#why are train people hard to design

[of-time-and-space-itself]

(chanting growing gradually louder) wheeeres conductor my boy conductor. wheeeres conductor my boy conductor. wheeeeres conductor my boy conductor. wheeeeres conductor my b

Ah...yes.

I knew the day would come where I would have to address the Conductor/Dj Grooves shaped hole in the blog feed.....

Sooo....where do I begin with this one...

Okay, so - something I haven't mentioned too much is the division of the kingdoms. I do plan to make a more in depth post about it, but the basic idea is that some characters are considered people of Time, and the others are people of Space. People of Time are usually more glamorized/dramatic with their outfits, and people of space are more nitty-gritty/neutral/casual with their looks.

I don't know if you can see where this is going, but uh-

The Conductor (and Dj grooves, but that's a topic for another day) is a bit of an interesting case.

Because, you see...The Conductor's design is kinda perfect as is. And I promise you I thought about this A LOT.

I-.......This man has given me a run for my money in the design department. The amount of internal turmoil he has inflicted on me is unreal.

At first I waited for something good to come to me. It didn't

So I thought, 'maybe I'll look at old train conductor outfits and something will click'. Didn't work.

Then I thought, 'steampunk conductor would be pretty cool, right?'. But then, that might be too glamorous for the people of space, so I threw the idea away.

Randomly, mid-plotting, I got struck in the brain by that old Disney choo-choo song thing(and that was like a really repressed memory), I don't fully know what that had to do with The conductor, other than after the fact I kept debating adding stripes to his outfit. na-da.

And all that to say, I got immensely distracted and started thinking about how many coats he has in his closet and if all of them are identical.

And then I think I realized(after I made this doodle), that my brain was slowly rotting and I wasn't getting anywhere. I find myself thinking that his core design is just perfect, I can't seem to think of anything unique or interesting that wouldn't over-exaggerate him.

If anyone has any ideas-

PLEASE. PLEASE TELL ME. IT HURTS SO MUCH, PLEASE-

The Conductor is currently in development hell, so you won't be seeing him for a little while.

Sorry. :(

[lezbians]

i have so much beef with she-ra and the princesses of power cause it's a good premise just not well written at all

[elodieunderglass]

Hey bestie whats a narrow boat? I saw you tag that on something you reblogged and I'm pretty curious now!

- Terry Darlington, Narrow Dog to Carcassone

A narrowboat (all one word) is a craft restricted to the British Isles, which are connected all over by a nerve-map of human-made canals. To go up and down hills, the canals are spangled with locks (chambers in which boats can be raised or lowered by filling or emptying them with water.) As Terry says above, the width of the locks was somewhat randomly determined, and as a result, the British Isles have a narrow design of lock - and a narrowboat to fit through them. A classic design was seventy feet long and six feet wide. Starting in the 18th century, and competing directly with trains, canal “barges” were an active means of transport and shipping. They were initially pulled along the towpaths by horses, and you can still see some today!

Later, engines were developed.

Even after the trains won the arms race, it was a fairly viable freight service right up until WW2. It’s slow travel, but uses few resources and requires little human power, with a fairly small crew (of women, in WW2) being capable of shifting two fully laden boats without consuming much fossil fuel.

In those times the barges were designed with small, cramped cabins in which the boaters and their families could live.

During its heyday the narrowboat community developed a style of folk art called “roses and castles” with clear links to fairground art as well as Romani caravan decor. They are historically decorated with different kinds of brass ornaments, and inside the cabins could also be distinctively painted and decorated.

Today, many narrowboats are distinctively decorated and colorful - even if not directly traditional with “roses and castles” they’ll still be bright and offbeat. A quirky name is necessary. All narrowboats, being boats, are female.

After a postwar decline, interest in the waterways was sparked by a leisure movement and collapsing canals were repaired. Today, the towpaths are a convenient walking/biking trail for people, as they connect up a lot of the mainland of the UK, hitting towns and cities. Although the restored canals are concrete-bottomed, they’re attractive to wildlife. Narrowboats from the 1970s onward started being designed for pleasure and long-term living. People enjoy vacationing by hiring a boat and visiting towns for a cuter, comfier, slower version of a campervan life. And a liveaboard community sprang up - people who live full-time on boats. Up until the very restrictive and nasty laws recently passed in the UK to make it harder for travelling peoples (these were aimed nastily at vanlivers and the Romani, and successfully hit everyone) this was one of the few legal ways remaining to be a total nomad in the UK.

Liveaboards can moor up anywhere along the canal for 28 days, but have to keep moving every 28 days. (Although sorting out the toilet and loading up with fresh water means that a lot of people move more frequently than that.) you can also live full-time in a marina if they allow it, or purchase your own mooring. In London, where canal boats are one of the few remaining cheapish ways to live, boats with moorings fetch the same prices as houses. It can be very very hard for families to balance school, parking, work, and all the difficulties of living off-grid- but many make it work. It remains a diverse community and is even growing, due to housing pressures in the UK. Boats can be very comfortable, even when only six feet wide. When faced with spending thousands of pounds on rent OR mooring up on a nice canal, you can see why it seems a romantic proposition for young people, and UK television channels always have slice-of-life documentaries about young folks fixing up their very own quirky solar-powered narrowboat. I don’t hate; I did it myself.

If you’re lucky, you might even meet some of the cool folks who run businesses from their narrowboats: canal-side walkers enjoy bookshops, vegan bakeries, ice-cream boats, restaurants, artists and crafters. There are Floating Markets and narrowboat festivals. It’s generally recognised that boaters contribute quite a lot to the canal - yet there are many tensions between different kinds of boaters (liveaboards vs leisure boaters vs tourists) as well as tensions with local settled people, towpath users like cyclists, and fishermen. I could go on and on explaining this rich culture and dramas, but I won’t.

Phillip Pullman’s Gyptians are a commonly cited example of liveaboards - although they were based on the narrowboat liveaboards that Pullman knew in Oxford, their boats are actually Dutch barges. Dutch barges make good homes but are too wide to access most of the midlands and northern canals, and are usually restricted to the south of the UK. So they’re accurate for Bristol/London/Oxford, and barges are definitely comfier to film on. (Being six feet wide is definitely super awkward for a boat.) but in general Dutch barges are less common, more expensive and can’t navigate the whole system.

However, apart from them, there are few examples of narrowboat depictions that escaped containment. So it’s quite interesting that there is an entire indigenous special class of boat, distinctive and highly specialised and very cute, with an associated culture and heritage and folk art type, known to all and widely celebrated, and ABSOLUTELY UNKNOWN outside of the UK - a nation largely known around the world for inflicting its culture on others. They’re a strange, sweet little secret - and nobody who has ever loved one can resist pointing them out for the rest of their lives, or talking about them when asked to. Thank you for asking me to.

[what-even-is-thiss]

I try really hard to be a patient person but car owners really do get on my nerves sometimes.

No I’m not claiming that your specific city is easy to traverse without a car right now no I’m not telling disabled people that use cars to go die no most people don’t need cars when society is designed competently no I haven’t forgotten about the existence of rural areas how many times do I have to say these things over and over again just to make a post about corner grocery stores or something I just want it to be really easy to live without a car I just want streets to be nice I just want the trains to come back why do these basic ideas make people so mad

[maiamore]

PASS THE SALT, MR MILLER

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.5k

Summary: Joel finds out the hard way that leaving a pretty girl with blue-balls isn’t the smartest.

Or, Joel fucks you in his garage.

Tags: christmas-y vibes, fucking on Joel’s car, implied age gap,unprotected p in v, grumpy!joel, lots of yearning, squirting, sexual games, brat taming, outdoor sex, creampie

A/N: merry christmas folks! tbh this is just a game of how many fics can I write that has to do with (a) joel's truck or (b) joel yearning. side note, looped Disease - Lady Gaga track on repeat while writing this oops

MASTERLIST | MAIN STORY

Holidays have never really been something you celebrated. Fuck it, your own birthday even. It just wasn’t a priority you considered worth fussing over. Admittedly, your lack of enthusiasm for these events was probably why you ended up avoiding them. You would do the most for the people you loved but never for yourself.

Take Halloween for example. Your friends from Columbia were begging you for a slutty girls' night out, but you’d opted to stay home to help chaperone your younger brother Oscar’s party. Even so far as to set everything up, you’d made sure Oscar had a shot at being the coolest damn guy in his school. Fret not, jobless big sis is there to help ya. 

Of course, it hadn’t gone unrewarded, to put it loosely. All that really happened was some broody hot middle-aged dad jerking off in front of your face. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You found yourself staring at the pale green piece of paper your younger brother, Oscar,  handed you when he came home from school that evening. Eyeing the morbidly cliche design that screamed of some bored old receptionists' handiwork, you tilt it to get a better read.

Oak Ridge High School Annual Christmas Potluck.

Great. Another one. You were often the stand-in for his PTA Meetings in place of your ever so busy parents. While you had your fun with the free buffets and whatnot, you were getting tired of people asking how old you were when you “had” Oscar. 

*Calling all Parent Volunteers. Please Contact Joel Miller at +1 (512) 555 XXX for details. 

Now that got your attention.

Joel Miller. The man who, after that night, weaseled his way into your glorious collection of mental spank bank. Evident in the plethora of stolen nudie mags your mom stashed underneath her mattress—you’d gone as far to dog-ear pages of men who had the slightest resemblance to him. 

You couldn’t get him out of your mind. By him, his dick. All eight fuckin’ inches of pent-up old man dick. 

The desperation in the way he thumbed his slit, coaxing his milky cum into your waiting mouth in your bedroom flashed in your mind like post-traumatic-sex-disorder. You were robbed of a good fuck.

The beeps of your dial-pad echoed embarrassingly loud while you dialled the number on the flyer before fully seeing the idiocy in this move. The line connects after a few rings. 

“Miller. Who’s callin’?”

A shudder runs down your spine. His voice hit you like a freight train, low and gravelly, cutting through the faint clatter of what sounded like construction work on the other end.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hang up. Hang–

“Hi.” You blurt out, forcing a higher register in your voice in a desperate attempt to disguise yourself. “I’d like to register. For the Christmas…thing.” There was a pause, followed by the clunk of something heavy and the sound of boots against a hard floor. 

“Right. You’re the parent of…?” 

You clutched your phone tighter when Joel’s voice rang clearer than ever, throat dry as you scrambled to speak. “Oscar.”

He repeats your last name when you offer it, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to place it–a flicker of recognition almost.

“Alright then,” he finally says, the faintest edge of suspicion still lingering.

 “Guess I’ll see ya there.”

—

Impulsiveness was something that fucked Joel over most times. 

Messing around with someone he’d consider uncomfortably closer to his daughter's age than his own settled within him like poison. 

It’d been two whole months since the incident at halloween and he was still hung up over you. He was certain that a pretty girl like you had far better prospects than a washed up crotchety shit like him. 

You plagued his mind every time his fist wrapped around his cock. Every time he’d tried to fuck the stress of working long hours of grunt work at the site. Your soft and sweet expression offered him instantaneous, sticky reprieve. 

Guilt, or something he should’ve been feeling over using your face as masturbation material didn’t quite blare the alarms in his head through post-nut clarities. 

He knew he had fucked up the second he had you on your knees that night. 

You parked your sedan in front of a navy chevrolet in the driveway. Hopping out of the car as you looked up at the quaint home, clean white siding, neatly trimmed lawn. 

You figured by the bustling noise from the backyard that a volunteer offered up their home and all. Generous, you thought. And then you catch it. The worn down navy mailbox that sprawled the letters–

M I L L E R

The swirl that was now your mind dragged painful throbs in your head. To be in his own backyard felt stalker-ish even for you. 

With a weary exhale, you click open the boot of your car. Worrying had to come later, you had to formulate a game plan for the boxes of fairy lights you somehow had to haul into Joel’s backyard.

With a heaving effort, you propped up two boxes into your arms when the shuffle of footsteps catches your attention, coming from beside the opening garage. 

“Hey! Sorry, could use a little help...” You call out instinctively. 

Only managing to catch a glimpse of a hand bracing against the rickety garage door to shove it all the way up with a loud metallic clang. 

The sound startles you, but not as much as the sight when one of the boxes lifts from your hold, revealing your apparent savior.

The both of you pause, staring at each other in slight shock. Well–for him at least. You had ulterior motives that came delivered to you all wrapped up in worn-out denim.

Joel’s expression was less than welcoming, which in his defense—he wasn’t quite expecting to see his ghost in his own yard. 

“What are you doin’ here?”

The curtness of his voice throws you, but it’s too late to think of turning tail and driving off.

“I’m…one of the volunteers.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel begins, lifting the last box out of your arms like they weighed nothing. “You signin’ up under your mama’s name just to come sniffin’ round’ me? That it?”

“What? No. She couldn’t make it,” you shoot back, a little too quick, a little too defensive. Joel wasn’t buying it, his unimpressed stare making you shift on your feet.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, already stepping over to your car. With a grunt, he hefted another box from your trunk, the effort drawing a low sound from his chest. 

The bitterness (and arousal) pools in your mouth at the noise he makes. 

Yes. You’d admit. You sniffed out Joel’s trail like some stray, chasing after the smallest crumb of him. It wasn’t irrational for you to think that you deserved some sort of closure. 

His voice cuts clean through your spiraling thoughts. “If you’re expectin’ somethin’, you best stop right there. I ain’t messin’ around.” You grimaced, fumbling for words. 

“I’m just here to help—” 

“S’enough outta you. Stay out of trouble.” He interrupts, not quite looking at you. 

Joel wills himself to flick his gaze anywhere but at you, one look at your face was enough to remind him of the fact, one look was probably enough to pop a damn boner. He sets the boxes down by the patio, knees cracking as he stretches back up with a grunt.

“Get someone to hang ‘em up. ‘Cause clearly,” he says, eyeing your sweater and skirt, “you ain’t dressed to actually help.”

He gives you a short, dismissive nod before turning away, leaving you standing there. Warmth pools your cheeks, feeling foolish to have gone this far for the attention of a man who made it clear that he didn’t seem to give a fuck whether you were here or not.

—

Joel spends the better half of the afternoon hovering around you. 

Approaching you normally was out of the question now that Sarah and the other kids began to flitter into his backyard to help with preparation. His daughter’s presence acted like a highly effective cock-block. Not that he had any business entertaining those kinds of thoughts in the first place.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Risky didn’t begin to describe it, so he kept his distance. That resolve went straight out the window when he spotted you, half-balanced on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the edge of his roof. With candy cane printed panties peeking out from under your skirt—god almighty, Joel nearly doubled over.

You could feel Joel's eyes on you while attempting to hang the lights over the siding. Purposefully going against what he said, purposefully giving everyone a goddamn show. 

"You ever learn how to listen?" 

“I can do it myself.” You shot back. Coyly soothing the back of your skirt. A proper fuck you to him at his insinuation that you’d been here just to man-trap him. Not that the notion did much. 

You felt the ladder steady with Joel’s hold. Effectively blocking everyone else from seeing what you were flaunting. 

"For the love of christ, darlin’, get down." 

“For the love of christ, I’m almost fuckin’ done.” You parroted his words back to him with an annoyed huff. It was hard not to let Joel infiltrate your mind but lack of his attention was eating you up–making you do crazy things, evidently.

With a satisfied huff at the placements, you brought your arms down.

Why did that…feel heavy?

A sharp crackle and metallic clatter fills the air before you fully completed your thought, the chains of lights comes tumbling down. You froze. Lowering your gaze to see the single goddamn twine snagged onto your sweater that you’d effectively yanked down with you. 

The bulbs burst into chaotic pops as they hit the ground, shards of glass scattering like tiny fireworks across the patio, drawing everyone’s attention.

Joel doesn’t hesitate, his hands found your waist as he lifted you off the ladder and set you firmly on the ground to safety with a grunt, his eyes snaps to the shards of glass glinting in the light and the fresh scratches marring his freshly varnished patio.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." He mutters, the irritation sharp in his drawl.  

“Mr Miller…”

Joel held up his palm as a sign to get you to be quiet so he could speak. Damn if you calling him Mr Miller now of all times didn’t make him want to haul your ass up to his bedroom.

Which he might add, seemed conveniently close.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "D’you think before you do anythin’ at all? Or do you just act on impulse?" He asks in a sharp and biting tone, looking directly at you as he spoke.

You cock your brow at his words. Surely he wasn’t seriously reacting this way to a couple of broken lights. To mention, your lights.

“What? Think about being a decent person to help?”

"A decent person would've listened the first time when I told you to leave it the hell alone," he snapped, stepping closer. "A decent person wouldn’t have shot me attitude n’ thrown a damn temper tantrum when I told you to get down."  

“What are you getting so bent out of shape for?”

“For starters, you wrecked my patio, darlin’.” He grumbles. Rubbing the back of his neck in the slightest amount of awareness that he’d overreacted, though he’d rather chew rocks than admit it. 

You don’t answer him. Humiliated as is. Your pouty-ness showed in the way you stomped over to get the broom that lay in the corner. He watches you regardless, arms folded taut.

“Goddamned train-wreck.” He mutters under his breath after a long pause, not even giving you the chance to let an apology leave your lips before he turns his heel to leave.

—

You didn’t take it well when people spoke to you like you were stupid. 

