#and now just wants an excuse to escape the same old routine

[deimcs]

AN OLD SCRAP FROM THE WATERDEEP GAZETTE, DATED 22 YEARS AGO.

They city mourns the sudden passing of known philanthropist couple Karim and Lorna Charys, both victims of the mysterious fire that burned down the Southern Gate library yesterday. The guards are currently still investigating the true nature of this terrible accident, when asked if he suspected foul play, the captain refused to elaborate further. In the meantime the Blackstaff Academy sent over an emissary to extend their formal condolences to the now de-facto heiress of the Charys family, twenty-years old divination prodigy Amara Charys and her two younger siblings, Dhalia and Tarek. Young Lady Charys is set to inherit the Waterdeep estate together with her parents' large network of business partners and growing charity projects for families of wizards in need.

[targaryenluvs]

Idk if you are taking requests currently, but if you are…

Could you write a similar fic to our little dove, where Coriolanus doesn’t kill Lucy. I would’ve loved to see more of them arguing over who gets to spend time with the reader, and all three of them spending time together.

Or maybe a different ending where Lucy takes reader to pick up katniss with her. And whilst Coriolanus is in the cabin lucy convinces reader to run away with her… but Coriolanus finds both of them and takes them to the Capitol with him.

OUR LITTLE DOVE,, ALT ENDING

pairings: dark!lucy gray x fem!reader, dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader, coriolanus snow x lucy gray

summary: you reunite with your dear songbird after the games, but it seems the capitol has followed her home, and taken an interest in the two of you. but it seems lucy gray is willing to share you with a certain peacekeeper, even if you aren’t.

a/n: here’s for all who wanted a different ending! the full fic is here ( our little dove )this is just a detour for everyone who wasn’t happy with the ending! DONT READ IF YOU HAVENT READ THE FULL FIC!!!

the trek back to town had you dying. it usually didn’t take so long but with coriolanus’s arm practically glued to you, the sun beating down on your trio and your dress sticking to you? fainting seemed very fun right now.

the entire routine was rushed, food stashed, no goodbyes to your family nor friends, just lucy and coriolanus wanting you on the train asap. they’d sprung their plan of going back to the captiol on you quite abruptly once you reached town but at this point you had no hope in your body of escaping them. so you obliged and followed like a lost puppy.

being in the capitol was worse.

you were completely and utterly alone. coriolanus was busy running the country, lucy was always working and you always seemed to be stuck on your windowsill. staring out onto the streets as the world passed you by. stuck in a prison of marble and luxury.

at first you had to endure lucy and coriolanus’s never ending arguing, always over you. when you still had an inkling of freedom. “are you kidding me? you chose what she wore yesterday lucy. will you just back the fuck off?” lucy’s jaw was dropped open, “excuse me? she was my-” coriolanus’s head tilted back as he dragged his hands over his face, “oh my god how many times are you going to use that? who the hell got her here huh? who provides for all of us? sure as hell not you. now don’t make this any harder. she’s wearing the red dress.” you sat there the whole time, just waiting for someone to notice you.

it always led back to you. but apparently kidnapping you and uprooting your life wasn’t enough since after time the duo fed off of eachother, delusions enlarging. seemingly everyone was out to get you, be with you, but you were theirs. coriolanus wasn’t president long enough yet to go around killing people without raising suspicion and alert towards him and as much as people did respect him, he couldn’t exactly go around killing everyone who looked at you and lucy even if he wished to. so he settled for the next best thing. keeping you away from them, out of reach.

and here you ended up, alone.

you had everything you’d ever dreamed of yet it all meant nothing. you were a shell of your old self and the two of them knew it. but all they cared was that you were with them. whisperings of the president having two lovers were imminent, lucy gray the victor, and the other. the unknown. and you weren’t sure if they’d ever know you. if anyone knew who you were, what you looked like let alone your name. even the staff of your prison did what was necessary, nothing more nor less. food, water, changed bedsheets and drawn baths was all the interaction you had with people that weren’t corio nor lucy.

you wanted to die, anything was better than living the same day over and over. the little flickers of hope came in the form of broken promises whispered during the dark nights, barely heard over the heaving breaths originating from yourself and the other two. promises of people, of the sun and temporary escape from here. but you’d learnt not to believe them.

“sweetheart, it’s not good for you to sit there all day. come, eat.” coriolanus asked demanded from the doorway of your library. the book at your feet long forgotten. coriolanus led you to the dining room where lucy was already eating. “there you are baby. somethin’ wrong?” lucy’s eyebrows were creasing as she took you in, empty eyes, emotionless face, slumped shoulders. you were nothing like the girl from twelve.

y/n l/n. sweetheart to almost everyone. a smile on her face as she went about her day. opening up to people and allowing others to lean on her. making sure her friends were okay when she noticed the slightest shift in feelings. always the lover. the carer.

but the girl who stood in front of her was so different and it broke her heart.

but she knew if she wanted to repair you she’d have to let you go. and as the three of you cuddled together in bed, your soft breaths lulling coriolanus and herself to sleep, she knew it was worth it, as long as you were here.

how selfish! she thought, but at the end of the day.

you’re our little dove.

[sanesuki]

𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗦𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹

Billionaire AU | In this universe there's no cursed techniques or anything of the Jujutsu World. A wealthy individual known as Gojo Satoru, happens to take a stroll around town after a busy afternoon at his company. He stumbles across a woman, whose life is completely different from his own. As a busy man, he simply passes by her when she asks for some change for food. What happens when this becomes a routine and sees her everyday after work in the same spot, with nowhere to go? 

No JJK Spoilers :) 

Gojo x Y/N

Word Count : 2.7k

————————————————

Gojo Satoru has always been a successful individual, it's just how it is. Through his looks, he's able to charm anyone. The intimidation factor he holds is incomparable. Cunning, sharp, bold, and intelligent is what he's known for in the business world. He is a one man army, a force to be reckoned with, that no one dares to go against his decisions in his field of work. At 17 known as a prodigy from Jujutsu High School, he's always had it all. To those who know him personally, his character is all over the place. Unpredictable fits him better. 

It was the fall season in Japan, the sky today was a bit gray as it was breezy. Though not where his assistant was ordered to grab his lavish coat to stay warm. His day today was nothing but business meetings and phone calls. Yet another dull day for him. At first it was entertaining for him, to see the looks of a much older business man fall below his increasing status. He was amused to take over the market in such a short time by his growing influence. He had everyone wrapped around his finger, he was a puppeteer. Nonetheless, he's been growing bored as of recently. He had it all. Money, power, fame, properties….. now what? 

After finishing a meeting, despite his assistants telling him he has another one in 30 minutes, he puts on his coat and leaves his office. Obviously he’ll come back but he wants a much needed break from all this work talk. He puts on his coat hood and a face mask to not be recognized in public. Usually he enjoys people asking for autographs and the paparazzi, what can he say? He loves the attention. But today he just can't deal with it all. 

For about 15 minutes, he goes strolling around the streets of Japan. The sun is starting to set, he should be heading back to his company's building. But a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. He walks until he sees a woman approaching him with her small cup. He stops and notices her attire, raggy old clothes, dirty white sneakers that are crumbling at this point, and her hair is messy. 

“Excuse me, but can you please spare any change?” she says softly as she shakes her cup towards him. The sounds of some coins clinking from inside the cup echoes in his ear. He looks at her face, though she looks frail, she's pretty. Really pretty actually. He mentally sighs at himself.

“I don't have any” he says in his laid-back tone as he shrugs. He's lying. Of course he has money but he doesn't see why he needs to give this stranger some money. He’s used to people using him for that. He sees her eyes look at his own attire. He internally curses at himself, he's wearing expensive clothing, now he's been caught in his lie. This woman is probably gonna keep bothering him and try guilting him into giving him some cash. 

“Oh, thank you anyways. Have a nice day” she says as she walks away to go ask another bystander for any change. Gojo was a little caught off guard, he expected her to call him out but she just left him be. Damn, now he feels kinda bad. He groans as he just decides to return to his building, remembering he had a meeting. 

After that day, occasionally Gojo would take his usual walks during his free time to escape the tedious business meetings. And everytime he would see her when he walked down that block. She asks him the same question whenever he passes by if he has any change, and he always just says no and keeps walking. Out of curiosity, while she's near, he always peeks at the cup in her hand. Some days it had some dollars, some days only coins were present. Seeing her for a straight month was the usual for him now. 

——

Today was a bit different. Gojo left his building quite late, it was night time and a chilly one at that. He was staring boredly out the window of the SUV that is driving him home, courtesy of his chauffeur. The car halts at a red traffic light at the block he usually sees her. As he stares out the window, his eyes slightly widen when he sees her. She's sitting in a cardboard box, curled up in a ball sleeping. 

That's where she sleeps? I thought she would have at least had a tent. It's cold out there. 

He watches her for a moment and just thinks. The traffic light eventually turns green and the chauffeur keeps driving Gojo to his penthouse.

——

The next day comes and he goes on his regular walk on his break. He reaches that block and there she is as usual. The same routine happens as walks over to him.

“Excuse me, but can you please spare any change?” she says in that gentle voice of hers as  she shakes her cup towards him. 

This time however, Gojo stares at her for a few moments. Yesterday's evening replayed in his mind, the image of her sleeping in that cardboard box out in the cold. To Y/N's surprise, she sees him reach into his pocket and take out his wallet.

Gojo thinks about how much he should give her, he doesn't go shopping. Usually his assistants do that for him. 

So how much would it be for her to get some warm clothes or food?

He grabs a 100$ bill from his wallet and assumes this should be good. He puts the dollar bill in her cup and looks at her. He freezes when he sees her expression. Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him. Gojo isnt used to dealing with people crying, should he say something?

“Agh- hey are you okay? What's wrong?” he says as he looks down at her small frame.

Y/N sniffles and wipes away her tears that have fallen onto her cheek. “S-sorry I just…. this is too much, I never received such a big amount from one person. Are you sure?” she says as she stares into his eyes. Deep down she wonders who this mysterious man with his hood and mask on is. She can see some white hair strands and only his eyes. His eyes are icy blue, they are so captivating and pretty. He has been walking this way for the past month and only now he gives her money, she wonders why now. 

Gojo hears her question and nods towards her, “It's alright, don't worry.” 

“Thank you so much! You're very kind” she says bowing slightly to thank him, extremely thankful. She hears footsteps walking away and looks up to see him already heading off. Gojo thinks about her words and the expression she made.

You're wrong… im not kind. 

Y/N watches him walk further down the block but she can't help but be curious. He's so mysterious but he seems kind. Though he’s never given her money but today, he was never rude or told her to fuck off like other people. She grips her small money cup a little, gaining courage as she says out loud “What's your name!”

Gojo hears her and stops in his tracks. He turns around to look at her and gives her a smile though she can't see it due to his face mask, “It’s Gojo.”

And with that he disappears around the corner. 

