#Aside from clarifying stuff if asked to.

[fayes-fics]

(Be)Longing

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.

Warnings: None, really. Angst, jealousy, fluff. Shyness and insecurities. Minor character injuries. Time jumps.

Word Count: 5.2k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill here (request: Benedict x shy!insecure reader, with some angst, jealousy fluff, and all the good stuff. Happy ending, of course.). Sorry it took so long to get to this Nonny; I have no idea if this is what you wanted, and I'm really not sure about it, but I hope you enjoy <3

I: Saved

“Unhand her at once!” 

The smooth, confident, older voice rings out across the village green, and suddenly the pack of nasty bullies who have your arms in a grip seem to melt away from around you.

You don’t even think to pause and thank the person who broke up the mob. No, your fight-or-flight response is in full-on flight mode. The minute your arms are released, and you see the break in the circle, you run. Run as fast as your legs will carry you. Bolting down the road and into the safety of the churchyard near your house. You do not want to run home upset and worry your mother, so you do the next best thing, the thing you are becoming increasingly good at, hiding. You climb a crabapple tree. And then you let the tears flow—just flooding down your cheeks.

You hate this new village your parents have moved you to. Your father, a doctor, had been offered the position as village physician, and now here you are, moved from Surrey to Kent, but it might as well be the other side of the world. You miss your friends. You miss your old village. You are not the most outgoing of people, and the upheaval in your life has been immense. You yearn to be back in your old, familiar, comfortable home.

You are sniffling, taking deep breaths, angrily wiping tears, and preparing to face your family when he appears. 

“Are you alright?” 

You startle. Beneath you, squinting up into the tree, is the owner of the voice who rescued you. Seeing him now, you feel an odd warmth in your ribs. He looks older, maybe fifteen, if you had to guess. He seems benign with a calm face, and his expression is one of sympathy and concern.

“Yes,” you squeak quietly.

“It is safe for you to come down,” he says gently, “should you wish.”

“Are they gone?” you query, wishing you could hide the tremble in your voice.

“They will not bother you again; I can assure you,” he states with absolute certainty.

Your eyes go wide, “What did you do? I don't want to make it worse for my brother,” you fret.

“I told them if they mess with you again, they will have the Bridgerton brothers to contend with,” he nods, with an air that suggests the name is of some local import.

“Is that you?” you ask timidly, not wanting to get down from the tree just yet.

He chuckles. “You must be new here?”

“Yes… we just moved here two weeks ago. Those boys have been tormenting my brother since his first day at school. They appear to have chosen me to pick on as he is not around,” you frown, dusting a twig from your skirt.

“Well, that ends now. Now, do you need help down?” he asks.

“No,” you sniffle, “I am capable.”

“I wouldn't doubt it,” he nods politely and steps aside to allow you space to jump down.

With a quick swing, you do so, landing neatly on your little brown boots. You unfurl to your full standing height, but even then, you have to crane your neck to look up at him.

“Very impressive,” he smiles warmly. “I am Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton. Welcome to Kent.” he thrusts out a hand to shake and, bemused at the formality, you take it and shake as if a businessman, not a ten-year-old girl.

“Thank you, Benedict. I am y/n y/l/n. My father is the new physician,” you gesture vaguely over the church wall towards your home next to the rectory.

“Ahhh,” he nods in understanding.

“And thank you,” you curtsy.

“Whatever for?” he frowns.

“For rescuing me,” you clarify.

“Oh please, that was nothing,” he waves dismissively. “I cannot abide bullies. Or any injustice really,” his eyes appear briefly unfixed, and he looks thoughtful, as if what he said just occurred to him as truth. Then he shakes his head and brings his attention back to you. “You are alright, though, correct? Able to get home?”

“Yes,” you confirm shyly.

“Then I shall be on my way” he tips an imaginary cap at you that makes you giggle, and he smiles goofily before turning away and walking out of the churchyard.

A little part of your heart yearns to follow him, the boy with the hazy, kind eyes and the pleasing smile, who just made your transition into life in the area much more bearable. 

You and your brother are never bothered by that gang of boys again.

II: Envy

“Y/n, this is Miss Clarissa Worthing.” 

Benedict introduces you to the willowy blonde whose hand is looped through the crook of his arm.

“Clarissa, this is Miss y/n y/l/n. She will beat half of my family at Pall Mall once you can coax her out of her shell,” he teases delicately with a friendly glint in his eye that makes your heart flutter against your ribcage.

Clarissa nods in cool acknowledgement, then cranes her neck to whisper something, her lips brushing his earlobe, her regard for you already gone. You curtsy politely, smile weakly and scurry away, feeling clumsy and out of place, unsure of what else to say to this swan-like beauty. 

It's the summer after your fifteenth birthday, and he is back from his second year of university. It doesn't take much to deduce that this is the lady he is currently courting, accompanying him as she is to a garden party at Aubrey Hall. Jealousy clings to your skin like an invisible oily substance and taints your every thought.

Ever since that fateful day when he chased away your bullies, you have carried a torch for Benedict. The year after that incident, you sadly have to attend his father's funeral. Your own father unable to save the Viscount’s life. The forlornness on Benedict’s face as he stood there in the chilly church made your chest ache. You didn’t fully understand why at the time, but your impulse was to go up and wordlessly hold his hand. He looked so utterly unmoored and sad. You didn't, of course; you would never be so bold, but the impulse was so strong, a tingle on your palm that needed to touch him. It was all you could think about for days.

Over the intervening years, your soft spot for him grew with every encounter, the childish admiration morphing into something stronger, a deep-rooted longing. He always seemed to be the one who cared the most—about his siblings, his mum, and even the problems of the wider world. And as your body started to change and you began to feel differently about boys, your feelings for him had another layer of confusing complexity. His was the first face that popped into your head when your friends giggled about boys and talked of marriage. 

Even now, it seems ridiculous to entertain that he would ever pursue you… you are stuck in small village life, the daughter of a doctor, not from a noble family, and he is off in the world, experiencing things you have no notion of. And yet he is the only man you have ever met who intrigues you that way. The idea of marriage not being entirely abhorrent, provided it is to him.

And so you just watch—the perpetual wallflower. Watch as Benedict and Clarissa make the circuit of the party. Effortlessly chatting among various members of the Ton, looking like the picture-perfect young couple.

“Makes you sick, doesn't it?” Eloise’s dry tone pops over your shoulder. 

You smile at Benedict's little sister, just a couple of years younger than you and a kindred spirit at these events, mostly wanting nothing to do with them.

“She is very beautiful,” you offer politely, sipping your lemonade.

“She steals,” Eloise states plainly, making you splutter your drink all over your face and dress, the little immediate crowd of attention it draws to you mortifying. Luckily Benefict is far enough away and otherwise engaged that he does not see it. You are not sure you could live that down.

“That's a scandalous thing to say,” you hiss softly as you blush under the attention of a few strangers and furtively clean yourself with a serviette as best you can.

“Tell that to mother’s silk gloves,” Eloise volleys back, her disgust evident. Apparently oblivious to your embarrassing predicament or perhaps just uncaring of what others think. “She will be gone before the weekend is out, mark my words.”

You don't doubt it, knowing how spirited Eloise is. And how well she has her brother's ear. You know he will instinctively trust what she says as truth. As she marches up to grab his arm and pull him away, mostly, you wish you had more of her bravado, her fearlessness. While you agree with her outlook on many things, you are not built of the mettle she is—not one who draws attention. Still, you watch with a twisted, guilty, but victorious smile as Eloise pulls Benedict aside and has words with him. 

You never hear of Miss Clarissa Worthing again.

III: Jealousy

“Lord Boswell would be a wonderful match, my dear,” your mother smiles encouragingly, handing you a slice of lemon drizzle cake. 

You can't hide the curl of your lip at the mere thought. 

It's the morning after the first ball of the season, just after your twentieth birthday, and you are in the London townhouse your parents have rented for the season, awaiting any suitors to call. Less than three days into your first season, you want the merry-go-round to stop. A dizzying whirl of social engagements you feel unequipped to deal with, wanting nothing more than to be back in Kent, stealing into the grounds of Aubrey Hall with a good book. Perhaps even spend time with Benedict.

Just the very thought of him causes a flare in your belly. Since his return from his studies in Cambridge, he has seemingly moved to Aubrey Hall full-time, spending his days painting the Kentish countryside with hopes of establishing himself as an artist. You have spent more time together in the last year or so than ever before, often finding yourself reading quietly in the shade with Eloise as he paints nearby, his company always somehow a balm as much as a thrill. And it feels as if there has been a subtle shift in how he regards you, giving you the unbearable lightness of hope. Perhaps he sees you in a different light now that you have come of age, no longer the child you were. There have been some moments where he has looked at you and felt it, like a weight on your skin; even as you doubt many other things about yourself, you don't doubt there is something there—a most wondrous and perplexing development.

Your butler bustles in and announces something that makes your heart leap into your throat.

“Mr Benedict Bridgerton has arrived.”

Your mother's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, giving you a sideways glance. A Bridgerton, even if not the Viscount, would be more than sufficient in her eyes. Especially one known so well to your family.

“To call on Miss y/l/n?” your mother asks, excitement evident in the breathy question.

“Oh no, ma’am, apologies. To see your husband. His brother, the Viscount, has dispatched him here to talk about some business in Kent,” your butler explains, somewhat apologetic as he realises the misconstrued intent.

Your mother’s disappointed face is only a match for your roiling stomach. 

Your father folds his newspaper and jumps up. “I shall meet with him in my study, Jenkins. Please show him there,” and with a nod to you both, he leaves.

It has been just two days since your presentation to the Queen. That had been a waking nightmare. Parading down a long hallway at the Palace to be presented to her majesty filled you with utter dread. All eyes upon you, your every move and inch of appearance judged, and you are certain you were found lacking. Your status is unknown in the Ton; your parents pushing you into the season, hoping for an advantageous match. But you feel they could tell from one look where you belonged—almost invisible, on the periphery, a wallflower. Quiet, reserved, bookish, watching more than participating.

“Lord Boswell is here,” your butler reenters the room moments later.

Your stomach clenches. Your mother can barely contain her glee. You are so confused; you barely spoke two words to the man as you danced the previous night. Your conversation skills were utterly lacking, and he seemingly could not find an engaging topic to broach. You were keen for the music to end so you could return to standing and observing. You cannot believe that awkward interaction would be enough to propel the man to call on you, having said so little to each other just a few hours earlier. And yet here he is, a bunch of flowers in hand and a slightly vacant smile. The fleeting thought of marrying such a dull person makes you mildly nauseated.

Your mother hurries to the other side of the parlour and leaves you to converse, wearing a happy, hopeful expression that you hate to dash. And so you stumble the best you can through small talk. He talks of the weather, his property, and his interests but never asks anything about you—as if he is a candidate for a job you are interviewing for. In some ways, that is perhaps accurate, but part of you yearns for him to show interest in you, not just talk incessantly of himself.

Just as you give up hope of escaping anytime soon, you startle as he lays a hand on yours on the sofa between you. You don't even hear what he is saying anymore, just staring at where his glove covers yours, not liking the sensation, wanting to claw yourself away and withdraw. 

Motion in the doorway makes you look up; Benedict is with your father. And suddenly, your heart is racing. Benedict looks taken aback; something sour in his expression you have never seen before makes you want to run to him and ask what is wrong. But you don't. You do the polite, reserved thing and smile.

“Mrs y/l/n, Lord Boswell,” he greets politely. “Miss y/l/n,” he adds, and you could swear he uses a different, lower register. Something inside you turns pulpy and ripe, blossoming just for him. 

Before you know it, he has taken a seat on the sofa facing yours, shooting you the tiniest of winks that could be an eye twitch, but you know him better than that—seeing the sparkle of mischief in his eye. Your parents seem to exchange nonplussed glances, uncertain why he has chosen to stay.

“Boswell,” Benedict begins, shooting the man his most impervious glance. “What of your qualities make you an ideal suitor for Miss y/l/n here?” he questions.

Boswell splutters and seems taken aback, clearly not expecting such an interrogation, especially from a man who isn't your father or brother. Benedict’s eyes are back on you as the man stumbles through an inadequate and entirely uninteresting response that you do not even listen to. Your whole focus is on Benedict, feeling unable to breathe.

“Hmmm,” Benedict hums as he ends, “and what have you to say about Miss y/l/n’s interests? Are they perhaps complimentary to yours?”

“I… I did not think to ask,” Boswell falters, his cheeks reddening at the faux pas.

Benedict looks almost disgusted. 

“You claim to be interested in providing your suit but ask nothing of what makes her the wonderful person she is?” he scolds, and your mouth opens into a little O of surprise. “Have you not asked her about her excellent marksmanship? How she can shoot an archery target better than anyone else within ten miles of Aubrey Hall? Have you not asked after her artistic skills? You see that cushion you sit next to? That is the work of her fair hand.”

You barely register as Boswell twists to look at the item and then at you; you have eyes for no one but Benedict as he continues, his voice loud and clear even over the sound of your heart pounding hard in your ears.

“Have you asked her about her love for literature and poetry? How she will correct you that it was, in fact, Guildenstern, not Rosencrantz, who enters first in the first folio version of Hamlet?” 

You duck your head and blush. That is precisely what you did to him last year, surprising even yourself with your boldness. And he remembers. 

He continues. “Have you asked about her love of animals? Perhaps you need to hear the tale of Mr Whiskers and how she was able to nurse the beloved cat of my sister Hyacinth back to health. You have not asked her of any such things?!?” his tone incredulous.

Even from the corner of your eye, you can tell that your parents’ faces are as shocked as Boswell’s. And suddenly, you recognise this as a Benedict Bridgerton you have seen before. It’s the one that comes out when defending those he loves against injustice or an unworthy opponent—the staunch guardian. 

“If you cannot find it in yourself to show such interest, I would hope she will entertain better suitors,” Benedict sniffs dismissively. “As a long-term friend, I cannot in all good conscience allow this young woman to be pursued by anyone unworthy of her,” he concludes cuttingly, his nostrils flare, and his lip curls just a fraction as his eyes flit to where Boswell’s hand still rests upon yours.

Even as you struggle through your jumble of thoughts about everything he has said, one question so singular strikes you. Is this is Benedict….. jealous?? Jealous of your suitor? Finding ways to cut into him with his precise knowledge about you? The thought seems so fanciful that you want to dismiss it, but the sliver of possibility it offers is exhilarating. Just the chance of it being true has you utterly undone.

You barely even listen as your father jumps up and, with some belated sense of defence, agrees with Mr Bridgerton and asks Boswell if perhaps he should take his leave and return another day when he has thought of more engaging things to ask of you. Every fibre of your being yearns to talk to Benedict somewhere private, but he gives excuses to leave as quickly as your chastised suitor is dispatched.

Boswell never darkens your door again.

IV:  Rescue

“Penny, for your thoughts,” Eloise smirks as she catches you staring into space on the terrace. Your cheeks blush, and you do not admit to where your thoughts had wandered—to her older brother.

“Will you come with me for a walk?” you ask, feeling the need to get away before you cross paths with the man who has occupied your thoughts more often than not of late.

It’s the week of the midsummer Hearts & Flowers ball at Aubrey Hall, and you are glad to have escaped the hubbub of the London scene and to be back in Kent for a few days' respite.

“No, I would prefer the company of Mary Shelley this afternoon,” she states airily, waving a book she holds.

So you set off alone, walking the grounds you now know so well. You are half an hour into your stroll, admiring the wildflowers along the eastern fringes of the grounds, not far from the village, when you see him approaching in the distance.

Benedict is riding his trusty horse and looks so majestic your chest constricts. Clothed in just a billowing white shirt and beige britches, you have rarely seen him look so informal. Or so very, very attractive. Your palms feel sweaty, and something stirs deep inside your body as you slink slightly into the treeline, hoping to remain unseen. A chance to merely observe this beautiful man, even knowing it is wrong to do so. To spy on him as such. Just as he draws close enough that you can see the flex of his leg muscles under the material, which causes all sorts of sensations in your body, a startled deer darts across the path and spooks his horse.

Time seems to slow as you watch his horse rear up and make the most terrible whinny of fear. 

And then your heart is in your throat as you watch horrified as Benedict loses his grip on the reins in surprise and is thrown violently backwards to the ground.

Bile rises in your throat as you see how his body hits the dirt path, unable to brace for impact. The air fills with a blood-curdling scream that you belatedly realise is your own, and before you know it, you are sprinting. Sprinting towards him. Your whole focus narrows to his body splayed on the ground, worryingly still, as his horse bolts away. Heart pumping wildly and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pull up to him and skid to your knees.

He is still conscious but barely. Moaning slightly. 

“Do not move!” You bark, and even in his woozy state, he appears taken aback by your ferocity. “I mean it, Benedict!” you bite out as he attempts to move his arm.

He seems to mumble a noise of ascent as you try your best to assess any injuries, having learned some things from observing your father over the years, but you realise he needs proper medical attention. Where you are on the grounds, it’s closer to your home than Aubrey Hall.

“I am going to get my father,” you explain as calmly as you can, “for the love of God, Benedict, do NOT attempt to move until he gets here.”

A wan smile spreads across his face even as he winces in pain. “Hmm, fine. I promise to stay still,” he sighs, “....prefer to do it for the love of you…,” he mutters slurringly before he appears to pass out.

Knowing he has likely struck his head, you try your darndest to put what he said out of your mind. A head injury would be the only way to explain such a comment, even as you are praying he doesn't have one. 

