#thank you so much for giving me the chance to talk about this

[monzabee]

the alchemy - cs55

masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where not Carlos, nor you, have the power to fight the alchemy. 

Pairing: dad!carlos sainz x mom!reader 

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: absolute fluff (been a while), possible ovary explosion bc of dad!carlos, cursing (because i use way too many f-bombs in real life too), kids (apparently, it’s a tw for some people), i tried hating charles but it’s not happenning so a cheater redemption arc (kinda, he's trying okay??)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, thank you all so much for the love you showed for part one, i really appreciate it and i'm sorry that this part has been a little delayed, but i just wanted it to be just as drama-filled as the first part whilst still being a bit lighter so i hope i found the right balance for it. while we love dad!carlos, i felt like charles still deserved a chance to redeem himself and come to his senses so we love that redemption arc for him (well, kinda guess?). also, i know we have one more part of this little mini-series to go, a social media au (yay!), but i just wanted to let you all know, once again, that i do not have a taglist, and no i will not be making one!! however, i do appreciate all your support and comments, and please do let me know what you think about this part! thanks to @percervall once again, who had to listen me talk about this part for many many hours and who was kind enough to help me proofread!! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It only happened once every few lifetimes. 

You honestly did not expect to end up with one of your closest friends – especially not after you told your cheating husband that you were getting a divorce, after he chose his lover over you and your baby; and most definitely not after the said close friend told you that he would step up instead of your cheat of a husband.  

But there you are, in the arms of non-other than Carlos Sainz, your boyfriend, having just woken up by the excited pitter patter of feet right outside your bedroom door. “Carlos,” you whisper, nudging him softly to wake him up, “Carlos, wake up.” You watch as he stirs, and then buries his head onto his pillow mumbling all the reasons why he doesn’t want to be awake, but you just chuckle softly as you poke him again. “Carlos, please.” 

With a disgruntled grunt, you watch as his eyes open, and with a scratchy voice he whines, “What, amor, I was sleeping.” 

Rolling your eyes, you point to the bedroom door, “Listen,” you tell him, and watch as his eyes widen as realisation sets in at the same time his expression turns into a smiling one. “I think someone is excited for today.”  

“You think?” He retorts, snorting lightly as he pulls you closer, “That’s all he’s been able to talk about for weeks, amor.”  

“Well, can you blame him?” You nudge him, ignoring the sound of scraping of your son’s step stool outside your door. “He just wants to watch his father win.” Watching the smile on your boyfriend’s face grows as the door handle is jiggling, you point to the pillows with your head, “Let’s just pretend we’re asleep, he’ll be happier that way.”  

With a deep sigh, the happy kind, he pulls you closer to himself – at the right time too, as you hear the patter of footsteps getting closer. With a tug at the comforter, you hear, “Papa, wake up.” You can hear Carlos, badly, muffling a chuckle by burying his head deeper into your neck, but the little voice beside him is non-relenting. “Papa! You promised me we’d go to the race today!”  

“Carlos,” you whisper covertly, “you’re going to make him cry.”  

Giving you a look that silently says, No I won’t, he turns towards the little intruder in your bedroom, quickly gathering him in his arms as he puts him on the bed next to you. The sound of laughter coming from two of the most important men in your life bring a sleepy smile to your face as you watch Carlos tickle your son despites his protests for him to stop.  

“Mommy!” Your son exclaims, climbing over Carlos to reach you, “Tell Papa to stop! We need to get ready!” His face is flushed with excitement and laughter, a sight that fills your heart with warmth. 

“Alright, alright,” you say, giggling as you pull him into a hug, “let’s get ready then. You don’t want to be late for your big day, do you?” 

Carlos finally stops his playful assault, sitting up and stretching with a groan. “She’s right, buddy. We should all get up and get going. Lots to do before the race, you still remember our plan for breakfast?” Your son’s eyes light up even more, if that were possible, and he scrambles off the bed, running back to his room to get dressed. You and Carlos exchange a glance, something you seem to do more now than ever.  

You wait until Rafael is out of the hearing distance before you tilt your head sideways and narrow your eyes in question, “What plan are you talking about?” 

“Nothing for you,” he boops your nose with his pointer finger as he straightens up and gets out of the bed, “to worry your pretty little head about. Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready.” 

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but willing to play along. “So, you think I’m pretty?” you ask, batting your eyes at him exaggeratedly as he gently shoves you back into the bed. Getting up and stretching, which you shamelessly take the opportunity to ogle him, you watch him with a smile as he heads towards the kitchen following your son. Getting ready consists of brushing your teeth and hastily throwing on a robe for you, too anxious to see what you son and husband cooking up in the kitchen – literally.  

The scene in the kitchen is enough to melt your heart on its own – Rafael is standing on his trusty step stool at the counter, his little hands busy arranging an assortment of fruits on a plate. The concentration on his face is evident by the way his tongue peeks out slightly in that adorable way he does when he’s focused, a habit that he picked up from his father. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is busy with flipping something in a pan, shirtless might you add.  

“Oh my God, look at my boys!” You croon, leaning against the doorframe with a playful grin. “You even have matching hats and everything!” 

“Boys?” Carlos scoffs, turning to Rafael and pointing his finger towards you, “Can you believe her?” He then turns to you as he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “We are not boys, amor, we are men.” 

You chuckle at his exaggerated display of masculinity, shaking your head as you walk further into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, how could I forget? The two manliest men I know,” you tease, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. 

Rafael, picking up on the banter, puffs out his little chest just like his father, mimicking his stance. “Yeah, Mommy! We're strong, right, Papa?” 

Carlos grins, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Rafael. “That’s right, we’re the strongest men in the world." He turns back to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And we make the best breakfast too. Isn’t that right, Raf?” 

“Yes!” Rafael exclaims, beaming with pride as he holds up the plate of perfectly arranged fruit. “Look what I made, Mommy!” 

You lean down to inspect his handiwork, smiling softly. “Wow, this looks incredible, sweetheart. You’re so talented!” You give him a big kiss on the cheek, making him giggle. 

Carlos steps closer, holding out a fork with a piece of pancake speared on it. “And how about a taste test, amor?” His voice is softer now, the playful tone giving way to something more tender. 

You take the fork from him, taking a bite of the pancake. The fluffiness and warmth of it fill your senses, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. “This is amazing, Carlos. You’ve outdone yourself.” 

He watches you with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Only the best for you.” 

Rafael, not wanting to be left out, grabs a piece of fruit and holds it up to you. “Try mine too, Mommy!” 

You take the fruit from him, savouring the sweetness as you chew. “Delicious! You’re both going to spoil me with all this great food.” 

Carlos chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver slightly. “I can also spoil you in the other way you like,” his voice drops enough for only you to hear.  

You glance up at him, meeting his playful yet heated gaze, and feel a blush creep up your cheeks. “Carlos,” you murmur, half-warning, half-inviting, as Rafael happily oblivious to the exchange, chatters away about his breakfast creation. “I would like to still be able to walk by the time we get to the paddock.” 

But Carlos just smirks, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Later, amor,” he promises, his voice thick with affection and mischief. 

Before you can respond, Rafael tugs at your robe, breaking the spell. “Mommy! Let’s eat now!” His voice is filled with the kind of innocent excitement that only a child can muster, and it instantly brings you back in the present moment. 

You smile down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Alright, let’s eat. I’m starving.” Carlos gives you one last knowing glance before stepping back to grab the plates. As the three of you settle down at the table, you try to ignore his lingering gaze that makes your heart race just a bit faster, though you’re not exactly that successful. 

It would be safe to say that it had been a crazy few years for Carlos Sainz. Or at least, that’s what Charles would say – if, you know, anybody was to ask him his opinion. First, he had lost his seat at Ferrari, and Charles really felt for him at first; after all, he was his teammate. But he was also the man who ended his marriage, so his feelings for Carlos changed for the worse very quickly. The whole situation had him coming to some revelations.  

First revelation he came to was the fact that he was wrong for cheating on his wife, however complicated the situation might be. He had tried to justify it to himself, blaming the stress and the strain, but deep down, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done. 

Second revelation was that you deserved to be happy, with or without him – he was just being petty because it was with his old teammate. You deserved to be happy, and while Charles could admit that in theory, accepting that your happiness was now tied to Carlos was a bitter pill to swallow. 

Third, and probably the biggest, revelation was that he had royally screwed up when he chose the other woman over you and your son, and it was a loss that he mourned every single day. If he thought seeing Carlos thrive after his own life was crumbling down was hurting his ego, seeing Carlos be the father to his son, was a thousand times worse.  

Life took an interesting turn for Carlos after that night at the hotel in Monte Carlo. You had no expectations for him, you didn’t expect him to stay true to his words and be there for you and your baby. But that was the thing, because he kept his promise. He was at your door the next morning with a short list of apartments and penthouses in Monte Carlo. Anticipating your need of getting out of the country, he was prepared – he also looked at apartments in New York, houses in LA and townhouses in London (the few apartments he chose in Madrid also didn’t escape you, but it was a conversation you weren’t ready to have yet). So, when you were having, yet another breakdown in front of him, he just stood next to you and held you until you calmed down. He was always next to you, somehow managing his schedule for the racing season and coming out to see you between races. He kept true to his promise as he made waffles for you at midnight, grumbling about how pancakes were superior, and he held your hand when you were in the delivery room even though you were probably close to breaking the poor man’s hand. The bigger shock came when he announced that he would not be racing for the next season – something he had conveniently not told you in the months leading up to your pregnancy. It also led up to your first fight, and your first real confrontation since this unexpected journey began. The news that Carlos wouldn’t be racing the next season blindsided you. It wasn’t just the fact that he had made such a monumental decision without consulting you; it was the realisation that he had chosen you and your child over the sport he loved so deeply. 

“What do you mean you’re not racing next season?” you had asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You were standing in the kitchen of the new apartment he had helped you find, your baby—your son—napping peacefully in the next room. Carlos was casually leaning against the counter, arms crossed, as if he had just announced something as mundane as what was for dinner. 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you had come to recognize as a sign that he was about to say something serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, his voice calm, and God it drove you insane how calm and rational he was being with a decision so irrational to you. “And after everything that’s happened... I just think it’s the right decision for now.” 

“But racing is your life,” you insisted, the weight of his words settling in. “I don’t understand how you can just walk away from it.” 

Carlos met your gaze, his brown eyes steady and full of determination. “It’s not about walking away,” he explained. “It’s about priorities. You and Rafael... you’re my priority now. I want to be here for you both, not halfway across the world, missing out on everything.” 

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. For so long, you had been used to being let down, to promises that were made and then broken. But here was Carlos, standing in front of you, willing to give up something he loved more than anything for you and your son. 

“That’s not fair to you,” you whispered, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams.” 

Carlos stepped closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “You’re not taking anything away from me,” he assured you. “You’re giving me something I didn’t even know I needed. I’m choosing this, because I want to. I want to be here for you, to be the father Rafael deserves. I want us to be a family.” 

His words broke through the wall you had been holding up, and you let the tears fall. It wasn’t just about the sacrifice he was making; it was about the fact that he was doing it willingly, without hesitation, because he wanted to be with you and Rafael. It was a love that was deeper than anything you had ever known, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with hope. 

“But what if you regret it?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of your fears. 

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears. “I know what I want. And if I ever go back to racing, it’ll be when we’re ready. When we both decide it’s the right time. But for now, this is where I need to be.” 

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but there was none. He was as serious as ever, and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about him making a choice— it was about him choosing you, over and over again, in a way no one ever had before. 

The argument you had anticipated fizzled out before it could even begin. There was nothing left to fight about, not when he had laid his heart bare for you. All you could do was fall into his arms, holding onto him tightly as you let the weight of his decision sink in. It was overwhelming, knowing that someone loved you that much, that they would uproot their entire world just to be by your side. 

So, yeah, Carlos Sainz had not raced for the 2025 season. If it were up to him, he would stay with the two of you for the 2026 season as well, but you and Carlos Sainz Sr managed to convince him to get back to the real world, no matter how much he was enjoying being a stay-at-home dad. But the biggest shock for the world, and Charles, wasn’t that Carlos was returning to the F1 grid – no, the biggest shock was that he was returning to the F1 grid in one of the most coveted seats; right next to Max Verstappen. The reaction to the news had been mixed. Some were thrilled to see him back, eager to see what he could do in a car as competitive as the Red Bull. Others were skeptical, wondering if a year away from the sport had dulled his edge. For Charles, the news was a bitter pill to swallow. Carlos wasn’t just returning to the grid—he was stepping into one of the most sought-after seats in F1. But more than that, it was the reminder that Carlos had taken something else from him, something far more personal and painful. Watching Carlos step into his new role at Red Bull, knowing that he was now part of your life and Rafael’s life in a way Charles never could be, was a constant, aching reminder of everything he had lost. 