——

The next week he goes on a stroll again. Y/N sees him walking and she smiles happily, she hoped to see him again. She takes a deep breath and walks over to him “G-Gojo good afternoon” she says softly as she greets him.

Gojo looks over and is a little shocked to see her greet him so warmly and the fact she even remembered his name. He notices she's wearing new warm clothes, and his body relaxes; he feels glad. He nods to her in acknowledgement “To you as well.”

He notices she's holding her cup down, not asking him for any change. 

“I just wanted to say… I hope you have a good day at work” she says with a smile, as she waves bye to him assuming he's going to keep walking.

For some reason he feels warm at that smile of hers. He doesn't go immediately however as he digs in his pocket for something, “hey… what's your name?” 

“Oh- my name is Y/N” she says looking at him curiously. 

“Y/N huh…” he repeats her name gently as he takes out his wallet and puts a 20$ bill in her cup as he continues walking away. Doing a small wave saying bye to her without looking back. She didn't even have time to deny the money he gave her. She wasn't going to ask him for money since he already gave her so much last week. But before she knew it, he turned the corner and left. Her smile only brightens up even more. 

I want to talk to him more. 

——

As a month or so goes on, the two get closer. Gojo is now taking walks more frequently and he even now sticks around with Y/N as they talk. She's so bubbly, warm and inviting. Sometimes he finds himself getting lost in her eyes. Despite her hardships, she has such a gentle soul. He feels like he can relax and be himself with her.

Y/N finds herself being more curious everytime Gojo comes around and speaks to her. At first she thought he was quiet but soon he started becoming more open. He was loud, silly and very funny to her. A true jokester at heart. Seems like he just needed time to feel comfortable around her. 

She can't help but blush when he pats her head and pinches her cheek. Hell she hasn't even seen his full face. He always wears a face mask and a hat or hood. She wonders why, is he known around here or something? She's too shy to ask so she doesn't and leaves it be. 

——

Gojo was in the backseat of the car, being driven home by his chauffeur after a long day of meetings once again. He listens to the car radio as he daydreams “-and for tonight's weather broadcasts, make sure to be by the fireplace tonight folks! Because we are in for a snowstorm for the first time in years. Make sure to bundle up!” 

At first Gojo thought nothing of it, it was just snow. It took him a few moments as the car passed by that street. His blue eyes looking at her tent (that she bought 2 weeks ago courtesy of gojo) as the car passes by. A few heartbeats pass and then he freezes. 

Wait a snow storm? Tonight? Her tent is stable but it will be freezing for her. Damn it all. Screw it. I can’t leave her out there. 

“Go back to the last block, I need to pick someone up” Gojo says to the chauffeur calmly but firm as this is Y/N he’s talking about. 

“Certainly sir. If I may ask, who is this person?” the chauffeur says as he does a U-Turn and starts driving back. 

“Someone I care for” Gojo says with a warm tone as he smiles to himself at the mere thought of her. The chauffeur pulls over where Gojo says so, which is at the corner of the block. He tells the driver he will be back and to wait. 

Gojo exits the car and quickly makes his way over to Y/N's tent. He taps against the tent and speaks softly to hopefully not scare her “Y/N it’s me Gojo. Are you awake?”

After a few seconds Y/N stirs awake as she hears someone speaking, she's immediately on alert but relaxes when she hears it’s Gojo. She opens her tent rubbing her eyes awake, “Gojo? It’s late…. What’s wrong-“ 

She cuts herself off when she sees him crouching down and smiling at her. He’s talking to her but she can’t seem to focus on that. She’s looking at his face. After 2 months she is finally seeing him in all his glory and she’s stunned. 

What the hell?! He’s so attractive! He has to be some sort of model or just plain ole famous in general. That’s probably why he is always wearing a mask and hood. I can’t focus on what he’s saying. My heart feels like it’s going crazy- 

“Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” he says waving a hand in her face. She immediately shakes her head and tries hiding the blush on her cheeks. 

“S-Sorry it’s just that… I didn’t expect you to look like that” 

Gojo looks confused for a second til he realizes this is the first time she’s seen his face fully. He laughs out loud “Why so shocked? I know I’m kinda hot. Feel free to faint at the sight of me,” he says as he grins per his confident attitude.

Y/N looks away flustered as she nods, “y-yeah… so why are you here so late?” 

Gojo notices she’s blushing as he pauses for a moment. As he hears her agree to his words, he looks away as he feels like own self suddenly grow flustered. 

What’s wrong with me? I’m used to the media giving me compliments but it’s different coming from her. She’s so adorable. 

He clears his throat to gather himself as she looks back at her with a smile.

“There’s going to be a snowstorm tonight and I don’t think this thin tent is going to be good for a small woman like yourself to keep you warm. So I’m here to rescue this damsel in distress,” he grins as he scoops her up easily and starts walking away to the SUV. Leaving everything behind without hesitation.

“W-wait where are we going!?” she says blushing at the physical contact and the sudden statement. 

“Actually I’ve been meaning to do this for a while but I didn’t think you would trust me yet. But  now is the perfect opportunity. So from here on out you're going to be living with me!” he says smirking as he makes it to the car and sets her down on the floor. He doesn’t let her argue as he ushers her in and hops in the backseat with her. The chauffeur is completely stunned at what just happened but simply starts driving to Gojos penthouse. 

“What?! But this is too much! I can’t just live with you!” she says quickly and completely shocked. 

“It’s fineeee, I have a guest bedroom anyways. You're not bothering anyone, so I’m not taking no for an answer,” he says confidently as he pinches her cheeks to which she whines “Gojoooo let goooo!” 

He laughs out loud as he looks at her. 

She’s beautiful. I want her to keep smiling. 

He leans over resting his head on her shoulder, grabbing her hand and playing with her fingers. She blushes hard and looks anywhere but him, to shy to look. 

He’s so touchy lately… but I don’t mind. 

Gojo thinks as he plays with her fingers, he wants to keep her close. Now he has a reason to live his life. Ever since he met her, his world has gotten brighter. He feels happy with her, like he finally found his purpose of living. 

He’s going to stay with her and never let go. As he stares at her face, he knows she feels the same. But for now they’ll start off slow. Well… he will give her a week til he’ll confess. Gojo was never a patient man to begin with. 

“Hold still I am exhausted from work!” he says as he mischievously grins at her at a plan he had in his head.

“Gojo what are you doing!” Y/N says blushing as she sees him inching closer. 

30 minutes later

The chauffeur pulls into the driveway and puts the car into park. He yawns and stretches, “Sir we’re here-“. He pauses mid sentence as he turns around to see Gojo and Y/N sleeping in the backseat. Small Y/N sleeping against the car door as Gojo is slumped against her snoring loud. He's koala hugging Y/N so much that it’s almost like she’s in a cocoon. The chauffeur has to hold in his laughter to not wake them up. He looks at the two and smiles hard as realization hits him, “ah young love I see.” 

[partofmycharm]

The Neon Project - Part One (Male Yautja x GN Reader)

Hi everyone! I had this idea in my head and thought it’d be pretty cool to write.  Let me know if you want to see a part two because I’d definitely be interested in continuing!

-

Summary: You probably shouldn’t have taken that job. Because, now, a Yautja demands your help... but, hey, at least you’re getting paid well. 

Content Warnings: none really, just lots of swearing, SFW

Wordcount: 3063

Hadt’yk’e = (had-ti-yik-ee)

-

-

Strips of green neon lights lined the metal pathways and across the width of storefronts and apartment complexes, brightly reflecting off the tinted glass skyscrapers. Various sized ships drifted high overhead, following the holographic lines of designated pathways between the buildings, directing them to and from the docks or landing pads that jutted from the sides of the skyscrapers.

 At this time of night, the streets were quiet. The stores that closed late were dwindling in customers, the workers of which tidying their spaces in preparation. Red holograms flickered back and forth across the surfaces of the glass buildings, bearing the words ‘Human Only Territory’ in bolded letters.

 They suddenly began to flicker and change; the image morphed into the unsettling face of an old female android model, whose features still toed the line of the uncanny valley. It flashed a sweet grin, the shutters in its camera-like eyes adjusting. “Welcome to the Neon Light District. Here, the safety of our citizens is integral. Please make sure you are abiding by the laws and regulations as detailed on Section 3A of your Citizens First guidebook. As the time is now one hour past sun-down, routine shakedowns will now begin. Any and all persons found to be harbouring individuals of extra-terrestrial origin can and will be prosecuted. Thank you for your cooperation. And remember, if you hear the sirens, please evacuate to your nearest underground bunker immediately.”

 The hologram pixelated back into the ‘Human Only Territory’ sign. No one had turned to watch — it was the same announcement that they played day by day, once in the morning, and once at night, without failure.

 You were pulled from your ruminations as a robot council cleaner pulled straight in front of you. Its mechanical, pincer-like arms were held to its boxy middle as it rolled from the alley, its wheels whirring loudly. A few papers of propaganda flew from the over-filling built-in bin, drifting aimlessly through the air before landing by your feet.

 The silhouette of a cobra’s head was bracketed by two lines: ‘The Cobras: Venomous Intent’ and ‘Hey President Eustace: We Bite Back!’, and right at the bottom was: ‘Got a Code? Join Us Today!’.

 “Excuse me,” the robot beeped as it reversed towards you. Its mechanical arms reached out to suction the papers before dropping them back into the rubbish hole.

 You stepped around the knee-high thing and kept walking. Most of the others in the street had disappeared for the raids, most likely stowing away in those community safehouses that some people secretly ran. One had been busted the other day — you didn’t hear much, but you had heard that some folks were taken in. Community safehouses were meant to protect the homeless or the afraid, but since they were illegal, owning one or taking refuge in one was considered conspiracy against the government, thus sending those who didn’t escape into custody.

 The rules were ridiculous — bordering tyrannical, even. But it was the way of life on many planets now, such as the one you walked on now, Elysium. It was supposed to represent the future of human civilisation after years of such perseverance, but its way of life hadn’t been granted safety from the chains of war. It, too, had fallen to its knees during the government’s desperation to regain control in the long war against one of the Universal Powers — a few species that had existed and controlled the expanse of space since before than the birth of Homo sapiens.

 You turned down an alley just as a United Nations Space Military truck pulled onto the near-abandoned street. Taking this as your cue to hurry the fuck up, you quickened your pace towards the flashing neon sign at the end of the dark, narrow pathway. The closer you got to the green tree sign, the more the distant, thumping music became audible. You felt it deep in your bones and chest as you opened the side door.

 Hot air, alcohol, and sweat washed over you all at once. You almost keeled over at the disgusting stench that dared to burn your nostrils, but you kept your balance as the door slammed shut behind you. The music, now on the verge of bursting your eardrums, thumped around you like the world’s biggest speaker. Tight clusters of dancing people congregated on the dance floor, grinding their sweaty bodies against each other in drunken hazes. The tables were packed with bodies, most of which covered in a permanent haze of clouds from artificial drugs.

