#they had way too much to do in just one season

[cameronwillow]

Checkmate, Bitch!

Dark!bestfriend Rafe! X fem reader

After a New Year’s party, you wake up to your best friend, Rafe Cameron coming through your window. Only he’s covered in blood. And acting strange.

C.W: Mentions of violence against reader’s situation-ship- non-graphic description of Rafe with blood on him, things could be considered dub-con but just putting that there just in case, oral, M&F receiving, pussy slapping, unprotected first time sex, degrading, praise, season two era of Rafe, just overall dirty.

You heard your window open, causing you to drowsily open your eyes and blink. After a night of partying, you took a hot shower and curled into bed with a good book. It was dark, you must have fallen asleep while reading but you weren’t worried. The only person who ever came through the window was Rafe. Especially whenever his dad was particularly mean to him.

You turned on the lamp, adjusting your oversized nightshirt and making sure the blanket covered your bare thighs. “Rafe?”

Your best friend since kindergarten, one who you met during class. He stole your markers. You slapped him. You both got in trouble. After your parents made you apologize to each other, the rest was history.

Rafe was a sophomore in college, studying business and you were studying nursing. You often carpooled together. Well, he drove and you picked the music. Lately though, he seemed way more on edge than normal. His dad’s pressure on him was very intense. And Rafe didn’t handle that well.

He turned around and you gasped. Rafe’s blond hair was messy but your eyes focused on the blood staining his face and shirt. In his right hand, was a gun and he trembled. You didn’t know what to do. Move, scream or run to him. So you opted to stay in bed.

“Rafe, what the hell happened?”

Instead of answering normally, he started pacing. His chest heaving. “I did-I did what I had to do! And I took care of what’s MINE!” He was shouting so loud you worried he’d wake the whole neighborhood.

“Rafe! Stop it! What do you mean?” You forced yourself to swallow any sort of nervousness and get out from under the covers. Your bare feet padded across the carpet, shirt reaching mid thigh and Rafe huffed a breath.

You wore no bra, hair messy from sleep and your mascara was mused from turning. Rafe noticed his and he reached forward with blood stained fingers. He gripped the collar of your shirt, yanking you closer to him.

It wasn’t harsh but it was enough to give you pause as Rafe buried his face in your neck. His sharp nose ran along your jaw, his soft lips brushing your skin and you shuddered. What the fuck was happening?

“Rafe- what? What’s going on?” He let his hands fall to your hips, kneading the plush flesh and he pulled back. Rafe had to lean down. This close you could see the fire in his eyes.

“I had to kill someone.” Your lips parted in horror and Rafe shook his head rapidly.

“No, no, don’t look like that. I’m not fucking crazy, I had to. After what he did to you. He had to fucking pay.”

You stepped back and Rafe let his hands fall. Your eyes widened like saucers. “You mean you killed Tyler?”

Tyler was your situation-ship. Not your boyfriend but he definitely had possessiveness to him. He also liked to smack you around. Last week, he got you good after you shut his car door too hard. You hadn’t fucked him. You refused to. You hid away, not wanting Rafe to see the bruises but something must have revealed the truth.

“How did you know?” You whispered and Rafe brought his hands to his head.

“Because I know everything about you, Angel. I’m your best friend. And best friends, are there for each other. No one touches you. No one gets to even think about you. When he laid his hands on you, I was going to make sure that motherfucker suffered!” Rafe snarled and his nostrils flared.

“Rafe, you shouldn’t have-“ But he covered your mouth with his hand, his muscles shaking and he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Don’t. Don’t even say that. Your mouth has much better use, princess.” Rafe brought his other hand to swipe his thumb on your bottom lip. His jaw twitched and he pushed his digit inside your mouth.

He pressed down on your tongue, feeling your lips around it and he groaned. Your stomach tightened at his actions. He may be your best friend but you weren’t blind nor naive. Rafe was hot and you did have a crush on him. But always felt off limits.

“God, I want that pussy so bad. I want you to give it to me.” Rafe said, barely audible. “But you need to be punished, little angel.”

“What?” Your confused seemed to amuse him as he gave you a Cheshire smile.

“Don’t play dumb. The punishment is because you didn’t tell me about Tyler. About how you didn’t trust me to take care of you. That can’t happen again.” His warning was fueled with madness and you frowned.

“Rafe, it’s not that simple-I couldn’t just.”

Rafe cupped your jaw, his fingers tightened as you squirmed. Your fear returning. He still had the gun close by.

“You are going make it up to me. You are going to be a good little girl and suck my dick. I think the least you could do. Since I killed for you.” You didn’t move and Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“You wanna play games? You wanna act tough? Funny because I’m pretty sure you’ve made yourself cum thinking about me.” He loved the way you looked embarrassed at his knowledge and you hesitated.

“Do you want me to be nice to you or beat that little attitude out of you?” Rafe tapped your ass with the gun for emphasis, promising that he would pull you over his knee if you didn’t listen.

You bit your lower lip. “I’ve only given a blow job once.”

Rafe smirked. “Yeah? It’s a good thing I’m good at breaking in new toys. Get on your knees.” He put his hands on your shoulders and lightly pushed you down. “I’m gonna be sweet and take off my own pants.”

He pushed them down, setting the gun on your table and he peeled off his boxers. Rafe looked better than the models on men’s magazines. His muscular lower body and toned stomach exposed as his cock slapped his thigh. The angry precum leaking head directly in front of your face as you instinctively grabbed it. You adjusted yourself, knees pressed on the ground and you let spit gather.

You ran your tongue along his shaft, giving his balls attention as you pumped him at the same time. Rafe hissed, his hand burying in your hair and he slapped your tongue with his dick. “That’s a good girl. Knew you’d be a little pro.”

He cupped the back of your head as you took him in your mouth with a soft suck. You bobbed your head, lapping at the underside as you grind down. Rafe saw you and shoved your head down. Making your nose hit his lower stomach and you gagged. Your hands went to push him back but he kept you there for a few seconds. Your eyes rolled back from lack of air when he finally released you. Pulling back with a gasp, your mouth was covered in precum and spit. Rafe tapped your cheek, “Nu uh, let me see. Swallow it and show me.” You obeyed him, eyes watering and you stuck out your tongue.

Satisfied, Rafe was so hard it hurt but he cupped underneath your arms. He easily tossed you on the bed, making you land in a heap on your ass.

He was rough as he shoved your legs open, exposing your drenched core and lace panties. Rafe admired you and growled when you tried to cover yourself. “No, you’re gonna keep it open and let me eat it as much as I fucking want. Got it?”

He pushed your hands off the shirt pulling it down and paused when he saw scarring marking your legs. He met your stare for a moment as you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. Rafe simply leaned down and pressed soft kisses along your skin, resting his face down there for a few seconds.

Afterwards, he pushed you down by your stomach, splaying his big hands against it and he clutched your thong by the sides. He ripped off your panties, pressing his nose to your thigh and inhaled your scent.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Need to have it on my mouth. Say thank you for killing for me.” Rafe shoved his face in your pussy, his lips sucking your clit and then licking it over. You couldn’t hardly speak from the sensation, it was better than you could have ever dreamed as he lifted his head and let drool fall.

“Say. Thank. You.” He ground out and slapped your cunt three times with each word.

“Thank you! Thank you for killing for me!” You shrieked and Rafe dove back in. His head moved back and forth, chasing every single drop he could get. His tongue lapped underneath, around and inside your entrance. Your legs were squeezing his head, you worried it was too hard but he kept you there. Rafe pushed your knees up to your tits. Exposing you fully to him as he moaned and humped the edge of the bed. You were almost ready to scream as he brought you over the edge, you clawed at his hair and rode his face. But Rafe kept going, plunging two thick fingers in your hole and curling them upward.

You were whimpering, tears running down your face and you started shaking. “Rafe-please! Please, I need a break.” He kept licking, pumping you with his fingers and you tried to push him away. Rafe slapped your pussy again, this time even harder and you squealed.

He looked up at you, his eyes glazed over. He was completely pussy drunk. He gently nipped at your inner knee and flipped you over on your stomach. “Wait, I’m not on anything!” Rafe grunted and shoved your head down.

“Good. I wanna feel every inch of this little virgin pussy around my dick. I want to feel you break any last of that innocence while I fuck you.” Rafe tapped the head of his dick against your clit, smearing your cum on your opening and pushed in.

The bulbous tip stretching you and a small burn came. You cried out but Rafe spread your ass, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder from behind. Your knee digging into his muscle and the deeper, different angle made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Fuck! Oh, god, oh my god,” You slurred as he thrusted into you, your pussy squelching as he moved harder and you grabbed the headboard.

“That’s it, hold on while I fuck your perfect pussy. So fuckin tight, need to cum in you. Fill you up until it’s dripping.” Rafe dropped your leg, wrapping his elbow around your neck and pulling you up.

You nearly blacked out from pleasure as he bounced you on his cock, his arm lessening your airflow and Rafe sloppily kissed your neck.

“I loved seeing him die, knowing it was because I had to save you. I had to save my sweet little angel. And now, you’re gonna be my cum slut.” Rafe sputtered and you came again. His dick getting slick as he went faster, getting amped up by the sound of your screaming and you felt his cum coat your insides.

“Fuck! That’s a good girl, god you’re so pretty.” Rafe let you go, jerking his dick to cover your ass in cum and he gave it another slap. “This is better than any high I’ve ever had.” He said between gritted teeth.

He set you on your back, looking at your hair forming around your pillow like a perverted halo and your shirt was tangled around your body. Rafe took it the rest of the way off, looking at your hardened nipples. He rolled them in his hand and took a peak in his mouth. He sucked and your cunt pulsed from overstimulation.

“I am going to fuck you all night. And then, we’re gonna talk about your little habit of keeping secrets from me. Because I’ve won this round of chess. Checkmate, bitch.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tagging @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @rafeyscurtainbangs @marchsfreakshow @cameronsprincess @starkeysprincess @sturnioloshacker @starkeysbabygirl @fear-is-truth @evansroses @oceanblvd111 @oceandriveab

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[checkeredflagggs]

The Story of Us: Chapter 2

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

a/n: while I do my best on most of my works to be race neutral, this one is very very very self indulgent 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: this is part 2 of 4/5, which will be released when they’re finished and I’m using pretty much everything from Taylor Swift

a/n3: I still don’t understand instagram so - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also I still hate twitter so I’ve replaced it with Bluesky.

a/n4: Also timelines? Never heard of them. This is set in 2024 but I’ve moved Miami to before Australia

a/n5: happy birthday Logan! The charles post is next but I wanted to get this out for Logan’s birthday!

a/n6: justice for debut and speak now

y/n_gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 12,383,483 others

y/n_gossip: breaking! Coming from unknown sources are apparently leaked photos from y/n’s private phone.

My questions are how was she hacked and who is the guy!

view all comments

user1: what a gross invasion of privacy!

↳user2: seriously! Celebrities are just people too and they don’t need people nosing into their business

↳user1: well said!

user3: mother? has? a? boyfriend?????

↳user4: what! who! when! how! WHAT???

↳user5: this is not what i expected to see when i woke up…

↳user3: right??? Its like looking both ways crossing the streets and getting shit on by a bird…

↳user4: …what???

user6: please do NOT tell me that crazy person is right?? I don’t think I could take it if they were right and it’s Logan Sargeant

↳user53: I think you might have to get used to idea that they were right

↳user19: ok that’s like really rude but I’m gonna ignore it because you’re agreeing with me

↳user7: ok but NO WHERE does it imply that this guy is Logan

↳user8: also where is it said that these photos are of y/n?? She’s been spending a lot of time with yoursister and yourbff

↳user7: more of a long shot but still possible!

↳user19: I’m gonna hold it over your heads for the rest of forever

↳user53: alright let’s roll it back now. Maybe wait to gloat until you’ve actually been proven correct?

↳user19:…fine

Private Messages, Logan and Y/N

f1gossip

liked by not_logan, not_oscar, user, user and 583,902 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, pierregasly, alex_albon, landonorris, georgerussell63

f1gossip: within minutes of the leak of y/n’s photos, several drivers had posted a collection of photos to their stories. Looking closely at them, the range of photos could be taken to mean that they were the guy in the photos with y/n (who people are speculating is her unrevealed boyfriend)

view all comments

user9: ummmm…this is not it guys 😂

user10: I didn’t think silly season was going to include drivers strongly implying they’re cheating on their girlfriends

↳user11: oh my god I didn’t even think of that

↳user12: just wait — give it a few days and the wags will be posting similar photos 😂😂

user13: the desperation radiating from these pics is incredible

↳user14: so is the second hand embarrassment

↳user15: so true. I’m cringing for them jesus

not_oscar: what??

↳not_logan: no

↳not_oscar: what the fuck is this

↳not_oscar: ew

↳not_lilyz: 🤣🤣

↳not_lilyz: ok but i need answers

↳not_oscar: oh ill get some answers alright

user16: ok but tagging them???

↳user17: so bold. I don’t think I could live after it

↳user18: it’s not even about me and I want to crawl under a rock and die

↳user17: big mood

Private Messages, The Grid (Unserious)

Private Messages, Logan and Y/N

williamsracing

liked by user, not_y/n, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 2,234,123 others

tagged: alex_albon, logansargeant

williamsracing: watch as our drivers take on the Duracell RC Challenge and answer fan questions! Full episode out now

view all comments

user20: this is so cute!

↳user21: I know! It’s always so fun to see Logan and Alex clearly enjoy themselves

↳user22: it’s so good to see them smiling!

user23: ok but those questions???

↳user24: forget all the questions — I want to tattoo Logan’s look of mischief when he said cardio was his favorite form of workout

↳user23: oh my god I thought was just me who saw that!

↳user19: well if my girlfriend was y/n, cardio would also be my favorite workout

↳user53: I’m judging you

↳user19: but are you disagreeing with me?

↳user53:…no

↳user19: ha!

↳user23: …are you…flirting…on my comment thread????

↳user19: WHAT? NO. ABSOLUTELY NKT

↳user53: hahaha I don’t now what yours talking about

logansargeant: best media day so far!

↳alex_albon: I don’t know how you did it but I’m sure you were cheating

↳logansargeant: haha 😆 you can’t prove anything!

not_oscar: so we’re being freaks on main now?

↳not_logan: and what of it?

↳not_y/n: yeah don’t kink shame us oscie

↳not_oscar: oh i'm definitely doing more than that

↳not_lilyz: oh like you haven’t done anything freaky too

↳not_logan: ha!

↳not_y/n: thank you lily

↳not_oscar: really love?

↳not_lilyz: 🤭🤭

f1

liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, and 15,273,273 others

tagged: y/n, y/n_nation

f1: …Ready For It? Y/N has arrived ahead of the Miami GP where she will be singing the national anthem to kickstart the day!

view all comments

user25: classy!

↳user26: she always is!

y/n: it’s an honor to have been asked! And the warm welcome from everyone and their teams have really made the day something special! 🩵

↳logansargeant: oh everyone has been very excited to have you in the paddock!

↳oscarpiastri: very excited indeed

↳charles_leclerc: Bienvenue au Grand Prix ! Vous êtes en effet un spectacle très apprécié à voir! “Welcome to the Grand Prix! You are indeed a very very welcome sight to see!”

↳pierregasly: C'est toujours un honneur d'avoir une jolie jolie fille qui vous attend! “It’s always an honor to have a pretty pretty girl waiting for you!”

↳user27:…I thought the desperation was over…

user28: god what a whore…useless too. Made it too hard to get tickets. Too many silly stupid little girls who don’t know anything about the sport got all the tickets just to see her

↳alex_albon: wow I didn’t know mouths could spew such shit

↳maxverstappen1: I wouldn’t worry about not being able to get a ticket 👍🏻 you’ve been banned!

↳landonorris: not only by the individual teams but by the sport as a whole

↳f1: well said drivers! user28 that is not the attitude that we support here in f1! We welcome (nearly) everyone to the Grand Prix’s whether they’re here to watch the race or to watch y/n!

↳user29:…shut down!

user30: my favorite part of today so far has been how stupid the drivers turned when y/n got close to them!

↳user31: there was absolutely no thoughts in the heads of the Ferrari men

↳user32: (or their girlfriends let’s be real)

user33: I wish someone had gotten close enough to the alpine garage…

↳user34: god I know! The Kelsey brothers were there and based on their faces whatever Pierre was saying was probably outrageous af

↳user35: well he’s publicly called himself a tripod so we know he has no shame

user36: Oscar’s look of disgust whenever Lando and Alex opened their mouths tho…

↳user37: oh he was going through it today

↳user19: Love how logan was just laughing in the background though

↳user53: well if you’re right, they’ve been together for years so he’s probably pretty secure in their relationship…

↳user19: if?!??

↳user53: THERES STILL NO PROOF

williamsracing

liked by not_y/n, georgerussell63, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, and 1,334,274 others

tagged: logansargeant

williamsracing: Logan podium! I repeat!!! LOGAN PODIUM

view all comments

user38: I never thought I’d see the day

↳user39: well damn that’s kinda really rude

↳user38: be so for real right now did you ever think Williams would podium? Let alone Logan??

not_y/n: yeah you’re gonna get the best head of your life tonight babe

↳not_logan: 🥵🥵🥵🤩🤩🤩

↳not_oscar: please for the love of everything keep that shit to yourselves

↳not_y/n: just say you’re jealous and move on Aussie boy

↳not_oscar: why am I friends with you again

↳not_logan: we really didn’t give you a choice

↳not_y/n: we grew on you eventually!

↳not_oscar: like mold

↳not_logan: boo!!

↳not_y/n: boo!!!

oscarpiastri: congrats Logan!

↳logansargeant: thanks man!

alex_albon: congratulations! Show them how it’s done!

↳logansargeant: you know it! But it’s your turn next!

↳alex_albon: 🙌🏼🙌🏼

jv.f1: congratulations

↳user40: what in the world is with this dry ass congrats???

↳logansargeant: thank you!

georgerussell63: Many congratulations Logan! It was great to finally share a podium with you

↳logansargeant: thank you George! Hopefully the first of many!

logansargeant

liked by not_y/n, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 778,445 others

tagged: williamsracing

logansargeant: P3 BABY! WE DID IT! THANK YOU EVERYONEEEEEEEE 🩵🩵🩵

view all comments

user41: CONGRATS LOGAN

↳user42: THATS OUR AMERICAN BOY

y/n: Congratulations Logan! You do Florida and Miami proud

↳logansargeant: thanks y/n! You must be my lucky charm though

↳y/n: Oh no that was all you!

↳user19: 🫵☝🏻🫵🫵🫵🫵☝🏻☝🏻☝🏻

↳user19: THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT!!

nicolepiastri: congrats Logan!

↳logansargeant: thanks Mom Piastri

↳oscarpiastri: and what of your actual son?

↳nicolepiastri: you’d like a congratulations for 6th?

↳oscarpiastri: well yes?!

↳nicolepiastri: hmmmm whatever you want sweetie. Congratulations on 6th

↳user43: I live for Nicole dragging Oscar

user44: such a great drive today Logan! Show ‘em what Americans can do!

not_y/n: possibility of you sneaking away before media to meet me?

↳not_logan: not likely

↳not_y/n: damn. Well just now I’ve made it back to our place and I’ve found a way to keep myself busy 😉🥵

↳not_logan: you can’t do this to me. Not right before I have to talk to Jensen and Nico

↳not_y/n: 🤭🤭🤭

↳not_oscar: or never. You can do this never

jensonbutton: congrats kid!

↳logansargeant: thanks jenson!

Private Messages

y/n_nation

liked by user, sabrinacarpenter, georgerussell63, zendaya, oscarpiastri, and 19,245,927 others

y/n_nation: Our bags are packed and the flights are here! Welcome to the Eras Tour!

view all comments

zendaya: what a wonderful night 🖤

↳tomholland2013: thanks for dragging me!

↳zendaya: you begged me to go?

alexandrasaintmleux: what a stunning show! Best night of my life!

↳charles_leclerc: what an amazing show y/n! Love your piano work!

↳user48: flirting with another woman right underneath your girlfriends comment??

oscarpiastri: fantastic time!

↳hattiepiastri: THANK YOH OSCSR!

