#day 2: unhappy family reunion
Text
The Only Survivor
CW: PTSD, recovery whump, two former whumpees meet, referenced murder
Jameson Masterlist | Death Valley (Finn’s story)
For @amonthofwhump, day 2: Unhappy family reunion
-
"Just hang out in the den for a few minutes, okay?" Nat gestures to the room, but Jameson doesn’t get why she calls it a den at all. It’s just another living room as far as he can tell, only smaller and with warm wood-paneled walls that feel decades out of place
There's a couch, a couple of armchairs, a coffee table with a scattering of books and magazines and a TV hanging off the wall. Some blankets are thrown around, thrift store buys on their sixth or seventh home. Some of them, he thinks, might even have been patched.
Who patches a thrift store blanket?
People who need to make them last, he figures, and whose hands work better than this.
There are other rescues around here, somewhere, but they're staying upstairs and Jameson would rather claw his own face off than make small talk with Domestics and Platonics who think he must have done something to earn all those scars, that he's something to fear.
Or worse, that he’s a silly brainless slut who can’t be trusted not to try and jump them one by one so he can feel alive.
Maybe he was that, once upon a time, before he was torn to shreds, but he doesn't want to think about it right now. It doesn’t feel true, but he can’t say it isn’t. He can’t face their stares, the whispers behind their hands, their murmuring about how he must have been ruined by his scars, so ruined no one would want him any longer even for resale.
He can’t listen to it.
So he just glares at the ground, very much aware he looks more sullen and sulking than angry, but unable to help himself. "You said we would take me to get Allyn's present-"
"I will." Nat puts a hand on his arm and Jameson doesn't even bristle anymore, just rubs at the back of his neck with his other hand, leaning his weight on the crutch and the leg bothering him less. Her voice is low and gentle, not irritated or snapping, even in the face of his impatience.
From another room, he can hear low conversation - other people who run safe houses - but he can't quite pick up their words.
Nat waits, until he looks at her. Then she smiles. "This will take ten minutes, maybe twenty tops, I promise. Okay? There's a couple people here tonight that I don't usually get to see."
Jameson nods, expression softening against his will. He leans the crutches against the wall and sits down in one of the armchairs, picking up a TV remote. His fingers twitch, the tendons and bones protesting even this small independent movement, and he nearly drops the stupid thing before he clamps down on it so hard it hurts. "Yeah, okay. Don't make me sit here all fucking night, though, yeah?"
"I won't. Girl Scout promise." Nat shoots him a wider smile - one he finds himself returning - and walks out the door and down to the room with the others. He watches her braid, the rich brown more and more streaked with silver, swinging against her back as she goes, against her eternal flannel shirt.
Her voice is added to the chorus of the others, muffled by walls and distance. People greet her with cheerful exclamations and she calls back. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine the hugging.
He can taste all their voices, layering over and around each other, some in conflict and some in harmony.
He shudders, pulling a blanket over his lap.
His fingers curl around the bunched fabric, giving him a visual excuse when they won't straighten out, if anyone notices. Nobody's in here, but the motion is still automatic. When his fingers twitch, there's nothing to drop on the ground, nothing to look at.
Jameson finds some dumbass cop show on TV and mostly ignores it, focusing instead on spending a few minutes slowly reclining his chair, bit by bit, until his feet rest almost straight out from his body. The throb of pain that stretches down his thighs to his ankles is at its baseline, medication holding back the worst of it.
Thank God for the fucking pills.
One of his knees jerks, bends like a reflex after being hit with a hammer, but the more he takes deep, even breaths the more he is able to slowly unfold it again. Finally, he sits back and relaxes into the low ache. It's so familiar and constant that he wonders what it would feel like if one day his legs didn't hurt at all.
Would it feel like they'd been cut off, if they stopped hurting? Is it the only way he even remembers he has them, still?
There's a figure in the doorway. It’s not Nat, he can tell that much, so he doesn’t look up. He’s very aware that from this angle, whoever it is will see the scar across his face, the way some of his hair is shorter than the rest, growing more slowly as it comes back. If he keeps his chin down, he can hide the worst of it, maybe hold off questions he doesn’t want to answer.
Maybe, with the blanket, they won't notice anything else. Won’t notice his fucked-up legs. But, wait, the crutches on the wall…
The guy - it’s a guy, he thinks, not that he can see more than a blur without looking directly - is just standing there, silent. It makes Jameson feel uncomfortable, prickly and uncertain that he’s really welcome here, whatever Nat says.
Is it another rescue?
Another runaway, one who will run upstairs and hiss to the others, Nat Yoder brought one of the whores, what do we do?
Don’t let them touch you. They can’t stop, if they touch you. They can’t stop.
Joke’s on those assholes, Jameson thinks, hunching his shoulders up nearly to his chin. He never wanted to start in the first place, not with anyone but Nanda, not with anyone but… but Allyn.
You don’t have to get me anything, they’d said, laughing with their hair a mess, a halo on the pillow, as he’d kissed them. I don’t think I celebrated Christmas.
I want to celebrate you, I don’t care what we call the holiday we do it on.
They’d slid their arms around his neck, and pulled him down to them, bit at his lower lip until he hissed from the pain. The memory spreads like liquid warmth through him, then freezes as he realizes the guy is still just standing in the doorway.
“You need fucking permission? Just sit down, if you want, I'm just waiting for Nat to finish." The words come out a gravelly near-croak, more hostile than he means to be. He tells himself to apologize.
I’m sorry. It’s that easy.
He can’t make the words come out.
The guy just shrugs and sits on the couch. Close, but still more than arms' length away, neither of them an immediate danger to the other.
Jameson, trying not to look, has an impression from the corner of his eye of a brown canvas coat lined with corduroy at the collar and ribbed knit at the cuffs, a thatch of ashy blond hair nearly shaved at the sides and longer on top - brutally neat compared to Jameson's growing messy mop of dark hair. Pale under a driving tan, not like the way Jameson looks now that he sees the sun, the way it feels like his skin was just waiting to soak it up again.
There's an angular jaw and a blank expression.
Jameson doesn't offer a greeting - neither does the guy.
They just sit in silence for a while. On the screen, police officers investigate the disappearance of a rich woman's Domestic as time runs out before the kidnapper's deadline. One of them shakes the other by the shoulders, insisting we’re running out of time to save them! You have to help me!
"Hmph." There's a world of derision in that simple single sound the man makes.
Jameson glances sidelong at him. Something is familiar about his profile, but he doesn't know what, exactly. Maybe he's seen him at other meetings before. He's good-looking, yeah, but hard and bitter, you can see it in his face.
Jameson's own scars itch. Just like you can see it in me.
"Be nice if they actually cared that fucking much when someone hurts us," He says, half-joking. Maybe he means it as a kind of apology for being an asshole earlier. The guy's not big but he has muscle, Jameson can see that, too, and it sets something in him on edge. They're alone in here. Anything could happen.
He tells himself that Nat is in the next room, that he could call for help if he had to. He could fight him off, no matter how much it hurt. But all the guy does is turn to look at him, a wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other.
He looks like someone Jameson saw in a supermarket a few times, the way you start to catalog familiarity in the world around you even if you’ve never spoken to someone.
Something about it sets Jameson’s heart to beating faster, and he fights back a wince as his fingers feel like they throb harder in response.
"It would be nice if they look this much for anyone missing," He says, voice slightly raspy. Just a little, not as bad as Jameson's, but he sounds like he's been hoarse for a long time. His voice tastes like cherry sauce on cheesecake. Jameson fucking hates cheesecake.
He has an accent, mouth open a little too much when he speaks. His th in this comes out like it’s dis. Some kind of European thing.
And, all at once, Jameson feels the thunderclap roll through him. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands up and he knows why this guy seems so familiar, suddenly.
His mouth goes dry, but he swallows hard and closes his fingers tightly around the blanket. “Hey, are you… uh. Sorry, I’m not great at this kind of fucking-... are you Charles Ingvall?"
The guy stills, briefly, and then levels an even analytical stare at him. After a moment, he snorts and sits back, shrugging as his eyes go back to the TV screen, where two detectives beg a shadowy man to just let her go, just let her walk away, nobody has to die here today. "Chaz," He says, after a beat. "Mostly I am called Chaz when I use that name.”
"The cops are looking f-for you, I saw-... uh, an announcement or something-"
"I see it, too. They aren't looking very hard. Thank you for telling me, though.” Sank you for tellingk me. The accent makes him feel a little bit sick. “Is it the police in Utah? They are irritating. Idaho is worse. Montana, they leave me alone mostly.”
Jameson swallows, his throat feeling oddly small and constricted. He looks away - and then forces himself to look back, to meet the man's gaze. He has to see how he reacts.
He has to be sure.
"They, uh. Yeah, but also… um. They’re looking for you here in California, too.”
Charles Ingvall’s eyebrows raise. They’re darker than his hair, just a little. “California? I do nothing here yet.”
“You’ve… been here, though?” Jameson’s voice is getting worse, rasping itself into a whisper as his throat tries to close. He doesn’t want to talk about Robert. He doesn’t want to admit-
But someone else survived Robert.
Someone else lived.
Jameson wants to know why.
“Yeah,” Charles Ingvall says, and looks away from him again. He picks at the seam of his thick denim blue jeans. The word comes out yah, as hoarse as Jameson’s voice. Not quite as ruined, but not much better.
How often did he hurt you to make you scream? The question dies before Jameson can ask it. Instead, he just says, “They found your fingerprints."
The man closes his eyes. There’s a breath, a beat, and then he shakes his head. "Damn. Where? I thought I had wiped them from the last truck. That is irritating. Next time I will ask for help to be sure. This is what I get for trying to do alone, right?”
Jameson’s heart is racing. He feels almost faint with it, and the constant pain of his hands and legs fades a little under the buzzing adrenaline flooding his system. If he had to, right now, he could still run. His body always comes through in a pinch, when he has to run.
For a while, anyway.
Before his legs give out and he collapses on a sidewalk, unseen, just another WRU runaway starving in the street who should have just stayed and hurt and burned and bled for the pleasure of-
“Robert Weber.”
The words come out like flytrap stickiness, nearly gumming his tongue and lips together with the taste. Just saying it makes Jameson smell, briefly, the scent of lemon cleaning products layered over decay. Dead people stuck up his nose, down his throat, stuffing up his ears with their screams for help that wasn’t coming, help that would never come, help that was locked in a cage with his hands over his ears wishing they would just die already so he could stop caring about them so much.
The man goes still when he hears the name. He seems briefly carved from stone, except for the flare of the whites around his eyes. "Who?"
"You… you know goddamn well who.” Jameson’s voice is thready and thin, barely there. His own voice on his tongue has lost nearly all its taste. “They found your fingerprints in a closet in his house. They’re looking for you, you’re-... your family is still looking for you.”
“I don’t have a family.” Charles Ingvall stands abruptly. “And I do not know Robert Weber.”
“Yeah, you do. Hey, don’t-” Ingvall’s moving away, about to walk out the door, and Jameson pushes himself up, too, nearly crashing right back to the ground before he manages to grab one of his crutches, jamming his arm into the grips and holding tight to the handle. The other one clatters and thumps against the hardwood floor. “Shit! Fuck, don’t leave, look-”
Ingvall pauses in the doorway, looking down at the crutch, then back up at Jameson. “You are injured.” He doesn’t sound pitying. Just someone pointing out a truth. “Let me get that. I don’t want to talk about Robert Weber.” He reaches down and picks up the crutch, helping Jameson get his arm through the guides so he can balance again. “Do you understand? I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Yeah, well-... I do.”
“I don’t care.” Ingvall turns away again, and Jameson closes his eyes.
He never admits how bad it was.
He never tells anyone what it was like living in Robert’s house.
He’s swallowed down the pain and the fear and shoved it as far as it can go. But this is his only chance to know someone who has survived what he has, and he can’t stand to lose it. So he follows, thumping along behind Ingvall, and says in a rush, “The cage was made for you, wasn’t it?”
Ingvall stills once more.
Jameson keeps going, his mouth with a mind of its own driving the words even as he feels his shaking get worse. “He bought it for you, but he put me in it, too.”
Ingvall stands there with one hand on the doorframe. His fingernails dig into the painted wood and Jameson wonders if he’ll leave little half-moon marks there, signals of someone who felt something so much bigger than his body and had nowhere for that feeling to go.
Then he looks back at Jameson, over one shoulder. “He did not buy the cage only for me,” He says, heavily. His cheesecake voice weighs down Jameson’s tongue, sticky cherry sauce on top. “He bought it for someone like me. It was there when he brought me into his home. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I had not stopped my car to check directions…”
“I didn’t know anyone survived. I thought everyone went into the basement or... you know.”
“Or out, in the barrels.” Ingvall looks down at the ground, closing his eyes and taking a deep, deep breath. Then he turns back to Jameson entirely. “He called me his little Mouse.”
“He called me the goddamn dog,” Jameson says, and finds himself smiling, just a little. He feels it pull at the scar that cuts through the corner of his mouth. “You got out and decided to help the-... the runaways?”
“I was rescued by a man who helped them. He thought I was one, until he met me. I owe him my life, so I have given it to him, to doing his work. You…” Ingvall’s eyes drop to Jameson’s wrist, taking in the tattoo still there just peeking out beneath one sleeve, faded and scarred over but visible. “Robert bought one?”
“No. I… I ran away a long time before that. I just needed a ride.” Jameson is swallowing too much, he knows it, but he can’t seem to stop. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t seem to get around. “He offered me a ride. There was a bottle of-... of water. He drank a little of it, so I didn’t think…”
“Yeah.” Yah, the accent softer as Ingvall’s voice lowers. “I drank the water, too.”
“Why didn’t…” Jameson hesitates. This isn’t any of his fucking business, but… “You remember who you are. You remember yourself, that you’re… whatever the name was, I don’t remember-”
“Finn Schneider.” Ingvall says the words like they’re made of pins, sticking him with pain with every movement of lips, teeth, and tongue. “I remember the name.”
“Why didn’t you go home? You had a home to go to… why didn’t you just fucking go home?”
