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myhockeyworld87 · 3 years

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What Happens in Vegas...Doesn’t Always Stay There - Jacob Markstrom - Part 1

Word Count: 4,885

POV: Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Language, Smut, Drinking (all the good stuff)

Notes: Well here it is the new fic that’s been in my head. I tossed around a couple different guys for this, but some of you suggested Marky and well looks like it stuck. Trying to do this a little different and keep this in an all read POV, so we shall see how that works. I don’t see this being super long maybe between 5 or 6 parts. Hope you guys enjoy. As always feedback is welcome. Happy Reading!

They say that New York is the city that never sleeps but whoever 'they' is, well, they got it wrong. It has to be Vegas. Lights are always flashing whether you were indoors or out, the jangly sound of slot machines can be heard at all hours and the seven deadly sins seem to be on full display twenty-four hours a day. It's no wonder their tagline for years was 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.' If only that were true.

You wish you could blame someone else but you can't. Vegas was all your idea. As maid of honor, it fell to you to plan your best friend's bachelorette party, and in your mind, there was only one spot, Vegas. Now, you were second-guessing your choice as your head was pounding like there were a thousand drummers who decided to perform at the Super Bowl halftime show, only in your brain. There was only one thought that made it through the marching band playing in your head. What the hell happened last night?

Maybe you should start off small, like where were you first, considering that the little drummer boy was now doing backflips in your head. You were definitely in bed, which was evident as you could feel the mattress underneath you. You could also feel the duvet comforter covering your body, but there was something else. Something a bit heavier, almost as if a weighted blanket was covering your stomach and your breast, but it wasn't that. It was an arm slung across your midsection and a very large hand cupping your one boob. God, you hoped it was still attached to a body. You should really take a peek. It would be the only decent thing to do.

As you gradually lifted one eyelid open, the first thing you noticed was that you were not in your hotel room, as the wall looked completely different. No reason to panic, you told yourself. Everything would come back to you as soon as this god blessed pounding ceased. Peering the other eye open, you got back to business at seeing if there was a body attached to the arm currently trapping you to the bed. Carefully, you turned your head to the side to see a very large and very naked man firmly attached to the aforementioned arm. He was gorgeous as he lay there sleeping ever so peacefully. You drank in his features, kind of like you downed drink after drink last night. His brown hair had this golden hue to it that made your fingers want to reach out and touch it, though you refrained. Then there was the beard covering his face, not too much and not too little, and now that you were thinking about it; you definitely felt some of that beard burn on your thighs. If you could only remember last night. The only logical thing to do was to go back to the start of this, back to a time when you were sober.

It started months ago when your best friend Kennedy got engaged. You honestly didn't see it coming that fast. She'd only been dating Ryan for a little less than a year, but he asked and she said yes, and when she asked you to be her maid of honor you screamed and laughed and cried, and told her you couldn't wait to plan her bachelorette party. Everyone knew the bridal shower was only for boring stuffy old aunts so that they could buy her the latest air fryer or new dish pattern. The bachelorette party was where all the fun was, and what better place to have it than Las Vegas.

Of course, everyone agreed with you. The only wrench in the plan was that Kennedy decided to up her wedding date and make it a nine-month engagement. That barely left time to find a dress let alone plan the most outrageous bachelorette party of the century. You would've said decade but twenty-twenty was fastly approaching. Thankfully, you had connections. Night one was more sedate since you all were just arriving at the MGM hotel at different times; eleven of you in total when Ryan's sister decided to join at the last minute. You booked a private room at Lago in the Bellagio for all of you to enjoy.

It was the second night, that was the piece de resistance. A limo picked you all up and took you over to Excalibur to see the legendary Australian group, Thunder from Down Under. I mean what was Vegas without seeing a male stripper or two. The next day, a private bungalow was waiting for you at Wet Republic in the MGM Hotel. One would've thought the night watching men strip naked would've been your undoing but apparently, it all started poolside.

"I seriously can't believe he pulled you up on stage and proceeded to dry hump you up there," Kelsey rehashed.

"Really, Kels?" Kennedy said downing another mimosa. "How could you not see that happening? (Y/N) has known Nate for a couple years. I mean he did get us front row tickets." This was all true. Nate, the emcee for Thunder from Down Under and you were friends, had been since your firm had done their calendar shoot two years ago. He had generously given you prime seating to the show that night and also set you up with a few other perks for the trip. "The only thing I'm surprised at, is that this one," she bumped you with her hip, spilling both hers and your mimosas. "Didn't end up going home with him last night."

"Oh my god, Kenny you did not just say that." She may be the bride and your best friend but really, she was pushing the line.

"Come on, it's not like it hasn't happened before."

At least four pairs of eyes turned towards you, Ryan's sister Gretchen being one of them. "Ok, admittedly, I slept with him, once." Both Kennedy and Kelsey gave you that look. "Ok, maybe it was twice, but he has a girlfriend now, and we are just friends."

"I'll give you that," Jade spoke up in your defense and suddenly she was going to earn the title of new best friend, not that the lines weren't blurred in your little group as you were all sort of best friends. "But what about Edward, the one with the turtle tattoo on his hip."

"You were so looking at more than his hip." Eva teased while Jade simply hid behind her champagne glass. "But yeah (Y/N), he was totally hitting on you."

"He was not."

"Oh, he was," Kennedy added her two cents. "And as the bride I take offense, they should've been hitting on me."

"Wait, why would they hit on you?" Jade sputtered. "You're taken bitch." Of course, bitch was said in the most loving way.

"I'm not dead."

"No, but I'm sure my brother wouldn't appreciate it." Leave it to Gretchen to be the mood killer. "I think I'm going to go take a nap. I'll meet you at the pool later."

She headed out the door, and honestly, you were ecstatic about it, for she was too judgmental for your liking. "Wait, Gretch, that's not what I meant."

"Leave her go, maybe a nap would do her good." They were Jade's words but your sentiments. "Now back to why (Y/N) did not take that beautiful man up on his offer last night."

"There was no offer," you insisted.

"Come on (Y/N), there was an offer. There's always an offer. Remember when you were doing promo for that Batman flick." You tried to shut Kennedy up with a death glare, but she continued to prattle on. "We all know you ended up doing the nasty with Superman."

"WHAT?!?!" Yeah, that definitely came out of the other nine people's mouths in the room.

"Thanks, Ken. No one knew that but you."

"Oops, my bad." She had the grace to at least be embarrassed about the whole thing.

"You mean you slept with that guy, the British one, tall, all muscular, extremely good looking. Damn it what's his name." You could see Eva wracking her brain for his name and you just didn't want to go there.

"Hen…"

"Yes, him," you admitted, stopping Jade before she could finish his name. "Can we please change the subject?"

"Why, when we are all living vicariously through you," Kelsey added. "Especially poor Kennedy, who is now committed to spending the rest of her life with one man."

"Geez, you make it sound like a death sentence. I love Ryan and I'm perfectly fine spending the rest of my days with him."

You had to suppress an eye roll. Not because you didn't think that Ryan and Kennedy weren't in love. If you were being honest, you just thought they were rushing things a bit. The problem was telling your best friend that; you tried in the past and never succeeded. "We know you're in love Kenny." And then because you couldn't stop yourself, you added. "It's just are you sure you want to be tied down so young? We still have our whole life to live."

"Jesus, (Y/N). We all know you're not ready for marriage and what comes with it, but we can't all be you with your fancy job in LA, meeting celebrities all the time. Some of us have real lives and want to settle down and have a family."

"Kenny, that's not what I meant." The last thing you wanted to do was argue with her at her bachelorette party. "I only want you to be happy."

"You have a funny way of showing it." The air in the room took on a chill and not from the air conditioning. If you didn't do something soon this party was going to go downhill.

"Oh, would you look at the time," Jade chimed in. "We should probably be heading down to the pool." Everyone grabbed their stuff, Kennedy giving you the cold shoulder as you made your way out of the hotel suite. Jade came up and wrapped an arm around you. "She'll be fine. She's just on edge after the whole Gretchen thing. We'll give her a few shots and you two will be good as new."

"I hope so." Unfortunately, things weren't fine. Kennedy seemed to avoid you and your attempt to make things right, even after a few shots. That didn't stop you from taking a few more. You had a strict one drink to one water rule, that you threw out the door today. Downing shots like it was your job. It was probably an hour later when you were in one of the private pools, with a few of the girls that a large group of very attractive men walked in. They were definitely different from Nate and the guys from Thunder, and at first, you thought it was some fraternity get together with how young some of them looked, but at second glance there were some gentlemen that were your age or older.

"They've gotta be baseball players," Eva whispered over after they took up residence in the three bungalows next to you.

"Nah, none of them have a dad bod." Jade was right, they were too fit to be in the MLB. You'd been around enough major leaguers to know while some were incredibly in shape, some were not. That didn't seem to be the case with this group.

"I'm gonna rule out NFL as well," you told the girls. "None of these guys look like they're an offensive guard. Those guys are huge." You noticed a few of them staring at the six of you that were in the smaller pool reserved only for the bungalows. Grabbing another shot, this had to be your fourth in just sixty minutes, you downed the drink really starting to feel its effects.

"Looks like we may just find out here," Jade said, nodding to let you know some of the guys were headed your way.

"Ladies, care if we join you?" One of the men asked, you had to admit he was extremely handsome but also gave off an air that he had more than a few notches in his bedpost.

A couple of the girls nodded, but when no one said anything, you found yourself saying, "Come on in."

"So, what brings you to Vegas?" This from a different guy, who had quite a number of tattoos covering his arms, and you had to admit that the ink just made him more attractive, that and his height. He was well over six feet tall and you didn't mind looking up to see his face as he took the seat next to you.

"Bachelorette party," Jade blurted out and you saw a few eyebrows raise.

"Tell me you're not the bride?" His breath was warm or maybe it was the sun, either way, you definitely felt a warmth in your belly that wasn't there moments ago.

"I am definitely not the bride." Shit that sounded desperate. "Though I am the maid of honor, at least I hope I still am." You looked inside the bungalow to see Kennedy in deep conversation with Gretchen.

"Hmm, sounds like there's a story there. Care to tell me? I'm Jacob by the way, though the guys call me Marky."

He held out his hand, the one that didn't have a beer in it, and you took it. "(Y/N), and I'll tell you though it's rather dull, on one condition." He quirked a brow at you. "You tell me what sport you play."

He chuckled. "What makes you think I play a sport? Maybe I'm an investment banker."

"Well, first there's your accent, though I suppose you could pull off investment banker with that. Second, you are all…how shall I say this…physically fit. A quality most athletes have and considering the number of you; I doubt this is some kind of investment banker convention."

"Ok, I'll give you that, though we could be bodybuilders or…" the lights on the billboard on the strip changed to a Thunder From Down Under ad and you saw a light bulb in his head go off. "Or male strippers." Shit, you almost spit your drink out on that one. "What, too much a stretch? Maybe it's your lucky day." He started to sway his hips in the pool, one of his friends joining him while you and Jade tried to contain your laughter.

"Nah, it's already been (Y/N)'s lucky day with them. She knows them all rather intimately."

"Jade!" you yelled at your friend, or ex-friend, though you weren't in a position to be losing anymore at the moment.

"Oops." She at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Alcohol made everyone do some crazy things and Jade was no exception to the rule.

"Intimately huh?" Jacob asked as you splashed water on Jade causing her to shriek and hide behind Jacob's friend who you learned was someone named Erik. "Have I lost the competition before it even starts?"

"There's no competition."

"So, you're single then?"

"Yes, though you still haven't answered my question." As soon as Jacob heard you say yes, he slid a little closer to you.

"What was that question again?" He said with laughter in his eyes and before you could get annoyed with him, though you doubted that would happen, he added. "I remember, just giving you a hard time. Anyhow, we play hockey."

"Oh, nice. Like professional level? Or are there minors in that sport?" You really weren't one hundred percent sure. You'd taken in a game here and there but not really paid any particular attention to it.

"We're in the NHL, playing for Vancouver. Just came out to do a little team bonding before the season starts. So, are we going to talk about this intimate encounter or why you think your maid of honor duties are getting revoked?"

"I think I need another drink to talk about either of them."

Jacob flagged down one of the personal waitresses for the area, requesting a couple of shots and drinks for you both, and you had to admit you liked the way he worked. "Now that that's taken care of…"

You blew out a frustrated breath, more with yourself than anything else. "I said something stupid right before we came down here." He kept silent, his eyes totally focused on you and what you were saying. A refreshing change from some of the men you spoke to. "I just think she's rushing into things. They've only known each other a year and we are too young to get married. She's only twenty-five, we have our whole lives ahead of us. You know?" He simply nodded his agreement before you continued. "I want to see the world, go places, and do things before I'm strapped down to one man forever. Not to mention being tied down with kids. How can Kenny not want that too?"

"I totally agree. I've gotten to see a lot with hockey but there's no way I want to be tied down just yet."

"Exactly, you totally get me." Your drinks arrived then and Jacob took one shot and handed it to you before taking the other.

"Well, I say we toast to being young and free with no commitments."

"I'll drink to that." He clinked his glass to yours and the two of you downed the drinks. It seemed like the DJ noticed the change in your mood, as the music got louder and the energy seemed to kick up a notch. You got up and started to dance in the pool; the other girls joining in. It wasn't long before you felt Jacob behind you. His hips grinding into your backside, as his large hands encircled your waist.

Drinks flowed freely the entire day, and if you were being honest, you couldn't remember a time you'd been that drunk before the sun had even set. You were laughing and dancing, and quite literally having the time of your life; your maid of honor duties completely forgotten at this point. Gretchen came up to you at some point and told you that she, Kennedy, and Kelsey were heading up and would catch up with the rest of you later. Everyone else was having too much fun with the Canucks to want to leave.

A few more drinks and an hour later, the party was winding down. Most of your friends had headed up to their room to pass out, only a few stayed behind. Jacob had somehow maneuvered you into one of the bungalows that was empty. You shared a few kisses here and there out in the pool area, but now that you were out of view of prying eyes things were getting a bit more heated. Jacob's hands were on your ass, as his tongue was down your throat; not that yours wasn't doing the same thing to him. He moaned into your mouth, the sound going straight to your core. Your bikini bottom was no longer wet from the water of the pool, but the press of Jacob's cock against it.

You both stumbled back, landing down on the large daybed in the bungalow, though somehow Jacob's reflexes softened your fall. His hands went straight to your breasts, kneading the flesh there. He was just about to untie the string of your bikini top when someone walked in. "Jesus, Marky! Take it upstairs would you!" You squinted trying to make out who it was but at this point not remembering anyone's name besides the man that was on top of you.

"Oh, shit…thought I was in my room." It was funny, you thought the same thing. "Sorry, Jay."

"His name is Jay? Like the letter?" you mumbled as Jacob helped you off the couch. "What comes after J?" Fuck you were drunk and when you were drunk you tended to ramble. You once actually talked to a damn parking meter because you thought it was a person, and you were pretty sure you could talk to one now if there was one around.