↳not_y/n: glad you enjoyed yourself!

↳hattiepiastri: thank you for the tickets and the sweaters and the records!!

↳not_y/n: anything for my favorite Piastri!

↳oscarpiastri: you’re welcome 😑

alex_albon: by far the best concert I’ve been to!

↳lilymhe: thanks for taking me baby!

↳alex_albon: of course!

↳lilymhe: and thanks y/n for such a magical night 😘

↳user49: what’s with the weird flirting? What’s happening right now???

carmenmmundt: ¡Qué noche tan magnífica! ¡Gracias y/n! What a magnificent night! Thank you y/n!

↳georgerussell63: I loved every moment of it y/n!

↳user50: I see the desperation has found this post as well 😂😂

↳user51: so has the second hand embarrassment 🫣🫣

user52: I can’t feel my face or my feet but oh my god what a magical night

↳user54: absolutely worth it!

↳user52: definitely gonna be the concert of the year!!

Bluesky

[meelusinee]

A YULE PROPOSAL | J.P X READER

word count \ 1.1k | fluff and stuff | slash / james potter x reader

in which james asks you out to the Yule Ball author's note at the end!

A YULE PROPOSAL | JAMES POTTER X READER

James Potter was many things.

He was a cheerful kind of person. Always upbeat, always uplifting no matter what. He was popular, almost anyone wanting to be with him or be him. A bit of a jock, though caring nonetheless. Loving to a fault, fault line nonexistent in his mind.

Though one thing that anyone could tell when looking at him was that he was in love with you. 

You were always being spoiled by him. He’d get you expensive gifts, or take you on expensive trips. Small cafe dates, shopping for clothes and jewelry, or making any small gift was a specialty of his. He adored spoiling you, in any sense of the word.

And now it was Yule season coming up. He was nervous to ask you, even though he knew you'd say yes. You two were dating, after all.

So, he had to come up with a plan.

“Are you serious James?” Remus asked, eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion and desperation. “You don’t actually expect us to do this, do you?”

“Yup!” he smiled brightly at Remus. “You’re gonna do it with me, right Pads?”

“Course I am!” he chuckled brightly, standing up and patting James on the back proudly. “Anything to spend my mom’s money on useless stuff.”

“It’s not useless!” he gasped offendedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius said, patting James on the head as best as he could. It wasn’t much, but it was an honest effort. “Whatever you say, Prongs.”

“Course it’s what I say,” he grumbled before sighing, looking at Remus and Peter. “Please?”

“10 Galleons.” Remus said sternly, holding his palm out. “I want payment or I’m not doing it. 20 and I’ll give you the best damn performance.”

“30 and I get to dress you up.” Sirius smirked, hands on his hips.

“50.” he said, voice as deadpanned as he could make it. James knew he would do it for free, that was what Remus was like. But this seemed too funny to interrupt, if he was being honest.

“Deal.” Sirius said with a wide smirk on his face, fiddling with his pockets before putting the 50 Galleons in his hand. “Pete? 50 Galleons?”

“Do I have a choice?” he asked.

“Nope.” Sirius said with a smile.

Peter sighed softly, shaking his head. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Sirius said excitedly, him and James jumping up and down.

“Okay, I have a game.” he said, pulling out a large piece of rolled paper to lay against the Common Room’s coffee table.

There was a large amount of rain hitting your window, your eyes focused on the paper that you were studying. It was nearing the end of the exams, not just Yule season.

Speaking of Yule season, you were quite excited. James hadn’t asked you to go to the ball. You knew that it was probably just stress though, so you weren’t too mad about it.

He had exams just like you, not to mention leading the Quidditch team and tolerating his friends’ pranks. Most times, you weren’t sure how he did it.

All in all, he had a lot of responsibilities.

Which is why you didn’t mind if he didn’t ask you to go to the ball. You decided to take a break from studying, looking outside of the window. Your eyes squinted to look at the different trees and forms of nature outside, the breeze running through your room.

“M’lady!” 

Your eyes squinted a bit harder as you heard someone calling, looking down at the ground. There stood Peter, one of James' friends. 

You stuck your head out of the window confusedly, looking down at him. “Pete?”

“M’lady!” he smiled brightly, though a bit awkwardly.

You chuckled at that, though you weren’t sure why he was standing in the cold like that. “Why are you just standing outside?”

“I am awaiting the Majesty.” he said, voice echoing through the night. 

“The what?” you smiled awkwardly.

Then came the sound of neighing, though you could tell it wasn’t from an actual horse. You frowned, making your way downstairs and towards the door he was standing in front of.

“What on Earth,” you muttered confusedly.

There stood James with Remus and Sirius behind him, all three of them riding the fake pony sticks you’d buy as a child at a muggle store. 

“We are here on behalf of Your Majesty, James Potter.” Sirius called out, dismounting himself from the fake horse. “He has requested your presence at the annual Yule Ball hosted in the Great Hall.”

“That rhymed,” Peter said with a small smile, chuckling softly. Sirius laughed loudly at that, with Remus stealing the paper from his hand.

“M’lady,” he said. “Sir James Potter, son of Fleamont Potter and first of his name, formally invites you, Y/N L/N, to the Yule Ball. Filled with fond fellowship and fellow acquaintances at the end of this month.”

James was standing behind Remus with a hopeful grin, the smile that you had come to love more than anything after years together.

“What is your response, Madame?” Remus said. His voice was incredibly deadpan, unlike Sirius and Peter’s laughter in the background. No doubt that he had practiced this.

“Yes,” you chuckled softly, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to figure out what was going on. In all honesty, you felt like you were in a fever dream.

“Yes!”’James cheered excitedly, jumping up and down and running around the field. Sirius followed after him in his dog form, barking excitedly as James cheered excitedly.

You chuckled quietly as you watched him run around, smiling as Peter came closer and crowned you with a paper crown.

“Thank you, Knight Pete.” you chuckled.

James eventually calmed down after a couple of minutes, walking up to you out of breath. “Hi love,”

“Hi James,” you laughed as you saw him try to catch his breath, moving the hair out of his face as best as you could. “Did you have fun?”

“I did!” he smiled gleefully, looking at you. “Did you?”

“Yes, I did.” you smiled softly.

He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “I love you,” he whispered in your ear, squeezing your body in his arms. “I really wanted you to have a good proposal. It did take me some time to think of it though.”

You smiled softly, hugging him back before you heard Sirius groaning.

“Lovebirds!” he groaned, making a ‘bleh’ sound. 

“Oh hush!” James called out, throwing a ball of paper at him before turning over to you. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Later.” you promised, kissing his lips.

He smiled brightly at that, mounting his fake sticky horse and running off. Remus said a rather fancy farewell to you, climbing on the back of Sirius’ horse and running off. Peter was last, following them all to wherever they came from.

God, you loved James.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

thanks for everything yawl are doing, it's really so amazing just how supportive all of you guys are! it's really shocking sometimes, to be honest wit you. thank you all so much, and hopefully you enjoyed!

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog! have a happy new year lovelies!

[ssaluss]

Im also kinda shy, im not used to interactions this long but it has been so great to just delve into this. Nice to hear you're enjoying it as much as i ^^

Just cause i thought of some thinks that may add and/or help...

Not going to add at his origin just wanted to point out movie shadow's model has lighten-up gap in his inhibitors that resembles me a lot of silver's ones (not going to spoil just to be safe, but when he does a thing it do light up with energy). Just a funny thing ive found reading through the wiki cause i just do like doing that, aparently shadow has shown telekinesis before but i have to check it for myself before affirming.

I like to think that his cuffs are focusers, in this AU i do want to say that silver don't really fully capable inhibitors cause his chaos energy is weaker than shadow's so his body can handle it better and even use more at a time, he has less but by so he don't become overhelmed by it, its more efficient in other words, so just having a way for it to not blow in his face would be really helpful, and with GUN wanting something easier to control i think it fits.

Also, angst territory, as we don't know how hard it is to truly end shadow for once and for all, id say GUN was happy that if Silver ever went rogue, he would, of course be resistent and strong, but not as hard to end like shadow.

Idk how small silver was so, as im using movie shadow again cause his model is really well made, his rings have a joint were the two halves connect, i wanna say that Silver's do it too and that's why even when he grew up he just adjusted their size (don't fix if its not broken and your world is a litteral hellhole).

Shadow with separation anxiety YEEEEES!!! Anyway, i too see him fighting quite a lot as a caring person, i like him being in terms with Maria's death and not being really reliant in her to just function at all, but her influence makes me thing that some level of naivety and a child-like wonder make him a little compeled at helping, and silver is full of it, even in 06 when he finally sees a world not destroyed by the flames, i think a small bit about silver finally getting proper, home made food for the first time, so much angst potential and we don't even have to enter te alien stuff yet.

To season the angst, they interacting, even tho is akward, fills this feeling of this friendship already being doomed. Bear with me a little, shadow is not one to talk a lot, he's my one liner king, but he does just stay there menancingly, i think he would notice the moments that silver just acts with an almost childish excitement of being part of something, in wich he does not have in any other place, but everytime he looks and silver looks back its just kinda weird, they're not friends after all, both fear to connect with others, sometimes for the same, sometimes for different reasons.

Silver is not the calmest of the bunch, after the reveal he would either freak out like anyone would or he might be consumed by the power within. Anyway, it makes shadow act, be by conforting be by confronting.

I know the "green blood thing" and i just don't like the aesthetics of it lol it being black do be harder to see (and yeah, shadow with black blood has SO much potential, and Silver too cause its painfully on sight for him)

Silver being controlled by the hivemind could go so many ways its hard to decide, and i like eclipse too i miss some of my archie boys ( *cof* shard *cof*). To not tie this to anything maybe shard could be to silver what biolizard is to shadow? A first draft without all the needed materials, maybe made with stored remnants of the black comet, a full Black arm that could not be easily controlled and scaped, maybe he does have his archie origins, maybe he was the last of his kind that was spared cause shadow couldn't know that black doom had a backup plan. Idk, too much possibilities.

The other way is someone experimenting with it, maybe this time it could be eggman (i do not like GUN that much cause they're shady but is getting repetitive) he is experinenting and make a prototyoe to try and control shadow after his last fiasco, he knows that a controlled shadow could be usefull and maybe he would be easier to lure if he plays it right... just for it to not work with shadow, its too weak for someone who fought the leader and won, even his little scheme of a big fight to worn him out can't seem to work, nothing! So he discards it somewhere in the battlefield as sonic finds him and starts their weekly banter...

He goes off before he could see Silver just staring blanky in the direction he trew the prototype, wich ends with him not being able to stop the heavy hit coming. Everything goes black for a second before he recovered enough (the enemy is the robot he crumpled, maybe)

As they were fighting robots and i see silver as kinda of hardstrong, he just says the black thing in his head is grease if anyone asked (not shadow to, my boy knows this well enough).

--------

Reading the fic im just WOW

WOW

W O W

If you need any help writing it and filling things, and if you want ofc, we can talk more about it? Im not good at making coherent things but i can help if you need ^^ and i did love the concept and writing this with you S2

People talking about what if Shadow was Silver’s dad y’know but NOT ONCE have I seen anyone say that if that’s true, then Silver has black arms blood

[slippinninque]

🏡A Little Neighborly Favor 📻

Terry Richmond x blackfemreader

In which Terry answers a call.

warnings: spicy-fluff, sensual moments, neighbor!terryrichmond, just a little something, long fic

No matter what Terry did, he couldn’t keep you off his mind. Terry ran 10 more miles than he normally would and decided then decided that it would be a good idea to figure out the soft clicking he thought he could hear in his motor.

After that, he just decided to take a good look inside of his car just to feel productive. 

Yet–his mind always wandered back to you. His next door neighbor. In all the time that the two of you kept to yourselves, it was you hopping his fence to capture another neighbor’s escaped cat that initiated your relationship. 

The next few seasons the two of you danced around each other, not yet finding a reason to cross that final line. All the while he felt his weakness for you growing, his need to have more of you becoming harder to ignore. 

If you invited him on a late night run to the ice cream shop, he would be going. A call for him to come over the fence to enjoy early morning barbeque–Terry is crossing over the fence and reaching for a plate. Whatever it was, Terry couldn’t think of any reason to not accompany you. When you challenged him to provide you with a playlist after sharing an earbud, he hopped to it that evening.

He didn’t expect to be given one in return. A good one, at that. In the way that Terry understood that his earlier fears of being too heavy-handed with his song selection we're unfounded.  

In the background, the next song played from his phone–the opening notes making him pause to check the name. Intergalactic Janet by Ley Soul, what would be the fifth or so song on the playlist that you sent to him the other night.

Terry was in the middle of checking his dipstick when his phone rang out. A quick glance at the name made him scramble to grab the device. He took a deep breath to calm himself and answered with a smooth greeting. 

“Hey, I hope it’s not too late…I saw the light on, so–

“No–it’s more than fine. What can I do for you, little lady?”

A laugh floated through the receiver, he imagined you switching your phone from one shoulder to the other.

“It’s so strange, I think you cursed my speaker.”

“Me?”

“Mhm. ‘Cause I was listening to the playlist you gave me and the last song, it stopped playing!”

Terry’s heart stomped in excitement but he hummed questingly into the phone. 

“I know. Since it’s been cursed–by your hand specifically…I would much appreciate it if you help me in finishing your playlist.”

Terry had to put hand over his heart, looking up at the ceiling of his garage to call upon all of the charisma in his bloodline. Your tone betrayed no broken speaker, no hardship at all–in fact, he might have heard music. 

“Of course–it’s only right that I take care of it. Hm?

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah. So, how about this? Give me 15 minutes to get this work off of me and I’ll come to help you finish listening.”

“Thank you, Terry, I’d really appreciate it.”

Terry shivered at the tones of your voice, all coy and agave, “Of course. See you in 15.”

Once he was sure the phone call ended properly, Terry whooped and clapped his hands before taking off for the shower. He smelled like car grease and sweat, Terry wouldn’t dare offend you with his stench. He scrubbed himself and tried to keep calm but could only imagine what was waiting for him.

Terry exited through his side door. For a moment, he took in the cool silence of the block. There were cars going a few blocks over, nearer the main street. He could hear conversation a few doors over, the elderly couple wine on their back porc most likely. Terry walked your shared fence line, peeking through just to see the strings of lights you’ve draped over your bushes. 

He easily hopped the fence into your yard, behind your garage. Terry was careful of your planted flowers and little trees as he followed after the glow of  the strongest light,  coming from above your back door. Terry saw the muted light coming from the curtains in the room above, he believed it to be your bedroom.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention to the darkened back porch. Terry didn’t even hesitate to come into your space, closing the door behind him gently and locking up.

“Terry? That you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Anyone else would be buried in his backyard come dawn. Terry knew his way around your first floor by now and soon arrived in your living room. Terry took in the sight of you waiting for him in the recliner nearest he troubled speaker. It was charming, retro fashioned but equipped with modern capabilities.

“I just can’t figure it out.” 

“That so? And you said it played through until the last song?”

“That’s right–darndest thing. I think I heard a little bit of it before it went out–

He grinned as he watched your eyes ran up his form, “And then you called me.”

“Exactly. Then I called you.” 

“Let’s see if I can find your problem, then…”

Terry could smell vanilla when he approached the stereo–your brown skin glistening, your dark hair shining. He touched the top of the radio as he couldn’t take his eyes off you, off the spread of your thighs in the recliner or the incline of your head as you looked up at him. 

You stood to watch Terry as he tried to figure out what you did to the poor radio. The shadow of your body was at the center of the caftan you wore, the sight too much for him to linger on.

“I think I found your problem,” Terry cleared his throat as he bent down to plug in the stereo. The bluetooth’s light flashed for only a moment until going into a victorious chime. Terry turned the knob, the smooth melody filling the living room.

You put a hand to your cheek, “Oh, goodness! I feel so silly now…”

“No need for that. Glad to be neighborly, as always.”

/ I've been looking at you all night

Oh, baby, I've been thinking 'bout you (thinkin' 'bout you)

And all of the things I want to do

Once the day becomes the night /

Space lessened and Terry was offering his hand. When your hand slid into his, you were pulled into a tender sway. The two of you tucked closer together, your hand to his chest and his lips near your ear. The ache that the tension between you finally eased. Being ‘neighborly’ was good and all, but it was clear that the two of you couldn’t just stop there. Terry, for one, could see himself knocking down that fence that separated your two properties.

October’s bridge filled the room and Terry’s other hand spanned across your lower back. You took your hand away to put your arms around his neck. Terry’s hands wandered lower, caressing and rubbing as you grinned into the skin at your lips.

“You know how to make a mean playlist, Mr. Richmond.” You said softly, “I can safely say it has no skips for me.”

“Hmm, that’s good. Especially after I tried my hardest to impress you.”

/ Oh, I've been waiting, baby

Waiting for a long time (waiting on you)

For your heart to be mine /

“You wanted to impress little ol’ me?”

/ Oh, before someone else comes to mind

But when you (ooh-ooh)

Oh, when you told me /

“I’ve never wanted nothing more.”

/ That I was the one, girl (oh, baby)

I took every hour and minute, babe

Just to make sure that everything is right (ooh) /

“What will you do now, then?”

Terry licked his lips as he watched yours sweeten into a smile. Oh, he couldn’t go too long without that now that he’s seen it so close. Back lit by the lamp’s glow, complimented by your eager gaze. He reached out to put a thumb to your plush bottom lip. Your eyes 

“Now? Now I keep up the streak.” Terry paused to shut his eyes as you ran your nails lightly along the back of his neck, “Is there anything else you’d like for me to help you finish? Before we get…sidetracked?”

“Oh no, the side track is what I’m trying to finish next…”

Emboldened by your wink, Terry purred out a laugh and lifted you into his arms. Following your directions between kisses,  he navigated the two of you upstairs. 

/ Take me, oh, take me, baby (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Oh, baby

Take me back to your place" (your place)

Ooh, your place of residence (oh, your place, baby) (ooh)

So, she said (ooh)

"Take me, oh, take me, baby (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

Oh, baby

Take me back to your place / 

---------

✨ending notes✨: this song pulled out a couple of fics out of me 🤣 this was the one finished the fastest lol! Tell me what you think! I'm still getting a feel for Mr. Richmond but I think we're getting to know each other now 😌 please comment and reblog! Thank you so much for reading!!! 💜💕✨💜💕💜💜💕

💕taglist💕: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @blackerthings @notapradagurl7 @theereina

@brattyfics @chaithetics @kindofaintrovert @educatorsareslutstoo @miyuhpapayuh

[xoxo-sarah]

Bone Gnawing Guilt

↝a/n: first post of 2025 and we're starting this year off with angst I guess.

↝pairing: season 7!Daryl Dixon x reader

↝warning: ANGST, Negan, the line up, season 7 episode 1 (I think), possible spoilers if you have watched season 7 yet, death (Abraham and Glenn), guilt, gore, crying, the usual twd stuff, not proofread, self hatred?, mention of Daryl's childhood

↝⎙ 1.2.25

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Daryl could only watch.

There wasn't anything else he could do. He couldn't get himself to stand, to walk over to you. He watched as you crumbled, all of your emotions laid out for everyone to see. Face scrunched up, lip quivering, face getting more red by the second, as sobs rattled your body. Blood coated your right cheek; blood that wasn't yours. But, that of a friend you held so close to your heart.

Your own sobs layered with Maggie's, making everyone's heart clench with a devastating feeling.

Daryl had felt guilt before. It was beat into him at a very young age. Everything was always his fault. With his father being an alcoholic, there was always something that was wrong, that the abusive man could take out on Daryl, who was only a kid. After Daryl's mother died, that was a reoccurring instance that was brought up, followed by getting yelled at and kicked around.

Maybe the guilt started there. Either way, it sprouted in his developing brain and grew until it took over his body, the roots trapping him in his body that he hated so much.

Daryl fought against the men trying to drag him to a truck. No amount of fighting -to get to you- helped. He was shoved into the truck, still being able to hear the sobs. He threw his head back, time after time. Maybe if he hit hard enough, he wouldn't be able to hear your heartbreak anymore.

-

The roar of the Savior's trucks echoed as they got further away.