An Ivy League degree hung the walls of your room for fucks sake. Who the hell did Joel think he was? As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you’d tucked your tail between your legs to sweep it all up without a word. The embers that lay dormant were further fanned as time passed. You were pissed.

Joel, on the other hand, begins to feel guilt at the way he’d reacted. Even in the corner of his eyes, he sees you helping set up with the rest of the parents. It wasn’t the behaviour of some reckless nympho he imagined you to be when you stepped foot into his yard. 

You didn’t have to stand there to stand under the sun in the unforgiving Texas heat, refilling lemonade for the parent’s committee. Or entertain Sarah and the rest of the kids. You’d turned his backyard into a damned Christmas Wonderland by the end of the night.

You were a good girl, he figures after a long while of brooding.

And he tries. He tries to approach you to apologize but you didn’t seem to be having it. Going out of your way to swerve at the slightest sight of him near you. Which he gets.

You were over it, really. Chalked it up to his personality being generally the way it was. But what really helped you get over your humiliation? Seeing Joel Miller fucking grovel. 

Which you were acutely aware of with the way he lingered around you, waiting for an opening that you deprived of him.

—

The skies grew to a dusky violet, the backyard gently lit up with the soft twinkle of the fairy lights you’d painstakingly hung up (and re-hung). Lull of familiar Christmas classics playing by the speakers. 

The warmth of the chatter and laughter surrounding the table tugged at your edges, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips. You weren’t ready to admit it, but the festive mood was infectious.

You sat near the end of the committee’s table, the seat next to you conspicuously empty. The kids–Oscar, Sarah, and their friends were huddled at their own table. You briefly wondered if you should join them instead, given that the current hot topic at your table being mortgage rates.

The thud of a melamine crystal glass landing next to your plate broke your train of thought. You flick your gaze up, your expression hardening the moment you caught sight of Joel dragging the empty chair over next to you and lowering himself into it with a creak.

Without a word, he slides the glass closer to you, taking a sip from his own. His movements were deliberate, careful, like a man trying not to step on a landmine.

Joel wasn’t quite well-versed in apologies, as evident by Sarah’s constant reminders that one of these days he was going to piss a woman he actually fancied. His hand stretches over your lap, unfurling the napkin on the other side of you to drape it over your thighs. 

“Could you pass over the salt, sweetheart?” 

You tilt your head, arching a brow, not moving a muscle. Instead, you shot him a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, Joel stands up, his knees popping audibly as he leaned across the table to grab the salt himself. He slumps back into his chair, setting it down with a huff. How could a little thing like you hold so much anger?

“Done torturin’ me yet?” 

A scoff leaves your lips. 

“Who said I was?” 

“I’m tryin’ to apologise, sweetheart.” You shudder at the manner he whispers the words out. As though it was a secret reserved for just you and him. 

You rest your cheeks on your palms, shooting him an uninterested look. Joel’s eyes darts down to your plate that you were pushing to him. He doesn’t hesitate, reaching over and starts loading your plate up again with generous portions of the dishes spread across the table. The sight of him doing so, quiet and almost reverent, made your chest sing.

Oh this. This you could get used to.

For the next twenty minutes, you’d milked Joel’s newfound contrition for all it was worth. Needed a refill? Joel was already reaching for your glass. Running low on napkins? He was up and grabbing a fresh one before you even asked. You’d even braced yourself for him to snap when you made a fuss over your creaky chair, but to your delight, he stood up and swapped it out without so much as a grumble.

Unfortunately for you, your luck does runs out.

The flutter of your napkin onto the makeshift mat spread across the lawn catches his attention, his eyes darting to the rogue square of fabric before slowly flicking back up to meet your gaze. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him expectantly, lips quirking just enough to toe the line between innocent and insufferable.

Joel’s jaw twitches.

“Fuckin’ pick it up on your own, sweetheart.” his voice was laced with just enough irritation to make your smirk widen. Still, you couldn’t resist one last little prod.

Your legs shifted, one crossing over the other, the toe of your shoe brushing lightly against the denim of his jeans. His eyes darted down to the motion before snapping back up, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to apologise?” 

Joel shifts in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Think I settled my debts, crackles.”

You roll your eyes at his taunt, the warning laced in it only served to burn in your gut like uncontrollable lust. You felt yourself grow bored now that he’d ruthlessly cut you off from your only source of entertainment. 

The thrill begins to wane, you’d grown impatient at Joel’s lack of well, giving in. Though the idea, a possibly stupid one, that you might’ve needed to give him a little push crosses your mind. 

With a deliberate stretch, you rose from your seat, leaning over the table to reach for the salt shaker resting comfortably on Joel’s side with a hand placed on his thigh. It was perfectly positioned for him to hand it over to you–if you’d bothered to ask. But that wasn’t the point.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the faint tick of his pulse. Slowly, you eased back into your seat, dragging your fingers in a slow deliberate curve as you went.

The sharp grip of his hand on your wrist came next, firm enough to make you gasp. Joel’s dark eyes locked on yours, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep whatever storm was brewing behind them at bay.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He’d taken the bait all right. The unmistakable rise against where your hand was placed told you what you needed to know. Hook, line, and sinker.

It doesn’t quite matter to him whether you’d forgiven him anymore. 

With a sharp tug, Joel pulls you up with him. “S’cuse me. This one isn’t feeling too well.” 

The protest dies in your throat when Joel practically hauls you across his yard, away from the nosy glances from the rest of the parents. 

You frown at the dusty old garage he leads you to up front where you’d parked your car. A hand comes up the back of your head to force you to duck underneath the half opened door, cringing at the loud sound it draws. 

You tip your head up to watch Joel grab the edge of the half-opened garage door to full slam it down shut.

Fuck. You felt your cunt clench with the way his sleeves tightened around his forearms, wetting your lips subconsciously at the sight.

“This where you murder me, Mr Miller?”

His jaw ticks at that. There it was again. Mr Miller.

“Shut up.”

You mouthed the words wow as you looked to the side. As though there was a camera you were monologuing to. Joel approaches you tentatively. Backing you up until you feel sturdy metal stop your path. 

A firm slam against the hood you were backed up against causes you to jolt. 

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” He begins. Shifting closer until he had you snug against him and the truck. “You’ve been fuckin’ with me.”

You tilt your head up. Neck stretched uncomfortably to its limit. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel sighs. Looking towards the side, as though he might back off and run away again. 

“This ain’t right.”

You frown. Why was he getting cold feet now? You gaze darts to the side, following his line of vision. A frilly pink bicycle parked in the midst of the dusty old boxes stacked up against concrete walls. Some labelled with years of mementos of his daughter growing up. 

Joel groans when he feels a much smaller, soft hand cup against the growing strain on his jeans. “Judging by this, I think you’re full of shit.”

His restraint teeters on the edge. “Don’t.” He grasps around your wrists to stop you, though, he half asses it, barely with the amount of strength he could’ve used if he’d really wanted you to stop.  

You palm against his erection, feeling it quickly harden beneath. You suck in your breath at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight twitch of his lips. A whimper leaves your lips at how receptive he’d been to your touch. 

“You’re trouble.” He manages. Finally meeting your gaze. You can tell he’s conflicted, but the way you cupped around his balls through the denim has him keeling over with a rough exhale. 

He finally gathers enough strength in him to force your hand away from his cock. Just as you were about to whine about it, he flips you over. You steady your palms against the hood of his truck. 

“Gotta be quiet. You understand me?” You nod quickly. Not daring to speak considering how his voice already echoed in the garage even at its softest.

Your elbows move to rest against the dirtied metal. Folding it so you could comfortably rest your head on it. 

Joel lets out a low whistle at the way you bend your hips. Hiking your skirt up slowly. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He mutters. Thumb swiping against the growing dampness of your panties. 

A dull noise from his zipper is the only other thing you hear when you feel him grind his clothed cock against you. 

“Mr Miller—please.” You breathed out. Your thighs tenses, wiggling your hips higher to relieve the ache you felt. Feeling his hardness prod against your folds. 

Joel sighs softly, thumbing against your clit before you curl into yourself. “Don’t need it.” You breathe out quickly. There’s a pause in his movements before you feel a thumb hook around the waistband of your panties. Dragging it down to your ankles. 

The sound Joel makes at the sight of your slick stringing down the gusset of it makes him wince out audibly. Two fingers gather the slick of your folds, messily dragging it up and down your clit in a repeated notion. His fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch. You groan out. Hips stuttering at the sensation. 

“Hurry.” You urged.

You feel his other palm carefully twirl around the back of your hair. The breath knocks out of you when he heaves you backwards into his chest with a sharp tug. Fingertips entwined with your locks.

“Been patient with ya all fuckin’ day and ya think you got the right t’rush me now?”

Tears threaten to prick in the corners of your eyes at his tone. You grip around his wrist where he holds your hair. “…hurts” , you whisper, guiding his other hand back to your clit, “..here.”

Joel swallows thickly. He clenched his jaw so damn tight you audibly heard just how hard he ground them. How could he deprive you further when you were begging so sweetly? 

He shucks his jeans down further, guiding his twitching cock out from his boxers. A drawn out groan leaves your lips when he nudges the head of his cock against your soaking pussy. Your moan echoes loudly into the space around you both. 

He growls into your ears. Before you could apologise, your voice gets muffled around the heavy palm that comes to cover your mouth. You whine against it. “Told t’be fuckin’ quiet.” He grits, voice hushed against the side of your head. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the way he begins to thrust into you with the tip in an effort to get you used to his size. But it didn’t matter. The way his cockhead stretched your pussy out stung. But it was quickly replaced by the nauseating need to be fucked full. 

Joel leans down to trace kisses up your neck before he fully sheathes himself into you. The muffle around your mouth grows tighter to suppress the loud moan. “Shh shh…you’ve got it.” He praises, breathing heavily into your ears. 

The tears trickle directly over his knuckles. He releases the grip he had on your hair, looping around your abdomen. Snapping his hips into you at a punishing pace. You babble incoherently, practically slobbering into his palms, whining about how deep his cock was pounding into you. 

The obscene slaps of where the two of you connected fills the garage, only spurring his need to fill you deep with his come. 

Joel lets out a groan when you clench around his dick like vice. “Fuck. Pussy’s chokin’ me.” His head drops to the dip of your neck. Pressing kisses onto your pulse point. 

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” He admits, dragging his hand–slick with your saliva down to your throat. His head flush against your shoulder blade. He takes a moment to breathe you in. Joel isn’t quite the man he used to be and coming this embarrassingly fast wasn’t on his docket. Least of all tonight. 

You squirm a little at the sensation of Joel’s stubble against your shoulder. A deep exhale leaving your lips. 

“M…me too..” You pant out heavily. Resting your head back against his chest. Joel’s free hand slides underneath your sweater, yanking your bra down. 

A rough palm kneads the softness, tweaking your hardened nipples in a circular motion. “Shit. Mr—…Miller.” You manage. Squirming at how his palm gropes your tits clumsily. You give yourself the final push you needed, your fingers coming down to rub against your clit. 

Joel’s hips stutter at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock, following your orgasm soon after. But he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Both his hands firm around your hips. 

Your hands hastily come up to grab around his wrists. “Wait—stop—…stop.” You gasp out. Joel doesn’t quite register your pleas with how his mind was whirring around wanting to fuck his come deep into you until he feels a warm splatter of your release trickle down his thighs. 

Your bated breaths fill the garage. Mortified, you watch the liquid drip from the radiator grill of Joel’s truck. 

“I’ll be damned.” He muses, earning a warning look from you. Joel shakes his head, a low rumble from his chest makes you feel a little less embarrassed about squirting onto his truck. He turns you around to press a kiss onto the apple of your cheeks. 

“Been meanin’ to get er’ washed. Guess I don’t gotta anymore.”

[tadc-harlequin-au]

God your designs are so fucking good bro, I'd love to know how the design process went

lmfao, I can give some insights

Caine's design was mostly an accident. In the scrapped initial intro animatic for this AU, he had a placeholder design until I could finalize him when I went to clean up the frames

which became this, then this, then...

He literally got designed as the animatic went on, the coat on shoulders was a subconscious approach because I blame One Piece for making me a coat-on-shoulders whore. His final coat design is mostly taken from my own oc lol

up to this point, I had no idea how he would've been colored until I did this shitpost

Pomni's is weird too

She was partially inspired by both the Circus breach crack idea, Pauline from my Unexpected Reunion AU, and Mystery!Pomni because I do love women (in suits)

so if Caine was designed overtime within an animatic, Pomni's design spanned fucking AUs-

Ragatha was literally just me thinking, "hm. what if. hear me out. maid. but tattered skirt cus puppet revolution time"

this is her VERY first appearance and it hasn't changed much since leave me alone let me enjoy women being gay

Now, Kingr is actually the closest ANY design in this AU would come to it's base inspiration Lies of P, because AUGH King of Puppets my beloved

He started as a boss design from the get go then reverse engineered to look more friendly, because by the time I was designing him, I was already incorporating the idea of Pomni having to fight bosses so she could free them from these insane forms of theirs

This idea was recycled from my other AU for fnaf btw, the Eternal Eclipse AU where Freddy has to free the other Glamrocks from their "Primal forms" by fighting them WITH THE POWER OF ROCK AND ROLLLLLLLLLL (which are GIGANTIC and INSANE, sound familiar yet?)

back to the rest, I actually didn't really know what I wanted for Jax, aside from a Cheshire Cat motif from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland because love that mofo and Jax's constant smile reminds me of him

I guess that's why his initial design was so unnecessarily cluttered and so hard to draw, because all I knew was that I wanted it to be loose, flowy, bouncy and airy, like an actual cartoon. But, still respecting the laws of reality somewhat

and then I had to switch the outfit out, because at around this time, The Patriarch's design was finalized, and I didn't want people to start to think Jax was associated with him purely due to similar palettes. So I sneakily swapped it out with an explorer's outfit (since I was thinking of Jax as the team's scout), and tried to play it off as simply a "oh it was hard to draw"

He was even supposed to have goggles in the newer design, but I scrapped it because I'm repeating the same mistake of making him too cluttered again.

Z is a pretty straightforward one, although they diverged from the initial idea. My first thought was making them a brawler of sorts because they were initially going to be Pomni's training buddy, so I looked up "Victorian brawler" and yoinked the outfit I liked.

The concept of Z being the training dummy was then recycled to be Kingr's role instead because Kingr was more of a tank character than Z, and in turn, she became the weaponsmith

Each part of Z was also inspired by something that randomly came to mind when I was trying to wrack my brain with what parts should they have:

the hook peg is from Hiccup, the other peg is from A series of Unfortunate Events, the antler is a reference to Mystery!Zooble but combined with the Minecraft Warden's palette, spiked chokers were taken from my own sona's eel tongue. The flexible arms are very much Doc ock

Gangle... She was the hardest to design that my brain is blocking me from remembering the process because it was so traumatizing /j

I just know that like Caine, her design was also mostly an accident. Iirc, she wasn't meant to have cat ears/motif in the first place, but after I finished the mask with the <:3 face I went like "fuck it we ball" and went furry mode

I think she was also meant to have painted whiskers, and the only reason why she doesn't is I forgor 💀

There was no inspo for her outfit except maybe Disney Cinderella because I was only putting what worked and discarded what didn't (not recommended)

The double ribbon arms was literally just me thinking the ends are her little fingies, and her "feet" is just me wanting to make her ribbons look like a part of her dress and looking flowy because ew feet

anyways if you can't tell, there's a pattern here: recycle ideas, take inspo, look it up or fuck it we ball when all else fails lol

the lesson here is to not follow in my footsteps because I keep stepping on shit /lh

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! episode four : participation prize . . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Dual pov . .

Setting: 3 years ago . . 

You looked down at your shoes, the expensive pair the brand that sponsored you had provided for the event of the 'century' they call it, and you just wished mentally you drowned a glass of something to ease your nerves before you got into the car. It was your first award show as an actor—as an official actor, and it was right after your first gig had blown up and a few months after your 4 year relationship with your fiancé had ended. 

You took a deep breathe, sinking into the leather fabric of the carseat, your anxiety off the charts, you didn't know how to react—well you knew you shouldn't react in the first place—all that media training would be for nothing if you fucked up now, and the idea of fucking up in itself made the anxiety boil . . they didn't quite explain what fucking up entails, just not to go againest your brand . .  but what even is your brand at this point?

The media was so unpredictable and so was your newfound fanbase, just yesterday you could remember how much of your fanbase turned on you because you joined the influencer to celebrity train by accepting an acting gig—and now you're being praised—your anxiety grew as you recalled how many friends had turned on you that day, as the trailer released, and now you're nominated for three different awards for your role? How fucking stupid. 

You could hear the cheers of the crowd as the car closed in on the red carpet, and you found it overwhelming—suddenly the makeup on your face, the designer clothes that weighed you down . . felt all too overbearing for you to take . . but as the car door opened and you were guided outside . . you put your best face on and walked down that carpet, because you got this far, might as well live through it. 

Time: 1:23 pm Location: arena

Vil sat down on his assigned chair and table at the Arena, a little sigh escaped his lips as he let his nerves finally cool down, he wasn't normally overwhelmed, he worked hard to trample those feelings of unease, anxiety, and perhaps even a bit of envy down to the mud, to the very corner of his very being, so it would never have to be touched.  

