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literaila · 3 years

Text

all it takes to fall

spencer x reader

summary: the reader has been acting strange. spencer has noticed. he just might have to help.

warnings: its just basically spencer being in love with you, so fluff, and sleep depravation

***

Spencer wasn't sure when he had started noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

Maybe it was the first morning he’d caught her yawning for the twelfth time. Or after she stared blankly at the wall for longer than a couple of minutes almost every day. Maybe it was when she had stopped making the effort to do her hair in the morning, or when her makeup had become limited and drawn back.

Maybe it was when her laugh was just a tiny bit smaller, and she didn't compliment Garcia’s earrings every morning.

It could have been any one of those things.

But he was pretty sure it wasn't.

See, even before any of that, before her eyes had started to get darker before she’d started slouching everywhere, he’d noticed her.

Way before any of that.

Six months before.

Six months when she’d walked into the room and introduced herself. Acting as if she already knew all of them personally.

Spencer watched as she went to shake all of their hands, her aura surprisingly bright, her energy higher than anyone else in the room.

He watched her smile at everyone, noticed the way she tapped her leg as they all asked her questions, probing her, making sure she was good enough for their family. He frowned at the protective tendencies of his friends, wanting to make them back off slightly, knowing himself how scary it could be going into a completely new place. He could tell she was nervous.

And he’d noticed, that even though nerves were practically flying off of her, she didn't stop smiling, never lost her focus, never once did anything that would prove to anyone but a room of profilers that she was practically overflowing with nerves.

It was one of the first things that Spencer noticed about her.

Of course, besides the moments when she just simply smiled at him and muttered a hi as her introduction to him before moving on.

Six months ago, he’d noticed that immediately.

And then, shortly after that, only hours later, he’d started noticing more.

More.

Like the way, her eyes changed color in the light and the way her face twitched when she was trying not to laugh at something someone said. He’d noticed her scowl when people were talking over her, and how she never once spoke up about anything she was upset about, but always wore the same expression when she was.

He’d noticed how she made it a priority to lift the people she loved up, complimenting them and listening to them as her life depended on it. He’d noticed her tendency to always listen early on.

And of course, he’d noticed the soft way her lips looked. The slightly shy smile she had on when she tucked her hair behind her ear after someone said anything praising her.

He’d noticed how the shoes she wore always complimented her shirt.

He’d noticed how she rarely wore earrings, even though her ears were pierced.

He’d noticed the laugh she always seemed to use around him the most.

He’d watched and watched and.

It was so hard not to notice her.

Everything about her.

There were six months of noticing her, smiling at her from his quiet corner, jotting down every little detail about her in his brain, bringing those notes he took only mentally back up into his brain when he was alone when he had the opportunity to just think about her. His noticings of her.

There were six months of that.

It was inevitable when she’d noticed him too.

And after six months of noticing her hopelessly, she’d asked him out.

“So Doctor,” she’d said when they were waiting for the elevator. Spencer had been staring at her blouse, loving the color with her skin, when she’d finally said something, her smirk shocking him out of his stare. “When are you going to finally let me acknowledge how much you stare at me?”

And Spencer had almost run away right then.

She wasn't teasing, and although on anyone else her smirk would look intimidating, and maybe just a tiny bit threatening, on her, it looked almost kind. Almost like she was asking a question with her lips. And the way she had asked him the question, made it seem genuine like she was asking him permission.

Spencer had stared at her shocked for a moment before clearing his throat. Gathering up the courage to respond.

“What?”

“It's not like I don't do the same,” she said, her smile turning into something more apologetic like she was nervous that he was mad. “I do. I just wanted to know when I could finally ask you about it?”

The elevator had arrived, and she was stepping into it, pressing on the button for a lobby, Spencer following her.

“Oh, I, um-” Spencer stuttered out, his voice caught in his throat.

“It's okay if you’re not ready of course. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“Ready for what?” Spencer asked, his thoughts finally catching up with him. Staring at her, and her smile. While she watched the wall as if they weren't talking about what they were talking about.

“For me to ask you out doctor.” she turned to him for a brief moment, her smile a little bit amused, a little bit nervous.

It was terribly unfortunate that Spencer couldn't think of anything to say then. That he’d become so struck with her words that all of his knowledge had left.

It was even more unfortunate when the elevator had arrived at the lobby, and she was walking away from him. Turning around to smile, laughing a little bit at the expression on his face, and then leaving.

It was worse because he’d spent that whole night going over her words. Thinking of every little syllable she had spoken out, and thinking of it again. He could barely sleep that night, wondering what he could possibly say to her tomorrow when they had to work again.

But it turned out that he didn't need to worry. Nor obsess over the possibilities.

Because the next morning, the moment he’d saw her, watched her press the button to the elevator they’d been in alone the night before. Watching her gently tap her foot as she waited for it to arrive. In almost a split second, he’d sped over to her, enjoying the way she smiled at him.

“Will you go out with me?” he asked, his voice coming out strangled, his sentence coming together as if he had only said one word, his eyes wild and hopeful but mostly nervous.

And she’d nodded. Smiling as the elevator rang out, the doors opening.

Six months after Spencer had started noticing her, they’d gone on their first date.

It was simple. Dinner and a movie.

But when Spencer had arrived home later that night, after dropping her off at her apartment, walking her to the door so he knew that she was safe, when he’d sat his bag down on his couch, he’d concluded it was the best date he’d ever been on.

The week after that, they hadn't found the time to be alone again, the cases piling up, the stress following.

And two weeks after their first date, Spencer had started noticing the changes.

He’d noticed the change in her appearance, in her attitude, in everything about her.

She was tired.

He could see that much.

Every time he tried to talk to her, to ask her what was wrong, ask if she wanted to go get lunch, or coffee, she was distant. Almost like she was miles away and she couldn't really hear him. Just understood what he was saying.

She smiled at him, but she always declined, coming up with an excuse, or talking about work so that she could avoid his questions.

And he’d noticed.

He let it go. For another two weeks. Four weeks after their date.

But when she stopped speaking up at their meetings, and almost always needed everyone else to clarify the question they were asking her, when she started carrying a full mug of coffee with her everywhere, Spencer had decided he couldn't let it go anymore.

So, after everyone else had left and she was sitting at her desk packing up to go, he’d stared. Stared and waited for her to look at him. Just so he could ask the question.

But when she didn't, when she barely looked up, just clicked her lamp off and stared at the floor as she started to walk out, he hurried to catch up to her.

And there they were.

At the elevator again.

She wasn't even looking at him. Just staring at her shoes.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked, trying to be quiet, trying to be loud enough so that she would hear him.

She looked up then. Stared at him. Tried to smile a moment before she stopped.

“Are you okay?”

She sighed.

When he was closer to her, he noticed more. Like just how dark the circles under her eyes were, the shaky makeup she had on. The tense way she was holding her jaw. The lines around her face didn't seem to be there normally.

“Y/N?”

“I just want to get home Spence,” she whispered, looking back down at the floor.

And then Spencer noticed the way she was swaying slightly on her feet. The way her body had almost caved in on itself. He noticed how she kept rubbing her eyes, kept widening them every couple of seconds.

And then he realized, she was trying to keep herself awake.

He’d known she was tired, it was clear on her face. He knew that she probably hadn't been getting enough sleep, that her changes were probably related to sleep deprivation. He was going to talk to her about insomnia, give her some tips, ask her if she needed any help.

But now, it was clear that she did.

She could barely keep herself up.

Spencer definitely hadn't expected this.

The elevator door rang, and she was stepping away from him, swaying on her feet, starting to lean into the walls of the elevator.

Spencer moved to step in front of her. Taking a chance.

He grabbed her face gently, tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. And she looked exhausted, almost like a corpse, but Spencer smiled. He still looked like the girl he’d been noticing for months. Even if she was exhausted. She was beautiful.

And he was smiling at her when she started to fall away from him, her eyes closing for only a moment and opening again.

Spencer moved to her side to keep her up.

“I’m taking you home,” he said, his voice suddenly serious, his eyes burning on her.

“Spencer-”

“You can barely stand up. You’re falling asleep. I’m not letting you drive home Y/N.”

And then she was leaning against him. His arm was wrapped around her waist, trying to make sure she didn't fall. Her eyes were closed, her face was less tense. She was accepting, letting him take care of her.

He’d noticed that.

By the time they’d gotten to Spencer's car, she was practically asleep in his arms.

He could hear her mumbling under her breath about her car, and that she couldn't leave it in the parking lot all night, but he just smiled, squeezed her closer to him.

He helped her sit down, buckled her up, enjoyed the way she leaned further into him when he leaned over.

“Spencer?” she asked quietly, her voice slurred by how close she was to falling asleep.

Spencer started the car and looked over to her, seeing her eyes barely open but looking at him. He nodded for her to continue.

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?” she mumbled, digging her cheek into the seat.

Spencer stared at her shocked, his eyes wide as he listened to her breathing slow, watched her body relax even more.

While his heart sped up, she was fast asleep in his passenger seat.

He’d been to her apartment before.

Of course, this was before she’d asked him a question that had almost stopped his heart, almost killed him before he could answer.

But nonetheless, he’d still been there.

That meant that he didn't have to wake her up and ask for directions, which he was thankful for. He was thankful that he got to just listen to her breathe in and out, got to look over to her every couple of minutes, and see an adorable pout on her face as she slept.

He hoped she would be alright when he got her home.

The drive was only fifteen minutes. Only fifteen minutes that she got to sleep, and still when Spencer woke her up he could already see improvements. Improvements in her drowsiness, in her dark face, in her tense postures, in her eyes that seemed like they could finally open for the first time that day.

And in her smile.

It had been a while since she’d smiled at him like that.

It took him a moment before he could get her up, she whined and tried to beg for just a little bit longer, just five more minutes. And he smiled and felt a little guilty at that, but he really wanted her to get to sleep in her own bed. A place where she wouldn't wake up sore.

He carried her up to her apartment. And while she was still awake, he thought, at least he didn't have to make her walk.

Though he did set her down when they were at her door, he let her open it, let her lean against it while she struggled with the key.

And eventually, after just a couple of moments too long, he had to help her. He felt displeased at her exhaustion, the reality that she’d only really gotten a couple of minutes of good sleep disappointing him. But he was happy to help. Happy to put his hands on hers and gently take the key from her shaking fingers.

He smiled as he led her in.

Her apartment was the neatest he’d seen it, stuff rattled along the floor, but he didn't mind. The only thing he felt the need to do was to get her into bed for the night, know that she was safe.

There were tiny moments when she seemed aware, almost like she wasn't sleepwalking, moments where she gave him grateful smiles and appreciative eyes. Moments where she almost looked like she was going to say something but stopped. He wondered what those moments meant if she was really feeling better. But, eventually, he put them out of his mind.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.”

Spencer didn't bother looking for some clothes for her to sleep in. Partly because he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. But also because the work attire she’d worn today was already enough like pajamas, and there was no point in changing into something more comfortable. The thought made him frown.

He guided her into her room, making sure that she didn't fall over like he was sure he would so many times.

She held onto him, her warmth keeping him sane.

When she was finally in her bed, wrapped up in the covers, Spencer stared at her a moment, checking to make sure she was really okay, that she wouldn't fall asleep and never wake up.

“Is there anything else you need? Can I do anything else?” he asked quietly, almost in her ear as he watched her turn towards him.

She opened her eyes gently, almost as if it tired her to do it, and shook her head. Spencer was grateful for the small smile on her face.

“Okay. I’m going to go, you need to-”

“Stay.”

She whispered it.

Spencer wondered for a moment if he imagined it. If it was just a noise in the background he had tricked himself into thinking was a word. He wondered.

But he had seen her lips move, had seen her close her eyes as if she was finished being awake now that she had asked. He had seen it.

And he couldn't just pretend he hadn't.