No one moved. They couldn't. Their bones felt like jelly, their hearts thumping in their ears. Maggie stood on wobbly legs.

The rest was a blur in your peripheral vision. Your eyes were planted on the dirt below, crimson weaving in between the mix of dirt and rocks.

Rocks dug into your legs, leaving an imprint

It didn't matter.

Everything was numb, you felt numb. Even after the bodies were picked up or dragged, you stayed, kneeled beside the puddle.

Rick stood beside the truck, watching as your body involuntarily swayed.

A walker stumbled out of the woods, snarling.

You didn't seem to notice.

Rick started toward you, grabbing you by the forearm. He didn't have the energy to kill the walker, or have to carry another dead body to bury.

Your body was dead weight under his hip You didn't notice the walker stumbling toward you. Tears lefts tracks down your face, mixing with the blood and dirt seeping into your pores.

You only looked up when Rick tugged one final time, dragging you to your feet. The look in your eyes was almost as awful as the sight had been with Negan just a little while ago.

Words lefts your mouth in a hopeless whisper, stating what Rick already knew. His eyes softened as your voice broke in the middle of your sentence.

“They took him.”

-

The sound of the wooden bat against skull was heard all round the group. The lineup watched in horror, even Negan's men were in shock. This whole thing was gross. Blood splattered with every harsh movement. Abraham laid lifeless. Muscles and nerves twitched.

It was too much.

Daryl stood before he knew what he was doing.

The moment played

over and over in Daryl's head as he sat on the cold floor, pushing himself into the corner of the small, dark room. The gruesome pictures were a reminder of what he had done. What finally broke you. You lost yourself when Glenn, a friend you had made in the beginning, died right beside you. It could have easily been you. God knows the 'what if's swam around your head after the tears had stopped. It wasn't fair.

You weren't with the group when they had hijacked the satellite outpost. You didn't have any part of it, yet you had the blood on your cheek, the trauma of seeing what happened with your own eyes.

If he hadn't stood up and punched Negan, Glenn would still be alive. He would be there for his and Maggie's baby. He would be there to tease you, like he had done since the quarry. The two of you acted like siblings. Now, he was dead. The reason Daryl had first noticed you, as you laughed and pushed Glenn away as he picked at you, was gone. Your laugh caught Daryl's attention, the laugh that Glenn caused. You wouldn't ever laugh like that again, not in this world.

The evidence was strewn across the concrete in front of him. The Polaroids of Glenn's remains were a cruel reminder.

You probably hated him. You probably blamed him. Daryl wouldn't be mad if you did.

You most likely hated him. It would be easier if you did.

If Daryl were to see you after all of this, if he were to escape, he was unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. It would be easier to live with the hate than with the guilt.

He would feel the guilt until the snake that was death struck its fangs into his heart, the venom seeping throughout his veins, throughout his body until it paralyzes him, causing his body to give up in the long run. The guilt would run through his veins as long as his blood stayed warm.

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[tvgirlsays]

Why Elrond's S2 Story Makes Sense

I recently re-watched Season 1 & 2 of The Rings of Power and noticed a lot that I missed during my first time watching. One of the main things that stood out to me is just HOW MUCH the people that Elrond looks up to have let him down or dismissed his council.

Right from the start, Elrond is forbidden from attending a meeting for "Elf lords only" by the King's command. Elrond is the herald to the king, and yet, these meetings are considered to be "above his privilege."

Gil Galad also keeps the truth of the Mithril from Elrond, and puts him in a situation where he must choose between his oath/friendship with Durin and the fate of his people.

While I do like Gil Galad, there's no denying that he lied/deceived Elrond, even if it was done out of desperation. Elrond was then forced to salvage an impossible situation, and risk losing his friendship with Durin over the deception (thankfully that did not happen).

To make matters worse, Celebrimbor was in on the deception too, though reluctantly. Elrond admires Celebrimbor and looks up to him. This, finding out that he kept the truth from Elrond is another blow.

It's also hard not to feel like his story about Elrond's parents is used in a slightly manipulative way (similar to how Sauron tries to manipulate Celebrimbor to make the rings for men in S2, ALSO using Elrond's father as leverage).

Then Galadriel asks Elrond to trust her, while choosing not to trust him with the truth about Halbrand. Elrond has to find the answers on his own.

By the time he does, it's too late. The rings have been forged, and Galadriel did not trust him with the truth, despite asking for his trust in her.

When Elrond expresses concern about the corruption of the rings, especially after hearing of Sauron's involvement, Gil Galad instead sides with Galadriel, going so far as commanding his guards to seize him.

Galadriel also blames his failure at Khazah Dum for their current situation. Both Gil Galad and Galadriel, two people that he looks up to, turn on him so fast in this scene.

Side note: I think this moment is also a nice set-up for the Council of Elrond, where the fate of the ring is discussed and deliberated by ALL present and with great care before a decision is made.

Elrond takes the rings to Círdan, someone who he trusts and looks up to. Círdan acknowledges Elrond's concerns and trusts his judgement, offering to dispose of the rings.

Until.... He actually takes a peak at the rings and changes his mind. Was it the Valar who ordained that the rings not be destroyed here? Or was it Sauron? We are not told exactly.

Círdan comes to London, bringing the rings with him, and gives them to Gil Galad, therefore breaking Elrond's trust too.

The risks of the rings are not weighed or discussed in this moment, and once again, Elrond's council is ignored. Galadriel's decision to put on the ring while Elrond watches perfectly illustrates this.

At this point, Elrond leaves Lindon and takes up apprenticeship at the Grey Havens. He is tired of being ignored and deceived, and at this point, who can blame him?

His trust has been broken by Gil Galad, Galadriel, Celebrimbor, and Cirdan, all the closest people in his life who he looks up to and admires. No one is listening to him. No one is taking his concerns into consideration (except Círdan briefly, which is probably why Elrond chooses to trust him still despite the betrayal).

The ultimate and final blow however, comes when even Durin does not come to Elrond's aid. The last person left in Elrond's life who he can depend on and trust, let's him down (we know Durin had good reason, but Elrond does not at this point.)

It's why Durin's failure to come hits Elrond so hard, to the point that he can't even fight anymore. He doesn't even feel anger; just utter defeat.

All of this (Seasons 1 and 2) builds up to the moment when Elrond must decide whether or not to use the ring. Will he wield it's power despite his concerns and distrust?

He has seen the good that it can do, and even though he is concerned about Sauron's involvement in its making, he must use it to save his friend's life.

His inner conflict about the rings reflects the conflict he feels about those who wear them, mainly Galadriel and Gil Galad. Like the rings, Gil Galad and Galadriel work to earn his trust back after breaking it in the beginning of the season.

Galadriel spends most of Season 2 trying to make things right with him, showing him that she can be trusted and that Sauron has not corrupted her.

Likewise, Gil Galad goes from ignoring Elrond's council in the first episode, to placing Elrond in command over Galadriel and eventually over his entire army as a show trust.

By the end of Season 2, Gil Galad and Galadriel (and by way of the rings, Círdan) have been put in the work to prove to Elrond that they can be trusted and that they trust and value him.

And when he chooses to use the ring to save Galadriel's life when Gil Galad cannot, he is also choosing to put his trust in those closest to him once more, though their relationships may look different moving forward.

Only the question of Durin and Elrond's relationship remains to be explored, and hopefully it will be in Season 3.

Aside from that loose thread, Elrond's story has come full circle, even as he is about to become the Lord of Imladris. In light of how things played out in Seasons 1 and 2, his distrust, his despair, and his decision to trust again makes complete sense.

I have really enjoyed watching his journey so far, and I am excited to see where Season 3 takes him. Thanks for coming to my TED talk 😂😘

[neiptune]

santa, boy, you're the worst

cw: 3k wc, female reader, suggestive if you squint, oliver aiku is the most infuriating idiot you know and this holiday season you unfortunately discover he just so happens to also be maddeningly soft and generous at the community centre where he volunteers as santa for children in low-income families

“Here, this is where you can get changed”, Chiyo smiles kindly as she guides you into a small room filled with dusty boxes and christmas decorations, “thank you so much for doing this, we really needed some help this year”.

“Don’t mention it, I was really hoping you’d find a spot for me”, you take off your backpack and place it on an old table, “are you absolutely sure I’m going to be fine? Eiko said I just needed a costume but I’ve never-”

“Absolutely”, she vaguely gestures with one hand, “just follow Santa’s lead. He’s the one who’s good with kids”.

“I’ll just put this on, then”, you jut your bottom lip out, still not entirely convinced. She smiles again.

“I’ll leave you to it. We’ll be in the main hall!”.

They made a new elf costume just for you. Despite Eiko having a dreadful cold being a big bummer, you’re happy a few coincidences aligned to finally allow you to make something meaningful of the time you’d usually spend home, moping underneath a billion blankets.

There are no mirrors in the room, therefore you can only hope the costume looks good enough. You feel a bit ridiculous but, apparently, the hat is mandatory.

You leave your phone in your backpack and take out all the plastic bags filled with food instead: when you called her to inquire about what you could bring, Chiyo explained that they were all set with gifts but could’ve used some additions to the buffet. You brought all the alternatives for the kids whose gluten intolerance makes it hard to enjoy yummy snacks: carrot cake, peanut butter cookies, brownies, pizza, so many quiches. The previous day was spent cooking and baking but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The main hall is filled with colorful christmas decorations and a table so long, filled with so much food. Chiyo spots you right away and rushes to help you carry all the bags.

“I got this, you can go help Oliver”, she efficiently starts pulling out the containers and you’re flabbergasted for a second.

“Who?”

“Santa! They already started, go, go!”, she indicates the other end of the hall, where a guy in a Santa costume sits on a chair and all around him there’s a numerous group of children on the floor, fawning over him. A giant bag filled with what you can only guess are gifts, is placed at safe distance from pouty lips and grabby hands.

You make your way to them with a big smile, only slightly tense at the corners because you only know one guy with that name but what are the chances? He’s the most insufferable person you’ve ever met. A constant flirt with anything that moves, way too confident for his own good, so unfairly attractive and quick witted. What would he even be doing here, so close to the holidays? No, it must be another Oliver.

The way Santa spots you and instantly opens his arms, warm and welcoming, tells you otherwise. Fuck. You’re now close enough to recognize eyes no one in their right mind would be able to ever forget.

“If it isn’t my favorite helper!”, his tone is jovial and deep, a perfect representation of a jolly Santa. Suddenly, so many little heads whip around to look at you.

“Hello!”, you excitedly wave, “nice to meet you, everyone!”.

“She’s not the elf from last year”, as you position yourself right behind Oliver’s chair and next to the gifts you’ll later help him distribute, a little boy furrows his brows with a slight pout. Before you can come up with something to say, Santa ho-ho-hos his way into the conversation.

“That’s exactly right, Kenji. She’s my side piece”.

You choke on your own spit. A little girl politely raises her hand and Oliver grants her permission to ask her question.

“What’s a side piece, Oli?”.

Oh, god. This is so much worse than what you could’ve anticipated.

Once more, he doesn’t allow you to reply and the grin underneath his fake beard is nothing short of infuriating.

“It’s an elf who helps when my other helpers are too busy”.

“So she’s your side elf? Is she as nice as the other?”.

He shifts in his seat and you quietly sigh, still smiling awkwardly to the children curiously checking you out, prepared for another jab.

“She’s the best”, Oliver turns to look at you with a small wink, drinking in the surprise written all over your features, “why don’t you introduce yourself, side elf? My kids are great, they’re gonna love you”.

There’s really no time to ponder over the words, how sweet they sounded. He’s only been with them for what, a few hours, and is already so protective of them? If he’s faking it, he really is one hell of an actor.

You attention soon shifts to the little, curious faces staring back at you and the thought of Oliver is pushed to the back of your mind. You’re there to make the afternoon special for those kids and you’ll give it your all, whatever it takes.

He ends up being right, they are great. So intelligent, affectionate and welcoming. You introduce yourself and it only takes a few minutes for them to accept your presence completely. There’s an odd sense of familiarity in the way they climb onto Oliver’s lap one by one, sometimes wrap their arms around his neck. They play with his silver beard as they answer questions about what they asked for christmas and he leans down to whisper secrets to their ear from time to time, to either make them laugh or put them at ease.

Some of the younger children grow restless after a while and you patiently placate small quarrels, pick up kid after kid while they wait for their turn and jokingly twirl until they’re giggling against your shoulder, the fabric of your costume squeezed by little fingers.

“Does Oli really work for Santa?”, Riko asks. She’s been in your arms for a while now and you balance her better against your chest with one arm, your other hand wrapped around Kenji’s.

“He does. We’re both in direct contact with him”, you smile.

“Do you ever go to his workshop?”.

“Sometimes we have to, yeah. Santa always gives us so many cookies and big glasses filled with milk”.

Riko hums, enraptured.

“Will I smell as good as you if I eat so many cookies and drink big glasses of milk?”.

Surprised, you fail to come up with an answer for a moment. Then you melt into a chuckle.

“But you already smell sooo good, Riko! I could eat you!”, she squeals with a laugh when you take a fake bite out of her cheek and Oliver turns to look at you both as he helps another little girl down from his knees.

“Trying to eat my kids, are you?”, he grins.

“Just this one for now”, you jokingly wink and Riko giggles once more. Kenji reclaims your attention by pulling at your hand.

“You have to do the thing”.

Lips still curled into a smile, you tilt your head to the side.

“The thing?”.

He nods, solemn.

“Oh, right”, Oliver snaps his fingers, “the thing. Let my elf go, Riko, we have to perform”.

“We have to do what now?”, as you carefully let the little girl down, Kenji slips his hand from yours.

“Santa baby”, Oliver pats his knees and, horrified, you realize it’s an invitation for you, “it’s their favorite song. We did it last year too”.

You let out a nervous laugh.

“I’m not a great performer-”

“C’mon, side elf! You gotta do it!”, Riko’s palms press to the small of your back and, as she pushes you towards an awaiting lap, you don’t have the heart to ask her to stop calling you that.

Oliver welcomes you onto his knees like you belong there, one arm instantly wrapping around your waist and the other on your thighs. He’s warm, solid underneath you. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him and you hate that you’re suddenly tempted to pull him even closer.

“No one told me about this”, you murmur between gritted teeth, tense smile causing a low chuckle to vibrate in his chest.   

“You’ll be fine”, the hand resting on your hip gives it a light, playful squeeze, “it’s acapella, by the way. Give it your all”.

You’re still smiling but fail to entirely conceal the glare as you try to position yourself better against him. Whether he does it istinctively or not, Oliver tightens his hold around your waist.

All chatter stops and, between hushed but still excited whispers coming from the group sitting at your feet, you start humming the familiar tune.

“Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me. Been an awful good girl”, you briefly turn to the kids and give them an exaggerated wink that makes them laugh, “Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight!”, you twirl part of Oliver’s fake beard around your pointer finger and when you meet his gaze, it’s surprising how serious it is. Time to get up, for your own sanity.

While he is supposed to keep up the act and match both your goofy tone and exaggerated motions to make the song playful and appropriate for children, he just keeps looking back at you with something unreadable in those dangerous eyes of his.

“Think of all the fun I missed!”, you dramatically drop to your knees and grab his arm, “think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed!”, he finally seems to be shaken from his weird stupor and gasps loudly, looking back and forth between you and the giggling audience.

“Next year I could be just as good, if you check off my christmas list?”, you pout as Oliver shakes his head no, feigning disappointment. A few kids whine in fake sadness.

“I want a yacht and really that’s not a lot… right?”, you beg for their approval and it makes you chuckle that they erupt in agreeing cheers right away, “been an angel all year!”.

“Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight”, with a deep sigh, you desperately squeeze his hand for a moment before getting up once more and continuing your performance around the audience with a skip in your step, hands behind your back as you sway and twirl around them.

“Please help me ask him, everyone!”, you implore, “so hurry down the chimney tonight”. They do join you in your plea, to which Oliver audibly slaps a hand to his forehead.

“Hurry down the chimney tonight”, you slowly approach his chair once more and the playfulness in his stare seems to vanish once more, fingers twitching on knees you don’t sit on, “hurry, tonight”, with a small smile, you twirl one last time and then bow deeply as the audience immediately starts clapping at the end of your performance.

“Oli, I want a yacht”, Riko pouts and her sister next to her giggles.

“I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart”, he smiles, then looks at you once more, “wanna help me give out this year’s gifts? Maybe we’ll find a yacht somewhere”.

He doesn’t even get to finish the question: in a matter of seconds, you’re both surrounded by exuberant little kids who are way too excited to find out what Santa’s helpers have in store for them this holiday season. The youngest of the group, six year old Tsumugi, raises her little arms and Oliver bends down to pick her up, balancing her on his leg.

You didn’t think the community centre would be able to put together enough funds to get… all those presents. There are so much. Enough for each child to get three or four. Clothes, audio book players, lego sets, tablets, dolls, water marbling kits, headphones, books. An entire, separate bag is filled with signed soccer uniforms. You discreetly glance at Oliver, busy helping Hiro unwrap his third present.

You remember very few details about the blue lock project, from which some of the current top players of the globe suddenly came out years ago. You know he was part of it at some point and of course you remember his past as captain of the former U-20 team. Oliver is still one of the best known soccer players in Japan and clearly he is friends with those guys. But the fact that he went out of his way to make sure he had all those uniforms for these kids, stirs something in your chest.

As you hand out the shirts, little squeals make you smile.

“Riko, this one’s from Nagi”, the little girl practically snatches it from your hand, “wait, don’t push, there’s one for each of you! Who asked for the Kaiser one?”.

“Oli, will you keep your promise next year?”, Tsumugi, still in his lap, rests her head on his shoulder as she hugs a new teddy bear to her chest. He hums, one hand rising to boop her nose.

“You have my word, sweet girl. I told Yoichi you wanted to meet him and he was so sad he couldn’t make it today. He promised he’ll come next time”.

“Look what he sent you”, with a grin, you hand her the shirt Isagi signed for her. The way her eyes light up makes you wish for Eiko to be sick once more, the following year.

It’s the evening when parents slowly start arriving to collect their kids and thank everyone for the organization. You and Chiyo welcome them by the door and offer warm cups of tea. Those who are not in a rush are more than welcome to eat something despite the buffet having been more or less devoured by now.

As soon as you’re alone with Chiyo once more, the last remaining parents shaking hands with Oliver as they say goodbye, you deflate in a chair. Your legs hurt, you didn’t eat anything and you feel so tired but also immensely rewarded.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?”, with a smile, Chiyo pushes a water bottle towards you.

“So fun. You were right, he’s good with kids. Remembered all their names and everything”.

She chuckles.

“Well, I’d hope so. He comes every year”.

You stare back.

“Every year?”.

“Yeah, since forever. And he always gets so many extra presents for them, never accepted a single yen back”.

You sip on your water, unable to come up with something to say. Oliver Aiku, the same unbearably smug idiot who’d pissed you off endlessly each time you had the unfortunate chance of meeting him thanks to your cousin Shuto, seemed so different today. Patient, caring, attentive, fun. So generous.

You watch as parents bow to him and he bows back, ruffles their kid’s hair, laughs when Tsugumi hugs his legs. This is not good, not good at all, judging by the way your heart fumbles in your chest as he meets your gaze from across the room.

The elf costume is shoved into your backpack but the drawings and notes some of the kids made for you are placed on the table right next to it as you put on your coat. You’ll keep them in your hand, against your chest and underneath the warm fabric if you must, in case it’s still snowing outside. You’d hate for anything to happen to such precious cargo.

“You know, Riko has a point”, the gravelly voice so close to your ear makes you jump, “you really do smell good”.

“Try taking a shower”, your intention is to turn around with a scowl but the second you do, your back is pressed to the table as he leans forward and rests his palms on the rough surface. The sharp inhale you take makes him smile.

“Nah, I think it’s really just you”.

You stare back for a moment, then clear your throat, trying your best to not appear intimidated.

“Who knew you were so good with kids. They love you”.

Oliver pulls back, leaving you enough space to put a safe distance between your bodies.

“Well, who knew you were such a great cook. How long did it take to make all that food?”.

