#the possibilities are really just endless :)))

[parfaitblogs]

hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you. 

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now. 

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust. 

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it. 

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening. 

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed. 

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you. 

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway. 

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose? 

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it. 

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features. 

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door. 

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways. 

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him. 

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says. 

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash. 

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back. 

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!" 

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier. 

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest. 

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back. 

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears. 

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[pyxxiestyxx]

Truth and Rumors

You didn't exactly plan on being your space station's liaison to the Affini Compact, but everyone in leadership had fled into the darkness of space hours before the plant's first ships jumped into position. Clearly someone had tipped the C-Suite off somehow; honestly, you couldn't blame them. Everything you had heard about the Compact was…rather terrifying, really. Behemoth plants with rows upon rows of teeth, infectious parasites ready to take over your mind, eternal servitude and endless labor with no pay…you shuddered at the rumors, at the stories. Perhaps worse was the actual propaganda produced by the plants; not that you or anyone else on the station was legally allowed to watch it, but even the few still frames that were shown to you had painted a grisly picture. The limp figure of some Terran Navy hero, cuddled and coddled by the hulking beast of a plant behind her. Apparently they had changed the soldier's gender, or something? The report accompanying the image was rather unclear for that particular detail. And now, here you were: sitting nervously in the largest conference room on the station, the lone Terran at a desk made for over thirty to sit at comfortably. When the Compact had hailed your station, you were one of the few working the comms station, and everyone else had either fainted, screamed, or panicked. Not that you were much better, but it was apparently enough that you were voluntold to answer it. The voice of the caller was…strange. Different, somehow. Calming, and yet thrilling. She introduced herself as Lady Violetta Larella, Fourteenth Bloom, she/her. Blushing, you apologized for not referring to her by her title earlier. In your defense, you hadn't realized she was nobility. She seemed to enjoy that, for some reason. You had only been sitting at the table for a few minutes when there was a sharp knock at the door. The Lady entered as gracefully as one possibly could when entering a door made for someone at least five feet shorter, her long dress trailing behind her as she clasped her hands and smiled. "Hello, darling. It's so lovely to see you in the flesh, so to speak! And just look at you! Why, that video feed certainly dulled your charms~" Her voice was dripping with genuine affection as she stepped over to you, taking a knee and reaching an elegant hand out to tussle your hair. You couldn't help but shudder as she did so; your nerves dancing in abject joy as she gently pet your head. Your eyes slowly closed in utter delight as you sagged back into your chair, your tensed muscles relaxing one by one by one... "Oh, but I apologize! Playtime can come later, dear. Let's get down to business, shall we?" You blinked in confusion as you realized She had stopped petting you, and couldn't stop yourself from letting out the smallest of whimpers as She began to withdraw Her hand. Every single one of Her eyes, each of which ranked among some of the most verdant jewels you had ever seen, quickly seemed to shift and dance to a brilliant violet. Her hand returned, sending your worries scuttling for the door as She did so. "Well…perhaps we can take a few minutes, first. Just to make sure you have been thoroughly examined, of course; it would be my duty as Own…as Overseer of this operation to guarantee your mental and physical wellbeing~" You smiled dreamily as you were picked up and held by Lady Violetta, happy that everything you had heard about the Affini was so clearly wrong. She grinned at you, a wide smile that showed all Her many, many pretty teeth, and held up a single, succulent berry, the sight of which made your mouth water. "Now then…let's play a fun little game. When I stroke downward on your cheek, I want you to open your mouth…"

[unacknowledgeable]

SK!Reader x Yan!Batfam: Not in the plan

I have thoughts about the batfam going yandere before finding out about Reader being a serial killer.

Because if the fam go yandere before finding out, this gives them time to formulate their own perceptions of the reader, based on their limited knowledge of them and a lot of wistful thinking, so there's now an illusion built that can be shattered. 

It’d definitely be a slower roll into being yanderes, because they view the Reader as a full civilian and obviously don’t want to scare them off. They only really have the media's view of the Reader, and Alfred's view to make assumptions off of, which both are pretty biased tbh.

 They end up forming this version of Reader that is quiet but charming, social but reserved, irritable but kind, meek but shrewd, etc etc.

So they start off slowly, with little things, like Tim bumping into them on the street then offering to buy coffee, running into Steph while buying groceries, Jason waving at them from across a clubs dance floor, Bruce cutting in during their chat with Gordon at a Gala, getting “leftovers” from Barbara whenever she brings her dad lunch at the station, being asked for your math notes by Duke, Cass having Alfred give you tickets to her dance recitals, Damian entering rooms you’re in without making a snide comment, Dick inviting you to family game night–

The list of tiny ways they try to insert themselves is endless and every new acknowledgement from the family leaves the Reader fucking terrified.

Reader stares, bug eyed, at Tim for his offer, falls into a shelf at Steph's excited hello, downs a shot before running to the the club's bathroom to climb out the window when Jason tries to approach your seat at the bar, tripping a waiter to distract Bruce while you ditched the Gala, nearly back handing Barbara because you were listening to music and you didn't hear her come in, asking Duke ‘what math notes?’ ...while studying said notes, saying ‘no, you couldn't make the recital because you had to water a friends dog that day’ before quickly leaving the kitchen, throwing a book at Damian when he moved to close because the only times he’s ever been this quiet around you is when you're inevitably stabbed, or flinching so hard when Dick reaches out a hand to clap your shoulder, he thinks he somehow actually hurt you and the look of fear in your eyes gives off such a startling sense of deja vu, it leaves him despondent for the rest of the week.

 So now the batfam are thinking “Why the fuck are they panicking so much? oh god did we seriously fuck up so badly they're afraid of us?!?!?! DD: Why are they so uneasy??? It can’t just be because they’re estranged from them. Can it??” And now they're getting increasingly desperate to fix this because this wasn't supposed to be so difficult, but now it is and that's making it more intriguing and thus higher on the family’s list of priorities. 

Meanwhile… from the start, the Reader is just-

Because despite outward appearances, Reader is constantly paranoid as fuck. We’re talking Batman levels of paranoia. Hard not to be when he’s literally your dad. You have contingencies for your contingencies, escape routes by the dozen out of the city and out of this mortal plane itself, if needed. You had plans for every conceivable possibility, just not for this. 

You're now met with such a glaringly obvious flaw in how you go about life in general, the way you live and how you operate as a serial killer, it all hinges on the idea of the family never turning their attention your way. It wasn't even an option and now it’s happening and you had no idea how to function because this isn't normal at all. Now you're actually forced to put in more than 25% of brain power to bury any possible leads and dissuade any possible connections to yourself and the silent terror on Gotham, while also trying to figure out what the hell happened.

Safe to say, this cat and mouse game is no longer fun for you.

I'm meltingggg. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, I'm going to bed bleh

X-X

Masterlist

[kiwriteswords]

Drabble request—trying to explain to Hotch posting him on Instagram/making it Instagram official!

The Hard Launch [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Drabble]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 600

TW: Age gap, social media use, non-BAU reader, Aaron Hotchner POV

Aaron Hotchner had never been one for social media. Not one bit.

To him, the value of a private life far exceeded the lure of likes and comments. 

However, as he sat across from you in the soft glow of your living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way your fingers danced with nervous energy over your phone screen. 

Penelope, who lived next door to you, had been the architect of your meeting. Her intuition had proved impeccable, as usual. Despite the age gap of twenty years between you and Hotch, the connection was undeniable. It was your youthfulness that breathed new life into his structured world, and in turn, he offered a grounding stability you cherished.

Although, in this moment, he felt from an entirely different generation.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hotch's voice was laced with caution as he watched you meticulously select a photo from your gallery.

You nodded, biting your lip in concentration. "Yes, but it has to be perfect. This isn’t just any post, Aaron. It’s us...going public. Officially."

Hotch’s brow furrowed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in thought. "And this is important because…?" His tone wasn’t dismissive, merely inquisitive. He genuinely sought to understand this slice of your world.

You paused, the selected photo of the two of you from Dave's retirement party displayed on your screen—both of you caught mid-laughter, a snapshot of genuine happiness. "It's about crafting the narrative we want to share. This," you gestured to the photo, "tells a story of joy. Of us. It’s not just for my friends but for anyone who comes across it. I want them to see the happiness we share, not just the age difference."

Hotch took the phone from your hands, studying the image. He had always been protective of his private life, especially after the tragedy with Haley and the constant threats that came with his job. But looking at the photo, the happiness evident in his usually reserved expression, he felt a rare surge of pride.

"You make a compelling argument," Hotch admitted, handing back the phone. "So, how do you make it ‘perfect’ then?"

You smiled, a sparkle of excitement in your eyes. "It’s about the caption too. It sets the tone." You started typing, your thumbs moving swiftly. "'A new chapter begins with endless possibilities,'" you read aloud, then looked up at him for approval.

"Poetic," he commented dryly, but his small, affectionate smile betrayed his appreciation. "You really think this is necessary?"

"It’s like marking a milestone," you explained, your gaze softening. "It's telling the world that this is my choice, our choice, and we’re happy. It's setting boundaries too, declaring that what matters is the narrative we choose to share and nothing else."

Understanding dawned on him then. It was a declaration, a way to control the story before others had the chance to define it for you. In his line of work, control was everything, yet here he was, learning a different kind of control—over personal perceptions and societal narratives.

"Okay, post it," Hotch said finally, the protective instinct giving way to support for your happiness. You looked at him, a mixture of relief and love washing over you, before pressing the share button.

As you set your phone aside, Hotch reached for your hand, a silent acknowledgment of the new step you both were taking. "How long until the world knows?"

You chuckled, "Give it a few minutes. Penelope probably already has the notifications on."

True to your words, within minutes your phone buzzed with Penelope’s enthusiastic approval and a stream of comments that followed. Hotch couldn’t help but feel a sense of rightness about it all. Maybe, just maybe, this social media thing had its merits, especially if it meant the world would know how proud he was to have you by his side.

[14dayswithyou]

Ren's favorite color is black!!!

So you can totally say no to this if it falls too heavily into spoiler territory, but I constantly see with all the angel centric questions that are trying to find a way to break past the wall of Ren/REDACTED changing themselves to angels preferences and get some different response than he "wouldn't care" or they'd just try again but what I really want is just some pathetic yandere Rendacted content of him doing everything he can to keep us with them, if Angel in some way didn't want to be with them and like all his previous personas have failed in some way, shape or form, it doesn't really matter the reasoning.

I know he's like super patient and would be willing to try again and again till he makes a persona Angel likes the most, but I really just want to see this dude in peak yandere form, beyond the dead ends we see within the game. So like if that's either like just a list of stuff he'd do or an actual story fic idrc I just need him being the worst fucking version of themself, begging, crying, hell even threatening just to stop angel from leaving cause his patience has been exhausted PLEAAAAASUHHH

⌞♥⌝ I've said this many times, but Ren genuinely has all the patience in the world for Angel, and there really isn't anything that would make it snap!! ^^ He's not a short-tempered, emotionally-driven*, or verbally abusive kind of yandere either; Ren is extremely manipulative, clever, and deceptive — and often relies on making Angel be the one who sabotages their relationships with others.

If you wanted to see Ren crying and begging, you would have to run his self-esteem into the ground and treat him the exact same way his father did.

