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my-johnlockficrecs · 2 years

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bet you thought you wouldn’t see more of these lists huh. man. this one has been sitting in my drafts for SO long now, mostly complete except for this little chatty bit. those of you who’ve been around for a while probably know i’m a champion procrastinator but this one really takes the cake 🤡 june felt very much like a nothing-month because nothing really happened. it was just very monotonous. and also hot. hope y’all’s june was fun though! and that it wasn’t too unbearably hot, wherever you live. july is basically over now, and wow this was. one hell of a month. and i think that threw me off a bit! after a whole month of nothing, suddenly EVERYTHING happened, and just kept happening, and it was all a bit much. not in a totally bad way, but definitely overwhelming. anyway, i shall cease the rambling now 😮‍💨 on to the main event!

key: blue: reread • 🏳️‍🌈 pride month theme • 💌 valentine’s day • 🐺 A/B/O • 🔎 victorian era fic

spotlight rec

✰ Totus Mundus Agit Histrionem by mistyzeo (42k, E) 🔎

The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.

January, 1881: a despondent army doctor is offered a ticket to a Shakespeare play, and is instantly captivated by the fellow playing the Danish prince himself. Then there is a murder. Then they fall in love.

i was hooked to this fic from the very first meeting of john and sherlock. a john pov that is so so good, it’s adorable to read how mesmerising and irresistible john finds sherlock. the flirting and wooing is so subtle and delicately done, even though it’s because they have to avoid drawing attention to their sexualities, there is an undeniable and inherent romanticism and sensuality to it. the whole fic is so sensual to me, with an unhurried pace that tells me the author has superb control over the fic. also a lovely sapphic couple in there too! (hint: one half of the couple is irene 😉) i absolutely love the interactions between the two couples, when john and sherlock can finally be comfortable and be themselves around at least two of their friends 🥹 and, of course, there is a murder. the balance between case and romance is perfect in my view, not too much and not too little of either. the two end up blending into one another, which is exactly as it should be.

bite sized (5k and less)

Do You Want to Know a Secret? by @chriscalledmesweetie (59, G) 🏳️‍🌈

John has a secret. Does Greg want to know?

The Hike-n-Talk Fall by @chriscalledmesweetie (529, G) 🏳️‍🌈

Sherlock is falling for John. Quite literally.

Paint Your Palette Lavender by @chriscalledmesweetie (80, G) 🏳️‍🌈

Sherlock has an epiphany.

Giving Us Lift by @chriscalledmesweetie (485, G) 🏳️‍🌈

How will John entertain Rosie while Sherlock is out on a case?

Interval by berlynn_wohl (3k, E) 🐺

"You shouldn't leave the window open in your state. It's dangerous.”

Antiseptic by @gaylilsherlock (3k, G)

What did John hear on that secret tape from Culverton’s hospital?

Both Sides Now by @totallysilvergirl (12k, M)

Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

For Rent by Sexxica (4k, E)

John needs to let off some steam. What better way to do it than by hiring the prettiest rentboy on the block?

En Pointe by standbygo (3k, E)

Sherlock tries pointe shoes. John approves.

Random Numbers by songlin (1k, teen)

Just because they're not having sex doesn't mean they aren't intimate.

A collection of moments in the relationship of asexual!Sherlock and straight!John.

All That I Have by the_arc5 (3k, M)

In the aftermath of the Great Game, Sherlock finds himself with a new weakness. John is both the cause and the cure.

Neriine by Accident, holmesian_love (4k, teen)

Sherlock couldn’t resist. It wasn’t his fault. He had been walking by an alley and it called to him. So he put it in his coat pocket and took it home. He didn’t know how John would react. They had only been together two months now and he didn’t want to ruin things so early on, but he just couldn’t say no. He kept his hand in his pocket, holding his prize.

Il Est Revenu, Mon Amour by @gaylilsherlock (2k, G)

Can things that were once broken be put back together?

Happy Anniversary by Salamboo6 (3k, E)

John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him.

Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

Lingerie by Sexxica (4k, E) 💌

It's Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo's for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women's underwear under his clothes. There's no dessert at Angelo's because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

Cypher by roane (2k, M)

When Sherlock fails to solve a case in time, John will need to be there to pick up the pieces.

Incendiary Hearts by @gaylilsherlock (1k, E)

What really happened in a corner of an abandoned tunnel in the London Underground?

Sherlock Holmes, the Artist by @gaylilsherlock (1k, G)

What if Sherlock had come back home to John before he’d ever even moved out of 221B?

Tell Me Your Secret by @gaylilsherlock (4k,E)

“You can use your soldier voice.”

Still, With Hearts Beating by @finamour (2k, E)

John already knows the sound of Sherlock’s heartbeat. He’s become familiar with his breathing patterns, the way they grow quicker and more shallow as the two of them run through the streets of London. He has, in a passing manner, come to know Sherlock’s scent; the colour of his skin in the dim light of the alleyway; the way his hair grows matted and sweaty against the nape of his neck on a warm July night.

But he has never been pressed up against Sherlock like this, the rise and fall of his breath pushing into his own body through their thin summer clothes. Until now, he has never been fully immersed in his scent, felt his hair softly brushing his face, the thrumming of Sherlock’s heart against his own chest.

fortune favours by @simplyclockwork (5k, M)

On military leave, John Watson discovers that his sister has signed him up for a blind date book event. The set-up is simple: one person brings a book and ends up on a blind date with whoever chooses their contribution.

To say that John is reluctant to attend is an understatement. Luckily, sparks fly between him and a stunning new author when he makes an unorthodox selection from the book choices.

short fics (5k-15k)

Stronger Than This by Laiquilasse (8k, E) 🐺

Sherlock is convinced John is stronger than his Alpha instincts, and he stronger than his Omega. So when Sherlock goes into heat, this is the first time John remains at Baker Street with him.

Heart Like Glass by Laiquilasse (15k, E) 🐺

It's the day after Sherlock's heat has ended, and a trip to the pharmacy brings out emotional baggage for both Sherlock and John. Sherlock struggles with the physical after-effects, and John with affarirs of the heart. As John takes care of the only omega in his life, he has to question how long they can keep this up, and whether there are some things better left unsaid, and if a life without bonding is truly possible for them.

Reignite by augustbird (9k, teen)

When Mary dies, John finds himself in financial trouble without a home for himself and his young son. There's not much choice except to turn to his ex, Sherlock Holmes.

Two Facts by SailorChibi (6k, G) 🐺

When Sherlock and John first mated they decided that they didn't want children. But now Sherlock's pregnant and it's threatening to tear his world apart. He knows John will leave him once he finds out, but how can he decide between his alpha and the child he didn't know he wanted?

A Fortuitous Oversight by scribblesinthebyline (14k, E) 🐺

Sherlock Holmes was perfectly content being a single parent until a scent on the wind caught his attention.

Casualty by @totallysilvergirl (12k, E)

Sherlock renders assistance at a hit-and-run and is left deeply shocked. When the accident turns into a case, John moves back in to 221b to help—and finds that Sherlock has way oversold his image as an emotionless thinking machine

The Important Bit by Solshine (9k, G)

Just where exactly is the line between “to love” and “to be in love”? What difference is required between “flatmate” and “husband”? (Besides the rings, obviously.) No, the important bit is that they have each other. Thirty years, give or take, in an atypical marriage. Basically a long bit of platonic domestic fluff.

The Losing Side by EchoSilverWolf, englandwouldfalljohn (10k, teen)

Sherlock was the only person whose loss had ever brought Captain John Watson to his knees.

I Need You to See Me by Mssmithlove (12k, E)

After going back to war, John is yet again invalided home, this time with a broken ankle and a chunk of his memory missing, unable to recall the last five years he's spent being Sherlock Holmes' partner and husband.

Strong at the Broken Places by @blueink3 (10k, M)

They dated for ten months during Sherlock's first year of uni and John's last before the latter went off to fight someone else's war.

When they meet again two-and-a-half years later, John's gained a scar in his shoulder and a limp he can't seem to shake.

Sherlock's gained a new boyfriend and bruises he can't seem to explain away.

The Adventure of the Apocalypse by CopperBeech (12k, teen)

John's anger at Sherlock over Mary's death meant a long break in their friendship, and it’s only precariously patched up. But now he's back in the sitting room of Baker Street, listening to a plump little bookseller and his dire-looking companion explain why they need Sherlock to help them find a certain boy before the impending End Of The World.

Rains of fish, violin playing, fast driving in a Ford Fiesta, and Sherlock and John working out what they mean to each other in the shadow of Armageddon.

Locked Room Mysteries (or, what really goes on at 221B) by @gaylilsherlock (12k, G)

What do the dashing detective and his beloved blogger get up to when the case is finished? More than you’d think.

All the Flavours, Cherry and More by cwb (6k, E)

“Mm, what is that? You taste good.”

“Cherry lip gloss.”

“Fabulous. What other secrets do you have for me, then?”

Sherlock feels a blush rising to touch his cheeks, more sensual than uncomfortable now that he knows John isn't disgusted by him. No, John is responding exactly the way he had hoped.

By the Bi by emilycare (7k, teen)

It's been a year of living together. Sherlock and John are getting more comfortable with one another. A bit. John's out of sorts tonight though.

Irene Adler insisted to John that he and Sherlock are in a relationship. This has John rethinking his understanding of himself. And Sherlock...well, is Sherlock. But in the face of some movie night cuddling, key information--finally--is shared.

Cracking the Code by CaitlinFairchild (6k, E)

They’re sure of each other, now. They’re settled. And as far as Sherlock is concerned, settled isn’t the least bit boring or stifling or constraining.

Settled is marvellous. Settled is freeing.

Settled means sometimes you make romantic love by candlelight, murmuring hushed words of endless devotion solely because you want to, because the moment feels right and good.

And sometimes, settled means you fuck on the sofa on a Saturday afternoon, straightforward and uncomplicated, no deep desperate romance necessary, just because fucking is fun.

mid length (16k-50k)

Shift by stopthat (46k, E)

Sherlock is tired.

John senses a shift.

◒

“I’m tired, John,” He murmurs. Barely a whisper. John swallows, feeling irrationally helpless.

“I can see that,” He responds quietly, tracing an eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. “Sleep, then,” He can hear the crack in his own voice—a perfect match for the one in his chest. He hopes that Sherlock won’t notice, won’t try to pick it all apart.

“Not what I meant,” He rumbles, as he drifts off and away, leaving John alone in wakefulness to wonder what the hell had just happened.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way To Samarra by @gaylilsherlock (20k, E) 🔎

And so Death said, “I was astonished to see your servant in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight, in Samarra.”

Holmes and Watson retreat to the good doctor’s family country home and lay their feelings bare. What follows, however, neither man could have foreseen.

*ACD-verse fic, imagined with Brett, Burke & later on Hardwicke, as the players, hence my fandom tags.

Let’s Make a Bed Out in the Rain by anonymous (17k, M)

John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

Leave the Signs and the Sirens by out_there (24k, G)

After John's released and back home at Baker St, Sherlock still feels it. Down the centre of his chest there's an ache like a healing wound. A physical awareness of a body he usually ignores as much as he can. It's psychosomatic, nothing more interesting than that.

(Post-S1 AU)

long fics (50k and above)

The Men Who Talked Between Words by Odamaki (463k, E)

John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don't get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (78k, M)

After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I — the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains — shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Agony and The Ecstasy of Sherlock Holmes by @gaylilsherlock (54k, E)

How many times will Sherlock Holmes die for John Watson?

series/collections

February Chaos 2021: Prompt Ficlets by @ohlooktheresabee

Winter’s Child series by Canon_Is_Relative, ImpishTubist (116k, 26 works, complete)

Five years after they meet, Sherlock and John adopt a baby boy.

The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes series by cwb, KarlyAnne (13k, 3 works, incomplete)

The Oh, What a Night series by penumbra (fan comic, 3 works, complete)

I’ll Carry the Moon (and the Stars in your Eyes) by 1electricpirate (49k, 7 works, incomplete) 🐺

Containing scenes from an experiment – perhaps the greatest of all. After all, Sherlock is a bonded Omega ... and maybe some urges are about more than biology, anyway.

The Horse and Carriage series by flawedamythyst (60k, 14 works, complete)

What Tomorrow Will Bring series by addicted2hugh (28k, 3 works, incomplete)

#at least i got it out before july ended 💀#don’t even ASK about when the july list will be out #i’m not even thinking about that🫣#johnlock fic rec #my johnlock fic recs #my johnlock fic recs: june 2022 #bbc sherlock #johnlock #johnlock fics

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outputprison4 · 2 years

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#china visa

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

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A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

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How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader

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choco-cherry-chunk · 2 years

Note

So "Doc Ock" has become known as a hero and a sort-of sidekick to Spider-Man. Though Otto tends to pull his punches when fighting baddies (particularly if they're just common crooks or thugs, not super-powered individuals), he is thorn in the side of a lot of super villains. And just like Spider-Man's enemies go after Mary Jane, Otto's enemies go after Norman. 1/?

Norman still has lingering effects of the serum; the "cure" was more like a stabilizer, quieting the voice of the Goblin and lessening the effects of the serum by half. So while Norman can't go around kicking ass like he used to, he's able to put up a good fight to defend himself. The villains also underestimate Norman's cleverness and spryness, and Norman usually comes out of the event unscathed, sometimes even having gotten in a few good licks. 2/?

Otto and sometimes Spider-Man show up pretty quickly whenever something happens with Norman anyway, and for the most part, the repeated attempts at kidnapping are treated as annoyances rather than actual threats. Then Norman becomes pregnant. The serum effects lessen, or rather, transfer to the baby, but they don't know that at the time. Otto increases security in their penthouse, and cuts back on his crime fighting to be at home with Norman and to hopefully drop off his enemies' radar. 3/?

For the most part, it works. Then one night, when Norman is almost nine months along, Spider-Man needs Otto's help in an emergency (a schoolbus full of children being held hostage by Shocker), and Otto reluctantly leaves Norman's side, at Norman's insistence. Otto and Spider-Man arrive at the bus and easily beat the super villain, but then they find the bus is full of child-sized dummies. Shocker, despite being webbed up and defeated, starts laughing and Otto's blood goes cold. 4/?

They rush back to the penthouse, to find the place in shambles and Norman gone. The phone rings a moment later and Otto answers. The voice on the other end is that of Rhino: "I have Osborn. Come to old car factory by the docks. Do not bring the Spider." Otto quickly tells Peter what's happened and, despite Peter's protests, insists that he will be going alone. He can't risk anything happening to Norman. Otto practically flies across the city to the factory. 5/?

There are several Rhino goons outside who he easily dispatches before heading in. He finds Norman, alive, chained to a concrete pillar. Before he can untie him, he hears Rhino's laugh and the super villain speaks, from behind Otto: "I did not know I would be getting not one hostage, but two. An unexpected bonus. I shall enjoy killing them in front of you, Octavius." Otto turns, rage burning in his eyes. Rhino sees this and laughs harder. 6/? (I might be off on my numbering sorry)

"You did not even cause actual harm to my men. What could you possibly hope to do to me?"Otto faces Rhino head on, actuators flaring open beside him. Their lights are red, but Otto is still in control. He is full of rage. You do not FUCK with Doc Ock's family. A fight begins, with Otto careful to keep it away from Norman. He unleashes his anger onto Rhino, no longer pulling his punches, but also making sure not to kill the man. 7/?

Rhino is quickly put off guard by how tough a fight Otto is giving him, and within minutes, he is incapacitated and at Otto's mercy. A moment later, Spider-Man arrives, having been observing from afar in case Otto needed him. He webs up the super villain and promises to keep an eye on him until the police arrive. Otto turns back to Norman. "Darling, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Otto asks, as the actuators clip off the chains holding him to the pillar. 8/?

Norman shakes his head, but then his face contorts in pain. Otto is instantly on alert, both he and the actuators scanning over Norman's body. There are no obvious wounds or breaks, but the actuators relay the information to Otto that Norman is in labour, and there isn't time to get him to the hospital. 9/?

Otto is terrified, but he instantly knows what to do, having prepared for multiple different scenarios when he and Norman first learned of the pregnancy. He is able to get Norman to a relatively clean location in the factory, and with the help of the actuators, helps Norman deliver their child. 10/10 Sorry, that was longer than I thought it would be lol.

#spider-man #spiderman #octogoblin #octoblin #mpreg #asks #karlimeaghan #sdjhsdjkjskfksjfkd #i don't even want to add anything to this because it is just so beyond wonderful thank you for sending it to me #i adore otto being so protective of norman especially now that he's in some amount of danger in so many ways #and the stress of norman having to give birth there after everything that happens is iconic frankly #thank you thank you thank you you are too sweet for this <3

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stina-is-a-punk-rocker · 3 years

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jacqueline wilson’s ‘love lessons’

tw: abuse, pedophilia, characters making Bad Decisions, long unnecessary spiel about my childhood like I’m running a recipe blog

It’s funny how loads of the authors who helped shaped me into the vaguely humanoid being I am today have names beginning with the letter ‘J’; Judy Blume, Jeff Kinney, John Green, J.K. Rowling (yikes, I know) … and Jacqueline Wilson.

I’ve never owned a Jacqueline Wilson book of my own; they were always borrowed from a friend, or from a friend of a friend, or from a friend of a cousin- you get the gist. Her books, for me, come with an entire aesthetic: something reminiscent of yard sales, and reading under the covers with a flashlight, and being lulled into a false sense of security by the deceptively innocent Nick Sharratt illustration on the cover until someone’s best friend gets mowed over.

So I knew what I was getting into when I picked up Love Lessons. I knew this was going to be Fucked Up; and boy, was I right.

(Here’s the part where I warn you about spoilers.)

From an abusive dad to creepy child predator teachers to slut-shaming and victim blaming, this book has it all.

The main character is Prudence ‘Prue’ King, who is homeschooled at the beginning of the book, along with her sister, Grace. Their parents remain rooted in the early twentieth century, and are very strict about- well, everything. No TV, no computers, not a single mobile phone in the house; their clothing worse than the orphans’ from Annie; and their father remains distinctly distrustful of modern institutions like the school and the hospital; and so on, and so forth.

Daddy King suffers a stroke, and has to be taken to the hospital. Meanwhile, Mrs. King (a floppy, spineless woman who lives in fear and awe of her, frankly horrid, husband) sends the girls to school, behind the then invalid Mr. King’s back. Cue Prue and Grace being the freakshows of the school, with their strange clothing and overbearing mother.

Grace manages to make friends, but Prue remains alone. The kids are dicks, the teachers are dicks… well, all of them but one. And that’s the art teacher, Mr. Raxberry (I just couldn’t get over that name; it seems like something you’d name a mythical plant from Pixie Hollow or some shit. I’m assuming it isn’t an actual name, since the spelling & grammar check on my computer doesn’t seem to recognize it), or Rax, as he’s called.

Oh, yeah; Prudence’s favorite subject in school is art, and she’s a whiz at it. This is relevant, because reasons.

And here’s where stuff gets murky. Prue develops a crush on Rax- which is perfectly normal. I’m definitely no stranger to it; I’ve had crushes on my teachers, my mum admitted she used to think one of her professors was cute. And yeah, as I grew older, I grew out of those crushes and now have a markedly more refined taste in men (unless he’s 5’ 7’’, born in ’97 and named Bang Chan, I don’t want him); and my mum married my dad, so I’m assuming she did, too. Admittedly, now that my dad teaches at a university, it’s icky to think that there might be students who have crushes on him- but I digress.

My point is, loads of us have liked our teachers. But I doubt the majority of us have acted on it.

And Prue actively showing her interest in Rax isn’t the worst part. That’s a spot reserved for Rax reciprocating her feelings.

Guess Ezra Fitz and Ms. Grundy (yes, I watched Riverdale; please don’t cancel me) have a new addition to the Creep Club.

The age of consent in the UK is 16, if I’m not mistaken. Prue is 14. She’s just barely become a teenager, and she’s being preyed upon.

Because that is what Rax is. He’s a predator; he preys upon this vulnerable girl who’s never been in a relationship before- hell, she’s never even had friends- her father’s abusive, so she obviously doesn’t have the best experience when it comes to men- she’s unpopular at school, with the students and staff alike- and he lures her in. I don’t care how bloody nice he is to Sarah, or what a good dad he is (well, he’s really not, seeing as he cheated on the mother of his children WITH A BLOODY FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD)- the guy’s a fucking pedophile.

I was staunchly stuck at a yellow light with him; like, sure, maybe Prue thinks he’s flirting with her- maybe she’s looking at this all wrong, she doesn’t know how relationships work- see, he drew a picture of Sarah, too, in his secret notebook- Prue’s just reading into this too much- up until he says he loves her.

Dude. Humbert fucking Humbert. She’s fourteen, for Christ’s sake, and you’re married. You have two children. She’s a child. She’s probably closer to your son’s age than she is to yours.

(This is the part where I bury my head in my pillow. And scream. Extensively, and with passion.)

The book does make some genuinely good commentary on slut-shaming and victim blaming and abusive parenting. And on one hand, I can see why so many people find issue with the romanticization of the when I kissed the teacher trope- but I can defend it, too.

The book is in Prue’s perspective. She thinks she’s in love with Rax, so obviously, she’s not going to throw in some valuable moral at the end- because she’s too young and inexperienced to think otherwise. And sadly, there are loads of instances of child abuse that go unreported because the victims just don’t know better.

What I have issue with is how the school dealt with it, ultimately. Prudence, a child, has to deal with the consequences of the actions of a literal child predator. Sure, Rax ‘clears his name’ by cooking up some bullshit story about how it was only a crush and he didn’t encourage it, but you’d think other adults would know better and, oh, I dunno- dig deeper into it, instead of blaming it on a child?

“She says you told Mr. Raxberry you loved him and he held you in his arms and fondled you.”

Which Prudence denies, because, again, she doesn’t know better. She then goes on to say that they did nothing wrong. To which the adult speaking to her, in this case, the principal, Miss Wilmott, goes on to say:

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true… I feel that there are some aspects of your friendship that could be considered inappropriate.”

FYI, lady, he kissed her- multiple times (not that kissing her once makes him any more redeemable), and told her he loved her, and admitted to fantasizing about running away with her and leaving his family behind. Fun fact: do you know Prudence is underage?

You’d think that Miss Wilmott would maybe give this whole fiasco a favorable ending, but it turns out she listens to school gossip;

“I haven’t been at all happy with your attitude. You don’t seem to understand how to behave in school. I’ve heard tales of unsuitable underwear and then a silly romance with one of the boys in your class. I feel that in the space of a few short weeks you’ve made rather a bad name for yourself… I don’t know whether you intend to be deliberately insolent but you certainly come across as an unpleasantly opinionated and arrogant girl… I can’t help feeling that you’ll be much better off elsewhere. I shall try hard to engineer a suitable transfer to another school.”

And then she comes out with this gem:

“If you won’t leave, then I shall have to ensure that Mr. Raxberry finds another position.”

“No, you can’t do that! He’s a brilliant teacher.”

“You should have thought of that before you started acting in this ridiculous and precocious manner. If I were another kind of headteacher, I would have Mr. Raxberry instantly suspended. There could even be a court case. He would not only lose his job, he could find himself in very serious trouble. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

Girlboss, gaslight and gatekeep. The fucking trifecta.

Also, by ‘another kind of headteacher’, does she mean the kind of headteacher WHO DOESN’T LET CHILD PREDATORS ROAM FREELY WITHIN THEIR HALLS?