Much to your irritation, a smile threatens to appear on your lips. He deflects when complimented? Fuck. Off.

Your mind traces back to how protective he was of them. My kids. It’s sickening, really.

“You didn’t eat anything all day”, the softer tone catches him off guard for just a second, “take some leftovers”.

Oliver hums, something flashing across his features so quickly you may have imagined it. Then, he starts unbuttoning the red velvet jacket he’s still in.

“Don’t be so thoughtful, it’ll make me hard”.

Astonished, you look at him.

“What are you doing?”

He discards the jacket with a grin, hat and fake beard already discarded before entering the changing room.

“You didn’t think I’d leave in this, right?”.

“You could’ve waited until I left the room”.

Oliver rubs his chin in exasperating, fake pensiveness.

“Yeah, I could’ve”, his signature smirk makes you want to punch him in his handsome face, “but there’s this girl I like. Maybe if I impress her, she’ll finally give me a chance”.

You chalk the heat rising to your cheeks up to the thermostat temperature being too high. When you murmur a confused, hasty goodbye and attempt to make your leave, drawings safely tucked underneath one arm, Oliver gently wraps a hand around your wrist.

“It’s snowing. Let me give you a ride”, the way his thumb tentatively grazes the sliver of skin underneath your sleeve makes you shudder. He does it again, intentional, serious eyes boring into yours to make sure he's not crossing a boundary. Your mouth feels dry.

“Wait for me?”, Oliver offers, gentle. There’s no trace of his previous teasing and you’re painfully aware of how long the silence is stretching for, a weird vibration to the moment laced in your aching hesitation.

Another beat passes before you relax under his touch.

“I’ll be outside”.

[starmocha]

It's been a while since I've done my usual end of the year fic review (originally from LiveJournal), since I did take an unexpected writing hiatus for 1.5 years (mental health reasons and then RL emergency crisis). This is the first year I've deviated from writing Sess/Kag completely (still adore it and did try to write some stuff during that period of crisis, but had too much on my mind to focus). When I say Love and Deepspace has me in a chokehold... Inviting some writers to join me in this end of the year evaluation for all stories you've written for any and all fandoms. It's a good way to yap about your stories and writing process, but feel free to opt out. Absolutely no hard feelings. <3333 Also feel free to tag others or just join in if you like! (I also suggest making a new post, so people can like all of the writers 💖) Tagging some lovelies: @rose-tinted-kalopsia @unluckywisher @aeyumicore @irandial @callilypso

【 I will be linking stories on tumblr, but these can all be found on AO3 (loveppears) as well! 】

Total number of completed stories: 37

Total word count: 84,143 (give or take; I find AO3's word counts to be a little wonky. Also lowkey disappointed I couldn't add BOTDK's word count to this since it's sitting pretty at 38.3k words 😔)

Chronological Breakdown:

May »

calling your name | Dawnbreaker/MC | 1.5k words

June »

the day bleeds into nightfall | Zayne/MC | 1.2k words 12:30 PM Checkup | Zayne + Son | 767 words never the same | Rafayel/MC | 2.2k words

July »

call me master (and i’ll call you mine) | Sylus/MC | 666 words | mdni Mirror, Mirror | Sylus/Reader | 750 words | mdni fly to you like birds do | Sylus/Reader | 2.6k words | mdni tag, you’re it | Sylus/Reader | 2.4k words | mdni you are my favorite mistake | Sylus/Reader | 2.1k words | mdni Unhelpful Company | Sylus/Reader | 100 words Time-Out | Xavier + Daughter | 503 words Rock-a‐Bye | Sylus + Daughter | 1.1k words Caller ID | Sylus/Reader | 930 words Crow in the Bedroom | Sylus/Reader | 666 words yours & mine | Sylus/Reader | 100 words | mdni would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) | Sylus/Reader | 2.1k words

August »

pain is all you'll find | Sylus/Reader | 630 words but if it's forever, it's even better | Sylus/Reader | 4.6k words | mdni and we'll chase after shooting stars | misc. | ongoing indefinitely (ao3 only)

September »

I For You | Zayne/Reader | 3.3k words | mdni it was always you | Sylus/Reader | 10.6k words | mdni Relentless Conqueror | Sylus/Reader | 1.7k words | mdni

October »

Elysium | Sylus/Reader | 16k words | mdni Hide-and-Seek | Sylus + Daughter | 1.2k words Little Dino | Sylus + Daughter | 2.5k words

November »

Carrot Cake | Zayne + Son | 1.2k words Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude | Sylus/Reader | 465 words want me, need me, love me | Sylus/Reader | 1.5k words | mdni

December »

Sunday Reset | Sylus/Reader | 4.3k words to: my true love | Sylus/Reader | 1.6k words do you want to build a snowman? (it doesn't have to be a snowman) | Zayne/Reader | 1.6k words in a gingerbread house built for two | Rafayel/Reader | 1.9k words you shine like the stars, you light up my heart | Xavier/Reader | 1.7k words ‘tis the damn season and deck them goddamned halls | Sylus/Reader | 1.8k words you're the only one, my love | Zayne/Reader | 1.7k words and this year i promise | Rafayel/Reader | 1.2k words meet me at midnight | Sylus/Reader | 950 words | mdni

Overall Thoughts:

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

Definitely a lot more! As mentioned, I did take a 1.5 year writing hiatus due to RL reasons, so it's kind of astounding that I managed to slip back into writing again after so long and found a steady rhythm. I've noticed my rate of putting out stories (especially to my standards) has been one per week, if not biweekly, which beats my previous years of one per month if I'm lucky lol We are not addressing the elephant in the room that my speed/motivation started with all all of the horny Sylus smut in July 🧍‍♀️

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? 

Love and Deepspace lol I have written Reader fics for another otome game (Several Shades of Sadism) before, but that was a few years ago and was the only otome game I actually felt inspired for. LADS surpassed that, because, what 37-ish stories in just eight months??? 😭😭😭

What’s your own favorite story of the year? 

Teehee. I can never pick one, so let's go with top five, in no particular order: - fly to you like birds do - would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) - it was always you - Elysium - never the same Maybe an extra special mention for Sunday Reset, my birthday present to myself and the fandom <3333

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Writing Elysium (and Bride of the Dragon King) felt like a risk since they're so goddamn long (especially the latter...).

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? 

For the love of god, give me the attention span to finish all of those series I've promised 😔🫶

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year:

I feel like Elysium and it was always you can be tied for best story.

My most popular story of this year: 

OK, this one is a little tricky to determine. fly to you like birds do has the most kudos & bookmarks on AO3 (1,157 kudos, 132 public bookmarks currently), but not as many interactions on tumblr. would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) is my third popular story on AO3, but I think it got dropped to also third on tumblr it was always you is the most popular on tumblr, but it's at fourth standing on AO3 (although it seems to have been steadily rising in standing recently). I'll probably go ahead and say it was always you is my most popular story at the moment. But, um, you guys do realize this is part 2, right???? Why does it have more interactions than part 1 now 😭

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

never the same - I don't really write Raf (I'm a coward), but I am quite proud of this one, especially since it was earlier in the year when I was trying to get back into writing again.

Most fun story to write:

Crow in the Bedroom and would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) - I love clowning on Sylus lmao

Story with the single sexiest moment:

Um.....a moment??? Idk....but people seemed to enjoy both but if it's forever, it's even better and it was always you (aka the Sylus breeding series 👁👄👁) ...........part 3 is coming....it is....I promise

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story:

People seemed to think both the day bleeds into nightfall and never the same (same series) were pretty fucked up, but if you've read my older stuff in other fandoms, this was just on brand behavior of me lol ...I actually need to write Xavier and Sylus' parts now too....and...Caleb, I guess........fuck. orz

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

never the same - this was around the time Rafayel's myth came out and I absolutely adored his myth instantly.

Hardest story to write:

....Bride of the Dragon King. Not hard to write per se, but tedious to write because the document is now 100 pages long and every time I try to read through it, my eyes hurt, so I haven't been able to fill in the missing scenes or do a full read-over yet. ....but the other day I did print out all 100 pages to read and edit old-school. I am nothing if not committed to the bit 🤡

Biggest disappointment:

I'm just disappointed it's taking this long to finish BOTDK....and I suppose writing the epilogue for the Sylus breeding kink series since I keep getting distracted by other plot bunnies. Oh. And the Christmas series I was supposed to finish in twelve days. My own anemic body betrayed me at the worst time ever. 😒

Biggest surprise:

...I'm writing consistently? 🥹

Most unintentionally telling story:

but if it's forever, it's even better and many stories afterwards definitely exposed something about me...............

Highlights + Wrap-up:

5 Favourite Opening Lines:

1. This was weird. This was very weird. This was so very fucking weird. — Crow in the Bedroom 2. You were going to kill Luke and Kieran, you decided decisively, as you stood outside Sylus’ study, your hand wrapped around the doorknob, trembling uncontrollably and filled with anxiety worse than any other instances in your life. — to: my true love 3. She was coming home soon. — the day bleeds into nightfall 4. To you, every moment with Zayne felt like a present, always unexpected, always delightful, and every single one you cherished with all of your heart. — you're the only one, my love 5. Distantly, in the Celestial Realm where the immortals resided, the vast kingdom of the Dragon King was shrouded in nighttime for all of eternity, stuck within an eternal spring. — Bride of the Dragon King :: Prelude (I'll be honest. I find opening lines tend to feel very lukewarm, so I wouldn't say I actually have any favorites.)

5 Favourite Closing Lines:

1. In this moment, you also recalled the elders had long ago told tales of a paradise after life, but you wondered how there could be a greater heaven than the one on the grassland with your lover—your destined half. Sylus. — Elysium 2. The pieces of your lives fell into place, this picture of paradise becoming clearer with each passing moment. It was yours to keep, yours to hold. How divine. — it was always you 3. Sylus closed his eyes, and he rubbed his temple as he gritted his teeth again, wondering with irritation if he had just gotten cockblocked by a mechanical bird. — Crow in the Bedroom 4. One day, in a new lifetime, they will be together again. “For ‘tis Lemuria’s vow…” he murmured, stepping forward and letting his lips meet hers on the canvas. His eyes closed as he shuddered and sighed, his hand splayed over hers. A bond everlasting. — never the same 5. Set aglow, it felt like the two of you had slipped away to another world, to a dream where you and he played and waltzed among the stars, his hand firmly grasping yours, a silent promise that he would always hold onto you even when all of the stars burned out. — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart

5 Favorite Lines from Anywhere:

1. Normally, you were more than ready to bed the leader of Onychinus, because why the fuck wouldn’t you be? — Crow in the Bedroom 2. He gazed into your eyes, as if in awe at seeing the whole universe staring back at him, gifting him with the secret message of a distant star echoed across time and space that had been waiting to reach him. — you shine like the stars, you light up my heart 3. “We are meant to be, and were we not, I would rewrite the stars, to change the course of destiny and weave a new tapestry of fate to make you mine.” — Elysium 4. He knew he had stolen a piece of Heaven, already prepared and willing to pay the heavy price to keep what he had coveted. — it was always you 5. Soft, even breathing filled the room, and dreams of playful little dinosaurs and crows filled a little girl’s head as she slept peacefully, safe in her father’s protective embrace and surrounded by her cherished plushies. — Little Dino

Fic-writing goals for 2025: 

I have got to finish those goddamn series, fuck's sake...

[itscoucouharry]

Worth The Weight- Carmy Berzatto x Plus size reader

Hey everyone! Ive been re-watching Season 3 of The Bear and felt like I should write more about our Carmy :) enjoy!

The kitchen buzzed with energy—pans clanging, knives tapping against cutting boards, and Carmen’s sharp voice cutting through the noise like a blade. He was in full control, moving between stations with that frantic intensity he always carried, his hands flying as if stopping would somehow break him. You stayed back, leaning against the wall, doing your best not to take up space.

You weren’t sure why you came.

This wasn’t your world. The kitchen was alive, electric, filled with people who knew what they were doing and didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought. And here you were, awkward, self-conscious, tugging at the hem of a sweater you already regretted wearing.

That morning, it had taken everything in you not to cancel. You’d stared at your reflection for too long, cataloging every imperfection, every reason why this was a bad idea. The jeans that felt too tight. The sweater that clung in all the wrong places. The way your mind wouldn’t stop repeating the same cruel, familiar mantra: too big, too much, not enough.

But Carmen had asked you to stop by. And the way he’d said it, low and soft like he actually cared, made it impossible to say no.

Now you were wishing you had.

“Yo, Carm, your girl’s here!”

Richie’s voice rang out like a gunshot, and your stomach twisted as heads turned. A few of the line cooks smirked, nudging each other, and you crossed your arms, wishing you could disappear.

“Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Carmen snapped, barely glancing at him as he wiped his hands on a towel and made his way toward you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to something softer as he stopped in front of you. His hair was a mess, a stray curl sticking to his forehead, and his apron was already stained. Somehow, he still looked good. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah. Just thought I’d stop by.”

“I’m glad you did.” He studied your face, his blue eyes narrowing slightly like he could tell something was off. “You sure you’re good?”

You shrugged, looking down. “I don’t know if I should’ve come.”

His brows furrowed. “Why the fuck not?”

“I just…” You hesitated, feeling the weight of his stare. “I feel out of place.”

“Out of place where?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it.

“Here. Anywhere. I don’t know.” The words tumbled out, your frustration boiling over. “I just feel like I stick out. Like I don’t belong. Like…I’m too much of everything I shouldn’t be.”

Carmen’s jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on you.

“Who the fuck told you that?” he asked, his voice low, steady, dangerous.

You shook your head, shrugging. “No one has to. It’s just how it is, Carm.”

“That’s bullshit.” The words came fast, his tone sharper now. “That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it.”

You blinked, startled by the force of his response.

“You think you don’t belong?” he continued, his voice rising slightly. “In here, with me? You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“Carm, it’s not that simple—”

“It is that fucking simple,” he snapped, cutting you off. “When I asked you to come, it wasn’t because I needed you to prove anything or fit into some bullshit idea of…whatever the hell you think this is. I asked you because I wanted you here. Because I like having you here. You think you’re too much? Fuck that.”

His words were blunt, harsh even, but there was something raw in his tone that made your chest ache.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

“I’m not asking you to flip a switch,” he said, softening just slightly. “I get it. That shit gets in your head, and it’s fucking loud. But you don’t have to listen to it alone, okay? You don’t have to listen to it at all.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His gaze didn’t waver, and for a moment, you let yourself believe him.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “Good. Now, you want to sit down? I’ll get you a drink. Richie’s probably got some stupid fucking story he’s dying to tell you.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, okay.”

Carmen’s lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile, and for the first time all day, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you belonged.

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

where do you think ingrid will fit at barca going forward?

I obviously don’t want her to leave, but she had a really great season when mapi was injured and now seems to have been moving around since she got back

I don’t know it just seems like they’re figuring out what to do with her and moving her around but is that the best way for her to really establish herself in a position and become an expert in it?

or will they phase out paredes and have ingrid start more consistently?

so here is my prediction: irene gets renewed next. and i think she renews for 1+1 or 2 years option. it's clear that pere has a lot of faith in the irene and mapi pairing and in irene herself. she's not in the same position as marta torrejón, who may renew another year to be a squad player. rather, irene has a few more solid starter years in front of her. having said that, we do need a succession plan for when irene's performance starts to drop off. but irene has been very consistent thus far. here's an overview of her fotmob stats:

now as for ingrid, we need her as cb as well! just look at mapi's crazy minutes so far (she needs rotation!):

ingrid is also too good to let go. look at her fotmob stats when she first started to now, and it's quite the improvement for engen as she had one of the best breakout seasons in europe last year. so if keira goes at the end of the season, as predicted, then will pere try and convert ingrid to go back to playing a dm role in addition to playing cb for different matches as part of squad rotation? this is a distinct possibility and is where i am putting my money. (i have a feeling the engen as rb experiment may be over!) plus, you never know what will happen with injuries and you need someone to be able to immediately slot in as cb.

eventually, i do see mapi and ingrid as being the go to centerback pairing but as we can see with pere's formations, this is not the season for that yet.

anyway, this is the same question that maria tikas posed back in october and i don't think we are that much closer to getting the answers! 🤷‍♀️

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

It felt so real.

What - Yearning. Daryl misses you and your family so badly that it seems his imagination is dreaming you up to keep him from going crazy

When - big time jump to when Daryl finds himself in France (spinoff season 1, episode 2)

Where - the school in France

Pronouns - she/her (howdy, wife reader!)

TWs - language, reference to child loss, self-loathing, sappiness (it's fanfiction, y'all XD ) and Daryl gets a little...'excited' (mild reference to sexual arousal between a married couple)

Perspective - Daryl 3rd person POV

References - some are yet unpublished because this is a significant time skip, which means a few little surprises. Others can be found throughout the series!

Series? - the Slowpoke Series! It's a fun, slow time that sticks to canon to help maintain immersion (as much as you can with adding an oc lol) ;)

Can I read this chapter if I haven't started any part of the Slowpoke Series yet? - definitely

----------------------------

----------------------------

“It's so good to hold you again, sugar.”

Those words, that voice, made him relax into the bed. She was there again! He’d last imagined her when he was being tended to by those nuns, so it was only, what, about a day or two ago?

Wasn’t enough for him, he missed her so much.

“Dare, I want them all. Full stop, every last one.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I knew you’d say that.”

“As if you aren’t wantin’ to take at least a handful. All those kids with just an old woman to care for them…well, now she’s dead, but…” She sighed and held him tighter. “Lou reminds me of Enid. Don’t you think they look similar? M’sorry her name had to be Lou. A lot of things over here are making you homesick, ain’t they? And that poor boy in Maine, named TJ, too.”

He pulled her closer, doing his best to not wake himself up so Y/N would stay with him. He wished that kid, with same name as his oldest, has just gone back to his girlfriend like he'd told him to.

“Our own Louise lights a candle with me for you every day. Those nuns would be proud.”

He swore to himself that whenever these dreams happen, there’s got to be some way it isn’t just all in his head. It was way too real.

It felt so, so real.

But that Louise was lighting candles for him, he knew because Carol told him when she found him in Maine...

“Did Carol also mention that Lydia’s been drawing you? Or did I write part that in the letter?”

“The letter.” Y/N wrote him a long, long letter. One part mentioned how both Lydia and Glenn took to getting nightmares again after he left. At Maggie’s suggestion, Lydia had been drawing his picture. Apparently it helps her feel safer.

RJ had been 'retreating more than usual,' also. Adam was acting out, too, so she wrote. If Daryl was figuring it right, the boys losing another father figure probably hadn’t helped.

“Dare, he’s three. Three-year-olds don’t only act out with foster parents, Adam would be doin’ the same with Alden. And RJ is without Michonne right now. That's the greater culprit.”

His wife also wrote how Coco just started calling her ‘mama,’ and correcting her to say ‘auntie’ wasn’t working yet. She chalked it up to her being a motherly figure and the baby assuming all caring ladies were ‘mama.’ He wondered if Gabe knew yet. Ain’t like Y/N hasn’t been a mama to that little girl since Rosita died. Actually, nah, Gabe obviously knew; Y/N would’ve (legit) run to him immediately and told him what was up.

The faces of all their kids ran through his mind over and over, Lydia and Judith and RJ included. Then his wife’s face. Carl. Adam. Hershel. Gracie. Coco. Carol. Ezekiel. Maggie. Rosita. Aaron. Jesus. Jerry. Rick. Merle. T-Dog.

“Oo, I want to be here when T-Dog visits. Has he ever visited?” Y/N chirped.

He wished. “Once. I just think about him a lot.”

“Bummer. He must have been so thrilled when we actually did name our first after him, without you even tellin’ me nothing about how he’d teased you on it! Say, what about Uncle Jesse? Does he visit? He must’ve been happy TJ’s middle name is for him!”

He shook his head. You even visited me before I was smart enough to fall for you. When I fell down the ridge. It was you and Merle.

A sneezing from one of the kids in another part of the building resounded four times. It woke him briefly.

He closed his eyes, focused…

It was okay, Y/N was there. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief.