"Doesn't matter, babe," Jacob said kissing your lips. "Wanna head up to my room?"

You had to go up on your tiptoes to loop your arms around his neck. "Yes, I do." He planted a kiss on your lips then cupped your ass cheeks causing you to jump a bit.

"Let's go," he finally said breaking the kiss. You had enough sense to grab your things and tell your friends not to worry that you'd catch up with them tomorrow. They all winked and nodded or at least that's what it looked like in your head because that's when things started to get hazy. You had vague recollections of making your way through the casino, stopping here and there. Part of you thought that the two of you even stopped to play roulette only so you could have another drink.

You did remember tumbling through the door of Jacob's suite. His lips were on yours and neither of you were paying attention as he unlocked it. Thankfully his quick reflexes caught you; apparently, even when drunk, goalies couldn't lose some of those natural instincts.

His hands, you remember them being everywhere on your body, and how incredible they made you feel. His calloused touch lit a fire inside you, that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He rid you of your white swim cover-up easily, flinging the garment across the room, and then his lips were all over your body. It was easy to recall the way he made you feel, as he softly bit down on your nipple through the fabric of your bikini. You'd craved this all afternoon. It had been a couple months since you'd been with a man and Jacob was everything you'd been waiting for.

You ripped off his shirt. Your hands immediately going to his chest and roaming down his tattooed arms. He was all muscle, hard and lean everywhere, but when you slid your hand down inside his swim trunks to his cock; oh, it was hard all right, but lean was not a word you'd used to describe it. You were barely able to wrap your fingers around his girth, and as you stroked him, you realized God had not only blessed him with height but length as well. The man was made to star in a porno, you thought as you shoved his trunks down.

Somehow, during that time Jacob had managed to get your bikini top off, though you supposed with its simple string ties it wasn't a hard feat to manage. You dropped to your knees, licking your lips before taking your tongue and swirling it around the head of Jacob's cock. "Det kanns sa bra min vackra prinsessa (that feels so good my beautiful princess)." Jacob's mumblings had you pulling back and looking up at him. "Don't stop, baby." This time you knew what he said as you slowly sucked him into your mouth. There was no way that you could take him all in, so you pumped the rest of him with your fist. You hollowed out your cheeks as you sucked him inside, using every trick in the book you knew. Jacob muttered more in Swedish to you, things you had no clue as to what they meant, but judging by his reaction they were things he was enjoying very much. He threaded his hands through your hair, pulling it back so you could look up at him with big doe eyes. "Jesus," he swore, his hips bucking into your mouth at the sight of you with his cock in it, looking like that. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out shouting," Tillrackligt, enough. I think you're trying to kill me, princess."

There was something about the way he called you princess. It wasn't anything you'd been called before and most times you'd preferred babe or baby, but the way the word rolled off his tongue did things to your insides.

Jacob helped you off the ground, his lips ghosting over yours before picking you up and tossing you onto the bed. His large form handled you easily, arranging your body just the way he wanted to before slipping off your bikini bottoms. His large hands worked their way from your ankles to your calves, all the way up to your thighs; spreading your legs as he went. "So beautiful." He traced his fingers lightly over your pussy lips and you quivered in anticipation of what was to come. One long finger slid between your folds all the way up to your clit, once, then twice, and then once again. "So wet, prinsessa, and all because of me."

"Mmm, yes, Jacob." He dipped that same finger inside you then. The digit slipping in easily and so he added another. Then his mouth was there. Tongue flicking over your clit in a way that made you squirm with pleasure. "Oh yes," you moaned, caught up in the pleasure that was coursing through your veins. "Just like that." Your hips lifted up on their own accord, seeking more of what this giant of a man was doing to you. Jacob never let up, making a come-hither motion with his fingers and you found yourself unraveling around him; legs shaking, breath panting as your orgasm overtook you.

“So pretty when you cum, prinsessa.” He pulled his fingers from your pussy then brought them to your lips. You opened without any thought, licking your juices off of them. Before you could get them clean, Jacob’s mouth joined yours, kissing you while you sucked on his index and middle fingers. Your tongues mingled together, as Jacob positioned himself between your thighs. The head of his cock nudged between your folds and you sighed into his mouth at just that first touch. Slowly, he filled your pussy, until he bottomed out. Only then did he release your lips. “Fuck you feel so good.”

Jacob loved the feel of you clenching around him. It felt like he was in heaven. Part of him didn’t even want to move that’s how good your body felt, but then you shifted your hips up just a hair bit and he had to suck in a breath at the pleasure that went straight to his groin for fear he would spend inside you right then and there. He willed his body under control and only then started to move.

With every snap of Jacob’s hips, a wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails raked down his back, probably leaving marks, but it seemed to only spur him on. “Yes, Prinsessa,” he moaned out, as you bent your knees allowing him to go deeper. You moaned as he hit that treasured spot that had you seeing stars. “You like that?” Another moan was his answer, as he continued to fuck you.

That peculiar feeling started to wash over you. Your pussy fluttering around Jacob’s cock as the orgasm finally broke. Back arching, legs trembling, you were moaning out his name as the climax seemed to continue, as Jacob drove wildly into you. As you came down off your high, Jacob found his. With a few erratic thrusts, he was spending deep inside you with a loud groan. He slumped forward, his sweety forehead resting on yours. “Det dar var otroligt.” You looked at him curiously, your brain not working at all but also knowing he was speaking something in Swedish to you. He smiled, a glorious one that you found yourself getting lost in and you found yourself returning it. “I said that was amazing.”

“Yes, it was,” you breathed out. Jacob rolled you both onto your sides, tucking you into his. It wasn’t long before both of you were passing out.

Now here you were, finally putting most of the pieces together from last night. You looked back over at the sleeping man, who had given you such pleasure even in your inebriated state. He really was gorgeous. You honestly wouldn’t mind going for round two, after a couple of Tylenol, of course. Speaking of which you needed to get up and see if you had any in your bag. If only you could move him without waking him. You carefully took your right arm and went to move his left which was slung across you, but then something caught your eye. There on his ring finger was a ring. Oh, it wasn’t just any ring, it was a wedding ring! You knew he didn’t have it on when you were in the pool. You were not the type of woman to go hitting on a married man, let alone sleep with him.

You pulled your other arm out from underneath him, fully intending to grab your stuff and get the hell out of there when you noticed a bright and shiny diamond on your ring finger. There was also a matching wedding band. Then like a tsunami hitting the beach of a small island a memory came flooding back to you of the two of you entering the hotel chapel. This man wasn’t married to just anyone, he was married to you!

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notquitecanon · 4 years

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Take Care of Yourself // Criminal Minds/ Marvel Crossover pt. 6

TW: drug use (prescribed medication), borders on depression, self-blame, talks about Spencer’s addiction

A/Ns: I’d like to preface this with the fact i’ve never taken prescription narcotics so if I’m way off base, I apologize. Secondly, this is mostly just a filler bit to showcase how I felt different characters would try to comfort a friend and also set up for the next part.

I’m sorry it took so long to get this out, I wrote and rewrote it and I still don’t like it.

and sorry it is so long!

Other parts here

_____________

You closed your door behind you, not bothering to flip the lock but sighing as you dropped your go-bag off your shoulder. It had been three days since Emily died, and you had just gotten back from her funeral- the clock on your wall read a little past 4 pm. (Garcia was nice enough to let you stay in her Quantico apartment until after the service.) Dropping your keys on your entry table, you furrowed your eyebrows- all your mail was there and sorted, no doubt by Steve. A wave of guilt passed through you, you hadn’t even texted him since before that night. Not that you’d really spoken to anyone, most of the team was still processing- you were stilling mad at yourself.

The funeral had been a good service, elegant and honoring. Rossi, Hotch, Morgan, Spencer carried the casket, along with two of her older friends. Her mother flew in, tearfully thanking the team for trying so hard. Somehow that hurt even more than her blaming the team for her death. The entire team placed red roses on top of the polished coffin. The pastor said pretty words and prayed over the gathering. Then it was over, and the casket was lowered. Garcia, JJ, and Spencer hugged you as you left, while Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan chose simply to nod to you.

Natasha had been following the case’s progress, and called you- you didn’t pick up, instead of listening to her voicemail of condolences. She sounded worried, and you appreciated the sentiment. You passed by your desk to plug up your laptop, stopping to look at the picture by your lamp- a team picture, taken after a case that ended better.

The kid was saved, with no injuries, and the unsub had undeniable evidence against him. The whole team was still wearing their vests, smiling proudly at each other, even Hotch- the photo had been snapped by the local newspaper and Garcia had them printed and framed as Christmas gifts to the team. You and Emily were standing beside each other, Morgan had just clapped her on the back- you smiled remembering how he was teasing her about getting home for her hot date that weekend. Spencer was listing off some facts about the correlation between abductions and first dates, making a wild gesture with his hands while Rossi and Hotch shared a proud look behind him. That had been a good day.

You opened your computer, your lock screen held another memory: cooking lessons with Rossi. It was a candid shot caught by accident. You had handed Reid (who had no idea what he was doing) your phone to take a picture of the girls together. You thought he caught the nice picture of all of you smiling- instead, you got a picture of Garcia throwing plain pasta at your face while Prentiss, caught off guard, snorted laughter into her glass of wine, JJ was beside Garcia hands covering her mouth as she watched the events unfold. Spencer clicked the button too late, but it was your favorite picture. Even the guys in the background looked happy- except for Rossi. Hotch was standing by Rossi, who had just noticed what was happened you remembered him scolding “Italians don’t throw their pasta! Especially that close to my WHITE furniture!” Morgan was barely in the shot but was laughing as the pasta hit your hair.

Everywhere you looked there were memories of her. The blanket she got you for your birthday that you draped over the back of your couch, pictures of the trip to Atlantic City on one of her Gambling weekends, the soap she left in the shower she left the last time she crashed at your place, her favorite wine in your fridge… Sometimes you didn’t notice how much someone was apart of your life until they were gone.

You sniffed, the familiar sting coming back to your eyes, salty tears welling up as you gently dabbed at your face as not to irritate the bruises around your right eye. You finally were able to take the bandages off before the funeral, but they were still tender, purple and yellow dying your face like a bad tattoo and the skin was still split (fortunately, any other bruises or cuts could be hidden by your clothes… mostly).

Fingers knotting into that blanket, you took several deep breaths trying not to breakdown again. A few stray tears escaped, sliding down your cheek and darkening the baby blue material as you half-choked back a sob- the sound was sharp, high pitched, and sad. You watched as the mascara laden tears diffused into a black stain on the blanket, and that pushed you over the edge.

Your knees trembled as you sobbed, the ache of losing a friend was overwhelming but the anger you felt was a close match. But at the moment there was nothing to hit, kick, or shoot so both anger and sadness expressed themselves in pained cries and angry sobs. Normally, you were hard to sneak up on, but your guard was down so you didn’t even hear the doorknob jiggle.

“(Y/N)?”

You startled at the voice, but automatically realized it was Steve. Turning away, you carelessly wiped at the black smears under your eyes and winced when you applied even the tiniest pressure on the bruised and split skin.

“I should have knocked, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be…” He trailed off, blue eyes training in on the inky bruises peeking from your collar and then to the way you were favoring one leg, “(Y/N), what’s wrong? You’re hurt.”

You sniffed, chest shuddering as you tried to get your breathing under control. In your peripheral, you could see Steve take a step towards you, his hand twitched like he wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how. Steve had seem a grand total of four women cry: his mother when his father died, Bucky’s mom and sisters when he was drafted, and Peggy when he crashed the plane. Well, heard that last one. He wouldn’t consider himself an expert in comforting crying women.

“I’m fine, Steve.” You croaked, still not completely facing him. He sighed as if he could smell the bullshit in your words. Hoping it would satisfy him, you turned to look him in the eyes, attempting to reassure him, “Really, I’m ok.”

Sometimes, you wished you weren’t so good at reading boy language, right now you wish Steve would at least try to hide his expressions. Your keen eyes watched as his raked over the black eye, split skin, and discoloration along your jaw.

“You look like hell.” He stated softly, shocked expression evening out into quiet worry. You wished your unladylike snort sounded less bitter.

“There’s that famous vintage charm.” You sarcastically chuckled, trying to hold your head up as you smoothed out the blanket. Steve winced at the sharp wit, apologizing quietly before rephrasing.

“What happened?” He asked, but you just looked away- allowing the two of you to stand in a heavy silence (paired with your funeral black attire) telling him a good bit about what happened to your friend, “I’m sorry, is there anything I can do for you?”

You shook your head, finding the passing clouds outside your window, always amazing how even the worst days can be sunny.

“Have you eaten?” He asked quietly, again you shook your head. Meeting his eyes again, you watched as he nodded, affirming his plan in his mind before speaking it aloud, “Ok, you take a shower and put on something comfortable, I’ll pick something up from that takeout place you like. We’ll eat and then you can get some rest.”

The set of his jaw told you that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and you were too tired to argue so you just nodded. He almost seemed relieved when you agreed, happy you were letting him help.

“I’ll be back in a while.”

____________

When he got back, you were toweling off your hair on the couch staring aimlessly at the wall. The pajama shorts and tank top gave him a full scope of your injuries: hand-shaped bruises on your arms, split knuckles, the brace on one of your knees, and bruises in a range of colors all over your legs. If you were looking at him, you would have noticed his tell-tale sign of worry/anger: the combination of a set jaw, furrowed brows, and the squaring of his shoulders. As he set down the brown paper bag of takeout, he took notice of the unopened pharmacy bag labeled with your name and hydrocodone.

“You might not be hungry, but you should eat something. The nice old lady at the counter noticed your usual order and sent some sort of family recipe soup. Told me to tell you to feel better… I think… she wasn’t speaking a lot of English.” The soldier rambled, breathing a sigh of relief when you cracked the smallest smile as you got up and shuffled towards your kitchen table.

Steve retrieved plates and silverware from your cabinets and set them down in front of you before taking the seat across from you. It was almost awkward the way he watched you scoop food onto your plate as if you were going to wither away if he took his eyes off you.

Finally, with you unenthusiastically picking at the stirfry he loaded up his own plate and the two of you ate in silence. Until he nudged the white pharmacy sack towards you. Fork stabbing a piece of broccoli, you raised your eyes to him.

“You should take your medicine. You’ll feel better.” Steve stated. You shook your head.

“I’m not big on narcotics.” You shrugged, “Don’t like how they make me feel.”

“Are you saying they can make you feel worse than you obviously do right now?” He asked sarcastically, and you actually laughed- even if it was a bit of a bitter, dry chuckle.

“Fair point, Rogers.” You conceded, ripping into the packaging and then into the pill bottle-. Setting the powdery white pill next to your drink, you continued, “I’ll take this when I’m done eating, don’t wanna fall sleep in my lo mein.”