It was just a word, he thought. It was just a word and she was tired, she was practically drunk on coffee, almost dead to the world. He almost laughed. It didn't really mean anything. He had to get home. She needed to sleep. He should go. He should definitely-

And then,

“Stay.” again. “The nightmares,” she whispered, terrified of the idea.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat. He could tell that she was scared, he could see it in the way her body had tensed, the gentle way she had grabbed his hand when he turned to go. He could hear it in her voice.

And, he’d asked her to stay.

Again.

“Stay, Spence,” she whispered once more, her voice almost completely gone, taken by the sleep deprivation she’d built up.

And he was still holding his hand. Her grip was still tight on his skin. She was still holding his hand.

And he couldn't go.

He didn't mean to watch her sleep.

He’d meant to lay with her until he was sure she would be alright. Until she was fast asleep and her breathing was steady. He just wanted to make sure she was alright. He’d meant to just make sure she’d be alright.

He didn't mean to stay for so long.

But he was entranced.

Utterly entranced by the way she’d grabbed onto his shirt. The way she’d tucked her head down into his chest, wrapping him in her arms.

He was entranced by the way her lips were slightly open as she slept. The way every once and a while her breath would catch and she would hold on tighter, and then finally when she realized he was still there she would loosen her grip.

He didn't see how he could leave.

It was morning now. He’d fallen asleep for a couple of hours, pulled in by her warmth and embrace, and now he was awake again. Watching her.

He’d never meant to stay this long.

But, he reminded himself, over and over, she’d asked him to stay. She had wanted him to stay.

He was only complying with her requests.

And watching her.

He’d noticed her so long ago. Or what felt like so long ago.

He didn't know how, but she’d pulled him in, made him notice her from the very moment she’d walked into the room.

It was obvious the way he felt for her, it was obvious that it wasn't something silly, it wasn't like the passing crushes he had sometimes, on girls who took an interest in him particularly.

It was scary how he felt about her compared to everyone else.

He wondered if it was possible.

If all it took was months of noticing, of months of watching and staring and jotting down notes of her. Months of watching her laugh and smile and frown and worry. Months of getting to know her from a distance, just to be safe. Months of trying to protect her in every way he knew possible. Months of just simply adoring her from afar.

He wondered if that was all it took?

Maybe he had latched on. Glued a piece of himself to her from the first word, the first glance, the first smile she’d given him.

Or maybe she’d reeled him in.

Because that seemed more realistic. Because before he’d met her he didn't look at anyone the same, he didn't notice people like he seemed to notice her. Even involuntarily.

So she must have reeled him in, caught him with her line, and with every word she said, every smile she gave him, every new glimpse of herself that he could notice once again, she reeled him closer and closer and he had no way of stopping it.

He used to worry that he had to swim away. That escape was the only option left, but. Then she’d asked him a question in an elevator, drawing him in closer and closer and.

Was that all it took?

Her reeling him in? Getting closer to her until he was attached?

Was that all it was?

Was that all it took to fall?

He’d noticed her so long ago. He’d gotten too close to stay on the edge of the world. Reeled too far in not to fall off.

And these were the thoughts he was trapped in when she woke up.

He knew it was around eight in the morning, he could tell so by the time the sun had started to rise and the hours he’d spent looking at her.

She was awake.

Her eyes were wide and only slightly tired when she opened them. He noticed how her breathing changed, how her body tensed up when she was finally aware like she’d forgotten that he was there.

But then she looked at him. Confused for a moment, but then smiling.

“You stayed?” she asked, a whisper in their quiet morning.

Spencer was happy to see that the circles under her eyes had disappeared. Not completely. But enough.

“I did. I hope that was okay.”

And then she’d leaned up and kissed him, catching him by surprise, making his heart leap in his chest again. Like she always did.

And he was just a tiny bit closer to her. Drawn in just a little bit farther.

He didn't move, tried not to breathe. Tried not to overthink this. But he was kissing her, she was kissing him.

And when she moved back she smiled.

And it was unlike any smile he’d seen from her before. This one was shy but happy, definitely happy, and almost doubtful. Like she couldn't believe this was happening.

He felt his heart leap again. She felt the same.

“Going to make me do all the hard work Doctor?” she whispered, her eyes still on his lips, her face inches away from his.

He nodded, laughing with her. Appreciating her sense of humor so early in the morning.

“Sorry,” he whispered, dazed by the way she was looking at him.

Her eyes moved away from his lips, up to his eyes, which he was sure were happy. She smiled and kissed his cheek looking up at him.

And then she pulled back.

Spencer looked confused, waited for an explanation, missed her lips against his.

“Will you stay awhile longer?” she asked.

And Spencer smiled again, moving the hair from her eyes, enjoying her change from yesterday.

“Of course,” he answered. “Of course I will.”

Six months of noticing.

That was all it took to fall.

***

Ta da!

my masterlist here.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fan #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb #mgg fanfiction

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essenteez · 3 years

Text

Scenarios & edits : Ateez as || horror and thriller psychos

Genre: horror, thriller, criminal, psychological

Warning: mentions of blo*d, m*rder, de*th dismembering, physical ab*se, torturing, parts of bodies, explicit language, mention of knife and being tied down. I guess I also kind of mentioned a pedo*hilia BUT DON’T WORRY IT’S A CRIME OF ONE OF ATZ’S VICTIMS, NOT ATZ’S. Horror mood in general. Edits also contain blood, skulls and some knives and creepy faces but they’re not that scary.

Words count: 2.7k

.•°•.

Hongjoong || ᴀʟᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛ

❧

You hated the place the moment you entered it. There were jars filled with eyeballs; every vessel contained different colored pupils. Your own eyes started to itch just from the sight.

“Detective”, you were called by one of the officers accompanying you on the scene, “No doubt, it’s him”.

“You don’t say” you gulped, seeing even more disgusting discoveries.

The apartment didn’t even closely resemble the other in the building. The walls were filthy, almost black. The whole room was filled with shelves of different sizes and heights. Eyeballs, bones, muscles…tongues. And the smell.. God the smell.

“Jesus Christ” you said louder, covering your nose from the growing stench.

“Y/n!” Your colleague yelled out.

You craned your neck to see your partner in the next room. The small space was surprisingly filled with only books. But of course, even those books were horrendous. You noticed a few pages as your coworker was skimming through it all.

“Look, detective! How to remove a whole spine” the younger officer seemed very amused with what he read.

“Funny as fuck, Summers”, you commented, passing him by. Your attention went back to your other partner, who stood with a black leather bound book, “What is that?”

“I guess his diary” he replied with disgust on his face and passed you the notebook, “Look at this. And the worst part is we have no idea where he fled”.

Your faced frowned at the first sentence, “Kim Hongjoong, you sick fuck”.

“Why do they scream? Why do they cry and wail everytime? Why do they continue to beg for their lives? I keep telling them their sacrifice will bring mankind closer to nature. They do not listen. They do not listen. Fighting, fighting me. I purify their bodies. I release all the minerals caged in their blood and bones. They merge back with the universe. They should be grateful and proud. It’s an honor. Why do they call me a murderer? They should celebrate and laugh. Loud like me”.

Seonghwa || ᴇᴠᴀɴɢᴇʟɪsᴛ

❧

There was no trace of the beautiful and nice young man you met in the church that evening. It was like the sweetest dream turning into the worst nightmare clothed in horror. At first his warm smile and then all of sudden his hands grabbing you and taking you away from the lights. You were surrounded by darkness.

“Where is your God now?” he grimaced, his cold voice made the fear creeping in you grow. A black mask hid his perfect face completely. All you could see was a pair of ice blue eyes, observing you intensively. Your tears and trembling seemed to satisfy him

“Where is he?” he growled, “He’s gone now. He left you all alone, Y/n”.

You wanted to muster the strength to tell him he was wrong but the cloth stuffed in your mouth forbade your words. The touch of the cold blade startled you, making you cry even harder while struggling to get free. Your wrists and ankles hurt from being restrained.

“Shhht”, he silenced you, putting the knife to your throat. His voice deep and reverberating through you.

“Don’t wait for a miracle. I am your god now”.

Yunho || ʟɪʙʀᴀʀɪᴀɴ

❧

Last flicks of the brush and it was finally ready. He had done it an uncountable amount of times. No stains of blood, no muscles. Pure bone.

That was the goal. Of course he couldn’t skip the prevention part. You need to take care of your trophies if you want them to last long.

He entered the chamber, holding his new skull and stroking it gently.

The darkness was consuming until thunder hit nearby and following lightning illuminated the overwhelmingly large space.

The ceiling, extremely high, dominating over two floors on two sides of a long hall.

At first you’d say it looked like an impressive library until you realized that instead of books there were thousands, if not millions of skulls, lurking at you with their empty eye sockets.

“1876, letter M… November”, he mumbled to himself, running his eyes through shelves. He smiled as he finally found the right spot, “Here it is!“

He put the new trophy beside another skull with metal tag that said "Charlotte Madley, Nov. 5th 1876”

“Look Charlie, I brought you a friend. Meet Emma. You know, you two have something in common. She died the exact same way you did”, He grimaced, brows frowning,“My hands took her last breath”.

Yeosang || ғʟᴏʀɪsᴛ

❧

You were looking at your sister, as your heart felt like it was slowly being crushed. A red rose in her hands, so vivid and fresh, contrasted with her pale, lifeless body. She looked like she was just sleeping, but deep wounds on her neck and the crimson color of her own blood said something else. She was really gone and you were all alone in the morgue with your dead sister.

“He dressed you for your own funeral” you sobbed to her as tears were streaming down your face. The dress that the murder put on her made you feel uneasy with its blackness. She hated black color. You wanted to rip it off the laced veil, covering her beautiful face but were too scared. You were scared that the moment you touch her, she’d break like fine porcelain.

“That’s his thing” a sudden voice caused you to flinch and return from the darkness corner of your thoughts. You looked over to the officer that just entered the room, holding some paperwork.

“He seduces them, then dresses them in all black..”, he said, trailing off, “He either uses a thin knife to precisely cut these holes or his teeth and then he drinks their blood”.

“Drink-?”, you mumbled, feeling more sick, “Wh- what do you mean?”

“Look at these bruises around the wounds, Miss. Those marks were made by sucking on the skin. I don’t know why he calls himself Florist when he’s just some vampire wannabe” he sort of chuckled.

“I guess maybe because he picks the most beautiful flowers”, you looked at the red rose that the monster put in your sister’s hands. You cleared your eyes, feeling the rage flooding your vision, “He should be careful, many of them are beautiful but poisonous

You scuffed, full of determination, "The next flower he’s going to find…will be his last”.

San || ᴄʜᴀʀᴏɴ

❧

Hidden behind the marble column, you knew you had to be as quiet as possible. Your hands tightly covering your mouth as you tried to mute your sobbing. Your eyes, trying their best not to look down at all the bodies laying at your feet. Tears were streaming down your face at the thought you might be the only one left alive out of all the guests at the banquet.

You knew exactly who that man was, the killer that terrorized all of Italy. People called him Charon or “Death of the Rich”. He preferred to be seen as God of death himself, Thanatos, leading the path of the death for his victims.

Laughing and screaming hysterically, “Call me Death itself!” as he spun around, slaughtering everyone in his path. He was lost in his true self, engulfed in his own desire for blood.

Suddenly you heard his words fade, slowly you put your hands down and leaned over to peek to see if the murderer was there. Your eyes widened at the site. He was dancing gracefully in silence, blood spatter glistening on his beautifully crafted face. His eyes were closed but never stepped on any of the bodies. It was almost hypnotizing.

His body seemed to float as he was performing his Danse Macabre. How could one be so beautiful but such a monster. You slowly moved back to your hiding spot. You just wanted him to leave and disappear. You wanted to run as far away as possible. You wanted to live.

“Shall we dance?” his deep voice made your heart drop. Your eyes slowly gazed up to see that he was bent over, staring at you. Amused smirk decorated his perfect but terrifying face. As your eyes met, he grasped your wrist and pulled you to the floor for the last dance.

