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shotorozu · 3 years

Text

TITLE : hospital stay

PAIRING : bakugou katsuki x reader

SYNOPSIS : you’re in the hospital on your boyfriend’s birthday, and bakugou seems to have no issue with spending it in there.

WARNING(S) : MHA MANGA SPOILERS ‼️ (recent arc)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, a quirk similar to the avatar but that’s about it.

note(s) : so, it’s bakugou’s birthday. and i had this idea since march 20 😦 so i’ve been waiting for his birthday to come for literally a month but i didn’t want to post this way too early. alsooo i don’t know if this arc happened near spring but lets pretend it did for the sake of the story

When you woke up, the fluorescent lights were the first to hit your face

Following by the incoming beeping of a monitor, and the sudden throbbing of your head, the dryness of your throat evident.

Blinking slowly (or trying to, your other eye being a bit delayed.) you try recalling what just happened. You’re in a hospital, that’s one thing you know, but the specifics are still unknown to you.

Right. You remember now, you were fighting along side your classmates, and you managed to get blasted away when you thought that shielding Bakugou Katsuki would work. Yeah, you were sure that you were going to get an earful from him, if he—

You jolt when you notice said blond standing right next to your bed, vermillion eyes staring deep into your own, and somewhat— you could feel the weight and intensity in the stare

“S-since when did you get here?” You’re startled, and your voice is hoarse. Bakugou doesn’t formulate a response, and chooses to avoid the question as a whole.

“Finally you’re up.” He rolls his eyes. He looks much better than you remembered, despite having a few bandages on his forehead— he looked well. “It’s been 5 fucking days.”

“Five days?” You question out loud, your sense of time all disorganized. You clench your hand, just to see if your quirk was still working. Seeing air, fire, water, and just.. something, would relieve your worries— but a look from the blond shot you down quickly. You decided that it was wise if you didn’t try.

The blond seems to be done with the conversation, since he immediately walks out of the room. Actually, why was he here? You’d expect him to be laying down in bed, but despite being hit with that beam, he was walking around like everything was fine.

He comes back with a few other nurses, and they’re relieved to see that you’re awake— and even though they’ve bombarded you with questions with how you felt, you couldn’t brush off the feeling of a pair of ruby eyes on you.

Just, glaring. It’s nothing abnormal.

When the nurses finally leave you alone, giving you details of a few injuries— like your injured— well, burned eyelid that honestly stung (it came from the fire aspect of your quirk) you would’ve expected to be alone in your hospital room for the rest of your time there but Bakugou stayed.

“You’re going to tell me why you jumped in front of me?”

You were expecting to be questioned by him, after all— what you did didn’t exactly shield him, since he was also pierced. You didn’t expect the interrogation to be happening this soon

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to fucking know.” And he suddenly changes his mind, just like that.

You would’ve said impulse as an answer, but you doubt that he would’ve taken that seriously. And besides, you were kind of glad he changed midway that he didn’t want your answer. Your voice feels parched, despite chugging down a glass of water earlier.

“Did you check up on Deku?” You cringe when you hear cracks in your voice, and the dryness is unbearable to your throat, but he nods. “Idiot’s knocked out cold.”

He doesn’t mention the fact that you were one of the last few people that were still rendered unconscious.

“Your throat sounds like the sahara desert. Do me a favor and drink up.”

You blink owlishly at the glass of water that was set on the mini table, and when you drink up— it actually does something to relieve (temporarily) the dryness.

It was a consequence of your quirk after all, using your quirk too much would cause your body to feel sore, and everywhere to feel dry, and he knew that.

Bakugou was acting uncharacteristically, and you just don’t know why. Maybe it’s not so uncharacteristic of him, since he’s been less of an asshole as of recently, but you know that he would probably deviate from the question if you asked, so the both of you sat in silence.

—

It’s the next day, the same as yesterday— except it looked like dawn when you woke up. Bakugou also appeared at the side of your bed once again, almost as if he was there for quite some time.

“Nice to see you too,” You think to yourself, and you’re glad you didn’t actually say that out loud. You try to stand up straight, but Bakugou’s quick to push your back against the pillows.

“Don’t sit up, that’s idiotic.”

“Right, sorry. How did you get here? Isn’t it too early?” The parched throat came back. Though the ‘magical’ baku-water helped, it’s effects were only temporarily, sadly.

“You call 7am early?” Right, because for him— 7am isn’t that early, you even remember seeing him up at 6 sometimes.

“Actually, wait.” You blink, trying to recall what day it was, and what month it was. You recalled it being spring but.. was it March? or was it April already?

“What.. day is it today?”

It was almost like he was hesitant to say, “..April 20.”

“What the— April 20?” You’re appalled, because the last time you remembered, it wasn’t anywhere near April 20, but maybe it’s your 5 day unconsciousness to be blamed. “Isn’t it your birthday?”

“Shut up,” He mumbles, and he shifts around the room in search of something, but it’s too dim to be able to tell.

“Medicine. The nurses said you should take it now.”

You don’t reply.

“It’s for your Sahara desert throat. The other things are for your fucked up eye and injuries.”

That seems to be enough to convince you to take the medicine, and despite wanting to run away screaming from the bitterness, you take the medicine— not wanting to be met with any consequences

“Why are you spending your birthday here?”

“Do idiots like you ask that many questions?” He shoots back, and you’re unfazed by the fact that he just called you an idiot. You wouldn’t blame him.

“No but.. you seem fine.”

“A few days ago I was not, but now I am because I took medicine.” He walks over to untwist a few medicine caps, it appears to be for your eye.

“So, Does my eye look fine?” You bat your eyelashes just to mess with him, and he flicks your forehead with an ointment cap “No.”

“Sorry, sorry,” You laugh, choosing to completely ignore the sudden sharp pain when you laugh.

He bends down to reach eyelevel, “Can you see?”

“Sorta.” Your eye has this thin blur filter to it, that can’t be good— can it? Going blind in one eye, and having to wear an eye patch.

It was almost on cue, because Bakugou says “You’ll be rocking the pirate look if you don’t take your medicine,” Instead of handing the medicine for you to apply, he quickly applies a decent amount around your eyes— not giving you a warning whatsoever.

You wince slightly, but you’re glad it’s over. But why is he playing nurse with you? And why was he brushing off the fact that it’s literally his birthday.

—

Through out the entire day, Bakugou continued to act as if he had some responsibility over you. From helping you put on your medicine, to just monitoring you with eyes of a hawk. The fact that he chose to ignore all your protests was just a part of him.

His behavior was also very.. interesting. It would swing from being his usual self, to being this eerily quiet and calm Bakugou. You would’ve guessed that you were having a fever dream, if it weren’t for the fact that he wore his usual scowl on his face.

What remained consistent, despite it all— was that he stayed. He ate lunch in your room. He only left when the doctors and nurses asked him too, but that was only temporary. He stayed with you the entire day, even when the clock stroke 5pm.

But it’s quite literally his birthday? Why would he spend it in a hospital room with some extra? Or idiot? Let alone, why would he take care of said idiot/extra on his birthday? You don’t know because he refuses to tell you on why he spent it here.

“Did you at least get some cake or something?” You ask for the umpteenth time, Bakugou’s paced back and forth for some medicine bottles and bottles of water, and you could tell that he was scowling, despite the fact that he was facing the other direction, “Why the hell would I want cake? You’ve been asking weird shit all day.”

“Because it’s your birthday? Seriously— have you been brainwashed into thinking that it’s not your birthday?”

“What— fuck no. I haven’t been brainwashed.” He turns over to you, “I know today is my birthday.”

“Okay, so you know. Why aren’t you celebrating then? Did people forget? Or am I finally going insane?”

Bakugou chooses to stay silent. He stands up, and walks over to you— everytime he moves closer, you could feel your heart pound, luckily not at a dangerous rate.

“Birthday, birthday, birthday” He grumbles, quiet, but loud enough for you to hear. “That’s all you’ve been talking about. As if like you weren’t the one in the hospital bed as we speak.”

“Okay, is it wrong to remember your birthday?”

“Shut up, I didn’t say that.” He gets closer once again, almost to the point that your faces weren’t that far away.

“You’ve just been so concerned about my damn birthday, that you haven’t even taken a good look at yourself,” He gestures at you, by looking you up and down

You finally take observation of all of the gauzes, the IV tubes, and bandages, his words forcing you to look at what was reality.

“I don’t know why you did what you did, jumping in front of me like some kind of heroic bastard, it’s dumb. For all I know, I should be screaming at you, and wishing you the worst for that.” He clenches his fist when he recalls, the scene replaying in his head

“But what I am saying is that, you can give me a gift if you’re so fucking concerned about my birthday. It’s the least you can do.” His statement is solid enough for you to take him seriously. You wouldn’t have if he was scowling, but it’s quite.. different. An expression you’ve seen all day, but seeing it up close is a different story.

“And that would be..?” You gulp, anticipation bubbles

And just like that, he presses his lips against yours, the warmth of his lips sending shocks of warmth all around your body— the impact was abrupt, but the kiss as a whole was surprisingly gentle

Yet, it was also similar to his quirk, it sparked up spurs of need and sent goosebumps all over your body.

You place a hand on his shoulder, the tubes around your arms making it too difficult to wrap your arms around him as you deepened the kiss, Bakugou’s touch is cautious when he lays his hand on a spot that was the least affected, aware of your injuries. Pushing the small of your back with his hand quite gently, he kisses you like it’ll be the very last— even though you both know it won’t be.

When you both pull back, you’re taken aback— unable to think of coherent words, and a proper response.

But this damn bastard, he smirks at you knowing that he just sent shocks and explosions of intense feelings all around your body, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

“Wait, that’s unfair!”

“What?”

“I had no idea you even liked me!”

“For the fucking longest time I did, why the hell would I even be in some extras room, if I didn’t care about them?!” He tries not to yell too loudly but, the tone of his voice gets raised

You blink, “And you preferred playing nurse with your crush this entire time, instead of spending it properly like well.. everyone else?”

“Who the hell said— Fucking hell, do I have to kiss you again for you to understand?”

“Enlighten me,” Your mouth quirks up into a smile, which ultimately causes his cheeks to be set ablaze.

“Playing fucking nurse with you isn’t horrible. It’s one way to spend my birthday, even when you give me shit about it” His brows press together, trying to drown out his flustered expressions with a scowl, “There’ll be more birthdays to come, so why would I be ‘wasting’ it here? There, that’s it. You happy now?”

Silence.

“..More than happy. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your thing for playing nur—”

“Don’t you fucking finish that thought,” He says stern. “I’m going to get the nurses to check on you, and then— I’ll go home and come back again, tomorrow.”

He storms off, and when the blond is sure that he’s not in your line of vision anymore— he slumps against the wall

“Fucking hell, they’re driving me crazy.” He mumbles, recalling what he had pulled off earlier.

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

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tempestaurora · 3 years

Photo

in another time, a gladiator stucky au by @tempestaurora

image IDs under the cut

IMAGE ID:

FIRST IMAGE:

Sunlight dappled across the stone floor, casting cool, dancing shadows in the summer heat. Bucky yawned and stretched, flexing his toes into the sunspots and smiling from the warmth. He watched the newest boy to the school, a scrawny thing called Steve, stand alone in the courtyard.

He tipped his head to the side and called out, “New boy! Over here!”

Steve had straw blonde hair and eyes like the Aegean Sea. He seemed hesitant for a moment before heading over. When he arrived, he looked at Bucky like he might bite, but after sitting, he simply melted into the sunspot Bucky had found.

“You’re pretty small,” Bucky observed. “Your family sell you?”

“What? No, they didn’t.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed; he seemed insulted by the mere notion. “Your family sell you?”

Bucky shrugged. “Indentured, actually,” he replied. “But they’re practically the same thing. Why are you here, then? You have dreams of being a gladiator?”

Steve scoffed. “No. I don’t. But it was either this or live on the streets.” He paused, twisting his fingers into his tunic. “My mater died, recently. She was all I had.”

Bucky stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Perhaps she is better off now; perhaps she is in the Land of Joy.”

Steve nodded, barely. “There are few places better than the underworld, these days.”

SECOND IMAGE:

ii.

Steve may have been small, but he was fast. He twisted and turned in combat, picked up the skills with ease, and learnt to use his size to his advantage. If he got hit, he was down, so Steve learned to avoid the punches thrown his way.

They trained year-round, through summer heat and winter snow, and soon they grew. Everything Steve learned about being small and fast was discarded when he hit his growth spurt at fourteen, suddenly taller than half his class and finally able to make the attacks, not simply dodge them. He watched Bucky often; the two of them nigh inseparable since his arrival at the school. Bucky was not a golden student, but he was a golden boy; his eyes were like Jupiter’s sky and his hair grew thick and dark in a shaggy mess.

There were few things Steve found himself caring about more than the only boy in all of Italia who knew him, inside and out.

[Beneath is a photo of the ruins of a temple of Saturn, backlit by the sun. It is ethereal and quiet-looking, with green fields interspersed with crumbled architecture.]

THIRD IMAGE:

iii.

They had climbed up onto the roof of the gymnasium to gaze at the sweep of stars painted high above their town.

“Do you think you’ll be up there one day?” Steve whispered in the dark.

“In the sky?”

“The stars,” Steve clarified. “All the great heroes are immortalised in the stars.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be a hero – there’s not a drop of godly blood in me. What about you?”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Steve replied. “I just want to travel; to see all of Italia and beyond. Pompeii and Corinth – maybe even see the Oracle of Delphi, one day.”

Bucky smiled. “I’d like that. I don’t want to be fighting forever.”

“Come with me,” Steve said. “We could go anywhere. We could go everywhere.”

Bucky stared at Steve under the star-lit sky and smiled.