And so began the Leclerc-Sainz rivalry – which although sounds riveting, is probably the reason why you had to visit your cardiologist more times than necessary within the last couple of years. On the surface, it was the perfect storyline: two former teammates, now on opposing sides, battling it out on the track in some of the most intense and thrilling races the sport had ever seen. But for you, it was far from entertainment. Each race weekend became a new source of anxiety, and Carlos knew how much it affected you, so he tried his best to keep the rivalry on the track. He would reassure you, telling you that whatever happened during the race, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you or Rafael. But even he couldn’t deny that the tension between him and Charles was personal. It was more than just racing—it was about proving something, not just to the world, but to themselves and each other. And so, race after race, you found yourself on an emotional rollercoaster. The thrill of seeing Carlos perform at his best was always accompanied by the fear of what might happen if things went wrong. The rivalry wasn’t just a storyline for the media—it was a real, living thing that had a profound impact on your life. 

So, when Rafael told you that he wanted to watch his father race live, you were hesitant to agree. The thought of bringing your son into that world—where emotions ran high, and the stakes were even higher—filled you with dread. The last thing you wanted was for Rafael to witness the intensity of the rivalry that had consumed not just Carlos and Charles, but your entire life. 

Carlos, however, was adamant. He knew how much it meant to Rafael to see him race, to be a part of something that had been such a significant part of Carlos’s life before Rafael was born. “He needs to see it,” Carlos told you one evening as you sat together, discussing Rafael’s request. “He needs to know what I do, why it’s important to me, and why I went back to racing in the first place.”  

You couldn’t deny that Carlos had a point. Rafael idolized his father and seeing him in action would only strengthen the bond between them. But the idea of watching the race unfold, of seeing Carlos and Charles go head-to-head while your son was there, was almost too much to bear. The days leading up to the race were a blur of preparation and anxiety. Carlos did his best to reassure you, but the tension was palpable. He understood your fears and promised to keep things professional, but you both knew that once the lights went out, everything would be on the line. So, you weren’t exactly surprised that your boyfriend spent the entire morning buttering you up and getting you to relax as much as possible about the day ahead of you.  

And to be perfectly fair, he was right for the most part. It had been fine from the moment you made it into the paddock, which somehow worked wonders on your anxiety. As you made your way to the circuit, Rafael’s excitement was infectious. He was practically bouncing in his seat, his little face pressed against the window as he took in the sights. You couldn’t help but smile, his joy momentarily easing the knot of anxiety that had been tightening in your chest since the moment you agreed to come to the paddock in the first place.  

Seeing him so happy and in his element, you know instantly that the paddock, no matter in which country, is going to become his safe place. Rafael keeps asking Carlos questions about everything from how they manage to keep the cars so clean to what would happen if they didn’t wear helmets. And Carlos is patient as he answers all his questions, no matter how childish or obvious they might seem. So, when he told Rafael that maybe, just maybe, he might end up in one of the cars he admires so much one day, you know your son won’t miss the beat. “Can I?” He asks you, eyes widened with a pleading look as he clasps his hands together under his chin, “Please, Mommy, I promise I’ll be very careful.”  

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head, mind immediately starting to think about all the things that could go wrong, “it’s so dangerous! Just think about how afraid you’d be of the speed.”  

Rafael scoffs, arms crossed on his chest as he pleads through the pout he has on his face, “I’m not afraid of the speed! Papa, tell her I’m not afraid of the speed!” 

Carlos reaches over Rafael’s head as he takes off his cap and ruffles his hair, which manages to get a series of giggles from the little boy, and he affirms, “You are not afraid of the speed, but your mother is right.” You have to hold in your laughter when you see the indignant look on Rafael’s face, but Carlos continues talking as he signals for his son to listen, “We can talk about it when you are older, but for right now you are my lead strategist, capisce?” 

Rafael steers his pout towards you, and you shrug innocently in response, which gets a resigning sigh from him. “That’s fine, I guess.” He mumbles, and points to the garage door behind the table the three of you are sitting, “Can I look at your car again?” 

“Be careful, and make sure you tell Caco where you are.” Carlos reminds him, as Rafael excitedly scurries off toward the garage, leaving you and Carlos to share a quiet moment. 

Carlos leaned back in his chair, a content smile playing on his lips as he watched Rafael dart off. “He’s got the bug,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. 

You sigh, shaking your head playfully. “I know. He’s already got the attitude. I don’t think I’m ready for him to jump in a kart and never look back.” 

Carlos reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you. “We’ll keep him safe,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure he’s ready, and we’ll protect him from the worst of it.” 

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, trusting him like you always have. As you sit together, watching Rafael’s excitement fill the garage, the sweet moment is interrupted by a voice both of you know very well. “Seriously? You’re using him to get to me on a race day now?”  

Your fingers nearly crush your poor boyfriend’s hand as you look at the intruder, your heart immediately racing. You turn to see Charles standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. His eyes flicker from Carlos to you, then toward the garage where Rafael had just run off. “Excuse me?” You manage to get out, your voice sharp with surprise. The audacity of his accusation stings more than you expected. Charles' gaze hardens as he steps closer, clearly not backing down. 

“You heard me,” Charles says, his tone edged with bitterness. “Bringing Rafael here, right in the middle of everything... it’s not a coincidence. You’re just trying to—” 

“To what?” Carlos cuts in, his voice calm but firm. His protective instincts kick in as he stands, placing himself between you and Charles. “To have a good day with our son? To let him enjoy the race?” 

Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s not your son, he’s mine. Stop fooling yourself into thinking you’re his father just because you’re here.” 

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Carlos' expression tightens, but he doesn’t move, his body still a shield between you and Charles. You feel your breath catch in your throat, the weight of Charles’ words hanging heavy in the air. “I know who his father is, Charles,” Carlos says, his voice calm but steely. “And considering the fact that he doesn’t even know you exist, I’d say me being here is more than proof that I am his father.” 

Charles' jaw clenches, and his eyes flicker with something raw—pain, jealousy, frustration, all mixed together. “You think you can just step in and take my place? Be the dad, play happy family with my son?” 

“Cabrón,” Carlos warns, and though you’ve heard him use that nickname for his friends countless of times, this voice is devoid of all affection, “you lost all right to call yourself Rafael’s father when you decided to choose whatever flavour of the month you were with at the time.” You feel your heart race, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment and the murderous look on Carlos’ face. Carlos steps forward, his voice low but terse. “You think being a father is about biology? About showing up when it’s convenient for you? Rafael doesn’t even know who you are because you’ve never been there for him. I have. I’ve been the one tucking him in, I've been there when he was sick and crying, and I’m the one showing him love every single day.”  

Charles flinches, the sting of the truth evident in his expression. For a moment, the fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something else— regret, perhaps. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he straightens his posture, trying to regain control of the situation. “I made mistakes,” Charles says, his voice quiet but defiant. “But you can’t just erase me from his life. He has a right to know who his real father is.” 

Carlos’ gaze doesn’t waver, his protective instincts blazing. “Rafael knows who his real father is. He may not understand all the details yet, but he knows who’s been there for him. And when the time comes, when he’s ready, we’ll tell him the truth. But that decision isn’t yours to make anymore, Charles. You gave up that right a long time ago.” 

“You’re just going to sit there and let him talk to me like this?” Charles hisses, turning towards you in an attempt to find sympathy. His eyes are pleading, but there’s anger simmering beneath the surface. 

Your chest tightens as you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of everything that has been left unsaid between the three of you for so long. You take a deep breath, your voice soft but firm when you finally respond. “It’s time to let go, Charles.” Charles' face falls at your words, the weight of their finality hitting him hard. His lips part slightly as if he wants to argue, but no words come. The tension in the air is suffocating, each second stretching out painfully. Carlos remains silent, standing tall beside you, his hand subtly resting on your back for support. He knows this conversation is yours to finish. “It’s not about erasing you from Rafael’s life,” you continue, your voice steady though your heart is pounding in your chest. “It’s about doing what’s best for him. And right now, that means protecting him from the confusion and hurt that the fact that you were too much of a coward to choose him.” 

Charles takes a step back, the anger in his expression dimming into something more fragile. His eyes search yours, perhaps looking for a trace of the bond you once shared, but it’s clear that things have changed too much. Too much time has passed. “I’m not trying to hurt him,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I apologised countless of times, what more do you want from me? I am sorry, okay?” 

“Are you quite done?” Charles flinches at your sharp tone, the weight of your words settling heavily between the three of you. His gaze drops to the ground as if he’s searching for something to say, but nothing comes. Carlos stands steady beside you, his presence strong, comforting, even. “I am sorry, too, about it all.”  

You can feel Carlos’ confused stare on you, and Charles looks at you with the same expression as he asks, “You... do?” 

“I’m sorry that you were cheating on me from the start, I’m sorry you were too weak to stay faithful to me after we got married,” you continue, the words heavy but resolute as they fall from your lips. Charles' expression shifts, a mixture of guilt and pain crossing his face. Carlos’ hand tightens slightly on your back, offering silent support as you finally lay bare what you’ve held inside for so long. “I’m sorry I ignored it for as long as I did, and I’m sorry that I ever found out.” Charles’ face hardens, his eyes clouded with guilt and perhaps a hint of defensiveness as your words hit him. The weight of what you're saying seems to pull him down, and he takes a deep breath as if trying to absorb the impact. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, not willing to let this moment slip away before you say everything that’s been weighing on your heart. “I’m sorry I ever found out about the lies, but most of all, I’m sorry for Rafael. He deserved better, he deserved a father who was present and loved him without conditions,” you say, your eyes locking with Charles’. “You weren’t there, Charles, you weren’t there before Rafael, and you weren’t going to be there after him. So, I suppose what I’m not sorry for is falling in love with a man who was courageous enough to fill that role for both me and him.” Charles’ lips part as if to argue, but no words form. His eyes betray the guilt and regret he’s been carrying, but there’s nothing left for him to say. He knows it. You know it. Even the mechanics and people around you who have stopped what they are doing to watch this whole thing go down know it. “Finally, I’m sorry that you felt the need and audacity to come down here, now not only have you ruined our marriage, but you’ve also ruined my day-off which I intended to spend with my boyfriend, and our son.” 

Charles flinches at your final words, his face crumpling under the weight of it all. The sting of your truth, laid bare for everyone to hear, leaves him speechless. His bravado has completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow sense of regret and defeat. He opens his mouth as if to respond but quickly closes it, realizing there’s nothing he can say that will undo the damage he caused, the pain he inflicted, or the years he lost. His eyes flicker to Carlos, who stands steady, unmoved by Charles’ turmoil. There’s no room for pity here. “I—” Charles begins but stops as Carlos raises his hand.  

“I think you’ve said enough,” his voice lacks all sympathy for his old friend, his old teammate, “it’s best you should go before you distress my girlfriend, or my son any further.  

Charles’ eyes widen slightly at Carlos’ words, the final blow landing hard. He looks as if he’s been physically struck, his shoulders slumping as any remaining fight drains from him. His gaze flickers between you and Carlos, searching for something—anything—but finding no redemption, no sympathy. There’s nothing left to say. 

He swallows hard, his lips pressed into a tight line, before finally nodding in a reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. He turns on his heel, walking away with slow, defeated steps. The tension that had gripped the air slowly begins to dissipate as he disappears into the distance, leaving only the echoes of his footsteps behind. 

Carlos turns to you, his hand still resting on your back, but now it’s a comforting gesture rather than a protective one. His expression softens as he searches your face. “Are you okay?” he asks gently. 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s just happened, but also a sense of relief. “I think so,” you reply, your voice steady despite the emotional whirlwind you’ve just gone through. “It needed to happen.” 

Carlos nods, his thumb brushing soothingly against your back. “He’s not going to ruin this for us. Not today, not ever.” 

You smile faintly, grateful for his support. “No, he’s not. He’s gone now, and I’m finally free of it all.” 

“We’re free of him,” Carlos adds, a reassuring strength in his voice. “You, me, and Rafael. That’s what matters.” 

“Just promise me you’ll be careful on the track today,” you plead, chin resting on his chest as you look up to him.  

Carlos chuckles softly, his warm smile easing the tension that still lingers. “I promise,” he says, his voice light but sincere. He tilts his head, giving you a playful wink. “But you know me, I can’t drive too carefully. It's in my nature to push the limits a bit.” 

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, but your heart flutters slightly at the thought of him racing. It’s something you’ve grown used to, but there’s always that edge of worry. "Just... don’t make me regret asking," you tease, though the concern in your voice is real. 

Carlos leans down, brushing his lips gently against your forehead, the gesture filled with tenderness. "I’ll come back to you both, safe and sound," he whispers softly, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. "Always." 

You smile, feeling reassured by his words, and you give him a small nod. "Alright. Go show them what you’re made of, then." 