Strobing lights temporarily blinked the joint into darkness every few seconds. You curled your hands into tight fists as you glared through the mass of alternating colours, each flash making your gut clench with nausea. There was a bar backed with red neon lights, highlighting the silhouettes of shirtless bartenders pouring drinks for waiting customers.

 You tried not to take many deep breaths as you immediately turned to your right and zipped past a few tables of idling customers. A few eyed you up and down, their crooked and musty faces lightening with smugness as they watched you storm away. There was an archway amongst the right wall, where a layer of orange and red beads blocked the way through. You pushed them to the side and stepped into the hallway that stretched to your left.

 About halfway down stood a burly security guard with muscles larger than your head, the size of them almost bulging through the material of his fine suit. He stood patiently, with his thick hands clasped together in front of him.

 You paid him no mind as you walked past him towards the staff-only bathroom. Just as your fingers reached for the handle, a large hand quickly snatched the front of your shirt and pushed you back. The security guard had stepped forward, his scarred face sneering down at you.

 No words were exchanged, but you stared up at him with raised eyebrows. After a few seconds, the security guard grunted, and he relented his hold on your shirt. He stepped back.

 As if nothing had happened, you opened the door and stepped into the brightly lit bathroom, the lights buzzing above you. As soon as the door closed, the music outside ceased. You sucked in a deep breath before you approached the last stall, which was closed.

 After stepping inside, you pressed the flush button with your knuckle, and there was a low whirr from behind the toilet before the wall shifted. It rotated to the side, revealing a just as bright staircase leading down. The wall rotated shut behind you as you stepped in, and your shoes slapped noisily on the smooth concrete as you descended the steps.

 Right at the bottom sat a wooden door, the surface of it painted with the silhouetted head of a king cobra. You pushed it open to enter the small, boxy entrance, where another security guard stood, this time armed to the bone with enough weaponry to hold off a small army. He paid you no mind as the door slammed shut behind you, but the two whispering women in the corner did.

 There was another woman though. She was tanned, with swishing hair that reached her buttocks. Her defined muscles were covered in tattooed patchwork, and she bore two rings in her right eyebrow.

 “Took you long enough,” her voice was deep. You knew her only by the name Temperance. It wasn’t her real name, of course, it was after one of the major arcana of tarot. Other than that, you didn’t know much about her; you’d only worked together once before.

 “It’s not easy getting through the District,” you said. “Soldiers were everywhere in the west zone.”

 “Yeah. I heard talk of a safehouse bust,” Temperance said. She turned on her heel and began to lead you through past another set of beads and into the recreational room.

 “Another one?” You asked. That was two within a week. “Seems like they’re cracking down.”

 “Fletch is worried there are insiders.” Temperance pushed open a door, and they moved past an armoury and an indoor shooting range.

 “Wouldn’t surprise me,” you said. “So, what was the rush to get me here? I was about to go off planet, you know.”

 Temperance laughed. “Wait until you get a load of this,” she said. “Remember that job you took a few weeks ago?”

 “There were a few.”

 “The big one,” Temperance said pointedly.

 You shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah. Why? They get busted, too?”

 “No.” Temperance clicked her tongue. “Better. Or worse. Depending on your perception.” They stopped at a locked door, and she turned to you, raising a finger. “Now, whatever you do, don’t panic. And be respectful, for fucks sake.”

 “Yes, captain,” you whispered as Temperance turned back around. The cut-out in her loose singlet revealed the twisting tattoo of a ferocious fire-breathing dragon, rippling and twisting with the flexing definition of her back muscles.

 The door opened, and, at a table, stood only two figures. One being Fletch, one of the men responsible for leading the Cobras. He’d spent years in prison for a crime in which he was falsely accused of; his time there having crafted a shell of who he used to be. Faded tattoos covered the expanse of his skin, most of which accumulated during his time behind bars. He was rough and tough, but he cared about his people — he wasn’t like the military or the government. He always said if he went to prison again, at least this time, it would be for something worthwhile.

 The other… individual standing by the table was of certain interest to you. He was massive, standing at around 7’5, his limbs and torso plated with shining armour and leather. Underneath those pieces, his hide was an unusual deep purple, with even darker stripes that were barely distinguishable up and down his frame. In the centre of his abdomen was a white diamond, which easily caught your attention amongst the monotonous palettes. He had a singular feline skull that rested above his codpiece, and a blank mask with words of an unfamiliar language etched across the surface.

 This was a Yautja, you knew that. It wasn’t your first time meeting one, but it would be the first time you’d meet one in a… favourable setting.

 “(Y/N),” Fletch said. “Nice to see you again.” He held his hand out towards the male Yautja, who’d stiffened and folded his arms across his bulky chest as you entered. “This is Hadt’yk’e. He’s an Arbitrator.”

 You could sense the hostility from the very moment you stepped inside. You only managed a nod toward Hadt’yk’e, who hardly acknowledged the gesture. Temperance rose her brows as she moved off to the side, sneaking you a knowing glance.

 “Why am I here?” You asked. You didn’t like the way you suddenly felt vulnerable under Hadt’yk’e’s scrutiny. In response, you, too, folded your arms across your chest.

 “I heard that you were allocated a job a few weeks ago. Right?” Fletch asked carefully, to which you nodded. Fletch turned to Hadt’yk’e, who jutted his chin at you.

 “Your temporary employers were Weyland-Yutani. Were they or were they not?” The Yautja asked in perfect, fluent English. His voice was deep and gravelly, accentuated with clicks on every harsh sound.

 “I can’t disclose that,” you said casually, which earned an unpleasant snarl. Fletch held up a placating hand.

 “In other circumstances, that would be correct,” he said. “But there are bigger things at stake. And as a Commander, I say it’s fine.”

 You almost rolled your eyes. You didn’t care who Hadt’yk’e was or what his title was or why he was here. You respected only the code of the Cobras; in doing so, you’d seen a lot of shit in your lifetime. This guy? Pfft. He wouldn’t kill you, therefore he didn’t scare you. But, alas, Fletch was an authority figure, and he was someone you respected.

 “Yes, they were,” you said plainly.

 “And what is your formal title for this… rebel group?” Hadt’yk’e asked. Oh. So, he was one of those Yautjas, then. It was clear to you that he’d never done dealings with the Cobras before — it wasn’t common for them to do business with a Yautja, but it did occur.

 “I’m a smuggler,” you said. You knew where this was going, and you had the perfect response crafted.

 “And what was it you were smuggling?”

 You just shrugged. “Dunno.”

 The response didn’t sit well with Hadt’yk’e. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t say anything else. After a second or two, he spoke again. “I will not ask again.”

 “Good. Because I don’t have an answer,” you said.

 “(Y/N),” Fletch said with an undertone of warning.

 You sighed. “I don’t know. I was just told it was special cargo, and that I had to be careful and quick.” You weren’t lying. Weyland-Yutani performed a lot of shady shit, and the only ways for them to discreetly transport precious cargo from one facility to the next was through Cobra smugglers, i.e., you. It was the only job you’d ever been allocated from that company. The payout had been decent.

 “Where did you deliver this cargo?” Hadt’yk’e asked immediately after.

 “Some designated meetup point in this District,” you said.

 Hadt’yk’e rumbled. “Where?” He reiterated.

 “I can’t remember. But it was on one of the landing pads in the east zone,” you said. “That’s all I know. Can I leave now?”

 “No,” Fletch said. “We have reason to believe that precious cargo of yours was actually a Yautja. And Hadt’yk’e needs him back.”

 You blinked. “Right,” you said slowly. So, what? They wanted you to smuggle yourself into a Weyland-Yutani facility, find an entire fucking Yautja, and somehow smuggle him out without anyone noticing? What a fantastic idea. “And how is this my problem?”

 “Because you are the one responsible for handing him over.” Hadt’yk’e’s voice was stern. He still hadn’t moved, eerily enough. “Now, you will be responsible for getting him out.”

 “You’re an Arbitrator. Isn’t that your job?” You asked incredulously. God, you’d been right! These guys are fucking lunatics!

 “There’s a problem,” Fletch said. “No one here knows of any Weyland-Yutani facility anywhere on this planet. But, from your information, it must be around this District somewhere. These facilities are basically impenetrable.”

 “Great. Good thing you’re trained for that, right, Hadt’yk’e?” You asked, turning towards the Yautja, who just stared at you.

 “You aren’t funny,” he said.

 “I didn’t say I was,” you quipped. “I don’t understand why you think I can be of any help.”

 “You’re probably the only person on this planet that Weyland-Yutani will trust,” Fletch said. He rested his palms against the side of the table. “So, you’re probably the only person who’ll be able to find them.”

 You wanted to argue. The last thing you wanted was to closely work with a Yautja — one who blamed you for this situation, no less. You couldn’t see how it was your problem; your job was literally to smuggle shit, mostly confidential, from one place to another. It was just a source of income, with a nice added slice of protection from the Cobras.

 Hadt’yk’e didn’t like the idea any more. If he could do this on his own, he would. But Weyland-Yutani had learnt from previous encounters, making his job harder. Although he wasn’t opposed to working with humans, he didn’t particularly like the feeling of asking for help.

 “Do you still have their contact information?” Fletch asked.

 “It was a proxy,” you said, shrugging. “And the channel was disabled after the deal was done.”

 “Send me their information,” Hadt’yk’e said. “And the channel. I can decrypt the data.”

 You stared between the two of them before briefly looking at Temperance, who was bobbing her head to the music that played through her old-age, blocky headphones. You turned back. “So, what? What do I do with this?”

 “Well, once we establish contact—” Fletch started.

 “If we establish contact,” you interrupted.

 Fletch glared. “Whatever. If we establish contact, you can be the one that gets in. You’ll be Hadt’yk’e’s eyes.”

 “They don’t trust me,” you said. “And besides, you need a facial profile to get clearance into any government facility. And last time I checked, I don’t have one.”

 If Weyland-Yutani didn’t front as some giant engineering corporation, there wouldn’t be any problems infiltrating their place as a human. But facial recognition data patrolled their facilities like a pack of wolves to its prey. The questionable stuff happened under the surface, but you had never really cared to know. They’d never been on your radar, and the ship that you’d bought was independently crafted.

 “That’s what Temperance is for.” Fletch gestured towards the woman in the corner, who threw up a lazy gesture when she clocked the attention was on her.

 You turned to Hadt’yk’e, who was already staring at you. “Alright.” You nodded. “I smuggle you in, and I expect some sort of payment. What have you got?”

 Hadt’yk’e had been expecting this. He jutted his chin at her, the curves of his mask catching the low lighting. “Are universal credits sufficient?”

 “Are they traceable?”

 “No.”

 You nonchalantly half-shrugged. “Ten thousand.”

 “Eight.”

 “I’m not going any lower,” you said. “I’m already risking my ass for shit that’s not even my problem.”

 “It is your problem,” Hadt’yk’e said.