FOURTH IMAGE:

iv.

When they were eighteen, they moved to Rome. The Ludus Magnus gladiator school sat in spitting distance of the coliseum, and this was where they trained. They had long been learning their preferred style of combat – Steve, after shooting up and broadening, fought as a Thracian, with his broad-rimmed helmet, small rounded shield and curved sword. His only armour consisted of thigh-length grieves, while Bucky was granted a chest plate and greaves as a Dimachaerus, dual-wielding two swords.

They fought regularly in practice, but never in the ring drawn into the sand in front of an audience. There was a palpable fear Steve felt at making Bucky bleed. Some nights, he whispered prayers to whatever god might deign to listen – perhaps Mars, for war, or Venus, for love – and pleaded with them to never pit him against Bucky.

[On the right hand side is a close-up of a temple’s columns, with sunlight poking between.]

FIFTH IMAGE:

Bucky knew Steve was watching from beyond the Gate of Life as he stepped into the ring for his first gladiatorial combat in the arena. Steve had already won his earlier that day in front of roaring crowds and amused royalty in the Emperor’s box.

Now it was Bucky’s turn, and he twisted his swords in his fingers, facing down his opponent across the ring. Bucky knew their job was to fight – fight and possibly even die – but he also knew his job was to give them all a show.

And Bucky was nothing if not a showman.

In the end, blood stained the sand a vivid red, but Bucky strode towards the Gate of Life, triumphant.

SIXTH IMAGE:

vi.

There were always popular gladiators, and Steve didn’t know how to react, finding himself to be one of them. Women lined up outside the bathhouses he frequented; shared rumours that dipping their hairpins in his blood might bring them love, that his sweat would work as an aphrodisiac.

“I can see their point,” Bucky whispered one night, his mouth ravenous against Steve’s after a long day of training. Their bodies were always animalistic in these moments, whilst the school was empty and the others were out drinking the night away. They took everything they could get from each other; swallowed each sensation whole.

Steve never wanted these moments to end. He would throw all the glory and money away for more time with Bucky, for more nights like this.

SEVENTH IMAGE:

vii.

After amphitheatre fights, admirers and buyers alike would flock to the school where the gladiators lounged on cushions and benches, drinking wine and eating expensive foods. These were the nights Bucky enjoyed the most. No one was allowed to approach unless beckoned by a gladiator, and Bucky would often spend time toying with the admirers, allowing one or two over before sending them away again. Eventually, after the show, he’d slip away into the sleeping quarters or empty storage cupboard, and find Steve waiting there for him.

There was a miles-long list of things Bucky loved about Steve’s body, but number one on the list was how it fit against his own in the dark.

[Cut into the left side is a photo of the Coliseum in Rome.]

EIGHTH IMAGE:

viii.

A few days before the festival, culminating in three days of games at the coliseum, their master told Steve and Bucky that they were scheduled to fight.

“It’ll be fine,” they told each other in the dark. “The fights rarely end in death. We’re not fighting to kill. We’re fighting to entertain.”

“We’re performers,” Bucky would say. “We’re just there to give them a good time.”

“Don’t act like no one ever dies,” Steve would reply, each and every time. “Don’t act like we haven’t killed our opponents before.” Sometimes, friends would enter the ring with them and never leave it. Sometimes, the audience called for their deaths.

It was blood lust, through and through. The men caught hold of that first splash of red and couldn’t let it go; they had to see more, they had to see death in all its forms. The gladiator could’ve fought bravely, wonderfully, and they might still end up slumped in the sand afterwards.

“Soon,” they would say, “we’ll retire and leave this for good. Soon, we’ll travel the world, like we always planned.” They would whisper lies and truths to each other, desperately tangling them together until they couldn’t tell them apart.

NINTH IMAGE:

ix.

On the day of the fight, Steve stepped into the ring opposite Bucky and breathed in the cheering crowd; the hot, midday sun. They had kissed in the shadow of the underground corridors, and now faced each other, weapons raised, poised for battle.

It was bloody from the get-go; they were entertainers after all, and the audience was only entertained when they saw the streak of blood dampening the sand. They twisted and turned as if they were dancing, as if there was music playing and this was them, centre stage, having the time of their lives rather than anxiously hoping their blades wouldn’t cut too deep, that the bruises would soon heal.

And then Steve’s sword slashed too harshly at Bucky’s side and he faltered, hissing.

“Bucky—” Steve said, not moving in on the advantage, not moving at all.

Bucky straightened, removing his hand from his side, darkly red. “What are you doing?” Bucky asked, before raising his swords once more. “Fight me.”

“Bucky—”

“Fight me,” Bucky hissed, slamming his swords forward. Steve barely had time to raise his shield. He couldn’t stop staring at the thick blood leaking from Bucky’s ribs.

“No—”

“Steve—”

“No.”

Steve stepped back, feet almost at the ring’s edge. He dropped his shield, his sword to the sand. He held his arms out, palms towards Bucky, and said, “I won’t fight you, Bucky. Not ever again.”

So Bucky took the win, and the crowds jeered at Steve, and the Emperor held his thumb outstretched, unamused by the champion’s surrender.

“You won’t fight me,” Bucky spat, “but you’ll make me kill you instead?”

[Cut into the right hand side is an edited shot of the movie Gladiator; two gladiators rush towards each other to battle, with the crowds filling the stands. Much of the image is in shadow, with streaks of sunlight pouring down from the left side.]

TENTH IMAGE:

The sand was hot beneath Bucky’s feet; no lazy afternoon shadows in the centre of the amphitheatre. In front of him, Steve knelt facing away, his head tipped low to bare the spot at the top of his spine, all smooth skin tanned and unblemished.

The crowds roared around them and Bucky lifted his sword, pressing the tip at the base of Steve’s neck.

Steve flinched and said, just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear: “Perhaps I’ll go to Elysium… I hear there are few places better to be than the underworld, these days.”

But Bucky knew Steve would not go to Elysium. He was a warrior, but he was not dying righteously, not for fighting well. He was dying for surrendering, for caring about Bucky more than himself.

And Bucky—well he cared for Steve more than himself, too. They were the same that way. They always had been.

So Bucky stepped back, lowering his sword in his hand. He looked up to the Emperor, shadowed in his private box, and shook his head.

“I won’t kill you, Steve,” he said, and Steve looked around in surprise, like it was really all that out of character. He held out a hand and pulled Steve to his feet, ignoring the roaring of the crowd, the anger that came from mercy.

“They’ll come for us,” Steve said, eyes wary. “They’ll kill us both.”

With one hand, Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, thumb against his cheekbone, and with the other, he lifted the sword and twisted it. “Let them try,” he said. “But we have plans to travel the world. We’ve got no time for dying, Steve.”

And in the summer heat, they ran for the Gate of Life.

ELEVENTH IMAGE:

[A close up of two marble statues kissing.]

[END OF IMAGE ID]

#stucky #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #bucky barnes #gladiator #long post #talk #this is explicitly for the anon who suggested a gladiator au #also yes it did feel ridiculous writing about ancient rome and then using the names steve and bucky #but what are u gonna do

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baubaes · 3 years

Note

hi! is there a chance for Jemily with no22? some angst maybe? cheers🤗

Well hello to you to! And of course there is!

@thatonecurlygirl prompt list 22

“I can’t give you what you want.”

Ship: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

Word count: 5,4k

Genre: angst/hurt/fluff/very very light nsfw? i have no clue how to label this

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, injuries, classic criminal minds vibes :^)))

Summary: "Right now, Emily Prentiss was dead. She, however, was on a plane to Paris." aka JJ taking care of staked Emily, the blackbird flashback and events around it.

A/N: i thought of way too many scenarios when even though Emily and JJ are literally in love, it could never work out. here's one of them :^) i hope you'll enjoy it!! xx ana apparently i just can't imagine a scenario in which these characters could have a peaceful, quiet and happy life, im so sorry

Emily felt drained.

She was all hurting, really bad, her head was killing her, not only from the beating she received those several days ago, but also the mere stress of all this.

It was pretty baffling for her to realize that she survived this whole ordeal.

She couldn’t say for how long she was out; it felt both like a blink of an eye and an eternity.

And she really thought that she died, when she eventually lost consciousness in Morgan’s arms. That still felt like ages ago.

It was all really confusing, but then again, she couldn’t spare too much of her strength to dwell on what actually happened. Emily just felt too weak to try to keep her eyes open for too long and that resulted in her reality being pretty much scattered.

When she woke up in a hospital room, she was dazed and overwhelmed. They’ve put her on some strong painkillers after the surgery and most of the time right then felt like a blur. She thought she heard some voices in her dream, maybe doctors, maybe… Was it JJ?

She heard bits and pieces of conversations, somebody commenting on her condition in a low voice, nervous footsteps circling around the room, the dimmed rhythmical sounds of all the equipment she was hooked to, some sort of buzzing and a one sided conversation that had to be a phone call.

Was it just some bizarre dream?

A way for her subconscious mind to cope with the anxiety surrounding the recent events?

Whether it was real or not, it let her stay in this state of slumber brought to her through an IV drip.

Despite all that, she felt really grateful. She wasn’t sure where to channel this gratitude though;

Her team for backing her up?

The doctors for patching her up in the OR?

God, for allowing her to continue her existence?

Then again, she wasn’t sure if the last one existed, nor that the almighty entity would waste its time on making sure little old her survives.

It was comforting though, that her last moments on this Earth managed not to be spent with Doyle, even if that was against her will, so in theory, she didn’t have much of control over this.

Memories of him were a combination of ones that she’s made as Emily Prentiss and ones that she’s made as Lauren Reynolds. As Emily, it consisted of all those moments when he threatened her and her team, he kidnapped her, tortured her, nearly killed her…

As Lauren she was able to saw his more… Humane side.

Lauren was his girlfriend. Lauren lived with him,

Lauren shared her joys and fears with him. Lauren loved him.

But that was Lauren.

She wasn’t real. An identity, that’s all that she was.

And even though Emily tried to convince herself that Lauren’s feelings were perfectly compartmentalized away from her own, deep down she knew she was lying to herself.

Was Doyle ever somebody she actually loved?

She definitely despised him, but it felt like now she was obligated to despise even her own self for ever having feelings for this monster. Positive ones anyway.

Right now, Emily Prentiss was dead.

She, however, was on a plane to Paris.

It was all coordinated by Hotchner and JJ.

Nobody else knew.

Her team, her friends, her loved ones were about to attend her funeral in a few days.

She imagined confused look on Spencer’s face, Garcia’s eyes filled with tears, Morgan frowning and looking away. Would Rossi be sad, or would he finally feel relieved to be ridded of her impulsiveness and comments on literally everything?

She imagined her mother, who obviously was not on it, throwing a pile of soil on the coffin. That would not hold her body inside. Would she cry? Would she stay composed even at a funeral of her only child? Well, again, it wasn’t real real, but she wouldn’t be able to realize that.

For some reason, she figured JJ would’ve taken it upon herself to feel guilty, despite knowing what was going on.

They both knew it was the only way to make it all work.

Emily worried about everyone, but there were two people she worried about the most. Spencer and Penelope.

They both were incredibly strong, but she couldn’t be sure how would they deal with this.

She worried, since Reid did not cope well with losing authorities. And even if he would never admit it to her face, she knew that he looked up to her.

The thought of that made her feel the bile appear on the back of her throat.

That kid has lost so many people already… And he internalized all that, it had to be weighing on him every single day. It felt cruel to add another person to that list.

She had to keep thinking about the bigger picture to even remotely be able to deal with all that.

Now Garcia was somebody that Emily truly loved.

It was hard to imagine her being sad over her „death”.

Not because of the probability of the blonde being sad,

rather the severity of her grieving, Emily would imagine.

Penelope was one of those people who were able to feel so much, maybe even too much sometimes.

And on a daily basis it was wonderful. That’s what’s made her such an incredible, empathetic human being, who, despite their job, was still able to not only - be cheerful, but to cheer others up as well.

When she thought of that, it felt as if her heart could break to million pieces.

It was strange, how in that moment she should still feel the pain;

They’ve stabilized her after the surgery, but there were still bruises on her face, stitches across her abdomen, burnt skin on her chest. And she did feel it, but it was blurred, far away.

The feeling that made her grasp reality to the point of hyperawareness was the emotional pain.

Somehow she was able to compare it to the pain of being staked.

She still wasn’t sure what was a proper emotional response in that situation.

It wasn’t in the manual, or in training, despite people having to go… Well, faking your own death was like going undercover, in a way.

Both at the Interpol and the FBI, nobody taught her how to feel, while pretending to be dead.

She knew how to make it happen technically, more or less. After all, Lauren had already died. Her old team, JTF-12, was able to pull that off those several years ago. Including her of course.

But that was Lauren. An identity, which, sure, she’s been tied to for quite some time, living as her, acting like her, becoming her in a way.

Still, just an identity.

Right now, there wasn’t a disguise, an identity to toss away, allowing her to come back to her regular life.

Right now her regular life was supposed to cease to exist.

Before, she thought about her goal and the fact, that she survived. She was grateful, in some way she felt obligated to take care of Declan and she wouldn't be able to do that, if she was actually dead, right?

Even though she knew that she had no right to feel attached to the boy as much as she did, she just couldn’t help it. The image of him as a toddler, walking around the room in Doyle’s house stuck in her head. She couldn’t shake it off. And even before Doyle found her, that image caused her to have problems with falling asleep from time to time.

Emily never seriously thought of herself becoming a mother, for that role to be the main purpose of her life. She was afraid of screwing her potential children up, because she knew that even if she meant well, it wouldn’t guarantee them turning out okay. And her line of work made it impossible to both realistically approach the idea of maternity - she didn’t have a partner and if she were to be a single mother - it would be impossible to keep up with the BAU - that job was just too demanding; but also she saw so many downright evil, just unimaginable things that people were capable of doing to one another. How could she ever be able to shield a child from that?