As Carlos pulls away, you can see the familiar spark in his eyes, the passion and excitement that he always carries before a race. He gives your hand one last squeeze before turning to head toward the car. You watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him—confident, composed, and ready for whatever comes next. Just before he reaches the garage doors, he turns back and flashes you that signature grin that always makes your heart skip a beat. “For you and Rafael,” he calls out. Your smile widens as you watch him go, knowing that no matter what happens on the track today, you’ll always have each other. 

It’s not hard for you to find Rafael when you head back to the garage yourself. He’s completely engrossed in conversation with one of Carlos' engineers, pointing out different tools and parts of the car with wide-eyed fascination. His little hands gesture excitedly, and the engineer listens with a warm smile, clearly amused by Rafael’s enthusiasm. Carlos stands off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching his son with a look of pure affection and pride. His eyes sparkle as he takes in the sight of Rafael’s excitement, and there’s a certain softness to his expression that makes your heart swell. 

You walk over, standing beside Carlos, who doesn’t take his eyes off Rafael but greets you with a small grin. “He’s already talking like he’s part of the team,” Carlos says quietly, his voice filled with pride. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking over the pit crew in a few years.” 

You chuckle softly, watching Rafael explain something animatedly, his little voice echoing through the garage. “He’s got your passion,” you say, leaning into Carlos slightly, feeling the warmth of his presence. 

Carlos hums in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. “Maybe,” he says, his tone affectionate, “but the way he talks about everything… that’s all you. He’s got your curiosity, your heart, so, all my favourite parts of you.” 

“My boyfriend the charmer,” you mumble as you lightly hit him on his chest.

Carlos chuckles, catching your hand gently against his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Just telling the truth,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling as he holds your gaze for a moment longer. “You deserve all the charm in the world.” 

You roll your eyes playfully, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re good at this, or I might think you’re just trying to get out of bath time for the next few days.” 

Carlos laughs, his warm, deep voice sending a wave of comfort through you. “I’d never do that. Bath time is part of the job.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. “But if I do this race right, maybe we can negotiate something.” 

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, but you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he always manages to make you feel light and cared for, even in the most mundane moments. “Alright, we’ll see how you perform today,” you tease back “if you win, I’ll let you put a baby in me, how about that?” 

Carlos freezes for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise before a slow, playful grin spreads across his face. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice filled with both excitement and disbelief. 

You nod, biting your lip, unable to hide your own smile. “If you win today, we can start thinking about it.” 

Carlos lets out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to process what you just said. “Well, I’ve never been more motivated to win a race in my life,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a new intensity. 

You chuckle, your heart racing at the look on his face. "Just make sure you’re focused on the track and not… well, other things." 

“Oh, I’ll be focused,” Carlos says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “But now, I’ve got the best reason in the world to win.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “For you, and for giving Rafael a baby sister or a brother.” Your breath catches at the sincerity in his voice, and as he pulls back, he flashes you that charming grin again before heading off toward the car. You watch him go, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness settle in your chest. 

Eventually going behind the barriers and watching the race is harder than you’ve expected, you realise. As the laps go by, you keep glancing at Rafael, who’s glued to the action, his eyes wide with admiration for his dad. You smile at the way he clutches his little racing helmet, a miniature version of Carlos’ gear, his excitement evident. It’s clear he’s living every moment of the race through his dad’s performance, just as you are. When Carlos is in the lead, you hold your breath, willing him to stay ahead. When he’s fighting for position, you’re on the edge of your seat, cheering him on with every ounce of energy you have. 

As the final laps approach, you glance at the clock and then at Rafael, who’s practically bouncing with excitement. You can tell he’s just as invested in the outcome as you are. You squeeze his hand, giving him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a determined nod. 

When Carlos crosses the finish line, the roar of the crowd is deafening, and you let out a cheer of your own, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. You look down at Rafael, who’s jumping up and down, his face beaming with pride and excitement. “He did it!” you shout, lifting him up in your arms as you join in the celebration. 

Caco and a couple of the mechanics help you and Rafael to get to the barriers, weaving through the throng of celebrating fans and team members. As you approach the barriers, Rafael’s excitement is noticeable. His eyes are wide with wonder, and he clutches his mini helmet tightly, bouncing with every step. Caco, with his warm, reassuring smile, offers a few words of congratulations and gives Rafael a high-five. Carlos comes into view, his car parked in the parc fermé. His grin is infectious, and you can see the joy and relief in his eyes as he looks up at you and Rafael. The moment he gets out of the car, he’s enveloped by his team, but his gaze quickly finds you and Rafael. He finds his way to you after getting weighed and you can see him grab his cap before finally rushing towards you. Carlos scoops Rafael up into his arms, spinning him around as they both laugh, and then turns to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and affection. 

“Well, looks like we’ve got a baby sister or brother to start thinking about,” Carlos says with a wink, setting Rafael down so he can pull you a in for a kiss. 

You smile against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the joy of this moment. When you pull away, you look up at Carlos, your eyes sparkling with love and excitement. “We do, don’t we?” you say softly, your heart full as you take in the sight of your family together in this victorious moment. 

Rafael, still buzzing with excitement, tugs on Carlos’ sleeve, his little voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Papa, did you see me cheering? I was so loud!” 

Carlos laughs, his eyes crinkling with joy. “I heard you, buddy. You were the loudest cheerleader out there.” 

As the celebration continues around you, you feel a profound sense of contentment. The day’s events, the race, the emotions—everything has come together perfectly. You take a deep breath, savouring the feeling of being surrounded by the people you love most. 

Carlos pulls you close, wrapping his arms around both you and Rafael. “Thank you for everything today,” he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. “You’ve made this day even more special.” 

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. “It’s been an incredible day,” you agree, looking out at the jubilant scene around you. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.” 

As you watch him savour the moments with your son before he needs to go for his interview and the podium celebrations, you realise just how lucky you are to have something that only happens every few lifetimes. 

[clrasecretdiary]

I do, I do, I do | Spencer Reid x Reader

In which spencer proposes to you.

Absolutely tooth rotting fluff

Contents: Head over heels spence, pet names (honey, angel, darling...)

Warning: none!

a/n: title is a reference to "helpless" from Hamilton & there's a scene inspired by "the tortured poets department" (can u tell I love music?). This is my favorite fic I have ever written.

---

You and Spencer have been dating for 5 years now and, since last year, the team had begun asking the two of you - especially Reid - when were you guys going to “tie the knot”. You and Spencer had talked about it, both agreeing that you both did want to get married, but we’re not in a rush.

Now, you’re at Spencer's house getting ready for one of Rossi's famous dinners. When you look through the mirror, you see Spencer leaning against the door, watching you getting ready while he cuffs the sleeves of his black button-up shirt.

“You’re looking divine angel”

“Thank you honey” You say, turning to him “By the way, this is your last chance to kiss me, unless you also want to wear some red lipstick to Rossi’s”

He giggles, giving you a quick peck on the lips before leaving the bathroom to let you finish getting ready.

Later that night, you, Spencer and the rest of the team are all sitting at the dining table, talking and laughing. This is one of those few, but extremely special moments in which you guys forget all the horrors that happen at work and just are happy together.

You’re in an extremely exciting talk with Garcia about the latest fashion news, a topic that both of you really loved when you feel Spencer playing with your hands, something he usually did, so you did not pay much attention to it. But, at a point you felt him place the small ring he sometimes wore on your finger, specifically your left ring finger, the one you put wedding rings on. When you looked down at it, your heart almost stopped.

He leaned closer to whisper in your ear “It looks perfect on you” and then took it off, continuing to talk to Morgan about… Something. If you were to be honest, after that, you spaced out for a couple seconds, your heartbeat seemed so loud that it replaced all the other sounds around you.

—

2 months later, you’re remembering this moment as you get ready for a very suspicious dinner date with Spencer. Since what happened on Rossi's get together, you knew he was thinking about it and started your detective work to try and figure out when it might happen.

You had asked - no, begged Morgan and Penelope for any kind of clue. It's not that you wanted to know exactly when and where, you just needed a clue to know how to prepare yourself. After a while, you just gave up and decided to let it happen.

You became suspicious when Spencer asked Hotch for you both to have a day off, something you both rarely requested. He also bought you a Vivienne Westwood dress you had been eying for years now.

“Spencer Reid, you did not. Oh my god you're crazy” You said as you opened the box

“Did you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it, thank you so much” You say, leaning in to embrace him in a tight hug

“Maybe I can take you to dinner this Saturday, and you can wear it” He says between giggles because of how wide your smile was, oh how he loved pampering you.

“Sounds perfect honey”

Now, finally the day you had been so excited for. Could Spencer just have felt like giving you the dress? Yes, but for some reason you felt there was more to it. Maybe the way he spent the whole day trying to hide how nervous he is, the way he’s letting you take your sweet time getting ready, saying things like “don’t rush honey” or the mysterious call he received from Morgan earlier that day but you were sure something was going to happen.

You finish getting ready and get into the car with him, he’s showering you with compliments the whole way. When he stops the car something is off, this is not a restaurant, in the dark you can’t really make out where you are but it seems familiar.

He gets out of the car, going around and opening the door for you, helping you get out. He walks you to the entrance of the place and opens the door that you now have recognized to be the library you two loved and also the place we’re he finally asked you out on a date after years of secretly-not-so-secretly being in love with you. Only now, there was a small round table there, with lit candles and a table set for two.

The shock made you not realize that Spencer had now let go of your hand, as you look to your side, you're met with your boyfriend down on one knee and a small velvet box in his hand.

“Honey, I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. You’ve been my best friend, the best thing that ever happened to me, you make all the crazy stuff we go through easier, because we’re goin through it together. There’s no one I would rather live life with than you, so will you marry me?”

“Spencer..” That’s the only thing you manage to say, shocked and feeling a kind of happiness you never experienced before. “Of course I will. Oh my god I love you so much” You say, pulling on his arm so he stands up and you kiss him deeply. Feeling an amount of love you never thought was possible.

Once you pull away, he places the delicate ring on your hand and kisses you again. And all you can think is how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

[head---ache]

5k DTIYS!!

I have 5k followers and honestly!!! That's crazy!!! How is that number even real?/hj Thank you all so much!! The ammount of support I've gotten this past year has been insane, and I couldn't be any more grateful!! So, what about a fun little activity in return? And what's even better, you could win a drawing from me;] So join me and re draw this cute little Emmie doodle in your style, and let's see how it goes!!

Rules under the cut!!

You can post your entry from... Today!! And while you can still do this challenge after, I'll close entries for the competition by October 18th (so you can re draw this whenever you want, but if you post it after this deadline, you won't be participating for a prize).

You can post your drawing in any and all other social media, but in order to participate, you have to post it here on Tumblr. I won't be checking other social media. Also, you have to tag me! AND I will not be accepting any entries sent to me via DM or ask box (as in, instead of posting it. You can send it to me if its already posted).

You can change as much as you want as long as you're keeping the character and concept. So, you just have to draw Emmie talking on the phone, anything else is up to you!

If you're discouraged to participate because you don't trust your drawing skills, don't be afraid! I will not be judging on skills, but rather creativity (which is why you're allowed to change as much as you want), so consider still giving yourself a chance!! Be as creative and crazy as you want!!!

Remember this character is a teenager!! So any sexual depiction of her will not be accepted! Treat my baby right>:[

I know this challenge is called Draw this in Your Style, but fuck that, I'm accepting other forms of art as well!! So writing, sculpting, idk video?? Whatever it is that you want to do, go ahead and do it!!! Go crazy go stupid!!/ref

There will be three winners!! In no particular order, they all get the same prize. Examples of what you can ask for below.

And that's that!!! Have fun!! And again, thank you all so much for 5k followers! I really couldn't thank you enough 🌟

[foxtrot91]

shovel talk

“So,” Maddie says, eyes squinting as she looks Tommy over, wine glass cradled in one hand while the other rests on her hip. 

They’re in the hallway of Bobby and Athena’s new place, and Tommy doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that she’s catching him in the bathroom hallway just as Tommy’s about to return to the party. Remembering another conversation at another party, he suddenly wishes he was holding a slice of cake; though he gets the feeling Maddie wouldn’t be easily deflected with it, Hen certainly wasn’t. 

“Are you looking for the bathroom?” He asks instead, tossing a glance behind him. “It’s right over there, second on the left.” 

He gives her his best grin; just because he knows this conversation is inevitable doesn’t mean he has to make it easy on her. Her eyebrows raise and Tommy thinks someone so small shouldn’t give him the same feeling as being dressed down by his sergeant once did. He hopes for Chim’s sake that he doesn’t find himself in the doghouse too often. 

“So,” she says again, ignoring his directions to the bathroom. “I was just thinking that we haven’t really had a chance to properly meet.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, still suspicious about where this conversation is going. “I guess we haven’t.”