Mingi || ᴍᴏᴜʀɴᴇʀ

❧

It was the most difficult and unusual case your father was ever assigned to investigate. In the 37 years of his detective career he had never been this dumbfounded. You watched your father reading the same reports all over again and drinking cup after cup of coffee. You, who suffered insomnia, witnessed all the painstaking hours.

“Are there really no trances of this man?” you once asked your father, handing him a hot cup of tea.

He let out a hagged sigh and nodded, thanking you for the beverage, “All we have are reports and missing bodies. It’s not enough for me and my team to even go out and search”.

“What do the reports say” you couldn’t hide your curiosity.

Your father took a sip of the hot liquid and again signed loudly, “Tall, young lad, in his early twenties. He drives black caravan carriage, led by two black horses. He takes fresh buried coffins and then leaves disappearing in the fog”.

“Aaaalright” you frowned at the lack of helpful information, sitting down next to your father at the table.

“Why don’t you wait for him at the cemetery? He’ll surely appear there again?”

“There is something else people reported”, he gulped but then cleared his throat loudly, “They say that there was a horrid face peeking out at them from the window of the carriage. An ulgy, bloody smile. They say they saw a real demon…”.

It’d been 6 months since you and you father laughed at the reports. But tonight you weren’t laughing. You saw him, with your own eyes while visiting your grandparents’ grave. Hearing the sound of digging and loud sobbing, you followed it. You hid behind a tomb and peeked. You expected to see a quiet funeral taking place but there he was. A beautiful man, all dressed in black. Within few minutes he had dug and pulled up a freshly buried coffin. Alone with his bare hands, crying heavily at the same time. You were too scared you had to pinch yourself to move. You ran as fast as you could towards the gates. You turned around to see if the creepy mourner was following you.

Turning your view forward again you all of sudden saw the black carriage right in front of you. You had no chance to slow down and collided with the side of the caravan. Bouncing to the ground with a thud, vision blurry you looked up at the window to see a pair of hollowed eyes fixated on you.

Wooyoung || ᴍᴀsᴋ

❧

“Can I show you something?” Wooyoung asked, looking curiously into your eyes. You could feel your face growing warmer and looked away.

“O-of course” you stuttered, biting your lower lip. He was standing so close to you that you could feel his warmth radiating off him. You’d always been the saint of your entourage but this man awoke the worst in you. You knew that sneaking out at night to meet up with him was a bad idea but it was also exciting and new to you.

He gently grabbed your wrist, stirring you up from your thoughts. Your eyes couldn’t help but examine his beautiful face and soft plump lips. You wished nothing more than to feel them on every part of your body.

“Show me, please"

His smirk caused you to gasp a little. He pulled you down a small hall near the back of his mansion. You were ready, you hoped that tonight would be the night you got to taste that man. He stopped in front of a black door and looked at you. You watched him smile at you before continuing to open the door. Behind the door you noticed a long, wooden staircase leading downwards. You didn’t even hesitate to follow when he walked through the frame. He was only holding you by your wrist but you felt as though your entire body was on fire. You hadn’t realized how long you had been walking due to being fixed on him and lost in your lude fantasies.

"We’re here” he said, halting suddenly causing you to slightly bump into his back. You looked up to see a humongous double-leaved door that chained up with a heavy iron lock. Was that his secret room? He lived alone so what was the purpose of this place?

“You’re special to me, Y/n” he whispered and let go of your wrist, You watched him pull out an old looking key, putting it into the lock, “That’s why it’s really hard for me to give you to her”.

“Her” you asked dumbfounded ‘What are you talking abo-“

Your words interrupted as you heard the lock click. The door swinging open, revealing total darkness.

"Eeemilyyy?” Wooyoung called into the void, “Your brother brought you your new toy! Come take a look!” he bellowed, vividly amused.

Suddenly a little girl's giggles emerged through the air. You wanted to run but the fear enveloped your legs keeping you in place. The creepy laugh was getting closer and Wooyoung’s smile became wider, more sinister.

“Please be gentle with Miss Y/n, all right?” he warned his sister, a face emerging from the dark.

You kees grew weak at the terrible sight, “I also want to play with her” he breathed, as an invisible force pulled you into the darkness, doors slamming shut. Your screams echoing into the abyss.

Jongho || ʟᴏʀᴅ

❧

The heavy rain had kept the entirety of Oxford in their homes for days. The rainfall’s intensity blinded and paralyzed the entire city. Not a soul was about the streets. All expect for two. A man was fearfully attempting to escape from the horrid one who trailed him. The mysterious Lord slowly walked after his prey, squabbling before him on the cobblestones. His black shoes sloshed through the puddles that were colored with the fearful one’s blood. The sound of rain and the rush of water surpassed all that could be heard to others.

“You know what's funny, William?” asked the loud and vividly amused male voice, “The same storm happened exactly a year ago, I recall. You know what else also happened then?”

The injured man refused to answer. This wasn’t supposed to happen, it was all wrong. He just wanted to meet the young miss who he had a planned date with, on this awful day.

“Help” the crippled man screamed.

“Oh William” the cloaked Lord chuckled.

“Hel-” his second cry got cut off as a sudden weight pinned him to the wet stones.

“A year ago William”, the figure hissed, demanding the answer, “What happened a year ago?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted as the result of the figure pulling back on his arms.

“Let me refresh your memory then. Y/n, do you remember her?” the attacker asked.

William’s face went pale as his past fiance flashed before his eyes. The woman that suddenly disappeared.

“Do you remember how you made her trust you, how you stained her honor and betrayed her? How she lost everything? he snarled.

"I remember!” William screamed as the pain began to become unbearable, “What do you want from me?!”

“Oh,” the Lord exclaimed, “I want you to suffer” an evil grin crept on his face.

The pain suddenly faded. William relaxed a bit, looking over to see what the thump he heard was. His eyes widen at the sight of someone’s arms and legs lying next to him. Terror took over him as he attempted to crawl away but there was nothing to crawl with. Realization settled in as he was bleeding out. The limbs were his.

The monster before him laughed, giving an evil chuckle before sinking his glistening fans into one of dismembered man’s gushing arteries, draining him of life. William only had seconds left of his wretched life.

“I’m leaving you to rot just as you left her that day, you scum”, the monster wiped his mouth before continuing, “Y/n is happy. I took care of that. Just like the 13 year old girl I saved from your hands today will be as well”

William watched as the mysterious lord stood and brushed himself off, turning to leave him to die. The light faded, all he heard was the vampire laughing with excitement until he couldn’t hear it anymore.

[Bonus to this scenario 《 Jongho Vampire smut 》

.•°•.

So my hiatus is finally over. I’m relaxed and I feel full charged again! Hope it means that many good ideas are coming to my one braincell 🤣

Hope you enjoyed my horror scenarios and edits!! (edits were made much earlier that’s why some it them have my other watermark)

♡

@necteez on IG - new account with edits

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tiifalockhart · 3 years

Text

Confessions

Anonymous asked: Hi! I was wondering if I could request something for ffxv? I was hoping something where one of Noct’s long time closest friends joins the gang on the road, and they end up getting with Prompto which causes Noct to realize he’s had feelings for them the whole time and gets jealous. I hope that’s not too weird or specific! Thank you!

Pairing: Noctis x Reader/Prompto x Reader

Warnings: alludes to anxiety, jealous, mentions suffocation (as a description of anxiety, don’t worry, no one dies)

Word Count: 4k

A/N: hello!! I’m back with another FFXV request. this is actually the longest thing I’ve written on this blog so far. I really liked this request and was actually planning on doing something similar to it before, I hope you enjoy it anon!

Part Two || Ao3 || Masterlist

Meeting the Prince of Insomnia was purely coincidental.

It wasn’t in school, it wasn’t in the Citadel, and it wasn’t even through one of Noctis’ other friends. You happened to run into him in the street after exiting one of the small markets located in the city. As you left the market, you couldn’t even walk three full steps before feeling someone bump into you and knock the bag out of your hand. You didn’t complain out loud, but a tired and disappointed sigh left your lips. You stared down at the fallen fruit and ripped bag, glaring at it in hopes that it would clean itself up, until you heard a quiet “Sorry” from your left.

You slowly turned to look at the perpetrator, your glare piercing into his soul until you realized who he was. A shocked look formed in your features as you took a step back. “Y-You’re-”

“-The Prince, I know.” He sighed as if he never gets to hear the end about it. He looked down at the ruined bag and frowned, before awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll buy you new ones.” He muttered, bending down to pick it up.

You stared at him in amazement, before quickly leaning down to help him. “I should be the one who’s apologizing, I wasn’t paying attention.” You responded hurriedly, feeling yourself become flustered with the predicament you found yourself in. A soft chuckle left his lips as he shook his head.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He insisted, which surprised you more. “Let’s face it, I wasn’t paying attention and I ruined your food, right? It’s fine.” Noctis shrugged, guiding you back inside the shop. You expressed your gratitude to him over and over again until the two of you parted.

After that strange encounter, the two of you began to see each other more often. It seemed to be more coincidental than deliberate, which both of you found odd. Every single time you saw each other, you’d let out an awkward laugh and greet each other, but it usually never went on further than that.

That is, until your most recent bump-in. The two of you ended up running into each other during class, the two of you obviously trying to do something else other than study. When Noctis’ eyes fell on you, he let out a sigh and slowly shook his head. “I feel like every time I see you, I’m seeing an old friend.” He greeted, which pulled you out of your daze of boredom.

“Oh... Hey Prince Noctis, I never thought we’d see each other so often after we first met.” You replied, snickering. “I didn’t know you attended school here.” You pointed out, raising a brow.

Noctis nodded lightly as a small smile tugged on his lips. “I feel like fate is telling us to become friends or something like that.” He shrugged, walking alongside you. “Wanna get lunch together after classes?”

You looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Oh... Me?” You asked, knowing it was a dumb question. “I suppose so... I’m not too busy with my studies at the moment.”

“Nice. We’ll meet in front of the school then.” He decided, glancing over at you. “I should probably get to class before I get caught skipping.” He muttered, a tired sigh leaving his lips. The two of you said your goodbyes and parted after that, planning to meet up after school. It was such an odd relationship... Neither of you actually considered being friends until now.

After that day, the two of you spend almost every day together. You grew rather close over the years. Noctis seemed to enjoy having somewhere to go that wasn’t strictly royalty... It was a well needed break usually. Noctis often invited you to royal events as well, usually claiming that he was forced to go and he needed a partner to come. For the most part, you knew that he was just taking this chance to find a way out of the event early, but it was still fun. You got to know his father pretty well, which was surreal. The same question crossed your mind often: how the hell were you able to easily become friends with both the Prince, and the King?

Years had passed since then. Noctis made a few more friends and prepared for his trip to get married off during this time, while you were busy helping your family and working. It wasn’t until a few days before when Noctis was scheduled to leave, he ran into you while you were on your way to work.

A laugh left his lips as you were jolted from your tired state, his sudden presence surprising you. “Man, feels like old times, doesn’t it?” He joked, grinning at you.

A scoff left your lips as you returned the grin. “Something like that. What are you doing here?” You asked, raising a brow at him. He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I came to get you out of work... And to ask you a favor.” Noctis explained, crossing his arms as he continued to walk, gesturing for you to follow. As the two of you walked, Noctis began to talk. “The thing is... I’m going away for who knows how long. It’s great and all, but I don’t know if I want to leave you behind, you know?” He spoke, his brows furrowing. “I wanted to invite you along, I still have room for one more person to come along, so...” His voice trailed as he avoided your gaze.