He saw someone in blue, walking towards a table just a bit far from his, and he didn't recognize them—to be fair there were tons of new faces all around, this year has been particularly . .  welcoming, if that's what he could even call it—but he couldn’t really make out their face either . . so maybe he’s mistaken.

An hour has passed, and Vil should be sleeping right now, he really fucking should be—relaxing in his new apartment at The Chateau . . it's newly furnished . . his silk bed sheets—he's pretty sure he's drowned about half a bottle worth of champagne as the announcer seems to be worse than last year, why do they feel the need to prolong every second possible and yet give the winners less than 30 seconds worth of time to speak?

Time: 3:33 pm Location: arena

You feel sick to your stomach, sitting alone at your table—you don't know if it was on purpose, or if the people who were supposed to be sitting beside you just hadn't bothered to turn up for tonight's event—or if they were ignoring you, your not aware at all and that just made your anxiety so much worse. 

You honestly felt sick, you haven't even eaten anything just in case you threw up . .  and yet right now, that seemed to be affecting you worse, the emptiness in your stomach made you feel weirdly uncomfortable, and yet you couldn't get up, not when your category was so close to being presented—what if your seat was empty when the camera lands on you? What would the people say? What would your sponsors do? What would— 

"And the winner of best lead actor in a romance film—", the announcer fiddled with the envelope, opening it and throwing it somewhere on the stage, "Y/n L/n!"—everyone started clapping, and for a second all of your surroundings went still, your body stilling from shock and your breathing for the first time in the whole night regulated back to normal . .  after all this fucking time it all felt . .  okay. 

You wanted to cry, tears of joy. You didn’t. And made your way up to the stage like a rational person. 

Time: 3:35 pm Location: arena 

Vil stares at you coming up to the stage, the way you struggled up the stairs—because of course you did—the way your shoulders seem to shake just slightly, and how you gulped on screen—so unprofessional . . you looked like you were about to cry . . and that made him feel . . angry? Angry. 

Vil clenched and unclenched his fists as he leaned back into his chair mumbling, "They look like they're going to break down", and Rook turned to face him, here on attendance in place of his wife, "You got all that from them climbing the stairs?", he asked with a raised brow, drinking his . .  whatever that was. 

“I’m an actor, of course I did.” 

Perhaps it was anger, maybe even envy . . or maybe he just hated that he liked looking at you—or your voice—or .  .  . Vil’s mind went quiet for a moment. 

And bitterness washed over him, he was never upset with losing an award, no not since he’s been in and out of therapy but something about losing to an influencer hurt him—hurt his pride, someone who stood on camera for 30 seconds doing little to nothing . . beating him. 

Wow, way to wreck a man's pride. 

Vil turned to face you as you walked back, eyeing your every movement . . Did you know you walked weird? At a 30 degree angle to be exact.

Rook mention <333

Sorry for the late update our wifi was so slow making and downloading graphics was actually hell and I had to eat.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

♡. Want spoilers ?! . . Join my server . . !! (or to be namedropped <3)

— taglist ♡ ; @well-look-at-this , @honkai-freak , @kingnem10 , @merviolet-asks , @katzline , @pebble-bb , @meigalaxy , @lordbugs , @crowbird , @yuus3n , @azriel-sama , @reivelmin , @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 , @eliza-be-t-h , @feverish-dove , @yejiswifex , @l0v3r666 , @cece-cherries , @frootloopscos , @abell2029cluster , @ephemii , @alienlatteinspace , @frangiipanii , @vamprel , @kittycat246 , @jar-03 , @leifsclubroom , @everettelz ,

♡ . Ask to be tagged... (If you don't see yourself up here, I cant tag you)

© devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Two

Summary: Penelope hosts a brunch, Derek tells Spencer not to force you to talk to him. You make a new friend with a client, they convince you to go to the brunch.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, regret of past decisions, Penelope playing match maker

Word count: 8k

a/n: Spencer and you finally talk!!!

main masterlist prologue part one part three part four

You’ve been avoiding every time Derek invites you to go out with the BAU team since the embarrassing incident at the bar. Each time you decline, you can hear the disappointment in his voice, but the anxiety bubbling up in your chest whenever you think about seeing Spencer again is enough to keep you from saying yes. The embarrassment of that night still haunts you, and every time Derek mentions the team, you feel your heart squeeze with panic. 

To keep your mind off everything, you throw yourself into your work, accepting new clients and piling on extra projects. You stay late at the office, ensuring your schedule is so packed that you don’t have time to think about anything but deadlines, designs, and color schemes. It’s easier to focus on creating beautiful spaces for other people than it is to deal with the mess inside your own head. 

Meanwhile, Spencer is struggling. Ever since that night at the bar, the memory of you running out haunts him. He keeps replaying the look on Derek’s face, the way you bolted the second he walked in, and it twists his gut with guilt. But it’s not just that moment—he’s also haunted by the memory of how he left you all those years ago, how he slipped out of your bed without a word, too scared to stay and too ashamed to face you. The weight of those two moments presses down on him, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Spencer's work starts to suffer. During cases, he’s distracted, zoning out during briefings and losing his train of thought mid-sentence. Hotch notices first, his brows knitting with concern as he watches Spencer fumble through his notes during a meeting. JJ, too, picks up on the change, her subtle glances in his direction filled with quiet worry. They don’t push him—yet—but Spencer knows they’re watching, waiting for him to say something. But he doesn’t. He just keeps burying it, trying to push it all down.

Spencer also finds himself trying to be around Derek more often, finding excuses to stop by his desk or catch him after work. He never outright asks about you, but it’s clear that’s why he’s hovering. Whenever Derek casually mentions having seen you, Spencer’s eyes light up, a flicker of hope in the midst of his guilt. But Derek’s updates are always brief, never giving away too much. He knows you’re still hurting, and he’s not about to let Spencer think everything is fine when it’s not.

Spencer hovered near Derek's desk, tapping his fingers nervously on the edge as Derek typed away at his computer. The bullpen was quiet for once, just the low hum of conversation in the background. Spencer cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything right away, trying to come up with something that didn’t sound too obvious.

“Hey, uh, Derek,” Spencer started, his voice a little too casual. “You have any plans this weekend?”

Derek didn’t even look up, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what this was about, but he played along. “Yeah, got a few things going on,” he replied, his fingers still tapping at the keys. “Why, you got something in mind, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room as if he wasn’t really sure what to say next. “No, I just... thought maybe we could grab a drink or something.” He paused for a beat. “Or, you know, if you’re hanging out with anyone else...?”

Derek chuckled softly, finally glancing up at Spencer with a knowing look. “Anyone else, huh?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You mean, like Y/N?”

Spencer’s face flushed immediately, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I mean... I wasn’t... just curious,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

Derek sighed, leaning forward on his desk and crossing his arms. “Look, man, she won’t just magically want to see you. You know that, right?”

Spencer’s face fell, the small flicker of hope that had sparked just moments ago snuffed out. He swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I just... I guess I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

After a long silence, Derek finally spoke up again. “Look, man,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “You can’t keep hovering around me, hoping I’ll tell you she’s suddenly okay with everything. It’s gonna take time. And you’ve got to give her space.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he whispered. 

Derek gave him a small nod, watching as Spencer turned to leave, his shoulders slumped under the weight of everything left unsaid. But just before Spencer walked away, Derek called after him.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his tone a little softer now. “For what it’s worth... I think she’ll come around. But you’ve gotta be patient. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

Spencer looked back at Derek, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes again, but this time tempered with the understanding that it might take more time than he’d like. “Thanks, Derek,” he said quietly, before turning and walking back to his desk, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

At this point, the rest of the team is fully aware of why you keep declining their invitations and why Spencer’s been so off lately. Penelope, in particular, can’t stand seeing anyone so miserable. After hearing about your history with Spencer from Derek, she’s taken it upon herself to figure out how to fix this mess. Penelope’s always been a sucker for a happy ending, and she refuses to believe that this is how your story should end.

So, she starts plotting. She ropes Derek into her schemes, convincing him that if anyone can get you two to reconcile, it’s them. Derek, though hesitant at first, agrees. He knows you, and he knows Spencer, and as much as he wants to stay out of it, he also wants both of his friends to be happy. 

Penelope sat at her desk, typing furiously away, when Derek walked up, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her with a raised brow.

"Alright, Penelope, spill it," Derek said, voice low with suspicion. "What are you up to?"

Penelope’s fingers paused on the keyboard as she slowly turned to face him, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said sweetly, though her eyes betrayed her scheming.

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, don’t play dumb with me. I know you too well. You’ve been up to something ever since that mess at the bar.”

She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m plotting just a little, but it's for the greater good.” She sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “I mean, you want Y/N and Spencer to make up, don’t you?”

Derek hesitated, running a hand over his head. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want that, but... you’ve met Y/N. She’s not going to be happy if we force them together.”

Penelope waved her hand dismissively. “Pish posh! I’m not forcing anything. I’m simply creating a situation where fate can do its thing.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Picture this: we invite Y/N to one of my brunches, or maybe to your next team gathering, and oh! Surprise! Spencer’s there. They bump into each other, sparks fly, and—boom! Reconciliation.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”

Penelope's eyes widened in exaggerated innocence. “Of course not. But it’s better than both of them moping around like lovesick teenagers.”

Derek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mama, I want them to figure it out, but Y/N’s... she’s been through a lot. I don’t want to push her too hard. If she finds out we’ve been scheming, she’s going to be pissed. You have no idea how stubborn she can be.”

Penelope leaned forward, placing her hands flat on her desk. “Which is exactly why we need to be subtle about this, my sexy, sculpted cupid. We’re not going to push them. We’re just going to nudge them in the right direction. And if it doesn’t work? Then we back off. But I refuse to sit by and watch Spencer be miserable, and know she’s miserable too, when we could help.”

Derek looked down at her, his jaw tightening as he considered it. “And what if Y/N doesn’t want to see him? She hasn’t exactly been jumping at the chance to hang out with the team since that night.”

Penelope shrugged, giving him a hopeful smile. “Then we let it be. But Derek, what if this is the closure they both need? Or better yet, another chance? We owe it to them to try.”

Derek groaned, knowing she wasn’t going to let it go. “Alright, fine. But if this backfires, Garcia, you’re taking the blame.”

Penelope grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands together. “Trust me, Hot Stuff, it won’t backfire. This is going to work.”

Derek shook his head, laughing under his breath as he turned to leave. “You better be right.”

Penelope’s voice followed him as he walked out. “Oh, I’m always right when it comes to matters of the heart, Derek Morgan. Just wait and see!” 

Derek muttered under his breath, “We’ll see about that.” But deep down, he couldn’t help but hope she was right.

Their plan starts simple—just trying to get you both in the same room again, even if it’s by accident. As the wheels of their plan start turning, both you and Spencer remain blissfully unaware of their scheming. You’re too busy drowning in work, and Spencer’s too tangled up in his own guilt to notice the subtle nudges Penelope and Derek are starting to orchestrate. 

—

The lunchtime crowd hummed quietly around you as you sat across from Derek at your favorite corner table. The restaurant had always been your go-to, a cozy, familiar space where you could relax and enjoy the food without worrying about the outside world. Today, though, you were feeling anything but relaxed. Derek was giving you that look—the one that said he was about to bring up something you’d been trying to avoid.

“So,” Derek began, cutting into his sandwich, his voice casual, but his eyes watching you carefully. “Penelope’s throwing one of her infamous brunches this weekend. Thought you might want to come.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I don’t know, Derek. I’ve been really busy with work, and—”

Derek held up a hand, interrupting you gently. “I know, I know. You’ve been taking on a lot of new projects lately.” He paused, his tone softening. “But you’ve been avoiding hanging out with the team since... well, you know.”

Your heart tensed a little, but you quickly pushed the feeling away, forcing a smile as you sipped your drink. “I’m just not ready to jump back into all that. It’s been nice keeping my head down and staying focused.”

Derek leaned forward, his eyes full of understanding but also a hint of concern. “I get it, sugar. I’m not saying you should force yourself into anything. But maybe... maybe it’s time to let yourself have a little fun again. No pressure, just brunch with some really cool people. Penelope’s dying to see you again, and so is the rest of the team.”

You hesitated, your fingers tapping lightly against the rim of your glass. The thought of seeing everyone again made your stomach twist. But what if Spencer was there? What if you had to see him? You weren’t sure if you could handle that yet.

“Is Spencer going to be there?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Derek paused, his fork hovering over his plate. He looked at you thoughtfully before answering, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to overwhelm you. “Honestly? Probably not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Probably?”

Derek shrugged, setting his fork down. “I haven’t heard anything about him coming, and knowing Spencer, he’s been pretty distracted lately. I doubt he’ll make it. But... even if he did, it wouldn’t be about him. It’d be about you. Hanging out with people who really want to get to know you better.”

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to stay in your bubble and knowing Derek was right. You’d been keeping yourself so busy with work that you hadn’t given yourself much time to just... exist outside of it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you really did like hanging out with Derek and Penelope and the rest of the team. 

But there was still that nagging worry—what if seeing them all again just brought back memories of Spencer? Of what happened at the bar, and everything that came before it?

Derek seemed to sense your hesitation, and he reached across the table, placing his hand on yours. “Hey, you’re not gonna be alone in this, alright? We’ve got your back. And if it gets weird or uncomfortable, we’ll bail. No questions asked.”

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity there, the way he genuinely wanted to help you move past this. And honestly, maybe he was right. You couldn’t keep avoiding the world forever. Eventually, you’d have to face things—even the parts that hurt.

After a long moment, you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Alright,” you said, though your voice still held a trace of uncertainty. “I’ll think about it.”

Derek grinned, clearly pleased with your response, even if it wasn’t a solid yes just yet. “That’s all I’m asking, sweetheart. Just think about it.”

You smiled, though your mind was still turning over the idea. It wasn’t a decision you were ready to make just yet, but the fact that you were even considering it felt like a step in the right direction.

—

Derek found Spencer sitting at his desk, flipping through a stack of papers, though it was clear his mind was miles away. His usual hyper-focused energy was absent, replaced by an air of distracted tension that had been hanging over him for weeks now. Derek knew it wasn’t just the cases that had Spencer like this. It was you.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said casually as he leaned against the side of Spencer’s desk, crossing his arms. Spencer looked up, startled out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly as if he hadn’t even noticed Derek approach.

“Oh, hey,” Spencer replied, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “What’s up?”

Derek didn’t waste any time. He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the rest of the team. “Listen, man, I wanted to give you a heads-up about something.”

Spencer sat up a little straighter, already sensing that this wasn’t just a casual conversation. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, weighing his words carefully. “Y/N might be coming to Penelope’s brunch this weekend,” he said, watching Spencer’s reaction closely.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he processed the news. “She is?” His voice was quiet, a mixture of hope and nerves in his tone.

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Derek continued, his tone more serious now. “You’ve gotta give her space, man. Let her come to you when she’s ready. She’s not gonna want you chasing after her or trying to force a conversation. If she shows up, it’s a big deal for her.”

Spencer gave Derek a sharp look. "I'm not a child, Morgan. I can handle this."

Derek nodded, lowering his hands. "Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect you to. Just... give her the space she needs, alright?"

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Understood. I know I messed up, and I’ll give her space. But I’m not going to act like she doesn't exist. I care about her too much for that."

Derek gave him a small, encouraging smile. "That’s all I’m asking, man. Just be ready when the time’s right." With a final pat on Spencer’s shoulder, Derek straightened up. “See you at brunch, man. Just... take it easy.”

Spencer watched as Derek walked away, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his chest. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But for your sake, he was willing to wait.

—

On your most recent job, you quickly hit it off with Austin, the person you’re helping redesign their living space. They’re warm, funny, and easy to talk to, and the two of you click almost immediately. 

After finishing up the day’s discussion on design plans, Austin smiles and offers, “How about a cup of coffee before you head out? I make a mean brew.”

Grateful for the break and their company, you nod. “I’d love that.”

Austin heads to the kitchen, and you follow, feeling like you’ve made a new friend as much as a professional connection.

As you sit in the newly remodeled kitchen with Austin, the atmosphere feels warm and cozy. The soft glow of sunlight through the windows highlights the potted plants neatly arranged on the shelves, while the scent of fresh coffee fills the air. Austin hands you a mug, their smile easy and comforting as you settle into a chair.

You and Austin chat aimlessly for a while, exchanging stories and making easy, lighthearted conversation. The topics flow naturally—favorite movies, travel dreams, and funny stories from work. Eventually, the conversation shifts when Austin starts gushing about their partner, eyes lighting up as they tell you about the recent proposal and how they’re working to finish the house before their partner officially moves to Virginia.

“So, they proposed right there in the park,” Austin says with a dreamy grin. “I swear, I didn’t even see it coming. I was still thinking about what we were going to have for lunch, and then bam, ring in my face!”

You smile, warmed by their excitement. “That’s amazing. It sounds perfect.”

“It was,” Austin beams, looking star-eyed thinking about their fiance. Then, they turn to you with a curious glint in their eye. “Okay, so spill. Anyone tickling your fancy lately? I don’t see a ring.” They gesture to your bare hand with a teasing grin.

You laugh lightly, rubbing your ring finger absentmindedly as you sigh. “Yeah, maybe, well, no. There’s this... guy. But it’s complicated.”