But even then... Ren would still show endless restraint for Angel. I've had people try to (unintentionally) convince me otherwise via asks of their own, but I'm quite literally his creator, and I mean it when I say that Ren has the patience of a saint. There's nothing Angel can possibly do to make him lose his temper. Ren is endlessly forgiving and more than desperate to prove his worth, so no matter how many times Angel tries to test him, it won't work. So... Please stop trying to convince me otherwise ;v;

* = When I say "emotionally driven", I mean like... Ren won't physically lash out or do anything crazy just because he's angry or upset with Angel. I hope this makes sense gsgsjh ^^; I know he's driven by love (he is a yandere and love is an emotion), but it's not like he'll want to yell or take his anger out on Angel just because he's in a bad mood.

[blushingdread]

Knowing how the construct and Princess works makes playing the game a fun game of trying to figure out which voice did what to do this

The Razor route becomes even funnier because you're just watching Cheated stack the deck against himself. Like congratulations, you played yourself

Skeptic gets your ass trapped by fucking with the chain on the other side of Prisoner, which was ment to hold her other hand aka the Long Quiet, and THEN he gets you OUT by nitpicking about how the cabin should be changing if time is passing plus not thinking about how our not starving doesnt make sense!! Task failed successfully!!!

Cold is competely unintentionally fighting a one man war to keep the Princess as powerless as possible. All of Cold's Princesses are dead, except for Fury and Stencil. Stencil flicking between alive and dead, which is likely because of Opportunist's and Hero's thoughts being stronger than his, because in Wraith, she just stays dead. In Fury, he comes in late, and Stubbron already doesn't think she can die, so he doesnt effect her much. Cold's insistence that she's dead and easy to kill is at war with Hero's fear of ghosts and the Narrators insistence that she's alive. It's so funny when you realize that he's doing that

I always felt that Adversary!Fury was kinda overreacting. She seemed more disappointed in you. It felt really strange when she went full endless torture when thats kinda out of left field, but she makes so much more sense from Stubborn's pov!! He's the one that's supremely fucked up about the situation, he's the one yelling at Cold for his fucking audacity, he's the one who sees her in a new light after she beats you to death without a weapon when she just seemed scared and wanted to mercy kill you. Stubbon did that!!

Most princesses have a version of themselves but more. Needle to Adversary, Caged to Prisoner, Clarity to Nightmare, Den to Beast, Apotheosis to Tower, Razor, and I would say Wraith to Specter, and that's probably because the first voice you got thoughts were confirmed but now there's a second voice adding details. It's literally just confirmation bias, that's all that's happening here. Its really funny

Anyways i gotta ask what the fuck was going on in Hunted's and Opportunist's heads to make Wild? Like, I assume Hunted was thinking about when Beast dies, they'll return to nature together as one. Creating "We are a path in the woods,", but what the FUCK was oppy thinking to lead to this. Let me inside of your brain freak

[sukii77]

roommate megumi

roommate AU

roommate!megumi who doesn’t talk much, but somehow always knows when you’re in a bad mood and quietly brings you your favorite snacks without saying a word.

roommate!megumi who insists on keeping everything in its place, but never tells you to clean up unless it’s absolutely necessary. “You might want to put that away before it gets knocked over.”

roommate!megumi who has a habit of zoning out for hours, and you’ll walk into the living room to find him sitting there, staring at the wall. “What are you doing?” “Thinking.”

roommate!megumi who avoids doing the dishes as much as possible, but when it’s his turn, he gets them done quickly and without complaint. “I’ll do it, just… don’t leave them piling up next time.”

roommate!megumi who, when you’re cooking, will always show up with a blank stare and ask if you need help, but when you hand him something, he does it in complete silence.

roommate!megumi who doesn’t really understand your taste in decorations, but quietly tolerates your endless posters lying around. “You really need to clean up that corner.”

roommate!megumi who, when you’re sick, won’t ask if you’re okay but will leave a hot cup of tea and a blanket on the couch for you. “I left it there. Don’t make it cold.”

roommate!megumi who never eats your food, but if you’ve been gone for a while and left leftovers in the fridge, you’ll find them gone with only a note: “It was getting stale. I ate it.”

[sgiandubh]

Hola, hola! Pregunta de novata asombrada: De veras se casó con ese señor? Habláis de certificado de matrimonio que alguien se molestó en buscar? OMG...

Dear Novata Asombrada Anon,

En cuanto a todos mis anónimos hispanos, espero que no te importe que te contestaré en inglés, como muestra de cortesía hacia la gran mayoría de mis lectores. Gracias y aquí vamos con la traducción de tu pregunta. Y, para que no se me olvide, ¡bienvenida!

Hello, hello! Question from a shocked newbie: Did she really marry that man? Are you talking about a marriage certificate that someone bothered to look for? OMG…

Good morning and thank you for asking - you are not the only one today, it would seem. This question is making the rounds again (why?) and let's call this a (fortunate?) coincidence. The Marriage Certificate (MC) was the equivalent of the Great Christian Schism between Rome and Byzantium, in this fandom, mind you. Depending on your own take on the S&C Saga, it has been dreaded, expected, announced with great confidence and actively researched by fans, who simply took advantage of a very relaxed and transparent UK legislation, allowing for basically everyone to order a certified copy by email or snail mail, for a small fee.

The first fan aggressively trumpeting it online was (correct me if I am wrong) an ex-shipper who now goes by the handle of @brian-in-finance, also known as BIF, also known as Kidneystone. In her pedantic and arrogant little voice, she made a point of honor in dissecting absolutely every single detail of that dutifully certified piece of paper issued by the British General Register Office (GRO). A second, short-lived account, @hurleyburly, ordered the same paper and posted it on Tumblr, this time pudically hiding some details under a makeshift post-it. The usual fandom fortunetellers thought the handwriting on that 'post-it' was eerily similar to S's own, but we'll leave it at this. Although, I have to immediately add, I would not discount this possibility. A third prominent shipper account, @boyneriver-fraser, ordered it and made pathetic public amends over her previous shipping stance. Some others imitated them and received the exact same paper, followed by a seemingly endless trail of wrath, confusion and wailings.

People were understandably shocked, hurt and in definite anger over this. Many disembarked the ship, considering they had been either blind/idiot or cynically fooled by our Dynamic Duo, eager to sell the show. Speculation went rife. Some even tried to go the extra mile and believe they found out even more inconsistencies. I shall not speak on their behalf, simply because I was not here at the time and had no idea These Two will become such an (often invading) point of interest in my own life.

But irrespective of any inconsistencies, this paper legally exists. As such, it has legal effects that cannot and should not be discounted. I have always maintained it, as a professional. Likewise, I have consistently explained the Ibiza episode might be anything you could think of, from a romantic (?) picnic on a parking lot with a bird featuring a strange toupee (as per C's tweeted chirp), to a non legally binding handfasting ceremony (remember, LOL, 'some things are just for' Them). I have explained very early after my arrival why I do not think a Spanish marriage was in the cards. This is my final word about that #CarparkIbiza fanfic:

[Link: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/723029524897529856/i-have-asked-a-few-very-popular-bloggers-this?source=share - July 16, 2023]

More clearly put, national Spanish legislation requires the two foreign citizens to be residents in Spain, if they want to get married there. British consulates do not perform marriage ceremonies, either. And cross-border marriage rules in Europe, at the time applicable to a not yet Brexited UK, would have mandatorily required a transcription of the marriage papers in Britain. This is not the USA, where you can just go to Vegas, have your knot tied by an Elvis lookalike and divorce the next (hungover) morning. Or go to Tijuana and do what Sophia Loren and Carlo Ponti did in 1957, to great (bigamous) scandal. Rules are different. Rules exist, as stupid and cold as they might look. And one more time - they have tangible consequences.

At this point in time, you might logically ask yourself why I am still here. Is it because of the feeling of power and self-importance, as some nasty Anons remind me every single day? Is it because of the formidable people I have met in here? Yes, it is also because of them, but not only because of them, of course. And as far as any feeling of power and self-importance go, let's just say it's ridiculous to think so.

The reason I am still here is both simple and complicated to understand: a paper, even certified, does not a marriage make. Mark me, Anon: there is nothing (I repeat: nothing) normal about this one. There are secrets and lies and inconsistencies and gaslighting galore. The shippers know it. The Antis/Mordor know it. The Fencers know it. And every single one of these broad factions apparently has ample supplies of popcorn. And, as far as we go, champagne bottles stashed, plus a firm decision to have a Global Lollapalooza on the Internet the day this awkward situation would come to an end.

I have tried to answer your very legitimate question the best I could. I do not believe in sugarcoating or hiding anything. What I do believe in, is the power of critical thinking and the ability to coldly analyze facts, even if they do not encourage fantasy. You would be surprised of the things that do not click, in that official Narrative. Important things, not speculation. My blog primarily deals in this kind of stuff: things that do not click and paint a very different story than the one officially being peddled around.

And now, dear Shocked Newbie Anon, you are free to disembark, if you think I am still lying to you (what for, may I ask? just to receive every single day violent garbage into my Inbox?). But if you choose to stay with us, the tea is always brewing, somewhere. And mind you, it's often the finest Oolong you could find, because I honestly believe that we have the most formidable and unexpected assortment of witty minds and strong characters, in here.

[eldritch-spouse]

I’m hanging out in the sloth ring, on the phone quietly with a friend or something, nobody is paying me much attention so I don’t mind having a bit of a scandalous conversation in public:

“- look I adore somnophilia, I really do, but in practicality it doesn’t work. I wake up far too easily,”

Conversation moves on to other kinks or related topics, me not paying to much attention to who just overheard me.

[I don't exactly know if you were aiming at anyone here, so I rolled the dice.]

Sloth is a quiet Ring.

The lights are dimmed, sounds are muted, movement comes in bursts then settles, even the sky in this part of Hell appears darker to keep its residents sedated. And, sure enough, even a human like you feels tired, for no apparent reason, in the grounds of the slothful.

Precisely because of how quiet and still everything is, foreigners assume that they're safe, that no one is giving them an ounce of scrutiny and there's hardly a need to watch themselves.

Any good prey knows that the absence of sound is trouble.

Closed eyes and softly rising chests don't mean anything. The streets are lively, you just can't tell.

Absorbed in conversation, you've been walking gradually slower, until you all but halted in the middle of the sidewalk. Sloth expects people to want to lay down just about anywhere, so you had a seat waiting for you.

Little did you know, you were right in front of a demoness' hair salon.

Lucidia takes her time to work, she'll admit it, but the benefit of such is that she can put her professional perfectionism in front of everything, the knowledge of her success helping her through the sludge that is cleaning up after a client. She'd been sweeping snipped hair off the floor when she noticed you out front.

You talk loudly. Foreigners always do. Shamelessly too. The woman subtly evaluates you from top to bottom.

It's impossible to tell, but Luci assumes you're here to visit someone, everything about you screams 'excited to be here'. You're decently dressed, and when you turn your head around a bit, she finds beautiful features on a human complexion. It's a shame that, having such natural beauty, you walk around with such lackluster hair.

The demoness blinks when the topic of your conversation becomes increasingly obscene. She's sure the neighboring businesses are hearing this too.

Somnophilia...? Someone's going to approach you sooner or later. You're dumb.

