#i don’t mind calling usually but calling THESE people specifically stressed me out so IVE DONE IT

[yuneu]

just made the phone call i dreaded for weeks. it was easy.

#i don’t mind calling usually but calling THESE people specifically stressed me out so IVE DONE IT #never again bruh

[writingmyanxietyaway]

Confessions | El Profesor

Requested by anon:  can i request a lcdp imagine where the reader likes the professor and she confesses nights before the heist but he wants to stay true to his relationship rule so she is heartbroken so she doesn’t want to talk to him and when the heist comes she doesn’t eat and sleep and he gets really worried about her so he expresses his true feelings to her

Word count: 1.8k

Warning: mention of a gun, not eating/drinking, angst

Note: takes place in the first season! Hope you like it, enjoy! xx

------------

You were in a difficult position. On one hand you wanted to wait until everything was over. On the other hand you were unsure if you would make it out alive. You knew about his rule not to engage any relationships of any kind and he took it very seriously, but the thing was you absolutely him to death and you were willing to take that risk. So here you were, about to confess your feelings for him.

You waited until everyone had left the classroom and took a deep breath. You had clammy hands and you were lightly trembling. 

‘I- uhm.. Can I talk to you for a minute?’ you asked the Professor. He turned around, away from his chalkboard with raised eyebrows. His glasses had slipped down his nose a little, so he pushed them up. You found it adorable. Just like how he scrunched his nose whenever you talked to him.

‘Sure. Did I talk too fast or was I not clear about something?’ he stuttered. He instantly started doubting himself if he had indeed missed anything he was supposed to explain.

‘No, no. You were great. I just, uhm.. I kind of have something to tell you..’ you trailed off, ‘something personal.’

‘Bali, you know how I feel about sharing personal information. I specifically told you,’ he stated. Suddenly you felt incredible stupid. How did you think this was going to work when he clearly said he didn’t want any personal information shared?

‘I know.. I just want you to know something in case things go south. It doesn’t have to get in the way of your whole plan. If you don’t feel the same, we can just pretend it never happened.’ You waved your hand around, not really knowing what to do with your hands. ‘I just wanted you to know that I really like you. More than a friend or teacher, or whatever you are to me. I think you’re really handsome and nice. So, yeah..’ you spoke.

You couldn’t read his face. You saw somewhat of shock flash across his face, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

‘Well..? Am I just embarrassing myself or do you maybe feel the same? It doesn’t have to be a long answer. Just a yes or no is fine,’ you rambled. 

He looked at you, fumbled with his glasses and turned back to the chalkboard.

‘I’d rather had you hadn’t shared this. This makes it all a lot more complicated,’ he sighed and grabbed a piece of chalk. ‘Can I still trust you to complete your tasks?’

You frowned, feeling not only rejected but also very used at the same time.

‘I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just asking if you might feel the same.. You don’t have to be so rude,’ your voice cracked. Sergio mentally slapped himself in the face for hurting you, but he had to.

‘You knew the rules. I told you not to share anything personal. Relationships make this all a lot more difficult. I cannot allow this to fail. I made those rules for a reason,’ he said. It was like a slap in the face. He didn’t even have the respect to tell you a) if he did or did not feel the same, but also b) to look you in the eye.

‘Yeah, you mentioned that, twice, but the least I deserve is an answer to my face. I guess that answers my question. Just forget I said anything.’

Obviously, that was impossible for the both of you. The next few days were awkward and very uncomfortable. You tried listening to everything The Professor was saying, but you couldn’t look at him. You did notice him staring at you once every while, making Berlin tease you and Denver tease him. You found it all very embarrassing and couldn’t wait until you were inside the bank to escape his face.

-

Everything went according to plan. You got in, locked everyone out and had now been inside for almost 2 days. You loved every part of it. The tension with Berlin got out of hand for a while, but soon after the storm blew over and you were back in the game.

‘Are you okay? You haven’t eaten since yesterday..’ Nairobi asked you, genuine concern written over her face. It was true. You weren’t hungry or thirsty so you hadn’t eaten. Usually you had a great appetite, but you couldn’t bring yourself to eat. Everyone noticed, though. Including Sergio. He noticed you were always wandering around the halls, not even sleeping. He was incredibly worried and felt like an idiot for behaving the way he did. He sat behind his computers, fidgeting with his hands, wanting to do something.

‘Yeah, fine. Just got a lot on my mind, is all,’ you nodded at her. She didn’t look convinced in the slightest, so she grabbed a sandwich and handed it to you.

‘I want this eaten in an hour. If you’ve not eaten it I will push it down your throat,’ she sternly told you. You chuckled.

‘Yes, mother.’

As soon as she left, you threw it back in the fridge. When you heard yelling in the hallway, you grabbed your weapon and braced yourself for what you would find. Berlin was obviously yelling loudly again, threatening to shoot Arturo. Same shit different day.

-

It was now two days later and you had eaten a little bit more than one sandwich since Nairobi basically forced you to eat. You looked a lot more tired, your energy level had dropped to -4 and you were phisically and mentally exhausted. You looked like shit, to say it lightly. Sergio had grown more and more worried, telling the others to keep an even closer eye on you.

‘Drop the gun,’ you told Berlin, who had his gun pointed at Denver. He only smirked. ‘Denver, you too. I’m not fucking around. We need each other. We can’t just keep shooting at one another just because we’re stressed. Think for once, damn it.’ You raised your voice gradually as you spoke.

Berlin raised his eyebrows at you. His eyes flickered from your gun to Denver, who was about to burst with anger. As you held out your gun, the strength in your arms weakened. You tried your best holding up the gun, but when you focussed on your arms, your vision got blurry. When you tried focussing your vision again, your arms started trembling.

‘Berlin, please,’ you sighed. Your mouth got incredibly dry all of a sudden and your speech turned more into slurs. You felt yourself getting weaker by the second and this child’s play cost too much of the little energy you had left. Denver quickly lowered his gun when he saw you sway back and forth.

‘Bali? Bali!’ You saw him rushing to you, just like Berlin before your vision turned completely black and you fell to the floor.

-

‘We told her to eat! It’s not our damn fault. She’s too stubborn to listen.’ 

Your hearing slowly came back before you could open your eyes. You felt someone hold your hand while someone else was on the phone.

‘No, of course not... Yes, we did that already. Shouldn’t be too long before she wakes up,’ the voice came closer, ‘I think she’s waking up, hold on.. Bali, honey, can you hear me?’ 

You nodded lightly before slowly opening your eyes. Moskú held the phone while Rio held your hand. You were in the office, laying on one of the couches. You had an IV in your arm and a bag of liquid hung next to the window. You waved to the camera in the corner, letting The Professor know you were in fact alive.

‘He wants to talk to you.. We’ll give you some privacy while you two talk. When you’re done, just give us a call,’ he smiled and handed you the phone.

‘Thank you, guys. For everything,’ you tried smiling, but you were still too weak. They gave you a kiss on the head and left to the hallway.

‘Starving yourself? Really?’ Was the first thing you heard when you held the phone to your ear. You groaned loudly.

‘No, I just wasn’t hungry. Adrenaline, probably,’ you muttered. ‘Why do you care anyway? It’s not like I’m any good use compared to the others.’

‘Are you serious? You and Berlin are the leaders of this entire plan, Bali. How could you be so stupid?! We need you and we need you alive. Too many people have died already, I can’t loose you too,’ he stuttered. You heard his jagged breath.

‘Are you done?’ you asked, not wanting to deal with his whining anymore.

‘I’m sorry..’ he sighed, ‘You scared me. I thought I was going to loose you, Y/N.’

Your breathing stopped for a second and you sat up. He never called anyone by their actual names. You didn’t even know he knew yours.

‘Why did you call me that?’ you asked, heart beating loudly in your chest. ‘You said no personal details or any information.’

‘I know.. I just had to know your name. God, I want to know everything about you. Your favourite breakfast, your favourite country, what your goals in life are.. I want to know it all. And that scares me. I’ve never had this urge to get to know someone as much as you. You’re perfect in every way and I almost lost you,’ he confessed. Your felt your heart flutter and you turned your head to look into the camera.

‘What are you saying?’ you asked him, hoping to finally hear want you’ve wanted to hear for the past two weeks.

‘I.. I like you. A lot. And I was too scared to tell you because I’ve never felt anything like this before for anyone. I was so rude to you and you don’t deserve that. Please forgive me?’ he asked hopefully. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your lips.

‘Waffles with strawberries, kiwi’s and mango,’ you answered.

‘What?’ he asked, completely confused by your answer.

‘My favourite breakfast,’ you winked into the camera. You heard him let out a laugh on the other end of the line, making you smile as well.

‘So, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?’ you whispered.

‘Sergio. Sergio Marquina.’

‘Nice to meet you Sergio. Now, get me out of here. I want to go to the beach.’

#la casa de papel #lcdp #lcdp imagine #el professor x reader #el professor imagine #alvaro morte #lcdp x reader

[sistervirtue]

okay so im seeing people get anons about this and its coming up in friend groups so i think now's actually a pretty good time to tackle the idea of religious (specifically cultic) abuse in media and how we as an audience interact with it

TLDR: dehumanization and sexualization of cult victims furthers the misunderstanding that cults "don't exist now", and RA survivors would feel much safer in fandom spaces if people acknowledged and analyzed the harmful portrayals of cults in media.

cw: discussions of cults, abuse, and sexual assault

also, if you have questions, please shoot me an ask or dm (off anon preferably, though)

let me start this with a disclaimer that i dont think every media that features ra is inherently bad. i think thats a bit harsh and as an ra survivor ive come to terms with the fact that there are going to be depictions of it in ways that maybe dont give it the respect it deserves, and trying to "what about [x]" everything will only lead people to talking in circles with themselves. what i want to address here is how you, as a consumer, respond to and parse out what cultic abuse means in any particular portrayal of it.

*also please don't harass people about their RAS status, like, if you see someone enjoying something with a less than stellar portrayal of cults, don't send them asks or dms like "well are YOU a cult survivor?" reducing the consumption of media to a yes or no game based on identity-- especially an identity that comes as the result of explicit pain and spiritual violation is not only derivative but also degrading to survivors and the people you're grilling. all we want is for people to think carefully about what they spread and portray, and how they think about those situations.

so, i think the first thing to tackle is...what is a cult? This is something that's surprisingly hard to define, especially in fictional settings with fictional cults. For example, (and pardon the use of this example, I don't feel like hunting for others), My Hero Academia has an organization in it that I would say fits the criteria for being a cult, but by and large isn't considered one by fans because it's not explicitly called a cult. (Although numerous cult jokes have been made about it). It also has an organization that IS explicitly referred to as a cult.

So, when you're dealing with how to process what is and is not a cult-- and how to make your presence safe for RA survivors, you have to be able to sift through more than just "did the narrative tell me this is a cult?"

There's a few different models people use; one of the most popular being the BITE model-- but I should clarify that the BITE model is really tailored towards religious and strictly hierarchal cults, but can be applied to other kinds of cults.

(and yes, there are cults other than religious/spiritual ones. corporate cults and wellness cults have been on the rise, and it's good to keep that in mind both when engaging with media and also in the real world.)

However, I'm a religious cult survivor, so a lot of my experience is strictly irt this, so please take what I say with a grain of salt, and know that I don't speak for every cult survivor, every religious cult survivor, or every religious abuse survivor. I am One Guy on the internet.

When it comes to media, I have a few questions I run through in order to figure out if something is A Cult.

1) Fringe Ideas. This one is one of those that most people know-- and often incorrectly use to attribute cult status to other things. However, it is worth mentioning, that you don't become a cult by following mainstream ideologies. BUT. BUT. not every group with weird ideas is a cult! Some groups are just weird and are fine being weird. It's a rectangles and squares situation. All cults have fringe ideas and behaviors, not all fringe ideas and behaviors belong to cults.

2) Hierarchies. Cults always have people in power, at least in my experience. There have been ideas thrown around about "completely decentralized cults"-- but to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about that concept, and I don't know enough about it personally to say whether or not it's legitimate. If you have any sources, hmu.

BUT. Most cults have a power structure. You're going to have leaders, usually with a handful at the verrrrry tippy top, whose word is law. This can be associated with things like religious ideas (channelling god) or being "a genius", like in corporate cults.

3) Control. I cannot stress this enough; cults are all about control. How you think, feel, behave-- they discourage critical thought, encourage snitching on each other, buddy-group behavior; the BITE model explicitly lists these models of control.

4) Us V Them. Cults will give all those that oppose them or simply don't believe them a bad name. They're uneducated, they're evil-- it varies cult to cult, but you'll see them turning the non believers into a homogenous, frightening group. They want to discourage looking outwards, and they want to viciously isolate members.

Other things of note are extremism, talks of enlightenment, harsh punishments, the cult eating large portions of the member's finances, etc.

However, this post is largely to address FICTIONAL cults. and the unfortunate fact of the matter is that fictional cults are rarely fleshed out in a way that can be held one to one to a model, and, more often, don't even afford the victims of a cult humanity.

and this is one of THE biggest issues you find in cult portrayals. the leader is usually a charismatic, or perhaps menacing, figure, one that usually our protagonists-- who are rarely cult victims, they are typically outsiders (not inherently bad, mind you)-- faces personally, with the hoardes of mindless zombies forming one giant hurdle.

Naturally, this can be...hurtful. There's nuance to who is and is not a victim in a cult (although my rule of thumb is to look at what abuses that person specifically exerts over others-- and you can be both a victim and perpetrator of abuse. to treat them exclusively is lacking all nuance), but the people are the bottom, even if they joined willingly, are people who were preyed upon. Not only that, but many media cults forget that people can be born into cults, and never really had a choice to begin with. To treat these people like they are mindless-- or that they deserve the suffering they are in because they are there-- completely erases all nuance, humanity, and understanding to the cult survivior struggle. Not only that, but it continues to sensationalize and deify cult leaders, which is doing their job for them, really.

The second biggest issue is the romanticization and sexualization of cults, religious abuse, and cultic abuse.

(yes...this is a thing.)

The use of cults as a way to make a character edgy or tragic is one thing, but there's something sinister about using it to project a certain sexual behavior onto that character-- whether it be as the subjugator or subjugated. Sexual abuse is rampent in cults, and ritualistic sexual abuse is used to justify it. To sexualize the idea of a cult(ist) raping and abusing someone is...beyond offensive to anyone who has been in a cult where their sexual safety and autonomy has been compromised. Or, in some cases, the cultist is so naive and sheltered they can be easily coerced and taken advantage of due to their brainwashing.

This is...bad? This is bad. To ignore the fact that these depictions are just as harmful as any other romanticization of abuse is to ignore the real suffering of cult victims.

Really, the larger problem is that people don't really think cults exist, not really. They're all things of the past, or things that exist solely in fiction-- when in reality, every day cults form and continue to grow. If you've ever met a mormon, you've met a cultist. The moment you begin to process and parce the fact that this isn't as bizarre and unusual and fictional as it seems, you take the steps to respecting people who have been in that situation and become better at detecting cults, cult recruitment, and are able to more clearly assess what you take in.

Once again, there's so many bad portrayal of cults that it would be...stupid to call for an immediate disowning of anything with it in it. I personally have come to terms with the idea that I will have gripes about these portrayals in most cases, but rarely do I see people other than fellow RA or cult survivors discussing these portrayals. I'm hoping people can become more aware and willing to discuss cults in a serious and analytical context and criticize how they're portrayed in the things they love.

And once again, cult survivors are NOT a monolith. If a cult survivor expresses they are uncomfortable with something I said here that I'm not, or vice versa, listen to the people who actively surround you and whom you care about.

#nyc knacks #cults #ive been sitting on this for a while but it came up on the dash and i took the opportunity to talk abt it #bc i feel very passionately abt it #ok 2 rb

[bau-rookie]

a close examination of Hotch and Foyet

in which Hotch’s greatest strength becomes his fatal flaw.

(a/n: super long essay, because i don’t know how else to consume media apparently lol. i’ve been sitting on this since “100″ because it is really sad and I just wanted to make sure I get all my thoughts in order. It is, to my discovery, Aaron Hotchner’s birthday today, so what better way to celebrate than by explaining all the ways the Foyet arc reads like a Greek tragedy and how Hotch is an amazingly well-written character. Sorry the only way I can think about paying tribute is by making myself sad. Oh there’s GIFs too! I made them and that’s neat :D)

I. Ingredients for a Greek tragedy.

Greek tragedies stem from classical plays, usually about the nobility, and is centered around their struggle against the Gods/Fate. The noble character has a hamartia, or a fatal flaw, usually their own arrogance, that brings upon their own downfall.

Technically, Criminal Minds would fall under the category of modern tragedy which focuses more on common people and everyday problems. (Though you could argue that being a BAU profiler isn’t your typical career, which makes our characters noble not by blood, but in spirit.)

In modern tragedy, there is less of an emphasis on the involvement of a higher power or Fate. Every bad thing that happens is of mankind’s own making, and this is something that CM discusses often, that evil isn’t necessarily brought upon by a higher power. It’s brought upon by ordinary people choosing to do terrible things. 

And Foyet is no different. He chose to kill all these people because he wanted to, but his fascination with Hotch and how his plans for him play out, entrap Hotch in a tragedy more Greek in nature.

What Foyet ultimately does is take Hotch’s greatest strength—his stoic resolve to serve justice—and uses it to hold him personally responsible for the death of his ex-wife, all while bending the hand of Fate to his will.

II. Hotch as a noble character.

In “Omnivore” we are introduced to the Reaper and the many ways he tries to exert control and power over his victims. After killing so many times loses its appeal, the Reaper decides to toy with detective Tom Shaunessey by offering him a deal—if you stop hunting me, I will stop hunting them. 

While we sympathize with Shaunessey simply trying to save lives, he does so with the knowledge that he is deliberately letting a serial killer go free. The fear and the guilt eats away at him until his death.

Hotch, on the other hand, quickly establishes himself to be a resolute pursuer of justice. We don’t get to make those decisions. We don’t let them get away with it. He holds onto the idea that they have no right to decide who lives or dies and that the victims that unsubs like the Reaper takes, are not something he, or anyone in his line of work, should feel responsible for. Their sole responsibility is to stop them. 

This isn’t to say that Hotch is unaffected by the increasing number of bodies. When he turns down the deal and the Reaper attacks the bus full of people, he is visibly shaken by this, so much so that we see Hotch cry for the first time. It takes Rossi delivering some tough love to remind him of what’s important.

Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead. But that voice in your head—it’s not your conscience. It’s your ego. This isn’t about us, Aaron. It’s about the bad guys. That why we profile them. It’s their fault. We’re just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it someone else will.

Hotch and the team in general, are faced with constant reminders that they are only human. They are fallible and cannot control every outcome. 

Not everyone can handle the stresses of being a profiler. Despite the horrors, the chance of failing, Hotch’s greatest strength is his stoic resolve. He’s become our beloved Unit Chief, the person on the team who takes on the most pressure, takes it upon himself to, at times, shield the rest of the team from the greater burdens. Personally, he’s arguably also the one who sacrificed the most to have this job, having lost his marriage.

Yet despite the horrors, despite the toll, Hotch shows up for the job anyway. Because he can’t imagine letting the bad guys get away with it.

III. Foyet as a representation of Fate

“The Eye of Providence. A symbol adopted by the U.S. Government with the words: Annuit Coeptis. Latin for “Providence or fate has favored our undertakings.” The Reaper seems to see himself as the personification of Fate.”  — Dr. Spencer Reid, “Omnivore”

From the beginning Foyet is shown to have a flair for theatrics. He leaves markings of the Eye of Providence, writes Fate in blood, calls himself the The Reaper. He has delusions of grandeur and posits himself as a higher power, one who gets to decide the course of other people’s lives. Everyone who has the misfortune of coming into contact with the Reaper, becomes another chess piece in his twisted game of Fate.

In another life, Hotch would never cross paths with Foyet. But because he did, Foyet acts as Fate, bringing down divine intervention in the form of driving Hotch into a tragedy of his own making.

Foyet acting as Fate is, paradoxically, also an argument against the actual existence of Fate. Everything that happens is a result of Foyet’s choices. It is him, a man, and not Fate who is choosing to kill, maim and be cruel.

When it came to Shaunessy, Foyet also emphasized pinning the blame of the death of innocent lives on the failure of law enforcement. It isn’t Fate when there’s something you could do to stop it. Shaunessy took the deal because he felt personally responsible for the possible loss of lives, an outcome that Foyet pretty much predicted, but one that doesn’t really affect him. Shaunessy agrees, he gets off on controlling the police. If he doesn’t, well, he can just keep on killing.

Foyet repeats the deal with Hotch. Offers him the deal, which Hotch refuses then immediately murders 7 people on the bus, setting a chain of cause and effect that makes it seems like Hotch’s actions led to this gruesome outcome. Again, placing the blame personally, on Hotch. And Hotch does blame himself, if momentarily.