It’s true, it’s only been a couple months since he and Evan got together and between their differing schedules and the drama going on behind the scenes at the 118, there hadn’t been much time for larger get togethers. For the most part, Tommy and Evan have either spent their time just the two of them or hanging out with Eddie in an effort to keep his mind off of Christopher’s departure. Which, thank god that has since been resolved, for awhile there Eddie had been a bit of a basket case. There had been the wedding, of course, but even a normal wedding doesn’t leave time for the bride and groom to spend much time with individual guests, and there’s had been anything but normal. 

“You know, Buck was really nervous when he told me about you,” she says, eyes glittering as she looks him over before taking a sip of her wine. 

“Coming out to someone you care about will do that to a person,” Tommy says simply, eyebrow raised. 

“Of course,” she says with a soft chuckle before continuing, “it made me realize that he’s never told me about any of his other relationships before.” 

“Oh?”

“I mean, I knew they existed and I knew their names, but he never once talked about them, I barely even knew a thing about Ali. Even Taylor, she was his longest relationship and I barely heard a word about her. Then there’s Natalia who was barely a blip.” She pauses here and takes another sip from her wine before shifting her gaze back to Tommy. “Actually, there was one person I heard a lot about, even if I never got the chance to meet her.” 

“Abby,” Tommy says, figuring with what he knows of Evan’s relationship history that she’s a safe bet. 

“Mmhm,” she hums, nodding in agreement. “But since that first day he told me about you, you’re all he talks about now.” 

Tommy feels warmth bloom in his chest at that admission, the thought of Evan feeling happy and secure enough in their - admittedly young - relationship to talk about it with others leaves him feeling pleased. 

“It kind of reminds me of how he was with Abby, actually,” she continues, “before he’d accepted that she was gone I got to hear all about her, almost felt like I knew her.” There’s a bit of a wistful edge to her voice, though Tommy can tell it’s less about Abby and more about Evan's happiness. “He hasn’t been that way with anyone since, at not least until now. So I guess you could say that as his big sister I thought I'd better check to make sure that he’s not going to wake up one day and find you’ve suddenly discovered a burning desire to – I don’t know, Amelia Earhart your way around the world and leave him behind.” 

Her voice grows firmer on that last bit as she pins Tommy with her gaze, eyebrow raised. Despite the teasing edge still present in her voice, Tommy can tell she’s serious, and truthfully, he can’t say he blames her. Eddie once told him over a shared six-pack that Evan has abandonment issues the size of the moon, and everything he’s learned about his past relationships - both romantic and familial - supports that. If Evan has avoided talking about past girlfriends, Tommy wonders if it had anything to do with a fear that they’d leave him behind too. He wonders what that says about the fact that he apparently talks about Tommy with those closest to him.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, Amelia Earhart's disappearance is a pretty strong deterrent for that. Also— can’t do Muay Thai in the sky,” he says, unable to resist responding with his own personal brand of humour. Maddie doesn’t respond during the pause he takes to gather his thoughts, her face giving nothing away. “But... the truth is, that I can’t tell you the future, I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, let alone six months from now.” He pauses, suddenly wishing he had his own glass of wine to occupy his hands as he contemplates his next words. “What I can tell you is that I didn’t step into this lightly, and that I care about him a lot.” He takes a moment to let the truth of that sink in before adding, “and for what it’s worth, if you talked to any of my friends, I’m pretty sure they’d tell you the same thing, which is that I talk about Evan so much that they’re probably sick of hearing about him now.” It's true, Sal barely manages to repress the eyeroll whenever Evan's name comes up, and Angela and Jenkins have started a drinking game during Trivia Night based on how often Tommy says his name. It's made them terrible at trivia. 

The beat of silence that passes between he and Maddie isn't exactly uncomfortable, but he does find himself holding his breath a little wondering if he passed. He has the idle thought that she’d be good at poker with how little she’s giving away with her facial expression. But then, a smile stretches over her face, and Tommy finds himself sighing in relief. This was different than his talk with Hen and Karen that had obviously been more teasing in nature. While Maddie may have done a good job in keeping her tone overall light, Tommy’s under no delusions that she wasn’t serious in sizing Tommy up to determine if he was fit to date her brother.

“Good,” she says simply, and then tilts her head slightly towards the kitchen. “I need a top-up, and you seem like you could use a glass, have a drink with me?”

“Absolutely,” Tommy agrees, his own grin stretching across his face.

He follows Maddie into the kitchen where she grabs a second glass for him before pulling out the wine she and Chim brought – a merlot – and pouring him a glass before topping off her own.

“So, you’re a pilot,” she says, a statement, not a question.

“I am.”

“Could be handy having a pilot in the family,” she comments, eyes twinkling, “Chim said you flew Eddie to Vegas.”

It's said nonchalantly, with a hint of expectation but before he can respond, Evan’s rounding the corner, clearly having heard at least part of their conversation. “Oh no,” he groans, “you do not get to commandeer my pilot boyfriend so that you and Chim can have some private date weekend in Vegas.”

“I said no such thing,” Maddie claims, hands raised, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“But you thought it,” Evan says accusingly.

Tommy watches them, barely suppressing his own laughter as he grabs a potato-chip from a nearby bowl to munch on. He lets them go back and forth, trading verbal jabs in the way all siblings do before he takes his moment to jump in.

“I’d be happy to fly your sister to Vegas,” Tommy says, grinning at Evan’s indignant look and Maddie’s triumphant one.

“Thank you,” she says, voice overly sweet as she pats Tommy on the hand before picking up her glass. She starts towards the door, presumably to rejoin the others, but he doesn’t miss it when she leans in and whispers to Evan, “he’s a keeper,” before smacking a kiss to his cheek as she heads out the door. Evan’s face softens at Maddie’s approval, and Tommy’s does too.

Evan joins him at the table, cheeks pink as he swipes Tommy’s glass to steal a sip.

“You disappeared on me,” he says, looking up at Tommy. “How bad was it? She give you the third degree?”

“It wasn’t bad at all,” Tommy says honestly, “I like that you have people who care.”

“Hm,” is all he says, though Tommy can tell he’s at least a little pleased by it too. “Still, we need to have a talk about how you’re supposed to take my side in arguments with my sister,” he adds, semi-serious.

Laughing, Tommy stands from his seat and comes around the table, offering Evan his hand before pulling him back towards the door. “Evan, the only useful relationship advice my dad ever gave me was to ‘get in good with the family.’” He adds air-quotes and deepens his voice for effect. “Of course, he thought my relationships would look a lot different, but the advice is still solid,” he says, before adding, “besides, I like your sister, and flying Maddie and Chim to Vegas for a weekend would also mean flying you and I there.”

Evan perks up at that, “yeah?”

“Separate hotel rooms, of course,” Tommy adds, letting his smile take on a suggestive edge as they open the door to the balcony.

“Separate hotels,” Evan says, his own lascivious smile spreading across his face.

Whatever their faces are doing as they join the others must make it obvious what they’re both thinking about because the next thing he hears is Chim saying; “Mm, I don’t like that look, too reminiscent of Buck 1.0. Does anyone have a spray bottle? Gotta squirt him like an overgrown tomcat before he gets outta control.”

Tommy lets the subsequent laughter at Evan’s indignant squawk envelop him, somewhere in the background he hears Christopher question what Buck 1.0 means and Eddie insisting he doesn’t want to know. Tommy finds he’s enjoying himself, even if the laughter is at their expense. He wasn’t lying to Evan when he’d told him before that he’d been jealous of the family the 118 had become but for once, Tommy isn’t jealous. He doesn’t need to be, because this time he’s a part of it.

Read on ao3

[nthspecialll]

Hiii! I love all your character analysis posts and theories so much, and was wondering if you have done any theories about where the gang was before Blackwater, by chance? I think I saw a post recently mentioning Montana but I can't for the life of me remember if it was you who posted it or not! 😅

But I've wondered about their locations before RDR2 a lot and would love to hear your thoughts about it. I remember reading a very early page in Arthur's journal about how they were in the Northen Grizzlies? But apart from that I can't remember anything else about locations, if there were any mentioned. And I'm sorry if you have done a post like this already, it's just a little piece of the backstory I'd like to hear theories about 😊

I have not talked about it but I definetely can! Also thank you for liking my stuff!!

Well, firstly, some places that exist in real life does not exist in red dead and those are the places on the map. Texas is New Austin, New Orleans is Saint Denis and Luisiana is Lemoyne, meanwhile Californa and New York does exist in game, meaning we can't completely be sure what places exist unless they are directly mentioned.

Firstly, we know they have been in Chicago, that is where Dutch and Hosea met! Then in 1877 the pair went to Kettering, Ohio, where they scammed 300$ out of the residents, later that year we know that they met Arthur in the Northern states somewhere, which could also be Montana! We do not know more than it was someplace in the North.

We also know some time before they met Arthur, they went to Blackwater once but exactly when we do not know.

In 1885 we know they were in Illinois, saving and picking up John Marston and two years later they robbed their first bank Lee and Hoyt, which we do not know where is.

But between then and 1898, they robbed 36 banks across the frontier as stated by Ross in rdr1, which is where we get the famous "We were told there was a price when we reached 50." The wiki page of the VDL gang does say they came to Montana in 1898 but they won't give me source to confirm it, which is a little annoying, but just mentioning it.

We know at some point between 1893 and 1898, after Bill joining the gang, they went to Canada, him, Arthur and Uncle robbing a bank together.

We also know that for a while they would return to the same places for Arthur's romances. Both with Eliza, where he could pop by every few months and for Mary, whom they at least returned to after 1894 when Abigail joined, and before the deaths of Annabelle and Bessie.

Either way, now we come to the fun parts, around winter 1898, the gang was up in what is called the Northern Grizzles, we only have access to the western (Around Mount Hagen) and Eastern (O'Creagh's Run), so I would assume that the Northen are outside the map, probably up above the Wapiti Reservation somewhere.

They traveled down the "Western Foothill of the mountians", not sure what road they took as it could be one off map, which I would honestly guess, probably traveling around the cold of Colter and coming in from left side of the map. Either way, they most likely ended up somewhere down by and Big Valley, which can match up with the fact that Arthur mentions that life was good and food was easy to find. That area does have a lot of easy food access and so forth.

Now I have seen a few people say Dutch met Micah in Strawberry, which is honestly very fair assumption, it matches up with a lot, but a simple fact is forgotten, Strawberry does not have a bar, which is where they met.

I would say that Micah most likely had been in Strawb and done, whatever business he had with Slim and Martha (I believe their names were), and traveled up and out of map where he met Dutch and then decided to join them back down.

Afterwards they traveled down to Blackwater where they "hid in plain sight" right outside town as Arthur says he does not like being so close to the town, and considering how close they were to Valentine, I would guess they camped at the ledges where Charles and Javier hides when going to find Sean, either there or the other side of the town.

Blackwater Camp:

But even though they were camped so close to down, Arthur funnily enough still stayed in town from time to time. It does however not seem that they were settled there or in Big Valley for very long, as Arthur also says that they have been running more than normally those weeks.

Now we get to a bit that confuses me because suddenly the group goes from the southern part of the map down in Blackwater, to suddenly appearing up by Spider Grove by Colter, and Arthur mentions that they headed "east over the Grizzlies" so they went west from Blackwater, out of the map, and then up North only to go east again. Not to mention that it seems they did it in a fairly short time, they haven't had proper time to talk about what happened, they were still shook, Davey was not yet dead from a gut wound and Jenny was burried not far from where we first see the gang?

See that is a little confusing, but I hope that answers your question! I had a lot of fun answering it at least, rereading Arthur's journal and all.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met? - Chapter 15

Ch. 15 | Ao3

Thank you @witch-and-her-witcher and @popjunkie42 I love you!

[Some NSFW content and a dash of horror! Enjoy!]

For a while, their days and nights were exactly the same, something so horrific starting to feel commonplace as they neared the end of the second week. The first task was coming, and everyone could feel it in the buzz of the air. Amarantha had said nothing to them in the way of a time frame, likely hoping the element of surprise would work against them, but the hum of anxiety and excitement in the air belied the truth. 

The days ran together, the hours hard to track without the sun. It left her feeling a little crazy, and disoriented that her body and the anxiety contained within it would spike, clock or no, as they neared time to go to the throne room each night. But still, Feyre treasured every moment she spent with Rhys, even in that place. Even with the time lost, she was keeping her mind and body as busy as possible, keeping herself focused on other things and doing her best to move forward through each day. 

Feyre would wake up with Rhys curled tightly around her, they’d eat breakfast, train as much as they could get away with before sunrise, pack away additional food, and then he’d winnow her down to the dungeons. She’d bring that food to Calla, then also give Calla her portion from the guards. Calla looked exhausted, but Feyre and Rhys were doing their best to keep her fed well and her spirit buoyed as they ambled towards the first task. 

