#this drawing took 46 minutes

[harmoniouseclipse]

Back on the fankid grind!!! These guys are my brainchildren, I have been thinking about them for the past 2 days. Don't even talk to me rn

Their lore is insane and way too much for me to put here but luckily I added it to my fankid dump on my AO3 so feel free to check it out there 😋

[sansthepacifist-art]

[undercoverpigeon413]

First art commission finished! They're the characters the order-er[?] and their friend are playing in a campaign I'm running :] [Currently in a fun little enchanted forest that move and warp around them just bc they're silly like that]

[a-trans-transfomersfan]

Some yummy art for yall

enjoy or something I dunno.

+Speed paint, yall can watch the terrible process

[cautotelic]

Chapter 2: Friend or Foe?

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis: When you get taken away from your home land and thrown into the palace of the infamous warlord, will things be as bad as they first seemed?

TWs: past abuse, blood, violence

A/N: this is definitely longer then the last chapter but I love my war crimes committing, questionably older wife:))

“Again,” I instruct the warriors. They go to the drill again, doing one on one with the techniques that I taught them. I walk amongst the pairs on the training mats, stopping to critique when needed before moving on to the next. After a few minutes of letting them spar I bring them to a stop.

“Okay, you’ve proven to be able to handle yourself in combat with each other. Now lets see how you manage against a legionnaire,” I announce with a quirked up eyebrow.

I look over to the guard overseeing my training hours. With a look of urgency he takes off running down the corridor. I click the timer on my watch. “New guy, huh?” I say motioning towards where he just took off running. “Well I don’t have all day people, who wants to go?”

“I will,” a voice says from behind me. I turn around and see it’s one of the female warriors. Nodding her way in acknowledgment, she tips her head to me.

Before I know it she’s surging forward quickly, but I’m quicker. I easily turn out of her path and she goes stumbling on the mat where my body once was. I bring my staff to the floor and lean on it slightly. “Is that all you’ve got? I expected more from someone under the Generals command,” I mock yawn.

That riles her up and she’s back on her feet. Again she comes at me head on but this time drawing her twin battle blades. With the possibility of injury on the line, I focus more on the fight. I deflect her attacks using my staff being both agile and quick. I go to block one of her overhead attacks and fail to notice her other arm coming down to take a low blow. A stinging sensation blooms just under my rib cage and I hiss. Looking down at my watch. 2:45, 2:46, 2:47. I only have a little while longer.

I grab the arm that sliced me and I tug her close before twisting our bodies so that we fall. Her back hits the mat and I’m on her. Using my staff I press it down onto her throat. I feel cool steel against my neck and freeze. I look the girl in the eyes and know that neither of us will be conceding anytime soon.

“Exactly what is going on here?” A familiar voice booms. The warriors part way for Ambessa to walk through, Rictus not too far behind. I get off of my sparring partner and help her to her feet.

“General,” the woman lowers her head in respect. “I can explain this I-“

“I thought I made myself very clear when saying no one is to lay hands on her,” she interrupts as she begins to stalk over to the warrior.

I get in between the two and shove Ambessa in the shoulder with my staff. “Hey, if you want to punish someone, punish me. I’m the one who told them to fight with me.”

I watch Ambessa roll her shoulders back and press her tongue on the inside of her cheek before looking down at me. “This doesn’t concern you, get out of my way,” she orders as she tries to push past me, but I hold my ground. She looks down at me clearly irritated.

“Well I guess you're just going to have to make me because I’m not letting her get punished,” I say as I point to the warrior. “For something I did.” I take a second to look around and see that all of her warriors have backed up and are now watching this whole interaction.

Ambessa looks behind me at the female warrior with a glare. “Everyone, out,” she orders and the sound of shuffling footsteps fills the room. Once everyone is cleared out she stalks up to me. “‘Make you’, huh?” She says in a condescending tone.

I crane my neck slightly to look up at her. “Yes, ‘make me’ because god knows how many times I’ve been punished because of someone elses faults,” I state as I jab my finger into her chest. “So… if you want to punish someone, punish me. Right here, right now.” I say as I take a few steps away from her, holding my staff at the ready.

Ambessa looks at me and I can’t tell if she wants to kill me or��. well kill me. She looks me up and down. “Your bleeding,” she points out as she motions to my stomach.

“Scared of blood, General?” I ask.

She huffs as she goes to grab her weapon of choice from the weapons rack. Twin daggers, great. “Hardly. Although you might be considering you don’t even have a real weapon,” she insults.

“I refuse to draw blood in a sparring match but,” circling me she goes out of my frame of view. “I see that isn’t the case here.”

I sink down to the floor as I watch her arm swing where my head was a second ago. I extend my leg out and swing it behind me, hoping to knock her off her feet. I hear a solid thud behind me and I’m immediately on her. Climbing on top of her I straddle her waist as I pick up her daggers and throw them across the room. While I was too busy focusing on the dagger, Ambessa took the opportunity to wrap her hands around both of my arms. I struggle in her hold as she pulls me down to look at her.

“You will not win this fight- stop fucking moving,” she demands coldly as she glares up at me. “For over a month you have been a thorn in my side and I expect nothing but obedience from you of all people.”

“Sorry to disappoint, General. But I’m not gonna be one of your obedient bitches you keep on a tight rein.”

That pisses her OFF.

She pulls me down to her chest and twists me around so that my back is to her front. Her arm comes around and wraps around my neck and she starts squeezing. I claw at her arm as I gasp for air to no avail.

“Let this be a lesson. Don’t let it happen again,” she murmurs in my ear before releasing me. My hand goes to my neck as I cough, inhaling deep breaths. I watch as Ambessa walks out of the training arena, disappearing into the hallway.

•••

The sun has just set on the horizon. I watch as the guards make their rounds outside as I sit perched in the window seat. Deciding I’m hungry, I pad over to the door of the room, opening it slowly. The hallway outside is eerily quiet. With a furrow in my brows I summon a newt and release it to let it creep down the hall silently. A few minutes go by in silence before it returns to me, scurrying down the hall. It climbs its way up my body until it reaches my shoulder where it perches itself.

“Well? What is it?” I ask calmly. The newt makes a quiet chirp sound before biting down on my hair and tugging. “Okay, okay I’ll go check it out…. Sheesh.”

I walk down the hallway and round the corner. All the lanterns in the hallway are out which is unusual because they are always on. Being cautious I continue down the hallway when all of a sudden I’m grabbed by someone. I go to let out a scream but a thick hand comes to cover my mouth. I struggle in my captor's arms but they are too strong.

Out of nowhere another person, wearing a mask that covers the lower part of their face, comes and binds my hands together. With my mouth covered by tape, the two intruders hog carry me through the halls and out of the palace into the gardens. I rub my mouth against my arm and am able to remove the tape from my mouth.

“Help!” I yell as loud as I can. The people quickly drop me and climb on top of me trying to put the piece of tape back.

“Shut her up,” the bigger one hissed as he looked around anxiously.

“Get off of me,” I say as I try to kick my feet out from under the smaller guy who’s on top of me.

The dudes attempt to put the tape back are halted. When he goes still I look up at him quizzical before he slumps on top of me, dead with an arrow sticking out of his back. I look in the direction of where it came from and almost sigh in relief. Ambessa.

She has a cross bow and steps out into the snow, it crunching beneath her feet. “Why didn’t you stay put, child?” She asks, running a hand down her face. The other intruder I watch from the corner of my eyes starts to slowly back away from us. Ambessa without looking raises her crossbow and shoots him, her eyes never straying from mine.

I shrug. “Free will.” She helps me stand up and takes out a knife to cut through the ropes on my hands. As she does I look out towards the edge of the palace property where the clean cut land turns to overgrowing forests. I turn my attention back to Ambessa but I can’t stop glancing back at it with a bad feeling in my stomach.

“Someone’s out there,” I say quietly just loud enough for her to hear me.

“Hm? What are you talking about?”

“There's someone, a lot of someone’s, past the tree line,” I repeat. When I say that it’s like a stampede as 15 or 20 people come running out of the trees armed at the ready. Out of nowhere, some of Ambessa’s soldiers come charging towards them. The two groups clash and fighting ensues.

The intruders start dropping like flies but the warriors are severely outnumbered. Ambessa joins in the fighting and I’m left to watch. I watch as more and more of the warriors start to fall and realize why. The opponent is using sorcery. I take off running towards the fight and quickly turn into a shadow myself. I move swiftly and silently through the masses of people, returning back to my physical form to kill the intruders before shadowing and moving on to the next.

In less than 2 minutes I’ve decimated all of them. I return back to my physical form, covered from head to toe in blood. I look down at my watch and stop the timer with a shaky hand.

I went over my time limit, completely exerting myself.

I watch as the Noxian soldiers dust themselves off and as Ambessa finishes off her last intruder. She looks over at me with both shock and intrigue. What she doesn’t notice is the lone straggler aiming a spear at her back. Using all that’s left of my energy, I throw my arm up and erect a wall behind her.

The spear deflects off of it, clattering to the ground. I sway on my feet and feel myself falling, my body going limp. My breathing is shallow. I watch as Ambessa breaks someone’s neck. I blink and she’s kneeling beside me. I blink and suddenly I’m being carried inside. When I close my eyes I don’t open them again.

••• The smell of eucalyptus and a rubbing sensation of my arm brings me to. Slowly opening my eyes the first thing I notice is that I’m in a bathtub. Second, I’m not alone. I go to sit up.

“Don’t even think about it, you’ve done enough today,” I hear Ambessa say from behind me.

Looking down I see that my bindings and my underwear are still on. I also note the murkiness of the water. Despite how much I want to get away from her, I can’t bring myself to get up because of how much my body aches.

I go to move and groan. Ambessa sighs and gently readjusts me into a more comfortable position. “Oh how stubborn you are,” she mutters as she runs the washcloth over the back of my neck.

I don’t say anything and neither does she. We sit in silence. As she cleans me her touch is tender but firm. For the first time in years, I’m being taken care of instead of being left to lick my own wounds. Why? What does she want from me? Everyone always has ulterior motives for stuff like this, right?

“Your tense,” she notes as her hands run over my shoulders.

“Why are you doing this, Ambessa?” I question, my voice coming out raspy.