Steve smiled, happy that you were at least talking now, and that you were kind of joking. “You want to talk about how you got this beat up?”

You tensed, and began to shake your head- but you caught how he deflated and felt a pang of guilt, “I, uh, got grazed by a sniper first.”

You began tapping the bandage you had rewrapped on your bicep before continuing, “The rest of these were from when we infiltrated Doyle’s warehouse. I told Derek to go ahead and find Emily while I handled Doyle’s henchman. Turns out, I may have bitten off more than I could handle.”

“More than you could.. what do you mean?” His eyebrows furrowed in a somehow scolding confusion. Ducking your head in guilt, you muttered.

“I took on 8 IRA members by myself so Derek could go find…” You cut yourself off, not saying her name. Instead, you watched Steve’s eyes widen as he opened his mouth to scold you before stopping himself.

Instead of the long lecture he had on the tip of his tongue, he settled for a quiet, “That was extremely reckless, don’t do that again."

"Yes sir,” you nodded, taking one last bite of the Chinese food before washing it down with your drink. Gathering the trash, you began to get up to throw things away but Steve beat you to it. Instead, he tossed you a bottle of water and pointed at the white pill still sitting across from you. With a sigh you nodded, placing the bitter pill on your tongue before taking a large swig of water.

Knowing it wouldn’t take long before the drugs kicked in, you swallowed another gulp of water before shuffling to the couch. As you predicted, time seemed to slow down once they kicked in. In about thirty minutes, that little white pill had numbed the sharp pains and throbbing aches throughout your body, replacing them with drowsiness and a pleasant feeling in the back of your head.

You were nodding in and out of sleep when you were woken up to Steve pulling that same baby blue blanket over you, muttering out a quiet and slurred, “ThanksssssTeve.”

“You can go back to sleep now.” He assured you, but was apparently still worried, even your hazy mind could see that as he perched himself on the armchair facing you. You giggled breathily, lidded eyes swaying away from him and settling on yet another picture on the team that sat on your coffee table. Unlike the others, this was a posed shot. The whole team was dressed nicely, standing in front of the restaurant where they had just celebrated Spencer’s 26th birthday. Everyone was smiling, even Hotch.

Steve followed your line of sight, moving closer so he could see the photograph, “That’s a nice picture, when was this taken?"

Pulling out of your memories, you answered slowly, "Couple of years ago, celebrating Spence’s 26th birthday. That’s the whole team, happy.”

The blonde glanced at you smiling softly, and prodded you to continue, hoping talking about happy memories might lull you into a deeper sleep. Sliding to the floor, his back pressed against the base of the couch by your feet, he pressed gently, “Tell me about them?"

You hummed in agreement, one finger fighting through the blanket to point to the farthest right, "That’s Derek Morgan, he’s from Chicago. He’s like an older brother to me. He has a good heart, he’s brave and determined. He’s also hilarious and a total player, and likes to tease Spencer.”

Though your words were slurred, Steve still listened, nodding along as you point to the next person, “Beside him is Garcia, sorry Penelope. She’s our computer analyst so she rarely sees field action. Garcia is honestly the sweetest person alive, she likes to flirt with Derek but he’s more of a game for them than anything serious. She has this crazy fashion sense that works for her…"

You trailed off with a smile before pointing to the next person, "That’s Rossi, he partially invented profiling. ‘was in the FBI in the 80’s but quit to become a writer, but came back. He’s basically the dad of the group. Very sarcastic, very Italian. Has been married 3 times.”

Steve quietly chuckled as your train of thought devolved, going from relevant information to random facts as your mind became hazier.

“Next is,” you paused for a yawn, “oh. me. You know me. Then there’s Spencer- sorry, Dr. Reid. He’s the youngest, but also had 4 P.hd’s at 23. He might have gotten another one, who knows at this point. He’s a super-genius, can read something like 20,000 words per minute, which is completely excessive. But he’s also just super awkward and sweet- he writes letters to his mom every day.”

Steve watched as you stopped looking at the picture, “Let’s see, then there’s JJ, who’s your classic mom friend. She had to quit the FBI, but now she’s working at the pentagon. She’s so nice, but also a badass. And she has the cutest kid, Henry. Spencer and Penelope are his godparents.”

“Then, there’s Hotch who’s pretty much our boss. Sometimes I think he’s definitely not human- the man can turn off his emotions. He’s actually part of the reason I’m at SHIELD. But he’s a good man, he always makes the right calls and keeps us in line. He’s a good leader and he’s got a son named Jack- the one I babysit every now and then?”

Steve watched as you slipped your eyes closed, “And then there was Emily. Crazy smart, an amazing profiler, total badass, hilarious. Honestly, one of the best friends you could ask for. She always had my back, and this cat named Sergio- I wonder what’s going to happen to him.”

You went quiet for a while, causing Steve to think you’d finally fallen asleep, but instead, you were just staring at the ceiling, “I went to her funeral today, Steve. The mission failed, we didn’t save her.”

“(Y/N), yo-” He started softly, not wanting you to get worked up, but you cut him off.

“We got there too late, and I let Doyle get away. I had the shot and I didn’t take it.” You admitted in a shameful whisper, eyes trained on the ceiling as a singular tear escaped the corner of your eye. “Prentiss died, and I let her killer get away."

Steve knew this pain, the loss and anger at yourself for not doing the impossible. It was a terrible pain; he’d felt it when Bucky died. Your hand had gone limp, and in an attempt to comfort you, he laced his fingers through yours, thumb brushing your split knuckles. If you noticed this, you didn’t say anything.

"He smiled at me, Steve.” Your already quiet voice broke, “Smiled like he knew he was going to get away with it. And he did.”

Knowing there wasn’t any stopping this spiral, he quietly shushed you. Hoping you’d go back to sleep, there was no point in trying to give real comfort or advice to you in this state. But you quieted, eyes closing and breathing evening out. A minute of silence went by, the only noise was you instinctively curling into a more comfortable position.

“I should have taken the shot, Steve.” Was the last thing you murmured as you succumbed to sleep. Steve frowned deeply, wishing there was something he could do to help. He’d always been a fixer, a helper- even before being Captain America. You’d been an excellent friend, going beyond “orders” to help him, and now he could only sit there as you were hurting. You sniffed again, eyes leaving the ceiling and falling to his, “I should have taken the damn shot.”

Fifteen minutes later, you had slipped into a deeper sleep. It had taken a while, but your ramblings turned to indiscernible mutterings and finally quiet snores. Steve stayed on the floor, staring at the picture until he was sure you would wake up. Then, he scooped you up in his arms almost effortlessly and carried to your bedroom- one of the very few times he’d actually been back there. Finally, he settled down on your couch, googled hydrocodone, saw the wrong side of WebMD, and decided it’d be best for him to sleep on your couch. He didn’t know how else to help, but he’d try his best.

_______________

The next day, you’d woken up at 11 AM to find Steve still patiently waiting for you to wake up. And despite your still aching body, you valiantly argued that he had better things to do, and promptly kicked him out to make him go on his run. He hesitantly left after making you promise to take care of yourself, and you didn’t miss any of his worried stares as he walked out.

At around 1 PM, you responded to a knock on your door as you changed the bandages on your bicep. You swung open the door, fully expecting it to be Steve back to worry about you.

“You look like shit.”

Was not what you were expecting to hear, and you definitely weren’t expecting to see Natasha standing in your doorway with Clint (badly disguised in a pair of sunglasses) behind her.

“Thanks, Barton.” You drawled sarcastically as he shouldered past the redhead and yourself to infiltrate your kitchen. You watched as he went before turning back to Natasha for an explanation.

“He’s right you look terrible.” She nodded, “If you don’t let me in, Clint’s going to eat all your food.”

Wordlessly, you motioned her in just in time to find Clint with cold lo mein dangling out of his mouth. Natasha gave him a pointed look to which he responded with a defensive (and noodle muffled), “What?”

The spy sighed, turning back to you, “We heard what happened to your friend, and wanted to make sure you were…”

Natasha trailed off, knowing “okay” was the wrong word. You also knew the “we” definitely meant that she forced Clint to come, but you still appreciated the notion. You gave her a tight-lipped sympathetic smile. Motioning over your rather extensive physical injuries, you tried to joke to lighten the heavy atmosphere of your apartment.

“Well, if it hadn’t of been for your training, this could have a lot worse.” You smiled, leaning against the back of the couch as her emerald green eyes analyzed everything down to the brand of knee brace you were wearing. She crossed your living room and undid your bandages.

“These are too loose, you’ll get an infection.” She offhandedly remarked, easily undoing the gauze and rewrapping them tighter like an expert. You quietly thanked her as she tied them off. “I guess weekly sparring is postponed for a while.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to wait 3 to 5 weeks to kick my ass.”

She laughed at this, “I’ll just have to settle with kicking his ass.”

As she said that, Clint looked up from his your Chow Fun with furrowed eyebrows. You genuinely laughed as the archer tried to defend himself. From there, it was mostly easy conversation between you and Nat with occasional chiming from Clint. The company was nice, and you didn’t even mind as the conversation turned to more serious topics. You had suspected it would, so you just willingly recounted the tale, yet again.

“And then he just smiled at me. And when the train passed he was gone. I should have taken the shot.” You finished lamely, blocking any emotion from your voice. After extensive debriefings, the funeral, and Steve, it was becoming easier to tell the story. Clint had finally stopped eating,

“He won’t get far. He has the FBI, CIA, Interpol, and SHIELD on his tale.” The archer tried to comfort you. The sentiment was nice, but you knew it was more of an empty promise. Doyle had evaded the government for years, and likely would for years to come.

Both Clint and Natasha’s phone buzzed after a bit of silence, and you knew it as the universal sound of “we gotta go”. They both quickly stood, walking towards the door. Clint was already in the hallway, instinctively doing a sweep for any enemies. Natasha turned back to you, “I’ll spare you the ass-kicking but don’t think you’re getting out of dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You smiled, holding the door open for her as she left. Suddenly, a flash of uncertainty ran across her face- which you didn’t miss. It was quite uncharacteristic for her, but you soon understood when she rushed forward to hug you- something she had never done before. Over her shoulder, even Clint looked surprised. After the initial shock, you relaxed into the embrace and hugged her back.

But as soon as it came, it was gone and the too master assassins were down the hall and gone. As they left, you did feel lighter. The pain of losing a friend and guilt over not bringing Doyle was still fresh after four days, but the searing anger and sadness were morphing into more of a dull ache in your heart.

Now reading 4 pm, you were sure Steve would return soon to check on you and looking back into your empty apartment- you decided you could use some “fresh” city air. So after slipping into real pants and a warmer shirt, you threw your jacket on and grabbed your headphones. Then you were off.

You weren’t sure where you were headed or when you’d get back, so you just let your wandering mind translate to your feet. The sun was beginning to go down when you found yourself in a suedo-familiar part of town. Looking up to a familiar building, your eyes found the prior apartment of Emily Prentiss. That familiar feeling flared back up in your stomach, but you suppressed it- allowing yourself a moment before continuing your walk.

With the sun’s retreat, it became progressively colder but you didn’t let it bother you as you continued. Allowing yourself to zone out, you, once again, let yourself wander aimlessly amongst other pedestrians walking home from work. You’re phone buzzed, bringing back to the present. Trying to stay out of the way, you found a bench to sit on so you could fish your phone out and look at the multiple texts, all from Steve.

Steve: Went by your house.

Steve: You weren’t there

Steve: Everything ok?

You quickly texted him back to appease his worries, knowing he was probably assuming the worst. Truly you regretted telling him about all the serial killers, stalkers, and rapists you had put away- that and introducing him to dateline tv. Like any other 90-year-old, he was now overly paranoid. Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you looked back up, people-watching as you enjoyed the chilly breeze.

Almost instinctively, you squinted down an alleyway- where two tall and lanky figures were shuffling between themselves. Your mind went through a hundred different possibilities- drug deal, prostitution, mugging, murder, assault… Lips setting in a fine line, you watched the interaction. Their silhouettes gave more information than one would think, and even though you weren’t on duty- you couldn’t just watch if someone was getting hurt.

Finally, you determined that whatever was happening wasn’t hostile enough for you to intervene as they parted ways- until the second figure stepped back into the busy street. Your heart froze, bathed in the yellowish-orange street lights and setting city sun was a rather haggard looking Spencer Reid, shoving a suspiciously unsuspicious crumpled up sack into his jacket pocket.

Frowning, you ran through every situation you could to make this not seem bad. With a snap decision, you were after him- zipping across the street and speed walking to catch up with him. Weaving through the other pedestrians, you finally caught up with him.

“Spence!” You called softly, gently tugging the elbow of his coat to slow him down. He visibly tensed, halting in his tracks, and eyes widening as he turned around to see you worriedly looking up at him.

“(Y-Y/N) w-what are you… where are… wh-why are….” He stammered, and you could see the wheels and excuses churning in his head.

“I just needed some air.” You explained, eyes on the poked out edges of the sack in his pocket. He quickly shoved it out of sight, causing you to purse your lips.

“What did yo-… did you-… how long did…” He awkwardly stuttered. Sighing, you took his hand out of his pocket.

“If you’re asking what/ if I saw. I’m hoping I didn’t see what I think I saw.” You softly scolded, trained eyes looking for anything to tell if you were too late. His eyes were alert, albeit red and puffy- which paired with his red and runny nose. His hair was messy and greasy, and his clothes were wrinkled- as if slept it. Unable to hold your gaze, he looked away guiltily. You pressed your lips into a fine line, hoping you weren’t too late.

“Spence…” You trailed off softly, hoping he didn’t mistake your sorrow for judgment, “Please tell me you didn’t…”

He was quick to answer you this time, voice quiet- ashamed, “N-not, not yet.”

There was a flash of relief, and almost instinctively, you threw yourself on the young genius. Normally, Spencer wasn’t much for physical affection, but for once, he practically melted into the embrace. He buried his face in your hair and balled his fists into the fabric on the back of your jacket. Pedestrian traffic hustled around the two of you, but you ignored them in favor of focussing on Spencer’s shuddering breath as he tried not to cry. You were soothingly patting his back, wishing JJ was here- she always knew how to comfort him, and right now you were just trying not to make things worse.

“Let’s go somewhere.” You quietly suggested.

_____

After five minutes of walking, the two of you shuffled up to Spencer’s door. You were watching him jiggle the key in the lock as you thought of how to help. The walk back had been mostly silent after you’d disposed of the Dilaudid he’d obtained. Once inside, he shrugged off his coat and hung in on the rack, which you did the same. And since his apartment was -as per usual- weirdly warm (Spencer had always run colder than most) you went ahead and shed your sweatshirt as well. You didn’t miss the change in the air, feeling Spencer’s concerned look just as you had felt Derek’s, Steve’s, and Natasha’s.