“Are you sleeping at all?” 

“There’s a lot of screaming at night, but I’m okay.” Feyre was worried, but despite seeming tired, Calla was clearly trying to remain upbeat. They’d had a chance to discuss Feyre’s magic in more detail as they scrubbed the floors one day. After talking it over with Rhys, Feyre had chosen to only disclose that she could occasionally speak in others’ heads along with the fire magic. True to her nature, Calla had been openly annoyed that Feyre had kept it from her. 

“Did the curse keep you from telling me about that, too?” she’d bit out as her scrubbing became nearly violent.

“No, but I had only told Lucien and Tamlin the night before the attor came.”

“So not another secret you were all keeping from me then?” Calla refused to look at her when she asked, focusing all her attention on the grimy floor in front of them that she was scrubbing raw. 

The comment stung, but Feyre deserved it. She focused on turning the murky water clean in a manner so agonizingly slow that Calla wouldn’t notice. She felt guilty, but she was still keeping secrets for everyone’s sake. Calla didn’t know how to guard her mind–if any other daemati happened to join Amarantha’s court, it would take nothing to breach the walls of her thoughts. Truly, if Feyre hadn’t slipped to speak in Calla’s mind in the throne room, she likely would have kept that from her, too. She wondered if she should be concerned with how easy it was to explain all this away, but it was for the good of everyone, even if it made her feel like shit. 

“No, Calla. I’m sorry.” Calla sighed, her shoulders dropping, but she said nothing more. 

Most of the time was spent in companionable silence, Feyre not sure how to go about repairing the trust that had been broken while still finding companionship within the trauma they were suffering. 

“Are you doing okay?” Calla asked. Feyre was shocked by the question. 

“I’m okay. All of this is so overwhelming, but being here,” she lowered her voice to barely a whisper, “with him. It’s all I’ve wanted for so long that it doesn’t feel real, even amongst all the horrors.” It was true. Feyre almost felt selfish for the joy that she was getting to experience amongst all this misery. Calla stopped scrubbing to put a hand on her thigh.  

“He healed me when no one else came. As long as he is good to you, I don’t care about the rest.” 

Feyre hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to hear it, tossing her own brush into the half-clean water and throwing her arms around Calla’s neck. Calla froze for a moment before returning the hug. 

“We can make it out of here. We can.” Feyre wasn’t sure if her words were meant more for Calla or herself, but she said them with conviction anyway.

+++

Aside from the daily chores, Feyre and Rhys were allowed more time than she’d dared to hope for. Every afternoon, she’d return to his room, spending the few moments she could with him while Nuala and Cerridwen prepared her for court. She didn’t miss the way his eyes roved over her hungrily each night, the desire in them so thinly veiled he might as well have come out and said it to her face. 

Despite that, all they’d done since her arrival was kiss, quite passionately at times, and Feyre was jumping out of her skin. She ached to run her fingers along his skin, her body seeming to reach out for his every time they were near each other. But she knew what Rhys had gone through, knew what he was still going through, and she would give him the right to choose when he was ready for more with her. 

Despite the requirement for their presence every night at court, it had provided them with some excellent quality time to talk while she sat at his feet or in his lap as his toy. Occasionally, she would dance for him like the courtesans that filled the halls once dinner had been put away and entertainment brought in. She’d been shy at first, the thought of what all those human suitors back at home might have thought edging her mind with shame. But at the feral, possessive look in Rhys’s eyes despite his nonchalant expression, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of enjoyment at the activity. Knowing that she had that power over him, the ability to send small cracks through that mask he’d perfected for so long, left her feeling confident beyond measure. At first, the high fae had giggled and pointed, but then, after a night or two, it had become as normal and commonplace as everything else, exactly as they’d been hoping. People lost interest in Rhys and Feyre and what they were doing, and it allowed them more freedom to sit and speak mind to mind for the hours they were expected there. 

Rhys told her all about the way they’d been trapped there, the details that Vincent hadn’t known well enough to share with her becoming clearer. He told her about how with the last dregs of waning power, he’d cast the strongest protective spell he could over his home, warning his family and effectively trapping them there to keep them safe. 

Tell me about your family. She glanced sidelong at him as she asked, and though she could hear his longing sigh in her mind, his face remained impassive, almost cocky as he surveyed the crowd while she sat at his feet. 

Morrigan, Mor, is my cousin by blood, born and escaped from the horrors of the Hewn City. You and her are going to get on impossibly well, I can already tell. I’m sure you’ll both be driving us up the wall in no time. 

Feyre thought she might like her a lot, too. 

And Amren is a terrifying creature millenia older than all of us trapped in a teeny tiny fae body. We try not to piss her off when we can help it. She cares a lot about us though, in her own way. I think that the two of you will get along nicely. I’m certain you’ll have earned points with her already for your grit and determination. 

Feyre loved that Rhys spoke of their time together in the future as though it were a sure thing. It gave her so much hope to see him imagining her meeting his family, blending with them as though it was a certainty. 

Cassian and Azriel are my brothers. They’re Illyrian, so they have these massive wings. 

Feyre was intrigued by that--she tried to picture it. 

Like a bat? She could hear Rhys’s rolling chuckle in her head. 

Much larger than a bat. The Illyrians are the Night Court’s most fearsome warriors, and they make up a majority of Prythian’s aerial forces. But Az and Cass are my brothers–we met in Illyria during my time training–the half breed and the bastards. Truly, you remind me a bit of Cassian. 

It was Feyre’s turn to laugh. I remind you of a fearsome, winged warrior? Did you drink the wine tonight?

No, smart ass. You have that same spirit, that unbreakable hope and stubbornness of will. And I can see so clearly the way you dream. They way you fight for something more. In truth, I see a bit of all my family in you. I know that they’re going to love you. 

I can’t wait to meet them. 

Feyre paused, wondering again about his home. She’d seen the maps of the Night Court when she was in Spring, remembered the separateness of it all and wondered what part of it Rhys lived in when he hadn’t been trapped here. She remembered the way he’d told her about the mountains of the ring she wore, glamoured here to be invisible. He’d said they were representative of his home. If he’d thrown wards up to hide it like he said, perhaps it wasn’t on any maps she’d seen.

Where do you live in the Night Court? 

Rhys paused a moment, not speaking immediately as he had been. She could feel a rush of nerves through his mind straight down through her chest, as though the emotions were her own. 

Will you let me show you?

Of course. 

She felt the gentle caress of him against her mind, pushing just past where they spoke, and she bit back a gasp as she felt their thoughts meld into one. Suddenly, she was soaring, the scene in front of her no longer the macabre visage of the throne room Under the Mountain, but the sprawling white-tipped mountains of a city far away. 

The stars shone like diamonds above them, the sky fading from a periwinkle at the horizon to the shades of deep navy, plum, and burgundy above. She felt the exhilaration as the wind whipped at her face, her eyes drawn down to the city of lights below, wrapped like a gift by the gentle, winding curve of a long and lovely river. She could smell the rich spices and cooking foods from the city below, hear the peals of laughter and feel the joy of the citizens. The air smelled like citrus and the salt of the sea–it smelled like Rhys. It smelled like home. 

The city was cradled on the other side by mountains of the deepest red clay, the lights twinkling from it as though a dwelling had been carved directly into the face of it. As she drew closer, she could see that’s exactly what it was: a home carved into the smooth face of the mountain, and she was nearly to the balcony of it. 

She dropped in the sky, circling around as the people below came into view. A beautiful female with flowing blonde hair, smiling and waving excitedly. A petite female next to her with a black bob and goblet full of dark liquid, looking imperious except for the relieved glint in her eyes as she looked up. Finally, she saw two winged males, exiting the massive double doors and shoving at each other while they laughed. Her heart leapt into her throat to behold them all there, all smiling up at her. 

A word flashed through her mind that wasn’t her own, a sigh on the breeze. 

Home . 

She blinked and she was back in the throne room, her eyes feeling strangely misty as she drew in breath. 

That is your home? It looked like nothing she’d seen on the maps or books of Night. 

That is Velaris, the City of Starlight. Mine and my family’s home. 

It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. 

You won’t find it on any maps , he said as though reading her mind. Centuries of High Lords have kept it guarded from the world, and I have kept that tradition up. I sacrificed myself here to make sure Amarantha never found out.

Thank you for sharing it with me, Rhys. 

I can’t wait to share it with you in more than just memory. Feyre felt her heart clench again at the longing and determination in his voice. 

Home. 

More than anything, she hoped that he was right. 

+++

When they arrived at court the following night, something was different. The tables were not set out for dinner, and Amarantha already sat on her throne, the crowd full and flush with high court and low court fae alike. Strangely, Tamlin was nowhere to be found, the seat beside her vacant. Feyre steeled herself, ready for whatever horrors might be coming–a change in routine here typically meant something gruesome. 

But instead, the crowds were focused on Rhys. She schooled her face, looking ahead as they parted. 

“Rhysand,” Amarantha’s voice rang out above the near-silent crowd of fae. “Come here.” 

Stay close to me.

He put a guiding hand on her arm, securing it more roughly when he remembered people were watching, then walked them towards the throne. As the crowd parted, they saw a male, a high fae, sobbing on the floor. His beautiful, dark skin was shining with sweat and tears, and even with the walls high in her mind, Feyre could feel the anguish washing off him. 

Amarantha did not deign to look at Feyre or Rhys as they approached, her predator’s smile locked in on the male on the floor. 

Remain at the edge of the crowd. If something goes wrong, find Lucien. 

Feyre did as he said, reluctant to leave him alone, her heart thundering in her chest. 

Amarantha finally turned her eyes to Rhys as he stopped at the foot of the dais, sketching a low bow. 

“My queen.” 

“Rhysand. The Summer fae,” she said of the male cowering at her feet, “tried to escape through the exit to the Spring Court lands. I want to know why.” Feyre knew Amarantha would be using Rhys to break into this male’s mind, cracking him piece by piece until he gave the information she wanted. She felt a crush of guilt in her chest. Was it because she could easily do the same? She had that same power beating through her body right this moment, and yet, the entirety of the burden fell on Rhys. 

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets and sauntered closer to the male on the ground. The Summer faerie cringed, his face shining with tears and the sobs choking out of him in croaking breaths. Feyre wondered how much information Amarantha had gotten on her own before they had arrived. The fae turned his eyes down, and Feyre looked away as he wet himself while Rhys grew closer. 

Gods, but they feared him.  

She was glad Rhys was turned away from her while he approached the male. She knew she wouldn’t be able to see the feral smile on his face matched with the pain she was certain she’d find in his eyes. 

“P-p- please ,” the male gasped out. 

Feyre could hear the silence around her, the air so quiet that it felt thick. She took the opportunity to scan the crowd, finding Lucien across from her, a short sprint away if things went awry. Halfway between the two of them stood a lovely young fae male, the same dark skin as the one kneeling on the floor. However, this fae had hair the soft white of the sand on the beaches her father had visited and told her about when he'd brought her home that shell. It seemed centuries ago, an entirely separate lifetime. 

She recognized this male though, from the books in Spring. It was Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer. That's why he looked so young–he'd been instated when his court had rebelled. Rhys stopped short in front of the fae, tilting his head to the side as he looked down into the broken male’s eyes.  She could tell Rhys was inside of his mind when he fell silent, his shaking ceasing as he slumped to the ground. 

Tarquin stood as still as stone, and his face was contorted with the true pain of seeing someone die from what was likely his own machinations. He was young, new in this position. Feyre wondered if he'd ever had to make choices that cost him lives before. He looked sick to his stomach. 

Rhys spoke and Feyre nearly jumped; she'd been so lost in her own thoughts. 

“He wanted to escape. To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice.” 

A lie. 

Feyre knew it, though Rhys’s voice remained steady and nonchalant. She could see Tarquin’s whole body deflate, as though sighing in relief. And Feyre knew what Rhys had risked, what he’d lied for. 

Amarantha simply huffed as she slumped back in her throne, resting her head back against the backrest. 

“ Fine. Shatter him, Rhysand. Then Tarquin can take the body.” The High Lord of the Summer Court bowed as if he’d been given a gift. The unnamed male from Summer had gone entirely still on the floor–Feyre was shocked to find him looking relieved . Rhys took his right hand from his pocket, letting it hang limply at his side, the only movement a slight curling of his fingers.

“Hurry it along, Rhysand. I grow bored.” Feyre felt guilty at the relief that Amarantha’s attention was not on her. 

Feyre watched closely as darkness, the full force of night, seemed to wrap itself around Rhysand’s shoulders as his fingers curled into a fist. The male on the floor went boneless, his entire body crumbling down into the puddle beneath him, blood pooling from his ears and eyes. 

Rhys had killed him. 

“I said shatter his mind, not his brain,” Amarantha snapped. She was visibly irritated, her dark red brows furrowed in agitation. The crowd murmured and rustled around Feyre, but her attention was on Rhys, still holding himself as though it were just any other day. He shrugged, putting his hand back in his pocket and looking up at the throne. 