I can tell this takes her aback as her movements on my body halt. “What do you mean, child?”

I huff. “I mean,” I say as I once again try to sit up from laying back on her and I hiss. “Why are you sitting in dirty bath water cleaning blood off me?”

Ambessa’s brows furrowed together and her eyes softened at my pain. “Is it so hard to believe I care for you to some degree?” She states calmly.

I chuckle. “Kind of. I mean I guess not, I’m surprised you haven’t killed me yet with how much I’ve been a pain.”

Her laugh reverberates in her chest and my body feels warm. “Trust me, I think about doing it more than you’d think.” I know she’s talking about killing me but the way she said it, makes my mind go back to our encounter in the kitchen. “Do you do that often?”

“Do what?”

“The turning into a shadow thing,”

“Growing up I never really had a choice,” I admit as I try to relax in Ambessa’s hold. “I didn’t like doing it though. I end up like this and…never exactly had anyone to do this for me. So thank you.”

“Anytime.” We both stay silent as she finishes cleaning me up. When she’s finished she gets herself out of the tub and I sneak glances as she wraps herself in a towel. I can’t tell if I’m sad or relieved that she was also wearing some kind of covering.

She comes over to me, moves my arm to wrap around her neck, and lifts me out of the tub. The movement causes me to whimper. “Forgive me, little one. I have to put you down to dry you off, can you stand?”

I nod. She places me down on my feet and I wobble slightly, her arm is there to steady me. Holding eye contact with me, she lowers herself down to my level, places my hands on her shoulders and starts drying me off. “I can dry myself off. You don’t need to-“

“No you can’t and you're right, I don’t need to do this, but I want to. So stand still.”

For once I listen to her.

She dries me off making sure every inch of my body is dry. Leaving me to lean against the bathroom counter for a moment she goes and gets me some clothes, before leaving me to get dressed. I change my underwear and take off my bindings before dressing in the clothes she brought me: a loose fitted top and lounge pants.

Once I’m dressed I use the wall to keep myself up as I make my way to the door. When I open it I’m startled at Ambessa standing right there. “I see the clothes fit.”

I hum in acknowledgment. “Can you take me to my room now?” I ask anxiously, not trusting myself in such close proximity to her.

She appears to be mulling it over for a second. “No.”

“Why?”

“Seeing as you can’t even walk without being supported, you're staying in here.” She says with finality in her voice.

I look at her dumbfounded. “I don’t want to stay here.”

She leans in close to my face. “Frankly, I don’t care what you want,” she admits as she scoops me into her arms.

“Ambessa, put me down,” I protested.

“Stop squirming, you’re going to hurt yourself more,” she states as she places me down on what I assume is her bed.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t even sleep so being in here is pointless.”

Ambessa ignores me as she goes to sit at her desk in the corner of the room and begin writing on some papers. Now that I’m sitting on it, this bed is very comfortable. The pillows and blankets make it seem even more inviting. After the events of today, I am exhausted so I lay down covering myself with the comforter.

•••

Unbeknownst to you, Ambessa quietly watches you drift off to sleep. She would never admit to it, but having you against her chest in the bathroom had her heart pounding. Ever since you’d arrived she couldn’t keep you out of her mind. Suddenly filled with the urge to take care of and provide for you. Every time she was reminded of you father and what you’d been through, she was filled with rage that made her want to break their agreement and go to war. Never would she think of putting her own children through harm so… why would he?

She’s brought out of her thoughts when she hears you groan. At first she thinks it’s your body aches and that you're probably just moving in your sleep. But when she looks at you, you're not moving. In fact you haven't moved from that position in the hour that you’ve been asleep.

Standing up from her desk she makes her way over to you, concern written on her face. She takes a knee beside the bed taking note of your labored breathing despite being asleep and the furrow in your brows. Her hand comes up and gently caresses your cheek, her other hand rubs at the tension between your brows. Slowly your face relaxes and your breathing evens out.

Even though you're fine now Ambessa sits and stares at you for a moment before getting up and going to the other side of the bed, laying on top of the covers.

[w31rd0-art1st]

May01st Day 1: New experiences

@may01st

Shiny Tup & Dogma

The boys got dragged around on their first ever shore leave, their older brothers bought them clones, dragged them off to get their first tattoos, and introduced them to food other than the awful tasting rations.

May01st(2025) Master list

First of all, we're not talking about the fact I didn't give Tup fingers. I spent all my energy on Dogma's and I couldn't find any good references for Tup either so I gave him mittens instead.

Also, sorry for the poor lightning and background, I tried my best!

This drawing took me 5 hours and 46 minutes and I don't regret it at all, even if I don't like some parts. I'm still happy with it!

[polo-drone-070]

Golden Army vs. Pachy Pack 

(This is a collab, done with most of Management :@brodygold, @polo-drone-084, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001, @polo-drone-110, @danielgold-16. Special thanks to @polo-drone-050 for sharing his expertise on Hockey to proofread and improve the story, and to @polo-drone-151 for helping with a difficult picture. Results and MVP were based on activity in match preparation. Thanks to all the bros that participated.)

First Period

The arena was alive with energy as fans packed the stands, waving banners and chanting for their teams. On one side, the Pachy Pack’s supporters, clad in grey and white, stomped in unison, mimicking the rumble of an elephant herd. On the other side, a sea of shimmering gold erupted in deafening cheers as the Golden Army players took the ice. Their energy was matched by Maximus (@polo-drone-070) as a The Gold Knight and Leander (@leander-gold-88) as Dorado, who dashed along the sidelines in their mascot uniforms, rallying the crowd with every dramatic gesture.

Xavier (@polo-drone-039) stood at the edge of the Golden bench, leaning on his crutches. His presence, despite his injury, was a beacon of inspiration for his teammates. "Oi, lads! Let’s show these tuskers what we’re made of! Gold doesn’t break!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

The players lined up for the opening faceoff, Herc (#9, @goldenherc9) , the Golden Captain, standing tall at center ice, locking eyes with his counterpart Devlin Quinn (#8), Captain of the Pachy Pack. The puck dropped, and the game began.

The Pachy Pack’s Stampede

The Pachy Pack came out strong, immediately showcasing their physical dominance. Sloan Ivanov (#99), known as “The Crusher,” made his presence felt early with a devastating check on Brock (#46, @brockgold), sending him into the boards. Standing back up, pissed at the clearly missed penalty from the refs, Brock shook it off, but the message was clear: the Pack wasn’t here to play nice.

Viktor Makarov (#21) barreled down the ice, his massive frame plowing through Chevy (#63, @chevy-gold) and Briar (#50, @polo-drone-050) as if they weren’t even there. He launched a blistering slapshot, but Daniel (#16, @danielgold-16), the Gold Team’s goalie, made a brilliant glove save, locking down the puck and ending the pack’s play, drawing cheers from the crowd.

“Nice one, Danny!” Xavier hollered, pumping his fist from the sidelines.

The Gold Team struggled to find their footing against the Packy Pack’s relentless pressure. Magnus “The Tusk” Johansson (#12), the Pack’s goalie, was a wall, blocking early attempts from Max (#32) and Grayden (#84, @polo-drone-084). Despite Herc’s best efforts to rally the team, the Pachy Pack’s “Tusk Wall” defense seemed impenetrable.

The First Goal

Midway through the period, the Pachy Pack struck first. Devlin Quinn orchestrated a smooth play, threading a pass through Gold’s defense to Viktor, who was parked in front of the net. Viktor muscled past Brock and Chevy, tapping the puck past Daniel on the rebound.

The arena erupted in cheers from the Packy fans as the scoreboard lit up: 1–0 Pachy Pack.

Herc skated to the bench, his jaw tight but his eyes blazing with determination. “Keep your heads up, lads. We’re not letting them get another one,” he said, his voice steady.

The Turning Point

With under two minutes left in the period, Grayden found himself in a one-on-one battle with Sloan along the boards. Sloan, ever the enforcer, attempted to shove Grayden off the puck with his brute strength, but Grayden used his speed and agility to slip away. The crowd roared as Grayden fired a crisp pass to Herc in the neutral zone, sparking a counterattack.

Herc weaved through two Packy defenders with effortless precision, closing in on Magnus. He faked a slapshot, drawing Magnus out of position, and snapped the puck into the top corner of the net.

“YES, LAD!” Xavier shouted from the bench, his crutches clattering as he cheered.

The arena exploded with noise as Herc raised his stick, his teammates swarming him to celebrate. The scoreboard now read 1–1, and the Gold Team had found their spark.

End of the First Period

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the period. The Gold Team skated to the bench, their confidence renewed. Maximus waved his sword dramatically, whipping the Golden fans into a frenzy. Dorado, ever the showman, performed a mock joust with the Packy mascot, drawing laughter and cheers from the stands.

In the locker room, Herc addressed the team, his voice calm but commanding. “We’re in this, lads. Keep pushing. They might be big, but we’re smarter, faster, and hungrier. Let’s play our game.”

Grayden, still catching his breath, Thought of Sloan’s frustrated figure back on the ice and smirked to himself. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. 

With the score tied at 1–1, the stage was set for an explosive second period.

Second Period: A Golden Turnaround

The Pachy Pack charged into the second period with the same physical dominance that defined the first. Sloan Ivanov (#99), the Pack’s resident “goon,” wasted no time throwing heavy checks and stirring chaos on the ice, making it clear he hadn’t forgotten his rivalry with Grayden (#84). Viktor Makarov (#21) continued to crash the net, relentlessly testing Daniel (#16) with shots from every angle.

Despite the Pachy Pack’s aggression, Herc (#9) kept his team focused, his booming voice cutting through the chaos. “Stay sharp, lads! Play smart, stick to the plan!” Herc barked, his commanding presence grounding the team and keeping their discipline intact even as Sloan tried to instigate further.

Packy Strikes First

Four minutes into the period, Devlin Quinn (#8) took advantage of a sloppy turnover by Darryl (#62, @darryl-gold). With a burst of speed, he deked around Briar (#50) and slid a backhand past Daniel, putting the Packy Pack up 2–1.

The Packy fans erupted as Devlin skated past the Gold bench with a smug grin. Sloan added to the chirping, sending a hard check into Grayden, who stumbled but refused to fall.