Austin’s grin widens as they lean in, clearly intrigued. “Complicated, huh? Oh, now you have to tell me. What’s the tea?”

You take a breath, then dive into the story. You don't name names—you never know who’s going to know Spencer now—but you tell Austin about the guy from your past who broke your heart, the one who ghosted after everything. You explain how, years later, he's suddenly back in your life, and how seeing him has stirred up all those old feelings again, leaving you confused and unsure of what to do.

Austin listens intently, nodding as you talk. "That sounds rough," they say softly when you finish. "It’s totally valid to feel hurt, and it’s understandable if you don’t want to rush back into anything."

"Yeah, thank you—but... it’s been years. Shouldn’t I be over it by now?" you ask, feeling the familiar frustration rise in your chest. "I’ve been ignoring him, avoiding anything or anyone that might bring him back into my life, but now I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing."

Austin leans back, resting their mug on the table. "It’s not about how long it’s been; it’s about how it affected you. It’s okay to still feel hurt. But maybe... hearing him out could give you some closure. It doesn’t mean you have to forgive him or let him back into your life, but it might help you move forward."

You bite your lip, considering their words. "I don’t know if I can face him. What if he just makes things worse?"

Austin smiles, their expression soft but encouraging. "Only you know what you need. But remember, this isn’t about him. It’s about you. What do you need to feel at peace with all this? If hearing him out helps, then maybe it’s worth considering. If not, that’s okay too. Just make sure you’re doing what’s best for you, not what’s easiest."

Their words settle over you like a comforting blanket, making you feel understood. Austin seems to have a way of turning serious conversations into lighthearted moments, and you’re grateful for it.

"Plus," Austin adds with a grin, "if it goes badly, you can always stage a dramatic exit at the brunch. I’m talking about flipping tables and storming out—full soap opera style."

You laugh, the weight of the situation lifting just a bit. "You know, that might actually make it worth going."

"Exactly!" Austin beams. "But seriously, I think you should go. If nothing else, you'll get some great brunch food, and maybe—just maybe—you'll get the closure you're looking for. Worst case, you can leave and we’ll plan the perfect revenge."

Feeling more confident with their support, you finally nod. "Alright, I’ll go to the brunch."

Austin claps their hands together excitedly. "Good! And I’ll be here, ready to hear all the details afterward."

With that, the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and laughing, the heavy weight of indecision lightening with each joke and bit of encouragement. Austin’s easygoing nature and advice give you the nudge you need to face the upcoming brunch—and Spencer.

—

That night, as Spencer lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind began to wander, slipping into the memories of a time he hadn’t let himself revisit in years—college, the late nights in the library, the quiet moments spent with you. 

He could still remember the first time he saw you on campus, walking across the quad with your head down, focused on a book you were balancing in your arms. You hadn’t noticed him then, but he had noticed you—how could he not? The way you carried yourself, the quiet confidence in your demeanor. At first, he admired you from a distance, his heart catching whenever you passed by in a hallway or sat near him in the library. You had no idea, and he was too shy to ever approach you.

Then came the nights in the library, when fate—or maybe just a shared dedication to studying—brought you together. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above, the rustle of pages being turned, and the way your pens would scratch in unison over notebook paper as you both worked. He remembered how, over time, you grew comfortable with each other’s presence, exchanging little smiles, shared inside jokes, and eventually conversations that lasted longer than either of you planned.

There was one night, in particular, that stuck in his memory—a night when you two had stayed so late that the library lights started to dim, signaling closing time. The campus was quiet as you both walked out together, the cool air brushing against your faces. You had laughed about something, your eyes lighting up in the moonlight, and Spencer remembered how his heart had fluttered in that moment, wondering how someone could make him feel so at ease. He never thought he’d get to know you, let alone be someone you’d spend your nights with, even if just for studying.

And then came the night that changed everything. The night you had invited him over after finals, and things became more than just studying. He hadn’t expected it, didn’t even dare to imagine it, but when it happened, it felt... perfect. 

You had fallen asleep on his chest that night, your soft breaths a rhythm against his skin. He remembered lying there, tracing small patterns on your back, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his. It should have been the best night of his life—and in many ways, it was—but his mind, his insecurities, had taken over. He remembered thinking that you were too good for him, that someone like you wouldn’t want to stick around for someone like him. And that fear, that crushing fear of losing you, had driven him to leave.

Spencer swallowed hard as the guilt washed over him again. He had been so lovesick, so desperate to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak he assumed would come. But in doing so, he had created a heartbreak that had lasted for years—for both of you.

Now, on the eve of seeing you again, the weight of it all pressed down on his chest like a heavy stone. The regret was unbearable, but so was the longing—the memory of your laughter, your smile, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Spencer felt a deep ache in his chest, his heart pounding with the knowledge that he might never get the chance to tell you how much you had meant to him, how much you still did.

He had been infatuated with you all those years ago, and now, he realized, that feeling had never truly gone away.

Unable to sleep, Spencer tossed and turned, his mind refusing to quiet. Every memory, every regret, kept replaying on a loop. With a sigh of frustration, he finally threw the covers off and dragged himself out of bed, padding down the hall toward his office. 

He knew it was pointless, but something inside him—maybe it was curiosity, maybe guilt—compelled him to open his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before they moved almost automatically, typing your name into the search bar.

Within seconds, your business page appeared. Spencer hesitated before clicking, his heart racing, his palms suddenly clammy. It felt intrusive, like peeking into a part of your life he no longer had the right to know about, but he couldn’t stop himself.

As the page loaded, his eyes immediately went to the gallery of your work—beautiful, thoughtfully designed interiors that gave him a glance into you, your mind. He scrolled through the images slowly, taking in the details. The colors, the arrangements, the way you made spaces feel both warm and elegant. He had always known you were talented, but seeing the breadth of your work now, years later in a professional sense and not just sketches for class, filled him with a sense of pride. 

And then he saw it—your headshot, nestled at the top of the page alongside your name and title. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the picture. There you were, smiling, your eyes bright, your expression so familiar it made his heart ache.

Spencer leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixating on the details of your face. He studied every line, every angle, as if trying to memorize you all over again. It had been so long since he’d seen you up close, but here, on this screen, you felt so near and yet so far. 

His fingers grazed the edge of the trackpad, hesitant, before he clicked on the image, enlarging it until it filled the screen. He stared, lost in the sight of you—how much you had grown, how much you had changed, but still so much the same. The emotions welled up inside him, a mixture of longing and regret, so intense he could hardly breathe.

He had left you, walked away when he was too afraid to face what he felt, and now, all these years later, here you were, thriving in a world he no longer shared with you. Spencer wondered if you had moved on, if you had someone else in your life now, someone who appreciated all the beauty and warmth you brought into the world.

But even more than that, he wondered if you would ever forgive him.

Spencer stared at your picture until the screen blurred, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness—he knew that much. But as he sat there, in the silence of his office, staring at the face he had missed for so long, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you would give him the chance to try.

—

You showed up to Penelope’s place early, just as promised, with Derek by your side. He immediately went to help her hang up string lights while you and Penelope stayed together, fussing over the final touches. The atmosphere was lively and fun, and you were glad you came today.

When you entered her kitchen, Penelope lit up. "Oh my God! Look at you! I am in love with your outfit!" she exclaimed, her hands clapping together in excitement. You grinned, feeling the compliment ease some of your nerves.

“You’re one to talk,” you gestured towards her own colorful ensemble, the vibrant red and playful green perfectly matching her quirky style. “You look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine—one that I desperately need a subscription to."

Penelope twirled dramatically, her beret perched at the perfect angle, making the charm bracelet on her wrist dangle and jingle. "Stop it, we’re just the most fashionable duo, aren’t we?" She winked at you before handing you a mimosa. "Okay, now drink up. We've got some brunch magic to make happen."

As you sipped the bubbly drink, you couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety loosen in your chest. You and Penelope moved around the kitchen, arranging pastries and fruit trays, talking about everything except the one thing you knew was still looming in the background—Spencer. But for now, with the lights twinkling outside, the mimosas in hand, and Penelope by your side, you allowed yourself to feel a small sense of peace.

As the morning drifted into late brunch hour, the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of the first guests. You exchanged a quick, encouraging glance with Penelope before taking another sip of your mimosa, the fizz tickling your nose as you set the glass down.

“I’ll get it!” Penelope sang, already halfway to the door. You watched from the kitchen as she swung it open with her signature flair. “Elle! JJ! Look at you gorgeous queens!”

Elle was the first to step inside, her calm confidence radiating as she gave Penelope a warm hug. “You’re too much,” Elle smirked, though you could see the affection in her eyes as she gave Penelope a squeeze. 

JJ, all smiles, followed closely behind, her sunny personality lighting up the room the second she entered. “Garcia!” she exclaimed, leaning in for her own hug. “This place looks amazing, as usual.” She cast a quick glance around the room, taking in the string lights, the vibrant color scheme, and of course, the immaculate spread of food that had been lovingly arranged.

Penelope didn’t miss a beat. “Girls, you remember Y/N!” she called over, practically skipping as she gestured towards you. “She’s my stylish new partner-in-crime today.”

Elle and JJ turned toward you with warm, inviting smiles. JJ was the first to step forward, her kindness evident in her expression. “Y/N! Of course we remember. I’m glad you’re here!” She opened her arms for a quick, friendly hug, which you returned, grateful for her easygoing energy.

Elle followed suit, her smile softer but no less welcoming. “Good to see you again,” she said, giving you a nod of approval as she took in your outfit. “You’re definitely keeping up with Penelope in the style department.”

You laughed lightly, feeling the tension start to ease as you hugged Elle too. “I had to step up my game, knowing she’d outshine all of us,” you joked, throwing a playful glance at Penelope, who was already bouncing back towards the food to check on the platters.

Derek, meanwhile, appeared from the other side of the room, finishing up with the string lights. He clapped his hands together, grinning as he walked over. “Ladies! Looks like we’re in for quite the brunch.”

JJ raised her glass in response, smiling. “Cheers to that. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a proper get-together.”

Elle nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope the food tastes as good as it smells. You and Penelope outdid yourselves this time.”

Penelope shot her a cheeky grin. “Oh, honey, just wait until you taste it. Y/N’s been helping too—she’s a natural!”

You felt a small flush creep into your cheeks at the compliment, but the easy laughter and casual conversation swirling around you made it hard to feel too self-conscious. It was starting to feel like maybe this day wouldn’t be as nerve-wracking as you’d feared.

Next to arrive, in a much more subdued manner, were Hotch and Haley. Hotch entered with his usual calm presence, while Haley smiled warmly, her arm linked with his. She radiated a gentle energy that put you at ease immediately. As they approached, Hotch offered a small nod of greeting, his serious demeanor softened just slightly by the casual setting.

“Penelope, this place looks amazing,” Haley said, her voice filled with admiration as she took in the setup. “It’s so cozy and beautiful.”

Penelope beamed, twirling slightly as she accepted the compliment. “Why, thank you! Y/N helped with all the setup. We’re a dynamic duo today,” she said, sending you a proud wink.

Haley turned her attention to you, her smile genuine as she extended her hand. “Y/N, it’s great to meet you. I’m Aaron’s wife, Haley. Penelope mentioned you have an eye for design, and I can definitely see it.”

You shook her hand, grateful for her easy manner. “Thank you, Haley. I’m glad you like it. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Hotch gave you a polite smile as well. “Good to see you, Y/N,” he said simply, his voice carrying its usual quiet authority but without the edge it often had in more formal settings.

“It’s good to see you too, Hotch,” you replied, matching his composed tone.

The group began to chat casually, the energy shifting to a more relaxed rhythm with Haley’s calm presence balancing Penelope’s excitable nature. You found yourself blending in more easily than you expected, the unease you felt earlier starting to fade away as the conversation flowed naturally.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that, so far, everything was going smoothly. The brunch was shaping up to be a success, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment without worrying about what—or who—might come next.

But then, just as you were starting to relax, there was a knock at the door. The sound sent a jolt of anxiety through you, your breath catching in your throat as the lighthearted atmosphere suddenly shifted. You choked on a breath, your fingers tightening around your glass. 

Derek, noticing the slight change in your expression, patted your shoulder reassuringly before heading to the door. He swung it open with his usual confident ease, his grin widening as he greeted the new arrivals.

“Gideon! Reid!” Derek’s voice was full of his usual warmth, but when your eyes caught sight of Spencer standing just behind Gideon, your pulse spiked.

Gideon stepped inside first, laughing as he shook Derek’s hand. “You know how much Spencer hates driving. He practically begged me to pick him up,” he joked, casting a sideways glance at Spencer, who was lingering just outside the doorway.

Spencer offered a small, awkward smile, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket as he gave Derek a polite nod. "Yeah, driving... not my favorite thing."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you saw Spencer—looking the same, yet different. His hair was longer, his expression a little more weathered. He seemed hesitant, as if unsure of his place in the room, but when his eyes quickly scanned the space and landed on you, they widened ever so slightly.

Derek caught the momentary tension between you and Spencer, his jaw tightening subtly. He turned to the rest of the group, his tone trying to smooth over the sudden shift in energy. “Alright, everybody, make room for these two. Brunch is waiting to be devoured.”

Penelope quickly stepped forward to greet Gideon and Spencer with an exuberant smile, acting oblivious to the quiet storm brewing between you and the man now standing only a few feet away.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, and turned away, praying no one could see the turmoil swirling in your chest.

Gideon, ever the perceptive one, glanced around the room, his eyes briefly scanning each face before they settled on you. He tilted his head slightly, the hint of a curious smile playing on his lips. Without missing a beat, he broke away from the small group forming near the entrance and made his way over to you.

“Hello,” Gideon greeted you warmly, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jason Gideon.”

You blinked, momentarily startled by the direct introduction, but quickly reached out to shake his hand. "Y/N," you replied with a polite smile, though your voice wavered slightly, the nerves still simmering beneath the surface. "It’s nice to meet you."

Gideon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied you for a moment, seeming to pick up on the tension you were trying so hard to conceal. “Derek speaks highly of you,” he added kindly, his tone gentle, as if sensing that you needed a little bit of reassurance.

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded in response. “He’s a good friend,” you said, glancing in Derek’s direction for a split second before focusing back on Gideon. 

The conversation had inadvertently drawn Spencer's attention. From the corner of your eye, you could see him turn slightly, his gaze shifting from Gideon to you. His posture stiffened, and though he remained rooted to his spot near the door, his eyes were now locked on you, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

There it was—the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t have to look directly at him to feel the weight of his gaze on you. Spencer, standing just a few feet away, realizing that you were here.

Gideon seemed to notice too. He glanced over his shoulder toward Spencer before turning back to you, his expression a little softer now, as if understanding something unspoken.

“Well,” Gideon said after a brief pause, “it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gave you a final smile before turning to rejoin the others, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and the unmistakable feeling of Spencer’s eyes still on you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, but now there was no escaping it. You made brief eye contact, nodding in acknowledgement as Spencer gave you one of his infamous tight lipped smiles. 

Spencer stood frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat the moment Gideon’s conversation with you drew his attention. The sight of you—standing there, laughing politely at something Gideon said—was like a punch to the gut. He had been preparing himself for this, trying to steel his nerves, but nothing could’ve braced him for the actual moment of seeing you again.

You looked incredible, more radiant than he remembered, and the sight of you stirred up everything he had been trying to push down. The memories flooded back—the long nights in the library, the gentle teasing, the way your hand had felt in his, and the soft sound of your laugh. You should say something, he told himself. But his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, rooted in the swirl of emotions tightening his chest. 

Spencer felt a wave of heat rush over him. You looked so good—better than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine in the countless nights he’d lain awake thinking of you. That plaid dress you wore, the way it cinched at your waist, how your hair framed your face perfectly—every detail made him dizzy. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to focus, but all he could do was stare. 

God, what am I supposed to say? You hadn’t looked at him again since the brief glance. The thought gnawed at him. Does she hate me? Is she angry? Does she even care that I’m here?

His mind spiraled deeper, the insecurity choking him like a vice. Every possible scenario played out in his head: You turning around, glaring at him with the bitterness you were more than entitled to feel; you ignoring him completely, dismissing him as though he didn’t matter. Both options made him feel sick. 

I don’t deserve to talk to her, he thought miserably. 

But he wanted to. He wanted so badly to close the space between you, to say something, anything that might take back the years of silence and cowardice. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, his mind screaming at him to move, to walk over, to apologize, to finally make things right. But Spencer stayed where he was, staring at you like a man drowning, desperately reaching for the surface, for something to anchor him—but unable to find it.

You shifted slightly, turning in his direction for just a second. Your eyes flickered toward him once more. The briefest glance, and then you quickly looked away.

It was enough to make his heart drop.

She can’t even look at me.

Spencer clenched his jaw, the painful mix of regret and longing clawing at his insides. He could hear Derek’s words echoing in his head—give her space, let her come to you on her terms. But the problem was, he wasn’t sure he could wait anymore. How could he, when just seeing you from across the room was this overwhelming?

He stood there, drowning in his own thoughts, desperate to say something, to do something that would fix it all. But he couldn’t. Not yet. And it was tearing him apart.