“I am a mite surprised you didn’t take the floor anyway,” Y/N admitted, peeking over his side to look at where the nun Isabelle was laying down next to him. “Or share with Laurent so the two sisters could share.”

“Neither of them trust me enough for me to share a room with the boy. And she sounded like she didn’t want me on the floor. Must be that I’m gettin’ too old." All I feel these days is tired and sore. "Hell, I don’t think I could get up if I slept on the floor.”

Angel, I ain’t the same without you, I’m a fucking mess. Look at the shit show that I’ve made of things.

His wife whispered, “Hey. You know I can hear that, I’m from your imagination.”

“Y/N, I miss you so fucking much.” Baby, I’m so goddamned far from you all and I don’t know how I’m gonna get out this time.

“No cusses in front of the kids, Daryl,” She cupped her belly, the one he was imagining she might have again. Carol, when she met with him, told him how Y/N was avoiding taking a test because she missed him too much. Y/N didn’t say nothing about it in her letter.

How’s that for a reason to hate yourself?

“You should,” shot back another familiar voice. “Leaving your own kin, leaving your woman. Ain’t you learned nothing, boy? Didn’t think you was that much of a deadbeat but here’s proof the apple didn’t fall far from the tree."

Merle.

Damn, it’d been ages!

"Yup. Nanu nanu," his brother mocked, waving his metal stump and glaring. "Here you are, in the white flag capital of the world, surrounded by Euro kooks instead of your own blood.”

“Oh, Daryl, don’t imagine him as cruel again!" Y/N cooed. "Let us both love you if you’re gonna go about having us here.”

Daryl breathed slowly so he wouldn’t wake up. When he felt level enough, he answered, “I don’t have much control over what y’all say.”

“I thought you had some control over it.” Y/N gently pushed his hair off his face. He loved it when she did that. Delicately, she examined the new scar gracing his forehead.

“I blame that old coot what you let whup you on the head as to why you’re seeing things,” his brother crooned.

His wife nodded. “Another concussion, you poor man. But this isn’t a hallucination, it’s just a dream. It’s that good kind of dream where you’re not fully awake but not fully asleep.” She trailed her hand along his forearm.

“Y/N, you’re too good for this sad sack.”

She fired back faster than Daryl knew his imagination could go. “Merle. You love your brother to death and you’re happy he got hisself a wife and family.” Y/N had pushed herself up to sitting in order to scold him. “Tell me you don’t swell with pride seein’ him be a good father and good husband. The cycle stopped with him, and you’re proud of it.”

Daryl, a hand protectively around his wife’s side, was busy trying to figure out what Merle was even doing, whittling?

Ah, he was eating an peach with the knife attached to his metal stump.

Weird, he thought ghosts didn’t eat.

“Maybe I ain’t a real ghost, retard,” was a blunt comeback. “Maybe I’m just a poor copy you conjured up in that concussed little head of yours.” Merle then turned to Y/N. “As for you, kitten, he left you and your brats! Left you when you was up the duff, left you when you don’t even got all your legs no more! How’s he supposed to protect you when he’s out here?”

“Merle William Dixon! I ain’t ‘kitten’ and those ‘brats’ are your nieces and nephews, dick. Noah’s middle name is even for you, so you best watch your mouth, hear?”

Merle smirked and sliced off another wedge from the peach. “There’s my sister-in-law. I had to make sure your square self at least still had that fire in ya.” He offered her a slice, but she crossed her arms.

The expression on her face was so disappointed it made Daryl’s chest tug.

His brother duly inclined his head in apology and raised his hands in surrender. “You’re right, ma’am. Y’all are doing a good job on them brats. And this sumbitch ain’t nothing like our old man, so there’s something.” Merle chopped another piece of fruit. “And it’s always a pleasure to roll with a fellow amputee, Y/N. Not many can relate to how trippy the phantom limb bullshit can get.”

She tilted her head in agreement, rubbed the spot above her prosthetic calf, and settled back down next to her husband with a big sigh. “I do wish Daryl imagined you in a kinder light, Merle, but, either way, I’m happy he watched Mork & Mindy because it got him thinkin’ about you — and now you’re here for him!” Her hand grazed along her bump. “And, you meant to say to him that I was possibly pregnant.”

“Dunno about that, sister, you’ve always seem to know when you been knocked up.”

“That ain’t incorrect,” she confessed, curling in on herself. “Even if I was, it’s possible we had a loss again, Merle. Whether early or late this time.”

“Another reason he shouldn’t be screwin’ around out here.” Merle next words sliced him as if his heart were the peach in his hands. “I'm angry for your own good, lady. What if you had to handle another kid dying, this time on your own?”

The bad memories crashed down like waves threatening to drown him in grief and guilt. He wanted to pummel his brother in the hopes Merle would best him and make him pay for leaving her.

But Merle wasn't actually there. Neither was Y/N. It was pretend. Daryl was just beating himself up in his head, and failing even at that.

Y/N said the words as Daryl thought them: “Why are you twisting the knife?” She swallowed and covered her face with her hands. “Maybe, this mission is w-worth the sacrifice of, of us not havin’ him here right now.”

No. It’s not.

I know you said that before I left to make it hurt less, but it’s not. Listen to your stutter, you know it ain’t.

I should be back there with you. I'm supposed to be home now. I'd told Carol when I reached her on the radio back in Maine that I'd be there in a about a week, which is what she would've told you. This whole thing is horseshit!

“Darlin’, think on happier things or you’ll upset yourself awake or into another nightmare,” Y/N soothed. "You almost woke from anger at Merle just there, which is really just anger at yourself." Her fingers laced into his where his hand rested on her belly. His wish was that his dream would include feeling the baby move. He loved that feeling. Except, he must’ve been waking up because his dream wasn’t letting him feel her hand or her belly very much when he tried. Still, it felt real enough. He’d take what he could get.

“Might could be fun to think back on how beautiful it was making them, if indeed we made another one.” She walked two fingers along his bicep. “Would’ve happened on or around the last night before you left. Or,” she mused, then started to giggle. At that moment, he could even imagine the vibrations of her laughter as if she were really, actually laying beside him. It felt so real! “I wouldn’t be surprised if made them on the day itself, that was soo — oh man, hold up!” She pulled away from him and eyed his crotch in suspicion. “No sex dreams allowed, there’s a bride of Christ in the room! Keep that thing down, deal?”

He almost laughed out loud, and possibly in real life. So long as he didn’t wake up, he didn’t care if he laughed in his sleep. The reactions, the tone, it was all just like his Y/N. And he could hope they had another kid. He’d take as many as came along.

Aw, shit, how far would she even be along, if this one made it? How long had he been away?

“Goddamn, y’all, is this some kinda kink you got?” Merle cut in. “Me and the penguin are still here, you perverts.”

“Oh hush, neither of us are actually here. Him and me aren’t doing nothin’, he just got a little aroused,” Y/N countered. “And to answer your question about another baby, Daryl, I reckon you’ll find out when you come back.” She shrugged. “Unless you reach us on a radio? Eugene is diligent about it, especially now.”

That was another thing she wrote in her letter. Eugene and his radio.

The helplessness crashed back down on him. “I’m tryin’ babe.” He didn’t want to start crying. The nun was next to him and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop crying once he started.

Merle jeered, “Try harder, Darylina.”

He was right, Daryl needed to. He needed to try harder! What kind of washed out fuck-up was he?

“Sweetheart,” his wife called softly. Her hand caressed his cheek. It felt so, so real. “Margaret — a woman who knows the pain of losing a husband — trusted this to you because you survive. And I trusted you to go, because you’ve got the brains, the balls, and the grit. You don’t die or get bit, Daryl, no. You always come home.”

Bullshit. Not this time.

“Not bullshit. Yes, this time.” She looked to the window. “Merle, back me up.”

“Based on your track record, she’s right, little brother.”

“You may not believe you can or will,” she lifted herself up on her hands and leaned forward to kiss him. It had to have been real. It felt so, so real. But he was not about to open his eyes to see if by some miracle it was. “Despite how you feel right now, my vote is you will get that happy ending. It ain’t coincidence that Laurent said so just like our Judith did! How’s that for a reason to hope?”

Shit, he was about to break down. “Y/N, maybe I don’t deserve that. You saw the shit-show what got me here.” And there came the tears. “I left you, that’s all there is to this. I don’t deserve you.”

“Oh, that word.” Y/N wasn’t a fan of the word ‘deserve.’ “On that topic, what an honest prayer you said to bless the food! So many times you used ‘deserve,’ ugh, but,” she paused, “God loves honesty like that. Very, very much.”

She kissed his eyelids where the tears were starting to slip out, kissed the scar that never seemed to fade, then settled back against the side of his chest and curled one leg around him. With her hand, she rubbed comforting circles along his torso. “And He don’t punish or withhold, that’s just our fallen world. His hand is always out for you,” she murmured. “Say, how long do you think you can keep up with imaginin’ my theology?”

“Angel, I’m already at my limit. That’s why part of me thinks you’ve gotta be here somehow, some parts of this feel so real. Smart stuff like this ain’t in my head.”

“TJ and Georgia would call out your self-hate if they could hear you. You’d owe them a lot of quarters. Hm, and euros, seeing as you're here.”

His chest tugged at their names. “How are they?”

TJ, their oldest besides Lydia, had long hair like the little French kid here. Just one other thing that ripped at Daryl’s heartstrings to make him ache so bad for home it shocked him that he wasn’t bleeding out.

“They’re as good as gold and better. Just like their father.” That phrase he knew was from his memory because she’d said it before. “All of us miss you like crazy. Postal level.”

You shouldn’t.

“Daryl.” Her hand gripped his. There’s no way it wasn’t real. It felt so real. “When I was broken after Carl's death, and I claimed the same stuff — that you should leave me and TJ, that you needed someone better, that your life would be better if we weren’t a part of it — how much did it rip you up? ’Cause even if I hadn’t told you this before, you would have to understand how it’s tearing my insides to shreds hearin’ you think the same.”

Calm. He had to stay calm or he’d be alone again.

“I’m right,” he whispered.

“I have to disagree.”

“I —” his voice went up. He switched tactics and spoke to his brother. “Merle, talk some sense into her. I failed. This is it, this is—”

“—You did screw shit up like a royal turd, but your lady would rip my danglers off if I went along with your pretty little pity party.”

Believe it or not, the tough love helped. Felt genuine, as if Merle really was shouting some sense into him. It felt so real.

He caught his wife giving Merle an air high-five. “Thank you, Merle.”

In hindsight, Daryl figured it must’ve be because Merle, in Daryl’s imagination, had to raise his metal arm to return the five. He taunted Y/N, “You’re welcome, peg-leg.”

Dream or not, Daryl was fixing to bark, but his wife playfully kicked her own prosthetic and taunted back, “Love you, gimpy.”

His brother was smug. “Square.”

As if Y/N hadn’t heard that before.“Trailer trash.”

As if Merle hadn’t heard that before. “Goody-two shoes.”

“Two shoes? Ahem,” Y/N drawled as prim and proper as a southern belle. “Did we not just establish how I only require but one shoe these days?”

Merle slapped his thigh and cackled like a hyena and Daryl couldn’t help but do the same. Y/N joked about her missing calf like she got paid for it, pirate jokes to no end.

Daryl hadn’t felt this light in months, not even close to it since leaving home.

…And to think, it was all a lie.

All fake.

They weren’t really there. Not his wife, not his dead brother. It was all in his head.

“Oh, my sweet mangy hick. Enough moping and angst, enjoy the moment! Merle and I really did a fair job on our banter just there. And you never know, Merle could really be here, seein’ as he’s dead.”

“Y/N, I even miss bickering with ya, goddamn,” he breathed.

“It is one of our love languages. That reminds me — you’re doing great with the French, Dare!”

She can’t be serious. Or, rather, he himself can’t be serious. “Babe, I ain’t spoken a word of it. The letters don’t matter half the time. I swear, these people sound drunk.”

Merle snickered, “Hell, even I speak better French than him. Voulez vous coucher av—”

“—Well, I meant like when you used the dictionary to translate that conjugated verb.” Her voice had gone down when she said this and it sounded, well…how it usually sounded when she was turned on. “If I were there, the part where I’d push your suspenders off your shoulders would drive me wild…”

Stay calm or you’ll wake up, Daryl.

And you realllly don’t want to start a sex dream with some other chick in the room. A nun!

“Get a room, horndogs. The word was ‘conjugated,’ not ‘conjugal,’” Merle spat. “This is why you got all them kids.”

His wife made one of her signature huffs, but didn’t say nothing back to Merle. Into Daryl’s ear, she sympathized, “Being horny is so annoyin’.”

Ha. Blushing even in his dreams. Part of him wondered if he was cracking up in his sleep, too, but either way, it felt good. Felt real. It felt so, so real. “I don’t even know what ‘conjugated’ means, Y/N.”

“Yes you do, otherwise I wouldn’t say it. I’m a figment of your imagination, remember?” Aw man, why’d she have to nuzzle him in the crook of his neck? He loved it when she did that. Mmm, hot damn it felt so real… “And you know that you doin’ something like conjugating a verb in another language would be sexy to me.”

“I told y’all jackrabbits to keep your britches on. Now, Daryl: ‘conjugate’ is when you make the verb agree grammatically with the subject. You’ve heard that word before,” Merle explained. Seemed out of character. And the room looked strange, there was—it was another room now?

Daryl’s thoughts turned to when Y/N and Rosita would speak Spanish. Listening as Judith helped TJ and RJ with phonics. Watching Georgia sing to baby Louise that song Siddiq had taught her in, what language was it?

“Hey. Dummy,” Merle scoffed. “You’re driftin’ off, sweet boy. Gotta stay a teensy bit lucid if you want us here.”

So that’s why the room had just looked different. He’d been slipping.

“I still don’t get how this happens, which is why I think you’re actually here,” Daryl said to both of them. “Merle, you’re probably in…somewhere in-between.”

“What, I don’t get to be in heaven yet? Y/N, you hearin’ this uppity sumbitch?”

“He still has trouble believing in such things, Merle, especially lately. I prayed for your soul, so I got hope.”

“Thank you, sister.”

“Anytime.” Y/N looked up at Daryl and smiled. “Then what about me, dude? I ain’t dead, pinky promise. So, how is it that I come to be here?”

Yeah, he’ll be as sappy as he wants with his wife of ten years. “Maybe you’re dreamin’ about me, too.”

Merle’s kissy noises were interrupted by Daryl firmly telling him to get out after which Y/N smooched him harder than she’d had in his imagination since he’d left America. The smell of her, the sounds she made, the way she would lift her head so he could bury his face in her neck, it all felt so real.

It was when she ran her hand lower down his abdomen and almost reached his you-know-what that it all stopped cold. “Sorry! Aw, shoot — Merle! Get back in here, quick, we got carried away! Well, t-technically it was all you, Dare, but — just, please don’t get a stiffy with a nun in the room!”

“Someone should put that on a shirt,” his brother called.

“Ew, no, Merle! Good Moses, maybe I really should ought to be there if you’re startin’ to imagine messed up t-shirt slogans.” She was only teasing. “Ooh, but if I were really there I could meet little Sister Sylvie! So far, I like her.”

“I knew you would.” Daryl grinned. “The way she is with the boy, she reminds me of you.”

If only you were really here, angel.

Wait, no, I don’t want you here because you wouldn’t be safe. I need you safe.

She brought his hand to her lips. “I know what you meant, sugar.”

Unexpectedly, the nun shifted on the bed, nearly jolting him fully awake.

Slow breaths. Keep your eyes shut, do not open them!

He kept them shut tight and pictured where Y/N had been to try and keep her there.

“What am I, chopped pig’s feet?” Merle grunted.

Daryl relaxed. Merle was still there, and he got back the feeling of Y/N beside him.

“You know,” his wife considered. While she was still there, he was having trouble visualizing her. Was he still close to waking up? “That Sister Isabelle is willin’ to risk sharing a room with a strange American says a lot about how much she’ll give to protect the boy and the others here.”

“Still damn weird she didn’t just share a room, the three of ’em.”

“It is. It’s really weird.” Y/N rested her forehead on his chest. He felt the warmth of her breathing against him. If he focused really hard, he could just about imagine the feel her heartbeat, too. “Maybe she’s fixing to be the first line of defense, with all them other kids livin’ here.”

“Still weird,” he grunted. “Hey, where’d my—” He looked around in his imagination at the room. “Where’d my brother go?”

“Maybe he wanted another peach. Or, maybe you're too close to wakin’ up. Be careful, darling.”

He breathed slowly and kept his eyes locked shut. His frustration was growing. It had felt so real, why was it going away?

Calm. Stay calm so she’ll stay.

“It was also unusual,” Y/N thought, “how Sister Izzy—”

“—Sister Izzy?”

He imagined that her mouth would have twisted in embarrassment. “Yes, I’d probably definitely give her that nickname. You sure know how to portray me realistically.” She started again, “It’s unusual how she didn’t accommodate for your maybe-not-wantin’-to-be-seen-in-the-tub-by-a-nun. By anyone, for that matter. Although,” she reconsidered, “they were nurses who had to change your undies and cauterize your wound, weren’t they?” When he pictured her bottom lip beginning to tremble, he held her closer. “Oh, I hate that they all died but for two! What has this world come to? Why would those men kill them?”

That was something.

The dream got easier to maintain. He felt the curve of her waist. The rise and fall of her chest. It felt real again. It felt so, so real.

Relieved, he didn’t know what to say at first other than, “The water was cloudy enough.” When he was getting treated, bathed, doctored, how hard he wished it was Y/N doing it. Another thing that made him ache, watching them nuns give him medical attention when for the past 12 years it’d almost always been his wife.

He breathed out heavily. “Dunno, when she was in there, it wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“The habit can have that effect on some. The crucifixes and religious artworks hopefully brought some peace, too.”

“Habit?”

“Nun outfit.”

He tried to hold her even tighter. The way it felt more real than before encouraged him, got him nearly falling off his seat with excitement that he got her back!

Except, the excitement turned into panic that he might lose this moment because he was so happy, as fake as it was.

And it sent him over the edge. Just like that, he was awake.

Alone.

None of it was real. He’d, he'd known that.

And now he was awake. Alone. Lying on some flat, shitty, tiny bed, an ocean away, in a country full of people he didn’t understand, that had walkers who burned you when they touched you, and soldiers who shot up a convent full of nuns who patched up strangers and were only trying to keep a little boy safe.

He didn’t even have his ring anymore. All he had was a snippet on a voice recorder that told the world his name and how badly he'd fucked up.

Daryl turned onto his side, the pain from his burned arm screaming at him, but he didn’t give one flying fuck. Y/N wasn’t there anymore because his stupid ass had woken up! He’d earned the pain, he needed it, he deserved it.

Quietly, he thought to hell with it and let himself weep. He was so fucking done with all this bullshit.

He wanted Y/N back. He wanted his kids back. The fuck kind of brainless jackass was he, leaving them? And for what?

To find a cure?

To bring Rick and Mich home after how many years?

To transport some creepy French boy to a group of weirdos grasping at the hope of some imaginary friend in the sky who damns them if they don’t do all the rules in the world that He’d let go to shit as a punishment or test?

Really, was Daryl that much of a guilt-ridden jerk-off to still say yes to whatever Maggie asks him to do? It’s a hopeless fu—

“Daryl, I love you so much. Please don’t blaspheme.”

“Y/N?” I thought you was gone. No, you were gone, I woke up! “You’re back?” Holy shit, thank you. Thank you! Thank you, Whoever's up there.

That small, shy smile melted all the ice he’d just had in his heart. “Try not to wake all the way again?”

He didn’t waste any more time blubbering like an idiot, he reached for her and held on. It was still a dream, so he had to be careful to not get too excited or do anything too stimulating. And, don’t worry, he wasn’t about to willingly get a hard-on when there was a nun next to him.

He just needed to have Y/N in his arms again so he could make it through the next 5 minutes without going insane!

For 12 years, she’d been there, loving him in one way or another. For 10 years they’d been husband and wife. Without her, without their kids there, in that strange, foreign place, he was losing himself so quick it brought him to his knees with shame.

Her lips pulled away for a moment. “I wouldn’t agree that you’re losing yourself. I watched Shaney lose himself, it looked different. Daryl, I’m serious,” she insisted. “Listen: did you not save that dad and daughter even after they robbed you?”