Heart still beating out of control, and not knowing what possesses you, you lean over and press the quickest shyest of kisses onto his lips—pulling back a few inches before he can even acknowledge it happened.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere on me, Benedict Bridgerton,” you whisper fiercely, just in time to see his eyes pop open, hazy and clouded with something you have never seen before. It’s not the pain he is in, though. And it’s not confusion, amusement or even irritation. It’s something else, so blisteringly intense your legs want to turn to jelly.

“I won’t, I promise,” he attests, his tone rough, ragged.

There are a couple of seconds where all you do is stare wildly at each other, and then, with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you take off running. You have never run so far and so fast in your life; fear makes your muscles work harder than they ever have before. It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.

Your parents almost burst out of their skins in shock as you barrel into the house, panting wildly, wordlessly grabbing your father's medicine bag, and he reflexively springs into action. 

You run to the stables and hurriedly hook up the long cart he uses when he needs to transport patients, and the look he shoots you is filled with concern.

“Who is it?” he asks as you climb aboard and direct him.

“Benedict,” you tremble, and there is a world of understanding in your father's eyes as he cracks the whip, and the horse jolts faster. 

Perhaps your adoration is less concealed than you like to believe, but at this moment, you only care about getting him the help he needs. You are grateful your father doesn’t ask questions as you speed along. 

And it becomes a blur as you reach the site, grateful Benedict laid still as you requested. Your father examines him and fires questions that are answered lucidly, tending to some immediate wounds and bandaging in places. Before you know it, you are helping your father with a canvas stretcher and insisting on sitting with Benedict in the back of the cart as your father takes the patient back to Aubrey Hall. 

Never addressing the fact that you grip each other's hands so tight that both of your knuckles go white.

V: Belonging

“You can come in.”

Benedict’s voice calls out, bemused as you vacillate in the doorway, not realising that he can see you in a mirror reflection. 

So at his invitation, you blush and scuttle into his room. Awkward, unsure what to do after your bold, daring, downright impertinent behaviour when he sustained his injuries. Part of you is hopeful he does not remember it.

It’s been two days, and he has made excellent progress under your father's watchful eye. The minute your father had pulled up at the house, you dropped your hold on his hand. And as word spread, it was a frenzy of activity that you found yourself superfluous to. The last you had seen was Benedict being carried inside for a more thorough examination.

Luckily, it turns out he has no lasting damage; his head was uninjured beyond a mild concussion. He is bruised all over, likely has some cracked ribs and has a sprained wrist, but he will be fine after some rest.

“H.. how are you?” your ask quietly, stilted, fiddling with your dress nervously.

“Much better,” his tone soft, “only because of you.”

You look up and meet his gentle gaze. “I merely did what anyone would have done,” you demure.

“Nonsense,” he counters, “you ordered me to stay still and await the doctor. If you weren’t there, I likely would have done myself additional injury being stubborn,” he points out dryly.

You don’t know what to say in response, so you change tack. “Is your horse alright?”

“Yes. Colin found him wandering around the wildflower meadow, munching on all manner of grasses. Never happier, completely uninjured,” he assures.

You nod, glad to hear the news. Then you allow the room to lapse into silence, unsure how to commence your profuse apology.

“I am very sor….”

He stops you with a bandaged hand held up.

“If you even begin to apologise for saving me, well then I shall be most vexed,” he chides, but there is no heat there, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome features. “Besides, the more pertinent point of discussion is the fearless woman you can be when needed. The person you are becoming, when you allow yourself to, is quite something,” you bow your head as your cheeks heat at his praise. “I would have injured myself months before now had I known I would meet the creature who sits behind that cloud of shyness. Just look at what you did, taking change so very effectively,” he flatters then there is a pause. “Hell, even being brave enough to kiss me.” 

Your head shoots up, and your mouth falls open.

“Oh yes,” he chuckles, “don’t think I forgot that part,” His voice has lowered to a pitch that buzzes right through your being.

“I… I was worried I… I was going to lose you,” you stutter, “and I-I’m sorry that was terrible of me to take liberties like that. Please, please forgive me?” you beseech.

“It was not in any sense of the word terrible,” he disputes, “the exact opposite. There is nothing to forgive. But there is one way you can make it up to me…?” he hedges.

“Anything, please,” you beg, so hopeful of absolution.

He holds out his hands and gestures for you to perch on the bed beside him. Almost without thought, you do so, even as you feel your pulse speeding up. You have rarely been this close, and now you are transfixed by all the tiny flecks of colour in his iris and the hints of stubble around his jaw.

“Kiss me again,” he requests; a finger trails lightly over the back of your hand. “But properly this time. Give me a chance to kiss you back.”

You just gawp at him in utter shock, heart pounding again, just like it was that day. You don't move away. You can't. Rooted to the spot. Unable to stop staring at his plush bottom lip.

“You cannot mean it…” you stutter when you finally find your tongue, disbelieving.

“Does this seem like I do not mean it?” he argues ardently, and before you know it, he is sitting up and leaning in.

And then warm lips touch yours, and fireworks explode inside your chest. 

You feel like you are drowning in the very best way as your lips move together gently. Everything about the moment is sweet and light, but promising more, something tart that makes you want to climb atop him and crush yourself against him. Just as you feel the instinct to open your mouth to him, he pulls back, looking lost and found all at once.

“I need you to know something,” he begins, grabbing both your hands and placing them between his. “It pains me to see you ever doubting yourself or if you belong. You belong. Everywhere you go. You have so much to give to the world,” he states passionately.

“I… “ you falter, wanting to believe him, the version of you he sees.

“You do. Hell, you give me a reason to get up every day. To try. To be better. I would not be the artist I am now were it not for your words of encouragement as I painted all those afternoons.”

You are dumbstruck. You honestly didn't believe he was taking on board what you said. Mostly just encouraging him to follow his instincts when he seemed to doubt them.

“And now it’s time someone did the same for you. Be the encouragement you need. You deserve everything, y/n. And it would be my greatest honour to try to give it to you?” he adds, a gently loving smile lighting up his face. 

Your heart sings as you realise this is the declaration you have been waiting half of your life to hear. Before you can stop yourself, you launch yourself at him, this time being the one to demand a kiss that he happily obliges. 

“I have a question,” you state as your lips part, your boldness growing with every moment. “Mr Bridgerton, were you jealous when I had a suitor?” you tease, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles and nuzzles your cheek. “My god, you have no idea.”  You cant help the victorious giggle, basking in the fizz in your veins.

“I suppose it was payback for Ms Worthing. She of the ironic name. She was never worthy of you,” you state passionately.

He laughs with a headshake. “Perhaps it is our ability to rescue each other that makes us so best suited,” he opines. “I do believe we may belong together,” he adds.

And you couldn't agree more.

In fact, you are never alone again from that day on.

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[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

#wormblr #parahumans #worm spoilers #our writing #riley davis #riley grace davis #bonesaw #nsft #uh. look #iunno what this is #i was possessed by a Vision and thought maybe somebody else would like to see it. #dr riley davis mde

[dduane]

That paprikahendl recipe

So the first thing to be said is possibly the most important: this is a paprikahendl recipe. (And in this case, it was made with duck, because we were out of chicken... so it's probably paprikaentl, if anything.) :)

Everybody's mom or grandmother would've had her own version of this, which would naturally be the best one in the mind of the person you were talking to. The original dish, though—as @petermorwood has pointed out—would have been a peasant dish of the use-a-moderate-amount-of-flavorful-and-spicy-meat-to-season-a-lot-of-noodles-or-whatever kind. If you're a peasant, after all (and maybe even if you're not, of late...), meat is expensive, so in dishes of this kind it's used as more of a seasoning for what you have plenty of—in this case, the tiny flour-based noodles-or-dumplings called spaetzle. (In its rural beginnings, of course, the meat probably would've been a laying chicken that was too old to lay any more... or even a cockerel that had started shooting blanks, and whose morning racket was starting to get on your nerves.)

Later, though, a small tender chicken (or two) was seen as preferable. Paprikahendl became very popular in Hungary and other parts of central Europe, and in the process—over time—got taken somewhat upmarket. The recipe I used as my basis for this version is one that apparently was (and who knows, maybe still is) served at one of Vienna's famous Sacher establishments. As a result it contains elements I'm none too sure about—such as the last-minute apple—but otherwise seems to me to hold water.

The full recipe is here. Now let me tell you what I did to with it.

(inserting a cut here, so those who don't want to watch a bunch of video clips of things frying and cooking won't have to...)

Normally in the initial stage of this recipe, you'd cut up a whole small chicken (or two) into pieces, color them in your preferred frying fat (in Hungary, possibly lard, but at very least butter) and then set them aside to make the sauce. In this case, since the meat I had to work with was duck, I cooked that as directed and put it aside while we went off to do some other stuff. I also made spaetzle to go on the side, as it's the kind of thing you'd be likely to run into regionally. These we can fortunately buy ready-made, like most other kinds of pasta. Or you can make them from scratch. Since I now have a Magic Spaetzle Machine to do this, I'll show how that's done some other time. (Or you could look at this video...)

Then, to make the sauce, I pulled together:

The zest and juice of a lemon

Half an onion or more, chopped fine (I have to be careful with onions, as too much will set off my IBS)

Off to one side, I asked Peter to do the dry paprika mix for me. This was two very heaping tablespoons of paprika, and about half a teaspoon of cayenne, to mock up the heat of the hotter paprika that would have been used in small villages in the Carpathians.

Then I clarified some butter in the microwave, about three tablespoons of it (you melt it in a tall glass and set this aside until the milk solids settle out, then pour off the clarified butterfat) and dumped that in the big cookpot along with the onions.

When those had hit the cooked-until-translucent point, I cut the duck up into chunks and got them ready to go in: then added the paprika and (when that had fried a little) the lemon juice. (Paprika can taste a little raw in a sauce if you don't fry it a bit first.)

Then in went 125 ml of rose wine (I'd have used white if I'd had any, but whatever...) and about 500 ml of chicken stock, and everything got stirred very well together.

After that, the duck got chucked in and the pot was covered and left to simmer for 45 minutes or so. Normally this would be the time a raw chicken would need to cook, and naturally the duck was well cooked already: but it seemed to me that another 45 minutes getting even more tender couldn't hurt it.

So that was what happened. At the end of 45 minutes, the duck was removed and set aside while I got busy with finishing the sauce. You lower the temperature in the big pot until the pre-sauce liquid is just barely simmering. Then to thicken it, you use about a cup of the thickest sour cream you can lay your hands on, with a third of a cup of flour beaten into it very well with a fork. At which point you should be able to do this with the fork:

Now you find a big balloon whisk and start whisking this mixture into the pre-sauce, sort of a tablespoon or two at a time...making sure each dose of sour cream + flour is very well beaten in, leaving no lumps, before adding the rest. When it's all in there, you very gently raise the heat, stirring or whisking occasionally, until the sauce starts to thicken. Then add the meat back in and let it warm through in there for a little while longer: ten or fifteen minutes should do it.

Assuming that people are ready to eat, you heat the spaetzle (and toss it with some butter), plate it up, and add the paprikahendl on top. And dig in.

...Anyway, that was my take. If you go googling for "paprikahendl", you will find many, many more recipes: some far less complex than this approach, some far more so. Pick one that suits you and see what you make of it. This one worked really well, though: so you might like to take a shot at it.

If you do: enjoy!

#paprikahenldl

[robthegoodfellow]

Let's Hear It for the Boy

Praise Kink for Day 3 of @harringrovekinktober

(roommates, kink experimentation, billy is a good boy, nsfw)

Steve felt like a real asshole when Robin asked out of the blue one day, maybe a month after he and Billy became roommates, if Billy was paying part of his rent in labor. Shave some off if he agreed to be your housekeeper? And, at Steve’s incredulous bafflement, had clarified: Every time I’m over he’s cooking or doing laundry or—cleaning shit! To his horror, a highlight reel started up in his mind, a montage of Billy doing all those chores and more, and worse, Steve realized he’d contributed approximately nothing to the daily maintenance of their shared living space. Steve! Robin had scolded, correctly interpreting his guilty grimace. 

So he’d promised to talk to Billy about it—assure him that keeping the place sparkling was in no way required or expected or—or if that was just how he preferred to live, then he’d promise to do his fair share from now on. Only, bringing it up over pizza and beer, a basketball game on TV, had produced an unexpected reaction. Billy… kinda… froze? Went bug-eyed, like Steve had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. He looked embarrassed.

“Man, it’s fine,” Steve said, tripping over himself to explain—put him at ease. “I really don’t care either way. I just wanted to check and make sure you knew I wasn’t gonna, like—kick you out if you let up on the Cinderella routine.”

Billy flushed more, beet red, and Steve resisted smacking himself in the face. He was fucking this up so bad.

“I mean—”

“I don’t mind,” Billy mumbled, avoiding Steve’s eye as he reached for his beer. “I like it.”

“Okay,” Steve said, over the top encouraging. “Great. Well, I’ll at least pitch in more—”

“You don’t have to do that.” Billy’s throat worked, gulping, plush lips pursed on the can. Steve blinked, shook his head, tuned back in to catch the muttered aside, blue gaze locked on the Michelob commercial. “It’s all good. Nothing has to change.”

Why the hell was he being so weird about this? Did he think Steve couldn’t chip in? Pull his own weight?

“Just because I grew up with a nanny doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do stuff. Vacuum and dishes and—”

Billy grunted, annoyed, throwing his shoulders back to wedge himself into the couch, a mulish slouch. “Just drop it, will ya? I like things how they are, so what’s the fucking problem?”

“All right, jeez,” Steve cried, holding up his hands. “Touchy.”

They were quiet, both ticked, but the kind that would drain away by halftime. Except—he felt shitty just leaving it like this, having semi-acknowledged that Billy was acting like his maid.

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asked, his tone deliberately mild, not looking away from the freethrow swishing on screen. “That you don’t like?”

No explosion—good sign. After a long, loaded pause, Billy sighed. “Take out the trash.”

“Got it,” Steve said. And let it go.

But from then on, he kept watch, determined to figure out the source of the weirdness. Almost positive it wasn’t a control freak thing or a neat freak thing—it wasn’t like the apartment was pristine. It was more that… everyday, Billy had done something obvious enough that Steve commented on it—always had. Nothing major, just Oh, hey—you got that stain out of the carpet or Holy shit, it smells so good—what is that? or How’d you unclog that drain? Wasn’t like he thanked Billy, though he probably should have been—although maybe Billy didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it?—but he’d always notice and say something admiring because Billy was good at stuff. Good at so much stuff.

He started taking out the trash, and Billy never let on that he noticed, but Steve thought he did. And he kept up the compliments whenever Billy did something nice, since that hadn’t been explicitly forbidden. But since he was paying more attention now, he—noticed some things. Only when he was pretending to look elsewhere, monitoring Billy in his periphery or in the reflection of the window or decorative mirrors his mom had foisted on him. He noticed that, those times, Billy sort of… ducked his head, hiding a grin that bordered on… bashful? And his shoulders bowed a bit, like he was—curling in on himself. Like—in delight?

Like—he secretly really liked it? When Steve noticed he’d done something nice? When Steve said something nice about it?

So… he decided to test it. Nothing too overbearing or obvious, just—instead of merely noticing, he was sure to compliment. Because why not, if Billy liked it and still wouldn’t let Steve lift a finger except on garbage day?

Good became his go-to. This tastes so good. That looks so good. Good, good, good.

Which is when it clicked for him—that Billy didn’t do chores and stuff because he liked the chores. But because… he liked Steve’s reaction?

And—that would explain his weirdness. Why he didn’t want to talk about it. Like maybe he was worried Steve would think Billy liked being his bitch or something—Steve winced, anticipating the whack from the Robin who lived in his head—not that Steve thought of him that way.

…Though if he didn’t mind Steve thinking of him that way—or even liked it, then…

Well, Steve didn’t—dislike that. Like the general concept. Held a certain—

Anyway, in the interest of further—ah, testing, Steve mentioned, casually, on his way to work one morning, “I’ve been craving that pasta salad you made.”

Billy cut him a glance over his coffee where he was hunched at the kitchen table. Grunted, and Steve quirked a grin, tossed him a salute goodbye. It wasn’t even a lie—the pasta thing—he’d been salivating at the memory. This version with Italian dressing instead of mayo, with olives and stuff. 

Lo, late that afternoon, when he got back, there was a big Tupperware of it in the fridge. Billy wandered in halfway through his second helping. They paused, wide-eyed at the sudden charge buzzing in the air, and Steve’s stomach clenched.

“It’s—good,” he managed, hands suddenly clammy around his fork and bowl. Billy was staring at Steve’s hands, held awkwardly aloft where he leaned on the counter. The stare was strangely heavy—hooded lids. Steve cleared his throat. “You—did good.”

Billy’s cheeks were as flushed as that day on the couch, watching basketball, insisting he liked—

Abruptly aware his boner was starting to tent his shorts, Steve turned to face the counter, ducking to shovel more pasta in his idiot mouth. Heard Billy go to the cabinet, fetch a glass. Fill it. Walk back out.

Heaving an unwinding breath, Steve set down the bowl, let his elbows bear the weight of this latest sexual awakening.

So that was a thing, apparently—and for Billy, too, potentially. Probably. Because, without quite meaning to, they fell into this little routine where, before Steve left for work, he’d pause, and Billy would look up from his coffee, and Steve would mention something—a rental movie he wanted to see, or a sale at the liquor store, or if Billy would mind throwing Steve’s whites in with his so he’d have a shirt to wear to this meeting later in the week…

And the VHS would be waiting on the counter. And a six-pack would be waiting in the fridge. And his shirt would be washed and ironed and waiting in his closet. And everytime Billy would be lingering nearby, not quite meeting his eyes, and Steve’s pulse would pound even though technically there was nothing sexy about an ironed shirt, and Steve would say Good. You did good.