Ingvall blinks at him, as if he’s suddenly started singing in Spanish. “Because I was not Finn Schneider any longer,” He says, matter of fact. “Were you sold, too? Did he trade you for something new?”
Jameson’s fingers clench and unclench on the grips on his crutches. “No.”
“Oh. Then how did you-”
“I beat him to death with a goddamn shovel when he made me help him bury another body.” The words are flat and blunt.
“You… you what?” Ingvall’s eyes are wide again, and some of the hardness and the years fall off of his face. Jameson thinks he can see, now, what Robert saw - just a little - in a younger man who could look worried and vulnerable and not simply hardened. Had he looked like that, when he still felt hopeful, before he knew almost everyone was just shit and would fuck you as soon as look at you, would hit you faster than they’d help you?
“I beat him to death,” Jameson repeats, slowly, “With a goddamn shovel.”
“You-... you killed him?”
“Yeah. I… I was tired of watching people die, just really… fucking tired. And… I didn’t want him to kill anyone else anymore. So I made sure he couldn’t, and then I left.” Jameson feels the strength go out of him all at once, and the crutches are the only thing that keeps him standing. He loves these fucking things so much.
“I never thought to kill him-”
“Yeah, I know. If you had, maybe I wouldn’t be this fucked up.”
It hits Ingvall like a punch to the face, and his eyes close as he flinches at the simple, honest truth in the words. “... I-... I never thought I could-”
“I don’t blame you. I know it sounds like I do, but I don’t, fucking swear it. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Just… We’re the only two of his who lived. I know that doesn’t mean anything, not really, because like… there’s always people who survive bullshit, but… it kind of means something to me. That there’s somebody else.”
Ingvall’s jaw works as he looks down at Jameson - funny, neither of them are very tall at all, but Ingvall’s still tall enough to look down. “Does it?”
“Does it not, to you? Mean… mean, fuck, something that there’s two of us? That we aren’t alone?”
Ingvall’s smile is bitter. It’s not really a smile at all, just an upward tilt of the lips that goes nowhere near his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“But-”
“I am glad you lived,” Ingvall says, softening his voice a little. “I am. But we are all of us alone, in what we survive or what we don’t. All we have between us is a man who could have killed us and didn’t. That isn’t very much. Besides that…”
Jameson’s cheeks burn red, embarrassed and a little angry, too, at the casual disdain in Ingvall’s voice. He looks down, but his voice has fled - all his angry retorts wither up and die in the face of having his attempt to speak to someone, to… what, fucking bond or something… looked at with such distant dismissal.
Ingvall goes quiet, for a second, just watching him.
“What? Just fucking say whatever you’re gonna say and stop fucking staring at me.” His left knee throbs with his pulse, a sudden wash of pain that makes his leg twitch. It pulls Ingvall’s gaze to it, and Jameson’s face burns hotter - and so does his anger. “Don’t fucking stare, it’s fucking rude.”
“Sorry.” That’s sincere, at least. Ingvall closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long… I don’t know how to talk about it. I shouldn’t… I have been cruel. I’m sorry. I meant only to say… I guess I just mean-... scheisse.”
Jameson snorts. “Bet I can guess what that word means.”
“Your language stole a curse or two from mine, to be sure.” Ingvall’s voice lightens a little. “I mostly curse in English, but sometimes when I really mean it, well. Scheisse feels more real. What’s your name? I haven’t asked.”
“Jameson. I… I named myself Jameson.”
“The bottles on the fireplace,” Ingvall murmurs. “He always had so many, lining them up-”
“I could read. He didn’t know, usually they make it so we can’t but it didn’t work on me. I could read, and I would sit in the cage-”
“And read the bottles, over and over.” Ingvall nods, just a little. His hands go into his pockets, and he’s still smiling, just a little. Some of the tension has bled out of him. “I did, too. Jameson, what I meant to say, before I was… rude, I was trying to say that we are not the only two who survived him.”
“... we aren’t? There was someone else?” Hope, thin as a thread through the eye of a needle, that there might be other people out there who didn’t end up in the basement or the blue barrels, other people who walked out of that house, or crawled, or-
“You are the only survivor, Jameson.” Ingvall turns away again, and then time he doesn’t turn back.
“... what? What do you mean, you’re right here-”
“Finn Schneider died in the cage. I left as only his Mouse. I go by many names now, but if you called Mouse, this many years later, still I would run to the call."
"But-"
"Listen to me." His voice stays quietly steady, even as Jameson's has begun to tremble. "We are not survivors. We do not share the journey. The stupid trusting silly boy I was, the one who went into that house? He did not leave it."
Jameson stays silent, when Ingvall pauses this time. His face burns even as his stomach twists cold and grows ice from his pelvis to his heart. “Yeah, okay.” He finds himself mumbling and he can’t make himself look any higher than the guy’s knees.
Ingvall sighs. "I am glad someone did survive, Jameson. But I did not. Do not say Finn Schneider to me again. I don't know that man."
He walks away and leaves Jameson standing there in the room with the credits of the cop show playing pointlessly on the television behind him.
When Nat comes to tell him they can go shopping now, he tells her to forget about it, he’s hurting too much anyway, and asks to just go home. She nods, watching him as she gets her car keys out of her pocket, but he says nothing else. While she drives, she keeps giving him sidelong looks, but all her soft well-meaning, careful questions get nothing but grunts.
He makes it to the shower and gets his clothes off before his legs give out entirely.
He sits in the tub with hot water beating down on his back and shoulders, trickling through his mop of hair, hands over his face, whispering fuck fuck fuck fuck to himself while Trash Cat paws at the other side of the door and meows for him. He doesn’t even try to let her in.
He just lets the scalding water burn against his scars.
-
@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @thefancydoughnut @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp
@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful
#amow winter whumperland 2022#day 2: unhappy family reunion#unhappy family reunion#whump#jameson bb#finn schneider#ptsd tw#traumatized whumpee#runaway whumpee#escaped whumpee#whumpees meet#disabled oc#disabled whumpee#chronic pain tw#scars tw#bbu#box boy universe#box boy#survivor guilt
97 notes
·
View notes
Link
This is part of a far wider story, but this was written with @amonthofwhump winter wonderland or whumperland challenge in mind. The prompt was “unhappy family reunion” . These have been amazing for my scribbles, so huge thanks to the organisers!
After the initial joyous reunion in the lab Bozer had raced off to look for Riley and brooked no argument. Jack had planned to wait a little bit, but Bozer was already gone before he’d finished his sentence and Mac just shrugged. He sat on one of the seats and stared at his feet and then he stared at the walls and the projects on the table, he sat on his hands. Dalton smiled at him in a benevolent fatherly/big brother sort of way, or at least that’s what he hoped it was.
#amow winter whumperland 2022#unhappy family reunion#day 2#MacGyver#MacGyver whump#emotional whump#physical whump#team phoenix#Jack Dalton#James MacGyver bashing#tension and emotional whump#handcuffs#drunk MacGyver#tests#medical procedure
1 note
·
View note
Text
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin
𝐂/𝐖: hurt/comfort
𝐖/𝐂: 950 +
| m a s t e r l i s t | - | p t . 2 |
𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘
You're insecure because, unlike him who's passionate about his dream of becoming the King of Pirates, you don't have a big dream to fulfill.
You joined the crew because you wanted to leave a family in which you were unhappy and where your destiny was already mapped out until your death. Once you found a new family thanks to the Straw Hat crew, you decided to set sail on their ship to stay with them. You were happy with your daily routine as well as the adventures you were having, and that was enough for you. During the trip, you took the opportunity to start a book on life at sea as well as on the lifestyles of the inhabitants of the islands you had visited. However, it was more of a hobby than a real passion or a dream. So when you see Luffy giving all he got for his dream, you're afraid he'll think you're less interesting for not having a goal you care about so much.
𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎
Zoro is a calm and silent man, especially since your reunion on the Sabaody Archipelago, so you're sometimes afraid that he'll get tired of your bubbly and very talkative personality. You were worried that he would wake up one day from one of his many naps and leave you because you required too much attention and time.
You have always been an outgoing person who liked to chat with people and be aware of the latest gossip. It had always been an advantage when you were alone in a new place or in new social groups. Yet when you were with Zoro, you sometimes found yourself wishing you could shut up. Indeed, where you spent hours telling the swordsman whatever goes through your mind under his attentive - though rather neutral - gaze, you found yourself regretting having talked so much afterward. You wondered if you had annoyed him and if he wouldn't prefer a less noisy person.
| he comforts you about your insecurity |
𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈
After spending so much time with her on your adventures, if there's one thing you've learned about her, it's that she's very popular. She is beautiful, intelligent and you have no doubt that if she left you, she would have no trouble finding someone new given the list of suitors.
You've never been an extremely rich or extremely important person with rock-solid self-confidence so you didn't really see what made Nami choose you over all the people at her feet. It was a stroke of luck. She is also not very expressive about the reasons for her choice because she never clearly expressed what she liked about you. The dynamic of your relationship is mostly a teasing game on her part to which you gladly answer as long as she continues. But it sometimes makes you wonder when she'll let you down to find a better partner.
𝐔𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐏
With Usopp, what scares you the most is your fear of rejection because since he's also someone who is insecure, you are afraid that you will both leave the relationship if something goes wrong because of your insecurities on both sides.
Usopp is a fearful person, and while he's willing to overcome some of his fears for his friends, his inferiority complex has caused him to quit the Strawhat Pirates once. On your side, you are also terrified of being rejected in general, so you often prefer to stay in your comfort zone. The fact that you have that in common means that you often understand each other and it is also what brought you closer to each other in the first place. However, you can't help but tell yourself that, if there is the slightest problem, he will prefer to abandon your relationship because of the fear of not being enough. And you might not be strong enough to get him back either.
𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈
The man is a womanizer who, unfortunately, can't help but rave about every woman who crosses his path. It's stronger than him, he becomes unrecognizable in the presence of a woman.
So even though you know he loves you dearly, you can't help but feel insecure about women. Maybe if, in your own way, you were as beautiful as Nami or as smart as Robin, he wouldn't leave your side to court them. Yet, even though you realize that's not the right way to think about it and that he mostly admires them for their gender qualities as a "gentleman", you still feel that empty feeling when you see him going to swoon over every woman he sees. Each time, the only thought that crosses your mind is that, if you were attractive enough, he wouldn't let you down for strangers.
𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍
Robin is very intelligent: she reads a lot, she can decrypts the poneglyphs, she is interested in many fields etc... However, you are very far from being the most intelligent person in Grand Line and you often wonder if you don't make her bored.
You love to listen to her speak about what she reads and you could drink her words for hours when she talks to you about subjects that fascinate her like archeology or the mysteries of history. You are captivated every time she says something to you, even if you don't always understand everything she tells you. You also follow her with great happiness each time she asks you to accompany her to discover the city - and its bookstore - as soon as you arrive on a new island. Sadly, the fact that you're not as smart as her often makes you ask yourself if she's bored with you or just missing out on being able to argue with someone rather than just relate.
𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄
#one piece#one piece x reader#imagine#luffy#luffy x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#nami#nami x reader#usopp#usopp x reader#sanji#sanji x reader#nico robin#nico robin x reader
449 notes
·
View notes
Text
Russingon Week 2024: Prompts!
Russingon week will run June 10th to June 16th, 2024.
Day 1: Light
Valinor
Princes and exiles
Joy in the past
Family
First time
Childhood friends to lovers
Day 2: Darkness
Doom of the Noldor
Angband and the Helcaraxë worldbuilding
Kinslayings
Grief and bereavement
Despair and hope
Angry sex/hate sex
Day 3: Song
Rescue from Thangorodrim
Religious faith and worship headcanons
Unchaining
Trust and pity
Betrayal and reconciliation
Hurt/comfort
Reunion sex
Day 4: Peace
Long Peace
Himring and Barad Eithel
Politics and diplomacy
Fealty and devotion
Noldorin traditions
Fluff
Tender sex
Day 5: War
Archery, sparring and battle
Battlefield traditions
Fire
Union of Maedhros
Horror in the past
Unhappy ending
BDSM/kink
Day 6: AU
Canon divergence and fix-its
Time travel/time bending
Unusual headcanons
Different setting
Roleswap
Sexual experimentation
Day 7: The Future
Weddings and oaths
Re-embodiment
Laws and Customs of the Eldar
Transformation
Parenthood, children, lineages
Ósanwë
#russingon#russingonweek#maedhros#fingon#maedhros/fingon#fingon/maedhros#silmarillion#the silmarillion#silm
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
We are excited to present AMonthOfWhump's Winter Whumperland 2022! Transcripted prompts, event tags, and general info below the cut:
Prompt List:
1. The Nightmare Before Christmas
Nightmares/Shared Nightmare Realm
PTSD
Stalking
Comfort: Hope
2. Home Alone
Missed Holiday
Unhappy Family Reunion
Comic Relief Caretaker
Comfort: Home For the Holidays
3. Miracle on 34th Street
Forced Celebration
Mistaken Identity
Public Whump
Comfort: Getting a Letter in the Mail
4. It's A Wonderful Life
Burning the Yule Log
Wing Whump (or Body Modification)
BBU AU
Comfort: Holiday Lights Show
5. Frosty The Snowman
Turned into Decoration
Trapped In A Blizzard
Self-sacrifice
Comfort: Warm Kisses
6. How The Grinch Stole Christmas
Starvation
Stress Position
Too Late
Comfort: Shared Holiday Meal
7. A Christmas Story
Christmas Wishlist
Can't See
Bleeding Out
Comfort: Holiday Pageantry
8. A Christmas Carol
Holiday Haunting
Revenge Whump
Head Injury
Comfort: Unexpected Kindness
9. The Christmas Shoes
Unwanted Gift
Medical Abuse
Main Character Death
Comfort: Baking
10. Polar Express
Waiting for Santa
Tied to Train Tracks
Abducted
Comfort: Hot Chocolate
11. Elf
Countdown to Christmas
Elf Whump
Strangulation
Comfort: Experiencing Freedom For The First Time Ever
12. The Nutcracker
Forced to Perform
Animal Attack
Forced Transformation
Comfort: Favorite Holiday Movies
Event Tags:
Tags will help us when reblogging! You can help us out by using the event tag, a tag with the name of the prompt fill, and any relevant trigger or character tags.