Later, once Foyet escapes and corners Hotch in his own apartment, he makes it clear, you should have made a deal. Foyet acts as a vessel for Fate, a vehicle through which the consequences of Hotch’s actions are served. 

Foyet takes it a step further, when he puts Haley and Jack in witness protection. Left all the usual clues, to simply say your wife and child are in danger because you never took the deal. I hold all the cards here, your fate will come for you eventually.

Then Foyet disappears, and waits. Leaving Hotch filled with guilt over endangering his ex-wife and child, at the mercy of Foyet’s arbitration of Fate.

IV. Dominoes and fatal flaws

By the time “100″ rolls around, you’re so captivated by the action happening on screen that it’s easy to overlook how we got there. When I first watched this season, I had assumed that Foyet would be put on the back burner until the end of the season. His quicker-than-expected return seems to be happenstance, the writers behind-the-scenes doing some plot magic, but if you reexamine the events that lead up to “100″ we see Foyet’s greater machinations at play.

On the surface, the preceding episode “Outfoxed” seems to be a straight forward throwback to an earlier case. Faced with a family annihilator, Hotch and Emily visit the original Fox in prison, believing the current unsub might be a copycat. The episode seems to be about the mental toll being a profiler brings, with Emily contending with a sense of disgust at having to get intimate with a serial killer (post-”Lauren” this reads very differently, but I digress). Until right at the end, when they reveal the admirer letters were actually from Foyet, and the one being outfoxed is Hotch.

When the events of “100″ go down, we hear Foyet repeatedly blame Hotch for what happens with Haley, calls out what we see as a noble resolve to instead be Hotch’s fatal flaw. It was the same thing that led Haley to leave him, a failing borne from Hotch’s own ego, the part of him that insists that it be him who catches the bad guys, that it be him who risks it all. And Foyet uses that to his advantage, uses Hotch’s resolve to trick him into thinking that maybe he did cause all of this tragedy to happen.

One small detail that caught my attention, and set me on this Greek tragedy path, is when they try to track down Foyet in “100″, Garcia notes that he had set an internet search alert for the name “Peter Rhea.”

At this point, Foyet was ready to go after Haley and Jack. He already had pictures and surveillance of the U.S. Marshall in charge of them. He could’ve gone and killed them anytime, but that’s not how Foyet operates. He needs Hotch to feel personally responsible for things ending badly. He set the bait with the letters and simply had to wait for Hotch and the team to get close enough, to find Peter Rhea. This is, of course, incredibly risky. The team could catch him before Foyet gets anywhere close to Haley and Jack, but Foyet is sure of himself and is an extensive planner. He made sure he was always two steps ahead.

The irony is that Foyet would never have gone after Haley and Jack if Hotch and the team didn’t get close to tracking him down. There’s an added layer of Spencer figuring out Foyet’s alias using his genius anagram deciphering brain and Garcia’s expert tech analyst skills. Foyet managed to hurt Hotch because this specific BAU team are just too damn good at their jobs.

Foyet set up dominoes that only Aaron Hotchner could tip to fall. He does it so well it almost feels like Fate.

V. The inevitability of fate

“Men heap together the mistakes of their lives and create a monster called destiny.”  — John Hobbes, “Omnivore” closing quote.

A key aspect of Greek tragedy, is that Fate is often the result of divine intervention. They cause certain events to happen in certain ways so as to result in the most tragic outcome, usually death. It’s designed so that the audience is aware of what’s to come, and can see no other way for the story to end. The tragedy is supposed to feel inevitable.

One could argue, that there is no such thing as Fate. Life is simply a sequence of random happenstance, but our need to prescribe meaning to the chaos cobbles up stories of predetermined destinies. Especially when the idea of owning up to our mistakes and their consequences is too much.

All of this was the result of one sick man, George Foyet, choosing to be so cruel. And Hotch was simply a victim of circumstance because if Foyet wasn’t going after Hotch, he’d be going after someone else.

But what are the odds that Hotch’s first case as lead profiler happens to be The Boston Reaper? It was from that moment that Hotch’s fate was really sealed, he and Foyet would be forever intertwined. 

Hotch, being who he is, had inadvertently, made the Reaper personal. Even when his BAU team was sent away, his resolve wouldn’t let the Reaper simply disappear. It led him to build his profile, alone and over many years. Any other person might’ve just let the case go, but not Hotch.

So when Shaunessy died and the Reaper resurfaced, the only person in the world who knows enough about the Reaper to track him down, is Hotch. It’s what leads him to George Foyet, a victim at first glance, and Hotch comes to him unaware that he is promising The Reaper a new, worthy adversary, one a decade in the making. And everything, from his prison escape, to his attack on Hotch in his apartment, plays out exactly as Foyet expects it to, because as much as Hotch can read him, Foyet can read his behavior too.

At the end of 5x03, “Reckoner”, Rossi talks about what could have been when it comes to his childhood sweetheart to Hotch. About how he was too obsessed with his job, with the hunt that he gave up his chance of having a family. Rossi warns Hotch, don’t make my mistakes, kid.

You have a family. When all this is over, what are you gonna do to make sure you’re not a lonely guy wondering why you let the purest thing in your life get away?

My initial reaction was that they were setting up for Hotch to leave the BAU for good. The man who hung on to the job so much that it cost him his marriage, for the first time, actually considers leaving it all behind him. Because what Rossi says to him, driven by the circumstances that Foyet has created, is too profound for him to ignore. Foyet is too big of a thing to just move on from once its over.

Of course, my hopes of Hotch riding off into sunset to live a quieter life and watch his son grow up were optimistic at best. It’s a fantasy that purposely ignores the reality of who Hotch is, simply because I want the alternative to be possible. By the time Haley is buried, and Strauss offers Hotch retirement, we already know what his answer is going to be. Because everything we know about this man can only lead us to one conclusion.

Aaron Hotchner is the man who goes after the bad guys, the man who doesn’t let them get away with it. No matter how much I yell at my screen about how Hotch should just retire and spend all his time with Jack, deep down I knew that was never going to happen. Him losing Haley and still going back to work, seems like the only logical outcome. It’s almost feels inevitable.

VI. Catharsis

The point of tragedy is, according to Aristotle, to achieve catharsis. The purging of emotion through the telling of another person’s suffering. And that’s what “100″ does (unless your heart is made of stone and you somehow did not tear up even once).

Others would say that tragedy is meant to teach us a lesson. Meant to teach us the limits of our mortal abilities, to warn against hubris and arrogance; to remind us that they are higher powers and unseen forces beyond our understanding or control.

Criminal Minds doesn’t try to give us that lesson. Like in so many previous cases, the premise of a crime procedural is really a way of examining human nature. Why do people do bad things? More often than not, though our profilers can figure out how an unsub goes from doing thing A to thing B, they don’t have a satisfying answer for why. 

In Foyet’s case, he does all of this to Hotch because he can, because he enjoys making him suffer. It is evil, unnecessarily cruel. There is no sense to be found in what happened.

But “100″ does not deliver pure tragedy. It ended in the death of Haley but it also provided hope in the survival of Jack. Hotch finally rids the world of Foyet, though the way it went down, you can’t help but wonder about the price of justice, if the cost is too much for this one man to pay. But then the show reminds the audience, that this one man isn’t bearing that cost alone.

Aaron Hotchner has his team, his family, and with their support, a chance to recover from the tragedy that Foyet wrought.

I used to think that, despite being dead, George Foyet still won. He set out to hurt Hotch, and that’s exactly what he did. We’ve only seen Hotch openly cry twice at this point, and they both were directly caused by Foyet. And I suppose that’s still partly true. It’s hard to really tell with our stone-faced unit chief, but it’s hard to see how Foyet wouldn’t linger.

But that victory isn’t absolute. Foyet is gone, and he loses every time Jack gets to spend another day happy and alive. Foyet loses, every time Hotch shows up for the job and doesn’t let another unsub like him get away with it.

And maybe that’s the lesson. That though good doesn’t always triumph over evil, there is a way to move past tragedy. And that path lies not in solitude, in carrying the burden alone, but in the solace of our friends and family who can bear witness to all that we must face.

For all all my waxing poetic about how Hotch is a noble hero, this entire ordeal just shows how human he is. Yet despite his flaws and the tragedy, the core unassailable truth of who he is, the values he represents, remain unchanged.

He is Aaron Hotchner. The guy who hunts down guys like Foyet. The guy who doesn’t let the bad guys get away with it. The guy who, despite everything, managed to save his son. The guy who will keep his promise to the woman he was once married to, to teach their son that love is the most important thing. The guy who makes sure that his son knows that good people do exist.

Aaron Hotchner is the guy who, despite all the hurt, the pain and the loss, chooses to be the hero. And that’s the farthest thing from tragic.

#did i spend all day thinking too much about a fictional character? #hell yes #i don't know how else to be #i just think aaron hotchner is neat ok #and he deserves the happiest of birthdays #maybe i'll write a fic about it tomorrow #but for now i rest #criminal minds #charlie watches criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #george foyet #mine: gifs #criminal minds gifs

[thomothysdoodles]

1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 17, 18, 20, 23, 26, 17, 28, 31, 32, 35, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67,, 68, 69, 70, 71, 73, 74, 75, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 98

I am so sorry, I literally have no idea what came over me

Wow Lulu you really said ‘let’s ask this bitch EVERYTHING’. I love it tho lmao. Since it’s long imma put it under the cut tho

4. How did your elementary school teachers describe you?

“A pleasure to have in class, a bit lost in their mind, if they committed and focused more they’d excell but they settle for good grades”

From elementary to high school lol

5. Do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

I like soda cans

6. Pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Somewhere between tomboy and grunge I think

8. Movies or tv shows?

Tv shows

9. Favorite smell in the summer?

Sunscreen and freshly baked bread

11. What do you have for breakfast on an average day?

A cup of milk with some cereal or biscuits. For the past month I’ve been following the keto diet tho, and I usually are some ricotta with peanut butter for breakfast

12. Name of your favorite playlist?

“Sad but vibing” lol

14. Favorite non chocolate candy?

Strawberry lollipops

17. Most frequently worn pair of shoes?

A black vans pair, I bought em in August but the left one already got a hole on the front 😤

18. Ideal weather?

Cloudy but not too windy or cold. I just don’t like the sunlight in my face

20. Preferred place to write?

On my phone’s notes app lol, I’ve got almost two thousand notes in here

23. Strange habits?

I hide stuff in my room with no apparent reason. I’ve got money stashed around my room in four different points lol

26. Favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Given the chance, I like to race with my bike to get some refreshing wind

27. Favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Cozy up in a blanket and watch some tv

28. Five songs to describe you.

Karma— AJR

Ultimately— Khai Dreams

Putting a spin on Slow Dancing in the Dark— egg

Mars— YungBlud

Gotta be a Reason— Alec Benjamin

31. What outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

Black jeans, black sturdy boots, and a silly little hoodie lmao

32. Top five favorite vines?

‘DONT FUCK WITH ME, IVE GOT THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY SIDE— AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA’

‘Let me see what you have!’ ‘A KNIFE!’ ‘NO!!!’

‘Hey bro, what do you wanna eat?’ (‘The souuuls of my enemies’) ‘A bagel’ (‘NOOO’) ‘..two bagels.’

FR E SH A VOCA DO

‘Two shots of vodka..’ *pours half a bottle of vodka*

35. Average time you fall asleep?

I am terrible at this. I love sleeping but I also love feeling ✨ unbothered ✨ doing whatever I want in the middle of the night. So, never before 3am usually

37. Suitcase or duffel bag?

Suitcase

38. Lemonade or tea?

Tea

40. Weirdest thing to happen at your school?

I dunno how weird it is, but I always found peculiar that there were cigarette butts on the ceiling of the bathrooms. Like, seven feet tall ceilings. How did those cigs get there??

41. Last person you texted?

My best friend to tell her that my sister found a way to let me watch supernatural on American Netflix >:3c

42. Jacket pockets or pant pockets?

Jacket pockets

43. Hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Hoodie and/or jean jacket

44. Favorite scent for soap?

I dunno. Talcum powder I think

45. Which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Superhero

46. Most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Tee and boxers. Sometimes socks too

48. If you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Umh. Clementines maybe. Easy to peel, sweet but also not, sometimes with seeds.. and some people loathe the little white stripes they have and they spend hours peeling those away

49. What saying or quote do you live by?

“Like any / unloved thing, I don’t know if I’m real /when I’m not being touched.” —Natalie Wee

50. What made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

My best friends always make me wheeze, it can be the stupidest dumbest thing ever, I’m really fucking easy to amuse lol

51. current stresses?

My driver license my driver license my driver license my driver license my driver license my d

52. Favorite font?

I have no idea. This one? Lol

53. What is the current state of your hands?

Good. I just cut my nails, I really wanna put some nail polish but my dad comes back home tomorrow and he always looks me weird when I put it

55. Favorite fairy tail?

The little mermaid

56. Favorite tradition?

A tradition I have with my friends is that when we celebrate someone’s birthday, we go to the thrift shop and buy them stupid stuff to wear or put on. On my birthday a couple days ago I had to wear playboy bunny ears and a black glittery bow tie lol. Once I bought my best friend a tiny pirate hat, and for another my friend took a boa with pink feathers lol

57. The 3 biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Mmmh

I’m having a hard time with my parents since I dropped out of uni but I think I’m starting to overcome it finally

When my parents were about to divorce and in was dreading the idea of moving from this city

That time in middle school I spent a couple weeks at the hospital to run a bunch of neurological tests

58. Four talents you’re proud having?

I’m pretty good at multitasking

It’s very difficult to enrage me (yes I consider it a talent)

I can juggle lol

I can read in moving cars/trains etc without getting sick :D

59. If you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“What the f—“

61. Favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/ etc?

“Happiness isn't in the having. It's just in the being. It's in just saying it.” Aka Castiel’s love confession (OF COURSE I WAS GONNA SAY SOMETHING DESTIEL RELATED)

62. Seven characters you relate to?

No specific order:

Dean Winchester

Eric Derekson

Jake Peralta

Doug Eiffel (👀)

Tony Stark

Klaus Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

63. Five songs that would play in your club?

Anything from P!ATD

Bang!— AJR

Natural— Imagine Dragons

Anything from Set It Off

Maniac— Conan Gray

64. Favorite website from your childhood?

I didn’t use computers in my childhood lol

66. Favorite flower(s)?

Fresias 💕

67. Good luck charms?

I used to keep in my pocket a little hazelnut my dad gave me once telling me that it was a good luck charm. I took it away tho. I dunno, maybe my rings

68. Worst flavor of any food of drink you’ve ever tried?

I have to admit I never tasted it, but the smell of truffle literally makes me gag, so that

69. A fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Apparently your love language is both the one you give AND want love, and also the one you most lacked growing up. So. Mull that over.

70. Left or right handed?

Rightie

71. Least favorite pattern?

Holey ones. Make my sight go double

74. At what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an Advil of ibuprofen?

A seven I guess. I usually try to sleep off anything I have, I hate to take medicines, and loathe to call the doctor lol

75. When did you lose your first tooth?

Around.. six I think?

85. Fairy tails or mythology?

Mythology forever

86. Cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies 🍪

87. Your greatest fear?

That the other shoe will drop and I’ll be alone and lonely

88. Your greatest wish?

To have enough stubbornness to do what I wish to do without getting demoralized so easily

90. Luckiest mistake?

Me and one of my best friends got to know each other through other common friends, and once they both couldn’t come and we ended up spending the day together. We had lots of fun, but we also got drunk and I lost my mcfreaking watch lmao

92. Lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Lamps

94. Favorite season?

Winter ❄️

95. Favorite app on your phone?

Tumblr! (And the music one. And the podcasts one. And— jk lol)

#ask thomothy personal stuff! #lulu chaos incarnation #not a doodle #I had to think long and hard for some of these questions

[sparklyandchic]

🦋 MINI MIND MAKEOVER 🦋

okay i started the idea for this mini little mind makeover when i broke up with my boyfriend in like january. instead of being sad or angry, i wanted to be grateful for this time and take it as an opportunity to make life better for myself. then quarantine happened, so some of these are related to things i’ve learned since that started. either way, these aren’t all concrete things to do for your mind; some of them are just ways of thinking or pep talks. but if you can find one little piece of information or thought that makes you a little bit happier for a moment, that’s all i can hope for!

5-htp: okay first off- please ALWAYS consult your psychiatrist or medical professional before taking a supplement! taking 5-htp with, for example, serotonin-increasing medications can lead to a fatal illness called serotonin syndrome. personally, i started taking it because i had been on 10 mg prozac for a few months. it definitely dulled a lot of my anxiety and had a lot of positive aspects to it, but it dulled them almost too much to the point where i felt apathetic and detached from myself and the situations i was in. i was in a very unhealthy relationship and felt like i needed my mental clarity and “overthinking” processes back in order to identify what i was feeling and how to deal with it. i felt a lot more “sensitive” after coming off it, which was actually really welcome for me at first, but then it sort of dropped off into withdrawals. i was having constant panic attacks and crying very often. after a while, i was debating going back on prozac, but remembered i had taken 5-htp before. 5-htp is an amino acid that is a direct precursor to serotonin being produced in the brain. when u eat turkey, tryptophan is converted into 5-htp which leads to your brain producing serotonin, thus why you feel calm and happy afterwards. after taking 5-htp for just a few days, ranging between 200-300 mg per day (again, do your research, ask your doctor, and start small) i stopped crying constantly and really felt this sense of calmness and wellbeing but without the detachment and apathy i felt with prozac. i could still think clearly but didn’t feel overly sensitive to every emotion which arose. personally, it is really a lifesaver and really does make a noticeable difference.

cognitive behavioral therapy: ive tried therapy a million times. well okay, like 5 or 6 different therapists. at its worst, therapists told me i needed to use my sexual power as a woman in order to get what i wanted from men, told me i’m bad at socializing and should do group therapy, said my mom shouldn’t have encouraged me to “be myself” when i was younger because it made me less likeable than if i had conformed to normal societal standards of dressing. i had gone to “therapists” who claimed to be trained in CBT, but when i told them about my experiences with dissociation, the only feedback i got was to “take more baths.” while going through a few unpleasant experiences in my personal life, i decided i should try CBT once more, but like the real kind. i found an ivy-league educated licensed psychologist (NOT a “licensed clinical social worker” who doesn’t even have a psychology degree!!) who SPECIALIZED specifically in cognitive behavioral therapy. just after the first session, i was so elated with my experience. as opposed to just telling me that i needed to be more normal or more kind or a better person, she tried to identify WHAT was making me feel that way about myself in the first place. she pointed out the positive things i do and reassured me i was kind, good, and deserving of good things. she pointed out many aspects of my situation that would have taken me days or weeks to come to on my own. i’ve realized my hubris isn’t that i’m not socially acceptable or not perfect enough, but its just that i tend to THINK that i am these things despite having no evidence of it. so, over time with therapy, my positive self image about who i am as a person has grown and strengthened and i dont just randomly feel like a bad human being anymore lol. moral of the story, if you wanna do therapy but it keeps sucking, dont give up. go to a legit psychologist, find someone who specializes in the type of therapy you’re seeking, and also be vocal during your sessions. stand up to your psychologist when they continually push a narrative onto you, and explain why you don’t agree with it. sometimes it’s their job to try different narratives to see what fits, and if you just passively let them say what they want to, you’ll never find the truth of your experience! it’s a communal effort! therapy isn’t usually a magic cure-all where one session fixes everything that goes awry in your brain. but if you find someone who knows what they’re doing they can in fact really help your thought processes become less twisted up and more clear and healthy.

meditation and mindfulness: a few weeks ago i felt anxious and overly driven to get things done to the point where i spiraled into a space of guilt or a panic attack over not getting enough things done. meditation can be so so helpful here. it’s better to spend an hour sitting and doing nothing, but doing it peacefully and then calmly moving on to doing something else, than to spend 5 hours stressing yourself over every single thing you need to get done and how much time you’re wasting. the things that need to get done will get done. another thing that i’ve realized and say to myself a lot is: “focus not on doing all things perfectly, but on doing the small things well.” by this i mean, stop thinking about the 20 things you need to get done and how it all needs to be perfect, but instead take your time with the task that presents itself as most beneficial right now and focus on enjoying it and giving your whole self to the process. for example, stop thinking about how you need to clean your room, your closet, donate clothes, take a shower, take out the trash, read, workout, etc. think to yourself; “which task would bring me the most joy right now?” if the answer is taking a shower, then take that damn shower. bring your speaker into the bathroom, scrub every inch of your scalp with shampoo, scrub your feet and behind your ears and your neck with body wash, brush the conditioner through your hair fully. you may end your shower with 19 other things to do, but god damn if you can’t enjoy a single one of them and be present for it, what’s the fucking point! go light a candle and bask in its glow, go make your bed and huddle up in your neatly arranged covers, go take a long bath or a thorough shower, and be proud of and content with that today. 

