#so i tried to keep it vague enough for whoever you're feeling

[innocencel0st]

@prairieghcsts liked for a starter

"Last call was hours ago," Malakai commented, barely glancing up at the newcomer as he dried the glass in his hand with a towel. Eyes shifted to the clock then back to his work. Closing had been hours ago too. Did he forget to lock the door again? Anyways...this had to be a vampire, most people would be home already, sleeping to help put off tomorrow's hangover.

There was a soft tinkling as the glass was slid into place to hang over the bar with the rest of them, followed by a dull whirring as he used the barmaid to scrub another glass. Eyes flicked to his guest one more time than down to the three-compartment sink. Scrub, rinse, sanitize, dry. He continued, "Is there something I can do for you? Call you a cab?"

[notlongtolove]

joy sneaks in

you're chosen to host the BAU's annual christmas party at your apartment, where spencer's books line your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry. the days leading up to the party are a blur of stuffing his things into every drawer and cupboard you can find. it’s your mess. your life together. and it’s everything.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: domestic! and also a christmas party! less on the party and more on how spencer and bau!reader suck at lying though; which make for some humorous moments.

word count: 3.8k

note: i wrote this awhile back and felt like posting it too. honestly a tad bit dramatised for comedy's sake but whatever i love domesticity and nervous!spencer. and it was fun writing them flounder about.

a line: For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

joy does not arrive with a fanfare on a red carpet strewn with the flowers of a perfect life joy sneaks in as you pour a cup of coffee - donna ashworth

It starts innocuously enough—a draw from Hotch's coffee mug, a simple slip of paper pulled out in front of the team, the scrawl of your name on it in black pen, and the pause before your name is announced in his unmistakably measured tone. “Looks like you’re hosting the Christmas party this year.”

Derek grins, his laugh a low rumble. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he drawls, shooting you a look that’s practically dripping with amusement.

You feel all the eyes on you, and the weight of it sinks into your chest. Your first instinct is to swallow it down, play it cool, try not to look at Spencer. Hosting a party means opening up your space— the space that’s been shared with Spencer for the last six months. Your apartment, which has slowly morphed into a mix of the two of you, a messy blend of both your lives—where his books spill off your shelves and his sweaters are tangled in your laundry, where his favourite mug has a place in your cupboard.

Derek leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his smirk a beacon for trouble. “Better start tidying up, huh?”  You laugh it off, aiming for nonchalance but his teasing lands squarely in your chest. Your heart does that familiar flip when your gaze slips, unbidden, to Spencer who to your dismay, is standing there with his eyes ever so slightly widened like a deer caught in the headlights. You can feel the team’s teasing smiles from every corner of the room, their unspoken questions hanging in the air. But beneath their teasing, there’s an edge. Suspicion. They’ve been suspecting for weeks, piecing together the small clues you’ve been desperately trying to keep under wraps. 

And why wouldn’t they? The truth is, you’ve been dodging their invites lately, throwing out flimsy excuses about “errands” or “early mornings” that didn’t quite stick. At first, it was the occasional “I’ve got other plans”, but it became more frequent, more noticeable until even Derek had started to raise an eyebrow. He’d started poking at the seams of your alibis weeks ago, slouching against your desk with an eyebrow arched in pure disbelief. “C’mon, pretty girl,” he’d said. “What gives? You’ve gone full hermit mode on us.” You’d brushed it off, offering up a half-hearted excuse about how you’ll definitely join them next week, but Derek didn’t look convinced. And neither did the rest of the team. They weren’t blind, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that there was something—or rather someone you weren’t telling them about. 

Then there was Garcia, sidling up to you with that twinkle in her eye that only ever meant trouble. “Spill,” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Who is he? And when do I get to give him the Penelope Garcia Official Seal of Approval™?” You had laughed, and tried to deflect with a vague answer about how busy things had been. “Whoever he is, he better be worth it, because you”—she jabs a finger at you with exaggerated flair—“never skip a night out. Ever. We’re talking borderline-unbreakable attendance!” 

You bite back a smile, your mind flickering to those wild nights—sweaty dance floors, drinks flowing, laughter that echoed until dawn. It’s still a little surreal to think you’ve turned into one of those girls—the kind who would happily trade a night out with friends for a quiet evening in with their boyfriend. That was never your style. It was always a point of contention with past boyfriends. They always wanted more of your time, wanted more of your presence, but the idea of slowing down for someone else always felt like a compromise.

But somehow, with Spencer, it doesn’t quite feel like you're giving up anything at all. The simple, quiet moments with him have a gravity you never expected. Cooking dinner together while music hums softly in the background, curling up on the couch with a movie you’ve both seen a dozen times, or just sitting in comfortable silence as he reads and you scroll through your phone. The domesticity, the softness, the ease of it all—it feels complete. With Spencer, those quiet evenings aren’t boring. They’re grounding. For the first time, the thought of being home doesn’t feel like a concession; it feels like choosing happiness.

Honestly, you don’t really know how the team hasn’t put two and two together yet. Maybe it’s because you and Spencer had always been close—it was easy for them to chalk it up to that. Since you’d joined a year ago, it just felt natural to click with him, the two of you always slipping into the same rhythm. You were closest in age, after all, and the team had seen you trading inside jokes over takeout on stakeouts, hunched over books in the quiet moments after cases. In their eyes, it was harmless, a friendship born of long hours and shared exhaustion—Not that that came without teasing. 

The question was always there, floating just beneath the surface of their casual remarks. Words unspoken, a line uncrossed. That is, until a tense night in Texas where you had gotten far too close to an unsub. The team had gotten to you in time of course, they always do. But that didn't help shake off the lingering memories of the encounter as you stared out the window of the jet. It was so simple—a quiet look, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb gently tracing over your trembling fingers as you looked out the window trying to dispel the the thoughts of whatever had happened just hours ago—and suddenly, it was like every wall you’d both put up had just vanished. His touch held a weight that words couldn’t carry, and in that touch, something between you shifted, settling into a place neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before. Looking back, maybe you’d both felt it coming long before, but neither of you had dared to say it out loud. 

You and Spencer had made the decision together—keep things quiet a little while longer. It wasn’t the right time. Not yet. You wanted to savour the privacy of your stolen moments: his hand brushing yours during late-night coffee runs, your head resting on his shoulder as you both tried to survive the tail-end of a grueling case. It was fragile, precious. You could already hear the laughter, the surprise, the “We knew it!” and the endless questions about how long it had been going on, how you kept it from them, how you didn’t tell them sooner. And you could already feel the weight of that—how you’d both be under a microscope in a way you just weren’t ready for. You liked the privacy, the simple, quiet moments that only the two of you shared. It was yours, together, something no one else needed to know about just yet.

The days leading up to the party are a blur of frantic cleaning, shoving Spencer’s belongings into anywhere they can fit. “Emily’s a hawk with this stuff,” Spencer mutters, half-buried in a pile of mismatched socks and paperbacks. It had started with a few quick attempts at tidying up, but soon it turned into a frenzy of stuffing things—his things—into every drawer and cupboard you can find trying to make your place look like you’re just you. 

You hold up a pair of slippers with a dubious look. “Do these scream, ‘man secretly living here’?” You hesitate, then stuff them into your wardrobe anyway. “Hotch will see the shoes. He’s thorough.” At one point, Spencer just starts throwing random clothes into a duffel bag with a kind of desperate determination, muttering something about how “Derek knows way too much about my wardrobe”. Despite the chaos, there’s laughter—giddy, shared moments, like when Spencer hisses in horror at your attempt to cram his gift—an English copy of War and Peace—under the coffee table. “That’s sacrilege,” he whispers furiously, clutching the book to his chest as if shielding it from harm. You have to bite back a grin.

There’s a particular moment though, when you’re crouched beside the couch again, frantically trying to shove a few stray novels underneath the coffee table hoping they’ll blend in with the meticulously arranged stack of Architectural Digest magazines you’d placed there purely for ‘decorative purposes’. Spencer suddenly peeks out from the bedroom, his eyes wide with alarm, his expression a mix of disbelief and panic. “Hey, can you, uh, maybe not put those under the coffee table?” he whispers urgently. 

You pause, halfway through your task, and blink up at him. “Why?”

“It’s just—” He looks around frantically as though an ominous presence has settled around you. “They will know. They’ll know,” he repeats, shaking his head, the weight of some unspeakable doom settling over him. It’s all you can do not to burst out laughing. You try to keep the situation light, but then you see the look in Spencer’s eyes. This is serious business. 

And you nearly lose it, stifling a laugh so hard it hurts. The sheer absurdity of the situation.  Yet, beneath the humour, there’s something grounding about it—in the middle of the chaos, the intimacy of it all hits you harder than you expected. This isn’t just a mess; it’s your mess. Your life together. And it’s everything.

By the time the day comes and the team arrives, the apartment looks borderline staged. You feel a little more prepared—almost confident even. You breathe a little easier, relieved that all the obvious signs have been concealed. You act casual, ushering them in with drinks and snacks, but the sharp-eyed profilers in the room are already picking up on things you’ve missed. Rossi’s gaze flickers to the second set of keys on the hook. JJ raises an eyebrow at the coffee machine by your counter. You don't drink coffee. And Derek? He’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary, leaning against the wall and watching it all unfold.

“Nice place,” he says smoothly, his tone loaded. Rossi’s eyes fall on the meticulously organized bookshelf, your heart stutters. “War and Peace,” he says, picking up the hefty copy with a raised brow. “Yours?” 

You freeze, your stomach sinking, silently cursing yourself for giving in to Spencer’s insistence that it was too precious to be shoved under the dusty coffee table. It had seemed fine at the time, but you should’ve known better. 

“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Mine. I’m really, uh, passionate about Tolstoy.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Since when?

You flounder, trying to remember any of Spencer’s ramblings about the book that you may or may not tune out at times. Your mind races as you remember brief mentions about symbolism and war and societal constraints. “Since, um…well, you know, Tolstoy is…deep. About…symbolism. And…life.”

Spencer, bless him, is standing behind them in your kitchen, making desperate hand signals to help you out. He subtly taps his chest, mouthing “individualism,” then points at his head, clearly trying to convey something intellectual that’s just not coming through. His hands flutter around like he’s illustrating the grandness of Russian literature, and you do your best to follow his cues. You latch onto it like a life raft. “Individualism and thinking about—uh—society!” You nod vigorously, wishing you could disappear into the floor. Emily eyes you, smiling a little too knowingly. Spencer, meanwhile, is practically acting out War and Peace like a mime in the background, pretending to hold a musket, then making exaggerated ‘thinking’ gestures, trying to help you navigate this act. 

“I just love Tolstoy’s exploration of, uh, individual identity within societal constraints…” you manage, brows furrowing as if trying to convince even yourself of the words spilling out. Rossi’s brow lifts, skepticism dancing in his eyes, but he says nothing, clearly amused as he watches you scramble, letting you dig yourself a little deeper. He’s David Rossi for a reason—The man’s silence is practically weaponized, making you ramble on and on, as if you’ll somehow stumble your way into a believable explanation. You’re nervous-rambling now and you can feel yourself grasping at threads, scrambling to remember something—anything—that sounds remotely convincing. You start stumbling over a vaguely remembered plot point and that’s when Spencer starts making his way towards you from the kitchen, grimacing as you butcher the story. He walks toward you almost as if to steady you, a silent plea for you to stop digging yourself a bigger hole than you already have. “Yeah, well… it’s, uh, definitely a classic,” he says, stepping in.