Did you come here for the experience? Because your surfacer bedfriends can't do it properly? You certainly sound frustrated about it. Lucidia murmurs to herself that this could be a trap, that you're intentionally baiting slothfolk to come onto you because you know they can keep you under, they can make your fantasy a reality.

But even then, you're so ignorant.

What makes you think they'd stop at touching you in your sleep? What makes you think they'd have any reason to let go of you when you're at your most vulnerable? You could never wake up again, if they wanted to feed off you for as long as possible. The number of horrid things that could happen to someone as airheaded as you if you were to fall into opportunistic hands is endless.

Your conversation seems to die out when another demon exits a store from across the street, staring at you knowingly.

Luci doesn't realize she's moving until she's nearly fogging the hair salon window, glowering wordlessly behind you, at the other stranger. Adrenaline irritates her, she likes to avoid it, but the woman definitely feels her heart hammer in her chest at the thought of someone coming over and trying to mess with you.

They seem to get the message, looking between you and her, then hurrying down the street.

Lucidia sighs almost gutturally, and decides you can't be outside for much longer.

The demoness may be tall, yet her footsteps are near soundless. She settles beside you casually on the sidewalk, getting to stare you over again for several moments until you take note of the shadow suddenly cast onto you.

" Hello... " She greets softly and quietly when you appear to startle. " Do you want to sit... Inside? "

While you hesitate to answer, Luci can almost see the sweat starting to form on your forehead.

" ... It'll get dark soon. Things'll... Pick up. "

You don't respond again, some lost 'hum's and 'ha's escaping.

" Your conversation... I heard it. " She doesn't bother to hide a small smile when you pale a couple shades. " So did the whole street... If I had to guess. "

" Oh God- " You murmur under your breath.

" ... Let me style your hair. " She daringly suggests, threading a long-fingered hand through locks of it. " I won't let anyone bother you... "

Anyone but herself, naturally.

If you just so happened to doze off while Lucidia carefully shapes your hair, then who is she not to give you just a little taste of what you so shamelessly crave?

There's no hiding the rumbles of satisfaction when you nod quickly and let her lead you into the hair salon, the chime of a little bell signaling Luci's victory.

[faithlia]

⋆｡˚ Jᥙᥒ᥆ ୧˚｡⋆

english ins't my first lenguage.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, kind of friends to lovers.

a/n: this was a request for a sequel to something about you, however, this story doesn't tell much about what happened in its premise, although it has the same characters and their respective interests. also I'm so sorry for the delay, I've been very busy lately, but I hope you like it 💓

"you're make me wanna falling in love" - sabrina carpenter.

I don't know how to react to this or how to talk about it. After a series of meaningless flirtations and arousal-ridden insistence, I have Matt sitting on my living room floor, pretending he knows how to put the puzzle together properly. It's what? Eleven o'clock at night? Maybe he won't be leaving anytime soon.

I'm intrigued and anxious about what might happen if he comes over to my place. He wants to fuck me, and I know it; I have no objections to it, just thoughts of endless possibilities. I mean, I can't help myself, hormones are high.

When we arrive, I thought he was going to grab me and I would forget everything to focus on the moment, but that's not what happened.

I grab two glasses of wine, taking them to him in short steps.

"Thanks", he says as he reaches for the drink. I sit a little closer to him, but on the couch, watching him sort the pieces out to line them up in their proper place.

“How long have you been putting this together?” he asks, pointing with his finger.

“I don’t know. I think it’s been about two days,” I say. I really don’t know where I got the patience to put together a puzzle with a thousand tiny pieces, but the idea seems brilliant. “It helps me relax,” I sigh. I drink some more wine and then find myself staring at the empty glass – like a professional drunk.

Seriously? You relax with that?" He downs the rest of his wine, looking at me with slanted eyes.

"Of course I do," I say, smiling like an idiot. It seems that half a glass of wine is enough for me to feel comfortable with each leg on either side of his body. He doesn't mind; in fact, he even drops his head back - right into my lap.

"I can't imagine you relaxing; You're always so anxious about everything." He looks at me with such serene eyes that I have to make sure that it's not a figment of my imagination and that his eyes and expression aren't the most attractive thing I've ever seen.

"I think I'm pretty relaxed now." It's not entirely a lie, but part of me feels like my heart is almost in my mouth. I bite my lip and dare to run my hands through his messy hair; it's soft, but at the same time it looks like he hasn't washed it. I don't think he's the kind of guy who spends time worrying about what products to put in his hair. It makes me want to wash his hair like he's a doll, which is kind of weird.

"Okay," he says. He sighs and closes his eyes, feeling very comfortable, and I like that. Little by little, a feeling settles in my chest, and I don't think so much about what might happen. Of course, yes, I really want to kiss him, because his mouth is so attractive, and everything about him makes me surrender to a simple touch or a bold tilt.

Without thinking, I start to trace his face with the tip of my finger, delicately. He doesn't open his eyes and this allows me to be more evasive, pinching the tip of his nose lightly.

"Wow" I say, laughing.

"What is it?", he asks, still with his eyes closed, settling his head more into my lap.

"It's just... Have you noticed that your nose is really big?", I think I'm drunk because this is the first time I've said something about his appearance. It's not an insult, but rather something that has always strangely attracted me to him.

Contrary to what I thought, Matt laughed.

"Fuck you", he says. I lean a little closer to his face and say, "I like it. I find it quite... useful." I smack my lips and Matt opens his eyes. Damn, again those damn eyes so beautiful they look like they're going to eat me alive.

Now everything seems sneaky. He whispers to me, "Really?", knowing exactly what I mean. And before I can say anything else, he pulls my head down and kisses me. It's a sloppy kiss, but neither of us cares. He caresses the back of my neck and lifts his body up to take my lips. The feeling of his mouth on mine is delicious. I feel like I'm Spider-Man wearing pink panties

Matt lets out a moan and it drives me crazy. I pull away from him from the discomfort of being so bent over.

"That was our first kiss", I point out.

"Yeah" he nods, turning to face me — still between my legs. "Was it good?" he asks, so relaxed that it makes me comfortable with what we just did.

I lick my lips and say "Yeah" too, but the sound is more like a moan.

"Do you want to do it again?" he raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"I do!", and that's absolutely true. "But I know where this is going," I think out loud. For some reason, I'm not reluctant to tell him what I'm thinking. Maybe the nervousness went away when I started drinking, and that's fine with me. I like to tell him what I think and I don't think he minds. I think he likes being teased by my words – especially since I like it when he does it to me.

"What? Sex?", he gives me a wicked smile. And looks directly at my breasts.

"Yes!", I lean back on the couch, feeling the softness of the upholstery. "And what's the problem, I thought you wanted it", he looks at me like a puppy. I move my hand to stroke his hair again.

"I don't know. Won't it be weird?" I ask, thinking about an idea that has crossed my mind many times.

"Why would it be weird?" he asks back and now we're playing this little game that I kind of like. I shrug and he's quiet for a while. "We don't have to have sex if you don't want to", he says, lowering his gaze to between my legs.

"Okay",I say it like I'm not dying to have him. I think he wants to eat me out and I wouldn't deny it, I'd just be annoying enough to make him tired of trying. "Are you upset?" I ask.

"This isn't the first time you've said no to me," I smile at that and he drags his hand up my thigh. "I want to wash your hair," I say and he rolls his eyes. "What? I really want to!"

"Do you want to give me a bath too?" I do, but I don't need to say it.

"Well, if it's to wash your hair..." I won't say it directly.

He shakes his head and sighs heavily, thinking about what to say, but before I do I reconsider. "But actually, I think it's better not to! I don't want you to get excited in the middle of everything," for a moment I regret what I said.

"Juno", he bites his lip, calling me.

"Hm?" I look at his mouth; it looks so soft.

"I've been hard for about two minutes now," I open and close my mouth, looking at the considerably large bulge in his pants. I don't know what to say. "Oh my God. I managed to shut your fucking mouth. Awesome!" he says as if it's the best thing in the world, but I don't take offense; he's said worse to me. With a little difficulty, he stands up and stretches his entire body with his back to me. I'm a little intimidated about what he's going to do; however, he sits down next to me and, at the same time, grabs a pillow to cover his "problem".

He doesn't say anything and I shift to get closer to him. Now, from how much I've played with his hair, he's slightly disheveled. "How are you going to fix this?" I ask, knowing he's going to give me an expected answer.

"Do you want to fix it for me?" Before I can answer, he kisses me, and this time with tongue, and it's so automatic that I gasp. He grabs my ass and squeezes the flesh hungrily. I moan into his mouth and he pulls me to sit on his lap – and I realize he's quickly removed the pillow, feeling the openness of the bulge. I'm not going to lie or be hypocrite; I've been wet for a while now. When he forces me against his cock, I feel my pussy throb – it feels so fucking good.

"Matt", I hold his face with both hands, almost crying. "I don't know if we should have sex now", I say, separating myself from his mouth and feeling a delicious longing as I move over his intimacy.

The truth is that, although I would like to have his mouth all over my body and his cock inside me, I'm insecure about everything. This concern invades my head when the realization that it's Matt who's there watching me moan like a whore on his lap. The fact that he's already seen my breasts weighs this stigma even more.

"Okay! I know you haven't had sex with guys in a while", it's true, but wait.

"How do you know that?", I frown.

"Because you tell me everything, idiot", he seals our lips quickly. Matt lowers his mouth to my neck, saying: "But at least let me eat you out or just suck your tits, or just watch you touch yourself; I would love that." He thrusts his hips against me, catching me off guard, making me gasp loudly with my mouth open.

I take a deep breath and gather the courage to tell him: "I want to, I really do! I'm just a little insecure..." I look down, trying not to rub myself against him. "I shouldn't, because you're so hot! And you know that's true." He lifts my chin with his hand and bites my neck, biting until he reaches my cleavage, sticking his face in there. "And, fuck, I've seen those tits, and they're even more beautiful up close." He squeezes my breasts with his big hands, intensifying a delicious sensation in my lower abdomen. "Do you want me to tell you about your pussy that's wetting my pants, too?" Matt looks at me, his eyes shining. It was true, I'm making a terrible mess.

Fuck.

"Do you still want to wash my hair?" Matt asks, with his naughtiest smile. I nod and he lifts me easily onto his lap and heads to the bathroom.

He's quick to take off my clothes and he's also quick to make me go crazy. He pushes me against the shower wall and kneels down to eat my pussy. I like the way he knows how to eat me and how grotesque he is in the sense of making a mess on his own face just to devour me. When he runs the tip of his nose over my clit and almost shoves his face inside me, he says in a very slurred voice: "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" and he takes saliva on the tip of his tongue to join my lubricated clit and satisfy me a little more. And, when I squirt on his face from the accumulated stimulation, he opens his mouth with his tongue out, swallowing everything, panting: "You're delicious, babe".

Matt is the kind of guy who likes to fuck dirty and knows how to be thirsty for it.

I swore every moment that he wouldn't fuck me tonight, but after cumming in his mouth and knowing how naughty he is, the urge got worse and he fucked me the way he wanted, moaning loudly that I take him well, that he would cum inside me and he didn't care at all and he did; I like how he keeps his words.

And you can bet that I really like the fact that he takes me to bed, still wet, and makes me sit on his sensitive cock with my back to him, murmuring how hot I am and pinching my nipples between his fingers. I don't bother to scream when he hits my sensitive spot. I love the way he starts to feel overwhelmed and whimpers in my ear; I aggravate my movements and grip the back of his neck tightly just to hear him closer. He cums inside me once more, both of us letting out moans from the sensitivity caused in our bodies. He masturbates my clit and I release myself too, rolling my eyes in pleasure.