Suddenly, all these ridiculous, small things that she wouldn’t think twice about made her feel as if each and every part of her life was just slipping through her fingers, right there, right then.

That one window in her apartment, the one with the wide windowsill, she loved to sit on it and watch the sky. Sergio would curl up in her lap or right next to her, on the windowsill, quietly purring, when she would pet his black fur. It didn’t happen often, because most nights she'd come home so exhausted, all she could basically do was just pass out on her bed. And Sergio would sleep on a pillow right next to her, despite Emily's promises to herself that she will teach him to stop, because she'd wake up covered in his fur with a runny nose.

But when she had a chance to do that, it made her mind stop racing, at least for a few minutes. That barely ever happened anywhere else.

Now she realized that Sergio was alone in her apartment and she panicked. But just for a second, because then she remembered JJ in the hospital, telling her that Penelope took him in. Of course she did. He'd definitely be surrounded with love. She wished she could've just taken him with her though, since she's already been missing him. Silly little fur ball, making her fall in love with him gradually. Penelope wouldn't be able to resist his charm for sure, she thought to herself, smiling. Still, she felt really sad.

Emily realized that she’s left so many things behind.

She didn’t think of herself as someone intensively attached to material possessions, but all these had a sentimental value for her and that was the only thing that mattered.

The thoughts invading her head were random, coming to her without any particular sense or order, falling on her mind like an avalanche.

And she thought about that crumpled up picture, capturing her with her friends when she was a teenager, back in Rome.

A cross, that her mother gave her on her first communion. She wasn’t ever really wearing it, but she liked knowing that it was safely tucked away in one of the drawers in her closet. It brought her some strange kind of comfort.

A box with letters she’d exchange with her father when she was a kid, because even though they moved around together as a family, he still would have assignments all around the world. So he would leave for a single weekend, or for several months at a time. No matter how long or short was he leaving for, he’d always try and send her a postcard, hence the collection of them, both from huge cities in Europe and Asia and tiny places she’s never even heard of before in America or Australia.

Maybe she wasn’t going through this box ritually on some settled schedule, but every once in a while she would look at those tacky pictures of touristy little towns, as well as simple, beautiful pictures of great historical monuments or watercolored landscapes of picturesque countrysides. And they'd make the corners of her lips rise up just a tiny bit.

All that with a couple words reading simple greetings, scribbled in a hurry, in her dad’s small, not exactly neat handwriting, on the back of each and every one of them.

„Love you, Dad” summed up every single message.

And looking at those words made her feel warmth, both now and when she was a little girl. Her father wasn’t very talkative and he rarely told her he loved her unprompted. So she got used to reading these words, instead of hearing them from him.

She cherished these postcards and anytime she’d go through them, she noticed some kind of feeling spread throughout her body, that felt like pure joy, but also love and safety.

Kurt Vonnegut’s "Sirens of Titan".

Morgan lent it to her a few months ago.

The book was by her bed, bookmarked with some crumpled receipt for groceries she’d found at the bottom of her purse, when she'd had to suddenly break away from Rumfoord and Kazak on the jet.

She’s read it before, truth be told, (in Italian and back in the ’80s), but Morgan insisted that she just had to read the original version. And even though there was a stack of books she wanted to read going back at least two years sitting on her bedroom floor, dangerously leaning against the radiator, the day she brought it home, she placed the Sirens on the very top of her bedside table, instead of the stack.

She’d imagine Morgan would appreciate that gesture.

Morgan, her partner.

Morgan, who held her before she passed out.

Morgan, who always had her back.

And she tried to do the same for him in the field.

He’s saved her ass countless times.

Emily wished she could have had his back right now.

She realized with a paralyzing fear that it could last forever.

Doyle could lay low, undetected for years.

Would it keep Morgan up at night?

Would he blame himself, wondering?

If he'd gotten to her seconds earlier, if he had only ran faster, if he’d found her sooner, would it change anything?

Thinking about that made her fists clench suddenly.

If she had any fingernails left, they would surely dig into the skin of her palms very painfully right now.

Emily felt this overwhelming guilt filling her chest, making her throat feel as if it was closing, her teeth grit.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if the jet’s cabin had become decompressed and she couldn't reach the oxygen mask.

"You’re doing okay?"

She heard the soft and calming voice of her only companion on this flight, naturally besides the pilot.

JJ was looking at her with those big, worried, blue eyes and even though Emily’s first instinct was to nod, as she did just that, she felt her eyes watering.

"I can't stand the thought of all of them grieving over a lie."

She mumbled out.

"Emily, you know that this is the only way. We’d never make them go through this, if there were any other options. They will understand."

JJ’s voice became more firm with the last sentence, she was obviously in a mind space reserved for dealing with crisis.

"I really thought that was it, you know?"

Emily asked, a little startled at the sound of her own voice.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’s held an actual conversation with another person, one that wouldn’t consist of barely understandable mumbling as a form of communication on her end.

"There came that point, where the pain went away, I guess I went into shock. I heard Morgan’s voice and I wanted to keep my eyes open like he told me to so bad, but I just couldn’t. I felt like I was slipping away and it felt so… Easy. I wasn’t scared at all. I… I knew you guys would take care of Declan, if I wasn’t around. And that all of you would be okay."

She said, trying to piece together everything that happened.

"And apparently I've coded in the ambulance? I had no idea, but some glimpses are coming back to me, slowly. But it was like I’d fallen asleep."

She added, her face reflecting her mind in a state of deep contemplation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by JJ’s voice.

"Thank God, you didn’t…"

Emily only now noticed that with every word that she spoke, JJ’s eyes became more and more glossy. She frowned.

"Hey, I’m here."

She leaned in and smiled faintly.

"Its gonna take way more than some branding and a little stake for you to get rid of me."

JJ laughed, wiping the tears away, before they had a chance to flow down her cheeks.

"Why would I ever want to get rid of you?"

Blonde asked, her voice now soft, her expression puzzled.

Emily felt something strange in her chest.

At first her brain assumed it had to be her burnt skin and damaged nerve endings, but no.

It felt nice, it wasn’t painful.

That warmth, spilling around her insides.

She didn’t have a witty comeback to her question. She wanted to think it was because of the meds making her hazy, but she wasn’t sure anymore. She just looked down at her chest and frowned again.

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

"The first thing I’m doing, when we get to Paris is having this removed."

She heard her own voice.

"How could a brand hurt more than getting staked?"

"Maybe it’s a psychosomatic itch you’re scratching? The brand left an emotional toll, Doyle established dominance over you by marking you as his, a stake… I mean you overcame death. The ultimate victory over your foe. Why suffer a pain you’re proud of?"

JJ wondered, actually trying to analyze all that. She looked at her, now amused.

"Or you could always get another tattoo."

Emily laughed at that. JJ continued.

"You know, something transformative? Like a… A phoenix. Or a blackbird."

"I love the song."

Emily said.

"But something tells me, I shouldn’t tread in your waters."

JJ looked at her with a questioning look.

"Come on, JJ. Something’s obviously different about you. You commandeered an Interpol jet. You’re profiling me."

JJ looked down and sighed. Emily continued.

"Why didn’t you say your transfer was a backstop?"

At that JJ’s expression turned to a confused one, indicating that what the other woman said was the truth.

"Oh, I know that look. The 'I can’t trust anyone, but myself' look. I invented it."

Emily added, trying to make it sound funny, but ultimately, it still came out serious, because it was true. JJ smiled at her slightly, but she looked sad.

"Do you ever feel like you’re in way over your head?" Emily nodded, wanting her to continue.

"I got assigned to an information hunt. Instead, I am chasing an unsub, who killed my informant."

"What would Hotch tell you to do?" Emily asked without hesitation. That’s how she found her way around during any investigation, ever since she joined the BAU.

"Focus on victimology, let behavior lead the way…"

JJ listed out loud.

"Exactly. Who did your unsub kill?"

"The one person I was getting through to."

"Why?"

Emily continued with her questions, seeing that they initiated JJ’s thought process.

"Because I was getting through to…" JJ said, frowning.

"I was getting through to her. What if she was about to expose her killer? Someone on the inside…"

Emily could tell that JJ needed somebody else to look at her situation and see it in from a different angle. JJ got really pensive, her eyes glued to some nonexistent point in space.

"It sounds like it's time for you to be the blackbird and flip the script." Emily said slowly.

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

"I guess it does." JJ said with a tiny smile, before getting up.

"Hey, why won’t you try and sleep at least a while? We won’t be landing for several hours, so…"

"Right. You should try and sleep too. I’ve been in a coma, so I caught some Zs, when you think about it. Medically induced ones, but still. You on the other hand must be exhausted."

Emily’s face was covered in grey, purple and yellow spots, but JJ’s face, even though not bruised, still indicated that she had a rough couple of days. She had bags under her eyes, her cheeks pale, instead of slightly flushed like they normally were, her face tired.

They both looked quite miserable.

JJ just smiled in response, but her eyes weren’t a part of that smile. Her eyes stayed sad.

She walked to another seat, so she could try and lie down.

Emily wanted to let JJ rest, because she suspected that by suggesting sleeping, she actually had an excuse to take a nap herself, even if it was supposed to last only few minutes. She deserved a good night sleep, Emily thought to herself, watching the blonde struggling to find a comfortable position. When she eventually succeeded, Prentiss leaned back in her own seat, looking out the window. Her chest was still burning, but she wouldn’t even flinch. Her eyes, almost independently from her will, landed on the other woman every couple of minutes. She watched JJ’s chest move rhythmically, until her breathing became really deep and really steady and she was without a doubt asleep.

She knows what’s happening,

Emily thought to herself.

And so does Hotchner.

Yet, they’re going to have to look at the rest being in pain and they’re going to have to pretend that they’re going through the same thing.

And when she thought about Hotch, it wasn’t that hard to imagine.

He would keep himself perfectly composed in pretty much any situation she ever saw him in.

He was able to calculate his next move without showing as much as a microexpression.

It could be a little unsettling sometimes, but then again when he was surrounded by his family, when he was with Jack, he would expose this softer and loving side of himself. Just a bit. It was quite the view.

Emily had no doubt that he was a good father. And a good man.

He really was great at planning, thinking ahead like no one else;

he had his way of smoothly dealing with issues that inevitably came up during their investigations.

All those things made him an incredible section chief.

Emily was certain that she could trust him with her life. And she did.

It would be hard for anyone to keep such a burdening secret from people you are constantly around.

Eventually, you could start believing the lie, but that also took dedication. It was even harder when you had to lie to people that were actually a part of your life, people that you were close to.

It’s one thing to be undercover and to keep a secret from people you’re trying to infiltrate. During such operations it felt justified to do that, choosing the lesser evil, the end justify the means and all that.

It’s a completely different thing to do that to your friends and family.

"The secret to getting away with lying is believing with all your heart. That goes for lying to yourself even more so than lying to another."

A quote by the author Elizabeth Bear, that she's memorized from reading her New Amsterdam series more than once. She was repeating it in her mind, not being able to stop.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in. She knew that they made the right call. Still, it was just devastating, thinking what they voluntarily sentenced themselves to.

She tried to calm herself down with proper breathing. It helped.

Emily finally decided to try to sleep. She thought that since she was still medicated, she’d pass out easily, but that didn’t happen.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw faces of her team members. She felt like her chest was being crushed. Breathing didn't really help.

After what felt like forever of forcing herself to fall asleep without any luck, she opened her eyes and just kept them open. She focused her gaze on what was behind the window.

The clouds, barely visible in the navy skies.

She didn’t do it on purpose, but she realized that she started to dissociate.

And she let herself do it.

The numbness felt better than the stinging guilt.

She didn’t really register it, but tears left her eyes, falling on her lashes and cheeks, as her deep, dark eyes focused on the navy color in front of her, forty thousand feet above the ground.

She couldn’t tell how long it took, but only JJ’s turning in her sleep, simultaneously throwing a bag off the seat made Emily come back to reality. Blonde didn’t wake up. She looked really peaceful.

She thought about not seeing her for God knows how long. It stung, to a point of her gasping. Afraid, that maybe that could’ve woken her up, Emily wiped her tears away, but JJ’s eyes stayed closed. And these intrusive thoughts came back to roam inside her head.

Sure, JJ wouldn’t be with the BAU now, since she’s had that informant operation, but no doubt, she would still see them. They were a huge part of her life after all.

Emily watched her face, calm and soft, imaging it twisted in pain and grief, having to pretend one of their own was dead.

In her mind, JJ was one of the strongest people she knew. She was persistent, hardworking and incredibly professional, but she was also kind, nurturing and very loyal.

What she was doing for her at this very moment proved it perfectly.

She knew that JJ accepted her part in this plan on her own and if she were to start trying to talk her out of it (never mind that it was also too late for that at this point), she wouldn’t change her mind. To be fair, if they switched places, she would do the same for JJ, but still, she couldn’t stop worrying about the woman sleeping on a seat across from her.

Emily watched her friend and it brought her some sort of comfort, a feeling of safety.

She finally dozed off, trying not to think, but focused on JJ’s steady breathing instead.

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

"Emily, we’ll be landing in about an hour."

She heard, opening her eyes, and she saw JJ standing in front of her, one of her hands on her shoulder.

"I thought you’d like to change before the transfer."

Emily’s hand landed on top of hers, holding both of them on her shoulder.

"Oh, right. Thank you, I…" she looked down at their hands, trying to focus. "We’ll have to say goodbye soon, right?" she blurted out, looking back at her face.

JJ sighed and sat down right next to her, not taking her hand away, but instead, intertwining their fingers and resting both their hands in Emily’s lap.