You raised a brow in confusion. “Wait... You’re asking me to come to your wedding?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

“Something like that. Come with me and my friends, we’re leaving tomorrow morning to go to Altissia. You’re my best friend, I think it’s only fair for both of us if you’re there.” He continued, shrugging. His gaze fell to you as the two of you stopped walking, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Well... I’d be honored, are you sure your friends or your fiancée won’t mind?” You questioned, a hesitant look forming on your features. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Hey, don’t worry about them! Trust me, they’d be happy to be there too. You can meet some of them if you want.” Noctis offered, placing a hand on his hip.

Realistically, who were you to say no? The Prince was asking you specifically, friend or not, you were in no place to deny him. The only reason why you would be hesitant was because you were afraid you wouldn’t really... Fit in. Noctis more than likely picked people that were involved in the royalty family, people he’s known his entire life that was also royalty, even his to-be-wife was royalty. You were just a simple citizen in all of Insomnia that somehow ran into Noctis more than once for it to be considered more than coincidental. Maybe you were overthinking it, but what if they didn’t like you because you weren’t like them?

Reluctantly, you nodded slowly. “Then... I’ll go.” You responded hesitantly. You bit your lip nervously as you continued to think, before speaking again. “But I would like to meet the others before we go so I don’t make things weird or awkward.”

Noctis grinned and nodded. “Sounds good. You can come over to my place and meet Ignis soon.” He mentioned, beginning to guide you there before you could even argue.

Fortunately, you got to meet Ignis and become well acquainted with him, and momentarily met Gladio before the next morning. The only one that you knew almost nothing about was Prompto. The three of them mentioned him occasionally, but they never gave a lot of insight into him.

You weren’t quite sure what to expect as the five of you gathered that morning. You didn’t know what he looked like, how he acted, nor how he even sounded. It was a gamble, and you were a little nervous. Noctis mentioned something about him being a lot like you, which made you feel a little better, at least you weren’t going to be the only commoner among royalty.

When you first saw him, you were slightly taken aback. He was... Cute. His freckled skin, his messy blond hair, the odd but stylish outfit he wore, it clashed together in a surprisingly adorable way. Not to mention he was so awkward around you, it was heart warming.

Throughout the beginning of the trip, through all the troubles you faced, you felt yourself become closer with Prompto. He made you laugh and blush a lot, and often tried to lift the mood no matter how hard things got. It was a relief to have someone like him around, him and Noctis together balanced the seriousness of the rest of the group. He was also talented when it came to machinery and guns... You admired him, since you were rather inexperienced yourself.

Noctis noticed how the two of you became closer. You constantly joked around and teased other members of the team together, as well as practicing fighting together. He felt something burning in his chest at the sight, but refused to admit it was jealousy. No... Why would Noctis be jealous of his two best friends getting along? That’s crazy, he was happy for you both.

...Until he wasn’t happy anymore. Your jokes and teasing ended up turning into flirtatious remarks. Your touches lingered on each other. Whenever you both made a joke, your eyes would go to each other to see if you were laughing... Suddenly, the two of you were infatuated with each other and Noctis definitely didn’t appreciate it.

It showed in his mood and attitude, too. He wasn’t particularly happy that the two of you were getting along so well, the burning sensation in his chest would flare whenever the two of you were close. He was much grumpier and dreaded each day more and more. Noctis couldn’t really understand why he felt this way either... It didn’t make sense to him, they both were his friends, he should be happy that the two of you are getting along, right?

That is, until he finally realized why. Noctis finally managed to find you alone. No Prompto, no giggling or scheming, just you, by yourself. A soft sigh of relief left his lips as he approached you from behind. You seemed to be sitting on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling as you admired the view. “Are you feeling okay? It’s not every day you find someone hanging off a cliff.” He remarked smoothly as he approached.

His voice caused you to flinch, snapping you out of your dazed state. “Oh... Yeah, I’m alright. Just thinking, that’s all.” You replied, patting the spot on the ground next to you. Noctis hesitantly took a seat next to you, the two of you basking in the nature-esque silence. His eyes slowly examined the sight in front of him, it was easy to see the Disc almost clearly, as well as the distant mountains where Lestallum resided. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You pointed out, smiling as you swung your legs over the edge.

Noctis’ gaze turned to you slowly after taking in the entire sight. That’s when it hit him. The way your skin absorbed the sunlight, the way your hair reflected it and shined. The way the wind blew a gentle breeze, causing your eyes to shut as you inhaled the fresh air. You looked so... Ethereal, peaceful, like this is what you’ve wanted your whole life. It was breath-taking. You were breath-taking.

A shaky breath left his lips as he searched for an answer, desperately trying to remember what the two of you were talking about. “Y-Yeah...” He responded, his brows furrowing in confusion as you turned to looked at him. A blush formed on your cheeks, as you quickly looked away.

“You know, I’m really glad I could come along. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to fit in or anything like that... But your friends are so nice.” You murmured softly, changing the subject. Noctis nodded hesitantly and turned back to the scenery, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“Right... It’s a good thing you guys are getting along. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He lied, trying to go along with the conversation. Eventually, the two of you fell into a somewhat awkward silence. There were things left unsaid, you both were aware of it, but no one wanted to take the risk and talk about it, so you left it alone.

Eventually, your time in silence was interrupted by a certain blond. He came trotting up the hill and grinned once he saw the both of you. “Mornin’.” He greeted, taking a seat on the other side of you. Noctis went deafeningly silent, the burning sensation growing in his chest again.

You, on the other hand, returned the bright smile that Prompto wore. “Good morning.” You chirped, bumping your shoulder with his. Why didn’t you greet Noctis like that? Confusion formed on his features. Had he been replaced? As you and Prompto started a conversation, Noctis could feel himself being swallowed up by this... Selfish desire. Why hadn’t he realized sooner that he liked you? Why didn’t you ever notice? Surely he didn’t hide it that well. No... He couldn’t blame you. What if you had liked him this entire time and he had no clue? Maybe you moved onto someone who was more like you... But-

His thoughts were cut off when you gently nudged him with your shoulder. “You okay, man?” Prompto asked, the both of you wearing similar looks of concern. Noctis raised a brow in concern.

“You looked upset... And we were talking to you, also.” You pointed out, gently rubbing his back. “Wanna talk about it?” You asked. Noctis slowly shook his head and turned away from the two of you, standing and frowning.

“No... It’s alright, I’m still exhausted from yesterday.” He explained, shoving his hands in his pockets and beginning to head off. You and Prompto shared the same look of concern and confusion, the two of you hopping up to follow him immediately.

“Hey, Noct... You know you can talk to us, right? We’re your best friends, man! No judging here.” Prompto tried to lighten the mood, but Noctis simply brushed him off.

“It’s alright, we have to head out soon, yeah?” Noctis pointed out, running his fingers through his hair. Slowly, he lowered his head and looked anywhere else but the two of you. “I’ll see you back at camp.” He muttered, leaving you both behind.

A quiet sigh left your lips as you looked up at Prompto, tilting your head to the side when you noticed he was deep in thought. “What’s on your mind?” You asked softly, realizing his lips were turned downwards.

Prompto shrugged and crossed his arms. “The last time I saw Noctis this bad was when he was jealous over something.” He began, almost seeming to be thinking out loud. “If that’s what’s wrong this time... What’s he jealous over now?” He asked out loud, glancing over at you and searching for an answer.

“...Could it be because we’re so close now?” You asked, shrugging. “I mean, maybe he feels left out? I dunno.” You explained, kicking the rocks on the ground as the two of you wandered back to camp.

“I mean, I guess? But that still seems like... Out of character, I guess.” He explained, frowning. “I dunno. We’ll just have to bully it outta him.” Prompto joked, smirking as you giggled mischievously.

The conversation wasn’t brought up again later, when the group decided to stay at an inn again. While Ignis, Prompto and Gladio figured out sleeping arrangements, you slowly strolled up next to Noctis, gently nudging him with your elbows. “Hey, what’s up? You’re not seeming like yourself lately.” You murmured, looking up at him curiously.

He raised a brow and looked over at you, before wincing and shaking his head. “I... It’s nothing.” He sighed, waving you off. “Don’t worry about it?” Noctis muttered, the same grumpy tone coming back.

“Come on... We can talk about it somewhere else if you want. I think I saw a haven not far from here, it had a pretty cool view.” You explained, trying to convince him to come along. Noctis sighed, knowing very well that he couldn’t say no to you.

The two of you snuck off together, eventually arriving at the nearby haven. You took a seat near the edge and looked off to the forested area below the haven, waiting for Noctis to finally catch up and sit next to you. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, before you finally looked over at him. “So...” You started, trying to break the awkward silence between the two of you. “How have you been?” You asked, knowing it was a terrible question to ask.

He let out a sigh as he stared off at the sky. His mind was trying to work out how he would explain what happened. How exactly was he supposed to admit that he had a huge crush on you that managed to evolve into some weird jealousy hate thing for Prompto, his other best friend? He winced as you looked at him expectantly, forcing out a simple answer. “Uh... I’ve been, uh, pretty okay. How about you?” He asked, mentally face-palming.

You nodded hesitantly. Well, that was better than nothing. You decided to not press on further, silently hoping that he would start the conversation. The air around the two of you was so tense... You felt like you were going to suffocate soon.

Noctis didn’t show it, but he felt the same way. Occasionally, he’d open his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. He started to grow frustrated. He couldn’t remember the last time he had trouble with this... Why now, of all times? Finally, he groaned and glared down at the ground. “You wanna know why I’m upset?” He started, causing you to turn and look over at him with a confused expression. “Because out of everyone I could end up jealous over, it had to be my best friend. Why, you’re probably asking? Well, it’s because of my other best friend.” He muttered stubbornly.

You stared at him, a confused look forming as he continued to speak. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m following.” You admitted awkwardly.

“It’s...” He sighed, pushing his pride out of the way. “It’s because of you and Prompto, dammit.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t want to admit it, but the way you two are together... You guys are better friends than you two and I ever were. And I know how Prompto gets... He sees someone and suddenly, he’s like, in love! And I don’t want him to be in love with you. It’s selfish, but I don’t. Out of all the women that he meets, why did he have to go and fall in love with the same person I fell in love with?” He ranted, shaking his head.

You could feel a blush creeping up on your skin the more he spoke, causing you to hide your face by looking away. “You... You l-like me?” You stammered out of shock, as if you were still processing it all. “Wait, you’re jealous of Prompto? I thought you were jealous of me... I’m still confused.” You confessed with a sigh.

“I like you, alright? Prompto was going to steal you away from me, and I couldn’t stop myself from getting jealous.” He admitted fully, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to ruin things between us, or between you and Prompto. I think I said too much...” He groaned, shaking his head.

While you were still processing his entire confession, Noctis ended up standing, preparing to head back. “...We should go.” He muttered, trying to pull you out of your confused daze. You glanced back at him, hesitantly nodding as you stood again.

“Y...Yeah...” You responded, gathering yourself and following along with him. For most of the time, you both were in silence. Noctis seemed to be relieved that he finally got all of that out, and actually felt better now. Meanwhile, you were still comprehending everything that just happened in the last twenty minutes. Noctis liked you? Like, like-liked you? You? Just a commoner? Still highly confused, you felt yourself beginning to piece everything together since you first met. His gazes, he never really looked at you like a friend. He spent so much time with you after you first met, he took you almost everywhere. But he was getting married soon, wasn’t he? How could the two of you have a relationship like this...?

“...Noctis.” You whispered hesitantly, looking up at him with a slightly troubled expression. “If you do like me... Like, actually... What about your wedding?” You asked softly, your brows furrowing as you looked down at the ground.

He let out a soft sigh as he slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure... I don’t know what to do about anything at the moment.” He confessed, staring up at the sky.

You nodded hesitantly. “Right... I guess that makes sense.” You responded, unsure of how else to respond. The two of you continued to walk in silence. Countless thoughts filled both of your minds, the two of you trying to find a solution for any of this mess, but neither of you came up with anything. Sighing softly, you reached out and took his hand without saying a word.