Spencer subtly coughs behind his hand, catching Derek’s attention for just a second—enough to let you scramble for closing line. But the team’s smirks only grow. “Well,” Emily says with a laugh, “if you’re such a big fan of this Tolstoy guy, why don't you tell us your favorite passage hm?” You try not to cast a desperate look Spencer’s way. Spencer opens his mouth like he’s about to cut in, but Derek catches his attention with a look that says, Don’t even think about it, Spence.

Their eyes dart between the two of you, waiting for something. You can feel the tension building. Spencer stands there looking on, probably trying to telepathically send you the correct Tolstoy quote—or any Tolstoy quote at this point, but you’re lost in a sea of flailing words and desperate thoughts.

“Uh, no, actually, I don’t have a favorite passage,” you finally stammer. “It’s just, you know, the themes are really profound.”

Emily crosses her arms and gives you a once-over, clearly reveling in whatever spectacle just unfolded. “Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, Rossi smoothly redirects the group’s attention to the kitchen, likely throwing you a lifeline to salvage what little dignity remains. You and Spencer exchange glances, his lips quirking in the faintest hint of a smile. It’s a private little conspiracy you two have shared for half a year, but now, as the night wears on, it’s starting to feel like the universe has other plans.

It doesn’t help that your team is sharp—they catch everything, a roomful of profilers who thrive on details, and tonight, every small habit, every casual touch seems magnified. Garcia narrows her eyes when she spots Spencer absentmindedly reaching to fix the crooked frame on the shelf. “You know where that goes, huh, Boy Wonder?” she teases, winking, and Spencer mumbles something about “aesthetic consistency,” looking thoroughly flustered.

You try to brush it off, laughing along with her, but then there’s Hotch, eyeing the stack of board games in the corner, the ones you both picked out last month on a whim. “Didn’t know you were into game nights,” he comments. “Oh, yeah. Huge fan of… Scrabble,” you say, your voice a little too high, trying not to look at Spencer, who’s doing everything he can to stifle a laugh. 

You can practically hear the thoughts running through his head, probably remembering the night you’d blown up at him after he beat you four times in a row with a ridiculously pretentious winning word—quixotic, no less. You’d been so mad, you’d tossed your tiles and stormed off like a petulant child. Now, judging from the way he's trying to hide his grin, the twitch at the corner of his lips, it's clear he hasn’t forgotten the fiery aftermath either. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. 

Your life with him has become this strange, endearing mix of shared routines and accidental collections. Where he’s meticulous, you’re spontaneous, always flying by the seat of your pants and, at times, leaving him with a resigned sigh when you’ve left your keys in places you never should. It’s a quiet chaos, but it works. And now, as you stumble through the evening, every little piece of your life— your lives are flashing under the team’s increasingly suspicious gaze. 

JJ picks up a scarf lying casually on the floor, half-tucked beneath one of your jackets. She holds it up with a curious look. “Hey, Spence, this yours?” Spencer’s heart skips a beat, and he quickly tries to school his expression, but the wide-eyed panic is hard to hide. He looks at the scarf as if it’s just been resurrected from the depths of his lost belongings. “Oh thanks!” he says, dramatically, “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He reaches for the scarf with an eagerness that betrays his attempt at nonchalance, fumbling with it awkwardly. “I thought I’d lost it,” he adds, his words tumbling out in an over-explained rush as his fingers fuss with the fabric.

JJ doesn't buy it. Not for a second. “Funny, I thought you brought it with you today,” she says, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face. “Since, you know, it’s right here by the door.”

Spencer freezes again, scrambling for a response. “Right... yeah, that—that makes sense. Of course.” He forces out a laugh, the sound more nervous than casual, and wraps the scarf around his neck with an exaggerated flourish. “Good to have it back,” he adds weakly, trying and failing to look composed.

JJ just shakes her head, her grin widening. “Sure, Spence. Whatever you say.” She watches him for a moment longer, clearly amused by the whole thing, before finally turning away, letting him stew in his overdramatic act. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Spencer breathes a sigh of relief, but his cheeks are still tinged with pink, and he can’t help but glance nervously over at you hoping you’re doing a better job than him at keeping this increasingly bad act up. 

By the time Garcia corners Spencer in the kitchen, her grin is practically predatory. “You guys are terrible at this, you know.” Spencer looks all too comfortable setting dishes away for someone who has only ever been to your place 'once or twice'. Spencer sighs, defeated, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches you across the room. “Yeah,” he says, more to himself than to her. “We are.” Spencer, at least, seems resigned, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you across the room, fumbling as you desperately try (and fail) to explain away a forgotten pair of mismatched socks by the door—somehow "yours" now, despite them clearly being too big.

You can feel your cheeks burning as the night progresses, their eyes catching every little detail—his fingers brushing against yours when he hands you a drink, the way you absentmindedly drape your arm behind him on the couch as the night winds down after one too many said drinks. The team exchanges knowing glances, soft chuckles bubbling up around you as they take in every stray look and subtle movement between the two of you. 

As you say your goodbyes and thank yous, it’s clear you’ve been thoroughly caught. Emily snickers, shaking her head as she slips on her coat. “You two are adorable,” she murmurs, grinning without trying to hide it. You clear your throat feigning innocence, trying to look casual. She turns back with a sly smirk, her voice laced with amusement. “So Spence," she asks, challenging, "You staying the night?”

The room falls silent. They all know. You both know they know. Spencer, ever the professional, tries to brush it off. “I’ll help clean up,” he says nonchalantly, but the team is already rolling their eyes, clearly seeing right through the act. They’ve been in this business long enough to recognize the signs.

You try to come up with something clever but Spencer knows it’s game over. He steps in beside you and there’s that look on his face, that soft, earnest expression he gets when he’s about to confess something—whether it’s a fact about astrophysics or a half-hidden truth he’s been holding close. “Alright, alright” he says, glancing at you for reassurance. “You got us.”

Spencer slips his hand into yours, his fingers warm and steady, grounding you in this moment. A round of knowing laughter echoes through the room, with Derek clapping Spencer on the back, Garcia gasping dramatically, and Rossi chuckling, muttering something along the lines of “about time”.

Spencer squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

The team leaves you with a final round of cheers and teasing winks, and as the door clicks shut, you turn to Spencer, his smile mirroring your own. You hear the unmistakable whoops and cheers from outside. A laugh bubbles up inside you.

Once the house quiets and the last footsteps fade away, Spencer pulls you into his arms. The soft glow of the christmas lights he'd helped you put up yesterday creates a warm halo around him as he looks down at you, that adoring smile still tugging at his lips. “Guess the secret’s out,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

You shake your head, a little amused at how badly you’d tried to cover up something everyone already knew. “We really are terrible at this,” you admit.

“Well,” he replies in a low voice, “it could’ve gone worse.”

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. “Think they bought it, even for a moment?”

“Not a chance sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But it was fun watching you try.”

You lean into him, the warmth of his touch, his presence grounding you in a way you never expected but now can't imagine living without. You look around the room, taking in the space you’ve shared together. Sure, most of his belongings are still hidden away, tucked somewhat haphazardly in the cupboards or behind closed doors, but there are traces of him everywhere. It’s in the small things—the little hints of Spencer imprinted into the fabric of your life.

There are hints of Spencer in the kitchen sink, the one he fixed when it started leaking a few months ago. You had been ready to call a plumber, but Spencer had insisted he could handle it. He always does.

There are hints of Spencer in how you've stopped arranging your plates a certain way just for aesthetics because he'd proven how much more convenient it was to stack them according to how often you used them.

There are hints of Spencer in the stain on the couch from pasta night three weeks ago, a mishap that still makes you both laugh whenever you catch sight of it.

There are things only the two of you can understand. A code only the two of you can decipher. Small, unnoticed details that no one else can see—No matter how observant they are, no matter how well they think they can read you. 

And so maybe it's okay that the secret you’ve shared for months now belongs to the people who matter most. Because as you think of these little hints of Spencer—the way he’s subtly woven himself into your life and you into his—you realize that some things do get to stay your own little secret after all. And in that, there’s something beautiful, something that’s just yours.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[haveateadude]

hi em!! if you're comfortable could you maybe write reader relapsing and ellie just comforting her, maybe helping bandage her arms or something? obviously no pressure ,, thank you if you do write it 💗💗

a shoulder to cry on

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ relapses happen... ellie's there to hold you anyway

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ a somewhat explicit self-harm description?? i tried to keep it as vague as possible but it's definitely there and it's mentioned once

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ to whoever who sent the request thank you sm for sending it,, i hope you're doing alright. wishing you the best :)) anyway, love youu. oh and also i hope you like this!!

quick disclaimer - i'm not trying to romanticize self-harm or any other mental disorder. having a shitty mental health it's not pretty or enjoyable, it sucks and it's shitty, it ruins lives. don't wish it upon yourself or others and reach out if you need help.

As soon as Ellie steps into the bathroom, you regret calling her.

No one has ever seen you this sad—this depressed, this… vulnerable. It makes you feel dirty, as if you've done something wrong, like Ellie is trampling all over your boundaries and shredding them to pieces when all she's done is look you in the eyes.

Her reaction seems to be in slow motion, at least that's what you think. She doesn't need to change her facial expression; her eyes say everything. You can't tell if it's disappointment, worry, or something else. You're too anxious to think.

In a blink, she's kneeling in front of you, her hands on your knees while you sit on the cold bathroom floor with your back pressed against the wall. Your arms are wrapped around yourself as you avoid her gaze.

"Baby…" Ellie says gently. "Can I see your arms, please?"

You want to say no, but you don't give any sign of refusal, and you don't fight her when she reaches out to touch you. Her hands are cold against your skin. She stays quiet for a moment, looking at your arm, her thumb making absent minded small circles near where it's injured. She gives you a pained look when she sees your shirt, stained with crimson red liquid.

"Wait for me, okay? I'll be back in a second," she says after pressing a kiss on your forehead.

She leaves you alone in the bathroom, so you stand up to look at yourself in the mirror. Sometimes, when you relapse, it's like you don't even recognize yourself—it's like the person in front doesn't look anything like you. It's a face you can't remember, yet it still is yours. It makes you feel guilty.

When Ellie comes back with the first aid kit—the one you always keep in the kitchen—and a new, loose shirt, she doesn't ask why you're standing now. Instead, she tells you to sit on the countertop, right next to the sink. After making sure the blood is already dried, she helps you put on the shirt she brought.

"I'm sorry," you say first, looking at Ellie. You've been avoiding her gaze this whole time, but now you feel like she's ignoring yours as she looks for the things she needs from the kit. "I know you're worried."

She shakes her head as she, very gently, starts wiping the remaining blood on your arm with a cotton towel from the first aid kit. "It's okay, I promise."

You bite your lip. One part of you thinks she's mad, and the other part tells you she's just scared. She must be, you think. Or else she would've probably left by now.

"This'll probably sting, yeah?" she says, looking into your eyes before disinfecting the wounds.

"Okay," you nod.

It does hurt, and every time you hiss in pain, Ellie is there to kiss your cheek.

"You're doing a great job," she says as she starts wrapping your arms with bandages. "I'm almost done."

