towards one of the tables, one piled with jars of preserved creatures. Vermin, mostly—rats, insectoids, all white-eyed and suspended in greenish liquid. He does not reach for the jars, and instead, a roll of stained bandages and a pair of forceps. “The girl is an anomaly,” he adds, like an afterthought. 

Viktor steps forwards, leaning on his cane as he does. The leg is especially bad, today—has been, ever since they moved house to this new lab. Singed has offered Shimmer, or other modifications, more than once—but always, he denies. He’s seen what it does to the experiments, what it almost did to Rio, what it did to Singed after the explosion. Shimmer in the eyes, in the mouth, leaking from each pore of the skin and sparking where it touched burnt flesh.

“His daughter?”

Singed removes his mask, digs the forceps into the bandages running down his neck, slowly begins to peel. The skin underneath is pale pink and raw, bright magenta streaks running just under the skin. They pulse under the dim light. Viktor tries not to look away. 

“No,” he says, “no. Vander’s.”

“Vander? The one he killed?” 

He went to his bar, once, one of those rare moments that he wanted a break from the cave. A loud, energetic place, a crowd with strange looks for the crippled boy trying to force his way through. Never met the man himself—gave up before he was even halfway to the bar, let the chaos spit him back out. 

Singed hums in confirmation, dropping the chunk of bandage into a thin metal pail, starting work on the one below. “He’s been planning for very long. He plans something for Jinx too, I suspect.”

“Dangerous for us?”

This next bandage is a bit of a struggle—it wraps around to the back, a place that Singed can’t easily reach. “No,” he repeats, “he’s an honest man. Admirable.”

Coming from the mouth of a man who is, if not dishonest, never unwilling to bend a few morals. Viktor watches him struggle for a moment longer before stepping forwards. 

“Let me.”

With no protest, he relinquishes both the forceps and the bandages to him. It’s a ritual, at this point—the man does not ask for help, but he knows what’s good for him in the end. Without need for indication, he turns, and Viktor leans against the table so he can set his cane down and use both hands. 

With the metal implement, he slowly unpeels the bandages that cross his back and chest, discarding them to the side. Once that’s done, he unravels the new roll, begins to methodically recover the wounds. It’s all horrifically unsanitary, but the new drug running through Singed’s veins takes care of that handily. How convenient. 

“Did he not make that promise,” Viktor asks, once the final bandage is changed, “the first time?”

By which he means, of course, their original partnership—the one that ended with Singed collapsed upon the ground, waking only to tell Viktor they needed to evacuate. If that’s how this particular venture is going to end, he’d very much rather not.

“That was my own mistake. I became… greedy.”

“For?”

“You will see.” 

Singed steps away, running a thin hand over the bandages. A hint, and a reassuring one at that—not a flat denial, which he’s certainly never been afraid to give. 

You will see. 

Viktor’s looking forward to it. 

—

He misses Rio, at times, dead for about a year at this point. His introduction to Singed, the lab, and the thing that firmly enmeshed him into this place. The first success of Shimmer too: whatever dosage he gave her, it extended her lifespan by years past what it should have been. Of course, that success came with a thousand failures, rats and feral cats and fish, all of whom ended up swollen and bleeding and dying-

But it gave Singed hope for the project that he works on, the one they both pretend does not exist: whatever it is that has to do with his daughter. 

At night, he works, as per usual—on the components that make up his first true job. Different from what he’s been doing before, crafting little curiosities or machines to help Singed in the lab, but an actual commission—from the Frederson Chem-forge, one of the many he’d reached out to, and the only that’d replied. 

Singed is gone. Left at late dusk, and by all probability, will not be back until morning—off to the cave, to his secret experiments. It does not hurt to be excluded, not really, but it does concern him a bit—he’s felt nothing but a constant state of concern since the explosion, though Singed’s demeanor has returned to more-or-less normal.

He has better things to be concerned about than the scientist, though, at least right now—namely, teaching the child of the current king of Zaun. It’s the sudden realization that bowls over him, that being that he does not know how to teach, that has him frantically working so he can take his mind off of it. 

It was his parents that taught him the first basics of machinery: both were mechanics as well, working in the dark, rotating underbelly of Zaun, among the pipes and the steam and the gears that stretched tall as people. They died storming the bridge when he was young—another way he knows of Vander and Silco—but he tries to remember how they taught him nevertheless. Can’t scrounge up much of anything, besides a faint impression of a voice, the phantom feeling of hands guiding his. 

Useless. 

