Context: We killed a werewolf, but it bit my dwarven ranger Waerjak Ironblood. After the fight he levelled up and multiclassed to cleric. Decided to head to Moradin’s temple to be cured but passed out after getting inside in the dead of night while the other partymembers headed back to our lodgings. The next morning I had the following conversation with the head priest after waking up in the temple’s back room:
Priest: Ah, Lord Ironblood. Glad to see you’re awake!
Me: Yes, thank you for curing my lycanthropy before it could spread further.
Priest: Your what? I thought you only had a fever!
Me: Oh yeah, it was [local ruling lord’s] doing, he was a werewolf.
Priest: He was what!?
Me: But don’t worry, we killed him.
Priest: You did WHAT!?!
Me: Yeah so anyway, my amulet of Moradin started to glow yesterday and…
What followed was a very confused and flabbergasted priest initiating me to Moradin’s priesthood after I nonchalantly confessed to regicide.
hiiiii ✨ i know i’ve been posting a lot of writing this week, but i hope you don’t mind one more. in my head, this is set five years in the future. maybe this will be a thing? if i can make myself actually follow through on what i’m picturing for it lol
For dinner, Even has made lasagna. It’s probably a new recipe, Isak thinks. Even has been marathoning Iron Chef all the last week, and that always seems to bring out the urge to recipe-hunt in him. It’s not anything Isak is going to complain about.
“Do you like the sauce?” Even says, of course right as Isak is shoveling a steaming forkful of pasta and cheese into his mouth. It burns a little, from the size of the bite and how fast he tries to chew, and he winces even as he nods.
“What’d you put in it this time?” he asks, mouth still half-full.
“A splash of vodka, a little red pepper.”
“Spicy,” Isak says, exaggerated and in English. Even grins. “It’s good, though, really. Really good.”
“It still needs something. I think I might try making the pasta next time.”
“Like. From scratch?”
“Yeah,” Even says, stretching the tail end a bit in a clear how else?
A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where they are much older, graying, with grandkids, that kind of thing. One night, they go out to a restaurant, and their song comes on. The reader makes Spencer get up and dance with her in the middle of the restaurant. The requester said the song choice was up to me, so I decided to go with Have You Ever Been In Love by Celine Dion because I could listen to that shit every damn day. @coveofmemories@hanny-bananny
How had the time flown by so fast? There was no way you were 75 and Spencer was 79. You couldn’t possibly have three grown children and (almost) 8 grandchildren. But you did. And tomorrow you’d have been married for 50 years - the golden anniversary. You’d been lucky enough to live this long and remain in love with the man you married every single day. As a matter of fact, if it were possible, your love for him had only grown over the years.
“There’s no way we’ve been married for 50 years, right?” he laughed, his voice still soothing after all these years. It had grown a little more shaky with age, but his mind was still as sharp as a tack, and he still sounded like the man you’d fallen in love with so many years ago. “We can’t possibly be that old?”
“I’m afraid we are,” you chuckled, linking your arm in his as you walked into the restaurant. “But through it all, we’ve had three beautiful babies and now we almost have 8 beautiful grandbabies.”
“I can’t believe Diana is going to pop again in two weeks.” Diana, your youngest, was 38 years old and just under nine months pregnant with your eighth grandchild, her third and final, according to her. Your two others, Walter Spencer Reid, was 48 years old and had two children of his own - Walter Jr., 12 and Illaria, 10, and your middle child, Alexandra Jennifer, was 43 and had three kids of her own, all boys, Spencer, David and Morgan. Your BAU family reached through many generations of your own.
Diana already had two children, Emma, 8, and Faith, 4. The little one yet to be born was a boy and he would be named after your son-in-law, Michael. So many little ones to love, especially since you’d retired from the Bureau a decade earlier. “It’s insane. But I can’t wait to hold a baby again. You remember what it was like when you first held ours?”