You sniffle when she finishes with a kiss on top of the bandages.

It's not that you're embarrassed to cry, but Ellie has seen enough for today. She looks up at you, her green eyes searching for any sign of emotion on your face. And she finds it. Of course. You try blinking the tears away, but it doesn't help. You cover your face with both hands as you start crying.

"Hey, don't hide from me, baby," Ellie speaks softly, taking your hands away from your face to hold your cheeks, her thumbs wiping away the tears that fall. She kisses your lips. "It's gonna be okay."

She hugs you, wrapping her arms around you, one arm on your torso and the other caressing your hair as you start to sob. All the emotions you've been holding in suddenly let loose.

"Let it out," she tells you. "It's okay, it's okay…"

"I'm sorry," you say between ragged breaths. "I didn't—I didn't mean to…"

"Shh, I know… I know you didn't."

She holds you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, even after you've stopped crying. You're now only hiccuping as she pulls away, her forehead against yours, holding your hands in hers.

"Sorry for calling you," you suddenly say, biting your lip.

She shakes her head instantly, her thumb brushing your bottom lip, gently pulling it away from your teeth. "Don't be sorry. I'm not mad or anything—I'm just glad you reached out. If anything, I was a little scared."

"Still, I just—I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know you don't like that I worry, and I know you never like people seeing you this… vulnerable. But I'm your girlfriend; I want to be there for you always, and I worry about you every time you're hurt. We'll talk about the self-harm issue later, okay? Right now, I just want you to know you can talk to me whenever. I'll always be here for you." She looks down. "I don't think you realize how much you matter to me."

If you both hadn't been so close, you wouldn't have heard that last part. You're the one to initiate the hug now.

"I love you," you say. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I love you too," she replies. "And without me, you'd probably be fine. You're the strongest person I've known."

"Oh, shut up." You laugh. "Since when are you so cheesy?"

[offical-ouroboros]

Hi, could you do more of the unknown HC or fanfic?

Unknown x Reader HCs - An Unhealthy Obsession

CW: creep unknown, unwanted touches, UVX 'drugging'??, general horror warnings idfk, yandere/manipulative unknown

this may become a mini series

~♡

※ He just wouldn't leave you alone!

※ It didn't matter if you were in a match, or at camp. You always felt like you were being watched.

※ When you tried talking to others, they made you feel even crazier.

※ At least... That's how you heard things.

※ Truth was, you were probably just intensely disoriented from the Unknown's UVX.

※ If she talked, it seemed so clear... So pleasant.

※ When anyone else did, it just made you feel small and scared.

※ His own way of getting you comfortable near him.

※ It's not like it entirely wanted to- Just hasn't been...

※ In love is a strong word.

"I will not be... Denied my... Happiness."

※ Depending on how you respond... Won't really matter.

※ It'll get what it wants in the end- With someone, at least.

※ You make it feel something nice. A warm feeling that soothes its aching form.

※ With enough time it may even put more effort into fixing its body up to look a bit more human, if that's what you want.

※ Or, if you'd prefer the opposite, it'll relax itself more and look more warped and... Wrong.

※ Anything for you, "Tiny mouse."

※ It could take a few more days of meeting you, weeks, months... Or, immediately after the first trial before she decides it's been enough and just tries to take you.

※ Entity allowing, it works.

※ The Unknown is fast. Precise. And while part of him enjoys the hunt, he also knows what he wants. He wants you. He wants to feel human. He wants humans to think he's human.

※ What's more human; more alive and well than having a partner?

※ To it, not much. It was likely someone's fault, maybe even your own that she got the idea.

"Love is a core human emotion."

※ It'll sneak up behind you, axe discarding on the ground so it can hold you properly, twisting its limbs around your entire body and clinging.

"I missed... You."

※ Try to pull away all you want, he doesn't even notice.

※ Sometimes it had on different outfits- Different forms. If you had a preference, it would try to stick to them around you. Find anyone you might have a crush on and kill them. Take their form.

※ It looks just like them! Don't you love it now?

※ It... Vaguely resembled whoever it killed.

※ If you're at the point where he's taken you, you probably won't have much of a chance at getting away again.

※ They don't understand why it's a problem. Don't understand why you might be scared. Why you cry, and shake, and kick, and fight, and run.

※ But it never gets upset. Just confused.

※ Arms once more wrap around you, keeping you trapped both in its own personal place in the Entity's realm, and in its arms until you either calm down or tire out.

※ Just like how it weakened you before, if the Unknown can't get you to settle it might have to... Eugh... UVX you again.

※ The strange fumes make it hard to focus on anything.

※ Anything but him, that is.

※ Soon enough, you'll just have to look at him. Look at him. Look at him. Look at him. Look at him. Look at him.

※ Please.

※ Look at him.

※ Just relax. Curl up into their grasp. It'll weaken, and feel nice. Warm. Inviting.

※ She genuinely wants to love you. She's trying.

※ They just need a little help understanding boundaries.

[itsgrimeytime]

The Lover || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!reader

1...

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

The Sequel to The Nurse (my series masterlist)

Summary: A long time ago, you were Rick Grimes's nurse. Now, you loved him, and he loved you. Or at least that's where you left it off. With Judith safe in your arms and Rick distinctly not by your side, you could only hope his feelings stayed the same because they sure as hell did for you.

TWs: blood, inhumane rage (you're kinda crazy in this one ngl), threatening someone's life, vague mention of murder, blades, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: heyyy, it's finally here!!! it's going to be less of Rick in this one for obvious reasons. At least for now. Looked it up and it took 10 days to get to Alexandria for the main group, so I'm going to be writing those for these first few chapters. Thanks for reading!!!]]

It had been two days since the prison -you could only count by the sun setting and the nightfall. You were running on autopilot, step after step; periodically feeding Judith because she wasn't crying anymore. You hadn't had any run-ins, not yet.

Your hand clenched against your side -tight on your axe. It was still the same fire-axe that you'd gotten at the hospital -blood ingrained in the blade and handle from your entire journey. You weren't sure it would wash off at this point.

It felt like a part of you now. Always there, familiar.

Like Rick had, or Carl, or Judith, or anyone at the prison-

You swallowed, they're alive. You know it.

You didn't, but it helped to think so.

If they get hurt, they've got Hershel, they'll survive, you assured, trying not to let the guilt bubble into your stomach.

Judith fussed a little then -the gentle pull of her eyebrows and squirming in her makeshift carrier. Your hand immediately came to soothe, smoothing against her head -gently whispering to shush her.

You were hidden away in a shack -somewhere along the road. It provided shelter, and that was enough for now. Pulling out a can of... something, you couldn't remember, you stabbed your knife through and opened it up. You'd been rationing, only eating when necessary; in the case that Judith's formula ran out, you wanted to keep her fed.

The first thing you'd noticed was the snap of a branch, just a single branch. It singled out in the night. Walkers would break more than one, you remembered.

Judith was asleep on your chest, you didn't dare move her; she was safer with you than without you. You knew that well.

Carefully, you put the can by your side, gently as if to not make any other sounds that would bring attention to you. You or Judith. All that you were running on was adrenaline, and just the urge to protect, protect, protect-

If whoever this was tried to lay a hand on Judith-

You carefully stood up, pulling your axe off the ground with you. Swinging it around in your hands, it was so familiar now. Attached to you. You weren't sure how to feel about it, but you couldn't really feel anything now -your mind was focused. Shelter, food, water, and Judith.

There was nothing else in this world for you. Not now.

With a breath, you slammed the door open -axe at the ready. You didn't catch on anyone at first, but then you heard it again and spun on your feet. You eyes settled on someone.

Their hands were shaking, but they held a gun to you -metal tip pointing and glinting in the sun. Your jaw tightened, as you gnawed on your lip, hands solid on your axe.

"Drop it," they spoke, but their voice was shaky. You could physically see their hands shake, something in your stomach steeled, "-or I'll-"

"I wouldn't," you remarked, bitterly -not an ounce of anything but anger melding along your words.

They pressed their lips together, seeming to gain a little more confidence, "I have a gun, I will shoot-"

You spoke again, tone sharp -something flashing behind your eyes.

"I wouldn't."

Protect, protect, protect-

They stared at you, something smoothing through their eyes. Something flashing, their lip trembling ever so slightly. You didn't flinch.

"What, all you have is an axe-"

"Did you know-" you hummed carefully stepping toward them, voice measured and careful, "-there are 1.5 gallons of blood in the human body?"

They snapped their lips shut, as you roamed closer, pressing the blade into their space. Tantalizingly close to their neck.

"And it only takes one little slice to lose it all?"

They froze for a moment, just one second. And you reacted instinctively, elbowing the gun out of their hands. It flew off into the bushes (snaps of branches telling you it did), but you kept your eyes solely on them. Lips pressed into a thin line.

"Look," they retracted, something pleading in their eyes, "-all I want is some food. I just- I haven't eaten in days."

You stared at them, axe still close to their neck -the vein that would do the job. You knew that, you'd read it in textbooks, seen bloody hands try to apply pressure, but it was too quick. Too fast.

"You threatened to kill my baby," you tsked, jutting the axe forward a little more. It was just a hair away and something in you was angry, so angry. Just an inch, just an inch, just an inch-

Protect, protect, protect-

"I wasn't going to! Not really, I just-" their eyes sunk to the blade, teary now, "-Please, I... I don't want to die like this-"

Protect, protect, protect-

You took a heavy breath in, eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching your axe so tight your knuckles were white. Something in you recentering, coming back to earth.

You pulled back the axe, but didn't let up your stare, growling, "If you ever try and hurt her again, I'll snap your spine myself."

They swallowed, blearily.

Motioning to the shack, you spoke -sharply, "There's some leftovers in there, take them."

They scrambled then, for the can, but you took pause a second. Carefully putting your axe back in place, you asked, "Have you seen a man and a kid? The kid, he... he wears a sheriff's hat."

The person seemed confused, maybe from so blatant of a switch, with the can gathered up in their hands. Still, they pressed their lips together, and answered, "I haven't."

Your heart stung, and you swallowed, nodding. With a breath, you set off to start walking again, it was morning -you needed to be productive in the daylight. But they stopped you.

"For your good, and the kid's," they warned, "-don't go to Terminus."

"Terminus?" You questioned.

"You're heading that way," they continued, eyes portraying a seriousness, "-they say it's a safe place. It's not. Don't go there."

"And," you breathed out, "-where should I go?"

They seemed to pause, scanning you over, "I don't know for sure, but I hear there's a place called Alexandria. It's good there, safe. Safe enough for a baby."

Your eyes darted down to Judith, still sleeping soundly against your chest. Your hand came up to rub against her hair -smoothing it down in place. She was your whole world now. If it was safe for her, it's where you'll go.

"Why aren't you there?" You questioned, "-If it's safe?"

"Looking for someone," they answered -briskly.

"Me too," you took a shaky breath in, your hands were shaking by your sides, "-I'm sorry about-"

They shook their head, cutting off your words, "It's your kid, I'd do the same."

You nodded once solidly, "Thanks."

They didn't say a word, and you decidedly moved forward. Keep moving.

They're alive, they're alive, they're alive-

You ended up near a few stores -walkers roaming around the strip.