 “Ten thousand, and if you think that’s negotiable, I want an extra grand for every time you inconvenience me,” you said with an unimpressed tone.

 Hadt’yk’e bristled for a brief moment. He untensed his muscles — he wouldn’t let this get to him. “Fine. It is a deal.” He had plenty more where that came from, anyway.

 You smiled at him; it wasn’t mocking but it wasn’t nice, either. It was just another job, you told yourself. I’m only going to break into a government facility. It’s no big deal.

 And as Fletch started talking, you couldn’t help but think about how your employer was a fucking Yautja! You didn’t like the idea of working for one. They weren’t exactly on the top of your Favourite Alien list — not like you were keeping tabs… but, still. The more experienced Cobras dealt with them on the few occasions one had approached them.

 You sighed internally. I should have never taken that fucking job.

-

Part Two —>

[henrysglock]

Stranger Things fans when I ask them to apply the context of a young man spending 20 of his 32 years alive being consistently and routinely tormented and experimented on every day to his big villain monologue about how life is repetitive and torturous and horrible:

However. In addition.

I'm also asking them to understand that in fact that speech was tragic, because it truly demonstrates that all this guy's life had been from his abduction at 12 years old up until this point was indeed "wake up, get tortured, sleep, repeat".

While also asking them to understand that this doesn't make him a "bad joker remake", but in fact makes him a person who genuinely believes, based on his lived experiences, that death is the only merciful escape for those who are like him. So from his point of view he really is a savior, because that's what salvation looks like to him based on what he's experienced every day since he was 12 years old.

While also asking them to understand that a boy who creates miniature terrariums for spiders, and who grows up into a man who does what he considers to be "saving" people, is not someone who started off with no empathy/compassion/ability to love, but someone whose empathy, compassion, and ability to love were systematically and brutally warped and/or tortured out of him.

While also asking them to understand that we're talking about a guy who received very little emotional support as a child, who hid away in a dark, dingy attic as a kid and no one questioned it, whose mother wanted to send him off to a government research lab, who felt that his mother despised him, who felt that he had no choice but to defend himself against his mother, who ended up in Martin fucking Brenner's hands anyway and then spent twenty years in Martin Fucking Brenner's "care".

Like I am begging people to apply context because context will make our villain so much more interesting (and also then I don't have to hear about how the MF is the big bad/would be a better final boss because Henry is just the "boring bad joker remake" dude)

None of it excuses his later behavior, obviously, but the clear cause and effect explanations that led to this point make him so much more compelling and complex. Now, with context, you have the disgust at his later actions being juxtaposed against the heartbreak of what he's been put through, while also creating a thread of logic and plausibility for certain aspects of his actions (even if it doesn't make them right, per se).

Objectively what he's done is horrific. I am not debating this. What he's done is inexcusable and makes him irredeemable. BUT!! The complexity and the context make the story 1000x better!! You're missing out on a really well crafted but also really fucking sad story!!

Begging everyone to apply the same level of nuance, depth of understanding, and care to the villains as we do for the heroes/morally grey characters. Your story experience will improve like 200-fold.

[neo-shitty]

chevron signs — l.yb

pairing. lee felix x gender-neutral reader genre. hurt/comfort warnings. none word count. 0.8k notes. my attempt on putting into words how it feels like to be hotwired to think that vulnerability is something bad. this mindset isn’t easy to unlearn and difficult to adjust even during times of desperate need. if you’re independent, that’s great. but here’s your reminder that there’s also no harm in reaching out every now and then, especially when you can’t take it anymore :) | inspired by the 30th - billie eilish

“stay with me.” you hear him say and you’re trying to. 

when you pry your eyelids back, your vision only makes out black and white cycling in even intervals. sometimes you could make out the ceiling, its iron beams and strips of fluorescent light. ever so often you’d pass under a lit bulb but even then, the shadows remained—guarding the posts of your bed as they wheeled you down an endless hallway. 

the shadows are solid beings because they can touch you, because they can ask you if you can hear them, can ask if you can stay with them. they’re all faceless figures, faces hidden beneath a veil of darkness and making them impossible to recognize. all except for the one beside you, the one with a hand on the railing and the other closing in on you.

you swat his hand away before your skin could touch, muscle memory remembering what you were trained to do even as you lay paralyzed on the hospital bed. it’s instinctive, embedded into your mind after countless years of repetitive routine, even when you don’t want it to. it seemed that the hands you once held when the darkness crawled close where the very same ones who allowed the darkness to seep in in the first place. while the years have aged them, your distrust remains—thicker like the bark of century-old trees in hooded forests. 

but even beneath the layers of hardened bark, your fear was tied to you like an anchor. and as the elements danced to form both you and the darkness you cast, human touch remains as your remedy. it’s an unspoken conflict within you; the desire to be held through the dark path often overshadowed by the need to remain on guard all the time. it’s a double-edged sword, both appearing just as frightening as the other in your mind.

as you lay there, you counted your fears. vulnerability terrified you and so did the idea of comfort coming at the expense of letting your guard down. maybe it was years of servitude that beat the idea into you, any form of reliance becoming a chink in your armor that puts you at a heavy disadvantage. death, even after your countless brushes with it, terrified you. and while this was only one of those many times, it was your first time feeling its finality looming.

your heart races at the thought of it, panic finally seeping in through the cracks of your glass cube. the water is rising and even when you can swim and float there is no escaping the glass ceiling. 

“'lix.” the call is faint yet he hears it over the rattle of the metal bed. your vision is a blur of figures and light but you can make out his movements, the way he turns to look at you. the words are on the tip of your tongue but it takes so much of you to say them. there’s a tug of war beneath the surface, two fears fighting on who will govern the remainder of your consciousness for tonight.

but you were trained to survive and vulnerability becomes excusable on the most extreme of circumstances. still a shadow stands behind you, years of distrust and paranoia morphing into a solid figure whispering taunts into your ear. you could no longer make out what they’re saying.

“my hand,” your voice shakes but you manage, “my hand can you please hold it?”

he’s a mosaic of orbs and flares when you try to look at him, your vision blurry as the blood-loss finally kicks in. but whatever your other sense missed, your skin makes up for because you can feel his touch on your cheek—a gentle hand wiping across it. you didn’t realize you were crying.

and as the armor sheds you feel naked. the plates begin to fall off one by one, piece by piece until you’re left with nothing. their indents have left marks on your skin and bone, your body missing its weight already. but it is lighter with the armor down, easier to breathe with the walls coming down. 

felix’ hand finds its way to yours and while you flinch on first contact he makes sure to hold you. his warmth spreads across his palm into your own, quivers stabilizing with something to keep it in place. hand to hand, skin to skin. 

“i got you,” he whispers, feeling his thumb rubbing the skin on the back of your hand. “hold on.” 

your body begins to relax, your initial panic overrode by a sudden influx of fatigue. the bed bumps over something, then rattles as you hit a ramp, the orientation slanting until you reached a levelled floor again.

“area clear,” another voice says but you can’t make out who it belongs to. 

even with your eyelids closed, you feel his proximity when he leans closer. “stay with me, please.” he repeats and again, you try to.

© neo-shitty, 2022

[akesdraws-blog]

🌊The Warrior Who Lost Heart 🌊

The waters of the sea are treacherous for anyone who dared to sail. But there were two brothers brave enough to tame such beasts of the sea.

Brothers not only of different blood, but also of different species.

One was a human named Saki, the strongest warrior you could ever meet who had a wild fire inside him, maybe too wild, and the other was a rat named Yoshi, a proud carefree and undisciplined warrior, but with a powerful fire but calm.

Both brothers came from a small peaceful foreign island, being part of a fishing family, they grew up together, and they were always close, everything was perfect.

Until the sailors attacked their island, they had invaded in order to conquer new fertile lands on the orders of the current Ruler, they destroyed their houses, murdered their families, and kidnapped people, being part of the kidnapped.

They lived for a couple of years as slaves of the King until they rebelled against those who imprisoned them, freed everyone and they were able to escape.

Years passed and the brothers soon became the terror of the sailors, they formed their own pirate ship, and in each port they were known as "The Brothers of Death".

Over the years they gathered their own loot with every plunder from the corrupt government, every "Wanted" sign they came across displayed a huge bounty on their heads, until their cartels changed to "Dead", there was no one who could do them. front, and they could live happily and in peace.

But it didn't last long either.

They had only arrived at the nearest port to get supplies, food, water and Ron of course, everything was going well, as always, the same routine, but something changed.

One of the brothers fell in love, a young maiden who worked with medicinal herbs was the one who stole the rat brother's heart.

She showed him the beauty in the smallest things, even the beauty in the scariest Monsters, she turned the light from her darkness, the brother made excuse after excuse to stay longer on the island.

The days passed and the love of the young couple grew more and more, until they proposed a union for life, being with the woman he loved, he was able to give up his old life to form a new one with him.

The brothers argued countless times, since the rat brother wanted to give up the life of a pirate to have his own life with the woman he loved, he wanted his brother to give him her blessing, but the other brother just refused felt betrayed.

That was how they broke their most important rule.

“Never clash weapons between brothers”

Their fight was long but above all violent, and in the end the winner was decided with a fatal cut and a permanent mark on Saki's face, who swore that he would take revenge on Yoshi, the sky cried for the broken bond between the brothers, it was Of course Yoshi had now lost his only family.

The years passed and it seemed that the Young Rat was finally happy, he returned to his life as a fisherman, he had a nice house near the sea, a sweet wife and four charming little ones full of energy, everything was perfect and he felt like a man new.

But the past always comes back.

And in the case of Yoshi, his past return as death, and that death had a name, Saki or as the sailors now called him "Shredder", he not only became the new captain of the sailors, he had also revealed his location and that of his family.

Yoshi returned from a great day of fishing, only to run into chaos, his house destroyed and inside his wife and children murdered, that day throughout the vast sea you could hear the cry of pain for the family that had lost.

Yoshi wandered in a small boat from island to island without a fixed destination, he still did not understand why death still did not knock on his door, he did not feel something that would drive him to stay alive, he faced anyone without any problem becoming the "soulless warrior”, as they called him on the islands where he arrived.

Although not everything was bad

One day when Yoshi arrived on an island to buy groceries, they sold him different exotic foods, and while he took everything to his ship for a new trip, it was at dusk when he heard some strange noises coming from the small kitchen, he was expecting some intruder or maybe a killer but instead he found a group of baby turtles just hatching from their eggs, one by one.

He was thinking of leaving them on the next island, they would find a better home than an old pirate's ship, but as the days passed at sea the little turtles learned from Yoshi, at first he only did it so they could communicate, but with the time the turtles imitated him, his way of walking, his way of moving, they even tried to imitate him when he trained with the sword, and slowly they stole the heart of the old rat.

That heart that he believed to have been destroyed, had been reborn from the ashes as if it were a phoenix, being an even stronger heart than before.