This bitch is out here blaming a child, a literal child, for the crimes of an adult man.

The only time Prue seems aware of the fact that Mr. Raxberry is actually a very shit person is her immediate thoughts that follow after she tells Miss Wilmott she’ll take the fall;

I so wanted to save darling Rax- and yet why hadn’t he wanted to save me? Had he told Miss Wilmott it was all my fault, that I’d got a ridiculous crush on him, that I’d made ludicrous advances to him? … I wanted to tell this horrible, patronizing woman how hungrily he’d kissed me, but I couldn’t do it. I loved him. I had to help him.

NO, SWEETHEART; YOU MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT.

And maybe I’m going overboard with all these excerpts, but here’s what Rax has to tell Prue, after school, following her expulsion:

“I let her think the worst of you, the best of me, just to save my skin. I said it was ridiculous talking about a love affair between us. I said you simply had a crush on me, and that I was just trying to be kind… You were brave enough to stand up to me and force me to acknowledge the truth… I love you… That’s why I had to take a risk and see you this one last time. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care… Every night when I close my eyes, I’ll think of us together in this car and how badly I wanted to drive off with you. I’ll imagine us walking hand in hand at the water’s edge… I wish I wasn’t such a coward.”

(I burrow into the pillow further. I’m trying to suffocate myself.)

And that’s where I think Wilson went wrong. Sure, Prudence getting expelled for something that was completely out of her hands is unfair, and horrible, but it’s real. That shit can happen.

What’s bad is showing Rax in a positive light after all that. If only Wilson had written Rax to not be the Romeo he thinks he is. Make him ignore Prudence, throw her under the bus in front of her face, instead of this star-crossed lovers bullshit it’s made out to be. Show your younger audience that Rax is not a good man. I’ve got a little over two weeks left for my twentieth; I can see why this is unacceptable. But I was a little younger than Prue when I watched Pretty Little Liars, and my only gripe with Aria dating Ezra was that Noel Kahn was so much cuter.

It shows when you scroll down the Goodreads reviews; you’ve got adults giving it one or two stars, and teenagers giving it four or five, with their biggest complaints being, “but Toby was cuter!!!”

Other non-pedophilia related complaints regarding the book include: Prudence being unlikable- which I didn’t really notice, considering she reacted to some people way better than I would’ve, even at 19 (which probably says a lot more about me than it does about Prue, but oh well). Still, Prudence obviously isn’t the most prudent of people- and again, she’s fourteen. Look me in eye and tell me you weren’t an arsehole at that age (unless you’re fourteen now, in which case, I assure you that you’ll look back on yourself someday and go ‘wtf was I thinking’). Bringing up Toby’s dyslexia in an argument was low, though.

There were people who thought the Kings’ almost-Amish lifestyle was exaggerated and unrealistic, but I assure you, it may very well be real. There are 8 billion people on the world- it’s fair to assume that several of them are complete weirdos.

Grace was a sweet character, and I adored her with every fiber of my being. As were her friends Iggy and Figgy. Honestly, I would’ve loved a book about Iggy, Figgy and Piggy’s (mis)adventures too.

#love lessons #jacqueline wilson #teacher #teacher crush #teacher x student #anti ezria #ezria #pretty little liars #aria montgomery #ezra fitz #when i kissed the teacher #book review #books

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years

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Tracing Time

okay, so for this clip you need to know those details from sos I mentioned, in which Jens lives in the flatshare because his dad is homophobic (in sos he finds Lucas with Jens and reacts badly, and Jens eventually moves out). so this is discussed (mostly just alluded to), along with the hate crime in s3, so be aware of that. there are also vague allusions to Sander’s episode in s3. as a final content warning—this clip is also unnecessarily long 😅

Tuesday, 19:47

Songs: David Bowie - Rebel Rebel; The 1975 - Antichrist; EDEN - hertz

Robbe tugs Sander along at a somewhat rapid pace, and Sander complains as he drags his feet. “Robbe, what’s the rush?”

“Nothing,” Robbe says, too quickly, but he slows down and hugs Sander’s arm. “Nothing, sorry. Just, you know Milan, he’s pretty impatient.”

Sander narrows his eyes, but lets his boyfriend press closer and kiss his cheek. He smiles down at Robbe as the boy twines their fingers together, still guiding him down the street at a much more sedate pace.

Robbe had just taken them out for dinner, nothing overly fancy but slightly more expensive than making croques on the grill. They’d tucked themselves into a booth in a quiet cafe, which was fully decorated in shiny wood, cracked leather, and dimly glowing light. It even had an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner that Robbe convinced to play Bowie after a coin and a few prods and light kicks. The food was still cheap and greasy and Robbe’s smile was shy and Sander loved every second of it. They tangled their legs under the table and their hands atop it and it was the most perfect birthday date Sander could have imagined.

He expected to go back to one of their homes to continue the celebrations, but instead he finds himself on his way to the flatshare, apparently at Milan’s demand. It’s not entirely surprising, and fairly sweet, really, and Robbe seems mostly innocent and unfazed. Still, Sander is suspicious. He has a feeling.

Which is why he’s utterly amused and smug when they run into Lucas outside the apartment building.

Or, well, they don’t run into him. They hear him before they see him, and Robbe stiffens and curses under his breath. Then they see him standing outside his father’s car, holding a four-pack of alcohol in one hand and a clinking bag in the other. The closer they get, the easier it is to hear another familiar voice over Lucas’s.

“—just because you and that boyfriend of yours are old enough to drink that stuff, doesn’t mean everyone here is. I will not be responsible for supplying alcohol to minors, alright? I work at a youth center, for Christ’s sake.”

“Dad, literally not even half the people here will need that warning. The others have beer, and juice, it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care, Luc, I’m trusting you to be trustworthy. That’s your stash, you watch who drinks it.”

Lucas looks towards the sky in exasperation and lets out a sigh. “It’s Jens’s place, Jens’s guests, so he can take responsibility. Why didn’t you give him this speech?”

“Because he’s not my son and he’s not the one using my money to buy alcohol for his friends. He’s your boyfriend, your responsibility.”

Lucas tosses his hands up as well as he can, considering they’re full, and casts a sideways glance this time. Which means he finally catches sight of Robbe and Sander standing a few feet away, both with bemused expressions, and instantly freezes on the spot. Sander gives him a small, pleased wave, and Lucas’s shoulders slump. “Fuck.”

“Language,” Hugo van der Heijden predictably reprimands, before poking his head out the window. Sander salutes him as Robbe gives him a pointed look, and he says, “Ah, shit. Sorry, kiddo.” He directs this at Robbe before turning his kind smile on Sander. “Happy birthday.”

Sander moves closer and tugs Robbe with him, because there’s no point in pretending now. “Thanks,” he says, burying a laugh as Lucas sits on the hood of the car and sets the bag down to cover his face. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lucas tells him, as Robbe pinches Sander’s arm and he winces away. He huffs and steps forward to meet Lucas as he stands, letting the younger boy envelop him in a one-armed hug. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Sander repeats, before tilting his head at Lucas’s navy-grey button up. “Aw, who thought you’d even try to clean up nice for me.”

Lucas punches his shoulder to nudge him back a step. “You’re an asshole and I don’t know why I like you.” The comment is accompanied with such a fond smile that Sander doesn’t even feel the sting. Instead he just pulls his friend away as Hugo beeps the horn and Lucas almost jumps out of his skin trying to get away. Lucas glares at his father as Robbe giggles behind them.

“Everything I said still goes,” Hugo presses. “Best behavior.”

Sander grins at the man. “Don’t worry, I’ll look after them.”

“No, you have fun. It’s their job to look after themselves, they’re big boys. Now go and act surprised.”

Robbe groans as Sander simply laughs, accepting the orders with a nod. Lucas waves at his father with a lot of clanking and rustling as a result. “Okay, you can go now too, thanks for the lift and the drinks and so on.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “You either sneak in as quietly as a mouse or be Jens’s problem for the night, understood?”

Lucas salutes him, but inevitably leans down to kiss his cheek before the man gives a final wave and drives off.

Robbe sighs while hugging Sander’s arm to his chest again. “Wanna swap dads?” he asks Lucas.

“Funny that a year ago I probably would’ve said yes,” Lucas shrugs. Then he grimaces. “Sorry, I kind of fucked up the surprise, huh?”

“Irreparably,” Robbe agrees. “Shall we go up anyway?”

“Yes, please, this will be too funny,” Sander says, delighted. The other two share a look and shake their heads and Sander just rocks on his heels and urges them forward. He feels overwhelmingly pleased now, his heart thumping and smile splitting his cheeks, which Robbe squishes together before granting him a soft kiss.

“Okay, at least be nice,” Robbe says. “I know that’s not your style, but, for me.”

Sander sighs heavily and Robbe bites down his grin. “Fine. For you. Even though it’s my birthday.”

Robbe’s grin widens and he kisses Sander’s nose before letting them into the apartment. Sander blinks at the key, and then has to quickly shrug it off as he’s steered through the short hallway and there’s a loud chorus of ‘Surprise!’

The room is fuller than Sander expects, and he actually does startle at the sight. His surprised face is fairly genuine, and there are about a dozen grins beaming back at him, and then Lucas joins in the cheer half a second too late and a dozen faces drop. There is a round of complaints and groans. Milan drops his head back in disappointment. Jens covers his face with a hand.

“Oh, fuck all of you,” Lucas says back, before raising his brows and the alcohol still weighing him down.

There’s a new round of cheers, to which Lucas responds by flipping off the room at large.

Sander is glad of how it worked out, because it’s a big enough break in the tension that everyone immediately moves into action instead of continuing to stare at him. The flat members move forward first, Jens to give Sander a clap on the back before taking the bag from Lucas and disappearing to the kitchen and Milan to engulf Sander in a hug.

“Okay,” the man says as he pulls back, holding Sander’s head in his hands. “Tell me you at least didn’t know about the surprise until Lucas messed it up.”

Sander snorts. “No, I just thought I was coming for my gifts.”

“Ha, cute.” Milan pinches his cheek, then winks. “They’re all over in the corner, but you’ll have to wait until later. Sorry if this isn’t what you expected after your date.” He raises his brows.

“It’s perfect,” Sander assures, serious this time. He glances over at Robbe. “Though maybe not for a Tuesday night?”

Robbe shrugs. “They all have their own free will. If they can’t survive their self-inflicted hangover for a few hours of school, that’s their problem.”

Sander huffs a laugh, and nods his acquiescence. “Still, though, how did you actually get everyone here?” Aside from Milan, the Broerrrs, and Senne and the girls, who Sander would expect Robbe to invite, his other friends are mingled in with the crowd. Adi chats quietly to Senne in the corner; Gilles and Luca are trapped in an animated conversation as Thomas watches on in clear amusement; Emilie is laughing at something Zoë says to her. Everyone, in one place, even the ones he thought Robbe would have no way of contacting.

“Well, I could contact Adi easily, and then I asked him about the others,” Robbe flushes. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“No, no,” Sander immediately appeases, granting him a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

Robbe smiles brilliantly.

He doesn’t realise someone else has approached him until they clear their throat, and he drags his gaze from Robbe to find Zoë in front of them, her kind smile already in place. “Happy birthday,” she says sweetly, also giving him a quick hug. “Sorry we couldn’t make it more exciting.”

“No, it’s nice,” Sander assures. “I couldn’t have liked how it worked out more.”

Her smile widens and she shakes her head at him. “Of course. I won’t hold you up, I just need to tell you Yasmina isn’t here because Ramadan and she was worried she’d just have to leave right away.”

“Yeah, no, Iftar and everything, that’s fine,” Sander smiles. “She already messaged me to say happy birthday and that hopefully she would see me again soon. I’m sure I’ll see her before the end of the week.”

“Okay, good. And obviously Jana also can’t be here, but they all pitched in on your gifts, so I’m supposed to tell you that. Senne joined me in getting you something, too.”

Sander laughs, nodding. “Okay, thank you. You know none of you had to get me anything, or do all of this.”

Zoë rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling softly. “Of course we do, Sander. This is what you have to deal with as one of us.”

It sends another flood of warmth to his heart, and he’s sure she knows it, that it’s likely the intended effect. It’s a feeling he’s been experiencing a lot today, and he suspects this won’t be the last time during the evening. For now, he gives Zoë the biggest, warmest smile he can muster and thanks her again.

“You’re welcome,” is all she says this time. She gives Robbe’s shoulder a fond squeeze as well before slipping away.

Robbe rests his chin on Sander’s shoulder and gazes up at him through his lashes. “Ready to make a round?”

Sander nods and lets his boyfriend lead the way.

Of course, Gilles latches on to them as soon as they move and raises their arms in a cheer. “Sander! Happy birthday, you beautiful bitch!”

Robbe’s laugh is louder than Sander’s, so of course that means he drags them over and plops down next to Sander’s friend as the others turn to join them. Gilles beams and ruffles Robbe’s hair in greeting, and Sander is finally gratified when Robbe makes an affronted sound and brushes them away. “Lucas helped me with this,” he complains, then flushes as he realises what he’s given away. Sander raises his brows when Robbe peeks a look up at him. Robbe huffs and catches Sander’s wrist, giving a tug so that Sander almost tumbles into his lap.

“Robbe,” he complains, laughing. “I’ll crush you.”

“No you won’t.” Robbe rolls his eyes. Then he softens his gaze, looking up at Sander with his small smile and damn doe eyes. “Come here,” he requests quietly.

Sander shakes his head, cursing internally, but gently lowers himself onto his boyfriend’s lap. He prays the chair won’t falter under their weight, and the creak is slightly worrying, but it holds steady. Robbe makes a pleased hum and winds his arms around him, immediately pressing a kiss to Sander’s shoulder and then resting his cheek there.

“Thank you,” he says, all genuine smiles and happy sighs, and Sander does not melt. He might, however, wind his arm around Robbe’s shoulder and lean into him just a little more.

Gilles makes a somewhat anguished sound, but when Sander turns to look at them they’re still beaming. They’re staring with their face resting in a hand, appearing to be in a state of utter awe. “Where can I find this? Someone give me this.”

From their other side, Luca slaps their arm. “I know, right? Guys, this isn’t fair, at least Jens and I used to have some solidarity but now he’s just as bad.”

“Sorry,” Robbe laughs, not looking even slightly apologetic as he cuddles closer to Sander. “But now you two have solidarity, right?”

Gilles lights up at the realisation, spinning to Luca again with obvious interest. Robbe giggles quietly against Sander’s collarbone, pleased with himself, and Sander ducks his head down to whisper in the boy’s ear. “Does this mean I’ve upheld the deal and actually do know cool gays for Luca?”

“Depends,” Robbe whispers back, amused. “Are you suggesting Gilles is cool?”

Sander makes a face, but doesn’t argue either way. Instead, he checks if his other friends are seeing what he’s seeing. He’s a little anxious, as he looks towards Emilie, but she’s watching Gilles and Luca with an odd consideration as Amber talks her ear off. Thomas is watching the whole thing through wide eyes from behind his glasses, but he gives Sander a subtle, enthusiastic little nod.

“How did you all manage to not mention this to me?” The thought occurs to Sander suddenly, and while he’s looking at Thomas, it’s mostly directed at Gilles.

Adi speaks up and surprises him. He hadn’t seen the older boy coming over. “I wondered that too, honestly.”

“And you’re a sneaky bastard,” Sander tells him.

Adi looks amused. “Why’s that?”

Sander scoffs. “‘Any special birthday plans for tomorrow?’,” he mocks.

“Ah, come on, you really had no idea? He didn’t give nothing away?” Adi gestures at Robbe.

“I thought we were just going to have an...interesting date,” Sander shrugs, making Robbe blush.

Adi laughs. “What, are we boring you?”

“Yes, get out of my sight,” Sander says, deadpan, and Robbe lets out a startled laugh as Adi gapes at him.

“Emilie tried to make sure you wouldn’t notice anything and I tried to keep Gilles as far away from you as possible.” The explanation Thomas gives makes sense, and Robbe extends his arm behind Sander to high-five him, and Gilles is thankfully too busy to notice.

They sit around talking for an indiscernible amount of time before Sander wiggles his way free of Robbe. The boy protests, of course, trying to cling on and pull Sander back towards him, so Sander leans down and grants him a kiss before moving away. No one else tries to stop him from leaving the room, and he’s hopeful he’ll have a straight path to the kitchen. He’s starting to feel antsy, and he needs to move around and take something in, and what’s better than a drink?

When he steps out into the hallway, however, he runs into Milan again, who has just opened the door for Noor.

He panics for a brief moment, eyes flicking around for blonde hair as he debates if he should go on without acknowledging them. But Noor has already caught sight of him and is giving her brilliant smile, and no one pops out of thin air behind her, so Sander roots himself to the spot. “Hey,” he greets, aiming for cheerful. His tone manages, but he’s doubtful of his smile, which he thinks wavers alongside his balance.

“Happy birthday,” she says. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek, hopefully not leaving a bright lipstick stain. (She occasionally does it on purpose and waits for the target to notice, and with everyone else in on the game, the unlucky soul is rarely offered any help.) Sander raises a hand to his cheek cautiously and Noor simply laughs in response, shaking her head. “Not on your birthday.”

Sander narrows his eyes, because honestly, it seems like a perfectly innocent birthday prank. He weighs the possibility for a moment before nodding in acceptance and letting his smile widen again. “Thank you.”

She holds up the little bag in her hand and waves it at him. “Milan says there’s a time and place for these, otherwise I’d just pass it over now.” She lowers her arm and hesitates for a moment, smile shifting as she seems to debate if she should tell Sander what she’s thinking or not. “Britt couldn’t make it, but she helped me pick out the gift.”

Sander takes it for the crooked olive branch it is and nods. “Thank you, seriously,” he says. “And you can extend it to Britt?”

“Of course.” Noor smiles again and squeezes his shoulder before going to join the others. Sander looks after her for a moment before finally getting to the kitchen.

This seems to be the most party-like room in the house. The entire counter is littered with snacks and there are rainbow-coloured fairy lights strung along the cupboards. There’s a stack of party hats and a precarious pile of paper plates. The table has pretty much been turned into a mini-bar, with countless alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks spread out, as well as what must be at least five packs of red party cups. It even appears to have a bartender; Moyo stands behind it mixing a drink, flicking and flipping bottles around and bopping his head and hips to the tempo of the music. He doesn’t even look up as Sander makes his way over, just holds up a hand in a signal to wait.

Sander stares at the table. His pulse feels suddenly quicker. The bottles of beer are sitting closest to him, at the edge of the table, and he allows his fingers to brush over the neck of one. It’s not unfamiliar, of course. He doesn’t even know why he’s hesitating.

It’s just that he should be at home right now, working on the assignment he’d messed up. It’s just that he has class tomorrow, and doesn’t really want to suffer through it with a hangover. It’s just that things have been actually going well.

It’s just that, no matter how long it’s been, he remembers feeling suffocated. He remembers going from burning up to drowning in frigid air, from too much to nothing. He remembers feeling everything at top intensity only to drop into a debilitating state of numbness. Even when it blurs, he remembers.

“Hey, man.” Moyo breaks him out of his thoughts. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, and when Sander looks up, his expression is understanding. “Look, it’s your birthday. Robbe’s right there, and Lucas, and plenty of other friends. And if you want to take a drink, none of them are going to stop you. They never do. It’s always chill, you’re fine.”

Sander opens his mouth, then closes it again. He feels awkward and fidgety and he doesn’t actually want to respond to that. He doesn’t want to think about this.

Not now, he pleads silently.

“Or,” Moyo continues, before Sander would have been able to get two words out anyway. “You can let me make you a mocktail.”

He’s grinning, but Sander can only blink. “A mocktail?”

“Yeah. You know, a cocktail, but without the alcohol?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried a cocktail.”

Moyo’s grin widens, and he spreads his hands to show off his stash. “It’s your lucky night then. I honestly prefer mocktails, because the alcohol usually just makes them extra sharp and leaves a shitty aftertaste. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He points at Sander warningly, and Sander holds his hands up, smiling slightly now as he nods.

“I heard it.”

They both jump at the voice, but it’s just Senne in the doorway. He smirks a little before coming to join them, leaning his hip on the table so his body is twisted slightly towards Sander while he can still keep Moyo in his expectant gaze.

“Alright.” Moyo rubs his hands together, seeming to accept Senne’s presence and entrust him with their secrets. “I’m gonna make you my personal fave, and if you don’t like it or when you finish it, you come back to me for another. Got it? I am your server for the evening.”

“I’m flattered,” Sander admits, and Moyo winks at him before bursting into another flurry of movement. He’s a little apprehensive, unsure if he should really be taking anything Moyo concocts. They don’t actually know each other that well, despite how long it’s been and how frequently they hang out in the same group. Sander thinks this might be the first time they’ve actually interacted one-on-one. But Moyo has never given Sander any reason to distrust him, and the look he’d given him had been knowing. Moyo probably understands better than he thinks.

That thought still feels a little bitter, so he brushes it away and just watches the other work, trying to tune his thoughts out with the sound of the music and sheer determination.

He can enjoy himself. He’d even worked a lot on his assignment today already, knowing he’d be meeting up with Robbe in the evening. Robbe wouldn’t be keeping him away if he didn’t think Sander could manage it, and Sander trusts Robbe’s faith in him. It’s even enough to make him smile as he watches on with apprehension.

“Are you gonna make me one of these too?” Senne asks, head tilted curiously.

“Nope,” Moyo says, without a hint of hesitation. “Special birthday treat. Anyway, don’t pretend you didn’t come looking for alcohol.”

Senne lifts a beer and has the cap off in an instant. He tilts it at Moyo and takes a slug in confirmation, before turning to lean back against the table and giving Sander his full attention. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Sander grins. “How’s blissful married life?”

Senne scoffs at him, but he’s still smirking slightly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’d say it’s going very well,” Sander hums.

Senne’s smirk softens into a smile, and he crosses his arms before casually taking a sip of his beer. “You’re still treating my boy right, then.”

Moyo snorts, barely halting his movements as he raises a brow at Senne. “Your boy?”

“Hey.” Senne presses a finger to his own chest as he looks over his shoulder at Moyo. “I was the hot older guy in his life first.”

Sander and Moyo just burst into laughter. “Yeah, but in like, a teen dad kinda way, right?” Sander muses, squinting as if he’s trying to recall where he got the description.

“A hot dad,” Senne keeps up his argument.

“A DILF,” Moyo offers.

Sander laughs again as Senne points at the boy in agreement. Moyo finally passes him a full cup with a triumphant expression. Sander takes the cup and then a small sip. He lets the liquid coat his tongue, savours it as it slips down his throat. His brows raise, and he holds the cup back out to Moyo in a toast. “You’re good.”

Moyo taps Sander’s cup with his own and cheers.

At some stage, he ends up alone on the couch. The others, by now, are spread out all over the house, but most of them are in here, chatting or dancing. While most are energised by whatever alcohol they’ve consumed, Sander is nursing his second mocktail and beginning to feel the weight of a long day. Still, he tips his head back against the cushions and watches his friends and he feels okay.

Jens joins him, eventually. Sander doesn’t even see him come in, and then he’s dropping wordlessly into the empty space next to him. The silence lingers on for a moment, both of them content in it. The exact reason Sander enjoys Jens’s company.

After a while, he holds his beer bottle out to Sander with a raised brow. It takes Sander a moment to figure out why, and then he bumps his cup against it. Jens nods in approval and takes a gulp, and Sander watches his eager swallows in silent contemplation.