You'd been keeping your eye out for signs, you saw them a lot. Different places offering safe havens, you hadn't seen one for Alexandria yet though. Had seen one for Terminus, and you had the brief thought that maybe Rick had been there. Were they okay? Did they come back from it?

You swallowed, not wasting time thinking about it. You couldn't, not anymore. You had Judith, you'd focus on Judith.

Inhaling, you roamed along the strip, pulling your axe into your hand again at the few walkers who roamed nearby. There wasn't enough that it was concerning, but you still didn't like them being anywhere near you. Especially with Judith held to your chest.

Quickly disposing of the one right by the door (lodging the blade through its head), you slowly made your way inside. It had a glass exterior, but all of it was smashed; it cracked under your feet, as you kept a hand on the back of Judith's head -just in case. The store, what looked to be some sort of convenience store, was raided pretty heavily only a few cans of what looked like alphabet soup on the food shelf.

Without hesitation, you took off your pack and shoved the cans into it. You didn't have much space, not with all of Jude's stuff, but you worked with what you had. Only finding two water bottles, you stashed one away for bottles and the other brought to your lips, before shoving it away.

You went through a few shops like that, some novelty shops with little trinkets and toys (you took just one for Judith), some snack shops where the aisles were completely cleaned out. And then, you stumbled upon a clothing store.

You stared at it, a little dumbfounded.

It was relatively untouched, sans the broken glass along the front. You figured that clothes were that important in the grand scheme of the apocalypse, so maybe it had just never been raided. Wanting to, one, get out of these clothes and, two, get some extra fabric for bandages, you neatly stepped inside.

You ended up finding an assortment of clothes, and for once you actually got to pick. Grabbing a bag off the floor that could hang across your chest, you filled it with fabric (including little onesies you'd found). And right then and there, you stripped down, slipping both new clothes on you and Judith.

It was refreshing, not really like a shower would be at this point but... close enough.

Slowly exiting, you took out two more walkers and continued out of the street -generally in the same direction the stranger had provided you with. You were just going by roads and by paths. Assumedly, if this place was safe, it would be some kind of substantial building.

Like the prison was, your mind chimed. You bit back the bile in your throat.

It went on that until night fell, there was no shelter nearby, so you continued on foot. Not that you'd sleep anyway, especially with Judith. You couldn't chance a wink.

It was the early morning then, and you felt the heaviness in your eyes. But you'd experienced much, much worse. You were kind of running a little on the adrenaline of everything. That being said, you had slept a little.

You'd found a house, boarded up. For safety reasons, you walked all the way up the stairs to the furthest bedroom and locked the door. You woke up to Judith crying and hadn't slept since.

What you hadn't expected, was to see two men walking along the road -crisply dressed and oddly clean. You hid behind a tree, peeking out at the two of them -they were talking about something.

"I think we'll give it another few days."

"How many?"

"Maybe two," one of the men spoke, "-we have to get back to Alexandria at some point-"

You stilled, hands brushing up against the bark of the tree. It scraped your fingers a moment.

You tailed them for a bit, watching what weapons they had (if they did) and figuring out what they were doing in general. They seemed to be limited to this area, like they were expecting something or maybe watching something, you didn't really know. They didn't say much.

You waited for them to completely let their guard down. Realistically, you could've taken them, probably. But you didn't chance anything, not with Judith; if you died, she would have nobody. Or at least, right now she would.

It was later in the day, lunch maybe based on the fact that they were eating. One's back to you, you realize this to be the perfect moment. You could take a hostage and demand answers.

Gently kissing Judith's head, you took a deep breath.

And you acted instinctively, pulling out your axe, and jumping behind him. With one fluid move, you pulled your axe in front of his neck. The vein, the vein, the vein-

The other man jumped, "Shit-"

"Don't move," you warned, and the man stalled in place -hands gently raised in the air.

He looked so unaffected from the world, how was he even-

"What do you want from us?" He nearly pleaded, and something in your resolve faltered but you stayed firm, "-Food? Weapons? We- Shit, take it all-"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, trying to control your emotion. Judith, Judith, Judith-

"Where is Alexandria?"

[nahoyasboyfriend]

Run from me

Warning: very vague gore at the end tried to keep that as short as possible. If you don't want to read about being chased this is not for you

Word count: 1k

Tagging: @slvt4jamesmarch

A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this so I hope it's good. Sorry if there are any errors. I tried to fix most of them, but I may have missed a few. To whoever requested this I love you so much!!!

You awake to the sound of someone knocking on the door. It's probably someone who got their room mixed up. sluggishly, you drag yourself out of bed, carefully ambling to the door. You yawn, blinking the last bit of sleep from your eyes. You don't bother to grab your phone. You plan to go back to bed anyway. It's still dark outside, and your alarm hasn't gone off.

You open the door and there's a man standing before you. He dressed like he was ripped fresh out of the 1920s. His hair slicked down, and he had a thin mustache. Your eyes scan over his outfit, a pin striped suit with an ascot around his neck, and a bowler hat to top it all off. He donned a charming smile, and you brush off the unease that settles in your stomach.

"I think you have the wrong room," you state plainly. All you wanted to do was go back to bed, and sleep the weirdness of this encounter away.

"No, I don't believe I do. if I recall correctly, this is room 74." he says, his inky black eyes never leaving your own.

Sighing, you lightly shake your head, taking a step closer to him, "this is the room they gave me, so there must be a mix up. I can even show you the key they gave me. It has the room number."

You turn around, and you're yanked into the firmness of his chest. Before you can even think of screaming, his big hand clamps over your mouth. "when I let go, I want you to run," he purred, voice molasses-smooth, and you shudder from the feeling of his breath against your ear. You don't make a noise, afraid it'll make everything more real. "And if you make it to the lobby, you get to live."

You think, for a brief moment, if you pray hard enough you'll wake up in your bed, and this will just be a horrible nightmare, but it isn't. It's very much real, and when his bruising grip is finally released you realize the only thing you can do is run like he requested.

And that's exactly what you do, you dart off, hoping that if you're fast enough you'll be able to make it out of here alive. You glance behind you, expecting him to be right on your tail chasing behind you. Strangely, he isn't. You see him back where you left him, taking his time. His gait is steady and slow. He's playing with you and that thought alone makes you sick.

The idea sends a wave of determination through you. You can't let it end here in an old shitty hotel. You duck a corner, and you're met with more rooms with no end in sight. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. You scream out, and your lungs ache from the exertion. You feel aimless in a way, unsure of where you are going. You don't know where any of the exits were located, or if there even are any. You wonder if this is pointless; if all roads lead to your inevitable doom.

Though the assumption of what he'll do to you if he catches you pushes you on. Being tortured didn't sound like the way you wanted to go, but not dying at all would be the preferred option. You could hear him humming behind you, a faint sound. Something you wouldn't have noticed if you didn't focus. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, and you're sure if it wasn't you would have collapsed by now.

The halls of the hotel slowly start bleeding together the more corners you turn. Every hall looks identical to another, so much so you start to wonder if you're going in circles. You slowly begin to believe that this wasn't a hotel at all, and more like a labyrinth. A place designed to swallow helpless people like yourself whole. Losing hope, you scream louder, begging for anyone to save you. You weren't the most religious, but you found yourself wishing that somehow god would save you.

The man lets out a deafening laugh, muttering something you couldn't catch. He sounded closer than before. More tears rolled down your face, your eyes flitting around searching for another person. Goddamnit, does anyone work here?

The sound of his footsteps got quicker and louder. The sound was maddening. You couldn't tell if he was right behind you, and you were too frightened to check. The exhaustion was slowly starting to catch up with you. Your feet felt like rocks, every step taking more effort than the last. Your skin is covered in goosebumps from the chill of the hotel. The flimsy nightgown you have on doing nothing to shield you from the bite of the air conditioner.

You can barely force enough air into your lungs, each sharp breath sending a rush of pain through you. You could see another corner coming up. You could only pray that you'd finally reached an exit. That maybe your key to freedom was right in front of you. You quickly discovered It wasn't. When you reach the corner, a flood of dread is washed over you. A dead end. You let out a broken sob, stumbling down the hall. The sound of his mellow hum, creeping closer and closer.

As you staggered down the hall the only thing that ran through your head was: why? Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn't it be someone else? Why is life so cruel?

When you reach the end of the hallway, you just stand there for a moment, silently listening to him walk to you. When he's within your reach you whip around, wildly swinging your arms to hit him. He catches one of your hands, but the other lands a clean strike on his jaw. You freeze for a moment, uncertain of what to do next. He regains composure almost immediately, squeezing your wrists in a tight fist.

"you did good, dear. very good," he croons and thrusts your body against the wall and you groan out in pain. You feel a searing pain in your stomach, and you hesitantly look down to see his knife buried to hilt in your stomach. You try to scream but only a wet gurgle comes out. He twists the knife for extra measure before pulling the blade out of you. You slump forward, your consciousness slipping through your fingers like sand. Right before you lose your last bit of consciousness you hear him add, "unfortunately not good enough."

[phoenixcatch7]

Up next, the only model I have of one of my rare fandom OCs. I typically only make one per fandom, so this is mdzs!

This is Crow, a nameless and amnesiac raven. The animal reincarnation of an ancient demonic cultivator puppeting the skeleton of their previous life. Wwx named them upon meeting them when he mistook their species in the dark, and then found it funny enough he kept the name.

It's vanishingly rare these guys get lore, but this one does!

I typically keep to book or anime continuity, and crow is my nod to cql/the untamed. In this, crow is the only known member of a rare and unorthodox species - a yin skeleton.

To 'become' a yin skeleton, a few criteria must be met: a creature of sufficient power and resentment must die an unsettled death and yet refuse to become a resentful spirit. Their corpse must then be left, undisturbed and unburied in whatever state it was left in, in a location of immense resentful energy with full exposure to (the purifying yin of) the moon. After many years, once the flesh has rotted off the bones, the skeleton left will rise once more and mindlessly seek out its soul. Should it encounter the soul in their new body, and the soul accept the undead shell rather than fleeing or destroying it, the bond between mind and body will be forged anew, and the skeleton becomes a second body of the soul, allowing it to cultivate immense amounts of yin energy without damage to the current vessel.

Having no organs, it of course cannot talk or feel pain, though resentment puppets its limbs and allows it to see and hear just as well as any reanimated skeleton - better, even. Though it can carry out orders and operate from a significant distance, a yin skeleton will always be drawn back to its soul, seeking out what it can never again have.

Crow is the reincarnation of whoever created the burial mounds, the losing side. It's been so long since they first reincarnated, gained their yin skeleton, and cultivated to sapience that they no longer recall anything about their human life, including their old gender. Wwx theorises that they could be Xue Chonghai himself, or one of his disciples, but any clues are long since lost to time and they're not really interested in finding out. Nonetheless, they have 'lived' in the burial mounds undisturbed and undiscovered for centuries, learning and experimenting with yin energy with their decreasingly limited intelligence and total lack of resources or modern knowledge.

Wwx encounters them for the first time utilising corpses for a dance ritual to expose the sky above the thick smog. Think a rain dance, but in reverse. Though they're not a fighter (nothing to fight in the burial mounds if you're part of it) or good at using their words (nothing to talk to in the burial mounds period), they nonetheless possess a deep understanding of yin energy/resentment and its interactions with its cultivators that wwx reverse engineers and uses to reach even greater heights. Vaguely endeared and deeply interested in the most unusual thing to happen in the mounds in literal centuries, their raven body often leaves the mounds to scavenge for berries and the like for wwx to eat, because lord knows what he was eating in canon.