That was how Yoshi got a new family, one that he would not lose again, he took care of them, loved them, and trained them to face the cruel world in which they had to live, because although their young children didn't know it yet, they would be...

The Rulers of the Sea

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

This is the first Au that I'm working on, the idea has been in my head for days.

Tags:

@post-apocalyptic-daydream . @turtle-babe83 . @turtlesmakemehappy . @dilucsflame33 . @thelaundrybitch . @scholastic-dragon . @leosgirl82 . @tmnt-tychou . @mackbunny . @happymoonangel .

[subtlehysteria]

My prediction (re: deep dark wish) of how GOmens S2 Episode 1 is gonna go down

Okay so

From the season 2 sneak peak audio clip with Muriel, Aziraphale and Crowley, we hear Crowley barge through the book store’s doors carrying what sounds like shopping bags, complaining about having to drive all the way to get whatever it is he got when Aziraphale could have taken the train because “You like trains.”

And people are saying Crowley and Aziraphale are already living together by the start of season 2 which I love

BUT, what if instead these two idiots are caught in some miscommunication nonsense in which Crowley is practically living with Aziraphale already but is unwilling to admit it to himself (cough cough commit). He’s got more than half his plants there, the spare room is basically his by now with almost all his closet and personal belongings there. They eat dinner and drink wine and chat late into the night in Aziraphale’s study and Crowley always uses the excuse of not wanting to sober up to drive back to his apartment to stay the night and Aziraphale always goes along with it. But when Crowley fears he’s taking up too much of Aziraphale’s space or time or he’s just overwhelmed with the love he has for his angel and has nowhere to direct it without giving his full feelings away, he escapes to his now very barren flat and complains to his remaining plants that he’s yet to move.

On the other hand, Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s already moved in and is not-so-secretly very happy with this new arrangement with his friend. They’ve never been closer, are truly creating their own side, and it is rather wonderful having company most nights. Aziraphale figures the reason Crowley still has his old flat is because sometimes he needs space away from Aziraphale. Aziraphale knows he can be a bit much sometimes, all the other angels have said so more times than he can count. So if Crowley needs a break from him from time to time that’s perfectly alright. And he figures by now the little “don’t want to drink and drive” routine is simply a fun little inside joke between them, nothing more.

And these two idiots have been living together under these presumptions about the other’s feelings about it for MONTHS until a certain bright eyed not-a-real-copper Muriel comes knocking on their door. And of course they’re confused by this arrangement Crowley and Aziraphale have going on and so ask rather bluntly, “Sorry, but, are you two living here… together?”

Aziraphale replies a very confident “Yes,” the same time Crowley gives a more wishy-washy, “Kind of.” To which they both stare at the other in shock because You think what???

And I can imagine you know other plot things happening in the episode that stops them from talking it out right away but at the end when things are more settled and it’s late in the evening and they’re both indulging in some wine, Aziraphale asks rather quietly, “What did you mean by ‘kind of’?”

And Crowley, who is far too sober for this but can’t stand the kicked puppy look his angel is giving him tries to explain how he doesn’t want to intrude on Aziraphale’s little safe haven, that he appreciates being let in but understands that obviously this is first and foremost Aziraphale’s home.

And Aziraphale’s sitting there shocked and also totally enamored because how stupid can his dear demon be?

“Crowley, I told you when we first started this arrangement that my home is your home. You are always welcome here, in whatever capacity you’re most comfortable with.”

And Crowley can’t not be at least a little vulnerable right now. “I like living here. With you.”

“I like it too,” Aziraphale agrees. “Immensely so.”

“My, uh, my flat’s lease ends in a week,” Crowley coughs nervously.

“What perfect timing,” Aziraphale remarks. “I’m sure that’s plenty of time to fetch the last of the plants.”

And the music rises as they share knowing looks and they’re leaning in and then—KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Crowley grumbles as Aziraphale, ever polite, rises to answer the door. He saunters closely behind him to give some dirty dagger eyes to whoever decided to interrupt whatever the hell it was that was happening

Aaaand it’s amnesia-Gabriel looking totally confused asking if this is where he can find an Aziraphale

END ON CLIFFHANGER

[onlyallytothesun]

Why do you think the writing of female characters in Helluva Boss is misogynistic?

Misogyny is one of the oldest forms of bigotry, and thus nobody can escape being misogynistic. Even feminists can fall into misogyny because it is baked into society.

This is further shown with media and how it handles female characters. A show having a female director doesn't save it from perpetuating harmful tropes. That's why one has to be critical of the things they write and why they write them.

The level of misogyny between a media is what I like to call Hard Misogyny and Soft misogyny.

Hard Misogyny is more overt misogyny. Female characters are often reduced to objects of sexualization, or hatred. Thrown to the side for the sake of men's stories. Are depicted suffering great violence in graphic detail, for the sake of fan service. The author actively refuses to break away from misogynistic tropes.

Ex: Beserk, Naruto, Goblin Slayer. (My hero academia is a more complicated case)

Soft misogyny is when an author doesn't detest their female characters but still puts them in boxes, in the way they don't do to their male characters. And restricts their stories to a minimum.

Ex: Spy x Family (more complicated case), My Hero academia.

Helluva boss falls into both, almost a perfect middle. In season 1, the female characters are reduced to either gags or support systems for the male characters. Millie is only their to be an accessory to Moxie's story. As Moxxie gets to have development establishing himself in the team. Stand up for himself against Millie's parents and have a great scene between him and Blitzo. Millie on the other hand? She exists,she fights, and she loves Moxie.

Loona ,in the first season, is only their to get angry, fight, date a guy maybe, make jokes about her being furry bait and what else? That's pretty much it. (We'll get to season 2)

The other female characters follow the same routine. They either supportive, get mad and fight. Or enemies who get mad and fight.

Verosika could have an interesting conflict but with how the writers keep excusing and wobifying Blitzo and Stolas, I don't expect much.

The only true developed one is Octavia who at least gets one episode to her turmoil and one small scene for the other.

But that's ONE developed female character compared to:

Blitzo, Moxxie, Stolas, Fizzarolli, Striker.

Now to the controversial one:

Stella could have been a fantastic villain. And I mean it.

At first she is posed as distant wife who is outraged when she finds out her husband cheated with an Imp. Then she orders an assassin to kill him.

Her set up is fantastic and makes Stolas a far more interesting character as well.

Stolas being a man who feels lonely in his marriage, cheats and then looses everything over it is great! And the fact that his wife is mad, not because he cheated, but because it was with an Imp, is a great set up for complexity and conflict.

Fandoms often complain that too many female villains are being written sympathetically yet this argument is never directed at the mountains of male characters who get forgiven for everything.

Even when a female character is not a villain she will be demonized for less.

Ex: Katara from Avatar, compared to Zuko.

Instead of expanding on this conflict, season 2 decided to double down and make Stella the most tired trope of female antagonist. One that felt ripped out of a yaoi manga.

She's cartoonishly evil and not in a fun way. Stolas' actions are diminished for the sake of justifying his cheating. And in turn make him a far less interesting character.

And just blatantly contradicting the initial set up of season 1.

This trope of painting woman who get cheated on as devils in disguise is a trope as old as time.

I wanted another Fizzerolli, instead I got bargain bin Regina George.

Another controversial point:

Loona is also made abusive but painted as a joke. Why?

Loona was annoyed by Blitzo in season 1, but she was never violent towards him. She only snarled when he didn't respect her personal space. But that was pretty much it.

But in season 2? They made her violent for reason. Difference between her and Stella? She is the furry bait the fandom can drool over.

She beats up Blitzo for him simply setting a boundary, kicks him in the nuts for no reason and its all seen as a funny little quirk.

This episode could have been about exploring Octavia and Loona's characters. Instead it got overshadow by Blitzo and Stolas' bs.

Their is a reoccurring pattern of making every female character incredibly violent for the reason of either demonizing and turning them into flat characters or... I actually have no explanation for Lonna. What was that?

The fandom's refusal to see the misogyny for what it is, is not surprising but still disappointing. Even a r*pist (Valentino) gets more sympathy than Stella.

Hope this helped!

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Little Scarab

Summary: Layla and Steven go on a first date. Layla reflects on her old dating history. 

Warning:  None

Word Count:  875

Word Prompt: Scarab

--

“Hi Steven.” Layla smiled brightly as he opened the door. “Sorry I’m a little early. Are you ready?” 

“Hey!” Steven’s face lit up and he waved. “Of course! I’m ready! I’m always ready for you, Love.” 

She blushed deeply. Steven could always make her blush. She used to think herself to not fall for all that romantic garbage or capable of swooning. 

Marc was always so blunt and also vague at the same time. If he thought she was looking good that day he’d just come out and say ‘You look great today, Babe.’ And she appreciated that about him because she knew he meant it every time. 

With Steven, there was utter adoration and love oozing off of every look and comment. It made her feel special but also like the center of the world. Sometimes it embarrassed her and she didn’t know how to handle it. She wasn’t used to such things. She didn’t know how to respond to such things. 

Steven pulled on his coat and grabbed his keys, locking up behind them. He was quiet as they walked down the street, his hands fidgeting at his sleeves. 

She didn’t mind the quiet. He gave her space and didn’t crowd her or pull on her arm. Something previous boyfriends used to do. Always clinging to her as if they owned her. Leading her and dragging her around like they were afraid she’d suddenly take flight. 

To be fair to them, she often did take off. Her first date in school had been set up by her friends. After being pulled around and talked over for an hour, she had found her opportunity and taken flight, escaping out the bathroom window and running down the street. 

Her father had laughed as she came skipping up the front walk. He had ruffled her hair and made her some tea. It became routine for them. 

Any time she went out on a date she would give it two hours max before she escaped. Every time, she would find her father waiting for her with a cup of tea. “Ah, my little scarab. Taking flight again?” 

Marc had been different. He had not pulled her along. He had been quiet and even when talking it had been soft and unsure. If anything, she felt like she was the one guiding him. 

When two hours had hit, she had excused herself to the bathroom. She had stared at herself in the mirror. She could leave right now. The window was there, the road home laid out before her… But there was no waiting cup of tea. There never would be again. 

Returning to her table, she had found Marc in the middle of standing and putting his jacket on. He froze when he saw her. “I… You don’t want to date me. I’m no good. You can do better, and I just… I’m sorry.” 

Her flying days had ended. She took his hand and sat him back down. “I don’t want to do better. How about we see where this goes?” 

Steven sat down at their table and looked across at her with large star struck eyes. She smiled back, this was their first official date since Cairo. She had wings now. Golden and glinting that would let her fly as high and far as she dreamed. 

When two hours had passed, she excused herself and slipped into the bathroom. Steven sat waiting, his fingers nervously folding and unfolding the napkin in his lap. 

She looked at herself and smiled. There was still no tea waiting for her at home. No loving hug and kiss on the forehead. Had that been the only thing that had stopped her from running on that first date with Marc? 