The last thing I remember is being in his arms, and after that, I fall asleep.

When I wake up, I feel unimaginably tired. Matt's eyes are open, sleepy; he says, "Good morning," and for me, talking at that moment is not an option. He kisses my forehead and smiles, touching my cheek, being so gentle.

"We weren't supposed to do this," I say, my voice unrecognizable. He presses his lips together and smacks, murmuring, "I know!" I sigh, stretching. "Do you want to do it again?" he asks.

Well.

No need to ask!

I must say that Matt and I fucked hard all day, in every possible position. And a few times, he asked me which ones I had tried; he was surprised by some of them.

He kissed me tenderly at each end, assuring me that it was very good. And surprisingly, after cumming on his cock so many times like a slut, I actually washed his hair when we showered – leaving it nice and wavy.

We finished putting the puzzle together – even though we argued a lot about where the pieces should go. He also felt motivated enough to tell me that he likes me since I started to feel comfortable insulting him, but that he finds me annoying and sometimes insufferable. I told him he was an idiot and teased him: “Does this turn you on, Matt?”

“Oh my god. I’m so fucking horny.” He laughs and kisses me and I know for sure that I want his touch for the rest of my life.

The End

a/n: Yeah, I know. It doesn't have much to do with the song, but if you're really fucking horny, I wouldn't hesitate to make a one-shot with all the positions that Juno and Matt did before putting together puzzles, and, who knows, after that too.

[pompadorbz]

Just a Little Longer

Not posting this to ao3 or anything since this fic is so itty bitty pocket sized and I don't have the energy rn. might do all that later but for now its NBD. This is just a short and kinda messy thing about TR!Phil post losing his wings after having them for 5 minutes. lol. Enjoy or dont

“...There has to be some reason.” Phil wonders aloud as he props a large log onto a stone wet from the fresh rain, readying Woodsbane on its surface in preparation to swing. With the amount of trees he chopped, it became inevitable that he’d eventually have to organize the mess. Treecapitator was nice, but it could only do so much in the way of organization.

Sneeg hums as he sits off to the side, handing off the occasional item for Crinkle to munch on– from his own inventory this time, Phil hoped. “Them having someone go rogue is pretty possible, I mean– I’ve seen it before, y’know?” Phil then adds. “There’s always some bigger force, and– and then there’s someone who wants to go against that force by getting help from outside, but…” Phil cuts himself off as he raises the axe high above his head and throws it down onto the log, splitting it cleanly in two. He immediately reaches for another log, swiping the other pieces away as if they weighed nothing and putting the new log in their place. If there was one thing he’d become from woodcutting, it was fast. Being maxed out and all– fast was the one thing he had left to be.

“...What if it wasn’t?? What if… They really only wanted you and Foolish to have them? And– And if not for an Elytra, then for what? Why wouldn’t they take it away the second you made it?” Sneeg simply shrugs. “I dunno. It doesn’t make a lotta sense to me either.” Phil sighs, zoning in on the log as he chops it cleanly once more, and then he chops another. And another. And another again. 

…What had the keepers of the realm meant when they said it “wasn’t time”?

He wondered if it was something to do with the factions like Sneeg had suggested earlier; Both him and Foolish were a part of the Kingdom, after all… Maybe that was it...? 

Or perhaps, it was due to Phil not being in a faction altogether..?

Placing another log on the stone, his eyes glance over to Sneeg. “...The fuck do you have that I don’t, mate?” He asks. He means it as a joke– he thinks that he means it as a joke. But Sneeg stands with a huff. “Look, Phil. I don’t know why this shit happened. We’re all kinda in the same boat right now.” He says defensively. “You’re gonna get your elytra eventually– this shit wasn’t fair. It’s just…”

He stares off into the distance. Something else was clearly on his mind, but Phil either didn’t particularly care right now. “...You’re just gonna have to wait a little longer, I guess.”

Phil’s grip on Woodsbane’s handle tightens despite the rain. He stares down to the last log he struck before silently flipping one of the halves on its flat end, kicking the other to the wayside. Sneeg sighs. “...I’ll leave you be for now. I gotta explain what happened to Foolish anyways, so… I dunno. Maybe he’ll have an idea of what happened.” Likely not; Phil wanted to say, but he kept silent.

Sneeg silently walks off– the only noise coming from his boots as they squelch in the wet mycelium, and his trident when he takes off into the now stormy sky. He didn’t have to look at Sneeg to know the look he was probably giving him as he left. Across what felt like a thousand different timelines, he’d seen it before about a million times over.

The apologies for his sake, the endless droves of sympathy. The sad look in people’s eyes when they said: “Oh well! There’s nothing to be done about that!”

Pity.

Every time without fail, it bore into Phil’s soul. It dug around deep in his chest until he was all but crying out in anguish, begging for it to cease, and he hated it. He hated it so, so very much.

Phil raised Woodsbane high above his head, straining as if the blade itself had hitched the loop of a halo that wasn’t there. “An angel lost his wings today.”

But they’d been lost for a long time now, hadn’t they?

“It is not yet time.”

And when would it be time?

“You’re just gonna have to wait a little longer.”

Phil’s breath hitches as he stares down at the halved log; not quite registering how his arms shook from both strain and rage as he held the axe in a crushing grip. He gritted his teeth together until his head began to pound–

–and to nobody in particular, he screamed as he swung the axe down onto the log with remarkable speed. “HOW MUCH LONGER?!” He asks, raising the axe again and barrelling down on the log once more. “HOW MUCH LONGER DO I HAVE TO WAIT?!”

And then repeatedly, Woodsbane fell upon the same log, each cut sloppier than the last as Phil hollered obscenities at the top of his lungs until his throat went hoarse. His blinding rage fizzled out into pathetic cries as he swung tiredly at nothing in particular; the log now too scattered and in pieces by then to even be truly called a log.

The cries turn hushed as he coughs and unceremoniously drops Woodsbane to the ground as he too, falls to his knees.

“...How much longer?” He rhetorically asks again, now tired and muffled as he stares to the ground, uncaring of the rain as it soaks into his clothing and frazzled hair. He thinks about what Pili had said earlier once more. Perhaps he was truly serious when he said it, but…

…An angel without wings.

It was a joke so ironic that Phil could almost laugh.  

[angelwishess]

Random funfacts about the Floyra kids bcs I need to ramble abt them!!!!

And Idk when I’ll be able to make their intro posts HELP

Just like her mama, Alora attracts creatures too! …Except, they aren’t cute, little forest critters, but instead terrifying monsterous beasts. Yeah…

She took the “Beast Tamer” thing literally it seems, because anytime theres a magical beast lurking around, Alora can somehow always manage to tame it. She thinks they’re “cute” and likes to dress them up! Just like how Kyra used to ask for assistance with the critters, Alora does the same with the beasts!

Alora is actually very talented in wrestling, and she may or may not have a sleeper build… (This was inspired by Japanese wrestler Mizuki!)

Evelio is actually the most prone to mood swings amongst the Leech siblings! Though he may be able to hide his emotions better than his painfully honest siblings, he’s still the most moody of the bunch.

Growing up, Kyra taught the kids to play chess. But not the traditional kind of chess, no— She taught them how to play ‘Chess Anarchy’. A silly version of the game where there are basically no rules. The only way to win was to create a better excuse than your opponent for the ridiculous moves you do.

Because of this, Marven used to always win at chess against Evelio. After all, he’s always been too creative for his own good!

Both twins were suprised when they found out there was a tradition version of chess and, surprisingly, even Evelio disliked it. The Leech siblings found the original game boring. The only reason Evelio even likes it a little bit, is because its the only time he can beat Marven at chess lmao

Chimere dyes her hair ALOT. Im talking new month, new hair color!! She just cant stick to one thing, and that goes for style, too! Her aesthetic is constantly changing, and its just as restless as she is!

Chimere is a busy body who likes to burn energy by taking on odd jobs around campus. Anyways, shes a Jack of All Trades and a ridiculously quick learner, and she uses that to her advantage all the time!

She’ll do a favor or two for you as well, if you have a good payment! …Money? Pfft! Of course not! She expects something cool or fun in return, maybe a part of your soda cap collection, or a random playing card. Your choice, just don’t make it “boring”.

Chimere is also a total party animal, and enjoys any kind of festivity! Honestly, its like she brings the party wherever she is though, her endless energy is simply infectious!

Chimere dabbles in ballet, too! She loves all dancing in general though, and thought it’d be fun to try a new style! Dancing is her favorite thing to do, after all!

Chimere is a Ribbon Eel! Yeah, Chimere was actually adopted by Kyra and Floyd! I decided to give them one more just because RibbonEel was one of Floyra’s possible other ship names, and thought the idea of Kyra and Floyd just randomly snatching up a kid with no parents was too funny to miss out on.

Maven is a flirt. It probably ties in with his whole ‘wannabe rockstar’ thing, but he just loves the swell of pride in his chest when he knows someone is charmed by him. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not a playboy! He won’t ever pursue any of the people he flirts with (well, except for one…), he just likes to flirt!

…However, Marven is actually quite ashamed of this ngl WHAHAHAH, only because he feels guilty when the thought of what his mama would think about it crosses his mind. He may be a flirt— but please don’t tell his mom!! He’d rather die than let her know!

Whenever shes around, Marven straightens up immediately! Buttoning up his blouse and acting like hes done nothing wrong… But Evelio knows. And he uses it as black mail 😭

While the twins are both in the Spelldrive Club, Marven has his own band! Hes a vocalist and plays electric guitar— his favorite! (Mostly because it makes him ‘look cool’.)

Marven… Really just likes anything that makes him look cool. Thats his reason for most things he does, honestly… (Evelio says hes pathetic LMFAO)

He may look rough around the edges but the truth is Marven is probably the nicest out of his siblings! No matter how tough he tries to act, if you ask him enough he’ll probably eventually cave and ‘bregrudgingly’ help out.

Alora may be eager to help out— but her unpredictability and eccentricity usually makes the whole situation go completely wrong. She does try her best, but… Her methods are rather strange.

Evelio is actually very unorganized. He can never find whatever he last put down, especially in his room.

Marven, on the other hand, is amazing at finding things! Its like he can find anything, really. (Evelio always has to ask for his help). His own room is unorganized too, but its more like organized chaos. He knows where everything is, he just doesnt bother to clean up if he doesnt feel like it HAHA

Marven is clingy as hell. He’d be one of those kids that check on his parents’ location on an app and call them if they leave without telling them anything😭😭

Evelio is actually the same way, but he just wont admit it.

Chimere is always on some random side quest. You can barely find her in the same place as before, always running off to go on some sort of adventure elsewhere. She seeks out fun and adrenaline just as much as Kyra did!

Alora loves LOVESS to jumpscare people. She’ll appear out of nowhere and spook them. Its all in good fun, though! In her eyes, they’re all just playing.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝙰𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚃𝚘 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝙰𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚃𝚘 𝙳𝚒𝚎

×͜×

Prologue.