Brock Steps Up

The Golden Army refused to back down. Herc’s leadership shone as he pushed his players to dig deeper. "Come on, Brock! Show them what you’ve got!" he shouted, clapping his stick against the ice.

Brock (#46), filling in for the injured Xavier, rose to the challenge. Moments later, Alex (#64, @polo-drone-151) set him up with a clean pass at the blue line. Brock wound up and unleashed a blistering slapshot, the puck deflecting off a Packy defender and into the net. The crowd roared as Brock tied the game 2–2, throwing his fist into the air with a triumphant yell.

Grayden vs. Sloan

The turning point came with just over five minutes left in the period. Sloan, growing frustrated, delivered a reckless hit on Grayden, sending him sprawling to the ice. The referee’s whistle blew, and Sloan was sent to the penalty box for boarding. Herc skated over to Grayden, helping him to his feet. “You good, lad?” he asked. Grayden nodded, fire in his eyes. “Yeah, Cap. Let’s make ‘em pay for that.”

On the ensuing power play, Grayden showed why he was quickly becoming a key player. In a dazzling display of skill, he weaved through the Packy defense and fired a perfect pass to Herc, who slammed the puck past Magnus “The Tusk” Johansson (#12). Herc’s second goal of the night put Gold up 3–2, and the Golden fans went wild.

End of the Second Period

As the horn sounded, the Gold Team skated to the bench with renewed energy. Herc’s steady leadership and the team’s resilience had turned the tide. In the locker room, Herc kept the momentum alive.

“They’re cracking, lads. Keep up the pressure, and this is ours. Stay focused, play for each other, and let’s finish this strong!”

Grayden, still seething from his clash with Sloan, smirked. “We’re not letting them off easy.”

The Gold Team was ready to finish what they’d started.

Third Period: Unstoppable Gold

With the Pachy Pack growing desperate, the Gold Team capitalized on their frustration. Herc’s leadership was in full effect, directing plays and keeping his teammates calm under pressure.

“Stay tight, lads. Don’t let them back in,” Herc said, his voice clear and commanding.

Ezan Shines

Early in the period, Ezan (#1, @polo-drone-001) made his mark. Picking up a loose puck in the neutral zone, he powered past two defenders and ripped a wrist shot over Magnus’s glove, extending the Gold lead to 4–2. Ezan skated to the bench with a confident grin, bumping fists with Herc.

Briar’s Moment

With just over six minutes left, the Pachy Pack launched a ferocious push, determined to claw their way back into the game. Viktor Makarov (#21) thundered down the ice, barreling toward Daniel (#16) with Devlin Quinn (#8) flanking him. It looked like a guaranteed goal.

But Briar (#50) read the play perfectly. As Viktor tried to drive to the crease, Briar stepped into his path and delivered a bone-crunching check, sending Viktor sprawling to the ice. The crowd erupted as Briar scooped up the loose puck and cleared it out of the zone.

“Atta boy, Briar!” Herc shouted, skating by and giving him a hard stick tap. The play killed the Packy Pack’s momentum and drew chants of “Briar! Briar!” from the Gold fans.

Grayden Seals the Deal

With less than five minutes remaining, Grayden delivered the dagger. Breaking free from Sloan’s shadow, he dekes past two Packy defenders, pulls Magnus out of position, and roofs the puck into the net. The crowd erupted as Grayden celebrated, pointing to Herc and Xavier on the bench in acknowledgment of their leadership and support.

Sloan, furious and embarrassed, took another penalty for slashing Grayden after the goal, effectively ending his night.

Daniel’s Final Save

The Pachy Pack mounted one last push, but Daniel was a wall in goal. In the final minute, Viktor blasted a slapshot from the blue line, but Daniel dove across the crease to make a spectacular glove save, preserving the 5–2 scoreline.

Post-Match Celebration: A Golden Playoff Victory

As the final buzzer sounded, the arena erupted in cheers, the Golden Army celebrating not just a hard-fought 5–2 victory, but a ticket to the playoffs. The Gold Team flooded the ice, their golden jerseys shimmering under the lights. This wasn’t just any win—it was the win that would send them to the Cup.

Herc (#9), the heart of the team, stood tall at the center of the celebration. His leadership had held the team together on and off the ice, pushing them to excel when it mattered most. “We’re goin’ to the Cup, lads!” Herc shouted, raising his stick to the roaring crowd.

Brock (#46) was swarmed by his teammates, his breakout performance earning him chants from the fans. Grayden (#84), one of the night’s stars, skated over to him and said, “You earned this, bruv. Proper legend tonight.” Grayden himself had overcome the relentless aggression of Sloan to deliver game-changing plays, his rivalry now firmly settled.

Xavier, still on crutches, joined the celebration, his voice hoarse from cheering all game. “Oi, lads! You smashed it out there!” he called, grinning as Herc pulled him into a one-armed hug.

Behind the scenes, Briar (#50), ever the strategist, had been pivotal in organizing the defensive plays that turned the tide. He had kept the team focused under the Packy Pack’s pressure, ensuring every moment on the ice counted. Herc caught his eye during the celebration, giving him an approving nod. “Solid work tonight, Briar. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

On the sidelines, Maximus as The Golden Knight and Leander as Dorado kept the energy alive, leading the fans in chants as they waved the Golden Army flag. “Oi, Gold’s goin’ to the playoffs!” Maximus bellowed, earning deafening cheers. Leander capped it off with a final playful face-off against the Packy mascot, sending the crowd into hysterics.

The Pachy Pack skated off defeated, their physical dominance undone by the Gold Team’s skill, strategy, and unshakable unity.

Back in the locker room, the celebration continued with cheers and popping champagne. Herc raised a bottle high. “To the Gold, and to the Cup! This is our year, lads!” The room erupted, every bro and drone united in one purpose: to bring the Cup home.

__________ To join the Gold Army, contact one of our recruiters @brodygold, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.

[k0libra]

Phew, this one was not easy to draw! I am satisfied with the final result though. Procreate says that the piece took me 9 hours 46 minutes and 7840 strokes haha.

Hope you like it too! :> he's just chilling

The picture was referenced from one of the virtual photos that @singularity-ps4 posted on their twitter

[jomunson]

50 ed headcanons i been thinking about

1. washes his hair with bar soap

2. doesn't like coffee

3. his father is in jail and his mother passed when he was 11

4. secretly gets really scared when it storms

5. says "hubba bubba"

6. gets super miserable in the summer, he burns super easily

7. swims with goggles and a snorkel

8. wears his hair in a towel when he gets out of the shower

9. super good and confident with flirting with men but really awkward and flustered with flirting with women

10. will say "is this guy bothering you, babe?" if you ever run into furniture

11. love language is words of affirmation, he wants to know you don't see him as a freak

12. sleeps with a garfield plush he's had since he was a boy

13. really bad at fishing, like he'll actually catch a boot when he goes on trips to the creek with wayne

14. burps the abc's

15. took his driving test drunk

16. when he gets home from school he's tired from being a tough guy, he reads a book and smokes before falling asleep

17. thinks people are pranking him when they ask him out

18. wears silly red and pink heart designed boxers

19. really sweet with the kids who live in the trailer park

20. will leave a handful of change as a tip

21. can only cook spaghetti. only spaghetti.

22. biggest fear is the koolaid man coming alive

23. minute man munson (iykyk)

24. will ask people to name 3 songs if their wearing a band tee

25. put lipstick on one time and felt pretty

26. prefers apple juice over orange juice

27. absolutely loves halloween

28. extremely competitive

29. hits people when he's excited/laughing

30. sits really close to the tv like an ipad kid

31. moans while getting beat up to make it awkward

32. extremely allergic to cats but loves them to death

33. birthday is april 19th 1966

34. has skinny dipped w his bros in lovers lake

35. fein for chocolate chip pancakes

36. eats skittles for lunch

37. tried to do a karate kick and ripped his pants once

38. calls his van his baby

39. lifts his leg when he farts and thinks it's peak humor

40. won a goldfish from the fair and fed it crushes doritos for 4 months and cried when it died

41. writes reminders on the palm of his hand and it gets smeared on his face

42. always cuts his face when he shaves on accident

43. when he draws and has to erase he does it so hard it rips holes in the paper

44. feels cool because he doesn't carry around a backpack at school

45. scared of moths

46. has lost pencils in his hair

47. flips his boxers inside out so he can wear them longer

48. has to be told to shower

49. tried to pierce his ears and sobbed and then they got infected

50. his nose gets the brightest red in the winter

[uzumaki-ash]

Ooop whelp I’ve been gone for a hot minute!! I lowkey burnt myself out drawing so I took a break!! Yes, I’m still stuck at the Jayvik restaurant 🫠🫣 If you want to see the full it’s on my Twitter 😘😉oh also the full piece is Trans Viktor CAUSE I SAID SO!! AND IF YOU DONT LIKE IT SUCK IT!! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

https://x.com/helluva_nerd/status/1908707774957048178?s=46&t=9KXBjvW0BtxZmTRSiAZ_9w

[lightdancingwords]

Breaking The Wall - Part Five of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 7,227

Tags/Warnings: Cop procedures, police work, angst (so much), tension, violence

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Posting schedule will be 1 to 2 times a week for this series. We'll see how it goes!

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Five: Holding Space

Tuesday – 7:46 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Cruiser Bay

The morning light slanted in through the open bay doors, soft and pale. Patrol units were gearing up, voices low, equipment clinking faintly under the buzz of overhead lights.

Tim stood by the cruiser, coffee in one hand, checking the MDT screen.

Rachel walked up right on time.

No rush. No edge. No tension in her shoulders.

She had her hair back the same way she always did. Same uniform. Same clean lines.

But when she stopped beside him, something was different.

She didn’t look through him.

She looked at him.

“Morning,” she said.

Not an afterthought.

Not automatic.

Real.

Tim looked over at her, and whatever he expected… it wasn’t that.

“Morning,” he said back, matching her tone.

Then she held out a small, quiet offering—an extra protein bar from her pocket. The kind he kept in the glove box for long days.

He raised a brow. “You steal that from my stash?”

“No,” she said, dry. “I bought it. This one’s mine.”

He took it, eyes still on her.

She didn’t explain the gesture.

Didn’t deflect.

Just climbed into the cruiser and waited.

Tim followed, buckling in.