Noctis raised his brows in surprise as he looked down at your hands, noticing how you seemed to be casual about it. A smile tugged at his lips as he allowed his fingers to wrap around yours, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. He could worry about everything later, right? This is what he needed now... He needed you.

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

Sleep deprived Keith annoying the crap out of the other paladins before crashing

Tw: depiction of sleep deprivation, insomnia, needles.

Keith has trouble sleeping sometimes... but this is a new level for him. His teammates can’t remember the last time he looked well slept and neither can he. They also don’t remember him being this hyper or social with them, like literally ever.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shiro so annoyed,” Lance whispered over a crouched Pidge as they peered around the corner into the control room.

Keith was hovering around Shiro as he typed away on the panel in front of him, working out the strategy for their next mission.

“Well, if you really think about it, the Galra are kind of like space Russia, they have a lot of real estate, the people are really tall, and—hey, wait why wouldn’t we infiltrate the loading dock first? That’s the most reliable route because the lions won’t be far, we can just cloak them ya know, like all stealth? and if we go in where...”

“I think his mouth is twitching, watch. There it is, it did it again!” Pidge pointed out, her eyes wide in amazement.

The older boy’s mouth was indeed twitching, the corner pulling up like he wanted to say something as well as drop someone, but he refrained from both.

“I think I would’ve punted Keith across the room by now... do you think Shiro meditates, he must meditate, ya know? He’s always so calm and reasonable, always telling us that we have to breathe and whatever, no one can possibly be that zen without—“

But before Lance could finish his analysis on Shiro’s freak ability to be so zen, the basis of his argument shattered with an explosion from their team leader.

“I can’t even hear myself think, Keith!” Shiro started, a vein very visibly pumping away on his forehead as his face took on a dark flush.

“I have been watching the same surveillance loop for five minutes now beccause I can’t focus with you rambling in my ear!”

The red paladin’s face fell, his antsy pacing halted and his hands tapping his side like he was anticipating something. He took a breath. He hadn’t realized he’d started trembling.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—fuck,” Keith said before turning away, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Lance and Pidge nearly toppled over with how aggressively they flung themselves away from where they had been perched while they eavesdropped. Mostly out of curiosity at how Shiro would handle a manic-ly energetic Keith.

They could hear Shiro cursing under his breath, then ushering an apology for being so harsh but Keith likely didn’t hear it as he hightailed it out of there. He moved so quickly he didn’t even notice the pair as they stood planted in the center of the hallway failing to feign even the slightest of nonchalance.

Shiro ducked his head out to find that Keith had already disappeared and became wildly flustered when he found the very guilty-looking pair instead.

“Uhuh,” he cleared his throat, “do you guys know what’s going on with Keith? I didn’t mean to be such a dick, but he’s like next level tweaking out and I have no idea why...”

“Uh, we’re not sure either,” Pidge replied, “but he’s been like this all morning.”

“Yeah, he made Coran snap and crack a crystal in half earlier...”

“Oooo and Allura stained her dress when he wouldn’t shut up about how human mice carry infection and probably shouldn’t be near food and then she like flung her coffee...”

“And poor Hunk was trying to entertain his ramblings about the how hard it is to attain cinnamon in space and that it should be rationed and ended up burning a whole batch of snickerdoodles...”

“He was bouncing off the walls, it was weird” Pidge resolved. “And Keith never has that much energy.”

“Yeah, he’s been rambling, that’s my thing! The kid hardly says more than five words in one sentence and now he can’t shut up,” Lance added, scratching his head.

“Okay,” Shiro looked like he was running over in his head a million possibilities of what could be wrong, “will you two go check on him for me... and let him know I didn’t mean to yell at him?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll let you know if we figure it out,” Lance promised before they started after their friend.

They checked the common room first as it was the next room on their way and found only a grumpy Hunk scraping the singed bits off of the plate of cookies in front of him.

“D’you see Keith?” Pidge asked, surveying the sight before her.

“No,” he gruffed sadly, taking a bite of one of the cookies and breaking it off with a loud snap.

“Okay, keep an eye out, we think something’s wrong...” Lance looked around, “I know where he might’ve gone but we have to grab something first, let’s go.”

They took off at an urgent trot, once again more out of curiosity than concern because this just didn’t occur. Keith is a guy of few words, so when he speaks it’s usually sarcasm, not a rapid flurry of silly questions that seem more like the goofy blue paladin than the tempered red. This was weird for him. And they just wanted to know why.

But their curiosity changed quickly into fear as soon as they entered the hallway of the training room because they could hear the intense whir of the simulator working. From down the hall.

“Shit Keith,” Lance said activating their bayards they stopped to pick up on the way.

“He’s got it on the highest setting—not even Shiro can handle that intensity solo,” Pidge noted as they raced for the door.

“This kid’s got a death wish,” Lance deadpanned as he wrenched the doors of the training room open, only to be immediately met with Keith’s strangled scream as his head snapped against the floor with a sickening crack, the sentry that threw him across the room quickly closing the distance between them.

Lance ran forward and knelt down, slowly lining up shots and taking down the new sentries as soon as they regenerated while Pidge made her way to the kill switch.

By the time she got to the lever and tugged it all the way down Keith was dangling from his twisted arm and throat, shuddering gasps the only noise he was able to make in protest.

Lance had just taken out the second sentry cornering Keith with a head shot when every robot assailant powered down at once, the one choking Keith releasing his grip on his throat first, his arm pulling at an awkward angle as he fell before it was released. The pale boy let out a shrill gush before clamping his lips together tightly and pulling his slumped form up with the help of the wall.

“What the fuck was that, mullet?!”

He refused to make eye contact with his worried friends as he went to storm out like before, but this time he moved slowly, gingerly.

“I needed a good workout... to clear my head,” was all he managed. They could tell he didn’t want to let on that he was in pain, but the way he grimaced when his arm swung as he walked as well as the obvious bump protruding from his shoulder where no bone should be told them otherwise.

“Oh, that’s a load! That was not a good workout, that was a good ass-whooping! And I’m not entirely sure there’s anything left in your head to clear after the way it smacked the—“

“You’re hurt,” Pidge blurted. “The sentry dislocated your shoulder, I’m staring at the head of your right humerus and I shouldn’t be able to do that...”

“Oh... huh,” was all the mind he seemed willing to pay to his injury, his eyes bleary and wider than usual as he continued to walk away from them, but they persisted.

“We’re taking you to get that checked out by Coran. Right now,” Lance ordered.

“I’m good,” he assured, shouldering the door with his other arm.

Lance reached the door handle first and pulled on it, keeping Keith from going anywhere and spurring a low groan when his bad shoulder was jolted.

“Lance...”

He looked so tired.

He closed his eyes and continued to lean heavily into the hulking door of the training room. Under the bright artificial lights his skin looked greyer than it usually did, every bone in his face sickly accentuated and sharpened, the staple bags underneath his eyes hanging heavier than ever.

“Keith, you’re hurt and something else is obviously wrong so NO, we’re not letting you storm off to go pout to maintain your stup—“

“Shut up—“

Keith’s vision tunneled, his eyes fixed in a clearly unfocused haze as he stared at nothing.

“What?” Lance questioned, very caught off guard by the sudden interjection.

“I s-said shut u-up,” he whispered as he sucked in a shuddering breath.

The shrillness of Lance’s chastisement made his head swim and he blinked away the haze that came with the sudden levity.

“Hey, take it easy...”

It seemed the more he tried to control the tremor in his voice the worse his entire body seemed to shake.

He was fading; he could feel it.

The exhaustion had given way to anxiety as the adrenaline dripped dry allowing him to fully feel the pain in his shoulder as it pulsed angrily.

It was like the tide was washing out, the tumultuous waves of the storm that settled itself in his chest receding just before the next wave surged, and then he could feel everything he’d been ignoring.

Every individual bone seemed to ache with weariness and the pressure behind his tired eyes was so immense that it made him unsteady.

“Woah, what’s going on man?”

The floor suddenly seemed to shift beneath him, like he was walking on one of those moving conveyer belts in the airport that made your feet feel weird once you were back on solid ground.

“I think you should sit down,” Pidge urged, tugging worriedly at the hem of his shirt.

As much as his pride wanted him to protest he couldn’t seem to muster enough energy to even disagree let alone have a shred of cofidence that he could possibly get himself back to his room on his own.

They seemed to understand by his silence that he wouldn’t push away their help now and then he could feel firm hands on his good shoulder and back, guiding his trembling frame down to the floor where he came to rest his head on the knee that wasn’t bouncing.

“Where you at, mullet?”

The tinier hand had never left the middle of his back and rubbed soothing circles on the tense muscles beneath it.

“Can you tell us what you feel like right now?” Pidge asked before moving a hand to steady his restless leg.

He took a strained breath.

“D-dizzy... c-cold maybe, I-I don’t know why I can’t stop s-shaking.”

“That’s okay, don’t worry about that.”

“Here, this’ll help,” Lance added as he draped his jacket over Keith’s back, careful to not have it touch his injury.

“How’s your shoulder? Is anything else hurting?”

Keith thought about it for a solid minute, finding it sort of difficult to organize his thoughts and give Pidge an answer.

“Hurts a lot. S-so does my head... I have a headache—maybe... maybe a migraine I d-don’t know.”

“Is that what was bothering you before? The lights are pretty bright in here so that’s probably not helping... why don’t we start heading to the infirmary, before it gets worse?”

He nodded slowly against his knee and lifted his head up, his eyes still pressed together tightly. He pried one open to test his head but the swirling nausea and general agony that followed was answer enough.

“You don’t have to keep them open if it hurts.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and steeled himself as they took up his good arm and pulled him to his feet then waited for him to give the go ahead before making their way.

It was almost worse when his eyes were closed. The pounding in his head had only increased while they guided him, each step rattling his brain around so painfully that it almost distracted him from the instense heat in his shoulder.

He didn’t know why his head hurt so bad and why it was making his eyes so sensitive. He knew he’d hid it, but not hard enough to warrant this. He was also really tired, practically jumping out of his skin every few moments when he let his head tip forward slightly as if to nod off, which was entirely strange and alarming seeing as he was so drowsy he almost fell asleep while still walking.

He hadn’t noticed when they made it to the infirmary, only realizing when he was being pushed to sit down on something and a light was being shone across his now opened eyes.

“No! Oh-ouch,” he inhaled sharply when the light retreated and he was left seeing a blurred strip of bright white across his field of vision.

“I apologize, my boy, it had to be done. No concussion though! We have dimmed the lights for your comfort, the aversion is most peculiar given your injuries... “

He proded Keith’s shoulder blade and the inflamed area around it, earning a hiss when he tested the dexterity of the limb.

“The scanner detects significant ligament damage that will need to be corrected in a pod after I er... set the joint in its proper place. It will hurt for only a tick and I have several nerve blockers and muscle relaxers I can inject in the area to make the process less painful. Does that sound manageable to—“

But Coran didn’t get to hear Keith’s answer, the way his face greened and he clamped a hand over mouth was telling enough. He bit back a sob as he lurched forward, not enough time or notice for anyone to prepare before Keith was dry heaving, but they didn’t really need to worry because nothing but saliva came up.

“Were you at all ill before this today? This is the first time you’ve been sick to your stomach... when was the last time you ate?”

Silence only followed for a dobash before all three launched into different themes of admonition, but they all had the same anger to them. He knew they meant well, that they were just worried, but the bite to their words made his eyes sting like hell and he was seriously worried he wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay before Shiro was there telling them to be quiet.

He turned his head away and tried to breathe normally, but his chest was working up and his head throbbed pitifully and the movement made the burning in his shoulder deepen to where he had to hold his breath to keep from aggravating it. But Shiro’s warm, human hand was pulling his face towards his own, his eyes taking in Keith’s form and coming to several conclusions at once, the tension everywhere, the darkness under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands shook entwined about themselves...