Big whoop. “You know what those guerrilla shits would’ve done to her." The same thing that got done to you. "And those assholes would prolly have made the old man watch and killed me regardless.”

“Yeah, but you also went back to try and save that gaggle of nuns from those jar-head pieces of shit, that’s got to count for somethin’.” Wait, that was Merle’s voice. He was back, too?

Daryl looked over at the window to see his brother there once more. Merle winked. “My baby brother, the hero. Stay zen if you’re fixing to keep us here, now. Keep hittin’ that sweet spot between dreamland and the real world.”

Y/N beamed at Merle before turning back to Daryl. “And did you not help those children get the medicine, Dare? Heck, now they got access to that whole castle full of supplies and it’s so much more secure. Um, m-minus the moat full of dead ones.”

“I lied to those kids out my ass, Y/N. Lied and didn’t give a damn.”

“And you ensured none of them got hurt, then promptly admitted the lie with what I’d call purity of heart.”

“I cut that boy’s mule loose without a second thought. You see that? He loved that thing.”

“Better than to have failed to back up the cart in time, which would have happened and would have gotten all five of y’all eaten. And it was almost fast enough to escape by the looks of it. One dead mule to the benefit of four living souls is a good outcome.”

“What’d my sister-in-law say earlier?” Merle asked. “Brains, balls, and grit? Not to sound all mushy gushy, but she’s right.”

The memories of falling into that moat of walkers seized him, made him start to panic again. No brains, no balls, he almost died right in there—

“—Baby, shh,” Y/N hushed. Her arms tightly wrapped around him the way she would when his nightmares hit bad. “You survived. No bites. No burns. Not even a broken bone, I don’t know how you managed it again.” Her lips, her chest, her hands pressed against him. It felt so, so real. “But you always seem to.” She kissed him. “You’ve got brains.” Another kiss. “Balls.” A deeper kiss. “And grit. And you’re alive, sweetheart. There’s always hope as long as your heart is still beating.”

“How will I get out of this?”

“You’ll find a way,” she said with confidence. “You simply don’t know what the way is yet.”

“What do I do about the nuns?”

“Help them keep Laurent safe, of course — if you choose to do so.”

I don’t want to.

“You don’t have to,” she assured him.

I want to go home.

“And you will,” she assured him once again.

I don’t want to help them. I don’t want to. I don’t fucking want to!

…God damn it. “But I should.”

“You ain’t obligated,” Y/N responded, but with hesitation that time. “It is up to you.”

Merle was the one to point out, “It’s that conscience of yours, kid. Sometimes you just can’t help but help. I’ve been watchin’ you these past, what is it, 11 years since I got my crusty white ass killed?” He chuckled to himself as he shaved off the final bit of peach before flicking the pit away. “Can’t be too mad at it when it roped you a fine piece of ass to squeeze at night and how many kids because of it?”

“Merle,” Y/N warned.

Daryl could feel his anger rising.

“What, ain’t you relieved I can’t call you ‘sweet little virgin’ no more, son?” Merle kept egging on.

“Daryl, this isn’t really him. Don’t get angry or we’ll both disapp—”

“—So, my thinking is, Daryl, that you just won’t be able to help yourself from bringing that little sissy boy to them nutjobs —”

“Shut up!” Daryl burst out — and opened his eyes in real time. Again.

His pulse was pounding. Dread and self-loathing flooded his mind, how stupid could he be?

Immediately, he squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate hope to get his wife and brother back. He focused, focused, focused, prayed, pretended, focused…

“Daryl,” came her voice.

He could hear Y/N, but not see her. It was clear that it was all him forcing the memory of her voice back. It was all in his head.

“Why bother caring that it’s in your head, sugar? Breathe slowly and focus on the feel of my body against yours. I don’t wanna leave you."

“Y/N, I need to get back,” he panted. “I can use their help to do that. Those religious people, the Union of Hope or whoever, Isabelle says they got a good radio. I need that to get back home.”

“Well, there you go! I trust you.”

He reached up to tangle his fingers where her hair would be. His imagination wasn’t letting it happen, so he focused with gratefulness that at least he could still hear her.

“Just don’t abuse their trust, and you’ll be alright,” she softly pleaded.

Don’t break their trust? “Angel, you don’t know what I did to end up in this mess.”

Of all the ways he could have daydreamed her reacting, it was that her laughter filled the room. “For the last time, my mangy hick, I am a figment of your imagination and quite literally know everythin’ inside that brain of yours. And I still love you despite that ‘shit-show’ what landed you here.”

He brought to mind the color of her eyes, wanting, wanting, begging for a miracle that would make her truly there with him so he could stare into them all night. “What would you say if I asked ‘that if I don’t find nothing, what good am I?’”

“Y/N, you can blame our raising for that shit right there,” his brother commented.

“You poor boys. Broken people sometimes make for broken kids.”

Gently, he started to perceive the way she would rub her cheek against his chest when she’d lay down with him. “Daryl? If I were here, I’d say things to try and make it stick in your head that your worth ain’t dependent on what you can offer.”

“What does it depend on, then?”

“Careful, you’re treading into religious waters now, and I ain’t sure you’ve got the bandwidth tonight. But God is involved,” she hinted.

This mess was hopeless, wasn’t it? No winning, no out, no happy ending.

“Angel, I can’t come home empty-handed.” He squeezed his eyes tighter and willed himself to not lose his cool yet again. “I can’t come home with no Rick or Michonne, no cure, no nothin’ but a burn, more nightmares, and more lives on my conscience.”

“You can,” she answered simply. “It ain’t all on you. No — please, don’t get any more upset or you’ll wake up again! Daryl, I’ve already slipped so far away!” He heard his wife begin to cry, but the sound went further and further from him. All he could see were the backs of his eyelids.

Still, he held on as best he could. “Please stay here, angel.”

“I-I would, sweetheart.”

“When I’m back, I won’t even want to leave the walls to hunt if it would mean not being next to you, d’you know that?”

“Let someone else hunt. You’ve done enough to last a lifetime.” Her voice was hoarse the way it had been when she’d said those same words to him about a year and a half ago. “More than enough. Oh Daryl, I’m so sorry we’re going.”

“Not yet, angel, please don’t!”

“Use all those things makin’ you homesick as reasons to hope. Do it for me, sugar. Get yourself home again. Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

“I won’t. I’ll get back to you. Tell the kids I love ’em?”

There was silence.

Stillness.

Daryl lay there, accepting that he couldn’t feel Y/N next to him anymore.

His throat tightened. “Angel?”

He doesn’t know why he bothered. She was gone, he knew it. He ran his finger where his ring should’ve been, if he hadn’t lost it.

“Angel,” he tried again.

Silence.

“Babe, please. Please.”

Silence.

“Y/N, please, one more time, angel.”

Silence.

The pain in him was hollow and cold.

Feeling small and helpless, he lifted his arms above his head and held back a wail of despair. He closed his eyes again and, in his head, he cried out in desperation, “Merle?”

At first, there was no answer. He hadn't expected one. Why should he?

But then he heard a quiet, low, “I’m still here.”

Merle spoke slowly and heavily, almost as if it hurt him to admit it. “I don’t think she’s gonna come back tonight, Daryl. You’ve already fallen out a few times. I ain’t gonna be here much longer, neither. You know that.”

Any strength he had left seeped out like a stab wound, leaving him crying like a child. “I can’t see you anymore.”

“I know, little brother.”

“It felt so real.”

“It sure as hell did. I think you needed it, even if it hurts like a bitch now.”

It had felt so, so real!

But it wasn’t. “I’m alone,” he choked out.

“Nothin’ you can’t handle.” For a moment Daryl could make out his brother’s face again. “You’re a tough sumbitch, so I’d advise you act like it. Quit blubberin’ like a baby and wipe the snot out your nose.”

Daryl sniffed and tried to get a grip.

“Good.” Merle’s voice began to echo. He was almost gone, too. “Now listen here: don’t die, don’t get bit. Get your ass back where you belong.”

The room came into view.

The echoing stopped.

The hollow, cold pain he’d felt at knowing they were gone there turned sharp and hot. Turns out, it was actually the throbbing in his arm. Daryl really had turned onto his side, which positioned his burned arm underneath him. He strained to get off it and flip onto his back.

You know what? The pain from his burned arm didn’t hold a candle to the ache in his chest.

Were those tears on his face, too? Guess he must’ve started crying for real in his sleep. Made sense considering how real it all felt. It all felt so real.

If only his pulse would stop racing, he felt sick.

He was getting damned old.

Instinctively, he tried to fiddle with his wedding band, which is when he recalled yet again how he’d lost it. Only a faint tan line remained.

He closed his eyes, exhausted, and chewed at his lip. Another tear or two escaped and ran hot down his cheek.

A strange part of him wished he hadn’t lied to Laurent about having a wife and family back home. At the time he said it so it wouldn't hurt as much, but…

“You deserve a happy ending, too,” the kid had told him. Just like his Judith had, when she saw how low and unworthy he begun to feel. She told her auntie Y/N, too, of course, not that his wife wasn’t unaware of how twisted his head had gotten into thinking he was no good. It didn’t feel twisted to him, it felt honest. He didn’t deserve them. They were too good.

His wife’s words to him played again in his mind. He may have just been making all that shit up in his brain, but he was only remembering a mix of real things that she’d told him before, over and over in the hopes his stupid ass would accept it one day.

“Despite how you feel right now, my vote is you will get that happy ending. It ain’t coincidence that Laurent said so just like our Judith did! How’s that for a reason to hope?”

He did need a reason. It was getting harder and harder to hold onto hope. Any hope.

So, maybe, a weird kid with long hair like TJ’s who drew a picture of some washed-up bum on a beach three weeks before Daryl showed up was reason enough to hope. He could grasp onto that.

If it would get him home, hell yeah, he could do that.

How the same weird kid told him what his niece had and what his wife had could be reason enough, too. He could grasp onto that as well, if it would get him home. He could do that for them.

Daryl ran his hand in slow, gentle circles along his stomach like Y/N would. Maybe he’d been doing this in his dream, which is why it felt so real.

It had all felt so, so real.

------------------------------------------

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[dear-ao3]

hello, saph. here to say thank you so much for the fantastic wonderous brilliance that is the 2024 Formula One Silly Season and Drama Update Post. sometime around march my friend and i thought. eh whats the deal with this eff one stuff lets look in to it. without your unyielding dedication to explaining and recaping EVERYTHING, i doubt either of us would have had any clue where to start. i think ive reread the entire thing at least 5 times (and i will do it again.) how you have managed to do this i have NO idea. just keeping up with everything is enough of a challenge. but for the last 8 months its been our entire life (and a hell of a season to pick it up it seems). tears have been shed, i have woken my entire family and cat up several times at 3 in the morning screeching, my sleep schedule and weekends have been irreversibly damaged for ~half of the year. and i would not have it any other way. and, around two thirds of the way through the season my mother started watching the races with me and is now FULLY in to the strategy, politics and interpersonal drama of it all. i send her things from the update post (she enjoys it greatly btw). and! f1 has also given me a conversation topic over christmas lunch with relatives ive never really spoken to in any depth before and thats. well thats Pretty Cool. anyway sorry for babbling in your inbox for too long. thank you for everything, you are an icon and a legend and a hero and i wish you the happiest of vibes for 2025 <3

thank you so much 🫶 i really don’t know how i managed it either to be honest with you. it was a whole lot of information and i fear my instagram algorithm may never recover from it lol.

yes, this was quite the season to pick it up lol. i myself only properly picked it up in october 2023, so i’m not as much an expert as many of you may think ! i mostly was learning along with everyone else and i haven’t re read the post myself but i’m sure the beginning half is filled with all kinds of misinformation and inaccuracies

that is so fun that your mom got into it! and that you can talk to other family members about it :) i hope you didn’t have to explain slutty little soup can. or the john green cock post. or whatever else i referenced on that post to your mom, if you did i am sorry

thank you for reading my post, i’m glad you enjoyed it and i’m glad you learned things 🫶

[devondespresso]

This Comfort

T | 4.5k words | Stobissy (Platonic stobin x Chrissy) | canon divergent season 4 rewrite, pre-relationship, hurt/comfort, happy ending, weird-as-shit stobin | cws: referenced eating disorder, implied depression, implied suicidal ideation, referenced drugs

happy holidays @stellarspecter !!! hows it feel to be THE reason i like this rarepair so much that i had to hold myself back from trying to do a whole chrissy lives s4 rewrite? I tried to be subtle but i also just HAD to reread your stuff while brainstorming this, hope you like it!!! 💕💕💕

<< dividers by @/saradika-graphics >>

Chrissy kind of wants to cry. 

Her body always seems to want to do that at the first hint of peace she can find. In a bathroom stall, at the rotting picnic table behind the school, and now in the basement at Nancy Wheeler’s house, surrounded by still, sleeping bodies. She can’t help but find their presence soothing, even if their warmth doesn’t reach the cold vinyl of her sleeping bag, even if the gentle rhythm of their breathing can’t be heard over the sound of Olivia Newton-John’s voice clogging her ears.

Would the song even work if she got sick of hearing it so much? Can any song keep her safe if she keeps associating music with life-or-death?

Chrissy’s supposed to be sleeping, or supposed to be trying, at least. But she can’t hear the huffs, can’t feel any warmth, can’t even smell over the stench of highschool boy’s body spray— so Chrissy doesn’t try to sleep, even if she has a comparatively easy song to fall asleep to. She just watches, still as if she were out like they are, watching those tiny movements in the bodies around her.

Chests rise and fall slowly, languid unlike any other moment from the day. Some people twitch or stir—just barely—as their bodies dream, hopefully of something far removed from everything that’s happening now. It’s only half the room in her line of sight, but something about watching even just a part of the life around her makes it easier to feel the rest of it there.

It’s nice. Really nice, compared to the past twenty-four hours. And for some twisted reason, that makes tears prick at Chrissy’s eyes.

Her song starts again, a rhythmic melody that had made her sway in her seat the first dozen times she listened to it today. A melody that somehow—even after literal hours of hearing it over and over and over and over and over—still takes her to a time unblemished enough to keep her from letting Vecna end it all.

The beginning instruments all cut off so Olivia can start singing, new instruments coming in to replace them, but they’re not the same. Chrissy swallows, but a tear still falls, tickling her skin down towards her ear before it stops, falling and soaking into the flattened pillow that smells like the same musty body spray as the rest of this cruddy basement.

“Chrissy,” a voice whispers from behind her, said like it isn’t the first time they’ve called, barely audible over her music. Chrissy pushes up slightly, just enough to look behind her, to find Steve sitting up and keeping watch on the couch, leaning towards Chrissy as much as he can with Robin sleeping on his lap. His eyes stay focused on her through the dark, looking maybe for rolled back eyes or waiting for her to start muttering in tongues, but Chrissy only looks back and waits.

“You okay?” he whispers through the dark, again just barely loud enough. Chrissy nods to him, and turns down her music a notch or two.

Steve keeps looking like she never responded. Maybe—hopefully—because it's too dark to see and not because he expects a different answer with enough waiting. Chrissy swallows a lump in her throat, and answers again.

“I'm okay.”

Steve hears her—he has to—but he keeps looking at her that same way. Attentive, and a little on edge.

Chrissy slides one side of her headphones off her ear so she can hear her own whispers.

“I’m fine, I promise.” She says, loud enough that he has to hear her—or believe her—yet still low enough to mask the way her throat tightens around the words.

Steve hums, a soft thing that blends with the sounds of the room, but Chrissy can make it out.

“Come up here.” He whispers, nodding over to the small sliver of couch left next to him, just big enough to fit her. Or, big enough if she were like Robin and could just half-lay on pretty people without feeling electricity seize her body from head to toe. Chrissy opens her mouth to politely decline and save both of them the awkwardness, but Steve picks that moment to look away—look down to Robin—and lift her ever so slightly, ever so gently, to scoot them over and make the space next to him more comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Chrissy whispers but finds herself getting up anyway, padding over quietly as Steve settles, Robin slumping back down onto his lap without stirring.

“It’s no big deal,” He mutters, a soft smile pulling at his lips, still looking down at Robin, “She sleeps like the dead like this.”

Chrissy hums, and Steve looks up.

“Or– like a baby, I guess is a better word for it right now.”

“It’s fine.” Chrissy insists, taking a seat next to him, settling into the corner with a respectable distance between them– a distance that the rest of her doesn’t seem to pick up on, unfortunately, but respectable at the very least.

Steve hums and watches her, trying to do it subtly out of the corner of his eye, but even just a day around the real Steve is enough for her to know what worry looks like on him.

Fortunately for her, he doesn’t push. And when Chrissy busies herself with getting comfortable in her new couch corner, Steve looks away, absently combing through Robin’s hair as he plays casual.

“Rough sleeping with music always in your ears?” Steve asks, a lightness of humor there that she wishes was the only thing tied to that question.

“Not too bad, actually.” she says, pairing it with a little smile and hoping it’ll convince them both that she’s alright. “Especially out of all the other songs from Grease. The walkman itself is probably more annoying.”

“Yeah, my ears do not envy you there.” Steve huffs, smiling a little, making Chrissy’s smile come a little easier before they both run out of things to say and the levity falls off both their faces. Chrissy’s dropping faster with no eyes on her to keep up the charade for, while Steve’s falls slowly, slips into neutral as he gets caught up in thought once again.

Chrissy gets to keep a few moments to herself before she catches Steve glancing at her again through the corner of her eye. She pretends not to notice, holds her neutrality for a few nauseating seconds before she sighs, closing her eyes and drawing her knees to her chest in a way that turns the subtle glance into full-force attention.

“Do you think…” She starts, but finds the words stopping before they can get out of her head. Does he think she’ll die? Obviously he’s not going to tell her if he does.

“Eh, sometimes.” Steve answers, shrugging lightly in a way that's playful but not flippant enough to derail the conversation.

Chrissy huffs from the tinge of amusement, then tries again.

“Have you wondered what would happen if we got tired of our songs?” 

“Not yet, to be honest. But I figure we’d try to find new ones.” He says, quick enough that it feels like a simple answer to him. But even still he considers it, even if it’s just to show her he’s taking her worries seriously. “I mean, if the whole point is picking a song that reminds you about what’s good in life, I’d figure there’s got to be at least a decent handful of them that’d work.”

Chrissy hums, resting her head onto her knees as she considers. It feels like a simple enough thing, just find songs that remind you of good things, but as she combs through the library in her head, she’s not sure she has as many of those as the others do. Or at the very least, not ones that haven't been sullied by other memories or the things she’s learned since then. Birthday parties with a Chrissy that didn’t think twice about what was in those cakes, sleepovers with girls that had a lot more to say in the halls than they did in their bedrooms. She should count herself lucky that out of all the songs she had loved, she still had one of her favorites.

Though she supposes she should also count herself lucky for even being alive right now. If circumstances were different, she might’ve genuinely felt it.

“To be honest, I’m more worried about how Max doesn’t seem bothered by listening to the same thing nonstop.” Steve chimes in again, that sweet little note of humor back, and though it still makes her smile—truly smile, at both the humor and the intent behind it—it can’t fully lift her out of the headspace she keeps crawling into.

Still Chrissy hums along with him, the sweetness she puts into her voice just as erosive as the added sugars she keeps an eye out for.

“The magic of a really good artist, I guess.”

“Maybe. Though I know I’d still get tired of it no matter who’s voice I’m blasting.” Steve replies, tone light as if he didn’t notice how fake her tone was, and just that thought grants Chrissy an ounce of real levity.

“Even Freddie Mercury.” Chrissy asks with teasing scrutiny.

“I plead the fifth.” Steve smiles mischievously, and when Chrissy raises a suspicious eyebrow at him, he lets out a small but genuine laugh that Chrissy wants to mirror desperately.

Steve hushes himself quickly enough, but Robin still stirs in his lap, groaning and tucking her face down into the denim of Steve’s jeans as if they were somehow comfortable enough to put her back to sleep. But then again, Chrissy figures they don’t have to be, as Steve’s hand finds it’s way back to her hair again, carding his fingers gently and intentionally as Robin stills and soon returns to slow, sedated breathing.