When wwx breaks out of the burial mounds, they intermittently visit him, acquiring a veiled hat and covering robes to avoid getting hunted down, pretending mutism and the bird being a talking service animal trained for translation. They could not look any more like a demonic cultivator if they tried, though, so results are mixed. They are often one crow among the many that follow wwx around being ominous and creepy, so it's no surprise he thought they were one too at first!

With a reason and desire to explore and socialise (with like, one person lol), Crow slowly grows to genuinely like wwx and shows initiative by spying for information. This works worryingly well, being just a bird and a super powered undead. When wwx brings the wens to the burial mounds, Crow is introduced to them all and in turn shows them the way to the old sect ruins, where they settle. They bond with wn, unsurprisingly, and are extremely fond of him and the small human who is soon unafraid to approach them. During the first siege of the burial mounds, wwx orders them to hide and guard a-yuan, and they do so, though they struggle to care for him as his fever climbs. When lwj comes and rescues a-yuan, they follow him in secret, often checking in on the pair in between general spying and stalking and trying to clean up the mounds.

When wwx is forcibly brought back to life in a new body, his own skeleton wakes up and tries to find him. Crow takes care of it like an exasperated child minder, keeping it from running out in public or off cliffs in search of him, until they encounter him halfway up dafan mountain. A dark human shape looming in the shadows of the trees just off the path looking straight at him, following the narrative it'd be the first time the audience meets them lol. The very image of Bad News.

Crow leads wwx to a clearing, where there is the outline of a tall, broad figure standing just inside the shade cast by the trees. Red eyes, tumbling and tattered hair, flowing robes. It steps out into the moonlight, and wwx's skeleton is skinless and bare but for the cloak Crow has forced it into. Wwx reaches for the grasping bony hands with zero hesitation, and thus wwx gets his own yin skeleton - the first ever human to do so.

As a demonic hippie, essentially, Crow isn't really a fighter - preferring to cultivate through dance where wwx chooses music - though they aren't afraid to dish the pain. Like any other undead, the skeleton does all the work, fighting unarmed with immense brute strength, speed and endurance. Like wn, basically. When not covered from head to toe to participate in society they typically wear very loose, gaping clothing to allow Crow to climb around on the bones. They typically rest in the exposed ribcage like a birdcage, but when making a point they often climb into the skull to peer from an eye socket (which is why the design has a single red eye. All very goth. I was going to use a normal eye but it looks absolutely HORRIFYING on a skeleton XD).

Crow, being a bird in charge of a skeleton in a pit of death, cares very little for appearances, and their yin skeleton is clothed in repaired and stolen rags from the corpses. The only thing remaining of their past life is a weirdly indestructible cloak/outer robe embroidered with falling red leaves. Shoes are very hard to wear when you don't have any skin or muscles, and it's not like it can get scratches or sore feet anyway, so it's barefoot, only using wraps to give the illusion of shoes. The whole chest was supposed to be exposed so you could see the ribs! But there weren't any chest pieces like that so I had to settle. It does look SUPER cool though. The feathers on their chest are from the bird! It's hard to tell given the dark colours and the blood, but they're the same blue as the wings! The arm guards and wraps are basically just falconry gloves so Crow can land safely and not fall off the bones lol. The moon/yin bleaching has left the bones really white, unlike natural skeletons which are yellow. The bleaching white is for hygiene and aesthetic I think.

Due to the bird cultivating resentment, Crow successfully reached immortality in their flesh and blood body. Perhaps they could have been human by now had they stayed in the reincarnation cycle and led good lives, but they prefer the life they have. If they could speak eloquently enough they could revolutionise the study of yin, but wwx is the only one who really listened. Eventually, perhaps, if they form the undead trio with wn and sl (and a-qing, technically) and one of the two teaches them the modern writing system. Due to all the spying and exploring (breaking and entering) they do, they often struggle to have patience with surprise or denial. Crow may have bitten someone in frustration. Or five.

Luckily, lsh and jl regard them as the creepy but helpful uncle, and enjoy petting the raven as much as it enjoys being pet. The adults who know of them are mostly warily resigned to ominous eyeless staring and a bird randomly sharing personal details of their enemies. It's how they show their love.

Man but I'm SO happy with the design, it came out SO WELL!!

If you've read this far, yay! Tell me what you think ^u^

[sickficideas]

I gotta ask: Do you have headcanons for Chuuya being drunk and/or hungover? :3

i do love this idea...here's a few i can conjure up in my little pea brain

- as we know he is a pathetic lightweight...massive social drinker but will also drink his sorrows away alone in his apartment, both situations leave him absolutely miserable

- he Tries to make sure he's not drinking on nights before he has to work early but he does get carried away...especially in social settings he's stumbling and slurring words and he Has thrown up on himself and other people more than once. If Tachihara is around he's the one who's dragging his ass back to a taxi to take him home

- anytime after Chuuya throws up he's like inconsolable. so emotional. telling everyone vague life problems and whoever is with him is just patting his head "it's okay you're fine". the hiccups and burps don't stop until he falls asleep. he's totally immune to car sickness but will throw up in the taxi if he's drunk. Tachihara has learned he needs to keep him talking to avoid that lol

- his hangovers are somehow worse if he threw up while he was drunk. waking up at 2pm and nauseous and refusing to eat even though he's starving, the second hand embarrassment he feels from his drunk self puking on himself/others is enough to deter him lol.

- every time he's tried to brush his teeth during a hangover he's thrown up from the gag reflex so he's learned to avoid that

[cavka]

Hey, welcome to DADWC

"Waking Up Not Knowing Where They Are" from the h/c tropes list, for Iris Hawke and whoever you like as a supporting cast.

thank you for the prompt!! i came it from a kind of... sideways direction lkajsdf but twas fun :> (for @dadrunkwriting)

Everything hurts in the way that means whatever scrap Iris was recently in, she very nearly didn't get out of it. There's a line running parallel to her sternum that alternately burns and freezes. Her fingertips throb in time with her heartbeat. The state of her throat is not unlike that of the deserts of western Orlais.

She can taste blood on her lips.

"Shh," a voice comes from above her. It's familiar--makes her think of long summer nights in Lothering--as are the fingers carding through her hair. Iris pries her eyes open to see Bethany smiling softly down at her.

"Not her," Iris croaks, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, not her."

When she opens them again a moment later, the spirit borrowing her dead sister's face is once again the amorphous, vaguely humanoid shape that she's used to seeing in the Fade. "I thought the face of a loved one might bring you comfort," Devotion says.

"Thank you for trying." Iris tries to reach up to pat the spirit that has been her partner in healing for so many years on it's not-arm, but can't. Not with how the slightest bit of movement sends so much pain along her nerves that it feels as if she's being flayed alive.

Devotion hushes her again and with a touch to her forehead sends cool relief all through Iris' limbs. "You'll not survive this on your own," it says quietly. "There is too much damage. But I can help, if you let me."

Iris swallows hard. She suspects she knows how, and the thought frightens her more than potentially dying does. Still, she doesn't want it to end here. Not when her last memories are of Sebastian begging her to keep breathing and Fenris' hands holding her together as much as they could. Not when Carver's goodbye to her a few hours ago (was it only a few hours?) included him asking her to stay alive.

"If I start to change you, will you leave?" Iris asks.

"If I do, you will die," Devotion says. "But if that is what you want, yes."

Iris nods.

"Close your eyes." Devotion's voice echoes as it places it's almost-hands on her chest.

It feels like stepping into a cool, still pool of water. One breath. Another.

Feeling slowly comes back into her limbs, her torso. It hurts the same as it did in the Fade, but now she can feel the cooling effect of healing salves on her skin and smell the elfroot. Familiar hands hold onto her own, and she opens her eyes to see Anders sitting at her bedside, rumpled, stressed, and clearly not having slept. With more effort than she feels the move should require, she gently squeezes his hands in return.

His head snaps up to look at her. "Hawke!" His relief is obvious in his expression, followed closely after by confusion, realization, and resignation.

"You shouldn't be awake, you're not healed enough for--" He trails off, letting a sliver of his depleted magic slip from his palms to hers, scanning her. He loses what little color exhaustion hadn't taken from his face. "Hawke... what did you do?"

She licks dry lips. "What I had to," she rasps.

[onyxbird]

Burglary of the Soul

Summary: The Leverage crew is extraordinary in many ways, so it shouldn't be surprising that they managed to form a team that included soulmates, something most people never find. Eliot wishes his teammates the best, but wants nothing to do with the whole concept: given his line of work, he really doesn't want to know. Unfortunately, when your soulmate is revealed by something as simple as being able to make direct eye contact, that's more difficult than it sounds... Complete fic (4 chapters) on AO3

Ch. 1: A stolen glance

Eliot balanced a heavy package of imported beer on his hip to fumble for his key and slide it into the lock. He winced as the box shifted, digging its edge into a fresh bruise where a guard's baton had landed a solid hit. One last thing to to grab from HQ, and then he could head home to relax and crack open his long-awaited Slovenian stout.

Behind the door, Hardison's muffled voice vibrated with excitement. Don't set the box down; don't get pulled into conversation, or you'll never get out of here. Hopefully whoever Hardison was currently gushing to would continue to hold his attention and let Eliot slip in and out with little notice.

Instead, Eliot's heart nearly stopped as Parker's shout of “What is wrong with you?” rang through the hallway.

The door slammed open under his shoulder, hard enough to hit the wall and bounce off. Parker and Hardison, alone in the room, whirled towards him. A split-second later, Parker was wrapped around his right arm, shoving him towards Hardison and babbling something about possession and making Hardison be normal again.

Eliot scanned rapidly over a stunned-looking Hardison and his surroundings, looking for the threat. Not physical, surely—even if Hardison would, Parker's speed and wariness were more than enough for her to keep out of reach. Still, he let the box slide down his leg to the floor and kicked it aside, freeing his hands and footing. His brain filed the accompanying clank of glass as a problem for later.

“What the hell did you do, Hardison?” Eliot demanded, glowering.

Hardison's mouth flapped helplessly for a moment. “I don't—We just—” Two fingers waved vaguely around his upper face. “Eyes, you know?”

“He's being weird,” said Parker, still huddled halfway behind Eliot's shoulder with her arms wrapped around herself. “He was normal until a few minutes ago, and then we looked right at each other when he was telling me about his game, and now he won't stop.”

Eliot glanced from one to the other, slowly, fitting the garbled explanations together in the only way that made sense. Eye contact.

His teammates were also soulmates.

“Knock it off, Hardison,” Eliot snapped, with more venom than he'd intended, his own eyes skittering down the line of Hardison's jaw to focus on the corner of his mouth. “'Soulmates' or not, there's no call to be staring people in the eyes when they don't like it.”

Eliot had avoided even the possibility of eye contact with anyone since he was in high school. (Not that he'd been trying to lock eyes with people before that, but, well, he and Aimee tried once, back when they were young and naive and thought maybe they were meant to be. They weren't.) In his recent lines of work, whether you really believed in soulmates or not, it was better not to know. All well and good for people who were into that sort of thing, but for a hitter, there was just no way for that to end well.