Example tags for day one: #amow winter whumperland 2022, #nightmares, #your other tags here
General Info:
There are three whumpy and one comfy prompt for each day. Each day is also titled with a holiday movie, and if it inspires you feel free to use the day's title as a prompt as well! You can use any combination of prompts from each day. You can combine multiple days into one fill. Any form of creation is okay! Writing, art, cosplay, doll mod, playlists, tiktoks, embroidery, build a whumpy lego set, you name it! If you make something it counts.
627 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi Steph! Curious if you had any existing lists ready to go? :D
Hi Lovely!
I do! And based on this poll here, this is the list you guys want to see!! I hope you enjoy!!
HURT/COMFORT Under 5K Pt. 2
See also:
Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words
Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words
Hurt / Comfort Pt. 3: 10K to 50K Words
Hurt / Comfort Pt. 4: 50K+ Words Pt. 1
==
And When The Night Is Over by Simply Isnt On (K, 329 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Platonic Bed Sharing / Not Slash) – Sherlock and John sleep together.
Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock's mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this...
My Unfortunately Average Sized Cranium by Haelia (K+, 996 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Headache, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Drug Use, Doctor John) – In which Sherlock has a migraine. ALMOST Johnlock. Not quite.
The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.
Sleep Tonight by Jenn1984 (T, 1,220 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Worried Sherlock, Sick John, Hugs/Cuddles, Touch Neediness) – Fingers begin prying open his jacket looking for a wound and John would really like to swat at them. No, he's not hit anywhere, he's just damn sick.- John Watson has a fever.
Poppies For John by grannysknitting (T, 1,102 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Rememberance Sunday fic - John notices a discrepancy between Sherlock's stated intent and his actions. Sherlock, for once, explains himself. Friendship or pre-slash, your choice. Intended in honour of those who defend us.
And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.
Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose.
Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.
3:00 in the Morning is a Great Time to Talk by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,775 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Bed Sharing, First Person POV John, Cuddling, Worried Sherlock, Comforting John, Platonic Affection/Love) – "Are you trying to talk your way into my bed?" "Obviously."
Dying Changes Everything by whitchry9 (K+, 1,919 w., 1 Ch || Sherlock POV, Suicidal Ideation, Near-Death, Hospital, Sherlock Whump, Gunshot, Unhappy/Ambiguous Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Sherlock is having an existential crisis and wants to have a near death experience like John did to gain some perspective. “Shoot me John!” he insisted, gesturing to himself. John just looked at him. “Are you completely mad?”
Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?
A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.
Spilt Milk by Erin Giles (K+, 2,222 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John comes back from a trip to the supermarket only to take a trip up the stairs. Both shopping and blood are spilled leaving Sherlock to play the role of Doctor.
BBCSH 'The Comfort of Company' by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It's a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.
Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Sherlock/Sally Friendship, Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series
Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock's kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.
Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.
It's Just Another Birthday by Vintage Tea Party (K, 3,207 w., 2 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock’s Birthday, Sherlock 3rd Person POV) – When John makes a birthday cake for Sherlock he thinks its an innocent enough gesture. But nothing is ever normal with Sherlock and this isn't just another birthday.
Human Body Pillow by Lunavere (K, 4,122 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Sleepy Johnlock, Bed Sharing) – A story about the five times John fell asleep on Sherlock, and the one time Sherlock fell asleep on him.
What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.
Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection
When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Bunker - Criminal Minds
Chapter 4: The Question
Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.
Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.
AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.
Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.
Chapter Summary: Tensions rise as time in the bunker drags on.
Read chapter 4 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated <3
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
“Come on man, get up.”
“What’s the point?” whined Spencer.
“The point is that muscles start to atrophy after 3 days of inactivity, and you have been holed up on that disgusting mattress for… what… like a week and half now? Longer than you should’ve been,” said Derek.
Spencer groaned. “I’ve been a bit sick, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Which is why we’ve left you alone, but you’re so goddamn shaky and thin you’re starting to resemble a chihuahua. You need to keep active, or you will just get sicker. That’s true for all of us,” he insisted.
“Come on, it’s simple calisthenics. No worse than you had to do at the academy,” said Emily, entirely too chipper.
“I hated doing it back then, too,” he said. “I would really rather never move again, thanks.”
“Of course you want to sleep all day,” said Derek. “It’s called clinical depression, Reid. It’s what happens when you replace your brain’s ability to self-regulate pleasure with heroin. You’re gonna be all fucked up for a while, but you’ll level out eventually. And you know what’s proven to be one of the most effective treatments for depression? Exercise! So get your ass up,” he ordered, nudging the mattress with his foot.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Just don’t complain when I pass out after 5 minutes,” he said, dragging himself up.
The last thing he wanted was to be roped into an extended conversation about the questionable state of his mental health.
“I’ll consider it 5 minutes well spent,” Derek said, reaching a hand down to help him to his feet.
Emily corralled them all into two lines while JJ placed herself at the front of the room, ready to lead the workout.
“Frankly, I’m with you, kid,” Rossi whispered, looking pointedly unhappy about the whole situation.
“Shut it,” said Emily.
Hotch smirked. “Pick your battles, boys.”
“Just you wait until it’s my turn to run the class tomorrow,” said Derek, positioned feet shoulder width apart and ready to go in the front line with Emily. “You’ll be begging to go back to this moment”
Rossi and Spencer both whinged, but they shaped up and did their best to mirror JJ’s movements when she called them to attention.
Spencer did not pass out, but he did make it almost precisely 5 minutes before having to very rapidly excuse himself to go throw up. After a few retches, he collapsed back onto the floor of the tiny en-suit, half curled around the toilet.
Rossi ducked his head in. “You doing alight? Need some help?”
“Just… just let me lie here for a minute.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay with you?” he persisted.
“Get back in here, Rossi!” ordered Emily.
With a swear that was barely concealed under his breath, he left Spencer to languish on the floor.
A few minutes later he hauled himself out and retook his place in the group. Nobody said anything, but Derek had an annoyingly self satisfied smile. He only made it through another few exercises before he had to stop in earnest, but, as loathed as he was to admit it, he felt a tiny bit better. Emotionally, if not physically.
Emily, JJ and Derek all sat by him. Rossi had first dibs on the bathroom to wash his clothes and Hotch… well, he was sitting cross legged on the far side of the room meditating.
Spencer didn’t know if he was actually meditating, or if he just wanted to be left alone.
He’d warmed up to them all since they had been in the bunker. In fact he was almost warmer and friendlier than he had been when they were all still close. Or, maybe not friendlier, but gentle somehow, in a way Spencer had never seen him be with anyone but Jack and Beth before.
Still, he kept a distance from them. Even when they were talking, he could feel the invisible wall.
Not that Spencer was judging. He had plenty of his own walls.
“I know you feel like garbage, Spence, but you’re doing a lot better,” said JJ, looking pleased.
“Better than what?” he scoffed.
“Better than when you were pumping your veins full of dope every day,” suggested Derek, lying on the floor in front of where Spencer and the girls were siting, clasping his hands behind his head casually and putting his feet up against the wall.
Spencer narrowed his eyes, a flash of irritation at the lackadaisical attitude. “That’s an interesting philosophical debate. Do you really think I’d be worse off high in my apartment than soberly held captive by an Unsub?”
Derek tapped his foot thoughtfully. “I think, and correct me if I’m wrong here boy genius, those are not the only two options in the world.”
“Please, Morgan, if we make it out of here alive will you teach me how to be as virtuous as you?” he said sarcastically.
“Enough, both of you,” said Emily when Derek leaned his head up to argue back. “Spencer, stop scratching, you’re going to get an infection.”
He looked at her quizzically for a split second before realizing what she meant. He had been scratching at his arms without even noticing. He stopped, slinging them both over his knees instead.
The most recent track marks were scabbed over and the extra sensory sensitivity after withdrawal was making them itch like crazy.
It’s funny how quickly he’d gotten used to them seeing him like this. He was still in his singlet and pajama pants most of the time, the long sleeve shirt functioning more as a pillow than an item of clothing these days.
The others were the same, with everyone comfortably sitting around in their underwear when waiting for their clothes to dry. They’d all spent enough time in hotel rooms together over the years not to be precious about that sort of thing.
None of them even balked at the track marks anymore. They’d gotten used to them. He didn’t know how he felt about that.
He’d always hated having to hide and having them be so delicate about the subject of his addiction, but now they were infuriatingly direct. Far from walking on eggshells, they were stomping as brashly as they pleased. Especially Derek.
It was really starting to piss him off.
That might have been because literally everything was pissing him off since detoxing.
He tried not to feel too bad about it. He wasn’t the only one who’d been a bit snippy. The complete absence of privacy and personal space wasn’t doing any of them any favors.
“Can I ask you something?” asked JJ, catching his eye.
He sighed. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Probably not,” she admitted.
A beat. “You can ask.”
She looked him up and down. Emily was glancing between them, and Derek had cracked an eye open.
“What happened two years ago?” she asked gently. “Why did you start using again?”
He was surprised it took them this long. He’d been waiting for them to interrogate him on the subject since the second that goddamn note was read out.
This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. It wasn’t one he knew how to have.
“Nothing happened,” he said softly.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Addicts relapse, JJ. An estimated 88% of all heroin addicts relapse within 1 to 3 years of quitting. I know you all think I’m different somehow, like I’m supposed to be smarter than that. That’s not how it works.”
He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but even he could hear the bite in his voice by the end. There was a little part of him that resented them for even being surprised at his relapse, as if there was something about him that precluded him from that kind of indignity. It was misdirected and he knew it.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” said JJ defensively. “If you don’t want to talk about it just say so.”
Before he could apologize to her, Derek chimed in with, “It’s what I’m saying.” He sat up. “You’re right, Reid, you are supposed to be smarter than this.”
“Thanks, Morgan. Invite me to the ceremony when they give you a Nobel prize for fixing the opioid epidemic.”
Derek folded his arms and continued as if Spencer hadn’t said anything. “You didn’t choose to be an addict, but you did choose to do it alone. If you hadn’t cut yourself off from all of us when you relapsed, we would have helped you. You chose to keep pretending everything was fine while it spiraled out of control. Every time we talked, every time you visited, I asked you what was happening in your life, and you chose to lie. For someone so goddamn smart, you've been making a lot of incredibly stupid choices.”
Hotch had opened his eyes and Rossi had re-emerged from the bathroom still holding a soapy, wet shirt in his hands.
Spencer and Derek had both stood up and Spencer wasn’t even sure when they’d done it.
Emily didn’t intervene this time. Apparently, they were doing this.
“You’re right, I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t want it now!” He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Through gritted teeth he said, “I am grateful to you all for getting me through withdrawal and I am sorry I put you through that. Can’t that be enough for now? We clearly have bigger problems than this.”
“No.”
“No?” he said indignantly.
“No. Why won't you talk about this? What could you possibly have to say that’s worse than what we already know?” Derek demanded, volume rising with every word.
“I don't want to talk about it because I know what you want me to say! You want me to tell you that if we get out of here I’m going to get treatment and go to meetings and pinkie promise I’ll never use narcotics again,” Spencer said, matching his volume and emphasizing the words with a wave of his hand.
“The only thing I want is for you to tell me the fucking truth!”
“No, you don’t!”
“Yes, I do! I don’t care how bleak it is, just for one fucking second be honest about what you want!”
“The truth is I don’t want to do this!” shouted Spencer. “If I had heroin, I would shoot up right now, right here in this fucking room while you watched. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t want to be fixed!”
“Why not?” yelled Derek.
They stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Spencer had been staring directly into his eyes for far longer than he would normally be able, fueled by adrenaline.
He caught glimpse of something behind the anger that in another circumstance he might have missed.
Helplessness.
Oh.
Derek wasn’t mad.
He was terrified.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
Spencer stared at him, opening his mouth but not finding any words.
“Why don’t you want us to help? Why don’t you want to be fixed? What the hell happened to you?” pleaded the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother. “What’s your plan when we get out of here? You wanna go be a junkie, dead in a year? You had 15 years clean, man. Why are you doing this?”
His eyes burned, moisture pooling in the corners. Why? Why was he doing this?
What answer could ever satisfy them?
The air between them filled with poisonous silence.
Out of the silence came a voice, too small for him to make out the words. Derek held his gaze, fighting tears of his own, but asked to someone to the side, “What did you say?”
“It wasn’t 15 years,” said JJ, louder this time.
Another shiver of panic worked its way down Spencer’s spine.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Derek.
“He said ‘times.’ When we first got the note. He said we weren’t there the other times he went through withdrawal. Plural.”
Fuck. Why could he never just say the right thing?
Derek squared off, lifting a hand to wipe under his eyes. “JJ’s right, isn’t she.” He wasn’t shouting anymore. When Spencer didn't answer, he took it as all the confirmation he needed. “Was it after prison?”
He shot a brief look off at the others, silently urging them to step in and save him.
JJ wouldn’t look at him. She looked small. He never wanted to do this to her.
Hotch was eyeing him like he was trying to solve the puzzle of what bits of Spencer Reid had been irreparably broken in his absence. Prison had certainly done some damage that couldn’t be undone.
He looked back at Derek. “No. That was… It was hard, but no.”
“So, when?” he asked, cocking his head, waiting for Spencer to give him something concrete to fight about.
He looked back at JJ, who still wouldn’t meet his eye.
She already knew.
“Oh no,” said Emily softly, putting it together. “It was after I faked my death to hide from Doyle.”
He was torn between Derek and JJ, and all the other people in this room who his deficiencies kept hurting.
Their fight after it was revealed that JJ knew Emily was alive had almost destroyed their friendship. In retrospect, he understood she was doing the best she could with horrible circumstances, trying to protect Emily.
He also knew, equally certain, that he would have told her. If the situations were reversed and she came to his door, crying, grieving, on the verge of a breakdown, he would have told her.
She knew it, too.
He was aware that she still held tightly onto that guilt. He regretted so badly the way he’d treated her when he first found out. He never wanted to tell her this. Never.
He turned away from Derek, who was still staring at him like he’d ripped his heart out of his chest.
“JJ, please talk to me.”