Radio chatter buzzed in the background, but the silence between them was easy now.

She was still quiet.

Still composed.

Still her.

But when she turned to ask what their first call was?

She didn’t look through him.

She looked at him.

And for Tim, that was everything.

Tuesday – 10:14 A.M. – Boyle Heights, Suspicious Circumstances

The radio call came through with vague details: “7-Adam-07, possible 459 in progress. Caller states people are coming and going from a vacant property. Address on record is foreclosed.”

Rachel tapped the address into the MDT, frowning. “That area’s a patchwork. Some streets half-occupied, others straight-up abandoned.”

Tim nodded. “Could be squatters. Could be worse.”

They rolled up on the house in question ten minutes later. Small, single-story. Front yard overgrown. Blinds drawn tight. The mailbox hung open, stuffed with weeks of flyers and coupons. No car in the driveway.

Tim cut the engine and scanned the perimeter.

Rachel unbuckled. “Side gate’s rusted open.”

They moved slow. Standard sweep.

Rachel took the rear. Tim approached the front door, knocking twice.

“LAPD. Anyone inside?”

No answer.

Then Rachel’s voice in his earpiece: “Window in the back’s broken. Entry possible.”

Tim moved around to join her. The back door creaked open beneath her hand—unlocked.

They stepped inside together.

The house was dark. Hot. Smelled like damp drywall and old wood. No immediate signs of activity—until they reached the living room.

Sleeping bags. Empty takeout containers. Piles of clothes. Someone had been staying here. Maybe still was.

Tim scanned the hallway. “Two doors left. I’ll take the one on the right.”

Rachel nodded, drawing her sidearm.

They split—just a few feet apart.

Tim opened the door to a gutted bathroom—nothing inside but a broken vanity and a few dusty footprints.

Then—

Rachel’s voice: sharp. “Hold.”

Tim froze.

He turned just in time to see her lean through the other doorway.

Her posture changed immediately.

Weapon still drawn, but arms soft. Not aggressive.

She spoke, calm but firm.

“It’s okay. Don’t move.”

Tim stepped beside her—and saw the boy.

Couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Skinny. Shaking. Backpack on the floor beside him, hands raised halfway.

But his eyes weren’t on them.

They were on something behind the door.

Tim moved in a half-step, scanning—

And there it was.

Another figure, older. Male. Early twenties. Hoodie. Face flushed.

Holding a gun.

Tim didn’t raise his voice. “Put it down.”

The man’s hands twitched. “I’m not going back to jail.”

“No one said you were,” Rachel replied. “This doesn’t have to go that way.”

Tim could see it—the wildness in the guy’s eyes. The edge.

He was going to break.

And in that moment, everything slowed.

Rachel shifted.

Not drawing tighter.

Not backing off.

Positioning.

Tim mirrored without a word.

No plan. No hand signals.

Just instinct.

Their rhythm, intact.

The man’s finger twitched.

And Rachel moved—fast, precise.

She got between the teenager and the gun without hesitation, weapon up.

Tim took the angle, sidestepped wide.

Gun pointed nowhere safe now—no chance for a clean shot from the suspect.

Rachel’s voice was cold now. “Put. It. Down.”

The man blinked. Looked at both of them.

Two different kinds of steel.

Then his arm dropped.

Gun clattered to the ground.

Tim moved. Cuffed. Secured.

Rachel lowered her weapon only once the boy was sitting on the bed, breathing hard.

She stood there a moment longer.

Then exhaled—slow and deep.

Tim looked at her. “You good?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

And she was.

Because he was there.

And she’d moved like he would be.

Later, while writing the report in the cruiser, Rachel handed him his pen before he even asked for it.

Tim looked at her.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

Because now?

They understood each other.

And that made all the difference.

Wednesday – 7:05 A.M. – Roll Call Room, Mid-Wilshire Division

Grey stood at the front, arms folded, eyes moving over the group as officers settled into the morning debrief. His voice was steady as always, giving updates on precinct-level alerts, recent case pushes, and new directives from downtown.

But as he scanned the room, his gaze paused—just for a moment—on Rachel and Tim seated near the back.

They weren’t whispering. Weren’t doing anything that stood out.

But they were in sync.

Rachel leaned back, arms folded loosely, her notes already on her lap.

Tim had one boot crossed over the other, flipping through the MDT summaries.

They didn’t glance at each other.

Didn’t have to.

Grey’s voice continued without a break, but there was a faint shift in tone when he hit the day’s assignments.

“Bradford and Grace—same sector. Same unit. Per usual.”

No one blinked.

But Grey’s eyes stayed on them half a second longer.

And he made a small, almost-smile as he added: “Don’t make it look too easy. You’re starting to make the rest of them look bad.”

A few quiet chuckles around the room.

Rachel didn’t react.

Tim did—just slightly. A small tilt of his head.

But Grey didn’t elaborate.

He just moved on.

Later – 8:21 A.M. – Grey’s Office, Open Door

Grey was standing behind his desk, scanning over a crime heat map. Tim knocked once and stepped in, nodding in quiet acknowledgment.

“Got a second?” Tim asked.

Grey looked up. “You already got the assignment.”

Tim held up a folder. “Need your signature on the report from yesterday’s call. The squatters, one with the firearm.”

Grey nodded, motioning for him to set it on the desk. Tim did, placing it neatly before stepping back.

Grey glanced at the report—just long enough.

Then looked back up at Tim.

“You know,” he said, voice quiet, “a few months ago, I wasn’t sure how that partnership was going to hold.”

Tim waited, still.

“I don’t pair people just to give them stability,” Grey continued. “That’s not the job. But I also don’t ignore when something works.”

He flipped the folder closed.

“And you two? You work.”

Tim nodded once. “Thanks.”

Grey watched him for a beat longer, then added, with more weight: “She doesn’t move like someone who’s alone out there anymore.”

Tim met his eyes.

Neither of them said it outright.

But both knew what it meant.

Grey signed the folder, handed it back.

“Just keep doing the job right.”

“We will,” Tim said.

He turned to go.

And before he reached the door, Grey added—almost offhand: “And Bradford?”

Tim paused.

Grey didn’t look up this time. Just said: “Don’t lose sight of what she’s giving you back.”

Tim nodded again, quieter now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then he stepped out into the hallway, report in hand, and walked back toward the woman who—just a few months ago—wouldn’t let anyone near her.

And now?

She waited for him.

Not obviously.

Not intentionally.

But still—there.

And that mattered.

Wednesday – 11:23 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Brief Lull Between Calls

The bullpen was unusually quiet for midday. Phones buzzed now and then, officers walked in and out with reports and refills, and overhead lights hummed with a lazy fluorescent buzz. Tim and Rachel had just walked in from a call—simple B&E, no suspect on scene, report written clean.

Rachel peeled off toward the filing station with the report. Tim paused by the coffee machine, watching her move across the room—nothing dramatic. Just watching.

Lucy stood by the opposite wall, finishing off a protein bar, half-paying attention to her own screen.

Until she caught that look.

Not long.

Not intense.

But it wasn’t casual.

She crossed the room, tossing the wrapper into the bin, and slid up beside Tim.

“You know,” she said, tone light, “for someone who claims nothing’s happening, you look at her like there is.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Hi, Lucy.”

She smirked, unfazed. “Hey, Tim.”

He poured coffee. Black. No hesitation.

Lucy leaned a hip against the counter, arms loosely crossed. “You two have a rhythm now. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

Tim took a slow sip. “We’ve worked together long enough.”

“You’re synced,” she said. “Not just in the field. Everywhere.”

He didn’t answer.

She turned her head slightly, watching Rachel pass a report off at the admin desk, then pivot and head their direction. Calm. Smooth. Completely composed.

“She still doesn’t let anyone close,” Lucy said. “Except you.”

Tim didn’t look away from Rachel as she walked toward them.

“I didn’t ask for that,” he said.

“No,” Lucy said. “You earned it.”

Rachel slowed as she reached the edge of the table. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Tim replied, finishing his coffee.

Rachel glanced once at Lucy. Gave a short, neutral nod. Then turned toward the door.

Tim fell into step beside her like it was second nature.

And Lucy watched them walk away, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing.

But their silence was full.

And she knew Tim felt it too.

Angela stepped up beside her just then, catching Lucy’s look.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Angela asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Lucy didn’t answer right away. Then: “They don’t know it yet.”

Angela smirked. “She’s letting him in.”

Lucy nodded. “And he’s already there.”

They watched the door swing shut behind them.

Angela nudged her. “Five bucks says he’s the one who figures it out first.”

Lucy smiled faintly. “Ten says she doesn’t let him say it.”

Angela chuckled. “Twenty says he does anyway.”

And with that, they went back to their day.

But the feeling lingered.

Because everyone could see it now—

And it was only a matter of time before Tim and Rachel did too.

Thursday – 4:14 P.M. – Dispatch Call

Rachel sat in the cruiser’s passenger seat, fingers tapping lightly against her thigh. Tim was driving, calm behind the wheel, when the radio crackled to life.

“7-Adam-07, multiple 911 calls reporting a domestic incident escalating into shots fired. 4328 Carver Avenue. Possible hostages.”

Tim reached for the receiver. “7-Adam-07 responding. Requesting backup and SWAT.”

Rachel had already keyed the address into the MDT. “That’s residential. Tight street. Two-story house. Good lines of sight—but not a lot of cover.”

“Could be bad,” Tim said.

Rachel’s jaw was tight. “Already is.”

Thursday – 4:32 P.M. – Arrival at Carver Avenue

The street was chaos by the time they pulled up. Multiple units on site. Civilians gathered behind barricades. The pop of radio chatter layered with low shouting from the front yard. Yellow tape flapping. Officers crouched behind cruisers, weapons drawn.

A SWAT van had just arrived, team unloading fast.

Grey was already there, coordinating.

Tim pulled in behind the lead unit. He and Rachel stepped out fast, guns holstered but hands ready.

“Grey,” Tim called, making his way over.

Grey turned, scanning both of them. “Male suspect, armed, confirmed holding one hostage. Wife got out and called it in. Reports say he's unstable, threatening to kill himself and anyone who enters.”

Rachel’s eyes went to the house—a modest two-story. White siding. Small porch. Cracked steps. Blinds drawn.