“They look worse than they feel.” You shrugged, hoping to avoid the conversation altogether. Spencer didn’t look convinced.

“As a very smart friend of mine once said, ‘You wanna lie more convincingly, or go ahead and tell me the truth’?” He asked, one eyebrow quirked. You sighed, recognizing your own words.

“I hate it when I’m right.” You muttered before truly answering him, “My ribs and my knee still hurt the worst, and the cuts are healing but still sting every now and then. I’m managing.”

Appeased with your honesty, he moved to the kitchen spouting off facts about knee and leg injuries as he went. Over his voice, you could hear him making coffee at nearly 7:30pm. He returned with a fresh cup of coffee in a mug printed with a physics joke on it and handed it to you, “I did a lot of research after I got shot in the leg.”

“I remember.” You smiled, thinking back to when Hotch basically had you babysit him to make sure he was following a doctor’s (medical doctor, you had to clarify) orders until he was cleared again. Then, there was a pause of comfortable silence while the two of you sipped your drinks. You knew you had to break the silence and bring it up.

Setting the mug down on a coaster that sat atop a stack of well-worn hardbacks, you took a deep breath, “Why tonight, Spence?”

Immediately, he tensed, the doctor frowning as he anxiously drummed his fingers on the side of his mug. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if he couldn’t get his words right before finally, he confessed, “I know we all miss Prentiss, but I just… I ju-. I just miss her so badly, (Y/N). I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”

Your expression faded into understanding sympathy as he collected himself before continuing, “And I know Emily wouldn’t want this, and I know I could lose my job, and I know I’m nearly 4 years clean. Believe me, I know these things, I’ve run through so many possibilities and reasons why I shouldn’t… But, it just hurts, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. I just want to stop hurting, even for a little while.”

As he finished, his hazel eyes lifted to you- almost as if begging for a solution to his pain. You wished you had one for him. “It’s going to take some time, Spence. And you’re right, it hurts. But you’re not alone. Have you tried talking about it with anyone- Morgan or JJ?”

You paused, “JJ helped you a lot when you first got clean, right?”

“I tried, but I got desperate. JJ’s not answering her phone, and I’ve got to her house for the past three days. Hotch finally told me that she got called away on Pentagon business, something urgent. I didn’t want to bother Will, and didn’t want Henry to see me like this.” He explained. Something about that didn’t sit right with you, but you brushed it off and let him finish, “And no one’s heard from Derek since the funeral.”

You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts, “Well, the important things are: 1.) You’re still clean, we got rid of the supply, 2.) You’re right, Emily wouldn’t want this, and 3.) You’ve got me, and no matter the assignment, hour, whatever, if you need me, you call me. I’ll answer.”

You finished your promise with an assuring smile, watching as Spencer returned it with a characteristically awkward smile back as he nodded. Deciding it would be best not to dwell on the sad stuff, you force a brilliant smile, “Now! when was the last time you ate? I’m thinking… Indian Takeout?”

Though he already knew your strategy, he went along, chuckling, “You hate the Indian place here.”

You scoffed, mocking offense (though he was right) as you went the binder by the fridge where he stored his takeout menus, “Since when?”

Spencer snatched the binder away, protective of his meticulous organizational method (first by cuisine type, then by alphabetical order, with a color-coding system for price range, and a special sticker for delivery options), as he teased “Since you are it before going out with Garcia and JJ. And learned that Indian doesn’t pair well with ½ priced Margaritas.”

“…Right… well, I can eat rice.” You shrugged, pretending to be indifferent, but really you were just happy he was smiling again. “And for the record, at that point, nothing would have paired well with ½ priced Margs.”

_____

The next morning, you woke up on Spencer’s couch. The TV was off, which was confusing since you fell asleep to Spencer correcting the physics of Star Wars. Slowly waking up, you winced at how stiff and sore you felt, rubbing absentmindedly at your ribs. Couch + no medicine = no bueno. With a little focus, you could hear Spencer shuffling about in his bedroom. You tried for your phone, wondering how long you had slept for. Dead. So with no concept of time, you slowly sat up and allowed your sleepy mind to acclimate.

“Oh, morning.” Spencer chirped as he moved past the living room to access the kitchen for what was probably his second cup of coffee. Then he breezed back by you to collect his iconic leather messenger bag, “I would have let you have the bed, but I fell asleep in the chair.”

You waved him off before he could apologize. Trying to clear the sleep out of your voice, you quietly croaked the question, “What time is it?”

Spencer checked his watch, “7:23 AM, Hotch wants the team there ASAP, time-sensitive case, probably. “

He answered as you stepped into your shoes and weaseled into your sweatshirt. You yawned as he finished packing his messenger bag and then stood. Pulling on your coat, you announced, “Well, I suppose I’ll get out of your hair. Call me if you need me.”

You were about to close the door behind you when his voice caught your attention, “I’m glad you were there. The chances of us being in the same place at the same time and noticing each other are astronomically, exponentially low. But I’m glad you were there.”

You cut him off before he could thank you again, with a smile you nodded, “I am too, Spence. Be careful on your case.”

__________

Still troubled from the previous evening, you spent the walk home mostly thinking of ways to check in on Spencer- but also annoyed by how far you walked the previous night. You must have walked for three hours that night, rambling in odd patterns, because it took a full hour to walk back to your apartment. (It would have been much shorter if you hadn’t of left your public transport card at home).

Finally, at 8:30 AM, you stumbled into your apartment. After putting your dead phone on the charger, you popped some extra-strength ibuprofen and took a hot shower-which worked wonders on the sore parts of your body. Finally, as you got dressed, you fielded the dozens of texts and emails that you missed.

“Guess I’m popular this morning.” You muttered, running a towel over your hair as you read and responded to Steve’s worried messages. Then you answered Penelope’s questions about if you heard from Spencer, Derek, or JJ and if you were ok. Finally, you flipped through your emails and with a deep sigh opened one from Phil Coulson.

The subject line read, “Work to do.”

You skimmed all the attached documents, most of which were extremely redacted. From what you gathered there was a satellite crash in the deserts of New Mexico and for some reason, SHIELD was tasked with handling it. Fury had decided to send you with Coulson and Agent Barton for an undetermined length of time in the desert. Great. And you were leaving later that very afternoon. Even better.

After a quick google about the weather in New Mexico in early April, you threw together yet another go-bag. You hadn’t even unpacked the one from Boston, it sat like a hollow corpse by your closet- picked through for things you needed but left full of bloodied clothes and now irrelevant files. You stared at the bag for a moment before snapping out of the daze of painful memories and moving on to grab a fresh bag out of the hall closet. Making quick work of it, you packed both professional and comfortable clothes.

At 10 AM, you dropped the packed duffel bag by the door. As you turned away from the door you began running numbers on your schedule- it was 10 AM you had to be SHIELD headquarters at 3pm… Your thoughts were interrupted by a strong telltale knock on the door. With a sigh, you turned back around and opened the door.

Unsurprisingly, Steve stood in the doorway- wide-eyed at how fast the door had opened. Smiling, you ushered him in, closing the door behind him before moving past him and into the kitchen. You hadn’t eaten anything but white rice in the last 24 hours, and you were quite hungry.

“I didn’t know if you’d be home. Is your friend alright?” He started, following you into the apartment. You knew the underlying question wasn’t actually about Spencer, but you ignored his worry.

“Crisis averted. Sorry for going MIA, I fell asleep on his couch and my phone died.” You explained over your shoulder as you rummaged through your fridge. You frowned at the empty Chinese containers left in there, muttering a quiet, “Dammnit, Clint.”

Emerging with sandwich fixings, you presented them to him with a quirked eyebrow. He simply shook his head, so you went about making yourself a rather pathetic look meal.

“Did Fury tell you?” Steve broke the silence with a rather ominous question. You didn’t look up but furrowed your brow.

“Fury doesn’t tell me much, so probably not. Did Fury tell me what?” You questioned back, returning a few items to the fridge.

“I’ve been cleared to take physical evaluations and receive modulated training sequences from SHIELDl.” He explained, blue eyes watching your crouched figure. You were glad the refrigerator door was blocking your face- You hadn’t told the Director anything of the sort. Could be why he was sending you out to the desert, to distract you. Impatient Asshole. After your inner thoughts evened out, you wiped the surprise off your face and smiled at the soldier.

“No, he didn’t. But that’s good, you don’t have to sit around here bored all the time. I haven’t been the best tour guide lately.” You shrugged. The soldier hummed in response.

“As much as I appreciate your help, it will be nice to have something to do.” He admitted, always careful not to offend. You nodded back to him, taking a rather unladylike bite of your meager brunch. “I saw your bag by the door, you going somewhere?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m being assigned to New Mexico- super boring, middle of the desert. Something about a satellite crash.” You told him, shrugging. You were expressly stoked for the assignment, figuring it was mostly a distraction to keep you from 1.) Yelling at Director Fury for not listening, and 2.) Going after Doyle yourself, which you had already considered.

Steve nodded for a moment, before his face knitted into confusion, “Why do they need a profiler at a satellite crash?”

Your own eyebrows furrowed, you hadn’t thought about that. There were a dozen different assignments that they could task you with. Why this, what were you missing?

“You know, Rogers, that’s a good question.”

_______________

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

XXII: Saeyoung's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

You had never sprinted so fast in your life.

It was a short distance, but you jumped as you grew close, throwing yourself at Saeran, hugging him through the gates.

By some miracle, the boy caught you, wrapping his arms around you and held you tight as you sobbed in relief.

The sense of catharsis when you saw his face was unlike anything you'd ever felt in your life. For three years, you'd been waiting for his return with Saeyoung. In that period, it felt like time had halted for you so that, at Saeran's return, the three of you would be able to move forward together.

On your left, you heard Saeyoung frantically undoing the padlock he had placed on the gate, ripping it off the second it was open.

Everything after that point was a blur. The five of you wound up in the bunker once more, no one commenting on how untidy the living room was with everyone being so damn happy to see each other.

V and Vanderwood stayed off to the side, talking among themselves as you embraced Saeran. Again. For days to follow, you would find it difficult to leave the boy's side, so relieved that he was back. Relieved that he was with you. Relieved that he was alive, and that you could hug him and kiss his cheek and feel him.

"Take your jacket off, Saeran!" You exclaimed, pulling the leather off him.

"A-ah, let's leave it on for now," Saeran mumbled, looking away. You realized there was something he wasn't telling you, but in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care, only hugging him tighter.

It was practically a full hour before anyone thought to ask what exactly the other group had been doing.

When all five of you were settled on two couches (there were far more in the spacious room, but you and Saeyoung refused to apart from Saeran, even in the living room), Vanderwood asked what you and Saeyoung had been doing.

"There's really not much to tell there," Saeyoung said, chuckling.

You found yourself agreeing with him, realizing that, objectively speaking, the two of you hadn't done much in the three years you'd been hiding from society.

"Except, of course," Saeyoung flashed a grin at you, "We got engaged."

You felt a flood of happiness rush through your body, still getting excited every time he said that or called you his fiancée.

"Told you so," Saeran said to Vanderwood, flashing him a lazy grin. "You owe me one hundred thousand won."

The agent rolled his eyes in response, turning to Saeyoung once more. "You set a wedding date and venue, yet?"

"Well," Saeyoung chuckled hesitantly. "We were sort of just planning on getting married here at the bunker whenever Saeran came back."

"Oh?" Vanderwood said, arching an eyebrow. "I'm ordained. I could get you two married by tomorrow if you want."

No doubt, Vanderwood had said that as a joke. But at his words, your eyes immediately darted to Saeyoung's to gauge his reaction. You'd wanted to marry Saeyoung the night he'd asked you, but the two of you agreed that nothing would happen without word of Saeran.

But that period of waiting was brutal.

And now that Saeran was back, you didn't want to wait any longer.

"What do you say, (Y/N)?" Saeyoung asked, waggling his eyes in a joking manner. But you saw the hopeful tint in his eyes.

"Nothing in my life has ever been normal," You mused. "I don't see why my wedding should be any different." You leaned over and kissed Saeyoung, briefly but passionately.

"Are you two for real?" Vanderwood inquired, definitely not expecting his offer to be accepted. He groaned in annoyance, but you could tell wasn't actually irritated. Annoying as Saeyoung must have been, it was easy to miss the redhead when he was gone. "I was planning on making Saeyoung work tomorrow, but I guess I'll have to give him the day off."

Saeyoung pouted, about to pipe up with something that would doubtlessly irk his boss, but you opened your mouth before he could.

"So how did things go on your mission?"

The three men instantly looked at each other, eyes communicating words that would never be said aloud.

"The Mint Eye is gone," V started. "None of us need to worry about that ever again."

You and Saeyoung stayed silent, expecting more, but no one said anything else.

Saeyoung coughed awkwardly. "Anything else you want to tell us?"

"You know better than anyone else here that agents never talk about some of the things they have to do on missions," Vanderwood blurted, crossing his arms. "All that matters is that our mission was a success."

"Okay," Saeyoung said, understanding. "But tell me this. Why won't Saeran take off his jacket?"

In that instant, all eyes in the room darted to the second redhead, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Saeran," Vanderwood said with a softness in his voice that you'd never seen from him before. "They'll see it eventually."

Saeran looked at V, then at Vanderwood, and then back at V, as if looking for something in their eyes that he never found. Finally, he sighed and began pulling his jacket off. When he dropped it on the ground in front of you, you had sucked your breath in, surprised at the image before you.

Sitting on his left, you knew that his right arm would be tattooed with the emblem of the Mint Eye. But directly in front of you, on Saeran's left arm, was the very same tattoo copied over but expanded over his entire arm, with new, foreign patterns trailing down to his fingertips.

You were so preoccupied with the artwork on his arm that you almost didn't look up. And then, you did.

Mostly covered by his red tank top, the boy's neck was discolored by stray whip marks and bruises that had yet to heal. You looked away, trying not to picture how scarred and ruined the boy's back must be, horrified when you realized that Rika had been far from merciful on him when he'd returned.

He opened his mouth to say something but you silenced him with another hug, one given not to satisfy your endless desire to hug him but one for his sake, so that you could comfort him. Three years, he'd been without you. And you had to make up for it.

Next to you two, Saeyoung stayed silent and bit his lip. "You've been through hell and come back," he whispered to Saeran. "I'm never letting you go again."

For once, Saeran smiled. Not a lazy half-smile or even a forced grin, but a genuine smile where the boy wrapped an arm around his brother in a strange imitation of a hug as if to say I missed you.

You didn't dare ask what Saeran had been through, not now, at least. You knew that there would come a time for that much further in the future. For now, it was simply enough to be together again.

"You're going to be living here with us," Saeyoung said, not even giving Saeran an option. "Vanderwood and V...I don't know what you guys had to do to take down the Mint Eye, but whatever happened must have forced the three of you to trust each other pretty hard. Shit's going to be tough in the bunker...and kind of weird. But you guys can stay for as long as you want. Saeran is my family and...I guess after three years with him, you're his family too. You're welcome here."