He stepped forward, putting his hands on her arms. She looked up at him, red eyed and exhausted.
“You told me you didn’t use. You only thought about it,” she said, sounding numb. “I believed you. Except… I think I just wanted to believe you.”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her into a hug. She held onto him tightly. “You did the right thing back then. My actions weren’t your fault.”
The moment was over as quickly and horribly as it began when the chamber on the door banged.
Of course this interruption couldn't have come minutes earlier when he desperately needed it.
A gloved hand reached in to deposit a brown paper bag.
Derek was slow to react, not running to the door in his usual effort to ingratiate himself to their captor through one sided conversation.
When nobody moved, the interrupted outbreak of truth and consequences weighing them down too heavily, Hotch stepped towards the door.
He moved slowly, deliberately, as if one muscle twitching out of place would set off a bomb. Spencer wasn’t sure where he thought the explosion might be coming from.
When Hotch opened the chamber and extracted the brown paper bag, he stared at it. Not moving, just staring down at the thing he was holding, presumably filled with more fruit. Nobody else moved. Nobody spoke.
In one swift and vicious action, Hotch flung the bag across the room!
Fruit scattered over the concrete in a colorful arc. An overripe peach splattered on the far wall.
They all flinched at the sudden act, but before anyone could talk, Hotch had rounded on the camera in the roof with its infuriating, endlessly blinking red light.
He spoke low, dangerous. “When we get out of here, and we will, I’m going to kill you myself. Forget life in prison, I will put you down like a fucking dog.”
Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. JJ was gripping his arm tight enough to cut off circulation. He let her. The room was cavernous, quiet, oppressive.
Hotch clenched and unclenched his fists. Emily stepped forward, mouth open, a hand outstretched towards his shoulder but not bold enough to actually touch him, yet he pulled away from her as if she had.
“I’m fine,” he snapped. He took in a ragged breath, scrubbing his hands over his face, then lowered them. This time, calmer: “I’m fine.”
He looked around the room at the scattered fruit. With another deep breath, he bent down and started gathering it up. Emily stepped forward to help him.
Spencer, JJ, and Derek exchanged looks. Spencer knew they would not be dropping the subject forever, but for now they settled on an agitated, embarrassed truce. Well, Spencer was embarrassed. Derek might just have been agitated.
Had he really said, out loud, that he would shoot up in front of them if he had to? He was almost certain he would actually follow through with that given the choice. There's almost nothing he wouldn't do to get high at this point. Withdrawal and being stuck in the bunker had only made his cravings stronger.
He had certainly not intended to tell them that, though.
The three of them broke away, moving to help Hotch and Emily. JJ grabbed the paper bag for them to consolidate the food, while Derek moved to clean the peach that was dripping down the wall.
As Hotch dropped his handful of citrus and apples into the bag JJ was holding, he paused. The rest of the room paused too, waiting to see what he would do.
“It was my call to keep everyone in the dark about Prentiss. It was cruel to put that on you.” He looked around at the rest of them. “It was cruel to all of you.”
“You did what you thought was right,” said Spencer. He locked eyes with JJ. “Both of you did.”
Hotch eyed him off, picking him apart in a way that made Spencer want to bury his face in his hands like a little kid, desperate not to be seen. He resisted the urge.
“You still don’t believe it was the right call,” said Hotch eventually, a statement not a question.
Spencer frowned. “No,” he said honestly. “But I know you believed it. That’s enough for me.”
Hotch shook his head. Clearly, it wasn’t enough for him.
Emily looked between all of them, grey hair falling oddly prettily over her shoulders as she swiveled her head. “I mean, if we want to play the blame game, it’s really my fault for keeping you all in the dark about Doyle,” she pointed out. “Or Doyle’s fault for creating the whole mess. We can go even deeper. In a round about way, it’s really my mother’s fault I got into intelligence in the first place. We can all blame my mother! Trust me, it’s one of my favorite pastimes. It’s cathartic. Go ahead,” she encouraged.
Derek laughed. Even JJ cracked a smile.
“I really dislike your mother, so this is compelling,” deadpanned Hotch.
Emily chuckled. “Yeah, she hates you too buddy.” To the room at large she said, “I know we’re all going a bit crazy in here, but everything we’re feeling has to be secondary to the ultimate goal of getting out. I’ve been thinking about that, and-”
“Emily,” said Rossi, wet, half-washed shirt sitting discarded on the floor, forming a puddle.
Spencer hadn't even registered that he hadn't spoken or helped with the cleanup, caught up in the interpersonal drama as he was.
Emily looked at Rossi quizzically.
Spencer’s blood ran cold. It was crumpled from having been tossed across the room with the rest of the bag’s contents.
Rossi held a folded piece of paper in his hand. With it, a photograph, the edge of which was just sticking out between the folds. He offered it to Emily. “Sorry,” he said sympathetically. “Looks like you’re up.”
#criminal minds#criminal minds evolution#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#spencer reid angst#emily prentiss#derek morgan#aaron hotchner#bau team#bau team as family#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid fic
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
One Bad Day.... (Visitors)
Winter Whumperland: Day 2. Unhappy Family Reunion
Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Batmom, Dick Grayson
Summary: Four years into her jail sentence, Dick pays Batmom a visit. However, unlike his usual visits, this time he has something potentially troubling to discuss....
Word Count: 2543
TW: Mentions of Injuries
Note: This is set while Batmom is still at Arkham. It should be read anytime after Part Two.
Series Masterlist
You didn’t want to go see him. Well, you did, oh god how badly you wanted to see him. But you didn’t want him to see you. Not after yesterday’s scuffle with half of the other inmates.
You had held your own until the guards finally decided they had let things go on as long as they could without getting in trouble, but that didn’t mean you had escaped unscathed: Your left side felt like one huge bruise, your shoulder had been dislocated and your arm was still in a sling, your cheekbone had been fractured and you could barely open that eye, your voice was hoarse from screaming and where Bane had managed to get his hands around your throat for almost a minute, and your thigh was still bleeding from the deep gash Harley’s knife had made when she thrust it into you up to the hilt. And that’s not even to mention what the guards did to you after you had been dragged away to your cell afterward. Even sitting caused you pain.
However, all-in-all, they aren’t the worst injuries you have ever received but they are still pretty bad. And they look it. There is no way you can hide all the damage or brush it off as nothing. He will see through that ploy in seconds. But what other choice do you have if you want to see your son?
When you reach the door to the visiting room, you take a deep breath as you stand up straight and mask your expression as much as possible. It is nearly impossible to walk without limping or wincing in pain, but you are determined to do your best to hide it. When the guard opened the door, you plaster on a cheerful grin and walk slowly into the room.
Your visitor is seated at the booth closest to the opposite wall, a fact you are sure the sadistic guards did on purpose. They are probably gathered around the cameras watching and laughing as you struggle to cross the room without crying out in pain. But you won’t give them that satisfaction.
It takes longer than it should, but you make it to your chair without showing much outward sign of discomfort. Though, you can’t help but inhale sharply as you lower yourself into the metal chair.
Slowly reaching over and picking up the phone attached to the wall, you smile through the glass divider and say, “Hey, baby. What a wonderful surprise! I didn’t know you were in town.”
Dick doesn’t respond. He just continues to stare at you, his jaw clenched and knuckles growing white as he grasps the edge of the table in front of him. Yet, you pretend not to notice and continue, “Any exciting reason you’re around? Or is it just to visit me?”
Still, there is nothing but silence from the other side of the glass. Sighing heavily, you say, “Come on, Dick. You didn’t come all this way to not talk to me.”
“You said it was getting better.” His tone is icy and harsh, but at least he is finally speaking.
“No, I said I was handling it.”
“Mom–” He starts to say something but you hold up your hand to cut him off.
“It’s okay. It looks worse than it is.” You try to force another happy smile as you say, “But how are you? How are things in Blüdhaven? Are you seeing anyone special?”
He shakes his head. “No, don’t change the subject. What happened?”
You let the happy facade drop as you slump in your seat. He isn’t going to let this go. “Same thing that always happens. But I can take care of myself.”
Dick leans in closer. “Let me talk to the warden. Something has to be done about this. It can’t keep happening.”
“No. I’m serious, Dick. Don’t say anything….. It just makes it worse.”
Dick smashes his hand against the glass on the other side causing you to jump slightly and catching the attention of a few of the guards in the room. “Mom… please.. I can’t keep seeing you like this. What if they come back for you when you’re hurt? You can’t fight back when you can barely move without flinching in pain! Then what? You just let them kill you?”
You roll your eyes. “Dickie, I’m fine. I’m tougher than I look.”
“Yeah…. Don’t I know it,” he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. “God. I just hate seeing you in here like this and knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop it. We’re supposed to help those who are in trouble and yet, I can’t help my own mom.”
“Oh, Dick…” Tears well up in your eyes as you press your hand against the glass where his is. In the four years since you were thrown in here, never have you wanted to give your son a hug as badly as you did right now. “This isn’t on you. I made my choice that night even though I knew what it probably meant. And I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this too.”
“I would never tell Bruce this, but…. I think you made the right choice.” You blink in surprise. Dick has always been in your corner through the trial and while you have been in jail, but he never once ever made any indication he agreed with you killing the Joker. He stares down at the table as he continues. “He did unspeakable things not only to the citizens of Gotham but also to the people we love. To me… Babs… Jay… He was never going to stop unless someone did something about him. Something final. I may not agree with how you did it, but I’m glad he’s dead.”
You aren’t sure how to process this information. There had never been a doubt in your mind that if Jason knew what you did, he would have cheered and celebrated. But Dick…. There was just something so wrong about hearing him condone a death, regardless of who it was or why they were killed. He always seemed to follow Bruce’s code like gospel since the time Bruce stopped him from killing the man who arranged for his parents’ deaths. It was a line you never imagined him even considering crossing so to hear him support what you did sends a small chill down your spine.
So, you just nod and give him a small smile. “Thank you, baby.” Then, changing the subject, you ask, “So, is this a spontaneous visit or did you have something specific you wanted to talk about?”
Dick licks his lips and stares down at the floor, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He opens his mouth as if he is about to say something but then closes it again without uttering a word. Finally, you ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wro–”
“You don’t have to hide things from me. I’m your mother and I know you. I can see by your face that something’s bothering you. So, what is it?”
Glancing around, Dick presses a button on his watch. You peek up at the cameras, knowing that all feed and sound in the room will be temporarily scrambled. Which means Dick wants to discuss something a little more private.
Taking a deep breath, he finally blurts out, “There’s a new Robin.”
You lean back in your chair. “…..I know.”
Dick blinks in surprise. “You…know?”
“I still get the paper and am allowed to watch the news. Besides, I live in a place that is full of people who have been put away or stopped by Batman and Robin. You honestly didn’t think I would have heard about it?” You grin teasingly. But then your face grows more serious as you add, “But I’m glad.”
Dick seems surprised by your response. “Really? Why? I thought after what happened with Jay….”
“Does the thought of another kid running around fighting guys with weapons and superhuman strength scare the shit out of me? Yes. But Bruce needs someone to keep him grounded, and without me or Jay…. I’m sure he could really use someone right now. Especially since you can’t always be around.”
“Mom–”
You hold up your hand. “No, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. You should be off living your own life, stepping out from his shadow, becoming your own person. And I’m so glad that you are. You are doing so much good as Nightwing and I am so incredibly proud of you. But Bruce…. he shouldn’t be alone out there. So, if this kid seems up for the challenge, then I’m glad they found each other.”
Dick still seems slightly stunned but says, “Wow, that’s… I don’t know. I thought you would be more upset about this. You really do still care about Bruce and what happens to him, don’t you?”
You bristle at his words and snap, “What Bruce does or doesn’t do is no longer any of my concern. However, this city needs Batman. So if having a Robin by his side helps him protect those in need, then great.” Dick’s face falls slightly and you sigh. In a slightly softer tone, you ask, “So who is this kid?”
“His name’s Tim Drake and he’s thirteen.”
“Thirteen…. It seems so young,” you say wistfully. “And yet both you and Jason were only twelve when you became Robin.”
Dick chuckles softly, “He didn’t really give us much choice. He figured out who we were and practically blackmailed his way into the tights.” Dick drops the smile as he adds, “He knows who you are too. Both while you were with Bruce and before, as Night Watch.”
“What?” you hiss, leaning in closer to the glass. “How the hell did he figure that out? In fact, how the hell does he even know who Night Watch is? I haven’t gone by that name since before Bruce and I got married!”
Dick shrugs. “The kid’s a genius. It’s what he does. He said he recognized your fighting style and that you have a few tells. He’s a big fan though. Apparently, he talked to some people you looked after back in the day and they told him about you. He seems to know more about you at that time than I do. It’s sort of weird.”
“He won’t…. He won’t tell anyone will he? I get into enough trouble in here. If anyone ever finds out who I was before or after I met Bruce, things will only get a hundred times worse.”
“No, absolutely not,” Dick says. “He would never tell a soul. I’m sure of it. He’s a great kid….. You would love him.”
“Yeah… I’m sure I would have.” You quickly turn your head as you blink away a few tears that had sprung up in your eyes. In the corner of the room, you notice two guards whispering and pointing at the cameras. Taking a deep breath, you turn back to Dick. “Seems they noticed the interference with the surveillance system.”
Dick glances over his shoulder and then quickly presses the button on his watch a second time. Whatever privacy the two of you had is now gone and there are going to be a lot of questions about what happened.
Sighing sadly, you say, “I think you should go. It might be better if you aren’t around at the moment.”
Dick nods before hanging his head. “I wish I could take you with me.”
“I know, baby. I do too.” You press your hand against the glass and Dick does the same on his side. “But it’s just for another twenty years or so.”
“Mom….” His eyes dart across your various wounds. “You can’t survive that long in here if this keeps up.”
“What choice do I have? If I ever want the chance to see you without this divider between us, the chance to hold you again, I have to keep fighting. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
You both knew it wasn’t true, but Dick just nods. “I love you. Please be careful.”
“You be careful. And I love you too.”
The two of you sit there just staring at each other for a long moment. Then Dick hangs up his phone, rises to his feet, and turns to leave, his fingers trailing across the glass until the last possible second.