Something about it—

Too familiar.

“SWAT’s preparing for breach,” Grey continued. “You’re perimeter backup.”

Tim nodded. “Copy that.”

Rachel didn’t respond. Just stared at the house.

Thursday – 4:44 P.M. – Tension Mounting

Rachel and Tim positioned across the side yard with a SWAT sniper covering their line. Everything felt sharp. Focused. Controlled.

But Rachel’s breath had started to change—barely.

Not fast.

Just shallow.

The porch.

The siding.

The angle of the window.

It was too close.

Tim caught the edge in her posture. “You good?”

She nodded once, sharp. “Fine.”

Then—

Gunfire.

Two shots.

Close.

Rachel dropped instantly into a crouch, weapon out, back tight against the wall.

Grey’s voice blasted through the comms.

“Officer down—front line. Medic up! Vest caught it. He’s breathing.”

Rachel froze.

Vest caught it.

He’s breathing.

But in her ears, she didn’t hear the comms anymore.

She heard a different voice.

Another street.

Another porch.

Another gunshot.

Jake’s body hitting the ground.

Thursday – 4:45 P.M. – Locked In

Rachel blinked—but she couldn’t see the present.

Couldn’t hear the voices around her.

The world was dull and far away. Her ears rang, sharp and uneven. Her pulse thundered. Her fingers clenched around her weapon without her realizing it.

She was crouched in the same position she’d been in the day Jake fell.

Same breath.

Same burn behind her eyes.

Same helplessness.

“Rachel!”

The shout was close—real—but muted.

Like underwater.

“Grace, you with me?!”

She couldn’t answer.

Couldn’t move.

Her mind had locked the moment in.

And all she could see—

Was blood on white siding.

Thursday – 4:47 P.M. – Carver Avenue, Side Yard

“Rachel!”

Tim’s voice cut sharp through the ringing.

She didn’t respond. Knees still bent, body crouched low against the side of the house, one hand gripping her sidearm so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Eyes fixed on something that wasn’t here.

Tim stepped in close.

Close enough to see the tremble in her jaw. The sweat on her temple despite the chill in the air.

He didn’t touch her. Just crouched beside her and said, low:

“Hey. You’re here. Right now. Look at me.”

Her breath hitched. But her eyes didn’t move.

“Rachel,” he repeated, voice gentler now. “The officer’s okay. It wasn’t—this isn’t—what you think it is.”

That broke something.

Her head snapped toward him, eyes suddenly wide—present.

But off.

Like she wasn’t sure where she’d just come from.

“I’m fine,” she said too fast, voice clipped. “It just caught me off guard.”

Tim didn’t say anything.

Didn’t agree.

Didn’t argue.

Because she wasn’t fine.

And she knew he knew it.

Grey arrived moments later, walking fast from the front yard. “Suspect’s in custody. Scene’s cleared.”

He looked at Rachel.

And everything in his expression softened—but only slightly.

“Grace. Stand down.”

Rachel straightened automatically. “I’m good to finish perimeter.”

Grey’s voice cut across hers. “You’re done for today.”

“I said I’m—”

“I’m not asking,” Grey said, calm and absolute. “You’re benched until psych clears you.”

Rachel’s mouth snapped shut.

Not because she agreed.

But because she knew it was over.

Grey took one step closer, voice low but firm. “You’ve held it together a long time. Too long. But you froze up today. I saw it. He saw it.”

He nodded toward Tim.

Rachel’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” Grey interrupted. Not cruel. Just clear. “And I’m not letting you carry it alone anymore.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Rachel’s shoulders lowered, just barely.

She nodded once.

Tight.

Grey looked to Tim. “Get her back to the station. I’ll handle command.”

Rachel didn’t speak again.

Didn’t protest.

Didn’t even look up as she holstered her weapon and turned toward the cruiser.

Tim walked beside her in silence.

And this time?

She didn’t pull away.

Friday – 5:18 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The apartment was still.

The kind of still that seeped into the walls.

No music. No TV. No sound but the occasional groan of the building as it settled. Late afternoon sun spilled through the blinds in long, pale bars across the hardwood floor.

Rachel sat at the kitchen table, wearing an old black hoodie and sweatpants. Her hair was tied back loosely, not neatly. A mug of coffee sat untouched beside her, steam long since gone.

She wasn’t doing anything.

Just sitting.

Like if she stayed still enough, the weight pressing down on her chest might lift on its own.

It didn’t.

Her phone buzzed once.

She didn’t move.

Then—

A knock.

Soft. Not urgent.

She didn’t react at first.

Then another knock.

And a voice. Low. Familiar.

“Rachel.”

She blinked.

Slow.

Then stood, feet heavy against the floor, and crossed to the door. She looked through the peephole.

Tim.

In jeans, a dark shirt, jacket in hand. No uniform. No expectations.

Just him.

She hesitated.

Then opened the door.

Not all the way.

But enough.

They looked at each other.

Neither spoke.

Then Rachel stepped back.

Just a little.

But it was an answer.

Tim stepped inside without asking. Closed the door gently behind him. Took in the apartment—neat, sparse, untouched.

He didn’t say “How are you?”

Didn’t say “You okay?”

He walked into the kitchen, spotted the cold coffee, and poured it out in the sink.

Then he turned and asked, “Tea or something stronger?”

Rachel stared at him for a moment.

Then, soft: “Tea.”

He nodded, already opening the cabinet.

She sank onto the couch, watching him quietly from across the room. Watching him move in her space like he belonged there.

He didn’t ask what happened yesterday.

Didn’t press about Jake. Or the house. Or the porch.

He just handed her the cup when it was ready and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Silence stretched.

But it wasn’t cold.

It was full.

Heavy with the thing she’d never said.

And the thing he already knew.

Rachel held the tea in both hands, fingers curled around the warmth.

She didn’t say thank you.

But when her shoulders dropped just a little—and her breath eased out slow—

Tim knew.

She wasn’t okay.

Not yet.

But she wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Friday – 6:03 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Couch

The tea had gone warm in her hands. The cup sat untouched in her lap now, resting against her knees. Rachel stared at the far wall, eyes unfocused, posture still and sharp—but only because that’s how she kept herself from unraveling.

Tim hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes.

Still at the other end of the couch, legs stretched out, hands clasped loosely in his lap.

Waiting.

No pressure.

Just presence.

The silence had turned into something weighted and full. Not awkward. Just honest.

Rachel took a slow breath.

Then another.

And then, without looking at him, she said:

“It wasn’t the house.”

Tim didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Rachel’s voice stayed low. Measured. Barely there.

“It was the porch. The siding. The way the windows sat off-center. The moment I saw it, I was back there. Like my body knew before I did.”

She stared forward, eyes glassy but dry.

“I thought I’d locked that moment away. I know I did.”

Tim listened. Not interrupting. Just there.

Rachel swallowed hard. “It was supposed to be a clean call. Welfare check. Guy was known, flagged before. Jake took the lead.”

Her voice cracked on the name.

She didn’t stop.

“I was five steps behind. I watched it happen. The guy was in the hallway. Gun raised. Jake stepped left. I stepped right. He took the shot that was meant for me.”

Her hands tightened around the mug, shoulders straining under the weight of the memory.

“There was blood on the white siding,” she said, almost a whisper. “That’s what I remember most. Not his voice. Not the sound of the shot. Just the blood. Spattered like paint.”

She blinked once. Hard.

“I knelt beside him and tried to stop the bleeding, but it was—” Her jaw clenched. “It was already too much. Too fast.”

She didn’t cry.

Rachel Grace did not cry.

But her voice turned raw.

“I heard myself say his name. Over and over. And I remember thinking, ‘You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to leave me.’”

A pause.

Sharp.

Then: “I didn’t tell anyone that.”

Stillness settled.

Heavy. Final.

And then—

Tim’s voice, low and even: “Why now?”

Rachel turned to look at him.

And that was the most fragile thing she’d done all night.

Because she let him see her.

Not the officer.

Not the survivor.

Not the version that held it all together.

Just her.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t try to fix it,” she said.

Tim nodded once. “No.”

Rachel looked down at the cup again.

And then added, almost inaudibly: “He was the only one who ever really saw me.”

Tim’s voice was quieter now. “That’s not true.”

She looked up sharply.

He didn’t flinch.

“I see you.”

Simple.

Solid.

Rachel exhaled—slow and heavy.

And for the first time in two years, she didn’t feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to fall.

Because this time, someone was there.

Someone who stayed.

Friday – 6:27 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Couch

The quiet had stretched long after her voice fell away. The kind of quiet that felt alive—thick with everything they hadn’t said before and everything she’d just laid bare.

The mug of tea sat cooling in her lap, cradled in both hands, though she hadn’t taken a sip in over ten minutes. The room was dim now. Outside, the day was beginning to fold in on itself. Shadows crawled across the hardwood floor, catching on the edge of the rug, softening the corners of the room.

Rachel sat with her body curved inward just slightly—like someone not used to being off-balance but too tired to pretend otherwise.

She hadn’t meant to say it.

Not all of it.

But it had come out of her like a wound splitting open—slow and certain. And now it was there. Between them. Not to fix. Not to solve.

Just to sit with.

And Tim… still hadn’t moved.

He was exactly where he’d been for the past hour—on the opposite end of the couch, legs stretched in front of him, posture relaxed, as if stillness was the only way to meet her where she was.

He didn’t try to close the distance.

Didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t say anything.

Because somehow, he knew that silence meant more than comfort.

That staying was louder than any words could be.

Rachel shifted slightly. Her fingers loosened around the mug. She stared at it like it might still have answers, like if she focused hard enough, maybe the pressure in her chest would finally release.

It didn’t.

But the sharpness of it had dulled.

Or maybe… that was just him.

The silence between them had shifted—not empty, not tense, but full. Full of breath, and memory, and the weight of a name she hadn’t said out loud in a very long time.

She turned her head then. Looked at him.

Really looked.

Tim’s eyes met hers—calm, steady, unwavering.

She swallowed, throat tight.

Her voice, when it came, was barely there.

“Can you just… not go yet?”

There was no wobble in it.

No softness for sympathy’s sake.

Just truth.

Quiet. Honest. Exposed.

Tim didn’t blink.

Didn’t pause.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he said.

Simple.

Certain.