relationships, with others and yourself: okay, if you missed the memo, my ex-boyfriend sucked. like genuinely was a bad person. he was a drug dealer, so that’s red flag number 1 (which i ignored of course), he hadn’t graduated high school (he was 18, i was 20, he was supposed to graduate the last semester but refused to do the work and ignored me and his mother when encouraged to do it, which is uhh definitely red flag number 2 which i also ignored), he habitually did not show up for dates on time or lied about what he was going to do or what he did (literally everything he did was a red flag and i rlly ignored all of it). the worst part was how he responded when i worked up the courage to speak to him about it. if we had agreed upon a time for our date but he showed up literally 8 hours late, he would blame it on me because i “could have called” him, or that i was “demanding too much of” him, or that i “should have said something earlier so now [i was] just dragging it out because it already happened.” basically, whatever narrative he pushed at me, i eventually gave into. i’ve dealt with gaslighting in a relationship before and a part of me knew what was happening to me, but a part of me also kept having hope for him, kept empathizing with him, kept wanting to believe in him. after a bit too much time, i finally realized you have to trust yourself, empathize with yourself, and believing in yourself over anyone else. at first i felt bad for him not being able to graduate because i had my own struggles with high school and getting work done. i thought he may have issues but he deserves someone to be there for him because i wanted someone to be there for me. despite the pain and stress he was causing me, i sat around crying over him because i cared about him and tend to over-empathize with people close to me, whether they deserve it or not. my therapist told me something that at first i did not understand, but over time came to grasp in its entirety: “some people do not deserve your love or kindness.” after our first session, my homework was to “consider when you are being kind and when you are being taken advantage of.” this made me realize that what feels like your instinctual nature to be nice to others, can in fact be a self-sabotaging unfair action, depending on the other person’s response. i might be dishing out a lot right now, but bear with me. think of it this way: you regard an action as a “kind action”. you might think “kind actions” include: forgiving someone for large mistakes, putting someone’s needs over yours, sparing them some change when they ask for it, listening to the problems they are dealing with every day. BUT when their actions include not forgiving you for minor mistakes, not giving a sh*t about your needs or considering them, not caring how much money they take from you and how much money you need to have around, or habitually glossing over your problems because it doesn’t benefit them to care, THEN those actions you performed are NOT “KIND ACTIONS” anymore. the act of continuing to give them leeway is now the act of being taken advantage of. the act of giving them money is now the act of being taken advantage of. the act of buying into their story at the expense of your sanity, is now the act of being taken advantage. basically, all i’m saying is START PUTTING YOURSELF FIRST AND TRUSTING YOURSELF WHEN YOU FEEL SOMEONE DOESN’T HAVE YOUR BEST INTERESTS IN MIND. 

ending thoughts: i know quarantine is difficult right now. the desire to grow contrasted with the inability to move. maybe try and follow that old 2008~ quote; “bloom where you are planted”. you might not be able to reach the goals you thought you would during this time. you might not be able to run a marathon or make a bunch of new friends or wake up at 6 AM to workout or redo your bedroom or get a rhinoplasty or join a gym or get an internship. working towards productivity might be unrealistic right now. but you can work everyday towards becoming the woman you want to be, mentally. you can work on learning to be content, learning to make the best with what you have, learning to appreciate the little things, learning to slow down. these are all qualities that i for one want to have just as much as i want to be attractive or successful. if you can’t enjoy success, what’s the fucking point! life is on pause right now, take this moment as a gift and consider your internal world and what parts of your mind need a makeover. there are horrible things happening in the world right now, do what you can to help, but if you’re safe and healthy then be grateful for the things you can learn from this difficult time. take it slow, but keep moving forward! 

#happyandchic #happy and chic

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 19

IN THIS EPISODE OF MURPHY IS SCREAMING, CONSTANTLY, TRAPPED IN THEIR PERFECT NIGHTMARE:

Glynda was saying: “I know we aren’t friends. I know we aren’t partners. I know you’re a criminal. But—I think I can trust you. I think I have to trust you, even if you’ve done awful things before.”

EVERYTHING GOES WRONG BUT LIKE SOMEHOW WORSE THAN EVER? LIKE A WHOLE NEW BRAND OF LOW. LIKE CINDER’S GOT A PICKAXE AND THE CENTRE OF THE PLANET CALLS FOR AID.

IT’S BEEN A WHILE HUH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but dw offal hunt, like the rising of the sun, the arrival of winter, and the eventual downfall of capitalism, always returns. so lets go.

(i just quickly reread chapter 18 liveblog to remember what happened and Ah Yes I Remember Now. The Suppressed Memories)

The place was emptier without Glynda. Quieter.

/gunshot oh we’re in danger right out of the gate huh? we got some yearning right out here? right now? how quickly the turn do tables.

Cinder appraised her work, holding the beige coat up to the light and squinting.

man i forgot. i FORGET. how much i just love cinder in this fic. sometimes she kinda zones to the back of my mind where she sits waiting for me to start thinking about her again, but now i remember that this cinder is Peaque. look at her GO, minding her own BUSINESS. im proud of her. does she know i love her.

It didn’t take long to don her new, fire-proofed clothes.

in another world, in a more comical plot, she used asbestos. it didnt go well.

The subtle warmth of the Dust teased tension from Cinder’s stiff muscles, even as she marvelled at the strangeness of her own bedroom’s space. It seemed bigger now than it had the last two nights.

h

She chose not to dwell on it.

h

i choose to dwell on it! ME!!!! I CHOOSE TO DWELL ON IT. HEY CINDER WHAT THIS GAY SHIT. hello. ma’am. can we look deeper into this. i, for one, would like to, and i, for one, think its of value to think abt this. that said, small segue

Quietly, Cinder murmured, “I didn’t freak out.”

THE FACT SHE SAYS IT ALOUD LIKE EM AND MERC CAN HEEEEEEAR HEEEEEEEER i am. INFATUATED with this family. cant wait for the 100k spinoff thats basically an elongated beach episode where they go to like. alton towers. or butlins. six flags??? thats a thing in america right??? anyway. beach episode. call me. (wink wink nudge nudge push push shove shove)

 We had to stop back in because Merc left his favorite binder, and it was 2 in the morning, so it was easier to crash here for the night than mess with the ship’s autopilot.

them,,, THEM!!!! mercury is just a son and childe. thast it. he canot change this. i love these kids so much i am SHAKING THE MONITOR RN!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA

Stuck here in one of the homes they’d shared, Cinder missed them terribly. Missed the sound of their voices and the easy comfort of their presence. Finding the time to contact them had been difficult, between managing Glynda and Hati both, but Glynda was gone, and she’d sent Hati onwards to Atlas. She remembered her call with Emerald, before arriving in Umbraroot; she knew it had not soothed her or her fears.

im sorry was this chapter targeted at me, specifically, as a human being on planet earth? GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS FAMILY!!!!!!!!! THIS WONKY OLD BANDAGED UP FAMILY UNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!! i thrive every time they are mentioned on the page. it is a blessing. my succulents grow stronger each time they show up.

“No,” Cinder argued softly, “I had to. Mercury, you deserve to hear it from me as well. I am sorry. And I am promising you: I’ll come back.”

For a long, heart-wrenching moment, he was completely quiet. It was good that Cinder was alone in the apartment; laying herself bare like this would be unbearable with an audience.

GODDDDDDDDDDD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i am OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM GOING TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS UNTIL I D I E. of all thing the remaster does better than og, this is just. SPEEDING AHEAD. this whole CONFLICT this whole MESS just makes everything so much RICHER its like when u splash some wine in yr fancy food or stick some cinnamon on yr favourite desserts u dont NEED TO but it adds that lil SOMETHING,,, that little KICK that just ties the flavour profile together and in this case ofgughugguhu it just GIVES SO MUCH. im making SNOW ANGELS in the WORDS on the PAGE.

“Mercury. If I could prove it to you, I would. But you have to—trust me. For just a while longer.”

“It’s getting harder,” he said. He didn’t sound like he was lying just to hurt her. That wasn’t spite. That was honest anger. And it made her feel like dirt.

im less picking these for specific instances of like, things i want to say, but more just because bits of this r rly just so /chef kiss. cinder has these.... endearingly (take that whichever way u like) human qualities in OG to rly make u realise she had ties to add to her #Doubt but the remaster is just AMPING it up and u FEEL IT and ive never been more SYMPATHETIC to a round-faced sinnamon bun of assholery and fire id DIE for cinder fall and this is a fact PUT IT ON MY GRAVESTONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Is there anything you need?” What was this? Cinder could barely focus on her words. It felt like... “Anything? At all?”

“We’re fine.”

“Mercury, wait please—” She was losing him. “I think—”

“Just hurry up.”

The line went dead.

this place is not a place of honor.................. no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here........................ nothing valued is here................ IM DYING

Cinder began to type out her response, and that was when the nausea really kicked in. 

[...] 

She recognized this now.

Glynda.

stress stress stress stress STRESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

There shouldn’t be anybody. Cinder had done everything in her power to cut Glynda from people who would interfere. To isolate her. Make it easier to bring her to Atlas, to the frozen north, to her mother and the machine…

Cinder’s esophagus quivered; furiously, she shut her eyes and thought of nothing.

god cinder don’t remind me that you’re an asshole and dipshit and also a moron im trying to be NICE and CARE ABT YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! STOP REMINDING ME YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The front door clicked open.

Cinder couldn’t have said how much time had passed, only that it had passed slowly. What she did know was that it was Glynda returning, the sensation of boils bursting wafting off her soul. It crawled over Cinder’s flesh. She curled in on herself.

There were mites under every nailbed. Salt in her weeping mouth.

offal hunt’s brilliant use of this horror aspect is something i have tried previously to emulate and here’s a fact, take it from me: that shit is HARD. offal hunt consistently able to whack those real nasty, really Disgusting vibes on the head EVERY TIME is a work of art. i mean, kc and diesel do not fuck around, and therefore i am NOT surprised, but it’s only when u try this shit yourself that you realise: this is hard! this is difficult! it’s a huge testament to how GOOD this fic is in every way. also this whole fucking body horror aspect is something i didnt know this fic needed, but it did, and here we are. 

Thickly: “Things were going okay. If you hadn’t gotten nasty, I might have smoothed things over. I could have fixed things with my son.”

with my son

with my son

with my son

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I CANT TAKE IT EVERY TIME ITS TOO MUCH FOR TO BEAR I CANNOT HANDLE IT I CANNOT STAND IT ITS LIKE BEING SHOT JUST DIRECTLY IN MY DICK

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

im like sweating rn

Glynda said, “I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

I SAID IM SWEATING

Glynda asked, “Are you lying to me?”

And Cinder said, “What?”

“About me. About Witches. About Ozpin—” Cinder’s guts went sour. “—About anything. I need to know if I can trust you.”

I SAID I! AM! S W E A T I N G

“I know you’ve lied to people. Hurt people.”

Adrenaline and the image of her kids’ faces behind her eyes made a potent, sick cocktail. “—Not. Now.”

so lets like double back to when i said hey was this chapter written to target me specifically and as it turns out, yes. yes it was. yes it was and as MUCH AS I AM LIVING FOR THIS MOMENT THIS SWEET BUILDUP THE EXPLOSION AND THE CRATER IT ALL LEAVES BEHIND

I

AM

so this next bit is like. i cant really quote one section but as i was saying in Vague DMs, this whole bit feels like wading through mud. usually if you say something consumes energy to Read it’s in a Bad Way when yr bored but this is more like. you Feel cinder all over everything feels so sluggish and it’s like dragging your own corpse around as you try and leave and you’re TIRED and your LEGS HURT and you’re kinda thinking god what if i just fell face down for just a moment of my LIFE.

The putrid weight of Glynda’s soul filled the room until there was no space left for her.

it’s like being trapped in a sauna, like getting stuck in a humid waiting room. where do you GO. what do you DO. god this whole section is fantastic and offal hunt NEVER fails to fucking nail the Vibes but reading it is HARD. i literally keep having to stop and breathe like ive been holding my breath. jesus h christ.

a small intermission for a mood:

“Get fucked.”

back to regularly scheduled hell

Out of the bedroom. Down the hall. The walls were sweating with heat. She tasted smoke. 

i love that i just said how i feel like im trapped in a sauna and it turns out: thats because me and cinder both, baybee!!!! hahahaha help

Glynda’s soul chewed her to the marrow. “Move, Glynda.” 

cinder being hunted at the start of this fic: teehee! im running away! now im gonna getcha! heehee! arent i clever :) cinder being hunted now: this uh. this blows, actually,

Cinder’s pulse roared in her ears. Her hands twitched. She smelled Ochre Brown’s round face melting off. His wide smile shattered with each of his teeth, going black and popping like corn.

this chapter is probably my favourite so far for this blending of so many elements. i cant even begin to like. THINK STRAIGHT about how all of this is tying together. the lore. the THEMATICS. like i said this character rly is just Rich with what og lacked and oh is it RICH. im gonna read this chapter in future and see so much that i know ive already missed. holy shit.

“Ms. Fall,” she said. “The White Fang requires your presence immediately.”

NOT NOW

Cinder stood there looking at it for a moment. Her thoughts were slow. Copper-tinged. Something small and indulgent whispered to her through the blood-fog.

It was obvious enough what would happen if she got into this car. The driver would take her to a secluded place, where she would be ambushed by a squadron of battle-hungry White Fang grunts.

They’d try to take her down. And she was a killer, wasn’t she? Ochre Brown wailed in her ears with every thump of her runaway heart. Her hands itched for action; her teeth, for blood.

She’d burn them black.

never mind! you are already dead,

She thought about Glynda. About her saying that if there was trouble with the Fang, she wanted to come. That she would fight for Cinder.

She thought of Glynda’s question: What aren’t you telling me about Ochre Brown?

Yeah, fuck that.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!! WHAT A CLIFFHANGER!!!!!!!!!! WHAT A MOMENT!!!!!!!!!!!!! MORE MOMENTOUSLY: WHAT A CHAPTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is EASILY my favourite chapter so far. EASILY. everything about this was peak offal. the relationships. the dynamics. the dialogue. the vibes. the Grossness. the fighting. the EVERYTHING. this is some other level and its BITCHIN. PEAK. that said im now very tired. im going to have a cup of tea and Consider Things for a few hours. brb.

#liveblog #rwby #offal hunt

[soaringsearingphoenix]

Valentine's Day Asks: The Prime Numbers

Wow! I dont know why i didnt see the notification for this one but ok, alright ah

1. do you have a crush on anyone?

I guess so? There are people who Stand Out to me and i call them crushes in my head sometimes but mostly I just want to be friends with them. Like I dont usually get dizzying sweeps of emotion for someone, physical or romantic, but I do get an urgent and baseless desire to hang out with them... maybe take a walk or invite them to get ice cream. So like if we’re on the same page about what I call a Crush on my emotional scale then yes. Theres a couple people.

2. what’s your favorite candy?

I like lemonheads and i will eat them until im sick of them if given half a chance. I also like snickers now because theres peanuts in it so i get to pretend im making a healthy choice

3. favorite love song?

Slow Boat To China, any version but specifically sung by Bette Midler and Barry Manilow. You know, like, just the corniest possible version? Partly for nostalgia, because it was one of like three CDs i remember my mom playing all the time when we were just kind of around the house when I was little. It also has the distinction of being the first duet I learned the words to (though as far as im aware none of my friends know the lyrics... i dont think ive ever actually sung it with someone) and it’s probably gotta be the one that gets stuck in my head the most. Right down to the dumb banter in the middle (“Bette, I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” “I don’t. I need a piano player.”)

I also like “Somewhere Beyond The Sea.” I think, as a general rule, that if there are boats in the words to a love song I will probably like it.

5. what was your last kiss like?

Meaningful

7. do you prefer poems or love letters?

Ahhhhhhhhhh to read or to write? I like writing poems because I think they’re... easier honestly? Writing is so hard, identifying your feelings is hard. Having some constraints makes writing easier, and a rhyme and cadence makes it flow. Besides, it’s more musical that way so I think for me it feels like a more natural expression of love. I do well with more structured expression, and not so much with making just raw, unrefined feelings known.

Not to say writing poetry is easy. It’s less difficult than a love letter, sure, but there are still potential pitfalls. If i make a metaphor that makes me think of science, the rest of the poem WILL be just an extension of the metaphor that gets more and more didactic until I’m just telling you science facts.

11. dinner dates or brunch dates?

Dinner dates. I decided that before i came up with a reason why. I think the reason is that an evening engagement means I have something to look forward to, or be nervous about but then i have time to mentally prepare myself. Whereas morning, even if it’s not “early” morning, I feel more stressed about getting there on time and then afterwards theres a whole rest of the day where i either have to get somewhere after, or its just this unstructured uncertainty. Dinner, youve already done the rest of the day, so you can be present without worrying about what you gotta get to after.

13. favorite perfume/cologne?

I... dont know that ive ever noticed a perfume or cologne and felt it was applied tastefully, because i think if it is insubtle it defeats the point. That said, if it’s actually well applied so that it’s less an overwhelming cloud that trails comically behind people you pass in the quad and more like when someone sits down right next to you om the couch and you get just a hint of their shampoo or conditioner, to the point where maybe you didnt even consciously notice it before but now you say “oh, you’re the reason ive been craving ice cream, you smell minty” if it was only that subtle then i think im generally fond of more smoky incense-y smells like sandalwood, or roses but i am picky about rose fragrances, so it has to actually smell just like fresh roses or i wont be able to overlook that the smell is not roses. I have this friend who went to my middle school, and we were very into scents and making potpourri and things. At the time, his grandma had a hand soap that smelled exactly like roses, it was delightful and he said as much and I said that it sounded amazing but I’d have to take his word for it, but then the next time he visited her he came back with a little jar of it for me just so i could smell it, and he was right, it smelled just like roses. Actually forget the roses, it will make me think of the hand soap and as lovely as that is I dont want to give anyone vying for my affection any reason to feel like they’re in competition with someone, or something. It’s not a competition. Learn to coexist with my memories, because you’re not going to fight my nostalgia and win.

17. what’s the most attractive thing a person could wear?

If you’re wearing something knit or embroidered that you made yourself Im definitely gonna want to talk to you. Also if you’re wearing really comfy looking cargo pants but thats probably because i want to know where you got them so i can get some for me.

19. snow, rain, or sun?

Sun because people will take a walk with me

23. what’s your dream wedding like?

Dont have one but if i did its in a forest or at least a grove of trees. Mostly small gathering, family and close friends. I have a dress for the vows i guess, just because ive seen a lot of Say Yes to the Dress so thats how ive generally pictured it, (which i only really do when im watching Say Yes to the Dress), but ive got comfortable shoes, and im gonna change into pants asap after. We probably do some corny thing thats kind of an inside joke. Each of us has a Best Man or equivalent, who carries a sword — we joke that this makes it a “traditional” wedding, though beyond that it’s really not meant to be. It’s mostly simple, though maybe have a little extravagance or two, like a chocolate fountain, because how often do you have an excuse to have a chocolate fountain. I tend to wander off from other peoples weddings somewhere in the middle, at some point i just get a little overstimulated, and the amount of people that will likely be invited makes this probable. At the reception, when the families and friends are singing and dancing, i probably quietly excuse myself to my spouse and drift away, finding a spot in a tree where i can still hear the music and the laughter from a distance. I am joined not long after by my spouse (and the thought is strange, and even then i cant quite wrap my mind around that word yet, the commitment it implies) who knows where to look for me, and who perhaps pulls a leaf or two from my hair as they join me on an adjacent branch. We sit quietly together for some time until it seems appropriate to rejoin the festivities, as it is our wedding after all, and the slow dance is coming up, and we will spend some quiet time later when everyone has gone home. It is nice, the dancing, and as tired as we are we still drift around the dance floor among loved ones long into the night.

I dont know if this is like... how i intend my wedding to be. Like i said i didnt have an answer going in. But now that im trying to imagine it, this feels realistic.

29. are you single?

Yup!

31. guitar or piano?

Piano. First of all because i am better at piano than guitar and second because you can do duets on one piano

37. do you like to dance?

Aw hell yeah!! I would call myself an... Inexperienced dancer, but if a song has a good rhythm or even if it doesnt and i am full of energy i WILL be moving and twisting and you ARE welcome to join me

41. favorite soda?

I usually go for lighter ones like orange or sprite. I found Lime fanta at a gas station once that tasted like green jello and it was good but ive only seen it maybe twice ever.

43. favorite ABBA song?

Gimme Gimme Gimme always gets me on my feet, and ive listened to it probably the most because it’s on my “Dates and Times Playlist” (the first line says ‘half past 12’ and then the chorus says ‘after midnight’ so its in with a collection of other midnight songs. Any time i hear any of the others i get this one in my head as well. Thatd just how it is.)

47. do you think about love a lot?