“Enjoying your birthday?” Jens finally breaks the silence, glancing back and forth between Sander and the others dancing.

Sander shrugs, nodding. “It’s a more exciting day than I expected, honestly.”

Jens hums, then takes another sip. He doesn’t say anything else.

It’s strange. Jens isn’t the loudest one of the group, by far, but he’s being oddly quiet. His slouched posture could be his usual chill demeanor, but it seems too tense. Sullen. It’s weirding Sander out, a little, and he wants to understand it so it isn’t quite so freaky, but it still takes a moment to convince himself to ask.

“What’s wrong?”

Jens startles at the question. He looks over at Sander in surprise, eyes a little wide. Just as quickly, he’s looking away again and clearing his throat, sitting up a little straighter before he speaks. “What? Nothing.”

Sander narrows his eyes, but doesn’t prod. If Jens doesn’t want to tell him, that’s fine. They aren’t besties. Sander can just quietly inform Robbe, who will deal with it himself, and then Sander won’t even have to feel guilty. It’s not actually his place. Instead, he just waits.

“I think Luc is pissed at me,” Jens mutters, after all of about five seconds.

Sander huffs, but frowns slightly. He looks out at their friends. It doesn’t take him long to find Lucas—mostly because he’s right next to Robbe. Whereas Robbe is twirling Noor around in a fitting dance to the music, however, Lucas is focused on a more chaotic Milan who seems to be attempting to show him some rather sensual moves. Lucas, equally, does <i>not</i> seem to do his best to follow along, poorly mimicking the moves through hysterical laughter.

“He doesn’t seem pissed,” Sander muses, turning back to Jens with a brow raised pointedly. Jens shrugs and looks down at his beer, tracing his fingertip around the top, and Sander sighs and thinks fuck it. “What’s wrong, Jens?”

Jens glances up at him, and then down again, and then lets out a sigh of his own. “She finally kicked him out.”

Sander blinks, and has to think for a moment. When realisation hits, he decides he probably should not be the one handling this conversation. He has to tread lightly. Maybe he should just pretend he has to pee to escape and then fetch Robbe, instead. But...Jens has trusted him with it.

Dammit.

“Your dad?” he asks quietly.

Jens nods.

“Isn’t that a good thing? What does it have to do with Lucas? I mean...aside from the obvious.”

“Well, because.” Jens pauses to run a hand through his hair, frustrated. “He’s not even gone yet, and Lucas wants me to move home.”

Sander purses his lips in understanding. “You don’t want to.”

“Why would I?” Jens huffs. Then he pulls a face that’s faintly apologetic before shaking his head. Sander realises he’s likely more than a little tipsy, if his rapid but sloppy speech is anything to go by, along with the seemingly senseless hand gestures he’s making. “I do miss my mom, I guess, and Lotte, but still. I go into my room and it’s just...it’s suffocating. And Lucas is pissed about it. Well, I guess he’s more pissed on my behalf. He says that what happened shouldn’t get to control me so much, especially when the asshole’s not even there. That I shouldn’t have to keep making the sacrifice because of it when I have the freedom to go back now.”

This is starting to sound very familiar, and that hits rather close to home.

There suddenly isn’t enough air, and his chest is suddenly tight, breaths just a little too shallow. He flicks his gaze around until it lands on Robbe again. He’s moved onto dancing with Zoë now, her confidently leading his more awkward frame. Some of the tension in Sander eases, and he swallows down the feeling in favour of trying to form a coherent response.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s pissed at you,” Sander says carefully. “It also doesn’t sound unreasonable, and it’s not like he doesn’t understand. He just wants the best and the most for you.” He wants you to have the world. The universe, if possible. He doesn’t want anything to be taken from you, and especially not because of him.

Jens seems to accept this, but still frowns slightly, still makes himself a little smaller. “But I’m happy here. I’m happy. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Sander swallows. He lets his eyes shift from Robbe to Lucas, and finds his friend staring back at him. Lucas’s expression is mostly blank, but Sander can see the concern etched into his eyes and the pinch of his lips. Sander offers him a hesitant smile and after a moment, he looks away.

“Maybe it’s not enough for him,” he says.

Jens’s face falls.

Sander quickly shakes his head. “No, I mean—maybe it’s because of how it still affects him. He doesn’t want it to control how he feels. He wants to be bigger than it, move past it, but there’s nothing he really can do. Except for helping you. If he’s seeing you deal with it and recover from it, then it makes it easier for him, too.”

The feeling of too much is creeping in. He’s thinking too much, saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much away. It’s an overreaction, maybe. After so long, surely. That event shouldn’t still affect him like this, right? It shouldn’t still feel like a shock to his system. He can only hope it doesn’t appear like one outwardly.

But Jens is just silently contemplative as he takes in what Sander has said, eyes lingering on his boyfriend thoughtfully. When he turns back to Sander, he’s simply curious. “Has he spoken to you about it?”

Sander doesn’t even have to think back. “No. Aside from at the time, he’s never brought it up. I didn’t want to do it and just hurt him, so it wasn’t discussed.”

Jens purses his lips and nods. His smile is self-derogatory. “You just know my best friend and my boyfriend better than me.”

“No,” Sander says again, even though he’s not as sure. He’s fairly sure. The only people he knows who seem as close as Jens and Lucas are Robbe and himself. “I’m just speaking from experience,” he admits quietly.

Now Jens’s gaze sharpens, and he actually looks at Sander. It takes no time, then, for the realisation to set in, and he curses under his breath. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this to you right now, anyway, it’s your birthday.” He rubs his hand over his face and huffs. “Sorry, I swear, sometimes I have no tact. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, stop.” Sander waves him off. He hesitates only slightly before continuing. “I’m glad. That you’re comfortable enough that you could talk to me about it. I think the universe seriously wants us to be friends, at this point.”

Jens snorts. “I think you’re all seriously weird about your universe stuff.”

Sander grins at him. “The universe stuff will take over you eventually, too. I don’t know how it hasn’t already, how long have you known Robbe?”

This time Jens just rolls his eyes silently, but he’s smiling now too.

“Seriously,” Sander says. “Thank you. It doesn’t matter about the timing, I’m glad you can talk to me.”

Jens’s smile softens, and he gives a small nod. “Maybe we should all be able to talk about it more,” he says quietly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They return to a short lapse of silence, and Sander takes a sip of his forgotten drink. The fruity liquid soothes his throat, and the break in the conversation allows more of the pressure to release. His heartbeat feels normal again by the time Jens turns back to him.

“Thanks, though. Seriously. You’re probably right, about Luc. I’ll talk to him.”

Sander just feels pleased as he smiles now, like he accomplished something, said something right. The mood and balance is being restored, and he just needs to accept the segway and lighten things further. “If you want to thank me, I’m sure you can play a pretty piano version of ‘Happy Birthday’.”

“Fuck you,” Jens scoffs, eyes narrowing slightly.

“So you can’t? I thought that would’ve been fairly basic, but okay.” Sander shrugs, taking a casual sip of his drink to strengthen the taunting.

Jens glares hotly at him. “Fuck you. Of course I can play ‘Happy Birthday’.” Jens drags himself to his feet and jabs a finger at him. “Don’t move then.”

Balance immediately restored, Sander thinks amusedly.

Milan pauses Jens as he makes his way through the crowd, and Sander watches as Jens says something in response and Milan beams. He shoots a look at Sander before the two of them are flouncing off, and moments later, Sander is being subjected to a much louder, much further off-key rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, and more candles.

The keyboard bit is fine, though, he grudgingly admits.

When Jens sets it aside, Lucas is there grabbing his hands and dragging him to his feet as Robbe does the same to Sander. They’re both smiling through their protests, and everyone can see it.

So now, they’re dancing.

It feels more lively, after that. Everyone is gathered on their makeshift dance-floor by now. Sander takes catalogue of them all, marveling at how Gilles has somehow managed to rope Thomas and even Adi into dancing. Emilie is now the one with Luca, both of them laughing as they sway around with their hands joined between them. Noor and Moyo have gravitated towards each other as usual and, instead of huddling close like the others, seem to have a teacher–student method of dancing going on that Noor keeps up with rather well. Milan, Zoë and Senne are dancing in a little circle, and Amber and Aaron have moved on to just standing amidst it all and kissing. Jens and Lucas aren’t dancing anymore, either, but they’re held close. Sander watches until Jens leans down to murmur something in Lucas’s ear and Lucas smiles, leaning into the taller boy as Jens kisses his temple.

Satisfied, Sander is finally able to focus on the boy in his own arms. Robbe is already watching him when Sander catches his gaze, brow slightly furrowed and lips slightly quirked in that adorable questioning expression. Sander draws him closer by the waist and interrupts their step-swaying to catch him in a kiss, and as the music gets louder, his mind quiets.

~^~

previous/next

#wtfock #sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #van der stoffels #or as much as they’re in it #sander season #tracing time #i’m super insecure about all of these clips ✌🏻 hope it doesn’t totally suck #lucas is definitely that isak that cares about his hair #hugo is still my fave oc

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bagadew · 3 years

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The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Case of the Unbreakable Speckled Band (Part 3b)

Last Time: After being discovered in Miss Pavlova’s cabin, things didn’t go as badly for us as we thought they would. In fact we got to dance around with Herlock Sholmes the Himbo Detective and discovered that Susato (and presumably someone at Capcom) really knows a lot about snakes, Nikolina has a pet kitten called Darka, and Kazuma apparently died by tripping over said kitten in a tragic accident. However, while it would probably be the best explanation for everyone involved, I’m not entirely sure it’s true as it still doesn’t explain the fact the crime scene was clearly tampered with.

Well it seems that, like me, Susato’s not entirely convinced Nikolina’s telling us the truth.

In fact, it looks like she’s sure of it.

You know, I didn’t expect to feel conflicted about finding Kazuma’s killer, but I kind of do...

Like, I came into this fully expecting to feel hatred and anger towards whoever did this. I was expecting to confront some hateful villain on a par with Miss Brett or Manfred Von Karma and to take satisfaction and vengeance in taking them down... but this isn’t that. There’s no conspiracy, no big untouchable threat, there’s just an abused and scared little girl who probably killed Kazuma because she thought he was going to kill her.

I don’t expect to feel good about taking Nikolina down. I think it’ll feel like when we had to go for Adrian Andrews... only this time she’s actually guilty.

I don’t have anything to add to Susato’s speech, other than it feels important to put it up, and it seems like a good show of who Susato is as a person.

You know, I’ve had a little difficulty pinning Susato down until now, but I think I’ve finally got her. Susato Mikotoba is a woman who believes in truth and justice, and will go to great lengths to reveal it... even if it hurts far more than the lie ever did.

Herlock’s been quiet for a while now, and I don’t think he’s still reeling from the snake business. It’s difficult to read his expression with his hat like that, so I can’t tell if he’s running through the crime scene in his mind, or if Susato’s words have struck a cord with him.

Wait WHAT?

Ah, ok. Herlock basically been using this whole thing as a distraction, and was planning to give everything over to Scotland Yard once we arrived home so they could deal with any ‘outstanding issues’.

(Also he’s handcuffed us again)

It hadn’t quite clicked before, but no one’s actually considered what Ryunosuke must be feeling. His best friend has just been murdered, and all almost everyone has done, has been to accuse him of killing him. Even among Hosonaga, and later Susato, Ryunosuke hasn’t got to really talk about his feelings, and I’m not sure if anyone’s actually given him the opportunity to do so.

With the next stop looming ever closer, I know we don’t exactly have the time to talk right now, but I hope Ryunosuke gets the chance once this is all done.

Ok, let’s do this.

Let’s run through what we know doesn’t fit so far:

1) The writing in Russian: not only is it in the wrong language but Kazuma died instantly, meaning that there’s next to no way he wrote this himself, and absolutely no way he did it if he died tripping over a kitten.

2) The ships log has been left blank from after 2am, meaning that who ever was probably in on it.

3) Half of Darka’s bell somehow found it’s way in Nikolina’s bin, meaning someone must have taken it from the crime scene.

4) If someone went into the cabin (which they must have done) they have to have pressed the emergence alarm after they left.

Let’s start with the biggest contradiction shall we? The photographic print.

Oh Nikolina, that’s not the issue here.

Ryunosuke’s got it.

Well done Ryunosuke.

I’m trying to work out what this could be. The bell half perhaps? But that’s something that was taken away surely.

Ok, so just something that proves it wasn’t an accident. Well I’m not too sure if it’s what I’m supposed to be looking for here, but I’ll present the mark on the floor and see what happens.

Oh thank god!

Well, not exactly Hosonaga, while it’s true that the tripped kitten explanation does explain how the bell was broken, it doesn’t explain why half of it made its way out of Kazuma’s room and into Nikolina’s bin.

Exactly Ryunosuke!

So, now that we’ve successfully proved someone was at the crime scene, let’s start working out who could have done it.

(TBH I still think that, while Nikolina killed Kazuma, Stroganoff was the person who tampered with the crime scene. The writing just feels a bit too calculated to be Nikolina, especially if she killed Kazuma out of fear.)

Ah, I was wondering when you’d have enough Stroganoff.

He’s basically saying that we already know I (Ryunosuke) was in the room, and that if what I’m saying is true then it has to be me as the door was bolted from the inside.

However, as I (both Ryunosuke and me) have zero knowledge of Russian, it’s impossible for me to have written the message. What we do have however, is knowledge as to how the door was bolted from the outside, which we must be getting close to revealing.

That’s... a really good question actually. Why didn’t they just take the whole thing?

Ah, I see. I was looking at this from the eyes of someone from the modern era of electric lights, rather than with the eyes of someone who lives with jolly old Victorian lighting. The floor wasn’t visible enough to make out half of a cats bell.

Shit... she’s their kid...

You know, while we still don’t know exactly how Nikolina came onboard this ship, I’d kind of assumed that the sailors (or perhaps someone affiliated with them) had found her trying to stow away or hiding down by the docks, and taken pity on her and decided to help her out. Because, I thought, there was no way Nikolina would reach out to strangers for help, given how scared she is. But the answer is that they weren’t strangers. They were family.

That’s why they’ve all been ready to risk everything without hesitation, even if it means covering up a murder. She’s their kid, and I’m about to make them watch it all be for nothing.

Yeah, Ryunosuke... it is...

(I love the way these spirits combine together. Nikolina looks even smaller and younger next to Stroganoff, and her hiding behind him while his fighting stance partly shields her does a good job of showing how things are for them right now. It makes me think of images of cornered animals protecting their young.)

Because he’s lying, but then I think you’ve already figured that out.

My time has come.

Susato, it’s ok. I’ve got this, you don’t need to make us look bad by suggesting things you know aren’t true.

DON’T PASS THE BUCK TO ME!!!

(Again, me an Rynosuke operate on the same wavelength now)

OH MY GOD, THE HIMBO DETECTIVE MADE A PROPER DEDICATION ALL ON HIS OWN!!!

HELL YEAH I DO!!!

Look at him go! He’s even using Susato’s fancy words to explain it!

And there goes the bolt on the door!

Now we’re explaining that the emergency stop button can be pressed at various different points around the ship, including, crucially, just outside these two cabins.

Oh Susato, you know as well as I do that this whole things had Herlock’s fingerprints all over it.

(Important information, along with not being trusted with a pet, do not trust Herlock Sholmes with any machinery or control panels)

To be honest this is the appropriate reaction. We’re at sea Herlock! Don’t mess with the thing that stands between us and drowning!

Herlock ‘But Did You Die’ Sholmes: Now lets not lose sight of the fact I got us evidence.

And the worst part is that he’s right.

Not if you drugged everyone!

I think it’s finally time to bring up the blank ships log.

Ok team, Herlock’s in charge of our excuses from now on!

We’re going through the fact that the log was blank, which with Stroganoff’s meticulous ritual of writing: Nothing to Report, every half hour on the dot, means that there definitely was something to report.

We sure are suggesting that Susato!

Not if you were drugged Hosonaga!

HE MADE ANOTHER PROPER DEDUCTION!!! I’M SO PROUD!!!

Ok, have the drugs finally worn off on Herlock’s brain, because he’s saying really smart things now. Or is it just that he’s taking things seriously rather than using this whole thing as a distraction?

Susato’s got it too!

So, because it’s such a large scale job, it couldn’t have been pulled off by any one person, meaning that the entire crew must have been in on it.

(Poor drugged Hosonaga, they really identified you weren’t one of them the second you set foot on this ship didn’t they?)

Now see, the problem with this strategy, is that while Bif might not be happy about the rest of his crew getting into trouble, I feel like this is a Murder on the Orient Express scenario, in the sense that everyone involved fully acknowledge the risks and came into this prepared to go down if necessary.

Yeah, he’s not happy, but he’s not cracking.

In fact, I’m not sure anything could cause him to crack. He is the one person’s standing between Nikolina and (potentially) death. I can’t see any way he’s going to back down.

I understand now, Herlock wasn’t aiming for him. Because they’re Nikolina’s family too.

It seems to be just like we suspected. Nikolina asked them to help her escape, and so, as one, the crew agreed to help her. They put sleeping drugs in the chicken so no one would notice what was happening, and got one of their comrades on the shore of Shanghai to take her to the ship at midnight.

Here’s the problem we have now though. Now she’s covering for them. Even if I’m wrong about Stroganoff or another member of the crew writing the message, the ships log means that they either knew or found out, and I can’t imagine they would have sat by and done nothing.

Wait a second though. We met Nikolina in her cabin, which means she must have got back inside some way or another. She couldn’t have done that if she was the one who pressed the alarm. I think this could be a way to establish someone must have helped her.

They’re still fighting, and to be honest I didn’t expect anything else. They’re both protecting each other now and it’s going to take nothing but evidence to make them budge.

I’m going to be perfectly honest Herlock, you’ve kind of lost me.

In fact I think you’ve lost most of the room...

ITS TIME FOR DANCE OF DEDUCTION 3: I WAS HOPPING I’D HAVE UNTIL THE NEXT CASE TO THINK UP A NAME!

Ryunosuke, don’t play dumb. We must dance!

(Or observe, that’s good too)

Right, well we’ve worked out Stroganoff was the one who did the fabrication, so we should probably focus on him first.

Got you.

To be honest I’m at a loss as to how he got some of the ink round there. Perhaps he knocked the ink over when he was sorting the crime scene out.

Or perhaps it was on his finger and he accidentally rubbed it over when he held his hands like this?

... I thought so...

So, just after one in the morning, Bif was patrolling the corridor when a scared an pail Nikolina came up to him desperate for help. He followed her to Kazuma’s cabin and found him on the floor. Apparently the event before went on like Nikolina said, only instead of luring Darka through the vent, she went next door because she was worried about the sounds she’d heard through the vent.

... he’s still shielding her isn’t he?

I think Susato knows it too.

The problem is, that Nikolina’s following Bif’s lead. Perhaps if we had the chance to talk to her alone we’d know we were getting the truth, but not with Bif there. And to be honest I’m not sure I can really blame either of them for that.

I’m not 100% sure to be honest. And I don’t think I will be until this case is closed.

I’ll take that as not being done then.

I have no idea...

(His fist was closed, could that be the issue?)

(Thank you god of video games!)

OPEN WITH THAT NEXT TIME HERLOCK!

Yeah, we’re not going to be able to guess!

Nikolina’s earring!

Which he couldn’t have had if he was dead when she came in!

(Stroganoff’s face seems to suggest that we’ve reached the final curtain.)

I don’t think either of them can explain away this.

(Again, lead with the earring next time Herlock)

Things are in the right order now.

He let her in. He thought she was Hosonaga so he let her in.

It’s all going fine right now, but we know how this ends.

Of course he did, just by looking at Nikolina you can see she’s been through a lot, and besides, Kazuma has a secret all of his own.

Here we go. Whatever it might be, the thing that triggered Nikolina’s survival instinct is coming.

Ah shit...

You know, since the moment Darka disappeared through that vent, I’m not sure things were ever going to end differently. Kazuma was always going to open the door, he was always going to help the frightened girl he found there, and being the incredibly quick man that he was, he was always going to recognize her.

And Kazuma was always going to want to look into the situation, and that was always going to tip Nikolina into a panic. And then sooner or later she was going to lash out in what seemed to her to be necessary self defence.

Here it is.

Oh!?

So this wasn’t the trigger. But then what was?

Oh no. He was going to get Ryunosuke from the wardrobe. The wardrobe Nikolina couldn’t possibly grasp the significance of, but that was right next to the bell cord.

(Also didn’t I say the captain was somehow to blame?)

(What do you guys say we chalk it up to him and put this whole business behind us?)

(And yes I do know that I’m stalling again)

... in a panic you struck out... and he stumbled... and hit his head on the way down...

I see, so Darka put him off balance first. And so when you pushed him he he hit his head on the bedpost.

Fear, adrenaline, and a lack of judgment due to stress and trauma. Perhaps if this had happened on any day other than the one where you’d just fled things would have been different, but maybe not. It’s hard to tell.

And we know the rest...

Stroganoff cleared away as much of Nikolina’s presence as he could find, and in doing so found Ryunosuke asleep in the wardrobe. It must have seemed like fate was giving him a stranger who could take the fall instead of his kid.

So Nikolina was the one who ‘cleared away’ the bell. That explain why some of it was left behind, and why it ended up in her bin. Stroganoff would probably have thrown it overboard.

What’s that?

I see, that’s a good question.

What he said about the inspector...

Oh dear.

Hosonaga, you were literally drugged at the time, and I’m still pretty sure you were set up to fail (which does raise the question of what would have happened to Kazuma if Nikolina hadn’t killed him)

Susato?

I see, she’s realized that he was going for Ryunosuke, thus slotting the final piece of this whole tragedy neatly into place.

(These two cases are really going all out in very different ways. The next one better let me relax and have fun Maskqu de Masque style. I’m not sure I can take much more of this.)

Here it comes, the unnecessariness of the whole murder.

Yeah...

:((

Ryunosuke’s best friend has been murdered because of the misunderstandings of a child, and he’s been raked over the coals because of that. While it might not be the kindest thing to say for Nikolina, it’s an important thing to say for Ryunosuke, and I feel he’s justified in saying it.

In fact it would probably be a bad sign if he didn’t say this. He’s as much of a victim in this whole affair as anyone. I’m glad he’s at least getting an apology from Nikolina, even though it’s unfortunately gone past the point where that would be useful.

It’s finally over, and just as I predicted it doesn’t feel good.

HOSONAGA SATURO YOU HEAL LIKE A CHAMP!

‘It’s just a scratch’, you said.

‘Go to a hospital’, we cried.

‘No need, just give me a few hours to click my face back into position and pass me back my glasses lenses and I’ll be fine’

Hosonaga, you are unkillable and this is exactly why you’re superiors had to resort to shipping you out.

Ok, enough fun declaring Hosonaga to be our new god. Let’s go back to the serious and depressing business of Nikolina.

So, it seems like Nikolina will be handed over to Scotland Yard, and Herlock will sort things out with the immigrations office so she doesn’t have to go back to Russia.

Also the way they’re talking about her future means that she’s not going to be executed (thank god), which makes sense given that she committed manslaughter rather than murder. Whether or not she goes to prison will probably depend on the judge as, while she has the fact that she’s a white female child, she is also not English and speaks with a strong accent, and therefore, is going to be subjected to a lot of Xenophobia.

Hm?

Ah.

Again, I’m glad Ryunosuke’s getting these apologies.

Wait, are you sure Stroganoff? Like yeah, you’re not going to get done for murder, and the whole defending a kid thing will play of pretty well in court (plus the man you accused wasn’t English and has a less white skin tone than you). But you are also a Russian man with a strong accent and you won’t be able to fall back on being a child or let the evils of sexism and xenophobia fight each other.