"Well, it seems so."

She smiled, but her eyes were reddened, filling with tears once again.

Emily’s gaze was glued to their hands, watching JJ’s wrist and fingers, so delicate right now, but perfectly capable of throwing a good punch. Her eyes stopped at the ring on her finger; Henry’s birthstone. She felt that strange feeling again, that warmth spreading throughout her body.

"It’s not going to last forever. We will find Doyle."

JJ mumbled out and Emily held her breath.

"I know, but… I will miss you so much."

Emily said, before instinctually putting her arms around blonde’s waist, to which she responded with wrapping her arms around her neck. JJ tried to be gentle, because of Emily’s condition, but brunette only held her tighter.

They were so close right now, that she could hear the other woman’s heartbeat. It was slightly elevated.

JJ pulled back just a little, so she could look at her face.

"I will miss you as well." she whispered, their eyes laid on each other.

JJ said the next sentence so quietly, that Emily could barely hear it.

"You’re very special to me, you know that?"

Emily wouldn’t be able to logically explain why she did what she did next, but somehow her hands ended up on both sides of JJ’s face and she leaned in, placing her lips on blonde’s ones.

She wasn’t thinking, but as she kissed her, the other woman immediately kissed her back. Emily felt soft palms cupping her face, her eyes closed. That kiss was filled with so much pain and longing and some kind of desperation.

But it made her whole body fill up with that warmth.

Emily wasn’t even sure what that was, so she tried to be gentle. She ended up kissing JJ in a somewhat shy manner, yet the other agent was deepening the kiss with each second, making it more and more passionate. Emily felt her back hitting the wall and a moan left her throat, captured by the kiss. JJ reacted by slowing down, moving her fingers across her face, running them through her hair. Emily was still cupping JJ’s face, her skin felt so soft and warm under her fingers when she brushed them across her cheeks. Their tongues slowly swirling around one another, this time Emily caused JJ to gasp, as she bit her lower lip. She responded with kissing brunette even more eagerly, so Emily brushed her fingers along her neck, resting them on her shoulders. One of her hands was caressing the skin covering JJ’s collarbone. At that she sighed, barely audibly, but Emily caught it. Her fingers moved towards the skin covering her breastbone.

JJ suddenly pulled back and broke the kiss, leaving both of them breathing heavily, blood flowing through their cheeks and lips.

Emily placed her hands back on JJ’s shoulders, she didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she broke the silence.

"JJ, I…" she didn’t even know what to say. It wasn’t right. She had a loving husband, a family. She didn’t mean to ruin it for her.

"We don’t have to talk about this." she said quickly and Emily felt strange. She took her hands off of her shoulders and leaned back, so there was space between them.

"I… Dont… Look, if we won’t see each other for…"

She started, but her voice broke, when she realized what expression showed up on JJ’s face.

Regret.

Emily felt so many contradicting things in that moment, that she basically froze. JJ was looking away.

"You went through something traumatic, we all did. It’s only natural to crave human contact then. And it can present itself in many different ways. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine."

"JJ, it means… It means everything for me."

Emily choked out, placing her hand on top of blonde’s. JJ turned her hand, so she could squeeze Emily’s one between her fingers.

She smiled looking at their hands, but only for a fraction of a second. And then she took her hand away, only to look Emily straight in her eyes. She seemed sad, but also… Agitated.

"I can’t give you what you want, Emily." she said quickly, getting up.

"There’s too many reasons why. And… You have to leave."

JJ stated, sort of matter-of-factly.

Emily couldn’t really comprehend what just happened. But all of the pain, both physical and mental suddenly came back, not dimmed anymore.

This was… This wasn’t the time for this. Come on, Emily, it’s time to compartmentalize again. You used to be so good at this!

Well, before joining the team anyway.

"We’re landing in 15. You have to change, definitely cover up these bruises at least a bit." JJ continued talking, her voice morphing back to that task-oriented tone. She was taking clothes and makeup out of the bags, handing the items to her. "Hurry."

Emily felt like she couldn’t move, but she forced herself to get up and do what she needed to. They weren’t looking at each other and even though she wanted to scream, she kept perfectly quiet.

Compartmentalize. It’s not the time. It didn’t mean anything.

They landed and after JJ made sure that the right person was waiting outside to drive Emily to a safehouse, she stood in front of her and hugged her. Emily wasn’t really expecting that right now, since the atmosphere was so tense.

"I will miss you, no matter what." JJ whispered and even though Emily was so stunned from the pain and all around confused, she knew they couldn’t part without a proper goodbye.

"Thank you, for everything. Take care of them." Emily said and she embraced her tightly, one last time. Emily wanted to say that she’ll miss her like crazy, but it felt both like too much and not enough.

She didn’t want to let them turn this into a final goodbye.

"Of course. I will see you soon, okay?" JJ smiled and Emily smiled back. It wasn’t the best forced smile, but she just couldn’t do better in that moment.

"Goodbye, Jennifer." she said sounding way too official, taking a first step out.

"Goodbye, Emily."

Prentiss turned away and quickly made her way to the parked car.

She saw JJ’s face one last time through the tiny window.

The car left the landing strip and disappeared in the night.

„Goodbye, Emily.” she thought to herself, as she caught her own reflection in the side mirror.

„Goodbye, Emily.”

JJ whispered, placing a red rose on the coffin.

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dyketubbo · 3 years

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mkay. ive woken up, it doesnt seem like theres any new developments, so. post explaining what the hells been going on about the ae/emeraldduo qpr discourse ig woo. this is going to be from my perspective, because i am one person. shocker. anyways,

basic summary: i made a post saying that because c!kristin is canon and philza and techno have boundaries against shipping, i believed that maybe there should be a genuine effort to chill out with putting c!philza and c!technoblade in a qpr or platonic marriage, as c!philza being married to c!kristin is based off the irl marriage and c!philza and c!technos friend dynamic is based off the ccs dynamic even outside of the dream smp (such as, of course, the antarctic empire being a smpearth thing). i also said this because i feel like theres a genuine problem in the fandom with how it treats kristin, not only in fanart (making her skinny and white), but also just. in general, overshadowing her with the idea of emeraldduo being married, shit like that, and it irked me esp bc shes a woc while philza and techno are white men.

people get pissed at me, both to my face and behind my back, and i get insulted, called stupid, arophobic, anti-polyam, told i dont understand friendship and that i dont have friends. i joined a server just to wake up and find myself banned and blocked with no explanation, left to assume that i was talked about behind my back while i was unable to defend myself. out of all the people who disagreed with me, one person. one. person. was nice to me and didnt call me arophobic, actually giving me constructive criticism and a chance to elaborate. one. i finally start to feel better two days after the fact, consulting people outside the fandom to get second opinions and getting happy when people agreed with me and even gave insight to things i didnt consider, and what do i get?

someone rbed to tell me "not to go on twitter" because people were talking about me, and informing me that there was a group chat dedicated to "talking about how wrong [i am]". what the rest of the post said, i dont remember, because the person seems to have me blocked and i fucking panicked after being told theres literally an entire group of people talking about me on twitter- of which, yknow. is known for harassing people and even once had a black girl doxxed?? not to mention that the person who mocked me for supposedly not having friends did so when i said to leave me alone, and ive said publicly for people to leave me alone consistently, and. well, insulting and going after someone, or even talking about them behind their back, when they said to leave them alone is in fact harassment, by definition.

im accused of not listening to philza, with the only clip being given to me of him talking about c!emeraldduo being like "the platonic version of achilles and patroclus", as if platonic = queerplatonic. yesterday was the first time i was given a clip of phil talking about qprs specifically, given to me by someone who didnt evem disagree with me anyways, again showing the people disagreeing with me were barely actually willing to cooperate with me. i have. complicated feelings on the clip (mainly with how its worded as just headcanons and only given the definition of "platonic life partners" which.. hm.), but this post isnt about that.

regardless, i vent to my friends, because i was having a delusional breakdown, and one makes a post saying they didnt want to interact with the fandom after people went after me. they inform me that both people who insulted me before and others reblogged from their post to again assert that im arophobic, claim that no one was talking about me outside of people publicly talking about how "arophobic" i am (which.. is people talking about me), claim that i called people racist and sexist (i didnt?? i dont think anyones racist and sexist, not even for what i brought up concerning the fandoms treatment of kristin, it gives me a bad taste in my mouth, but i would never call anyone racist or sexist for it [outside of the whitewashing but thats a different issue from the qpr discussion]), and then they were sent anon hate, one even asserting that they were arophobic and talking over minority groups and therefore deserved to be in their bad home situation. outside of their post being in the dream smp tag, its hard to believe that people just. normally found their post. unless they were going through the recent posts in the dream smp tag (which i dont feel is the case), it is.. concerning that they found my friend trying to defend me so quickly and immediately decided to continue to talk about me behind my back and even insult them as well.

so.. yknow, not great in asserting that there arent people tracking me somehow, which is incredibly triggering and paranoia inducing.

either way, in the end, if people disagree with me about the situation, i dont care, i cant stop them, but i just want people to stop being fucking pricks about it. i want people to stop being pissy at me and about me, i want people to stop insulting me and telling me and telling people i interact with that im arophobic when im not. i want people to stop pretending to care when they tell me to take a break when theyre the fucking reasons i have to take a break. i want people to stop being condescending to me, to stop talking about me, to stop acting like theyre superior while fucking insulting me.

i just wanted to bring up an issue about the lack of respect kristin gets, and people as always turned it into something about philza and technoblades relationship when that was literally the behavior that i was complaining about. i hate that me wanting to talk about how kristin and her marriage to phil is treated turned into me having several breakdowns in one day because i kept getting worse and worse news about how people were treating me. i hate that i did take breaks, that i actively distracted myself, went outside, took care of my pets, took care of myself, talked to my friends, and yet people just acted condescending and went all "if you cant handle criticism then leave :/".

what the fuck is wrong with you people? why is it that this fandom actively defaults to harassment and using ccs against fans when an issue arises? and i fucking hate that this is my first goddamn actual interaction with aeduo fans. im genuinely terrified of aeduo fans now if this is how they react to problems. fuck everyone who talked about me behind my back, fuck everyone who acted condescending towards me, fuck everyone who called me arophobic or anti-polyam or whatever the hell they had up their sleeves, fuck every single grown ass adult who saw a teenager have a fucking breakdown over the shit they did and said and decided to continue. fuck everyone who didnt even bother to have a goddamn level conversation with me before insulting me and attempting to tell others that im arophobic and other shit like that.

this shit happened because of two paragraphs. i said two goddamn paragraphs about a personal issue with the fandom i had and now ive genuinely been pushed almost to the point of relapsing. i dont give a shit if people think i have a victim complex, i just want people to leave. me. alone. its the fucking least you could do. oh, and go fuck yourself. if you genuinely thought id be apologizing after that shit, fuck you. i shouldnt have to be the better person with this shit, i shouldnt be pushed to choking on my own fucking tears because people wont let it fucking be. im not goddamn apologizing after three days of getting insulted and harassed and talked about behind my back for a fucking shipping issue. piss off.

#long post #dsmp #negative #fandom critical #discourse #i dont care if i look immature for this. i deserve the fucking option to be immature after this shit #im tired of crying over this.#mask mews #harassment tw #ask to tag

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bex-la-get · 3 years

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This Unpredictable World (Adam x f!Detective)

Book: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x Alma Cunningham

Word count: 2808

Summary: “We’ve spent so long trying to protect her from our world, that we never once thought about protecting her from her own.” Adam grapples with the dangers of the human world when Alma is in an accident.

Author’s Note: So, I threw my back out last week (always warm up before working out kids; it’s not worth the injury) and I thought “Ooh, how would UB react if the detective was injured?” And this was supposed to be fluffy, I swear... but then it wasn’t and here we are. Sorry? 😅

TW: Car accident, drunk driving, mentions of blood and injury.

Laughter. That was the sound he missed most.

Alma’s laugh had always been infectious. From the moment he met her, her laughter had drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had resisted it, at first; fighting the urge to say things that might have elicited that laughter from her. But as time went on, he began to give in. He began to relish the sound of her laugh. The one that made her throw her head back and close her eyes as she reveled in the thing bringing her joy. The one that made his heart skip a beat every time he heard it.

Now, he’d give anything to hear it again. To see that bright smile of hers and watch as her face lit up; to hear her laugh that always reminded him of windchimes echoing throughout the sky. All he wanted was to hear that laugh, to see her smile. If he could just have that, then he knew everything would be okay...

Instead, Adam was stuck staring at the walls of the facility common room, desperately waiting to hear something, anything. The lack of answers was slowly killing him. He needed to know she’d make it out of this. That she was going to live.

Alma had been in a car accident; a bad one. She had been hit by a drunk driver causing her to skid off the road and crash into some nearby trees. She’d sustained some serious head trauma, several broken ribs, and internal bleeding in her lower abdomen. She had lost consciousness almost immediately but not before quickly calling her mother stating she was in trouble.

The Agency had moved fast; faster than normal emergency services would have been able to. One word from Agent Cunningham and several medical units were on their way to the crash site, Rebecca hot on their tail. Unit Bravo, having walked into the chaos that was surrounding the facility, barely had any idea of what was going on until Nate heard someone mention Alma’s name in the same sentence as “car crash.”

Adam’s world had come to a standstill at the news, his heart pounding so hard, he thought it might burst. When he met Nate’s eyes, his old friend nodded once and the four vampires piled into the car, following the medical units to where Alma was. “We don’t know how bad it is, Adam,” Nate had said, attempting to soothe Adam’s nerves. “She could be completely fine for all we know.”