No

#just kidding of course i think about love a lot #but usually its how much i love my friends #apparently my love language is s c r o l l i n g to find old ask memes #long post #long post cw #thanks tho!!! this was fun #as far as my poetry goes #itll be like ‘my darling you light up ny world... like the sun’ #and then its like ‘my world revolves around u like the earth to the sun’ #and then its like ‘i love u for ur warmth... u make me feel alive... of every body around me its u i feel closest to... like the sun’ #and then its like ‘ur light is radiant... hotter than a flame... ‘ something about not being eclipsed because youll still shine through #and at that point im just straight up talking about the sun #i cant find The poem im thinking about that just straight up turns into a list of traits the sun has like four lines in #but i did write a song that i definitely have the lyrics to #and the song is good because i didnt try to write it about a person i went in knowing it was gonna sound like a love song n be about science #actually i mightve wanted to write a love song but i abandoned that right away and changed the beginning i had to fit what i was rly writing

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you may have sent me requests according to this marvelous card!

We've always been fucked up because nature is, in fact, a dirty little bitch who enjoys itself with abnormalities. She gets amused by giving birth to men in women's bodies or does the opposite, sometimes.

This story absolutely isn't for the faint of heart. It openly and severely deals with gender dysphoria. It may be phrased with my usual dose of purple prose bullshit sparkles, but that's kind of it. It's still raw. Needless to say it's based on personal experience. Also, hahaha, guess who got stuck with his stupid ideas. I don't even remember why I picked "Forced Out of the Closet" back in August. I think I was planning on making this an original work thing, but it ended up never panning because I switched fully into fandom mood shortly thereafter. I'm pretty sure I was saying that about my first card back in April for "Panic Attack", no? Well, it ended up becoming this thing. I don’t know what to make of it yet.

It's a really weird note to end my 2nd BTHB card on. Until now, compared to the first card, I've been much more focused on physical pain. This has none of it and only 2nd POV narration and angst. I originally started it in a 3rd person POV, but it didn't work out and I thought it'd be worse if I wrote it in a 2nd person POV. It is. It's vivid and it's painful. I love it. Again, thanks to my Writing Crew for the support despite me being an edgy-ass bitch. I guess yiu can also call us the Derek Suffering Crew?

The title of this was what I wanted to give to the sixth chapter of Earth Never Stops, but it ended up not really ringing right with that chapter in particular. I feel like it fits here much better. And of course we gotta go with a rewritten Angie because, y'know. Canon Angie is canon Angie...

-------------

Like Honey in a Cup of Acid

Summary: You may have explanations to give to your assistant now that she's discovered something wasn't exactly normal, Derek. (You may also like not to do so because you want to forget).

Fandom: Trauma Center Relationship: Pre-rel DerAng

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​ (Thank you so much for having me for a second time!)

AO3 version available here.

------------

A sort of weight immediately hits you when Angie asks you if you can have a little talk now that your thoughts aren’t just a painkiller-induced mishmash of words and incoherent thoughts with neither head nor tail. She looks concerned and perplexed, puzzled even, her eyes never truly looking into yours. Almost as if, for once, the fierce and daring Angie is intimidated by something about you. Sounds farfetched, right?

Well, there could be a number of reasons. You did almost just die on her a couple days ago and surely you can’t look much better than your own patients at the moment. You know, the usual: pale face, dark rings under the eyes that look like trenches, reddened eyes… She could just be very concerned for you like Kimishima has told you before when checking if you were still amongst the living.

 When you finally have the “little talk”, it’s in your hospital room, with you still bedridden and her on a chair to your left, next to the IV drip still inserted into your wrist, her hands pinching her skirt or clutching a notepad against her chest when she holds it. You’re not sure if there’s something even written on the thing, wondering if it isn’t just her way to cope with stress and whatever is making her anxious. Her fingers are shaking and the hair on her exposed forearms is risen. How come she’s so terrified? Do you really look this awful?

“What did you want to tell me about, Angie?” You ask, in a gentle tone, making sure you aren’t forcing on your throat so you don’t worry her even more. The tense silence in the room and the lack of noise in the later hours of the evening helps your low voice to be heard.

“I… Huh… Well, it’s just that… I was curious!”

“Curious? About what?”

 Angie looks away, red creeping on her cheeks, breath hitching in her throat. She gulps, shakes her head, takes a deep breath in, another out, and finally, looking at the ground, starts speaking again.

“When Dr Kimishima started the operation I…” She hides her face in her hands, her notepad and pen clicking against the ground. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since your operation!” Well, this sure is going to be a dirty secret, as Tyler would have said. “But, when she started the operation, I noticed something on your chest, and…”

Your heart skips a beat. You forgot about that, haven’t you? You forgot she’d notice such a thing, didn’t you? Alas, it’s a bit too late to pretend like she didn’t see what she must have seen. Kyriaki nor Paraskevi are known to leave stains on one’s skin, they aren’t Tetarti.

“What did you see?” You ask, feigning ignorance.

“Ah… I don’t know how to describe them well… But they were two weirdly shaped scars around your pectoral muscles. They kind of looked like –”

“—crescents, right?”

“Yeah!”

 Angie picks her notepad back into her hands, avoiding eye contact, much to his satisfaction. You really, really don’t want to have this conversation, this awful, rotten conversation you’ve had a couple times already. If it’s never ended too badly, even with your own mother, you still don’t want to live through it again. Alas, did you really think you’d escape it forever, especially with someone you hold so close to your heart (and in more ways than one too)? You’d have had to tell her one day anyway, so better get on with it, right?

Wrong. Your hands are trembling and your throat is tied into a knot. You don’t want to utter these forsaken words. You want that part of you to remain a secret from the entire world. But, alas, you also don’t want to lie to your trusted nurse, to your best friend during surgery procedures. In any case, she’d eventually guessed you lied to her, so popping the bubble off now or later is kind of the same. But, even with that knowledge in mind…  It doesn’t make what’s about to happen any less dreadful.

 Derek?

What if she isn’t as accepting as she seems? What if she stares at you right in the eyes like a freak, like a circus monster, like a broken doll that was badly stringed back together, like something that shouldn’t be, like, like…

Huh… Derek?

And, hey, what if she thinks you’re not fit for you job because of this? You’re technically experiencing a state of distressed triggered by the littlest things. It’s about faraway childhood memories, whenever you see a father with his biological child, when someone mentions a monthly event you’d have rather never known… Hey, what if that happened during an operation?

Dereeeeek? Are you still here?

You can’t ignore the existential dread coursing through your veins. You know, the one that happens when you remember that your father never called you by your right name, what was written on your birth certificate, what they called you in high school, how you look on all the pictures your mom won’t set fire to like you wish you could do… Yeah, that dread. That toxic, lava-like dread.

Hey, Derek, what’s wrong?!

 Her urgent tone makes you snap back to reality. She’s staring at you with big, full of concern eyes, her hands on your shoulder, gently shaking it.

“Ah, sorry, I… must have zoned out. Sorry for worrying you, Angie…?”

“Are you alright? You’ve got tears in your eyes…”

You realize you have to look dumb and weird, so you take your glasses off and rub the water away.

“What were you saying, then?”

“Ah, huh… I was talking about the scars you had on your chest… I’ve never seen such specific shapes before. So…” Her hands tangle together. “I was curious, that’s it. Feel free not to reply, if it throws you in such a state of distress…”

“No, it’s… It’s fine. It’s just… difficult to explain.”

 Your voice breaks when you try to push the words out of your tangled throat. You aren’t ready for this. You’ve not found your way out of there yet. You’ve been pushed into a corner and the only way out is to find the right words at the right time while not knowing how she’ll react. Maybe she’ll really think you’re the error of nature you are, you whose brain and body weren’t able to match, you whose chromosomes and spirit never agreed before your birth, you who has had to fight your way out of the mess your own biology threw you into before you were even born.

Her fingers are cold against your feverish skin, against the goose-bumps that your medical gown doesn’t hide well. You’ve made it this far only for your world to perhaps crumble again and the existential dread appears again. What if she never accepts you again? What if she calls you “Mr Stiles” again, starts staring at you with an amused glare? What if this supportive glance she gives you and the kind words she’s offered since you got over your differences disappeared as soon as she knew? Why is it that you always have to throw a shot in the dark when the truth of your story comes back to bite you?

You need to trust in Angie, don’t you? She’s been kind of your guardian angel until now, would she give up on you for this? Do you believe so little in her for that to happen? Aren’t you too harsh on her, aren’t you getting too caught up in your own web?

 “I… got them from a surgery I had in med school. As far as I know, only Tyler and a couple other people are aware I have them.”

“From what kind of surgery?”

Here it comes. The nausea’s already here, twisting your stomach, squeezing your heart as it increases in pulse, choking your throat shut. If you weren’t in this bed, surely your head would spin.

“…Top surgery.”

Angie seems fairly confused, until her eyes snap open, glimmering in realization.

“You mean, like a mammectomy?”

“…Yes.”

Your voice almost fails you again. You feel tears you want to dry again burning your retinae, blurring your vision and the candid face of the nurse who’s just realized what you really were. You fucking liar.

“For…”

“Part of gender dysphoria treatment,” you reply trying to pretend to be an encyclopaedia, to be the internet pages you read in your teenage years when puberty got confusing and warped into a lucid nightmare.

“Oh my God…”

 Angie’s face distorts in what you can only qualify as distress, horror or disgust. She tries looking at you, fixating on your bandaged chest, her gaze struggling to even meet with your face. You wish you could pat her head, tell her it’s fine, that she didn’t know, that you’re sorry for being that and not telling her before, that she’s right to feel betrayed if that’s the case; but your hands are numb and dirty, covered in acid and black mud, and you can’t dirty her like that because you, yourself, are a special kind of a biological and anatomical failure. She’s a collection doll, you’re a broken toy.

“I’m sorry, Derek, I’m… I… I shouldn’t be like that!” She stumbles on her own words. “You’ve just told me such an important thing and I… I…”

“It’s fine…” You try to sound reassuring, but the truth is that you’re still shaking, terrified and apprehensive.

“I should’ve known! It’s such a sensitive topic, I… God, Angie, you need to pull yourself together and stop being so noisy!”

He clutches her hand at last.

“It’s fine, really. I’m… at least glad I could tell you by myself…”

That’s not entirely wrong. You just wish you didn’t feel backed into such an uncomfortable corner. It’s not her fault, of course, she was just concerned for an abnormal thing about you… A lot of you is abnormal, after all.

 “I’m still me, though.” He wants to assert that with that shaky voice of his. “It’s just something I don’t like… talking about, per say.

Angie takes a deep breath and focuses back into a state of stability.

“Of course you’re still you, Derek. You’re still the surgeon who saved the world from GUILT. I would never stop thinking that. You’ve always been Derek to me, why would that change now?”

The warm smile he gives her make the hair on his skin calm down, little by little. It’ll be okay, eventually.

“I’m just… so sorry I forced you to confess like that.”

“I’d have had to tell you anyway, one day, I suppose…”

“You didn’t have to. At least, not this early…”

“It’s fine anyway. I forgive you.”

“Thanks…”

 For the first time since she’s entered the room, you can exhale with a relieved heart and a normal pulse, profit from the rainbow that shows up after the rain. The dread is still there, hiding like a snake in your stomach, ready to bite into your throat at any moment of vulnerability you show in front of it; but, now, you have a new ally to help through the storms.

“Just promise me you’ll never tell anyone, okay?”

“I never planned on having that secret exit this room. Not even the walls of Caduceus will know about it!”

You chuckle.

“I like your spirit.”

 You want to thank her again, but it feels like overkill, and you want to have the snake finally resting, asleep in the pit of your abdomen. For now, a serene silence is enough. It’s more than enough after all this trouble, all the turmoil and all of the acid rain that drenched the both of you…

There’s no need to worry anymore when you have nothing left to hide and no one but a guardian next to you; so relax, now. It’ll all be fine, from now on, now that the lead prison around your chest is gone…

#trauma center #derang #bad things happen bingo #derek stiles #angie thompson #forced out of the closet #emotional hurt comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #otp: nice work dr stiles

[thegreatpikminzx789]

The Silver Warrior - Etrian Odyssey IV: Chapter 3

Ao3|Wattpad Summary: The Refulgent Guild gathers in the Outland Count's room to discuss some recent news about what's happening, and an investigation seemingly going nowhere is now tasked to them. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter AN: Slowly... getting... things done... Haven’t even updated this thing since 2018, that’s how much life has distracted me. Also sort of my own fault for having multiple projects, but still. More than likely gonna write the rest of the plot down for this one, before I lose any track of where I’m going with it. I also did have an idea for Albert to be an Imperial Scribe and not an Imperial who fights, as I had came up with last night and still somehow managed to keep in my head til this morning. Also also; Zesiro (merely mentioned by name) (c) @theshatteredrose

Just as swiftly as they left their guild house, Kibigami, Logre, Shirota, Wufan, and Baldur entered the Count's room, as the other members of the Refulgent Guild turned their heads at their arriving guild members and prince of the Cloudy Stronghold.

"Heya guys! Hello Mr. Prince!" Anai called out, waving her hand in greeting. Shirota waved back while Baldur made no motion to wave back, but still greeted the purple haired Medic, knowing she'd probably pester him unless he actually said hello back to her.

Shirota wastes no time moving over to where Korey is, who smiles upon seeing her again, motioning for the dancer to sit beside him. "Boy, am I glad to see you again, Korey. Today felt like I was on a wild ride..." The Dancer greeted as she sat next to the brown haired Highlander, hearing him chuckle.

"That's usually exploring the labyrinth in a nutshell, Shirota. How does today make it any different than the last?" He inquired, causing the dark skin Dancer to giggle in return. "There's always a time and place for discussing such a topic, isn't it?" Korey's eyes gazed away, as if to contemplate her words for himself...

Well, when she puts it that way, yes. Yes there is a time and place for it. Just not now...

As Frederica and Shirota greeted each other, the Fortress couldn't help but feel like they were missing someone, looking around the room and recounting the numbers of guild members in the room. "What's keeping Albert so long? He should've been here along with Baldur and the others..." Sakuma groaned, rubbing her hand on her head as if feeling a headache coming on, before feeling Baldur place a hand on her shoulder in reassurance.

"Don't stress out about it." The prince declared. "He will arrive in due time. No need to worry about him too much."

"I wholeheartedly agree, Prince Baldur," The Count spoke, overhearing the conversation between the Imperial Prince and the Fortress. "After all, it's rare to see him stray so far from you, or Logre." He continued, noting the rarity the Imperial Scribe's quite rarity to not be around the two people he's known.

Eventually, the late Imperial shows up, a bit out of breath. "Sorry I'm late, everyone. Had to... settle a little dispute that occurred at the tavern on my way over here." Although Baldur was a little confused over what he might have had to do over at the tavern, the Count easily dismissed his tardiness.

"It's alright, we wouldn't start without you." The Count beamed, as his dog, Margarita, barked as if in agreement. Taking a deep breath and took a few seconds to calm himself, Albert closed the door and leaned against the wall behind him as the Count begins the meeting.

"Now then, let's get to the reason I have brought you all here tonight," He begins, before taking a deep breath, likely to reassure himself of what he's going to tell the Guild standing before him. "As of two weeks from the day the Heavenbringer was defeated, the Explorer's Guild has been getting reports of explorers, both old and newcomers to Tharsis, being kidnapped-"

"K-Kidnapped?!" Kurita interrupted, her surprise quite warranted. The Count turned to face Kurita and nodded, before adjusting his attention back to everyone. "As much as I'd hate to admit it, the seemingly hundreds of reports of how these kidnapped explorers vary quite drastically. Sending guards to these spots just isn't getting us anywhere closer to finding who may be responsible for the kidnappings."

"If they varied so much, why not get the witnesses to just explain how it went?" Yukina inquired after the Count finished his explanation. "We tried doing so with a couple of them, Ms. Yukina, but with so many explorers around, anyone can claim they were witnesses and give us false information. Getting actual information could end up taking months before we'd track who kidnapped the explorers!" The Count argued, rubbing his hand against his head in an attempt to keep his anger in check.

It was clear the Count was getting tired of hearing these reports, and that it has become such a massive burden to his time when he could be focusing on other matters... Margarita placed her head on one of his arms, in an attempt to calm him down. The Count picked up her up and petted her for a little bit, making an effort to calm himself down.

"And at that point, who knows what would happen to the kidnapped adventurers? We have little information on the kidnappers to know what they're planning, or what they're likely after..." The Count spoke up, after taking a moment to relax himself.

"As much as it pains me, I sincerely hope that those kidnappers will be brought down for what they've done. If they hope to put Tharsis' name in vain, then your guild will ensure that does not happen!" His reassuring smile was all that was needed to bring at least some of the people in the room at ease.

"Of course we won't let such a thing happen. If there's one thing I believe in, is that we can work together to stop this." Wufan commented, as a few guild members nodded their heads as if agreeing with the female Vessel. The Count can see their determination in their eyes to stop the crimes being held in Tharsis.

"Pardon me, Count," Baldur pardoned, seeming to have something on his mind. "but has anyone... specific, have any information on why these kidnappings might be happening? With so many people in our guild, it would be in our utmost interest of finding information as quickly as possible to search more effeciently." The Count, although surprised at the Princes' sudden interest, happily beamed.

"A most excellent question, Prince." The Count hummed. "She should be arriving very-"

Almost as if on cue, the sound of the doors opening interrupted the Count mid-sentence and caused everyone to turn their attention to a Nightseeker making their way to the center of the room. Her skin, unlike most of the Nightseekers, was brown in color, hair as white as snow, and from what some of the guild members could glimpse, her eyes were blue in color. She strangely wore clothing meant for male Nightseekers, as her outfit was dyed in red.

"Ah, just in time." The Count hummed, placing Margarita beside him. "Everyone, I like you to meet Elma. She's the one who brought this kidnapping situation to my attention." The Count introduced the Nightseeker.

"I dunno Count," The orange-haired Fortress spoke up. "She looks more manly than womanly. And I've seen female Nightseekers before, she does not look like them whatsoever." Sakuma argued, soon having her eyes meet with the Nightseeker's blue eyes.

"I could say the same about you, ma'am, but I'm not one to judge based on one's appearance." Elma commented, quickly proving Sakuma wrong the moment she spoke. "Besides, this suits me much better than the clothes a female has to wear as a Nightseeker. It keeps me warm and less likely to make me prone to freezing." She continued, noticing Sakuma's eyes easily glance at the ground after the Nightseeker finished speaking her thoughts.

"...O-Okay, I take it back. Sorry about the confusion..." The Fortress apologized, barely hiding her shame as she heard a couple of her guildmates chuckle at her, most particularly, Anai and Miak, the blue haired Vessel. "So, if Elma here knows about the kidnappings, what are we supposed to do, Count?" Frederica asked, seeming to move on from the small situation that occurred.

"Glad you asked that, Miss Frederica. I would like for the Refulgent Guild to work alongside Elma as a mission to stop the kidnappers before this effects the explorers outside Tharsis." The Count explained. "We have no confirmation on what the kidnappers look like, so I'm afraid-"

"Pardon the interruption, Count," Albert interrupted, with a rather questionable tone of voice he doesn't express all that often. "Are you really suggesting we team up with this... random Nightseeker, who may or may not be one of the kidnappers in question?" He inquired, possibly flabbergasted by the mere suggestion of someone joining with the Refulgent Guild to help in this investigation.

Elma glared at the questioning Imperial Scribe, but refused to say anything regarding his question. Although everyone didn't have a chance to express their thoughts on the matter, it didn't help that they had no idea on what the kidnappers are like, so it wasn't wrong to simply place Elma in good light right away just because she was the one who brought it up to the Outland Count. Albert did prove that he was the essential smarts of the group, as much as Anai hated to admit that fact.

"As the Empire's Imperial Scribe, I'm afraid there's a line I have to draw when it comes to working with strangers; especially if that involves kidnapping." Albert continued, getting a scoff from the black haired female Imperial standing next to her. "Oh, knock it off, Albert. It's rude to just assume something of someone we don't even know yet!" Lysandra argued.

Gods, the way this woman argued with him was already grating on Albert's nerves. "And I'm just doing what's best for us, and for Tharsis, Lysandra! I don't need any of your back sass, miss-"

The sound of a weapon hitting the wall interrupted Albert and Lysandra's argument, turning their heads to see Logre standing right beside them. "Will the both of you be quiet and stop arguing? We're getting nowhere when you're bickering each other's heads off!" Logre growled, getting frightened faces from both Imperials.

"Sorry, sir..." The two swiftly apologized, gazing away from Logre. Logre's face soon shifted into his casual grin he always had when he was still called 'Whirlwind', lowering his weapon and sat back down, satisfied now that the argument diminished.

"Well, that's one way to settle down an argument..." Yukina commented, turning her attention back to the conversation at hand, noting to herself never to get on Logre's nerves like that.

"Hiraku may have doubts about Elma, but welcome Elma to guild with open arms!" Hiraku hummed, as the light blue haired Vessel nodded in concurrence. "S-Same here. It would be better if we just set aside our doubts and work together to stop these kidnappers before the whole town gets flipped upside down with the lack of explorers." Miak added, timid though she may be.

The Outland Count then turned to face Korey, about to ask him something. "You don't need to ask twice, Count." Korey hummed. "We'll bring those wrongdoers to justice and see to Tharsis' safety." He added as Shirota and Frederica nodded.