Singed’s never taught him anything, at least not in this realm. He’s the type of scientist that dapples in chemicals and dead things, and though they’ve combined their talents on occasion, scraping the surface of mechanical biomancy, it was always an equal partnership, not mentor-student. He’d entertained the idea of going to the academy when he was younger, in that unreal, wistful way that all childrens’ dreams are painted in. Not by enrolling, of course, they’d never let a Zaunite orphan enroll, but instead somehow sneaking in—but Singed cleared him of that idea as quickly as it came. 

“They’re small,” he remembers him saying, “small minds. I parted from Heimerdinger long ago, and there is nothing he could teach you that I could not.”

Now, though, he wishes he’d gone, if only for some idea about how it all worked. Teaching. Their refined mechanics up there in topside, all smooth and gleaming white, must be so different from the mish-mash of things he cobbles together down here. When he was younger, he used to painfully make his way to the top of Zaun, places where he could watch those sharp-clothed academy students stroll the streets, talking about things he couldn’t hear nor understand. Never worth the days of pain that the act of climbing brought his leg, but he kept doing it anyway. 

Eventually, he gives up, both on trying to fix the section of chemforge and on considering this issue. Right now, he’s attempting to connect a few infinitesimally small bits in the back, but space is cramped and his fingers are not nimble enough to both screw, hold, and leave room to see in the narrow space. He may have to take the entire thing apart to get to it, and putting it together took two weeks on its own. It’s a beautiful creation, all gleaming metal and smoothly connected joints, and if he were to take it apart and put it back together, he has the sinking feeling that it would no longer be nearly so perfect. 

Like digging up a corpse, trying to breathe life back into the skin. Couldn’t be the same ever again.

So instead, he hobbles out into the main room of the lab, and attempts to tidy up. Shove jars back into their rightful places, drop tools into drawers, clean the beakers laying around. All useless, because Singed both will not notice, and will have the lab redirtied in a day, but it brings him some measure of peace. The work goes by quickly, even with his limited movement, and by the time that night is truly upon Zaun—the streets lit by glowing signs, the only life drunkards staggering down the street—he still has not figured out a solution. 

With a sigh, he slumps down upon his bed—a sagging mattress barely held up by cinderblocks and wood planks—and wishes he had not accepted. Shouldn’t have. Hadn’t been planning to, until the girl, Jinx, started speaking—until he saw the look in her eyes, bright and eager and full of more passion for the machine than he’s seen in anything but the mirror. 

That look is the last thing that still lingers in his mind, even after all else is surrendered to unconsciousness.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Stepping Stones: Chapter 10

“Do you ever regret teaching Luz to sew?”

Hunter walks over to join Darius at the window, following his gaze down to where Luz is making her way to the house. Despite being a good distance down the road, she’s clearly visible thanks to her neon green shirt, bearing the words GO EMERALD ENTRAILS in lopsided, brilliantly gold letters. 

A grin stretches across Hunter’s face. “Not for a moment,” he replies, and Darius sighs deeply. 

Luz knocks at the door a moment later, and Hunter pulls it open for her. She throws her arms around him without preamble. 

“Hunter! You’re going to be amazing today, I know it!”

“Thanks.” As she pulls back, he adds, “nice shirt.”

Luz twirls. “I thought you’d like it.”

As she spins, Stringbean rises up from her shoulders, slithering through the air to nuzzle Hunter’s cheek. “She’s been so excited all day,” Luz tells him.

“That makes two of us,” Hunter replies, gathering Stringbean into his arms. Over the last three months of taking her to school, he’s come to really love her. It doesn’t make him miss Flapjack any less, and he knows she’s not really his— he doesn’t innately understand her the way he did with Flap, and she isn’t as attuned to him— but she still curls around his shoulders when he’s nervous and shifts into different animals during class to keep him entertained, and she’s flown like the wind during every practice they’ve had. It makes him happy to know she’ll be with him today. 

“Are you nerv—" Luz begins, but quick as lightning, Darius sends a tendril of abomination goo to cover her mouth.

“Ah ah ah! We’ve put a ban on that question in this house.”

Raine smacks Darius’s shoulder, and he reluctantly pulls the abomination back. With an apologetic look at Luz, they explain, “it’s pretty much the only question any of us have been getting all week.”

The school administrations have been in contact with the Isles’ makeshift leadership committee, but clearly not enough, because whoever thought that scheduling the first Flyer Derby game on the same day of the election was a good idea had no idea what they were doing. Hunter has heard Raine say more than once that the house hasn’t felt this tense since it was serving as the headquarters for the rebellion, and on top of that, anyone who comes near it has to ask about it. 