She looked at the window. It was the same. If she looked hard enough, perhaps she could see the scuff marks from many shoes that had climbed through, squirming to fit through the frame. 

“I can still fly.” She reached up and cracked the window open. “But I think there is a different direction I’d rather fly to now.” She turned and walked back out to the table. 

Steven beamed up at her and gently reached out to take her hand. He held it so lightly, not holding her down or pulling her along. It was a soft request that she stay down on the ground with him. 

He who had fallen from a window into a sparkling suite of armor. He who had reached up and moved the stars themselves just for her. He who had taken flight without wings and fallen for his friend with absolute trust. 

She wrapped her fingers tightly around his and leaned in, kissing him gently on the cheek. “Let’s go home. I’d like to make you a cup of tea.” 

They got up, hand in hand and headed for the door. As they left, she noticed a young girl sitting with a young boy. He was talking loudly and she was just nodding and smiling. The girl excused herself and headed to the bathroom. 

Outside, while they waited for their cab, Layla caught sight of the girl, running down the sidewalk with a smile on her face. 

“Fly little scarab…” She squeezed Steven’s hand. 

[houndndog]

Hound of the Dog

Chapter 1 - Thread

SOMEWHERE IN EASTERN EUROPE ON THE BORDER OF THE USSR 1949 A.D

A dirt road wisped between an endless number of pines towering above the mists that clung to everything with a sickening obsession. A weak light guided the way each ray like a feeble finger of a dying old man, the road laden with roots and much of it covered with fallen leaves. The path was heavily overgrown and slowly fading the last time it was used was probably centuries. But now two strangers walk it, a tall man with dark eyes donning a giant overcoat made of a black leather though its origin is unknown to most, his slowly greying hair and grizzly beard that reaches his chest only further the mans intimidating appearance. Each step he takes is calculated, despite his size and beastly demeanour he is as silent as a cat on the prowl. Behind him lagged a young girl her skin was much darker than his, a half breed, her curly dark hair and freckled face create an innocent and naive impression, her hair tied into a ponytail however reveal the scar across her forehead in some lighting it looks as if it still bleeds. Her dark clothes resemble that of a suit much like the old man had beneath his black coat, the cross around her neck swinging with her every attempt to keep up.

“Mister Wulbren can you slow down a little…I don’t want to tear the suit” the young girl huffed as she spoke the journey was a long one and it was beginning to take its toll. “We will arrive soon Paris, control your breathing unless you want something in the wood to mistake you for a meal”. He turns his head without stopping snapping his teeth together in a quick motion then chuckling to himself. Paris did not find that one bit funny, of course as the wood was filled with all manner of beasts not just wolves or bears but changelings, hags, leshy and worst of all ghosts.

Paris glanced from side to side routinely looking over her shoulder while desperately trying to keep up with Wulbren, she was doing well enough not to trip on the roots so at least some of her training was useful here and now. However her mind was a mess, over and over she ran the mission brief in her head trying to find a way out, an excuse to make Wulbren do it maybe she will get sick by leaving a foot out of her roll long enough or maybe she will eat a mushroom that would give her the runs for a day or two, anything was better than expelling a ghost. In her panic she failed to realise Wulbren had come to a stop crashing into his towering frame causing her to lose her footing only for him to catch her without turning away, with one arm he raised her gently yet the rest of him remained stiller than an oak. As she was drawn closer by his pull he began to whisper “I need you to focus  now girly, something nasty has our scent and I don’t think it wants us to leave” now standing on her own two feet his calloused hand sat gently on her shoulder, with the same hand without raising, it he pointed ahead, she followed it with her eyes until they sat on a figure lurking in treeline just out of sight. It was tall and vaguely humanoid, some would mistake for a terribly twisted tree. At a closer inspection using her blessed eyes Paris could see the face of man, old and a sickly green it looked as if it was weeping, but the air about it was unmistakable this was a monster and no mere possessed tree something older, dangerous and full of hate. 

Mere moments later it vanishes before her very eyes she looks up at her mentor for some kind of answer though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to actually hear it. Wulbrens' eyes met hers as he leveled with her “listen well this may be your first official  mission but you have been trained for this, do as I say when I say and you will be fine.” He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second before letting it escape his hold, his eyes flickering between the trees, hunting for his prey. “That thing you saw was most likely a leshy, this is basically Russia after all so an encounter with its lovely inhabitants was inevitable” he pats her on the back before parting his coat and pulling out a falchion with intricate carvings decorating the blade, the hilt was fashioned from bone that of a giant skeleton found only in the far east, at least that is what Wulbren says it is made out of.

The runes on the blade are ancient, Wulbren only said they ounce sung the glory of a god in these lands the god of the dawn, he believed it would be useful to bring something native to this country, guns often proved ineffective against the more dangerous monsters some of which require a rather specific approach.

Paris breathed in deep honing her senses allowing only the miasma of creation to enter her body, here between heaven and earth the astral water that flowed within her crystalien veins began to heat up and course through her body, surfacing at her will and hardening around her body. A simple sorcerers barrier was all Mr Zhou could teach her along with some other basics, his teachings resonating  within her mind as she stood back to back with Wulbren both of them bracing for the creature to strike, the wait was a short one.

With a pounce the leshy tore through the treeline arms swinging wildly springing from tree to tree at blinding speed, it lunged for Wulbren the bigger of the two, the bigger threat, but Wulbren was just a little quicker, getting down on one knee he raised the sword above his head slicing the beast with its own momentum"Paris grab its tail!" he screamed, Paris pivots on her feet grabbing it by the tail, despite her size she was shockingly strong gripping the leshys tail a thick mucus made it hard to grip, but thanks to her barrier training and exceptional strength she tears into the mossy flesh finding purchase on the bone so the blood and mucus would not cause her to lose her grip, Wulbren brought his sword up and twisted it and then doing so again he lunges forward toward the head nearly splitting it in two, killing it swiftly.

The leshy did not so much as scream or even whimper it died in utter silence barely a breath even as Wulbren stabbed and sliced it, He stood for a moment observing from a far as he cleaned the blood of his blade, though little could be done about the buckets of blood the two of them were now covered in.

Paris wipes away what she can from her face, hands covered in both blood, moss and some mucus and in the comotion feels likes she might have swallowed some, she scolds herself remembering how she practically wished the runs on herself, seems she may get her wish afterall.

Paris watched as Wulbren knelt down as she tried in vain to get the blood out of her hair before it dried “strange” he grumbled leaning on his sword “very strange” rising and sheathing his weapon in one motion he gestured her to continue, with a slightly shaky step she went ahead “you want me to lead?” fear and uneasiness on her voice, looking up at him with her back turned to him, Wulbren lowered his head “yes I do but I will be right behind you child you needn't worry a hair on that little head of yours” he smiled warmly then gesturing with an open palm to move forward, and so she did each step as uncertain as the last.

“That was no leshy” whispered Wulbren “something is wrong here so stay on your guard little lady we may encounter more oddities like that one” his voice was grim and heavy, Paris was used to his more cheerful tone and warm smile, now she was on a real mission and for the first time ever she saw Wulbren in a new light. For a moment it was silent but Paris was bursting with questions "Mr Wulbren what did you mean that was no leshy?" she pauses looking back briefly at the carnage "it looked like one...at least the ones in Ms Ariel's books". Her voice trailed off and for yet another moment it was silent, "It was too weak to be a leshy...it also had no beard" Paris stared at Wulbren as they walked and then laughed at the idea that Mr Wulbren was more concerned about the leshy not having beard than it not wielding the power of nature against them. Realizing herself she instinctively covered her mouth as her eyes slowly trailed to Wulbren his hand reached out to her causing her to flinch. Though she did not see it Wulbrens hand stopped at the sight of her flinching, he knelt down and patted her on the head. Her eyes slowly opening to the shocking sensation, "Paris look at me for a moment" she hesitates but does as she is told "I will never strike you" he pauses puffing air from his nose his twirling mustache fluttering. "So long as you are in my care I will never hurt you little lady...even when you are not in my care and when you become a woman I will still protect you". he rubs her head once more before standing, smiling almost audibly to himself believing he had done a good days work he continues to walk on "Come along now we haven't got all day" he called to her, snapping back to reality she briskly followed in his footsteps making sure not to fall behind.



A kind hand was a rare thing, Paris remembered the matron how she beat her or wrapped her knuckles for every mistake every slight, she knew Wulbren was a kind man from the way he smiled yet she could not bring herself to truly overcome her fear. Hands reaching out almost always meant pain would follow often all it would take to earn a reaction from her would be to put your hands in front of her face.

Though now was hardly the time to reminisce about the past, though a rookie she was to be Mr Wulbrens executioner though many called her Wulbrens hound, she didn’t like being called that she thought to herself it made her feel inhuman like when she was scurrying beneath the floorboards, even if they mean it endearingly she can’t shake the bitterness. Snapping out of her thoughts again this time she swears she will stay focused, a quick glance behind her shoulder however stops her in place, Wulbren was gone.

All around her it seemed as if the trees were creeping in and the path was being devoured, the daylight was beginning to grow ever more sparse, her chest pounding a cold sweat trails down her face slowly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. There was something here similar to leshy-like creature she and Wulbren killed mere moments ago. Wulbren would never leave her not of his own free will at least she knew that but seeds of doubt were being placed in her mind by an unseen hand, her chest grew tighter as sweat covered her body with a shiver she cried out as loud as she could “WULBREEEEEEN!!!” her scream echoed across the wood in her panic she failed to think if this might betray her position now regret and fear were taking their grip, was this all it took? Was she so weak that all it would take to see her in such a sorry state is take Wulbren out of the picture? Doubts supplanted themselves in her mind every part of her was racing, her training was forgotten with each rapid breath she could feel the trees close in on her their black thorns and spindly branches reached out to choke her, smother her. 

As her vision began to blur her grip on the waking world began to slip, suddenly all became heavy as the world spun around her in a daze she fell to the ground with a thud.

[totallyuseless-ugh]

“Story of Seasons: A Wonderful Life” AU

Living in the big city had never quite been CJ’s cup of tea. It’s all they’ve known for their whole life, and yet they hoped to one day get the chance to escape it all. And they did, inheriting the forgotten farm of their father in a distant valley.

There was a moment of hesitation. But ultimately, CJ sent a letter out to Takakura, an old friend of their father who still lived on the farm. They asked lots of questions about farming, wanting to know as much as possible before packing their bags to head out to Forget-Me-Not Valley. It was not at all comparable to the city. One could stand at the top of the mountain pass and overview the entirety of the Valley’s landscape. And yet, the small size was oddly comforting to CJ.

Takakura was kind enough to give CJ a tour around the farm, and later on introduce them to all of their new neighbors. It was a curious mix of people, some more ‘fitting’ into the countryside than others. Especially interesting was the fact that there was a local researcher not too far from the farm. Though, Daryl rather fitted the title of mad scientist.