As the brunch carried on, Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even though he was seated far enough that any chance of a conversation seemed impossible. You were right there, at the opposite end of the table, laughing, talking, and enjoying yourself with everyone else. Each time you laughed, it felt like a tug on his heart, reminding him of what you two had shared all those years ago.

The way you joked with Derek so easily, the way your banter flowed naturally—Spencer couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy creep in. It was irrational, but he couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe, just maybe, you had moved on with Derek. He tried to shake the thought, knowing how close you and Derek were as friends, but the insecurity was there nonetheless, gnawing at him.

Maybe that’s why Derek doesn’t want me to push things, Spencer thought bitterly, feeling the weight of his suspicions grow. Maybe he wants her for himself.

Spencer’s hands tightened around his glass, the icy chill of his now cold tea doing nothing to cool the heat rising in his chest. He knew he was being ridiculous, but the thought wouldn’t leave him. It stuck in his mind, festering as he watched Derek’s casual affection toward you. It didn’t help that you smiled at Derek the way you used to smile at him. 

When you excused yourself to make more tea, Spencer’s mind was spinning too much to stay seated. He couldn’t let the jealousy take control, but it was too late; it had already wrapped around his thoughts, suffocating any sense of logic. Before he realized it, his legs had carried him from the table, following you into the kitchen.

The moment you walked into the cozy kitchen that you'd helped Penelope prepare, the warm smell of the tea leaves filled the air. The clink of teacups and the sound of water boiling were the only things breaking the quiet of the room. You didn’t notice Spencer following you at first, too caught up in refilling the teapot and enjoying the brief solitude from the table’s conversations.

Spencer hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen, watching you from behind as you moved gracefully between the counter and the kettle. His heart was pounding, the thoughts racing in his mind, torn between his guilt over the past and the irrational jealousy clouding his judgment.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but thick with everything he was holding back. “Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, surprised to see him standing there, clearly not expecting this moment. The tension between you two was palpable, hanging in the air like a weight neither of you was ready to address.

"Spencer," you acknowledged softly, your hands still on the teapot as you stared at him. The awkwardness was undeniable, but there was something else too—years of unspoken words, regrets, and emotions neither of you had faced.

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stepped further into the kitchen. "I... I just wanted to—um, I need more tea," he said, fumbling for words, clearly not sure how to approach the conversation.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, surprised that was all he said but pleasantly relieved at the simplicity of it. "I can make you a cup if you want."

Your offer seemed to melt some of the tension in Spencer’s demeanor. His expression softened as he realized you were still the same kind person he’d fallen for all those years ago. “Thank you, that’s really kind of you.”

You nodded, reaching for the teapot. "Milk and sugar? Honey?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, all of it, please. I like it sweet."

“I know,” you mumbled, the words slipping out naturally. You’d seen Spencer drink his overly sugary coffee so many times back in college, his sweet tooth no secret to you.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, fidgeting with his hair as he tried to keep the conversation light. "Do you still drink coffee? Or is it all tea now?"

You shrugged, pouring the tea into his cup. “I do both. No need for all that caffeine today.” You laughed softly. “For work, though? That definitely requires coffee.”

Spencer smiled, feeling a little more at ease. "Yeah, I get that. My body’s probably made up of pure coffee by now," he joked, happy he’d chosen to stick with casual conversation rather than diving into the deep, painful history between you two again. 

Maybe Derek was right—maybe you would come to him when you were ready. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, his heart sank. Derek. He remembered the way you laughed with him, how easily you’d fallen into a rhythm with him at the table. 

The jealousy he’d managed to suppress earlier crept back in, though he did his best to push it down again. You were being kind, and he didn’t want to ruin this moment. But still, the thought lingered—was Derek the one holding you back from wanting to talk to him?

But you’d already turned around, catching the pensive look on Spencer’s face. "Everything alright?" you asked, a little concerned by the way his expression had shifted.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking up at you with a soft, almost hesitant smile. "So, uh, you and Derek, huh?"

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Spencer’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cup as he mumbled, “How long have you guys been... seeing each other?”

You burst out laughing, surprising him. "Me and Derek? No, no, no," you said, waving your hands dismissively as you continued to chuckle. "He’s my best friend. That’s all."

“Oh," he nodded, clearly unsure. "I just thought—”

But you cut him off before he could finish, handing him his tea with a small smile. “Tea’s ready. Here.” Your voice was soft but awkward as you backed out of the kitchen. “See you out there.”

With that, you made your way back to the brunch party, leaving Spencer standing in the kitchen, processing what had just happened. 

That was the end of your conversation for the day, but it was enough for him. Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. 

He could work with this.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls

[mead-iocre]

Our New Normal Pt. 3 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Our New Normal 3/4 (pt.1) (pt.2)

Ding. 

The ding of the elevator interrupts your train of thought. The closer you are to her flat, the more nervous you are about the inevitable. You had to tell her tonight. You had to tell Leah that you are transferring to Arsenal. This was the first time you had ever kept something so important from your best friend. The guilt was nearly eating you up inside and while you were nervous about how she might react to your news, you were ready to get rid of the weight baring down on your shoulders during the past couple of weeks. 

You are gently pulled out of the elevator by the blonde, one of your hands tightly clasped in hers. You and Leah walk the short journey to her front door, the warm sensor lights illuminating the way as you walk further down the familiar hallway. It’s hard to ignore the way your steps are synchronised, a reminder of how easy and effortless it feels like to be with the Arsenal defender. 

But that could all change after tonight. 

You begin to tug your hand out of hers so she can grab her house key, but she tightens her grip. Instead, Leah uses the hand that was pulling your luggage to fish out her key from the pocket of her trousers to unlock the front door. Your hand was safely intertwined in hers the entire time. This was normal. While Leah has always been an affectionate person, especially with you, you had a feeling that this was more than that. You had no doubt that the blonde can probably sense the change in your mood– she could read your cues and signals better than anyone. Leah could probably tell that you are pulling away from her, even if she doesn’t know the reason why, and she was stopping you from doing so. Literally.         

——————————————

You never realised how much you detested coats and jackets, but now you have come to the realisation that they weren’t your favourite thing. First of all, some coats on the market aren’t insulated enough to keep you warm, and it can be very hard to find the perfect coat without spending so much money. Secondly, having a coat on meant that you have no choice but to let go of Leah’s hand in order to slip off your coat. Once your hand left hers, you immediately miss the comfort it provided. Not only were you enjoying the feeling of her hand in hers, but it gave you something to focus on instead of the onslaught of worrying thoughts that have begun to fill your mind. Every insecurity, doubt and uncertainty about how this night was going to go were now on the forefront of your mind. 

“Right. I’m gonna order a takeaway” Leah walks over to switch the lights on, and her entire flat comes to life. She drops her keys onto the porcelain trinket tray that you had bought for her and wanders further into her flat. Leah has a tendency to misplace her keys, so you suggested setting up a designated place where she can leave her keys and so far there haven’t been any incidents. Yet.

You follow in behind her, slipping your feet into a pair of shearling slippers that the blonde had bought for you a few months ago. They were terribly overpriced, thanks to the iconic “H” cut-out that proudly boasts the luxury designer, but you couldn’t refuse her very expensive gift when she had excitedly pulled out a matching pair for herself.

Walking straight into the lounge, you spot the merinos wool throw blanket that you had bought and left at her house. It was also a very expensive purchase, and not one you would usually make, but you justified it by saying it’s for both of you. You and Leah would nestle underneath the blanket together whenever you were watching trashy tv shows on her sofa. By the corner of the window, you see the Kentia Palm plant, nestled in a ceramic plant pot, that you routinely nag the blonde to mist regularly. The bookshelf across the sofa proudly displays frame photographs of the most special people in Leah’s life. Some with family, some with friends, and some with you. There were pictures from your early years at England camp, playing for the youth teams. There were also photos outside of football, photos that never made the instagram feed and were only just for your eyes.

There are remnants of you all over her home. 

After delivering your luggage to the guest room, she walks over to you and cups your rosy cheeks in her hands. “Put something comfy on and warm up, baby.”

It wasn’t long before you and Leah were seated at the table, a selection of all of your favourite Chinese takeaway dishes spread out in front of you. The aroma of sweet and sour chicken wafted through the air, mingling with the savoury scent of beef and broccoli; crispy spring rolls beckoned from their perch on a porcelain plate, making it almost difficult to choose which dish to taste first. Without further hesitation, the both of you began to tuck in. Together, you both sampled each dish with gusto, comfortable conversation and shared laughter filled the usual silence of the defender’s flat. Leah animatedly told a story about the time Kyra pranked a few of the girls on the team by hiding their boots and shin pads around the training grounds and sending them on a wild goose chase to find them.

As the meal drew to a close, you both leaned back in your chairs, sated and content. Now  was probably the right time to tell the Arsenal defender about your transfer. You put your chopsticks down and turn your gaze at your best friend. 

“Leah, can we talk…”

“Sounds serious.” Leah puts her own pair of chopsticks down on top of her napkin before she pushes her plate to the side. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I-it’s nothing bad. At least I hope not for you” 

Leah leans forward in her seat. There’s a small smile on her face, but her eyebrows are furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re making me nervous, baby” 

“I wanted to talk to you about my transfer…” 

“Look, y/n.” 

A brief pause of silence. 

Leah takes a deep breath before continuing “I want you to know that I wouldn’t be mad if you signed for Chelsea. Honestly. It is still fucking weird to think about it though and I’m seriously considering knocking you on the head a few times– but if they had put down an offer and you want it then go for it.”

“That’s great, Lee, but-“

The blonde runs a hand through her hair in frustration, a habit she must’ve picked up from being around you so often. “I still can’t believe Arsenal didn’t put down an offer– I mean, you’re one of the best midfielders in the world right now. Seriously.” 

“Lee–“

“Although it’s a bit weird that you would still consider playing for my rival club, like among all the wsl teams out there, you chose the club that happened to my club’s direct rival– wait does that mean we’re rivals now–” 

“LEAH”

“WHAT”

“I signed for Arsenal”

One breath in, one breath out. 

Two beats of your pulse. 

“…fuck off.” 

“Leah!”

“Don’t fucking joke about that” You wince at the sound of her chair scrapping against the hardwood floors as the blonde abruptly stands up. Her hands on her hips, face flushed red in anger. Annoyance even, perhaps. Her lips are pressed together firmly and her eyebrows are still furrowed. 

“I’m not fucking joking. I signed for Arsenal” 

Silence. 

Two more beats of your pulse. 

“Y/N listen to me– my heart is up to my fucking ears right now, and I swear to bloody god if you are saying all this just to have a laugh–“

The blonde in front of you begins to gesture wildly, hands pointing here and there but her posture remains stiff. A flicker of uncertainty danced across her gaze, mirroring the storm of thoughts that were probably racing through her mind at this very moment. The slight tremor in her hands betrayed the internal struggle as she sought to manage the anxiety probably bubbling within.

Every so often, Leah’s lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but it was as if the words remained trapped in the hesitancy of the moment. A subtle, rhythmic tapping of her foot on the floor betrayed the restlessness, a visual of the nervous anticipation coursing through her veins. You hear an audible hitch in her next inhale 

and then silence again.

You give into the silence for a moment. Your own hands are trembling and your heart was pounding but you want to give the girl in front of you the time to process it. It takes a lot to leave Leah Williamson speechless, and if it were a different situation you would’ve teased and bragged about how you had been the one to leave her completely speechless.

But now was not the time to joke around.

After another moment of silence, you could not take it anymore. The quiet was almost suffocating at this point, when it reality it had probably only been a few minutes. 

You expected the blonde to be happy– to be jumping for joy over the fact that the two of you will now be teammates for country and club. However, the lack of reaction was making you second guess your decision to sign for her club. 

“Leah…” You start, but then stop yourself. You hate seeing the uncertainty in her gaze. You hate the way the defender in front of you is hunched over slightly, almost as if she was trying to make herself smaller, seeking a shield against the external world that seemed to loom large around her.

You take a deep breath and start again. “I’m not lying. I did sign for Arsenal. I wouldn’t lie to you–“ 

You wanted to explain things to her but she cut you off. 

“You made me think you were leaving me” Hearing those words leave her lips nearly broke you. 

Your chair rattles at the sheer force of how quickly you stood up to level her stare. “I– I know, Lee, but I wanted to surprise you” 

“For weeks I was stressin’ about where you would be moving to. I was trying to calculate how far Lyon was from London– I was fucking looking up plane tickets, trying to figure out when I can come visit–“

You wanted to run. Like you normally would. You hated seeing the look on your best friend’s face. A face so familiar that it became a source of solace and comfort during your time of need. Now, however, the face looking back at you was filled with disappointment and distrust. 

If it were some other time, you would be out of that room. You hated confrontation. You hated the feeling of being forced to say what you feel on the spot because the thought of accidentally blurting something horrible out in the heat of the moment terrified you. 

But you weren’t going to run this time. Not when Leah was being vulnerable and honest. Your usually strong and capable defender looked like she was the one that needed defending right now. But how were you going to do that when the one thing that was hurting her right now

…was you. 

“I’m sorry, Leah. I really am” Your hands were trembling. You felt like you were losing her, and yet she was never even yours to begin with. 

You close your eyes, taking a moment to will your heart to stop pounding so hard. “I would’ve told you earlier– honestly. But then I started to have second thoughts– I mean I started to worry about–“ 

The next words were stuck in your throat. Tears had started to well up in your eyes, and the soon enough your vision of the blonde in front of you was drowned out by tears. You hastily start wiping away your tears when you feel another hand reach out to grab hold of your arm. A warm thumb gently glides across the span of your cheeks, brushing your tears away lightly.

“Don’t cry. I can’t stay mad at you if you cry” It was said in a hushed murmur. Like she had just divulged in a secret, in a confession. 

You push her arm away slightly. She was standing a little too close. Close enough that you could fall into her and she would catch you. But you wanted to explain things before you gave into the urge to run away like always. 

“I really didn’t mean to lie to you. I swear, Leah. I was worried that you wouldn’t like me being around you to much–” 

An eyebrow raise from the blonde was her only reply. Leah had expressed to you multiple times that she wanted you at Arsenal in passing over the years, but you couldn’t help the small nagging doubt that clouded your mind once in a while. 

Leah chooses to remain silent for the most part. In the many years that she has known you, this is the first time she has ever seen you lay all your cards out right in front of her, so there was no chance in bloody hell that she was going to interrupt you. Leah often joked that you were the master of avoidance.  Whenever a difficult conversation loomed on the horizon, you would flee from the confrontation rather than face it head-on. It wasn't that you were afraid of conflict, but rather that you found it easier to run away than to confront the issue at hand. 

She had gotten used to your flighty responses every time you argued, so this change was a surprise to her. 

And she was so proud of you. 

Her usually reserved and collected girl was pouring her heart out, and she was more than ready to piece it back together again– once you were done speaking, of course. 

A lock of your hair falls in front of your face but before you can reach up to push it away, Leah does it for you. Her touch was feather-light as she tucks your hair behind your ear. This was normal. It was a simple act, one she had done countless of times before, but each time it felt like a reaffirmation of the unspoken intimacy between the two of you. 

You grab her hand before it can fall back to her side. You need something to steady you as your world falls on its axis, and Leah was your anchor. She gives your hand a squeeze, taking a step closer to you. 

Gone were the piercing blues earlier, instead they were now replaced by a softer, warmer look. She gives your hand another squeeze when she notices your slightly dazed expression. “Continue, baby” 

The familiar nickname gives you butterflies. Like it always does.

“I was beginning to second guess my transfer because I was scared that us being around each other so much would ruin our friendship. Y-you know that saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Yeah, well what happens if we see each other too much? I-if there is no absence–”

“Baby, what the fuck are you on about”

“That saying that–“

“I don’t give a fuck what a saying says” She air-quotes with her fingers. “I want you with me all the time.”

The defender squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to suppress the urge to simultaneously yell out in frustration and laugh. Not at you, but at your absurd idea that she would grow tired of you. She finds that idea laughable. 

“Y/N, listen to me. I was upset because I wanted to be there for you. We did almost everything together. Remember when we signed our first professional contract, we did it together–” 

You cut her off. “Actually you signed yours first. Mine was a couple days after because the mens team had a match at Old Trafford” 

The familiar, unimpressed look the blonde gave you had you fighting to a grin. Maybe everything will be alright. 

“I saw the comments when you announced your transfer. I saw the fucking nasty ones too, about how you were selfish for leaving United, and I wanted to be there for you every step of the way. To protect you from all that”

“You can’t protect me from everything, Lee”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t fucking try”

Leah takes a deep breath before focusing her gaze at you again. Her voice was quieter this time, timid. “I just feel like you’ve essentially shunned me from such a big step of your career. Like this is your first club transfer and I wasn’t a part of it in any way– not that I think I deserve to be because it’s your career but like– fuck we usually did everything together ya know..”

“I know I probably sound so selfish right now, y/n, but I felt like you didn’t want me to be a part of that. I felt like you were pulling away from me” 

You frown. You were so focused of keeping this entire transfer surprise away from Leah that you did not expect her to feel left out in the process. Maybe you should’ve been more attentive. Whenever Leah would ask about your transfer, you would brush off her questions and quickly change the subject. You didn’t think that by doing so, you were making her feel like you didn’t care about her feelings. 