Billy would sometimes clench his fist, when Steve said it. Or squirm in his seat a bit. Or swallow, throat bobbing. Color rising. And the sight hit Steve like a load of bricks. A load of bricks to the head.

It was the weirdest game of gay chicken—scrambling to find mundane tasks for Billy to complete for the prize of a pat on the back, when all Steve wanted, and he bet Billy felt similarly, was to order Billy to his knees.

He thought about it whenever they were on the couch watching TV, whenever they were eating in the kitchen or drinking on the balcony or passing each other outside the bathroom in the morning.

So he tested further. Came home and went to see if Billy had done it—and there he was, standing by Steve’s bed. The neatly made bed. 

Steve’s heart was rabbiting out of his chest, too on the fritz to form words, and his feet weren’t much better, charting a crooked, clumsy course until they were toe to toe, Billy’s gaze downcast, his lips parted, breaths shallow. 

He didn’t know whether it’d sound stupid if he said it out loud, what he’d been wanting to say for days—whether Billy wanted to hear, or would consider it a step too far.

They’d come this far, though. Steve wet his lips, took a calming breath, and Billy seemed to brace for it. “Good,” Steve said, and it came out breathy. “Good boy.”

Billy curled—did that thing where he ducked, hunching around something invisible—and the sound punched out of him, this pained gasp. Steve’s hands moved on their own, reaching to cradle Billy’s head, step close to whisper in his ear, his brow at Steve’s shoulder: “Good? Is this good?” Felt more than saw him nodding. “You want to be good for me?”

“Fuck,” Billy whispered—bit wheezing. Wet. “Fuck.”

“What do you want?” Steve asked, fumbling at his heated neck. “What do you—?”

“Be good.” It was mumbled, cringing. “Wanna be good.” A shaky inhale. “Make you feel good.”

Steve’s blood was roaring everywhere but his brain—would’ve fallen over if he weren’t clutching Billy. “Want that, too.”

He heard a thready laugh, and Billy straightened, leaning back into his hold, face tipped, lidded gaze on Steve’s chin. “So?”

So what’ll it be?

Buying himself time to gather his wits, some composure lest he combust, Steve tilted his head, assessing. Adjusting his hold, ran a thumb across Billy’s lower lip, firm enough to pull at the skin. “Want this.” Another swipe, exposing teeth, his curving tongue. “Make me feel good with this.”

A tug at his belt, and Billy was nodding, making short work of the button and zip—movements quick and precise. He sank, kneeling at Steve’s feet, tugging the pants to hang at midthigh, and finally looked up. 

Steve swept blond curls off his forehead. “Like you like this.”

Billy stared, eyes gleaming. Seemed to be—waiting.

“So good like this,” Steve corrected. “Now show me how good.”

Swaying, Billy buried his face in Steve’s briefs, nosing him through straining cotton, and huffed hot air at the crown. Steve compulsively gripped fistfuls of hair, still using Billy’s ears as handlebars, and resolved not to let go—to let Billy show him.

And, boy, did he. Laved at his dick until the fabric was soaked, the white gone translucent—white gone flushed pink, twitching under kitten licks—and Steve was on the verge of begging when a pull at his waistband freed his cock, bobbing only a sec before swallowed in Billy’s grip, fed into his greedy mouth.

Steve’s entire vocabulary had been reduced to one word, babbled at the ceiling behind closed lids: good, good, good, only sometimes it came out guh, guh, guh. One hand cupped the back of Billy’s head, and it was when his hips were on a steady grinding roll that he realized he’d caged Billy against him, locked the gulping heat around his cock as he plugged toward the peak.

Billy wasn’t struggling, though—his fingers biting into the meat of Steve’s ass, moaning so deep in his chest that Steve felt it more than heard it.

Steve grappled for a new word—close, close—but Billy didn’t stop, didn’t let up a second, and when Steve grunted his release, the throat worked around him still. 

The moment Billy pulled off, lungs heaving, face ruby red and shining, Steve flopped to his knees, blindly reached for Billy, draping loose arms around his neck, his ribs, waiting for his own breaths to slow.

“Was it,” Billy asked, tight. “Was it—?”

“Good,” Steve said, huffing a laugh, coasting hands across the bellows of his back. “So good—you’re so good. Always so good for me.”

Billy burrowed his face into Steve’s throat, his collarbone, looping him in an uncertain hug. He was hard, pressed against where Steve’s clothes gaped open. Working a hand between them, Steve rubbed his palm along rigid heat. 

“What do you want?” he asked, nuzzling the nest of blond. “Since you been so good?”

A shudder ran up the sloping spine. Steve smoothed his free hand down to Billy’s waist and back up, waiting.

“I—cleaned the shower,” Billy said, halting. “I could—show you, and—?”

Steve kissed his temple, quick, so helplessly fond. Overwhelmed.

“Good boy wants a wash?” Steve suggested, and tightened his arms when Billy tried to do his pillbug thing. “Be my good boy,” he said, hushed, nosing Billy’s flushed ear. “You want to?”

And Billy curled again, only this time around him. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

.

Now with added sequel: Let's Give the Boy a Hand

#harringrove #harringrovekinktober2k23 #roommates in love #roommates in ill-defined dom subby dynamic #billy wants the praise #and the dick #steve gives it

[radiant-reid]

Oh! Okay good so I was thinking about an enemies to lovers blurb where Spencer despises reader and she despises him but they have been hooking up and she’s been avoiding him because she ended up getting 🤰 pregnant

He eventually finds out and then they like talk it out and all that mushy stuff? 💘

this could be a whole series or full length fic

"What's wrong with her?" Spencer finally breaks and asks JJ, looking across the jet at you. You hadn't even glared at him for a few days and he's... well, he'd be worried if he cared about you, but that's something he doesn't feel.

Anyway, it's strange for you to just be sitting there. You're being strange and it's making him feel strange.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe someone she has to spend a lot of time with hates her for no reason," JJ replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes at him.

He scoffs. "It's not like she doesn't feel the same."

"Well, someone felt it first." She says, and Spencer can't tell if he's being scolded.

"And someone initiated the hate sex." Emily jumps into the conversation, taking the seat next to JJ.

His eyes widen at that in shock. "Who told you?"

It's a dumb question, and Emily makes that known. "The only other person in the room when it happened, or so I'm guessing."

He doesn't say anything about how you were begging for it that night, and every night after because he's not a total dick, especially if it's not directly to you.

"She's still being weird." He repeats. "Not that I care. It's offputting weird, not quirky weird." He quickly clarifies.

JJ and Emily share a look, making sure he catches it so he knows how absurd his lie sounds.

"Talk to her then," JJ suggests.

Her words replay in his head the whole way back to Quantico, as he tries to profile you while pretending to be reading.

He can't help but corner you back at the BAU floor, dragging you to the supply closet you've fucked in numerous times.

You don't want to be there, so close to him. "We're not doing this now." You tell him. "I don't want to do this ever again actually."

"That's why you're being weird?" He asks, frowning as he, again, tries to profile you. He has no luck. Damn you for hiding your emotions so well.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Yes, Spencer. Sleeping with you has been so amazing that I'm acting weird because I can't do it again." You answer sarcastically.

It presses his buttons. "Tell me." He demands.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up to try and stop the tears spilling out of your eyes. "No." With that, you push past him, walking out of the closet and leaving him to his confusion and spiraling thoughts.

What he doesn't expect is Penelope pulling him into her Batcave on his walk back to the bullpen. "What's wrong?" He asks, even more alarmed, and hoping she doesn't know as well.

"What do you mean what's wrong?" She asks. It's a tone that wouldn't sound mad to most people, but it's the most frantic Spencer has heard her voice, aside from on the phone during takedowns. "What Y/n just told you is big news. You don't leave someone alone after they tell you they're pregnant unless you're a terrible person. And I don't want to believe that about you."

"She's what?" The sentence is so lightly spoken Penelope wouldn't have caught it has she not needed to stop to take a breath during her ramble.

His whole world stops, and hers does when she realizes the look painted on Spencer's face is pure shock. He doesn't know. And she told him. And he can't keep a single thought in his head for long enough to develop it into words.

"I'll go get her." Penelope decides, feeling awkward and terrible all at once. "Sit down, you look like you're going to faint."

He does what she wants, sitting there in silence until you walk in, cheeks redder than before with clear signs you've been crying.

"Hey." You say, sitting down on the other chair in Penelope's office.

"Is it true?" He asks, needing confirmation, even though he's already convinced.

You sigh. "I mean, you said I was being weird."

He doesn't know what to say, but all he can think about is you. "I didn't-"

"It's fine." You assure him. "I don't expect you to be nice to me."

"I should be." He confesses before he can stop it. "I should have been because you're...great." Just a tiny half-compliment knocks you off guard. "And I wish you didn't look so shocked when I say something nice."

"Sorry." You apologize, biting your bottom lip.

He shakes his head. "I don't want that."

"What do you want?" You ask, seriously confused about what he's wanting. It feels like a mind game, but you're too emotional to be competing with him.

"You." He blurts out. "Not sexually. I- I think you're wonderful, and I've been the absolute worst person so I understand if you don't want anything to do with me."

Despite your state of shock, which might now be permanent, you shake your head. "I do. That wasn't who I was, you have to know that." He nods in assurance. "And this is so unconventional, but there's something between us, right?"

"Absolutely." He agrees, reaching out to touch your hand. "And I think maybe this could work."

You smile for the first time in a week. "Me too."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fandom #criminal minds

[sunbloomdew]

Love Confessions in the Baxter DLC

The sequel! Monochrome obsession continues. Part 2/3

Part 1 "The Wedding Confession"

Welcome, or hello again! I played the Baxter DLC a couple of times and I like it a lot, so I wanted to ramble about some of my favourite parts. Specifically about love confessions in Baxter’s version of Step 4, because they are all very well written and make me feel good :3

Reading the first part of this "series" isn't necessary, the introduction is just a bit more thorough in the first post. Furthermore if you've read the first part it might seem like i'm repeating myself with certain points, since those moments share some similarities and i like to be meticulous.

It is time for the second confession and the last one that can be initiated by the player. If you don’t confess here and pick an option in which MC expresses hope of Baxter returning their feelings, you will later reach the moment where Baxter asks MC out himself. This confession is my personal favourite, so prepare for me losing my mind over every single detail.

Spoilers for Baxter DLC!

The confessions all happen after the wedding ceremony, so if you hadn't played to this point yet, i recommend skipping this post (and maybe coming back later, if you wanna chat about them with me)! I may not bring up every single line, but i think this post still covers a good part of what happens.

I call this confession, The Morning Confession, because it takes place on the morning after the wedding! Simple name but it does the job.

There is also another reason for this name, but i'll get to it later.

The wedding is over and most stuff had been cleaned up. MC returns with Baxter to his apartment, after accepting his invitation to stay with him until they have to come back to their home. The two have finally reunited and they aren’t ready to part ways yet.

During that evening, MC and Baxter share a moment by the fireplace in the lobby of the building. I wanted to dedicate some time to this moment, because I think it’s a valuable context to the confession. And aside from providing insight into the mind of Baxter Ward, I love the way it’s written. So sue me, i wanna talk about it.

Despite the fact that they have reconciled, Baxter’s reasoning behind his actions still isn’t fully clear to MC. While being in the company of other people made the lingering unease between them bearable, it still remains. They can't act casually, as if nothing had happened, as if the years hadn’t been lost. So Baxter offers to clarify his point of view. “As sorry as I am, I don’t think I’ve been as open as I could have been” he says and well, that is the truth.

If the player chose to confess to Baxter before this conversation, this moment provides a deeper understanding of the character and explains his reluctance to accept the confession.

It is here by a fireplace – a fitting spot for another personal conversation, considering the duo's shared history – that Baxter reveals his innermost thoughts and fears. At his core, he believes he doesn’t contribute anything to any relationship, because he can't see his own value. And to him, if he doesn’t add anything, then he has no right to form and be in deep, mutually supportive relationships.

Baxter convinced himself that he doesn’t matter. That his only worth is in the entertainment he can provide or the help he can give. In his own words, he doesn’t know what it means to be significant to a person, just by being yourself. Which is why he doesn’t let people get close to him. He assumes that upon finding out that there is nothing more to him, they will leave. So it’s better to not let anybody get to know him, that way no one can be disappointed by his “true” self. He is unable to see that none of that is true because deep down, he thinks he is worthless as a person.

Those feelings about himself are something that have influenced Baxter’s decisions about relationships with other people, for example with Xavier. As the baker reveals later, they always felt that if Baxter had no reason to contact them again, he wouldn't. He kept himself away from others and believed that every connection he makes isn’t meant to last.

Still, Baxter wanted to create bonds with other people. And it terrified him.

He wanted to have that with MC, but he was too afraid to take that chance five years ago. It couldn't have worked out back then. Baxter had his assumptions about himself and others, and he held onto them strongly. It’s sad, but there was no way to make him change his ways back then. He was set on leaving no matter what would have happened.

This Baxter is different from the 19 year old who put his comfort above all else. During that conversation by the fireplace he is being vulnerable in ways he never allowed himself to be before. He tells MC that he missed them over those five years. That they made him feel wanted that summer, and as incredible as it felt, he couldn’t believe it would last. He makes it clear that it wasn’t any of MC’s actions that made him feel that way - he applied this mindset to every connection he made at that time.

It’s incredibly sad to witness his thoughts out in the open like that. I think Baxter’s struggles are something most of us can relate to in some way. Low self-esteem can make people withdraw from social situations and spiral into self-hatered. It’s terrible, to be so wrapped up in disliking yourself that you assume that nobody could ever like you. That you have no good qualities as a person, so you have to make up for them somehow. It can feel like it'll stay this way forever, and so there is no point in trying to connect with others.

However that is not true. In the end, Baxter came to understand this as well. He is worthy of love and friendship. He grew and learned from his past mistakes, and so can we.

He apologises to MC once again, and expresses deep regret over not staying in contact with them. And at last, MC can say that they actually know Baxter Alexander Ward.

I think this moment is really beautiful. It’s an apology without excuses, that provides an explanation. Baxter never had malicious intentions, but even so, his actions had hurt people who cared for him (and who he cared about), so he owns up to his mistakes and does his best to correct them.

Aside from being a really good moment of taking accountablity and being vulnerable with another person this conversation also sets the mood for the morning confession. The air is finally cleared. These two characters can finally show how much they value each other because there is mutual understanding and trust between them again. It will take some time to get to know each other after so long, but they are willing to try, and they know they can be honest.

After a day full of emotional revelations, Baxter and MC finally head to bed. Not only the characters, but the players can take a breath and prepare for what’s to come. And boy are we in for a treat.

The next day arrives and the players are given an option to sleep in as much as they want. What time MC wakes up will have an effect on dialogues and is one of the many examples of how the game lets us customize the protagonist however we want, even in the silliest ways. It is something i deeply appreciate about the Our Life series. The comfort level also changes the lines, for example MC's response to Baxter greeting them in the morning.

Eventually the sleeping beauty wakes up and the pair moves to the living room. Despite sleeping in for a while Baxter is still out of it and it’s so adorable (he's just like me fr).

I think the tone set for the confession is lovely. The atmosphere in the morning is relaxing and light and to me it feels like this is exactly what those characters needed. A new day has arrived, not only literally but figuratively for their relationship. There is no negative tension in the air, just the feeling of peace. They are clearly enjoying each other's company and it's great to finally have that again.

This is only my opinion, but the way this moment feels is exactly why i like it more than the wedding confession. The previous confession is meant to feel rushed, high on emotions and full of determination to declare the feelings right away. MC feels like they have to be upfront about their feelings in that moment so they confess. I do enjoy this type of tension, but i simply prefer this kind of setting. As much as i love convincing Baxter to truly express his feelings by shooting down the reasons not to date him (it's so intense and dramatic! absolutely amazing) i find that i like this quiet admission of feelings more.

While it might not be that intense as the moment right after the wedding, there is still this nagging feeling that urges MC not to wait any longer. They love that they are included in this private corner of Baxter's life and they wish they could have been before. It's this feeling of not wanting to lose any more time, that makes them think about confessing then and there.

And so, the player is presented with a choice:

It is time to confess! Hallelujah.

Just like in the wedding confession we can pick the way we want to confess - with words or with a gesture. If we pick the third option you lose the chance to confess yourself. Instead Baxter will do this when the time comes.

Upon choosing one of the ways to confess, MC has the same internal monologue they do in the wedding confession. I've already shared my thoughts about it in the previous post, but i'll just say here that it's a very nice scene. They reminisce about their relationship with Baxter as a whole, eventually coming to the conclusion, that they can hold on to him.

After the monologue ends, the player has a chance to reaffirm their decision, as they did in the previous confession.

If you back out, MC thinks that they can be together just not in the way they'd want to. They are afraid of confessing, in case they ruin what they just got back and make Baxter run away.

But, if you reaffirm your decision, you get my personal favourite confession scene. Let's get right into it!

I mentioned in Part 1 that Baxter reacts to MC's silence, as they reminisce about their relationship. I find it a little funny when i imagine them just sitting in silence and staring intensely for a while. Kinda like when magical girls have their transformations and the bad guys don't do anything to interrupt them. MC monologuing definitely gives off the same energy. Writing inner monologues is tricky like that.