You manage to hold it together until Dick is gone and the door clicks shut behind him. Then you bury your face in your arms on the table and sob. It is the same thing that happens every time you have to watch your only living child disappear once more.
You absolutely love seeing Dick. The thought of his next visit is the only thing that keeps you going most days. And yet, it shatters your heart every time you have to watch him walk out that door.
There is a silent understanding between the two of you that every visit might be his last. Dick is an amazing fighter, but being a vigilante is incredibly dangerous work. And who knows when the other inmates will finally get the upper hand when attacking you. One of these days, one or both of you might not be seated on the other side of the glass.
Finally managing to pull yourself together, you begin to stand to go back to your cell. However, one of the guards approaches and says, “Stay there. You have another visitor.”
“Anoth–” Alfred was the only person who had ever visited you besides Dick and if he was coming, they would have just come together. Unless…. Is it possible Bruce finally came to see you after four long years?
You sink back into your chair as your eyes lock on the door, waiting with bated breath to see who is about to walk in. It can’t be Bruce. Dick would have said something. But what if he didn’t know? What if Bruce wanted it to be a private affair? What if he finally came to his senses? What if he found a way to get you out? What if–
The door opens and the person who walks in is definitely not Bruce, but a welcome sight nonetheless.
You laugh in disbelief as she sits down and you both pick up your respective phones. With tears in your eyes, you say, “Selina! Hi! Wow, it’s so good to see you.”
But then you notice something off in her smirk. This isn’t the Selina you practically raised. This is the Selina you had been catching more and more glimpses of the past few years before your imprisonment. The one whose eyes always lingered on your ring or your custom clothes or the antiques in the manor. The one who hadn’t bothered showing up to Jason’s funeral despite you personally texting her the information.
This is not the visit from a friend you had expected when she walked in.
Leaning forward in the chair, Selina began running her sharp nails across her throat, toying with the diamond necklace that hung there. Your diamond necklace.
Your eyes snap to her face as she purrs, “Hello, Sissy. I think it’s about time we talked about Bruce…..”
Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @hjgdhghoe, @dazaisleftballsack, @simp027, @animefan3223, @mysticchopshop, @eternalharry, @edgycatx, @lanatheawesome, @yandere-batfamfan, @zsalvatore-mikaelson, @constantshitposter, @lauramb7, @thedumbgirl, @leonielaufeyson, @ultraxavbo, @chrismarium, @joceymoo, @shanksfav, @leyleyinpijamas, @notwonderlandsworld, @redsakura101, @outdated-titty-milk101, @lariclifford, @seoulnights5, @makhaia, @tardisin221bst, @imurdaddypromlems, @dashavau, @roro707-blog, @scrappybear89, @homosexualjohnwayne, @dweeb-central, @mint–yoongs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @happinessricardotapia, @nefariousghostbabe, @mikyapixie, @angelicadiabolus, @hotleaf-juice, @saltedcoffeescotch, @hermosavidagg, @blackrockshooter780, @iveofficiallylostmymarbles, @avengersftspn, @pantasticalcat, @hyper-half-blood, @staynctzen127, @yunho-leeknow, @blue-aconite, @leyleyinpijamas, @y-napotat, @jadynchronicle, @redrydersrequiem, @violet2507, @venomsvl, @time-shardz
#amow winter whumperland 2022#fic#one bad day....#batman#batfam#batfamily#batmom#dick grayson#nightwing#robin#selina kyle#catwoman#dc#dc x reader#mentions of injuries tw
85 notes
·
View notes
Text
One Bad Day.... (Visitors)
Winter Whumperland: Day 2. Unhappy Family Reunion
Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Batmom, Dick Grayson
Summary: Four years into her jail sentence, Dick pays Batmom a visit. However, unlike his usual visits, this time he has something potentially troubling to discuss….
Word Count: 2543
TW: Mentions of Injuries
Note: This is set while Batmom is still at Arkham. It should be read anytime after Part Two.
Series Masterlist
You didn’t want to go see him. Well, you did, oh god how badly you wanted to see him. But you didn’t want him to see you. Not after yesterday’s scuffle with half of the other inmates.
You had held your own until the guards finally decided they had let things go on as long as they could without getting in trouble, but that didn’t mean you had escaped unscathed: Your left side felt like one huge bruise, your shoulder had been dislocated and your arm was still in a sling, your cheekbone had been fractured and you could barely open that eye, your voice was hoarse from screaming and where Bane had managed to get his hands around your throat for almost a minute, and your thigh was still bleeding from the deep gash Harley’s knife had made when she thrust it into you up to the hilt. And that’s not even to mention what the guards did to you after you had been dragged away to your cell afterward. Even sitting caused you pain.
However, all-in-all, they aren’t the worst injuries you have ever received but they are still pretty bad. And they look it. There is no way you can hide all the damage or brush it off as nothing. He will see through that ploy in seconds. But what other choice do you have if you want to see your son?
When you reach the door to the visiting room, you take a deep breath as you stand up straight and mask your expression as much as possible. It is nearly impossible to walk without limping or wincing in pain, but you are determined to do your best to hide it. When the guard opened the door, you plaster on a cheerful grin and walk slowly into the room.
Your visitor is seated at the booth closest to the opposite wall, a fact you are sure the sadistic guards did on purpose. They are probably gathered around the cameras watching and laughing as you struggle to cross the room without crying out in pain. But you won’t give them that satisfaction.
It takes longer than it should, but you make it to your chair without showing much outward sign of discomfort. Though, you can’t help but inhale sharply as you lower yourself into the metal chair.
Slowly reaching over and picking up the phone attached to the wall, you smile through the glass divider and say, “Hey, baby. What a wonderful surprise! I didn’t know you were in town.”
Dick doesn’t respond. He just continues to stare at you, his jaw clenched and knuckles growing white as he grasps the edge of the table in front of him. Yet, you pretend not to notice and continue, “Any exciting reason you’re around? Or is it just to visit me?”
Still, there is nothing but silence from the other side of the glass. Sighing heavily, you say, “Come on, Dick. You didn’t come all this way to not talk to me.”
“You said it was getting better.” His tone is icy and harsh, but at least he is finally speaking.
“No, I said I was handling it.”
“Mom–” He starts to say something but you hold up your hand to cut him off.
“It’s okay. It looks worse than it is.” You try to force another happy smile as you say, “But how are you? How are things in Blüdhaven? Are you seeing anyone special?”
He shakes his head. “No, don’t change the subject. What happened?”
You let the happy facade drop as you slump in your seat. He isn’t going to let this go. “Same thing that always happens. But I can take care of myself.”
Dick leans in closer. “Let me talk to the warden. Something has to be done about this. It can’t keep happening.”
“No. I’m serious, Dick. Don’t say anything….. It just makes it worse.”
Dick smashes his hand against the glass on the other side causing you to jump slightly and catching the attention of a few of the guards in the room. “Mom… please.. I can’t keep seeing you like this. What if they come back for you when you’re hurt? You can’t fight back when you can barely move without flinching in pain! Then what? You just let them kill you?”
You roll your eyes. “Dickie, I’m fine. I’m tougher than I look.”
“Yeah…. Don’t I know it,” he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. “God. I just hate seeing you in here like this and knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop it. We’re supposed to help those who are in trouble and yet, I can’t help my own mom.”
“Oh, Dick…” Tears well up in your eyes as you press your hand against the glass where his is. In the four years since you were thrown in here, never have you wanted to give your son a hug as badly as you did right now. “This isn’t on you. I made my choice that night even though I knew what it probably meant. And I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this too.”
“I would never tell Bruce this, but…. I think you made the right choice.” You blink in surprise. Dick has always been in your corner through the trial and while you have been in jail, but he never once ever made any indication he agreed with you killing the Joker. He stares down at the table as he continues. “He did unspeakable things not only to the citizens of Gotham but also to the people we love. To me… Babs… Jay… He was never going to stop unless someone did something about him. Something final. I may not agree with how you did it, but I’m glad he’s dead.”
You aren’t sure how to process this information. There had never been a doubt in your mind that if Jason knew what you did, he would have cheered and celebrated. But Dick…. There was just something so wrong about hearing him condone a death, regardless of who it was or why they were killed. He always seemed to follow Bruce’s code like gospel since the time Bruce stopped him from killing the man who arranged for his parents’ deaths. It was a line you never imagined him even considering crossing so to hear him support what you did sends a small chill down your spine.
So, you just nod and give him a small smile. “Thank you, baby.” Then, changing the subject, you ask, “So, is this a spontaneous visit or did you have something specific you wanted to talk about?”
Dick licks his lips and stares down at the floor, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He opens his mouth as if he is about to say something but then closes it again without uttering a word. Finally, you ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wro–”
“You don’t have to hide things from me. I’m your mother and I know you. I can see by your face that something’s bothering you. So, what is it?”
Glancing around, Dick presses a button on his watch. You peek up at the cameras, knowing that all feed and sound in the room will be temporarily scrambled. Which means Dick wants to discuss something a little more private.
Taking a deep breath, he finally blurts out, “There’s a new Robin.”
You lean back in your chair. “…..I know.”
Dick blinks in surprise. “You…know?”
“I still get the paper and am allowed to watch the news. Besides, I live in a place that is full of people who have been put away or stopped by Batman and Robin. You honestly didn’t think I would have heard about it?” You grin teasingly. But then your face grows more serious as you add, “But I’m glad.”
Dick seems surprised by your response. “Really? Why? I thought after what happened with Jay….”
“Does the thought of another kid running around fighting guys with weapons and superhuman strength scare the shit out of me? Yes. But Bruce needs someone to keep him grounded, and without me or Jay…. I’m sure he could really use someone right now. Especially since you can’t always be around.”
“Mom–”
You hold up your hand. “No, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. You should be off living your own life, stepping out from his shadow, becoming your own person. And I’m so glad that you are. You are doing so much good as Nightwing and I am so incredibly proud of you. But Bruce…. he shouldn’t be alone out there. So, if this kid seems up for the challenge, then I’m glad they found each other.”
Dick still seems slightly stunned but says, “Wow, that’s… I don’t know. I thought you would be more upset about this. You really do still care about Bruce and what happens to him, don’t you?”
You bristle at his words and snap, “What Bruce does or doesn’t do is no longer any of my concern. However, this city needs Batman. So if having a Robin by his side helps him protect those in need, then great.” Dick’s face falls slightly and you sigh. In a slightly softer tone, you ask, “So who is this kid?”
“His name’s Tim Drake and he’s thirteen.”
“Thirteen…. It seems so young,” you say wistfully. “And yet both you and Jason were only twelve when you became Robin.”
Dick chuckles softly, “He didn’t really give us much choice. He figured out who we were and practically blackmailed his way into the tights.” Dick drops the smile as he adds, “He knows who you are too. Both while you were with Bruce and before, as Night Watch.”
“What?” you hiss, leaning in closer to the glass. “How the hell did he figure that out? In fact, how the hell does he even know who Night Watch is? I haven’t gone by that name since before Bruce and I got married!”
Dick shrugs. “The kid’s a genius. It’s what he does. He said he recognized your fighting style and that you have a few tells. He’s a big fan though. Apparently, he talked to some people you looked after back in the day and they told him about you. He seems to know more about you at that time than I do. It’s sort of weird.”
“He won’t…. He won’t tell anyone will he? I get into enough trouble in here. If anyone ever finds out who I was before or after I met Bruce, things will only get a hundred times worse.”
“No, absolutely not,” Dick says. “He would never tell a soul. I’m sure of it. He’s a great kid….. You would love him.”
“Yeah… I’m sure I would have.” You quickly turn your head as you blink away a few tears that had sprung up in your eyes. In the corner of the room, you notice two guards whispering and pointing at the cameras. Taking a deep breath, you turn back to Dick. “Seems they noticed the interference with the surveillance system.”
Dick glances over his shoulder and then quickly presses the button on his watch a second time. Whatever privacy the two of you had is now gone and there are going to be a lot of questions about what happened.
Sighing sadly, you say, “I think you should go. It might be better if you aren’t around at the moment.”
Dick nods before hanging his head. “I wish I could take you with me.”
“I know, baby. I do too.” You press your hand against the glass and Dick does the same on his side. “But it’s just for another twenty years or so.”
“Mom….” His eyes dart across your various wounds. “You can’t survive that long in here if this keeps up.”
“What choice do I have? If I ever want the chance to see you without this divider between us, the chance to hold you again, I have to keep fighting. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
You both knew it wasn’t true, but Dick just nods. “I love you. Please be careful.”
“You be careful. And I love you too.”
The two of you sit there just staring at each other for a long moment. Then Dick hangs up his phone, rises to his feet, and turns to leave, his fingers trailing across the glass until the last possible second.
You manage to hold it together until Dick is gone and the door clicks shut behind him. Then you bury your face in your arms on the table and sob. It is the same thing that happens every time you have to watch your only living child disappear once more.
You absolutely love seeing Dick. The thought of his next visit is the only thing that keeps you going most days. And yet, it shatters your heart every time you have to watch him walk out that door.
There is a silent understanding between the two of you that every visit might be his last. Dick is an amazing fighter, but being a vigilante is incredibly dangerous work. And who knows when the other inmates will finally get the upper hand when attacking you. One of these days, one or both of you might not be seated on the other side of the glass.
Finally managing to pull yourself together, you begin to stand to go back to your cell. However, one of the guards approaches and says, “Stay there. You have another visitor.”
“Anoth–” Alfred was the only person who had ever visited you besides Dick and if he was coming, they would have just come together. Unless…. Is it possible Bruce finally came to see you after four long years?
You sink back into your chair as your eyes lock on the door, waiting with bated breath to see who is about to walk in. It can’t be Bruce. Dick would have said something. But what if he didn’t know? What if Bruce wanted it to be a private affair? What if he finally came to his senses? What if he found a way to get you out? What if–
The door opens and the person who walks in is definitely not Bruce, but a welcome sight nonetheless.
You laugh in disbelief as she sits down and you both pick up your respective phones. With tears in your eyes, you say, “Selina! Hi! Wow, it’s so good to see you.”