Steve sighs, not tense or aggravated, just restful, like the mood of before was so calm that any change in it counted as disturbance. And then within seconds, he’s back, glancing once over to Chrissy again before looking back at Robin as he continues.

“Rob’s probably the type to be fine listening to most of her music over and over.” He hums, “Not that she needs it. The second she even thought that music might be it she shoved all the tapes she could find into her bag—including our manager’s, actually—”

“Your manager’s?”

“Yeah, Keith’s in for a bit of a surprise soon.” Steve laughs again, “Point is, though,” Steve looks back at her with a new, almost concerning level of sincerity once again veiled as small-talk. “Robin has a pretty good stash of other music in her bag and I’ve got a handful in the glovebox, too, so if you want to pick a couple backups to keep on you…” He shrugs instead of finishing with any extra nod to the favor he’s offering, and Chrissy’s conscience appreciates the discretion.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” she mutters, figuring at the very least that it wouldn’t hurt to look, maybe pick a couple that’d sound nice, even if she doubts anything from after 79’ would spark any good memories, the thought itself is sweet enough to make her sincerely grateful. “Thank you.”

“‘Course. It’s all up to you, just know it's an option.”

Chrissy hums and nods, not really wanting to continue the conversation but also lacking anything else to start talking about next.

Really, she only gets a few seconds to think about it before Steve’s glancing her way again, eyes lingering to study her and somehow sneaking inside towards the softest parts of her, all right under her nose.

“You’re doing good, y’know?” Steve says, quiet as anything else they’ve said tonight, but Chrissy finds it deafening. “This shit sucks… so much. But your still here, still sticking together, still keeping up with the kids—which, believe me, is a feat in of itself.” He huffs to himself, before glancing back to Chrissy with raw compassion. “I know all of it’s… smothering, almost. Too big and too stressful, but you’re doing great, alright? And we’re gonna make it work out.”

He’s lying, obviously, Chrissy hasn’t done jack-shit and Steve just wants to make her feel better– so Chrissy nods—on reflex, almost—because she knows to take a compliment—to take comfort—when it's being given to her. She knows so she nods and tries to just take Steve’s words with a polite smile and a polite nod but–

Her eyes water and tears fall too fast, too many goddamned tears coming and spillingout and she tries—God, she tries— to keep them back and to smile and show him it worked, shes good now, thank you—but she’s failing, failing miserably, so she falls back on breathing– breathing normally and praying he can’t see her crying through the dark–

“Chrissy, I mean it.” Steve says, with the softness of sincerity that—regardless of whether she believes him or not—breaks through the last of her defenses, letting a small, pitiful sound choke its way out of her throat.

“Chris–”

Chrissy stands—giving up on looking okay in favor of being quiet—and wipes her face, looking around for the bathroom door that Nancy said would be down here.

“Chrissy, hey–” Steve whispers, a hand finding her arm gently—not grabbing, just touching—and while it tempts her so heavily, instinct leads her away.

“It’s fine– don’t wake Robin–” Chrissy chokes on her own words and aborts, going towards the bathroom, ignoring Steve trying to whisper-call after her, ignoring how he whispers to himself before the couch squeaks, ignoring his footsteps coming up until they’re right behind her– and Chrissy stops and flings around and–

Turning catches Steve off guard—enough to stop him a foot or so away—and makes him retract an outstretched arm.

“Chrissy, it’s okay.” Steve insists, struggling for words to say next and doing nothing to keep it from taking over his face. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Stop.” Chrissy says– tries to say, even though it comes out wet and weak and crackly– “You’re fine, I promise–”

It doesn’t sound final but it’s all Chrissy can get out—is all that she really needs to. Tears keep coming like she’s a broken faucet and Steve’s still standing there—already knows she’s crying and isn’t going to ignore it—so she just covers her face with her hands, cold fingers cooling unruly flames of embarrassment, and tries catching her breath.

“Wha’s…?” 

Chrissy doesn’t try to recognise the voice, just jolts up at the new sound and finds Robin up and walking towards them, going slow and rubbing her face like a rough morning.

“Rob, now’s not–”

“Are you crying?” Robin says as she drops her hand and gets a barely decent look at Chrissy, voice sounding suddenly wide awake, face skipping confusion and going straight to concern as she turns to check Steve next, “Are you– no, no you're– ok, good, so–” She turns back to Chrissy within another blink. “Are you okay? Or– no, stupid question.”

“No,” Chrissy says, but then Robin’s eyes flash with guilt, “No, no, I– not stupid question, I’m okay, I promise, I–”

“That’s debatable.” Steve interrupts, as kindly as he probably can.

“I am.” Chrissy says before heaving a massive breath and pushing her hands across her face again, all to get herself in any way capable of explaining, “It’s not your fault– or yours, or anyones! I’m not mad or sad or upset or anything– I’m just crying!” Chrissy pauses for another breath, then finishes—with more control than before— “Just crying. And crying in front of people is embarrassing, so…”

Steve and Robin both stay silent, gears turning trying to figure out what to say or do next, and while Chrissy does feel a little bad, a small part of her says they were asking for it.

“I cry a lot.” Robin says, in what seems like a reflex at first, but she keeps going even after she seems to realize what she’s saying, “I cry all the time, like, constantly– or not actually really that frequently but when I do it’s like an absolute behemoth amount of crying, and I love crying– or well, maybe not– no actually I do, if I need to cry then I love to cry, just get it all out, y’know? And this whole thing—the end-of-the-world monster crisis thing—is like a really good reason to need to cry, the most understandable reason to cry—even Steve's cried about it!” 

“Yes!” Steve confirms immediately, like he either somehow forgot or the detail didn't occur to him.

“And last time– okay I didn't really cry during it much last time because it felt like there was so much going on like all the time but the second we got Steve a hospital room and I could sit down next to him, I started bawling, like really ugly snotty sobbing, and I cried for, like, three hours straight and one of the nurses kept bringing me water so I wouldn't dehydrate and die because I actually could not stop crying and I didn’t even feel that sad, y’know? I had been way more upset in the middle of the whole thing but I didn’t cry once—”

“Just peed your pants a little.” Steve mutters, catching Chrissy off-guard and making Robin fling immediately over to wack his arm.

“You–” Robin says, pointing at him and scrambling for words, “And you shit your pants twenty minutes in!”

“I what?” Steve whisper-laughs, bordering on a dangerous volume again.

“Yeah, you shit yourself and you smelled so bad–” Robin starts breaking into giggles and struggling to keep her volume down, so Steve somehow decides that covering her mouth with his hand would help. It does, kinda, in that it muffles her laughs until she gets them under control and starts swatting him away.

They collect themselves together, clearly trying to keep attuned to Chrissy without directing the full force of attention on her, but as they both try to manage each other’s clumsiness Chrissy feels the pressure of conversation ease and is just left with Robin’s words and the care that both of them were trying to show. Chrissy wipes her face even though new tears still fall, and steels herself with another breath that finally comes easier than the last.

“Robin.” Chrissy says.

Robin stops, and before Chrissy can chicken out she dives forward and takes Robin into a hug.

Robin’s clearly caught off guard but recovers quickly and wraps her arms around Chrissy tight, leaning in with a cheek pressed into her hair, holding her immediately. Chrissy sobs a little for no good reason but Robin doesn’t let go, doesn’t ask again, just keeps holding on.

Instead of waiting ages for her tears to stop, Chrissy just lets go when her crying quiets down and she no longer feels the need to hide from the people holding her. Chrissy loosens her grip and Robin lets go right after, leaning back to check on her, breaking into a sweet, lopsided grin.

Another hand falls carefully onto her back, and when Chrissy turns around and finds Steve still there quietly trying to check in too, Chrissy lunges forward a second time. Steve holds her tight like Robin did– possibly even tighter as his shoulders curl around her frame, like she’s being tucked inside his chest, safe away from harm.

Chrissy kind of hates pulling away, but by the way both Steve and Robin stay close after letting go, Chrissy gets the feeling that it won’t be hard to get more of that affection from them.

“You ready to go back to the couch?” Robin asks.

Chrissy nods.

“Awesome,” Robin says, taking her hand and leading the way back eagerly, “Cause, like, I don’t know about you but I would love to be sleeping right now– and I don’t regret waking up, obviously, totally a good reason to wake up, I just also love getting a full night’s sleep–”

“Aw, poor Robin, not being asleep right now.” Steve teases, getting quieter as they get to the couch but still being loud enough to annoy Robin.

“Aw, poor Stevie, was already awake when things started happening and only had to wake up once in the middle of the night.” Robin whines back, taking a spot in the corner of the couch and pulling Chrissy down to sit with her.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re so funny, Robbie.” Steve smiles, not making a move to sit down with them. “Where’d you put your bag?”

“Why?”

“Wanna look at the tapes you have.”

“Steve, you don’t have to.” Chrissy 

“‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, I just want to listen to– uh… Bowie. Obviously.”

Chrissy huffs, torn between the guilt of a favor and a rush of amusement, but couldn’t help but play along.

“And not your manager’s stellar music taste?”

“Steve!” Robin hissed, “You told her?”

“Yeah, what’s she gonna do? Keith’s gonna know.”

“We don’t know for sure!”

“Yeah we do, his walkman’s basically glued to him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Not with you cause he likes you, but on a Tuesday close with me and I’d be lucky if he heard me dying.”

“Oh, I think he hears you just fine.” Robin laughs.

Steve sighs with a quick eye-roll before gesturing back to the room.

“Bag. Where?”

“Behind the trunk under the staircase.” 

Steve looks at her incredulously but goes to find it, repeating her interesting choice of hiding place under his breath as he goes.

“Did something happen to your other tape?” Robin asks, turning and hitting her with the full force of her concern—and while Chrissy appreciates it, a lot, she needs to look away to relieve some of the pressure and calm some of the heat that hits her cheeks.

“No, no, it’s working fine, I just, uh… was worried I was going to get sick of listening to it all the time.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Robin nods and the intensity of her worry lessens considerably, replaced instead by an almost frantic kind of ramble, “Good as in, like, y’know, that it’s not broken and you’re just being extra cautious, I mean–”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Chrissy smiles, cherishing the way Robin smiles with relief as she realizes she’s being understood.

Robin’s eyes flick slightly to something behind Chrissy so she turns around, catching Steve as he gives a note to a recently awoken Nancy Wheeler and starts finding his way back to the couch around the minefield of sleeping teenagers on the floor. He stops right in front of the couch—in front of Chrissy—and kneels down to open the bag between them for her to see.

“Let Nance know about the new plan.” He mutters, probably softer than he has to, “If by some chance something does happen, she’ll know to try your old tape first.”

Chrissy looks up at his eyes for a moment before turning them down into the bag, impressively full of cassettes, some loose, some in their cases, but almost all of them well-loved. Chrissy reaches in and starts looking through the ones on top, some obviously Steve’s, some obviously Robin’s, some probably Keith’s, and a good many that have to be for both of them. She searches through them blankly for a few minutes before Steve and Robin try helping with suggestions.

“I think some of The Go-Go’s are in there.”

“Steve had ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’.”

“There’s definitely some Cyndi Lauper.”

“What was your old song again?” Robin asks.

“‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’. From Grease.”

Robin hums and stares into the bag. After a second, she starts picking handfuls of them out, picking each one intentionally but still grabbing more than enough for Chrissy to choose from until one catches her eye.

“Wait, wait, wait–”

Robin freezes, looking back to Chrissy with her arms still shoved in her bag, unmoving. Chrissy reaches over and picks up a tape that had already made it to Robin’s lap: a standard-looking cassette without its case and a couple of attempts at hearts drawn on it. It wasn’t the only cassette to have cute drawings—far from it—but it was the first one she saw with wonky hearts scribbled out then copied right next to it, like someone tried, failed, and then was told to bring their failure back instead of hiding it away.

She checks the other side. “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper.

“Steve gave that to me ages ago.” Robin hums, and Chrissy smiles, looking over at the other cassettes with little drawings on them.

“Was it the first one?”

“Second, technically, didn’t draw on Total Eclipse of the Heart until later.”

Chrissy nods, then looks up to Robin again.

“Would you mind…?”

“Oh, yeah, totally. I mean go for it. Worst case scenario: I’m still in touch with my dealer.” Robin jokes, making Steve snort as he stands and drops the bag over by the end of the couch.

Robin gets comfortable as Chrissy goes ahead and switches the tapes in her walkman, going to set her old one on a table nearby. When she turns back around, Robin is laying down on the couch, making grabby hands up towards Steve until he finishes his headcount and turns back around.

“What?” He laughs.

“Get over here, it’s my turn to be big.”

“Hm, if I have to.” Steve laughs and goes to settle with her before pausing and looking back over to Chrissy.

“You want on the couch, too?”

Chrissy goes over towards them and Steve smiles, taking that as her answer.

“We can leave you a spot if you want, or…”

Chrissy flushes but pointedly doesn’t take the offer for the separate spot on the couch, and luckily, Steve and Robin both figure out the answer without her having to say it.

Robin lays on her back half-propped up while Steve basically lays on top of her, spooning but with the little spoon on the verge of crushing the big spoon, but they seem more than content with it, Robin hugging Steve almost like a teddy bear. Steve gives Chrissy the go-ahead, so with her walkman in hand, she carefully takes the spot between him and the back of the couch. She brings the headphones up to her ears just as an arm comes around her back, the new melody fitting the new warmth she’s feeling deep down perfectly.

Chrissy lets one of her hands find Robin’s above her across the polo shirt pillow connecting them. Both the bodies laying with her relax, shifting slightly to get comfortable in their strange arrangement on the cramped couch, but the one thing that stays perfectly consistent is the slow rise and fall beneath her, the feather-light puffs tickling her hair, and the warmth of life enveloping her.

Chrissy knows it’s not perfect. The next few days will be far, far from kind to them. She knows that even when she wakes from this nightmare, she’ll just be stuck right back where she was before, working her ass off at cheer practice during the day and then begging their drug dealer for ketamine at night. The thought will probably never leave her mind.

But right now, Chrissy enjoys the new music playing in her ears, the familiar song with a man and a woman’s voices that feel uniquely alive right now, warm and safe and real.

If you’re lost,

You can look

And you will find me,

Time after time.

If you fall, 

I will catch you.

I’ll be waiting,

Time after time.

Chrissy falls asleep. No dreams, no Vecna, just sleep.

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　MIGRAINE

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Spencer has suffered from headaches since his teenage years, but nothing like the one he's experiencing now. When a bad migraine decides to hit him during his work time, Y/N is right there to help him, just like she promised she always would.

WARNING: Somewhere between ep 11 and 12 from season 6 | Migraine, pain, throwing up, Spencer being "babied" and taken care of (just like it should've happened when he had his migraines).

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The first time Spencer Reid experienced a migraine, he was sixteen years old. At the time, he had chalked it up to stress. It wasn’t unusual for him to push his mind and body to the limit; classes by day, independent studies by night, and taking care of his mom full-time.

But, like most things in his life, Spencer adapted. He found ways to manage the episodes, learning which triggers to avoid. Over time, the migraines became something he lived with. He rarely talked about them; they felt too personal, too vulnerable. And vulnerability wasn’t something he had been taught to show, not in childhood and certainly not in his line of work now.

Since joining the FBI, the migraines have remained manageable. Sure, the stress of chasing unsubs and staring at evidence under glaring lights could sometimes bring on a headache, but they were rare enough that he didn’t worry. Until today.

The pain started as a faint pressure, a dull throb behind his eyes as soon as he woke this morning with a call from Hotch, Y/N's warm body against his own doing nothing to ease it, but he had dismissed it, thinking it was just lack of sleep since they've just got back from a case in New Mexico.

Y/N's eyes were sure to catch it all, how his shoulders were more hunched, his steps just a touch slower, and the faint crease between his brows that seemed to just stay there. She knew his body language like the back of her hand; something was off.

But Y/N didn’t hover or prod. She knew Spencer’s rhythm, his boundaries, and she knew that he didn’t need her hovering or asking every ten minutes if he was okay - he hated that. She trusted Spencer to come to her if it became too much.

Instead, she slid a small glass of water and Spencer's usual medication across the counter to him, pairing it with a piece of toast slathered in butter and his first cup of coffee.

She didn’t say a word about it, only kissed his cheek softly as she leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper as she murmured "I love you", her lips lingering for a moment.

And Spencer was sure that her kiss would magically make him feel better in no time - silly him. By the time they arrived at the BAU, the ache had deepened, expanding until it felt as though his entire skull was caught in a strong fist.

Now, in the middle of the afternoon, sitting at his desk, Spencer struggled to focus. His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat, sending jolts of pain that spread down his neck and shoulders.

A sharp sensation had settled behind his left eye, making it impossible to fully open without a stabbing pain shooting through his head. He pressed his fingers to the sides of his head, attempting to massage away the discomfort, but it was futile.

A tingling sensation kept creeping along his arms, the nerves in his fingertips hypersensitive to the touch of his pen. Even the faint friction of his clothing against his skin felt unbearable, leaving him breathless. His limbs kept moving around in his chair, trying to find a position that didn’t make his muscles feel like they were ready to snap.

Across the bullpen, Morgan leaned casually against the edge of his own desk, glancing momentarily at Spencer while talking with Ashley, a teasing smirk growing on his face as he noticed the younger's pace while flipping pages - it wasn't slow, but surely slower than 'Spencer's normal'.

"Looks like someone’s slower than usual today." Morgan called, his tone lighthearted as he hoped to pull Spencer into their usual playful demeanor.

But Spencer didn’t respond - which wasn't news when the genius was concentrated, squinting his eyes at the too bright lights above him, sending harsh glares on his desk that seemed to burn straight into his brain.

He tried to look up in a tentative of looking at Derek, but as soon as his eyes moved, his vision sparked with white flashes that momentarily blinded him, not noticing how Morgan's smirk faltered as he exchanged a concerned glance with Y/N across the room, who had been shooting Spencer glances for quite some time now.

Frustration started to bubble inside Spencer as the pages of the case file in front of him seemed to blurry even more when he moved his eyes back to it, the letters swimming across the paper as if they were mocking his attempts to work.

The sounds around him only seemed to make things worse. Across the bullpen, Prentiss's deep voice rose in conversation with JJ, sharp and too loud for his own taste. The gentle tapping of Ashley's keyboard sounded like a woodpecker drilling into his ears. The steady rustling of paper, the faint squeak of wheels on rolling chairs, even the scratch of Y/N’s pen on paper, it all seemed to close around him, leaving him struggling to breathe. He clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together in an effort to keep himself from snapping.

But the worst part was the impossibility of concentrating - Spencer’s mind was usually his greatest ally, a place where he could retreat and find order even in chaos.

He stared at the case file in front of him, the report on Andrew Jacobs, a killer who had brutally murdered several women, including his own wife. Spencer knew the details of the case intimately, had memorized every little thing, every piece of evidence. But now, as he tried to write his report, the words wouldn’t come.

His pen hovered over the page, trembling slightly in his hand as the muscles in his fingers twitched. He pressed the tip of the pen to the paper, determined to start, but his mind was blank. No, worse than blank, it was fractured.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to write a sentence.

Andrew Jacobs exhibited narcissistic tendencies, as evidenced by-

The thought dissolved as another burst of pain shattered his focus. The rest of the sentence was lost, replaced by another white flash. His hand tightened around the pen, and he nearly snapped it in half as he exhaled a shaky breath.

He tried again.

Jacobs selected victims that resembled-

The throb in his temples flared, and he dropped the pen, his hand too weak to hold it.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, desperate to shut out the light, the noise, the overwhelming sensations. He hunched over his desk, his breathing shallow and labored, trying to ride it out without drawing attention to himself - well, more.

Maybe caffeine would help. It had worked before, maybe inconsistently. But it was better than nothing.

Pushing back his chair, Spencer stood, determined to exterminate his pain. But the pace in which he did it sent a wave of vertigo crashing over him, the room tilting precariously to one side.

His vision narrowed as he stumbled, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the edge of the desk, but his fingers missed the mark. His foot caught on the leg of his chair, and he tripped forward, nearly knocking over a stack of case files in the process.