“Keith,” his voice was so low and warm, he felt his chest pang at the gentleness in it. He closed his eyes, he knew what was coming next and he was both relieved and terrified for it.

“When was the last time you got a solid night’s sleep?”

He waited, even though they both already knew the answer and then it was when his hand moved to cup the top of his head that he finally broke. He didn’t need to speak for Shiro to know the answer.

Too long. It had been entirely too long since Keith could remember going to bed and waking up refreshed, each night only more frustrating than the last as he laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, knowing full well it wouldn’t work. Nothing did.

This week had been too much though. Running on empty on far too many missions followed by a dozen insomnia-induced late night training sessions trying to tire himself out in order to snag only a few hours of rest.

He’d just kept excerting himself and not ever properly recharging, but not on purpose, he physically couldn’t.

That part wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help that, but he could let people know he was struggling and he had purposefully not alerted Shiro.

“Shit, Keith,” Shiro murmured with Keith’s forehead on his chest as he held back the sound of his crying, “you have to tell me when it gets bad like this! It’s not safe for you to be fighting and training when you’re not properly rested, you know that...”

Coran resumed analyzing his shoulder.

“And now you’re hurt because I snapped at you—Keith, I’m so sorry, I should’ve realized...”

“D-dont,” he managed through stiff breaths as Coran worked his bad arm gently out of his shirt, “s’not your fault, never is.”

Shiro set his jaw and eyed Coran who looked at him sadly and nodded.

“This conversation is far from over, but we have to get that shoulder fixed right now.”

Coran asked Pidge to gather some supplies and Lance to help him brace Keith.

“You’ll feel a small pinch in your arm now.”

He did. The area felt cold with the liquid that was now under his skin and Coran rubbed it for a minute before moving near his collarbone.

“This one might burn, but you’ll find it entirely numb in a dobash.”

This one was quicker, less to inject, longer to rub in so it spread. It burned and itched, earning a groan before he felt less of Coran’s fingers and more of just pressure.

“Oh, that’s... better.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

He felt someone kneeling behind him holding just below his shoulder and around his chest. Someone else was in front of him holding his arm up with their hand on his other shoulder, Shiro’s hands on his shaking one.

“Now I trust you’re familiar with what is about to happen, do you want me to explain what I am doing or—“

“Don’t explain, just—“

The pain that exploded with the hollow pop that followed was even grosser than the sound itself. Keith’s vision whited for a second and he was immediately ashen and panting as his body worked through the shock of the correction, his ears rang and so he wasn’t sure if he had screamed or not but with the way his throat ached he’d assumed he had.

Exhaustion weighed on him like a sopping wet blanket, making it difficult to keep his head up let alone his entire upper body. He wasn’t sure how long he had been leaned against Shiro’s chest once he started coming back to himself and realized he was the only thing keeping him upright.

Something was compressing his shoulder, pulling in places he didn’t quite like as it was wrapped tightly around the still damaged joint, making its way around his chest and back several times. Shiro held him away for a moment while something fell around his neck that held his arm against his chest and had an attachment to secure it to his side.

He tried to open his eyes and see what was going on but they were so very heavy and he was in awe of how he wasn’t entirely asleep by now, almost thankful for the steady ache behind his eyes as it was forcing him to keep them closed.

“You still there, Keith?”

He hummed into Shiro’s shirt in response.

“Hey, so we’re going to forgo the pod to repair all the torn ligaments for a little while. Coran thinks it’s best that you catch up on your sleep without the being frozen part... we’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow, does that sound alright to you?”

It sounded superb to him. Truly.

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline crash or the general daze from sleep deprivation, but he was entirely checked out. Sufficiently out of it to care much about anything other than Coran’s lovely altean painkillers and the comfy pillow his head was now resting on.

Once he was laid down he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness almost immediately, the last thing he knew before he was consumed in bliss was the blanket that was being pulled up to his chest and Shiro calming words.

“Rest, buddy.”

And he finally did because now he actually could.

He wasn’t sure if it was the level of exhaustion he’d brought himself to or the threat of pain when he awoke, but whatever it was keeping him asleep he was grateful for it. Coran never even had to administer a sedative to keep him down during the night, just pain killers so he wouldn’t be woken up by his shoulder.

He slept for a day and a half after that, everyone taking turns watching over him while he slept so Shiro didn’t bring upon himself a similar fate.

The next time he was conscious coming deep into the next night, nearly early morning. Shiro stirred in the chair he was posted up in when Keith groaned and tried to turn over but cried out instead.

“Crap, what—hey... you’re okay,” Shiro soothed as he held Keith’s searching hand away from the thick layer of bandages covering his shoulder.

“It hurts, Shiro! It h-hurts!”

“I know, Keith, I know it hurts.”

Shiro sounded sad, Keith didn’t want to make him sad.

“I’m sorry...”

“You don’t need to be sorry for anything, bud.”

“I was stupid, I shoulda t-told you—just didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Keith. All of us are going to worry until you stop giving us reasons to,” he laughed weakly as he ran his hand through Keith’s hair while his breathing returned to normal.

“And until then, we’ll be here to make sure you don’t get pulverized by the training simulators and aren’t walking around delirious from not having slept in a week, okay?”

“Aha, yeah... okay.”

He tried to doze off again, but the steady pulse of pain in his shoulder seemed to prevent it. After an hour of trying, Shiro called Coran in who agreed it was also time to go into a pod.

“You will feel as good as new in no time, number four.”

Keith nodded absently as he rested his head back against the cushion in the cryopod before its doors closed with a whoosh and then cold surrounded him, lulling him off into another much needed sleep.

#keith whump #whumpee #vld #voltron whump #voltron fic #whump tropes #keith kogane #voltron fandom #keith angst #sleep deprived af #vld shiro #takashi shirogane #vld lance #vld pidge #worried teammates #keith needs a nap

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years

Text

A Cure for Insomnia CH 11

“Did I meet your friends last night?” Kirby asked as he unwrapped his crunchwrap in the driver's seat.

“uuh...kinda? Like Toby was with me when I gave you the Surge but you sorta just ran off with it.” you pause as you sip a bit of your Baja Blast. “Like a fucking gremlin.”

Kirby lets out a snort and lettuce drops from his mouth. He tries to hide his messy eating behind his hand. Failing miserably, you can't help but laugh at your friend.

“Wha' bout the other two? Kieth said you ditched 'em.” For a man who was trying to cover up his mouth he sure had the audacity to try and talk with his mouth full.

“They're Toby's roommates, I haven't talked to them too much.” he nods as you speak.

“Well I promise I'll be more...together,” he makes a sort of questioning sound as he debates if that was the word he was looking for. He can't really think of anything else so he settles for 'together'. “next weekend. They are coming right?”

After a brief pause he gets his mind back in place, “This weekend, picnic's this weekend.” You chuckle.

“Toby said they'd stop by. Don't think any are really people people.”

“People people?”

“Yup” not going to let Kirby rile you up as he often tries. Not that he could with his current brain power. Sleep haze still has him in it's hold despite being “up” for about an hour now.

Out of everyone in your friend group Kirby is probably the one you're closest to. Along with being a fellow Ace he's an ambivert and you two just instantly clicked over dumb D grade monster movies. He jokes you guys must be long lost siblings. Well he only started the sibling thing because multiple Hornets or other members of the committee kept thinking you guys were dating. Since then Kirby takes to purposefully calling you some variation of sibling when he shows any type of affection. It seems even just being referenced to being in a relationship squicks him out. You don't mind though you'd always wanted an older brother and Kirby is the exact type you would've wished for. The funny dork who was super easy to get along with.

Even when he steals your nachos...like he is now.

“I'm starting to understand the Cain Instinct.” you say looking him dead in the eyes. He lets out a roar of laughter and reminds you he bought “breakfast”.

“Dad tax and all that.”

“You're not my dad! Ugly ass doodoo head.”

“Is that what that kid said? I don't think that's right.” another thing you share is constantly referencing vines or tiktok sounds.

This of course led to an argument of what the kid actually said in the vine. Both of you were determined to get home and look it up to prove the other wrong.

After your breakfast Kirby started the truck as you put all the trash into the Taco Bell bag. You switch on his stereo much to his chagrin. Kirby got a CD stuck in the radio and now the only thing he can listen to is a meme mix tape he made back in high school. It was funny the first two months for him and now he prays that the novelty will ware off on you soon.

Though it has been a few weeks since he last drove you anywhere, and what can he say Discord is always a bop.

Kirby drops you off without much fanfare, you both agree to seeing each other next week at the picnic. Is it ironic that you want to call out for him to get some more sleep? Like you are the one who's been up since five AM and it's now eleven. But you have a medical condition, Kirby is just over worked and stressed beyond Hell and back.

Getting inside you have nothing really planned for today and while you could start heading out to thrifts to find something formal for Jo's recital you really don't feel like it. Productivity wise you've already had a pretty busy weekend so no one can really judge you for taking it easy and just merging with the couch for the rest of it. Even you, you can be so tough on yourself sometimes.

British Bake Off is just the thing you need to enjoy the rest of your weekend. A calming low stress but funny baking show. Just turn your brain off and lose yourself in the soothing monotone of the judges. It's nearly six in the evening when you finally shake off your lazy day haze.

Getting up, bakers still baking, you start making a simple dinner. Fried egg on toast sounds good. Also a good balance to your supreme nacho breakfast from this morning. Dressing one slice of toast in butter and the other with butter, a little mayo, and a dash of Tabasco before placing the egg on it. You head back to eat and continue watching the competition. Your meal fills you and gives the energy you need to continue “leisureing”.

After an hour you get up and wash the dishes from earlier. And while you have no energy to actually play any of your video games right now you do want to log in for your dailies.

A quick trip to your bedroom has you grabbing your laptop before returning back to the comfort of your living room. Couch calling you to it's cozy embrace. You half pay attention to what you're doing as you set up your laptop, muscles running on muscle memory more than any conscious effort on your part. You hadn't even noticed your hands flickering across the board and logging into your email.

By the time you do realize you aren't on your game's site you see you have a new email. It's from Barclay.

'Coming to ask for my help?' you think a little too smug that you'd been right about the cooking being too much for the man.

However, that wasn't what he was messaging you about. It seems he and Leo had been talking and the old man mentioned what your plans for cooking were.

Shortie,

Leo says you're making forager's pie for the picnic. Seasons ripe for ramps and mushrooms. You in for a little adventure through new unexplored territory?

...I'm hunting some lobster mushrooms, could use a hand or two Will share the bounty. ~Barclay sent 12:04 PM

An olive branch in hopes you weren't too sore about his rejection from earlier this week. The message and sentiment is lost on you since you got over that Thursday.

The idea of new terrain makes you a bit uneasy, however lobster mushrooms were pretty good and forage finds were really rare. Barclay grew up in these woods he probably knew what he was doing, not to mention he could easily know where to find ramps. Their flavor would really up your pie game. It's settled you're in for a forage date with big foot as your guide.

Am in Big Feet. When are we going? Sent 7:20 PM

Like with most things a waiting game began, down sides to living in a radio quiet community people weren't as attached to electronics because of the limited capabilities. But now that you know Barclay is emailing you, you can check your phone more often. Shutting down your laptop you close it before sliding it under your coffee table as you slide down the couch getting comfy.

It was two hours before Barclay got back to you.

Fantastic! Does Tuesday work? ~Barclay sent 9:42 PM

Barclay must be in a rush to get those mushrooms. You'd been thinking Thursday or Friday at the latest for the freshest mushrooms. Maybe he didn't need them for the picnic but a personal project. From what Jake has told you Barclay often falls into spells of testing out new ideas with the strangest of ingredients. With varying results but mainly positive ones.

Yea sure. Meet at the lodge after my shift? Sent 9:50 PM

Perfect see you then. ~Barclay sent 9:52 PM

Oki Sent 9:52 PM

Now that that has been settled you are free to continue your chill Sunday. Losing yourself to the lulling voices of the judges you hardly notice as you drift off. Warm in your throw blanket cocoon and cozy on the plush of your couch.