But then you notice something off in her smirk. This isn’t the Selina you practically raised. This is the Selina you had been catching more and more glimpses of the past few years before your imprisonment. The one whose eyes always lingered on your ring or your custom clothes or the antiques in the manor. The one who hadn’t bothered showing up to Jason’s funeral despite you personally texting her the information.
This is not the visit from a friend you had expected when she walked in.
Leaning forward in the chair, Selina began running her sharp nails across her throat, toying with the diamond necklace that hung there. Your diamond necklace.
Your eyes snap to her face as she purrs, “Hello, Sissy. I think it’s about time we talked about Bruce…..”
#amow winter whumperland 2022#fic#one bad day....#batman#batfam#batfamily#batmom#dick grayson#nightwing#robin#selina kyle#catwoman#dc#dc x reader#mentions of injuries tw
124 notes
·
View notes
Text
Onwards to Act 2! First, to the northwest for Lae'zel to have a family reunion!
Lookin' sharp.
First, an encounter on the road! Lady Esther manages to piss off Lae'zel...
Then piss off Tae...
Then, well, Tae went "yeah you know what drow and githyanki are quite violent :)" and killed her.
Listen she had it coming.
Some Party Bantz.
Made it to the temple, had a fun Kobold adventure. Only one actually exploded after using a fire spell!
Met the murderkitties. Reloaded to leave them be because wtf they're just chilling I'm not going to fight them.
Met some large friends. Well, not friends. Tae just respectfully nodding, scurrying over to inspect the device, then scuttling back again.
(I goddamn loved her delivery.)
So turns out this result turns into a fight!
I ended up reloading, asked to play instead, and stuffed the entire crate into Tae's pack. Hurried back to the murderkitties room and (tried to) set it free, then, uh, had to haul ass and jump over a gap to get it to stop trying to murderkitty Tae. Look, the poor thing was entirely justified in being Rather Unhappy!
Lae'zel has stuff to say about githyanki reproducing via egg-hatching...
(Shadowheart in the background: *eyes emoji*)
...and of the, uh. Somewhat violent githyanki upbringing.
More importantly: plot.
Brain just going "DON'T DO IT."
Narrow escape. Lots of approvals.
Shadowheart remains spectacularly unsurprised.
After fighting our way out of the dorms (which genuinely made me feel bad, some of them were just kids!) and into the captain's office (felt less bad about that one), a meeting with the Inquisitor and, well...
She scary. (Tae did actually kneel, but I felt the highlighted response in my heart.)
Curiosity won.
Hey this is concerning!!
Anyway I didn't actually take any caps inside the Astral Realm but oh my goodness it was pretty. Anyway, finally had a face-to-face encounter! Please stop being all 🥺, I know who you are XD;;
Lae'zel is not having a good day.
Back at camp, we have a night-time visitor bearing information.
Did we just get involved in a githyanki civil war?
That's the goddamn spirit bbygirl.
(Astarion agrees!)
Next time - meeting one of Gale's old friends (of a sort).
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Corpses on Ice
Read on AO3
Can't Help Where I Come From (2/2)
Words: 3,537
Summary: Try as he might, Astarion just can't get away from his family. Triel'dra does what she can to help. A restless night at the Last Light Inn, an unwelcome reunion at the Elfsong Tavern (Astarion x Tav, Acts 2 & 3)
<- Chapter 1: Shakes in the Night
It’s just as the last wisp of black smoke dissipates that Karlach thunders in, sizzling mad, with nothing but her smallclothes and a battleaxe raised over her head.
“Wha’s happening? Where are they?” She’s still blinking sleep from her wild eyes as she takes in the Elfsong’s overturned furniture and splatters of blood, ready to cleave whatever threat’s roused her in two.
“They’re gone, Karlach,” Shadowheart yawns. The cleric is spent, woken abruptly after a long day of searching for Jaheira’s friend, hunting for clown chunks, and fighting (doppelgangers, redcaps… crabs. So many crabs). They’re all exhausted, the party that had ventured away from the inn’s magic all but run dry when the fight had begun. “Astarion’s siblings just paid us a visit.”
“Oh,” the tiefling relaxes, a visible cloud of steam sighing off her vented shoulders as she lowers her weapon, seeming at once concerned for a friend and disappointed to have missed a fight as she looks Astarion over from across the room. “You ok, Fangs?”
He isn’t. Or, at least, he doesn’t seem to be, not from where Triel’dra is standing. He hums something affirmative, distracted, but her surface-elf’s brow is creased, mouth tight as he watches a dim glow sputter at her fingertips where the last dregs of her magic fail to close the ragged punctures torn into her shoulder. That seems to be when Karlach notices them, too.
“Oh, fuck, Soldier!”
“I am fine. It is nothing a rest won’t fix.” The carpets are another story. She hopes Gale has some means to magic all this blood away, or the proprietors of the Elfsong are going to be very unhappy.
Triel abandons her failing reserves of magic in favour of clamping down on the injury with her good hand. It’s not the injury— she’d barely felt it, and Astarion seems unimpaired, despite the ring that protects her. It’s the wounds themselves. They won’t stop bleeding, and her arm is numb from the shoulder down. They’re familiar feelings, but… more so. The same properties, weaponized rather than carefully mitigated.
Jaheira is stretching out stiff muscles, returning her attention to the supplies she’d overturned in her haste to grab her scimitars and leap into the fray. Her own natural magic was spent as well, though her blades were more than enough to fend off the intruding vampire spawn.
“Shit, you sure, Soldier?” Karlach’s molten eyes dart between the depleted spellcasters as she inventories their assets. “Hells, I’ll wake up the big guy, gimme a sec, yeah?”
If the wood-elf hasn’t already woken, he’s dreaming, and if he’s dreaming he’s visiting with Thaniel and Oliver.
“It’s fine, Karlach, let Halsin rest. A potion will take care of this; I have plenty.” She smiles at her friend, grateful, trying to appreciate the concern for what it is. Her usual course of action would be to sleep off anything less than life-threatening, but…. As Triel looks around the room, it’s all tired faces and worry over the blood seeping from between her fingers. She’s learning. Taking care of herself isn’t selfish; it’s for them.
She would expect Astarion to be pleased with her concession, but when she looks up to search his eyes they’re unreadable. He’s smiling, his voice too high and bright as he ever so carefully sets a hand on her waist and shepherds her towards the washtub in the corner.
It’s not just her arm, now. Her head’s gone foggy.
He’s making a joke, the performative kind he doesn’t mean. She can tell from the cadence even if the Common is slipping by her, something lascivious between him and Shadowheart as she hands him a corked bottle, something about clothes and privacy.
Oh. Yes, privacy.
The tub is empty, but there’s a wooden folding screen, a stool, a basin of fresh water. Somewhere they can be away from prying eyes, and she can’t stop bleeding. She’d offered him a feeding that evening, and he hadn’t gotten to it yet when his siblings had arrived.
“What a mess,” Astarion says, his smile a bit too tight, voice clipped, as he sits her on the stool. “Well, at least you’ve met my family, now.” He pulls the folding screen across the floor to hide them from the others. She can hear movement down the hall, creaking floorboards and muffled voices. She can just make out Karlach trying to get everyone up to speed.
Yeah, it’s over, but uh, shit, we’ve had company.
“May I?” Astarion draws back her hazy focus, looking at her meaningfully and she nods, go ahead. He takes careful hold of the fabric of her shirt and sets to gingerly peeling the blood-soaked fabric from her skin.
This should hurt. It just feels cold, like the first time Astarion had fed on her.
Her shirt falls to the ground with a damp thud.
“I can fix that,” he assures her, that too-bright edge still in his voice. “Would you believe I’m remarkably good at getting out bloodstains? That it looks like you’ve been chewed on by a rabid animal will take a bit more work, but nothing a little darning won’t solve.”
It’s not the first time Astarion’s deft fingers have helped her out of her clothes. This is different. The whole situation is different, but still a part of her worries that he minds, searches for any hint of discomfort. If he cares that her top is off he makes no sign of it, singularly focused on the two tears still seeping blood down her arm.
Perhaps it’s just whatever it is in a vampire’s bite that makes her go numb and untethered, but Triel’dra just feels… comfortable. The cold is spreading, from a leaded pins-and-needles feeling to a deeper chill, the feverish kind left by potent necromancy. It should be unnerving; she feels wrong, but Astarion has her, and so everything is alright. She lets her head fall back against the wall and waits, arm proffered, for him to drink his fill.
He’s been talking all the while, she realises as her mind drifts, like slipping into a sickly reverie. He’s switched to Elvish for her, easier to follow than Common, at least slightly more private as long as neither Halsin or Shadowheart is eavesdropping.
“—and honestly, darling, for all I know he just had a sewer rat in his mouth, let alone all these torn threads shoved in. You’re mortal, you have to worry about this sort of thing if you can’t just burn it all away with holy whatever—”
He’s not feeding yet.
Astarion has taken off his jacket and set it, folded neatly, to one side. He rolls up his sleeves— all splattered with her blood, she notes with a pang, that looks like nice fabric and she can just hear her brother lamenting it— Gods, she misses Rhyl’fein, she misses all of them—
Astarion kneels beside the stool, and Triel’dra nudges her shoulder at him, prompting. Careful hands take the injured limb, but it’s not the press of his lips she feels but the cool damp of a wet cloth.
Oh.
“You are not hungry?”
Astarion raises his eyebrows as he wrings out the bloodied cloth in the basin. “Loathed as I am to turn you down, my sweet, I think you’ve had enough for one night.”
She tries to smile at him. Her teeth are chattering. “I am already going to be woozy in the morning. You might as well.”
“Darling, if I take any more you won’t get up in the morning.”
That crease is back between his eyebrows as he works at her wounds, carefully fishing bits of her sleeve from the torn flesh. Astarion is troubled. Of course he is.
“I know they are not your siblings as mine are, and I am not overfond of people who steal into camp at night to take you away.” A flicker of red eyes, a muscle works in his jaw. “But still… They are also victims of Cazador’s. if you complete this ritual, they will all die.”
She doesn’t know them, can’t pretend to understand any of his life before the nautiloid. An uneasy feeling stirs in her chest whenever he mentions this rite, at the wicked gleam it puts into his eyes. She’s made her feelings known. It isn’t her place to interfere, and she had kept quiet as he misled the other doomed spawn, but it seems worthy of a deeper discussion, now.
His mouth twitches, a momentary grimace of displeasure, but Astarion sighs. It seems he was anticipating this, and not looking forward to it.
“Trust me, darling. What they have isn’t living, and Cazador will never free them, whatever he says. I’m the only one with a chance, and I mean to take it.” He wrings the cloth out again. “And besides, there’s only six of them…. Hardly a drop in the bloodbath of our body count—” a humourless little smirk tugs at his lips, close to a snarl. “And I have to kill Leon now anyway, so really it’s only five.”
“Which one is Leon?”
Astarion looks up from his work, from so carefully tending her wounds: two semicircles of torn flesh between her clavicle and shoulder, the flow of blood from the two deepest punctures finally beginning to ebb. “The one who bit you.”
Ah. The one with the long dark hair. He’d lunged for her neck, his eyes black and vacant, and though she’d managed to twist away in time to save her throat, he’d latched on to her so tightly even his blunt human teeth had broken skin. She hadn’t been able to shake him free, not until Astarion had come at him with a sword in each hand and he’d been forced to retreat. Or evaporate. Been summoned? However it was they had fled back to Cazador.
“I don’t relish the thought that one of my siblings is still out there with a taste for you. If he thinks he can come back for seconds— shit! Shit, sorry, darling,” Astarion’s brow is furrowed, fury seeping into his voice, but it vanishes abruptly when he finally gets a hold on a deeply embedded scrap of her shirt and she winces as he lifts it free. He dabs gently at the last of the blood seeping from the now clear wound, an apology. Triel is so tired, and she leans into the care of his touch. His hands are careful but his jaw is tight. “He won’t have had blood like yours before, and who knows if he’ll be able to control himself. They are only vampire spawn.”
She frowns at that, fights heavy eyelids to meet his ruby gaze. “I happen to…” Triel’dra takes a breath, the word dies on her lips. She’s dizzy. Gently, Triel. Slowly. He needs to take things slowly. “I happen to care very deeply for a vampire spawn, thank you very much.” His face is unreadable, her heart does a nervous flip. “Astarion, we could help them—”
“Why?” he snaps, with an audible click of sharp teeth. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever had a kind thing to say to me.”
She startles at how quickly the response comes. A thought, a rumination, fully formed, sitting and stewing and long desperate to leap free.
Triel was born in The Year of Shadows; she is one hundred and thirty-four.
Two hundred years. Her entire lifetime and then some, suffering. She feels her stomach churn whenever she thinks of it, imagining every second of her life in torment, drawing on the things he's told her and the depths of Menzoberranzan cruelty passed down in stories by her elders. Imagining Astarion, alone and afraid, battered and used, his mind and body someone else’s plaything.
Triel’dra swallows the lump in her throat. They’re his tears, his pain. She has no right to them.
The rage in Astarion’s eyes fades as quickly as it came. He blinks it away, his expression softening as he looks down at her, then seems to remember what he was doing. “You’re the only one,” he admits, softly, before taking the potion bottle and uncorking it with his teeth, presses it into her good hand, encourages it to her lips. “Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re— drink up, Moonflower, there you are— you’re… you.” He gestures helplessly and looks at her with a familiar kind of desperation as words fail him, not quite managing to convey whatever it is in his mind. He takes another breath, just to steady himself. “No one is like that,” he insists.
Blessed Elistraee, how she wants to take him home with her. To take his hand and introduce him to her people, to her family. Her parents, who she’s sure would welcome him as one of their own once they know he’s safe, once they know what this lost child of the Seldarine has endured. Ardulune who is kinder and gentler than she could ever be will love him at once. Her little nieces, who will love his wit and flair for troublemaking…. her brothers, who will come around in time, she’s sure.
She won’t bring it up again. It’s not what he wants. He wants the surface, this city, the sun— but her heart aches to bring him to her enclave where he would be safe. “I am not special, Astarion,” she says instead, laying her head on his shoulder. “There are so many good people in the world. Look how many we’ve brought with us. They all care for you.” She looks towards the folding screen, to the rest of the suite hidden beyond it. “I am sorry you have been alone for so long. I know it does not undo the past, but we are all here for you, now. One way or another, however things end….” She cranes her neck to look up as best she can resting against him like this. “If there is still a world when this is through, you will have a home in it. I swear to you.”