“The only thing worse than the waiting,” Hunter tells Luz now, “are the many people asking about how well you’re handling it.”

“Gotcha.” Luz mimes locking her lips and throws away the invisible key. “But for the record,” she adds, “I meant what I said. I really do think you’re going to win today. All of you.”

Eber folds his arms, and since Hunter has been teaching Luz what he’s been learning in Beastkeeping, both of them know what he says. 

“Yes, even you, Eber,” Luz replies. “We win when our friends win!”

Eber rolls his eyes. Darius shoves him lightly. 

“Speaking of winning,” Hunter says, “we’d better get going.”

Stringbean lifts out of his arms and transforms into a staff, but rather than taking her, Luz lets her fall into Hunter’s hands. Hunter gives her a smile, grateful for any extra practice time he can get, and he takes off with Luz behind him and the others following.

The field at Hexside is already packed when they arrive, but it doesn’t take Hunter long to find the Nocedas in the crowd. They’re seated in the front row, Camila blowing him kisses and Vee waving frantically with one arm, her other hand in Masha’s. Amity sits on Masha’s other side and gives Hunter two thumbs up when she sees him looking at her. In the row behind them, Wynne, Gemini, and Ivy are listening to Eda explain something, and Dell and Gwen are giving him bright smiles and reassuring waves from her other side. 

Luz slides off of Stringbean and gives Hunter one last hug. “Good luck!” she says, and races off to sit beside Amity. 

Raine kisses Hunter’s head. “You’re going to be great,” they promise. 

Eber nods, patting Hunter’s arm and scampering after them. Darius ruffles his hair.

“Make us proud, little prince.”

For a moment, Hunter watches them go, and he feels like he’s already won.

Then he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the side of the field where the rest of the Entrails are waiting, Willow ready with his face paint. She draws the fork of green lightning down the left side of his face with careful fingers, and Hunter prays she can’t feel how his face is heating under her light touch. 

She steps back and winks. “Looking good, Hunter.”

Knowing from many unfortunate past experiences not to speak, Hunter gives her a double thumbs-up. Somehow this feels worse.

“All right, team,” Willow says, and they huddle up in a practiced motion at the familiar words.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about the Saint Epiderm Fire Bees— that they’ve been training since the beginning of the year, that their palismen are some of the fastest recorded in the history of school sports… yeah,” she says to their nods, “you’ve heard it all. But you know what they haven’t heard about us? Viney can make a shield so strong it would stop a wall of actual fire bees. Skara has won a grudgby game and a flyer derby game in the same afternoon. Gus can fly on one foot, with his eyes closed!”

“For a short amount of time,” Gus interjects.

Hunter waves this away. “It still counts.”

“And Hunter can teleport, and make turns so tight he might as well have teleported, and fly so fast that…”

“He might as well be part palisman?” Hunter gives her a tiny, wry smile.

“And,” Willow says, wrapping and arm around him, “he’s always looking out for his team.”

But Hunter can hear the tremor in her voice that she gets when she’s worried she’s said something wrong. The team has been full of nothing but praise for her— but Hunter knows all too well that years of harsh words take years to purge. 

He wraps his arm around her waist. “And our captain here, in addition to being an excellent flyer and a summoner of plants I don’t even know the names of, is such an excellent judge of character that she brought together the best flyer derby team the Isles have ever seen!”

The Entrails let out a cheer at this, and Hunter glances at Willow, raising his voice until she gives in and cheers too. 

The distant screech of a bell lets them know it’s time to line up, and Hunter steps apart from Willow, trying to ignore the sudden cold that sweeps across his side. He tightens his grip on Stringbean and walks over to his place— only for a movement in the stands to catch his eye. It’s Masha, waving for all they’re worth. When they and Hunter lock eyes, they point at Willow and nod in encouragement. 

He could have asked Luz or Amity or Raine or Eda, all of whom have lived through the mortification of having a crush on one of their closest friends, all of whom know about Hunter’s on Willow since he is, in Luz’s words, “as subtle as Hooty trying to rip himself out of the house”. Gus and Willow are the only people he’s ever made any real effort keeping the secret for— Willow, because the idea of ruining their friendship makes him feel like he’s going to throw up, and Gus because he doesn’t want to make him keep a secret from Willow.

But somehow it felt easier to talk to Masha than someone he knows well, to ask them how they took the leap. Their words flash through his mind now as he looks at them. 