“I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t think that by keeping this away from you, I was pushing you away. I was just so focused on surprising you…”

“S’alright. I do feel like I’m overstepping–“ 

“No. You have every right to feel this way, Lee. You’re a huge part of my life and you’re right– we do everything together”

“Yeah. Well it seems like we’ll be doing a lot of things together from now on” Her tone was now light, and playful. 

Leah finally breaks the looming tension with a smile, but not just any smile. She’s smiling the kind of smile that she only reserves just for you. With her lips curved in a tender crescent, her smile held the promise of a thousand intimate secrets, like the ones shared and whispered at 2 am in the morning during England camp. Her blue eyes, now alight with affection and warmth, drawing you into their depths like a moth to a flame. It wasn't just the physicality of her smile that captivated you—it was the way it spoke volumes without uttering a single word. It was the silent reassurance it offered whenever she knew you needed it. 

In Leah’s smile, you found solace, understanding, and an unwavering sense of home.

“We’ll see how we get on when we’re together 24/7” You mutter, still not fully convinced. 

“Baby, listen to me” The blonde cups your face in her hands, lightly stroking your cheek with her thumb. “Quit being such a worrywart. Yeah, we’ll probably get on each other’s nerves. That’s normal. I’ll do things that’ll piss you off, you’ll tell me to go ‘fuck myself’ and vice versa. We’ll still disagree on things– like how you’ll probably nag me about forgetting my boots at training, or how I’ll have to remind you about refilling the petrol in the car because I have an irrational fear of you being stranded somewhere with no petrol”

Leah waits a moment, wanting you to process what she just said. Her gaze firm, unwavering. When she notices your eyes start to water again, she knows it’s not because you’re sad or angry. She knows you’re just overwhelmed. She pulls you close, and tucks your face into the crook of her neck. With your tears wet against her neck and your arms hanging limp by your side, she can almost feel your exhaustion– both from the events of day and the emotional rollercoaster you both had to endure today. 

You welcome her embrace, wanting to bury yourself in the safety and comfort of her arms. She faintly smells like her favourite perfume, delicate notes of jasmine and cedar wood still cling to a warm spot on the side of her neck. You nestle further into her.  

"That's normal, baby. Otherwise relationships and friendships would be far too easy, too boring. But we will always work it out in the end. That's how we work. You run, I follow. I get angry, you calm me down. That's us. And that won't change just because we see each other more often. I promise"

After another minute of silence, Leah pulls back slightly. She gently grabs your face out from where it was buried in her neck, so you could meet eye to eye again. She frowns at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks, and uses her thumbs to wipe away the lingering tracks of moisture that streaked down your cheeks.

“Enough tears” She mutters, bringing your face close and resting her forehead against yours. A whispered secret only meant for the two of you. “You’re breaking my heart, baby” 

She presses a kiss on your forehead, her lips soft and warm against your skin. “Do you understand what I said earlier? About not being a worrywart?” “m’not a worrywart” The blonde chuckles at the pout that you give her. Your eyes are still glassy, the tip of your nose red, and your hair was a mess, but to her you were the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. Bloody adorable too. 

You poke her playfully on her side, giggling when she jerks away and narrows her eyes at you, but her lips are already curled upwards. 

“I understand, Lee.” 

The next thing you know the blonde has wrapped her arms around you waist, lifting you up and leaving your feet dangling in midair. You squeal and quickly move to wrap your arms around her neck tightly. You knew she wouldn’t drop you. You trusted her more than anyone else in the world. You were just looking for an excuse to hold her close. You laugh by her ear as she spins the both of you around a few times, excited cheers and whoops replace the tense silence earlier. 

When she stops spinning and your feet are planted firmly back on the ground again, you both stand there grinning at each other before she breaks the moment. 

“You’re now a Gunner.” “Woahhh hang on a minute– ” Placing both of your hands on the blonde’s chest, you push her away lightly. You are also hyperaware of her hands that are still resting on your hips, a thumb hooked onto one of your jean’s belt hoop. 

Ignoring the pounding of your heart from Leah spinning you around just a second ago, and now from the mere proximity of her, you narrow your eyes at her. 

“Lee, that actually gave me the ick. Don’t call me that” You groan, but your whining falls deaf to her ears. 

“Y/L/N is now a bloody fucking Gunner” She practically screams at your face, her smile growing at your less-than-enthusiastic face. 

The blonde then abruptly pauses her celebrations “Bet your spurs fan dad wasn’t too happy”

“Oh he was fumin’” Leah laughs loudly at that. She and your dad often butted heads, especially during derby days when the mens team were playing against each other. They would purposely rile each other up and taunts would be thrown throughout the match, but it was all in good fun. Leah didn’t know it, but your dad would secretly root for Arsenal when she was on the pitch. When you called him out for it, he said he was “cheering for Leah, not Arsenal.” Yeah right.

In the moody lighting of Leah’s kitchen, shadows dance across the walls like silent spectres, lucky to have been granted a peek into what seems to be the beginning of a new chapter– not just for you– but for Leah as well. 

Leah, who had been by your side for many, many years. Leah who has been your friend, your confidant, and your lifeline. 

“…so we’re actually going to be teammates at Arsenal, huh?”

In the corners of this kitchen, shadows linger like forgotten whispers. The soft glow of the pendant ceiling light that you had given her as a house-warming gift hangs above the dining table, casting a gentle hue over the both of you. The flickering flames of the candles that decorate the table dance across the room like fireflies in the night.

“It appears that way” 

It’s hard to ignore the way shadows dance across her cheeks, the soft light tracing the contours of her jawline and the arch of her brows. Her eyes, darker than usual in the dimness, glimmer. The faint light catches the sparkle in her eyes, leaving you almost breathless from the intensity of her gaze. 

She takes a step closer to you, until you could almost feel her breath as it fans across your face.

“And we’re going to be seeing each other a lot”

She reaches out to take your hand in hers. 

“Yep. At training, recovery, meal times, team meetings…”

Your eyes are drawn to the way her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip. A nervous habit of hers that you have become familiar with over the years. Her lips part slightly, catching the light in a soft gleam, their natural colour deepened. She cranes her neck down slightly, forcing your gaze away from her lips and back to meet her eyes. If she noticed you staring at her lips, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, with her voice barely above a whisper, she began to speak.

“Move in with me”

For a brief moment, it was just silence as you both take in what this means for the both of you. This kitchen became a place of quiet refuge from the outside world. Here, you told your best friend and the woman who has somehow crammed her way into your heart that your lives will change. 

You were not only going to be teammates who only saw each other during national duty camp, but now your lives will be intertwined even further. Here, amidst the flickering shadows and muted glow of her kitchen, time seems to stand still. Tonight, you will bask in these moments of intimacy and secrets that are only meant for the two of you, before the rest of the world found out. 

“Yes.”

The much much-awaited chapter was worth it. Hopefully I met all your expectations (if you had any lol). It was a bit angsty-ish but I hope the ending made it worth it considering I was thinking about leaving it on a cliffhanger

but I'm not that evil.

Here's to breaking more glass ceilings. Happy International Women's day, my loves!

-- kisses, butter.

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[goldenstring6123]

helloooo! i’d like to request a short fic with this glorious prompt i thought about last night 🤭

let’s say reader gets a tattoo of xavier’s sword (like the design behind his latest promise outfit) all the way down their back ;) i would die to see how he would react to this nyehehehe

it can be either fluff, suggestive, smut, up to you with whatever you’re comfy with <3 tysm hehe

Xavier: Ink & sword

Warning: Very suggestive! 16+ only, showering together, nudity, kissing, sensual touching, fem!reader, reader is not the mc but works as a hunter

Author's note: :>

MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

"I'm sorry—I knocked you back too hard," Xavier's hand reached down towards yours, and you, on the other hand, were buried underneath some plastic crates at the corner of the training room. He waited for you to take his hand. "Are you alright?"

You took his hand and used him to hoist yourself back to your feet, a tinge of pain and ache flowering from different parts of your back. You dropped the sword that you were holding, and it immediately dissipated into thin air. You looked at Xavier and patted his chest, trying to ease out that slight frown on his face.

"I'm alright. We deal with worse stuff on the battlefield."

Right above the entrance, a big digital clock projected the time in neon blue colors: 23:03. You and Xavier had been training for over three hours, and now the training grounds had been rid of people except for the two of you. Well, it couldn't be helped; Xavier's training regimen requires more time to perform, considering the complexity of his fighting style and condition.

Still, the fact that you can keep up is very noteworthy even in the eyes of others, though the only thing you were doing was defending and keeping your stance. The only worrying thing is that sometimes, Xavier forgets that you're just a normal hunter and tends to exert a bit more force when sparring.

You let out a small groan while you moved towards the shower room, and Xavier was walking right beside you, ready to reach out in case you toppled over. The frown was still on his face as if he regretted showing you that magnificent finishing blow. "Do you need help?"

You glanced at the shower room and hooked your index finger under his chin, turning his head slightly, the cheeky little teasing mood suddenly erupting from within you. "Are you offering to help me bathe? How daring of you."

"Uh...I didn't—" Xavier's doe eyes went wider than the moon, his nose and ears turning pink upon realizing your words.

You just loved finding the opportunity to fluster this little man.

Unbeknownst to Xavier, you knew how he has a little ongoing crush on you—credits to Tara for having that habit of snitching when drunk. And for a strong fighter, it feeds your ego to have him wrapped around your fingers.

"Can you just hand me the menthol patches in the kit?" you pointed at a small box nearby, one attached to the metal post. It was a first aid kit reserved for them. Xavier strode to the said post while you entered the washroom.

You opened your locker with your thumbprint and undid the brown leather support. Swiftly, you unbuttoned your blouse, picked at how it clung to your body, damp and riddled with dust and sweat. Finally, the stuffy bathroom air brushed against your sweat-ridden back.

"I got the patches..." Xavier entered the bathroom, the white menthol patches in his grasp. When he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes trailed from the curve of your form—eyes landing on the intricate tapestry of dark blue and white ink tattoo carved onto your back.

The shame of walking in on you naked disappeared in an instant.

You stared as Xavier slowly stepped beyond the room's threshold. You kept your blouse pressed against your chest, and even if you were nearly topless, Xavier's eyes never broke contact from your back. Why would he? The image of his very own sword was on your back.

"Is this why you wanted to take a picture of my sword?" His cold fingers slid down the dip of your spine, his eyes absorbing every bit of nitty-gritty detail about the tattoo. As much as he admires his real pristine sword, the image of it on your back is simply...breathtaking.

"Maybe? Do you like it?" You kept still, facing the locker. At that moment, every touch he made on your body was amplified beyond normal. The coolness of his fingers felt good against your warm back.

"It's beautiful," he uttered. The thin saber was positioned perfectly downwards to your spine, ending just above where your pants began, curving whenever you moved. The handle was positioned just between your shoulder blades. Feathers littered the rest of the space, some in blue and some in white. The intricate carvings on the side of his sword were perfectly captured. "Why did you choose my sword?"

"Well," your hand chucked the blouse in the locker. You glanced over your shoulder, the silver-haired man anticipating your answer. "It's because it was beautiful; I can't get my mind off of it." It just so happens that the man wielding it is beautiful as well. A beauty beyond the stars.

You turned back to face the locker, folding your blouse, thinking that Xavier had had enough of seeing the tattoo. Your lips opened, prepared to ask him to leave as you were nearly topless, if not for that low-back bra you're wearing, but before you could blurt a single word, Xavier pressed his lips on your shoulders.

It was as if his kiss had flicked a switch within you. You stiffened, leaning over while your hands hung at the edge of the locker. "Xavier? Did you just—"

The man placed another kiss lower. You could feel his tongue graze the surface of your skin. "Mhm, your skin is salty."

His words sobered you up; it wasn't exactly an insult, but that made you think. You stood up straight and faced him, your eyes coated with a sheen of lust and desperation. "I'm full of sweat. Do you really intend on having..." You held yourself back from spouting such vulgar words. "Never mind. Wait for me. I'm going to take a shower."

You took the towel and ran to the shower areas. It was dead silent. You pondered. Was Xavier really doing what you think he was going to do? Did the sword on your back push him to the edge?

All the thoughts crept at the back of your neck, but the softness of Xavier's lips remained. The hot water drizzled all over your body, releasing you from the stickiness of the fluids. You combed back your hair and looked up at the shower head, relishing the comfort of the rain-like sensation—for a few seconds at least.

The shower curtain shifted, and Xavier took a step in. His bare chest pressed against your back, and you spun quickly at the contact. Your eyes widened at the sight of his bare body—it's not the first time you saw it, but still—"Why are you here?"

"Let's take a shower together. Turn around, I'll wash your back."

"Do all training partners do this? Bathe together? Is this new?" You panicked, instinctively covering your areas while backing up against the cold porcelain wall. You stared up at him, the soft eyes no longer there. He looked intimidating now that he was towering over you.

"Do training partners sleep with each other when they get stuck in the mountains?" he uttered.

At that moment, the hazy memory of that stormy night flashed inside your head—the warmth of his touch, the flickering of the makeshift fireplace, his skin against yours, and his mouth exploring your body. Your face began to grow red at that memory.

Xavier's hands crawled to your hips, gently nudging you to turn. You didn't want to go against him, and at the same time, you were expecting something to happen because you would admit that Xavier was good. He felt good. His taste, his skill, and his size—what you didn't expect was that it wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

His hands were gliding on your back, and his burning stare trailed down to your ass. You bit your lip at the embarrassment. His hands, which were on your waist, found themselves holding on to your love handles, and gently, Xavier pulled your hips backward, coming into contact with his semi-hard-on.

"Shit," you uttered under your breath. Even if it wasn't fully hard, you could still clearly feel it. A million thoughts raced through your head, but there was one emotion that was prevalent: Erotic desire.

Xavier's lips came into contact with your back again, but this time, you couldn't help but flinch at every contact because his tongue and teeth grazed and gritted, intentionally leaving marks at Xavier's whims. Just by that, you were gasping for air, anticipating where he would bite next.

His fingernails scraped at your skin, tracing every curve and line of the tattoo; his touch was electrifying, but you craved more. How can he be so gentle but leave you feeling unexplainable things?

He peppered your back with light kisses from the dip of your back slowly, slowly crawling back up to your exposed nape. "Don't leave marks on my neck," you uttered between breaths. A loud pop of Xavier's kiss bounced off the shower room.

"Turn around, please. I want to see you," Xavier whispered. You looked over your shoulder, and you could see him stepping back a little bit, eager to see your body.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to him, still covering your body. Admittedly, he was a little perplexed at seeing you acting all shy when it was you who was provoking him earlier, but poking fun at you wasn't right for the moment.

He brushed a stray hair that stuck onto your cheek and smiled, looking into your eyes fondly. "There's no need to hide," he said, taking a step closer. "You're beautiful."

His big hands caressed your elbows and slid up to your biceps, nudging you to loosen up. Your hands dropped from your body, but instead of letting them fall completely, you wrapped your hands around his neck.

You pressed your lips together, but all of a sudden, footsteps erupted.

"Is anyone in here?" the lady guard called. "Security!"

You covered Xavier's mouth and stared into his eyes, saying: 'Don't make a sound.'

"Oh, yes! I just finished training!" you yelled back.

"Alright, but please leave after 5 minutes. We're about to turn down the power for the entire floor."

"Sure! I'll be out in a minute," you replied. You and Xavier waited for a solid minute before moving. You let go of the breath you were holding, took the bar of soap from the holder, and gave it to Xavier. "Let's continue that at your apartment when we get home."