"That's a kind sentiment, Saeyoung, but I think I should head out. I need to speak with Jumin about the events that transpired." V mumbled, smiling softly through his sunglasses.

"Aw, come on!" Saeyoung groaned. "At least stay till tomorrow, won't you? You should be here for the wedding."

"You guys were being serious about that?"

"Of course," Saeyoung whispered, kissing you on the cheek. "We're going to have Saeran walk her down the aisle...or, the hall, I guess. And, oh, Vanderwood can be my best man!"

"Oh! Does that mean V will get to be my maid-of-honor?" You asked, giggling.

The blue-haired man was abashed, stuttering out incoherent syllables as the five of you laughed together for the first time, finally free from the past.

The Mint Eye was behind you now, the darkest part of your life finally sealed. You glanced at Saeyoung, your future husband, and Saeran, your greatest friend. No doubt, those two men would be with you for the rest of your life.

Things would be difficult. There were so many scars to heal—scars even deeper than the ones on Saeran's back.

But now that he'd returned, time could move onward once more, and you were ready to explore your future with the two of them by your side. It would be an unorthodox living situation, for sure. Times would get tough. But it would work out. Because it had to.

After all, didn't the three of you at least deserve a happy ending? After all you'd been through, you would do anything for them.

There was no way you could have known that Saeyoung and Saeran were thinking the exact same things, but on that couch, the three of you solidified the emotions you'd been feeling for the past three years with a vow: to sacrifice anything and everything for the sake of each other.

And with that silent promise, the future was locked in place. No matter how fucked up the past was, it was gone now. Left behind.

The future would be different.

The future would be better.

And now that the three of you were finally together, your shared future could finally begin.

Fin.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: And with that, Saeyoung's route is complete! But, dear readers, his life with (Y/N) and Saeran has only just begun. My book is titled Where Futures Begin because this is where it starts, this is where shit finally gets better for these precious characters. Their future is different. It's better. I won't write the fluffy, fun stuff because I wanted to show the journey that got them there (and if you really want to read some stuff like that, there are soo many fanfics already based around that idea).

I hope you enjoyed the ride, and I thank you for staying with me to the end~ but it's not the final conclusion because next up, we have Saeran's route! Let me know what you thought about this route and give me feedback (good and bad!) so that when I write Saeran's route, it's even better! I'm going to give myself a break so I won't update next Monday like I usually do, but instead one week from now on Thursday - so drop a comment and tell me your thoughts! I'll see you soon with Saeran ;)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 03/26/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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transracialqueer · 5 years

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WHAT WE LOST: UNDOING THE FAIRY TALE NARRATIVE OF ADOPTION

by Liz Latty

January 3 is my Special Day. It is the anniversary of the day I was adopted. The day my parents bundled me up and brought me home to live in our red brick ranch house on West Chicago St. in a sprawling suburb just outside Detroit. As I grew up, I would hear the tale of this auspicious day time and time again. Sometimes even now, in my thirties, my parents like to retell it. Their eyes still shine with something expectant, something new.

We drove through the snow that morning to pick you up at the adoption agency. We were so excited. We’d been waiting so long for you; had prayed so hard. We held you in our arms. Your new brother made silly faces at you and you smiled and laughed at him. We took you home with us and our family was finally complete.

Although the Michigan court proceedings that legalized my adoption wouldn’t happen for another year and a half, my parents decided the January day they brought me home would be the symbolic day we celebrated our family making itself again each year.

I was told versions of the tale of my homecoming so many times over the years, it became somewhat like a myth. Perhaps the same way one’s birth story might feel mythical. And since this was the closest to a birth story anyone had to give me, it became part of the fabric of our family culture, like the storybook romance of my parents’ courtship that began with a canceled blind date in south St. Louis in 1963 and unfolded into their long prayed-for children arriving safely in their arms.

My brother had his own Special Day, having been adopted three years before me from a different family of origin. Our Special Day celebrations always included the retelling of the sweet tale of our arrivals, a small gift, and a special meal or dessert in our honor. I remember lovingly wrapped presents of longed-for books and shiny lip glosses, new CDs and all-you-can-eat dinners at the local Olive Garden. I liked feeling as though I had something akin to a second birthday. It made me feel different in a good way—like I got more than other kids to make up for the feeling that I somehow had less, or was missing something everyone else just naturally had.

At the same time, I felt acutely aware of how happy my mom and dad were on my Special Day, and how sometimes my feelings didn’t quite match up. Sometimes I would feel disconnected from the party, as if some other ghost girl were being celebrated as I watched. A girl who had one family that loved her, one family she belonged to, one name, one home, one story that began on that cozy January day and stretched on into happiness forever after. I would watch this girl celebrate with her family, watch them celebrate together, and I would feel hollow, empty in comparison. Eventually, as I grew into my teen years and my identity began shaping itself in part around this absence, I would come to an understanding that for my parents, my Special Day holds within its memory unbridled joy and relief—finally. But that for me, it holds something far more complicated.

Most mornings I sift through news stories from around the globe in search of content for an adoption news website I curate. As a result, I can safely tell you the majority of adoption-related news that doesn’t have to do with a celebrity adoption rarely makes it past small, local, or adoption-specific media platforms, or into the average person’s newsfeed on a regular basis. Yet this summer, when a five-year-old girl named Danielle had her adoption finalized in a Michigan courtroom, nine Disney princesses showed up to celebrate her, and a video of the joyous occasion went viral. Media outlets the likes of BuzzFeed, NBC, Refinery29, and Today.com ran the piece with headlines such as, “This Little Girl’s Adoption Hearing is a Real-Life Fairy Tale,” “Girl, 5, Gets Happily Ever After When Disney Princesses Surprise Her at Adoption Court Hearing,” and “Fairy-tale Ending as Disney Princesses Show Up for Adoption Hearing.”

I hesitated to watch the video. The all-too-familiar storyline linking adoption and fairy tales registered in my body as a flash of anxiety and exhaustion: Here we go again, I thought. But I clicked on it anyway and watched as a representative from the foster agency told us of Danielle’s obsession with Cinderella and everything Disney princess. My heart melted a little as I learned about the foster care workers who had arranged the elaborate surprise in an effort to make Danielle’s adoption day special. At the front of the courtroom next to Danielle sat her elated foster family of two years, for whom everything had lead up to this day in which they officially adopted Danielle, and another foster child, one-year-old Neveah, into their family. The anticipation in the room was electric as the judge offered Danielle the job of banging the gavel, symbolically sealing her own adoption, and the entire courtroom called out in unison, “It is so ordered!”

As the gavel crashed into its sounding block and a smiling, sweet-faced Danielle wobbled almost imperceptibly with the weight and force of it, I realized I’d been crying. The overwhelming sense of joy in the video, the love, the celebration of a family making itself, was beautiful. And, at the same time, I felt a familiar dull ache that often arrives as I watch adoptees at the center of someone else’s narrative.

I think what Danielle’s foster care workers and family did to make her day extra special was an incredibly loving gesture. And even though I can’t help but wonder what Danielle’s story is, what else she might have been feeling that day, or how she will come to think of that day in the future, what’s really troubling to me is why this video went viral when most adoption news goes quietly or not at all. What’s troubling to me is the particular brand of magic that Danielle’s story conjures for the rest of us.

There is no denying this video tugs at the heartstrings, but I believe it went viral for a very specific reason. With its fairy tale imagery and language, this video, and other sentimental representations of adoption, offer us the opportunity to further cement a narrative that we, in American society, have constructed over the last century and seem to need to believe in our individual and collective conscience: Adoption is a happy ending. Adoption is a win-win. Adoption is happily ever after. Unfortunately, this heartwarming narrative is a dangerous tale to tell and has far-reaching consequences.

The singular, unavoidable truth about adoption is that it requires the undoing of one family so that another one can come into being. And because of this, it is a practice, an institution, and a mode of family-making that is born of and begets trauma, loss, and grief. The fairy tale narrative of adoption denies adoptees the acknowledgement and support necessary to process their experiences across a lifetime. It delegitimizes the trauma of adoption loss and directly and indirectly influences the overwhelming statistics that show us adoptees are far more likely than the general population to struggle with trauma-related mental illness, suicide, and addiction.

By ignoring the complex reality of adoption, we are also corroborating a sentimental narrative that drives a billion-dollar, for-profit adoption industry whose sole purpose has been successfully shifted in modern American history from finding homes for children who legitimately need them, to supplying hopeful prospective parents with kids to call their own. The fairy tale narrative of adoption uncomplicates these truths and it lets us off the hook. It makes us feel good about each other and ourselves without having to face difficult complexities and integrate them into our understanding of not only what it means to be adopted, but also what it means to be human.

Inside the fairy tale, we don’t have to think about the darkness, the underbelly, or the unspeakable grief lying just below the surface of a child who has been severed from their home and family of origin. We don’t have to think about the countless pregnant people in the United States and across the globe who have been tricked, bribed, forced, and coerced into relinquishing their children or whose children are kidnapped and sold to agencies or intermediaries who stand to profit from their adoptions. Inside the fairy tale, we don’t have to think about all the first mothers and first families who would choose to keep their children or whose children might not have been unnecessarily or unjustly taken from them if they had access to the right kinds of support. The kinds of support that could be provided countless times over, both in the US and abroad, with the money currently invested in keeping the for-profit adoption industry and the child welfare industry in business.

So why do we love the adoption fairy tale so much? Most of us agree that modern day fairy tales have set us up for failure when it comes to beauty standards and romantic relationship expectations, but what about family-making?

I have the date of my Special Day tattooed on my left forearm along with the initials of the three first names I have been given—my birth name from my mother, a variation on her own mother’s name; my foster name from the people who cared for me in the interim; and my adoptive name from my parents, after the first American saint. Because people change children’s names, for a better fit, for a different life.

In my experience, most people that don’t know me well assume I inked my Special Day on my arm as a tribute to my adoption. A tribute to my forever family. To my happily ever after. Oh, how wonderful!, they exclaim smiling wide, knowing smiles. Except this is not at all why I wear the date on my arm. I wear it as a tribute to and an insistence on complexity. The complexity of a day that marks a beginning and an end, all at once. The beginning of my life with my adoptive family and the end of any possibility of returning to my family of origin. A family whose absence I felt as though my small body housed a haunting.

As a child, I never let on that I didn’t feel as excited as my parents did to celebrate my Special Day. This is a complicated hallmark of an adopted childhood. Adoptees often take on the emotional labor of holding our difficult feelings in places where no one can see them because we want to protect those around us from feeling hurt. There also often exists a very real and primal fear of further rejection. We understand we are loved and we understand love is tenuous, so we hide our feelings away because what if we didn’t? How will you feel? Will you be mad at me? Will you be hurt? Will you love me less? Will you send me back? I don’t want you to feel sad or think that I don’t love you, so I hold this hard truth. I hold it for you. I celebrate this day, in this way, for you.

In pictures of the day my parents brought me home from the adoption agency, I look like a baby. Utterly remarkable and yet not at all. In some pictures I look solemn, expressionless. In some I look happy, rosy-cheeked and smiling. There is no and every inference to be drawn as I sift through them, turn them over to see my mom’s handwriting, hold them up to the light. I can insert my adult feelings about this day into these pictures or not. I can choose how to narrate this story. I can tell a true story about a loving family that came to be. How long my parents had waited, had prayed. How they held me, finally. How I laughed at my brother because he made silly faces at me. How we went home together, forever. A family.

Twenty years later, although my parents (and consequently I) were told differently through agency records, I would find out that my eighteen-year-old mother had not wanted to give me up for adoption, but, like most original mothers, did not have the means to support me on her own and lived in a country unwilling to invest in helping single people, poor and working class people, people of color, queer people, immigrants, and young people keep their families sustainably intact. Though they were in love, my mother was not married to my seventeen-year-old father, and her family was Catholic. The answer was clear.

I was told her father made the decision that I would go away. A decision the family held against him for years afterward. A decision I believe I could see behind his eyes when he would try to look at me across a room or expanse of yard two decades later, after I found them.

I kept your newborn picture in my wallet for ten years or more, my mother’s younger sister tells me in a hotel bar. We always thought of you as The One That Got Away.

There is no record of the first five days of my life. I do not know if I was taken from my mother immediately or if we spent those last days together in the hospital. She was never able to speak of it during the time I knew her as an adult, before our reunion unraveled. Her sisters indicated to me they believed she no longer had access to these memories. That they had been too painful and she’d found somewhere to put them. I imagine a shoebox buried in the backyard of her parents’ home, the banks of the Detroit River eventually eroding, giving way, washing the memory of our time together into the tributaries and lakes that were the landscape of my childhood carrying on mere miles away.

The adoption agency placed me in a foster home on the fifth day, but my mother, not wanting to let me go, would come visit me. She asked her parents to take her there and they obliged. Once, she came alone. For two months, I lived in a stranger’s home without the person I’d come to know as intimately as one can. Except that sometimes she would come back for me. And then she would leave. And then she would come back. And then she would leave. As my body began to learn: this is what love is. Right up until that snowy January morning when I was taken to the adoption agency to meet my new parents and my new brother who made silly faces at me and I smiled. I laughed.

The late adoption scholar and activist, Reverend Keith C. Griffith, once said, “Adoption Loss is the only trauma in the world where the victims are expected by the whole of society to be grateful.” I come across this quote time and time again, more than any other, in the online adoptee and first mother communities. It is so often quoted I think, because it succinctly points to the glaring misconception, misrepresentation, and misalignment that exist between society’s narrative of adoption and our actual lived experiences as adopted people and first families. There is such a gulf, such a divide, and one that is valiantly defended by society’s deep need to believe a singular, uncomplicated truth about adoption, that those of us who have experienced the interior of an adopted life often feel completely erased and utterly silenced.

Society’s narrative of adoption tells adoptees, in no uncertain terms, if we were given to a loving home, we shouldn’t feel this pain, this chasm, this rip, this tear. We were saved, after all. We’re so much better off. We’re the lucky ones. Our parents must be such wonderful people. We must feel so grateful. How lucky. How special. We were meant to be together. Everything worked out just the way it was supposed to in the end.

It is here—in everyday encounters, in saccharine and reductive media representations, and even in our adoptive families—where adoptees are expected to embody the fairy tale narrative of adoption. A hopeful, well-intentioned narrative, but one that is historically steeped in white saviorhood and colonialism. One in which people with more financial resources, social capital, and most often racial privilege, feel entitled to the children of those with less privilege, opportunity, and support. And we have accepted this not only as an unquestionable good, but also as the best possible outcome.

But what exactly is being measured when weighing this out? Are we certain a child will be “better off” living with the irreparable wound of parental separation and more financial resources than with a low-income or working class parent in their family of origin? Certainly socioeconomic status is often a clear indicator of one’s opportunities in life, but what’s the trade off? I have often wondered what our lives would have looked like had my mother and father made the decision to strike out on their own and raise me. And I wonder too how much of our future might have been determined by the biases that are alive in these very same assumptions. Am I better off? Am I lucky? The truth is, we will never know. And this, too, is a loss.