During the wedding confession Baxter is anxious and worried, waiting to receive MC's verdict. Do they welcome him back to their life? Or do they reject him (even though there is no such option in the game)?. It's stressful and the prolonged silence makes Baxter slowly come back to his usual behaviour to protect himself, in case his vulnerability was the wrong move.

This isn't the case here. His reaction is wildly different. There is no tension or stress, just curiosity and anticipation. Instead of being nervous he is very smug, clearly knowing or at least suspecting what MC is thinking about. I gotta say, when i first picked this option i was stunned. I did NOT expect him to act in this way, but it was a pleasant surprise. Mr. Ward is very perceptive and i love this confident attitude of his.

MC asks him what is on his mind, and he comes back to reality. Baxter encourages them to continue, but they insist he tells them what's going on. And that's what he does. He says that he was remembering a "funny story". Then he asks MC if they want to know something absolutely embarrassing. With that kind of an opening, how could they refuse?

Baxter tells them that Jude and Scott attempted to speak to him about his and MC's... situation. He was surprised that they noticed he was sad and wanted to help him, when he was supposed to be doing that with their relationship. I think it was his feelings of inferiority that made him feel that way.

Moving on, the reason he brought that up wasn't to draw attention to how his poor relationship management skills made others concerned for him. But rather to point out, that the men knew, that MC is important to Baxter. Baxter states that he was grateful they met and despite ending their relationship five years ago, he was never sorry he knew MC. He is kinda chaotic with his admission, one second bringing up the chat with the grooms and the other expressing his affection for MC.

Understandably, it makes MC confused. They thought they were the one leading the dance - or the conversation in this case - but clearly now it's Baxter doing that (i mean he is a professional). Even so, he isn't as good with his words as usual and doesn't quite manage to convey what he wants to MC.

He thanks MC for letting him "ramble" for so long and stands up. Shit's getting real. We're about to enter the boss fight.

He moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table, which puts him at the eye level with MC, only closer than before. And then this silly man leans closer acting all calm and confident. Dude. Please. Everytime i play this moment i lose my precious ability to formulate thoughts, not to mention actual sentences. Because. Oh my god.

And then he hits you with THAT. He absolutely knew what MC was thinking about and he is having a lot of fun with teasing them. They realize that he caught on to what was going on and figure that at least it makes it easier to confess. The dialogue varies in this place because of the comfort level - these are their thoughts on the Direct setting. They also think about how hard would it be to tell him they liked him before he opened up to them. I find it pretty funny, because it’s clearly a tiny poke, towards players who did confess right after the wedding and faced this struggle. When you’re replaying those moments it does make you chuckle.

Now we can finally confess our feelings! When doing that verbally there are a couple of options to choose from, as in the case of the wedding confession. One of the options is: "Could I consider all the time we spent together a date?" and you already know i love this one. It's playful, it's a reference to when Baxter asked MC out five years ago, it's perfect. There is no contender, i always choose it.

...Is what i would say, but i actually always choose the option to confess with a kiss during this feelings reveal.

Confessing with a kiss looks a bit different from the first confession. This time there aren't multiple options to choose where we want to kiss him, MC goes straight (or is it?) for the lips. And the way that kiss is described is everything to me. I'm an absolute sucker for kissing scenes and this one is just so, so, so good! I cannot find fitting words in english (and neither can i in polish) so i'll just drop one screenshot from it and move along before i combust.

It's so tender and sweet and adorable please-

While Baxter was acting super confident and cocky, the second MC declares their love for him/moves to kiss him he turns into a shy, blushing mess. Despite knowing or at least suspecting what MC was about to do he is still caught of guard. I think that his reaction is absolutely adorable. Baxter doesn't blush a lot, so it's always a treat when he does.

We can choose to tell Baxter, that MC wanted to be with him even five years ago and this stuns him again.

Now that MC have confessed their love they're waiting for Baxter to respond. But GOD, is he struggling. It's the first time Baxter is so flustered and it makes me so giddy. He allows himself to show how much MC means to him and holy shit, this man cannot look at them for too long because he will just blush even harder.

From the way he is acting it's already clear that he reciprocates MC's feelings. But the fact that he gets so shy? Stole my heart, sir how dare you be so cute.

Of course, Baxter Ward cannot stay flustered for long and he eventually recovers. Damn it.

His response to the confession is so sweet. He basically says "my turn" and tells MC all the things he loves about being with them, how they made him feel and how much he appreciates them. There is still a moment of self-loathing, when Baxter regrets trying to keep MC out of his life- twice. He is surprised that MC still has feelings for him, still wants to be with him despite all the pain he caused them.

He still brings up all the potential reasons why this could be a bad idea. Limited connections, his current financial situation and his past ways of managing relationships. But unlike in the Wedding Confession, here those aren't statements for MC to refute. I'd say they are less of a warning for MC and more of an expose of himself, to be sure that he revealed everything he considers a flaw before accepting their confession. "By all accounts, I shouldn't be doing this. But I am." - those are his words. Even if he still has his doubts, he isn't going to turn MC down anymore. If he let them go now, in fear of potentially not being enough in this relationship, he would regret it.

And so that is his response: "If you'll have me you will have me." Don't mind if i do- yoink.

While he calmed down a bit for this admission, he gets flustered yet again. It's so adorable to see him be so affected by MC and this situation.

Baxter says that it was easier asking MC out himself all those years ago. He is still so out of it that he voices out loud that he has no idea what to do now. His usual grace and poise are still on leave it seems. He follows it up with that it would be the best if he switched from sitting on the coffee table to somewhere with a backrest, just in case. Dude. Baxter is so strongly impacted by this confession that he is fully aware that there is a possiblity that he will just topple down. I'm melting, it's so cute!

He moves to the couch and MC joins him over there. Once Baxter calms down a bit, he says he is starting to "remember some possiblities" and the two kiss again. I can't even begin describe how much i love the way the kissing moments are written. They're amazing and i'm losing my mind.

The last question Baxter has is if his feelings were obvious to MC. He recounts when Jude asked him point-blank if he was still 'into' MC - we get a couple of dialogue answers to pick, either reacting to Jude even asking about it or answering Baxter's question.

And that is the end of this confession! Baxter overcomes his sheepishness at last, no longer blushing intensely. Quite a shame, but i think we all love his usual charming self as well.

There are no more reservations about showing his true feelings. The pair has been reunited after five years and are finally ready to start a long-term relationship. Good for them <3

Baxter shares one last thought at the end of this long conversation:

And yes, this is the other reason why i call this confession the Morning Confession specifically! It's entirely because of Baxter pointing it out. And because he is so surprised about this turn of events.

The second part is finally over! I worked on it during those two weeks (holy fuck, why) it took me to post it. I'm a bit bummed it took me this long to finish it, but i did my best <3

This part is definitely longer than the first, the brainrot got to me. I haven't started the third part yet but i already replayed the last confession scene and honestly? I forgot how good it was compared to the other two! Shame on me, truly.

See you in the third part! Peace out~

Part 1

#baxter ward #our life beginnings & always #olba baxter #baxter dlc #olba #our life beginnings and always #our life #gamer hours #sunbloom talks #gb patch games

[callsign-joyride]

Could I request prompts 9 and 13 with Javier for Summer of Smut please?

Object of My Desire | Javier Peña

Summary: Being forced to share a room with Javier while traveling was less than ideal. It was even more of a nuissance when you had to share a bed.

Content warnings: SMUT (18+), oral (f receiving), protected p in v

Prompts: “Stop wiggling around, I’m trying to sleep! Wait… what’s tha… oh!” + “I know you said no marks… But what if I put them where nobody except for me will see them?”

Author's note: This is my first time writing for Javier. I made some changes to my taglist form but I will still be tagging people from my TGM part of the taglist. If you don't want to be tagged in my Javier stuff, let me know.

This was written for my Summer of Smut writing event. Feel free to send in requests!

Taglist form (Google form, email is not asked)

You fucking hated traveling with Javier Peña. Aside from the fact that he was generally annoying to be around, he liked to backseat everything that he wasn’t in charge of. You wanted to travel alone but Steve wouldn’t allow it, saying that it’d be “too dangerous” even though you had the same training and experience. Needless to say, you were almost at the end of your fuse when the plane landed. You wanted to sleep on the plane but Javi wouldn’t shut up about how horrible the pilot was. (You didn’t even think he knew how to fly a plane, anyways.) When you tried to read your book, he still wouldn’t stop complaining about everything and a baby started crying. There was a moment of relief as you checked into the hotel for the night.

“You got lucky tonight, miss. This is our last room available,” the lady at the front desk said. You smiled and took the room keys, handing one to Javi and making your way to the elevator with your bag. Javi ended up being in front of you as you walked to the room, so he was the first one. He opened the door to the room and laughed, and you knew that couldn’t have been a good sign.

“Get out of the way. I wanna see what’s so funny,” you said as you shoved him and blindly walked into the room.

There was only one bed. Of course there was. The receptionist never clarified that. She probably thought that you and Javi were a couple.

“Give me that phone book. I’m calling other hotels,” you said as you sat on the bed.

“I’m sure they’re all booked out, too. Plus do you really think the government is gonna pay for you to get a room by yourself?”

“You’re an insufferable asshole. I’m not sleeping with you. I’ll pay for a room myself if that’s what it takes.”

“Fine. Have fun trying to look for hotels. I’ll be right here if you need anything,” he said as he laid on the bed and started reading his book. He was trying not to laugh as you sounded angrier by the minute. You put the phone on the receiver for the last time and glared at him.

“Well, I just called every hotel within a ten mile radius and they’re all booked out. Congratulations on being right, I guess.”

You started to unpack your things while Javi flipped through the channels on the TV. Most restaurants were closed when you checked in to the hotel, but Javi offered to go and get some tacos from one of the food trucks in the area. It took a few minutes of arguing for him to finally leave on his own. You laid on the bed with the phone and the receiver on your chest, dialing Steve and Connie’s number, hoping that someone would pick up. Connie picked up and, even though you loved talking to her, you were more focused on yelling at Steve.

“Can you put your husband on the phone? I’m gonna kill him,” you said. She chuckled and you heard some mumbling before Steve’s voice was in your ear.

“How was the trip?” He asked.

“Murphy, you’re fucking dead. First of all, Peña likes to think that he can control everything. He wouldn’t shut up on the plane about how ‘it’s not how you’re supposed to fly’. Does he even know how to fly a plane? And then we get to the hotel and the receptionist tells us that it’s the last room available. There’s only one bed in this hell hole. I spent thirty minutes calling every hotel within a ten mile radius and they were all booked, too.”

You rolled your eyes as Steve laughed on the other end of the phone.

“Wait a minute, did you plan this?” You asked.

“What if I did? Give him a chance. He’s not as bad once you get to know him.”

“I think he is. You didn’t have to suffer on a six hour flight with him next to you, babbling about how horrible it is that things aren’t going his way. Guys like him are why I like to do all of my work alone. He might be on his way back. I might kill someone.”

Steve chuckled.

“You’re not gonna kill anyone. Have fun. I’ll see you in a couple days, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Javi came back with tacos and you quickly ate before getting your pajamas and heading for the shower. He had his eyes on you as you opened the door to the bathroom to let the cool air in while you brushed your teeth.

“Those are your pajamas?” He asked as he gestured to the tank top and shorts that you were wearing. You spit your toothpaste into the sinking and rinsed off your toothbrush, leaving it on the counter. 

“Yeah. I didn’t think it’d be a problem. This is what I always sleep in,” you said.

“You might as well not be wearing pants, princesa.”

It was going to be a miracle if both of you walked out of the room in the morning with both of your lives intact at this point.

“Don’t be a pig, Peña.”

You decided to read the book that you brought until you were going to fall asleep. Javi got up and brushed his teeth and took his clothes off at some point, but you were too invested in your book to notice.

“What are you reading, anyways?” He asked. You showed him the cover of the book while you were still reading.

“A western? Are you serious?”

You sighed and put the book down.

“I bought it at the airport because I knew I’d need something to do.”

“You didn’t get a classic like Frankenstein or Pride and Prejudice?”

“I can’t believe you just put those in the same sentence. And no, I didn’t, because I wanted something that would actually keep me entertained. Look at where that got me. I couldn’t sleep or read on the plane so, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna turn my light off and go to bed. I hope you do the same. At least you’ll be quiet.”

“Ouch.”

Javi turned off his lamp and wrapped his arms around you once he got in the bed. You didn’t object. It felt nice to be held by someone. But you couldn’t get to sleep because he wouldn’t stop wiggling around.

“Will you stop wiggling around? I’m trying to sleep. What’s - oh.”

Now that you had drawn attention to it, you were both aware that Javi was turned on. You could feel his length press up against your ass but you weren’t sure if you wanted to do anything about it. You were almost positive that you’d scoot away from him and act like it never happened, but it seemed like Javi had other things in mind as he turned you in his arms so that you were facing him. He took your hand in his and guided it to the bulge in his boxers. The primal urge to kiss him took over and you pulled him in by the hair on the back of his neck. The kiss was a battle of tongues and teeth as he slid your shorts and panties down your legs. He shoved his boxers down and rested his cock against the inside of your thigh.

“So wet for me,” he said as he rubbed his fingers between your folds. He started to kiss your neck and you winced and yanked his head away as he started to suck on your sweet spot.

“You can’t leave marks. We gotta work, y’know?”

He sighed, “alright.” 

He lifted your leg onto his shoulder and left kisses down your chest. You let out a shaky breath as he was level with your glistening cunt. His mouth was on you in an instant and you would’ve been lying if you said it didn’t feel good. He looked into your eyes while he ate your pussy like a starved man and you started moving your hips with the rhythm of his tongue. Your thighs tightened around his head as you came when he ran his tongue along your clit.

“You’re so pretty when you cum,” he said.

“Want you inside of me.”

Javi nodded his head and got up to grab his wallet. He pulled a condom out and put it on the nightstand before standing in between your legs and leaning down to kiss you. He stopped for a moment to slide the condom on and move you up the bed with a pillow under your back for extra support.

“Fuck,” he said as he eased himself inside of you, “I know you said no marks, but what if I put them where no one except for me will see them?” He asked. You moaned a yes and he was beginning to slowly thrust while he put love bites on your chest.

“Fuck - please, go faster,” you said. He nodded and groaned into your ear when he started to really pick up the pace.

“You’re so tight. I don’t know if I’m gonna last,” he said. 

“It’s okay. You’re big and I’m already close.”

Javi nodded and started thrusting into you faster. His thrusts became more erratic and you knew he was close. You wrapped your legs around his hips while he rubbed your clit, making both of you cum. He laid with his head in the crook of your neck for a few minutes before pulling out of you and throwing the condom away in the bathroom trash can. He came back with a warm towel and helped you clean up before going back to holding you in his arms.

“I wonder how long it’ll take for Murphy to notice,” he said.

“Don’t say that.”

Steve didn’t need to figure it out. You let it slip to Connie when you were getting drinks one night and she obviously told him. Only, you didn’t know that until he strolled by your desk one morning saying, “What did I say? He’s not so bad once you get to know him,”.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx

#javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #pedro pascal characters #javier pena #narcos #callsign joyride's summer of smut #javier peña smut #javier peña imagine #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction

[ectonurites]

Do the Robins really think of each other as siblings? I know they all consider Dick a brother and vice versa, but between all them, is there really a sibling dynamic/consideration? Do they ever call each other as such?

Okay, so, off the bat (heh) from the phrasing of this ask I want to clarify something:

Namely that the hero role of ‘Robin’ does not inherently have a familial tie.

‘Robin’ is a hero role that has (in main continuity) been filled by: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, and in a slightly less formal way Duke Thomas (he was a member of the We Are Robin movement and the most prominently featured of that group, though he did not really act as ‘Batman’s sidekick Robin’ which is why he’s kinda in his own category here but still worth mentioning).

However, that’s not to say there are no familial ties there. From the list of Robins… Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake are the adopted sons of Bruce Wayne. Damian Wayne is Bruce’s biological son. Duke Thomas was for a time fostered by Bruce, though that is not presently the case (he lives with his uncle instead nowadays). And, while not a Robin, it’s also worth mentioning that Cassandra Cain (Batgirl) is Bruce’s adopted daughter.

So, to answer the baseline question of ‘Do the Robins really think of each other as siblings?’ I would say 'most of them do, the ones that are adopted siblings'. But like, Steph isn't their sister, and they aren't her brothers. That’s simply not the case there, she's never been adopted by Bruce (not to mention one of them—Tim—is literally her ex-boyfriend).

I think it’s very safe to say that among the ‘Dick, Tim, Jason, Damian’ grouping, yes canon has pretty clearly shown that they do all have a brotherly dynamic. They don't all use the specific phrasing that frequently, but it's not uncommon for them to—whether to directly call one another brothers, or to talk about their shared (adopted or otherwise) dad. This isn't to say they are all close or all have good relationships with one another all the time (lol no, Dick & Tim are close/generally have a good relationship, and Dick & Damian are also close/generally have a good relationship, but aside from that things get rockier/vary a lot more) but at the core there's a brotherly thing with all the ups and downs that entails.

To pull some examples of either using that phrasing or showing that kind of dynamic from books published within the last few years:

(Dick & Jason in Nightwing (2016) Annual #1)

(Dick talking about Tim in Nightwing (2016) #80)

(Dick talking about Damian in Nightwing (2016) #110)

(Jason & Tim [& Cass] in Task Force Z #8)

(Jason & Damian Robin (2021) #5. I do feel the need to mention that on Damian's end this hug was also a distraction to then electrocute Jason. That's just how he is sometimes. but the hug was genuine on Jason's end 🤷)

(Tim & Damian [& Dick] in Batman #138)

That’s just some stuff I could think of off the top of my head, there’s definitely more examples (and also if I went further back, but I'm approaching this anon from a 'the current state of things' POV).