⟢ Danny Phantom Phan Fic • Genre: Angst / Tragedy / Psychological / Horror • Overall TW: Strong Language — Mental Health Struggles — Suicidal Ideation — Violence — Parental Neglect — Emotional Abuse — Graphic Content • M rate (+16!) due Graphic Emotional Intensity — CW: Character Death

Summary: “It’s the end of me. I didn’t want to feel and kiss your lips, I wanted to feel and see you suffer instead.”

AO3.

FFN.

Other Phan fics here.

Under the ‘read more’ line you’ll find the full art piece at the bottom + more. TW/CW: Gore — Vivisection (But we’re used to it by now, aren’t we?).

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦.

It’s the end of me. I didn’t want to feel and kiss your lips, I wanted to feel and see you suffer instead. I saw him. Me. Him. My own reflection. You didn’t do this. I did. But that wasn’t true. We’re the same, aren’t we? Two halves of a broken whole. This wasn’t about them. It never was. This was about me all along.

☻% x ـــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

I stood there. Frozen.

My eyes locked onto my white-gloved hands, stained in deep crimson. Blood seeped into the fabric, dripping in slow, deliberate drops that echoed louder than they should have. My eyes drifted down, following the deep red river that spilled across the floor.

She wasn’t moving.

Her body lay still, sprawled on her back. Her eyes—lifeless, glassy—staring unblinking at the ceiling, delving for something that wasn’t there.

My chest heaved, gasping for air that refused to to come, as my mind spiraled into a storm of chaos and despair.

What…

What the fxck just happened?

My whole body trembled, shaking under a burden. The effort of standing was too much—my knees gave out, hitting the ground with a hollow sound. I collapsed, crumpled like a broken doll.

Devastated.

I changed—transformed.

Human.

My body felt heavy, mortal, fragile. The tears fell unbidden, carving warm, fragile paths down the frost of my hollow cheeks. A guttural sob broke through, followed by another.

I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t stop breaking.

Whimpers tore out of me—feeling like little pieces of my soul being ripped apart. My breath broke in jagged gasps, each inhale a blade slicing deeper into the hollow ache of my chest.

With the last shreds of strength clinging to my shattered body, I dragged myself forward, smearing her blood beneath my hands and knees. The trail of crimson followed me, marking my every trembling inch. My arms shook, my knees scraped against the slick floor.

Her blood was everywhere—on me, around me. Just… everywhere.

I reached her side and stopped.

The world spun in a blur of red and black. Everything felt too quiet. Too empty.

In that silence, I crumbled. Her absence crashing until I was nothing—just broken sobs and trembling hands, drowning me into an endless ache of what I… of what I could never undo.

…

“You really don’t want to do this. Trust me. Who’s going to protect this town after all, if you shoot me?” Danny said, forcing a grin that felt painfully fake.

“What use would I have for you if you’re… dead?” Her tone shifted slightly, dipping into something that sounded almost sinister. “No. If I killed you, I couldn’t examine you. I couldn’t study you the way I need to. You have to be conscious for that.”

Danny’s grin faltered and swallowed. His stomach twisted at her words, but before he could say anything else—before he could even move—there was a flash of light.

And then... there was nothing but darkness.

⟢ All this time that I was working on this art piece, I had a pang feeling in my chest. Guilt. Empathy. Compassion. I even cried at some point. I blindfolded Danny for a while, and did the eyes as final.

⟢ The art piece itself is a mix up from my dissection—vivisection stories. Plus, other ones that are about to follow, like this preview of the prologue.

⟢ It’s possible I might still change the prologue up a bit.

⟢ I’m so, so, so fxcking sorry Danny. (╥﹏╥)

♫ ▸ MOMMA’S BOY. :3

“You’re a ghost. You can’t feel pain or experience any emotions. But you? You’re so… Fascinating.”

“Why did I… deserve this? Why? What is it that makes me… interesting? That you have to… vi—vivisect me?”

⟢ Only the bad memories will last.

[moosemink]

Working alone looks different

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ CH6 - The Offer ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Pairing: No actual Romance just some mentioned, JayRoy | TimKon | BirdFlash Characters: Batfam | Justice League Word count: 3.808 A/N: Last Chapter ! Now all that is left is to crosspost the two drawings I made for this fic. There is a second part to this story. I've posted up to Chapter 5 of it on AO3, but I'll wait to cross post it to tumblr because I am struggling HARD with chapter 6 rn ^^; AO3 Masterlist for W.A.L.D.

The Justice League dealt with overzealous, extraterrestrial enemies on an almost weekly basis. From gigantic hordes of small, slimy critters to towering behemoths. They’ve fought it all and by now they have a sort of routine to the battles.

But this fight was much different from their usual procedures. Instead of one broody bat there were nine. Tough one of those nine was still an enigma to the league as they had yet to meet face to face. So far they had only heard her voice.

The other eight had fallen into a terrifying routine. They moved from enemy to enemy with cold, quick efficiency while quipping and smiling. Batman was the only one of them that fought side by side with the league members like he usually did, the rest of the Batclan kept mostly to themselves and the other young heroes that had come to help. They did swoop in and save a league member every time it was needed though, courtesy of the ninth Bat, Oracle, who seemed to see everything happening on the battlefield. Her moniker truly fit her perfectly.

Billy settled down on a roof to take a breather and to see if they had gotten any closer to winning. He really hoped it was over soon, he liked Fawcett much better without swarms of aggressive aliens.

He was really thankful for all the heroes that had gathered to help keep his city save. He was admittedly especially excited that a bunch of young heroes had joined too. He sometimes really hated that his powers made him look so much older, he really wanted to get closer with the hero community that was closer to his actual age. He liked the other league members but they too often talked about stuff he just couldn’t relate to. Sometimes it was exhausting to fake that you paid taxes and did other adult stuff.

Billy observed the Battlefield and his gaze fell to the different members of the Batfam. Nightwing was fighting aliens alongside Red Robin, easily trusting his back to his brother. The man bend in ways Billy was sure shouldn’t be possible but Red Robin seemed to anticipate every move. Used to his seemingly boneless brother. The two switched their weapons between each other easily. Moving almost as one, they took out another handful of enemies and with a wide smile on Nightwing’s face and a calculating grin on Red Robin’s, they moved to another part of the battlefield. Leaving behind mountains of bodies. Billy was really glad that they’re on the good side.

He turned his head and spotted Red Hood, locked in a fist fight against one of the bigger aliens. Hood was cursing like a sailor and hitting the alien hard in places that really hurt, at least to a human. Billy winced when Hood landed another hard kick to the lower half of the bipedal alien. Said alien let out an enraged roar but promptly slumped down to the ground, Billy spotted a red arrow lodged in the back of the extraterrestrial being‘s head. The red helmeted vigilante gave Arsenal, or the building Arsenal was sniping from, a thankful salute, he then pulled his guns out of his holsters and planted a few bullets perfectly between the aliens four eyes and or their knee caps. He switched between four guns with trained ease despite being limited to two hands and reloaded with such speed that Billy almost missed it. His reserve of bullets seemed endless.

Black Bat was basically a deadly shadow, Billy had only seen her for a second at the start of the fight, since then he could only guess where she was based on the aliens that just seemed to randomly keel over dead. Billy felt a shudder run down his spine as he saw the terror on an aliens face as his comrades dropped like flies around him. Again Billy was really glad he was on the same side as the Bats.

Another blue-kangaroo-looking alien dropped dead next to Red Hood. Said vigilante wordlessly pulled a knife from somewhere beneath his leather jacket and threw it in the air. The knife promptly disappeared in the air as a shadow, Black Bat, caught it. At the same time a broken blade dropped on the floor next to Hood’s boot. Billy simply watched in awe as the path of dead aliens kept going after the weapon exchange. Hood also just kept going, downing a few aliens with targeted punches and ending them with a bullet each if his fists weren’t enough.

Signal was hard to watch, as he used his powers, he apparently had, to blind the enemies. He then easily took them out as if taking a walk in a park. Well, a park in Gotham, Billy didn’t think that any other place would have parks that were comparable to a battlefield. Signal‘s bright light lured a lot of Aliens in his direction, which would’ve definitely been a cause for concern, at least for a non-bat. Signal simply kept moving unbothered by the masses moving towards him, because barely any actually made it close enough to be dangerous to him. Before they could step into his range most were skillfully taken care of, either by decapitation via the, in Billy‘s personal opinion, scariest Bat, Robin or by a simple punch via the Batlings kryptonian counterpart, Jon.

Billy admittedly watched Robin and Jon the longest as they were closets to his age. He really wished to be friends with them. As terrifying as Robin was, Billy thought he was equally as amazing. And Jon seemed like he would be a lot of fun to hang around. His warm and inviting smile had given Billy the courage to try and befriend them. He had gone to Gotham as he knew he would have to start with Robin to have a chance to be accepted into their group but before he had the chance to transform back into his actual body he had run. Robin hadn’t even let him get a word in and the cold Batglare from the just a few years older vigilante had killed all of Billy’s gathered courage. But as Billy watched Robin and Superboy work together he found himself filled with determination to try again.

Mind made up to try to find hero friends his actual age again Billy’s thoughts got interrupted by a battle cry. His eyes snapped onto the source and he spotted Spoiler. She had teamed up with beast boy who had turned into a mighty steed. The purple vigilante was loudly cheering and whooping as she rode on the large, green horse's back into battle. Together beast boy and spoiler mowed down enemy after enemy. Any foe that survived their stampede was finished of by Kon, Wally or Bart who were loudly cheering them on. The cavalry moved over the battlefield quickly and deadly as Spoiler easily switched between the weapons she kept on her person and literally anything else she could get her hands on. Even alien body parts were used and Billy found himself cheering them on from his perch on the roof.

By the time that Billy managed to pull himself from watching the young heroes fight, he notice that the numbers of the enemy had dwindle to barely two dozens. They were trying to retreat, but they were unsuccessful, as the Bats made quick work of them. The biggest problem now was the giant portal still open in the center of Fawcett City. Definitely not something Billy wanted to keep around. It didn’t mash well with the city’s looks. The bright, glowing greens and purples clashed harshly with the city’s aesthetic. Billy also wasn’t a fan of a potential second attempt for world domination via an army of blue-Kangaroos.

He knew he could easily close it but Billy also knew that it would cost him the last of his energy and would reverse his transformation. Everyone would find out that he was actually little, homeless, ten year old Billy Batson. The thought terrified him and made him hesitate.

But the decision was taken from Billy by the last alien, it seemed to tried to call for reinforcements from the other side of the portal. Before Billy even fully realized what was happening his body was already moving. He used the last of his power to quickly close the gate as Green Arrow shot the offending extraterrestrial being.

With the strike of a lightning bolt and a loud crack of thunder Billy, in all his now again ten years old glory, found himself in a small crater on the street.

Of course, to his luck, right in front of the Caped Crusader himself. And of course, worlds-best-detective that he was, he immediately connected the dots,

“Captain Marvel.” A simple statement, really but it froze Billy in place, “Is this your true form ?”

‘Right to the point, huh ?’, Billy thought but he also knew that the Dark Knight, slowly joined by all the other heroes, was expecting an answer.

“Y- yeah. I- I can ex- expla-“, Billy started but was interrupted by the wave of Batman’s hand. The man had more questions and it was clear he wanted them answered.

''Your name.'' Batman wasn't quite glaring at Billy but the boy could feel the Bat's stare drill a hole into his soul. Yet the voice Batman used wasn't quite as scary as his usual Batman-voice. He didn't seem angry, which Billy had feared, he seemed more, curious ? Billy doubted that was the right word.