"Excellent, I knew I can count on you guys." The Count cheered with excitement. "Margarita and I wish you all the best of luck out there, and to stay safe from those kidnappers. They may target you at any time, so don't let your guard down for a second!" He added with worry clearly evident.

Margarita barks, as if in agreement with the Count. "Got it. We'll do our best!" Anai said, rather confident they'll handle this task.

"Well then, this meeting shall be adjourned." The Count declared, with the assignment explained to the guild before him. He followed it up with, "The search will start tomorrow, so get some shut eye, everyone."

With how late it was, it would be rather risky to attempt to acquire information right away. That would also be prime time for a kidnapping, especially if a victim were too tired to be expecting anything. Bigger in terms of numbers should hopefully make things less difficult for the kidnappers to get a drop on.

The Count turned to discuss with the white haired Nightseeker. "Elma, feel free to accompany the Refulgent guild in their home for the night, should it be easier for you."

The Nightseeker seemed to take the recommendation to heart. "I'll take up that offer, Count. Beats having to constantly rest at an inn..." Elma hummed, looking at Korey, who seemed to quickly get the idea just from her looking at him. He nodded, as if to give her the go-ahead to stay in their guildhouse.

Everybody starts chatting to themselves as all but a few individuals make their way back to the guildhouse. The Count called for Margarita and the canine followed him obediently to a room away from the racket. Sakuma gazed out the windows for a bit, before standing up at last, sighing as most of the noise seemed to leave the hallway.

"I've never thought such a day would come when explorers would get kidnapped from here of all places... Here I thought we brought peace and quiet after what we pulled in the Cloudy Stronghold..." The fortress spoke aloud.

"It's not that rare of a dirty tactic, if I may be honest."

Korey's response surprised Sakuma, turning to face him.

"People will do anything to cause some sort of chaos. Whether it involves getting information on treasure, kidnapping loved ones, hell, even holding them for ransom..." The highlander continued, speaking like he had been in one of those situations before. His eyes drifted back to the floor, glancing at the ring he had worn since his many travels.

"Oh..." Sakuma seemed to catch onto what Korey felt, almost feeling sorry that she may have brought back terrible memories. "S-Sorry if this is bringing up any horrible memories, I didn't mean-"

Korey shakes his head,  motioning for the fortress woman to calm herself. "It's fine," He reassured her. "I've moved on from those past events. Right now, the most that we can do is locate the source of the kidnapping, and sever it right at it's roots."

The Highlander motioned for Elma and Sakuma to follow him, since they'll need all the sleep and prep they need to start the search. Logre soon followed behind them, as well as Baldur.

"Say, my Prince?" Albert called out to the Imperial Prince, as the blue haired Imperial Scribe approached him. "What is it now, Albert? We're going to be left behind if we don't hurry up." Baldur groaned at the Imperial's persistence.

"I know it's not in my personal power to bring back mentions former Imperial allies, but..." Albert began. "Do you think that Silver-cladded Imperial will ever show up again?"

It had been some time since that Imperial left to explore the land outside...though the crash was what made it difficult for him to swallow. Considering that Imperial was one of his favorites, alongside Logre... It was hard for him to tell if someone even lived the airship crash or not, and he personally didn't want to cast light on something so slim of a chance.

"Who knows, Albert?" Baldur sighs, slowly beginning to walk into the hallway, with Albert beside him. "The only thing to go off of is a silver armor that Imperial named Zesiro found. And while both me and Shirota are praying that she's alive somewhere, why do you ask?"

The Imperial seemed to muse that question to himself for a while. "...I just wanted to reassure myself that everything will be alright, that's all. I miss seeing her every day back in the Stronghold..." He replied after they exit the Outland Court's building.

"So do I, Albert," Baldur sighed. "But none of that matters here and now. Let's table this conversation for another time. Now, let's get some shut eye and prepare to help out for the mission ahead."

The princes' calm, yet assertive voice seemed to bring Albert out of his nearly focused state. "Yes, my Prince." Albert replied, seeing the prince catch up with the others before catching up with them.

#etrian odyssey iv #eoiv #eo4 #etrian odyssey 4 #writing

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 16--Unlucky

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unlucky.”  A routine case with a vengeful patient leaves Demyx with more than he bargained for.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It had been kind of a long day. Drizzly, but in a vague sort of way, as though the sky couldn’t make up its mind. Demyx only had one call left before shift change, and a last-minute one; a woman had badly cut her hand by the marketplace and needed help. It would be a quick fix, at least, before he could go home and collapse into bed.

The population around here was getting to be more dense, though it still paled in comparison to many of the cities he’d visited. A few people he’d healed greeted him. He still struggled to remember all their names.

The woman was waiting by her front door, her face ashen and drawn. She had a towel wrapped tightly around her hand, and it was soaked through in places. “Good, you’re here,” she said.

“Ouch, what’d you do?”

“Trying to do some slice and dice on some vegetables… and, well…” she shrugged. She was youngish, maybe thirty or so. Her apron had splotches of blood on it.

“It happens more than you think.” He smiled. “I can fix it. Why don’t you sit down?”

She sat on her stoop. He could barely see the inside of the small home, the onions and tomatoes sitting on a now-dirty cutting board. A bloody knife. A kettle had been put up, but was not yet boiling.

Demyx sat next to her. “How’s the pain?”

“It stings more than anything. The peppers, you know.” She bit her lip.

Before unwrapping it, he gave a quick scan of the wound, and cast a spell to coagulate the blood. He set the bloody towel aside. It was a clean cut, but one that probably would’ve had trouble healing on its own. He cleaned it quickly. She hadn’t even lost much blood, and it was shallow enough that it wouldn’t scar with a spell. He had it fixed in five minutes. The woman flexed her hand.

“You’re all set,” he said. “Just try to be careful next time, okay?”

“Oh, before you go. I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Demyx hesitated. “That’s really nice of you, but I should let you get back to your dinner--”

“I insist.” She smiled widely, revealing straight, even teeth. “It’s the perfect kind of day for it.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks.”

She went back inside and came back a moment later with two mugs. “It’s a special blend. I made it myself.”

“Oh, are you a botanist?”

She laughed superficially. “You could say that.”

Demyx sipped at the tea. It was incredibly bitter, and he tried not to flinch. “The taste really is… unique.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.” She didn’t sip at her tea immediately.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I guess, in a sense. I just moved back in a few weeks ago. This was my sister’s house, but she… well.” The woman sighed. “She fell to darkness some years ago.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m getting along just fine on my own.”

He drank the tea probably too quickly, eager to get rid of the sour taste. “That’s good. I’ve noticed the people here are really friendly. You’re in good company.”

“I’m sure I am.” He wondered if he was imagining the dark undertone of her voice. She had been talking about her dead sister, after all. “We seem to be pretty welcoming to just about everyone.”

“Yeah… I really like it.” He tried to smile. “Thanks again for the refreshment. I’ll see you around.” Demyx realized he hadn’t even asked her name, but when he turned back to fix this, she had gone inside and shut the door. He brushed off the weirdness as a lack of social skills and started the long walk back.

It did seem much longer than usual. His calf muscles were getting tighter as he climbed the shallow incline, even though he usually took it a few times a day. Demyx attributed it to exhaustion, the weather. Once he was on the flat surface of the postern it didn’t fade, however, and in face the ache seemed to be creeping steadily upwards. He tried to think about what it might be. Potassium deficiency? Dehydration? He’d probably feel better with water and rest.

He kept making his way upstairs. The cramping was getting worse, more uncomfortable, almost painful now. Had he burnt out again? That had felt kind of similar. It would figure. Broken bones and pneumonia were high-cost heals, and he’d had a couple. He started to dig in his kit for an ether, found half of one, and had just brought the bottle to  his mouth when a sharp pang in his chest made him double in two. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered, spilling the shiny green liquid all over the floor. “Shit.” He rubbed at the pain, trying to get it to ease enough to stand. A hot burning sensation replaced the pain, and his vision seemed to shimmer.

It wasn’t--no--

Demyx dug out his gummiphone and dialed Even.

His voice was sharp and snippy. “Boy, I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?”

“I think I’ve been poisoned.”

---

Demyx couldn’t make it as far as the lab. His muscles were too tight, and painful, and he sat propped against a wall waiting for help. He dug through his bag with shaking, achy fingers to see if he had any antidote, but he’d used his last on a kid who’d accidentally swallowed cleaning products. He had to wait and hope he could make it until help came.

At least it was fairly quick. “What on earth did you do to yourself?” Dilan asked sourly.

“Not me,” he hissed through his teeth. He could feel sweat coursing down his face.

“Can you walk at all?”

“Hurts too much.”

Dilan hefted him up like a baby. Being moved hurt worse than the stillness, and for a moment he thought he might faint. “You’re much lighter than you look.”

He tried to keep breathing. His head was swimming too much to try and figure out what had been done to him, and why. Even was smart. Even could handle it.

“So what is this? An accident? A cruel prank?”

“Don’t know.”

“We’re almost there.”

Time seemed to stretch, elongate…

“Demyx, try to stay awake.”

“Sorry.”

There were so many damn hallways in this place.

“Here. Set him over here.” Even’s voice, high and stressed.

“He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness.”

A sharp stab of cool fluid into his arm. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. He could just barely feel the canvas of a cot under all the pain.

“There you are,” Even said. Another pinprick, this one in his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Hurts.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I’m hesitant to give you anything while we’re trying to get you to metabolize this nasty business. I’m going to take some blood, alright? Let’s see if I can’t figure out what this is. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep a steady antidote drip.”

“Okay.” The words would’ve meant more to him if he could focus. His muscles were stiff, tight, and burning. Demyx wasn’t sure to be glad or not he was conscious. He shivered, hard enough that Even had trouble getting blood. Even tucked a scratchy wool blanket around him.

"I should tell Ienzo."

"No," he hissed. "No, I'll do it after."

"You're very ill. You'll probably be very ill for the next few days."

The generic antidote was making him more lucid, but it also made him more aware of the pain, insidious and awful. "That bad?"

"I'm still doing research. But you're lucky you recognized it and got to me when you did."

Through a sort of haze Demyx watched Even at work at the nearby table, watching him pipette blood and examine it under a microscope.

Time was moving weirdly. It could've been ten minutes or two hours. The pain eased in the slightest. He was desperately tired, and desperately thirsty, despite the fluids he was taking. "Even?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Will I die if I go to sleep?"

He smiled sadly. "No, you're rebounding enough. Get some rest. You'll need it."

Demyx slipped in and out, never quite getting all the way asleep…

"It was quite alarming to see. I haven't yet gotten the story. I think you may be right, Dilan. Someone clearly has ire for us."

Demyx blinked. Something cold wormed under the skin of his hand. "What…"

Even patted his wrist. "A more specific antidote. Go back to sleep."

"What was it?"

Even frowned. He sat on an upturned crate next to the cot. "A type of neurotoxin that causes your cells to stop accepting water. Essentially, it would've been a very quick, very painful death from dehydration. Not to worry, I've made a serum which seems to be combatting it. Your vitals are already stabilizing."

Demyx considered the irony of this. "She must've known."

Even's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?'

"The person who did this." He tried to sit up, or at least prop himself up, but his muscles were horrifically sore. “About my old powers—”

"Don't move," Even said gently. "I figured you, of all people, would understand this part of palliative care."

The joke didn't phase him. "Why else would she use a poison to dry me out?"

"Who?"

"The woman, the one who--" Hot nausea brought tears to his eyes. "I'm going to throw up."

Dutifully, Even handed him a pail to be sick into. This dealt with, he tried to focus.

"She gave me tea. After I healed her. I thought the cut was too clean, that she acted weird--"

Even sighed. "You gave her the benefit of the doubt. As any competent physician would." He paused. "Do you remember where she lived? We should let the committee know. The last thing we need is another maniac on the loose."

Demyx swallowed the taste of bile. He told Even what he remembered, but this exhausted him into a stupor. Even gave him another dose of the real antidote. He drifted off and woke suddenly, disoriented, is his own bed. There was still an IV in his hand. His head was pounding in time with his heart, an insistent thud like a metronome, and his stomach was sour. The blackout curtains of the room had been drawn, leaving it blessedly dark and cool.

In the semidarkness, he did not quite realize that there were other people in the apartment with him. The lamp by the couch was on, and it was here Even and Ienzo sat, mumbling to one another too softly for him to make out. Demyx felt horrifically thirsty, and despite all the time that had passed and all the fluids he’d taken he still didn’t feel the need to use the bathroom. He wondered if the poison had done more damage to him than he’d thought, that it had fucked with his kidneys, and if he should say something.

One thing at a time. Worry about sitting up first.

A sharp, splitting pain in his ab muscles nearly made him gasp out loud, but he managed it at last, treading dizziness. His skin was tacky with dried sweat.

The muffled conversation abruptly stopped. Ienzo stood and all but ran over to him. “You scared a few years off my life. Easily,” he said. He pulled Demyx into a gentle embrace, and if he hadn’t been so dehydrated he probably would’ve cried. Demyx couldn’t help but lean into the comfort. Too soon, Ienzo broke away and touched his face. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, wonderful,” he said hoarsely. “I could run a marathon.”

A twitchy, anxious smile broke the tension in his brows. “Are you still symptomatic?”

“Well I feel like roadkill. Like a hangover times one thousand. But the worst of the pain seems to have stopped.”

“Good.”

Even gently steered Ienzo out of the way and took Demyx’s pulse. “Aerith appraised you when you were unconscious,” he told him. “You should be alright, more or less, so long as we keep your electrolytes up to snuff. The antidote seems to have worked before the poison caused lasting damage. I’ve made more, in case our little friend decides to strike again.”

“I’m still so thirsty.”

“I’m sure it must feel that way. You’re getting more than enough fluids.”

Ienzo turned towards the window, peeking through the curtain at the moonlit night. His arms were crossed and he clutched his elbow so tightly Demyx could see the knuckles were white. He wanted to console him, but considering his brain felt like it had been microwaved all he could focus on was how shitty he felt. “Can I change clothes?” Demyx asked Even. “Maybe take a bath? I feel gross.”

Even raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel up to it?” he asked. “You should really rest first.”

“I’ll feel better. There could still be vestiges of the poison in my sweat. Which I’m kind of covered in.”

“That’s a fair point. Ienzo?”

He jerked, as though startled.

Even squinted at him. “Could you help him? I’m sure he’d prefer you over me.”

“Yes. Of course,” he said stiffly.

Standing was treacherous, and he had to lean heavily against Ienzo. In the privacy of the bathroom he let Demyx undress, his back turned as if they didn’t see one another naked on a regular basis. Demyx hung the IV fluid on a rack normally devoted to towels and settled in the warm water. “Well, this is humiliating,” he said slowly.

Ienzo sat on the covered toilet. “I’m sure.”

“I feel like an invalid.”

“You’re very, very weak.” He sighed. “While you were resting, I studied that compound. Things could’ve been so much worse, Demyx.” His voice trembled in the slightest. “It could’ve caused irreparable, irreversible damage to your brain. You could’ve had memory loss, or been paralyzed-- why are you laughing?”

The deadly anger of his tone sobered what little humor Demyx had found. “I can deal with memory loss.”

Ienzo paled, his anger dissolving. “Yes… that was… tactless of me.” A pause. “You could’ve lost so much, aside from your life. Motor skills… the ability to speak…”

“Motor skills?” He looked at his wet palms, which trembled faintly. He hoped it was from anxiety and nothing deeper. Aerith would’ve said something, right? “You mean I couldn’t play Arpeggio?”

“Amongst other things.”

He’d been too sick to realize it. He could handle the thought of death, even being disabled, because there was nothing wrong with not being able to walk or talk. Whatever would have happened, he could handle and adjust. But losing Arpeggio? Again? He felt wetness in his eyes and tried to blink it back.

“This is probably traumatizing,” Ienzo said softly. He took Demyx’s hand.

“Probably? You think?”

“I hope this is an anomaly, a lone act of cruelty. The committee is opening an investigation. Once you’re well, they want to question you.” He slumped a bit, as though his body weighed too much. “I am… furious. Even if this is revenge against the apprentices, there was no reason for you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Unless she knew about me being in the Organization.”

“That is… possible, yes. Even so. It would’ve made far more sense for her to target one of us.”

“I interact with people more. Maybe she was trying to send a message.” His stomach was feeling a little worse, and he settled more deeply into the tub.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I had hoped Dilan was wrong, about the townspeople harboring grudges against us. I was naive.”

“You were hopeful.”

Ienzo looked up. There were tears in his eyes.

“Maybe it’s got nothing to do with our pasts. Maybe she’s just crazy and wanted to hurt someone.”

“Maybe,” he said, though Demyx could tell he didn’t believe it. “Is it helping? The bath?”

“It feels good. I’m so sore.”

“You probably shouldn’t stay in too long. I’d feel much better if you were back in bed. I should probably change the sheets, in case you were right about it being in your sweat.” He stood. “I’ll do that now. If you need me, shout.”

Taking a bath wore him out. Once he had actually brushed his teeth and gotten dressed again, he fell asleep for an indeterminable length of time. When he woke up, he was still achy, still thirsty, but a little bit less so. He kept down tea and a bowl of rice, was able to get to the bathroom on his own. It was a small victory.

Aeleus visited him. After all this time they weren’t very close, but Demyx appreciated the gesture regardless. “I’ve made you some bone broth soup. It’ll help get your strength back.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He sat in the chair at the bedside. Ansem had taken Ienzo out for lunch, though he didn’t know that Demyx asked him to do this. Ienzo needed air, some time to decompress. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Demyx admitted. “I’m getting there. Slowly. I can’t wait to get this thing out of my hand.”

“You gave Ienzo quite a fright.”

“I think it hit him harder than it hit me, to be honest.” Demyx bit his lip. “To a degree I think he thinks it’s his fault. That the woman was really after one of you, that this was some sort of revenge. It’s probably triggering him. That’s why I wanted him to talk to Ansem.”

Aeleus nodded sagely. “You know him well.”

Demyx laughed a little. “Well--I hope so. He’s hard to figure out, but I’m getting better at it.”

“You’ve become very considerate. Compared to then.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his untethered hand. His hair was a mess, but he saw no point in making it look good today. “I’ve worked really hard on that. The way I… used to talk to the others, makes me… ugh, cringe.” He bit his lip. “You want to know something really horrible? When Demyx heard about you guys at CO getting killed, he was happy. As much as a Nobody could feel, anyway.”

Aeleus’s expression barely changed. “You had to develop a sense of empathy from scratch. I, too, hardened my heart. So to speak. It was the only way to get through.”

“I already asked Even and Dilan. But how did you end up with Ansem?”

Aeleus thought about this for a few minutes. “We can say it was… progress for progress’s sake,” he said slowly. “I was young, I was idealistic. I’d heard that Ansem was pushing the boundaries of what could be, and I… feeling somewhat stuck in a rut… craved that change.”

“Did you feel trapped in Radiant Garden?”

“I believe I did. To hear him speak of other worlds, of other cultures was… intoxicating. It changed absolutely everything. Now I try my best to not be jaded. This place… I hope to nurture it.”

Demyx understood. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

---

He slept again, deeply, and woke up disoriented a little after noon. He felt weird, and it took him a minute to process that he only felt that way because he wasn’t thirsty. Demyx waited for Even’s confirmation, but getting rid of the IV made him feel a million times better. He was able to at least rest on the couch now instead of in bed.

Aerith came by with Leon. She confirmed that the poison was gone from his system, but that he should still rest for another few days, at least until the fatigue dissipated. She made them tea and, exam and pleasantries over, they set to business.

Demyx told Leon everything he remembered, every detail to how she looked and acted, to how the tea tasted, where she lived. He’d told Even all this in a sort of fugue state. Giving the report made him feel vaguely nauseous.

“We’ve investigated the leads,” Leon said. “It’s so weird. When Yuffie went to that home, there was nobody there. There was no sign it was even inhabited. We’ve asked around, and nobody’s seen this person in days. We’re thinking she came over with one of the last Traverse Town flights. Without a name, and without records… she’ll be hard to catch.”

Demyx bit his lip. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Leon sighed. “Yeah, us too. And we’ve let everyone know--not that it was you, but that someone had been poisoned, and not to accept anything from strangers or what seems or tastes suspicious. The restaurant owners are all pissed at me, but I don’t do this to be liked.”

“Even has samples of my blood and the poison. If that helps.”

Aerith’s eyes brightened. “You know, it might,” she said. “Maybe if I can figure out where it came from, we can find out more about the person who did this.”

“I’d say you guys in particular need to be extra careful,” Leon said. “In case this was targeting you specifically.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you think it is? Has anyone ever, like, mentioned anything about us?”

Leon tapped his fingers against his notepad. “Not that I can recall. I sent Yuffie out to do some recon. She’s good with people. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll find it.”

“And at least we have and can make more of the antidote, should someone need it,” Aerith said. “It’s good you were able to recognize it for what it was.”