“Apologies, my queen.” He was already walking away, back to that chair in the far corner of the room. Feyre hustled to catch up to him, falling in step right behind him so as to not raise suspicion. The crowd parted for them as though they were on fire, the berth so wide it would have been comical in any other situation. Rhys didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t acknowledge anyone around them, just walked with his shoulders still loose as though he had all the time in the world. 

That killing had been a mercy, and whatever he had seen in the male’s mind, Rhys had lied. Lied to save others, lied to spare Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer had known it, and so had the male about to die. It was why he’d looked so relieved, so ready. Rhys had spared them all, taken pity on all their lives and shown mercy. And yet, everyone here tonight would view him through the lens of the monster he’d made himself out to be. 

Rhys didn’t stop until he reached the table full of food and wine, servants now milling about and refilling it each time something was taken. This was clearly in lieu of the dinner they’d forsaken for Amarantha’s entertainment tonight. Rhys grabbed a goblet from a serving boy and drained it in one gulp, grabbing two more and handing one to her. 

They moved to his seat, her choosing to sit on his lap instead of the floor tonight. She ached to take his hand, to comfort him in some way, but the physical proximity would have to do. For the first time, she took a sip of the faerie wine, the taste sharp and somehow still sweet on her tongue. Perhaps it would help a bit to forget. 

The night went on in a blur of movement and drinking, Feyre sticking to only one cup and still feeling nearly out of her mind while Rhys threw back goblet after goblet, drinking himself into oblivion. They didn’t speak, not even mind to mind, and Feyre didn’t push, choosing to respect his space and be there for him when he was ready. But she hadn’t anticipated how lonely it would feel without his presence in her mind. His soft voice and low, rumbling laugh while they discussed any and everything had become so commonplace during their nights here, she felt empty without it. Her chest felt hollow and she wondered if she’d ever felt so alone, even though she was warming his lap beneath her. 

By the time it was acceptable to leave, Rhys was hardly able to function. He missed the winnow three times, dumping them into multiple hallways before finally landing in the room. As soon as they did, he waved his hand to lock the door and set up the sound shield, slumping back onto the bed and falling to his back. He was a sight, and Feyre decided to return the favor of running a hot bath for him, assuming he didn’t pass out before she’d returned. Once she’d lit the candles and filled the tub to the brim with steaming water, she returned to get Rhys. 

At first, she wondered if he had fallen asleep, his hands pressed over his eyes as though blocking out the low light. But then she saw the glint of the tears on his face.

He had been crying. 

She approached the bed, gently touching her hand to his as he pulled back, his bloodshot, wild eyes meeting hers as though he was surprised to see her there.

“Come on, to the bath.” She pulled him up, her hand grasped in his as she led him to the washroom. She untucked his shirt, pulling it from his waistband and undoing the buttons, then easing it off his shoulders. She unbuttoned his trousers, bending down as she removed those, too, then pulling his socks from his feet one by one until he was left in front of her in only his undershorts. She removed those too, his body shuddering beneath her fingers as they brushed his skin. 

“In you go.” Her voice was gentle, and he stepped into the steaming waters. 

“Don’t leave.” His voice sounded stronger than Feyre had anticipated, but that edge of need in it stopped her short right before the door. 

“You want me to stay with you?” He nodded. “Out here or with you?”

“With me. Please.” Feyre didn’t say any more, simply stripped off the scraps of fabric and belt and stepped into the bath with him, settling across from him in the tub and meeting his eyes across the water as the paint bled off her skin and into the steaming bath. The pain on his face nearly debilitated her, knocking the wind from her lungs and filling her with such a powerful sense of hurt and guilt and shame and rage that she gasped for air. 

“You saved Tarquin tonight, didn’t you?” Rhys’s eyes locked on hers as he nodded again. “It was a bigger plot?”

“Yes.” 

“You chose to save that male a life of suffering. You took his pain, didn’t you?”

“But I still killed him.” 

“You showed him mercy.”

“I am a monster.” She swam across the tub and found his arms open and waiting for her. He pulled her into his lap, turning her and resting his chin on her bare shoulder. She could feel the rasping exhale and ragged inhale of his breath on her. 

“You are no monster, Rhysand.” 

“You don’t know me, Feyre.”

“I do, though. I do know you.” She turned, tipping her head back to look into his eyes, pressing her lips to his. He was still for a moment, her lips eclipsing his before he relented, moving against her as though resisting the temptation were entirely beyond the realm of possibility. 

I do know you, Rhys. A monster would not have shown mercy.

He gasped against her lips at her voice in his mind. 

I do not deserve you, Feyre. But I will selfishly keep you as long as you let me. 

Forever, then. She could hear him sigh in her mind, his body going slack finally, the tension starting to melt off of him. 

Forever. 

+++

Feyre could tell it annoyed the guards that she was able to complete her tasks each day, and always early. They were too stupid to tell she was using magic, and Feyre was being far too careful to get caught. Even when she reached the point where she could have done the chores with a snap of her fingers, she paced herself, whittling the time away until it seemed more realistic. 

Each day, they came up with something more stupid and tedious, and each day Feyre thought through a way she might make it easier to complete. Between time speaking mind to mind in court and time spent in their room together, Feyre had been able to train more with her magic since arriving. She’d had a good enough handle on the powers before coming Under the Mountain to impress Rhys, but to be fair, he always acted awed at anything she did. It was a lot easier to practice with someone else than just alone in her tub, though, and getting to flex her powers a bit every day was certainly helping to strengthen them. 

Today, the guards led her deep into the mountain down dark hallways that reminded her of her first day there. The walls were more roughly hewn here, the air damp and heavy. Every room held a heavy iron door similar to the ones in the dungeons, but they were much closer together than the room she stayed in with Rhysand. She wondered what designated where people would stay here, how the mountain itself could possibly hold all the people currently living there. 

An abrupt turn led them into a massive, dark bedroom. It looked unused, an unassuming layer of dust across all the surfaces. As Feyre’s eyes adjusted, she could see there were no real items of personality to be found, simply some old stacked boxes, and a sword with so much dust on the pommel that a spider had strung its web between it and the wall. 

“Today you’ll be cleaning the fireplace. A servant spilled lentils in the ash.” Feyre wondered what a servant had been doing in here since it didn’t look particularly clean, but she kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t too ignorant to tell that the guards and Amarantha used these daily tasks to screw with her–she was certain they’d just tossed a bag of lentils in this morning. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Clean it up before the occupant returns, or he’ll peel off your skin in strips.” That got her attention. 

“Someone lives here?” The guards sneered at her and laughed, slamming the heavy iron door behind them as they left. Feyre rushed to it and bolted the lock as soon as they did. 

Peeling off skin in strips?? Whose room was this?

She wondered if she should try to call out for Rhys, but she wasn’t sure how far the connection stretched. Certainly by now everyone knew he was using her as his property. Surely they’d know he would be irritated at least if someone touched her instead? Rhys wasn’t exactly portraying himself as someone who liked to share. 

The thought reassured her, but she still scoped out the situation in the hearth so she could start getting to business. There were so many lentils in the dark fireplace that the little rounded dots blurred together before her eyes. There was hardly any light to see by, either, which made picking them out more difficult. She sighed, calling on her magic to find it…lethargic. A wash of panic came over her then. 

Oh no.  

She pulled again, calling from that now-familiar well inside of her. 

Nothing. 

A tiny, distant hum of nothing. Not even enough to conjure fire in her hand to light more candles. 

This was not good. 

Feyre pushed the panic down, reached into the fireplace, and began digging. 

Two hours later and her eyes were burning and aching, the joints in her hands feeling tender and swollen from the meticulous picking through the ash. Every time she thought she’d reached the end, there were always more she found–a never ending task that was exhausting her, her stress so palpable that she’d begun shaking and never stopped. 

With no magic, she couldn’t call Rhys. With no magic, she couldn’t finish this task or defend herself. No wonder Calla always looked so exhausted. 

The guards hadn’t specified how long she’d have to complete the task, and she was terrified that the owner would be back any moment. Who could it possibly be? One of the High Lords, perhaps? They’d all looked so stern and unforgiving in court. If anything, though, she knew the one from Autumn was the most bloodthirsty. She sent up a little prayer to the Mother that it wouldn’t be him. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the turning of the lock, Feyre whipping around and grabbing the wrought iron fire poker to defend herself. 

Surely none would dare hurt her , she reassured herself. She was in the deal with Amarantha. But her thoughts stuttered there. Was she, actually? Calla was. But to the court member’s knowledge, Feyre was nothing more than a slut for the High Lord of Night. Would they think she would perform for them, too? 

A racing darkness entered the room, the candles blowing out as though a strong gale had blown through. The door never opened, despite the clicking of the lock, and Feyre’s breath caught in her throat as she gripped the fire poker tightly in her hand. She would not go down without a fight. 

The darkness settled on the bed, nearly glittering in what was left of the low light, and Feyre’s shoulders slumped as a familiar, grinning figure materialized on the bed like some trickster of lore. 

“Rhys,” she breathed. “Thank the gods.” She was so relieved to see him she was nearly lightheaded with it. 

“As wonderful as it is to see you, Feyre, darling,” Rhysand said, sprawled on the bed, his head propped up by a hand, “do I want to know why you’re digging through my old fireplace?” He seemed to be in a much lighter mood today, and Feyre was relieved to see it.

“They said I had to clean out lentils from the ashes, or you’d rip off my skin.” 

“Did they now?” A feline smile crossed his face, a perfect brow lifting, and Feyre couldn’t help the heat that settled in her stomach. In another world, she wondered how this cat and mouse game might go. She wondered if Rhys might have still chased her without having met her outside of all this. Would she have let him having only seen him as a villain? She shuddered at the thought, but the reaction was not born of fear. 

“Do I have you to thank for this idea?” She cocked her head playfully at him.

“Oh, no,” he drawled. “This is my old room. I almost never use it any more. I came in today simply because I was told to vacate the rest of my items for a new tenant. I'd moved to the other one higher in the mountains years ago. I use this one only for storage purposes. I'm truly surprised no one else has moved in before now.” This room was bigger than the one they shared, but farther from the court. She didn’t know where Amarantha’s quarters were, and she didn’t want to know if the implications were what she thought they were. 

 “Is this clean enough for you?” She gestured back to the fireplace teasingly. He took in the pile of lentils and her dirty appearance.

“Why were there lentils in my fireplace to begin with?” 

She gave him a flat look. “To toy with me, I’m certain.” 

“Hm,” he said, sitting up on the bed.

“What's her goal here? She knows you and I are together every night, why put me here?”

“Likely more torture for Lucien. She asked if I was enjoying this the other night. I might have implied I had a few more sick plans for you, to which she seemed delighted. Perhaps she’s just giving me the opportunity.” 

Feyre immediately went on edge. “Or setting a trap for you.” 

Rhys suddenly cast out his power, sitting all the way up on the edge of the bed, the darkness snaking around the room as though searching for something. He furrowed his brow as it wrapped around the room, skirting over the walls and then pulling back into him. 

“No magic is spying on us here; nothing is listening or tracking as far as I can tell.” He cast what Feyre now recognized as a sound shield anyway. 

“I couldn’t use my magic here.”

“I cast a damper when I lived here,” he grinned. “Only I can use magic in this room. Now, are you going to put down that poker, or can I expect you to start swinging soon?” Feyre had forgotten entirely about the fire poker, laughing lightly as she leaned it against the wall. Rhys stood from the bed, walking slowly towards her. 

“So vicious, my Feyre.” His voice was low and predatory, the tone of it entirely changed. Feyre’s stomach fluttered, her heart racing as he closed the space between them. 

“A valiant effort, but useless,” he said. Why did the words turn her on so much? 

“How is it that you have such power still and the others don’t? I thought she robbed all of you of your abilities.” 

He lifted a groomed, dark brow, now only inches away from her. “Oh, she took my powers. This…” A caress of talons against my mind. Feyre sighed into it, back meeting the stone of the fireplace behind her. “This is just the remnant. The scraps I get to play with. Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting; my arsenal is a far deadlier assortment. And stronger ” He wasn’t bluffing– he was by far the strongest High Lord, and that did something else to Feyre’s fluttering heart. 

She swallowed, trying to continue talking. “So you can’t shape-shift?”

He stepped closer, his face nearly touching hers as his fingers caressed her jaw and she closed her eyes. 

“So many questions from my little human.” But just as she felt his lips graze hers, just as she was about to give him and press against him, she heard a crack like the snapping of leather or a whip. 