Also worth noting that Dick & Damian’s relationship does kinda toe a line between ‘brothers’ and ‘pseudo father-son’ due to Dick needing to fulfill a parental role while Bruce was dead (pre-N52, like, Batman and Robin (2009) era). They’re still more brothers than anything else, but with such a large age gap and the way responsibilities had to be taken due to the situation at the time, it makes things complex, ya know! In general, I think that’s something to keep in mind—it’s not that these guys all lived together as one happy family with Bruce at any given point in time (they did Not), but despite that they still are family. They each have a complicated relationship with Bruce, and complicated relationships with one another, but they are (and see each other as) family regardless. A messy and non-traditional family, but still a family.

The thing I think some people get confused with is the way that the greater 'Batfamily' is more what we think of as a 'found family' where characters don't necessarily fall into traditional familial roles... because that includes people like Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Helena Bertinelli, etc—people who are bats but are not part of the Wayne family. Like... The Wayne Family and The Batfamily are not synonymous. The Wayne Family is a separate but partially overlapping thing. The Waynes are Bats but not all Bats are Waynes, ya know? And like, it's only further confusing because of how most of Bruce's adopted kids kept their original last names even after adoption, so it's not always clear at a glance who falls into which group if you're not super familiar with the characters.

NOW, the person I think this gets a bit fuzzy with in terms of placement is Duke… he's obviously part of the Batfamily, but where exactly he sits in relation to the Wayne Family has like, been different at different points in time. Because he was Bruce's foster child for a while, and now he isn’t anymore. So in terms of his relationship with the other Robins, it definitely is more familial than like, Steph's relationships with any of the others—because he was their foster brother—but it's not quite as strictly defined as among the 'Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian' grouping. I’m gonna link this post by a Duke-centric blog which goes into some of this more clearly!

#tbh thinking of a damian & jason interaction was the hardest thing here those bitches are both often allergic to being sincere w/ family #and also they just don't interact All That Much. which is honestly such a missed opportunity but well thats another conversation #anyway. i hope this helps to clear some of this up!? #sam explains

[infoglitch]

I have opinions. On jaune. (Shipping wise)

To clarify this is just my opinion. And my opinion is

garbage

But I want to talk about my favorite noodle so stfu Im talking.

And this is not me going "oh this is how jaune should be treated in every single shiping fic". This is just me acting like I have a huge dick and stating my terrible, terrible opinions.

Let's start.

1: jaune doesn't get bitches. The Bitches, get him.

Not to some of you I know you're all kicking screaming vomiting and crying because "obobobo b-but jaune has to pull bitches! I-its the only way I can escape this cr-"

SHUT

First, Jaune is not a self insert nor is he a character we project ourselves on. he is a character who has flaws and has his own personality.

He's an idiot and most of the times is a pessimist trying to be an optimist.

He gets things wrong, and he does really dumb stuff like faking his transcripts. He's not you, he's not me, he's not anyone else aside from Jaune

So when I say he doesn't get bitches, that's not being mean it's just kind of the truth, Jaune does not have a lot of confidence and when he does flirt he does it in really terrible ways, (just ask V1-3 Weiss)

But that's not everything I say because I also made sure to add that the bitches get him. Jaune is the kind of character who fails when he's trying because hes trying to seem like he's got things under control, he's going overboard which results in him comically failing, but when he's just being himself being a genuine person he does things really well. He is very much terrible at flirting and man has no skill with women, and he lacks confidence. Which leads to number 2.

2: Jaune is not cool. (In a good way)

Look I love my noodle man but even I can admit he is cringy. He does things to the max when he sets his mind to it which will fail. Because when he does those things he doesn't have either the confidence or the understanding he needs to do it. Take literally any attempt with Weiss he's tried asking her out, he's failed constantly because one he tries to impress which with Weiss makes him seem like he's just another fake face, after her heart for her name (which he isn't, it's just due to misunderstanding) he runs head first without the context or the confidence. He tries to impress but he comes off awkward like he doesn't know what he's doing. (Like that one time he tried asking her to the dance by playing the guitar and FAILING miserably.)

But just because jaune doesn't have the confidence or understanding doesn't mean he can't be cool.

He just can't be cool all the time. Jaune is a terrible liar and he's just upfront alot of the time. He's genuine and he is metaphorically unable to actually hurt people without getting welled up with emotions.

He's only killed ONE person, ONE actual person and we all know what that did to me. He broke and he was probably horribly traumatized.

Next is number 3

3: JAUNE IS NOT A SEX PRO.

Do I even need to elaborate on this? Please I don't want to elaborate on this!

I have to? Oh god... Ok FINE I'll elaborate

There are many, MANY jaune fics that I don't like in certain aspects. And if their smut expecting to see atleast one thing.

Jaune not being a Dom. Or you know, not having experience.

Jaune.. is a idiot and he's... He's not skilled in a lot of things. And one thing that just BURNS me is jaune switching up and being all dominant and aggressive (that's one of the things I wanna avoid writing jaune as)

Just let the noodle be tender or Inexperienced, At least if this is his first time.

And on a semi-related note I remember reading this one nightshade fanfic that I really liked, where it had Blake asking Weiss for advice on Jaune when it came to sex and in the fic Blake had experience meanwhile jaune didn't and was nervous if they did fuck he wouldnt reach a vague standard he put. It was a really good fic, it was really hot as well and I can't find it and it drives me up the fuckin wall because I really wanna read it again because it helped prove my point when it comes to jaune having sex and it's just- UGH. (Please if you know what the fick is just message me the link I beg you, PLEASE of you find send it to ME!)

Look I just REALLY like jaune (to a concerning degree even) and I just REALLY wanna talk about how I view him and I just... I just can't cause I suck at writing essays cause my brains just-

"ok I'm gonna write this- OH I GOT A NEW IDEA IM GONNA WRITE THIS- oh but theres also this and- BUNNY RABBIT"

Ugh I hate my brain and my attention span.

Anyway my trashy opinions on my second favorite character aside. Have a golden day and cheers.

Rock on till ya drop tata mothafuckers 🤘

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby ships #my opinions are terrible.

[okkos-ferrum]

Hot take maybe but like i feel the vile crew are a much more fun, dare i say, dynamic of a dynamic.

Like dont get me wrong i think zack and ivy are a fun duo that contrast carmen's badasssery with player acting as intel and shadowsan as a stoic support

But antonio, jean-paul, gray, and sheena (mime bomb too ig??) played off carmen better. (Tho to clarify not at all saying the writers shouldve had carmen hang around vile instead, they def were all bad influences on one another due to vile)

Like to me, cuz carmen is the mainly hyper-competant moral good of team red, she somewhat stands alone for it. Player is highly specialized, while idk what zack and ivy contribute specific to the team aside from extra manpower. Shadowsan may rival carmen in skill, but he has his own mistakes he's working to fix, so he's in no moral place to argue against her. As much as team red is filled with good wholesome family moments, carmen still feels kinda treated as the leader, and thus, seperate from the group. I wish sometimes there would be a conflict (no im not including the s2 conflict with the car and stuff idk that one was too inconsequential to me) between team red splitting hairs on how to approach a problem. Itd add some variety to each specific relationship carmen has with each rather than a generic friendly terms

The vile crew works as a more entertaining group cuz there are actual unique dynamics carmen has with each of the group members, as well as the group members themselves having unique relationships with each other. For the first point, cuz everyone is on the level playing field of some kind of competant thief, its not like carmen has the immediate, no-questions-asked role as the leader. Theres more of an underlying feeling she had to make a good impression aside from her skills to gain their respect, which to me is more realistic than zack and ivy suddenly attatching themselves to a then dismissive but skilled carmen during the boston caper. Like as contrived sheena just being a hater to carmen is, theres still something interesting abt her still tagging along with carmen as a reluctant friend/rival. As such, it challenges carmen to show a different side to her, like her constant need to prove herself, to the forefront, which in turn, helps also flesh carmen out more. In comparison, antonio is quite the opposite, being literally so nice to everyone regardless, which also makes him stick out (like for example, in the cs interactive game, he will readily help carmen out if u choose him to be an ally)

Each character in the vile crew have also unique groups. Unlike one blob of general friendliness like team red (aside from the over it dad energy from shadowsan lol), we see that antonio and jean-paul have a closer friendship within the group, similar to how carmen and gray also have a closer bond. Tell me the unique relationship zack has with player that is different from how anyone else treats player? Like its not much.

Theres def more banter within the vile crew as well, with sheena always being the sour one of the group. Moreover, there is the group collectively finding mime bomb to be the "weird guy in class" that is so endearing to me. They all challenge each other, like how they all judge gray's pun vile name, or how they sometimes make fun of sheena during their first mission. Yet admist all that, they still care and enjoy their company together, as seen with them still reminiscing the water balloon prank in season 4 or how antonio and jean paul are relectant to fight carmen the first time they see her again.

Idk i find it so funny how the show was able to make the vile operatives so endearing as characters, especially in comparison to tesm red whos a bit lacking

#carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego #graham calloway #le chevre #el topo #tigress

[honeystwiggypeach]

Baby Lucille meets Dustin!

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader

Tw: Eddie has little bit of anxious thoughts regarding Lucy’s godparents, Dustin’s mom is judge mental, pet names.

Dad!Eddie masterlist!!

Before Lucille had even been born, her godparents had been picked out wether they liked it or not, after her birth all that was left to do was inform said godparents of their titles.

When Eddie walked up to you one late night informing you he still hadn’t made up his mind on who exactly he wanted to be her godfather simply because he wasn’t sure if you’d be ok with his choice. He knew you had picked out wonderful people to be Lucy’s god parents, I mean you picked out Robin to be her godmother!

“What’s wrong? Why haven’t you decided yet?” You asked concerned.

When you had first assigned Eddie the task he had been so excited telling you he knew exactly who he was going to pick but the sudden change in demeanor startled you a bit since once Eddie had decided something he didn’t usually change it just approached it a little differently.

“Baby, i want Dustin to be her godfather…” he mumbles his voice being muffled by the fabric of your shirt as well as he has his face laid against your baby bump while you lay on the couch(he’s almost like in your lap but your both laying down? Hope you guys know what I mean😭😭)

“So than you did pick?” You ask raising your eyebrow as you push his bangs away from his eyes.

He looks up at you for a moment, “I mean I guess?” He says sounding a little confused.

“That’s fine than.” You smile at him and he feels all the concern from before melt away.

Flash foreword a few months later and now Eddie is nervously shifting his weight between his feet as he holds Lucille in her carrier with you beside him. He stops moving when he hears her coo lightly knowing she had been sleeping when he got her from the car.

Dustin was the last godparent to be informed that they were a godparent. Eddie saved Dustin for last because he wasn’t so sure he’d agree, he wasn’t ready to have to go through the stress of finding a new god parent he was almost certain he didn’t have that many friends!

He knocked on the door nervously and when Dustin’s mom opened the door she just looked Eddie up and down only a tad bit judgementally she had heard about this Eddie kid from her son only she didn’t expect this Eddie ‘kid’ to be a grown man with a wife and daughter.

“Is Dustin here?” Eddie asks messing with one of the toys attached to Lucille’s carrier as he pushes it with the hand holding it.

She nods stepping aside and Eddie makes his way towards Dustin’s room, this confuses Claudia a bit because to her knowledge this is the first time she’s ever seen Eddie or you.

Eddie knocks lightly on Dustin’s door and for a moment he catches himself hoping Dustin wouldn’t awnser the door and that maybe his mom would have been wrong but he knows that she isn’t when the door swings open and Dustin smiles seeing Eddie.

He sees you from over Eddie’s shoulder and gives Eddie a questioning look until his eyes glance down to Lucille and he shoots him a look of confusion.

He pulls the three of you into his room and that’s were it begins.

The two of you sit on Dustin’s bed while he sits on his chair elbows on his knees as he listens to Eddie recount every detail of the situation up until the conversation about godparents intentionally leaving it out.

“And this has to do with me how?” He asks sitting back.

“That’s the thing I’m about to get to Dustin.” Eddie leans down unbuckling Lucille from her car seat and holding her gently as he moves her tiny arms away to show her little face to Dustin.

“We” Eddie says motioning between the two of you and you roll your eyes softly, “were thinking, that you could maybe be her godfather” you watch as Dustin’s eyes light up happily a smile spreading across his face.

“Are you serious?” He asks happily looking towards Lucille.

“Only if you’re ok with it” Eddie hurry’s to clarify.

“Ok with it? This is great! I can teach her so much stuff!” He explains happily.

“Woah there Dustin, don’t go trying to make her a nerd now!” Eddie jokes.

You watch as the two of them playfully bicker knowing that Dustin would be possibly one of the best godfathers to Lucy.

Tags~ @miracleboysel , @jessyballet

#reader insert #x reader #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson x female reader #eddie Munson #eddie munson x reader #st4 #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson

[bcbdrums]

A Touch of Warmth

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Sixth in my series of 31 prompt-based one-shots (filling them out of order; this is prompt 5). Prompts from this list.

A/N: More of the academy days for my faves, but super early this time. I wanna say...maybe just a few months of partnership here. And living in cheap academy dorms haha. Imagine a sad college dorm room I guess. Stein is only 10 years old and Spirit is 13. Long, long, rambly stream of consciousness relationship stuff that I wrote like...in the first week of December. And then didn't finish until just now (late March) and there was only a little bit left to go. Oops. Wonder how much that gap impacted the story/writing style... If you like long rambly things that don't really have a point, well, here you go. Enjoy. 5. Puzzling

A Touch of Warmth

An icy chill like breath across his cheeks was what roused Spirit from sleep. He shivered and then blinked twice before tightly closing his eyes again. Even the air was cold, assaulting the tender moisture beneath his lashes like the slap of cold water.

After taking another moment to realize he was awake and not dreaming, he fully processed the freezing sensation as one he should not be feeling on a desert morning. He clutched his blanket close to his chest and sat up in bed, squinting. White was what overwhelmed his blurred vision, and he snaked an arm out of his warm cocoon and felt almost blindly along the windowsill until his fingers met something very cold and wet.

He gasped and drew back, blinking until his sight clarified to reveal what it was he had touched.

Gathered on the sill near the open window were a line of melting snowflakes.

Spirit's jaw fell slack as he reached out to touch a cluster again, watching it turn to water rapidly even as it cooled his fingertips. But when he looked up and out the window his eyes went wide.

Where there should have been dirt, stone, and dried grasses in the backyard of the dormitory there was only white, and the sky was gray as snow fell in lace-like curtains, thick and silent, covering the landscape as far as the eye could see.

It was several moments of staring, captivated by the scene and breathing the icy air, before Spirit reached out to slide the window closed. And then he spun around to face the bed of his roommate.

"Hey Stein, wake—"

Spirit blinked. His very young meister was not in his bed.

The red-haired teen took stock of their tiny dorm room quickly, noting the boy's blankets uncharacteristically tossed back and his pair of shoes sitting neatly next to his desk. It appeared as though Stein had gotten under his bed at some point, because the corner of a box was sticking out near where the blankets were carelessly draped down to the floor. Then Spirit noticed the door to the hallway was ajar.

"Stein?" he said again as he glanced once more around their small room. The boy was definitely not there.

Spirit threw his own blankets aside and hurriedly dressed, selecting warmer clothing than he would ever choose for a day in Death City but something he was more likely to wear on an extracurricular assignment far further north. He gaze was continually drawn to the astonishing view through the window as he fumbled with a pair of boots, still not quite believing that a seeming winter had arrived in the middle of Nevada.

He had experienced snow a couple of times in his life, but never at leisure, and nothing at all like what he was seeing outside as it seemed to be sticking to sand and stone, transforming the barren landscape to one of wonder and quiet mystery.

"Stein?" Spirit asked again, peering down the hallway after pulling the door open. The dormitory was dark and silent.

Spirit's brow furrowed as he turned toward the bathroom that all the students in his wing shared, wondering if that was where the boy had gone. His meister operated like clockwork, and it was the startling deviation from the norm that had Spirit perplexed and was driving him to find his partner almost as much as the desire to share his newfound excitement at the change in the weather.

Most of the students in their building had gone home for the holidays, but both Stein and Spirit had declined that privilege, neither offering any explanation to the other. And Spirit was glad for his decision, knowing the snow wasn't anything he would have seen otherwise.

"Stein?" he whispered, peering into the darkened bathroom but already fairly certain of what he would find. Every stall door was open, the showers and sinks were silent, and the lights were off.

Spirit stuck his lip out in annoyance at the same time his brow furrowed in worry. He'd wanted to enjoy the experience of the fresh falling snow with his meister. But as Spirit turned to walk toward the front door concern began to overtake his initial elation. Just where was the boy?

It wasn't that he didn't think Stein couldn't handle himself; the few combat training classes they'd already had proved that he could. But the meister was just so young, and he looked it. Spirit was barely thirteen and this was the first time he'd been on his own, but in the few months they'd been roommates he could tell that the silver-haired ten-year-old was already accustomed to fending for himself.

Spirit had no background on his meister, and the boy was distant without being blatantly rude. He seemed to genuinely not know how to interact with their peers along with something else Spirit couldn't yet place. But the teen was patient, and Lord Death had specifically chosen Stein to be his meister. That alone was worth everything.