“I told her because I needed to say it, and I needed her to hear it, not because I needed to hear anything back. She was so scared of herself, and I wanted her to know how deep my feelings went— and I needed to get them out, because at some point, rejection is actually easier than carrying around feelings that big all the time and not knowing what to do with them.”

And he thinks about these flashes of fear Willow still has, how she cares so deeply about other people that she forgets to ask for anything in return. He thinks about all the risks everyone is taking today— Darius and Raine leaving their futures in the hands of a million strangers, five basilisks at a sporting event filled with people who have been raised from birth to be afraid of them, Willow reaching for her dreams with a team no one would expect to pull anything off— and suddenly, he feels like taking a risk too.

He takes his place in like next to Willow but, before getting into position, leans forward and quickly kisses her cheek. She turns to him, eyes wide, and he thinks she might be blushing but he turns away too quickly to tell if that’s anything more than wishful thinking.

“Good luck, Captain,” he mumbles.

Instinctively, he glances up at Masha to find them grinning. Beside them, Amity applauds him, pointing between her and Luz and nodding emphatically. He’s not entirely sure what that means, but clearly she thinks he’s done something right, so he’ll take it.

And maybe she’s onto something, because suddenly Willow’s hand is in his, their fingers threading together as she squeezes.

“You too, Hunter.”

And then the referee blows their whistle, and they’re off.

Two of the Fire Bees streak towards Gus, clearly thinking that he’ll be the slowest. Hunter hurtles towards them, but it’s too late— a third Fire Bee is here now, behind Gus, grabbing his flag, which— disappears. The real Gus appears behind the two Fire Bees in front of his illusion, holding one of their flags in each hand.

“Better luck next time!” he calls with a wink, ducking under them and streaking for the goal. Hunter takes the opportunity to fly for the third Fire Bee while they’re distracted, but they turn just in time, flinging a wad of abomination goo into his eyes. Crying out, he lets go of Stringbean to wipe them— and topples off of her when the Fire Bee knocks into him, trying to get his flag.

Hunter kicks, screaming, and manages to summon a vine from the ground, calling it to curl around him, place him back onto Stringbean, and wipe his eyes.

Someone claps a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Willow speeding past. “Nice work!” she calls.

Hunter glances behind him at the end of Luz’s staff. “They got my flag!” he calls.

Willow’s face turns grim, and she fixes her eyes on the Fire Bee streaking towards their goalpost. They’re so focused on the goal that they don’t notice as she flicks her fingers, sending a tiny vine to lightly flick their flag off of their staff. Hunter teleports beneath it, grabbing it, and makes his body as small and aerodynamic as he can as he flies like mad for the goalpost across the field. 

The Fire Bee closest to it turns and lets out a piercing whistle that cuts straight through Hunter’s ears, slamming the breath from his chest as he careens backwards— and then bounces forwards again, back onto Stringbean. He glances behind him to see a shield of blue light fading to reveal Viney beneath it.

“Keep going!” she yells.

The Fire Bee lunges for her, grabbing her flag— at the same time Skara grabs his.

“Viney’s was our last one!” she cries. “We have to beat him to the goal!”

Hunter puts on a burst of speed without looking back, his heart beating double time in his chest, every one of his muscles clenched so hard they ache. Come on, come on, come on, the thinks, clutching the flag in a clammy hand.

He reaches the goal and slings the flag onto one of the posts, turning back to Skara with a grin— only to see a vine reaching for her from behind. Without thinking, he teleports between it and her, gasping as it wraps around his waist and Skara slams the last flag onto its post.

“And we have a winner!” the referee calls. “The Emerald Entrails take the day!”

Hunter opens his mouth to cheer— but his breath comes out in a sharp exhale instead as the vine tightens around his waist, yanking him off Stringbean. For the second day, he finds himself hurtling to the ground— only this time, it bursts into flowers, and he lets himself fall. 

He brushes his hair out of his eyes and looks up to see Willow lowering her hands and racing towards him. Her arms are open, and Hunter instinctively raises his, intending to catch her in a hug. So he’s completely unprepared when she plants her lips on his.

Hunter kisses her back, wrapping his arms around her, and when they break apart, tears are streaking his cheeks. Willow lets go of him quickly, alarm crossing her face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry— I should have asked, I just thought—“

“No, no— Willow! You’re fine.” He wipes his eyes and beams at her. “I’m just happy.”

Willow’s expression eases into a wide smile, and she kisses the last of his tears away.

“Finally!”