Her eyes shot open in awe, the most unbelievably beautiful set of wings now present on Rhysand’s back, a smile of male pride across his face. These were the wings of his brothers, the wings of the Illyrian aerial forces. They caught the low light, illuminating red through the veins and scars of the membranes that looked velvet soft. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered before she could stop herself, and his expression softened into something different. She reached out to touch one, and he let her, though he shuddered as she pressed her fingers gently down the flesh of it. His eyes closed, his breath inhaling between them. 

“Feyre,” he whispered it like a prayer, his eyes opened but hooded, now shining with something that looked a lot more like lust than anything else. Every nerve ending in Feyre’s body was firing, the intensity of it all lighting her up like the solstice. 

“Well, Feyre, are you going to finish the task, or not?” His voice was rough, hoarse with need. She nodded absently, catching on to his game as his voice sent shivers down her spine. 

“Yes, High Lord,” she said coyly, turning just as she saw his eyes gutter shut again with the words. 

She turned back to the fireplace, jutting her hips back as she did, bending low to the ground again and making a show of it as she knelt. Rhys didn’t say anything, but his sharp exhale made her smile as she ducked back into the hearth. 

She didn’t even hear him move before she felt his warm hands on her back, the teasing touch as his fingers brushed over the thin fabric and up and down her spine. She arched into the movement, swaying her hips and grinning again as he bit back what sounded like a curse. She busied herself with shuffling absently through the ash, though she felt nearly certain there weren’t many more lentils to be found. Rhys’s fingers found purchase beneath her tunic, pushing it up and wandering around the skin of her back and hips while she sighed. When those fingertips met her waistband and tucked into the sides, she wiggled her way out of them as he tugged. She could feel the cold air against the wetness forming between her thighs, the position she was in preventing her from rubbing them together for any form of needed friction. 

“Eager, Feyre?” The low timbre of his voice shot straight down her spine, her heart pounding in her chest as she practically vibrated from the absence of his touch. 

Yes . She jutted her hips out further. She had waited so patiently for him to touch her, to want this intimacy outside of whatever strange Calanmai magic or dreams they had shared before. 

She felt him pause. Had she said the thought aloud? 

Tell me you want this. 

I want this. 

Thank the Gods. And his hands were on her. She felt everything as he gently slid a knuckle up and down her slit, gasping for breath as the touch shot zaps of lightning through her veins. She whined as he pulled away. Just how I remembered. 

She turned in time to see him pulling a finger from his mouth, the movement nearly causing her body to buckle and collapse. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on something, love?” His voice was nearly a purr in Feyre’s ear, and she whipped her head forward, the remaining lentils in the fireplace taunting her even with her bared lower body exposed to the open air. Rhys didn’t waste time, his fingers back to exploring the second she had turned to the ashes. Feyre absently reached her fingers out, running halfheartedly through the cinder as Rhys ran his broad fingers through the wetness between her legs. She barely caught a breath before he was bent over her back, the solid, warm weight of him barely pressing into her. 

He dipped his fingers in right at her opening, then returned them upwards, her body banking as his fingers circled her clitoris. Feyre was so wet that his fingers easily glided in circles around her, her body already shaking with the sensation of it, her breath coming in short gasps. 

She was so close already, so tortuously close and the magic in her chest began to swirl violently, as though he’d lifted the damper on the room. She could feel everything , the lust, the desire, the pure, unadulterated want suddenly crashing through her and it was impossible to breathe. 

More. 

And Rhys didn’t hesitate, plunging his fingers into her, letting his thumb take over their previous job rubbing tight, quick circles around her as she fell apart. Feyre whimpered and ground back against him, entirely lost to herself and the whims of his fingers. She didn’t even attempt to control herself, letting the sensations guide her. Rhys bent just slightly more, his lips finding her neck and placing kisses on it as she writhed beneath him, the lentils and the fireplace and the task forgotten as he pushed his own hips against her. When he bit down with his sharp teeth on her earlobe, pressing his fingers firm and deep, she was lost. 

Feyre’s whole body quaked with the force of the orgasm he’d pulled from her, his free arm winding beneath her stomach and holding her steady as she came and came and came. It seemed to last forever, the sensation of his fingers slowing and caressing gently as she came down from it all, her body shaking and pulsing and her magic humming like a renewed beast between her ribs. 

They breathed together for a few moments, allowing Feyre to come back to herself and lightly whimpering as he removed himself from her body. He cleaned her gently, lovingly, and when she raised to her feet, he pulled her in to press the softest kiss against her lips. His lovely wings had disappeared, pulled back into his back as though they’d never been there at all.

“But you didn’t get to–” He shook his head, smiled and gripped her hands.

“We will have time. This was perfect.” Feyre chose to believe him, though the need to put her hands on him was becoming overwhelming. He looked down, seeing the soot that covered her hands and arms and his tunic now, as well, snapping his fingers to vanish it all away. The hearth was now cleaned, too, the lentils neatly piled in the provided bucket and the ashes pushed back into the fireplace as though she had done it all alone. 

As if summoned, the door roughly swung open, the guards on the other side stomping in then slamming to a stop once they realized Rhys was present. The panic in their eyes made Feyre smile. 

“She accomplished her task.” They grabbed for Feyre, but Rhys bared his teeth at them, a snarl ripping from him that sent heat flying through Feyre’s entire body. “She'll be staying with me for now.” 

Then, their eyes went vacant, as though they were no longer seeing, their bodies swaying slightly in place. “No more stupid tasks. One task, every three days. Otherwise, I will be taking over her chore assignments. Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell, and don’t touch her. If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. This applies to the other prisoner, too. The human. Understood?” 

The guards nodded in synchronicity, their glazed eyes staring out at nothing while Feyre smiled smugly at them. She was glad Rhys had included Calla, too. There was no denying the guilt she felt that Feyre was here, able to train and use magic and eat nourishing meals at a table while Calla all but rotted below. Even with the additional food and blankets and healing and protections, there was no denying the discrepancy in their stations here. It ate at Feyre, but knowing Calla would get a break too, especially as they neared the first task, set her mind at ease. 

As the guards left, the door slamming and bolting by itself behind them, Feyre let her shoulders drop, feeling safe as Rhys pulled her into his arms and winnowed them back to their room. 

+++

The next morning, Rhys woke Feyre gently, his nose nudging into her neck as she sighed. 

She closed her eyes, knowing that they’d soon have to get out of bed and eat and begin the day, but she wanted to savor the few moments in between. They were the moments she could pretend they were elsewhere, one of those lovely, large beds from their shared dreams in a place far away from here. 

Slowly, the two became aware of a rush of sound from the passage that led alongside their room, the voices and footsteps echoing off the walls as though many were passing through it quickly. Feyre turned in Rhys’s arms, looking into his eyes with renewed anxiety. 

The first task.

They shot out of the bed, dressing and throwing the necessary glamours over Feyre. 

“No matter what she faces, Feyre, you must let her. We cannot interfere.” Feyre blanched at his words. She knew he was right, but who knew what was waiting for Calla in the throne room? Could Feyre let her face it alone? Leave her to die? She would have to. 

Rhys put his hands softly on her face, pressing a fierce kiss to her brow. “Promise me, Feyre.” 

“Okay.” She nearly choked on the word. 

He flung open the door, Feyre letting him pull her along the hallways that were now nearly vacant of people. They must have been some of the last to arrive, the news spreading fast in the cave systems throughout this horrid nightmare court. They were not, however, going to the throne room. At the final moment, they cut left, equally massive doors opening into some sort of rock-hewn amphitheater. As they neared the doors to the arena, Feyre could hear the cacophony of sound ramping up to violent levels, hoots and hollers and shrieks that sounded like a crowd about to rip someone apart–thirsty for blood. 

They descended the endless stairs, the crowds jeering and shouting around them, but not focused on them. The attention was all aimed down at the bowl of the arena, a large platform built out to the sides and high fae surrounding it on the sloping walls of the audience. Rhys tugged her along behind him, the crowds dispersing row by row as they continued down, down, down. Amarantha sat on the platform in a new throne, the smaller one beside her holding Tamlin, vacant-eyed and more exhausted than Feyre had ever seen him. For the first time since that first day, it was pity she felt for him instead of resentment. He looked broken, that mask of indifference cracking a million different ways. 

As they approached the platform, Feyre could see five other high fae lined out around the thrones; Tarquin was one she recognized. Rhys took his place in line, her instinct to fall at his feet now second nature in these situations. She kneeled on the floor in front of him, taking in the rest of the motion around her. Even on the busiest nights at court, she hadn’t seen this many fae. Down in front of the platform, at the very center of this arena, was some sort of strange maze, walls of mud and clay seeming to defy gravity and draw upwards. Would they make Calla run this maze?

It wasn’t long before Calla was dragged in by the attor, her body thrown to the muddy ground in front of the platform. She and Feyre made eye contact for a moment, then she looked at Tamlin. Feyre was positioned behind the thrones, so she couldn’t see Tamlin or Amarantha’s faces anymore, but the crowd quieted as their queen began to speak. 

“Well, Calla, it’s time.” Feyre could almost hear the taunting smile on her face. “The first task has arrived. Let’s see how deep that human love and loyalty runs. This task seems fitting for you. I hear you’re a huntress.” 

Calla looked like she wanted to smile, but bit it back at the last moment. She would need that grit, that spirit for what remained. 

“Go ahead, look.” Amarantha goaded, as Calla rose from her knees to lean over the edge and look down. 

What is it?

Rhys didn’t answer, and Feyre didn’t dare turn to look at him. Calla didn’t see the attor coming, and Feyre’s warning scream died in her throat as Calla fell deep into the muddy trenches. In the chaos  and jeering and cheering from the crowd that followed, Feyre got to her feet, joining the people in crowding the edges to peer down into the muddy pit of dug out walls. 

Muddy walls, dark, carved caves. 

The stench was overwhelming. Feces and mud and stagnant water and death. Below, Calla struggled to keep her balance, the mud already swallowing up her legs to the shin as she strived to stay upright. 

“Hunt this,” Amarantha called out from the platform as a great rumbling began beneath their feet. Calla looked back up at Tamlin, and though Feyre couldn’t see his face, she wondered what was happening in his own mind as he beheld what were potentially Calla’s last moments. 

Feyre beheld in the distant trenches what looked like pieces of wood sticking out from the mud as the rumbling grew loud enough to vibrate their feet. 

Not wood. Bones. Mud and trenches and bones, and a body large enough to cause the whole mountain to shudder. 

The crowd moved to near silence, only whispers finding Feyre’s ears. 

She had read about this before, a lifetime ago, in one of Vincent’s books. 

Calla looked up to the platform one last time before the beast barreled out into the arena, Amarantha’s gleeful whisper filling the quiet air. 

“Run.” 

Then all hell broke loose. 

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[erstwhilesparrow]

A few years ago, I tried getting into friends at the Table, but got very confused and never finished. However, I noticed you have a tag for it, so i am assuming you listen, and i was wondering,,,,, while I don't have the spoons for another ttrpg podcast atm, I would *love* to hear your thoughts on it/what it's actually about in general, and so I figured I'd ask :3

you have no idea how excited this ask made me; i have indeed listened to friends at the table!! i like it so much!!

okay before i do my spiel, you have to listen to this. I Am Forcing You To. this is not really going to clarify what friends at the table is about, but it will give you a sense of how much Like That they are.

all right, everything else under the cut.

the flippant and easy answer is that fatt is about "critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interactions between good friends"! that's their tagline, and it's true, but it's also the answer anyone will give you if you ask about the podcast. the other answer is that, across (approximately) seven seasons of varying tones and genres, fatt has with surprising consistency managed to be about love stories without resolutions, communities coming together in apocalyptic times, and Extremely Cool Anime Bullshit.

i absolutely understand trying to get into it and getting lost -- it definitely took me multiple tries for it to click, and none of the helpful guides people offered actually worked for me? (a joke that was going around on tumblr a little bit ago: fatt fans will give suggestions on where to start listening the way new yorkers give directions.) the hosts of the podcast are A Pretty Specific Kind Of People! they are not trying to be marketable here! so it's. hard to sell and hard to explain. i don't know how to say, in an advertise-y way, "i had to trick myself into listening to more than two episodes by putting the podcast on in the background as white noise while i was playing minecraft." and also, "i got through like five multi-hour episodes before i started realizing that not only was i beginning to be able to differentiate voices, but that i might be invested in these characters." and also, "no actual-play in existence is doing it like friends at the table is. you will experience the sickest storytelling and worldbuilding of your life listening to this podcast. but you will first have to get used to every five minute fight or interaction taking twenty minutes because these people are long-winded and very thorough." i'm bad at elevator pitches!