I found my original family in my early twenties and for the last fifteen years, I have experienced wild anxiety, deep joy, profound grief, complex gratitude, rage, fear, alienation, belonging, contentment. I have made primal noises and shapes alone on the floor of a studio apartment when my mother stopped answering my letters after two and a half years of knowing her. I have gotten to watch new siblings grow into stunningly kind, caring, creative, bold, and generous young adults. And I recently reconnected again with my original father for the first time in nearly ten years. Perhaps it will be different this time. Perhaps it will stick. I hope so.

Three years ago I met my original grandmother and three aunts on my father’s side for the first time. I stood barefoot on a cold, tiled kitchen floor during a sweltering Southeastern Michigan heat wave, surrounded by four brazen women who looked and laughed and cursed just like me. I stood there in that kitchen as my grandmother tearfully handed me a jewelry box containing a pair of delicate earrings, tiny gold hoops with sparkling lavender gems—a family heirloom. I stood there as they apologized for not knowing about me. Apologized that I’d been a secret. Apologized for whom?

We didn’t know, they said to me. If we’d known, we would have kept you. We would have raised you ourselves.

In that moment, I felt wanted, I felt important, I felt loved beyond measure, and at the exact same time, another ghost girl was born. A girl who was raised by four strong, independent, take-no-shit, hilarious, hardworking women in a working-class town. She had one family and one name and one home and she knew where she belonged. I watched the ghost girl’s whole life unfold in that moment. I fell in love with her. And then I began the task of grieving her. I’m still grieving her. I’m not sure how to let her go.

Adoption loss is an ambiguous loss. While it changes shape over time, it is often life-long. It is without end. I have lost my entire family and yet, there are no bodies to bury, no socially acceptable ritual or process meant for me to understand this loss and how to live with it. My mother went on living, became someone else’s mother, while I lived my young life with only the presence of her absence and the fracturing unknown. Maybe she’s alive; maybe she’s dead. Maybe she loves me; maybe she has forgotten me. Maybe anything.

Even after reunion, if it is possible or desired, there are new losses, new lives, and new selves to grieve. Loss of this magnitude and with this kind of ambiguity most often does not simply resolve itself. Adoptees must learn how to live with it over time, yet we must do so in the face of society insisting we exude joy, gratitude, and luck. An insistence that often means the kind of support we need to manage our grief is either nonexistent or unavailable to us. Imagine for a moment, if we treated other losses this way. Imagine losing a loved one—tragically, unexpectedly—and then being expected to behave as though it was the best thing that ever happened to you.

We need a new adoption narrative. We need to ask ourselves why we have historically needed to perpetuate the sentimental fairy tale narrative of adoption that only serves to hurt those at the center of it and to support an industry in dire need of reconstruction. We need a narrative that can celebrate love and family-making, but which does not insist that adoption is always the best option. That in fact, it is often unnecessary and the most generous, altruistic thing we can possibly do is to help prevent another child and first family from having to live with a lifetime of loss and grief. We need a narrative that centers the voices of adopted people and can hold the complexity of our multiple and fractured truths. That can hold all of it. Because I think this is the reality of being adopted—holding these seemingly contradictory, disparate, complicated truths, in the same body, always. Holding deep grief and profound joy in the same breath. Holding love for one mother that does not negate the love for another mother. Belonging partly to one family or country or culture, partly to another, but maybe never feeling as though we belong to either. Feeling both wanted and unwanted, both chosen and abandoned. Wanting to belong here and wanting to go back there.

What if we, as a society, chose to hold all these truths at the same time, at the same pitch, without the need to push one out in favor of the other? How might our questions or actions or beliefs about adoption change? How might our ideas about loss change? About healing? About family?

Though we live on opposite sides of the country now, sometimes my parents and I are in the same place on January 3 and we celebrate my Special Day together. We still eat, we talk, we laugh, we remember. And at some point, later that day or the next, I mark it in my own way, privately, for me. I meditate, I cry, I go to nature—the ocean especially. The ocean rebalances me, stirs a kind of biological rhythm in my body, a point of origin. And the ocean is always bigger and stronger than whatever you bring to its shore. There is comfort in the humbling, in one’s own smallness.

This past January, after thirty-six Januaries, I finally told my parents that my Special Day means something very different for me than it does for them. Fear and shame and guilt licked at my heart as I opened my mouth to say the words. I still wanted to protect them. I wanted to protect them from me. But because the impulse to protect others from their own feelings about my adoption ignites resentment in me, a desire to be the one protected instead, I was cold and forceful in my telling. It’s the day I lost my family. Why would I want to celebrate that? This wasn’t the plan. I didn’t mean to, but this is what happened. I wasn’t prepared for the force with which a truth, held inside a body for thirty-six years, would emerge. I can still see the sadness in their eyes as they listened carefully and nodded, Yes, ok, we hear you.

I left their house later that day, the day before my Special Day, without saying much. I went to a friend’s place a few hours away, in a town I used to call home and didn’t return for a week. I felt guilty about how I handled it and I wasn’t ready yet to try again. The truth is, my parents and I haven’t always had an easy relationship. My unresolved childhood grief made for an angry, rebellious adolescence that left my parents at the end of their rope. When I came out of the closet at eighteen, it proved irreconcilable with their devout Catholicism and there were years of deep distance before we were able to find common ground again. When I found my original family, my parents acted threatened and scared and were unable to figure out a way to support me around it for many years. This is not a laundry list of anyone’s failings. This is complexity. This is a family.

Watching Danielle’s adoption hearing reminded me of how much I adore adoptees. How fierce, independent, resourceful, hard-loving, loyal, brilliant, and creative we are. Not in spite of, but alongside this grief we carry. How the first time I was ever in a room full of adoptees, I felt an atmospheric shift. I mean this in the planetary sense. I was never the same again. I had been given permission to be myself for the first time without having to navigate someone else’s need for my story to reflect a fairy tale ending.

This was when I began to dream in earnest about what it would be like for adoptees to exist in a world that understands the paradoxical experiences that we live. A world that does not insist on reducing us to cheerful assumptions and sentimental media representations. A world that accepts adoption not as an unquestionable, benevolent good, not as a fairy tale ending, but as an event that forever changes and complicates the lives of everyone involved. That when the gavel crashes into the sounding block, literally or symbolically, it is both a fracturing and a coming together, a severing and a multiplication, a derailment and a hope for the uncertain path ahead.

(source in the notes)

#adoption #long post #transracial #transracial adoption #queer

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starisartblog · 6 years

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The Light of the Storm: A Miss Fortune x Lux Fanfic

I don’t have an AO3 account so here’s a story I’ve been on and off writing about how Lux and Miss Fortune met and fell in love. I generally tried to stay lore compliant??? but there’s also a lot of creative liberty largely due to the fact that I roleplayed Miss Fortune for about 2 years. Basically don’t @ me about what’s canon and what’s not. This will be multichapter but idk how long it will be.

Chapter One: Unfamiliar Territory and a Pirate’s Honor

The first signs of land on the horizon brought much relief to the deckhands aboard The Lightforger. While surrounded by a vast empty sea, one would think that they were suspended in time, but in reality the voyage had only lasted a few weeks. The expertise of their charters and navigators were the only thing that stood between them and mindlessly drudging across the sea to their destination.

Luxanna Crownguard shuts the cover of an old tome at the call of sighted land. She, like many others, suffered with consequential boredom that came with long voyages and this had possibly been her longest trip to date. Despite biding some of her time with studies of old tomes and sparring with Kahina, she felt trapped. It had also reminded her of the seclusion imposed by her family in her younger years. Pushing that rather sour memory back, she tucks the tome under her arm and skips up the stairs to the main deck where several of her comrades look on curiously.

Arches of land slowly reveal themselves from the horizon, their bases shrouded in mist from water falling from great heights. Soon a landmass is in full view, the vague shapes of vessels perch themselves on the cliff sides while numerous banners flap freely in the wind. Lux had only heard stories of this place from older superiors and veterans. An anarchical land that would make anyone in the royal court of Demacia faint.

This was the city known as Bilgewater.

According to some of the stories she heard, Bilgewater hadn’t always been this way. A long time ago several ships had accidentally crashed into the Serpent Isles largely due to the fact that it had been apparently uncharted. After a minor clash with the natives of the Isles, the foreigners agreed to claim a small piece of land for the building of lighthouses to avoid further casualties. It served as a convenient rest stop at first but then expanded to a convenient trade port to cut down travel time between countries.

For a while it had been very prosperous, but soon the mysterious Black Mist had strengthened and attacked the port city frequently. Deciding that the resources expended to maintain its safety against the seemingly indomitable threat were a waste, many abandoned the port town. Those who remained consistently fought off the Black Mist and claimed Bilgewater for its own. Unfortunately the lack of a stable government turned Bilgewater into a lawless land of brigands and pirates.

Knowing full well of their relationships, The Lightforger had been stripped of its Demacian flag along with any symbol of its origin and dressed as a common tradeship. Those aboard had been dressed accordingly to keep up the charade. Lux figures that a Demacian vessel landing in Bilgewater was probably the equivalent of painting a large target on their back. On top of that, diverting attention from themselves was a crucial part of this mission.

The vessel had finally passed through the first arch of Bilgewater by nightfall. The clash of cold water from above and the warm night envelops The Lightforger with mist, making for almost an ethereal passing into the city. Peering from her cabin window, Lux gathers her things while determined to sneak glances of newfound territory.

Needless to say, she was completely awestruck.

Oil lit lamps decorate every odd end of the city, giving it a warm glow in contrast to the night. Scaffolds of wooden walkways and bridges connect the separated pieces of land giving Bilgewater’s heart a completely labyrinthian look. Vessels of old had been fused with old stone architecture to create taverns, shops and living spaces. She recognizes old Noxian warships, Freldjordian longboats, Shuriman vessels and even old Demacian galleons that had been repurposed as such.

Carved in wood and stone along many cliffsides and buildings had been a myriad of sea creatures, decorated with old bones and fangs. Lux notices two recurring creatures. One a frog-like monster with endless rows of teeth and a fanged creature with seemingly endless tentacles stretching from all parts of it body. Had it been the visages of their gods? She finds the prospect simply fascinating…

Clearly distracted, the girl would jump at the feeling of cold metal at the back of her neck. With a yelp, she turns around to the freckled and grinning face of her companion.

“Only you would get excited over a pirate town, Lux.” Kahina waves the hilt of her sword in a teasing manner. Lux waves a hand dismissively at her, a slight tint of red to her cheeks betrays any stoic stature she tries to play off.

“This is our first time visiting Bilgewater. I couldn’t help myself.” The blonde retorts. “You must admit the architecture is impressive and unique! The description from any book I’ve read simply doesn’t do this place any justice.”

“Sure, sure.” Kahina yawns finally sheathing her sword. “Just don’t let it get to your head. Remember that we’re still walking into a den of wolves. They’re more likely to shove a blade in your stomach if it meant more gold in their pockets.”

Lux frowns. “Deception lies in many forms, but it’s all still deception.”

The Lightforger finally settles in an available dock, occupied by a small crowd of men and women idling around the deck space. With their belongings strapped to their backs and sides, several of the Radiant Ones stand ready on the main deck. Kahina nudges Lux once more, putting a hand on her shoulder and whispering into her ear.

“I just heard that apparently the reason we’re here is that someone owes Aharon a favor.”

“I thought you said people here are more likely to doublecross you.” Lux whispers back. “An old drinking buddy perhaps?”

“Something of the sort.”

A voice comes from behind the two. Aharon lowers his hood and motions them off the deck. “I’m taking a small group to meet up with our primary collaborator--and by small I mean just us three. The rest will assume their stations with their help.” He then motions to the small group that had come to greet them.

An older man steps forward, his cane thudding against the dock with every step. He studies the three for a moment, though once settling his gaze on Aharon he simply smiles.

“Trust ya had smooth sailin’ lad?” The old man nudges Aharon with his cane.

“Uneventful.” Aharon brushes his robe. “I was looking forward to stepping off the ship the moment I set foot on it.”

He and I share that sentiment… Lux thinks to herself.

“Well we can hold business talk fer th’ mornin’ if yer too tired. Sure th’ Captain won’t mind terribly. We can accomodate yer lil’ posse easy--”

“Time is of the essence, Rafen.” Aharon states plainly. “If nothing else I want to pass on our recent findings…” His serious tone doesn’t falter in the slightest despite how casual the other is. The old man called Rafen laughs and shrugs.

“Aye aye aye. Good to know I have the right man. Captain told me you were a no-nonsense Demacian.” Aharon finally lets himself smile and adjusts his glasses.

“We have a reputation to uphold as no-nonsense Demacians.”

“As we be holdin’ the reputation of no-good scoundrels.” Rafen raps his cane against the floor several times and those with him stand to attention. “Alright help ‘em unload and such. An’ be careful with their stuff will ya? I’m sure most of what they own be more valuable than yer own lives.” The old man turns back to them.

“Captain’s in the workshop tonight. Follow close an’ keep yer blades closer.”

Despite the winding and confusing passages, Rafen navigates the small group with ease. He had grown with this city and thus knows of every street and turn. Lux finds it all impressive, but can’t help but wonder about something else. Men and women lurk in the alleyways as we pass, but seem to slink further in as Rafen passes. Had it been from fear? Rafen certainly didn’t look like a man that Aharon would associate himself with. Not to mention that the old man spoke of a Captain. His Captain. There had been someone that even he answered to? It was quite a mystery.

The workshop Rafen had spoken of sits at the base of a spire, hollowed out many years ago and an old ship had been attached to the side with a sign reading “FORTUNE’S FAVOR” hanging at the front. A small twisting flight of stairs brings them upwards and they are soon greeted by a gentle orange glow, the hissing of steam and the ringing of metal.

The room itself is a humble space to fit a forge among other smithing tools and stations. Pinned along the walls are various swords, daggers and firearms created with a style reminiscent of Bilgewater’s aesthetic. A lone person sits in the middle striking a slab of glowing metal against an anvil. They’re clothed head to toe with protective gear only further adding to the mystery of Aharon’s client.

Rafen makes sure the other is aware of his presence, then walks over to exchange a few words rendered unintelligible by the roar of the forge. Their work is put at a halt, dunking the glowing metal into a nearby container of water and creating a massive cloud of steam. As the steam dissipates, the person seemed to have removed their gear.

Hiding beneath the mask is the face of a dark skinned woman with fire red hair strung up into a ponytail. The woman rises from her seat to reveal a well built frame, defined with muscle and decorated with old scars. Colorful tattoos cover every inch of her body depicting sea creatures, ships and green tentacles that encroach from her back. Slick with sweat, the forge’s light makes the woman look like a glistening goddess and her eyes are a cool blue to balance such a fiery radiance. The woman glances over her three new guests and once it settles on Lux, the blonde instinctively holds in a breath.