Hunter looks over Willow’s shoulder to see Viney and Skara clutching each other’s hands and grinning, while Gus throws his arms up in exasperation.

“You knew?” Hunter asks.

“Obviously. And frankly, I’m kind of offended neither of you ever told me.”

“I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position,” Hunter and Willow say simultaneously, then laugh.

“What was difficult was watching you two pine after each other,” Skara says, rolling her eyes. “At least that’s over.”

“And more importantly, we won!” Viney shrieks, running for the bed of flowers and pulling Skara with her— and then all of the Entrails are together, tangled in one knot, cheering so loudly Hunter thinks they could be heard from anywhere on the Isles.

…

The victory party at the old CATTs headquarters starts off buoyant and happy. Hunter walks in holding Willow’s hand and feeling like he’s still flying, his cheeks aching from smiling. People keep clapping him on the shoulder or ruffling his hair and congratulating him— on his win or his incredible girlfriend, he can’t tell. Raine breaks out the waffle maker and makes an enormous batch of them for dinner, and people sit on the floor in little groups to eat, the room filling with overlapping conversations and laughter.

But then the evening wears on, and the laughter fades, the conversations becoming hushed. The Nocedas are the only ones who can stand to keep vigil by the crystal ball and watch the votes be tallied, all of them holding each other’s hands and sitting with tense, perfect posture. Everyone else in the room ignores the coverage completely, all finding something to distract themselves with instead. Masha paints Raine’s nails; Eda teaches Rhee how to play her mandolin; Lilith and Amity organize every book in the house alphabetically by genre; Steve and King board Steve's motorcycle and drive around as Gwen and Dell watch with mild fascination; Willow and Gemini play Hexas Hold ‘Em against Gus and Hooty; Wynne and Ivy go from group to group collecting dishes; Eberwolf shows Viney how he takes his beast form; Alador and Darius tinker with some kind of abomination. Hunter just wanders from group to group, watching one for a bit before drifting away.

When he gets to Darius and Alador, he wonders if he’ll have to break up a fight. They’ve been civil lately, but he wouldn’t put it past them to revert to the incessant bickering that was their normal right after Belos’s death under the stress of the situation.

“You’re going to win,” he hears Alador say with quiet conviction as he approaches. He raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised.

“If only I was capable of sharing your delusional optimism,” Darius responds dryly. 

“No, I’m serious. You have to. I want to end my marriage to Odalia as soon as someone has the power to do it, and you’re the only person I can trust to do it fast enough.”

Darius looks up from their abomination so quickly Hunter’s neck throbs in sympathy. “You and Odalia are… over?”

Alador snorts. “We should have been over a long time ago. I… being with her was… the wrong choice.”

Darius’s expression softens into something Hunter’s never seen on him before, and he realizes it’s definitely time to stop watching this. He turns around— just in time to catch Luz’s eye as she stands.

“The results are in,” she says, her voice about three octaves higher than usual.

Everyone abandons the pretense of normalcy at once, scrambling to face the crystal ball. Hunter wraps one arm around Luz and feels Willow brush up against his other side, sliding her hand into his. 

Being old enough to join a coven, Hunter was also deemed old enough to vote, so he knows how the process worked. All of the candidates were listed on a form, and he was told to fill out the circle next to the five he wanted to rule the Isles. The five candidates with the most votes will be chosen to serve as councilors for the next five years.

“And our first councilor,” Perry Porter says, his voice conveying all the tension currently choking everyone in the room, “is… Alexis Calian!”

Alador nods approvingly. “They quit Blight Industries a few years ago. Good person.”

“Our second councilor is… Arthur Hanover!”

Lilith snorts. “How did he get elected? She has no opinions on anything!”

“That’s probably why people like him,” Luz points out. “They can project.”

“Our third councilor is… Hettie Cutburn!”

No one can speak for a few seconds. When a voice finally cuts through the horror, it’s Masha, but even they know to whisper.

“Who’s that?”

“She was the head of the Healing Coven,” Raine replies, their voice tight.

“At least it’s not Terra?” Eda offers.

“Yet,” Raine mutters.

Darius pinches his nose. “Well, putting the former Coven Heads on trial just became a nightmare.”

“Maybe we can impeach her?” Luz offers.

“What does that mean?”

Luz’s eyes widen. Just a fraction. Then she waves her hand. “We’ll talk later.”

“Our fourth councilor is… Darius Daemonne!”