He pushed through the front door of the dormitory and a biting chill rushed in along with a few flurries of snow. Spirit grinned, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he closed his eyes and took in the feel of the ice hitting his face like unforeseen kisses, softly leaving their mark before vanishing and stirring his thoughts toward the ethereal and imaginative. There was a promise of something new in the snowfall, and Spirit wanted to take advantage of every moment of it.

He stepped fully through the door and into the wall of white, his boots almost soundless as they pushed through the drift that had already built up in the uncovered entryway. And that’s when he saw the single point of color: a telltale shock of silver hair.

Next to one of the benches that lined the sidewalk to the dorms knelt Franken Stein. Snow had collected in a thin layer atop his head, shoulders, and the backs of his legs, though one could hardly tell for the plain white pajamas he wore, causing the boy to be almost invisible in the newly whited-out landscape. He was bent over some small mechanical device placed on the bench, his concentration so full that he didn’t notice when Spirit closed the door. Another point of color were the pale soles of his feet; he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Stein?” Spirit asked in surprise, hurrying forward. His delight at the weather had wholly evaporated at the sight of his young meister barely clothed out in the cold. “What are you doing?”

The boy didn’t reply, but scowled at whatever it was he was looking at. He reached for the device and Spirit recognized a microscope as he approached. Stein had picked up a small glass slide, and Spirit watched as he leaned back from the bench to slowly wipe it on the hem of his shirt, and then hold it out to catch a few falling snowflakes. His hands shook as he replaced it under the lens and quickly leaned down again, turning the focus knob to bring his subjects into clarity. As Spirit finally stopped next to the bench he could see it wasn't just Stein's hands, but his entire frame shaking from head to toe, and his usually colorless lips were a frightening shade of blue.

“Stein!” Spirit cried in protest, his voice rising in pitch.

“Don’t breathe.”

Spirit blinked, the harsh but monotone directive confusing his train of thought.

“What?” he asked, but held his breath nonetheless.

“They melt too fast if you breathe.”

Spirit rapidly went through the arguments in his head that he wasn't even near the snowflakes on the slide, and that Stein himself was so cold now that he'd be surprised if he had any warmth left in his lungs. But none of those words came out as somehow, as always, he was drawn like a magnet to his meister's side and knelt down, curiosity rising in him despite the chill beginning to penetrate his coat.

"What are you looking at?"

"The structure of the snowflakes."

Spirit looked at the cluster of white that had in fact already begun to melt on the slide under the lens, and then back to his meister, his face hidden as he stared down through the microscope.

"So far they are perfectly symmetrical and each one has six branches, but no two are alike. The probability of two being the same eventually is strong, but..."

Stein stopped suddenly, and Spirit watched the meister move his hand away from the focusing knob, place it between his thighs where his left hand was already hidden.

Spirit frowned.

"Get up."

"What?"

Stein was still peering into the microscope.

"Get up or I'm picking you up."

That got the meister's attention. His eyes snapped to Spirit's, confusion overlaid by defiance and something else hard and threatening. It had only been three months, but it had taken less than a day of acquaintance for Spirit to learn that the boy would not tolerate being touched without express permission.

"You can't do this like this," Spirit continued. "You're going to freeze to death."

Stein's expression didn't change.

"If you want to be helpful you could get me a notebook to record my findings. You don't have a camera, do you?"

Each word was spoken through trembling blue lips, and Spirit noticed that the rest of the boy's unnaturally pale skin was rapidly changing hue. His heart began racing as he made his decision, not knowing what the ramifications would be but knowing that he had no choice.

Stein didn't speak when Spirit stood, but when the weapon's gloved hands came down under the meister's armpits he jerked away with a strength Spirit wouldn't have thought him capable.

"Don't touch me!" was the protest that sounded before the boy began fighting back, pushing and beating against Spirit's shoulders, but the weapon was determined.

It was a battle of hands and arms and legs and feet as he half-fought, half-dragged Stein back into the dormitory hall, tuning out every word of protest that was laid against him with each step. He only finally paid attention again when Stein managed to free one arm just inside the door and landed a glancing blow against Spirit's cheek.

He shuddered in response, not letting go but halting the movement of his feet. The hit may not have fully connected, but it was still hard and for a moment the world was spinning and Spirit's only point of focus were his hurried breaths and the heavier panting of the younger boy upon whom he still had an iron grip.

When his eyes refocused on Stein's face the meister appeared shocked—quite the change from his typically guarded expression—but his skin was still unnaturally blue, and there was something off about his eyes even past the unusual expression. It sent a wash of fear through Spirit that rapidly overrode the pain of the punch.

He reached past Stein and kicked the door closed hard.

"Stein. I'm not going to let you die out there because you were too stupid to get dressed before running out to play in the snow."

"I... I wasn't..." Stein began, still breathless and something definitely off about his vision.

Spirit ignored the pulsing of pain in his cheek and while Stein was distracted, he scooped the smaller boy up like he would a toddler and stalked hurriedly down the hall.

"Hey! Stop it!" was Stein's weak protest this time, and Spirit noted he was struggling a lot less than when they'd been pushing through the ankle-deep snow outside.

When he reached the bathroom he all but dropped Stein for how much he was twisting to escape. When the meister's feet hit the tile he slipped on his wet, bare soles and would have hit the floor had Spirit not still had his hands on him. Stein clung to Spirit's arms in surprise, not having expected the backward plunge, and when Spirit had righted them both he finally let go.

He reached back to hit the light switch and Stein flinched away, holding a hand up to cover his eyes as his breaths still came far too heavily for the minimal exertion of the struggle to get indoors. When he finally squinted at Spirit his expression fell to shock again. It finally occurred to the red-head that there was something other than the fact that he'd interrupted Stein's ill-conceived experimenting that had shaken the boy, and he turned around to see his face in the mirror.

Spirit nearly gasped for how utterly terrified he looked. Terrified and furious, perhaps in a way that his young partner had never seen another person look before, if the way it froze the boy in place was any indication.

Spirit knew he needed to calm down, calm his expression and be reasonable so he could explain to his meister just how dangerous his actions had been. But as he turned back to face the boy he only felt the anger swell to a greater presence in his soul.

Stein's clothes were nearly soaked through, the white of the pajamas turned gray from moisture and his hair darker for it. The color of his skin was wrong. He was visibly shaking from head to toe, and his vision was hazy and seeming unable to really see Spirit even though his eyes hadn't left the red-head since the moment he'd let him go.

Spirit opened his mouth to speak, but the movement of his jaw caused his cheek to sting where Stein had punched him. He hissed and reached his fingers up to the spot before jabbing his other arm past Stein to point, the motion causing the boy to jump.

"Get in there," he commanded coolly, his voice low and laced with threat. "Get under some hot water and sit down. I'm going to get you some dry clothes."

Stein's expression of shock remained, the boy still frozen by the look on Spirit's face. They remained unmoving for several moments, but when the meister's breaths began to even out he finally turned toward the showers to comply with the weapon's words.

It wasn't until Stein had fully obeyed, letting the shower run until the water was warm and then stepping under the stream and sitting down to lean against the tiled wall, that Spirit finally turned to go.

He let his anger carry his feet briskly back toward their shared bedroom, blindly going through the motions once there of making Stein's bed, dragging the only spare blanket from the closet to place atop it, and then yanking his own bedding free to add on top of that. Horrible scenarios were racing through his head of what he might have found out in the snow instead of his insatiably curious young meister studying the patterns of snowflakes had he slept in a little later, or decided to enjoy the surprise of the weather from the comfort of his bed.

Spirit stopped abruptly from where he'd been casting off his winter outerwear and blinked at nothing as the realization struck.

Stein had been looking at snowflakes.

The fear crashed fully over Spirit's anger, obliterating it as the teen sat down on the floor and began to cry. He could have lost his meister, might still lose him, because the boy had been just as excited about the snow as he was.

If he hadn't immediately gone outside to play...

Spirit didn't know how long he cried, but the sudden realization that he could still lose Stein drove him back to the present. He didn't know anything about frostbite or hypothermia or any other manner of freezing-induced ailments. They were all alone in the dorm and he had no one to call for help since everyone had left for the holidays. And just how long had he left Stein alone in the shower with his vision hazy and his pallor looking near death?

Spirit stood so fast it made him dizzy, made his cheek throb where he'd been hit, and he rummaged through Stein's drawers until he finally found the boy's thicker socks for winter assignments along with underwear and more pajamas. As an afterthought he grabbed his own thick bathrobe and then both of their towels before turning to run back down the hall.

He slowed his step before entering the bathroom, terrified of what he might find. At least he could still hear the shower running, but...was that a good sign? Instead of entering he peered cautiously around the doorjamb.

Stein looked exactly as Spirit had left him, seated against the tile and curled tightly in on himself as the warm water poured over him. His arms were folded atop his raised knees and his hands were tight in fists, and his face was hidden where it lie on his arms. Spirit licked his lips and took a cautious step forward, and then another. There was no reaction from the meister.

Spirit paused, took in a silent breath...and then he flicked his eyes sideways to the mirror. He didn't look angry anymore, although he could still see it rise behind his eyes the moment he thought about it. No, now he looked every bit as scared as he felt, perhaps even more than when he'd drug Stein back indoors, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying.

Any other time Spirit would have been annoyed by his transparency, but since it had seemingly helped to get his meister to comply he decided he didn't care.

He turned back toward the small, gray form in the shower, felt his heart rate quicken as he mustered the courage to speak.

"Stein?"

Stein lifted his head.

The relief Spirit felt was enough to make his knees go weak, and he leaned on the counter to steady himself as he set the clothing down and draped the two towels over his arm. He sucked in a few breaths, looked up to the mirror again and saw a brightness fitting itself behind the fear in his eyes, and he grimaced before turning to approach the meister.

"You, uh... You ready to come out of there?"

Stein didn't respond, only watched Spirit's approach, watched him stop about five feet distant, his expression having returned to its usual dull, esoteric impassivity. And as his eyes locked on Spirit's the red-head thought he looked even more withdrawn than before. But, blessedly, perhaps less hazy.

He didn't know if staying under the warm water longer would be better or worse for Stein's recovery, but his own anxiety couldn't stand the inaction. He pursed his lips and stepped forward, reaching around the stream to turn the water off.

Stein slowly began pushing himself upright, his eyes not having left Spirit's face even to blink.

"Uh...here," Spirit said, holding out the two towels. After a moment, Stein slowly reached across the distance to receive them. "There's clothes on the counter, uh..."

Spirit realized he needed to give the meister some privacy to change, and he thought quickly.

"I'll go get you something warm to drink. I'll uh...I'll be right back."

Spirit turned and hurried out of the bathroom as quickly as he could, making long strides down the hallway.

The tiny kitchen that could hardly be called such was at the other end of the building, and Spirit didn't want the meister out of his sight for any longer than was necessary just in case there was some delayed danger to whatever cold-induced condition he'd brought upon himself.

As Spirit passed the main entry he took careful steps to avoid the melted snow that had found its way inside from the struggle through the doorway, and then something occurred to him that halted his rush.

He turned and dashed back out into the icy air, his breath catching instantly as cold assaulted his body. He grimaced at the irony that it was now he who was under-dressed and risking himself in the elements, but he picked his way through the piling snow to the bench where the microscope was gathering a larger collection of specimens than it was designed for. Spirit tucked the freezing object safely against his chest and hurried back inside to be free of the snow falling into his face and the chill already seeming to seep into his bones.

He didn't hesitate but to close the door behind him, and then took the microscope the rest of the way down the hall and into the small kitchen.

Inside the narrow room he quickly opened the freezer and considered a moment before pulling out a few boxes of frozen meals left by other students to make space, and then he carefully placed the heavy instrument inside. He turned the freezer's temperature lower and then quickly closed it, blowing into his hands to warm them as he tried to remember his original purpose, his mind still awash with fear.

The microwave dinners on the counter was what returned his focus, and he quickly filled two mugs with water and set them to heat as he considered the beverage options. It took less than ten seconds to decide on tea, considering he didn't even know if there was hot cocoa mix around and he still really didn't want Stein out of his sight any longer than necessary.

Another thought occurred to him as he watched the microwave's timer tick down, and he turned and ran silently on his toes back to the bedroom. Once inside he didn't even look before diving for the box sticking out from beneath Stein's bed, and sure enough it was the box the microscope had been housed in. He carefully removed every delicate glass slide that remained tucked in the Styrofoam, and then cradling them gently, he ran back to the kitchen.

Once there he opened the freezer and carefully brushed a few snow clusters from the microscope onto each slide, including the one still beneath the lens which he removed. He brushed the remaining snow off the instrument into the freezer, and then carefully lifted the heavy device out.

He was methodically drying it with a dish towel as the microwave sounded completion, which he ignored in favor of caring for the delicate equipment. He didn't know for sure that moisture would damage it, but it seemed a fair guess, and he went at its crevices carefully with paper towels until the microwave beeped a second time.

He realized with a jolt that he had left Stein alone for well over five minutes now between all he'd been occupied with, and he hurriedly grabbed the mugs from the microwave and then pocketed a small handful of tea bags and sugar packets from the basket on the counter next to the stove.

He forced himself to keep his pace to a brisk walk this time, mindful of the steaming mugs in his hands. He was so lost in the anxiety of too many what-ifs and the need to hurry, hurry, hurry that he almost bumped into his meister as the younger boy was standing waiting outside their bedroom door, chin dipped low to his chest. Spirit gasped and startled back a step, then hissed as a splash of hot water hit his hand.

The meister had no reaction to Spirit's pain, looking downright sullen in the oversized bathrobe. But Spirit noticed his hands were tucked deeply into the pockets, and his hair was still wet although it showed signs of having been towel-dried.

"Stein..." Spirit breathed, continuing his visual assessment; was he imagining it, or was Stein's skin less blue?

The boy met his eyes through a curtain of damp hair, and Spirit sighed. As ever, his young meister was unreadable, except Spirit knew that somehow, in some measure...Stein was very displeased with him.

"Come on. You're getting into bed."

Spirit carefully gestured with one mug, and he expected to have to put forth an argument, but atypically Stein simply obeyed. Spirit watched for a moment, and then followed the boy a few steps inside the door and pulled it closed with his heel. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his chest began to burn, and he let the air out slowly in hopes of not drawing Stein's attention.

The meister had paused in the center of the room, clearly making note of all the changes and liberties Spirit had taken before he seemed to resign himself to his fate and climb into his bed. But instead of lying down, Stein shifted his pillows up against the wall to sit and face Spirit's bed and the window on the wall between them. Once he was settled with too many blankets piled atop his lap and tucked up to his chest, hands buried deep inside the cocoon he'd made, he drew his knees up and shifted his eyes to settle on the window. Spirit didn't need to look to know it was still heavily snowing, and his breath hitched again when Stein slowly dragged his dull gaze back to him.

Spirit covered the gesture with a slight cough and then stepped forward to set the mugs on Stein's desk.

"Do you like sugar in your tea? And uh..." He pulled his small hoard from his pocket, some of the packets falling to the floor in the process. "I grabbed... Earl Grey, chamomile, mint, peach oolong... What's oolong..."

"Mint," Stein replied quietly, and Spirit realized it was the first word his partner had spoken since he'd deposited him unhappily in the dorm's bathroom.

"Sugar?" Spirit asked, after putting the tea bag into one mug.

"No, thank you."

The meister's voice was somehow more void of inflection than usual, and Spirit felt his stomach twist in unease as he ripped into one of the packets of sugar for his own mug and poured it in. He realized he'd forgotten to grab any stirring sticks and stepped back to his own desk to procure a pen to use as a substitute. He had decided on the peach oolong, the only other flavor appealing to him being the mint, but apparently he'd given the sole bag to Stein.

When he stepped nearer the meister's bed to hand him the tea, it was a moment before Stein moved to extricate his hands from the blanket-nest he seemed to be burrowing deeper within. His fingers brushed against Spirit's when he wrapped them around the mug's handle and the distinct chill the weapon felt at the contact set his heart racing in fear again. Stein had been under a hot stream of water for at least fifteen minutes if not longer, but he was still cold. Should Spirit have let him stay there longer? Was that even the right thing to do?

Spirit felt his head begin to ache and he rubbed his brow, feeling the pinch of his skin where it twisted in worry. He absently stirred the sugar into his mug with the back of the pen and tried to push his feet out of his boots. The laces were too tight however, and the result was him stumbling against his mostly-stripped bed and barely preventing the tea from spilling as he lost his balance entirely, his knees hitting the floor hard.

He cursed under his breath and then bit his lip in regret. His young meister had likely never heard such foul language, and he shouldn't be the one to introduce him to it.

He set his tea on the windowsill and then reached down to loosen his bootlaces just enough to tug them off, and then pushed himself back on his bed against the wall in a mirror of Stein's pose. The room was still chilled from the window having been open all night, and he shivered despite himself as he drew his knees up high to his chest, tucking his hands under his rear for warmth.

It was only after another shiver that he let his gaze travel across the room to meet his meister's eyes. The boy looked slightly more curious than he had before, but overall he still appeared more detached than the weapon was used to seeing. What Spirit didn't know and wished he did was whether it was just from the upset at his pulling him away from his fun, or if it meant the fun had already had a dire consequence.

"Uh..." Spirit said, feeling suddenly very awkward. Stein lifted his head slightly, sipped from the tea, but his expression didn't change. "Are you, uh... How are you feeling?"