Eliot didn't need to look at Hardison's eyes, not even obliquely, to see the expression of absolute horror settle across his features before belatedly averting his gaze from Parker's face. “Parker, I am so, so sorry! I was just so excited, you know, and—” His nervous energy rerouted into pacing and expansive gesticulation.

Hardison's apology in one ear collided with Parker's loud “Ha! 'Soulmates'!” in the other, and Eliot could already feel the resulting headache forming.

Her mirth faded as she took in their expressions. “You're kidding, right? That's not real. You don't actually believe in that, do you?”

“...Yeah?” said Hardison.

“Seriously?”

“What? Not being able to look other people in the eyes is a demonstrable fact. Like, the actual compatibility side is technically anecdotal, I guess, but the eye contact bit isn't, and if it weren't a thing, wouldn't you hear a lot of counterexamples of people who found their 'soulmate' and hated them?”

Parker's face screwed up skeptically. “Uh, have you been trying to look in people's eyes? Ew.”

“Well, not actively, but when you look at people it comes up! Come on, man, back me up here!”

“It doesn't 'come up' unless you're being a weirdo. Right, Eliot?”

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don't—don't pull me into this. Yeah, fine, lots of people try to make eye contact, most of 'em can't, and lots of people believe in soulmates. Y'all need to sort this out yourselves—I'm just here for my jacket.”

Adrenaline ebbing away, Eliot glanced down at his box on the floor. A small puddle of liquid already pooled on the floor beneath a slowly spreading damp patch on the cardboard, indicating at least one casualty from the rough handling. He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling every ache and bruise from the job and wishing he'd just forgotten about his jacket until the next briefing.

It shouldn't have been that big a deal. It wasn't that big a deal. He had other beer at home. There were probably still unbroken bottles. He honestly didn't even know for sure if it was good, just that an old military pal had recommended it.

His teammates were in the middle of a legitimately life-altering discovery, and he was crying over spilt beer.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, “I've been waiting for this to come in for weeks, and I didn't even get to open the damn box.”

Hardison loomed suddenly in front of him, peering down at the box. “Oh, man, I'm so sorry; that's on me. I didn't mean to—apparently there's a lot of things I didn't mean to do today that're making trouble for my people anyway.” Hardison's phone was already in his hand. “I'm sorry, I will replace your beer. Just tell me what kind it is.”

Parker leaned around Eliot, practically draped over his shoulder, to read off the name of the brewery for Hardison.

“It's fine, Hardison. Y'all have…” Eliot waved a hand vaguely, trying to subtly untangle himself from Parker's octopus-like cling. “…stuff to deal with.”

“Yeah, and your stuff got broken 'cause you ended up playing mediator for our 'stuff', so it's only fair I order you some more.”

“Yeah, you said you were waiting for it. If anyone can figure out how to get it shipped faster, it's Hardison,” agreed Parker.

Ch. 2 on AO3.

[foone]

The rain was coming down in sheets, and it was clearly irritating Rudapedi, putting him on edge... Or keeping him on edge, I guess. It had been only minutes since someone tried to kill us, after all.

"why would they need to transport the stolen weapons across the country, if their final destination is another planet? Couldn't they just warp them out like they warped in?" asks Jay from the driver's seat.

Rudapedi answers with the tone of a college professor who knows they already taught this. "no. When you're going between planets, you have to make use of existing rifts, and they're in fixed locations on the planet's surface. Generally you'd just do a local teleport between them, but I imagine the moonstone caskets made that too difficult to manage, so they resorted to just driving them across the surface manually. Your world sure makes that easy, after all. You know half your entry in the compendium is about these 'automobiles' you're got?"

Rudapedi turns to the car window and all the raindrops pouring down it, looking out with an expression somehow mixing boredom and unease. "And you keep assuming they were stolen. I don't know the details but I would bet that wasn't how they were acquired. The Kalic Empire has deep pockets, Jay. They don't need to steal. I imagine they found whoever is in charge of these weapons and offered them more gold than they could ever spend, or a permanent vacation trip off-world away from the troubles of this rainy planet, to an endless beach where the sun never sets... Or maybe they offered health? I'm sure there's at least one upper commander in your military who is dying slowly of something you can't cure, or has a spouse or child in a similar situation."

Rudapedi is sitting up now, gesturing with a lot of jabbing pointing motions, most in Jay's direction. "I've been here long enough to learn about your medical techniques. Don't get me wrong, they're amazing. Brain surgery? Those... Magnet-things that can see inside people? And your drugs would shame any potion-maker back home. You truly are masters of this craft, far beyond anything in the empire or any unaligned world I've ever heard of.

But you know why we don't have those kinds of abilities? We've never needed them."

Jay doesn't let the bearded wizard's vaguely accusatory tone get to him. "No, I don't suppose you would. If you can just wave a wand and fix someone's broken leg, why invent the splint and the X-ray machine?"

Rudapedi, for his part, is back to looking out the window, with the expression of a cat that begged to be let out only to find it has snowed for the first time in its little life and the backyard it wanted to play in has been covered in a thick blanket of white fluffy nonsense.

The continual beating of rain against the top of the car has turned into sharp "pings" as hail bounces off. "what the hell is that? Why is it BOUNCING?" Rudapedi asks, and you can feel the fuzz on "hell", like the translation spell is underlining it with a red squiggle of inaccuracy in your mind.

"That's hail", you respond. "sometimes when it's cold enough the rain freezes into little balls of ice while they're falling. This is pretty small, all things considered. When they get bigger, they can cause a lot of damage."

Rudapedi's managing to combine his expressions into one only describable as "rapt disgust". He says nothing in reply, only muttering something under his breath that even untranslated you can tell is an oath that's vaguely blasphemous. You wonder how it can go untranslated. Is the spell skipping out on speech that's too quiet or does it filter swears?

The hail continues, only getting louder. With the conversation clearly over (and it would be difficult to talk over the hail without shouting, anyway) you pull on your headset and start reciting words to your tablet, not letting this magical gift of vocabulary go to waste.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

thinking abt. poke slayer again. for no real reason except i like to annoy my followers with nonsense posts i guess.

ANYWAY i still really really love the idea that ingo is not only the guy rei/akari meet immediately after the attack, but he is ALSO periodically meeting up with them afterwards seemingly randomly. he's always very vague about what business, exactly, has him in the area to coincidentally run into them again. actually he's vague about a Lot of things. boy he sure seems to keep up pretty well with slayer techniques and their general locations, and he knew where to find cyllene (their first proper mentor), is he a demon slayer himself? hmm. well. hm. he is. not exactly affiliated with them no.

so akari comes to the conclusion pretty quickly that he's a demon. this is not a hard logical leap to make. especially since he always has to reach up to his mask when he's talking, which she's fairly sure is bc the mask is also a gag that he can't talk through, like it's held in his teeth or something, which is why he knew to give one to rei before he bit anyone. and he tries to keep his face and as much skin as possible covered at all times, like he doesn't want anyone to get a proper look at him. and he's weirdly up-to-date on the locations and plans of various demons wherever he is. again. not a hard conclusion to come to if you're looking for long enough.

anyway eventually this gets brought up with a more experienced slayer at some point, like akari casually mentions oh yeah, inu, friend of ours, helped me and rei out, tall guy, absolutely shit posture, black wolf mask, etc. and the hashira or whoever slams the brakes so hard like YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS?

and akari's like what, oh, yeah, i mean, i figure he's a demon. it's just like, it feels like it would be rude to ask at this point, and he's not hostile, so i've just been kind of hoping it never came up-

hashira (ignoring her) is like EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP, the newbie recruit has apparently been hanging out with the FIRST FUCKING KIZUKI??

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: Solar Dawn (Sky Lark/Sun Wukong/Yang Xiao Long)

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Day five: healing @rwbyrarepairweek ; security breach au, animatronic Sky

Not every kid likes Sky. A small portion actually hates him, though he is supposed to be a jester and not a clown and Yang had thought the clown-fear thing was mostly myth. That was before she started working for Scarlatina Entertainment as a technician. Yang rubs the back of her hand against her forehead, smearing grease. "Alright, can you move your fingers?"

Sky raises his left arm, the bare brown metal glints slightly under the lights of her workshop under the Pizzaplex, and flexes his fingers. They move without so much as a creak and he smiles. "Fixed."

"Thankfully. Now on to the second one," Yang says. "Can you turn for me?"

Sky nods and turns around to straddle the chair, draping the already fixed arm over the back. He drops his head to rest on it, too. "I still can't believe those brats managed to hurt both arms before a parent got to them."

"Neither can I." Yang clicks her tongue. If Ruby or her did that, they would've been grounded for weeks. Not that either of them would've ever done it. Even as kids they were both way into robotics.

Actually, thinking about it, if they were young enough they might have tried some pretty stupid stuff to try and see how it worked. Yang still remembers all the pens and mechanical pencils she tore apart—a few of which were Weiss' that she ended up being unable to fix. There is a knock on the wall and Yang calls whoever it is in without turning from Sky's wires.

"I heard Sky got hurt again?" Sun asks as he walks into the room.

"Yeah," Sky and Yang sigh together.

"Have you sewn his sleeves?" Sun asks.

"Yeah." Yang vaguely gestures to where they sit on the table, next to the still open sewing kit. "Can you put it on him?"

Sun nods, knowing that while she can't see it, she would know he did anyway. "So did you scare them or were they just bastards?"

"Bastards." Sky sighs. He holds his arm up so Sun can attach the sleeve to his forearm. "Preteens."

The cloth is long and flowing; it attached to under the metal at the joint between the animatronic's upper and lower arm and Sun carefully feels along the seam to reattach it. His fingers flutter against Sky's metal and wires. It doesn't hurt, but it does tickle, and while Sky tries to stop he can't help squirming.

Yang clicks her tongue. "Babe, stay still."

"Sun is tickling me," Sky giggles, the noises bubbling up.

"Sorry." Sun removes his fingers and sits on the table in a clear area. Cloth hangs loosely from the spots Sun didn't get to. "I'll finish after you're done, Yang."

"Thanks," Yang hums. "And sorry, too, I forgot how ticklish he is there."

"So did I for a few moments," Sky says. He lays his arm in his lap, the action making a hollow ting sound. It's easy to forget he's ticklish even like this. "Are you almost done?"

"About. I need to go slower with your arms, I don't want to hurt the wires so your fingers malfunction," Yang says and smiles at the panel she's messing in. "You need those to flip off Cardin."

Sky hums. "I do, so I guess I can sit here patiently for a little longer, if Sun entertains me." He glances up at his other boyfriend and Sun snorts. It's an ugly type of snort, it always is, but it also always makes Sky feel a little like he's overheating. He loves that snort.

"What do you want me to do?" Sun asks and Sky forcefully keeps himself from shrugging. Yang hums in appreciation.

"Anything. Yang's too focused to talk to me," Sky says.

"Then what if I…" Sun pulls three balls out of seemingly thin air, sliding off the table as he does, and Sky laughs. "juggle?"

"Isn't that supposed to be my thing?" Sky asks.

"You don't have a monopoly on juggling." Sun taps a finger against his beak.

"Alright." Sky rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. "Show me what you got."

"Cool." Sun smiles and it's just as sunny as his name. Sometimes Sky thinks Sun should've gotten the security jacket with the sun patches instead of the lightning bolts, but he likes that his security guard matches him. "I've been practicing this."