“Captain Fortune.” Aharon steps forward to extend a hand. Lux lets out a quiet exhale as words were finally exchanged. “It’s been a while.”

The woman named Fortune steps forward as well, accepting his hand with a strong shake. Aharon even winces at the forcefulness of her grip and she can’t help but grin. “Aye. Was wonderin’ when I was gonna see yer mug again, Aharon Dawnscribe.” The man puts his hand to his chest and gestures to the other two. “I’d like for you to meet two of my companions--”

“Kahina Radiabourne.” Kahina gives a respectful salute.

Fortune’s gaze was once again on Lux. Realizing that the Captain was looking for a name, she flinches. Despite such a playful demeanor, the woman gives off a commanding presence that forces Lux to look to the ground.

“L-Luxanna Crowng-guard, ma’am.” Lux squeaks out, red hot with embarrassment. Gods above she could feel Kahina’s smile behind her.

“A blueblood? Interestin’.” Fortune cants her head to the side, tilting her chin up with a single finger. “Ah come now, level eyes with me lass. No need to cast down such a bright an’ pretty face..”

Gods above! Gods above! My heart is going to burst…! Lux cries in her mind.

“Captain.” Aharon clears his throat. “If you're quite done, then we'll get on with business. I've already expressed to Rafen the urgency--”

“Aye aye aye.” She winks to Lux and pulls her hand away. “But not here. Voices carry an’ snoopin’ ears are all too willin’ to listen.”

They're led to the other side of the forge through a door and presumably into the ship attached at the side. The noises above them are prominent, yet muffled and Lux concludes them to be just above a lively bar. Given the mass of crates and items compacted in the room and the noise above, they would be free to discuss anything without being overheard. Rafen guards the door they just entered through while Fortune says something to another man who promptly leaves the storage area. Two men return with small bowls of stew, several small loaves of bread and drinks.

“It’s a seafood stew. Bilgewater classic.” Fortune explains while being given her own share and promptly dipping her loaf into the bowl. “Fish is our specialty, but we can’t grow anythin’ else worthwhile here. So we really do benefit by those still willin’ to trade.” As Lux samples the stew, she realizes what the woman means. Shuriman spices season the broth and accompanying the fish are hardy potatoes and carrots from Noxus. Finally the loaf of bread served with the stew is all too familiar: it was made from Demacian wheat.

“Yer wheat is the absolute best for soft bread like this.” The Captain smiles and chews on broth-soaked bread, speaking again after swallowing. “What’s this all about then? Must be pretty damn urgent for ya to see me in person.”

“If I may be blunt.” Aharon appears a tad unnerved once Fortune’s gaze is upon him. “We suspect that Bilgewater is at risk of total Noxian occupation.”

Her playful air vanishes just by her posture straightening and her brows narrowing. For now her food is set to the side.

“Surely ya didn't cross the seas to tell me somethin’ I already knew.”

“Of course not. I have intel confirming some...concerning circumstances towards our claim. Given that you're a rather adamant advocate against Noxian expansion, you're of the few I can trust with this information.” As if to take off some unforeseen force of stress, he redirects his attention. “Miss Crownguard, if you would.”

The moment she feels the Captain’s gaze again, she hesitates. Lux has encountered many a general and sergeant, but never has a simple gaze made her feel completely disarmed. Captain Fortune was well worthy of her title.

“Let's hear what you have to say, Crownguard.”

“Uhm. I-I have done a fair share of espionage within Noxian borders.” Her heart feels like it's creeping up her throat again. “A recent assignment has had me follow a trend of trade containing armor and weaponry being sent from Noxus to the occupied city of Bel’zhun. We thought it to be standard upkeep for the soldiers to retain their control in Shurima. We’ve then noticed a large fraction of such resources travel to the east before being sent from the port city of Mudtown.”

“Aye. A good ship gets you from Mudtown to Bilgewater in a week’s time.” Fortune seems quick to piece it together.

“Then you fully understand the severity of the situation.” Aharon takes back control of the conversation. “It's only a matter of time before shipping over mere swords becomes sending a fleet of soldiers to your coasts.”

“They be hard pressed to take over the entire island. The Kraken Priestess an’ her god wouldn’t take that lyin’ down either.”

“You've heard the horrors of the Noxian invasion of Ionia.” Aharon says bluntly. “They stripped acres of magic from their lands. I wouldn’t put it past them to employ similar tactics here if it meant killing a supposed god.”

It goes without saying that occupying the island would also inch Noxian territory closer to Demacia for an effective pincer. In short, both nations are properly threatened by this.

“Yer stretchin’ this favor I owe ya real thin.” Fortune seems frustrated, taking another bite of bread and a spoonful of stew.

“I don't intend to waste a pirate’s honor on something frivolous. Brash as you may be, you're a reliable ally. I figure preventing such an invasion while this city rebuilds to be enough incentive to having your full cooperation.” There's a moment of painful silence, then Fortune begins to laugh and the tension in the room eases up a bit.

“Bloody seven hells! Can't really argue against that can I?” She waves a hand dismissively and downs the rest of her stew. “Fine. Ya have my cooperation, but we'll continue this tomorrow. A sea voyage takes a lot out of ya when ya ain't used to it.” She rises from her seat, holding her drink in her hand.

“Hold on Fortune.” Kahina stops the woman. “I have one question for you.”

“That's Captain Fortune.”

“Right. Captain Fortune, what’s your connection to Aharon? I've never even heard of you until today.” Fortune has to think on it for a moment. Had she forgotten as well?

“A few years ago Aharon here let me in Demacian borders to catch a runaway bounty. I mentioned owin’ ‘im fer it, that's all. What? Did ya think I was a--”

“Thank you for your hospitalities, Captain Fortune. I'm sure we'll all make ourselves quite at home.” Aharon was utterly embarrassed, squeezing past the guard to the stairs. Lux can’t help but chuckle at it all. She couldn't really imagine him being with someone like her anyway….

Not that there was anything wrong with the Captain! Lux was sure she was a wonderful woman...!

...Gods why was she arguing with herself over this?

“...He doesn’t even know where to… Eh. Whatever. I’ve a few things to take care of,” Fortune takes one step up the stairs with the guard standing to the side. “I’m leavin’ the rest to you Rafen.”

“Aye, aye Captain.” The old man gives a respective nod before she disappears up the steps. “I left Yale ova there t’accommodate th’ rest o’ yer lil’ group. Long as yer here, ya have full protection o’th Syrens. Courtesy o’th Captain of course. I’ll be sure t’find Aharon an’ let ‘im know.”

“Thank you, Rafen.” Lux bows to him, with Kahina following suit.

“Ahh it’s no problem. I reckon we’re all friends now, aye?” The old man gives the two a crooked grin before he and Yale leads them to their rooms.

The rooms themselves were quaint and surprisingly well kept. Despite being just above the ground floor, the noise from below was as muffled as the storeroom. Lux and Kahina set down their belongings but don’t bother to do much after that. Exhaustion slowly creeps up on them and they crawl into their beds.

“Hrm.” Kahina stares at the ceiling. “Think we can really trust this Captain?”

“If Aharon trusts her, then I see no reason to be wary.” She answers honestly, expecting Kahina to be wary like this. “Especially since she's against Noxus’s regime. That has to count for something doesn't it?” Kahina merely shrugs.

“She could turn sides real easy. Remember what I said?” Lux gives the other woman a stern look who sighs in response. “Well… I guess at least just play it safe.”

“I know.”

A brief silence.

“Even so...that Captain is drop dead gorgeous isn't she?”

“Kahina!”

“Don't play dumb. You were completely distracted once she took of that smithing mask!”

Lux bites her lower lip. Damn her.

“Goodnight. Maybe she'll show up in your dreams.” Kahina grins triumphantly and pulls the blanket over her.

Lux gives a defeated huff and throws the blankets over her own head. The voyage had indeed taken more out of her than expected. It wasn’t long until she drifts off to sleep...

#League of Legends #Miss Fortune #Luxanna Crownguard #ill possibly draw up some proper designs for Kahina and Aharon later #but for now I pretty much imagine Kahina looking similar to Bridgette from Overwatch #and Aharon looking similar to Saias from Fire Emblem #(the FEH art moreso)

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camorrsthorn · 7 years

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Hi, I'm kinda new here, and so I mostly have just seen the art of your OCs? (Which is awesome, btw.) But I was wondering if you could give, like, a basic outline of who they are and maybe their universe? (Bc worldbuilding is ALWAYS cool.) Thanks! (And again, love your art

aaa thank you!! i have. a lot bear with me lmao but. i’m gonna put this under a cut because Oh Dang That’s Too Many

video game ocs: holy moley that’s a lot

tarris, relic, kharza gra-durza, serindil, riandil, vhesryn, saaji and zhakka are all from elder scrolls!!

tarris is a bosmer thief/assassin who’s actually real bad at fighting and is probably half magpie, don’t wear jewelery near her she will Have It

relic is a bosmer vampire who is an asshole. he’s awful. he knows magic but mostly likes to Stab. he exists in the same world-state as tarris and kharza and probably a few others

kharza is an orc warrior who’s like the only lawful good character i have, whoops. she sometimes turns into a werewolf and mauls people but that’s a minor character flaw. she’s a big gay

serindil is an altmer mage!! very very much a glass cannon. they were with the thalmor embassy in skyrim until they... sort of defected?? they’re still an ass tho

riandil is a bosmer scout!! he’s from eso so i’m not sure exactly how he fits into the world state, but he’s a big ball of sunshine. he likes very very bad puns and responding to altmer supremacy by acting real stupid until THEY look stupid. he’s great

vhesryn is a dunmer assassin but he’s also a big ol’ dick. he’s a vampire too but mostly a dick. his hobbies include being an asshole and stabbing people, also dancing

saaji is a khajiit thief and very pure good person. she;s good. she’ll steal your things but she’s good she’ll prolly give em back. really just wants a warm spot in the sun, very very tired of almer

zhakka is a redguard warrior and former pirate!! i love her. she scowls a lot and looks grumpy but she’s grinning inside just all the time. you know those people who say the most ridiculous funny shit with a totally stoic face?? that’s zhakka

spring and bishop are from fallout

spring washington is Soft. she’s a soft soft person. she likes plants and photography, but also she was her school’s boxing champion pre-war and won trophies for shooting, and likes to keep a switchblade on her at all times. met her husband when he had to drag her off some creep. she just wants to make the world a bit brighter!!

bishop is. bishop. he’s my courier and he’s??? the worst. he’s obnoxiously lucky and knows it, and very charming despite the amount of times he puts his foot directly in his mouth. he’s good at heart but also does what seems good/fun/cool at the time??? “hey bishop when is the last time you washed” “i dunno when did it last rain” “i don’t want to travel with you any more”

i have a whole lot of dragon age ocs bear with me

rasha tabris is Angry. i once described her as a wildfire in a very pretentious thing i didn’t post but it’s apt!! she stayed with the wardens because duncan was the reason she could kill vaughn, and the reason she wasn’t killed for it. she died fighting the archdemon because there was no way she was trusting some human, and died spitting and cursing

katia brosca’s main personality trait is Spite. people told her she could only be this this and this because casteless, so she did absolutely everything she could to prove them wrong. a lot of her loudness and bravado is a front to protect herself, but not all of it

hildr aeuducan’s middle name is duty. she does the job she’s got to do, and does it well. she doesn’t really Do sentiment?? and she’s never once but her own opinions over what’s best. she left behlen on the throne despite. everything

cian mahariel is Ridiculous. they spend half their time in trees despite having broken at least one bone on every part of their body falling out of them, and are Always Smiling

niketas surana lives on his nerves. his skills include flinching, stammering, going beet red if anybody looks at him for too long, and falling a little bit in love with anybody who’s nice to him. he’ll very very gladly swallow all his fear to protect people though, and repeatedly put himself between templars and scared younger mages while still in the tower. would die for jowan, frankly

vinnora lavellan is a sweetheart!! she just wants to be nice to everyone, and frankly deserves better than she got. she never wanted to be inquisitor, but figured she could at least use the position to help people who needed it, and tried to

noah shepard is my only real mass effect character worth talking about!! she’s a Delight and i love her. she’s paragon to her core, and goes out of her way to help people or offer a shoulder, but she’s absolutely not afraid to speak her mind or tell assholes to get fucked. she’s very very tired and full of guilt and regret. please let her sleep

d&d ocs!! are they ocs technically. i’m counting them i love them

dáithí lathlaeril is a half elven wild magic sorcerer and the only one i have actually played!! they’re half of a set of twins born to a high elven noblewoman and her human husband. they accidentally burned down their family library after overhearing their mother agree to essentially disinherit them, and have been an adventurer ever since. they have Lots of emotions always, and swing between “i’m inherently superior to all of you and also have cool magic” and “oh god i’m the worst i’m pathetic is my magic even good” and it’s terrible. please give them a hug. their name is pronounced DAH-hee

dáimhín lathlaeril is the other twin!! she left home to go be a bard but attracted an archfey with her singing, and wound up a warlock. still pretends to be a bard tho. she’s obnoxiously charming and knows it, and is WAY more relaxed and happy go lucky than their twin. she’s still pretty prissy tho. her name is pronounced like DAH-veen. also she’s not a girl, she’s nb!! like her twin. “finch that wouldn’t happen” haha what i can’t hear you

zeerith is a drow rogue!! he had just the worst life but is So Good at pretending he didn’t. what do you mean he’s almost certainly traumatised and emotionally messed up, he’s smiling, see?? trust him. he really really hates killing and would much rather talk his way out of trouble, but isn’t at all above hurting people to defend people?? also he’s very handsome and charming, focus on that. no don’t ask him if he’s ok. very very prone to talking someone to death if given half a chance

most of my actually original characters are from the same world!! it’s tag is “untitled a” because i don’t have a name for it yet lmao. there’s also a bunch of gods to go with these guys but i don’t even have names for them yet so lmao

fionn is prolly currently my most developed character from it. he’s an elf, which is fairly rare, and a magic user, which is rarer. he doesn’t care tho. he’s an ex-soldier who deserted after some very bad stuff happened, and he’s just trying to keep his head down. the god of luck and fate took a shine to him tho, so that’s not going too well. he uses his magic to make people think he’s much better at playing music than he is, but he could do Very cool things. he won’t tho

sabre is also an elf, but she’s a thief and very happy about it. she’s tiny and literally always ready to fight. she’ll fight anyone. she’ll Win against anyone. don’t fight sabre she jut doesn’t stop. she’s got a pretty strict Code tho, and won’t steal from anyone who can’t afford it, or fight anyone who can’t fight back. technically steals to give to the poor but also keeps a lot. she worked for that ill gotten gold!! she’s one of the two people who got “chosen” by the twin gods of the hunt, which she’s pretty stoked about. she’s got a tattoo honoring one of the twins

zarifa is the captain of an as-yet unnamed ship, and a totally legitimate merchant sailor. no pirates here absolutely not haha what’s that officer nope no illegitimate goods either, trust her. she’s got a good heart but also she’s pretty practical, and ensuring her own survival and the survival of her crew trumps morals every time. she’s the “chosen” of the god of the sea, which is an incredibly mixed bag

sylvie pike is zarifa’s first mate, but not nearly as professional. she likes to have fun, and insists on dragging zarifa with her. she’s got a much thicker accent than any other member of the crew, and makes it impenetrably thicker when she wants to be difficult. she’s not as good at overcoming her conscience as zarifa is

billie shaw is possibly my oldest current oc, holy shit. they’re kind of the odd job person aboard the ship, and also sing shanties and (badly) play the accordion. has a big big soft spot for kids. also hates shoes. what the fuck billie. put some boots on you ridiculous human being

sara tillman is possibly the only ordinary person on board the ship. she’s the ship’s doctor, despite being easily the youngest person aboard, and despite having only ever operated on her family’s farm prior to being hired. she’s got like ten siblings and loves all of them very very much

there’s also a handful of others from this universe who aren’t nearly as fleshed out yet, other than the gods, but they aren’t fleshed out!! “finch neither are any of the people you’ve talked about” [sweats]