Adam had nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

When they had arrived at the crash site, his stomach dropped. Alma’s car was crushed in on several sides, smoke emitting from the hood. He couldn’t see her but he could hear the medics attempting to talk to her as they wriggled the door open. He didn’t hear her respond to them.

With a grunt, the medics opened the battered car door and Adam had watched in horror as Alma’s body slumped, nearly falling out of the vehicle. The medics converged over her blocking his view and he moved to get closer. He had to see her up close, he had to know she was okay.

A hand on his shoulder had stopped him and he turned to find Mason looking at him, a look of distress on his face. “Adam, don’t; her blood’s too strong. I can smell it all the way over here.”

Adam looked back at Alma, now being moved onto a gurney, and realized how bloodied she was. He could smell her now too; the smell of her mutated blood reaching him even as he stood yards away. He turned around and took a few steps farther away in an attempt to get away from the overwhelming scent of her. He needed to keep a clear head and, as much as it pained him, the farther away he was from her at the moment, the easier that would be.

The sound of footsteps gained their attention and they turned to find Agent Cunningham walking towards them, her face sullen and pale. “Agent Cunningham,” Nate had said, “we came as soon as we heard. Is Alma going to be alright?”

Rebecca gave them a sad smile. “Thank you for coming; to answer your question, I don’t know. They’re going to rush her back to the facility and assess her injuries there. She might need surgery. I don’t know much beyond that right now.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Felix asked, his usual cheery demeanor replaced with worry.

Rebecca shook her head. “Thank you, but no. Unfortunately, all we can do right now is wait.”

And wait they would. After Alma had been rushed to the facility and the intoxicated driver taken into custody-- their injuries far less severe and life-threatening-- Unit Bravo returned to the facility, the air around them heavy as they waited for an update on their detective. Some time after their return, Agent Cunningham entered the room notifying the vampires that, as of right now, Alma would not need surgery, much to everyone’s relief. But she wasn’t out of the woods yet. “The doctors are keeping her under close monitoring for the next twenty-four hours; they think the internal bleeding will stop on its own but if it doesn’t, they’re going to take her into emergency surgery. Same with her head injury.”

“When is she expected to wake up?” Adam asked.

Rebecca shrugged, the gesture taking more effort than normal. “I don’t know; she’s currently under a lot of medication. She could be out for a few hours or a day.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more information.” It was unclear if she was speaking to Unit Bravo or herself.

Nate stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for; we understand how difficult this must be for you.”

She looked at Nate sadly and nodded. “Thank you.” Her phone chirruped and she moved to exit, muttering a small “Excuse me,” as she left. Unit Bravo looked at each other, the same looks on all of their faces. Worry. Distress. Anxious.

Adam was the first to break away from the group, moving to a nearby sofa and dropping onto it heavily. He pulled a small photo-- the one he and Alma had taken when undercover at the carnival-- from his pocket and stared at it, his fingers running over the image of her. It had just been for show, he had told himself at the time; but the way she stared at him in this photo told him otherwise. It had never been for show for her.

And, if he was honest, it had never been for show for him either.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked from next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Nate had sat down with him.

Adam closed his eyes and folded the photo closed. “No.”

Nate rested a hand on his shoulder and Adam looked at him. “We have to believe she’s going to be okay, Adam. Entertaining any alternative isn’t going to help anyone.”

Adam dropped his shoulders. “I know.”

“But?”

Adam reopened the photo and looked down at it sadly. “We’ve spent so long trying to protect her from our world,” he began, “that we never once thought about protecting her from her own.”

“No one could have predicted this, Adam,” Nate reasoned. “Try as we might, we can’t protect her from everything.”

“It’s our job to protect her from everything,” Adam argued. “I-- we should have been there, with her. We could have--”

Nate tightened his hold on Adam’s shoulder. “It was an accident, Adam. A preventable one, yes, but an accident nonetheless. We’re not seers; we can’t predict what’s going to happen every time we walk out the front door. You can’t beat yourself up over that.” Adam sighed and said nothing but Nate knew he had heard him. He squeezed his shoulder once more then stood up. “She’s in the best care possible; and she’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

As Nate walked away, Adam returned his attention to the small photo, once again tracing Alma’s image. “She’ll pull through,” he repeated, in a whisper. “She has to.”

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

Twenty-four hours passed slowly. And with very little update.

Rebecca had been allowed into the room around the eight-hour mark and Unit Bravo had been allowed in a few hours later. If Adam had thought seeing the detective would ease his nerves, he had been wrong. Her blood had been long cleaned off and any open wounds had been cleaned and stitched but she still looked so small. So fragile.

Alma laid unconscious on the hospital bed, her arms and face covered with bruises and scratches. There was an IV attached to one arm while the heart monitor beeped consistently in the corner; not that it was necessary. Adam had been listening for her heartbeat ever since they had returned to the facility. He was reassured that it remained as steady and strong as always. Still, the current sight of her made his heart ache.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, her breathing steady, then looked over her face, eyes relaxed in sleep. He hoped she was having a good dream; she had mentioned once that she still had nightmares of Murphy. The idea that that monster still haunts her made Adam’s fists clench; he hoped, above all else, that she wasn’t dreaming of him at this time. May she never dream of him ever again.

As the hours ticked on, Unit Bravo began to retire to their rooms, after reassurances from the doctors that Alma wasn’t likely to wake until tomorrow. Even Rebecca eventually retired, emotionally drained from the day. Eventually, the only person to remain in the room was Adam.

When he was alone, Adam moved from his place in the corner to a nearby chair. He dragged it over until it was right next to Alma’s bedside and took a seat. For a long moment, he sat in silence, listening to the sound of Alma’s heartbeat and the quiet sounds of her breathing. Then, he reached for her hand and took it in both of his, his fingers resting on the pulse point on her wrist. It was one thing to hear it, but upon feeling her heartbeat, his shoulders dropped from their tense position and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Come back, Alma,” he said, quietly. He was positive she couldn’t hear him but he still felt the need to say something. Anything, really. He just… needed to talk to her. “Come back to me. Please.” He clasped her hand in his and he placed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “We need you. I need you. Please.”

The night passed slowly, the hours feeling more like days. With the exception of the occasional check-up from Elidor, Adam remained Alma’s only visitor for the entirety of the night, his hand never leaving hers. He would occasionally talk to her, sharing mindless thoughts with her, ranging from a book he had recently read to Felix’s recent antics with Mason’s laundry. He had hoped that by talking to her, she might be able to hear him and know he was there. That he would always be there.

It was nearing sunrise now; the early hours were quiet and undisturbed. Adam’s hand still held Alma’s tightly as he watched her heart monitor, her heartbeat still strong and steady as it always was. A small smile on his lips, he became so focused on the monitor that he almost missed Alma’s hand tightening around his. Almost.

He looked down at their clasped hands before looking to her face to find her hazel eyes fluttering open. He sucked in a breath as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the hospital room before locking with his. “Adam?”

He released a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob and used his free hand to brush some stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Good morning.”

She leaned into his touch. “What happened?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

He frowned. “You were in an accident. You were--” he hesitated to speak his next words-- “you were hit by an intoxicated driver.”

Alma released a breath. “Shit. Are-- are they okay?”

There she went again, worrying about others before herself. Adam fought the urge to shake his head at her kindness; she was too good with people sometimes. “They do not deserve your concern; as far as I care, they’ve been arrested and incarcerated. That is all that matters.”

Alma frowned in disagreement but didn’t argue the point further. Instead, she tightened her grip on his hand. “Where’s everyone else? Mum?”

“They retired for the evening last night. I should alert them that you’re awake.” He began to slide his hand from hers as he shifted out of the chair but she held on tightly.

“Don’t go,” she whispered. “I-- I don’t really wanna be alone.”

His eyes met hers and a small smile settled onto his lips before sinking back into the chair. Instead, he pulled out his phone, sent off a quick text to the rest of Unit Bravo and Agent Cunningham, then returned his attention to Alma. She was studying his face, a thoughtful look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

Tentatively, she reached with her free hand and cupped his cheek. He leaned into her touch almost on instinct. “You look tired. Did you sleep?”

He chuckled dryly. “No. I don’t need to sleep, remember?”

“Adam--” she began, the sound of disapproval in her voice.

He shook his head. “I’m alright, Detective,” he told her, quietly. “I-- I didn’t want to miss an update on your condition. I--we were worried about you.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek. “Thank you for staying.”

He closed his eyes and relished in the feel of her hand on his cheek. He covered her hand with his free one, as if holding it there. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you, Alma,” he said, softly. It was so quiet Alma almost missed it; but she was grateful she hadn’t.

“I’m here now,” she reassured. “And I’m safe. That’s the important thing.”

He nodded. “That it is.”

“Tu omnia,” she whispered.

He smiled. Then, acting off of instinct rather than logic, he removed his cheek from her hand only to turn his face and place a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist, right above her pulse point. Her pulse sped up at his gesture and he placed one more kiss higher up on her palm. “Tu omnia,” he repeated.

Just then, he could hear the sound of several sets of feet rushing their way towards the hospital room and he stood up from the chair, giving Alma’s fingers one last squeeze, then moved away to the corner of the room. Alma gazed at him confused but understanding soon flickered across her features when the door opened and her mother appeared.

“Alma!” Rebecca practically ran to her daughter’s bedside, pulling her into a tight hug as the rest of Unit Bravo trailed in after her. Alma returned her mother’s hug before looking to the rest of Unit Bravo and smiling. Within seconds, Felix and Nate had her wrapped in a bear hug, Mason standing nearby with his signature smirk, making Alma laugh in response.

Adam’s heart skipped a beat. There was that laugh again; the one he had missed so much, the one he had craved to hear when she had been unconscious. Hearing it now was like hearing a beautiful piece of music for the first time after being unable to hear anything; his shoulders released their usual tension and he smiled softly.

“So, no one’s bothered to tell me what happened to my car,” Alma said, looking at her mother.

Rebecca grimaced. “Uh--”

“Your car’s totaled,” Mason interjected. “But on the plus side, the forest now has a nice shiny fender element to it.”

“Mason!” Nate reprimanded.

Alma shook her head, smiling. “I should’ve known.”

“You can use one of the Agency’s vehicles while we find you a replacement,” Rebecca offered.

“Preferably something that doesn’t look like it’ll break upon getting into it,” Mason muttered.

Nate groaned. “Mason!”

Alma laughed again, making Adam’s heart swell at the sound. There were still some loose ends that needed tying up: Alma would still need time to fully recover and the intoxicated driver would need to be taken care of at some point. But for now, she was smiling and laughing and safe. For now, that was all that mattered.

Tag List: @sanguineverefae @little-flowers-on-heaven @mia143 @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst

#bexwritesstuff #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fic #adam du mortain #a du mortain #adam x detective #adam x alma #alma cunningham #f!detective #twc mc

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du0tine · 3 years

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well, fuck.

this isn’t great. frankly its horrible.

it’s never fun being suspended so high in the air with the harsh winds blowing roughly in your direction forcing you to seek shelter against the icy and snowy mixture of rock that sits atop the towering mountain.

to be honest, had it been any other day this would’ve been thrilling. being up here in harsh conditions, struggling to hold on and testing my mental and physical capabilities would’ve been so much fucking fun.

but there are days where you just imagine the rope that holds you up so high, snapping and slicing against a sharp piece of rock as you plummet to your death. the sky is the last thing you see, the butterflies in your stomach going mad from the sudden drop and you can’t help but think, “im going to die.”

most people, in this case: climbers that is, don’t want to die. they understand the risks, they know that given what they do things are bound to happen and im someone who understands that concept very well. but some of us are just so desensitized to the point that death feels like nothing, we’re used to losing team mates, friends and lovers. i just didn’t understand why i wanted for it to happen to me so much.

climbing is a large part of my life amongst other things; friends, family and other significant factors. all pieces both large and small that factor into what i call my life, something that i can’t help but be grateful for. but sometimes i realize life is fleeting. i realize just how short it is and sometimes i realize that, you know what? im okay with dying. whether it be today, tomorrow or the day after, i understand that death is inevitable and sometimes i just yearn for it to happen a little faster.

it often comes and goes, starting with tears and ending with cold, blank and rather monotone eyes gazing into the emptiness. i don’t know what it feels like exactly, the physicality is easy to understand but when i have to put into words its too hard. but it feel freezing cold, isolation hurts, solitude is pain. im all alone with nothing and no one and in fact, i do think im alone despite everything.

i just know im alone.

i have so many people in my life but it’s hard for me to understand why they’re here, it becomes difficult for me to keep them in my life. i find it hard to continue to speak with lifelong friends, keep in touch with cousins and other family. my parents and siblings (my brothers only being 3 & 5) being the only people i can speak to without feeling so choked up.

i speak to people ive met here (tumblr) but it never goes past a few conversations that occur from time to time and to those i do talk consistently with i can’t help but feel like i annoy. sometimes people reach out to me for advice, for guidance and of course, i aid them. it only pains me a little to never be asked if im okay in return but whatever right? as long as the people are happy, then im happy.

here in nepal, it’s been nice. people are nice. the way of life is one that no one takes for granted and it makes me feel out of place, like a spoiled brat who just yearns so much to escape but i try my best to just take a deep breath and indulge. the buddhist culture here makes me understand the ways of life, living alongside other climbers and watching sherpas dance to the tune of death, twisting around and just barely sneaking past almost every time.

despite how beautiful it is with the towering peaks, glaciers and fields of luscious green grass. death holds a strong presence here, one that’s covered by the tourism and clusters of climbers. but one that’s never ignored, everything being worshipped. pooja ceremonies being held for safe journeys and honouring the beautiful land, the mother of it all with offerings. mother nature is honoured and yet, she still plucks us one by one.