Author footnotes: Cockblocked by me, the author. Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

Can't Wait - Abby (Tlou 2)

NSFW tags- masturbation, sub!abby, dom!reader, lowkey humiliation (a!receiving), mention of strap usage, pet names (baby, slut, princess)

authors note: sorry this took a little longer gang, plsplspls leave requests, this was my 2nd and i loveeeeeeed doing it

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

abby was an incredibly strong woman, anybody could see that

years of training transformed her body into what most people would consider a machine,

perfectly tuned and built for the apocalypse.

her physique garnered lots of attention, from men and women alike, much to her disapproval

she knew people saw what her body was capable of, she heard the way people spoke about her

"she's so strong, but" and "can you imagine trying to sleep with a woman like that?" followed by laughs was something she often overheard

abby would pretend it didn't bother her, saying she didn't need anyone to like her body,

but you never missed the way her hands roamed her chest and arms when she was talking about it,

her fingertips pressing harshly, like they were trying to erase the parts people saw as too masculine

truly, you loved her body. you could spend hours tracing her meticulously sculpted muscles, feeling the way they connected

you loved the curve of her waist, and her ass. you loved her shoulders, especially when her blonde hair cascaded down her back like a sun-kissed waterfall

every part of her was designed so beautifully, like a physical manifeston of her determination

and you knew she was more then capable of throwing people around, regardless of their height or size

which is why watching her jerk her hips up into her hand, searching for friction on her neglected cunt was that much better

she was used to being the protector, always worrying about others safety, and pleasure

nobody would ever suspect her to be submissive, in any capacity, ever.

but then again, nobody was lucky enough to see her the way you did

you stood in the doorframe, arms crossed as you watched abbys naked body squirm under her own touch

her big hands covered her whole pussy, even as her middle finger slid in and out of her slick hole,

loud moans echoed in the room as her fingers hit that delicious spot behind her clit,

her back arched off the bed, pushing her fingers that much deeper

abby knew she was supposed to wait until you got back from your patrol,

you told her you had a surprise waiting, one that you wanted her especially needy for,

but abby, your poor girl, couldn't help herself.

she was cleaning your shared home, picking up laundry as she went, when she found your favorite pair of panties

just the image of you wearing them was enough to get her incredibly worked up,

she really did try so hard to distract herself, not wanting to disappoint you,

but she just couldn't help it, she needed to cum, and she couldn't make herself wait until you got home.

you let out a disappointed sigh, alerting the tall blonde that you had seen her.

abbys blue eyes met yours, her fucked-out face telling you that she was already so close

she couldn't seem to urge herself to stop, her movements becoming more needy as you stared her down

"i specifically remember telling you to wait" you mused, stepping into the room and standing at the edge of the bed

"i- i know" abbys whines were incredibly hard to resist "m sorry, baby. feels too...so good"

you traced one hand up her bare thigh, while the other reached up to push her hair out of her face

she looked at you doe-eyed, her brows furowing as she shamelessly held eye contact while getting herself off

your fingers traced around her stuffed pussy, reaching her wrist and pulling it up to your mouth

abby whimpered as you set her fingers in your mouth,

cleaning the slick off of them while you intertwined your fingers in her hair, making her watch the lewd act

her fingers left your mouth with a pop, abbys blue eyes locking onto your slick-covered lips

they followed you as you reached under your shared bed, pulling out a box

abby tilted her head, watching as you slowly opened her gift

her eyes fell on the black harness you pulled out, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out what you were planning

suddenly, her eyes shot open. she had realized when you pulled out a long, clear dildo from the box

abby felt her pussy pulse in anticipation, her legs closing instinctively

"think you're ready for your surprise now?" you asked sweetly, dangling the harness to the side

abbys tounge darted out to wet her quivering lips, her eyes looking back and forth from you and the toy you held

"it's so big..." she trailed off, the feeling between her legs growing with every word you spoke

you hummed, feigning sweetness "should've thought about that before you decided to be a slut, huh princes?"

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

need to dominate a buff woman, also should i write smth for ellie??? do reply with your consensus

[on-the-clear-blue]

The idea warms are hitting extremely hard today, so outside of my usual DPxDC I give you, Spider-Man in Gotham...Not MCU Peter edition!

Give me a Peter Parker that is 18 going on onto 19, he has been Spider-Man for like, 5 almost 6 years, getting his bite very early, and dealing with all the things that happen to him younger.

And give me a Year One Batman. Who is still trying to figure out what the hell he is doing, and toting along a 9 year old Robin

Peter, falling out of a portal, and doing his standard check of surroundings, spotting Batman staring at him in clunky armor and a brightly colored child: Waves slowly

Bruce, who heard some freaky shit was happening with a cult near by and went to investigate: blinking at the blue and red being that got summoned

Dickie, who is trying (and failing) to do the Bat glare: still waves back.

And like, just the idea of this 19 year old Spider-Man taking a much older vigilante under his wing, teaching him the ins and outs of it all.

Like..

Bruce, Storming through a bag guys base gets suddenly pulled back by a web to his cape.

Peter, giving him a "bitch you dumb" look under his mask: Traps! LOOK FOR TRAPS?? AND LOOK UP? PEOPLE HID THINGS UP?

Bonus, Spider-Man bending himself into a human pretzels and Dick "I have no bones" Grayson is gleefully testing to see if he could do it too.

Jump cut, years later, Peter beats emotional intelligence into Bruce with Dick.

All the Bat kids grow up with Uncle Peter, (either Peter can't get back or has been told specifically that he can't by a higher being or something) and like...

Peter is the only one that catches Tiny Tim following them during patrol, he shows him all the places to get the best angles, even poses a few times for him.

Either is there when Jason dies and saves him, or is there mourning with Bruce

(Gotham lives in fear of the memory, Batman at his most brutal and Black Suit Spider-Man)

Teaches Jason how to control his pit rage after he comes back, what is Spider-Man if not control?

Stephanie is his bestie in puns and white girl music tastes.

Tim finds a partner in constantly staying up far to late as well as someone who likes to invent,( because I hc that Peter has pretty much worked with every scientist in New York, cus like since this is a blend of canons, he has worked with the Lizard, Doc Oct, Reed Richards, the only one he said no to an internship was Stark)

Duke gets a meta mentor that can help him with his powers, Spidey has been on more than one team with someone that had some form of light powers.

Plus I think Spider-man is Gothams daytime hero before Signal joins him, they are the daytime duo

Cass is his favorite (don't tell anyone because they already know) she can see him and he can see her in a spider sense, they do the point meme whenever they sense each other.

Little stabby Damian finds out that this person with his father has been trained by many an assassin (Wade, Daredevil, Natasha, Shield in general)

And Wade...Deadpool pops up occasionally, even he doesn't understand why or how lBruce gets a strange feeling he should punch the Flash in the face the next time he sees him)

Bruce having to deal with Deadpool is terrible for him and I sadly love it.

(Also on the point of Black suit spidey in Gotham...ESPECIALLY after Jason is murdered? Oh Peter is killing the Joker, or his arm privileges forfeit. I feel like Peter would try not to kill him but wouldn't try too hard.)

Spider-man being a founding members of the Justice League, them having to deal with Peter crawling on the ceiling, and scuttering through air vents!

Peter making Parker Industries, pointing inventions from other heros/villains from his world, he isn't above pettiness, and that's how the DC world gets some of Reed Richard's old designs he gave to Peter "Because they are practically useless" they arnt they save millions of lives. Not to mention Arc Reactors, Peter grinned the whole time claiming it was his idea.

Hope you enjoy my ADHD rambling brought to you be sleep deprivation

[a-d-nox]

nox tests hypotheses: "saturn tells you what annoys you"

this is one of shawtyherbs hypotheses. this is how i feel this manifests for me in my chart and why i believe this hypothesis works. my saturn is located in my 3h, in taurus at 29°... let's take deep dive!

taurus saturn

a lack of discipline: i feel like i have a strong work ethic - i value hard work. i despised when i did group work in school and i was paired up with procrastinators or people who were unwilling to put in the necessary effort to achieve a good grade. it felt like every time i had my part done i would start getting anxious that the other person/people didn't. it felt like a manipulation - like we were playing chicken. if they didn't do it, would i do it for them? how long did they have to wait until i stepped in?

instability and unpredictability: sudden changes, chaotic environments, and erratic behavior can make me uncomfortable, anxious, and annoyed. i guess it's sort of like a trauma response from childhood except now i get irritable... everyone know my dislike for surprises.

wastefulness: i get easily irritated by wastefulness, whether it's wasting time, money, or resources. again maybe its from my childhood and having those experiences. but i am the type of person who arrives on time. if i buy something and don't like it i use it until it's gone, i eat it til its gone (even if its stale), or i use it til its paid itself off (if i buy a shirt and can't return it and it was $30, i am wearing it 30 times). it sounds strange - i know - but it is how i am...

superficiality: i really value authenticity. i feel like i am easily annoyed by superficial behavior, materialism without substance, and people who put on mask to fit in... like so what if you don't laugh at someone's shit joke, so what if i am happy with my hydroflask and want nothing to do with a stanley (it's all the same to me), and who cares if your true self is not everyone's favorite (you'll find your people a whole lot faster if you're your self).

resisting practicality: you know how much advice i have given throughout the years THAT WAS ASKED FOR and people did what they wanted anyway??? why even waste my time if you don't want outside perspective. or something its just kind advice to help with ease like hi you are using a stain on the deck, i recommend you wipe as you go so it dries quicker and you don't accidentally smear/smudge later. but nooooo.....

saturn at 29°

arrogance: you know it's okay to be wrong... it's not okay to pontificate about how you were right in some alternate scenario. just admit you were wrong in this situation and move on or better yet say nothing...

irresponsibility: when you say you are going to do something do it. if you are a leader then lead and know that you are responsible for anything you designate to someone you view as your subordinate (especially when you don't train them on what you want them to do for you). if you can't commit to having a task or being in charge than don't do it. someone is relying on you - it's 10 times worse when its yourself and you push goals to the side.

unfounded claims/criticisms: perhaps i am overly sensitive to criticism because i tend to take my work and my self a bit too seriously. but if you can't take yourself and what you do seriously, then who will? i take everything personally too. so when i get criticism and its said in a nasty way (at least how i interpret it) or there is a lack of explanation or no backing i will get annoyed. you bet my humor will be ill-tempered... you can't expect me to react well to a comment like "you're wrong". like wow okay so detailed, i'm glad you decided to write one word and a contraction to dismiss my 2k essay. like if you are going to criticize me or disprove me make it detailed and make it sound. and if i do something wrong its probably because no one told me how to do it in the first place (cough cough work) so don't snap at me, walk me through it.

lack of respect: now listen - i'm no angel, i was a teenager once - eyerolls and all. but now that i am a bit older (she said at 23) i am getting to the point where respect isn't freely given (unless its to build a good first impression) but instead its earned in a pre-existing relationship. i don't tolerate disrespect, no one is going to snap at me and tell me what to do. you do that and you will get the opposite reaction that you expect from me (speaking from real life situations). asserting dominance doesn't make you worthy of respect, it makes you a bully.

3h

superficial conversations: i said it why back when in one of my get to know me posts. i prefer deep, meaningful conversations and i find small talk / superficial chatter frustrating or pointless. like skip to the meat bruv - we don't have all this time for "hi how are you?" "good how are you?"

disorganization: a lack of structure, whether in communication, in a learning environments, or my daily routines, irritates me. i feel like it effects me most in the routine bit. weekends are my prime culprit because my schedule falls apart. during the week my meals and tasks are standardized, but on the weekend, i somehow manage to always get annoyed because i eat lunch late or what i had in my mind to do gets tossed aside...

gossip/rumors: i feel uncomfortable with gossip, i prefer facts and reliable knowledge. which i know facts seems shaky when i am posting the content i do... but generally facts over fiction in conversations. gossip and the like almost always gets me in trouble - i struggle with holding my tongue especially when i see someone regularly who has been gossiped about frequently. withholding information is a form of lying in my opinion - and lying makes me extremely uncomfortable.

impulsive decisions: i am trying to get better about this because i tend to carefully deliberate everything. but i don't like when others around me make impulsive decisions that effect me because it ruins the plan i already had in my mind. for example, last weekend i wanted to go to an all day fall festival with my mother (and yes i told her tuesday my plan) but last minute my mother's boyfriend-not-boyfriend said he needed her help with a project and it was going to be an all weekend thing. so friday night my plan went out the window. so quickly had to make a new plan consisting of paid readings, trader joe's, and shampooing my couch (fun stuff i know...).

a lack of respect for rules/boundaries: a disregard for social norms, etiquette, and established rules of communication annoys me so badly. like it is common courtesy (at least for how i was raised) to call or write in advance of stopping over at someone's house. my mother's boyfriend-not-boyfriend is the biggest perpetrator of this behavior. they aren't technically dating anymore so hello hi in my opinion he should be giving us a heads up if he will be stopping over. also switching gears when i say "no" or "i don't want to" i feel like a lot of people around me push me and test me to see if i will change my tune. i don't appreciate that in the slightest. i make clear boundaries in all the relationships i have (even here i have guidelines) - so yes, you bet i get frustrated when i vocalized or wrote my boundaries and yet they get ignored.

do you have a hypothesis you want me to test? or perhaps you want me to build a hypothesis for something you've been wondering about where astrology is concerned? please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see it happen!

click here for the masterlist

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices!

© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in Your Fire pt. 3

part 1 and part 2

Summary: Hewn City bs and lots of Eris screen time haha

Pairing: ErisxArcheron!reader

Word Count: 4k

Notes: I am so so excited that people are liking this story so far !!! I love all your comments and am so appreciative of the likes and reblogs ! For this chapter, I did use a big chunk of the direct dialog from ACOWAR for the Hewn City meeting with Eris, because I think its important context and I wasn't about to rewrite SJM's mastery. So disclaimer, I do not own any of SJM's characters or speak for her or them in anyway ! This is just for shits and gigs and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter ! Also please let me know how we feel about the Eris POV :)

Amber eyes and a pale face littered in freckles, framed by fiery red hair,  stared wildly at her. Eyes full of fear and confusion contorted his beautiful features. He was stunning, truly. Rakish, almost lanky, but toned muscles rippled under his well-fitted clothes as he fell to the ground gripping and clawing at his throat, trying to force air back into his lungs. Y/n did that to him. She made another being feel that pain and suffering. But he was hurting her sister. He was hurting Feyre. Y/n didn’t know why she had to remind herself of that fact so often to justify her actions that day on the frozen lake, but she had fallen asleep thinking about the male every night since.

Now that Feyre was home, things started moving pretty quickly. Hybern was making moves in the Spring Court to bring down the wall to the human lands, and thus putting Prythian on the brink of another war. Everyone was hard at work planning, coordinating, and scheming, but Y/n was told to just keep training. She wanted to be useful when the time came, so she was going to need to hone her powers and her physical abilities. She finally got to be a part of the plans when Rhys announced at family dinner that everyone would be taking a trip to Hewn City.

Y/n wasn’t afraid per-say, but she wasn’t sure what to expect. Feyre had told her that Amarantha’s ‘lair’ for lack of a better term, was designed after the city. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see that firsthand after hearing about everything that Feyre and Rhys went through. She was going to put on a brave face though. It’s not about her. It was about helping this court, her new family, and potentially the fate of the world as they knew it.

She studied herself in the mirror after selecting the right dress. Rhys had told her to wear whatever color she wanted, but she knew that this visit to Hewn City was all about appearances and she needed to help show that they were a united front. She had never been fond of black. It always looked so good on her twin, but Y/n preferred softer, neutral tones that helped her blend into the trees and underbrush. Tonight however, she would step out of her comfort zone. Adapt. Her constant mantra. So, she studied herself in the mirror, eyes gliding along her body that was no longer too thin, but now tones and showing real muscle. Her hips were wider, her arms and thighs thicker. A body to fill out such a fine dress. It was a floor length gown, as black as obsidian. It had see-through long sleeves and a modest neckline. Nothing flashy, she didn’t need to draw attention to herself, she just needed to blend in and help silently from the dais. But as she looked at herself, she thought that she looked quite pretty. She always thought she was the most plain of her sister, even now as Fae, but tonight, Y/n would try to wear this dress with confidence and that casual coolness that came so naturally to all the others.

 Eris’ POV

 That beautiful female on the frozen lake haunted him every waking and sleeping hour of Eris’ life. The way she literally took his breath away. If it weren’t for her power actually stealing the air from his lungs, her beauty alone would have stopped him in his tracks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his many centuries of existence. He could help but laugh when she stormed up to him in the Winter Court wearing little more than pajamas. He shouldn’t have laughed. If the Illyrians thought she was important enough to bring along, he shouldn’t have underestimated her. He saw her face every time he closed his eyes. Her y/e/c orbs staring straight into his soul. It ratted him, which not much did anymore.

Eris hated Hewn City and he hated Keir. He was so tired of playing these court games and scheming behind the scenes. He knew Rhys liked to make an entrance, but he was growing bored and restless. Until he saw her. She was just as beautiful as the first time he saw her, but now, dressed in a night court black gown, she didn’t glow like she did when she was comfortable in her chestnut brown pants and a forest green sweater. Who is she?

Y/n’s POV

Stood atop the dais behind the single throne that Feyre and Rhys shared, Y/n scanned the room. Doing her best to keep her face carefully neutral, she stood there while Rhys addressed the court introduced Feyre as their High Lady, and coolly demanded that they kneel. After a long pause, the whole room on their knees before them, he released them to enjoy the festivities.

A man with blonde hair, that Y/n identified as Keir, Mor’s father only by blood, approached the dais. Then, the last person she expected to see approached as well. The male from the lake, with the glowing amber eyes and hair that reminded her of a maple trees falling red leaves. She swore her heart stopped beating when he made eye contact with her as he bowed. Not to Rhys or Feyre, but to her.

“Keir. Eris. So kind of you to join us. But don’t be so eager to get our meeting over with, go enjoy the evening. Azriel’s shadows will find you when we’re ready.” Rhys slid his bored gaze over each male and waved a hand in dismissal.

Eris. That was his name. Eris Eris Eris. The name clanged around her brain, and she had to choke back the desire to know how it felt on her tongue. She knew his name now and it made falling asleep to picturing his face feel like she was violating him in some way. She knew she shouldn’t have been thinking about him in the first place. He tried to kill her sister, or bring her back to his father who was a known tyrant and took brutality to another level. She should definitely not be thinking about him. But there he was. And gods damn he was even more devastating than she remembered. For starters, he wasn’t covered in blood, and she wasn’t choking the daylights out of him. But more than that, he had this air about him. He exuded a confidence that was purely Fae male and came from centuries of a life lived. Then she remembered the way that fire had danced from his fingertips. He could wield flame like an extension of his own body. It was beautiful. Y/n once again had to reprimand herself, because those same beautiful flames coming from his long, calloused fingers, were causing harm and pain to her own sister. That light and radiance that fire had was diminished in the context of it’s use. How dare he make Y/n fear something she loved so dearly? How dare her use fire, which is the root of all life, use it to hurt and destroy?