You jolt up right panting after being woken up by a loud bang. Or at least you thought you'd heard a bang, Sometimes auditory hallucinations came to you in your sleep no matter how well rested you were. The room around you is dark as the light from your TV is dimmed with Netflix's 'Are you still watching?' pop up mocking you for your marathon.

Without thinking you hit 'yes' and the bake off resumes. With the brightness restored you can see your living room and hallway are completely undisturbed. An auditory hallucination must have pulled you out of sleep. Nothing more, after all your stalker wouldn't get sloppy now, it's only been three weeks.

'That you know of.' seems to whisper and embed itself in your mind.

Shaking off the worrying thought you look at your phone to see it's now quarter till one. You are hungry and don't feel like cooking. Thankfully you have emergency white castles and fries in your freezer for this exact need. Getting up you go to the kitchen to microwave your food. Popping the fries in first you decide to head to the bathroom before that becomes a problem for you.

Before you go down the hallway you do end up grabbing the bat next to the bookshelf. The whisper from earlier clearly hasn't done much to settle your nerves after your rude awakening. Protection in hand you have a little less anxiety about walking down the dark hallway. You'd have to look into installing one of those cheap wall lamps from Home Depot to help you out in situations like this. Either that or a night light in your bathroom, you can probably get the night light done quicker. Maybe Leo sells them, you'll have to check next week.

You made it back to the kitchen after your bathroom break without any surprises, real or imaginary, jumping out at you. Replacing the fries inside your microwave with sliders, you snack on a few while you wait for the rest of your meal.

It's probably paranoia but you can't blame yourself for it as you continue to keep an ear out for any sound of abnormal movement within your home, as you eat and have the bake show low enough to catch the sounds of another person. None come, and you finish your food without incident. You're willing to chalk the noise up to a hallucination and your paranoia as valid but not necessary in this moment. Without much more thought you place your empty plate on the coffee table and curl back up in your throw blanket. Just like before you don't catch yourself as you fall asleep. This time you don't wake up until your phone alarm goes off for you to start your week and head to work.

The week has been much less dramatic than last week had been. But then again it is only Tuesday and you literally have gay brunch this Sunday. There will definitely be some sort of theatrics this week. Whether they come from homosexuals or your stalker is up to God.

Then later today you'll be going foraging with Barclay. And while that isn't anything dramatic it will be an adventure and, you hope, really fun! Your excitement has been tangible all day and you couldn't hold yourself back from focusing only on the clock in the shop all day. Even giddier than normal for the strike of five. With the energy rushing through you it amped up your tics but thankfully you hadn't hurt yourself in your excitement.

Even Nate is beginning to playfully tease you about your “date” with Barclay.

Great he must've been talking to Little Jo. What is it with this family and wanting you to date the lodge owner? Do you just look like the lead in a Hallmark Christmas movie that moved to a small town in order to feel the joy of the holidays? You could definitely get into the role but you don't think Barclay would be the main love interest for you.

Honestly he'd probably be the one all the viewers cheered for but you'd personally go for the puppy dog partner that has a scarred past. You have a type and your type is emotionally wounded and needing of love. That thought had made you chuckle as you and Nate closed up the store for the day.

Nate kept looking over at you throughout the day, and when he heard you giggle to yourself at closing he couldn't help the fond smile that came over his features. He could feel how his brows lifted themselves from their normally furrowed or downward tilt. He'd have let you leave early had it not been for the new procedures Big Jo had set. It's not often that your excitement shows so visibly. It's not often that the Cowell family has seen you happy like this.

But Nate understands it's not the crush that Little Jo seems to think it is, it's something more bittersweet. It's the excitement that comes from finally waning off of being isolated for so long. And boy does Nate understand that feeling. If he had to guess Nate would say you've been alone for most of your life even if you don't act like it. You need these little hangouts with your friends. So he does his fastest close yet. You both are out the door by five after and he bids you goodnight as you head to your respective cars.

With the close tonight being so quick you made it to the lodge and parked in the half full lot just before five thirty. Getting out of your car you noticed a familiar duo sitting on the stoop of the lodge.

'Something's wrong.' is the only thought you have as you walk towards the lodge.

“Hey stranger.” the brunette looks up to you at your greeting.

In this light you can just catch the slight movement of his pupils in his dark eyes as they widen in surprise.

“oh...hey?” he seems confused to see you here. Must not be used to living in a small town yet. He'll learn soon enough that you run into everyone all the time here. Sometimes multiple times a week as it would seem.

“You good?” motioning towards the hand on the back of his neck.

“Yea, fucking Bri-an Mrrow thought I needed this.” Toby moves his hand to show an ice pack that you assume he's been holding to the back of his neck.

“Heat sickness?”

“Nah, the RV's AC busted. I can probably fix it by the end of the week.” you nod.

That makes sense, after all CIPA affects thermal regulation, at least from a basic skim. You really need to get on that deep dive to make sure you're prepared for irregular injury prevention with Toby. Speaking of, the boy in front of you is just sitting here with Connor, why? Even if he's here to get a room at the lodge why didn't he just go in? Connor is a service dog after all not like anyone could turn him away. So why was Toby just sitting out here, especially if Brian thought he needed an ice pack to the neck to keep cool?

As if the universe heard your question and decided to give you an answer, Aubrey opened the door and poked her head out.

“Thanks for letting me put up Dr. Harris Bonkers. I'll keep him in my room during your stay.” Oh that makes sense Aubrey's rabbit normally has the run of the lodge. Even if Connor's a service dog and well trained Dr. Bonkers is still a prey animal with a weak heart. Seeing Connor may have stressed the poor rabbit out, if not nearly given him a heart attack.

Her russet eyes land on you when she opens the door wider to, you assume, let Toby and Connor in. They widen and Aubrey rushes in to hug you before stopping short as if remembering you don't appreciate physical contact.

“Hey YN! I didn't know you were coming over.” She says a little awkwardly mid pose for a hug.

You won't be saving her from the situation. With a smile, that she can't see, you nod.

“Barclay's taking me foraging today.”

Aubrey nods while lowering her arms and takes a few steps back so you and Toby can enter the lodge. The large foyer of the wooden chalet always looks bigger thanks to the deep red tones in it's color palette. From the dark cherry stained wood to the red rugs and table liners. Always feels a lot warmer too, but in a homey sense not the overbearing swelter of heat sense. You can't wait to see what it's like in the winter. Probably so cozy and welcoming with a fire roaring and the murmur of residents and tourist mingling over the winter festivities. There's a swell in your chest at the thought...it seems nice, you hope you're right.

'Hope you see it.' is the dark whisper that taints your thoughts.

You notice Brian and Tim are over at the counter talking to Barclay who is nodding along sympathetically to the trio's plight. He catches your eye and motions for you to wait. You'd been planning to, after all he's currently working.

Turning to Toby you see he looks a bit paler than normal, which should be a difficult feat. Aubrey had left you both, though you aren't sure if she'll be coming back with her girlfriend Dani in a moment or not. You decide to lead Toby over to the obnoxiously plush couch in the den.

It's not like the lodge is off limits to those who aren't guests, and seeing as most of it's workers live here their friends frequently come around thus using the amenities. After sitting on the couch Toby grabs at Connor's ears and starts shaking them. He isn't being rough with them despite the jerky movements and Connor seems to lean into the pet.

Just from what you can gather it seems like Toby has some pretty bad social anxiety. You really aren't sure of what you could do to help. He calmed down at the movie night with a distraction...oh that reminds you, you fell asleep on him. Figuratively and literally.

“I'm sorry for falling asleep on you.” probably not the most tactful or elegant way of bringing this up.

Toby takes a minute to register you words. Not taking his eyes off Connor or ceasing his movements he says, “Eh.” as he gives a muted shrug and continues, “Your friend...Kirby...gave you a ride right?” He said Kirby's name like a question. You'd have to formally introduce the two at some point. Probably this weekend.

“Yea, he's sorry about being a weirdo Saturday, said he'd be more “present” this weekend.”

Toby doesn't say anything more and you let a silence fall over you two. It isn't awkward, at least to you, and you're content to just sit and wait for a while. However, it doesn't take long before Tim, Brian, and Barclay are all entering the den.

“Knew they'd be here,” Barclay says to the other two, “Sorry 'bout the wait YN, Jake's comin' down to give these guys a tour an' set them up. We'll leave when he gets down.” you nod and give the other two a muted wave 'hello'.

It isn't long before Jake is sliding down the banister and leading the group out of the room before Barclay can get on to him about his juvenile behavior. Sighing at the twenty-three year old's antics Barclay turns to you and looks at what you're wearing. Hiking boots and jeans, perfect but one thing is missing.

“C'mon let's go get duct taped.”

“Duct taped?”

“Yup, keeps ticks from climbing up you.”

So you make your way to his office where he sticks duct tape, sticky side up, around each ankle and just above and below your knees. All while explaining how if a tick started to try and climb up you the tape would make them stick and stay there. You'd end up with less ticks on your torso and hopefully none at all.

In no time the two of your were in the forest two baskets in hand and hunting for your immobile prey. The ramps were super easy to find and the first you knocked off the hunt list. Barlcay said they grow in the same area every year, knowing this you may have to come and grab some the next time they're in season. You can already taste how good your forager's pie tastes with the new earthy tones. Actual mushrooms were much harder to find, aside from the lobster mushrooms you were really only looking for some hedgehog mushrooms. They aren't rare or extremely difficult to find but you two aren't having any luck.

Barclay suggested a spot just past a little pond, and while you didn't find mushrooms you did find some Black Raspberry bushes. Not one to let ingredients go to waste Barclay starts picking some, and you grab some too. Maybe baking an easy Black Raspberry cobbler will be your consolation prize. Though Barclay isn't as placated as you are with the unexpected find. The man is still on the hunt for his lobster mushrooms. So you continue scouring the path and a little bit off it in search.

“We should head back, it's dark.” you state plainly after a few hours of searching and remaining mushroom less.

Barclay agrees, but makes the comment that he'll probably come out again in a day or two.

“If I find any I'll still give you some or helping out today.”

“It's fine I've got my treasures right here.” You shrug it off, because while you are a bit disappointed, you still have ramps and the opportunity to make cobbler. It's not all bad. Barclay on the other hand, you know, will not be letting this go so you expect he'll hand you a container of mushrooms sometime in the coming month if not this weekend.

Getting back to the lodge Barclay helps you cut off the duct tape and disposes of it and the hitch hikers you picked up. He sends you off to shower and check for stragglers before he would allow you to go home. Thankfully you had the foresight to bring a change of clothes and after retrieving them from your trunk you do as you're told.

Barclay was right you hadn't had a single tick on you and you feel much better after a shower. Getting out you already smell the alluring aroma of Barclay's kitchen. You must have taken a bit longer than you intended if he was already done with his own shower and already cooking for the lodge. Heading downstairs with your duffle bag in tow, you are stopped by Dani at the door.

You haven't seen her in a bit so the two of you catch up and have a chat. After a bit Aubrey comes in with a Tupperware container of grilled salmon and veggies over rice.

“Oh I see, you were a diversion.” you said looking at Dani as you take the container. Dani gives a sheepish smile before running off to the dinning room, and after sending you a coy smile of her own Aubrey follows after.

You know you're more than welcome to join them, but you really don't have the battery for that and just want to decompress at home.

“Thank you!” you call out into the lodge, only leaving after hearing the distant chuckles drifting through the hall.

Opening the door you run right into someone. Looking up you see Toby, but he isn't wearing a mask. Instead he's wearing a large bandage on his face to cover the hole. In his hands is a box of similar bandages. Guess if they're staying for a bit he'll need them around the others.