last year on my winter expedition i met a boy, well a man. someone who was 12 years older than me, someone i grew to have feelings for that in fact were reciprocated. despite seeming inappropriate, it was all consensual, it was positive and perfect. there was no dirty intention behind it and despite the large age gap it quickly flourished into a sweet, relationship but i found myself growing distant.

we were both sponsored by the same company which is how we met, the both of us being skiers and climbers. people who understood the dangers of venturing out into the wild, knowing what it meant to leave it all behind and pursue your wildest dreams.

he was perfect for me and yet, i broke up with him while living in nepal. i didn’t know why i did at first and it took me a lot of thinking. a lot of time being alone and realizing that throughout my whole life id been accustomed to supporting myself, knowing that there was no one else for me but me. perhaps it was the mixture of dreadful trauma id faced when i was younger, things i never told anyone, things that i only now realize just how bad they were.

regardless, the past is the past and i know i can’t let it hold me down and yet it’s just so hard to keep living when you know just how gravely you’ve been damaged. but i always tell myself that there’s someone out there who’s got it worse, someone who hasn’t stopped suffering from the day they’ve been brought into this world and until this very day.

like them i also wander the earth and yet i have an advantage, one that i should never take for granted and that being that everything that had happened, is over. i shouldn’t let it bring me down and ruin all the good things i have now.

so anyways, what lead to me ultimately breaking down was when i found myself like i mentioned before climbing upwards, fifteen pitches ahead in the air with my team around me. belayed upwards as i find myself freezing momentarily when the snow from above comes falling down, raining down on me as the wind whips me in the face.

it felt so cold, i couldn’t help but press my forehead against the wall and look downwards at my dangling feet. my hands were numb, my ice pick wedged into the snow and ice, my toes just barely warm. i just found myself observing how far away the ground was from where i hung. the distance from where i spiralled about to the ground was like how disconnected i felt from the earth. physically i am here but mentally im lost. where am i? i don’t know, maybe ill know someday? but what if i just don’t try anymore and let it all go, the place im in isn’t a bad place to die in fact, it’s beautiful.

but i can’t let myself plummet to the ground in front of people i know, i can’t traumatize them. i can’t be selfish and hurt others, id already done it once and that was to the man i loved.

pushing forwards we finished climbing, taking in the air at the top and looking down at everything. feeling like we were in fact on top of the world when really this was only one of the peaks we decided to acclimatize to in preparation for the everest/lhotse push that would happen in the next two months.

the feeling was the same as always, a feeling of satisfaction. you feel unstoppable at the top of the mountain, like there’s nothing and no one in your path and yet for the first time i felt anxious.

i felt like i was going to throw up. it didn’t feel great to be up here, i didn’t know why at that moment but when we began rappelling downwards i couldn’t help but think about how cold hearted i was for breaking up with him. there was no reason for me to do so and yet, i just did. it wasn’t right and it took me sometime to realize why. i needed to make sure i could at least put in the effort to do something.

the trek back to base camp was agonizing. i felt like i couldn’t breath properly, falling out of tune with my surroundings and just marching forwards. my team looking like blobs of colourful parkas. silently i felt myself weeping and just feeling like shit. i hated this.

it was embarrassing, i always made sure to peel myself apart and cry when there was no one around and yet here i was crying with people i knew and got to know around me. one of my leaders, who was a single mom that was a total badass in the mountains and one of the best ski mountaineer ive met (she’s also my team lead) spotted me falling apart and staggered behind to talk things out with me and i began to find comfort in consolidating in someone.

this was something i never even did with my own mother. this was the first time i looked for guidance in someone who’d lived longer than me and understood how grief, sadness and just a clusterfuck of emotions works.

with every step i took i slowly pieced the answers i needed for my puzzle piece and now here i am sitting inside my tent typing this foolish rant. my fingers lingering over the call button of the contact id for my ex boyfriend.

i think ill call him and apologize.

it’ll be a good first step.

update: things have been solved (relationship wise) but i don’t feel too good mentally nor physically. unfortunately, i received heartbreaking news that my bestfriend passed away and i feel lost. i don’t know what’s going on, what’s going to happen and i just feel guilty and pathetic. despite that comment, the less people see this the better, it’s not good energy and it’s just negatively going to affect others but i can’t dip without an explanation.

things are on a queue.

#tw: death #tw: sad shit me being a wimp.#i don’t know what else - i don’t know anything else.#mostly me opening up so yeah sorry if this drives people away.#felt like i needed to get it out so don’t read this.#will probably delete later? i don’t know.#my head hurts and im going to nap soon just need to clear my thoughts and relax.#if the words don’t add up it’s because im tired and cant see straight.#peace.

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smalltragedy · 3 years

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* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

looks away as i finally post his intro after being kinda awol fr however long. i love him a lot n hes also bri’s character mercy’s younger brother so u hv to be nice to him. think abt mercy’s life. then think abt ducky. im sry in advance tht his intro’s a little longer ive hd ducky fr like. a year or two n i’ve been playing him a While <3 as always like this if u’d like 2 plot n i’ll try 2 msg u bck bt otherwise im gna just hop right into threads bc obv i need to. change my methods.

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: intp & theorist / phlegmatic.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out).

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures at the community college, occasionally, or physics, or whatever peeks the small curiosity inside of him.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts.

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now.

#abuse tw #violence tw #drug abuse tw #gangs mention #eye injury tw #irvingintro #( ducky mercer. ) about. / ice boy.#sighs sm #also sry fr hw embarrasingly late this is #did i even spell tht rigth? no #did i spell tht one right? bno.#fuck.

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happytsukki · 4 years

Text

common sense

k. tsukishima

you were a fool. but only for tsukishima. (f! reader)

a/n: ive been reading the manga and chapters 370+ literally have me bawling, im so emotionally attached. also fun fact you cant get your drivers license in japan till you graduate high school,,big rip for (y/n) and her food.

someone with common sense would’ve ran home to avoid the predicted forecast. they would’ve enjoyed safely arriving home without getting a single drop of rain on their uniform. but you lacked common sense.

the steady beat of raindrops hitting the ground accompanied by a strong gust of wind greeted you as you exited the school. you stood waiting, a bright green umbrella painted with purple triceratops in one hand while you rocked back and forth on your heels.

“what are you still doing here?” a voice suddenly asked, snapping you out of your trance. looking up you locked eyes with tsukishima causing a champagne pink hue to creep onto your cheeks.

“oh, i-uh, knew you didn’t have an umbrella, so i figured i would wait for you and we could walk together,” you beamed. tsukishima rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses, but you swore you could see the corners of his lips curl up.

you knew tsukishima. you knew he hated the rain and deep down, he appreciated your kind gesture even if he didn’t say it.

he grabbed the umbrella in your hand and opened it outside the safety of the building. he took two steps into the rain before turning around to realize you were still frozen on the steps of karasuno high. there you were, an idiot shivering from head to toe in the cold weather, yet you still had a smile painted across your face.

“are you gonna just stand there or are you actually coming?” he muttered, his eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion.

“coming!!” you cooed before running down the steps and practicing colliding with him as you pressed closer to him under the tiny umbrella. maybe you should’ve packed a bigger umbrella, but you definitely weren’t complaining.

you walked in unison, small drops falling onto your sweater as you could barely fit under the umbrella with the beanpole. you took notice of one hand tucked away in the warmth of his jacket and the other clutching the umbrella for the two of you. and with your warm gloves, you placed a hand over his.

“sorry, your hand seemed a little cold” you blurted out, slightly afraid he would take his hand away in disgust. but he didn’t, he let you hold his hand. you could finally release the breath you were holding and smiled. rainy days never felt good. the sky may have been dark and gloomy, but being with him felt as if it was another spring day, the sun beaming brightly and the birds chirping.

your walk consisted of asking tsukishima about his volleyball club season and him asking about your classes. you wanted to amuse him, to hear his laugh just once, so you told him the story of how you went to school thinking you math test only to find it was actually an english test, receiving a grade no higher than your age.

and miraculously, he laughed. it was subtle and quiet, but it took away your breath and made your heart race.

tsukishima halted, finally arriving at his home. he glanced up at the sky before catching it slowly transform from a color to a baby blue.

“it stopped raining—“ you cut him off midsentence, grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him closer before you placed a quick peck on his lips.

“bye!” you shouted as you ran away. leaving poor tsukishima standing there, dumbfounded as to why his heart was beating so fast and why his knees turned into complete jelly.

you liked tsukishima. and luckily, he liked you too.

someone with common sense would’ve finished their homework and took advantage of a night free of worry. they would’ve enjoyed a full eight hours of sleep while dreams danced through their mind. but you lacked common sense.

the kitchen clock read 2:18, you were growing impatient waiting for cookies in the oven. before your crazy attempt to make lunches and treats for the entire karasuno team, you studied for your history test and finished a 10-page essay due the next day.

with your apron stained with all sorts of condiments and food, you glanced at the pile of bento boxes placed on your dining table. each decorated with a name of every player on karasuno’s mens volleyball club, of course including the cutest managers and best coaches.

the lunch box on top, reading my tsukki, my moon made with extra love and care for you boyfriend.

tomorrow was the miyagi prefectural qualifiers and as much as you wanted to be there, you had school. you longed to be in the crowds, screaming for tsukki and karasuno at the top of your lungs. so of course, you felt guilty for not being able to give your support. an alternative? food.

beep beep. the timer of the oven finally went off and you breathed a sigh of relief. you weren’t sure how long you could keep your eyelids open. your tiredness must’ve gotten to your head because without a second thought you opened the oven and reached for the scorching pan.

you spewed a variety of curses quietly in an attempt to not wake your parents, but the pain was intolerable. after taking the cookies out with the opposite hand, throwing them in a container and trying to type out ‘how to deal with burns’ with your pinky while one hand held ice (not a good idea) to the burn— you fell asleep on the couch.

not even 3 hours later, you woke up. oh the things i do for this boy. you shook your head, a smile creeping onto your face just thinking about him. you quickly throw on a hoodie and carefully place the food into a basket attached to your bike.

the sun had barely come up, just peeking from the horizon. it was way too early. riding your bike to karasuno while you rubbed your eyes constantly and yawned nonstop was a challenge. you almost tipped over several times. but once you arrived you were greeted by a horde of “hey it’s y/n!!” but the only thing you could really hear was “y/n what are you doing here?”

“well, good morning to you too, tsukki,” you chirped, taking the food out of your basket and carefully distributing it to everyone.

“wow y/n, you really didn’t have to do this.” daichi said. “but this does look amazing.” sugawara butt in, admiring the cute design. “y/n you’re the best, seriously!!” praised hinata, already shoving a small bite into his mouth for a quick ‘taste.’

when you handed tsukki his, confusion and worry came across his face. “but— look at you y/n. you look terrible.” he spat, reaching over to inspect your face. he titled your chin up and pulled your eyes wide.

“is that what you tell your girlfriend after she spent all night to make you lunch?” you pouted, slightly hurt from how he reacted.

“i think y/n looks pretty, like always.” yamaguchi gushed from afar.

“shut up yamaguchi.” “sorry tsukki!!”

“but you know thats not what i meant. i’m just worried about, you look like you haven’t sleep at all.” he shook his head.

“hey! technically i slept for 3 hours.” you argued, earning a signature tsukishima eye roll from the man himself.

“you’re an idiot, y/n. but thank you.” he muttered and placed a kiss on your forehead. suddenly, coach ukai cut in and yelled for everyone to get in the van. groaning, tsukki squeezed you into a hug.

“sorry i can’t be there, but win for me and i’ll be there next match. i promise” you pouted, adding an extra boost of encouragement for tsukishima. these days, you’d noticed how passionate he’d become about the sport and no words could describe your happiness over this.

after waving bye to the team and wishing them the best of luck, you stood alone in the parking lot. happy and excited for what was to come for the karasuno boys volleyball club. but stupid for thinking you could make it through the rest of your day on the mere 3 hours of sleep.

you were an idiot— a fool, perhaps.

someone might as well hand you a jester hat and shoes, bells included, of course. because you were a fool, for tsukishima kei only.

someone with common sense would’ve followed the sign saying “only players allowed on court.” they would’ve yelled praises of encouragement from the stands and just sent a text. but you lacked common sense.

as soon as you saw red liquid ooze from tsukishima’s hand, you hoped out of your seat and grabbed your belongings without hesitation. oh no. your heart sunk and before yachi could even try to calm you down you were already running.

past the crowds and down the stairs leading to the court. you sprinted towards the karasuno team, completely ignoring the officials yelling at you.

you gently pushed through tsukishima’s teammates and an angry expression reached your face once you met eyes with the boy.

“tsukishima kei, are you stupid?” you cursued at him. his face turns a slight pink as his teammates snicker at your typical girlfriend antics. meanwhile, several tournament officials walked over to check on tsukishima’s condition and kick you off the court since you weren’t a player. but you didn’t care. you took his hurt hand into yours, putting your face closer to examine the extent of his injury.

he winced in pain causing your anger to melt away. “you almost gave me a heart attack, you have no idea how worried i was up th-“ you blab on before tsukishima reassures you.

“y/n i’m still breathing, right? you care about me that much huh?” tsukishima smirked as he tried to hide the pain he felt in his right hand.

“okay lovebirds, why don’t you go to the medical office together and get it checked out? we’re going to need you back on the court, tsukishima.” coach ukai quickly sends the two of you away in hopes of him returning by the fifth set.

akiteru and yachi anxiously follow as you and tsukishima rush to the medical office. they wait outside and the doctor tells you two that only his pinky is discolated and the rest of his fingers are fine, so he can still return but he has to wait for the bleeding to stop. the doctor excuses himself to get more bandages, leaving the two of you alone.

you stand up from your seat to stand in front of tsukishima. his face is serious, clearly still fixated on the game still going on at the moment. you wanted to give him peace but you couldn’t hold in how proud you were.

you go on to explain how amazed you were. “and when you jumped up to block, i knew ushijima had no chance— then BOOM! his spike goes straight down into the floor. i think i broke yachi’s eardums with my screaming. not to mention how hot you looked out there like what the hell??” you gushed, making tsukishima smile amidst his pain.

he pulled you in closer and wrapped his long arms around your torso, tucking his face into the comfort of your neck. like muscle memory, your hand finds its way to his back and began to rub circles.