Rachel’s jaw shifted, and she nodded—just once.

Then she reached forward, set the untouched mug gently on the coffee table. Her fingers lingered there for a second too long, like she wasn’t sure what to do next.

And then she did something she hadn’t done in a long, long time:

She leaned back.

Not toward him.

Not into him.

Just back.

Like she could finally stop holding herself upright.

She sank into the cushion with a slow, controlled motion, exhaling in the same breath—shoulders lowering, face softening. The muscles in her body unclenched, piece by piece.

She didn’t close her eyes.

Didn’t drift.

She just let herself exist.

And Tim?

Tim didn’t shift a muscle.

He stayed at the far end of the couch, still and present.

No closer.

No further.

Just… there.

The room settled around them.

Outside, traffic passed like the world kept turning.

But inside, nothing moved.

And for the first time in a very long time, Rachel Grace didn’t feel like she had to be anywhere else.

Didn’t feel like she had to be anyone else.

Because he stayed.

Because he saw her.

Because he didn’t go.

Saturday – 7:12 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The world was soft when she woke.

Muted. Dim. The kind of quiet that settles before the rest of the city remembers to stir.

For a moment, Rachel didn’t move. She lay there on the couch, one arm curled loosely against her chest, the throw blanket—when had that gotten there?—draped over her legs, warm from her own body heat. The blinds were still drawn. Faint morning light seeped in around the edges, streaking across the coffee table and highlighting the gentle dust that floated through the air.

Her eyes opened slowly, gaze tracing the edges of her living room like she needed to remember where she was.

And then it came back.

The porch. The shot. Jake.

The weight of last night. What she’d said.

What she hadn’t meant to.

She let the memory sit, cool and sharp—but not unbearable.

Because she’d said it.

And because… he’d stayed.

Her eyes flicked toward the far end of the couch.

Empty now.

The blanket had been moved—carefully. The pillow where he must’ve leaned back was slightly askew, indented.

Her stomach twisted—not from panic.

From something else.

She sat up slowly, stretching her back as she stood. Her limbs ached, but not from exhaustion. From release.

Barefoot, she padded across the floor to the kitchen, rubbing a hand across her face.

And that’s when she saw it:

A second mug on the counter.

Clean. Dry.

And next to it—a sticky note, scribbled in Tim’s careful, no-nonsense handwriting:

“Didn’t want to wake you. Didn’t want to leave, either.”

Underneath that, a second line:

“Call me. Or don’t. I’m still here either way.”

Rachel stood there, one hand still resting on the counter, eyes fixed on that note like it was a foreign object.

No pressure.

No push.

Just presence.

It wasn’t poetry. Wasn’t romantic.

But it was him.

And for her? It was everything.

She took the note carefully, like it might tear if she breathed wrong.

Then she set it on the fridge and stepped back.

The apartment felt different now.

Still quiet.

But not empty.

Because he’d stayed.

And he would again.

Saturday – 11:18 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment

The sticky note still sat on the fridge.

Exactly where she’d left it.

Rachel moved around the apartment in slow, purposeful steps—cleaning surfaces that didn’t need cleaning, folding laundry that had already been folded, opening cabinets just to close them again. Everything in its place. Everything in control.

Except her thoughts.

They kept circling back.

Didn’t want to leave, either.

Call me. Or don’t. I’m still here either way.

The note echoed in her head with every quiet moment.

Her phone sat on the counter, charging. Lit up once with a news alert. Twice with spam. She didn’t touch it.

She poured herself a second cup of coffee and sat on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under her, thumb tapping absently against the ceramic.

The phone was within reach.

She glanced at it.

Then looked away.

Not yet.

1:42 P.M. – Grocery Store Parking Lot

She didn’t need to go.

But she went anyway.

The grocery store was quiet—weekend afternoon lull. She picked up almond milk, a bag of oranges, two things she didn’t need, and left without looking anyone in the eye.

When she got into the car, she sat for a moment before starting the engine. The bag rustled against the passenger seat. Sunlight burned through the windshield.

She picked up her phone.

Opened her contacts.

Scrolled to his name.

Paused.

Tim Bradford.

The call icon blinked at her, waiting.

Her thumb hovered above it.

Just press it.

Instead, she locked the screen and tossed the phone into the console.

Started the engine.

Backed out.

4:26 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Kitchen

She leaned against the counter, staring at the fridge.

The note was still there.

The apartment was clean, too quiet again. She had music playing low through her phone just to fill the space.

She dried her hands on a dish towel and reached for the phone again. Unlocked it. Stared at his name.

Pressed it once.

Felt her pulse jump.

Then hit back.

What would she even say?

He’d stayed. He’d heard her at her worst.

And she couldn’t tell if that made calling him easier—or harder.

7:31 P.M. – Couch

She sat on the couch, legs tucked under her again, the same throw blanket pulled up to her waist.

Her phone was in her hand.

Not open.

Not dialing.

Just there.

Her thumb brushed over the screen.

What if he’s waiting?

What if he’s not?

She stared for a long time at his name. The message icon. The call button.

Then she set it on the coffee table.

Let it sit there.

And leaned back.

The ache in her chest hadn’t gone away. But neither had the memory of his voice.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Sunday – 10:07 A.M. – Tim Bradford’s Truck, Parked Down the Block

He didn’t plan to drive over.

Didn’t decide in a flash of worry or impulse.

It was just there.

A low-level hum that had been building since the minute he stepped away from her apartment two nights ago. Since he left that note on the counter and walked out with the certainty that she needed space—but not too much.

And now it had been more than a day.

No call.

No text.

No sign.

Tim sat in his truck with the engine off, fingers resting lightly on the wheel, the early sun casting broken shadows through the windshield. The neighborhood was quiet. A runner passed by with earbuds in. A dog barked two doors down.

Still, he didn’t move.

Not right away.

He wasn’t worried she was in danger.

He was worried she was retreating.

Because that’s what Rachel Grace did when things got too real—she shut down quietly enough that nobody noticed until she was already gone.

And he wasn’t going to let that happen again.

Not now.

Not after what she’d told him.

What she let him see.

He stepped out of the truck and walked the rest of the way on foot, his pace easy, no pressure in his stride.

Just presence.

Sunday – 10:15 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment Door

Rachel wasn’t expecting anyone.

She was in an old sweatshirt, leggings, hair half-dried from a shower she’d taken an hour ago out of obligation, not ritual.

The knock made her freeze halfway through drying a coffee mug.

Not sharp. Not loud.

But familiar.

She walked to the door, looked through the peephole.

And exhaled.

It was him.

She opened the door, just a crack at first.

Tim stood there in a t-shirt and jeans, coffee in a cardboard tray in one hand, expression calm.

He didn’t try to smile.

Didn’t pretend like this was casual.

He just lifted the tray slightly.

“Didn’t hear from you.”

Rachel’s fingers tightened on the doorframe.

“I almost called,” she admitted.

Tim nodded. “I figured.”

They stood like that for a moment.

Then she opened the door fully.

And stepped aside.

He walked in.

Not like he owned the space.

Like he’d earned being there.

And this time?

She didn’t try to control the silence.

She just let him stay.

Sunday – 10:27 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Kitchen Table

The coffees were placed on the table between them—his black, hers with a dash of cream, the way she didn’t realize he’d remembered. Neither of them had spoken in a few minutes. The sun slipped in through the window above the sink, warming the pale tile floor. Somewhere outside, a sprinkler clicked on.

Rachel sat across from him, fingers curled around the warm cup.

She hadn’t touched it yet.

Neither had he.

And maybe that was why she said it.

Not out of fear.

Just out of the kind of vulnerability that didn’t need volume.

“Why did you come?”

Her voice was quiet. Open. Unsteady in a way that wasn’t weakness—but honesty.

She didn’t look up.

Just stared into her coffee, as though it might offer an easier answer than he could.

Tim didn’t answer right away.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. Low. Certain.

“Because you didn’t.”

That made her look at him.

His gaze was calm. Unflinching. Not pushing.

“You almost did,” he added. “I know you. You probably hovered over that call button a dozen times.”

Rachel said nothing.

Because he was right.

Tim leaned forward slightly, arms folded on the table.

“I didn’t come because I was worried something happened. I came because I know what it feels like to sit with something you’re not sure you’re ready to say out loud again. And I know how loud the silence can get.”

Rachel’s fingers tightened around her cup.

He didn’t move closer.

Didn’t reach for her hand.

Just kept his voice quiet.

“You didn’t have to call me. But I wanted to make sure you remembered you could.”

That was it.

No grand declarations.

No pressure.

Just that.

Rachel swallowed, hard.

And when she looked down again, this time she nodded.

Once.

Slow.

Because for once, someone had met her in the silence—

And hadn’t asked her to leave it behind.

They sat there a while longer.

Still.

But not alone.

Sunday – 4:42 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

Tim hadn’t stayed all day. He’d left a little after noon, the same quiet way he’d arrived. No pressure. No hesitation. Just a calm nod and a quiet, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Rachel had stood at the door after he left, staring at it for a long while before locking it.

She’d gone through the motions after that—tidying the already-clean apartment, answering a text from her neighbor about mail, flipping through a book she wasn’t reading. Her movements were restless, her focus fractured.

But the silence in the apartment didn’t feel quite as sharp this time.

It felt... lived in.

Touched.

The coffee mug he left behind was still in the sink. Rinsed. Placed upside down to dry.

Something about that small act—quiet, responsible, familiar—sat heavier in her chest than anything he'd said.

By four o’clock, she had stopped pretending to focus on anything else.

She stood at the edge of her kitchen, staring down at her phone, thumb brushing absently over the screen. Her contact list was open. Tim’s name sat at the top. Not because she’d favorited him.

Because she kept coming back to it.

For the longest time, she just looked at it.

Then, with a slow breath, she set the phone down, turned, and opened the fridge.

It was nearly empty. A half-carton of eggs. An unopened bag of spinach. Nothing that resembled dinner.

Her eyes lingered on the shelves, mind spinning through the list of things she could make and the reasons why she wouldn’t.

Then—without really deciding—she reached for the fridge door and let it close.

Her hand went back to her phone.

And this time, she didn’t hesitate.

Sunday – 4:57 P.M. – Text Message Sent

RACHEL: I’m ordering Thai. If you’re not busy.