''B- Billy, Billy Bat- Batson,'' Billy stammered out. His eyes snapped onto the rest of the Batclan, that had gathered behind Batman, as they collectively sucked a harsh breath in.

''B, No !'', Nightwing chided.

''He probably has parents, B !'', Red Hood joined in.

''I- I don't...'', Billy muttered hesitantly but he bit his tongue as the Batkids all displayed various reactions at his words.

Red Robin had his head in his hands, Robin tsk-ed and shook his head as he crossed his arms defiantly, Signal looked a little excited actually, Black Bat whispered something that sounded a bit too much like 'little brother', Spoiler threw up her hands and walked away exasperated, Red Hood was crouched down with his head directed at the sky quietly whispering a string of curses under his breath and Nightwing looked, well just resigned.

''Batson...'', The big Bat muttered, ''I mean...'' He angled his head to look at his colony of children and seemed to try to reason with them, about what, Billy did not know. In fact Billy was highly confused, he couldn’t think of what made half the Batclan look agitated and the other excited. He watched as Batman slowly reached for one of his utility belt pockets.

''Father, please tell me you are not reaching for what I think you're reaching for.'', Robin hissed, clearly already knowing the answer to his query as it came out as more of a warning then a question.

Batman suddenly moved very quickly and before Billy knew it a stack of papers was thrust into his hands, an annoyed groan escaping Red Robin and a tsk coming from Robin. Billy had to blink a few times before the words on the front page registered in his head. In bold letters it read:

ADOPTION PAPERS.

Billy sucked a breath in too fast and started coughing. Concerned eyes landed on him until he regained his ability to breath. Billy looked at the people gathered around him. The league members looked as confused as Billy, except for Martian Manhunter, his face carefully blank and Superman, who looked like he was trying not to laugh. The Titans present, old and new, were in a similar state to Superman, all trying their best to hold in a laugh. Though Billy also received an encouraging nod from both Superboys.

Billy opened his mouth to say something but before any words could leave him Red Hood cut in, ''I'm calling Agent-A, the kid is considering it. For fucks sake old man.'' Hood took of his helmet and pulled out a beaten up flip phone and very pointedly stared at Batman as he hit a speed dial button and spoke,

''Hey A, sorry to bother you while you're cookin’. B’s done it again.'', Hood drawled, he let out a deep sigh before he answered the person on the other end of the line, ''Yeah no, Black hair, blue eyes, orphan, maybe 9? or 10 ? Probably Homeless... His last name is Batson, there is no way we could've stopped him A.'' He then just grunted a confirmation before he harshly clapped the phone shut and put it into one of his many pockets. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. He must've spotted Billy's perturbed face as he gave him a surprisingly reassuring smile. He then turned towards Nightwing and with just a look relayed something to the older vigilante.

Understanding his brother’s wordless message easily, Nightwing turned to Kon and told him to go and pick up 'Agent-A', whoever that might be. Somebody with Zeta access apparently, as that’s were Nightwing told the Kryptonian to pick Agent-A up.

The questions in Billy's head only doubled as Kon returned just minutes later with a polished, well dressed, older man. A butler, Billy realized. Fully dressed in a butler uniform and with as simple black domino mask pasted over his eyes. The man carefully dusted of his clothes after the Kryptonian set him down before striding over to Batman. It was clear pretty fast why the man was called to Billy, as the Batkids all considerably relaxed but Batman tensed.

''My dear boy, what did I say about adopting every child you find ?'', The man lightly scolded the Dark Knight, his hands on his hips. Again, excluding Superman and Manhunter the JL members all tensed at the man’s words but the Titans looked just about ready to break out in loud laughter.

“Not to.” The bat grumbled, “But-“, Batman started while gesturing vaguely towards Billy but he was interrupted by the wave of Agent-A’s hand, just like the Bat had done to Billy just minutes before.

Billy was trying hard to keep a giggle down at the down trodden posture of the Bat but he almost choked on his fit of giggles as the butler addressed him with his smooth British accent, “Now, child I will not stop you from accepting Batman’s offer but know that you can refuse it.” The man bend down and pulled out a linen cloth, with it he gently wiped some grime off of Billy's face, only hesitating for a second to let Billy pull away if he didn't want to.

But Billy didn’t pull away and actually enjoyed the gentle touch and the feel of the soft linen. He felt himself relax as the butler continued speaking, “You may think about the offer as long as you'd like, but I do invite you to at least come to our home for a meal and a shower dear boy.'' Agent-A gave Billy a soft and warm smile that almost made the boy forget where he was. Almost, as Hal suddenly blurted out a question, unable to hold his tongue any longer as was typical for the man,

‘’I’m sorry but who the hell is this and what the fuck is happening right now ?! Someone please explain ?! I can’t be the only one that’s completely lost, right ?!'', the lantern exclaimed, desperately looking at the gathered crowd, begging for answers.

All eyes snapped onto the green hero, some of the JL members muttered that they also very much would like an explanation as Red Hood called out a ''Language Glowstick, there are children present.'', while slapping his hands over Robin’s ears, who ducked away while tsking offendedly. Then there was silence as Batman signed something with his hands and the Bats promptly turned towards each other and discussed something between themselves, evident by the quiet chirping the league now knew was actually the Batclan’s secret language.

After a moment and a seemingly quite heated discussion Batman was pushed forward by both Red Robin and Nightwing. He cleared his throat and then spoke in his usual, I-eat-gravel-for-fun, voice, ''Justice League, meet Agent-A. The man that raised me.'' Billy's jaw dropped at that and so did Hal's, Barry's and Green Arrow's. Wonder Woman looked exited at the prospect of meeting the person that raised the Bat, same as Dinah.

''Agent-A is the reason we haven't died yet with our level of self preservation.'' Nightwing declared with much affection and a fond and cheerful smile.

''The best of us all.'' Red Hood added, his tone surprisingly warm and loving.

''Oh you commend me too much my dear children,'' Agent-A said with a fond look in his eyes and small but very warm smile on his lips.

''Well that's great and it's very good to meet you sir,'' Hal said with a charming smile towards the Butler, that was apparently Batman's dad or at least something close to that (Billy's mind was still blown), ''But can we get one thing straight please ? Spooky you gotta have mercy on us non detectives.''

''Hnn.'' The Bat just grunted and gestured for Hal to continue.

The lantern stepped forward and next to Billy so he could have a better view of the Batfamily and everyone else that was present. ''First of, can we all acknowledge for a moment that our teammate that we all thought was an adult is actually a fu- freaking child ?!'' Hal exclaimed while pointing at Billy and looking at all the people present.

Billy felt his face heat up as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. He turned his eyes to the floor.

''Well yeah but that is hardly the weirdest thing to happen in our line of work.'' Arsenal chimed in, the red archer opened his arms and looked around asking for confirmation which he mostly got from the other young heroes present.

''Batson, has always struck me as the most agreeable of the Justice League besides Father. It makes much more sense now why he did.'', Robin stated and even if Billy doubted that that was true, his chest warmed at the other boys words. He met the boy's eyes and gave him an embarrassed but thankful smile, a hint of a smile hushed over Robin’s face before his usual scowl quickly returned.

Hal looked a bit offended but the green hero persevered, ''Okay, fine. Just for the record though I wanna say that a lot of things make much more sense now.'' Hal turned to address Billy, ''I gotta be honest with you, you're not a good liar, taxes are not a weekly thing you know ?'' The lantern smiled at Billy apologetically,

''But like, am I understanding this right ?'' Hal leaned down and tried to take the adoption papers from Billy, who hadn't realized that he was still holding them, though the lantern was unsuccessful as Billy kinda didn't want to let them go. Hal looked a bit sheepish before giving up and deciding to simply point at the stack of papers instead, ''Spooky is trying to adopt said teammate right know. Just like that ?''

''Well that's how he took most of us in, minus the demon brat, so yeah.'' Signal shrugged nonchalantly, he then seemed to think about something before he quickly added, ''And Oracle, he's kinda unofficially co-parenting with her dad which is a special can of worms and spoiler hasn't signed any papers'' He just shrugged as if he didn't just open up more questions than he answered.

''I- I'll just not ask,'' Hal sighed, ''so Spooky just collects kids ? God that sounds so wrong and weird.''

''It's a bad habit of his,'' Red Hood chided in the direction of his father.

''Calling it a bad habit is really an understatement,'' Robin muttered, ''And you cannot chide father, when you've basically taken to adopting all of Crime Alley's kids Hood.''

''Pshhh, haven't actually adopted any,'' The yet went unsaid, ''You do it too Demon brat, just with animals.'' Hood grinned triumphantly as Robin sputtered for a moment before he just did his signature tsk, Billy quietly noted that he didn't refute Hood's words.

''Now, now the man has more questions,'' Nightwing interrupted the banter, an amused smile on his lips.

Hal was silent for a moment before he sighed and carded his hand through his hair in a manner of exasperation. He opened his mouth a few times to ask a question but words seemed to avoid him as in the end he just shook his head and said, “I don’t know what to say, there’s too many questions in my brain and I’m pretty sure you, family of paranoia masters, won’t answer most, if any, of them anyway.”

Batman just grunted his usual “hnn” as confirmation. Billy was sure if Batman could he’d only speak in grunts.

Agent-A seemed to regard Billy for a moment before the man spoke, “We can discuss the offer of adoption over some food. I do insist though that even if you refuse, you’ll at least let us support you in any way possible child. Let me extend that offer to any of your close friend or family if you have any.”, the butler gave Billy a knowing look and the boy had to remind himself that this man had raised the Batman, worlds greatest detective, part of a family in which ‘Like father, like son’ was truer than anywhere else. Of course the man would know or realize that Billy had family even if he didn’t have parents anymore.

Billy had to swallow hard at that revelation as Red Hood walked over to him and offered him a hand to help him stand up. Billy hadn’t even realized that he was still sitting in the crater the lightning bolt created. He hesitantly took the man’s hand and was pulled to his feet with a strong tuck. And as Hood decided to simply pick up Billy, after the boy's legs gave out because of the exhaustion of using all his energy for the day and the shock of Batman offering to adopt him, Billy simply let him.

All Billy could think, as he was carried towards the closest Zeta, was ‘Man, Mary and Freddy will not believe me when I tell them about today.”

And they truly didn't until Billy showed them the adoption papers that he had kept. He did so because he didn't want to seem rude, at least that's the reason he told himself and anyone who asked. Yeah, that's definitely why he kept them. He was absolutely not considering anything.

<- Prev. CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6

[charmed-quill]

Burrow Bound// Bill Weasley x Reader Chapter 3

a/n: this is most definetly a slow burn bc what do you mean its 10k words and the main love interest has been mentioned by name once? Okay so i really really promise that the next chapter is actually going to move the plot along im just such a sucker for relationship building. also i got the ides for this chapter based on a pub crawl i did in prague with this random american woman i met that same day, also i get extreamly sappy when I'm drunk lol.

request: @littlegreenteacup

Could you possibly write a longer one shot (or longer if that makes more sense) for Bill Weasley x American reader where the reader is a halfblood witch who works for the natural history museum in muggle London and befriended the twins (who are the same age as her) and Charlie after getting lost looking for a shop in Diagon Alley since she’s only just moved to England. Bill is reeling suddenly being a single father after Fluer leaves and has to leave her with Molly during the day. The reader spends a fair amount of time at the Burrow but she and Bill always seem to just miss each other (much to everyone else’s amusement and frustration) and then one day he walks in to pick up Victoire after work and the reader is either holding her or playing with her or something and it’s love at first sight for him, but he’s a little bit awkward about it all and it’s slightly angsty until the dam breaks and fluff ensues.

word count: 3.5k

Last Chapter

Next Chapter

The letter had arrived on Thursday afternoon, the parchment folded haphazardly and shoved into her mailbox like an afterthought. Y/N frowned as she unfolded it, immediately greeted by the nearly indecipherable scrawl.