Well at least we’re free again, even if we’re in a worst place than when we started.

You know he will Ryunosuke. And given how well he was defending her till now, I think he might just succeed.

But we have to get to England to make Kazuma’s dream come true!

Herlock, can you come to us again in our hour of need? I know we have a lot of them but...

(I swear to god this game is shooting for my jugular)

We’re holding Kazuma’s sword, aka, his spirit. Please don’t make me let it go game.

Is it too much to ask for them to hug? I think they both need it.

Hold us Hosonaga.

(Though not me (Eleanor). Instinct tells me we must remain two meters apart so our weird lungs don’t accidentally take each other out.)

(I cannot be the person who killed Hosonaga)

(And yes I am trying to lighten the mood with my talk of genetic lung conditions because I’m aware it’s only going to get sadder)

(Told you)

There was nothing you could have done Hosonaga, and it’s become my own private mission now to find a way to prove that to you.

:(((

Game are we going to have to sail to England on Hosonaga’s guilt?

I’m aware that you’ve got a whole fun game lined up over there, but is this really the only way?

Can’t we just go to Japanfornia instead, track down Amy Fey (if she’s even been born yet) and get Kazuma back on our team?

No... ok...

Exactly!

WHAT! WHY AM I BACK IN HANDCUFFS!??

HERLOCK SHOLMES COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW, THIS IS ONLY A LITTLE BIT FUNNY!

He’s amusing himself at least...

(You know what, I’ve decided right now that this is a family friendly blog, so no, I’m not going to say what I’m thinking. You can’t make me.)

Also read the room Herlock, the three of us were having a moment!

Nice save.

Ryunosuke’s trying to throw himself under the buss and send Susato and Herlock and Hosonaga off to go live out the rest of the game without him.

Sorry Ryunosuke, but you’re the protagonist. We can’t leave without you.

That’s it! Ryunosuke, you’re naturally good at lawyering! It’s time for you to take up Kazuma’s mantle!

Am I chopped liver to you Susato?

Are we doing a studying montage on the ship over?

Yes Ryunosuke!

Training montage Hosonaga!

You can help! Teach me how to be the crime scene thief and not give a damn!

(Actually on second thoughts, maybe you should sit this one out and offer moral support instead)

Said Hosonaga, knowing that I wasn’t.

(*Eye of the tiger starts to play*)

I CAN LEARN ENOUGH TO WING IT HOSONAGA!

HELL YEAH!!!

Oh good, I’d forgotten about Kazuma’s morally ambiguities loose end.

(Probably because every character I fancy has one of them and it’s no longer anything to write home about.)

Let’s do this Susato, me an you all the way!

Hosonaga? You cool too?

Wait, now is not the time to be sensible Hosonaga! Remember when we got Miss Brett? That was against protocol and it meant we got to see her take off via her big hat! (Although we didn’t get justice and it ended with you being shipped out, but let’s not dwell on that.)

Hosonaga normally (while shovelling three tables worth of crockery into his bag): Nothing will get in my way! I’ll lay my life on the line if I have to! I will strait up ignore the rules if I think they are unjust!

Hosonaga when Herlock is present: I have never broken a rule in my life, nor would I ever do so. I am the most sensible and down to earth man you will ever meet, please ignore the way I am dressed right now.

What happened Hosonaga, did you watch me and Herlock doing our dance of deduction and immediately decided someone had to be the adult and it might as well be you?

Or... did watching Herlock roll around on the floor and cling like a limpet to the walls make you wonder that this is how you come across?

Because to be honest you were loudly declaring yourself the Crime Scene Thief just last trial... so I don’t think you’ll ever be able to create too much contrast in our eyes.

Come on Crime Scene Thief!

Herlock’s aiming right for Hosonaga’s canonically shit schooling with those words.

Remember who you are Hosnaga! You’re the badass who lay his life on the line for us!

(I like how much Herlock’s talking Ryunoskue up, I guess this makes up for the fact he handcuffed us again for the asthenic)

Hooray!!! Hosonaga’s taking us to Disneyland England!

“Hello, this is Saturo Hosanaga. Just calling to say that I’ve done it again... yes I understand that my breaking the rules makes you sad, but I simply will not stop... well you see, they’re unfair and heavily biased in your favour. Also we both know if you could have stopped me you would have done so long ago. Goodbye.”

Capcom! Stop trying to make me get to England off of Hosonaga’s guilt!

Allow me to come with you, or at the very least please borrow the KBS (Kazuma’s big sword) for protection.

Goodbye Hosonaga... until we meet again...

But (and I need to make this very clear Capcom gods) not my mentor!

The KBS!

We will guard this with our lives!

(Karuma huh? That name sounds faintly familiar.)

(Ok Google, now play Eye Of The Tiger)

WE ARN’T DOING THIS AGAIN CAPCOM! PUT THOSE DEATH FLAGS DOWN!

Oh thank god, she just wants to be even!

Ryunosuke, are you sure you’re even able to do that?

You heard the lady Ryunosuke. (And no this totally isn’t because I want to see if you’re even able to do it.)

Booo

Herlock, I love you, but...

KICK HIS ASS SUSATO!!!

WHY ME!!!

Poor sweet Ryunosuke...

Ah, I see it’s time to be sad again.

Oh Kazuma, what were you up to?

Anyways, that’s it for The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band. Join me next time for The Adventure of the Runaway Room!

#tgaa #tgaa spoilers #the great ace attorney #the adventure of the unbreakable speckled band #ryunosuke naruhodo #susato mikotoba #herlock sholmes #satoru hosonaga #and for what is probably the last time:#nikolina pavlova #bif strogenov #and...#kazuma asougi

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redorich · 3 years

Text

Out of This World

Niki watches despairingly as her new roommate, one Mr. Wilbur Soot, once again pours water into his cereal. He seems to prefer it that way; Niki can’t help but wonder, not for the first time, whether her roommate is a literal alien from outer space, or just the weirdest motherfucker she’s ever met.

What kind of a last name is Soot, anyway? She thinks to herself unkindly. At least he doesn’t leave dirty clothes on the floor for her to clean up like her last roommate did. But seriously, Niki can’t tell if this man is a crackhead or not.

“Niki, can you pass the salt?” Wilbur says, breaking her out of her reverie. Without thinking, she plucks it from the lowest shelf of the tiny kitchen cabinet and hands it to him. She regrets it instantly when he begins to salt his cereal.

Breathing deeply so as not to grab him by his bony shoulders and shout, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”, she flees the scene of the food crime. When Niki was in college, she was surrounded by people who asserted they had the world figured out. Atoms and gravity and wavelengths. But Niki knows that humanity is desperate to control the uncontrollable, define that which cannot be explained. Science, Niki knows, isn’t just throwing out what doesn’t fit, but rather taking all the data and asking the question, “Why?” So, she thinks, let’s consider the data.

-------

Niki sneaks trepidatiously to the door to Wilbur’s bedroom. Who knows what sort of unholy, confusing mess he’s got in there, lurking in wait for its next unsuspecting victim. A pinch of guilt hits her. Yeah, Wilbur may be a lunatic, but an alien? Really? It’s a bit uncharitable of her to think such a thing. Shaking herself, she knocks on the door.

“Yes?” Wilbur’s voice carries from inside the room. “Come in.”

Steeling herself, she turns the doorknob with a sweaty palm and is faced with…

A bed. A desk with a computer on it. Two pairs of shoes lined neatly near the closet. Wilbur is taking off his headphones-- he was playing Minecraft. How… ordinary of him.

“Hi, Wilbur. Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted, uh, to see how you were settling in.”

Wilbur smiles his pretty smile. “Thank you. Quite unaccustomed am I to the comforts of-- apartments.”

What Yoda-ass kind of phrasing is that? Niki thinks. A figurine of the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters stares her down from its place on Wilbur’s desk. She meets its eyes warily.

“Oh! Noticed my Ghostbusters statuette, have you?” Wilbur says brightly. “I have more in my closet, if you should like to see them.”

Niki is filled with a sick sense of curiosity. Yes, she wants to see whatever insane thing Wilbur hides in his closet, but she also doesn’t. She idly wonders if Wilbur has ever read The Cask of Amontillado. She feels like he has. This is not comforting.

Wilbur doesn’t sense her hesitation. A small corner of her brain thinks it’s because he’s unfamiliar with human body language. Without pause, Wilbur opens the closet door, revealing…

Niki’s first thought is, where does he keep his clothes? Because the closet is filled with Ghostbusters paraphernalia. The entire. Fucking. Closet. It wasn’t even that great of a movie?? How much did Wilbur spend on this, anyway?

Her roommate misinterprets her blank uncomprehending stare as a marveling gaze. He puffs up proudly.

“Such a profound impact have these movies made! I am truly fortunate to have met a lass of such upstanding artistic caliber, that you should also enjoy the Ghostbusters franchise.”

“Thank you for showing me this,” she says slowly. “I need to-- water the dog. I mean, I left the stove on. At my friend’s house. Uh, see you later.”

She beats a hasty retreat, leaving her apartment for Eret’s place. Something whispers in the depths of her mind: Doesn’t one of the Ghostbusters movies have aliens in it?

-------

Orange is her favorite nail polish color. Eret paints the nails on her right hand in that soft warm shade of orange as he listens to her complain.

“Am I being irrational? Like, do you think I’m going too far?”

Eret hums noncommittally, putting a little flamingo sticker on her index nail. “He does sound like an unusual person, but I don’t know if I would say he’s an alien.”

Niki nods her head, since she can’t gesture with her hands. “Okay, yeah, sure-- but he puts salt in his cereal with water. He has a literal dragon’s hoard of memorabilia from shitty movies that came out like three decades ago. And his vibe is just...off. Like when I talk to him, he’s there, but his head’s drifting off somewhere in outer space. God, I’m the worst.”

Eret protests. “Hey, hey, you’re not the worst. Look. I don’t know why this dude is bugging you out so much, but you said he didn’t seem dangerous, right?”

Niki nods dejectedly.

“So, we can figure this out together,” Eret says with a flourish, screwing the top back onto the bottle of polish.

The tender moment is interrupted by Niki’s ringtone. It’s from Wilbur; speak of the devil and he shall appear. Gingerly, so as not to ruin the wet paint on her nails, she picks up the phone and puts it on speaker. “Hello?” she says, motioning for Eret to remain quiet.

“Ahoy, Niki! Wherefore are mine frog legs gone?”

“What?” Eret mouths at her. Niki doesn’t understand either.

“Sorry, Wilbur, what was that?”

“My frog legs,” comes the crackly timbre of a phone in an area with poor reception. “They are no longer in the refrigerator.”

Niki sputters. “Why did you have frog legs in the-- no, never mind. I don’t know what happened to your frog legs, Wilbur.”

The phone line repeats static to her for a moment as Wilbur pauses. “Interesting. Perhaps they walked away, as legs are so oft wont to do. Niki, would you mind dearly to purchase some more? And perhaps, be you willing, some condensed milk?”

Eret silently gags at the idea of frog legs and condensed milk together. Niki doesn’t blame him.

“Okay,” Niki says.

Eret shakes his head at her, as though begging her not to torture herself like this. The moment Niki hangs up, the first words out of Eret’s mouth are, “That man is one hundred percent an alien. I am so sorry I ever doubted you.”

-------

With frog legs, condensed milk, and an Eret in tow, Niki enters her apartment the following morning with new-found assurance. The rest of the evening goes about as normal as it can, with Wilbur humming nursery rhymes and stirring a pot of, quite frankly, poison. Niki and Eret hide in the living room watching all the Ghibli movies until the only light left comes from the TV in front of them. The front door opens and the floors creak as Will enters. I thought he was in his room?

Eret seems to be on the same page as her. “I didn’t hear him leave,” he says, distant fear in his eyes.

Niki’s ears pick up a faint sound. “Shh!” she hisses. “He’s on the phone.”

Though the apartment is dark (the only light being the TV), Wilbur’s eyes glow like an animal caught on camera. Niki shivers. She only barely catches a glimpse before he ducks back into the entrance hallway, but what she sees unnerves her.

“Philza, calm down,” Wilbur says from the hallway as he takes off his shoes. “It is fine, she suspects not.”

A pause. The other person on the line, Philza, is talking.

Wilbur replies, “She was impressed with my Ghostbusters collection, you know-- Ghostbusters is a great movie, fuck off!”

Another pause. Wilbur sighs.

“Aye, I must admit you may have been right on that one. Pretending to be human is--”

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

Wilbur’s head peers around the hallway’s corner in a panic to see Niki and Eret. Niki is pointing her finger at Wilbur with pride on her face, and Eret looks as though he wants to be doing the same thing.

The two in the living room both flush a bit at the outburst, but Niki doggedly continues. “You’re an alien!”

Even though Wilbur’s phone isn’t on speaker, Niki and Eret hear Philza’s laughter from all the way across the room. Wilbur sputters and angrily hangs up the phone, before turning the corner to properly face the two humans. His eyes are actually glowing, it wasn’t a trick of the light, Eret observes. Of course, he also notes that Wilbur’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, and he looks about ready to jump out the window to run from them.

“I am… not an alien,” Wilbur says softly.

“Wh-- but you just said--” Eret says, then cuts himself off when Wilbur phases through the fucking floor.

“He’s a ghost,” Niki whispers, all the pieces clicking into place. Old English, weird taste in food, Ghostbusters are you kidding me. If Niki didn’t just watch her roommate evaporate, she’d be banging her head against a wall and asking her professors to revoke her degree.

Wilbur phases back up through the floor, much closer this time but still hesitant. He sits down a few feet away from the pair of humans nervously. He’s more afraid of us than we are of him, Niki thinks. Like the bears at the zoo.

“For many years, observed the living have I,” Wilbur begins slowly. “I wished to commune with them once again, as one of their own. My father-- Philza-- said unto me that I knew nothing of the modern era. I confess that he was right. Willst you cast me out of your home, knowing now of the spectre that I am?”

Niki tries and fails to suppress the amused quirk of her eyebrow. “How about this: Eret and I show you the ropes of being alive in the 21st century, and in return, you keep the frog legs on your side of the fridge?”

Wilbur smiles that pretty smile again. “Deal.”

-------

“Niki? What is an OnlyFans?”

FIN

#this was a collab written with barnaclegirl on discord #she doesnt have a tumblr so i cant tell yall to follow her :(#mcyt #nihachu #wilbur soot #eret #philza #ph1lza #me.txt #dream smp

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highonchocolate · 4 years

Text

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 3

First Previous Next Ao3

Bruce sat at the head of the long oak dining table and waited for his children to make their way into the room for dinner. They came in as a staggered group; Jason arguing about some novel with Dick while Tim and Damian brought up the back as they discussed their patrol routes for the night. After Alfred and Damian helped serve the food, Bruce cleared his throat pointedly and waited for everyone to pay attention.

Once everyone had looked up from their discussions he spoke. “Alfred has a friend named Gina; and she had called this evening to see if her granddaughter could stay with us. She lives in Paris; but her classmates were bullying her and her parents thought a change of scenery would do her some good. I have agreed to let her stay with us in the Manor.” Even before he had finished speaking the table erupted with different questions from his children.

“Bruce are you sure this is wise?” Tim questioned over Dick’s ecstatic squealing (“I’ve always wanted a little sister!!!”), and Jason’s grumbling (“Shut the fuck up Dickhead. I don’t know why the fuck B is bringing someone into this house to live with this dysfunctional family.”). Ignoring his siblings; he pressed on “I mean, how are we going to hide Batman and the vigilante stuff from her?” As Bruce paused to answer Damian stood up and scowled. “Tt. This is a moronic decision. Inform me of when this girl is to arrive and inform her to stay out of my way.” He lifted his chin and crossed his arms before marching out of the room.

After Damian’s outburst, Jason looked over from where he was arguing with Dick and added his input “Timbo’s right, B. How are we going to hide that from her?”

“We’ll have to make sure at least two of you remain in the manor each night so that she doesn’t get too suspicious.” He answered. “Now, the only reason I agreed to letting her stay here was namely for Alfred, and also because of what her classmates did to her”

“What do you mean, Bruce?” Dick questioned. “Did they like assault her or something?”

“Or something” He responded grimly before sending the photo to all three of them.

As they looked at the photo, he observed their reactions to the image. Dick was not smiling for once, and his sunny blue eyes had darkened to an icy frost. His whole body was tense; and his jaw was so clenched his teeth were grinding together. Jason was standing up with two guns locked and loaded in his hands. He had also managed to procure a knife from somewhere, which appeared as he leant forward and asked “What were the names of the people who did this again?” in a completely lethal tone. Tim, already hacking away at his computer responded “Not there yet, but from what I can find out, she goes to College Francois DuPont and she’s fifteen.” He briefly looked up and made eye contact with Bruce before asking “How fast do you think we can get our lawyers onto those kids B?” At the declarations of his children, Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “We can not file any lawsuits yet, not without Marinette’s permission.” He answered, sighing tiredly. “Marinette?” Dick questioned. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim responded instantly. “That’s her name.”

“She will be coming on Monday, and Alfred will be picking her up from the airport. She is also going to attend GA, so someone please tell Damian.” Bruce said as he stood from the table. “Now hurry up, we have patrol tonight, and there have been rumors about a drug ring near Crime Alley.”

---

After coming back from the hospital and having a sleepover Thursday night, Chloé and Adrien were completely sleep-deprived as they trudged into school the next morning. Settling into her usual seat beside Sabrina, Chloé silently thanked all the Kwami that she didn’t have to sit next to Lila. Halfway though class, Mrs. Bustier suddenly frowned and looked at the back row. “Does anyone know where Marinette is? She still hasn’t arrived yet!”

“Probably still sleeping at home! She’ll come in completely late as usual!” Alya cackled. At her words, Chloé felt her entire body heat up with righteous indignity. She opened her mouth to tell that wannabe tabloid reporter to get her facts straight, but then Adrien caught her eye and shook his head. He then pointed at his phone, and mimed unlocking it before pointing to her. Catching the hint, she checked her messages to see that Marinette had sent them a text.

FashionableBug: Mari said to tell Chloé and Adrien not to do anything to Lila or anyone else that starts making stuff up. (From Luka btw)

You’reUnderAgreste: Me-ouch, My Lady. I would never!

QueenofMean: shut it with the puns, Noir. Maribug, I will only listen to you because you’re injured and I’m not going to go against your wishes.

Putting her phone away, Chloé resigned herself to a miserable school day.

---

After school, she walked into Marinette’s room and flopped dramatically onto the chaise, before letting out a long groan.

“That bad?” Mari chuckled as she scribbled sketched one-handedly in her design notebook.

“You have no idea.” Chloé responded.

Their conversation continued into mundane things, such as everyone’s patrol routes, and various theories on who Hawkmoth was. Totally normal topics for teenagers. As the day drew to a close, they made plans for everyone to come over to start packing the next day before Chloé left the bakery and headed home.

---

Come Saturday, Marinette, Chloé and Luka spent the morning playing board games one handed “to level the playing field” as Luka put it and eating lots of cookies and pastries-provided by Marinette’s parents of course. Adrien and Kagami were attending their various classes until afternoon, so the remaining three spent their time relaxing, and coming up with a list of things to pack for Mari’s stay in Gotham. Two o’ clock rolled around, and the bells over the bakery jingled to announce the arrival of the final members of the packing committee.

Any plans to begin their assignment of somehow fitting all Marinette’s fabrics into the suitcase were cut short by an Akuma.

They all transformed, even though Kagami and Luka has been extremely reluctant to let Mari go even though the suit temporarily healed her injuries. Climbing through her roof hatch, they set out across the rooftops to defeat their latest villain.

---

Five hours later, the teen heroes dropped into her room, and detransformed in various flashes of multicolored lights. They collapsed onto the bed and chairs and silently agreed to just sleep , and get the packing done the next day.

---

All of Sunday was spent throwing various clothes and accessories into Mari’s pink and black suitcase. There were several sweaters and hoodies (added by Chloé), as well as several leggings and many thick pajama pants (Sabine).

Adrien (with the help of Tom) had somehow managed to pack over ten different pun-covered t-shirts, and by the time they were discovered, they had been buried under piles upon piles of fluffy socks from Kagami. Luka also threw in some scarves before Marinette added some toiletries, her sewing kit, and her computer.

Picking up the backpack she had decided to use as a carry-on, Marinette rifled through it to make sure she had everything in there as well.

Spare change of clothes in case she loses her suitcase? Check. Phone, headphones, and charger? Check. Sketchbook and pencils? Check. Disguised Miracle Box? Check.

She turned to her family (Not her teammates, not her friends, but her family.) and smiled. It was small, and bittersweet, but it was a smile. “Alright guys, I guess I’m all set.” She said, before joining them all in a group hug. They offered her soft, tearful smiles before Tom carried her big suitcase down the stairs.

That night, Marinette fell asleep surrounded by all the people she loved, and she couldn’t have been happier.

---

The next day, her Papa carried her downstairs and placed her into her wheelchair (since she had a broken foot, and couldn’t use her leg, they had given her a wheelchair) before wheeling her outside and placing her into the car waiting by the street.

Her friends were all inside, and she gripped Adrien’s hand tightly as they drove to the airport.

As she stood to board the plane, she turned back to catch one last glimpse of them all. Chloé was leaning into Kagami’s side who was holding her girlfriend’s hand tightly. Adrien was waving wildly, and Luka and her parents all raised one hand in farewell. Her Maman and Papa has some red rimming their eyes, but they smiled at her as she was wheeled into the plane. Next stop: Gotham, New Jersey.

Since her flight left Paris at 10 AM, she was set to arrive in Gotham at around 12 PM/noon. With that in mind, she decided to stay awake for the entire flight so that her body could adjust better.

As they crossed the Atlantic, Marinette, sitting in first class thanks to Chloé and Adrien’s combined nagging; popped her earbuds in, and began to sketch.

She stared out the window as she touched down, shocked by all the dog and darkness in the city. As she collected her bags, and wheeled her way outside to look for her host family, she couldn’t help but notice how everyone in this city was much more on edge than most normal people. ‘They act as though they are expecting an attack at any second of the day.’ She mused to herself. Her train of thought was cut off by the sight of an elderly man with a powerful aura standing next to a limo with a sign saying “Marinette Dupain-Cheng”. She wheeled her way over to him and smiled brightly. “Salut! My name is Marinette! What is yours, Monsieur!” She questioned, holding out her hand for a handshake.

“It’s lovely to meet you Miss Marinette, my name is Alfred Pennyworth.” Alfred responded, smiling gently down at her. “Now let’s get you and your bags in the car, shall we?” He reaches out to shake her hand, and the moment their fingers touched her vision was filled with dark blue and red. She laughed and smiled up at him. “It is an honor to meet you, noble Peacock.” She greeted him in the Guardian language, honoring his position as a True Holder. “And it is an honor to meet you as well, Ladybug.” He answered. She grinned and allowed him to help her into the back of the limo before he climbed into the driver's seat and they sped off to Wayne Manor.

---

When he saw the young girl, Alfred was shocked to say the least. She was roughly 5’ 4” (162.5 cm), and was very petite. Her stature, combined with her wheelchair, wrist brace, and the cast on her leg, all strengthened his resolve to protect the young girl from any further harm. That was only intensified when their auras recognized each other. How could anyone place the responsibility of upholding balance on such a young child?