The moment she hit send, her stomach tightened. Not with regret.

With anticipation.

She didn’t follow it up. Didn’t add “no pressure” or “you don’t have to.” Because if she’d learned anything from him lately, it was that what you say without saying it is just as important.

She watched the screen light up a minute later.

TIM: Be there in 20. Pad Thai, no peanuts. Right?

She exhaled—slow, surprised by how much her chest eased at that.

RACHEL: Yeah. Still remember that?

TIM: I remember more than you think.

She stared at the reply for a long moment.

Then set the phone down.

Walked into the kitchen.

And opened the drawer where she kept two plates.

She never used both.

But tonight?

She pulled them both out.

And set them on the table.

Sunday – 5:38 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Kitchen Table

The smell of takeout filled the room—faint lemongrass and heat, steamed rice mingling with fresh basil and chili. The food had arrived twenty minutes ago, and the conversation between then and now had been… light. Measured.

They talked about the restaurant—how Tim had forgotten they gave free mango sticky rice with every two entrées. Rachel had quirked a smile at that. Not a grin. Just the edge of something real.

But mostly, they ate.

Forks moved across plates.

Spoons scraped bowls.

Cups clinked softly against the wood.

And in between?

That silence again.

But this time, it didn’t carry grief or tension.

It felt… new.

Undecorated.

Honest.

Rachel sat with one leg tucked under the other, plate half-finished in front of her, chopsticks resting on the rim of her container. Her sweatshirt sleeves were pushed to the elbows, fingers absently curling against her cup of water.

She’d been quiet for the last few minutes—not guarded, but thoughtful. Her gaze flicked to him now and then, like she was trying to measure something inside herself before she spoke.

Tim had noticed.

He’d noticed everything.

The way she set the second plate without asking.

The way she left the door unlocked when she knew he was coming.

The way her shoulders weren’t tight like they usually were, even if her jaw still held tension.

And so when he spoke, it wasn’t to fill the silence.

It was to acknowledge it.

“You ever done this before?” he asked, voice low, easy.

Rachel blinked. “What?”

He set his chopsticks down, careful. “Let someone in like this. After… everything.”

She didn’t answer right away.

But she didn’t shut down either.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her cup.

Then: “No.”

Just that.

A breath.

Honest.

Then she added, voice softer now, “Not like this. Not with someone who wasn’t already inside before the worst of it happened.”

Tim nodded, accepting that without flinching.

“Jake,” he said—not asking. Not prying. Just acknowledging what was already in the room.

Rachel looked down at her plate, quiet.

Then, after a long pause: “He didn’t have to get through the walls. He was already there. I didn’t even realize how much until he was gone.”

She looked up at Tim, her expression unreadable—but not cold.

“But you…” Her voice wavered, just slightly. “You saw the wreckage first. And still came in.”

Tim met her gaze, calm and steady. “You didn’t make it easy.”

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, a whisper of dry humor in it. “I built the walls for a reason.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wasn’t trying to tear them down.”

Rachel blinked. “No?”

“I just kept showing up,” he said. “Figured if you wanted to let someone in, you’d open the door when you were ready.”

She looked at him for a long time.

And then—quietly—nodded.

“That’s why I texted you.”

Tim gave a soft half-smile. “I know.”

Neither of them said more for a moment.

And it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was settled.

Rachel reached for the sticky rice, peeled back the lid, and wordlessly pushed the container toward him.

Tim picked up his spoon, let it brush hers.

And they passed the next few minutes in the simplest way two people could:

Sharing something sweet.

Something new.

Something just beginning.

Sunday – 7:13 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The takeout containers were gone, stacked neatly in the trash. Dishes rinsed and left to dry. The lights were dimmed now, just one lamp casting a soft, amber glow across the room. The kind of lighting that made silence feel warm instead of lonely.

Rachel sat at one end of the couch, legs pulled up loosely beneath her, a soft gray throw blanket over her knees. She was still in her sweatshirt and leggings, hair tucked behind one ear. Her posture was relaxed, but not unguarded.

Tim sat a cushion away, his body turned slightly toward her. He wasn’t leaning in. He wasn’t taking up space. Just there. Comfortable in the quiet.

Between them, on the coffee table, two fresh mugs of tea.

It was the kind of scene Rachel never let herself live in. Too quiet. Too safe. Too intimate.

But tonight?

She let it happen.

They talked.

Not in long, deep confessions—but in steady, simple reveals. Like peeling layers slowly, without urgency.

“I used to paint,” Rachel said, somewhere between conversation and memory.

Tim looked over. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Back in college. I never had a steady hand for detail, but I loved big canvases. Messy. Unstructured. I haven’t touched a brush in years.”

“Why’d you stop?”

She gave a small, wry smile. “I think I thought if I gave it up, I’d stop missing it. Didn’t work.”

He didn’t press.

“I thought about it last week,” she admitted. “Just… getting something out. I think it scared me.”

Tim took a sip of his tea. “Not everything we give up stays gone. Some things just wait.”

Rachel glanced over at him, eyes soft but unsure.

“You say things like that,” she murmured, “and I forget you’re the guy who used to bark at rookies for parking two inches too close to fire hydrants.”

Tim smiled, faint but genuine. “Still do.”

That got a quiet laugh from her. Small. But real.

And then—

“What about you?” she asked. “What did you give up?”

Tim was quiet for a moment.

Then: “Control.”

She looked at him, surprised.

He nodded, eyes fixed on the tea in his hands. “I used to think I had to have everything locked down. The job. The plan. The future. I thought if I controlled all the pieces, I couldn’t be blindsided again.”

“Did it work?”

“No,” he said, voice low. “Not even close.”

Rachel exhaled softly. “Still trying to find the pieces?”

“Still trying to figure out if I even want them back.”

They fell into silence again—but this time, it wasn’t searching.

It was settled.

Rachel reached for her tea. Took a sip. Held it close.

Tim stayed where he was.

Not touching her.

Not pushing.

But closer than he had been.

And she didn’t move away.

Didn’t reset the space.

Didn’t pull the blanket tighter or shift the balance between them.

She just sat there.

Beside him.

Breathing.

Present.

And when their eyes met again across the space that no longer felt like distance—

Rachel gave the faintest nod.

Like this—this careful closeness—was okay.

For now.

And Tim?

He nodded back.

No words needed.

They just sat like that, quiet and warm in the low light—

Two people who didn’t need to be held,

Only understood.

Tag List: @immastealurkneecaps, @maybefanficting, @kmc1989, @fuckingsimp4azriel

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here!

[ingydar-phan]

Just joined tumblr, so it is indeed time to share my newest DNP art!! Shall i also upload the speed draw? This took me 3 hours 46 minutes, over the course of one very brainrotted week. Anywayz go vote for #goldenphil and pls perhaps reblog and comment on this? Maybe? Side note HOW ARE PEOPLE COMMENTING ON MY POSTS I DONT UNDERSTAND THIS APP AND WHG CANT MY REPLIES SEND

Edit: lmaooo i couldn’t comment because my email wasn’t verified. I can now. 💀 @serendipnpipity

[yorutsuki]

「 ✦ Isekaied Reversed Pt. 5 ✦ 」

↳ Your nutritions had slowly decreased overtime, thus you needed to head out for a grocery trip! Surprisingly, you ran into a cat and, unfortunately, as well as trouble.

Tags:

──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

It's been approximately 46 days since Xiao made his arrival out of nowhere.

Over the course of the days—weeks, the two of you slowly bonded as time flowed, albeit it was rough the first few weeks, your relationship with him gradually blossomed.

Comparing since a few weeks ago, you've gotten to the point where he could be comfortable enough around you to let his guard down for a while—even better that he didn't draw out his spear with every corner he turned.

In all, you guys were mutuals at best—which was quite progress in your book.

.

"You have to be shitting me."

Xiao's eyes glanced over to you, his brow raised.

You sighed, closing the fridge. "We're out ingredients."

You walked over towards your bag, picking up your wallet which thankfully had money—around a rough $50. Unfortunately, that would mean you'd have to save up once again.

Xiao took notice if your downed mood, before squinting his eyes, trying to get a glimpse of the problem.

You felt a feeling of eyes watching you. Looking over towards the origin of the feeling, you saw Xiao looking towards you, well, the wallet. Seeing he got caught, he quickly averted his gaze like nothing happened.

You eternally chuckled at his shy actions, before your midn reminded you of your problem.

"Well, Xiao. Looks like we're running out of stuff." You huffed with a grimace before starting to put on your shoes. "I'll be back in uhh..20-30 minutes tops."

Xiao looked towards you before giving a slight nod.

Making your ways to the door, you grabbed your keys, phone, earbuds and wallet before turning the doorknob though swiftly turned around, "right! Do you need anything while i'm out?" You asked the yaksha who shook his head. "Don't spend your money on me, or unnecessary things in general." He sighed. You frowned.

You couldn't tell if that was worded weird or if he really did see himself as unnecessary. Nonetheless, you pushed those thoughts away before giving him a thumbs up but closing the door behind you.

You thought for a minute, looking between your wallet and the door.

'am I listening to that? Hell nah.' You grinned before heading towards your apartment elevator.

.....

Making your way down to Safeway, you yelped and tensed up as you felt something furry brush against your leg.

Quickly looking down, your muscles relaxed when finding out it was only a cat and quite a cute one too.

It was a Edgyptian Mau. It's fur was black with some gray and white spots around it's body. Though it's eyes were the most captivating—they looked like a vibrant sunset.

You were quite surprised that an Egyptian Mau was around this area but decided not to look to deep into it. It was probably someone's pet who ran off and ended up in this dump. Though, that wouldn't stop you from giving it a little pet.

"Aren't you a cutie~" You smiled with awe, kneeling down towards the cat to which the animal slightly staggered back. It calmed down though as you put your hand in front of you, letting it sniff it before melting into your hand as you lightly scratched it's jaw.

"Man, I wish I could take you home.." You whined lightly before sighing as you stood up, the cat letting out a needy call, looking up towards you for more scratches.

"Sorry buddy, I gotta get some things from the market." You cried internally as you looked down at the furry creature. Your heart breaking at seeing it's sad face.

Persevering, you looked away, a single tear falling down as you began to walk away, trying your best to ignore the meows of need.