“I kind of have you to thank for that. That, and years of getting bitten by asshole Heartless.”

Leon smiled. “We’ll call you if we need more information. Though this brings up an important point. We need to know who lives here. What they’re doing here. Town is growing so fast. We’ve been so focused on the literal infrastructure that I nearly forgot there needs to be other infrastructure too.”

“Oh, bureaucracy.” He tried not to flinch.

“Sort of. We should start a basic census, at least.” He thought about this for a moment, tapping a pen against his chin. “Well, I hope you have a quick recovery.”

Aerith gave him a hug. “Be well.”

---

It took him about ten days before he was feeling normal. It definitely felt like he’d been really sick for a long time. He’d lost weight, and ended up having to buy a belt because nothing fit right anymore. He hoped to gain a few kilos and get back into shape. Demyx was sure if he tried to do magic right now it would wipe him out, or worse.

One of these days he and Ienzo took a walk into town to get some groceries. At first, a flutter of anxiety crept under his skin, because even though Leon said they kept his identity hidden in terms of the poisoning, he feared everyone would know. But they were treated more or less normally.

“I figured I’d use this time as an excuse to bake more,” Ienzo said. “If you need to gain weight, that’s a good way to do it.”

“I won’t say no.”

“I know you won’t. I do enjoy it.” He stood to Demyx’s left, so he has trouble reading Ienzo’s expression. He swore he heard some artificiality in it.

“Can you make macarons? The last time you did I swear I met god.”

“To be fair. We’d just smoked marijuana. That does affect taste. ...And any supposed divine revelation.”

“Even so.”

“That was a good night. We should do it again when you’re well.”

A blush crept into his cheeks. “Yes.” They hadn’t had sex in nearly two weeks; maybe if he wasn’t exhausted when they got home Ienzo might want to.

“Do you feel up to taking the long way home?”

“I think so. I’m not that tired yet.” The early morning air was fresh and cool, and he drank it in gratefully. Even with open windows, the air inside could only feel so clean. “I’ve missed being outside.”

“You’ve dealt with all this beautifully.”

“No point being weak and also miserable.”

“I suppose.”

Demyx looked back towards him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why is it you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure.”

He sighed. “Admittedly, it did dredge up some negative memories,” he said. “You and I… have a complicated history of collapsing on one another.”

“We have the combined constitution of a wet tissue.”

He chuckled. “As well as luck that is both terrible and great.” A pause. Demyx let him take his time. “I know it’s not my fault, but I do feel… guilty. If this is a targeted attack, who knows what else might happen should someone with a grudge seek revenge?”

“I really hope it isn’t that.”

“I do too--” Ienzo’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I swear I saw someone--maybe I’m paranoid.”

“Might be a Heartless.”

“Are you strong enough to fight one?”

“Maybe a Shadow--probably not much more. Maybe we should turn back towards where there are more claymores.” A seed of dread started to grow in his stomach.

“Yes. I agree.”

They walked back along the blue stone that bordered the edge of town. Ienzo kept looking over his shoulder; Demyx couldn’t help but do the same. They heard rock scrabbling. “We’re definitely being followed by something,” Demyx said, as softly as he could.

“What should we do?”

“Try and act natural until we get somewhere safer.”

Ienzo squeezed his hand more tightly than he normally did. “I’ve got a pocket knife. But I don’t think that will be much use. And my magic is still very limited.”

“Well, we’ll see. Might want to dust off that strategizing part of your brain.”

There was a quiet thud behind them. Demyx turned, tense, ready to draw the Keyblade.

The figure wore a cloak. Not an Organization cloak, a regular, run-of-the-mill cloak. It was brown.

But Demyx, after years of recon, didn’t need to see a person’s face to recognize them. The height, shoulders, and general bearing were enough. He exhaled and put a hand on his hip. “What are you doing here?”

The figure, craving anonymity, said nothing.

Ienzo squinted, confused.

“You trying to finish the job, or what?” Demyx asked.

The figure flicked back their hood and scowled.

“For the record, poisoning a healer isn’t the best way to go. We tend to be pretty resilient. You should’ve just stabbed me.”

The woman’s face was flushed red with anger. “You weren’t supposed to survive.”

“Yeah, that’s how assassination works.”

Demyx turned back to Ienzo. He was frozen; he looked like he’d been struck. Demyx wondered briefly if he’d been hit by a Stop spell, but he was still blinking, and his hands were shaking. More obvious than anything, though, was the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Little Ienzo,” she said coolly. “Though--not so small now, are you?”

Demyx tried to think. “Who--” he began, but the woman cut him off.

“Go on, tell him,” she said.

He shuddered, then said, “One of the test subjects. One of the victims. She and her sister.”

“But she’s human,” Demyx said. The conversation he’d had with her previously clicked. “Or--”

“Not all of the people who were exploited fell to darkness. In the--the early days.” He steeled himself. “Regardless of how you feel. Take out your anger on me, not on those around me.”

“I think you were the most disturbing one,” the woman continued. “Of all the scientists. What did they do to you, to get you to act the way they did? And why are you reopening old wounds?”

“I want to help people heal from what I did. The darkness hurt me too.”

She took a step forward. Demyx tried to shove Ienzo behind him instinctively. “Not everybody wants to forgive and forget,” she said.

“More people do than don’t,” Demyx cut in. “And how is trying to kill us solving anything?”

To his surprise, he felt Ienzo taking shelter behind him; he was confused for just a second before he felt Ienzo pressing the gummiphone into his back.

The woman scowled. “He’s got you under his spell too, I see.”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if you want to manipulate me, you’re going to have to be a lot more clever than that.”

Ienzo pressed his palm once again against Demyx’s back. The message was clear; stall.  

“What did you think any of this would achieve?” Demyx asked. His heart was hammering, but he tried to maintain a sculpted look of boredom. “So you kill me. What would your next move have been? Infiltrating the castle? Trying to off us one by one? And then what? Regardless, you’d get caught. We work with the committee. They’d notice if we were gone.”

She seemed thrown by this. Behind the bravado, he noticed something like pain.

He sighed. “Look. I get it. I do. I know how it feels to be violated, and then to be so angry, so desperate, so hurt you’ll do anything to make it better. But you don’t have to do it this way. If you want, we can… I can help you.”

She clenched her fists. “You’d help the person who tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Honor code, right?” he held up his hand, and then wondered if this was overkill.

For a moment she said and did nothing, her expression blank. Her hands opened, relaxed. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Someone would be here soon.

With a flash, almost faster than he could really perceive, he saw the knife, but before he could duck or draw the Keyblade Ienzo threw him down and caught the knife right against his shoulder. In the space of about two seconds, Demyx smashed the hilt of the Keyblade against her temple, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He turned back to Ienzo. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Demyx hissed. “Lay down.”

He was breathing heavily, a fine film of sweat all along his face. “Feels mostly like she hit bone,” Ienzo said through his teeth.

“That’s for me to decide.” He ripped off his sweatshirt and packed it around the wound.

“Don’t do magic. Help is coming.”

“Let me at least check to see if it hit an artery.” The bleeding wasn’t visibly too much, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could all be internal.

“You’ll hurt yourself--”

“Shut up. You just got fucking stabbed.” He tried to find the energy for a spell. It didn’t seem to want to come. He pulled hard, pulled deep within himself, and immediately felt his body start to protest. He gagged.

“Demyx--”

“No. I’ve got this.”

“Demyx, I’m fine. Really.”

He applied pressure to Ienzo’s wound. He texted Aerith, in case she wasn’t already on the way. “You still with me?”

“I don’t even feel dizzy.”

“Don’t lie.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “If you die I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m not going to die.” The way he was breathing seemed to betray that. “I’m not finished with you yet.” His eyes rolled a little bit.

“Ienzo.”

“Still here.”

“Don’t shut your eyes.” He had to try again. Demyx pulled harder, tried to find the magic. Blackness swam over him for a minute.

He heard their footsteps before things could get bleaker. He wasn’t sure if it was from trying to use power, or from panic, but things seemed off, his ears ringing. Aerith crouched to heal the wound, Leon crouched to accost the woman. A small, dusty smelling hand patted his cheek. “Come on, kiddo,” said the voice. Yuffie’s face barely slid into focus.

“I’m five years older than you,” he mumbled, and fainted.

He came to about fifteen seconds later when she tipped an ether into his mouth. He drank it all down, flinching at the oily taste. He turned to Ienzo and Aerith--he was pale, his eyes closed--and a strangled sound caught in his throat.

“He’s alive,” Aerith assured him quickly. “He’s alive. He’s asleep. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh fuck,” he said to the ground. “Fucking--”

“What a day, huh,” Yuffie said dryly.

---

“I do believe Aerith’s instructions were that both of us were to rest. I also believe I don’t need any more pillows. Nor do I need them fluffed.”

Demyx took a step back. Other than being a little pale, Ienzo seemed completely back to himself.

“You’re doing it again,” he said drolly, and took another drink of the blood replacement potion.

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me instead of yourself. Come to bed. Lie with me.”

Demyx did so.

Ienzo slid his shirt down his shoulder. “See? I don’t even have a scar. So before you exert yourself wittering over me--”

“You took a fucking knife for me.”

He put a finger over his lips. “Which was a calculated risk I knew probably wouldn’t kill me. In the moment, I admit, I was more concerned about your wellbeing than mine--”

“Probably?”

“Demyx. Breathe.”

He tried to listen.

“I’ve seen too many people die this way.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Ienzo pulled him close.

He cried for a long time.

“I know you want to protect me,” Ienzo continued. “I think it would be easier, and more productive, if we agreed to protect each other instead. Can you agree to that?” He brushed a tear from Demyx’s eye.

“Yes.”

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even #aerith #beyond this existence: new life #idk how this chapter turned out to be 5000 words

[metaphoricallyroger]

With Love, From Me to You - iii of iv [R.T.]

Summary: One-hundred ways to say ‘I love you’ over twenty-eight years.

Words: 3,387

Warnings: Implied smut.

Note: This follows both Bohemian Rhapsody’s and real-life events (generally for dates, minor plot etc.), picture whichever Roger you fancy! The title is taken from ‘From Me To You’ by The Beatles.

--

51. (1977):

“Were you seriously just checking out that woman’s legs?” It wasn’t much to ask, you thought, to have a little attention from your boyfriend whom you haven’t seen for weeks.

But apparently, said boyfriend was too engrossed in the leg length of a party attendee.

“Her legs were longer than Brian’s, how could I not look?”

“I noticed too, but that doesn’t mean I stare when I’ve got my girlfriend sitting on my lap!” You screech and ignore his childlike poking to get a hold of your cigarette.

When Roger goes quiet, you look to the left to find him smiling affectionately at you. You raise your eyebrows, waiting to see what he wants.

“Can I hold your hand?”

His cheeky grin wins you over.

--

52. (1977):

The day seems to drag on and on as the rain slides down the windows of the recording studio while Queen tries to lay down tracks for their latest album.

Roger sighs and takes the headphones off after having finished his harmonies and watches Freddie put his own on, ready to do just as Roger had been.

“Taylor, your girlfriend is here,” the sound technician drones into the microphone without sparing you a glance.

Roger barrels through the door of the control room, much to the protests of his bandmates, grinning widely.

“I thought you had work today?” He says, giving you a surprised kiss.

“Got let off early. Thought you could use a distraction,” you smile. Roger returns it, immensely happy to get out of the studio if only for a brief period.

--

53. (1978):

Your head pops out of the duvet, peering at Roger with puffy eyes.

“I’m sorry that I made you cry,” Roger holds up the flowers he nicked from the neighbour’s yard which were really weeds.

“It’s not your fault,” you wipe at your red nose, “I’m hormonal on my period.”

“I really shouldn’t have eaten the last of that chocolate, I’ll buy you more, I swear.” He puts the ‘flowers’ on the bedside table and crawls into the bed.

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you much like one would a baby.

“You will?”

“I’ll get you two,” he smacks a kiss against your cheek.

--

54. (1978):

Your hand moves across Roger’s forehead as he rests himself in your lap.

“One more chapter.”

“Roger, you’re falling asleep.” You can’t help but smile at the sleepy man who continuously burrows his nose into your thigh as you turn the pages of your book.

“It’s because you’re rubbing my head. You’re to blame here.”

You remove your hand but the fussy Roger grabs it and puts it right back to where it was.

“I think you’re tired because you just got back from tour. But if you insist, one more only.”  

The blonde on your lap is suddenly quiet, asleep.

--

55. (1978):

You and Roger lay side by side late into the night when neither of you can sleep and this usually resorts to a game of questions until one of you falls under.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” He asks one insomnia-filled night. It wasn’t uncommon for questions to turn to the future, but the topic of children was yet to appear.

“With you?”

“With whomever,” he gestures in the air and you can feel the breeze on your face as his hand lands on the bed again.

“I’ve never really liked them if I’m honest.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding dejected.

“I think I’d like kids with you though.” You roll onto your side to look at his shining eyes.

“You would?”

“Yes. Could you imagine tiny Roger’s running around? We might prematurely age Brian.”

“Can we start now?” Despite the darkness, you can see his profile shift as he wiggles his eyebrows.

“We can practise how not to get pregnant.”

“Deal,” he rolls you to your back and climbs on top of you, laughing.

--

56. (1979):

“Have you ever thought about getting married?”

“Are you asking me if I want to get married to you?” You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself on your elbows, looking at Roger as he does the same.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“And you decided that four o’clock in the morning would be a good time to ask?” His tongue-in-teeth grin is all you need to know.

“Seemed like as good a time as any.”

“Alright.” Your hand subconsciously begins to trace around your ring finger where one was yet to appear.

“That a yes?”

“Seems so,” you mock and giggle when he bites your lip, dragging you back down to the mattress of a hotel in Hamburg.

--

57. (1979):

Brian has been graceful enough to lend you his camera after you left your own at home, and you were using every moment of your day with Roger to snap photos of the sights (which mainly included your fiancée in them).

“Love, you’re clogging up the flow of traffic, we’re going to get yelled at.”

“Yeah, but look at all of this, doesn’t it excite you?” Your hands make a sweeping motion over the city. You can’t decide what to focus on, the stores and markets Tokyo have to offer are unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“Seeing you excited makes me happy. Now come on,” he takes your hand, “let’s go get ripped off by a stall owner.”

--

58. (1979):

“Come on, let’s go outside.” Roger gives you a gentle tap on the arse.

“Why?”

“Because you’re about two seconds away from eating that pencil you’re chewin’.” You’ve decided to quit smoking after years of doing so, and it wasn’t proving as easy as you thought. The pencil acts as a placebo and aided a bit, aside from the fact that you’ll need a new one soon and probably dental work.

“What’s the point in this walk? It’s chilly.” You drag your feet along the concrete of the footpath that’s damp from afternoon showers.

“It’ll keep your mind off it. Besides,” he raises his eyebrows, “you get to look at my perky arse when I walk.”

Roger turns where he is leading you and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Could you get your cigarette breath out of my face, please?”

“You’ve got cigarette breath too, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.” He plants an even sloppier kiss for effect.

“Not for long anymore, trust me, next time you’re home from tour I’ll be minty fresh.”

“Is that a promise?” He tilts his head, and you could compare him to a puppy if you thought about it.

“More like a threat.”

--

59. (1980):

Freddie has taken it upon himself to be the EMCee of the event and has decided that people have been sitting around for far too long and not having any fun. A soft, romantic ballad that neither you nor Roger knew plays from speakers, clearly showing that you both were not in charge of the music. It’s time for your first dance as a married couple.

“Can I have this dance?” Roger glances up at you from where you just finished talking to guests at another table.

“Thought you’d never ask, Mrs Taylor.”

--

60. (1980):

After sneaking out of your own wedding, you and Roger stand in a conveniently unlocked, large, supply cupboard.

“You sure you want to do this?” You grin, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “we’re the bride and groom, I think we’ll be missed.”

“Who cares?” Roger bites his lip and smirks. “It’s our wedding, after all.”

“You’re going to have to help me with my dress.”

--

61. (1980):

Whilst in the South of France on your honeymoon, Roger decides on both of your behalf’s that it is important for him to buy a Ferrari.

When you get the phone call that Roger just trashed his car, your fear-riddled mind thinks that he’s been gravely injured. That clearly isn’t the case because your husband is the one talking to you and still swearing in that high-pitched tone he affects when he’s angry.

“You’ve crashed your car?”

“No, I didn’t crash, the bloody things shit itself and caught on fire!” You hear a thump from the other end of the line and can picture Roger kicking the phone box in frustration.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, but my Ferrari is.”

He sounds more upset about the car rather than the fact that he could have died.

“Roger, I don’t care about the car, just about whether you’re okay. Where are you?”

During the time it took him to tell you where he was you had already grabbed the rental car keys and ran your fingers over the teeth of the Mercedes one anxiously.  

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

--

62. (1980):

A bulky letter awaits Roger as he returns to his hotel room after soundcheck for the concert in Pittsburgh. He picks up the phone to call home, knowing with the time difference you’d be the only one left awake in the house at this time.

“Hey, love.”

“Did you get my letter?” Too electrified to contain yourself, you ask before you greet him, worrying that the letter you gave to Brian to give to Roger somehow got lost in the woes of international travel. You gave specific instructions, that he was under no circumstances allowed to open, and it was to be handed off when Roger became homesick or too stressed.

“Just did, but I haven’t read it yet. Should I now?”

“No!” You screech. “You have to wait until I’m off the phone.”

“So should I hang up now?”

“You have to tell me about your day first,” you know he can hear your teasing tone.

Roger begins telling you about his day, holding the phone between ear and shoulder, discreetly opening the letter and watching polaroids slip out with a smirk.

--

63. (1981):

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you wince, “my stomach just feels a bit off. That’s all.”

“Would you like me to rub your stomach?”

“I’m not one of Freddie’s cats.” Even with those words, you lie between Roger’s legs, back to chest so his hands flit comfortingly across your stomach.

--

64. (1981):

“I figured out why my stomach has been weird.”

“I told you not to eat that old take out. Didn’t you learn from that disaster years ago?” Roger barely spares you a look from the magazine he is reading.

“You’re going to be a father in the near future.”

His eyebrows hit his hairline as you sit next to him.

“I’m what?”

“You, me, parents.” You punctuate each word with a slight kiss.

“Parents,” he trails off, eyes stuck on the inconspicuous bump under your dressing gown.

--

65. (1981):

You were practically falling asleep next to Roger on the lounge at Freddie’s party despite the raucous and debauched atmosphere.

You adjust yourself against his shoulder and brace yourself as another server comes to offer you champagne once again.

“She’s not drinking tonight.” Roger easily dismisses the servers but takes a flute for himself.

“You pregnant or something, Y/N?” You look up at Brian who has a knowing look on his face.

You have a look of elation as you glance at him, causing the band members around you, family really, and their wives to all laugh.

--

66. (1981):

“Look after your Mum, okay?” You struggle to hold back a laugh as Roger gets down to his knees in the middle of the busy airport. He speaks directly to your stomach and his lashes flutter when he feels movement under his placed hand.

“They’ve still got two months before we meet them, I’ll be fine, Roger.”

“I know, I just worry.” His brows draw together as he looks up at you.

“I’ve got plenty of help, and Mum and Chrissy will be a wealth of knowledge. Believe me, this baby is well looked after, and so am I.”

You wrap one arm around his neck and your free hand over his, still resting against your stomach. You had thought that the constant touching on Roger’s behalf would drive you up the wall, and it has to a certain extent, but now you knew you are going to miss it.

“I’m still calling every chance I get.”

“You’d better.” You share a kiss before he pulls away with a smirk after the boys call out to him.

--

67. (1981):

“Watch your step.”

Roger helps you up the stairs to the nursery with a careful hand on your lower back. Typically, him fussing annoys the living daylights out of you but because you knew what he was doing today it was a welcome fussing.

“What do you think?” His hand uncovers your eyes.

“You did all of this?”

You were shipped out of the house to spend some time with Mary while Roger, with the help of his band members decorated and put together the flat-pack furniture you’d been seeing arrive the previous days.

The room has everything a baby could possibly need, and the change table was already stocked with enough nappies, wipes and baby powder to sink a battleship.  

“Well, I did get some help from Fred on the decorating and Brian and John with the cot and such.” He blushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“But it was your idea.”

“All mine.” You wrap your arms around his neck and sway with him gently, kissing his stubbly jawline every so often.

“I think the baby will be very happy here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you smile whimsically, “especially with this.” You walk over to the cot and pick up the stuffed lion you had given him all those years ago.

“How could I forget about him? He’s important to us.”

--

68. (1981):

“You did well.”

“Only well?” You grin down at the tiny, fragile figure in your arms you have given life to. Roger passed her back once she started to fall asleep, and she now rests with her hand tucked in a fist under a rosy cheek.

“She’s perfect already, I’d say you did amazing.” His eyes are glistening with unbridled joy as he glances down at the yet-to-be-named Baby Taylor.

“Yeah, I don’t think we need anything for Christmas this year,” you joke.