Astarion is quiet for a worrying moment. His jaw works at words that don’t come, his throat bobs. Finally he shakes his head, and gently extricates himself from her embrace. She’s only dimly aware of the pathetic little sound she makes in complaint. “Right, then, darling. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Triel looks down at herself. The blood has been cleaned away, the wounds closed and fading. They’ll be little more than a memory by daybreak.
“Can’t put you back in that.” He’s folding his jacket over his arm, businesslike, as he gracefully slips past the wooden partition. “Which do you want?”
He’s gone by the time she realises what he’s asking.
“The grey one—?”
“Got it.” She hears in reply from the other side. He knows where her pack is, where she keeps things, and returns a moment later with a clean shirt.
She pulls it on. The linen is warm against her skin, but does nothing for the chill inside. She’s dizzy as she stands, but finds a solid body ready when she instinctively reaches out. Astarion is at her side, steady. He keeps his arm around her long after she needs it.
There’s a quiet cheer from her companions at the other side of the room when she emerges, and she smiles at them. Jaheira nods at her from her perch, cross legged on her bed. Shadowheart is already fast asleep.
“Ah, Darling?” Astarion stops her when she pulls away towards her own bunk. “Stay with me tonight, won’t you?”
She nods, all too happy to be led to his corner of the room.
They haven’t shared a bed since making their camp in this inn. The tent was cozy, private. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he was feeding on her at night, that they spent their rest curled up together, but it was another thing to do out in the open for the rest of the party to see.
There’ll be wolf whistles and wry jokes in the morning.
He doesn’t want to be alone.
“In case they come back?” She asks, and Astarion nods, his grip on her waist a bit tighter.
“Yes, my sweet. Precisely.”
Astarion sits her on the edge of his bed, draping a pile of sheets over her shoulders as he goes about gathering his weapons from where they’re abandoned across the floor, stops before retrieving the Phalar Aluve for her.
“This thing isn’t going to…. Oh, I don’t know, smite me if I pick it up, is it?”
She shakes her head fondly and he slides it across the floor with a careful tap of his foot until it’s within a comfortable distance. She knows how he feels about the gods, probably doesn’t want to hear again how Elistraee would love him, drow or not.
“Asta?”
“Hm?” He’s arranged his armaments to his satisfaction and has moved to his clothing. He doesn’t look up as he rifles through his pack for a shirt not covered in blood.
Shadowheart is asleep, as is Jaheira, seemingly, though it’s difficult to tell with the spymaster. She keeps her voice low just the same.
“He is wrong about you, you know. Leon.”
Astarion freezes, impossibly still, as only one who doesn’t need to breathe can be. Through the feverish haze Triel is afraid she’s made a mistake, but he needs to hear it. She can’t bear to let him think she agreed.
“Petras complained about eating dogs; you were given rats.” Nothing but a flicker of glowing red eyes. “He starved you, kept your siblings better fed.”
Finally a movement, his shoulders heaving as he draws in a breath to sigh. “Yes, darling, thank you for reminding me. We’ve established that I was Cazador’s favourite chew toy.”
Triel shakes her head. “He kept you weaker. You were harder to control.”
“That—” he bites off whatever he was about to say with an audible snap of his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I—” he turns to her fully, and the agony in his eyes makes her heart drop into the icy pit of her stomach.
“Don’t make me out to be something I’m not. I disobeyed Cazador once,” he says, voice trembling until it breaks and comes out as less than a whisper, the shape of a word. “Once.”
Once, Triel would bet her life, was more than any of the others. More, from her understanding, than should have been possible.
She hadn’t meant to hurt him like this. She’d been trying to bolster his resolve, not dredge up the things that haunted him at night. “I am sorry,” she says, shrugging the blankets off her shoulders, and trying to get back to wobbly feet to slink back to her own bed.
Astarion instead forgets his search for a new shirt and simply tosses the bloodied one aside, stopping her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Stay.”
It’s a question, not an order, a fragile plea.
“Always, if you will have me.”
She likes the beds at the Elfsong, likes the walls she can curl up against to feel secure and hidden as she rests. She waits for him to get in first, snug against the bed’s sides, and she slips beneath the sheets after, placing herself between Astarion and anything that may come for him in the night.
Triel’dra feels herself sinking the moment she lays down, her eyelids heavy. She could fight like this, if she had to, she’s certain. She tries to stand again just to prove she can, but instead lets out a muffled groan in complaint as Astarion bundles her in a blanket to protect her from the chill of his body, and pulls her into his arms.
No! She wants to say something, but all she can manage is a petulant wiggle. She can’t get up like this, not quickly.
Oh, but it’s warm. It’s warm, and soft, and he’s holding her.
Triel is so cold, and so tired. This is a losing battle and she’s already drifting. She can’t open her eyes, can’t speak, but she can pray as she slips away, as she feels him settle behind her.
Lady of dreams, watch over us as I sleep.
Dark Maiden, protect him from those who would enslave him again.
She’s long past the point of no return when he whispers against her ear, so deep she can’t pull herself back, but just awake enough to hear him.
“I’m not selling my soul for calamari and sunshine. I’m doing this for you too, you know. To make sure we’re both safe.”
She won’t remember this in the morning, and she can’t answer. Can’t tell him that she wants him safe, but more than that she wants him himself. That she’ll protect him to her dying breath, just as he is.
That she loves him, just as he is.
“Forever,” he says against the shell of her ear. His breath hitches, again, but still his voice is set with grim determination. “For good.”
Triel’dra can’t remember her dreams that night, but she wakes with an ache she can’t explain in her heart and tears staining her pillow.
#astarion x drow tav#astarion x tav#tavstarion#bg3 tav#ranger tav#AG Writes things#Triel'dra Helvimtor#Triel tav#Astar'dra#BG3 Act 3#border from saradika#Astarion makes Bad Life Choices but like for Love this time#Titles from Amanda Palmer’s “runs in the family”#Astarion's siblings#Astarion's family drama#Astarion has Scary Dog priviledge#It's Triel. Triel is the scary dog#I'm assuming the bloodsapped status ailment would make you feel like ABSOLUTE GARBAGE#like her hitpoint max is down mechanically
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
I was journaling to get my feelings out when I realized that a lot of the things that have been making me chronically unhappy in my relationship with my husband over the past year or so have all been because of polyamory.
I'm constantly comparing myself to his girlfriend, feeling like I don't measure up and that I'm not good enough. I can't seem to stop.
It's bled heavily into what was our already not the greatest sex life because of hearing her (an issue that comes up again and again) and her...enthusiasm, and also his enthusiasm.
He says we're different and that it isn't a matter of preference over how she is, or any of his partners have been in the past, and how I am. It doesn't feel that way, though.
He wants to have an egalitarian polyamorous relationship with his girlfriend and me, other than in the legal aspects that he and I have shared since well before our relationship became polyamorous (like owning a home together, being married, that sort of stuff).
The egalitarian polyamorous relationship doesn't translate into reality very well, though. She's very clingy and needy, and he won't tell her to back off.
She gets Tuesday and Friday nights with him, after he gets off work. They spend the evening and then night together. I don't bother them, period, and wouldn't unless it was an actual emergency.
He's set aside Wednesday after he gets off work and night for me, which is one day a week compared to her two. I've been willing to accept that, even though it does feel unfair.
She knows it's my night, but she still calls during what's supposed to be our time together. Not because of an emergency or something coming up -- just to chat.
It happens every Wednesday without fail.
What also happens every Wednesday night, without fail, is that he doesn't just tell her he's spending time with me and that he'll talk to her later. They'll chat. Sometimes they'll chat for over half an hour, which he doesn't see a problem with.
Really, he dismisses all of the things she does or downplays them because he's still blinded by what I've heard referred to as "new relationship energy" (NRE) -- that phase where things with someone are new or relatively new, and you see everything relating to them and your relationship through rose colored glasses.
I've heard it usually wears off after about 3 years, and they've been together for 2.
He and I have been together for almost 17.
My "martyr complex" has also been an ongoing problem.
I've spent the past 2 years now sacrificing my own happiness because I want my husband and his girlfriend to be happy, and sometimes those things are mutually exclusive, especially when it comes to his girlfriend.
I did tell my husband, though, in very clear terms that I no longer consider her a friend and have no positive feelings toward her. My civility is fully and entirely for his benefit and because I love him.
My last straw was an unprovoked hateful Facebook comment she made on one of my posts about a month ago. The post was absolutely unrelated to her in any way, and it couldn't be construed as such, so she literally just made the comment to be mean.
I was forced to apologize for something in January that she was partially to blame for as well, but she was not forced to apologize for her comment that was entirely her fault.
The rose colored glasses strike again.
She's the one who's on his mind, too -- the person he tells good morning and good night every single day without fail. He drives a lot for work, and she's the one he talks to on his long drives now.
His high school reunion is later this year. It's in the state next to where my family lives, and we've talked for years now about me attending it with him and him meeting my nieces for the first time. My eldest niece is 13, and he hasn't met her yet.
He brought his reunion up the other night, only his plans have changed. He now wants to go with his girlfriend and for them to attend the reunion together and to meet some of her friends and family in another neighboring state.
I asked about our previous plans, and he acted like that was a conversation we'd never had, even though we'd repeatedly had it.
It was honestly rather heartbreaking to be replaced like that.
None of these problems would exist in a monogamous relationship.
I did discuss my feelings with him as calmly as I could, just to let him know where I was in my head, and we agreed that I'd talk about it with my counselor, figure out how I want to proceed.
He said he'd support me either way, that I do deserve to be happy, too, and shouldn't stay in a relationship that is just going to make me unhappy.
He would like for us to work things out ideally, but he understands that might not be possible, and he wants us to stay on good terms instead of either one of us developing animosity and resentment toward the other.
I'm grateful for that at least.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fic Finder
~*~
1. sorryi send a fic find request on the other blog!!!! please ignore that one!!! i am looking for a fic that wwx was never taken by jfm! he grows up on the street and ends up adopting many street children!! i think is a no war au!!! lwj meets wwx and the kids in a inn on a very rainy day!!! a yuan is one of the toddles and there are twins that don’t speak because of trauma. i think it was also a case fic because people went missing if they get inside a forest!!! thank you very much sorry for the wrong ask @yourefinallysafefromshialabeouf
FOUND? ❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, No Sunshot Campaign AU, Kid Fic, dadxian, Strangers to Lovers, Found Family, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Mojo's bookmark)
~*~
2. Hello! Im looking for a fic where JYL called WWX and invited him to the engagement party i think. In the second call LWJ answered it and told that WWX was bathing their som. She didn’t know WWX was married much less hv a son! Can u help me find it?? Oh and I remember the Jiang parents were alive
FOUND! Me and my husband (we are doing better) by like_a_bird_that_flew (G, 5K, WangXian, Modern AU, JYL POV, Family Feels, Coming out, Light angst, Relationship Reveal, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship, Toddler A-Yuan)
SIMILAR! should i fly to los angeles (find my asshole brother) by belovedmuerto (T, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, JC POV, Reunion fic of sorts, Southern California, Relationship Reveal, Established Relationship, Toddler A-Yuan) (If you liked the above fic, you might like this one too ^^ ~ Mod C)
MORE SIMILAR RECS -
Other works by like_a_bird_that_flew fit this theme, esp “Unexpected invites.” See also h0peless-oblivion, which has some similar fics. “A Sequence of Coming Outs,” by kippalittlefox, “Found Family” by fyredancer & “Love Me Just A Little” by mostlynonsense (travelingpsycho) might also be good for fans of “Me and my husband” & “should i fly to los angeles”
~*~
3. I was hoping you could help me find a time travel fic. I don't remember much but it was LWJ wanting to marry WWX but he refuses. I think it's bc he doesn't want to marry before JC. Thank you for your help
FOUND? Come Back to Me by s6115 (M, 8k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, implied soulmates)
~*~
4. Hi! Thank you for all your hard work! I'm looking for a fic where wwx runs away (i think that he ran bc he took on JC's money debt but im not sure) and lwj finds him after accidentally walking into his restaurant. I remember a scene where sl comes into the restaurant and over a meal tells wwx about how hes looking for xxc and wanting to apologize to him and then sometime later xxc comes to the restaurant and that message gets passed on. theres also yummeng trio reunite and tears and soup! TY!!!