....

"Tofu...tofu.." You mumbled, trying to recall what isle the food was. Unfortunately, while lost in your train of thought, you felt someone harshly bump into you, causing you to snap back to reality.

The person merely grunted with a harsh, 'watch where your standing' which received just as harsh of a glare from your end.

"Idiot." You muttered before going back to your task.

...

Finally after you payed, you left the store, two bags of groceries-one in each hand.

As you exited the store, you subconsciously scanned the 'lot for the black splotched cat.

Your slightly frowned upon not seeing it anywhere. 'Probably ran back to it's owner.' you shook your head, continuing your way home.

As you walked along the street, you heard small paws running a bit behind you along with desperate calls.

Turning around, you saw the cat once more, only it looked rougher—like it had just came out from a low-grade shelter.

You dropped your bags as it clawed onto your legs, meowing. You slightly hissed at the stinging sensation from the new marks as you picked it up—it trying to hide up onto your shoulder.

"Poor baby, what happene-" Your words were cut short when you suddenly heard shouting. "Give the damn cat back!"

Looking ahead, you saw the same man from the store, holding a...bat?

You had a feeling where this was going so, picking up your bags quickly, you made a run for it as the shouting behind you grew louder.

'fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck!' You screamed mentally, your legs and arms growing tired with each push but you didn't dare stop. That man seemed restless and merciless, plus, he was right behind your trail.

Unfortunately, you were hit in the shoulder by something hard. Your body giving up as you hit the hard concrete with a thud- the cat standing by you with it's hairs sticking up as it hissed with aggression and fear.

You saw the man try reaching for the cat, though you intervened, by grabbing his hand and biting as hard as you could. The man grunted loudly as you heard a crack and suddenly tasted metal in your mouth.

You grimaced at the metalic taste and gagged a bit.

"You bitch!" He shouted at you before kicking you in the ribs, in return you let out a winded yelp.

As the man saw your stunned state, he went for the black Mau, grabbing it by the back of the neck. Though fortunately, the cat retaliated by scratching the man's hand though led it to be thrown harshly aside. "Fuckin' creature, i'll deal with your shit later." He hissed before turning to you.

You tried getting up only to be hit back down with the same back that knocked you in the first place. "Thats!-" He hit your shoulder, "-for stealing what's mine!" He shouted before he went to strike you at your head, though thankfully you blocked it in time with your arms—feeling a pounding sensation within them.

Suddenly, you looked to the side, finding a very convienent brick. As the manw as distracted, you picked it up and rammed it into the side of the man's ankle.

He shouted curses of pain, giving you a brief break. Unfortunately, it didn't last long before he shouted, going for your head as well as taking a few breaks to kick you around.

Your eyes were teary, feeling bruises forming already. You felt weak and heavy-your body betraying your mind as you screamed it to get up—to do something than lie on the floor helplessly.

"Y'know this wouldn't happened if you just handed us the damn critter. The only person ya' can call for now, tis' God." He snicked, enjoying the sight in front of him.

But something clicked in your brain, and hopefully it worked.

"Xiao!"

The man watched in amusement as you called out a name. "Saying your final goodbyes?" He laughed huskly, but you only gave a grin, "Not quite." You smiled weakly. He stared confused at you but grinned, looking down at your pathetic form.

Suddenly, his view of you was blocked by something, well someone.

Looking up, he was met by a familiar yaksha, his spear centimeters away from his head. He only grinned with amusement once more. "What is this? Some type of costume party?" He laughed though it came to a brief halt and replaced with a winding grunt as he was kicked backwards a few feet on the street.

The man shouted slurs and insults towards the masked yaksha who only replied with silence.

The man's anger grew with each second as he stood from the ground, bat in hands before trying to strike the boy. Unfortunately for him, he was no match for a yaksha. All his strikes were dodged and returned with precision, sharp, powerful and agile blows from the back of the boy's polearm.

Ultimately, near in the end, the man ended on his rear, looking at the immortal in fear before he scurried to get away, embarrassingly. "Keep the damn cat then!"

The yaksha glared at the retreating figure before turning towards you, his mask disappearing onto his belt.

As he helped you get to your feet and wrapped your arm around his neck for support. You saw a glint of concern in his eyes, making your lips curl into a small smile. "Thanks for that back there." You grinned but faltered as you grunted, making Xiao's concern grow.

"Is anything broken?" He asked, his voice stern as ever.

You shook your head, "I don't believe so, just a few-" you were cut with a wave of pain electrocuting you. "-I take that back, a lot of bruising." You chuckled as the adeptus sighed.

Your brows furrowed in worry, glancing back to the animal on the ground. Xiao's gaze followed yours as his expression hardened.

He sighed, knowing where this was going.

.....

Over the course of a few days, you recovered quickly though on the second day, your whole body ached and you ultimately stayed in bed for 24 hours.

As for the cat, he recovered quite quickly as well—almost too quick. It was like a miracle with everything his body took. Though during the few days of resting and even after, it appeared that the cat took a major liking to the adeptus.

As the adeptus would bring you water or check up on you every once in a while, (though albeit when your not noticing cause he's like that 💀), the cat would be at his side, looking towards you then up to him in worry.

Sometimes he'd be laying next to you but ultimately stayed with Xiao most of thetime.

By day 4, you felt as good as new—a few bruises left but they were like small pebbles in the road.

....

You huffed in defeat as the cat curled up to Xiao's lap.

'wasn't I the one who risked my life for you?' You groaned in annoyance, but it quickly disappeared when seeing the calm expression Xiao carried. If you looked closely, you could see a very faint smile.

You smiled at the sight. "So...what do you think we should name him?"

Xiao snapped from his small trance, "why do we need to keep him?" He asked. Your brows furrowed, "I don't want him to be abandoned. I don't think he has a owner and..I don't want that guy to come after him again." You spoke softly, before smiling, "Plus, I think he really likes you."

Xiao's brows furrowed before he sighed, mumbling something.

You looked up to him, cocking a brow—curious to what he said. "What was that?"

"Qíji. His name." He muttered, looking away towards the ground.

You looked at the yaksha in slight surprise before mumbling the name. "Qíji.." You smiled before looking at the peacefully sleeping fur boy, "well then, welcome home Qíji."

Well look at that, looks like you did get Xiao something after all.

.

.

.

A/N: THAT WAS A LONG WRITE-, I tried making it as least as cliché as I could 😭. But yep, here's part 4, by what part do you guys think Xiao and Reader will end up together??? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Also, feel free to write comments! I love reading them and they keep me motivated! :D

[sillestfandomgoer]

manor cyn drawing!!! (it took 2 hours and like 46 minutes, the time-lapse replay or whatever is under the cut) (also the blue things behind her head is I think hair,, I based it off a model I saw so idk I just shaded like that)

her legs are messed up but I couldn’t fix it so idgaf rn

this video is almost 3 minutes but uh here

the suffering

[fariadraws]

Another quick drawing! Took 46 minutes total to finish this!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

For the Touches ask game:

Some combination of 46 from hand holding, 9 from hand holding and/or 50 from touching for Christopher Pike please and thank you 💕

Send me a touch prompt!

Of course Elen!! I hope you're having a lovely weekend :)

Prompts: holding hands across the table; secretly holding hands under the table ; putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up Warnings: Power imbalance; early relationship dynamics; mostly fluff

“I’m sorry.” 

“What are you apologizing for?” You shook your head, expression washing with confusion as Christopher took hold of your hands across the small table. He smiled, shaking his head a little. 

“It shouldn’t have taken us so long to go out properly.”

You shook your head again, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. 

“That’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“Still—” 

“Should I apologize for you for not making the time in our off-hours?”

His brows furrowed, head shaking a bit as he offered, “No, of course not.” 

“Exactly. So why is the onus on you?” You tipped your head to the side a touch, watching as Christopher smiled bashfully, ducking his head. “We got here, that’s all that matters. It’s more difficult when we’re on duty. Shore leave is a convenient relief.” 

“I’ll say.”

“Captain!”

The call of Uhura’s voice made you yank your hands back from his on instinct. You shot him an apologetic look before you turned to give Uhura a wide smile. It faltered as you saw her trailing through the restaurant with Chapel and Ortegas in tow. 

“So much for a quiet afternoon,” Christopher muttered. 

“Maybe they’re just coming to say ‘hi’.” 

But your hypothesis was thwarted when the three of them began to pull up chairs. Erica began to tut about not being able to look out over the star’s landscape, and Christopher was quick to get up, taking up the empty seat beside you. 

“I don’t mind,” He insisted, settling in. You bit your cheek to fight back a smile as he took hold of your hand beneath the table, out of view of your crew mates. You thrilled at the hidden touch, intertwining your fingers as you fell into conversation with Chapel. It was only a few moments before Christopher fell into conversation with Uhura and Ortegas. 

“How did you find this place, anyway?” You heard, and before you could stop yourself, you yanked your hand out of Christopher’s, slapping your hand over his mouth. The entire table fell silent as you felt everyone turn to look at you. You forced a bright smile on your face, offering, “We should get appetizers!” 

-- 

“That was subtle.” 

The meal that you'd shared with your crew members was still heavy in your stomach as you and Christopher walked away from the restaurant together.

“What was?” You grumbled. You didn’t want to delve into it, even with Christopher’s fingers intertwined with yours. He tugged you to a stop, drawing you into an alley, out of view. 

“...I panicked,” You admitted softly, leaning back against the wall. He stepped closer, casting a wary glance around the corner before crowding closer. 

“I did a bit, too,” He reassured. 

“I’m sorry—”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Chris,” You sighed softly, lowering your gaze to your feet. He stepped closer, gently nuzzling your temple. 

“I just mean that I understand,” He insisted softly. You nodded, sighting off the swelling nerves in your belly. 

“I know.” 

Christopher rested his forehead against yours, and you couldn’t help the swell of your smile at the feeling of him so close. 

“We should get back to the ship,” You murmured. 

“In a minute.” 

“And what’s going to happen in a minute?” 

“Well, I could show you—” 

“Or?” 

“Or I could tell you, but I think a practical explanation should be more efficient.” 

“Oh?” You raised your brows. “How practical?” 

“A little hands on, if you’ve no objection.” 

“None whatsoever.”