Lucky him.

"Spence!" Y/N’s voice cut through the cloud of his disorientation, filled with concern.

Before he could even process what was happening, her hands were on him, one steadying him by his biceps, the other catching the stack of papers before they could scatter across the bullpen.

Spencer forced a quick, shaky smile, hoping it would be enough to stop her worry.

"Sorry." He said, his voice as steady as possible. The effort to sound okay only made the pounding in his head worse, and he winced slightly as he tucked a very short lock of hair behind his ear - still used to having it longer. "I'm okay. I just tripped."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she studied him. Her hand lingered on his arm, her grip gentle but firm, as if she was afraid he might fall again.

"Spence, are you sure? You don’t look-"

"I’m fine!" Spencer cut her off, his voice a touch too loud, earning a questioning glance from Prentiss across the room. He cleared his throat, softening his tone. "I just need a refill." He added, holding up his empty coffee mug as if it were some sort of shield. "Do you need one? I can get you it if you want!"

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before stepping out of her grasp and making a beeline for the coffee station. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t turn back.

Reaching the coffee maker, Spencer set his mug down with trembling hands, the slight clink of ceramic against metal sounding impossibly loud to his hypersensitive ears. He focused on the simple motions of pouring the coffee, hoping the familiarity of the task would anchor him.

The smell of the freshly brewed coffee hit him, and his stomach churned in response. He swallowed hard against the wave of nausea but pressed on, filling the mug to the brim.

The first sip burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. He gulped it down, the heat spreading through his chest like liquid desperation. Maybe the caffeine would kick in quickly, stopping the edges of the pain enough for him to concentrate.

But as he drained the mug, the room began to spin again. A nauseating dizziness wrapped itself around him, pulling his vision into darkness for a moment too long. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white as he fought to stay up.

His stomach churned violently now, and his head felt like it was splitting apart. His legs wobbled beneath him, threatening to give way, and he knew he couldn’t keep standing. He needed to sit down. Now.

Spencer scanned the room for the nearest chair. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he half-stumbled toward the breakroom table, collapsing into a chair before his legs could betray him entirely. He set the empty coffee mug down on the table with shaking hands - almost missing it - and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

The sound of Spencer’s body collapsing against the chair reverberated through the bullpen like a thunderclap. Heads turned instinctively toward the breakroom, curiosity quickly giving way to concern when the sound was followed by a groan. A deep, guttural groan of pain that struck Y/N.

She knew that sound.

Her head snapped up, her pen clattering onto her desk, and in an instant, she was on her feet, moving toward it with determination.

"Y/N?" JJ's voice called after her, tinged with confusion, but she ignored her.

As she entered the room, the sight before her made her heart squeeze. Spencer was slumped in one of the chairs, his body hunched forward, his arms clutching his stomach. His hair was a mess, sticking to his damp forehead, and his shirt was rumpled, the fabric pulled and creased as if he’d been tugging at it in desperation to rid himself of the sensation of it against his clammy skin. Sweat dripped from his temples, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half-closed as though the effort of keeping them open was too much.

"Spence?" She whispered, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering uncertainly near his, afraid to make things worse but desperate to comfort him.

"Hey, what’s wrong? What are you feeling?" She asked, her tone filled with concern. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for any clue, but the only response she received was a low, pitiful whimper.

The sound broke her heart.

Before she could press him further, Spencer’s body stiffened, his face contorting as a sudden wave of nausea overtook him. His stomach grumbled violently, and he gagged, a sharp, involuntary sound that echoed through the room.

"Oh my-!" Y/N gasped, realizing what was happening just as he tried to stand, his weak limbs shaking under his own weight.

He only managed to rise an inch before his knees buckled, sending him crashing back into the chair. His hand flew to his mouth as another gag wracked his body, his face twisting with misery. The effort to move had only made things worse.

Y/N acted on instinct, her heart pounding as she spotted the small trash bin tucked beneath the desk behind him. She grabbed it quickly, her movements fast, and positioned it under him just in time.

Spencer bent forward, his body heaving as he retched violently into the bin. His stomach emptied itself in painful spasms, each cough leaving him weaker. One of Y/N's hands cradled his shoulder to keep him from falling to the ground, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It’s okay, sweetheart." She murmured softly. "I’m right here. Just let it all out. You’re going to be okay."

Her fingers traveled from his back to the back of his head, intertwining through his damp hair, tucking the short strands behind his ears as she continued to whisper reassurances. The sound of her voice was low and soft, grounding him.

Outside the breakroom, Morgan and Prentiss had gathered by the coffee station near the door, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as the muffled sounds of gagging reached their ears. Morgan had been the first to step forward, concern taking over his face, but Emily stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Give them a second." She said quietly.

Inside, Spencer’s nausea began to ease, though his body still trembled, probably because of exhaustion. Y/N kept knelt by his side, her hands never once leaving him, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

When he finally stopped, Spencer sagged against the chair, his face pale as a ghost, and his breathing shallow and uneven. Y/N quickly took off her jacket, gently wiping his mouth and chin before brushing the hair from his face again, creating a mental note to throw her clothing inside her washing machine as soon as they got home.

"Y/N, you don’t have to do this-" Spencer started, his voice weak but laced with sincerity as he tried to lift his head and meet her gaze, trying to push her jacket away with his hand.

Y/N didn’t let him finish, shaking her head.

"You make it seem like taking care of you is hard work." She cut him off with a soft smile, her free hand slipping over his lifted one, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into his knuckles, lowering them.

Spencer's eyes darted away, his cheeks coloring faintly in embarrassment. He hated that she was seeing him like that - so sick and so not him.

"But taking care of you." She continued, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh, warm and grounding. "Is the easiest thing in the world."

Spencer hummed softly in response, the sound noncommittal but tinged with gratitude.

"Now." She said, her eyes searching his as she lowered her head to his high, searching for his eyes. "What’s going on?"

Spencer shook his head weakly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He was too drained and too overwhelmed to explain the relentless storm of pain that had consumed him in such a small period of time.

Y/N exhaled softly, her worry deepening as she took in his refusal to answer. She glanced over her shoulder, debating whether to call for Hotch or JJ.

"Okay." She said gently, leaning closer so he could hear her. "You don’t have to talk right now. Just breathe. I’m here."

The smell of vomit began to permeate the room, clinging to the air in a way that would have turned most stomachs. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She’d seen and smelled worse in her years with the BAU. Compared to that, a little puke was nothing.

"My head..." Spencer’s voice cracked as he whimpered several minutes later of silence, his words barely audible as his hands flew to his face, fingers pressing harshly against his eyes.

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she instinctively reached for his wrists, her hands gently tugging his away from his head. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and glassy, pain etched into every line of his expression.

"Oh, honey." She cooed softly, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. "It’s your migraine again, isn’t it?"

A faint, almost imperceptible nod was all he managed.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" She asked, her voice gentle. "You should’ve said something before we even left your apartment this morning."

He shook his head weakly, as if the mere thought of explaining himself was too much effort.

Y/N sighed, her fingers brushing over his temple in a soothing motion.

"Alright." She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We’re going home, okay?" She paused for a beat, watching him closely. "Can you stand?"

Spencer didn’t respond right away. He stayed hunched over, breathing unevenly, his shoulders trembling slightly as if he was waiting for his body to answer for himself. Finally, after a long moment, he whispered.

"I don't think I can. I’m dizzy... really dizzy."

Y/N’s expression softened even further.

"That’s okay." She assured gently, her hand rubbing slow, comforting circles across his back. "There’s no rush, Spence. We’ll wait until you feel ready, alright?"

He didn’t answer, but the slight relaxation of his posture told her he’d heard. She stayed by his side, her fingers trailing up to his shoulders, massaging the tension she could feel knotted beneath his crumpled shirt.

"I’m going to grab some water for you, okay?" After a moment, she whispered. "Just something to rinse your mouth and maybe settle your stomach." She began to shift, preparing to stand, but the soft wince that escaped Spencer stopped her in her tracks.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it found her arm, his grip gentle but insistent. His big puppy eyes met hers with a silent plea.

"Can you stay?" He asked lowly, his fingers loosening slightly but not letting go. "I don't need water."

He actually needed it, but it could wait. He preferred her by his side.

"Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere." She assured him, nodding. "I’m right here."

She settled back into her position beside him, her arm draped protectively over his shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes, Y/N murmuring soft reassurances while Spencer focused on taking slow, measured breaths.

Eventually, he shifted slightly, his posture straightening just enough to signal he was ready.

"I think... I can stand now." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, throwing her jacket over her shoulder before her hands moved to support him as she stood, then gently helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, heavily leaning against her, his weight a little awkward against her frame, but she didn’t mind.

"Easy." She murmured, her voice calm. "One step at a time. I’ve got you."

With painstaking care, she guided him out of the breakroom, her focus entirely on him. Their teammates noticed them, their concerned gazes following, but Y/N didn’t pause to explain.

She led Spencer to the bathroom, not caring to turn on the lights, knowing that it would just make his situation worse. She eased him down onto the small bench near the sinks, watching as he sank into the seat with a groan, his head drooping forward again as though even holding it upright was too much.

"Hang tight." Y/N said softly, brushing her hand over his shoulder before turning toward the sink.

She turned on the faucet, letting the water run cold, and dampened a handful of paper towels. Returning to Spencer, she knelt in front of him and gently pressed the cool towels to his face and neck. He sighed faintly at the momentary relief, his body relaxing slightly under her care.

"There we go." She whispered, dabbing away the sweat on his brow and cheeks. "Just a little longer, alright?"

She smoothed down the rumpled fabric of his shirt, adjusting it to make him more comfortable, and ran her fingers through his hair, untangling the damp strands.

"You’re doing so well, honey." She murmured, her voice gentle. "We’ll get you feeling better soon, I promise.

Spencer blinked at her, his pain-clouded eyes filled with love. He didn’t have the will to speak, but the way he leaned into her touch said everything he couldn’t.

Y/N smiled softly, her thumb brushing lightly over his eyebrows before standing again.

"Come on." She said, offering her hands. "Let’s get you out of here."

Spencer took a deep breath, summoning what little strength he had left, and let her guide him to his feet. Y/N steadied Spencer as they exited the bathroom, her hand firmly wrapped around his right arm - it would be barely 20 steps to the elevators. She could handle that. She tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but commanding.

"Spence, close your eyes for me, okay? The lights out there are only going to make it worse. I’ll guide you, I promise."

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly and let his eyes flutter shut. Y/N adjusted her hold on him, now wrapping his waist, taking most of his weight as they slowly started their journey through the small path to the exit doors.

The hum of conversation in the office dimmed as curious eyes turned toward them. Y/N’s jaw tightened, her sharp gaze sweeping the room, sending a hard glare to anyone who dared look too long or seemed close to say something, as if to warn don’t even think about it.

Her eyes found Morgan when they crossed the glass doors, who was watching them, his expression full of concern. He tilted his head slightly, silently asking if she needed help. She gave him a curt nod, Spencer's body against hers starting to make her legs feel tired.

Morgan moved swiftly, stepping ahead to press the elevator button, ensuring the doors would be ready for them. Then, without hesitation, he came to Spencer’s other side.

"Let me take him." Morgan said gently, sliding his arm around Spencer’s shoulders to ease the weight off Y/N.

Spencer stiffened for a moment at the unfamiliar touch, but as Morgan steadied him, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. He relaxed slightly, leaning into Morgan’s strength, though his grip on Y/N’s hand remained loose, as if afraid to let her go entirely.

Morgan gave him a reassuring smile.

"Hey, pretty boy." He said lightly, his tone warm and familiar. "How are you feeling down there?"

Spencer’s lips twitched faintly, a weak attempt at humor breaking through the haze of pain.

"Not so pretty right now." He murmured, his voice hoarse and strained.

Morgan chuckled softly, his hand giving Spencer’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Nah, you’re still prettier than most of us, even like this."

Y/N allowed herself a small smile at Morgan’s effort to keep the mood light. She adjusted her pace to match theirs as they finally reached the elevator. Morgan shifted slightly, ensuring Spencer stayed upright while Y/N pressed the button for the parking level - he really looked like he was about to pass out, and none of them wanted that.

The elevator ride was quiet save for Spencer’s shallow breaths and the occasional comforting words from Morgan. Y/N kept her hand on Spencer’s one, her fingers tracing calming circles above his skin.

Morgan’s grip was steady as he guided Spencer to the car after they reached the garage, Y/N walking ahead to open the passenger door.

"Alright, pretty boy, here we go." Morgan said softly, helping Spencer lower himself into the seat. Spencer groaned faintly as he settled in, head resting against the headrest.

Morgan straightened, closing the door carefully before turning to Y/N, who stood nearby with her keys clutched tightly in her hand.

"You good, Y/L/N? You sure you got this? I can follow you, help get him settled if you want."

Y/N shook her head.

"I’ve got it. Thank you, though. He’ll be okay. He just needs some rest and quiet." She offered Morgan a small but grateful smile. "Can you let Hotch know that we had to go earlier? I'm gonna text him later to explain it all better, but I know he will be worried."

Morgan studied her for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, you got it. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will." Y/N replied.

Morgan gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back, waiting until she climbed into the driver’s seat before heading back inside.

Once the door was closed, Y/N glanced over at Spencer. His breathing had already evened out, his face slack with sleep. A twinge of sadness pulled at her chest, wishing she could take all his pain away. She reached out gently, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead.

"You’ll feel better soon, baby." She whispered softly.

With the car in motion, Y/N quickly decided that taking him to her apartment would be the best option. Spencer’s place, though obviously comfortable, required climbing a flight of stairs, and there was no way she was going to risk him - or herself - having to deal with that. Her building had an elevator, and she knew he’d be just as safe there.

The drive was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the engine. Spencer didn’t stir, his head tilted slightly against the cool window as the motion of the car lulled him deeper into sleep. Y/N drove carefully, taking turns gently and avoiding any sharp stops, all the while stealing occasional glances at him to ensure he was okay.

When she finally pulled into her building’s parking garage, she cut the engine and let out a breath. Turning to Spencer, she hesitated for a moment before reaching over and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Honey." She said softly, giving him a gentle shake. "Hey, we’re here. I need you to wake up for me, okay?"

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his eyelids fluttering as he slowly began to rouse. He squinted, grimacing as if the mere act of opening his eyes was too much.

"I know, I know." Y/N cooed softly, her voice full of understanding. "I'm sorry, baby. Just a little further, and you can sleep again. Come on, I’ve got you."

With sluggish movements, Spencer let Y/N unbuckle his seatbelt and help him out of the car, cringing slightly at how useless he felt and looked right now. His legs were unsteady, and she quickly wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the building’s entrance.

By the time they reached her apartment door, the sound of clicking nails on the floor echoed as Snow, her fluffy little Shih Tzu, padded over excitedly to greet them.

"Hey, Snow." Y/N whispered softly, nudging the dog back with her leg as Spencer swayed slightly beside her. "Not now, sweetie. Go lie down."

Snow, almost sensing the mood, tilted his head, nudging lovingly at Spencer's leg before trotting off to his bed in the corner of the living room.

"Alright, Spence. Let’s get you to bed, too." She guided him carefully into her bedroom.

Her free hand swiftly clicks her bedside lamp on, the soft glow of it casting warm light across the room.

Helping him sit on the edge of the bed, Y/N crouched down, quickly unlacing his Converse and slipping them off one at a time. Next, she loosened his tie and removed it, setting it gently on her dresser.

"Let’s get this off too, okay?" She murmured as she unbuttoned his crumpled white shirt.

Spencer didn’t resist, his limbs too uncoordinated to help her, only moving them to press his palms hard against his eyeballs again, but his action was quickly - and gently - stopped by Y/N.

Once the shirt was off, leaving him in just his pants and mismatched socks, she eased him back against the pillows, ignoring her mind telling her that he would be mad for 'going to bed in outside clothes, do you know how many germs there is in this?'

Spencer sighed softly as he sank into the mattress, the lines of tension in his face easing just a little. Y/N adjusted the blankets, pulling them up to his waist to keep him warm before brushing her fingers softly through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his face.

"There we go." She whispered to herself, her voice as soft as the dim light of the room.

Satisfied that he was settled, she straightened up and turned toward the door, ready to let him get the rest he desperately needed. But just as she took her first step, she felt a gentle tug on her wrist. The touch was weak, barely there, but enough to stop her.

Turning back, she saw Spencer’s hand wrapped loosely around her wrist, his long fingers barely curled. His eyes were still shut, but his brows were drawn together, his lips parting as he whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.

"Can you... stay here? Just for a little more."

Y/N immediately sat in the mattress, by his hips side, her heart skipping a beat with his tone of voice.

"Of course, honey." She murmured, brushing the top of his fingers softly with her thumb. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."

Spencer let out a shaky breath. His grip on her wrist didn’t tighten. If anything, it was soft and almost reverent, like he was afraid to hold on too hard.

"Sorry." He murmured, his voice cracking, so quiet she almost missed it. "I’m... sorry for all of this. For making you deal with this."

The apology was so honest but so unnecessary that it sent a pang straight through Y/N’s chest. She leaned closer, resting her free hand gently on his cheek, her thumb tracing along his jaw.

"Spencer." She whispered, her tone firm but warm. "Don’t be stupid." She smiled faintly, noticing how his right eyebrow moved slightly up, the way it always did when he was feeling confused. "You’ve done this for me so many times. How many nights have you sat with me when I wasn’t feeling my best? How many times have you made me tea, or read to me until I fell asleep, or stayed up just to make sure I was okay? You never complained. Not once."

Spencer’s lips pressed into the faintest semblance of a smile, barely there but still enough to make Y/N’s heart squeeze. His hand slipped from her wrist to her own hand, his fingers curling around hers, warm despite the cool sweat still lingering on his skin.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice raw, like it was taking everything in him to get the words out. And maybe it was. Being transparent with his feelings was the hardest thing for Spencer - something he was trying to change since putting his eyes on Y/N for the very first time.

Y/N leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment as if to let him feel every bit of affection she carried for him.

"You don’t have to thank me." She murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. "This is what love is, Spence. I’m here because I want to be here. Because I care about you."

Spencer’s grip on her hand stayed soft as his features relaxed again, the tension melting away. But just as she began to pull back, her tone shifted, still gentle but also firm.

"In the morning, we’re going to the doctor, okay?" She said softly, her tone sounding rhetorical, as if not waiting to hear his opinion.

Spencer’s brows knitted together, his lips parting in protest, but he didn’t immediately respond.

"Spence." She continued. "I know you’ve dealt with migraines since you were younger, but this? This wasn’t normal. It came out of nowhere, and it hit you so hard. You have to have it checked out."

Finally, he spoke, his voice cracking.

"But... what if... what if it’s not just migraines?" His voice wavered, and he squeezed her hand tighter. "What if it’s... what if it’s something worse? What if it’s like my mom?" His voice broke on the last word, and he swallowed hard, his breathing shaky. "I can’t... I can’t risk that. I can’t risk knowing that now. I can’t risk losing you because of it."

Before Y/N, Spencer had been trying to do every test and clinical exam that would show him how close to schizophrenia or Alzheimer's he could be - his college years had been full of them - but now he did his best to stay away from it. He just couldn't risk it.

Y/N’s face fell at his words, and the fear evident in his expression. She cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at her, even if his eyes fluttered open for only a moment.

"Spence." She said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. "You’re not going to lose me. Ever. Do you hear me? Whatever happens, I’ll be right here. I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this."

He closed his eyes again, his features crumpling as he absorbed her words. He wanted to believe - he needed to - but the example he had from his father had been everything but perfect.

"Don't keep worrying your head with this. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Right now, I need you to rest. Just rest."

"I love you." He murmured, his voice softening. "So much."

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

"I love you more." She whispered back, smiling softly, brushing her fingers through his hair one last time before pulling back. "Get some sleep." She said gently.

This time, he didn’t protest as she stood and stepped toward the door. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly as the tension of the day began to melt away. Snow trotted up to her, tail wagging gently as if offering quiet support.

"Alright, boy." Y/N murmured, scratching Snow behind the ears. "Let’s get this place in order and make something to eat for later, huh?"