Sky shifts in the seat, not enough to disturb Yang but just enough to sit up. Sun throws all three balls up together and catches them before he starts truly juggling. As an animatronic, Sky is nearly an expert at juggling. It's one of the things that's just in his coding. He's literally built for agility, hand-eye-coordination, athletics. Anything a jester might need to physically entertain. Whether or not he was actually good at any of that stuff while he was human, he doesn't really remember, but he thinks he was. All that is to say, Sky loves watching this. The balls arc and spin, Sun moving with them and never missing a catch, even as he has to lean into the table for one. The movements speak of time, speak of hours, speak of passion. The way Sun smiles, bright and large and all laughter just without the sound, speaks of passion. Speaks of fun. Sometimes Sky fumbles a ball, but his body is really just code. It's wires and metal and made for errors like that to happen as statistically seldom as human error can achieve. And with Yang as the main technician– as his only technician– Sky rarely makes a physical error. Meanwhile Sun juggles without error because of practice. It is beautiful, though Sky knows neither of his human boyfriends would naturally think of it that way. But that's okay. Sky knows people see beauty in different things and he is more than okay with being the only person to look at Sun and see his forever messy hair, curls bouncing as he juggles, and know that it is beautiful.

A spark in his wires causes him to look over at Yang, who flushes and looks away from Sun and back at his arm, and Sky thinks happily that she does see it, too.

Sun juggles for a bit longer, and on the ball's last loop he throws each of them higher and ducks under them, mouth wide, and swallowing after all three falls so it looks as if he's eaten them. One of his arms is behind his back, and Sky knows it means he's simply caught them. Something he thinks is more impressive, because that means Sun caught all three without looking. With all three balls in his hand, Sun takes a bow. Since Yang has his right arm, he claps by hitting his thigh. His palm makes a soft ringing sound against the metal there, like a bell.

"I'm done," Yang says at that moment and rolls her chair away. She stands and stretches, her spine and elbows making a popping sound. Sky smiles and flexes the fingers of his right hand, rotating the wrist to make sure everything is working probably, though he knows it is. The only reason he checks is because he knows Yang wants him to.

"Thanks, Yang," Sky says.

"Anything for my girlfriend," Yang says, smiling cheekily as she adds, "Plus it's how I get a paycheck."

Sky puts a hand on his chest to gasp dramatically. "Is that all I am to you? A job?"

"No," Yang says, sudden seriousness belied by the way her lips are twitching upward again. "You're also an annoyance."

"How dare, good sir! Sun, do you see how our boyfriend treats me?" Sky bemoans, making Sun snort. If not for the weight difference, Sky would’ve leaned against Sun just to really sell it. Instead he tips backwards in the chair.

“She’s being terribly cruel,” Sun agrees and that gets Yang to break, laughter filling the room as they join in. it always feels good to be silly with them. Natural in a way that isn’t related to his job, though that is very natural, too. It’s just different. Sky waves his arm and the cloth moves in the air like a wave.

“Finish my sleeves for me?” Sky asks, batting his eyelashes. There is still humour in Sun’s smile as he takes the unattached cloth in his hands and continues to attach it to Sky’s arm while Sky tries his best to keep it still despite the tickling feeling, so he doesn’t pinch and hurt Sun’s fingers.

"You're so spoiled," Yang says, only half joking but fully fond and unrepentant as she is one of the two doing the spoiling, and bends down to kiss his forehead. Sky beams up at her.

"As I should be," he says with all the snottiness he can muster while smiling and being unintentionally tickled. It makes Yang snort. Sun purposely flutters his fingers at his wires and Sky gives a cut-off laugh, freezing up.

“Suuun,” Sky complains and Sun just smiles.

“Gimme your other arm?” Sun says. Sky sighs and holds up his other arm so Sun can connect the other sleeve.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Bootylicious

Stray Kids Bang Chan x Idol!Reader Summary: You're known as the gym rat in your group, and quite frankly, you only have two moods: shredding or chilling. This was why when you're not asleep in between schedules, you're spotted with a male idol you happened to meet in the gym you were at that day. It's a known fact though, that you and Bang Chan are gym buddies and each other's spotter. Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: Internet toxicity, sasaengs, vulgar language, sexism, misogyny, pining, fluff, mentions of Pentagon because why not <3, etc.

A/N: Girl, i shouldn't do this but I did. It's so funny to me someone requested this cause I have recently become an exercise junkie lol. Also, if you can't tell, there is a pov shift after the cut so yeah. I also wanted to keep the reader gender neutral but I want to write about how psychotically different people treat male and female idols because that stuff aint it. It's most definitely not what anon was expecting me to write but I hope they enjoy it nonetheless.

There's compilation in YT with growing parts centered around you flexing your physical fitness and prowess. It ranges from you affectionally touring your fans, which really meant the cameraman, through the gym, introducing your trainer, and doing your routine on camera, to your group (and others) both fawning and bragging about how strong and how hot you are.

CLIP #1: A scene from an interview of your group in Japan, struggling to talk about how you can do 40 straight push ups.

There was a male interviewer in a suit you could all faintly recognize was talking about your recent Instagram post of a gym mirror selfie.

One of your youngest members smirked and in broken Japanese, cutely said, "Wah, she does 100 push ups! Everyday, every night."

You snap your head to the maknae and raise your brows, "nani?" You begin to shake your hands in protest and begin to explain your truth, "absolutely not 100. Maybe around 40, but nooooo, not 100."

The interviewer and your group comically react in awe. The man in the suit urges, "can you show us?"

You give a face, "Excuse me, but I'm not getting paid to do that in this miniskirt."

Everyone, including the film crew, break into laughter.

CLIP #2: A scene from a variety show where you had to prove you were, in fact, yourself, by doing a shortened version of your exercise routine.

One of the hosts of the show asks, "Wait, do you honestly do all of this in your workout? Like you can do all of it?"

The list of your exercises were written on a colourful cardboard, held by the one who just spoke. It was a range of exercises in 10 sets, from jumping jacks to sit ups, to vague sounding exercises like crab pinches and robot arms.

You purse your lips at the last question asked of you, not really liking the tone in which it was asked. You answer quickly and nod proudly, "I actually do more, cause when I get in the zone and I'm already really sweaty, I feel like I should keep going until my whole body burns." You chuckle.

The older hosts, tilt their head and mutter lowly under their breath something along the lines of, "I'd rather die."

You finally do the routine, quickly, continuously, earning impressed reactions from everyone.

"That's hot," one of the hosts note.

"Ya, for some reason it looks easy to do."

The hosts begin to clamour at that statement, and force whoever said to do the exact thing you did. Clearly, they don't work out as much as you do and cannot even get halfway through it without stopping.

You break out into a breathless laugh in amusement of the comical attempt but then protest, explaining how bad it is to force yourself to do more than you can

CLIP #3: Pentagon, Hongseok especially, fawns over how fit you are

Trailing a conversation about how your group is close with Pentagon because your companies are situated closely to each other and you wind up eating together a lot, there is an anecdote about how there was a jar no one could open, no one but you, that is.

The interviewer asks no one in particular, "wah, none of you could open the jar? Really? Or did you all just pretend so she could open it?"

There is a chorus of answers concluding with, "no really, she was the only one that was able to open it."

The story is backed up by how the jar had a really small lid and some hands were too big. Then came an explanation how you were recently into the new rock climbing machine in your gym.

Hongseok speaks up, "I was invited to go to rock climbing in, like, an actual rock climbing place and I was honestly so surprised when she began to climb. She said she never actually tried rock climbing on a wall, but it seemed like she had been doing it for years."

Shinwon agrees, "Right, right. I was also really curious about what they did that day," he points to Hongseok, "that I joined them one time. I never felt so out of shape in my life. I just stayed back and filmed everything."

Pentagon laughs, and then agrees that you were exceptionally fast and just super fit in all honesty.

The interviewer catches Hongseok's expression then suddenly asks, "do you like a woman like that?"

"Yeah, I like my women strong."

Then came a lot of teasing remarks from Pentagon, and a plethora of complaints from delusional fans who did not want Hongseok to ever breathe in your direction again.

With all that's been said about that, in all the parts of this series floating around in the internet, one thing remained, there was a slightly larger population of impressed fans than the still large portion of antifans who wanted nothing to do with it and only came around to hate.

It's hard not to think about it, but even the slightest back handed compliment can sometimes linger in one's mind.

And right now, as much as I kept my mind on my counting as I finished my set high knees, I couldn't help but think of how much backlash I got from posting a post workout photo with my midriff exposed.

Apparently that was not only enough to merit hate for being both a whore and an attention whore, but people baselessly began to hate on my groupmates simply for being associated with me.

It's kind of sad really, how, say Wonho, can post a fairly exposed photo of himself and get so much praise for it, and yet I couldn't even do anything remotely close to that.

And I don't even mean to come at Wonho, we all know he's a beast at the gym and should be able to show as much of his hard work as he is comfortable in showing, but why can't I?

"Hey trooper. I thought you said you were only doing 80 counts?" a voice cracks me out of my train of thought.

I turn to whom spoke and chuckle at myself as I stop my leg raises, "ah yeah, I got lost in thought, and your really good song."

I pull on my earphones and give a lopside smile, "I love working out to God's Menu."

He gives a soft, "he he, thanks."

"No need for a thank you when I'm only giving my honest opinion, Chan."

"Yeah, well still, it makes my kokoro go doki-doki," he sniggers, crossing his arms and flashing a dimpled smile. I raise my upper lip and reel back, "EWWW!"

I playfully shove him. He acts hurt, "this is violence against children."

"Chan, you're literally older than me."

"That doesn't mean I'm not a child at heart."

"You mean, it doesn't mean you're not a drama queen."

"Hey, I have no interest in having a throne, my only interest is," he leans in and whispers, "you."

I feel my soul leave my body as he snorts to himself and runs away. I regurgitate in surprise, "YA!"

"You better do your next set properly," Chan says heading off to a cable row machine, "I'm always watching."

I try to ignore the blood rushing up your neck, "creep."

He shrugs, "rather that or have you get injured, sweet heart."

Yeah, Chan has saved me from a lot of injuries I could have had. It was a bad habit. It stemmed from the same thing that made me mess up my count a while ago, my overthinking.

Sometimes I thought of rather harmless things, but sometimes I began to fixate on the hate I received for simply being. I do a lot to get my mind to realize that they hated me simply because they could and because it was easy. Exercising helped tremendously, especially when I had someone fun to work out with, especially when I was with Chan. He just... made me feel safe, y'know.

But when the news of us being work out buddies surfaced, a lot of sasaengs came for me. Of course, a lot of Stays and my own fans were really kind about, speaking out that we were our own people and exercising together did not mean anything in particular really.

But some really went for it, and made it a hobby to comment on everything I was in that I was a slut for 'working out' with different men every day."

I let out a breath as I finish my routine. I catch my breath and go for a swig of my water. I take a moment then sit down by the mirror, which was near where Chan was currently working out.

"You're doing it again."

I turn from where I was blankly staring at turn to Chan who gave me a soft look, "you good?"

I release a sigh then purse my lips, "maybe."

He pouts, "what happened?"

I shrug and stand from where I sat, "you know, the usual."

Chan then comes up to me and takes my water bottle from me, "you know, no matter how much people say you don't need water to live, you can never change the fact that you are extremely dependent on water to live."