Stein stared at him blankly, and while Spirit thought three months had gotten him used to how unfeeling the meister seemed from his countenance, he realized that it only counted in a predictable context. In class or on a mission, Spirit was learning what to expect. But Stein was about as antisocial as anyone he'd ever met, and it suddenly pressed against his mind just how little he really knew about the boy he lived and partnered with.

"Cold," Stein finally said, so quiet Spirit almost didn't hear.

He looked at just how very small Stein looked wearing the large bathrobe, bundled as deeply into the blankets as he could get while still upright. His hair was looking less wet but still a darker shade of gray than its usual mystifying silver. When he lifted the mug to take another sip of tea, Spirit noted how small the meister's hands were as they clutched tightly to the cup for the extra heat.

He tried not to think of Stein as a child. He hardly thought of himself as more than that, when he was honest with himself. But between the two he was the far elder and more experienced, and as the weapon it was his responsibility to protect his meister. Even from himself.

Spirit glanced away and out at the snow falling less in thick curtains now and more just in scattered flakes, still dense but allowing a view toward the other dormitory buildings before the scene faded into a white haze beyond which he knew the rest of Death City rose up above the sand. But for the moment it was as if the tiny bedroom existed separate from the rest of the world, and Spirit and Stein the only two people in it.

"Have you, ah...ever seen snow before?" Spirit continued, fishing for conversation.

Stein looked up past the rim of the mug again, seeming to analyze Spirit with every question, and then shook his head no.

Spirit swallowed under the scrutiny, and continued. "I've seen it a couple of other times, but...nothing like this."

The red-head shivered again and watched the way the flakes fell, most tiny and notably slower than rain, but others in large clumps that hurried past their smaller companions. It was captivating, and when he turned back to Stein the boy had resumed looking out the window.

"I had hoped we would see it on the assignment to Alaska, but...then that got canceled," Spirit said, dropping his gaze to the gray of his jeans.

There was still only silence in response, and this time Spirit let it linger, only briefly lifting his eyes a couple of times to find Stein still watching the display through the window. The curiosity in the boy's eyes had turned to something deeper; there was a longing now, and endless questions racing somewhere behind the brilliant, green eyes.

Spirit's gaze snapped up to focus as he realized with a flood of relief that the clarity was returning to Stein's vision. It had to be a sign, he hoped, that the surprise winter wasn't going to steal the life of his young meister after all.

The red-head looked at the window again and sniffed once, his nose starting to run due to the cold air in the room. The wonder and beauty of the snowfall began to fade as he considered again the terrifying possibilities of what could have happened. Suddenly the soft, white landscape seemed just as barren as the desert sands.

And yet...

"I'm sorry."

When he looked away from the window Stein was watching him, his brow risen in slight surprise. Spirit dropped his gaze as he shivered, moving his arms to wrap around himself and tuck his fingers under his armpits. He focused on the lines of denim across his knees as his eyes burned with the threat of tears, hoping that in saving his young meister he hadn't irreparably damaged their relationship when it had hardly started.

It was true they had been able to resonate practically immediately upon partnering, surprising everyone except Lord Death. But Spirit knew that the road ahead of them would require far more from them both than the superficial connection they had made so far. And in dealing so harshly with the boy, he could have undone their three months together and hurt the chances for their future.

"I'm not sorry for saving you, Stein. I was just so scared, and... Your face was all..." He gestured briefly to the still-unhealthy hue to the boy's skin. "But I... I probably could have...done that differently... And, you're not stupid. I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

He didn't look up, only pressed further back against the wall and tucked one set of toes under the other in search for warmth as he became more aware of the chill to the room. He suddenly realized that since all of the students had been expected to go home, the heating had likely been shut off to the dormitory. That, in addition to his window having been open all night to the unexpected winter weather, explained the bitter chill he was feeling in the usually comfortable room. It wouldn't reach dangerous temperatures, but it was still a bit much for the simple jeans and t-shirt Spirit had hurried into after waking.

Stein didn't reply, and Spirit sniffled again, grateful the cold air at least gave him an excuse as he fought back tears. His mind began racing with a whole new set of horrible fears. What if Stein decided he didn't want to be his partner after this?

"You didn't need to give me your blankets and pillows."

Spirit sniffled again and looked up. Stein was watching him and the weapon studied his blue-gray pallor, the rising brightness in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat as concerns of illness rose and shook his head.

"You need them more than me."

Spirit had no sooner rested his cheek—the uninjured one—on his knee, than he heard faint slurping across the room. He raised his head again to see Stein tilting the mug all the way back and finishing the tea, after which he settled his head back against the wall, continuing to clutch the now-empty mug. He shivered.

Spirit frowned and considered offering to microwave another mug, and then looked at his own forgotten tea on the windowsill. Steam was still rising from the liquid.

He slowly uncurled himself from against the wall, feeling the little warmth he had gathered seep away in seconds as he slid his feet back to the floor and picked up the mug.

"Here, I didn't drink any," he said when he offered it, Stein's brow rising, and then, "...Oh."

He pulled out the pen he'd used to stir the sugar in and frowned, making a mental note for the future that Stein preferred his tea without the sweetener. After a moment the boy reached out with a shaking hand and they exchanged mugs. Spirit set the used one on Stein's desk with the pen inside before turning back toward his bed.

"You can sit here."

Spirit stopped and looked at the meister, blinking in confusion as he failed to process the words.

"What?"

There was silence for a moment, the weapon watching the meister's small hands clutching tightly to the cup for the warmth it provided as he sipped the steaming liquid. Then the green-eyed gaze rose again.

"You can sit here, too."

Spirit's mind slowly pieced the meaning of the words together, his brow rising in surprise as he considered. It wasn't the sort of offer he would have expected from the meister in any typical situation, and especially not after he'd manhandled him indoors and ordered him around. But he was growing too cold too fast to find any reason to protest, and after a moment he climbed onto the bed and pulled the blankets back to tuck himself in next to Stein, his back against the wall and a few inches of space between them.

Stein tugged one of the pillows from behind him and pushed it toward the weapon, and Spirit gratefully shoved it behind his back, his spine instantly feeling the relief. He adjusted the blankets perhaps more than was necessary, making sure Stein still had enough to bury as deeply beneath them as he wanted, but grateful for the added warmth immediately.

The view out the window wasn't nearly as good as it was from his own bed, but at least Stein had the better position to continue watching the snowfall. He peripherally observed the meister take another tentative sip of the tea, purse his lips at the taste, and then balance the mug on his knees, both hands still wrapped tightly around it.

Spirit sighed lightly. If nothing else, at least it would help keep Stein's hands warm.

"Thanks," Spirit said quietly, suddenly finding he couldn't meet the meister's eyes. After the way he'd treated him, Stein's kindness was startling, and he wasn't sure how to respond other than accept the offered protection from the cold and continue to hope the younger boy would be all right.

"My microscope cost almost three hundred dollars."

Spirit was startled by the non sequitur and turned to look at the meister. The boy's eyes, definitely no longer glazed, were hardened in the way they looked when they were in class and he was frustrated by something their professor was saying. Spirit swallowed nervously just before words bubbled out of him faster than his brain could keep up.

"I was very careful, I promise! I didn't touch the lenses and I got every crevice. I even went over it twice to make sure it was dry!"

Stein had turned to look at him during the rush of words, and it took Spirit a moment to realize his expression had changed. The hardness had left his eyes, his usual aloofness now the dominant expression, but there was question and curiosity and surprise hidden beneath it. The boy's lips were parted, his jaw ever so slightly slack as he stared unblinking back at Spirit. The intensity of it startled Spirit so much that his words stopped for a moment before he licked his dry lips and fumbled for something else to say.

"And I...I put snow on each slide for you to look at later. They're in the freezer, I turned it down so they shouldn't melt. Sorry I... I should have asked before touching your things. I'm sorry."

Spirit licked his lips again and looked down. He should apologize for going through Stein's clothing too, he knew, but he was suddenly feeling very self-conscious and like he was the one under the lens of a microscope as Stein continued staring at him.

He thought the three months had gone well, all things considered. He wasn't used to being around someone as stoic as the partner he'd been assigned, but he had been trying very hard to learn what made the boy tick and how to be the best partner he could, responding to the meister's quirks and for the most part simply staying out of his way since privacy was what Stein seemed to value most. And Spirit had violated that repeatedly that morning.

He suddenly felt a yawn coming and restrained the action with effort. As his heart raced with the excess of nerves he glanced over to check the time on Stein's alarm clock on his small nightstand. It was just after eight o'clock. He chewed some of the dry skin from his lower lip and considered how to voice the question pressing against his mind after the embarrassing outburst of moments before.

It turned out he didn't have to, because when he turned back he found Stein had been following his gaze.

"I was outside before seven," Stein offered.

Something was different about his tone, and Spirit shifted his gaze to meet his partner's. Stein's expression had changed again to something the weapon had never seen and didn't know how to interpret. His eyes had lost the hardness almost entirely and seemed to be seeking something. Before Spirit could even try to figure it out, Stein surprised him again by handing him the mug of tea. He took a sip and then immediately a larger swallow as the liquid coated his throat, soothing some of the strain he hadn't realized was there as he continued worrying.

When he returned the cup to let Stein keep using it to warm his hands, his fingers brushed against the meister's cooler ones. He frowned at the contact and looked away, his gaze flitting between the window and the clock as he worried.

He wanted to believe that Stein would be fine. But he'd been out in the snow for over an hour and his hands were still cold, despite the heat of the shower, despite having been wrapped around the mugs of hot tea for several minutes.

Spirit felt the sting of coming tears again. He bit his cheeks in attempt to fight off the instinct, let his eyes dart over the room in search of some anchor that would help distract him from the fears and anxiety swirling through his soul. But just as he felt his emotions would collapse, Stein surprised him once more.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

Spirit's brow rose. He had nearly forgotten about the glancing punch and lifted his fingers to lightly press to his cheek. The flesh was tender, but it was nothing like the hits he'd taken in their combat classes or on missions. Of course those were different too, having been taken in weapon form.

"It's okay," he answered.

Stein was looking up at him almost like he'd never seen him before. The curiosity in his eyes was different somehow—not the clinical gaze he favored most things with, nor the apathy that came after the boy determined something held no value to him. There seemed to be almost more color to his eyes as they remained locked on the weapon's, and fascinated by the meister appearing so human, Spirit held his gaze.

The fear that had been consuming him changed somehow, under the inquisitive look that Stein had set upon him. The situation no longer felt hopeless or beyond control. In fact, the way his meister was looking at him now, his eyes held perhaps more life than Spirit had ever seen.

"Hey, ah..." he said, his voice quivering suddenly from an emotion he couldn't place. "When you're feeling better, maybe we could have a snowball fight."

Confusion joined the curiosity that Stein had fixed him with.

"...Snowball fight?"

Spirit smiled. "Yeah. You make balls out of the snow, and throw them at each other. For fun. Snowball fight."

Stein finally blinked, once, but didn't break eye contact. The intensity of his gaze was starting to feel unnerving, but Spirit found he couldn't look away. Not when he was so worried. And not after the long months of trying so hard to understand the enigmatic, private boy. Something had finally seemed to spur the beginnings of a mutual connection, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Or...or maybe build a snowman?" he suggested, realizing suddenly that throwing hard-packed snow at his meister after nearly freezing was probably not a good idea, even if it would be several hours later. "I've always wanted to play in the snow..."

Stein continued to stare at him. He offered the tea to Spirit again, who took it and only sipped from the mug this time, not wanting to steal away the hot liquid that was helping Stein warm his hands. He held the eye contact, and Stein didn't so much as blink even after the mug was handed back.

Spirit began to feel self-conscious under the meister's gaze, though he couldn't determine why. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair and watched Stein's eyes follow the motion, linger on the spot where he'd briefly scratched his head, and then slowly return to his face again.

"O-Or...if you just want to play with your microscope, that's fine too. We don't have to play together, if you don't want to. I was just thinking—"

"Okay."

The train of Spirit's thoughts that had started running out of control was suddenly halted.

"Huh?"

"A snowball fight sounds interesting."

Stein abruptly handed the mug back to Spirit, who blinked and sipped from it obediently; the tea had begun to cool. Stein's eyes finally left Spirit's face, and he buried his hands under the blanket and tucked it up higher to his chin as he turned his gaze toward the window.

Spirit looked back to find that the snow was falling in thick curtains again. If Stein did feel up to going out later, at least there would be no lack of the stuff to play in.

He leaned his head back against the wall, sipped the sweet tea again, and sighed. He felt Stein look up at him, but he kept his gaze on the window. Part of him wanted to fill the space with talk about the few times he'd seen snow in the past, but a wave of tiredness was hitting him rapidly. For once the best choice seemed simply to remain silent. He was sure Stein would appreciate it.

His eyelids began to feel heavy as he stared at the continuous rain of white flakes that left the room feeling small and isolated, and he realized he was no longer focusing on holding the mug. He swallowed down the last of the cooling liquid and then reached to set the mug down on Stein's nightstand. He knew he shouldn't doze off sitting in the meister's bed, especially since he should still be watching him to make sure his health wasn't in jeopardy. But the snowfall was hypnotic, and coupled with the sugar and the rising warmth from the blankets, and probably an adrenaline crash, it was suddenly very hard to keep his eyes open.

"It's pretty."

Spirit blinked and glanced down, surprised to hear the quiet voice. Stein was watching the unusual weather, but then looked up to meet his eyes again. His expression was still curious and seemed more relaxed somehow. The usual, calculating tension was absent from his jaw and forehead, and his green-eyed gaze—brighter now—slowly slid back to the window when Spirit didn't say anything.

Spirit was the one to stare now, noticing that Stein looked less tense overall. Only his head and shoulders were visible above the blankets, but he wasn't holding himself coiled up anymore the way he so often did, like a snake ready to strike. An ease that Spirit wasn't sure he'd ever before seen in the boy had settled over him, and he looked far more his young age as he looked out the window, his thoughts apparently having drifted back to scientific interests rather than being upset with the weapon.

"Yeah," Spirit said.

Stein glanced up briefly, as if expecting more, then returned his gaze to the snowfall. And then, wide-eyed and curious as he appeared staring out at the world of white, he yawned.

Spirit slowly let his head rest against the wall again as he watched his meister, and he smiled.

#soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #franken stein #spirit albarn #CrossStitch #steinspirit #spiritstein #stein x spirit #spirit x stein #stein #spirit #death scythe #they are babies in this one #i love them as babies #cold nights warm hearts #wild heart

[omegaworld]

Beta? [Alpha Ajax Petropolus x omega reader] - one shot

Masterlist

Recommendations

One shot

Word count: 1476

summary: ‘Could we possibly get a fic of Ajaxbeing an Alpha? Like everyone thinks he’s a beta or even an omega cause he’s just so chill, but then he presents as an Alpha and everyone’s just shocked. And then the reader shows up, and she’s an omega, and his mate, and suddenly everyone’s like, “oh yeah that makes sense.” Cause Ajax might not seem like an Alpha but around his mate it’s like super clear, like he’s protective and possessive and she’s just all over him and stuff?’

-----

Ajax and Y/n had been friends since childhood, Y/n being the only one who wasn't afraid of being petrified. Neither could say exactly when it happened but from a certain point Ajax's snakes stopped having an effect on Y/n, more like they just didn't want to petrify her. Y/n laughed when Ajax had a jealous scene because his own snakes were not petrifying her but were still petrifying him. Despite this Ajax was extremely relieved as this meant he was no longer in danger of accidentally petrifying her.

Watching the two grow up everyone thought they would make excellent mates. Y/n remembers how depressed she was when she introduced herself as an omega, around her Ajax had always been territorial as an alpha but the fact that he hadn't introduced himself yet could mean that he was a beta. She was so afraid that Ajax wouldn't want to be her mate because she was an omega and unbeknownst to her Ajax himself wondered if Y/n would still want to be his mate even if he was a beta. For a while their friendship suffered from both their uncertainties but when Ajax finally introduced himself as an alpha all doubts were put aside. As soon as the newly discovered alpha set foot outside the house to meet Y/n she was already there clinging to him and sobbing about how afraid she was that she couldn't be his mate. Ajax smiled as she returned the hug, he could understand her perfectly.

From that moment on there was no doubt that they belonged to each other.

-

They both entered Nevermore in the same year but while Y/n was immediately identified as an omega Ajax was mistaken for a beta. Honestly they both thought they were being super clear about being mates but apparently the rest of the school didn't. Maybe because Ajax never bothered to clarify that he was an alpha and omegas and betas pairs are almost non-existent and since  

Y/n didn't know how everyone, including his closest friends, could be so blind. Ajax and Y/n were always together. Caresses like hugs, kisses on the hand, forehead or cheek, were in everyone's eyes. Lunch hours, breaks and parties were constantly spent in each other's arms. Even the smell of both of them was completely mixed! But still no one understood.

-

The school not understanding that Y/n and Ajax were mates was something they could both deal with, in fact this situation generated several bets between them on how far they could go without anyone noticing. Unfortunately that situation led to several alphas thinking he was available and trying their luck. That situation led to where she is now, at a "girls' night out" with Enid, Bianca, Yoko and Divina venting about how frustrating and stressful it was to have all those alphas after her.

"I've been rejecting them one after another and yet they keep coming!"

"It's normal for alphas to be interested in unclaimed omegas" says Yoko.

"Uh uh what if we helped you find an alpha?" Enid suggests enthusiastically.

Y/n sighs in exasperation, this was going too far. Loosening her uniform slightly to allow them all to see her bond mark she states.

"I already have an alpha!!!"

They all sigh in shock and immediately begin to speculate what their mate would look like, however before any can remember to ask the name the monitor knocks on the dormitory door ending the girls' night.