The horrified silence is shattered by a wave of outright screams. Raine is jumping up and down, Eber is running circles around the room, and Hunter lets go of Luz and Willow to throw his arms around Darius before he can question the impulse. When he pulls back, though Darius is smiling wider than Hunter’s ever seen.

“All right, all right, settle down,” he calls. “We’ve still got one councilor left.”

But as soon as the word Raine passes Perry’s mouth, settle down becomes a foreign concept. If Hunter thought all the Isles could hear the cheers after the Entrails won, well, he’s sure even the Human realm could hear the noise that erupts. Eda dips Raine into a kiss as Lilith lets out a piercing whistle, Luz and Vee and Masha grab each other's hands and jump up and down, and everyone else is hugging and dancing and screaming themselves hoarse. Hunter picks Willow up by the waist and twirls her around, laughing and laughing, and even though he knows there is more work to do and more games to play, when she leans down to kiss him, he can't stop himself from thinking that things are finally falling into place. 

[pampanope]

Graves Headcannons from Shadows’ POV (Part 3):

part 1 Part 2

((Hey ya’ll, hope the weekends a good one! More Graves stuff~))

The Graves manual made it back to 7-11 a mere two weeks since his last entry.

He groggily left his blanket cocoon of warmth, shambled towards the door, wrenched it open ready to chew out the impertinent little shit who’d been rapping at it incessantly, only to have the massive binder shoved into his chest with enough force to stun him; too stunned to catch the identity of his unwanted visitor, who had the sense to haul ass immediately away from the doorway.

There was giggling accompanied by several voices and boots scampering down the hallway.

Ballsey, noisy, and reckless enough to bother an officer at 0600 on his one day of zero responsibility? Clearly they were the fresh batch of recruits he’d been working on, still too new and wet behind the ears to have callsigns of their own.

If he was any other lieutenant 7-11 would’ve given chase, hunted each of them down and handed out extra drills and the honor of scrubbing one of the barracks’s communal showers.

Alas, he was only himself; lazy at his core and an unrepentant enjoyer of his day off. No baby Shadows he needed to teach, no training with his platoon, and no paperwork. Unless the more senior staff or an act of god (Graves) said otherwise, 7-11 wasn’t gonna exert more energy than he needed to.

Sleep ruined, 7-11 rubbed the grogginess from his eyes and plopped the heavy binder onto his desk. Might as well add some shallow, surface level Graves trivia, because anything deeper was too much for his fuzzy mind.

~~~~~~

-it’s not that he’s ashamed but he’s very self-conscious of his accent; he’s aware of the stereotypes attached to it, so he softens and flattens it a bit when dealing with clients.

-but when he’s relaxed, exhausted, fighting off sleep’s siren call? The accent thickens, sweet as molasses.

-turns red when he thinks he’s been caught nodding off though. Everyone should pretend they didn’t notice and wait for sleep to drag him under. Calling attention will just fluster him.

-some of you’ve seen or heard the boss mumble in his sleep; again, pretend you never noticed.

-He seems to bristle or shy away a bit at showing vulnerability or receiving affection.

(Like a growly coyote that won’t admit to enjoying head scritches, 7-11 mused fondly. Let’s see if we can fix that.)

-although he likes the occasional drink, Graves tries to keep a sober head most times as commander, especially on missions (the Graves Alone Xmas fiasco, as many Shadows have taken to calling it, was a damn fluke, an aberration, and 7-11 will make sure there will never be a repeat)

-he bites. Hard. No, i will not elaborate.

-has a fragrant woodsy scent (it’s fucking distracting, especially during spars)

-Graves is possessive. More on this another time.

-gets severe road rage; Graves will shout, abuse the horn, roll down the window to insult you, your mother, and your shit driving in that order, and stick a hand out to flip you off; he’d flip you off with both hands if he didn’t need one on the wheel at all times. (The Shadows are glad he isn’t reckless enough to try and overtake anyone while cuts him off, he’s just REALLY loud about it.)

-he isn’t bad at cooking, he’s actually pretty good. Just limited in what he makes, but they turn out delicious. (“Hell, if you get stuck with me in some safe house, at least you won’t be swallowing down burnt MREs while pretending you wouldn’t sell my ass for a single corn chip.”) In this, he’s excellent wife material self-sufficient.

~~~~~~~

7-11 decided that was enough writing on his day off before shutting the binder. He got up, did some luxurious, toe curling stretches, and padded towards the bathroom to get the day started.

If he’s lucky, he could find a warm patch of grass to nap on before the sun rose to high. Preferably somewhere pesky baby Shadows wouldn’t find him.