Y/n was snapped out of her daydreaming by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She realized Eris had not broken eye contact with her and was now starring at her expectantly. With no small amount of embarrassment, she realized she was probably just standing here gazing into his eyes while her whole family stood there and watched. He cheeks heated and Eris’ smirk grew.

“I asked you for a dance, lady…?”

“Y/n, you do not have to dance with him. Honestly, you don’t even have to talk to him.” Rhys said.

“Y/n...” She hated how much she liked her name falling from his lips. “Just once dance, Lady Y/n, and I’ll share what I know of the Spring Court in our meeting this evening.” Still smirking, he held out a hand.

“Fine.” Y/n unceremoniously slapped her hand into his. Just because she was practically vibrating with anticipation of being so close to the male, didn’t mean he needed to know that. And neither did her family. For all anyone else knew, she hated Eris as much as they all did. She certainly should if she knew what was good for her. Gods, what was wrong with her!?

That smirk turned into a cocky grin as Eris led Y/n to the dance floor. He tugged on her hand still held in his and pulled her close to his body. Not pressing against her, but close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body. He was unnaturally hot being a fire wielder, but Y/n never minded the heat. Even found herself having to hold back from pressing every inch of her against the warmth. He stood close to a foot taller than her, and she had to tilt her head up to lock eyes with him. She was met with amber eyes dancing with amusement, and he was met with a cold hard glare.

Eris blew out a soft laugh and asked, “why, little dove, do you hate me so much? We don’t even know each other yet.”

Y/n tried not to linger on the ‘yet’ as she leveled him an incredulous glare. “You mean aside from the fact that you chased my sister across a frozen lake, blasting fire at her and then restrained her with said fire?”

He had the audacity to laugh again. “Yes, Y/n, aside from that. I would very much like to know you. You hating me makes that slightly difficult.”

Gods that smirk. Y/n was trying to think straight as he floated her around the dance floor like it was nothing. She hoped he didn’t realize she was using her magic to keep herself from tripping over her own feet or stepping on his. He was such a beautiful dancer. And the truth was, she wanted to know him too. But instead she said, “you use your gift of fire to hurt others. You use that delicate flame to inflict pain and fear.” She desperately hoped her voice was staying steady, but then he scoffed at her and the leash she had on her temper slipped from her fingers. She feels her voice raising and her cheeks heating as she goes on. “Fire is not meant to cause pain, Eris!”

He halts their movement. That was enough to make her blink and remember where they were. Her eyes and her voice soften as she tries to look straight into his soul and speak directly to it. Her hands drift to hold both of his in her much smaller ones. “Fire is beautiful and lovely and soft and warm. Fire is nurturing and breathes life into everything. Fire is a gentle protector and a kind companion. I am so sorry someone told you otherwise and that you’ve been told to use it as a weapon.” He just blinked at her for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly the music stops, and the room erupts into applause for the musicians. “Eris…?” Y/n sys his name as gently as she can, but he pulled away from her so fast and muttered an ‘excuse me’ before he turned on his heels and practically ran out of the ball room.

Y/n stands there until someone accidently bumps into her and jolts her out of her head and back into her body. Slowly, she makes her way back to the dais staring at her feet, still not totally present. She looks up when she reaches her family only to see them all with a hand over their mouth to choke back a laugh. “What?” Y/n’s brow scrunches and she tilts her head in confusion.

Cassian is the first to break, laughing so loud a few partygoers jump and glasses shatter. The next is Mor, and finally, Feyre asks through tears in her eyes and a barely concealed giggle, “What the hell did you say to him!?”

Y/n just took her spot on the dais next to Feyre and Rhys as they laughed and laughed together and resumed staring at the floor trying not to be eager to see Eris at the meeting later this evening.

Eris’ POV

He had to get out of there. Had to get out of that room that felt too similar to under the mountain and away from that female who was far too gentle and kind to be anywhere near him. ‘The Mother must really hate me’ he thinks as he reaches the city’s edge and can finally breathe again. He knew the shadowsinger would find him soon and call for the meeting, but before then he needed to regain his composure. Y/n didn’t need to use her power to stop his breathing and make his heart race.

He took a few deep breaths and the shaking in his hands and the ache in his chest eased slightly. His mind drifted to the feeling of her in his arms, how well they danced across the floor together and how lovely her hands felt pressed to his chest. ‘Fire is not meant to cause pain’ Y/n had said. The words had come from her mouth with such passion and determination that he almost believed her. He wanted to. Gods did he want to believe her and her kind words and her cold calloused hands that soothed his burning skin. There was no way for Y/n to have known his father had struck him across the chest just this morning. A show of power after his father bested him during sparring. The punishment for winning would have been far more gruesome. Y/n’s cold unassuming hand placed directly over where his father’s had left the flesh raw and painful. Her lovely hand placed there while she looked him in the eyes and told him that fire wasn’t meant to cause pain and that she was sorry. He couldn’t believe she was real, and his need to know her just grew tenfold. But he wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good. He should keep his distance and save her the misery of his company again.

Eris was dreading the mask he would dawn in this meeting and the monster she would think of him as afterward. A shadow wrapped around his wrist and tugged. It was time. Eris schooled his features into the calm, bored, arrogant heir, winnowed back into the halls of the palace, and sauntered his way into the meeting.

Y/n’s POV

The meeting was nothing of what Y/n expected. Eris came in, and straight up avoided eye contact with her. She couldn’t lie, that stung a bit.

He sat across from Rhys, but looked to Mor with a knowing glint in his eye and said, “you look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

Y/n was so confused.

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys spoke, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

Feyre glanced between her mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Apparently, Feyre was just as lost as you were.

Eris explains that he caught Azriel’s shadows snooping around the Autumn court after they returned from the frozen lake, and that his brothers ‘mysteriously’ forgot about Feyre’s powers. He said that he had taught himself a few things about daemati powers and how to block them out. He says that he didn’t tell his father because he knew that Baron would want to hunt Feyre down and kill her for his belief that she stole part of his power. He doesn’t believe that Baron knows just how much of a threat Hybern is, but that he wont join forces with them if he finds out about Feyre’s powers.

“So what’s the asking price for you silence then, Eris?” Mor demanded. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

All the blood drained from Y/n’s face as her eyes darted between Mor and Eris. Her head hurt from trying to put this puzzle together without having all the pieces. She knew that Mor’s father had tried to marry her off and Mor took control of her own fate by sleeping with Cassian, but she hadn’t known the male she was sold off to was supposed to be Eris. The pounding in her head did not cease.

Something flickered in Eris’ eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.”

A sneer from Azriel. And a sharp intake of breath from Y/n. If he had looked at her she would have seen the brief flash of guilt in his eyes.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me like an animal,” Feyre cut in. “I think we will choose to believe the worst.”

Y/n didn’t know how to feel. Couldn’t think of anything to say or do, so she just dropped her gaze to the floor. She shouldn’t come to Eris’ defense. She just met the male and apparently her gut feeling about him was wrong. Her family hated him and he hurt Mor. Something didn’t feel right, but what would she even say? There were literal centuries of bad blood between her found family and this male who for some gods forsaken reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about. This arrogant, spiteful, male who attacked her sister! Not just Feyre it seems, but Mor as well. Even if he didn’t have direct hand in harming her, he didn’t help her. Why didn’t he help her? Her head was still spinning trying to sort through all these conflicting feelings. She felt like she needed to come to Eris’ defense, but why? Maybe because she felt deep down in her soul that no one ever had. She could feel that he was good, so why were his actions such the opposite? The pounding in her head wouldn’t stop and she felt as if she might faint. The conversation starting to sound like they were underwater.

“I was given and order. And sent to do it with two of my…brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?” Feyre accused.

Eris slammed a hand on the table, which did nothing to help Y/n headache. No one seemed to notice her flinch and start to sway. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

“Indulge me,” was all Feyre said in response.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” Eris’ voice had returned to its normal low and sharp nature. “I wasn’t there- when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the firs and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free… They were going to kill him too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word- anonymously- to get the hell over to his own border.” Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Sharp, stabbing, shooting pain ran through Y/n’s head and it was so surprising that she let out a yelp as she dropped to the floor, and everything went black. The last thing she remembered hearing was the voice of Eris’ panicked voice crying her name.

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie @ivy-34 @minaethrym

[lizzybeeee]

DATV Mini-Rant about the lack of Lyrium Potions in this Game

A small thing that immediately made my stomach drop when playing DATV was the fact that there are no lyrium potions.

I did an elective on game design in university and chose Origins as my game of choice for my final essay because I always loved how much the game incorporated the world/lore in its game mechanics! Call it pathetic or sad (I won't blame you lmao) but this series was the first video game that engaged me so deeply with its story-telling that I wanted to dissect it. That's why I'm focusing on the lack of magical cocaine in a fantasy game series.

Lyrium is a substance that serves as a game mechanic and a major lore/world-building element. It's use is essential if you play the game as a mage or have party members that are mages - it replenishes mana in game, its use is central to being a mage within the story (harrowing, rituals, etc...), and it's a major export/plot relevant resource that is important to the world at large.

So imagine my surprise when I boot up DATV for the first time and there's no lyrium potions as a mage character. My main interest in the game series was for its lore and story (RIP) so I didn't look too hard into developer interviews or videos about the combat itself - it would either be good or bad, but that wasn't my main draw to the game. I kept playing, wondering if I would ever unlock another slot for potions, perhaps, but then it was abundantly clear that it wasn't the case.

It's a small thing, but popping a lyrium potion mid-combat has the same effect that hearing people say 'Maker's breath' and 'Thank the Maker' does. It's this little bit of world-building that reminds me that I'm playing a Dragon Age game. It's not just a 'mana potion' or some other glowy blue magic vial...it's this substance that's important to the world and that has a reason to be there beyond rejuvenating my mage.

It's the major export of Orzammar -> the pillar of its economy.

It's the substance that allows waking mages to enter the Fade -> it allowed me to save Connor Guerrin with the aid of other mages.

It's the substance that the Chantry uses to leash it's templars through addiction -> an addiction I encouraged Cullen to overcome in DAI.

It's the substance used in the Rite of TRANQUILITY.

It's the substance that allows my warrior character to take on the templar specialization in each game -> Alistair and Ser both talk about lyrium and its relevance to training (in DA2 you just do it lmao)

It's the substance burned into Fenris's skin by Danarius.

It's the literal blood of the Titans -> lyrium veins are literal veins (such a cool design choice in DAI to make them look like blood capillaries!)

And all the time in DAO, DA2, and DAI my mage characters were downing this substance like there was no tomorrow.

Even though the combat changed in DA2 and DAI they still kept lyrium potions for mages. Even though they simplified herbalism from DAO in the next two games, they still required the player to interact with the world and find the ingredients for these potions. It was this gameplay mechanic that linked the player to the world -> I know that I need blood lotus to set shit on fire, elfroot for healing potions/lyrium potions, etc... It was cool game design, having game mechanics and lore interconnected like this.

(Not saying that picking up dozens of elfroots was fun or the best game design, btw -> but it's just an example of how they linked the world and game mechanics together, and I like the intent behind it! Cool design does not equal effective design lmao)

What do we get in DATV? No lyrium, whatsoever, just healing potions.

Potions we don't even have to work to find or get crafted! Just break some green shit and there it is! We don't pick up ingredients or discover unique flora to each of these Northern Areas for our own use. We don't loot potions or ingredients from corpses, sacks, boxes, chests (etc...) to replenish our own stock. A healing potion in this game is not a potion you craft, made from ingredients you found, it's a button I press on my controller. It's lost that immersive link - especially when your companions can toss another one at you while being effectively immortal in combat.

The only new flora we hear of is Broma's Bloom which I did like the lore behind! It's used in dye to colour the Warden's armour and its growth is a sign that the damage of the Blight is lessening. I love that! That's a cool bit of lore! Especially since it's named after Andraste's mother in a land that is supposed to be extremely religious. Geographically unique flora and fauna (biodiversity) is just as important as architectural design when designing an area - DAI did this amazingly well with the different creatures and plants we could run into in each area!

The first time we meaningfully talk about lyrium is when we go to Kal Sharok for the first time - a decent amount of game time since the beginning of the game, depending how fast you play. And then, when we get there, the lyrium looks like a bunch of crystals from a 'grow your own lyrium' kit. The absence of lyrium from the game world and mechanics is something that was very hard for me to overlook considering its importance to every previous entry. Especially since in this game we address the fucking Titan's and what the fuck happened to them.

Just...imagine playing a mage in Dragon Age and not using lyrium?

This game is a death of a thousand cuts - so many small, meaningful world-building elements and mechanics brushed off - before fucking godzilla comes along and nukes it all with the handling of the main story/lore.

[queenvhagar]

It’s hilarious when TBs cry “Rhaenyra TRAINED to be heir” because that honestly makes her look worse. Wdym she spent 20 years training and managed to fuck things up more than Aegon, who got pulled out of the trash 2 days ago?

Legitimately and it's why nerfing the Greens was such a dumb choice 😭

Like what do you mean you apparently trained your whole life (which btw spending years away from court hiding from bastard rumors "managing" Dragonstone is not really training for ruling an entire kingdom, especially when it comes to navigating political realities when in power) (but then again that's something she no doubt figured she could ignore in favor of ruling with hardcore fire and blood and fear of dragons and Daemon)

Like apparently you "trained your whole life" for this and you're somehow the only one divinely ordained and suited and qualified enough to rule...

AND YET SOMEHOW up against these apparently incompetent, short-sighted, impulsive Greens, who are made up of:

- a drunk dude who's apparently never been trained to rule despite him ruling being the plan since he was a baby, who appoints his unqualified and unnamed frat boys to Kingsguard, bullies his brother in public, drunk flies his dragon to battle, and executes a dozen dudes for "no reason" causing a "PR disaster"

- a kinslayer attempted kingslayer who took out one of his side's only dragons and rider because he got bullied :( and now he hates his brother and wants power and also he's gonna nuke a village for no reason except to feel powerful and manly I guess... also he unfairly does nothing about Rhaenyra's blockade and it's HIS fault people are starving from the blockade apparently and that's why the common people LOVE Rhaenyra SO much

- the dowager queen who converted to Team Black out of sapphic longing for a woman she was friends with decades ago for a couple of years, who willingly sells out her entire family to the enemy, including the son she crowned, two other sons fighting for the war she started, her father who was her only ally at court, her brother who was the only one to sympathize with her position, her sworn shield who lives to serve her and protect her family, her uncle and his men leading the Hightower host out of Oldtown, most of her family's dragons who will die defending their riders... all for the chance to win the favor of a woman who never showed any ounce of care for how her life turned out and the sacrifice she made (in fact the woman who was remorseless about her son's eye getting cut out, who blatantly pushed lies that endangered her whole family, who married a man who hates her whole family and wants them dead) (she fails in winning her favor) but girls stick together - girl power! And she's finally free from the confines of medieval feudalist patriarchy :) (except there's nowhere for her to go and no way to live her life as a free woman in any capacity as the wife of the former king and a highborn lady, unless she wants to try to be a survivalist in the wild or go to Essos and join a pleasure house, which, again, not really "free" and sustainable long term options for her)

- a poor helpless infantalized neurodivergent woman who can't even ride her dragon because she doesn't like it for some reason and she's incapable of acting outside of autistic stereotypes, also she's totally fine about her 6 year old getting murdered in front of her very eyes now, and actually she's gonna use her visions to condemn the brother who's always had her family's back up until this point and instead help the man responsible for her child's death, because she's seen the Grand Design and wants to help Team Black now :)

- "misogynist incel" but somehow also at the same time "Alicent worshipping and unreasonably Rhaenyra hating sex toy" (don't think about why he might have valid reasons to hate this particular woman) who doesn't think ahead and is apparently the most violent terrible hypocritical person in this show (don't think too hard about the show making him Dornish and casting a brown actor and the implications it has for this character on and off screen because the show and mainstream fandom won't!)

- offscreen brother nobody barely remembers who only just started riding his dragon apparently

- former Hand of the King immediately fired and sent away and captured off screen after doing nothing to help the war effort apparently

- Lannister twin off to Essos to fuck several wives and mud wrestle LOL!!

- foot fetishist shadowy creep (don't think about how they made a disabled character have a fetish involving their disability for no reason)

AND YET SOMEHOW against THESE villains... she can't even beat them 😭 she can't beat THESE guys who at this point are actively helping her out... she can't take and hold the throne against THESE Greens...

Like way to just completely make her and her team look equally incompetent by failing to take on THESE foes and instead elect to... mope... complain... do nothing except what others tell you to do... basically make no real decisions of your own except... dress as a nun and sneak into enemy territory with no real plan, leaving nobody in charge while you're gone despite a war looming... and burn a group of people alive for no reason to get dragons that you immediately refuse to use... ride dragon... speak a foreign language... cry... kiss your advisor immediately after she opens up about being violently assaulted and mutilated and never bring it up again... girlboss 💪💅

Truly astounding how badly they managed to fumble the bag with the show. Like. My god 😭 THIS was your vision for the historic Dance of Dragons aka the worst civil war in Westerosi history where both sides were Targaryens with dragons who destroyed each other and the Realm in their quest for power? Like THIS is what the singers in mainline ASOIAF books were singing about? 😭😭😭 bruh 😭😭😭