-

The whole situation of the previous night seemed to serve as a trigger for the group to finally notice the interactions between Ajax and Y/n but unfortunately not in the way they both would have liked...which in a way only made it funnier.

Y/n saw the shocked faces of all the girls when she sat on Ajax's lap during the lunch hour and how they all seemed to be short-circuited.

Suddenly all of their caresses were exposed to everyone's eyes and whispers like, "Isn't Ajax too close to her?", "Did he always say goodbye to her with a kiss on the forehead?", "Have they always been together so long?"

It was too funny and frustrating how they still couldn't figure out that Ajax was her alpha. On the other hand they were all totally confused, all the behaviors they attributed to an old friendship as almost brothers started to be seen with concern since Y/n had a mate.

-

The rumor that Y/n had a mate didn't seem to stop the other alphas and although she initially didn't share the situation with Ajax so as not to worry him, she was glad he found out.

The couple had arranged to have a picnic in the woods when Ajax thought Y/n was taking too long and decided to look for her. Unfortunately while the omega was going to meet Ajax some idiot alphas decided to pester her again and oh she couldn't describe her relief at seeing her alpha arrive. The bunch of idiots definitely didn't expect what was coming.

"Come on I know any of us are much better than that alpha of yours"

"Yeah where the hell is he anyway?"

The three laughed but Y/n smiled as he saw Ajax approaching, the laughter stopped when the smell of an extremely pissed off alpha hit their noses. The three "alphas" looked in terror at the one they had hitherto thought was just a beta.

"Alpha!" Y/n shouts happily and runs to him hugging him.

"A-alpha?"

"I-I thought he was a beta"

"Well he obviously isn't!"

The whispering is interrupted by Ajax's loud growl and all three excuse themselves before running off.

As soon as he sees them leave the alpha sighs and gives a fond kiss on the top of Y/n's head resuming his peaceful attitude. Ajax was an alpha but the aggressive attitudes and cock fighting typical of alphas seemed ridiculous to him, don't get him wrong but when he had so much security in his omega none of that made sense if not in situations like this. Maybe that's why they mistook him so much for a beta.

"Picnic?" Y/n asks.

Ajax smiles in agreement.

-

The incident left the whole school in a burburim about how scary Y/n's alpha was which finally drove other applicants away. On the other hand it only made the group of girls more worried. If Y/n's alpha was in the school and was that scary how did he leave a beta so close to his omega???

Y/n was currently in her room with Ajax, the alpha might not be a big fan of reading but when Y/n sat between his legs with her back against his chest and he could put his arms around her waist resting his chin on her shoulder as she read to him? The whole reading perspective seemed to be redefined.

A knock on the door makes them both look up as Enid, Bianca and Yoko storm into their dorm room in search of answers.

"Okay Y/n we definitely need to talk about-" Enid interrupts herself as she sees the situation "That!!!" She almost screams pointing at the bed.

"What about it?" Y/n asks smiling.

Ah Ajax was definitely tired of this.

"Yes what do you have?" Ajax asks starting to deposit small kisses along Y/n's neck making her sigh contentedly.

The whole group looks at each other with wide eyes and even Bianca prefers to let Enid lead.

"Ajax" she starts again "I don't think Y/n's alpha will like you being so close to her"

"I don't think he cares"

"You think?"

"I'm sure"

Y/n tries to hold back her laughter at Ajax and Enid's conversation.

"Girls! You won't believe it!"

Everyone turns to Divina who storms into the room.

"What is it!!!?" Shout all three of them in unison.

"A-Ajax him-"

"He's too close to Y/n!" Interrupts Bianca.

"N-No! Xavier told me...Ajax is the alpha of Y/n"

At that moment they all turn to the couple, Ajax displays a mocking smile waving slightly as if introducing himself for the second did and at this point Y/n laughs out loud at all the improbability of the whole situation.

Still shocked Enid tries to argue.

"But we thought you were a beta!"

Ajax raises an eyebrow "Beta?"

"Y-yes"

Ajax sighs as he makes his scent stronger to prove his point. Upon smelling the scent Yoko finally interferes.

"I think we should go, we've cleared up our doubts"

Pushing the others out of the room Ajax and Y/n laugh as the door closes.

"They were shocked" Y/n says turning in the alpha's embrace.

"Yeah...I think you won, I even kissed your neck and still they didn't join the dots!"

Omega laughs "That means you owe me dinner!"

As fun as it was it was nice that everyone finally knew that Y/n belonged to Ajax and Ajax to Y/n.

-

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Tag list @:

No one :(

(I hope I'm not mistaken, but I think I only have people for Xavier on the wednesday tag list)

#omegaverse #omegaworld #alpha/beta/omega AU #omega x alpha #Alpha x Omega #ajax petropolus #ajax petropolis x reader #Ajax Wednesday #ajax x reader #ajax petropolus x reader #alpha ajax x reader #alpha ajax petropolus x omega reader #alpha ajax petropolus x reader #alpha ajax petropolis #alpha ajax petropolis x omega reader #alpha ajuax petropolis x reader

[revisitingfandoms]

(breaks down door) sup bitch guess what I got! A fic for you!!! It’s a continuation after the last one!

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She… feels better. Even if it’s just a tinsy bit, spilling out their past like that, what she’s been through makes them feel a little better. Of course there are things she hasn’t addressed / admitted yet… like your crushes on not only shadow milk but now apparently golden butter… which is just great. Or even your insecurities about yourself, but those are later problems. Besides they don’t want to drop that on them especially after yesterday, you can tell that their moods have shifted dramatically.

But hey! At least you can be awake for more than 2 hours now, does that mean your bored? Most definitely! But at least both Mystic flour and Shadow milk stay in her room, the others visit but they seem busy with stuff…. She doesn’t want to think about! (Coward seems to echo through her mind but she ignores it, their an expert in denial). Mystic flour is always by their bedside, their silent most of the time but she’s a comforting presence. And hey she gives you snacks so… but theirs also Shadow milk! He’s usually at the desk researching,… researching a way to help them. You feel a bit bad about the whole thing, you won’t voice that thought though.

The chatter between the two finally registers in your head, it seems you were spacing out.

“… hey um. What are you two talking about? Sorry I wasn’t fully listening.” Arcane egg says sheepishly

“I mean else would we be talking about, we’re discussing on how to cure you of course!” Shadow milk says in an intense tone, he both seems impatient to find an answer. But also very, very tired. He should rest you think.

“I think they mean the specifics on what we’re discussing, and the answer to that is… how do we get information from Fortune cookie.” Mystic flour clarified 

Ooh yeah… that dilemma “oh… how has that been going”

Shadow milk scowls in frustration “ Not well, NOT WELL AT ALL!” 

“Keep your voice down! Arcane egg might’ve gotten a bit better but their nowhere near fully recovered” Mystic flour scolds

“…what happened to that speaking to the dead idea? Finally realize it was a terrible idea?” You speak off handedly… ooh they don’t seem to like that. Oh no.

Both seem to just stare disapprovingly at the comment before Shadow milk speaks “ your self demeaning comment aside, don’t do that! No I have tried to contact fortune cookies soul but it hasn’t worked no matter what I've tried, it never works!” he basically growls.

“Are you sure you're doing it correctly? Do you have all the necessary tools, materials?” Mystic questions

“Yes I’ve done everything right! I’m not an ameture Mystic flour!” The two continue to bicker slightly among themselves.

But you start thinking… maybe you should have a look at his research. Both out of boredom but also the want to help your clearly distressed friend. You may have given up on yourself but that doesn’t mean you’ll give up on them. “… do you mind? If I um have a look” you ask softly 

“Sure why not, you’ve been bored haven’t you.” He then walks over to his desk and collects a variety of papers, he then returns to your side gives them to you. “Here you go Sunny, let’s see if you can make sense of this.” He than ruffles your hair… it’s comforting.

The two continue to talk, but you aren’t paying much attention. You begin to scan the notes, their as professional as always. No matter how much of a clown Shadow milk is, he’s always been so smart (unlike you… you push the thought back). For the most part the research seems correct, you can’t find a reason it would work… wait what’s that?

“…what are witches' chains?” You ask.

“From what little that I’ve found they were apparently given to a cookie, a cookie who prayed for the strength to help stop us. And apparently those prayers were answered, I know this because before we were fully sealed chains trapped us.” He seems very annoyed by that fact “why? I don’t think it has anything to do with why my spell won’t work?”

“Curious I suppose, any physical description of the object?”

“Sure here, don’t think it’ll mean much of anything but… I can take what I get Sunny” he gives you a document describing the “witches chains”

…ok so their silver chains, duh. They have intricate patterning of the moon and stars on them. Ok. They held immense power, so much in fact it could be used to temporarily match that of soul jams, interesting, the aura of which is described like the soft streams of moonlight on a calm night…. Wait, you've felt that before. You’ve seen these chains before… but on who, where.

You start to parse through your recent memories, your recent adventures…. It was in the city of wizards! Gingerbrave and their friends were busy trying to find Moonlight cookie! You were trying to help them but you felt a draw, to a place that not only felt like moonlight but… it felt like home! And so you excused yourself and found a cookie! And they felt so, so familiar. Wait… the document said it changed your appearance when you use the chains… and that much power can keep a cookie going for years… centuries even.

Wait!! Wait omg, the timeline matches! And that cookie, Mirror moon cookie is that why…! “!!!!” You jump up suddenly with a sudden burst of energy. Much to the surprise of Shadow and Mystic. Your about to speak but you loose your balance since you haven’t used your legs in a while…

*THUNK* 

… good job dumbass you think. Because your face is now planted on the floor. You just ate shit in front of your friends, how embarrassing.

“Oh my god! Are you okay!” Shadow milk almost yells in worry. Both help you up and back onto the bed “what happened, did you figure something out-“

“I think Fortune cookie is alive!” The look flabbergasted but before they can speak you continue “I think thats why the spell didn’t work! Its because she isn’t dead!”

Shadow milk is stunned into silence so Mystic flour is the one to speak “…why do you think that?” She questioned

And so you begin to explain your theory, about the info on the witches chains, about the mysterious cookie you met. With each word Shadow milk cookie begins to brighten up, it warms your heart. Even Mystic flour seems impressed on your findings!

After your done explaining and out of breath from your sudden energy disappearing, Shadow milk cookie scoops you up into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Is all he repeats, you look over and Mystic flour gives you a soft smile.

…you don’t know what’s gonna happen next… but this, whatever this is…. Makes you feel warm… maybe theirs hope after all? You don’t really believe it, but a part of you is hopeful. No matter how small.

Well… you’ll guess you’ll see.

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what chu think? I hope you enjoy! I also must say you do such a good job on writing for shadow milk cookie when he’s being sincere. That’s how I imagine him around loved ones!

have a good one! Can’t wait to see more!

;dk;lwand;kpankdawd;aml;d

Op you- amazing.

Just- yes.

#shadow milk cookie #cookie run kingdom #cookie run x reader #cookie run oc #mystic flour cookie #Arcane Egg Cookie #Mirror Moon Cookie #My heart- #Thats his apprentice! Shes alive! #just- yes

[olichat-reads]

Imagine | ProHero!Bakugou x Villain!Reader #3

Summary: your sides on the field doesn't waver your loyalties to each other

a/n: i haven't posted any fics in a hot minute so i'll just.. yeah.

🌟

You don't even bother looking up when you heard your front door being unlocked, having gotten the heads up from the distinct way your bestfriend fucking stomps all throughout the hallway before he reached the door to your apartment.

"Oi. I haven't seen you in awhile."

"Mm. I've got a big mission to plan for," you mumbled distractedly, going over the newest tips your informant sent in.

Bakugou gave you a once over before walking over to nudge you aside from your laptop, save the document you were working on and promptly shutting it. "Hey-"

"Ass in the kitchen. Now," he all but demanded you, with an underlying threatening glint in his eyes. How dare he. In your own home too. You scoffed at the absolute gall of this man but begrudgingly shuffled after him anyways.

"You look like shit," He snarked as if your exhaustion was the greatest inconvenience in his life. "Stayed home the past 3 weeks and you didn't have time to look after yourself?"

"Its a big mission, Katsu," you clarified, as you slid into a seat at your little kitchen counter, resting your chin onto the palm your hand, watching your bestfriend squirrel around the kitchen with familiar ease.

"Could've asked me for help," he said, not sparing you a glance as he dug your drawers for forks. You raised an inquiring eyebrow at that.

"Its for work, Katsu."

"And?" The bastard popped a pink mochi- your last pink mochi- left on the defenseless countertop into his mouth, chewing loudly. You felt your eye twitch. How dare.

"My villain work?"

"I am aware," he deadpanned.

You couldn't help but huff fondly at that, taking the box of takeout he offered your direction. You smiled at the sight of your favourite order. He even got you that cream cheese crossoint you loved so much even though he says the price is a crime all on its own. You'll forgive him for the mochi theft. Just this once.

"I'm planning to take down some pretty big names, you know?" You started, snapping your chopsticks to mix your food idly, before raising your gaze to meet his. "Dead or alive."

Red eyes held yours.

"My statement still stands."

You stared at each other for a moment, unwavering, both unwilling to back down from where you stood. Eventually, you conceded first.

"Katsu, you're the number one pro hero in Japan. You can't get caught being associated with a villain. Much less actively help me out with the illegal stuff."

"Who said anything about getting caught? I'm not number one for no reason."

You had to huff a laugh at that. "I doubt the reason is to help a villain though, Ground Zero."

"I'm helping you, dumbass."

You blinked at that, before tilting your head, confused.

"That doesn't change anything? I am a villain." Katsuki rolled his eyes like you were the being so fucking stupid.

"Are you now?"

"Yes? Wh-" you tripped over your own words, apalled at what Bakugou was trying to say. "I am. I'm villain Red. Top 5 most wanted villains in Musutafu. Succeeded in evading three top 10 Pro Hero during the biggest heist in Musutafu in the last decade. Responsible for the serial assasination of multiple big named Pros and political figures. Do I need to go on?"

"Yeah, yeah, no need to read me your entire evil resume-"

"ExcUse mE-"

"It doesn't matter," your bestfriend said with such finality, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made your jaw clicked shut. "You're still that snot-nosed brat I promised to watch her back because her situational awareness is shit."

"First of all. We were 8, Katsu. Secondly, rude. I've gotten way better and you know it."

"You're also the same Y/n that cried herself into a panic attack because you couldn't save that kid, even when it wasn't your fault. The same Y/n who has standards even when it comes to crime and isn't afraid to make it known to the rest of the world, good and bad. You may be gray but I know for a fact your victims aren't as sporadic as you make them seem. You're not the big, bad villain you let the world see. I know that."

You had to huff out a ghost of a laugh at that. Of course the great Ground Zero saw through your facade as a feral assasin with body counts piling up faster than

"Your point?"

"I trust you." with my everything went unsaid, but you heard it all the same. Clear as the day. You couldn't help but falter, any protests or arguments ready to slip of your tongue dissolving into exasperated fondness you had for this stupid blonde in front of you.

"..Thanks, Katsu."

You knew if he ever asked for help for his side of the job, you wouldn't hesitate for a second. It was a risk you're willing to take, every time, if it meant keeping your best friend alive. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this devotion went both ways.

"Ok. Now that we all that gross mushy stuff aside," Bakugou started, making you laugh. "Who are we killing?" And there goes the moment, you sighed, rolling your eyes.

"Katsu, I swear. You need to turn down the condoning crime thing. You're making me nervous."

"Tsk. And to think you were just bragging about being the top 5 wanted villains-"

"I can still make it to top three if I kill you now, you know. So, shut it, Ground Zero," you growled, only to bristle even further at the feral grin that spread over your bestfriend's face.

"There's the big scary villain-"

"I will throw you out the fucking window don't TEMPT me-"

🌟

a/n: i have a bunch of unfinished drafts that i might just post as is and call em drabbles bc CLEARLY. they're not gonna be finished anytime soon :')

#bakugou x reader #oliwrites #bakugou fluff

[edenfenixblogs]

the preface: i understand that, in the long term, my role in ensuring jewish safety as a non-jew is to learn about and push back against antisemitism - that's not very specific, of course, and i am very much committed to doing so. i just want to clarify that i am asking here about the short term.

question: on a day to day basis, do you have any advice on what i can do to make it easier for jews to be and feel safe around me? or in spaces and student orgs i'm present in/part of or even campus as a whole?

so far i've been checking in with the few jewish friends i have, posting about antisemitism where a good chunk of my friends can see, and stuff like complimenting stranger's magen david jewelery. but there's gotta be more, right?

Another wonderful question. Truly.

This will be so much more straightforward to answer: everything you can do, you’re doing already.

The only thing I can think to add is that it could be helpful, if you have the bandwidth, to learn about Jewish history as best you can so Jews don’t have to pipe in first with “well, actually—“ every time a new heinous Thing™️ happens.

Everything we have, everything we are, everything we believe and have been through and treasure—is being twisted into something awful and then used as a weapon against us right now.

The best thing you can do is not allow that to happen in front of you. To not allow Jews to be the only ones saying something about it.

Aside from that, you’re as helpless as the rest of us are right now. We have exactly three tools at our disposal right now:

1. Truth

2. Volume

3. Solidarity

Sorry. I truly wish there was more I could advise. But I just…can’t think of anything. If any Jews want to add something else, please do. But the fact that we are so marginalized and have so little support…is kind of the whole problem.

#leftist antisemitism #antisemitism #Zionism #anti-Zionism #direct action #activism #solidarity #Jewish goyim solidarity