As he drove to the Manor, she informed him that the Cat, Bee, Dragon and Snake were active on her team. Before he could ask her what the threat they were battling was, they had arrived at the Manor, and she had immediately tensed and gone silent.

Deciding that it was better to ask more questions later, he got out of the car to retrieve her bags and chair. Master Bruce and three of his children except for Master Damian were waiting in front of the doors to the Manor, and they all waited patiently for her as she exited the car.

---

Marinette was nervous. Sure, taking to Monsieur Alfred was really fun, and she couldn’t wait to tell him more about Paris, but now she was meeting her actual host family! What if they didn’t like her? What if they decided to send her back?! Then what would she do?? A small cough interrupted her downward spiral, and she looked up from her lap to see Monsieur Alfred waiting in front of the open door with her wheelchair. Grabbing her backpack, she awkwardly maneuvered herself into the chair and allowed herself to be wheeled out in front so she could meet Monsieur Bruce Wayne.

---

Note: Alfred doesn’t know that Marinette is the Guardian. He just knows she’s a Ladybug holder.

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #time drake #jason todd #dick grayson #lila rossi #alya cesaire #lila salt #class salt

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 3 years

Text

I Loved Him... Once - CH 6

Title: I Loved Him… Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.

In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3

Masterlist

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter six

Spencer slowly walked into Eric's house. He had been here so many times in the past. Back when they were in university together they spent most of their time here, rather than studying in the overcrowded campus library, or Spencer's way too small single dorm room. But all the times he'd been here, he never once in his life thought he would ever be here as a profiler instead of a friend.

Being here again, it was strange, almost like he was in a dream. Like he was floating and couldn't get his feet back on the ground. As he slowly wandered through the small bungalow there were constant reminders of the fact that he and Eric had been as close as they were. Pictures on the walls of the two of them graduating, the entire collectors edition of the Sherlock series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle that he'd bought him for his twenty eighth birthday, the awful matching ugly christmas sweater they had bought for one of the few parties they had been invited too, Spencer still had his and wore it every christmas. Everywhere he looked it seemed Eric had tried to keep him close even when they were far apart. It made him hurt even more that he hadn't seen Eric in over a year, that every time he tried to make plans with Spencer for a visit he had to call it off, most of the time because of work. He always thought there would be more time, now he knew he should have never taken any of it for granted.

As he continued to wander through, he searched for something, anything, that might help them understand exactly what was going on here, or at the very least lead them to the killer. But there was nothing. The place was as pristine as it always was, Eric was always as much of a neat freak as Spencer was, and not a single thing was out of place. There had been no struggle here, so Eric had been taken and killed somewhere else, and Spencer didn't think they would be finding anything helpful in his house. Which made him all the more frustrated.

"Hey, kid, come here!"

Spencer followed Derek's voice from Eric's bedroom to the pantry in the kitchen. Derek was in the far back corner of the pantry, standing on a small step ladder digging around on the top shelf. "Did you find something?"

"Yeah," he grunted, passing a few boxes down to Spencer and making more space on the top shelf, then Spencer saw it.

"How did you even find that? Who thinks to look for a safe in the pantry?"

"I wasn't really looking for anything up here," he explained, passing him more boxes of food, "but when I came in just to check it out, I noticed that most of the stuff in here hasn't even been touched. There's dust on most of the boxes of food, except right here the dust had been disturbed. So I looked and found the safe. Now, we can either wait for someone to come and break this open, or we can try to figure out the code on our own. Six digits, kid, what do you got?"

Spencer thought for a moment, then said, "Try his birthday, November second, seventy-eight."

"Nothing," Derek shook his head, "got another?"

"May fourteenth, eighty-four, the day his parents were killed."

He shook his head again, "Still nothing."

"Okay," Spencer searched his memory again for another important date in Eric's life, "maybe November tenth, ninety-six, that's the day he was released from foster care."

"Nope."

"September seventh, ninety-seven, his first day at Caltech."

"Not that either, kid," Derek sighed and turned away from the safe towards Spencer, "anything else?"

"Maybe, one second," he quickly dug out his phone, dialing a number and putting it on speaker.

"Office of the all and powerful Oz, speak your wish and it shall be granted."

"Garcia, we need your help," he moved closer to Derek on the ladder, lifting the phone more towards him, "we're trying to crack a safe in Eric's house, six digits, can you tell us what his real birth date was."

"Sure, sure, honey… that would be June twenty-first, seventy-three."

"... He was eight years older than me…" Spencer whispered to himself as Derek tried the new date and…

"Not that either. Any other important dates in Mason Maddox's life, baby girl?"

She typed for a few seconds before answering, "Maybe January eighteenth, ninety-seven? That's the day he made his new identity as Eric Watts."

"Nope," he sighed then turned to Spencer again, who was now just aimlessly staring at the floor, "maybe we should just wait for someone to come bust it open. Reid? Hey, kid, you still with me?"

Spencer closed his eyes as his heart sank to his stomach. It was obvious. "Try October twelfth, eighty-one."

There was a minute of tense silence, no one really wanting to breach this wall, but Derek said anyways, "That's your birthday."

"Yeah," he breathed, still not looking up from the floor, "try it."

Derek turned back to the safe, slowly inputting the six digits of Spencer's birthday, and turned the dial one last time. Spencer shut his eyes tight at the click that signaled they had cracked the code, and tried not to let the stinging in his eyes spill over into the sobs he could feel sneaking up on him.

"Why your-"

"He never missed a single one," he said, a little distantly, "called me every year we weren't together."

Derek just turned his head away again, not sure what he could say to help, and started digging through the safe.

"What's inside?"

"Woah…" Spencer finally looked up at that, a mixture of curious and worried crossing him.

"What?"

"Kid, I dunno if-"

"Just tell me what it is, Morgan!" He was getting a little short, he wanted everyone to stop treating him like he was fragile and just let him work the case.

"Alright," Derek sighed, but handed Spencer the file he had just been looking at, "but I don't know if it's a good idea." Spencer looked down at the file in his hands, hesitating. "Reid, it's still closed, so if you don't want to open it you don't have to. You can just hand it back to me."

He took a deep breath, contemplated what he really wanted to do and weighed all the outcomes in his mind, before looking up at Derek with a slight nod and opened the file. He instantly felt sick, betrayed, angry, he wanted to lash out but he kept flipping through. Inside were pictures upon pictures of brutal murders. Full eight by eleven sized photos of multiple different women being tortured, stabbed, bleeding. Pictures of the dump sites, pictures of these women before they were taken and after they were killed.

He could not believe what he was looking at, he didn't know why Eric would have these things locked up in a secret safe. Well, he did, but it was something he didn't want to have to admit, something he didn't want to have to accept.

He looked up at Derek once more, not able to say anything, then dropped the phone and file in his hand and ran out of the house. Derek didn't even have a chance to say anything or try to stop him before he was out of the pantry and gone.

He sighed, got down from the ladder, and grabbed up the file and phone Reid had dropped. Penelope was still on the line. "What happened?! Is our boy okay? What's in the file?! Oh god, Derek, tell me what's in the file."

"Our boy's not doing too well, baby girl," he started, gathering the photos and closed the file, "and according to the pictures we found in the file, it looks like Eric was a part of some very brutal murders."

"Oh… oh my god, poor Reid, oh…"

"Yeah, and I don't think there's much more we can do aside from just letting him work through it, and being here when he needs us. And breaking this case I'm sure will help too." He reached up inside the safe and pulled out something else. "Speaking of which, there's a laptop in here, baby girl. If I start it up do you think you can connect and unlock it? Start digging through his files?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Alright," he stepped out of the pantry and into the kitchen, "you get that started and I've gotta make another call."

"I will call you back when I'm in."

Once she hung up, Derek dialed another number, not sure if he'd get an answer, but the call was answered immediately. "Reid?!"

"It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

"Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, that's the reason why I'm calling," he hesitated a second, thinking back on what Rossi had said earlier, then said, "I think… I think I need you down here."

"Why? Is everything alright?"

Derek turned and looked to where Spencer had run out the back door. Hopefully David was right and this wasn't what he was worried it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He's not here." Hotch holstered his gun and turned to David who was doing the same. "If he is finished with his revenge list, he could be anywhere by now."

David nodded his agreement, "Let's get the officers and rip this place apart. Maybe we can find some hint as to where he may have gone."

They started heading outside to retrieve more officers when Aaron's phone started ringing in his pocket. He dug it out and upon seeing the caller ID answered immediately. "Reid?!"

"It's Morgan. You guys finished at Tyler Prince's place?"

"Yeah, he's not here. We're getting officers to go through the apartment now to try and figure out where he could be. How are things at Eric's place? Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, that's the reason I'm calling." Then Derek hesitated and Aaron's stomach dropped to the floor. He had been worried the moment Spencer's name flashed on his phone, he had told him to call if he needed anything, and then even more worried when it was Derek's voice he was met with instead of Spencer's. And now, he was sure there was something wrong. "I think… I think I need you down here."

"Why?" He was sure the panic in his voice was evident to a profiler like Derek, but he couldn't care to mask it right now, "Is everything alright?"

"It's Reid-"

"I'm on my way."

He slammed his phone shut, and without even a single word between them, both Aaron and David ran for the car.

With the sirens blasting, the lights on, and Aaron driving with the gas pedal practically floored, they made it to Eric's house in less than ten minutes. Aaron parked and jumped out of the car as fast as he could, taking the porch steps in two bounds, and was skidding to a halt in the kitchen when he saw Derek.

He looked up from where he was sitting at the laptop at the kitchen counter and said, "He's out back," and Aaron was gone before he could say much more.

David strolled in soon after, joining Derek in the empty bar stool at the counter, and Derek turned to him with a still skeptical look.

"It's all good, Morgan, just let Aaron handle this." Derek just turned back to the laptop, still not satisfied with the lack of information he was getting. "What did you find that freaked the kid out so much?'

He slid the file across the counter to him, not taking his eyes off the screen, "We found a safe hidden in the pantry and broke in. The first thing that kind of freaked him out was that the code for the safe was his birthday. Then I found that and this laptop inside. I told him he didn't have to look, but he did."

"He wants to see this through," David nodded to himself, knowing he would probably do the same as Spencer in his case, then flipped open the file. He instantly recoiled at the sight of some of the pictures in the file as he filtered through, then sighed and closed it. "I can see why this freaked him out. It looks like Eric, or rather Mason Maddox, was involved in some very dark murders."

Derek nodded, running a hand down his face and turning to David, "I feel bad for him. He thought he knew this guy, obviously felt a little something for him, and all those years he's been murdering people behind Spencer's back. I can't even imagine being in that position, especially as a profiler. The kid's probably beating himself up over this."

"You're probably right, though none of that is his fault. From the outside Eric seemed like a completely normal man." He then turned his attention to the laptop in front of Derek. "And what about this?"

"Nothing yet, but Garcia's working on it. Hopefully she can get it unlocked, there might be something on it to help us find Prince."

David sighed, looking out the back door where the two agents had disappeared, "I hope you're right, for the kids sake, he at least deserves the closure."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Aaron ran out the back door as fast as he could looking for Spencer, but he was not in eyesight, so he bounded down the porch steps and into the backyard. Halfway across the lawn he heard the undeniable sounds of retching coming from behind the shed and ran to it.

Spencer was there, hunched over the bushes, heaving. Aaron hurried to him, wrapping one arm around his stomach while the other alternated between running fingers through his hair and rubbing his back. He helped him through it waiting until the heaving stopped and his legs gave out, and he let Spencer lean back against him as he softly lowered them to the ground.

Aaron leaned them against the shed, holding Spencer against his side while he clung to him and sobbed. But he didn't say anything, didn't ask what they had found that had upset him, he just waited. He let Spencer cry as long as he needed to, with his face buried deep in Aaron's shoulder, and held him tightly until he felt he was ready to talk.

"He killed people," he whispered, so quiet Aaron almost didn't catch it, before he lifted his head slightly, "Morgan found a safe and… there were pictures inside."

"Pictures of what?"

"Women, so many women," he sucked in a shuddering breath, "he tortured and killed them, and I never knew."

Aaron pulled Spencer close again, tucking him back into his neck, and running his fingers through his hair again. "You couldn't have known. Some of these people fit so well into society outside of their crimes, we would never know."

"I could have stopped him."

"It's not your fault," he turned his face to nose at the top of Spencer's head, "there was nothing you could have done."

He was quiet for another moment before whispering into his neck, "I feel so betrayed," and his sobs wracked up again.

"Hey," Aaron soothed, turning to wrap his other arm around him, "I know this is hard, and it's going to be for a while, but know that I am always here for you, and I will never betray you. No matter what, you will always have me."

He didn't say anything, just dug himself impossibly deeper into Aaron, and they stayed like that until then sun was starting to set and Spencer's sobs had finally died down.

Aaron was eventually able to get Spencer off the ground and guide him towards the house. Once inside, he asked Derek to take Spencer out to the cars and wait for them there. And without a word of argument after seeing the state of his friend, he grabbed up the laptop and left with Spencer under his arm.

Aaron watched them until they were out the front door then turned to David. "They found proof that Eric was killing people?"

He handed the file to Aaron who quickly looked through it, then closed it with a sigh. His heart bled for Spencer and ached to hold him again, tell him it was going to be okay, so he decided to hurry this along so he could try and do just that. "And the laptop Morgan took?"

"He found it in a safe along with that file. He's hoping Garcia can unlock it."

He nodded, then motioned for David to follow him out, "Let's all head back to the hotel for the night. I'm sure Prentis and JJ will have information to share with us as well, but we'll deal with all that back at the station tomorrow. Call them from the car?"

"Can do," David said, walking out with him, "and what about the kid? How's he doing?"

Aaron shook his head, "Not well, but can you blame him?"

"Not at all. He's actually held it together longer than most people would have," he turned to Aaron then, "you need to stick close to him, he's going to need you more now then before."

They were at the cars then, Aaron not even giving Derek the chance to argue, led Spencer to the passenger seat of his car then hopped in the drivers side. David guided a quite irate looking Derek to the other car, then both cars left the driveway heading for the hotel. Spencer didn't do much more the whole ride then look out the window, but Aaron held his hand the entire ride back. He needed Spencer to know that no matter what happened with this case, or how much worse it may get, he was not alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrived at the hotel and went straight to their rooms. They didn't even bother stopping to see if Emily and JJ had arrived yet, Aaron had already decided whatever they had found could wait for tomorrow. His main concern right now was making sure Spencer was okay.

When they reached the hallway where their two rooms were side by side, Derek wasted no time in wrapping a protective arm around Spencer and sharply turning him towards their room. His key card was out before he even reached the door, and without a step of hesitation, the door was open and he was ushering Spencer inside.

Aaron stepped towards the door but Derek had placed himself firmly between him and Spencer, holding the door. "I'll make sure he gets some sleep, good night guys."

And with that firm dismissal, Derek closed the door. Despite the fact that Spencer's eyes never left Aaron's the whole time, and the fact that Aaron so desperately wanted to break the door down and take Spencer back, he couldn't. He didn't want to arouse any suspicion that there might possibly be something there, something between them, especially when they hadn't even had the chance to figure it out on their own yet. Not to mention that he didn't want to put any more stress on Spencer than he already had with this case, so he just resolved himself to turn around and head for his own room.

He all but stormed inside and then just stood, stock still, in the middle of the room with one hand over his face. All he wanted to do was get to Spencer, make sure he was okay and that he had the comfort he needed, but he couldn't do that with Derek as protective as he was. So all he could really do right now was sit in his room and stew.

David on the other hand, had plans of his own. He marched in after Aaron, going straight to his own bed and grabbing his go bag. He quickly packed his few belongings he had spread throughout the room, and walked past Aaron to the door.

"Where are you going?" Aaron asked as he turned back to face him.

"You two are killing me," he shook his head with the smallest hint of a grin, "so trust me on this one. You'll both thank me later."

Without any more explanation than that, he opened the door. And as he was halfway out he stopped, turned back, and said, "Also, I fully and wholeheartedly expect to be the first person invited to this wedding."

Aaron couldn't help but smile and even blush a little as David left. And if he let himself indulge in the thought of that while he stood there and waited, then that would be his own little secret.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching with horror as the young genius paced the room with an almost frantic sense. His movements were jolted and his fingers were taping wildly on the sides of his arms as he moved. And Derek, for all that he knew about Spencer, had no idea how to help him right now.

A sudden knock on the door had Derek up and moving, cautious as to not touch or disturb whatever trance Spencer was in, and he opened the door to find David. "Hey, Rossi," he looked down, eyeing the go bag in David's hand then back up with a raised brow, "Something happen? We going somewhere?"

"Not we, just the kid." He walked in past a still very confused Derek and grabbed Spencer's go bag from under his bed, handing it to him. "Up and attem, kid, let's go. The boss is waiting for you."

He had finally stopped his manic pacing and was now racing through the room to gather his things, not even giving a second thought to Derek as he tried several times to stop him. So instead, Derek turned on David, "What exactly is going on here?!"

"We're switching rooms," he shrugged as if it were obvious.

Derek huffed, shoulders tense, "I can see that, Rossi, but why? What's wrong with this one? Why can't he stay with me?"

"Aaron just wants to keep an eye on him, that's all," he tried to ease Derek's mind, but it didn't work.

So as Spencer came out of the bathroom, his now full go bag in hand and heading for the door, he stopped him and said, "Reid, are you sure Hotch isn't giving you a hard time?"

"I'm fine, Morgan, I promise." And he was out of his grasp and heading for the door.

"Kid, you're good with this?! You can stay here you know, I can keep an eye on you too without-" But he was gone, the door closing behind him as he practically ran down the hall. Derek just shook his head and turned back to David. "He really doesn't need to babysit him like this. Reid is fine, he'll be okay. I know this is a rough case for him, it would be for anyone in his situation, but he's got all of us to help him through this. Hotch does not need to keep him on a tight leash and make him feel like he's incapable. And I can make sure Reid's okay just as well as Hotch can."

"I know, Derek, I know you can, but it's not about that. Any of it," he tried to answer as calmly as he could in an attempt to being down Derek's anger, raising both hands to his shoulders, "just let it be, alright, it's not what you think."

"Rossi-"

"Let it go, Derek," he smiled and gave Derek's shoulders a squeeze, "it's nothing bad, Hotch is not giving Spencer a hard time, and he does not think Spencer is incapable of doing his job. The kid's fine, just let him be with Aaron right now."

"Not like I have much say anyways. The kid's already gone," he said, nodding towards the door, "is it me?"

Dave couldn't help but laugh a bit at that, patting Derek's cheek lightly as he replied, "It most definitely is not you."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Since Dave had left, Aaron had also picked up a frantic pacing of his room. And when finally a knock came at the door, he rushed over to open it and let Spencer in.

He was standing in the doorway, go bag in his arms and looking anxious, worried, maybe even a little scared. All of which had Aaron concerned. He wanted to ease Spencer, not make it worse.

"I…" He started, looking down at his shuffling feet as he spoke, "Are you okay with this? Cuz if not I can-"

"I would prefer it this way, actually."

"Good," that brought a small smile to Spencer's lips, the first one Aaron had seen since the start of this case, "me too."

He walked past Aaron and inside the room, taking up the bed that was still made on the left. He quickly grabbed his pjs from his bag along with his toiletries, and excused himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Aaron followed suit after Spencer was finished, and when he came out, he hesitated at the edge of his bed for a moment.

He stood and stared at Spencer, Spencer staring right back. It was clear they both had something to say, but neither was sure if it would be okay to say it, worried the other would react in a way that might make things worse. So Aaron just turned away and broke the gaze, getting into bed.

They both said goodnight and Aaron reached between them to turn off the bedside lamp. He turned over, making every effort to try and sleep, but every thought on his mind went to Spencer, every part of his body itched to touch him and hold him like he had earlier. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and comfort him, make sure Spencer knew that no matter what Aaron was here and he was not going anywhere. And what the hell, maybe David was right, he wouldn't know anything unless he asked.

"Hey, Reid," he turned back over and sat up, seeing Spencer was already in the same position as him, "I know today's been hard for you, so… so if you-" And before he could even finish his sentence, Spencer was up and out of his bed.

Aaron moved back and held the blankets up for Spencer to shuffle under beside him. Spencer had planned on leaving some space between them, not wanting to just barge into Aaron's personal space, and just happy to be in the same bed as him, but Aaron reached over and pulled him against his chest before he could. And Spencer wasn't going to complain or protest.

Aaron laid on his back, tucking Spencer tight against him, his head under his chin and Aaron's arms wrapped tightly around him. Spencer sunk into the warmth and comfort of Aaron's body, digging his nose into his neck and breathing in the smell that was only Aaron, that smell that Spencer found the most comforting thing in the world, and he finally felt himself relaxing for the first time since they landed in California.

They laid like that for some time, just content being together. Aaron ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, whispering to him over and over again the same thing, until he finally heard Spencer's breathing even out and he knew he was asleep. And once more, before he fell asleep himself, he whispered right against Spencer's ear, "I've got you, and I promise I will never let you go."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Lots of Hotch and Reid together in this chapter! Let me know what you think <3

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an-annyeoing-writer · 4 years

Text

Chanyeol x Reader: a day from humble slave’s life. [+18]

Word count: ~5k

Warnings: s*xual themes, slavery, objectification, minor fat shaming. Please, don’t mistake this with non-con, for it’s not, but if you feel like an impression may trigger you too, simply don’t read it.

This is a fantasy. As much as I tried to portray Chanyeol’s personality accordingly, it has little to do with how I see him as a person, and - especially - with who he really is. Nonetheless, this is NOT meant to insult anyone.

The story was originally a birthday gift for my friend, and therefore, Reader’s age is specified and it’s also mentioned to be her birthday - forgive me that ^_^

7 A.M.

Even before your eyes open, the first streak of consciousness is how you welcome the world.

It’s not going to be a good morning, you think at first; your eyes are sticky as soon as you try to pry them open, your muscles ache, your hair is a mess. How disgraceful, you think. You can’t show yourself to the world like this. Thank God for the attached bathroom.

Look pretty, you were once told, that’s all you can do well.

The words, back then, didn’t sound half as appreciative as you considered them now. But with time, they became a motto, a goal, a purpose. They did say that you’re not good for anything else, but they also said you’re good at this one thing.

Look pretty for the one who deserves it. Whatever your Owner shall want to do with your body, you shall obey.

And if He doesn’t say anything, if He doesn’t even look at you, living His life as if you didn’t exist, then the least you can do is be pretty as to not offend Him: you owe Him your best quality, after all.

The shower is over, the make-up done, the clothes, selected carefully, wrapped around your silhouette as to expose what’s the best in it. The corset is so tight it hurts. But it’s worth it if that’s what He wants.

Off to eat a breakfast. The corset’s gonna get even worse after you eat, but that’s also the price you agree to pay. Eat, to stay healthy: not stuff yourself, not pleasure yourself with sweets. Eat to stay healthy and not cause Him any problems, so that your body stays in the best shape. He expects no less.

He’s there, you realize with surprise. He doesn’t stay around too often and usually doesn’t eat the breakfast at home. But He’s there, sitting in the dining room. Someone is serving Him a breakfast: one of many others, men and women, that He owns. They’re useful, you think. They can cook, they can keep the house clean.

All you can do, is to look pretty.

So you bow deeply as soon as you see Him, and when His gaze finally meets yours, you kneel on the floor next to the door, eyes on the ground as to not annoy Him, letting Him enjoy the sight of what He owns. It probably looks weird, you think, a woman kneeling on the floor with other people around, not an intimate situation at all – she’s not His lover, after all, just a property.