--

69. (1982):

You and Roger practically went into hibernation mode after you had Zoe, and haven’t seen the band since before she was born. They all sit in your living room, passing her back and forth between each other and cooing every time she lets out a little grunt or a happy noise.

“Would you look at that, the little darling looks like Rog.” Freddie notices as he looks down at the baby currently snuggled in John’s arms.

“She’ll have his chin, I bet,” John smiles at the sleeping angel.

“Oh God,” Brian moans, “another Taylor running around.” You can see he doesn’t mean it as he has a small smile on his face when Zoe wraps her finger around his tightly.

Roger feels slightly defensive over his new baby, but he knows Brian is just ribbing him and smirks at the taller man.

“Yeah but this one is extra important because she’s half Y/N.”

--

70. (1982):

Since she was born, Zoe hasn’t slept through an entire night, and it was beginning to take its toll on you and Roger. You both love being parents, but the intimacy you once shared is no longer the same.

The intimacy comes in quiet moments when you’re looking after the baby, and you get to watch Roger’s smiles and one-sided conversations with her. It’s an even deeper form of intimacy that only comes when you share the role of caregiver.   

“Roger, I’m tired, I’m not really in the mood.”

“Want to watch the telly instead?” Roger pulls back from where he was sucking on your neck and settles next to you, already grabbing for the remote.

“Are you sure?” You worry your bottom lip.

You miss being in bed with Roger, and the way he makes you feel when he’s pressed deep inside you, but you’re just so tired.

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.” He plants a kiss on your cheek and positions himself so you can lay on his chest, hand rubbing his hip.

--

71. (1982):

Roger pays an extravagant amount for flowers in the shop down the street from the restaurant where your work dinner is taking place. He knows that no expensive bunch of flowers can make up for being late to something that means a lot to you.

“Love! I’m so, so, sorry,” he tries to catch his breath as he finds you, about to get into the car.

“I really didn’t mean to-”

“No, I get it. Busy being a rock star and all,” you don’t even look at him as you unlock the doors, handing him the keys to drive.

“It’s not that at all,” he pleads, “I swear I didn’t mean to be late.”

“Whatever, let’s just go home.”

--

72. (1983):

“Look, Zoe, there’s your daddy,” you coo to the toddler waddling beside you.

“Hi, Bubs!” He calls to her. You and Roger barely stand three feet apart, arms extended in case she falls over. He missed her first steps but won’t miss her fully walking on her own as her little feet stomp over to him to wrap around his knees.

“Hello,” you smile as Roger scoops the giggling girl into his arms.

“I’m so glad to be back,” Roger sighs. You wrap one arm around his shoulder in a hug and let him guide you out of the busy airport.

--

73. (1983):

“Say it, say ‘dada’, Zoe.” You watch Roger with wide eyes as he moves his head side to side with every syllable.

“She’s not going to say it if you tell her to.”

“She will just you wait. Taylor women are very smart, just need some persuasion, that’s all.” He grabs the lion out of her hands and holds it above her fair head.

“Dada!” She finally shrieks and extends her arms to try and grab her lion back.

“See! So smart, just like her mother.”

“I’d yell too if you snatched my toy away.” You still sit down next to the pair and celebrate with them, mainly Roger, because Zoe’s too young to get why this is a big deal.

--

74. (1983):

You’re standing under the warmth of the shower spray when Roger barges into the room, raging about something or other to do with a new song.

“I’m trying to understand, Roger,” you sigh.

“I feel like I can’t tell you anything anymore,” he leans against the bathroom sink. You open the glass door of the shower with wide eyes, uncaring about your nakedness, paralysed.

“What? You’re my best friend, you absolutely can.” You grab onto his elbow when he scoffs and goes to turn away.

“I know I can. I want to, believe me. It’s just … hard.”

“It may take time, but you can tell me anything.  Surely you have to know that.” You hold out your hand and invite him into the shower.

--

75. (1983):

Roger opens his eyes with a groan as the bright mid-morning sunlight streams into the room due to your opening of the curtains and windows.

“It smells like a brewery in here, get up.” You pull back the sheets and begin to remove them, rolling Roger’s dead weight across the mattress as he isn’t making any attempt to move.

“I’m hungover,” he moans.

“Whose fault is that hm? Not mine.”

“Can’t you leave me alone for once? I don’t feel well.” He rests his palm across his forehead and looks up at you with pleading eyes. It doesn’t do anything.

“That would have worked if you didn’t throw up all over my floor at four o’clock in the morning. You’re an adult, not a five year old. You should know when you aren’t feeling well.”

“I don’t know I’m not feeling great when I’m that drunk!”

“I understand that you’re having troubles with the band but if you keep coming home drunk, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to sleep.”

“You’re going to kick me out? Of my own house?”

“I paid for half of this house too, don’t forget.”

You pause and try to take a softer tone, brushing sun-streaked golden hair out of his eyes.

“I just want to help you, Roger. You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong and I’m already worried about you. Would you like a hug?”

Roger half crawls, half wiggles his way over to you.

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody imagine

[mikkock]

HELLO I ADORE YOUR OCS SO MUCH WILL YOU TELL ME ABOUT KAI HE LOOKS LIKE A TOTAL "YOUR DAUGHTER CALLS ME DADDY TOO" DOUCHEBAG AND I FUCKING LOVE HIM AND WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT HIM

LBLMVBGK THANK U OMG love it when ppl like my kids, im a proud dad rn

ALSO wrow congrats on ur on point analysis, cause, that’s the Essence Of His Being (fun fact since i got two characters who go by the name of kai -cause fuck that basic writing tip that says ‘dont have two characters named the same thing- i usually refer to him as The Bad Kai cuz he a bad bitch)

so lets unwrap that dude shall we uwu 

SO this dude was created when i realised my story didnt have antagonists so i made a bunch of Bad People and then they all became good people after i started giving them more personnality somehow eXCEPt him for some reason, the only survivor of the “everyone will be baby” plague, the only rude bitch in this house, the only guy who’s still on the dark grey side of morally grey...but tbh im in love with him cause he’s an asshole and im an idiot so like.

His base concept was basically something along the lines of “fuckboy but make it Couture”, like douchebag indeed But Gotta Be Fancy at being one, gotta add a pinch of Sneaky Bitch in the pot. His aesthetic is Chillin, gettin in ur pants, then moving on for some more chillin and more pants. So if you’re into some funky sexy time with no pressure and no ties, ya gon get along, your goals meet, time to have fun.

All that is supported by his charisma, cause unless ya got some nasty history, he’ll just look like that charming bad-boy “oho hot dude with a dangerous but not agressive” vibed person, and he’s quite a sweet-talker. He’s probs not only the ‘your daughter calls me daddy’ kind but also ‘and so will YOU, i’m scoring with the whole family and you wont stop me (and you wont WANT to stop me)’ 

He got that handsome ppl priviledge ya feel

but also, he wouldnt be a rude guy if he was just the ‘i enjoy chill frick-fracking and im just so sexy that no one can say no to that booty’ guy

Dude got quiiite some spite-fueled ego and Does Not Take losing well, and will not, in fact, let himself lose on any objective he has, and when that objective is A Person, he gets ugly. Being good at sweet talking also means being good at small stuff like “not saying exactly the truth always when it would be more beneficial not to”, “deliberately using euphemistic, ambiguous or obscure language so to mask wrong doings and technically saying the truth but in such a way that it becomes completely masked by a thick fog of bullshit”, and “use words and behaviour in general to influence others unscrupulously so to get something in return”. Even a little “playing with their perception in order to make them doubt in their thoughts and selves”. In short dude got no qualms about using all the tools of manipulation available if it means that he comes on top (or on bottom if the goal was getting an assful eeeeeey we’re masters of comedy here) It tends to be all for short term results tho, so not much your ‘boyfriend who convinces you you’re nothing without him” and more of a “you thought you were dating but only you were thinking that as he always kept it just vague enough to have you not official yet convinced of his and now you’re blaming yourself for believing you were together”

master of getting ass, also master of Ugly Ass Breakups, and master of suddenly dissapearing from your life so hard that you wonder if it was just your imagination all along (he got ugly past with a bunch of other ocs especially he’s ex boyfriend with two that are now together cause i dig that sort of drama the sAME dUDe gave u the trust issues that held u from going full lovey dovey ? i fucking lIVE off that kinda shit wait until he pops back like ‘oho hello fancy seeing YOU TWO here my two fave exes together incredible what a small world”)

Though I have to rework on all that cause that backstory is oLD AS SHIT (like prolly i built it in what, 2016? ew ugly) I had that stem from some sort of neglect-fueled inferiority complex. I had given him a kinda cold family with a bunch of siblings who got Way More Nurtured due to their respective talents and achievements, having him left behind and feeling like he got nothing. SO that’s basically the explanation as of today but i dont like iiiiit anymooooore so I’ll have to work on it to make it something i dig, cause idk, bitch feels flat so far.

BUT i do intend on keeping the whole concept of ~Loneliness~, and of him working alone and quite hard for anything he gets. And the general need of proving himself that had come from the WIP backstory. I don’t exactly see him as an overachiever at all, but definitly as an obstinate and persevering hardworking guy, because “Look YALL I WAS aBLE TO DO THIS YALL THOUGHT I COULDNT HUH YALL LOOK DOWN ON ME well fuck u cause idc im better than u now also ur mum’s into bondage i kno from experience bye”. So tbh pair up with him for group projects, you’ll be sure his share of the work will be done (but also if you dont do yours then he’s probably going to be a bITCh about it, no remorse in leaving blank slides in the middle of the powerpoint and then loudly proclaiming ‘OH RIGHT This was supposed to be Kevin’s part but I suppose he never sent it to me, despite the numerous reminders i sent him, no big deal, no hard feelings, its ok sweetie we all sometimes feel too lazy i forgive u :)” )

Also he’d be Chill to hang out with for like, parties, nights out at the bar, that kinda shit. He definetly has some beans to spill about quite some people, he gathers the goss as he gathers lovers (i was gonna end that in “as he spreads legs” but it sounded too PG-18 for this good Well Behaved family friendly blog) and Will Not stay tight lipped, and Will be a bitch when trashtalking people, and It Will Be Entertaining as it always is when you’re hearing about crazy exes and you’ve had some beers. 

Now trivia that idk where else to write cause idk i stupid or more like disorganised :

- he digs red ale beer like if ya wanna win him over with the appropriate alcohol offer there u go

- he’s a fake blonde (cause my hobby is painting regrowth roots on hair)

- his design is a mixture of those 3dgy denim boys u see on pinterest and the specific brand of fuckboys that are french-L-section-chic-grunge-hipster-fuckboys (L section is like a branch of highschool)(that word combo is a so specific kinda guy)(its kinda like a softboi but more arrogant but in a lowkey way)(also they rich)(but he’s not rich so guess that should make him Less Arrogant)

-im constantly dead afraid of giving him more characteristics and story or whatveer cause he’s the only meanie i got left and i do Not want him to stop being an asshole but everytime i develop a character they end up nice or redeemed or whatever and i wanna keep him a bitch so i neglect him (just like his parents in his 2016 version wow)

he smokes (prolly started quite early to Be Kool and now relies on it for stress relief)

he’s outspoken and extraverted and prolly the guy who had a lot to say when you were doing debates in class (there’s always that person who has a Lot to argument about)(its him) but outside of a Set and Defined debate structure he probably doesnt give his mind voraciously 

he’s a law student and despite saying he’s the one bad guy left he probably wont be a corrupt lawyer or judge or whatever like come on he will do his job properly he worked hARD FOR THIS justice may be served

he’s not the kind to openly hate or even dislike anyone cause what’s the point of wasting your energy on that? its much funnier to him to be obnoxiously Neutral with someone and basically ignore them but still strike them with some Spikes of passive-agressive comments, let them be Mad at your calmness

he’s 177cm tall (that’s like 5.8 according to google)

honestly if you’re bros with him he’s fun to be with the being a jerk is completly coincidental 

he probably ranks high in the list of “those criminals who steal big lighters from their friends” 

i think at a point his design had tattoos but i forgot the designs of those so now he doesnt anymore

a dog person

i think ive run out of facts (or my brain dead) so im leavin with a shirtless pic cause my hobby is drawing tits

in short, charming asshole who can get ugly, secretly feels lonely and small, works hard for himself, better have him as a friend than as a foe though probably not the most frontally agressive enemy, and also, your booty, hand it over.

#people probably excuse his naughty behaviour bc of his looks and that's the fact

[offansandflames]

So uh...

A lot has happened since I bothered to post anything about my life. To be succinct, I’m in a massively stressful situation.

One of my closest friends (Rachel), whom I’ve known for 20 years, was diagnosed with stage IV bladder cancer. All said and done, her 5-year survival stats are around 15%. They removed her bladder and tried to remove the rest of the cancer, which spread to her ovaries and uterus. It looked like she would bleed out during surgery, so the doctors weren’t able to get all of the cancer out. She’s too weak for chemo and radiation, so she’s started on immunotherapy. All I can do is pray there. It’s just surreal that she may not be a part of my life anymore.

Yesterday, I got news that my best friend is again homeless. If any of y’all followed me, this is the same friend who nearly died last year. He continues to make stupid decisions, and being HIV positive, he just can’t afford that. Last year, I was in a loop of letting him stay at my place and desperately looking all over for shelters for him. So many times I’ve thought he was finally on the straight and narrow, and somehow he fucks it up every time. I’m just...exhausted. I feel bad for not answering his call, but I have enough on my hands taking care of myself and people who actually don’t cause their own problems.

My grandpa, who nearly died a few years ago from two separate incidents of lung cancer, had his first stroke a couple weeks ago. Thankfully, besides some speech and writing issues, he’s okay. Still though.

My fiance is depressed as well, with heavy suicidal ideation. I’m very concerned about them. Though...it can be difficult for me too. Sometimes when I start talking about my issues, it becomes a conversation about their issues. At the close of the conversation, I’m more overwhelmed than I was before. Other times, they listen and support. To be fair, I’ve been so busy with work that we’d hardly even spoken the last couple weeks. I traveled a week for work, and they missed me greatly. But it’s left me feeling uncertain as to whether me venting to them is a good idea for either or us in this situation.

I left a job as a project manager in IT, which I was extremely unhappy at. April 1, I began my new job as a Home Dialysis Program Manager at a kidney care company, which required moving from Orange County to west LA. While I find the work fulfilling, my boss is...um.

Last year, of her 8 employees, 2 quit and 1 was fired. She told me that she has the expectation that 3 weeks in, I should be performing as if I’d been in the role “forever.” When I asked her to qualify that, she said 6 months. 6 months, in a position that almost everyone transfers to internally. I need to learn a new company, a new industry, the people, the tools... Don’t even ask me where 6 months come from.

She asks these questions that require a lot of background work and wants answers within hours, even though there’s no actual reason she needs them so quickly. Meanwhile, I’m left to juggle things that actually are urgent, like the staffing issues at one of my clinics and a surgeon dinner I’m holding. So I’m not able to prioritize.

I’ve been so busy that when I stepped on a small shard of glass, I didn’t have time to take it out. The next 2 days at work were so busy that I couldn’t even take a break over 30 seconds or so. I thought I could deal with it after the rush, but the tough skin on the bottom of my foot grew over it. Now it’s locked in by scar tissue, so unless I see a doctor, I don’t know if it will ever come out. Though it doesn’t usually hurt now unless that specific area is pressed on hard.

Anyhow...yeah, that’s my venting. I am fortunate in that I have many supportive friends, but I frankly haven’t even had time to talk. It’s just been festering in my mind. So here it is.

But I am trying...really trying to stay positive. My first day at my new job, a dialysis patient told me, “I can’t afford to think negatively. If I do that, I’m dead.” If I think negatively, I’m dead in the water here. It’s difficult. Bipolar makes it tougher. But I just have to keep trying.

#life update #lo personal #kinda wild

[purge-that-urge-rhackathon]

-gently kicks thru the door- how did i only now find ur blog hot dang. hey if ur still doing requests or prompts.. consider... a thing where jack takes care of rhys. just like in whatever way u might want to take that. im thinking like rhys is sick and is 2 pitiful to take care of himself but u can totally... smut that up to ur own tastes should u so desire. yes the first time i interact w/ u its to ask for smut and no this is not out of character for me sdjgskhhffh im so srry

It’s a big internet out there and this blog is only 3 years old…. it happens heheheh xD And you caught me in an excellent mood SO:

This labeled as Assistance. Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

–

Rhys was frustrated.

Not just because he’d tripped over his own damn feet bringing Jack his morning coffee, nor from the resultant fracture to his left hand that the doctors told him to absolutely not use for the remaining two weeks as it healed nicely, and not even from the fact that his right hand needed recalibration after the embarrassing face-plant in front of the CEO’s desk.

No, he was frustrated because Jack– for all his teasing and braying laughter- was actually being nice about Rhys’ clumsy fall, had shunted off the majority of hand-intensive work to his secretary, and was being extra considerate and handsy with him in the office in ways that set Rhys’ heart beating faster.

In the very sense of the word, Rhys was getting desperate, and desperation lead to… creativity.

His cybernetic arm was a mechanical wonder of technology, yes, but even without the calibration it so sorely needed, it wasn’t quite the same– or welcoming- as his flesh hand.

He’d considered asking Jack to recalibrate it for him- more than a few times- but the idea of letting his boss into his subsystems and opening up his hardware was…. Well… Jack had a questionable attention span already, and coupled with his brilliant mind, Rhys was worried about what he could possibly put in there. Spyware. Weird voice commands. Or worse, with the connection to his echoeye, he might encounter all the very-specific searches Rhys had done about the man on the echonet.

Not worth it, in his opinion.

His right hand was… usable, yeah, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t what he’d call ambidextrous, and the lag in how his fingers worked– imperceptible to others but frustratingly off to him- made even the most enthusiastic jerking-session a lesson in persistence.

He was horny was the thing. Crazy horny. Unable-to-ignore and stressed-out-of-his-mind-and-required-release horny. Release was good, the relief itself a blessing, but he wasn’t satisfied. And the fact that his insanely-attractive boss almost seemed to be touching him more than normal in encouragement, watching him more keenly than usual in case he needed assistance, wasn’t helping matters.

Of course he could have just been being paranoid, and Jack himself was more observant than he was given credit for. But if Rhys didn’t figure out some way to get himself off that wasn’t shamefully sticking it in a sock and fucking between the mattress, then he was probably going to end up short-circuiting something.

And then he’d be out two hands and up one easily-encouraged boner and he could just kiss his professional reputation goodbye.

Not that he didn’t feel he was doing that already.

Jack had given him half days to rest– or more like half-weeks. Rhys spent some days working from the couch in his apartment– or his bed when feeling particularly lazy- and other days spent in the office with the CEO doing not much else than fetching coffee or looking pretty when Jack yelled at people.

He was doing that now, actually, listening to music and working remotely with his echotablet from bed to organize things for Jack’s meeting tomorrow.

Well speak of the devil. A notification popped up on his echoeye; the personal chat Jack had had him install mainly so he could write snarky comments to the younger man during meetings. Though it also proved very useful to quickly communicate since Rhys’ hands weren’t doing what he wanted them to these days.

→J4ckRule5: ive got some shit I need you to personally look through→J4ckRule5: stuff for 2morrow these idiots didnt send in the brief

Crap. What timing.

←Rhy5winz: Do you need me to come in?→J4ckRule5: nah ill drop it by your crappy little apartment after work→J4ckRule5: been meaning to see if that part of helios needs fumigating again :p←Rhy5winz: >>:|←Rhy5winz: Thanks for your kindness and consideration, sir.

There was a pause, and Rhys smirked to himself. Jack was probably laughing at his own jokes, but even more at Rhys’ overly polite response. They were hardly this courteous to one another anymore after working together so long, and his own way of handling his boss made him grin. Jack’s response met his expectations entirely; probably bored with nothing better to do than bug him.

→J4ckRule5: U mad? (:

Rhys smirked.

←Rhy5winz: I don’t know what you mean, sir.←Rhy5winz: Please take care when coming down here.←Rhy5winz: Don’t want any vermin biting our CEO.

Rhys was amused as he waited for Jack to get back to him, the CEO typing for ages it felt, when Rhys realized something.

Shit. He was getting hard over Jack’s playful messages. Really? Over a few innocent texts from his boss about work? Seriously? That’s what was getting him excited nowadays? Jesus he needed to take the edge off ASAP because this wasn’t just embarrassing, but downright insulting. Not to mention what it said about him to be getting all hot over Jack’s denigrating teasing.

Rhys stared at his tented boxer briefs with judgment as Jack’s response was overlaid right over the tip of his dick.

→J4ckRule5: dont get ur panties in a twist there pumpkin ;D

Rhys’ dick twitched at that.

Fuck.

Even as he was disappointed in his cock’s lack of taste in what was erotic, he was already palming himself through his underwear with his metallic hand. Maybe he could make this work.

→J4ckRule5: if u even own panties

Rhys’ brows shot up in interest and a spike of undue alarm at the thought that Jack knew what he was doing went through him– and made his cock harder.