“We will pick you up after work and show you the best spots in London. Be not afraid.”

She tilted her head, squinting at the messy handwriting as if it might magically rearrange itself into something legible. It took a full five minutes of deciphering before the message became clear, and even then, it felt more like a command than an invitation. The tone practically oozed Fred and George, and she couldn’t help but grin.

By Friday, her excitement had built to an almost unbearable level. As much as she loved her job, the endless hours of cataloging artifacts and poring over dusty records could be mind-numbing. The thought of an evening with Fred and George, as chaotic as it was likely to be, felt like a breath of fresh air.

When the clock finally struck five, she bolted from her desk, her bag slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the museum’s grand entrance. The cool evening air greeted her as she stepped outside, but it wasn’t nearly as refreshing as the sight that awaited her.

Fred and George were waiting, just as they’d promised, or rather, threatened. George stood near the museum steps, pretending to study the architecture with an air of mock seriousness. Fred leaned casually against a lamppost, his arms crossed and a crooked grin on his face that spelled trouble.

“There she is!” George called, raising both arms like he was greeting a celebrity.

Fred, who had been leaning casually against a lamppost, straightened up and strode toward her with exaggerated pomp. “The woman of the hour! Ready for your initiation into proper London life?”

“Does this initiation involve any hexes?” Y/N asked suspiciously, crossing her arms but unable to suppress a grin.

Fred draped an arm around her shoulders as if they’d been friends for years. “Only if you insult the queen,” he said seriously. “Or refuse to join in our pub crawl.”

George sidled up on her other side, his grin matching Fred’s. “It’s very British, you see. Pints, laughter, and us guiding you through the evening like the stellar role models we are.”

“Role models?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Fred gasped dramatically. “Y/N, you wound me.”

“But she’s not wrong,” George said, shrugging. “We are notoriously terrible influences.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as they began to walk, the twins on either side of her like an overly enthusiastic escort. “So, what exactly is the plan?” she asked, trying to hide her amusement.

“Simple,” Fred said, holding up a finger like a professor giving a lecture. “Step one: we take you to a pub that has the best chips this side of the Thames.”

“Step two,” George continued, “we dazzle you with our unparalleled charm.”

“Step three: you laugh so hard you cry,” Fred added.

“And step four: you tell everyone back at the museum how much fun you had with your two favorite Brits,” George finished with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head at their antics. “I think ‘fun’ is one way to describe this.”

They led her through the bustling streets, their constant chatter making the city feel more alive than ever. Every few steps, Fred or George would point out something random

“That’s where a pigeon attacked Fred last year,” or, “Don’t go in there, their pies are cursed, and not in the fun way” keeping her laughing until her cheeks ached.

As they reached the first pub, Fred held the door open with an exaggerated bow, and George ushered her in with a flourish.

“Ladies first,” George said, grinning.

Y/N fanned her face with her hand, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic display. “What gentlemen,” she declared, “who said chivalry was dead?”

Fred and George exchanged a look, their matching smirks spelling trouble.

“Well, we do our best,” Fred said, puffing out his chest. “Someone’s got to uphold the honor of the family.”

“Yeah,” George added, giving her a once-over. “We’ll just pretend we don’t see the dirt on Fred’s shoes.”

Fred kicked at George’s shin, missing entirely as Y/N snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. Together, they ushered her into the pub, which looked nothing like the bars she was used to back home.

The room was dimly lit, with the warm glow of sconces and a roaring fire casting long shadows on the stone walls. The wooden beams overhead sagged slightly, as if they carried the weight of centuries of stories. The smell of ale, roasted meat, and something faintly herbal hung in the air, a far cry from the overly sanitized bars she’d frequented in the States. It was old, ancient, even.

Wherever they were now, she hadn’t even caught the name of the place, it looked like it belonged in a medieval village rather than the bustling city of London. 

The mismatched chairs and uneven tables were packed with patrons, some laughing raucously, others bent over quiet games. 

A smoky jukebox in the corner belted out a peculiar mix of jazz and folk music.

“What do you think?” Fred asked, steering her toward the bar.

Y/N glanced around, wide-eyed. 

“I feel like I’m about to be accused of being a witch,” she said finally, her tone dry.

Fred laughed, clapping her lightly on the shoulder. 

“Oh, don’t worry. If anyone starts yelling, we’ll just point at George and claim it’s all his fault.”

“Oi,” George protested, nudging Fred with his elbow. “I’m clearly the innocent one here.”

“Sure you are,” Y/N said with a grin, sliding onto one of the bar stools.

The bartender, a stout man with a beard that looked as old as the pub itself, approached them. His sharp eyes flicked over the trio, his expression softening as he saw the twins. 

“Weasley trouble tonight?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“Always,” Fred said brightly. “We’re initiating our friend here into the fine tradition of British pubs.”

The bartender nodded knowingly, wiping a glass with a cloth. 

“First time, eh? Better start her off with something light.”

“Or,” George interrupted, leaning conspiratorially toward Y/N, “you could try the Dragon’s Breath.”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, yes. Bold choice. It’ll definitely be memorable,.”

Y/N arched a brow, looking between the two of them. 

“Sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not a trap,” Fred said, holding a hand to his chest as if offended. “It’s an experience.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, laughing. “I’ll take the Dragon’s Breath, but if it’s awful, you’re both buying me dessert.”

“Deal,” George said without hesitation, flagging down the bartender.

As they waited for their drinks, Y/N continued to take in the pub’s surroundings. 

“So,” Fred said, pulling her attention back to them, “what’s the verdict so far? Are you utterly dazzled by our superior culture?”

“I’ll admit it,” Y/N said, leaning her elbows on the bar. “This place is pretty great. Though I don’t know if that’s the pub or you two.”

George grinned. “Oh, it’s definitely us.”

The bartender returned with her drink, a frothy amber pint that shimmered faintly. 

Y/N hesitated, lifting the glass to her lips. The first sip was smooth, almost sweet, then the spice hit. Her eyes widened, and she coughed, thumping her chest as a fiery heat spread across her tongue.

Fred and George erupted into laughter, doubling over as she reached for a glass of water. “What—what did you give me?” she choked out, her voice half-scolding, half-amused.

“The Dragon’s Breath,” Fred wheezed. “We didn’t lie!”

“Welcome to Britain,” George added, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Despite herself, Y/N couldn’t stop laughing, even as her mouth burned. 

The more she sipped her drink, the easier it became. The initial fiery burn of the Dragon’s Breath mellowed into a pleasant warmth that spread through her chest. By the time she reached the dregs of her glass, Y/N felt the first flickers of alcohol loosening her limbs and her laughter coming a little easier.

Fred and George jumped to their feet, practically in unison, and Fred tossed a handful of Galleons onto the table with a flourish. “Thank you for the hospitality as always, Aloc,” he announced, giving the bartender a theatrical bow.

“Yes, yes, so many pubs, so little time,” George chimed in, his grin wide as he took Y/N by the arm and steered her toward the door.

“What’s next on the agenda?” Y/N asked, stumbling slightly as they stepped out onto the cobbled streets. The alcohol was definitely working its way through her system now, leaving her pleasantly buzzed and warm.

“You’ll see,” George answered, shooting Fred a conspiratorial grin.

The Lamb & Flag was a narrow, historic pub hidden in the winding alleys of Covent Garden, its timeworn exterior glowing under the warm light of nearby gas lamps. Stepping inside felt like stepping into another era—one of Dickensian London, with its low, dark wooden beams and walls lined with faded paintings and ancient-looking maps. The tables were small and uneven, their surfaces polished to a shine by centuries of use, and the air buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout from the bar.

“This place has history,” George said, his voice reverent but his smirk betraying his true intentions as he led Y/N toward a corner booth. “Proper, real history. They say Charles Dickens drank here.”

“Charles Dickens?” Y/N repeated, looking around with wide eyes.

Fred leaned closer as they slid into the booth, his tone low and conspiratorial. “Yep. He wrote A Tale of Two Cities right in that corner.” He pointed to an empty chair by the fireplace, his face the picture of seriousness.

Y/N blinked, her gaze flicking to the chair, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Really?”

George grinned. “Nope, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

She laughed, shaking her head as Fred returned with three ciders. He placed one in front of her with a flourish. “Here you are. The second-best cider in London.”

“Second-best?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow as she took the glass.

Fred winked. “We save the best for last.”

The first sip of cider was crisp and refreshing, a welcome change from the fiery intensity of the Dragon’s Breath. Y/N leaned back in her seat, letting the buzz in her veins settle as the twins launched into another one of their ridiculous stories.

“So there we were,” George began, gesturing dramatically, “testing out one of our new prototypes, Weasley’s Wheezing Whistlebombs. A flawless invention, if I may say so.”

“It wasn’t flawless,” Fred interrupted, smirking. “You set your own hair on fire.”

“Details,” George said, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, this Muggle cop shows up, thinks we’re up to no good, which, fair enough, and Fred here decides to tell him we’re part of a street performance act.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Fred said, grinning.

“Only because you juggled three fireworks while quoting Shakespeare!”

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Wait—what did the cop do?”

“Oh, he was completely charmed,” George said smugly. “Even asked for tickets to our ‘next performance.’”

Fred raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the Weasley charm. Works every time.”

“To not getting arrested,” Y/N added, clinking her glass with theirs.

The cider went down smoothly, and Y/N found herself settling further into the warmth of the pub and the company of the twins. By the time they left the Lamb & Flag, the streetlights outside had come to life, and the crisp London evening felt charged with the promise of more mischief. Y/N looped her arms through theirs as they led her to the next stop, her laughter echoing down the cobblestone streets.

The George Inn was tucked away in Southwark, its sprawling courtyard glowing under strings of fairy lights. The creaking wooden floors and galleried balconies made it feel like a portal to another century. Y/N tilted her head back, marveling at the place as they stepped inside.

“This is like something out of a fairytale,” she murmured, taking in the lantern-lit beams and packed tables filled with patrons laughing over mugs of ale.

“Fairytale?” Fred scoffed, leading her to the bar. “This is real history. Shakespeare probably downed a pint here.”

“Or twenty,” George added, grinning. “He seemed like a party guy.”

They handed her another drink, this time a lighter ale. “This one’s easier,” Fred assured her, tapping his own glass. “A beginner’s choice.”

It was smoother than the last, but Y/N was feeling the effects now, her balance less sure and her laughter louder. The twins took full advantage, making increasingly ridiculous jokes about the "ghost of Shakespeare" sitting at the next table.

By the time they left, Y/N was leaning heavily on Fred’s arm, her cheeks red from both the alcohol and constant laughter. “I’m not sure if I’m drinking or just inhaling your nonsense,” she said, giggling as George led the way to their next destination.