but. but. i started with their fourth season, Twilight Mirage, and to this day i still call it the bearer of my heart. when i say i think it changed my life, i mean i really genuinely think the person i would have been not having listened to it would have been worse off, at least for that stretch of months where i was listening to it. the hosts are so careful and so thoughtful about their worldbuilding, and so interesting about it that after a certain point, i started going, "oh fuck, we're spending hours doing exclusively worldbuilding to set up for the upcoming story? hell yeah!" something that still pierces me to this day when i think about it gets mentioned almost off-handedly: the people from this sci-fi futuristic version of earth are named with possessives -- real canon examples include Morning's Observation, Declan's Corrective, Mother's Story -- because (in the hosts' words) it matters to them that they belong to something. what the FUCK! and it's like this all the time?? they just do this shit?? for free?? THERE'S A CHARACTER NAMED FOURTEEN FIFTEEN. there's not a lot of quotes i can give you out of context that convey what it's like to experience the whole thing, because they throw all these pieces onto the board and go through all of them and it's this huge chaotic jumble and then suddenly one thing connects to another to another to another and it resolves into the most gorgeous mosaic you've ever seen.

twilight mirage is their biggest and messiest season, they try to do a lot of different things with it, but i think the thing that most Got To Me is that it's a story about a utopia in decline? and it really is a utopia. the hosts are explicit about that, that they thought about what a utopia could actually look like, about what infrastructure it would need to work, about how there's no secret caveat or buried rot. this is something i said to a friend of mine shortly after listening: "they said, hey, what does a queer sci-fi utopia look like for us? and answered the question completely seriously. it takes a kind of thoughtfulness and fortitude that i think few possess to answer a question like that without flinching." it's like it flipped enough switches in me to make me go, "wait, you can DO that?" like. this was... the winter joining 2021 and 2022? i was having a bad time with [trying to imagine a future for myself that didn't make me miserable], and twilight mirage didn't, yknow, fix that, but it did suggest visions of the future that i could actually see myself in, and tell stories about things and in ways it had never even occurred to me you could do!

and they. keep doing that. every season. they've been doing that since 2012. there are space fish. there are ships shaped like bouquets of flowers. there is (and i quote) "a big-titty catgirl shrine maiden."

i know i've talked pretty abstractly here about the things i felt listening to this, and i haven't even brought up other seasons i've listened to, but i'm telling you. there's So Much. there is no way for me to meaningfully condense it for a question this general. friends at the table is so expansive and thoughtful and so so fucking good, and i will never have enough words to describe it to my own satisfaction.

(as a treat for after reading all that: another fun answer to "what's fatt's deal?" here.)

[munkustance]

hi hello!! What’s ur favorite musical moment within the show? For example, I really like Jemima’s moments of happiness solo, or the part where the orchestra gets to build during old Deuteronomy :)

Hello!!!

First of, super agree on the two moments you brought up! Jemima's solo is so beautiful and then the music just brings it all together! And in my opinion the whole Old Deut music motif is so extremely wonderful and just feels like a warm, fuzzy hug.

So big surprise, my favourite musical moment is alssooo during the moments of happiness!

Right when the music swells until Jellylorum begins singing Gus's song. It just feels so powerful, majestic and most importantly magical. You hear exactly what compels them to stand up, Rumpleteazer's face a second earlier describes the feeling best to me.

Like her expression is exactly what I feel when the build up for the moment comes up.

[whole-buncha-snakess]

hi! what the fuck is happening in pentiment?

good question! i'm so glad you asked!

ok ok ok so idk how much you know so i'm just gonna take this from the beginning. pentiment is a historical narrative-driven game set in early 16th century bavaria. you play as andreas maler, an illustrator that gets caught up in having to investigate a murder.

so basically for the first couple hours or so you're like oh this is a fun little game! i'm just having fun, being an illustrator, nosing around, getting to know all these townspeople. but then gradually it drags you in. you realise that this isn't a detective game, that there is never a simple answer, that your actions have weight and meaning even when you don't intend for them to.

pentiment is one of the best games i have ever played. it makes you feel the consequences of your actions and how they ripple across time. it shows you how the secrets of a community can fester and drive people apart. i would genuinely describe it as a masterpiece.

so my answer to the question 'what the fuck's happening in pentiment' would have to be: silly little monk shenanigans! shortly followed by the realisation that your worldview has been irrevocably altered!

[indigodawns]

.

[intofaerun]

ooo can i ask about truba?? whats my girl's deal i LOVE her hair colour

YIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 kissing you for this

Truba (short for Trubadora) is a bard 🎻🎶 well she plays the flute but the emoji for it looks weird

She's a liar and a schemer and given the option despite having higher persuasion she will almost always chose intimidation or deception <3 she can't lift things to save her life her strength is so bad. BUT because she's a bard and is a storyteller she has metatextual awarness just not always the wisdom to not still make the wrong decision

Right now she pretty much only started romancing both Gale and Karlach so we'll see what happens next 👀 Shadowheart hates her btw. I think Sayeret and her would nottt get along Sayeret is all about the outdoors Truba is a city girl for sure. She's a terrible gossip

[possuminabathtub]

✍️💌🎨

✍️

Ideal writing set up? Sitting at my desk or on my bed, sometime late at night (but I’m not too tired), the vibes are right, maybe a candle burning and some rain, but the house is silent, I’ve got my writing tab and my playlist open and nothing else (if I have a social media tab open no writing gets done), the clicky keyboard sounds are divine and I am in the zone.

💌

Favorite trope? Living weapon is my go-to, something about the dehumanization and violence and lack of free will in the experience of life, it just gets me. But a much less explored trope (if I can call it that) I truly adore that I see sometimes from living weapon stories, or even whump in general, is the witnessing of someone else’s pain, whether it’s finding a recording, or seeing it, or even seeing the scars and permanent damage and recognizing it, it’s something about the acknowledgment of pain, the act of being seen and perceived (and sometimes loved and cared for despite the horrors), it gets me every time and I don’t know if that’s an actual trope, but it’s something I love.

🎨

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

The very first scene that comes to mind is one from the early chapters of Souls, and I’ve lamented the fact that I can’t turn my fic into a show or movie because the image of Firebird towering over the injured and nearly dying Captain America after he’s been pulled from the river by the Winter Soldier, as he’s being defended by the Winter Soldier, her metal wings spread wide in a display of terrifying lethal rage, all of them muddy and bloody and angry and fighting for their lives. I love that scene, the imagery it brings to mind, and to see it in any form of art would be a gift like no other. (I kid you not, I have genuinely lamented about the fact that I cannot manifest a tv show out of my fic, bc the cinematic masterpiece that would be Firebirds wings? The framing and the cinematic shots portraying her as an Angel of war and death, the memory chair as her halo? Unparalleled)

[full-frontal-lotus]

Would you be willing to share more about OmoiLee?? It's a new ship for me and I'd love to learn more about them

I am always willing and bless you for giving me a chance to talk about it.

While I love their dynamic in general, my favorite way to think about them is in a semi-canon “adults navigating genuine feelings and their lives” kind of way. It’s after the War, they’re both living their lives and putting it all back together again in a world that is rapidly changing around them.

Lee has always worn his heart on his sleeve and has loved before, but it lead him nowhere. He’s moved on from his past crushes, but they still stay with him. He is working as a bodyguard to the Konoha representative of the Shinobi Union, and is just trying to find his place as a shinobi in a world that increasingly has no use for him.

Omoi, meanwhile, has never really been in love in a way he hasn’t talked himself out of, and is not handling his new life as a representative well at all. The War very much lives with him every minute of his life and combined with the stress of holding the Shinobi Union together in its infancy, it’s driving him to madness.

The two run into each other (almost literally — Lee was out for a morning run and Omoi was lost in his own head) and sort of hit it off. The two have mutual friends and end up in each others’ company more and more often. Lee invites Omoi out to do his favorite activities (exercising and eating well) more and more often, and encourages Omoi to persevere even in the face of things that overwhelm him. Meanwhile, Omoi presents Lee with fanatic possibilities and Lee finds himself pondering the politics going on around him, and gives more thought to what use he could have in the world.

Eventually, the two decide to date and that comes with its own set of challenges when Omoi is promoted to Darui’s aide and is taken off his duties as Shinobi Union representative. The two have to navigate being from different villages and having responsibilities while also trying to make it work, because they’ve realized they have something special and it was worth going the extra mile for.

And then magically Metal comes along and they lived happily ever after, the end.

[yutadori]

it's so crazy and isolating hearing my friends talk about how they want kids u__u

[yujeong]

Oooh can I ask about your Kim & Pete ideas?

Of course you can! I love them a lot so thank you so much for asking me about them ❤️ Ok, so, after The Knight's Pawn I have 2 more fics I want to write and post: One of them is a "deleted scene" I intended to add in the last chapter of The Knight's Pawn but thought better of it, because it would distract the reader and leave things in a weird place. Basically, it's what the title of the WIP suggests: Kim kisses (an unconscious) Pete. I want to explore Kim's feelings surrounding sex and love and intimacy a LOT, and with what I crafted with my main story, I believe there's room for it here. Here's a snippet, which needs editing as always:

Pete spent hours by his side, gathering his broken pieces and putting them back together, with the care of someone who might love him. Pete was asleep right now. He wouldn’t notice, not with his exhaustion having taken such a toll on him. Kim could do it without consequences.   His lips brushed over Pete’s, the touch feather-like but enough to send a tingling sensation down Kim’s spine. The feeling was strange but not unpleasant, and Kim felt compelled to press on Pete’s lips more, to really connect them together. 

The other fic will be set during the famous "hospital era", meaning in-between the 1 month the show never gave us. Having the backstory that is The Knight's Pawn, I really want to explore the possibilities of them being each other's anchor during one of the worst period of their lives. It'll also give me a chance to explore some brotherly feels, some cousin feels and both VegasPete and KimChay. I can't wait to delve into it more, I'm very excited about it.

I had shared a snippet once, which is this, but I'd like to share another one, which is from the second scene of the first chapter (yes, it'll be multiple chapters, so many things to tackle, it would be impossible otherwise):

He lit up his third cigarette, the smoke twirling in front of him as he exhaled. He was observing its path in the air, the nicotine doing absolutely nothing to calm his nerves, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.  Oh yeah, he had a phone on him. The one whose number Chay had blocked. Of course he would forget about it, given that. He took it out with bloody fingers - he hadn't even bothered cleaning up, he couldn't do it, he couldn't forget the feeling of it on his skin - and stared at the screen in disbelief.  It was from Tankhun.  That was the first worrying thing. Tankhun never texted, he always called; he didn't have the patience to write down what he wanted to say to Kim, he had told him once. Kim thought the actual reason was because he wanted to hear Kim's voice and understand Kim's mental state better. Tankhun was always sneaky like that. The second worrying thing was the message itself: I need your help. Come here now.

[yellow-speedster]

Obvious pick, I know, but ..... sontails for the ship ask? I would love to hear your thoughts on them!!

Hello!! :D But that's the perfect pick, I love the boys so much and I love getting to talk about them!

In case anyone following my blog missed the memo (and my fics xD): I ship it!!

1. What made you ship it?

Honestly this is such a hard question, because there's rarely a lightening strike Moment where I start shipping things. With sontails, well, it kind of just went hand in hand with falling into the Sonic series as a whole. I got into playing the games, watching the movies and shows, and reading a lot about Sonic and Tails and their dynamic and I just… fell in love with what they have with each other.

The friendship they have, the bond between them, it's just something that's really beautiful to me and they're one of those duos where I just, love them in any and every way they could be together. And I'm an absolutely hopeless romantic so of course it's impossible for me to look at how they are together and not see the love that's there. ;w;

So essentially: They're In Love, your honor.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

Where do I even start ahhhhh everything? Everything! I just, love how precious they are, together, how much they care for one another. It really just comes back to that bond Sonic and Tails have, that's my favorite thing. I love the way they fit together and how their differences compliment one another, they're like two parts of a matching set.

It's so hard to pick my favorite things, because it just comes back to them: Sonic and Tails. They're my favorite thing about the ship, because I just… love them so much. They give me so many emotions. ;o;

I know I've always been extremely weak for best friends slowly falling in love with each other, and I feel that so strongly when it comes to these two. They've already found so much in one another, best friends, partners, home. I just love to think about how that could keep going over time, how deeper it could get as they keep growing together, what else the amazing bond that Sonic and Tails share could bring about.

I'm sorry I'm rambling so much ahhh, they just give me SO many emotions.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I plead the fifth.

Honestly, I don't actually know what the popular opinions are, I don't really interact much with wider fandom in general so I haven't really had the chance to pick up on what's popular and what's unpopular.

There is, one thing though, so I suppose it's time to be Problematic(TM) on Main.

I really don't understand why some people seem to get all touchy about the age difference Sonic and Tails have. I suppose I have a skewed perspective, one of my partners and I have a decent age gap, and my parents had one bigger than Sonic and Tails, so to me there's nothing that weird or wrong about them not being the same age? I understand aging them up before they actually become romantic, if (general you)'re uncomfortable with their 'canon' ages. I do it too usually. I just don't think the existence of a difference in their ages is a big deal.