#I AM ALMOST DEFINITELY MISSING SOMEBODY #MULTIPLE SOMEBODIES!!#oc tag #oc masterpost #heck yeah #Anonymous #ask tag

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surveysbygracelynn · 7 years

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a lowhat do you normally eat at a barbecue? well the first barbecue that comes to mind is my uncle’s fundraiser - which i usually eat some beans and a burger. sometimes i’ll reach for a hot dog but the burnt ones are the best!

do you prefer aquatic creatures or flying (water or air)? hmm. trying to think what parts I get excited about more at a zoo. I want to say aquatic. would you like to go swimming with dolphins? I think it’d be cool but I just saw an article about how its inhumane. what to you is beautiful beyond all compare? a sunny day.

in 5 years time, what do you NOT want to be doing (worst scenario)? living at home and still not knowing what I want out of life. have you and a friend ever gone after the same person? not really. I mean, I was always more proactive. do you lead people on? I don’t think so. have you ever been told that you were going to hell? I don’t think so. do you know any actual dances or do you just move to the music? Just the party songs not really any moves. name the coolest thing about one of your grandparents. Wish I knew my grandparents well enough to tell you a fun fact ~ do you know which side your appendix is on? Nope. if someone was willing to tell your crush you liked them would you let them? Lol, go ahead and tell Brandon. do you put q-tips in your ear or just round the outside? I put them in my ear. have you ever popped another person’s zit? ugh, ew no. have you ever told a friend to dump their SO? did they? I don’t really know. I’ve always tried to be supportive. what do you think is the coolest piercing on someone else? I don’t know. I like the nose piercing on other people. who do you tease most often and what about? Uh, johnny for being ugly probably. but I don’t even tease him as much anymore cause I don’t see him. Sometimes I’ll just tease Brandon for something silly that happened. most disgusting bug? Idk. they’re all pretty gross. favorite thing you’ve ever painted? I really liked the spooky forest I painted the first time I went to a wine and paint place. when it’s your birthday, do you have the correct number of candles? I don’t really like cake so I don’t usually have candles. when you take surveys, what kinds of questions do you HOPE will be asked? Something other than “what do you hear?” “what did you do this morning” “what are you doing this weekend” cause they’re usually the same answers. my mom watching tv, went to work, and nothing. lol do you like 80s music? I do. what kind of food is your favorite? (Ex. Mexican, Chinese, Thai, etc.) It’s a tie between mexican and italian, but I think I lean slightly more italian. how would you feel if you were drafted for the military? Honestly I’d probably be really upset because I’m very insecure about doing a lot of brave things. would you have sex before marriage? why or why not? I don’t know. I’m still really torn about it. I want it, but like... I’m also an emotional sap who probably would get super weird if I had sex with my boyfriend... and we’re long distance so that’s hard. how do you feel about shaved pubes? I prefer it...

are you more liberal or conservative? Lol I’m liberal :P

why do some teenagers drink alcohol? I think wanting to feel more adult, and knowing that adults use it as a way to escape their problems and have fun, they want to do the same. do you like obama? I do. would making abortion illegal really be the logical thing to do? No. But is that going to stop anyone? No. does the person you like, like you? I think so. what’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Anal. Lol what’s your opinion on masturbation? It feels good :p do you wish you had an eating disorder because you want to lose weight? No???? what kind of question is this what is your favorite queen song? Killer Queen. who is the sexiest celebrity? would you cheat on your partner for this celebrity? Stephen Colbert.. uh... if he came up to me and wanted it i would be really hard to say o! how often do you cuss? Not very often. how is your self-esteem? It fluctuates. have you ever thought about committing suicide? Yes. have you ever cleaned up someone else’s vomit? No...

would you kiss the last person you texted? considering its my boyfriend, yes.

do you think you exercise enough? Not vigorously enough but I make sure to get my step goal. you’re getting ready to go to bed, and the last person you kissed shows up. what do you say? You weren’t supposed to be here until next friday! if i offered to buy you a chocolate bar, which would you choose? Depends on what they had. Probably Reeses - but if they had it (idk if they still sell it) fast break!! have you ever written a song or poem for someone special? I’ve written poems have you ever been told that you resemble a celebrity? Not really. in your life, who is the person that seems to understand you the most? I think Brandon probably accepts my weirdness the most but Johnny and Fusco seemed to understand the most. last time you got goosebumps? Idk. do you have a beatles shirt? yes, plenty. what color(s) have you dyed your hair? None. do you think about the way things used to be often? Lately, yeah. have you ever dated a ginger? Nope. have you ever cheated on a boyfriend/girlfriend? Well, considering the one I “cheated” on, didn’t consider us real, then no. It was a game of truth or dare.. . how do you like being roused in the morning? Uh.. idk. Brandon and I are more night owls in that respect. There was this one time before he left a few months ago that was pretty hot though. It started with a lot of teasing. lol favorite food? Pasta for sure what is the best news you could hear right now? “I found a new job!” or “Did you still want an apartment thats cheap?” do you listen to screamo? nope. does your town/area have a farmer’s market? do you ever buy your vegetables there rather than grocery store? I don’t know of one in staten island, though there might be, i’m just not looking for it. they definitely have them in the city. I don’t. you’re on life support, and you want someone to pull the plug. who do you want to do it? I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’d ever really want that. Probably someone detached from the situation though. I feel like anyone else would vote to keep me alive. has anyone ever “ruined” anything for you (for example: your partner says, “oh, this song always reminds me of my ex” and you never want to listen to it again, or your friend is so obsessed with a movie that you start to resent the film)? I really hate Mayday parade because I know for a fact they got my boyfriend through his break up, which he was still dealing with when we got together. I’m sure there’s plenty other examples. would you ever get a tattoo in honor of someone in your life? it doesn’t have to be their name. If Johnny and Fusco ever wanted a tattoo, I’d probably do it. But other than that it’s probably my dad. if you had a significant other and somehow got a chance to kiss your celebrity crush, would you still go for it? honestly, I think I would lol. if you still live with your parents, is it scary for you to imagine living away from them when you move out on your own? if you live on your own, how did you cope with moving away from your family for the first time? I mean, I moved away during college, though I had all expenses paid for me. But now that I’m home again I’m kind of scared cause I know that’s not the deal anymore. do you tend to be attracted to people that are more similar to you in interests and mannerisms or do you tend to be attracted to someone opposite/complementing to you? I think more like me... idk. I haven’t been able to find a pattern. is there something that people complain about that just makes you roll your eyes because you think is not a big deal and you would gladly trade your own issues for it? Yes because I’d know what to do in this mooching jobless creep’s situation. Get therapy and then also a job to pay for therapy. have you ever received an unwanted gift from someone trying to woo you? did you accept it or reject it? Uh... idk. not really. Didn’t really get many gifts from the guys I dated. have you ever boycotted a product or corporation? how come? Not really. lol. if someone asks you to hang out, but for some reason you’re just feeling lazy/don’t want to go anywhere, do you ignore them, make up an excuse, or just tell them the honest truth? I’m usually pretty honest. I don’t usually ignore them lol have you heard of or even read the novel, “50 shades of grey”? if so, what’s your opinion about it? Pretty much that it’s awful. has a guy ever let you wear his jacket? I love stealing Brandon’s hoodies and he’s let me wear his jacket but idk i don’t think jackets are as satisfying. has anyone you ever dated called you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice? Uh... I think Brandon had called me after I was asleep, but I don’t go to sleep very late. have you met anyone famous? yes, a few people. Aaron Carter for one. what will your next piercing be? Idk. I don’t really like piercings on myself. what do you regret doing at FAR too young? I don’t really regret it - but I wish I was a little less promiscuous with my first boyfriend... cause it obviously didn’t make him stay. do you have any weapons for personal protection? + No. is there a piece of jewelry that holds any sentimental value to you? I like all my jewelry. what does your facebook status say right now? Facebook statuses don’t stay like they used to.. would you ever agree to an open relationship with someone? Nah. I don’t think I could go that far. have you ever had your picture in the newspaper? I don’t think so. what did you have for dinner last night? Popcorn Lol . do you think you look similar to your siblings? I’m not sure. Not really. what do you usually dream about? Work. do you ever use sleep as a way to cope with bad moods? I guess. I don’t really deal with my feelings so.. I’m just perpetually tired. what’s the most self-destructive thing you’ve ever done? Uh... keeping everything to myself. was (or is) it difficult for you to watch your siblings mature? if you’re an only child, is it difficult to watch family members in general get older? It wasn’t really hard to watch her mature. It was to be put in the middle of all of her maturing and my parents. have you ever blamed an outside force for a problem you were having? Yes. do you find yourself getting more optimistic around new year’s, or does that time of year have a negative affect on you? I don’t know. I don’t really set any goals. But I guess I hope that the new year will be better. who was your high school crush? Uh in the beginning it was Kurt, and a few other guys in my class, then Chris, then Danny really. and I guess the end of year would be Brandon lol what do you dislike about your smile? Nothing, I love my smile. have you noticed that EVERYONE is ‘bisexual’ these days? I think that people are just getting more comfortable with their sexuality and realizing it is possible to be attracted to both and it’s not as stagnant. I’ve always identified as straight but I’ve found myself having feelings towards girls. are you online 24/7? pretty much. who is your favorite online friend? I don’t have a lot of online friends but I guess Phil is my favorite since our friendship is all online. is it possible to be single and happy? I think so. It’s certainly better th an being in an awful relationship. is there anyone who hates you? I don’t know, probably. does your mom know your deepest darkest secrets? I don’t think so. who did you last talk to about the person you like? Uh, kind of a friend from elementary school. is there anyone you trust who you shouldn’t? I don’t know.. do you want kids? I think so. have you ever fallen completely in love? I thin so. do you believe in celebrating anniversaries? Yeah, why wouldn’t I? what was your biggest worry five years ago, do you still feel the same about it at this minute? 5 years ago? I was worried about being stuck in my friend group in college. Not at all. Lol do you want your children (if you have any) to be ‘just like you’? I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m great, sometimes i don’t. do you have same sex fantasies? There have been a few. would you ever have sex in the shower or the bath? I really don’t like the shower... tub might be better honestly. must try. lol opinion on immigrants/immigration reform? We were founded on a country of immigrants why are we not letting them in. should prostitution be legalized? I don’t think so... why are you the person you are? my childhood? lol if you were offered a shot of whiskey right this second, would you accept? Eh. I don’t like drinking at home. what are you like when you’re drunk? More giggly usually. do you want a church wedding? I don’t think so, honestly. story of the first time you made out with someone? We were sitting outside, literally in front of some persons house on their sidewalk and we just started making out. first time you gave/received oral sex? I don’t really remember.. do you still talk to the person you lost your virginity to? I still technically have my virginity lol how many followers do you have on tumblr? what about twitter/instagram? 275 on my tumblr? (that seems fake but ok? a lot of them aree spam..) twitter its like 125 and 286 on instagram.

first time you thought you were in love? when did you realize that you weren’t actually in love with that person? I thought I was in love with Kurt, probably after we kissed honestly lol. I realized I wasn’t in love with him a few months later when he started smoking and I realized I barely know him at all. ever seen someone just roll out of bed and still look hot? Uh.. idk. I’m still attraccted to Brandon in the morning. would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? Maybe.. if you were pregnant right now…? Probably would be very awful for my job situation, my church situation... my life situation. have you ever kissed an ex after you two have broken up? Yes. do you ever wear boots with skinny jeans? Always. Lol is there a den in your house? Yes. what’s currently on your mind? finishing this survey so I can go to bed, and a bit about my ex honestly. lots of questions regarding him and the person I stole this from seeming to be in love with her ex. do you have a pinterest account? Yeah but I never really use it. have you ever seen the television show the munsters? No... would you/have you spent more than $200 on any one person for a holiday? I don’t think so. thoughts on slenderman? have you even heard of him? He’s alright. lol it was more of a jump scare thing though. what would you call yourself the king or queen of? Queen of not thinking things through. if i paid for you to take karate lessons, would you? yes. what is the saddest movie that you’ve ever seen? Uh... idk. I don’t actively watch anything that sad. opinion: on surveys that begin with your name, age, etc? It’s pretty basic and not at all interesting. This one has captivated me though, so good luck. do you know any people who cuss in every sentence? Uh. not really. ever written that you were going to end your life? I don’t really think so. is life good? I shouldn’t complain. I have it better than most. did you lose friends when you started dating someone? I lost friends that were potential suitors, and lost friends for other reasons. have you ever used the word “rawr” in an actual conversation? Uh... probably honestly.

would you change yourself for the person you love? I don’t know. My whole relationship with Brandon has been me sticking to myself, but I am trying to be more open minded about his hobbies. do you have someone you can be your complete self around? Brandon. do you have nice eyes? no lol . how did you celebrate your last birthday? My friends came over and we drank a lot. have you ever had sex on the beach? I’ve done sexual acts on the beach. lol would you ever shave your head to save someone you love? Uh.. maybe. can you juggle? Nope. what’s the last thing you drew a picture of? I was doodling at the christian ed meeting lol is your bellybutton an innie or outie? Innie. have you ever been banned from a public place? Nope. what horror fiction character scares you the most? I never really watched it because I would be too freaked out lol have you ever milked a cow? no... sounds like a weird experience. have you ever given blood? Nope. do you know any identical twins? Uh... I’m actually not sure. have you ever made your own ice cream? From a baskin robbins powder lol, yeah. but not a real recipe.

#good survey #survey #show me more surveys like this one seriously!!

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