“Both,” Fred said, grinning. “It’s the Weasley special.”

The Mayflower sat perched along the Thames, its timbered exterior glowing softly under the moonlight. Inside, the pub was dim and atmospheric, with wooden beams overhead and a crackling fireplace in the corner. The walls were adorned with nautical artifacts—old ropes, ship wheels, and faded maps that told stories of seafaring adventures.

“Now this,” Fred said as they stepped in, “is a proper pub. Oldest one along the river. They’ve been serving pints since before America even existed.”

George leaned toward Y/N, his smirk widening. “Feeling patriotic yet?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing as Fred ordered them a round of stout. When the bartender slid a glass her way, she hesitated before taking a cautious sip. The dark, malty brew was rich and intense, and she blinked a few times as the flavor settled. “Wow. This one’s... strong.”

“Strong like us,” George said, flexing his arm dramatically.

“Or our ability to hold our liquor,” Fred added, clinking his glass with hers.

As the stout worked its way through her system, Y/N’s laughter became even freer, her words a little more slurred. She found herself caught up in the cozy atmosphere, watching the flickering firelight dance across the room as the twins bantered back and forth, keeping her in stitches with their antics.

By the time they left the Mayflower, Y/N stumbled slightly as she stepped outside, gripping George’s arm for balance. “You two,” she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection, “are going to ruin me.”

Fred grinned, looping an arm around her shoulders. “Ruin you? We’re upgrading you.”

“Cheers to that,” George added, leading the way to their final stop of the night.

The Spaniards Inn, perched on the edge of Hampstead Heath, seemed to glow in the moonlight, its old, crooked exterior oozing charm. Inside, the warmth of a roaring fireplace greeted them, and the scent of mulled cider mingled with the faint smokiness of the wood beams overhead. It was quieter than their earlier stops, with soft murmurs of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Fred led the way to a corner booth, helping Y/N settle into the seat with a dramatic flourish. “Here we are,” he said. “The final chapter of tonight’s adventure.”

George returned moments later, carrying three steaming glasses of mulled cider. “The perfect drink to end the night,” he said, setting one in front of Y/N.

She took a cautious sip, the spicy warmth spreading through her like a comforting hug. “This is amazing,” she murmured, wrapping both hands around the glass as if she could soak up its heat.

“Best in the city,” Fred declared, leaning back in his chair.

As the night wore on, the cider worked its magic, loosening the last of Y/N’s inhibitions. Her laughter came easily, and her cheeks were warm—whether from the fire, the alcohol, or the company, she wasn’t sure. At some point, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed at Fred and George with wide, glassy eyes.

“You know,” she began, her voice a little too loud and her words slurring slightly, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you two.”

Fred arched an eyebrow, his grin teasing. “Well, you’re not wrong. We are one of a kind.”

“No, I mean it,” she insisted, her hand wobbling slightly as she pointed at them. “You didn’t have to do this, taking me out, showing me around, making me feel... like I belong. But you did. And... and I’m just so grateful.”

George chuckled, leaning on the table to rest his chin in his hand, mirroring her. “Aw, Fred, she’s gone full sap on us. We’ve broken her.”

Fred nodded solemnly, raising his glass. “A masterpiece of our making. To Y/N, the sappiest American in all of London.”

“Stop it!” Y/N cried, though she was laughing as she swatted at him. “I’m being serious. You’ve made everything so much better. I didn’t think I’d find anyone like you here, and... and now I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Fred and George exchanged a look, their grins softening. Fred reached over, giving her hand a light squeeze. “Well, you’re stuck with us now. No refunds.”

George raised his glass with a warm smile. “To Y/N, our new favorite stray kitten.”

“And to the best pub crawl in history,” Fred added, clinking his glass with hers.

Y/N beamed, her eyes misty as she lifted her glass to meet theirs. “To you two,” she said softly. “For being the best.”

Everything after the last pub was a blur. One moment Y/N was laughing uncontrollably with Fred and George in the middle of London, their arms linked as they stumbled down cobblestone streets. The next, she was waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom, her head pounding like a drum and her mouth as dry as parchment.

The midmorning sun poured through the window, mercilessly bright, forcing her to squint as she rolled over. Blinking a few times, she took in her surroundings—wooden beams, mismatched furniture, and a distinct homey clutter that she vaguely recognized. Voices floated up from somewhere below, muffled but distinctly cheerful.

Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled to the door and twisted the knob, stepping out onto the landing. That’s when it hit her. The hallway, the stairs, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen—she was at the Burrow.

Her foggy mind pieced it together as she descended the stairs, one hand gripping the banister for balance. By the time she reached the living room, three familiar grinning faces were waiting for her, their expressions far too smug for her liking.

“There she is,” Charlie said brightly, stepping forward and thrusting a mug of dark blue liquid into her hands.

Y/N didn’t bother asking questions. Trusting Charlie’s easy smile, she tipped the mug back and downed it in one gulp. The concoction was bitter and slightly fizzy, but as it went down, the pounding in her head began to ease almost immediately. She let out a long sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension melted away.

“Better?” Fred asked from his spot on the sofa, his head tilted lazily against the armrest as he grinned at her.

“So much better,” Y/N agreed, setting the mug down on a nearby table and giving Charlie a grateful nod.

“We thought we’d killed you last night,” George announced, leaning back in an armchair with a dramatic sigh. “You went down faster than a Quaffle through a goalpost.”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry, I probably should’ve mentioned I’m a bit of a lightweight.”

“A bit?” George repeated, his grin widening. “Lightweight is an understatement. You only had five drinks!”

Y/N shrugged, her smile turning playful. “What can I say? You two are a terrible influence.”

Fred sat up, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Us? A terrible influence? We were nothing but supportive of your pub crawl journey!”

“Supportive?” Y/N laughed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway. “You gave me a drink called ‘Dragon’s Breath’ and said, ‘You’ll probably survive.’ That’s not supportive.”

George snorted, shaking his head. “It’s a rite of passage. You should be thanking us.”

“Thanking you?” she echoed, rolling her eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at her lips.

Charlie chuckled, leaning against the back of a chair. “Well, you survived. That’s what matters. Welcome to the Burrow’s hangover cure services.”

“Much appreciated,” Y/N said, rubbing her temples for good measure before plopping down into an empty chair.

Fred and George exchanged a look, their grins widening. “So,” Fred said slowly, “ready for round two tonight?”

Y/N groaned, throwing a cushion at him. “Not a chance!”

The room erupted into laughter, and as Y/N sank further into the cozy atmosphere of the Burrow, her headache gone and her heart full, she couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for the chaos these Weasleys had brought into her life

[bitkahuna]

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but it won’t work.” He wanted to be firm, but he wasn’t sure he has the strength he needed. Fighting was hard. Weakness was easy.

Thranduil smiled, a soft curve of his lips that did not reach his eyes but still managed to seem sincere. "Oh, but Master Baggins, I am merely expressing my admiration. There is no artifice here." He leaned closer, the scent of pine and age-old wisdom enveloping Bilbo like a cloak. “You see, Master Baggins, in you, I see what so many of us have lost over the endless years: passion for life. A genuine joy. Appreciation of those little and quiet moments. I find you compelling.”

Bilbo’s breathing picked up. This was a mistake. A horrible mistake. While the dwarves could give him everything he never knew he wanted, there was something horrifyingly familiar in this moment. It was the romance and seduction Bilbo had always read about. Always dreamed of. The tender words and blurry mornings that led to messy beds. Yavanna help him, he didn’t want to say no. More than anything, he wanted to allow himself this. It was so perfect. So real. He could reach out and touch it. It could touch him. But a single touch, he knew, would end him.

“The words you speak to me, I’ve only ever read.” His heart lurched as he fought to keep it within his chest. Would he really choose this? Would he choose impending violence and a cold mountain over the warmth of this bright morning?

He could bargain, no doubt. Offer his body, his mind, his soul, his spirit, one or all to the elf king in exchange for his friends’ release. Tell them the bargain required him to stay behind and wish them well. Forget it all. Stay here. Lay back in the comfy haze and let the king do as he pleased.

“Which is precisely why I cannot let this continue.”

Rather than offense, more than anything, the king was curious.

“This is everything a hobbit could ever dream of. And I do not doubt that I intrigue you in the way you say. But just because I look a young fool does not mean I am one.” He shook his head. “This isn’t real. You want what you’ve lost because you cannot accept what you have. I would never be that for you, because I do not hate you enough to trap you in your past.” Bilbo stood in rejection of the sun.

———

The chambers were silent. Every hobbit in each room was sat before Bilbo, bated breath, as one of their own rejected an elf king.

“How could you?” Someone whispered, horrified.

Bilbo tried to smile, but it was flat. Tears threatened his eyes. His heart swelled. All he could think of was Thorin’s face in the moonlight. “I cannot explain.”

Bilbo would sit there, lost. Wondering. He could have had it all. He could have had so much. Yet that stinking dwarf in the dungeon, with his promise of a dragon's fire and a vague notion of a crown, kept him rooted in the ground in such a way that the sunlight’s haze would never have been able to take him. He was the cool glow of the moon.

Something weighed deep in Bilbo, and he took another sip of alcohol flavored with raspberries.

Was he mourning?

What did he mourn?

Why did he ache to think of Thorin when the man was only down the hall, perfectly safe and happy to be with him?

Or was it the end that never was? The haunting possibility that Bilbo could have made the wrong choice. He could have chosen to stay, and lost the dwarf forever. It was that very thought, he realized, that made him mourn for some version of himself that couldn’t have what he did now.

But the tears didn’t fall from his eyes until they landed on Mirabella Brandybuck. A spry and wise woman of nearly seventy, still appearing as in her late-middle age, as all elder hobbits do. She looked beautiful and radiant. But there was a sadness in her eyes. A knowing.

She lost her dwarf decades ago. Bilbo had his.

In that moment of brief eye contact, they both knew.

He sat by her, and she took his hands in her own.

“You know, Bilbo. I see the way that dwarf king eyes you.” She muttered, wanting to keep this between themselves. “I understand the choices you made.”

His lower lip trembled at the deep sadness within her voice.

“I had my own husband, my own children.” She trailed off as she fought back her shame. “And I did love him. My husband was a dear man, and he will always be in my heart.” She covered her reddening face with one fist, not wanting to show her sadness. Her hate. Her mourning. Was she truly allowed to love another man after her husband passed? They were only gifted ten years together before he passed in Fell Winter, and she was left with a small horde of cold fauntlings. “My children are my truest love.” She nodded firmly, calming herself despite the way her heart sank in its disgrace. “But I fear I’ve fallen in love with a ghost.” She shook her head. “He’s likely passed on as well.”

“Do you regret not chasing him?”

“No. Never.” She didn’t hesitate even a moment. “The children I had with Gorbadoc Brandybuck are the greatest joy I have ever known. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” Mirabella let a small smile come about her. “But, that charming dwarf.” Her eyes closed a moment, letting the tears fall so she could quickly wipe them away. “He may always haunt me as the greatest what-if of my life. I only hope I was able to haunt him the same.”

And so it was that they would both mourn for things that never were.

———

It was literally supposed to be a funny chapter about Bilbo telling the other hobbits about how Thranduil had hit on him to get him to admit why the dwarves were passing through Mirkwood but I wrote something else instead.