FOUND? This one sounds like 不晚 | a lovely light by seagaze (T, 62k, wangxian, modern, midnight diner au, slice of life, angst, fluff, happy ending)
~*~
5. Hello mods! I was hoping you all could help me find a fic. It was definitely foxxian. I think it was an arranged marriage, but WWX marries into the Lan clan and is unhappy with it so he basically stays in his fox form all the time and screams constantly. That’s all I’ve got 🥲 I haven’t been able to find it myself so I turn to you 🙇♂️
FOUND? 💖 All According to Plan by cerbykerby (M, 2k, wangxian, fluff & humor, arranged marriage, fox WWX, dragon LWJ)
~*~
6. Heyyy I've been looking for a fic where wwx was found by lwj after golden core transfer and was able to stop wwx from falling into the burial mounds but lwj nowknows about the coreless condition of wwx but jc so something happens which leads to wwx and jc to fight in the woods and jc lashes out with zidian and hits wwx on the chest and crashes on the tree and goes unconscious(oh! and hiz heart stops) lwj finds him and gove him spiritual energy. Thank you
FOUND! these colours fade for you only by @wei--wuxian (doodlebutt) (T, 36k, wangxian, fix-it, fluff & angst, happy ending, WWX gets a new core, hurt/comfort, slow burn, pining, canon-typical violence & gore)
~*~
7. hi!! i’m looking for the fic where mo xuanyu drops baby ayuan at wangxian’s doorsteps. I think he was a addict and also lwj and wwx were living together but not dating in the beginning. thanks!! <3
FOUND! so take my hand (take my whole life too) by cicer (E, 92k, WangXian, Modern AU, Idiots in love, Accidental baby acquisition, Mention of Drug abuse, Mention of minor Character Death)
~*~
8. Good evening, Mods! I was just wondering if there were any fics you know of that involve Wangxian hiding their pregnancy from LQR (specifically LQR but not from anyone else), who finds out only after the baby is born and is hurt to realize that they didn't trust him with their growing family? I feel like I've read something similar before but for the life of me, I can't seem to find it. @alovelyocean
~*~
9. Dear wangxianficfinder. I am in need of your help with a fic. I'm trying to find a specific post-canon fanfic where in the story itself and the summary, when Wei Wuxian asks if LWJ wants him to come to Gusu, LWJ instead says take me with you. Could you all please help me find it. I tried the tag and couldn't find it. @kaitou-cure-prism12
FOUND! Out of the darkness, into the day by ilip13 (E, 39k, wangxian, post-canon, getting together, hurt/comfort, slow burn, sharing a bed, intimacy, kissing, healing, tenderness, first time, smut)
~*~
10. Do you know the fic where A) wwx time travels (? I think?) (and loses his memory) and lands in wen ruohans garden? B) And another one where wwx is the 3 young master wen? Thank you :D
10A)
FOUND? Grave of a Living God by Gotcocomilk (T, 35k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Fix-It, Angst with a happy ending)
10B)
FOUND? The Third Young Master of the Qishan Wen by KouriArashi (T, 138k, WangXian, Canon Divergence,Hurt/comfort, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending)
~*~
11. Er, what’s the time travel fic where Wei Wuxian starts avoiding Lan Wangji because he can’t stand to be around someone so close but not actually his husband? It’s from Jiang Cheng’s POV, and it ends with Lan Wangji barging into their room, tripping Wei Wuxian into his lap, and after some intense eye contact, Wei Wuxian declares their going to marry. (Turns out, Lan Wangji came back too. In the authors note, Wei Wuxian is saying they need a wedding date or premarital sex is going to happen.)
FOUND! rerun from the outside by Eicas (T, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Crack, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, JC POV)
~*~
12. hello can i ask for help i have been trying to find this for weeks now. its a wangxian fic about wj keeps visiting the burial, slowly replacing his money in like a vault with rocks. and once he got enough he suddenly vanish. pov with xc how the pet vanished nie hui sneaked them away. one day xc, qiren and elders saw wj with wx yiling selling wx inventions. also kids where doing wj hair and it was like a rule in lan to not be vain(?) also in end xc asked for bunny as conpensate and the end thx
FOUND? Might this one be Unpack Your Heart by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 22k, wangxian, 1st in series, canon divergenec, romance, everyone lives au, LWJ stays at Burial Mounds, not lan elder friendly)
~*~
13. hi, do you know about a fic where lan qiren decided to act as a good father figure for the two jades and gives advice to the disciples, i lost the fic, and its killing me
~*~
14. Houhoi! I love what you all are doing for us unfortunate souls who lost our ficlists! I'm looking for a fic where wwx was is an actor and helped mianmian get away from a party after she was drugged. Everybody was oissed at him bc they thought he drugged her. He starts working at lwj law firm to get ready for a new roll and tjey get together. Thank you in advance. @follyfallenflapdragon
FOUND? Make It Count by wearing_tearing (E, 46k, WangXian, Modern AU, Actor WWX, Lawyer LWJ, Secretary WWX, Light angst, Date Rape Drugs/Roofies, Attempted sexual assault, Reconciliation)
~*~
15. Hello mods! Wonderfull job you guys are doing😁. This might be for both fic finder and i am in the mood for lists. I just read the story Book Cover (Mojo's Post) that was suggested by wangxianficrecs and it Made me remember this one fic. Its a wangxian fic after the time skip during the events at mo manor, WY gets ressurected as a women. The thing Is that this women Is very plain and a i think overweight??? and everybody else in her family Is really pretty. Anyway i just remember this scene in which WY sees LWJ in the street AND then runs to hide behind him because of a dog and then they go WY bodies family and LWJ says he Is going to marry her AND takes WY to CR with him. Please i Will really like to find this story and see if any of you knows any stories un which WY comes back as a plain girl. Thank you so much! @animlvr04
FOUND! Beauty and the Boot by PTchan (T, 44k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX is summoned by a girl, Genderbending, Romantic Comedy, Crack-ish)
~*~
16. Hi, hope y'all are doing great!
For the next fic finder, I'm afraid it's super vague but it's all I remember since it's been so long since I read it.
WangXian might've been background, part or all of it was possibly from LQR's pov, and NMJ was courting LXC with sweets and he was getting a little chubby and I remember LQR being like they needed to hurry up and get married. WangXian were there, but I can't remember exactly what they were up to.
FOUND! sentimental education by everythingispoetry (G, 5k, cloud recesses study arc, everyone lives au, fluff, humor, matchmaking, crack)
~*~
17. Hi! Hope mods are doing great! ^.^ I have a weird request, because I need to find a fic, but also ask for others with a similar theme (nice, but will make you cry). It was a modern au, and kind of in the suburbs. I think the Lans are new, and lwj meets troublemaker wwx, but doesn't know how to get close. There's a fire in the Jin house, everyone except jgy and, I think jzx die and blame wwx. I also remember lwj and wq go to uni together, and they usually meet at the library. Pls help me.
~*~
18. Hi! I’m trying to look for a fic where Lan Zhan was planning a proposal but he became a bit distant toward Wei Ying because he was scared of him finding out. Meanwhile, Wei Ying is worried out of his mind because he thinks Lan Zhan is breaking up with him.
FOUND? Don't Leave Me by TrippinOnSkies (E, 19k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Angst with a happy ending, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Marriage Proposal)
SIMILAR! the right to choose by wqngji (G, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Misunderstandings, Light Angst, Happy ending, Fluff, attempt at humor, Established Relationship, Crack treated seriously)
~*~
19. Hello all, i hope everyone is doing fine. I am so happy we’re all still here 💚💚💚 i don’t know what i’d do without y’all. So i am looking for a fic. Although I’ve never read it 🤦🤦 i know it’s a fix it fic where jin zixuan kinda abdicates to move into lotus pier with his wife. He talks to meng yao and he’s like you are a much better leader than i’ll ever be brother. Meng yao is super touched and actually stops all his evil doing. And they all live happily ever after. I THINK. Since i never read this, it might actually be like just something i saw posted on tumblr and not an actual fic 🤷🤷 i hope it is tho. Much love 💚💚💚
FOUND? could be scorpion, before the frog by Stratisphyre (T, 59k, LXC & JGY & NMJ, JGY & WWX, JZX & JGY, JYL/JZX, wangxian, Dragons, Found Family, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, Parental Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, sometimes a redemption arc is just dragons and kids and found families, allusions to noncon because of JGS, derogatory references to sex work, suicidal ideation and attempt) but I think it only partially fits?
~*~
20. I think this is an older fic as I haven't been able to find it anywhere! Part of that is my fault because I cannot remember what kind of creature wwx was in this fic! All I remember is that he was trying to have a child and ended up finding lwj who remembered him but wwx doesn't have any memories or has very few?
FOUND! Baby, Take a Chance on Me by Anonymous? (E, 28k, WIP, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mpreg, Reincarnation, Happy ending, Incubus/Succubus AU, Identity Porn, Explicit Sex)
~*~
97 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Month of Whump (@amonthofwhump ) - Day 2: Home alone
Missed holiday | Unhappy family reunion | Comic relief character | Comfort: Home for Christmas
中秋节快乐 zhong qiu jie kuai le
Happy Mid-Autumn festival.
Families reunite or think about each other from afar while watcing the moon on this day. Kyle has personally never celebrated it, but since Minharh started living with a Arkala'ana-Chinese family, Minharh has felt the significance of the day.
Five years ago, Minharh (Sa'a Kindall) was caught in a fire and nearly died. The circumstances meant he had to live as someone else, pretending he had actually died.
This also meant abandoning Kyle. And living as though he were truly dead in Kyle's life.
Holidays come, and Minharh can only think about his family. The only one he has.
The one he left behind.
--
This isn't what Minharh had expected would happen this Zhongqiu Jie.
This isn't what Kyle was expecting either.
#amow winter whumperland 2022#missed holiday#unhappy family reunion#kyle kindall#kyle's father#minharh la'e#hurt comfort#emotional whump#angst#whump art#kindall k series#kk2
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Home For Snoggletog
Winter Whumperland 2022 Day 2!
Summary: Written for Whumperland 2022 Day 2. Set just after Httyd 2. Valka had several reasons to come back to Berk with Hiccup, but returning is also a reminder of how much she’s missed.
Warning: /
Rating: General
Characters: Valka, Hiccup
Pairing: /
Words: 1 307
Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon
Prompt: Missed Holiday, Unhappy Family Reunion - Comfort: Home For the Holidays
Whumpee: Valka
Author’s Notes: Saw this prompt and immediately thought of Valka, so this is the fic that I wrote.
#winter whumperland 2022#day 2#httyd fics#httyd movies#httyd 2#how to train your dragon 2#valka#valka whump#hiccup haddock#the haddocks#my fanfics#home for snoggletog
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Winter Whumperland #2
Bat Family - #2 - Unhappy Family Reunion
*
The soft music playing from the speakers was the only noise in the room, echoing off the walls and occasionally joined by the pop of wood in the fire. Snow fell steadily outside the windows. The fire cast dancing shadows across the floor and warmed the room.
It should’ve been peaceful. It shouldn’t have been so painful.
“Drinks,” Alfred said, coming into the room and setting a large tray on the coffee table. Mugs of steaming hot chocolate waited on it, perfect swirls of whipped cream topping each.
“Thanks, Alfred,” Babs said, taking one. She made no moves to drink it, but took comfort in the heat between her palms.
“This is bullshit,” Jason muttered, standing up. “Alfred, grab my jacket. I’m leaving.”
“Jason,” Tim said, distress creeping into his voice. “We haven’t even exchanged gifts yet. And Alfred worked all day on Christmas dinner. Don’t leave yet.”
“Let him go,” Damian said from the arm of the couch he was curled up against, his back to the majority of the room.
“Bruce,” Tim said, looking to him for help.
Bruce said nothing, standing by the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze never left the flickering flames.
“Jason, at least stay for dinner,” Tim tried again.
“Why? So we can sit here in awkward silence and pretend everything is fine? So we can all just sit here and pretend no one is missing?” Jason demanded. Tim winced.
Babs tightened her grip on the mug. “You’re not the only one who hates that he’s not here, Jason.”
“Well someone should be keeping an eye on him,” Jason said, clenching his fists. “Instead we’re all sitting here pretending everything is the same.”
“He didn’t want to come,” Damian said sharply.
“That doesn’t mean he should be alone!” Jason snapped.
Babs set her mug down with more force than she’d intended, some of the hot chocolate sloshing over the side of the mug. Alfred calmly lifted the mug onto a coaster and wiped up the mess.
“Don’t,” Babs said to Jason. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like we abandoned him. We’ve been keeping an eye on him this whole time. He was shot in the head, Jason. None of us get to force him to be around people he can’t remember and call that normal, either.”
“He doesn’t want to be around us anymore,” Damian said stiffly. “His loss.”
“He doesn’t remember us, Master Damian,” Alfred said, his voice firm but gentle. “Master Richard loved this family more than anything. But that bullet stole more than his health from him.”
“Look at us, Bruce,” Jason demanded.
Bruce didn’t turn. He kept his back to them, the fire’s shadows shifting across his face.
“Dick gets shot in the head and you act like you’re the victim,” Jason said with a humorless laugh. “Fucking typical. He’s not your parents, Bruce.”
“Jason!” Tim said, shooting him a look.
Jason ignored it. “He’s still alive. He’s still out there. And he’s alone right now while we’re all here.”
“He didn’t want to be here,” Babs said. “None of us like seeing him alone on the holidays, Jason. But it’s more painful for him to be in a room full of people who are strangers to him, watching us all wait for the recognition to come back. We have to accept that…that it might not…”
Alfred rested a hand on her shoulder. She reached up and placed her own over it, knowing how hard it was for him to carry on without Dick here, too. He was trying so hard to keep them together today.
Jason shook his head. “Whatever.”
He left the room, Bruce not moving from his spot. Tim got up, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Tim said, hurrying after Jason.
“Chances they’ll be back?” Babs asked.
“Not high,” Alfred said, squeezing her shoulder again. “Why don’t you and Master Damian go set the table? I would appreciate the help while I put the finishing touches on dinner.”
“Of course,” Babs said, standing up. “Come on, Damian.”
Damian reluctantly got up and went with her. Alfred moved to stand beside Bruce.
“It was not your fault,” he said.
Bruce didn’t take his eyes off the flames. “I was right there, Alfred.”
“And so you were able to get him medical attention in time to save his life. I see no guilt in that,” Alfred said. “This day is hard on all of us. Watching you blame yourself is making it even harder on all of them. You cannot distance yourself from them, not right now. They need you. You had your back turned to them, which means you missed the fact that Damian had positioned himself to see out of the window to the gate. He was waiting.”
Bruce closed his eyes, his face scrunching up in pain. “Dick won’t come.”
“No,” Alfred said softly. “But Tim might yet convince Jason to return. Don’t leave them all alone today, Bruce.”
Bruce gave a slow nod and forced himself to turn away from the fire. He felt cold as soon as he stepped away from it.
He thought getting all the kids together would help them cope with the absence of Dick this year. But he hadn’t realized how guilty he’d be facing all of them after what had happened.
The guilt would not leave him, nor would the memories of all the past Christmases with Dick. Dick, always full of smiles and cheer and bad jokes to liven up their Christmas gatherings.
But he wasn’t here this year. He was alone in Bludhaven, no memories of his family remaining to comfort him through the holiday. Bruce went into the dining room, resigning himself to trying to salvage what he could of Christmas day for the children he did still have with him.
#amow winter whumperland 2022#unhappy family reunion#batfam#bat family#Jason Todd#barbara gordon#Tim Drake#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#damian wayne
8 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
fotofonankara-blog
Fotofon
whisperinglune
chasing one, running away from another
ttnni
inner self *
ja-f-l-r
JAFLR