How could he not? Those three days had been some of the greatest of his life. That and the day they were married. After going through so much, he found happiness with one of his best friends and created the life he’d always imagined himself having. Somehow, time had flown by and now they were here, being seated at their favorite restaurant the night before their 50th anniversary. Tomorrow was technically the big day, but the kids and grandkids had planned a special dinner at Walter’s house for your actual anniversary. “I’ll never forget.”
The Italian place around the corner from your old apartment had been your favorite for more than 50 years. It changed hands within the family that owned it, but the menu never changed and you always got the same thing, normally ordering before you were even seated. Chicken Florentine for you and Eggplant Parmigiana for Spencer - every single time. “So what do you think the kids have planned for tomorrow?” you asked.
“Well,” he laughed, “I imagine Walter was in charge of the playlist. Diana was probably responsible for nothing. If she was, then we have to smack Walter and Alexandra on the backs of the head. And Alex is probably cooking dinner…I suspect that chocolate raspberry cake I love for dessert, and dinner…hmmm…”
You hoped it was Alex’s chicken marsala. She was the queen of that recipe. Spencer mentioned the chicken marsala. Probably because he was reading your mind. “I know they were planning the whole thing, but I hope they made a point of calling Morgan, JJ, Emily, Penelope and Luke,” Spencer said. Although they had a family of their own, their team was family too, and they hoped that the remaining members could be there.
“Me too,” you replied. “I think they probably called them.” Just as your food came to the table, you heard a familiar tune float through the restaurant.
Have you ever been in love You could touch the moonlight When your heart’s shooting stars You’re holding heaven in your arms Have you ever been so in love
A small smile crept its way onto both your faces. It was the song you’d chosen for your first dance. “Did you tell them?” Spencer asked. But you hadn’t. It was just an amazing coincidence.
To Spencer’s surprise, you stood up and held your hand out for him. When you were younger, he would’ve shied away from such public displays of affection, but at this age, neither of you cared what anyone thought anymore. “Dance with me,” you whispered. As you looked into those light brown eyes, you nearly started to cry.
Have you ever walked on air Ever felt like you were dreamin’ When you never thought it could But it really feels that good Have you ever been so in love
Spencer wrapped his arms around your waist, which had expanded a bit do to age and babies, while you snaked your hands around his neck, playfully tangling your fingers in his hair, which was now more gray than brown. “I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else,” you whispered in his ear. “To many more, okay?” Both of you smiled from ear to ear as some other diners looked on. A young couple, probably about the same age you and Spencer were when you started dating, looked on in awe.
“Is this your wedding song?” she asked, her eyes wide with joy. You nodded as Spencer gently twirled you around. Now the entire restaurant was watching.
Have you ever said a prayer And found that it was answered All my hope has been restored And I ain’t looking anymore Have you ever been so in love, have you
“Married for 50 years tomorrow, sweetheart. How long have you been with your boyfriend?” you wondered. She told you they’d been dating for less than a year.
“You should ask her to marry you,” Spencer said, much to the surprise of the boyfriend. “You look at her the same way I look at her,” he smiled. “When you find it, don’t let go.”
The time I spent Waiting for something that was heaven-sent When you find it, don’t let go, I know
As the song came to a close, Spencer dipped you as much as his aging body would allow and brought you back up for a kiss as the restaurant patrons cheered and clapped. When you sat down, you made a point of turning back toward the young couple. “My genius husband here is right of course,” you laughed, reaching across the table and placing your hand over his. “You remind me of us. I know love when I see it.”
me: hunk does not have autonomy as a fictional character and therefore by making him have traits such as being gluttonous paints the entire demographic he represents as gluttonous, or undesirable, especially when he is the only main character representing fat people. and because he has no control over this it is not critical of him but critical of the writers for them to give him such characteristics.
me also: *gently placing my hand on hunk’s bicep* hunk is real and he is my boyfriend and he can do what he wants