→J4ckRule5: speaking of which:→J4ckRule5: do u own panties? (;

Rhys actually laughed, a husky sound as his cock liked this conversation very much so, and didn’t give much thought as to the appropriateness of the topic.

←Rhy5winz: You can’t bring up a topic and then say ‘speaking of which’, Jack.→J4ckRule5: i just did ;p→J4ckRule5: dont change the subject

Rhys’ chewed on his lips, his breathing deep and hips moving just a little of their own volition against his hand. He freed his cock from its confines and stroked himself, cursing the lag and responsiveness of his hand, but making do.

←Rhy5winz: Wouldn’t you like to know→J4ckRule5: i would ;D→J4ckRule5: answer the question kitten. im really bored here

Rhys allowed his mind to wander, to fantasize over any possible subtext. Bored. Right. The idea that Jack was bored and jerking off in his chair gave him a little thrill. That he was talking to Rhys of all people while possibly doing so made him very excited indeed.

←Rhy5winz: Sorry sir, that is classified information.←Rhy5winz: You don’t have access :p→J4ckRule5: brat→J4ckRule5: and how does one gain access? ;D

Okay, this was some next-level flirting for Jack; playing along and furthering the teasing. And that response was fast. He was either super bored and having a laugh at Rhys’ expense, or he was passing the time by playing a little five-on-one.

Good idea or not, Rhys wasn’t the one writing his responses to the older man so much as his cock was, and all the thoughts of Jack’s hands on him in the office– little innocent but overly familiar touches- was adding to the novelty of the experience.

←Rhy5winz: This is pretty privileged information←Rhy5winz: I don’t know. Maybe you should work harder→J4ckRule5: OH believe me cupcake im the hardest worker on this station

Rhys made a little noise at that, now certain Jack had his dick in hand and taking out his boredom at Rhys’ expense. Well, teasing the CEO back was probably safe at this point, right? He knew Jack appreciated some good word play, and though it was risky, he decided to let the older man know he knew what he was up to. It wasn’t like Jack didn’t make dirty jokes in the office constantly. Turnaround was fair play.

←Rhy5winz: I have no doubt you are ;)←Rhy5winz: Sucks having to take matters into your own hands

Jack was typing for several moments, Rhys’ heart beating and his cock pulsing as he awaited the response. It was shorter than all that typing lead him to expect, making him curious what the older man might’ve sent instead.

→J4ckRule5: ur killin me here cupcake

Rhys snickered at the response, waiting for more, but none came. Huh. Well, that was anticlimactic, though it was useful as he was harder than ever (or as hard as he’d been since the injury) and he quickly forgot about their conversation in lieu of inflating it for masturbation fantasies.

It was going pretty well, actually, and he’d have to thank Jack (in some roundabout way, of course… maybe a cheese and sausage basket to be funny) because he knew it wasn’t going to be a goddamn nightmare trying to get himself off this time. No lubed-up and ruined socks– which was a crime in itself- nor errant twitching of uncalibrated fingers to throw off his delicate movements on his poor neglected cock.

No, rubbing himself against his thighs was actually working pretty nicely, and the smooth metal of his fingers warmed with his body heat actually felt really good. Imagining Jack at his desk imagining Rhys was doing it for him, and rereading their conversation from earlier only added more substance to his fantasy.

So when Jack himself stuck his head around the corner of Rhys’ doorjamb, the younger man thought he was just getting really good at visualizing what he wanted– for approximately a quarter of a second.

Rhys made an impossible sound between a gulp and a squeak– impressive in Jack’s opinion- as he quickly pulled a pillow over himself, face crimson and speechless that Jack was in his apartment, let alone his bedroom.

“Heeeeey cupcake… Whatcha doin’?”

The dirty leer on Jack’s face told Rhys the older man knew exactly what he’d been doing. There was no way out of this, and Jack looked about as pleased as anyone finding someone else jerking their dick possibly could.

“H-How– How did you get in here? Why are you in here?!”

“Was gonna deliver that stuff to you but forgot it halfway after those dirty texts you sent me, kitten. Not to mention, the door locks on this level are ridiculously easy to hack.”

Jack’s grin was predatory, shark-like, and it did funny things to Rhys’ stomach, and furthermore, his cock beneath the pillow.

“This how you’ve been using these work-at-home days? It’s not like I’d stop you if you wanted to do this at the office, kiddo.”

Rhys whined, embarrassed, frustrated, tired, and goddamn horny and just wanting a little relief. His damn cock was still hard beneath the pillow.

It had flagged a little, yeah, but with the object of his fantasy right goddamn there and the way Jack was leering at him, well… Rhys’ cock was a dirty goddamn traitor and he wasn’t getting out of this situation gracefully.

“Cat got your tongue, kitten?”

Jack’s eyes were darting between his face and the pillow, interest and amusement there both but not yet moving closer, and Rhys was so close yet not, and so goddamn fucking frustrated he didn’t even care at this point and rambled quickly to the older man. “…I’ve had a rough week and shit timing and no sleep and I hate this damn cast and being useless and I can’t sleep-” he repeated, “-and nothing is working how it should and I can’t even do my job right and I feel useless here.”

“That it?” Jack asked smugly, still looking expectantly at the pillow.

Rhys knew he was not going to drop the topic, so he internally said fuck it and just blurted out: “…and I’m just really pent up and this isn’t fucking working and if I don’t get off I’m going to strangle someone… with someone else’s hands,” he growled.

A pleased shiver went up Jack’s back as a smirk took his face, and he moved closer as if his personal assistant’s dick wasn’t out and leaking beneath a Hyperion-branded pillow. “Babe, kitten, is that all? If you were horny you could’ve just said so. I’d have been down here ten minutes ago.”

Jack sat down next to him, a hand starting at his thigh and disappearing under the pillow. He heard the way Rhys’ breath hitched, the younger man’s face becoming less red with embarrassment and more pink with arousal, and his whole body very aware of the path Jack’s hand was taking. When it made contact with his shaft, Rhys made a mumbled sort of whimper in his throat, eyes shutting tightly as Jack’s big hand wrapped around his cock and gave him a gentle squeeze. Rhys whined pathetically, and Jack cozied up into his space to whisper smugly into the younger man’s ear.

“Baby,” Jack said, breath hot on Rhys’ skin as he allowed his face to touch Rhys’ own just barely. “I’m always up to get you what you need. Even if all you need is to get off.” He gave him a stroke and Rhys’ hand shot out to grab Jack at the man’s shoulder, bending a little at the waist towards Jack as it felt so damn good and was just what he needed and god he wanted Jack to stroke him.

Jack pressed his lips to Rhys’ neck where the younger man’s flesh was exposed to him, grinning and feeling his own cock rallying in his jeans as he played with Rhys.

The pillow was flung away, and Jack wrapped one arm around Rhys’ waist, the other giving him long, tight strokes that passed over his cockhead every few. It was rougher than Rhys was used to– but he was so on edge and it was so goddamn satisfying and it was Jack doing it to him- and he came relatively quickly with pleased little cries over the older man’s hand.

Jack wiped his hand on Rhys’ sheets before hooking a hand behind his neck and kissing the younger man senseless. It totally blew Rhys’ mind.

Sex was one thing, kissing was another, and Rhys was thrown through so many loops and twists and turns of defied expectations that he threw caution to the wind and wrapped his arms around his boss, the Handsome Jack, and kissed him back for all he was worth.

Jack’s heavy breathing and the way the older man’s kisses turned to nipping bites was already rallying Rhys’ cock for a second time, but he pulled away when Jack broke it, a filthy look of desire on his face that Rhys’ attention was only stolen from by the older man’s tented pants.

“Jack, I-I want to– to– fuck,” he cursed, wanting more than anything to return the favor and get his hands on his boss’s dick like something out of one of his fantasies. Neither of his hands were up to the job and the last thing he wanted to do was have the CEO think he was shit at handjobs, but the way Jack was tenting his own jeans was nothing to tease about. He’d done that to the CEO, and dammit, he really wanted to do something memorable to it.

“Maybe next time, sweet pea,” Jack laughed at Rhys’ words, a big hand on Rhys’ thigh as he bit at the younger man’s neck. “When you’re all healed up and I don’t have a meeting with distribution in an hour. Maybe in my big yellow chair, mm?”

Rhys’ eyes widened as he looked at the older man. Next time? Wait… he wanted to fuck him?

Jesus Antwerp Christ, Rhys must’ve actually fell on his head and not his hand, and he was having a coma-wet-dream right now, because that was right up there in his impossible bucket-list of imaginary jerk-off material.

“In the meantime baby, you don’t need your hands to give a blowjob, right?”

Rhys swallowed and his mouth watered, and at this point he didn’t give a shit about Jack’s smug look that said he knew he was going to get what he wanted, or that insufferable grin that knew how much Rhys wanted to give it to him.

No, the younger man slid off his unmade bed, cock still out at half-mast, to eagerly get between Jack’s knees while the older man chuckled with arousal and undid his belt and fly to remove his cock from his jeans.

It wasn’t the best blowjob he’d ever given, or even in the top five, but the way Jack moaned his name, carded fingers through his messy hair, and talked dirty to him as Rhys sucked him off definitely ranked it among the most memorable of experiences to boot. The strangled curses that left the older man’s lips as he’d come down Rhys’ throat was the best of all, and knowing he was one of the few privileged enough to know the sound of Handsome Jack being thoroughly wrecked was enough to get him through this hellish period until he got full use of his hands back.

“Jesus kiddo, if that’s what you can do without your hands, I can’t wait until you’re all fixed.” He swiped a thumb under Rhys’ swollen lower lip, teasing it over his mouth before applying the barest of pressure. Rhys sucked the digit into his mouth with a pleased hum, and Jack just chuckled, pleased. “Damn buttercup, you were pent up, huh baby?”

Rhys just nodded in agree– would agree to just about anything Jack said right now- and hopped back up on the bed when Jack patted it.

The older man kissed him into the mattress, hand already back on his cock which surprised Rhys enough to make a noise about it, and Jack just laughed until he’d jerked him to full hardness and through another orgasm.

Rhys’ sheets were a ruined mess, and he was more or less feeling the same. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Jack tucked his own spent cock back into his pants, redid zip and belt, and told Rhys his work for the day was excellent. It made them both laugh, and Jack moved to leave until he gave one last look at the younger man laying there, the very picture of contentment.

“Forget something?” Rhys asked, voice teasing but dripping with satisfaction.

“Yeah, I did.”

Jack came and bent at the waist to kiss him again, moving to his neck where he sucked and bit at the younger man. It felt good until Rhys yelped, and Jack rose with a laugh, moving Rhys’ hand that had moved to the spot where he’d bit him. There was a pretty decent hickey there. Rhys bruised up nicely.

“What the hell, Jack?”

“Just making sure you don’t forget about me, cupcake.”

Rhys gave him a frown. “We work together.”

“So, so well, sugar pie.” The glare Rhys sent his way had zero effect on the older man. “Okay pumpkin, see you tomorrow, bright and early. Same old same old. Or maybe not so much.”

Rhys snorted. His neck smarted, but he was already excited about work tomorrow, clear this little liaison was going to be continued, and pleased as fucking punch about it. “Lock up after yourself, will you? Don’t want any vermin getting in. There was a big rat in here that just bit the shit out of me.”

“You little brat,” Jack laughed, himself feeling ready for the dullery that was distribution, his own edge without his pretty PA well taken off. “But guess I don’t want anyone else taking a bite of my cheese.” Rhys snorted. “See ya babe.”

Rhys laid in bed for a while after, replaying everything in his head all giddy as hell. Dream come true? Yes please and thank you for seconds if you don’t mind.

He got up later with interest as his doorbell rang, wondering if it was Jack and if the older man had remembered his manners.

A special delivery from one of Helios’ most expensive boutiques was instead waiting for him to sign, the Hyperion-yellow lace of expensive panties inside with a note that said ‘Mystery solved -J.’

Rhys told himself he was going to spite the older man by not wearing them to work tomorrow, but Jack’s pleased laugh of surprise when his face was in Rhys’ lacey-crotch the next day was worth it.

With Jack’s special deliveries and their new work ethic, Rhys found that fracturing his hand wasn’t so bad in retrospect, and for every stormcloud, there was a Hyperion-yellow laced-lining to look forward to.

kofi | ao3

#rhack #handsome jack #rhys the company man #fanfiction #poisonjack #my fic #LOLOL believe it or not i actually began work on this right after you sent in the ask but it did take me a few hours to fill SOOO...still fa #im still fast imo >_> AHAHAHA xD look at that i actually did something new for the moment AHAHAH #not exactly what you asked for but im currently up to my neck in hurt/comfort stuff across all fandoms and about 8 fics so i went #in this direction instead of the sick thing xD ...LOLOL did it work? i think it worked...we got fairly kinky hahah #ummmm if anything looks off or missing could anyone let me know? i havent done a read through to check cuz no time xD #gotta wash my uniform xD im pretty sure shit aint missing tho >_> i ended up catching some stuff in the coding process hahaha

[iamsonyeondone]

heir!seventeen // kwon soonyoung

♥ very!! fluffy and angst if you can even consider it that

♥1.7k words

♥ summary: an unexpected encounter turns into a wave of apologies and then... a confession?

I want to kms this is the worst summary ive ever written oh my god

so as we all know, our mr kwon fire can easily be friends with anyone

he just has that welcoming and cheerful vibe to him that attracts people

which is an a+ for anyone who attends the same galas or functions with him because you’ll never be onely

naturally, everyone in Pledis would know him one way or another because if you don’t know who soonyoung is?? you’re living under a rock

just like his outgoing personality, he loves the stage and the attention he gets from it because it’s such a big mood boosters for him and he becomes a million times more confident but at the same time nerve-wrecking because he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone

and he!!!just!!loves!!dancing!!

plus he’s very grateful that his parents fully support his dreams like they’ve even got him his own dance studio a t home fully equipped with quality speakers and the floors are maintained every month

I want to be rich

and wow-ing the crowds with something he’s capable of doing AND something he’s passionate in?? it’s a dream come true

although his amazing skills are clearly seen through his stages and competitions with Pledis’s dance team, he likes to deny the fact that he’s the best out of everyone because he believes that there is always room for improvement

another humble baby

also!! everyone likes to call him by his nickname ‘Hoshi’ because it’s cute and it gets cUTER when he explains why

and he’s just a really lovable and fun person to be with !!

you on the other hand prefer to stay away from the limelight and stick to the usual clubs that work behind the scenes instead

because you get stage fright and camera shy really easily, you tend to avoid any activities that required these things

and how does the outgoing soonyoung have to do with a reserved person like you???

well Let Me Tell You

even if you disliked being in front of an audience, you really enjoyed dancing in your free time

nothing serious, you just liked dancing to the beat and having a platform to release your stress on

besides, you had to fully use the school’s facilities because this place was equipped with top-notch equipment and not using it would haunt you in the future

so without fail, you use one of the many dance studios on a Friday afternoon because everyone would much rather leave the school premises and have ‘actual’ fun as they call it

so once the school was mostly rid off of the students, you made your way to the washroom to change into more comfortable attire before making your way to the dance studio

after doing your usual stretching routine, you start with something a little more relaxed, gliding around the room to a classical tune, effortlessly twisting your body into elegant moves as you watched your stature in the reflection in front of you

you began to play a more upbeat song, giggles eliciting from your lips as you attempted the numerous trendy dance moves until you shake your head, saying that you looked silly

but someone at the door definitely thought you didn’t look silly at all

maybe because you were too entranced by the music and the pile of stress burdening your shoulders, but you have yet to take notice of the figure by the door, their jaw dropping to the floor as he watched you danced ever so gracefully

it was only when you had grown breathless and in need of water that you notice soonyoung by the door, his eyes sparkling as a wide smile grew on his lips

“you did amazing!-”

you spitted out the water while you choked on the rest of the liquid, the shock overwhelming your body as your eyes widened

“I-i’m sorry, did you need to use the room?” you squeaked out as you wiped your chin, your cheeks flushing red as you scrambled to grab your things

“NO NO please stay. I was about to head home but I heard a familiar song and I guess curiosity got me,” Soonyoung apologized as he rubbed the back of his neck from embarrassment

I must’ve frightened her, what a dimwit, he cursed in his thought

“Oh I-it’s ok, I’m done for the day anyway,” a small smile crept onto your lips as you rushed out of the room, your heart pounding from the anxiety clouding your brain

Because THE kwon soonyoung just saw you dance

And you don't even register the compliment he gave you and instead have the thought that he was probably judging you so h a r d rn

For the rest of the weekend, you had 5 mental breakdowns thinking about him and assuming he's making fun of you to his friends

But best friend! Chan wants to slap you back to earth because you're literally worrying about nothing since he's friends with soonyoung

And he knows something more that you dont :))

"trust me, he doesnt-"

"but he was giving me that face!"

"what?"

"he was looking at me all weird"

And chan probably knows what you're talking about because you're oblivious and never know when people look at you because they like what they're seeing

Like seeing you dance?? Of course but like you?? Who knows ;))

And mondays comes around and you have to muster up your remaining courage just to go to school

What if he talks about what happened that day?? What if everyone knows that you dance like a duck??

But your thoughts were put to the side once you see the school gates

Damn time flies 

with heavy feet, you made your way to your locker, head hung low to avoid any possible eye contact from your fellow schoolmates

but the last person you wanted to see stood right in front of your locker while you stopped in your tracks, debating whether you should run away from your problems like usual or actually face it

but you’re not even given the time to think as soonyoung spots you, a warm smile adorning his face as he made his way to you

“I’m sorry for scaring you off last Friday, I can get a bit too excited,” Soonyoung chuckles sheepishly as you shook your head

he had nothing to be sorry about and you would much rather prefer if he had just stayed away

because now you really were the center of attention

why was kwon soonyoung talking to (y/n)? were they ever friends?? no one has ever seen the both of you interact before so it was definitely a sight

“Y-you don’t have to apologize, I need to get to class so I’ll get going-”

the whispers around you began to grow as your wrist felt something around it

more specifically someone’s hand around yours

and soonyoung has this apologetic smile on his face as you looked towards him

“I’m really sorry,” he mumbled but loud enough for you to hear before he released your hand and returned to his group of friends

after that little incident, your life has never known silence

every hallway you went through would always end up in hushed whispers and little chuckles

and you couldn’t wait for Friday to come because the numerous comments made your way had broken you bit by bit

even if chan tried his best to clear the rumors between you and soonyoung, they never ceased

and once Friday came, you couldn’t help but let your heart do a little skip of joy

but the same familiar face appears in the room that you now dreaded and before you could turn your heel and rush out the door once more, music plays and soonyoung glides his way over to you

“I’ve heard what people have been talking about and part of it... I want it to be true,” Soonyoung chuckles in embarrassment as he slowly and gently grab a hold of your hand

“We barely know each other yet the first time I saw you, I felt an attraction. Cheesy, I know. But I was truly mesmerized by the way you danced. And if you don’t mind, will you dance with me?”

everything was too fast for you to wrap your mind over it as you looked back into his puppy eyes

and then your heart felt light, the tension holding your shoulders lighten as you held onto his hand tightly

you don’t even know where all this confidence came from but you felt so secure in his arms even if it was just the basic waltz

but you?? dancing with someone else??? that’s something you don’t do everyday

and once the music came to an end, you looked back into his eyes, crinkling and sparkling with happiness while your smile imitated his

wow the moment he saw you smile back at him, knowing that he was the cause of it, kwon fire fELt like he was on fire

because you deary, has been his crush for the past year

but he’s never gotten the guts to talk to you until he became friends with Chan when he joined the dance club

“You know (y/n)???’

“What do you want from her?”

“h A h A nothing it’s not like I have a crush-NOTHING,”

but if it weren’t for Chan, you would probably still live your life in silence

what do I mean??? ;))

“Hoshi, how many times do I have to say that I’m not as a great dancer as you?”

“first things first, you’re my significant other so you can’t call me Hoshi, call me something sweeter like darling or sweetheart or-”

“we just started dating a week ago-”

“SECONDLY, you’re as great as a dancer as I am, babe,”

soonyoung, grabs you by the waist as you hesitantly pushed him away, your face turning tomato red from the contact

“Do I have to shower you in kisses for you to get it into your head, my talented sweetheart?”

Soonyoung chuckled as he brought you closer, closing the gap between the both of you as he lifted your chin with his index finger towards him

before Soonyoung could lay his lips on yours, the clearing of a throat resonated from the door as you pushed soonyoung away hurriedly

“If I knew this would happen everyday, I would have never told soonyoung about you,”

a/n: wow this is some fluff HAH I thought I would be able to post an actual writing last week but my schedule got hectic last minute and I’m only half way done with both of them :(( but i’ll continue the svt!heir series for now!!

#kpop #imagines #imagine #scenarios #scenario #writing #writings #fanfic #fanfiction #svt #seventeen #kwon soonyoung #hoshi #10:10 #heir au #heir #bulletpoint #bulletpoint scenario