“you’re really sweaty, tsukki. its kinda gross.” you whisper into his hear making him click his tongue in response. but despite the perspiration dripping down his back, you honestly didn’t mind.

tsukishima pulls away, his eyes wander around your face. his breath hitching at your every feature, especially at how your eyes possessed a unique twinkle that didn’t just resemble stars but the entire galaxy. then he remembers the day he fell in love with you, that day you walked home together in the rain.

“god y/n, you’re crazy you know that, right? but i love you.” he chuckles. “i know.” you proudly state while you try to hide the fact that your heart was physically hurting from how fast it was beating. “and i-“ you sprinkle a dozen kisses all over tsukishima’s face. one for eveything you loved about him.” love you too, kei” you say before pressing your swollen lips against his.

“now go out there and beat shiratorizawa’s ass!”

and that’s exactly what he does.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #haikyuu oneshot #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff #anime scenarios #anime imagines

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years

Text

Not Possible [Soulmate AU]

Pairing: Daisy Johnson x Daniel Sousa

Based on the prompt: “Can someone make a soulmark story with Daisysous where Daisy's soulmark is "Who the hell are you?" and Daisy, being someone that would always get herself into tight situations, was something that she heard a lot and has gotten kind of desensitized to it and while Daniel's soulmark is "Who I am is on a need to know basis", he had gotten into the habit of asking people who they are to get that kind of response. However, both of them are very focused on their respective missions (Daisy to fight the Chronicoms and Daniel to figure out who is trying to infiltrate his SHIELD base), they didn't realize they were each other's soulmates until he noticed his writing on her body while rescuing her from the barn and then they fall in love yay” from @magickgirl786 (lmk if you want me to untag you)

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of torture, THERE WILL BE AGENTS OF SHIELD SPOILERS

a/n: I was so inspired by the prompt that I literally pounded this out in like an hour last night. This is my first Daisel/Dousy/Sousy/DaisySous fic so lmk what you think!!

___

Daisy Johnson hadn’t exactly had a normal life and being born with the words “Who the hell are you?” tattooed on her wrist didn’t make it any better. It was a question she had asked and been asked many times throughout her life. She asked herself that very question constantly growing up as she fashioned a name and identity for herself since she had no family to do it for her. She created Skye, the hacker but then “Skye” was thrown out the window when she met her parents and learned her real name was Daisy Johnson and she started the entire process of creating an identity over again. At some point, Agent Johnson became Quake and Quake became Destroyer of Worlds, she’d had enough names and identities to make a person’s head spin.

Working as a field agent with SHIELD didn’t help much either. Her job ensured that she was asked: “Who the hell are you?” on nearly every assignment. She barely even registered the shock of hearing the words anymore. She certainly wasn’t listening for them in 1953, decades away from anyone who could possibly be a candidate for her soulmate.

Daniel Sousa wasn’t sure what kind of soulmate he’d be getting with a soulmark like “Who I am is on a need to know basis,” but boy did he try to find out. He had tried to elicit the response from every new person he met but it never hit. The words started to make more sense when he joined the SSR and later SHIELD. Surely his soulmate must be an agent, he thought, but soon enough that idea fell through too. The identity of his soulmate was far from his mind as he went about his job, especially when dealing with the added stress of a Peggy Carter imposter. That must’ve been why the words went right over his head.

“Who the hell are you?” His words were harsh as he stepped into his office only to find it occupied by some dame he’d never seen before.

“Who I am is on a need to know basis.” Her words were curt but she radiated power and authority. On a normal day Daniel might’ve shown a little more respect for the woman but today he was out of patience.

“I need to know.” He demanded and she smirked.

“Ah, no, you don’t.” She smiled coyly, “Because I don’t exist, and we’ve never met. Now, can you shut the door please?”

“Not to be rude, but it’s been one of those days,” he began, eying the woman with his signature no-nonsense look, “So produce some credentials or I’m gonna put you in handcuffs.”

She complied immediately and he nearly let out a sigh of relief. Today may have been stressful but at least everyone was being compliant, even the two imposters he caught had gone quietly and without a fuss.

“I should inform you, that’s not my real name,” she spoke evenly as she handed over her ID, “My initials are C-I-A, catch my drift?”

“Subtle.” He deadpanned but he was grateful. It seemed someone was finally taking his fears of Hydra sleeper cells in SHIELD seriously, maybe someone was finally here to make his day easier.

The next thing he knew he was locked up in the very cell he had been keeping the imposters in. So much for making his day easier.

Daisy was surprised by the flare of guilt that came from locking Sousa up in his own holding cell. She normally wouldn’t have thought twice, it was part of the job and she was saving her people and the world, but there was something about Daniel Sousa that gave her pause. Maybe it was because he was a nice guy, or because he was already catching onto Hydra’s presence more than fifty years before it would actually come to light. Either way, she had to shake off the feeling as she continued on her day.

An opportunity to redeem herself not long after. Daniel Sousa was going to die, killed by the Hydra sleeper cells he was trying to expose, but they didn’t have to let that happen. They wouldn’t let that happen if she had any say in it. She still couldn’t figure out why she felt so strongly about a man she had only interfaced with once but something was telling her she couldn’t just let this man die. So she didn’t.

___

Daniel Sousa was not having a good week. First Hydra, then his base is infiltrated, and now he’s been kidnapped. Except, it’s worse than a kidnapping really, because not only is he no longer in Los Angeles, he was no longer in 1953, and he was, apparently, no longer alive. Somehow Daniel Sousa, Agent of SHIELD and World War II veteran, had found himself in the 1970s without having aged a day. At least this new Future SHIELD still did fieldwork, he really needed the consistency.

He found himself paired up with the agent from his office who’s real identity he learned was Daisy Johnson. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, maybe the power she emanated or her bold attitude, but something drew him to her. Somehow, even with the looming threat of Hydra, he felt less worried with her by his side. Though, maybe it had something to do with her earthquake powers.

It wasn’t until the barn that he realized the true reasoning behind their inexplicable connection.

God, that barn. Daniel wasn’t sure if they’d ever make it out of that god-forsaken building alive. Sitting there listening to Agent Johnson be sliced apart was a torture in itself for him, though he knew his pain was nothing compared to the agony she was surely feeling if her screams were any indicator. She looked like she was on the verge of death when they deposited her back at his side.

“Stay with me,” he remembered begging. He remembered telling her about what happened to his leg. He remembered feeling like there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make sure she made it out of there alive.

Then she lifted up her hand to show the piece of glass stuck under her skin and he realized why he felt so strongly about the woman lying in his lap. His own words, “Who the hell are you?” were tattooed along her wrist. There was no mistaking his handwriting and while all he wanted to do was replay their meeting back in his mind to find out if she had said his words, he knew he needed to keep his mind on task if he ever wanted a shot at this soulmates thing. So that’s what he did, he threw all of his strength, mind, and ability into getting them out of that terrible barn. It wasn’t until he was seated on the Zephyr with Daisy safe, sound, and healing in front of him that he let his mind wander to the possibilities.

___

Daisy wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t alone when she woke up, but she was surprised by her company. She had expected Jemma when she woke up in the med bay’s hospital bed with an IV in her arm, but instead she got Daniel Sousa, not that she was complaining. He looked equal parts relieved and nervous when she awoke though she couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t tell her either, though the nervousness remained throughout her recovery. Jemma informed him that he hadn’t left her side the entire time she was unconscious and her heart warmed at the fact. The sentimentality surprised her, she wasn’t one to grow attached so quickly but there was just something about Daniel Sousa. She didn’t find out what until she had been released from medical.

“Agent Johnson, I think we should talk,” he said in that calm but commanding way of his, though Daisy didn’t miss the nervousness in his voice and face.

She merely nodded, following him into the Zephyr’s kitchen. They sat across from each other at the table, Daisy starting up the coffee machine before sitting down.

“What is it, Agent Sousa?” She asked, a teasing smile on her face, “You look like you might vomit.”

“We’re soulmates,” he blurted before immediately cursing himself and Daisy froze in shock.

“Excuse me?” She finally spit out, subconsciously sliding her fingers over the words on her wrist.

She’d heard the words hundreds of times, surely it couldn’t be him.

“I didn’t realize until I saw my writing on your wrist in the barn, I-” he stopped suddenly, unsure of what to say next. He had dreamed about meeting his soulmate, but never had he thought it would go like this. In lieu of knowing what to say, he rolled up his sleeve instead, placing his wrist on the table with his soulmark on full display.

Daisy’s mind was screaming at her as she stared at the man’s wrist. The man was born decades before her, he was supposed to die before she was even born, and yet those were her words, in her handwriting, clearly displayed on his wrist.

“What the hell?” She heard herself mutter, though she didn’t feel like she was in control of her own body in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel panicked, interpreting her confusion for upset. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, especially so soon after recovery-” he rambled before Daisy cut him off by placing a gentle hand on his own that was still resting on the table.

“I’m not upset,” she reassured him, “I just- how is this possible?” She laughed slightly at her own question, soulmarks were an extremely unpredictable thing and even modern science didn’t have a good understanding of them, obviously the chain of events that brought them together were meant to happen.

“I don’t know,” Daniel smiled sadly, “But, as crazy as all this is, I’d like to give it a shot.”

Daisy smiled. She couldn’t help it even if she tried, the man sitting before her was so genuine and even if he wasn’t her soulmate she was sure she’d be feeling the same butterflies in her stomach.

“Me too,” she said softly and the butterflies only flapped harder at the smile that broke across his face.

“I’d like to take you on a date if any of this,” he gestured to the Zephyr and the commotion that came with it, “ever dies down.”

“I’d love that.”

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deancas-fanfiction · 3 years

Text

Hardest Part is Letting Go

Part 1/7

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Summary: Upon his diagnosis of a terminal illness, Dean vows to spend the rest of his short life with Cas by his side, completing his bucket list while learning what it really means to live and love.

Also available on ao3.

Dean had never been a romantic – that was always Cas and his extravagant date planning. It was incredibly endearing, but Dean just wasn’t one of those people that cared about that kind of stuff. He loved it because Cas loved it. Funny how a terminal illness can change someone.

It was one year earlier, just after Dean’s thirtieth birthday. Recently he hadn’t been feeling well. His energy level was low, and the sweeping waves of nausea became all too familiar. While low energy wasn’t exactly uncommon for him, this was different. Dean barely had the energy to get out of bed. At first, Cas assumed it was some kind of flu, so they spent day in bed watching old western movies and eating soup. It was a few days later when Dean realized something wasn’t quite right. Along with the loss of energy, came the loss of appetite, and consistent headaches. Dean hid it well, though. After all, he didn’t want to worry Cas or Sam. So he pretended everything was fine for the next few weeks and almost convinced himself he was starting to feel better. He thought that with time it would eventually go away. However, it ws quite the contrary.

One morning Dean awoke at his worst with a sharp, hot pain in his head; it was by far the most excruciating thing he has ever experienced. Biting down on his pillow, he screamed. He screamed until his voice was hoarse, just trying to release some of the pressure in his head. His nails dug into the blankets, begging for the pain to end. Soon darkness took over his vision and he drifted into blissful unconsciousness, away from the pain.

The next time Dean woke up he was in a hospital, with an IV hooked to his right arm and an oxygen tube in his nose. The fluorescent lights were harsh, highlighting the deep bags under his eyes. At least the pain in his head had subdued. His vision became sharper as the flog from the drugs cleared. Dean looked around the room, noting the ‘get well soon’ balloons and cards that littered the room. To his left was a card with a scrawl so ineligible it could only be identified as Sam’s attempt at handwriting. But the thing that caught his attention was Cas, sitting in this stiff chair next to his bed, his head resting on his hands.

Dean shot up, suddenly alarmed as he remembered the events that led to him being here. He sat up, pulling at the IV, panic rising in his chest. His hate for hospitals was heightened and all he could focus on was getting out of here. But then Cas’s head shot up to the sounds of Dean rustling in bed. He scooted his chair closer to the bed, resting his hand on Dean’s.

Dean frowned as he observed his boyfriend’s face. His nose was runny, and his eyes were pink and swollen. He had been crying. It was enough to stop Dean’s frantic movements as his heart rate increased. Cas very rarely cries, and when he does it’s for good reason. Cas ignored Dean’s questioning look. With light touches, he brushed Dean’s matted hair out of his face. It was comforting, but if anything, it just worried Dean more.

An advanced terminal illness. That’s what the test results said.

Those four words ruined Dean and Cas’s life. Those four words unraveled years of plans the two had previously made, imagining they had all of the time in the world. Now he was told he would have two years if he was lucky. Dean’s doctors offered aggressive treatment to prolong the inevitable, but he denied it. He knows what that treatment does to patients. They’re violently ill, bed ridden, and spend most of their time imprisoned in hospitals. Dean wanted to spend the rest of his short life as himself, with Cas by his side.