Not even a full day into their new life, CJ already felt as if they had made the right decision. They could go seek out conversation with the locals whenever they had time and energy for it. But nobody would be upset if CJ were to not leave the farm for a week to have some peace and quiet with the cows.

It took a while for them to fully grow accustomed to the amount of work it took to run a farm. Every planted crop and each new animal meant more time to get through the daily upkeep routine. But they never complained. In fact, any small bit of expansion made the place feel more and more like home to CJ.

***

On a late summer day, CJ was just coming back from the goddess pond woods nearby. They had spent their off time visiting the harvest sprites Nik, Nak, and Flak, and fishing by the small waterfall. Takakura was returning from his walk around the valley that same moment. He joined CJ on the pasture to talk while they were busy milking the cows.

“Did you know there’s someone new coming in the valley?” He asked as a means to bring up the topic.

CJ shook their head in response, “Nope, first time hearing it now.”

“Apparently Daryl has found himself an intern. Though, I still don’t understand what he’d need someone else’s help for..”

“Probably just the hopes that he can snag some food off of ‘em.” CJ stretched their back as they stood upright again and turned to look at Takakura. “When’s the newbie coming?”

“Some folks say tomorrow around noon. I’ll probably be still out in the city myself then. You should go and say hi, though. Show him that not everyone is such a nutcase like Daryl.”

CJ had planned on stopping by already, but they did not mind having another excuse for the visit. Thus, CJ waited the next day for the arrival of Daryl’s new assistant after completing their morning tasks. And just as the clock hit noon, an unknown face strutted over the small bridge. CJ was met with a lean, black man with shining blue eyes and long braids hanging down his head. He looked far too sane to be working with the valley’s scientist.

The newcomer introduces himself to CJ as Darnell. And although the two were working in vastly different fields, they still came to meet each other regularly at the Blue Bar after a hard day's worth of work.

Over time, the evening drinks turned into daily visits from Darnell on the farm. He would spend his breaks and days off helping out CJ with taking care of the fields and livestock.

It surprised nobody in Forget-Me-Not Valley that despite his year long internship having ended, Darnell was staying to live in the small community.

[landinoandco]

Our Love is a Game

Lando Norris x Reader

Request from @jamieeboulos

Warnings: pinch of fluff, cute ending because they are the best

Word count: 2.7 k

Requests are open :)

It all started with a phone number, an innocent exchange that would subsequently change the world you knew; mostly for the better. When you had met Lando, as far as you were concerned you had just met a 21 year old who lived in London and had a passion for cars. How wrong you were. It was only when things started to get serious that he sat you down and explained everything that came with being a formula one driver; more importantly the fandom that he was involved in. 

You had always been a private person and admittedly this piece of information almost broke your relationship but after some time to think you had decided that he was worth it all. You both decided it was a better idea to keep your relationship as quiet as possible - you took every precaution to make sure you stayed a stranger to the fans.

For the past 2 years, you thought you had managed to stay clear of the cameras, the photos and the twitch streams but it wasn’t until a fan-made compilation caused your world to spiral out of control. 

You and Lando were out for a run, it was a part of your morning routine - a great way to start the day and it was time that you two could escape the motor sport world and act like a normal couple without worrying about who might be watching. It was time you both valued and appreciated. On this particular morning, Lando had decided to add to his Instagram story, a short video of his morning adventures - the mist still hanging around the trees as you ran under a heavily graffitied bridge, the early birds song chirping animatedly. At the time you didn’t think much of it as you were too busy tying your hair back up to notice. 

It wasn’t until you got home and looked at his story that your heart stopped, rushing over to the kitchen island you placed your phone down and ran your fingers through your hair. It was a blink and you’ll miss it moment but in the corner of his video - the last millisecond before it ended - there was a flash of a purple top (the purple top you had been wearing) and a swish of brown hair as you chucked it back up into a ponytail. 

“Lando.” You called out, trying to keep your voice as calm as you could. You didn’t know why it had affected you so much - or why you were so desperate to keep your identity a secret. It wasn’t like you wanted to hide your relationship; you were the happiest you ever had been, everyday was exciting and offered new prospects - it was more that you were so used to being in this bubble with Lando, the idea of it bursting seemed rather unappealing. Usually you didn’t care for how others saw you but seeing some of the words that people used to describe him, it would be enough to trouble even the thickest of skins. 

Lando’s close proximity broke your thoughts as he stared down at your phone, pausing on the flash of brown and purple. “I am so sorry, love.” He almost whispered, his eyes widening at his carelessness. He picked your phone up to take a closer look. 

“It will be alright, won’t it? I mean, it’s a blink and you’ll miss it.” You had said, more to reassure yourself than Lando. He didn’t answer, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach because he knew exactly what he had started. 

The fan-made compilation didn’t go viral until a few hours later - as it turns out that flash of purple was the perfect cherry on top of an unappetising cake. Lando was sat on stream - not that this was out of the ordinary and Max had decided to join him, leaving you alone to rewatch Friends for the umpteenth time. 

The pair were sat reacting to videos on YouTube when a clip of a seal swimming into a shoal of fish started playing - the amusing part was that they kept quickly dispersing away from the seal in question. Unsurprisingly, they laughed and Lando spluttered: “This is me trying to find a girlfriend.” What the fans didn’t know was the apparent irony of that sentence and this was what caused the major meltdown; whilst Lando and Max were busy crying with laughter - that chat had filled up with the same link and references to the video you would be redirected through. 

Max was the first to stop laughing, tapping Lando on the shoulder as he pointed at the chat. Hundreds of the same message filled the screen: “That’s not what this compilation shows.” “Lando, what are you hiding from us?” “Lando and Max laughing knowing very well he has a girlfriend.” 

“Chat what on earth are you waffling on about.” Max chuckled uneasily, looking at Lando out of the corner of his eye. Lando sat with a forced smile, his nostrils flaring as he continued through the comments. He could only let out a tense laugh as he swallowed thickly - his throat feeling suddenly dry. You were still sitting, completely engrossed and unaware that Lando Norris was now trending on twitter. 

Max had come up with an excuse to end the stream not long after, Lando uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were with you in the other room, had you seen it? Did you know? How would you react? He felt as though he had lost all control, like he had failed you entirely - all he wanted to do was protect you yet he was the one to screw it up. 

“Hey,” Max nudged his shoulder, “It was bound to happen at some point. Let’s go and see if she’s seen it - if not then -” He took a deep breath, “We will watch it together. We need to know what we are working with here.” Lando nodded, unable to reply, his body went into automatic pilot mode and too quickly he was standing facing you. 

Pausing the tv, you looked at Lando - his jaw tightened and facial expressions set as though he had just seen a ghost. “Is everything ok?” You asked apprehensively. 

“There’s something you need to see.” Max reached for his phone, pushing Lando onto the sofa. You offered your arm to Lando, pulling him into a hug. Max pulled up the video and pressed play. A tense atmosphere held the room hostage - breath restricted and gazes fixed onto the tiny screen in front of you. 

It started with a clip from this year’s Goodwood - Lando preparing to drive his last hill climb - you remembered it well, a McLaren hat placed on your head mainly to cover your identity; knowing that there would be more than a few fans around. The clip moved to 3 separate stills - all of you in your McLaren hat. One with your back to the camera, you hand placed around Lando’s waist, the other two a side profile as you spoke to Max. 

The reaction was immediate, you slapped your hand to your mouth, Lando looked horror-struck and Max was watching you carefully. 

The video moved on, this time a clip from the quadrant video where Niran trains like Lando for 24 hours - Lando and Niran were in the kitchen preparing to eat their breakfast when once again the video moved to stills. This time they were of your reflection in the oven - holding the camera. You had thought at the time, if you were behind the camera it would stop every chance of you accidentally being caught on camera. Apparently not. 

The video had moved on again, this time to stills of Lando arriving on track - of course there was no way for you to get on track without being photographed and you were fine with that because you would just arrive after Lando either with Jon or Charlotte. Photos of you arriving with Jon and Charlotte flashed up - with them you were just another member of staff but put with those other stills and it really did yell out that you and Lando were romantically involved. Finally the flash of purple from Lando’s story. The game was up. 

“Oh my-” You stuttered as the video came to an end. Fortunately your Instagram hadn’t been shown but judged by how skilled you knew the fans to be - it would only be a matter of time. “I feel sick.” You admitted, wiping your hands across your face. Lando still hadn’t said a word, staring blankly at the floor. Max was the first to come up with something logical, turning to you and Lando. 

“It will blow over.” He started, “The fans will soon lose interest and move onto the next big headline. We just need to ignore anything we see regarding the subject.” He moved his attention to you. “Maybe avoid social media for a few days. Let everyone cool down -” Sensing your means to interrupt, he held his hand up. “I know you shouldn’t have to and I know none of this is fair but unfortunately people have no boundaries and believe because it’s on social media it is their business. If they were in our situation, I’m pretty sure they would be the first to complain. Let’s just go along with it for now. It will give you time to think about what to do next.” 

Lando cleared his throat, pulling you closer into him. “I’ve failed you. All I wanted to do was protect you.” At this, Max got up and left. 

Shaking your head, you pressed your lips to his forehead. “You could never. Think about how long we kept it secret for. Besides, until we announce or admit anything - it isn’t confirmed.” You offered, trying to soothe his worries. He nodded, still not convinced. 

“Our love is like a game and it’s not a game I enjoy playing.” He croaked, lacing your fingers together. 

“I know, Lando, I know. Let’s let everything calm down and then we can think about what our next step is.” 

Weeks later and it was the night before you were due to leave for your summer holiday. You would be spending it with Lando and some of his friends and family. Due to the current pandemic, it had been so long since you had been away - even if it was a bigger group of you going; you were still looking forward to spending that quality time with Lando. 

Max had decided to take himself and Tom off to the streaming room - leaving you and Lando to sort out the remaining items you needed for your time away. 

“I have a present for you.” He said suddenly, his hands behind his back. You beamed, taking a step closer to him. He shook his head, “If you want it - “ He pointed at his lips. 

Rolling your eyes, you pecked his lips then held out your hands like a child. Lando chuckled, “Close your eyes.” Hands still outstretched and eyes closed, you waited for Lando to present you with your surprise. He grasped your left wrist and attached something to it - “No peeking.” He added. A moment or two later, he dropped his hold of your wrist and said: “You can open them now.” You could hear the smile on his lips. You opened your eyes and looked straight to your wrist - he had given you a pink watch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at him, his eyes twinkled as he then pointed to the orange watch on his wrist. 

“Watches?” You asked, confusion laced your tone. 

Nodding, he said, “We all have matching watches but in different colours - they are for our holiday away.” 

You gave him a lopsided grin and wrapped your arms around his neck, “I love it. Thank you.” 