You don’t know if He looks at you, but your posture is perfect as if He did.

When He stands up and goes to the door, you dare not to look up.

When He’s right next to you, His fingers find your lips and put a small chocolate on your tongue, a token of approval; the chocolate is so, so good that you melt in its taste, and you take as much of it as you can, playing with it in your mouth long after He leaves without a word.

10 A.M.

Everyone knows, more or less, what’s His job: the exact crimes remain unknown, though, and His secrets stay safe: no one in the house would ever dare to spread them around. And it’s not like it’d be easy to do, either – only some of you are allowed to leave the house in the first place, and you’re not one of these. There’s no reason for you to leave, anyway, since everything you’d need: cosmetics, clothes – there’s nothing more you’d need, right? – other people only give you, and you’re given the exact things that suit His taste, no room for you to do wrong. There’s no reason to give Him surprises, either: you’re like a product, a window’s curtains that are changed to their owner’s liking, not picked randomly in a shop, but chosen by what he likes and what suits the rest of the house.

Your dress now is made of the same purple fabric as sofas in the living room when you’re called over and enter the spacious room with huge windows; a few familiar faces sit in various places all around – not your friends by any means, but people you just saw here before.

“Are you, for real?” one of them says. Your Owner laughs in response.

“See for yourself, Xing” He answers and motions you over.

A small movement of His fingers, a signal you’ve been taught long ago.

On your knees, it says, and you instantly catch the cue, a bit nervous at first, glancing at the stranger’s face just to make sure he’s alright with it: out of pure politeness, because you know that even if he didn’t like it, you’d still do it – it’s not him you’re here to obey, after all.

You don’t ask questions as you unzip his jeans, all the modesty gone as your lips wrap around his cock, as casually as it’d be to hand him a glass of water, no objections: you’re so good, so obedient.

You glance to your side with your eyes slightly blurry from tears. You see an amused, but content smile on your Owner’s face and that’s all the motivation you need to grow bolder, to suck harder. Your throat is not so good just yet, it still needs to get better, you realize, and you choke yourself on the man’s length, punishing yourself for not being good enough. It amuses them. You feel their eyes on you, a quiet sound of someone taking a photo, tears run down your face, your makeup smudged, your hair messy from where the man grabbed it, holding onto it as he set a righter pace for you to follow.

When he cums, you hold still. You swallow what you’re given.

“Thank you, sir” you say in a rough voice, your throat strained. The man smiles at you kindly, and you can’t help but smile back.

You know better than to ignore your Owner any longer though, and you turn to face Him, still on your knees of course, eyes on His shoes.

“Look at me” He instructs. You obey.

He stares at you with a smirk.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir” you reply honestly.

“You can go. Don’t interrupt us.”

Your duty is fulfilled. It feels so good to be useful.

1 P.M.

You’ve been sitting in your bathtub for what feels like hours, but it’s okay, it feels good, the water stays warm, your bathroom is so luxurious you can’t help but savor every minute of having access to it: not owning it, of course, but it’s nice nonetheless.

Everything in this room belongs to Him: the tub with heating system, the thick walls, the expensive cosmetics and the softest towels, and, of course, you.

How much do you love to be owned? He asked you once: do you like where you are, what you are?

Yes, sir.

Don’t you just say that to please me?

I mean it, sir.

Do you, really? Come here, then. Show me how grateful you are. Let your mouth convince me, but not with words.

It felt intimate, to be allowed so close to the one you looked up to. Being allowed to please Him was a blessing, and you wished you’d do it more often, but never dared to ask: you’re too low to demand His attention, so even if He was to say no, it’d be a waste of His precious time to consider your plea in the first place.

So instead, you savored every moment He allowed you, as much as you savored the memory of His small groans, the way He relaxed under your fingers, leaning back in His armchair and not even looking at you, but clearly enjoying this little paradise His humble slave served Him. Oh, how well He trained you, you know just what to do to make Him feel good. He deserves the best of you for He’s the one who gave it to you in the first place.

The memory sends a pleasant tingling down to your core and your fingers instinctively reach down, willing to relieve yourself.

But you stop yourself halfway.

You’re not meant for receiving pleasure, stupid, you remind yourself. There’s a smile on your lips at the thought. You’re good, you won’t do this, it’s not something He’d enjoy knowing of, and therefore there’s no reason to do it.

You choose to stay desperate and you’re proud of this choice.

There’s knocking on your room’s door.

“[F/n]? You’ve been sitting there for ages. Come out, I have something for you!”

“Ah, five minutes!” you call back.

“I’ll wait, then!”

You choose to rest just a little bit longer. She can wait, you decide. The water is just too warm.

1:30 P.M.

“Seriously, I thought you died in there” are the first words you hear upon leaving the bathroom. Your friend seems annoyed and it’s, truthfully, justified. But then her face brightens up. “Ah, look, I’ve got something good!”

She has boxes with various types of food sprawled over your bed, variety of tastes, mostly healthy, but some sweets as well, and these are mainly things you haven’t tasted in ages since you didn’t really consider yourself worthy of such luxury.

But then, you haven’t seen her lately, you missed her: she always brings something good to share, either be it food or jewelry you can wear for some time before returning it. These are little breaks in your routine, small pieces of something different than you usually experience. It’s good to recall how usual, human life looks like, even if you’re back to your own usual self soon later.

You notice a new, leather collar wrapped around her neck. You feel like you’d look good in one if you had it, too. Your Owner just never thought of idea as such, but who knows, maybe He’ll see her and decide it’s a good one? You can always hope for it.

“What’s that?” you ask, picking a random box. It smells good, sea-like.

“I have completely no idea, but it tastes good” she replies, stuffing her face with some vegetables she holds with sticks. You learned already that as much as she likes food, she never uses her brain to memorize any dish names. It’s not like she has too much brain to begin with, so who cares, anyway. She’s not a cook, but a slave like you, a different kind, but just as devoted and happy with her place. “Ah, try this.” She fetches some sort of candy and puts it by your lips, reminding you briefly of what happened this morning. You take the candy, it melts in your mouth almost instantly.

A few seconds later, her lips are on yours instead, and you taste the pepper with cinnamon she just ate; it’s a strange connection, but it tastes good, and, somehow, it suits the candy’s flavor still present on your tongue.

You feel stiff at first, but quickly melt into the sensation. You weren’t caressed like this in ages, your mouth has only one purpose on daily basis; it feels nice. Her hand is soon on your breast, squeezing it through the thin fabric of your silk bathrobe. She doesn’t wait long before pushing the fabric off you, your fresh and clean body, exposed to the air, getting still hotter with every passing second.

The door creaks and you two finally part; your eyes are on the man that stands in the door frame, his eyebrows raised at your friend as she lets out an awkward laugh.

He rolls his eyes, only half-amused with what he just saw.

“We’re going home” he says sternly. Then, without bidding you a good-bye, she gets off the bed and runs to him, and soon, you’re left alone. You didn’t even notice that your robe was off all this time.

But at least you get to keep the food, right?

5 P.M.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

He doesn’t invite you over for dinner often, so you try to enjoy it as much as possible. Yet, your stomach is still full – it wasn’t a wise choice to eat that much at once. You feel like you will blow up if you eat a gram more of the pork in front of you.

“I’m sorry, I’m not hungry, I ate earlier” you explain yourself. It’s not a reply that satisfies Him, but He doesn’t pry, and you hope that He will just brush it off.

“Eat.”

You don’t object, you know you can’t. Your stomach is so full you want to throw up. You take a bit of the pork and slowly munch on the meat, hoping that it’ll become more bearable with time. You don’t want to stretch your stomach like this, you’ll feel hungry more often, and what will He say if you gain weight?

You have to endure.

“What did you eat?” He asks.

“Quinoa with vegetables, fish, oats with milk, candy” you answer truthfully. There were some other funny combinations that you consumed, but you decide these are the essentials.

“Hmm, that sounds like a lot. What if you get fat?” He asks calmly.

“I, uh… I don’t think it’s possible if it’s just one time” you try to state so as humbly as possible, but you feel like no matter what you said, it wouldn’t sound good. Maybe you should have apologized instead? Asked Him to be merciful?

“Are you trying to argue with me?”

“No, sir” you answer instantly, your face showing fear at the thought; you wouldn’t dare, no, never. He seems to see it, the way you shiver at the accusation, and He smiles. You’re relieved. You know that He may punish you, that He may use it as opportunity to give you pain, and even tell you that you deserve it – to not feel bad about doing it to you. However, knowing that it’ll give Him satisfaction, that He won’t do it because He’s authentically mad at you, but just wants to play with His toy, is what makes you happy and excited for what’s to come.

For now, at least.

“I thought so” He just says and goes back to His meal.

Just as He told you to, you continue to eat your portion, trying to stuff yourself as much as possible, knowing that your stomach will hurt even more, and thanking God for not wearing the corset any longer.

“On your knees” He suddenly says when you’re almost done. You don’t object, you do as you’re told. “Crawl there” He motions you to sit nearby, not too close to him, off the rug and on the cold panels, hard under your knees.

He leans chin on His hand, watching you, almost bored.

“Make yourself vomit.”

You swallow your saliva nervously and glance up at Him, hoping that He’s just joking, testing your reactions. His face doesn’t change though, and, as you hesitate, His eyebrows raise in doubt. Will you do it? Will you humiliate yourself as a punishment? Will you ruin yourself once again, not through sex, but through being genuinely disgusting in front of Him?

Will He even like it? How could He enjoy such sight? Won’t He feel sick, since He barely just ate? Is it really what He wants?

“What are you waiting for? Did you not understand me? Or should I go over there and push my own fingers down your throat? That’d be so gross. You don’t want me to dirty my hands, do you?”

You quickly shake your head. Of course, no, He doesn’t need to do something that disgusting. You’ll do it, you can do it.

You push your fingers into your throat until you feel the food go back, and you close your eyes tightly, throwing up all over the floor, sensing it dirty your legs, but refusing to look at it. It feels disgusting, painful, the acidic sensation in your mouth making you want to throw up again.

“Look at me.”

You obey. Your face is still twisted in disgust and He watches you, almost unmoved with the scene that just unfolded.

“Gross. Wash the floor, and yourself. Can’t keep it clean today, can you?” He snorts. “I’m not hungry anymore” He announces suddenly, then stands up and exits the room, leaving you on your knees among your own vomit, allowing you to dwell on your pathetic, miserable self.

You sit there, breathing heavily for what feels like an hour at least.

Then you stand up, still dirty, and still disgusting, probably stinking, too.

And for some reason, it feels good, because you just did what He told you to, and there’s nothing more fulfilling than listening to your Owner’s commands, no matter how destructive and unpleasant would they be, and how unwanted and unattractive they would make you seem.

8 P.M.

You lie in your bed, exhausted. Your skin feels dry from all the washing today, especially since you spent so long in the tub earlier. You have your thin robe back on, and your eyes are getting sticky from how tired you are, so you close them and let your body relax. That’s so good, that’s so comfortable.

You don’t know how long you lie there, drifting off despite the early hour, before something rouses you out of the blissful state. You open your eyes and look around: the room is empty, lamps still off, but some of the street light entering through the windows allows you to see the surroundings rather clearly, especially since your eyes already accustomed with the darkness.

And said surroundings are quiet and empty, but your instinct tells you that you should get up just because, and you choose to listen to it: you’re not that tired anymore, you got a bit of rest and this day is far from over.

You stand up and turn on the lamp on your bedside table, its soft light brightening up the whole room, although not too intensely.

The door suddenly opens and a woman speaks to you from the corridor.

“Master wants to see you. Go to his room. Hurry.”

With that, she leaves, and you’re dumbstruck for a few seconds. You quickly realize your mistake: it’s not the time for you to be slow or hesitate. Whatever He wants, you’re here to deliver. It surprises you, though, He never makes requests like such. You wish to know if you should change into something more elegant, more suitable, just in case He’s not alone – the bathing robe exposes a bit too much and you’re worried that He wouldn’t appreciate it right now. Yes, more precise instructions would be appreciated.

But with what you’ve got, all you know is that you should hurry. You don’t take nor change anything, then, only making sure your hair looks presentable – the makeup is already gone, but it will have to stay this way – you fix the belt of your robe, too, not wanting it to slip by accident since you have nothing underneath.

You get up and go. You know where to go, although His room and yours are a few corridors apart – the mansion is big and you need to pass through all the most important places to get there, including the door to one of the living rooms and other servants’ bedrooms.

You knock on the door after a short hesitation: not too quiet, not too loud – it’s hard to measure, you rarely ever knock on any door, not to mention the door to His very bedroom.

“Come in.”

You open the door.

The bedroom is not that much larger than yours, but it seems more personal – there are souvenirs, ornaments, belongings that you don’t get to own, things that prove He owns this place.

And then He’s there: in sweatpants and nothing else, droplets of water randomly running down His back where He didn’t dry them with a towel, or where they slipped from His wet hair. You don’t get to enjoy the sight for long though, because He grabs a shirt and pulls it over His head, and you lower your gaze, realizing that staring probably wouldn’t be approved.

“Bend over the table” He instructs, still not looking at you. He walks around the room and enters the attached bathroom, doing all these small evening things: skincare routine, perfumes that seem to help Him sleep and so on. You stand where you were told to, trying to stop yourself from peeking curiously; it takes Him a few minutes of completely ignoring your presence before He finally sighs and turns to you.

He stands behind you, out of your sight. There’s a silence for a few moments before He suddenly pulls on your robe and throws its lower part over your upper back, exposing your behind. His hand pushes on your shoulder, forcing you lower, pressing you against the table’s surface. You don’t flinch.

“Spread your ass” He says, and you obediently move your hands to your cheeks; it feels awkward at first, the air hitting your most private parts, although you know already, there’s no private, and all of you belongs to Him only, all of you is for Him to see, judge and use. “More.”

It almost hurts and you wish you knew what exactly He sees back there; but you don’t. He doesn’t touch you, and a part of you wishes He did – you crave His touch, but you’re aware of your place, you learned to act accordingly.

You jump slightly when He unceremoniously pries your pussy open with His fingers, your hands tremble slightly – it feels so good, His fingers feel so good you could come just from feeling them on you, no matter where, really.

“I heard it’s your birthday today” He says suddenly. His two fingers dive into you and you struggle to keep your composure; your thoughts fly away before you manage to form them into an answer. He pulls His fingers out, spreading your apparent wetness all over your folds. “Is it true?” The touch disappears for a moment and you finally get a chance to breathe.

“Y-yes, sir” you force out.

“I see.”

His fingers are back there, rubbing you slowly a few times, as if checking for any deformations – of course there are none, but He checks nonetheless.

“What’s your age now?” He asks. You wonder if He really doesn’t know, it’s not like He has a reason to care.

“T-twenty one” you mumble in a strained voice.

“Twenty one. In centimeters, that’s how high heels you can only wear from tomorrow on, understood?”

“Y… Yes, sir.”

His hand must be stained with natural lubricant, you realize, as He moves it higher, smoothly pushing one finger into your ass. It’s a miracle you manage to stay still. He doesn’t dwell much on that place though; instead, He pulls out and neatly puts the robe back into place.

“Up and face me.”

Sometimes, you wish to be roughed up – to have your hair pulled roughly, to be manhandled. But He never does that. You know your place. His word is enough to make you do whatever He wants, so why be rough? He’d get unnecessarily tired, and you’re not worth of His sweat, are you?

You stand in front of Him, eyes down, His breath on top of your head, you almost feel His body warmth – you didn’t notice He’s so close, but He is, if you just reached out…

He doesn’t hesitate before pushing the robe open, exposing your front. His hand wraps around one of your breasts, squeezing it so hard and so suddenly you almost scream, your knees trembling. You force yourself to stand straight, but God, does it hurt. He pinches your nipple, no gentler, but at least doesn’t keep it for so long. He does the same on the other side, and you swear you’ll have them all purple tomorrow, and it lasted less than a minute. They hurt so much.

As soon as He loses interest in your breasts, you wrap your arms around your chest, trying to soothe it. His hand moves to your chin instead, forcing it up.

“Open” is all He says and you obey. “Wider.” You try to, but it’s not enough. Pushing fingers into your mouth, He pushes your jaws even further, to the point it hurts and you feel like it will soon break. But you don’t object. He pulls on your tongue – it’s hard not to pull back. You gag as He pushes His fingers deep, but – thank God – takes them out before you can repeat your act from earlier.

You pant when He finally retreats and the contact breaks.

“When was the last time you came?” He asks as soon as He decides you’re in the state to provide an answer.

“T… three weeks ago, sir” you mumble.

“That’s not too long ago, is it?”

“Not too long…” You whimper slightly, confirming.

He doesn’t really hold you accountable of this on usual – only when He, for some reason, feels like making you a bit more desperate, a bit more pathetic. But it’s not something that happens often. On most days, He doesn’t even care for your presence, so even if He – or anyone else He approved of – decided, on rare occasions, to use your pussy for a change, He couldn’t care less if you came, as long as you didn’t make His own experience any worse.

But then sometimes, just sometimes, He wanted to see you struggle.

“What’s the longest you went for?”

“A-a month, sir…”

“Well then, what about we make it two?”

You gulp.

“If you wish so, sir…”

“But that’s starting from tomorrow. You will come today.”

Your eyes snap up at Him as He turns around and sits back on His bed, crossing His legs leisurely. You don’t dare to move from your spot – a good choice.

“Kneel down and touch yourself. Leave the robe on, but don’t cover yourself.”

He watches you with a small smirk as you get down. Your pussy is already exposed; you spread your legs as far as you can and lean slightly forward on one hand, the other finding the most aching spots.

Your Owner watches as you start to rub yourself – and you’re shook about how little it takes for you to find yourself on edge.

“Stop.”

You press your lips together, holding back a whine that tries to push through your lips. It hurts, you wish you could just make yourself come, you’re so needy, so starved for it, it’s been so long…

“Give me your robe.”

You don’t ask. You take the fabric off, fold it neatly and stand up, head low, reaching out with your both hands. The man takes it without care, throwing it onto the floor, far from you.

“Go to your room now.”

“Yes, sir…”

You glance briefly at the clock on the wall – it’s almost nine. And you only wonder, how many people will you pass by, going through the cold corridors, with your pussy leaking and your breasts slowly turning blue.

11:49 P.M.

You’re asleep when the door opens again – the sound waking you up slowly, your sleepy movements incoherent as you try to turn the light on. You stop though, as, in the darkness slowly dissolving in front of your eyes, you recognize the silhouette that just welcomed you. Your hazy mind doesn’t proceed it fully though, yet, and you don’t know, what would be the right way to react – stand up? Kneel down? Out of no cue, you stay where you are, watching with wide eyes as the man approaches your bed and sits on the mattress.

His hand finds the edge of your sheets and pulls them away from your naked frame – you often slept naked, and now that he rid you off your usual evening attire, it feels like an even righter thing to do.

“S… sir…?”

“Don’t move. Don’t talk.”

You stay in your place, your eyes following every movement, and when his hand cups your sex, your breath hitches and you struggle to stay still – of course you struggle; you want to grind down, to prove how needy you are, like a bitch in heat.

But he said, don’t move. So you don’t.

He spreads your legs a bit and teases you, stretching your entrance a little just for the sake of his entertainment, like most of the things he does to you, anyway. But then he suddenly stops and starts to gently rub your clit. You press your lips together. It feels so good, so hot, you wish you could moan, scream for him.

But he said, don’t talk. So you don’t.

His other hand is soon on your hair and he pulls you up, not too gently, but not unnecessarily roughly either. His face is so close, his eyes boring into yours. What did you ever do, to deserve a proximity like this? To deserve that much attention? To deserve his hand pleasing you so well, so good?

Nothing, is the answer. You’re not worthy of it, yet he gives it to you: how generous of him, isn’t it? To be touching the filthy animal you are. He’s so good. He feels so good, and you struggle even more, trying to keep yourself together and hold back for the sake of feeling it just a little longer.

“You may come, if you want.”

“Sh… should I?”

He smirks.

“Do you want to?”

You hesitate, a second too long.

His hand disappears and you’re left panting, writhing, squeezing your legs together for friction, but feeling as though nothing can satiate you as well as his fingers did, and you finally let out a cry. How vulnerable.

When you come back to your senses, you feel his eyes on you and quickly return the gaze – you don’t want him to think you’re ignoring him, never. You may have lost your mind for a few moments, but it’s back there – figuratively, for you’re just a dumb whore, there’s no much mind left in you.

“I told you, that you will come today, but you didn’t listen.” You quickly glance at the clock – it’s 00:02. Oh, God. Oh, no. “And now that your birthday is over, I don’t need to hold back, do I?”

You want to say that he shouldn’t hold back regardless of the day, but you soon realize it probably wouldn’t be in your best favor.

And that he doesn’t really need your approval.

Please, reblog if you enjoyed!

#chanyeol smut #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol imagine #dom chanyeol #park chanyeol #exo chanyeol #exo smut #exo imagine #exo x reader #zhang yixing #vg: chanyeol #vg: fanfiction #vg: exo

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hains-mae · 4 years

Text

Flowers - Pt. 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (end)

(Damian x Reader) Soulmate AU

Rating: T

Ages: Damian and you are 16, everyone’s ages follow after.

Summary: Soulmate AU where the wounds on your soulmate turns into a flower tattoo on your skin, if it heals with no scars the tattoo goes away, if it heals with a scar then the tattoo stays.

It just got worse.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, I wouldn’t make it as confusing as it is now.

The convention hall was huge. The lights shone brightly at the many innovative inventions made by the young minds of Gotham City. the entire city was invited to participate after all. As Wayne Enterprise made the whole event international, we had guests from all over the globe looking for potential students to take under their wing. Rumour has it that everyone on the guest list was hand picked by the man, Bruce Wayne, himself.

I looked around in a daze as I clutched the metal briefcase that held my project.

Running in an hour or two of sleep and caffein, I made my way through the growing crowd. Finally I was able to locate my designated table, a small booth in the chemistry section. I made quick work on unpacking the projector and placed it square on a folding table. It would play the presentation of what my project was about and all the necessary details to explain the chemical compounds and a quick scanned blueprint.

“I feel so nervous.” I mumbled to no one in particular.

Then placing a black cloth on the table as my workspace, I made sure to put the specifically designed gun carefully on a stand that I had quickly melded together. The projectiles rested in the container. Only two remained. I stared at it for a while as the scene of that fateful night replayed in my head.

I had found my soulmate.

Which was good.

He was Robin.

Which was bad.

There was a chance he could be Damian Wayne.

Which was worse.

This relationship was doomed from the start. My soulmate was a freaking vigilante! He was running around at night, putting his life in danger. Death was a constant in my mind after that. Knowing that one day I might loose him. It was a weird thing, this soulmate bond that we shared. Somehow meeting him solidified his existence in my life. Now every time I received another flower on my skin I would know what might’ve caused it. Worry started to form in my gut as I thought about the bullet wound in his shoulder.

I shook my head to get any more lingering thoughts out as I willed myself to focus on the task at hand. I needed to get my head in the game.

Pulling the beakers and flasks out as carefully as I could, I placed them each on the other side of the table. I filled them with their chemicals and started the burner. I had wanted to show them the process as a prototype. I doubted anybody here wanted to be encased in rock.

I was so deep in thought as I mindlessly tinkered around to keep my hands busy that I didn’t even realise a figure standing before me until he cleared his throat.

Looking up from my notes my eyes grew wide.

Mr. Bruce Wayne, owner and CEO of the Wayne Enterprises was standing at my table. He had a charming smile plastered on his face.