It wasn’t something to easily become accustomed to. Cas was in denial in the beginning. He went about life as if nothing has changed, but at night he would hold onto Dean extra tight, with no intention of letting go. It went on like this for a few weeks, until Dean came home from visiting Sam for the weekend to find Cas sitting on the kitchen floor sobbing. Dean dropped his duffel bag and wrapped his arms around Cas. He held him close, kissing the top of his head, burying his nose into his boyfriend’s dark hair, memorizing his scent. His hand rubbed small circles on Cas’s back, knowing it comforts him. He nearly let out a humorless laugh at the thought that he was the one dying, but also the one doing the comforting. It was then that he realized Cas is the only that has to live without him. If it was Cas dying, Dean knew he’d be completely broken too.

After they both released the emotions they had been repressing, they actually felt a little better. Now that they accepted the inevitable, they could live each day to the fullest. Without further discussion, Dean and Cas quit their respective jobs to focus on living life in the now. Besides, that’s what emergency savings are for, right?

This brings Dean to where he is now. Sitting in the living room at three in the morning with a glass of bourbon, paper, and a pen. He could feel his health slowly deteriorating and he knew he was running out of time. Dean estimated he had about six months remaining. At night he’d close his eyes and be met with the image of a clock. It would start with the seconds slowly ticking by and then morph into something sinister. Suddenly it was a calendar, with pages tearing away and flying off until there was nothing left but blackness and silence. There was nothingness. He’d wake in a cold sweat, with the constant reminder of the inevitable looming over his head. Dean shook his head, shaking the dark thoughts. He took a sip of his drink before focusing back on the task at hand.

1. Have breakfast in bed

2. Stargaze until the sun rises

3. Kiss in the rain

4. Rent a beach house for the weekend

5. Watch Sam graduate from law school

6. Go on a road trip with a kickass playlist

7. Get married

8. Go skinny dipping

9. Die loved

Dean hadn’t realized he was crying until a tear his list, smudging some of his handwriting. There was still so much he wanted to do, so much more he wanted to see but deep down he knew he didn’t have the time for it. Hell, he didn’t=’t even know if he had time for his list. But he was going to try. He looked back at a few items on the list and managed a small smile, so much for not being a romantic.

Dean looked up when he heard some shuffling and the opening of a door. His eyes met a sleepy Cas, with his blue eyes bleary and hair ruffled more than usual. It was a sight he could never get sick of.

“Can’t sleep?” Cas asked quietly. Dean hummed in response, struggling to get his emotions in check. He hated this vulnerability that came with the diagnosis. Making this list made him even more emotional and he knew that crying in front of Cas would only make things harder.

“Me neither,” Cas sighed, joining Dean on the couch. He leaned into his side, curling in to soak in his body heat. “I can never sleep very long without you next to me.”

Dean smiled at that and kissed Cas on the temple. Cas sighed contentedly before frowning when he saw the list in Dean’s hand. “Is that your bucket list?”

“Yeah, I figured since we have some time, we should make the most of it, you know? And there’s a lot of things I’ll never get the chance to do, so I thought I’d make a list of the ones most important to me.”

Cas gingerly grabbed the list out of his hand and read through it, a sad smile on his face. “No backpacking across Europe?”

“I don’t think there’s time for a trip to Europe,” Dean mumbled. He and Cas had dreamed of backpacking across Europe since they were in college. They talked of romantic stops in Italy for the food, France for the champagne, Ireland for the Guinness and beautiful countryside, Scotland for the scotch, and so much more. Cas just nodded in response, swallowing the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to think about the concept of time at the moment.

“What do you want to do first?” Cas asked, his voice cracking.

“Right now, all I want to do is go to bed with you.”

“Alright, then let’s go to bed,” He replied, grabbing Dean’s hand and leading him into the bedroom with a sly smile on his face.

The next morning Dean awoke with another headache. He wasn’t surprised, it’s been happening a lot more often lately. He sat up and reached for the numerous pill bottles on the table next to the bed and took the numerous pills prescribed to him by his doctors to keep his symptoms under control. Forcing his legs out from under the warmth of the blankets, Dean got up to go see what Cas was doing. While Dean has always slept later than Cas, he usually lays in bed with him reading a book while waiting for Dean to wake. After all, Cas knows how much Dean hates waking up alone.

Just as Dean was crossing the door, he was met with Cas carrying a tray full of chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, a heaping pile of bacon and his usual cup of coffee.

“Cas…” Dean started, realizing what he was doing.

“Dean! You ruined it. To have breakfast in bed, you actually need to be in bed.” He pouted which caused Dean to laugh at his boyfriend. He quickly turned around and crawled back into their bed.

“We don’t have to do everything on the list right away, angel.” He retorted, pulling the warm blankets on his lap. His voice came across softer than the joking manner he intended. His gratefulness for Cas shone through his usual sarcastic façade. Cas chose to ignore the comment and set the tray on the middle of the bed, settling next to him. “But thank you,” Dean added, giving Cas a kiss on the lips.

Cas smiled, his blue eyes impossibly bright in the early afternoon light. Dean sighed, staring as he admired Cas’s beauty. His dark hair is tousled, sticking in all directions accompanied with the stubble that comes from not shaving for a few days. He’s dressed in one of Dean’s classic rock shirts and a pair of boxers, with the smell of coffee lingering on his breath. Dean smiles at him, bacon momentarily forgotten, only consumed by thoughts of Cas. When things get bad, he wants to remember this specific moment and how happy the two of them are. ‘When things get bad…’ Dean ended that train of thought and shook himself out of his daze, turning his attention to his delicious breakfast instead.

________

A/N: Hi friends! I’m so excited to post my first Dean/Cas fanfic! I’ve written for other fandoms before but I just can’t shake the finale so here’s my coping mechanism. This fic is finished, totaling at about 15,000 words. I plan to post either weekly or twice a week, depending on the reception this gets. Please let me know any feedback or submit any prompts!

#destiel #fanfiction #deancas #supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #angst #fluff #eventual character death #dean knows how to communicate his feelings for once #dean winchester #castiel #alternate universe #chaptered

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horrible-writer-rain · 3 years

Text

Away From the Edge Part 1

Trigger Warning: Attempted Suicide

A/N: This is unedited.

He was tired. Tired of the glares and harsh words from the people he called family. Tired of going home to an empty apartment because Luca was overseas on some mission that was classified. Tired of being the man behind when all he wanted was to save people. To do the one thing he was good at. He left a voicemail for Luca and one to both Luca’s twin sister and brother in Texas. His grip is tight on the railing but not from a fear of failing. No, he had resigned himself that he was going to die but only when he’s ready. He hopes Chris will forgive him, but he had written him a letter and had left it on his counter with Carla’s name on it. He knew she would give it to him. Luca would be pissed and heartbroken, but he had a good support system in their old team, his family, and his crew in Austin. He had left letters for the crew of the 118 as well. Left them on the counter as well. He had written a letter for every person in his life that he loved. It was up to them if they read it or not.

He lets out a breath when he hears a car stop. “Sir, please step away back over the railing.” He felt like he could cry. He knew that voice. “I’m good right where I am, ‘Thena.” He calls opening his eyes to look down. It was about a 40ft drop into freezing water so if the impact didn’t kill him then the hypothermia and subsequent drowning would. “Buck?” He hears her come closer. “What are you doing here, baby?” She asks and he shrugs. “I’m tired ‘Thena.” He tells her as a firetruck pulls up. “Anyone I can call?” She asks stepping closer and he shakes his head. “Stay where you are ‘Thena.” He warns and she stops moving. “Just you Bobby. Keep the others back.” He hears her speak into her radio. The 118 must have responded. Fuck. It was bad enough that he was going to jump in front of Athena but now his crew. The ones who have thrown insults and petty jabs his way. The ones who had a hand in causing this. His grip loosens and Athena lets out a strangled noise. “It’s Okay, ‘Thena.” He tries to reassure her.

“Why’d you have the rest of the crew stay back, Athena?” He hears Bobby, no captain Nash say his tone weary. He knows exactly when Captain Nash spots him. His breath audibly hitching. “Buck?” The use of his nickname and the concern in his voice has him letting out a harsh laugh. “It’s Buck now, is it?” He says finally turning around to face him. “Buck, you don’t have to do this.” He says stepping closer, but Athena holds her arm out. “Why should I listen to you? You’ve done nothing but belittle me since I got back. This isn’t your house, so I don’t have to follow your rules.” His voice is calm, and he looks over to where Hen, Chim, and Eddie have gotten out of the truck. He can see the horror in Hen’s eyes, and he feels kind of bad. She was the one who he confided in the most about being away from Luca. They had eventually bonded over their similar sexualities and marriages to people of the same sex.

“Eddie get me a harness.” Captain Nash says and he sees Eddie falter for a second before following the order. Chim stands beside Hen watching with wide eyes. No doubt trying to figure out how to explain what happened to Maddie. Hen is gripping her med bag tightly. “Think about the people that love you, Buck. Think about your family.” Captain Nash says and he turns his gaze once more to his captain. “My family consists of Luca Rizzoli and his family.” He says and Captain Nash shakes his head. “You’ve got us Buck.” Eddie says as he hands over the harness to his captain. He lets out another humorless laugh. “I’ve not had you since the bombing. I thought you were my best friend. But friends don’t call each other exhausting or shove them around. Family doesn’t belittle anything that’s ever happened to a member of said family.” Eddie looks guilty at his words. “Captain Nash, I used to think of you as a father figure. Now, I see that your no better than my own damn father who didn’t give a single shit about me. In a way this is your fault. You chose to lie to me about what happened. So, the only way I saw to get back to my family was to fight for it. I turned down 7 million dollars to get back to my family. It was never even about the money. I just wanted you back.” He pauses to take a breath before continuing.

“I knew it wasn’t going to be easy and I accepted that you all would be mad at me. I just didn’t expect for it to last a few months and involve being assaulted. You chose to leave me as the man behind. At first, I was fine with it. I knew you didn’t trust me. I figured I’d need to earn your trust back, but you never gave me the chance. Then after a while it just started to hurt. You had taken away my ability to help people in a way I loved. I wasn’t being shot at or have the threat of getting blown up and I wasn’t in some active warzone halfway across the world.” Captain Nash had put on the harness as he was talking but never took his eyes of him.

“Please, let us make this right.” Captain Nash pleads with him, but he shakes his head resolved to do what he had come here.

━━━━━━»»•••««━━━━━━

Athena’s phone goes off and he can see her struggle of whether to answer the phone or not. She answers it and her eyes widen. “It’s for you buck.” She says as she puts it on speaker. “Cariño talk to me.” The voice on the other end sounds concerned and slightly out of breath. He swallows around the forming lump in his throat. “Lu I-” His words are cut off as a shiver wracks through him. “I’m coming Cariño, don’t do anything stupid until I get there alright.” The voice says and he nods. “Alright.” The person on the phone lets out a breath before hanging up the phone. His jeep then comes into view before a figure in military fatigues is jumping out of the vehicle. The figure rushes over to where he and the others are at. “Move.” The figure demands grabbing onto Buck.

“I’m here, Cariño. Can you make it back over the railing?” The figure asks and he shakes his head. His body was starting to shake from exhaustion. The previous 24-hour shift and how ever long he was up here finally catch up to him. “Okay, can someone get me a harness?” The figure asks and Captain Nash hesitates, but Eddie follows through with the orders. “I’m a firefighter with the 126 and I used to be apart of BFD. I’m certified Captain and I’m not letting any of you touch him.” The figure snaps and keeps one hand on Buck as Eddie helps put the harness on. “Okay, Cariño. I need you to turn around slowly for me. Can you do that?” The figure asks and he nods turning around slowly. His foot slips and he can feel the figure’s, no his husband’s, grip tighten on him. “It’s okay, Lu.” He says lifting his arms a little so his husband can get his arms around him. He tries to help lift himself, but his husband tells him to relax so he does. Once over the edge arms wrap around him fully and he breathes in his husband. He flinches away from any other hands. “No! Don’t touch me!” He cries pushing closer to his husband startling the person reaching for him and the hands are drawn back quickly.

“I need to check him over.” Hen says eyeing Buck with worry, but his husband shakes his head. “I’m dual certified as a paramedic and firefighter. I also have some military medic training. Based on what I’ve observed he’s just dehydrated and exhausted.” His husband says running a hand up and down his back. He can her Hen move not arguing but Captain Nash and Eddie protest with Eddie trying to figure out the relationship between him and his husband. “Who are you?” Eddie asks defensively the anger clear in his voice. He flinches at the tone whimpering softly into his husband’s chest despite being almost the same height with his husband being 2 inches shorter. “My name is Luca. I’m Buck’s husband and I need you to back off. You aren’t helping.” His husband says and he finds his hands gripping his shirt tighter. He hears Hen come back and set something down before he hears his husbands voice in his ear. “I need to start an IV, but I need to get you into the Ambulance first. I’m not going anywhere.” He’s brought to a sense of panic at his husband’s words, but he nods his head in understanding.

He would have to go to the hospital. His breakdown would come much later. When he was finally alone with his husband and away from everybody else. “Can you walk?” He shakes his head and can’t help a small smile at his husband’s fond sigh. “You’re going to make me carry your 6’2 self over my shoulder.” He nods in response and his husband gets to his feet with him still clinging to him, but his legs go around his waist.

The others don’t comment on what they are witnessing and he’s glad. He didn’t need anymore “teasing” from them right now. He feels his husband climb into the ambulance and sit down on the gurney. “Can the paramedic hook you up to an IV?” He nods again sticking his arm out for Hen. She’s careful where she touches him only in places that are necessary to get the IV in. He closes his eyes and settles back against his husband.

The ride to the hospital was silent and filled with tension. He puts up a fight when they try to separate him from Luca. Enough that they have to sedate him. He fights the sedative for as long as he can his husband’s worried face the last thing he sees before finally succumbing to the sedative. He knew his husband would be there when he awoke or at least he hoped and that this was not all some dream.

#911 fox #9 1 1 lone star #post lawsuit #post tsunami #post bombing #post embolism

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