In the streaming room, Max was having to ignore the majority of the comments because they were all asking the same thing: “Who was the girl from the compilation.” He was trying his hardest to keep moving off the topic, instead showing off the watches - it had been his idea, blue for him, orange for Lando, a child’s watch for Tom and a pink watch for you. He had listed off all of the colours and said who they belonged to: “And then pink-” He paused, mentally face palming. He looked over to Tom for assistance - he hadn’t meant to say pink at all. “And pink is for someone.” He cursed his poor excuse but as if by magic - Lando walked through the door. 

Distracting the stream from his slip up. 

Croatia was a dream come true, the hot summer sun on your back and the time to just relax and recharge. Days spent with Lando sunbathing on the boat or stuck in a tense game of Uno. Not being the only female was brilliant as well - as they got to go off and not feel guilty about leaving you on your own. 

Currently, you and Lando were standing in each other's arms - the afternoon drawing into the evening as the sun began to set. You had your arms around his neck and his arms were around your waist, sighing contentedly you broke the silence: “This is nice.” He pressed his lips into your hair, a sign that he agreed with your statement. In that moment, it was just you and him - everyone seemed to disappear from around you and all worries vanished. It was the simple yet affectionate moments that had always meant the most to you. You felt as though you could relax every muscle in your body, listening to his steady heartbeat - you wished for this moment to never end, to forever be in his arms and to not worry about who sees you there. 

Ever since that compilation had been made, the thought had been on your mind a lot. Were you ready to go public with Lando? At the end of the day you were both happy and surely that was the most important thing. 

Later that night, you were sitting eating your meal when a phone was handed to you, displayed on it was a picture of you and Lando - in each other’s arms. 

Instantly you knew what this meant, looking at Lando you were met with the same expression. He did as well. 

You and Lando had decided it was time to announce your relationship, there was no point sneaking around anymore if people knew and were looking out for you. You had agreed that the best way to do it was if you joined him in a stream, that way they got to know you a bit more for who you were. 

“Is it ok to feel as nervous as I am?” You asked him, pulling up a chair beside him. He was setting up the stream, two mugs of tea placed in front of you. It seemed completely unnatural to sit facing the camera. 

“I mean, this is kind of a big deal so yes I would say, it’s completely natural for you to feel nervous.” He reached for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. Nodding, you took a deep breath. 

“Ok. I’m ready.” You said, your heart beating at a million miles an hour. The corners of his lips turned up, leaning in to leave you a kiss on the lips. 

“I love you and I’m so proud of you.” He admitted quietly, as though you were the only person in the world, his eyes flickered with complete adoration. 

“I love you too. Now, shall we start it?” 

Lando went to press the start stream button but paused. He turned back to face you, his eyes wide and offered an apologetic smile. 

“What did you do?” You asked, a smile toying at your lips as you had an idea of what it might have been. 

“Stream, meet my girlfriend.” 

He had already started it...

[my-tin-can-mans]

Gone Too Far, Crosshair x Reader

Soooo I'm thinking about writing another part to this let me know what you think, this idea had been festering in my brain for awhile now and I finally had the patience to sit down and write it. Also I got an idea to a Rex x reader one shot so be prepared for that soon if I get the motive.

Pairings: Crosshair x Reader

Warnings: None? Kinda Angst? I'm not sure.

It was late, incredibly late. And as the pilot of the Havoc Marauder, you had to be up early to take the ship out of hyperspace and land it. That meant you needed sleep, enough to at least fly a ship, but that was sounding impossible at this hour.

Wrecker and Crosshair were still up, bouncing a ball on a wall back and forth. You knew this because on the other side of the wall happened to be your room. Granted you shared it with Echo, but this noise didn’t seem to be a bother for him as you could hear his soft snores from the bunk beneath you. Unfortunately, as the two newest members to the bad batch, you both got to share the room closest to everything. Which meant when someone was up and moving around in the hull, you two were the first to know.

You huffed, raking your hand down your face, and throwing your GAR issued blanket off yourself. You climbed down the ladder trying to make as little noise as possible as to not wake Echo, but you were sure nothing would if he couldn’t hear the loud bounce against the wall ever thirty seconds. You quietly opened the door and walked into the hull. Wrecker was laying with his back against the floor and his feet propped up on the seat in front of him while Crosshair was sitting up in the seat beside his feet, infamous toothpick wedged between his lips and ball in hand.

The look on your face was not a nice one, and the two men knew that. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” Crosshair spoke as he went to bounce the ball again against the wall in front of him.

But as it started to bounce back you swiftly came in and grabbed it. “Hey” wrecker whined, “we were having fun.”

“Well too bad” you grumbled, “I've got to land this ship in less than four hours and if I don’t get any sleep, we’ll all be crash landing.”

“What does our ball having anything to do with your sleep?” Crosshair spoke up with a rather knowing look on his face.

“Considering the fact that it's bouncing up against the room I sleep in, a lot.” You cocked you hip and put your hand on it, threating him to fight back.

But it was crosshair you were talking to, of course he was going to argue. “it's just a ball princess, ignore it. You’ll find you sleep a lot better that way.”

“Damnit Crosshair can’t you for once think about anyone other than yourself?” you raised your voice, officially becoming a little more than frustrated.

“I still don’t see how you ever made it as a slave once, all you ever do is whine.” This hit hard. It wasn’t the usual back and forth banter between you two. It was way more personal than that. You’d grown up a slave and had eventually escaped with the help of the republic, specifically Senator Amidala. You two had grown close and you felt you had a debt to pay off the republic for saving you, but it wasn’t in the same sense as before, you were gracious for this, and she took you under her wing gave you a job in the GAR and you had a place to sleep and eat and free will. You were a great pilot; you’d like to think. You spent much of your time and a slave being forced to run spice. You knew how to get out of tricky situations. So, when commander Cody had seen you in action one day, he knew just the new position for you, pilot of clone force 99 because, with all due respect, Tech was great at many things, but your specialty was flying. And they needed a good flyer with all the close calls they had.

You hadn’t thought about that part of your past in a while. You were leading a good life now and had been trying to forget. As you stood there stunned by Crosshair’s words you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want him or Wrecker to see you cry, you weren’t that close with the bad batch to let down your guard that much, so dropped the ball that was still in your hand, and you swiftly turned to retreat to your room.

You managed to keep the tears in long enough to climb back on the top bunk above Echo and get situated. The ball had stopped bother you and it was dead silent for once, but you were never getting sleep now.

_____________________________________________________________

Your alarm went off, but it was useless. You hadn’t slept at all. You heard Echo starting to stir as well. You let out a sigh. Throwing the blanket off yourself again and climbing down the ladder. Echo was sitting up of the edge of his bed, rubbing the sleep from his face. “Morning” he whispered.

“Morning,” you said back just as quietly, “Echo I need to change real quick do you mind?” you and Echo had gotten pretty close, but you still felt a little uncomfortable changing in front of him. It was the one thing that sucked about having to share a room, but he was always a gentleman about it, always giving you the privacy you needed.

“Of course not,” he responded laying back down and covering his face with his arm.

You switched from the old, battered shirt and shorts you owned to your flight suit uniform. “Okay,” was all you had to say to let Echo know you were decent. He lifted his head up and began placing his own amour over his blacks while you fastened you harness and put your blaster and a couple of other necessities back into their rightful place. The whole while Crosshair’s words from just a few hours ago played on repeat in your mind damping your mood for the day before it had even begun.

You were tired. You hadn’t gotten a drop of sleep last night and now needed to prepare the ship to drop out of hyperspace and land it. Although it wasn’t a hard task, very mundane for being a pilot, it still took a lot of focus, which was something you weren’t good at doing without sleep.

You walked to the cockpit with Echo. Tech was already in the co-pilots seat and Hunter was sitting in the seat behind him. You took yours as the pilot and Echo sat behind you. “We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace in 6 minutes.” Tech turned to you to say.

You grunted, beginning the routine of checking the hyperdrive and stabilizers. About a minute into doing this a mug of caf was harshly placed in front of you on the dashboard. You looked up to see who had done this and were unpleasantly surprised by Crosshair standing beside you looking down at you with a scowl to his face. “What’s this?” you asked like you didn’t know what a cup of caf looked like.

“Caf” he responded, sliding it closer on the dashboard to meet your face better.

“No thanks.” You said back, sliding it away from you and trying to focus on the blinking buttons ahead of you.

“Three minutes till drop,” Tech and interjected, popping his head around crosshair to give you a questioning look, “you ready?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, trying to get back to work with Crosshair still standing there.

You were hoping he would take the hint that you were still pissed at him and just leave you be, but of course that wasn’t the case. The mug of caf was slid back in front of you and you looked up again to see an even more pissed off crosshair than before. What was his problem? He insulted you and took it too far and now he was mad you were declining his caf? It was starting to make your blood boil too; you were the one that deserved to be angry not him.

“Look,” he said, “I made it just how you like it, two sugars one cream. I even put it in your favorite mug. Just take the kriffing caf.”

If this was some sort of pathetic excuse for an apology it wasn’t going to work, you were truly upset and a cup of caf wasn’t going to fix that.

“And I said no thank you.” You told him harshly and forcefully pushed the cup back in his direction.

You could go for a cup of caf right now, but you weren’t going to let him get away with this. He was always pushing your buttons, making snarky remarks at you and this time he had gone to far.

He huffed, grabbed the cup, and walked out of the cockpit.

Right on time, Tech and began to start the countdown to drop out of hyperspace and you now need to focus the most.

_____________________________________________________________

After you had landed you stayed behind in the cockpit, while everyone else around you had started to get up. You closed your eyes, leaning back in your seat and taking a deep breath. The day had just started, and it was already going horribly.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and you jumped, turning to give the perpetrator a dirty look expecting it to be Crosshair again not taking the hint that you were still very clearly upset but softening when you saw Hunter instead. The sergeant of the bad batch and you had grown close, mostly because he could read you like an open book, whereas the others tended to not pick up and any hints that your moods had changed. “Mind telling me what that all was about back there?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow at you.

You signed and he went to sit in the seat across from you while you began to tell him about the incident last night.

“So he was trying to apologize to you this morning.” Hunter stated.

“Hunter, you know my past and the pain that comes along with it better than anyone else on this ship. I've reluctantly shared bits and pieces with all of you out of trust, for him to use that against me in a petty argument really hurts. A cup of caf isn’t going to make me forgive him, especially when I know he isn’t truly sorry.”

He sighed leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees to place his head in his hands. “(Y/N), I know you and Crosshair haven’t ever really gotten along but he’s not good at talking about things, I'm sure he truly is sorry, but him giving you a cup of caf is the biggest apology I've ever seen him give anyone.”

This whole situation was really one you just wanted to forget. But at this point you also just wanted an actual apology.

“Well he’s going to have to bite his tongue and do better than that.”

[cacoetheswriting]

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think ! 

-

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo. 

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance. 

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll. 

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught. 

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week. 

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes. 

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck. 

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued. 

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets. 

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.” 

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt. 

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything. 

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace. 

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.” 

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom. 

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard. 

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile. 

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.�� With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.