“My, what an interesting piece we have here. Don’t you agree Damian?” His voice was calm and even.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“I do, father.” He agreed. His eyes caught mine, and all I could do was stare into his green orbs.

“Oh forgive me.” Mr. Wayne chuckled and held out his hand. “Bruce Wayne.”

I returned the gesture and shook his hand telling him my own name.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He said. “And this is my son, Damian.”

“We met.” He said simply, but still took my hand and shook it.

“I’m really interested in your work.” Mr. Wayne continued. “I’d like to come back after I make the opening speech.”

“Of course.” I plastered on the best smile I could muster.

It wasn’t too long after that when Mr. Wayne came back, but this time he had an entourage. To his right he had his sons, all 4 of them. They were exactly as the magazines showed and described them to be. Each one was dashing. I didn’t know much about them, but hearing their names tossed around every day in school made me involuntarily learn anyway.

Richard, the eldest had a polite smile and kind blue eyes. They were warm in a comforting way and his manners were that of a well bred socialite. He waved at some of the students and nodded at a few of the adults he passed.

The one beside him was Jason, his cold glare could strike fear into anyone’s hearts. Especially when he is backed up with high status and money. No one dared mess with him. But even I had to admit there was a certain charm to his features, he had a bad boy kind of vibe.

Tim was next, walking just a few steps ahead of his older brothers. His nose was buried in an iPad and his fingers were flying through the screen at top speed. He was just a few years older than me, and I’ve actually seen him around the campus before, but I never met him.

Lastly, Damian. He stole a glance at me as they walked towards my table and turned to Tim, mumbling something before looking ahead.

To Mr. Wayne’s left were two well renowned chemists that I personally follow. Their works and research papers were incredible, it was actually the basis of my own invention. Instantly the butterflies in my stomach fluttered around.

After introductions were made, I presented my work and did a sample test before leading their attention to the finished product which were the glowing orbs.

“And what inspired you to create such an invention?” Mr. Wayne inquired.

“I just wanted to help.” I said truthfully. “We’re aware of the crimes around our city, and I thought it would make the job of catching the criminals easier.”

“And it will.” He smiled. “I’d like to offer you an internship in my company. And if you wouldn’t mind, a mentorship with my two top scientists there.”

“It would be an honour!”

This had to be the greatest moment of my life. For the first time that day I felt my mood get better.

The rest of the days passed on in a blur. My invention was one of the top picked topics in the scene, much to my pleasure, and the interview for the internships and mentorships went well. I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

Mr. Wayne’s secretary handed me, and a couple of other students he scouted, a form to fill out and sign. Our parents/legal guardians were immediately informed and the school assured them before any action is taken they will be holding another meeting. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Many of us were able to grab great opportunities, both in and out of the cities.

I looked around and saw all the doors opening up for the next generation in Gotham. Happy smiles and excited chatter filled the room. Promises of a greater future were announced. I realised, this was probably history in the making. This would be where everything turns around for the better. I might sound overly sentimental, and perhaps a tad bit exaggerated, but I was feeling hopeful.

The interviews were over, and after the last of them had been held, the announcement came to remind us of the upcoming gala. We had an entire day to prepare – “Therefore, use it wisely.” Our professor advised.

Many of the girls had rushed out in groups (with a teacher chaperone) as they headed towards the fancy boutiques and malls. I on the other hand decided to be practical. My roommate and a couple of friends that I had made during my stay, required it be essential that I tag along with them. I was peer pressured (and I say that lightly), but it felt good to explore the city without the danger.

“Oh my god I just saw the Wayne brothers!” Someone squealed at the store front that we were in.

“What? No way! Where?” Another piqued.

We heard the teacher sigh and ask us not to make a scene since we were in public. I felt myself tense at the thought of him and his green eyes.

“They’re heading this way!”

I dove behind one of the clothing hangers and hid as best as I could. Good lord, is this some kind of drama series? My new friends sputtered out a greeting as I imagined them walking by, and all I could do was concentrate on not self-combusting.

“Y/n?”

My eyes darted up from the spot on the floor that I was staring at. I didn’t want to come out, but the longer I stayed behind the wall of clothes, the more embarrassed I became. With a defeated sigh, I walked out.

“H-hey.” I waved lamely.

“What were you doing behind the clothes rack?” Damian cocked a brow at me.

“I was looking at it, kinda the reason I came here.” I said, not really meaning to sound defensive but it came out that way anyway, and I already wanted to take it back.

“You’re that girl with the blue marbles.” The eldest said smiling broadly. “Y/n L/n, right?”

I nodded meekly.

Dick smirked and went back to his smoothie.

“The one Damian wouldn’t shut up about?” Jason teased wickedly. I felt my blood rise up to my face.

Damian kicked him behind his knees which only made the man laugh.

“You know better than to tease.” Tim rolled his eyes at his brothers antics. “You’re embarrassing him in front of his crush.”

I just wished the floor would swallow me whole right now.

Tim immediately hid behind Dick and the laughter was nearly uncontrollable from his brothers. Damian was currently fuming, and tomato red in the face.

“I’m going to kill you Drake.” He said through clenched teeth.

Dick groaned. “Cant you guys behave?” He strolled over to me and tapped my shoulder lightly. “You’re embarrassing y/n.”

“Sorry, it was just meant for lil-D over here.” Jason apologised.

“Alright boys, that’s enough.” The teacher called out. “We’ve got a schedule to follow. I’ll have to cut this meeting short.” She was right, and I was so thankful at the moment that we did.

Dick apologised again, and pushed his brothers to move along. As soon as they were out of earshot the girls bombarded me with questions, demanding they know the details. There wasn’t anything to tell, since I’ve only known them as long as the length of this trip, but they didn’t let the subject go. I thanked my lucky stars that the rumours I heard about the boys and their fanatic fangirls did not exist in the group I was in. They had gushed about how lucky I was to catch their eye – I really wish they didn’t – and how amazing it must be for them to hold an interest in me – I honestly could care less. But girls being girls, I had to let them be.

The evening of the gala arrived faster than I anticipated, and true to their promise, the girls had all squeezed themselves into my room.

“You guys really don’t have to do this.” I said, slightly exasperated.

“Nonsense.” They quipped back. “We’re all going to look fabulous and make a great impression.”

They rolled out their brush pouches and stacked their make up on the vanity table. I eyed it all wearily.

Sometimes I had to hand it them, females can be terrifying when they need to be.

“Do you think this will be it?” One of them asked out of the blue. “Is this what is going to turn this city around.”

“I hope so. Thing’s are getting worse around Gotham, if this works, we can secure a safer future.”

“Look at us sounding diplomatic.” We laughed at that.

“I think it’ll work out.” I told them with an air of confidence. I saw the looks everyone had at the gatherings. It wasn’t just hope. There was a sense of motivation. An active decision in every one of them that wanted to strive for more. It was encouraging and empowering.

We all shared a unanimous agreement and continued on preparing.

I wasn’t joking when I said I would be practical. I pulled out one of my mothers old gowns from a battered box that was hidden deep under my suitcase. It was off white, with a few hints of lavender and creamy grey. The dress was long-sleeved, made with loose and flowy material. The collar tapered upwards and into a modest keyhole neckline. On my waist rested a silver strap embezzled with crystals. It’s length reached the floor and the slightest movement swayed in the wind. It made me look like I was floating.

As we made our way to the entrance of the gala, men in black suit tailcoats took our coats and opened the grand doors. I was in shock at the beauty of the room.

The entire ceiling look painted on by Michelangelo, in between hung massive sparkling chandeliers. The windows were from ceiling to floor and draped in expensive red velvet curtains. I gazed in awe at the marbled floor that were polished so well we could see our reflection from it.

Light music hummed tastefully in the air as my friends were whisked off by the boys for a dance.

“Y/n!” A savvy voice called out from across the crowd. Turning around I found the Wayne brothers around a table. I managed a wave.

They waved back and invited me over. How could I refuse? Steeling my nerves, I walked towards them.

“Good evening.” I said politely.

“You look stunning.” Dick complimented. Beside him was a woman with incredibly dazzling red hair, it almost looked like it was on fire. Her bright smile reached up to her green eyes. “This is Kory. Kory Anders. Kory, Y/n.”

She stood up tall and shook my outstretched hand.

“Pleasure.” I said as I introduced myself.

“It is glorious to finally meet you.” She said. “I have heard many things.”

I noted her slight accent and choice of words. She must’ve come from another country.

“All good I hope.” I chuckled nervously.

Her smile only widened. “You need not worry.”

“Would you like to sit with us?” Tim offered.

I looked across the dance hall and saw that my friends were already at their own table. I accepted it and sat down at the last seat which was available, and as fate would have it, it was next to Damian.

When I moved to take my place, his perfume infiltrated my senses, leaving me slightly light headed. I pushed my qualms away not wanting to look rude.

“Hello again.” I spoke to him.

Damian nodded, his expression unreadable.

We made small talk, and discussed about the what I should be expecting when I started working at their fathers’ company. They gave me the basic ropes and tried to ease the pressure away.

Then the topic moved to my invention. I told them how I actually got the idea from my dad, they found it honourable in a way. I felt a sense of pride blossom.

Jokes went around as the food was being served. I quickly learnt Dick had the worst case of pun-overdrive, yet it still had me giggling because of how bad it was. Jason was not any better at his come backs to his brothers play on words. They made quiet the duo. Kory laughed heartily between them. Tim and Damian were taking turns lightly jabbing one another, it was almost endearing. As I looked at them from where I sat I couldn’t help but miss the simpler times my family and I shared.

The melody from the band took a slow turn and I saw Dick stand up.

“May I have this dance?” He offered his hand to Kory and exaggerated a bow.

“I would be delighted.” She giggled and let herself be swept onto the dance floor.

I watched as they danced to a slow waltz. Her hands were on his neck as his was kept firmly on the small of her back. They looked lovely together.

“That’s my cue.” Jason spoke up, his eyes gazing the crowd for what I assume was a possible dance partner.

Tim followed shortly behind, but not without leaving us with a wink and tap on his nose.

Damian cleared his throat, breaking my reverie.

He stood and offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

I blinked at him, surprised that he actually asked. I gingerly put my hand on his and nodded.

He expertly sashayed us to the middle and twirled me around before moving us to the rhythm of the music.

“You’re good.” I should’ve known he was a skilled dancer.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” He replied.

His scent was overwhelming, especially being this close to him. I reminded myself that his boy could very well be Robin.

Robin, the vigilante. I sighed inwardly. How could I have forgotten? But if he was then… My hand that was on his shoulder tightened ever so slightly as I remembered the gun shot.

“Is everything okay?” Damian asked, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I lied. The urge to just ask him never felt so powerful until this moment.

It’s not your place to know. I scolded myself for being presumptuous. This could all have been a big misunderstanding on my part, and I could very well upset him if I asked, not to mention embarrass myself. It wasn’t that I wanted to pry, but the bond I shared with my soulmate only seemed to strengthen these past few days. It drew us closer but I couldn’t begin to explain how. You hugged him, you hugged a stranger – that is a mystery in itself, my inner muse stated.

But then the question of the day was; if he was aware of who I was. There was no way he could possibly tell, there was no proof except for the time I cried out in pain when he got shot. Then again, anyone would’ve screamed if they witnessed that.

I settled with the verdict that he most likely doesn’t know.

“I’d like to apologise about yesterday.” Damian said, sounding solemn. “My brothers have been a thorn to my side ever since I could remember.”

I laughed. “It was embarrassing, but I forgive you, and your brothers.” He visibly relaxed. “It felt like I was reliving some old memories.”

“Do you have siblings as well?”

I shook my head. “No, but it would be nice to. Unfortunately right now it’s just me and my mom. It gets a little lonely but we manage.”

Damian let out a quiet ‘oh’ before lapsing into silence again. I didn’t want to kill the mood so I quickly thought of what to say to keep the conversation going.

“So what about you?” I asked. “I mean, anything you’re comfortable sharing of course.”

The boy sighed and looked up to think before answering.

“I like to paint.” He said. My eyes grew wide at that.

“For real?”

He arched a brow in confusion. “Yes. Is something wrong with that?”

I quickly shook my head again. “No, no of course not. I just, well, it’s surprising. That’s all.”

“Tt, not something you expected?” He teased lightly which only made me surprised all the more.

Was he trying to – flirt?

I laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

Damian looked a little proud of himself.

“What do you like to paint?” I asked curiously.

“Mostly portraits.” He answered easily. “And my pets.”

I gave a fake gasp. “The Damian Wayne, painting his pets. I would never have guessed.”

He smirked.

“So, is it a dog?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s a dog.”

“There’s? Meaning there are more?”

He smirked again this time wider.

“A cat.” I guessed.

He nodded. “Yes there’s a cat too. Though I doubt you’d be able to guess the rest of them.”

Laughing again, I shook my head in disbelief. “You are one intriguing person, Damian Wayne.”

“I could say the same about you.” He told me squarely.

The heat on my cheeks creept up. I looked away a little embarrassed.

He opened his mouth to say something to me, but was cut off.

I heard screams.

Damian quickly pushed me to the ground and shielded me as the glass windows shattered. The shards fell ferociously all around us.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and looked down at me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “What was that?” I clutched my head, my ears were ringing from the sound of the blast that shattered the windows. I looked around panicked and scared.

“Don’t know.” He told me gruffly as he pulled us both back up.

Grappling hooks shot up from the broken windows and before I knew it I saw the pointed end of a sword aimed towards Damian’s.

“Damian!”

In that moment I cast aside all the doubts. I still wasn’t sure but if by a long shot; this was Robin, if Damian was Robin, then he could do something about this.

He knew how to fight. Unlike me. If I could give him a head start or a fighting chance, then he and the other superheroes could save everyone.

That’s what I told myself anyway as time stilled and I took the leap.

The blade sliced into my lower back and for a split second all I could feel was searing hot white pain. I cried out as it rippled through my torso. The sword was pulled out just as quick as it was pushed in. I could swear the world was tipping over. The blood had gushed out and I found it staining Damian’s pristine suit.

I could barely hear Damian’s scream as I phased in and out of consciousness. Somehow he had blocked another hit that was aimed at us before kicking the man as far away as possible. He pulled me towards him and muttered something incoherent before dashing across the hall.

The warmth of my own blood pooled over me. Mom would kill me when she saw the stain, if I wouldn’t bleed to death before she finds out that is.

“Shitshitshit, y/n!” He ducked behind a table and grabbed a bunch of napkins, applying pressure as he held it against my stomach. “Stay with me, you’re going to be alright.”

I weakly nodded, feeling sick to my stomach at the smell of iron and sudden blood loss.

“Fuck.” Jason slid next to us as the gunshots started to fire. He noticed me and his features paled. “Oh, shit.”

“Jason, I need to bring her somewhere safe!” Damian said, his voice urgent.

“All citizen, please evacuate the building!” A strong voice bellowed from above us. It was a woman, dressed in purple. Her hair was on fire (literally) as it trailed behind her.

Starfire. But what was she doing in Metropolis…?

The people ran towards the entrance and a man in a tight body suit with a blue winged symbol on his chest directed the crowd flow.

Superboy zoomed in next, his features etched in worry as soon as he saw me. The wound must’ve been worse that I thought.

“What the hell is going on?!” Damian demanded from the superhero. “I thought this place was secured.”

“Kryptonite.” Superbly answered with an ominous tone. “I don’t know what happened but we should get the civilians – uh, you guys, to safety.”

The amendment wasn’t lost on me.

“Y/n, I’m going to find you after all this is over.” Damian promised. “Until then please, hang in there.”

I managed a weak smile and a sad excuse of a chuckle as the blood started to run down the corner of my mouth.

“I still need to guess the rest of your pets.” I joked, hoping to lighten the scene.

His response was a pained smile.

“Take her to Alfred.” He delicately passed me on to Superboy’s arms. “He’ll know what to do.”

Superboy nodded and flew away. The last thing I remembered was Nightwing and Starfire fighting off mechanical robots and ninja assassins. After that, my world went dark.

...

... to be continued ...

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 years

Text

After the Bombs Fall [Animorphs ficlet]

[Note: I seem to have lost the ask where someone requested my post-war headcanon for Alloran, but anyway here it is.]

Less than a month after the end of the war, Alloran applies for transfer off of Earth and back to the homeworld. When the first request gets cancelled due to a minor typo in a sub-section of a supplemental form, he curses himself and immediately applies again.

The second application lingers in the metaphorical z-space between agents for longer, nearly two Earth months, before it gets cancelled as well. The systems are overtaxed due to the sudden influx of Earth tourism, the form letter tells him this time, and they’re very sorry for their inability to accommodate his request.

The third time he applies, the form remains “under review” on the submission portal for half a year, even though the review process normally takes less than a day. So he applies a fourth time, a terrible suspicion taking hold by now. The Electorate automatically cancels both applications, and has the gall to send him a snippy comm message asking that he refrain from filing redundant claims from now on.

The fifth application gets reviewed and cancelled; the sixth one doesn’t even get that courtesy. It just stays there, “submitted” but not yet “under review,” unwanted and ignored.

Just like its author.

Alloran considers, then. For nearly a day he paces, watching the andalite computer and the primitive human device alike, and weighs the merits of stealing Visser Three’s Blade ship out of the impound lot. It wouldn’t be hard; the security system is coded to biometrics. No one but he or Tom Berenson could fly that ship now, and Tom Berenson is dead.

After another day, Alloran instead morphs human and walks to the nearest CVS.

He has to swallow an entire jumbo bag of marshmallows and three jars of tomato sauce for comfort before he can swallow his pride as well. But the comfort food does its trick, and at the end he pulls out the human cell phone still registered under one of Esplin 9466′s aliases and enters the fifth speed-dial option.

“Hey, you.” Eva answers immediately. “How’s it going?”

They don’t know each other, not really. And yet in every one of their three conversations, Eva has greeted him like an old friend. Her voice brings a reaction to Alloran’s human morph: tightness in his throat, the heat of tears behind his eyes.

“I apologize for troubling you,” Alloran says stiffly. “Please, if you are busy, disregard this request.”

Eva snorts a laugh. At least, Alloran thinks that that’s what the sound is. “I’m not busy, and I owe you a favor anyway. Shoot.”

Alloran glances around the room, but there are no weapons, so he decides to disregard that last. “I am truly sorry if it slipped my mind,” he says, “but what favor do you owe?”

“My kid is not in jail on some foreign planet right now, and I hear that’s all your fault. What’s the favor?”

“The War Council would not have imprisoned the Animorphs. That is, perhaps Aximili and Prince Jake may have been imprisoned, but doubtless the full Electorate court would have proven merciful—”

“Alloran. What’s the favor.”

He’s stalling, and she knows it. “It’s a bit of a complicated political matter, and I’m afraid I am not well equipped to explain it to a human, but enforcement of our travel policies is more subject to individual agents’ personal judgment than we ideally would have it be, and...”

“Hijo de puta. They’re not letting you go home, are they?”

Alloran fills his human lungs with more air than they technically need for speech. “It’s a complicated matter.” Nevertheless, his voice comes out small.

“You still camping at the Sharing Community Center?”

“Yes.” His voice is even smaller now.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, querido.” She hangs up.

While he waits, he goes outside to run, to graze, to stare up at the stars.

He didn’t lie; it is complicated. The Andalite Electorate is struggling to recover from a decades-long war, one that threatened the existence of their very soul as a people. Seerow’s mistakes — and Alloran’s own decision to publicize the failings of his prince — have ensured that the whole debacle was a massive embarrassment even before the defeat on the hork-bajir homeworld.

And then...

He’s heard the word, whispered and hissed and screamed and shouted.

Abomination.

His face is the public face of the Yeerk Empire. His voice is its voice. The morph he was just using — a bald, middle-aged human male — was constructed from the DNA of a dozen human-controllers. Everything he owns, from the black limousine parked at the curb to the press pass of a woman called Aria, was taken from the hands of murdered slaves.

Of course his people don’t want him back. Of course not. The quantum virus was one thing, but then he had the gall go to and get himself captured by the yeerks. And he’d added insult to injury when he’d challenged a captain on Aximili’s behalf.

He can see it. That’s what stings. He can stare up at the glittering point of his home star even as he runs across a field of dull foreign grass, and at this rate it’ll never be anything but a fixed point of light in an unfamiliar sky ever again.

Eva shows up then, before he can feel too sorry for himself.

She brings a human substance known as pinot noir.

**********

“And then...” Eva points a wavering finger at him. Her words have gotten blurrier over time. “And then, we just sneak it in, and bam!” She slaps the tabletop.

Alloran leans in across to her. “Bam,” he agrees.

“You needed a ride home?”

At the new voice, Alloran stands up sharply. Too sharply. He gets his two flimsy little legs tangled in the chair and almost pitches over.

Marco catches him. “You all right?” he asks.

“I,” Alloran intones, “am intoxicated. Tox. I. Cate. Ed. Wonderful word. Intock. Sick. Kate. Dd-d-d-d-d.”

“Yeeeaah, I was getting those vibes from the—” Marco leans around him in an impressive display of human balance. “Bottle of wine apiece you two’ve apparently emptied.”

Eva draws herself up. “I did not call and request a ride home, I called and requested a ride to the Netherlands!”

“You’re right, you did.” Marco rolls his eyes. “Which is why I made the decision to show up and bring you home instead.”

“No, no, the Netherlands.” Eva steps up next to Alloran. They both regard Marco carefully. “Not to worry, we’ve thought it through. You call your friend with the private plane, Bradley or Bradford or whomever his name is. We fly out to the Hague tonight.”

“Where is this going,” Marco mutters.

“Holland,” Alloran informs him. “It is-sssss in...”

“Yeah, I’ve been.”

“Anyway.” Eva gestures sharply, bringing attention back to her. “We shall have a perfectly ordinary canister of table salt with us, and we shall request to visit with Visser Three—”

“Oh Jesus. Mom.”

“The guards will not suspect a thing, for it is just an ordinary condiment. All we must then do is create a diversion, and...” Eva flings out both hands as if miming an explosion.

“Splat,” Alloran says. “Pllll-lat. Hissssss.”

“And this will accomplish what, exactly?” Marco asks.

“Making Alloran feel better,” Eva whispers to him. However, she seems to be whispering a great deal louder than she realizes. Humans are ill-equipped for private communication, with their sad reliance on verbal speech. “None of the andalites want him back.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Marco laughs. “Ten out of ten therapists recommend war crimes for a friend in need! And as a guy who’s been to at least ten therapists, I’d know.”

Alloran is not certain, but he believes that Marco might be employing the human verbal quirk known as “sarcasm.”

“No one will suspect a thing.” Eva pats him on the shoulder.

Marco sighs. “Security will just think it’s cocaine.”

“Cocaine?” Alloran asks. “Coke-cane? Co-c-c-c-c-c-c-aine?”

“Something you’re never going to try.” Marco levels a hard stare at him. “Given how well you handle your red wine.”

“Cooo-caaayyy-nnnee. Co-cane.”

“How did you get wrapped up in this dumbass heist, anyway?” Marco looks from one of them to the other.

“Alloran needed me,” Eva says.

“I have no friends,” Alloran announces. “And Arbron does not own a cell phone. Ell. Elffffff-own.”

Marco closes his main eyes for several seconds, massaging the bridge of his nose. An impressive feat of daring, for a creature with no stalk eyes who relies upon bipedalism. “Should’ve known you’d be a morose drunk,” he says.

“So, you’ll take us to the airfield, then?” Eva asks.