I look at him and half- heartedly point, "are you calling me thirsty?"

He begrudgingly groans and releases a chuckle. He calls my name out in a scolding tone. I feel myself relax, "I know what you're getting at Chan."

He nods, "good. I'll always be here to remind you of that."

I smile and feel an urge to hug him, "if you weren't so sweaty, I would totally hug you right now."

Chan then gives me a look then does not hesitate to crush me into his arms. I groan and whine in protest. He chuckles, "you literally just said you wanted a hug!"

"YOU'RE LITERALLY SO SWEATY. NO ONE WANTS THIS TORTURE."

Chan huffs and gives a wounded look, "hmp. You better spot me while I lift or else I'm unfriending you."

"Hmm... I think I'll be good without you as a friend."

I half expect Chan to whine about it, but he instead smirks, "ahhhh, you must want me to be your boyfriends so badly huh."

I- I mean...

CLIP #4: A crack edit of Chan when he gets asked about his gym relationship with me in Chan's Room.

He was looking through the questions and suddenly chuckles, his ears noticeably began to redden. Cue a zoom in of his face and his red ears. Cue a clip of Cardi B saying, "that's suspicious."

He says my name then continues, "am I close with her? Yeah. I would say I'm close with her-- and her whole group actually."

Captioned: Nice save, Chris.

"The kids and I are close with her group," he says, clearing his throat.

A clip of him clearing his throat is repeated about ten times.

Chan adjust the beanie he was wearing as he thinks of what he was going to say next, "we actually do work out together a lot because she's under a trainer that works with my trainer."

Captioned: Sure, Chan. That's the only reason, right?

Chan catches another question, "Is she a beast in the gym like Hongseok says?" He breaks into a laugh. He then rubs his cheek and grits his teeth.

A clip of someone saying, "Oh he's jealous," flashes on screen.

"Yeah," Chan finally says, "she's got a really high stamina."

Cue the clip, WHAT DID HE SAY?

Chan continues, "she can go between exercises without stopping. she doesn't even take that much time to catch her breath. In fact, she sings while exercising sometimes, which helps make her vocals stable."

Captioned: Queen Tingz.

The next thing that happens is Chan breaks into a laugh and begins to chuckle. He says, "Sorry I saw a funny comment."

Captioned: WHAT HE MEANS IS HE SAW A COMMENT SAYING 'SHUT UP CHRIS, YOU'RE WHIPPED."

Then came these comments:

LITERALLY LOOK AT HOW FLUFFY BANG CHAN GETS WHEN HE TALKS ABOUT HER DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME MY SHIP IS ALIVE

They are dating period. prove me wrong. you cant

Chan literally blushes over anything, buT HE TURNED INTO A TOMATO WHEN HE TALKED ABOUT HER BYE

if you hate on your faves loving each other, you most definitely need Jesus (:

PLEASE CAN YOU SEE HOW WHIPPED THEY ARE FOR EACH OTHER

Yeah... it's not been confirmed to this day.

[hold-him-down]

20 for all the whumpers again! 😊 Let them discuss how cute our boy Leo is <3 (bonus: let Luke overhear it and react to it if you can/want to)

this ask thing

TW: vague references to past noncon

"What did you like about Leo Evans?" The question hangs heavily in the air, and the leader is almost afraid to hear the answer. At this point, he's dealt with so many whumpers that he can predict the look they'll get in their eyes, the fondness for the memories of what they did. This particular group, he knows, won't disappointed.

It's Parker who speaks first, putting his phone down for the first time this meeting. He clears his throat, commanding everyone's attention. "This is stupid," he mumbles under his breath, before making eye contact with each person in the room. "I guess, if we have to do this, I liked how well he presented to people. Friends, family. The public. He did well, when he knew he had to."

Parker is holding back, and his answer draws little reaction.

"Sounds like bullshit to me," Ivan says. The leader refrains from intervening. Let them draw answers out of each other. "I think, in the end, I liked how hard he fought me. Leo always made me get creative with ways to... motivate... him. It was a thrill, always."

The leader glances up from his notebook, eyes landing on West. "You?" he says without commentary.

"I suppose I liked a great deal about Leo. I agree with what the others have said. I think he was through and through a beautiful product of the system. He managed well enough to keep any negative opinions to himself. He tried hard to please me and met the mark... almost always."

Cooper interrupts with, "You mean you liked his body. I think you're supposed to tell the truth in these things. You liked his d–"

"No. I mean, yes, he... yes. Yes, I enjoyed that about him, too–" West shakes his head. "I–”

"Great." Out of turn, the leader stops him from this line of dialogue. It always goes downhill from here. "Kylie?"

Under his breath, Parker laughs, and Kylie laughs outwardly.

"I liked how blue his eyes seemed when he cried," Kylie says. "The redness really made them pop."

A chorus of yes and good one and that too comes from the others.

"Oooh, and the way he would throw his entire body into his screams–"

✥ ✥ ✥

"– and that if I kept my hand on his stomach, I could practically feel the new screams forming."

"That's enough," the leader says.

From somewhere just beyond the meeting room, Luke watches through a two-way mirror. His hands are aching from the strain of clutching the ledge of the window so tightly, his face is ashen.

"Mr. Bennett?" the prosecutor says from next to him. "It might be best for you to step out."

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on whoever is speaking. "No," is the only thing he can bring himself to say.

[longlivelindanny]

@blue-bloods-fan, here’s that story as promised!! Based on Danny’s line: “first time I saw a decapitated head, I ended up contaminating the crime scene”.

Title: Contaminating The Crime Scene

Rated: T

Pairing: Danny/Linda

Characters: Danny, Linda, Renzulli

TW: for vomit and decapitation. Tried to keep it as vague as possible

——————

He yawned as he poured his coffee into his mug. He had wanted to stay the night with his fiancé, but she told him to go to his own apartment. He groaned- his roommate was barely home anymore. He was pretty sure Mickey had fully moved into his girlfriend's apartment and neglected to tell Danny.

Danny rolled his eyes and then groaned when the doorbell rang. He slumped to the door, telling whoever was in the other side, "it's too early for visitors."

"Even for your wife-to-be in 350 days bearing donuts?" She grinned widely, holding the Dunkin' Donuts bag up.

"Only if a kiss comes with the donuts."

She grinned wider, if that was possible, before rising to her toes and giving him a good morning kiss.

He moved aside to let her in.

"So is the entrance fee for coming into the Mickey-Danny residence a kiss?"

"Only if her name is Linda O'Shea, and she's here to see Danny Reagan.”

She snorted and sat at the table.

"So what're you doing here at 6:30? Doesn't that mean you had to get up insanely early?"

She groaned, "ugh, yes. But it's worth it to see your cute face."

He kissed her again and got a mug out for her coffee. "Early classes today?"

"No, thankfully. Earliest is ten. What time do you go in?"

"Gotta leave in half an hour."

"And you're just now getting up?"

"Unlike you, I don't need forty five minutes to wake up."

Linda only shrugged, sipping her coffee. "I hope you have a good day."

"Sure," he grumbled. "Guiding tourists and breaking up fights in the park between horny teenagers sure is fun."

"Mm, well, maybe afterwards, I can take you out to dinner. Or make you some. And then we can discuss wedding plans."

That wasn't enough to make the prospect of a lousy day better, but he just smiled and kissed her again. He always liked having dinner with her, so that was a plus.

**********

He and his partner were riding in the RMP when a call for a car crash came over the radio. They took it, and the closer they got, the worse Danny felt. He was feeling fine before, which meant that this crash scene wasn't going to be pretty.

When they arrived, people were hovering- as they tended to do around car crashes- but still, something wasn't right. He could feel it in his bones.

"It's not pretty," Sarge called to Danny, who was a few feet behind him.

"What?"

"Reagan, I wouldn't-"

Now, Danny always prided himself on the fact that he had zero gag reflex. He had a stomach made of steel, and things like dead bodies didn't bring bile to his throat.... Usually.

But today was the first time seeing a decapitated head. It had obviously been severed by the seatbelt— how fast was this kid going? And that was another thing- it was a kid. He was seventeen, maybe eighteen years old. He had his whole life ahead of him, and now his head was....

Danny couldn't stop the vomit. It came up and out before he even had a chance to think about it. He puked his guts out onto the car and on the body. He probably got some on his uniform too. How embarrassing!

Renzulli was used to the rookies doing that by now, so he just put a hand on Danny's shoulder. "I can finish this, Reagan. There's a towel in the RMP." He handed over the keys, "get some air blasting."

He was glad Renzulli didn't make a big deal out of it. Renzulli may not have made a big deal, but Danny was going to. The more he sat in the RMP car, the more he thought, what kind of cop does that?

********

He still felt incredibly sick to his stomach once he was sitting behind his desk again. Renzulli had been nice about it all, telling him that "rookies always do that. But I've seen worse". Somehow that didn't stop his cheeks from flushing.

Danny took in a breath, glad to be out of the uniform. It was hot and stiff, and smelled like vomit.

"Danny? Honey, are you okay?"

He blinked to get his eyes to focus. He slightly groaned when he saw his fiancée in front of him. "Aw, Sarge, ya called Linda?"

"You look like a petrified zombie, Reagan. Better her than your old man."

He couldn't argue with that logic.

"Are you okay? Sargent Renzulli told me what happened. That must..." be hard, must be gross, must remind you of Fallujah, which is why you're lookin' this way.

"Go home, Reagan. Really, it's no big deal. Better to have you on top of your game," Renzulli sort of smiled.

"Come on, I'll drive you home.”

"But your classes," Danny mumbled.

"It's okay. I told my professors it was a family emergency. They all understood— they're very nice there." She held out her hands to him, and smiled warmly.

He sighed and took them, knowing between Linda and Sarge there'd be no getting out of this.

She slung an arm around him once he stood, and looked at Renzulli. "Thanks for calling me.”

He only nodded before ducking away into an office room.

*********

The car ride was quiet, even though Linda had the radio on. They went back to his apartment, because he knew no one would be there. There was a chance of Linda's roommate being in her apartment, and he just didn't want to see anyone at the moment.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

"No."

Linda fixed herself a glass of ice water before sitting at the table with Danny. She didn't quite know what to say. "The first time I saw a bone sticking out of a body, I puked. It was..." she shuttered, but then cleared her throat.

It was silent again until Danny said ruefully, "what kind of cop does that?"

"The kind that's human," she responded without missing a beat. "Danny, listen, it's okay. No one is blaming you or anything. That is a normal human reaction. I would've done that too... and probably would've ended up crying."

He didn't believe her.

"Everyone will forget about it tomorrow. I promise you. And no one's going to make fun of you, okay? 'Cause you know what? Everyone who has seen a dead body that... mangled... has the reaction you did."

He still didn't believe her, but he let it go, and took a shower instead.

*********

Danny didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and his heart started  to pound as he walked into the locker room. He expected the guys to tease him, to call him names, but they didn't. They only said the usual morning greetings as they got into their uniforms.

One guy even asked Danny if he and Linda would like to double-date that Friday. He said he had to check with Linda first, but would get back with Chuck.

As it turned out, Linda was right. Years later, Danny didn't have a problem telling the story, because his reaction was human. It was in the past and embarrassing, and he could laugh about it in the future. But right now, he had to focus on his tour.