Lifting his head up, Marco opens his eyes. “In the words of my wise and estimable mother: if you want it that bad, you can have it when you’re sober.”

Eva opens her mouth halfway, squinting in what Alloran would guess is the effort of remembering when she would have said that. After a second, her expression clears. “I was right to say it, that floozy would have broken your heart in the morning, and this situation is entirely different!”

“That floozy’s name was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Marco mutters, “and I totally would’ve gone for it when I was sober, but I never got his number.”

Eva says something in Spanish, presumably about the loose morals of Jake Gyllenhaal. Marco’s expression would suggest that he only pretends not to understand her.

“Anyway. The point stands. I’m driving you home.” Marco jerks his chin at Eva. “And you,” he says, looking at Alloran, “are gonna morph and sober up before we go anywhere. I’m not having you nothlited on my conscience.”

“But,” Alloran says, “the salt—”

“We’ll revisit the salt in the morning,” Marco says firmly. “Demorph. Please.”

Alloran considers pointing out that he is a war-prince, he does not take orders from alien children, he has his pride... And then considers whether any of those statements is actually true.

He demorphs.

Instantly, he feels both better and worse. On the upside he’s more clear-headed now, but on the downside he’s more clear-headed.

“I’ll call you.” Marco gives him a long look while shepherding Eva out the door.

**********

Marco does not call, but he does send several written missives to Alloran’s cell phone. The Animorphs still have an illegal andalite communication device, it would appear, and Marco has put in requests to channels both official and not about the possibility of transport from Earth to the homeworld.

—Ax is on it, Marco’s latest text reads. —He’s calling an old friend. Might take some smuggling, but we’ve got an idea.

—Thank you, Alloran types carefully on the tiny keyboard. —Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and undeserved.

He’s debating whether to hit send when there’s a knock on the door.

Alloran’s in an abandoned building the Sharing used to use for housing human-controllers. There is very little chance that this is an incidental knock, or someone who wandered by accidentally.

The thought occurs to him that it’d be smarter to morph human and blend in before he answers. But the fear of facing the unknown in a half-blind, tailless morph wins out. He opens the door as is.

It proves to be the right decision. The andalite on the other side didn’t bother to morph either.

Estrid stares at him in silence for several seconds. Her expression is unreadable, all eyes ahead and carefully blank. Alloran doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he lets her look.

«Estrid,» he says at last, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak first. He gestures with his tail blade, the downward sweep of greeting for an honored warrior.

«Father,» she says.

Her own sharp tail-turn puts the flat of her blade toward him. A greeting between equals. An insult. Both not formal enough for an aristh to acknowledge a war-prince, and too formal for greeting a family member.

But then, Alloran went for Estrid, didn’t he. Not Aristh Estrid-Corill-Darrath, not Estri-kala or my child.

They haven’t seen each other in over two years. They haven’t spoken in almost twenty.

Arguably, given how young she was when he was taken, they’ve never really spoken at all. Certainly Alloran knows little of the person his daughter has become as a young adult. As a groundbreaking aristh. As a brilliant researcher.

As a war criminal.

Humans have a saying, about apples that don’t fall far.

«How is Jahar?» Alloran says. It’s what he really wants to know, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of the other minefields that lie between them. «And Ajaht, how is he?»

Judging by Estrid’s expression, she takes this to be a standard small-talk opening instead of the deeply earnest inquiry it is. «Mother is well enough. I suppose you’ll have to apologize to her in person.» She doesn’t mention her brother.

Alloran feels his tail blade drop nearly to the floor without his permission. «Yes. Of course. Estrid...»

«I’m on a diplomatic mission to Earth,» she says briskly. «Prince Aximili and I have concluded discussions with several local leaders about access to morphing technology and tourism restrictions going forward. Therefore, I will be able to exit the planet and return home after being subject to nothing more rigorous than human security scans.» The dismissive little flick of her tail at this last is, all things considered, somewhat warranted. Humans have yet to devise a single effective way to detect morphers.

«Return home,» Alloran repeats.

Might take some smuggling, Marco said. It’s sinking in: Estrid is here to bring him home.

Home. To the wife he disgraced. The brother he got killed. The children who won’t even acknowledge him, a feverish pair of overachievers desperate to leave his legacy behind. Ajaht’s tail-fighting is so legendary that, even using human channels, Alloran has been able to find scraps of news. Estrid’s skill is not praised so publicly... but the yeerks got ahold of Arbat’s files, after their disastrous mission to Earth. Alloran knows more about her, he thinks, than he ever wanted to.

«We’re leaving now,» Estrid says. «My window for authorized exit ends in two-point-eight-six Earth hours, so we need to move.»

She must have been here for days if not weeks, to negotiate the way she’s describing. And yet she came to find him at the last possible second. Likely to minimize the time they’re forced to spend together.

Alloran doesn’t have the time or the energy to care. «What would you prefer me to morph?»

«Something small and Earth-based.» She barely finishes speaking before she starts to morph herself.

Alloran pauses in surprise, because Estrid morphs with shocking skill, melding from andalite to human in a mere forty-seven seconds, all without ever once losing her footing. She even wears a normative amount of clothing when she’s finished, a sundress and sneakers and a coat overtop.

She sighs, looking him over. «We don’t have all day, here.»

«You were wasted in Arbat’s lab,» Alloran says.

«You don’t have to tell me that,» Estrid snaps. «Tell me, dear father, what else was a girl and a second-born and the child of a disgraced bloodline meant to do?»

Alloran has no answer. Silently he morphs.

His options are limited — Visser Three overwhelmingly preferred large to small morphs, and Alloran hasn’t bothered acquiring much else — so he opts for snake, Lachesis muta according to a human-controller from the area. It’s still larger than most Earth reptiles, but by coiling in close he becomes small enough to drop into the oversized pocket of Estrid’s jacket.

Estrid doesn’t speak to him, and he doesn’t ask her to, the entire way back to her fighter. She’s under no obligation, and he won’t force the issue.

********

«We’re landing soon,» Estrid tells him, three Earth weeks and eighty-two light years later. She’s maintained that icy formality throughout the entire journey so far, responding to Alloran’s questions — about her research, about her brother, about her morphing — with flat non-answers.

Alloran steps to the viewport to look out over the rolling grasslands of home like a child on his first in-atmosphere flight. Is it home, really? It’s been thirty-nine years since he left home to quell the small skirmish on the hork-bajir homeworld, forty-seven since his first offworld assignment serving under Prince Seerow. He has seen a dozen planets, been a hundred species, since that time. This body belonged to Visser Three for nearly as long as it did to Alloran himself, decades of nonexistence until he all but forgot his own name.

«What will you do next?» Alloran asks Estrid, still desperate for conversation.

She flicks a dismissive hand at the air. «I have my work.»

«Even without Arbat?»

«I didn’t say it was easy.»

«And the quantum virus?»

She turns all four eyes on him. A small part of him wants to scold her for bad form, but a far larger part of him recognizes he’d be overstepping. «The quantum virus never happened,» she says sharply. «And if it did, I was never informed of its existence. This journey was my first visit to Earth, Arbat died in a lab accident, we were never involved in weapons development, and if you even think about saying differently the War Council will back my story, because all of the documentation —»

«Estrid.» He cuts her off as gently as he can. «I would never...»

He sees it, in the stiffening of her stalk eyes. Hears it in the catch of her breath. She doesn’t want a father. Or if she does, she doesn’t want him.

«I would never dishonor the memory of my brother by raising questions about his death,» Alloran says instead.

Estrid relaxes, and turns back to the controls.

He is weary of war, weary of being alone. The person he’d been when he first met Esplin 9466 would have been shouting by now, demanding to know what right Estrid has to consider herself any better than him. He only deployed a quantum virus, had no hand in its evil creation. Either she is a hypocrite... or she is just like the War Council officials who consider it a far worse crime to be enslaved by yeerks than to have murdered ten million hork-bajir.

It’s been a long war, and Alloran has missed her every moment of it. Let her be angry; she’s here.

There is one more delicate question Alloran needs to ask, however, before they disembark on their family’s land. «Jahar,» he says. «I assume... She has found someone else. To help raise you, and...» Dark Sun, but this is hard. «She deserves to be loved, of course.»

Eva’s mate remarried, after all. Together they’d cried about that, somewhere between the third and fourth glasses of wine.

«Who would date her?» Estrid asks. «Who would be seen speaking to her? No. There’s no one. There hasn’t been. There was me, and Ajaht, and that’s it.»

Alloran feels sadness and relief and disappointment and shame at his relief, all at once in a rush too complex to understand. «I see,» he says at last.

«So go to her.» Estrid yanks hard to unseal the fighter’s outer door; they’ve landed without his noticing. «Go to her and—» Another hard yank. «Kriffing thing!»

Alloran puts his hand next to hers, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away. As one they move, and the door comes open at last.

She came to meet them. Alloran doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that, and yet...

Jahar is older, lined around the eyes and stooped in her shoulders and dull-edged around her hooves. She’s radiant. Transcendent.

Alloran is frozen. Aware of all the knocks he’s taken, all the shine he’s lost. Aware that they’ve been apart for longer than they ever were together.

He blames that last for the way his knees lock. For the voice that freezes inside his mind, unable to form words. For the crack in his breath and the painful squeeze of his hearts as she becomes the one to step forward. As she raises a hand to his cheek, in the first gentle touch he’s felt in over twenty years.

[Note: I know that Aloth’s line in #38 about Estrid being Arbat’s niece — which would make her Alloran’s daughter — is probably not meant to be literal in context. But the straightforward interpretation is boring, so I went with the fun one.]

#animorphs #animorphs fic #long post #ficlet #alloran #alloran is my trash baby #animorphs spoilers #victim blaming #estrangement #alloran semitur corass #Estrid Corill Darrath #alloran is estrid's dad #actual dumpster fire alloran semitur hardass #star wars swear words #cold mountain... in space!

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bookofrosesblog · 3 years

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A Court of Thorns & Roses The first book in this fae fantasy romance series, introduces us to Feyre. A human, who is the carer for her low income family. She provides for her two sisters and mourning father, who still hasn't moved on from losing Feyre's mother. When hunting one day, Feyre accidentally shoots a member of the Spring Court of Prythian and for this crime, is captured by the High Lord of the Spring Court, Tamlin.

Tamlin is an almighty powerful fae who can transform into a beast at a moments notice, giving him strength and power like no other. Feyre, to ensure her safety of her family, is captured and told she is not allowed to leave the Spring Court Manor for the rest of her mortal life - Turning this story into a modern tale of Beauty and the Beast. And with this being similar to the modern tale, of course Feyre starts to see sides of Tamlin she falls in love with.

The first half of the book, I honestly would only give a 3 star rating. However, the last half - The story changes pace and suddenly, you find Feyre captured by an even more powerful being who puts Feyre in a sort of "Hunger Games" style games. The story goes away from the modern telling of Beauty and the Beast, and into a deeper fae mystery world that I lost sleep over because I could not stop reading. Her love for Tamlin is tested and we are introduced to deeper darker secrets of Prythian including introduction of the othe season court lords - Including the amazing Rhysand - High Lord of the Night Court.

Overall, I give the first book on this series a solid 4.5 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️✨

A Court of Mist & Fury This book has gone down as one of my favourite books of all time.

The sequel picks up right after the first, with Feyre returned to the Spring Court with Tamlin. They pick up their romantic affair however, Tamlin is not being the shining knight Feyre fell in love with. And slowly, Feyre finds herself falling into a deep depression. The only relief she finds is her time with Rhysand, who eventually rescues her and takes her to live in the Night Court while she finds herself.

The author did such a fantastic job of changing this fantasy romance story between Feyre and Tamlin, into a true love between Feyre and Rhysand. Rhysand is an incredible character, and the way he supports Feyre and carries her through her depression - Is close to perfect.

"He thinks he'll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key. He was the one who let me out."

As Feyre and Rhysand get closer and closer in the Night Court, the reader is also introduced to Rhysand Night court loyal team. Friendships Feyre has never witnessed and instantly feels wanted.

Of course, this sequel isn't just about the growth of Feyre and her relationship change from Tamlin to Rhysand, but it also brings on the fantasy drama and adventure. The ending was a big "omg" and leaves it right open for the reader to then jump straight into the third book.

What a world. What an adventure. The action didn’t stop. It had me gasping, it had me losing sleep so I could read “just one more chapter” and it’s a story that is strong and powerful. I would give this book 10/5 stars if I could! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Court of Wings & Ruin I can totally see why this book has such a high rating on Good Reads (it’s currently at 4.47) and I am contributing by most definitely giving this well deserved fantasy action and romance 5 Stars!!!

This story picks up from that previous where Feyre is stuck in the Spring Court under Tamlin (and Lucian) watchful eyes. Still connected to Rhysand, she’s reported she shall attack the Spring Court from the inside to the out - And without too many spoilers, of course she completes this.

Feyre and Lucian then find themselves alone and running through Prythian to get to the Night Court. For those who have read it - Did anyone else feel the feeling "returning home" when Cassian & Azriel landed in the ice lake to come to Feyre rescue?!

With Feyre then back from Spring Court (and yes I cried when she reunited with Rhys), the story then continues in preparing for a war. In preparation, we get to meet and get to know the other High Lords of the courts, with a personal favourite - Hellion - High Lord of the Day Court. I loved getting to know all the other High Lords more and for all the politics and debates over the best way to war. Rhys, of course as always, being a great leader. Then comes the war. Blood is shred. Tears are wept. And I don’t want to go anymore in to it. Just. Read this book. Please. Read it. You won’t be disappointed. 5/5 Stars⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #sarah j maas #fantasy romance #fantasy book #book recommendations #bookofrosesreview #rhysand #feyre #book review

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the-homicidediaries · 3 years

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Chris Benoit

Guys.

I am so excited to talk about this.

Not because of the context, but because this is one of the reasons I love wrestling so much; there’s so much that goes on behind the scenes that people have NO CLUE about.

There have been several professional wrestlers who have killed people or been killed themselves and the rabbit hole goes deep.

(Rey Mysterio accidentally killed a man on live tv and they still have the video up on YouTube.)

(Jimmy ‘Superfly’ Snuka murdered his girlfriend in May of 1983. Who is Jimmy Snuka? Jimmy Snuka was related to The Rock, Rikishi, and The Uso’s.)

THERE ARE SO MANY MORE THO.

But today, I want to talk about the Daddy of them all, Chris Benoit.

Chris Benoit’s crimes are so heinous and unforgivable Vince McMahon has swept his name under the rug and removed him from The Hall of Fame.

Benoit’s crimes also changed the dynamic of professional wrestling forever.

Chris Benoit was born in Montreal, Quebec to Michael and Margaret Benoit on May 21, 1967. He and his family resided in Edmonton, Alberta, however.

During Benoit’s childhood, he idolized Tom “Dynamite Kid” Billington (a British wrestler who competed in the 1980’s and had ongoing feuds with Hart) and Bret “Hitman” Hart (a Canadian-American wrestler and a member of the notorious Hart Family. He is a personal fave of mine as well).

When Benoit was 12 years old, he attended a local wrestling event where both Dynamite Kid and Hart were competing and he knew right then and there that he was destined to become a wrestler.

He trained in The Hart Family “dungeon” and was coached by none other than Stu Hart (Bret and Owen Hart’s father. If you don’t know Owen Hart, you should google him as well because he died under bizarre circumstances on live tv as well.)

When Benoit fought in the ring, he channeled both Dynamite Kid and Hart, even adopting Hart’s signature move, “Sharpshooter” as his finishing move.

Chris began wrestling in 1985 in Stu Hart’s Stampede Wrestling promotion. He was quickly recognized as a force to be reckoned with and received his first title, the Stampede British Commonwealth Mid-Heavyweight Championship, on March 18, 1988.

(This dude has a very extensive history or wrestling in New Japan Pro-Wrestling, World Champion Wrestling, Extreme Champion Wrestling, and World Wrestling Federation/Entertainment, but I just.. I cain’t get into all that, please forgive me. Haha! We are talking 22 years here! So I am humbly skipping to his family life.)

-Okay, so. I would love for this to be a romantic love story for the ages and the deaths resulted in crimes of passion, but that didn’t happen. At. All. Not at all.

You’ll see soon why this was all brushed under the rug.-

Benoit was married twice.

His first wife, Martina, and he had two children David (who is a wrestler as well) and Megan. By 1997, their marriage had broken down and Benoit and Martina decided it was best to end it.

Benoit began living with his girlfriend, Nancy Sullivan, who was the girlfriend of Benoit’s frequent opponent, Kevin Sullivan.

(It started off as an on-screen relationship for views and it led to a real-life affair. Many people joke that Kevin Sullivan booked his own divorce.)

On February 25, 2000, Benoit and Nancy’s son, Daniel, was born.

On November 23, 2000, Benoit and Nancy were married.

This 👏🏼 was 👏🏼 not 👏🏼 a 👏🏼 good 👏🏼 marriage.

In 2003, Nancy filed for divorce from Benoit, saying he would break and throw furniture and was cruel to her. She later dropped the suit as well as the restraining order she had set against him.

Benoit became good friends with fellow wrestler Eddie Guerrero, (a beloved and incredible wrestler, one of my dad’s faves), following a match in Japan, when Benoit kicked Guerrero in the head and knocked him out cold. This started a friendship that lasted even after Guerrero's death in late 2005, in which Benoit had written diary entries to him just ten days after his passing.

(I’m only mentioning this because Guerrero’s death has been rumored to be one of the reasons Benoit did what he did.)

Here’s where it gets gory.

So we know Benoit and Nancy did not have a good marriage, but things seemed to be okay because she dropped all the charges against him.

Benoit and Nancy were living in Fayetteville, GA, with 7 year old Daniel.

On June 25, 2007, police entered the Benoit home after Benoit’s WWE employers requested a welfare check after Benoit missed weekend events without notice.

(Benoit was actually scheduled to win another title during these weekend events.)

Upon arriving at his Georgia home, authorities found Nancy wrapped in a towel. She had died from asphyxiation.

Their son was also found, also dead, apparently strangled. Benoit placed a Bible next to each of their bodies.

Benoit’s body was the most disturbing to be found. The wrestler was hanged on a lat pulldown machine, with a Bible lying on the weight machine beside him. There were also allegedly 10 empty beer cans and an empty bottle of wine.

Autopsies concluded the murders and suicide took place over the course of three days.

On Friday, June 22, Chris Benoit killed his wife Nancy in an upstairs bedroom. Her limbs were bound, and her body was wrapped in a towel. A copy of the bible was left by her body. Injuries indicated that Benoit had pressed a knee into her back while pulling on a cord around her neck, causing strangulation. Officials said that there were no signs of immediate struggle. Toxicologists did find alcohol in her system, but they were unable to determine if she had been drinking prior to her death or if it was a product of decomposition.

Daniel was suffocated and killed in his bedroom, and a copy of the bible was left by his body. Daniel had internal injuries to the throat area, showing no bruises. Daniel's exact time of death is unknown. The reports determined Daniel was sedated with Xanax and likely unconscious when he was killed. Daniel's body had also just started to show signs of decomposition but was not as far along as his mother's body, so they were able to determine he was murdered after his mother.

(It was later alleged that Daniel had Fragile X syndrome, a genetic disorder that is characterized by mild to moderate intellectual disability. Physical features may include a long and narrow face, large ears, flexible fingers, and large testicles. About a third of those affected have features of autism such as problems with social interactions and delayed speech. Males are affected more than females. Daniel also had needle marks in his arm and it’s alleged that these were the result of growth hormones given to him because Benoit and his family considered him to be undersized.)

Chris Benoit committed suicide by hanging. Benoit used a weight machine cord to hang himself by creating a noose from the end of the cord on a pull-down machine from which the bar had been removed. Benoit released the weights, causing his strangulation. Benoit was found hanging from the pulley cable.

(On a podcast called The Talk is Jericho in 2016, Nancy’s sister Sandra Toffoloni divulged some more information. She said Benoit’s internet search history showed he had searched “the quickest and easiest way to break a neck”. Benoit had a towel wrapped around his neck when he committed suicide and his neck was broken instantly.)

A suicide note was not discovered, but a note written in one of the bibles Benoit had said, “I’m preparing to leave this Earth.”

A few possible motives I’ve seen people mention have included:

•CTE - Chronic traumatic encephalopathy is a neurodegenerative disease caused by repeated head injuries. Symptoms do not typically begin until years after the injuries and can include behavioral problems, mood problems, and problems with thinking. During his autopsy, it was concluded that Benoit did suffer from CTE after wrestling for so many years. (Back when they threw people from tops of cages, hit each other over the head with chairs and ladders, etc.) Autopsy experts say Benoit’s brain was so severely damaged that it resembled a 85 year old Alzheimer’s patient.

•Nancy’s abuse and filing for divorce - In February 2008, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported that Benoit was having an affair with a female WWE wrestler and Nancy found out. It was also speculated they argued over life insurance policies.

•Benoit’s alcohol abuse - Benoit abused steroids, but many people believe it was his alcohol abuse that led to these horrific murders. Many of Benoit’s colleagues attested he would drink more when problems with Nancy occurred.

•Eddie Guerrero’s death - Benoit and Guerrero and Benoit were very close. When it came out that Guerrero has died in his hotel room in November of 2005, Benoit was devastated. WWE held a televised memorial for Guerrero and when Benoit was giving his testimony, he broke down in front of the camera. Some of Benoit’s colleagues say, “he was never the same” after Guerrero’s death.

But at the expense of sounding completely heartless, (mind you, I’ve been suicidal myself), why didn’t he just commit suicide?

Why did he have to murder his wife and seven year old son? If we go with the CTE theory, it makes sense because he was not thinking rationally.

I wish Nancy had had the strength to leave him when she tried.

The night after Benoit’s body was found, WWE Raw had a televised memorial for him and his family with Vince McMahon standing in the middle of the ring breaking the news and a video montage.

No one knew he was the one who had killed his family.

When it was later revealed that Benoit had committed these crimes the episode was removed and WWE made the decision to remove nearly all mention of Benoit from their website, future publications, video games, merchandise, DVD/Blu-Rays, and future events.

Like I said.. swept him under the rug.

Benoit is now the “He Who Shall Not Be Named” of professional wrestling.

In ending this, I’d like to quote Stone Cold Steve Austin now.

“Well first and foremost, what I think about Chris Benoit is that guy was one of the most nicest guys I ever met in my life. He’s one of the most talented, hard working cats I’d ever seen in the squared circle. Anybody who knew Chris would tell you those exact two things. That guy loved the damn wrestling business, he was born to be a wrestler and was absolutely phenomenal. Drawing a lot of his influence from The Dynamite Kid, he blazed a path as the Pegasus Kid and his legacy as The Crippler Chris Benoit was just one hellacious career.

“One night, Chris ended up killing his wife and his kid. That is an act so terrible and horrible I can’t even comprehend or guess as to what happened in that house. That will always overshadow any accomplishment Chris had in the ring. He’ll never be in the Hall of Fame, it will just never happen. His career will speak for itself but his record as a human being, his first and foremost, and those actions will never be forgotten. That’s my feelings on that, we don’t even need to talk about the Hall of Fame. Speaking for myself, Chris Benoit as the person I knew, loved him. Chris Benoit as a wrestler, loved him. Chris Benoit as the person who did what he did, unforgivable. Bottom line.” – via NoDQ.com.

Pictured below are Chris and Nancy Benoit, their son Daniel, and their home in Fayetteville, Georgia.

#chris benoit #wwe #true crime

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