Should you mention the others wouldn't say anything? That this whole place was like Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, but for the misfits or the weird and disowned? You aren't really sure it's your place. And you aren't really sure you're comfortable with how comfortable you've gotten with Toby. You're probably crossing some boundary by over analyzing him so much. And he doesn't even know you're doing it.

Toby knocks you out of your head when he backs away and gives you space to exit the lodge.

“Get home safe.” it falls out of his mouth so easily.

You've noticed he has a habit of saying that...why? There you go over analyzing him, you need to stop. Shaking yourself from your thoughts this time you look at Toby with a smile.

“I will...I think you'll like it here.” when you're in your car you want to slam your head on the steering wheel but Toby is still watching. Why did you say that, you're so weird.

#ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #creepypasta fanfic #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright #timothy wright x brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x you #masky

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

Text

Between Bars (Spencer Reid x OC)

Summary: Spencer is wrongfully arrested for murder and placed in Millburn Correctional Facility awaiting trial. While he attempts to survive until his friends can prove his innocence, his cellmate Oscar has an unexpected effect on Spencer during their time inside together.

AN: Thank you to @april-14-blog, @zhuzhubii, and @imagining-in-the-margins for your unwavering attention and support while writing this.

I’m writing another post-prison Spencer fic but idk when it’s coming out. I’m still caring for my dad and prepping for my nan’s funeral.

To the anon who asked for an Emily Prentiss x Trans!Male reader smut, it’s in the works I promise!!

Word count: 11k words

Content warning: Usual criminal minds violence, character death, spoilers for season 12, threats of violence, stabbing, PTSD, mentions of battery, mentions of panic attacks. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Masterlist // AO3 Link

“My last roommate got shanked.”

Spencer struggled for a second to keep his composure. The cell door slid shut with a loud buzzer and a clank of hollow metal.

His cellmate, in that identical grey jumpsuit, was tucked up on the bottom bunk with a book in one hand and a green crayon in the other. He was underlining something. Once he was done, his eye lifted off the page. They just as devoid of emotion as his opener was. That scared Spencer more, that this man had clearly spent a long time in here being dehumanised to the point where he held about the emotional range of a mannequin.

But at least he wasn’t violent. Yet.

Spencer approached the foot of his bed. His hands, one of them still sore from the cut on the palm, placed his belongings there. A tremble ran through them when his cellmate moved out of his line of sight; the sudden thought of being stabbed through the underside of his bunk kept him standing for now.

“I’m not gonna shank you.”

Spencer’s shoulders squared, “Ok.”

“Name’s Oscar.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Welcome to hell, Spencer Reid.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His chore was laundry. It was somewhere without sharp objects, which meant inmates brought their own. Spencer was doing his best to walk the balance between standing his ground and not making himself a target. But apparently there was no such line to follow and no help from his cellmate, sifting through his own cart of laundry on the other side of the room.

That was until the inmates began taunting Spencer over his belongings.

“Excuse me.”

The crowd immediately parted to make way for Oscar, whose unflinching gaze pushed them further back.

“Thank you,” he said in the same empty tone. His very deliberate stare landed on Spencer as he passed and collected a pile of towels from the table at the room’s centre. The group around them dispersed and remained so even as Oscar returned to his station.

Oscar’s hands weren’t shaking before then. Now, certainly, as he stuffed bedsheets into the giant machine, a tremble ran through his arms and stuck in his wrists.

Spencer didn’t comment, not even that evening as he climbed onto his bunk, his back pressed hard against the wall. His knees pulled close acted as a desk for his journal. His pen scribbled away long after lights out, putting down his thoughts, his innocence, trapping his worries onto the paper. It was too long until his next evaluation. His notebook was his only confidant now.

A creak beneath him stilled his hand, and he felt himself freeze as the shadow of Oscar rose up from his bunk. One of his hands was behind his back. Spencer’s feet dug into the mattress and forced him hard against the concrete. His eyes flinched shut as Oscar brought his hand out. But they opened as soon as they were closed and they were met with surprise.

In Oscar’s palm sat a red crayon.

“You’ll wanna swap to this,” He said with such a softness that Spencer spent the next ten seconds processing it. His incessant blinking did nothing to clear up what was happening.

Eventually he said an equally quiet voice, “Why?”

Oscar’s shoulders shrugged an inch, the tension he held in them inflexible, “Worst you can get from this is a bruise.”

Slowly, Spencer accepted the crayon with his left hand and rolled the pencil around in the right. “What should I do with this?”

“Hide it.” And Oscar disappeared from view.

Spencer ran his finger over the tip of the crayon before he dragged it across the paper. It would suffice for now. Maybe he could ask one of his friends to send some his way in their next letter. If they weren’t too busy trying to solve his case.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

JJ’s presence was the most welcomed part of Spencer’s life here. But he almost hated it.

Opposite him, always several inches between them as well as a divider, JJ holding up one of Henry’s drawings but unable to hand it over to him, it drove him insane. The constant reminders on the walls – and often barked by guards – not to touch coated their conversation. JJ didn’t ask about the bruises from his most recent beating. She answered Spencer’s queries, updating him on his case.

Spencer tried very hard not to sound so eager about getting out. His hopes were already dashed to pieces; the fragments were just holding on. He needed that hope to survive but if it grew too strong, it would destroy him.

For half a second, his attention was drawn out of the goodbye to see Oscar nearby. He was standing before another visitor’s table and a young woman who had the same nose as him on the other side.

He missed JJ’s hugs. He longed for one long after she had disappeared from view, shuffling along with the rest of them towards the refectory.

A commotion erupted up ahead. Spencer watched with masked reverence and the rest of the line as Oscar remained unflinching in the volume of the guard’s shouting. Even when he got right up in Oscar’s face, Oscar was stoic as spittle sprayed across his face. Moment after the guard walked away, Oscar wiped his face clean, a terrifyingly neutral expression held together.

Once lunch was done, Spencer re-joined with his new friend Luis in the laundry room, who was still not over Spencer’s injuries. There was something else that Spencer wanted to talk about.

“Do you know much about…” Spencer dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “Oscar?”

Luis looked at Oscar with the subtlety of an elephant seal then back to Spencer to deliver his answer, “He’s gone after people in the prison, but nothing ever gets tied to him.”

And Luis proved his point when Oscar pressed his hands against the stab wound in Luis’ neck, a futile attempt to save his life after Frazier and Duerson’s failed recruiting of Spencer. Oscar fled the scene without consequence, leaving Spencer in the pool of blood, and he never once tripped on his alibi or took off his armour. Not even when Spencer spoke at him about it before lights out.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

But Spencer found a chink in the armour.

Oscar’s sleeping problems were apparent throughout the night. If his offering of a crayon earlier hadn’t been enough evidence, the yawning and tossing about the bottom bunk. Spencer knew why Oscar was awake too. He wasn’t the type to stay awake to ensure his continued survival. Insomnia was a symptom that Spencer was starting to show too. He had been struggling to rest while he gathered the aforementioned evidence. For some reason, it brought him a slither of comfort, because it made Oscar more human.

Another was the letters he had in his pillow case – the most obvious place to hide something, therefore the least obvious? Reverse psychology aside, some nights featured the rustling of paper

Work in the laundry room continued as if there wasn’t a man murdered in it just days before. Oscar was reinforcing the contrast between yesterday and now with a faint hum. He was clearly a little more comfortable since it was just him and Spencer in the room.

Spencer’s mind pulled up Howl’s Moving Castle which he watched with Penelope. Oh, Penelope. With her bright colours and optimism. It was not a film he pictured Oscar to be a fan of. But he hardly knew him, and he wanted to.

“What song is that?”

Oscar shrugged. A huff forced itself out of his nose. “Don’t remember.”

“It sounds nice.”

He huffed again, clearly closing the conversation. Spencer counted in items he tossed into the machine, flinching still at the marks on the bedsheets. His eye avoided them but landed on the dark patch of concrete where Luis had bled out.

“Oscar, why did you defend me last week?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know.” The irritable edge in his voice prevailed the more he spoke, “But you owe me so consider this: don’t be a mule for them.”

It was an almost anger that Spencer felt at this request. Surely Oscar would understand, of all people, after being in here that:

“They’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Oscar sighed and turned his back to Spencer, no longer humming. Spencer felt a twang in his gut pluck away at his rage. But he also felt satisfaction in the fact that he had gotten Oscar to crack again. Not in a malevolent way, he felt like he was getting Oscar to open up more and more.

“I’m doing what I need to survive,” Spencer added. For his sake, maybe, but he knew it was a little more reassurance for Oscar.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“I am innocent.”

“You’re gonna get killed if you keep saying that so loud.”

Spencer stopped speaking, but he kept moving about the floor space of the cell. The worst part was the walk up to the bars. But, with his notebook confiscated, he had no other outlet and he made sure that Oscar knew this as well.

“It keeps me grounded, reminds me of who I am.”

Oscar didn’t say anything about Spencer’s incessant pacing, simply turning a page in his new book, “That must be nice.”

With a deep breath of stale prison air, Spencer’s speed grew erratic until he very nearly kicked at the bars in frustration. He stopped himself just as the instruction reached the surgery scars on his knee. It stung as he jumped up into his bunk and squeezed his knees to his chest, his arms shaking with the pressure he put on them.

“How many years do you have to go?” He said quietly.

“Half a year until an appeal, six years if I serve the rest of my sentence. You?”

“My trial has been postponed. I was offered a plea deal. But-” Spencer stopped to swallow, a pitiful attempt against the absolute Sahara that was his mouth “- But I didn’t do it.”

His hand pushed the heel of his palm into his eye. The other screwed itself shut as his mind zeroed in on his actions. When Spencer’s hand lifted away, Oscar was standing up in front of him. His white shirt was on show, the top half of his jumpsuit rolled down with the arms tied around his waist. He was stretching his arms up, and his head was tilted a few inches to the left as he watched Spencer with a blank face.

No, not blank.

Open.

Then his stoicism clouded over and Oscar dropped his arms. “Nice rehearsal for the jury.”

Spencer’s irritation became inflamed, “That kind of attitude might get you a badge of honour here-”

“This kind of attitude,” Oscar interrupted, and immediately Spencer regretted his words, “Has helped me survive here. I suggest you stop running your mouth if you wanna do the same.”

The burst of anger fizzled out fast like a firework, and Spencer watched Oscar disappear out of sight with a dull thud on his mattress. But before he could, Spencer had noticed that Oscar’s hands were shaking again, just like he hadn’t seen since the fight in the laundry room – the first one.

Spencer’s hands gripping his shins, he worried that he had lost another… friend? Ally? He didn’t really know what to use as a description for their relationship but Spencer knew what he wanted. Least of all, he wanted Oscar to be upset with him.

“Oscar?”

Nothing. Spencer slipped off the bed and pressed his back against the wall, sinking down until he was on the ground. His eyes were on Oscar, who was staring without seeing Spencer opposite him. Nevertheless, Spencer stayed in his sight and asked a tentative question.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when you get out?”

Oscar blinked and his gaze shifted a millimetre to Spencer and his peace offering. Then Spencer saw it. A quiver of Oscar’s bottom lip, then it shifted and Spencer noticed that Oscar was biting the inside to stop his reaction taking over any more of himself.

When his mouth opened, it released a sigh before he spoke. “Hug my mom.”

Spencer nodded, the stuffiness of his throat returning as he fought to keep back tears, “Me too.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was an attempt to get Frazier and Duerson off Spencer’s back. Maybe to stop him from taking the drugs himself. The temptation was certainly lingering stronger, with the promise of a temporary respite.

But now the prison was locked down. Shaw, along with four other inmates, were isolated in the infirmary. These were far from innocent men but God that didn’t mean what he had done was right.

He’d done it to survive, but it was still all his fault.

“What’s up with you?”

The gate to their cell sliding shut behind Oscar. He stared at Spencer sat in the bottom bunk, his head in his hands. Footsteps echoed down the corridor before another buzzer and another gate opened then shut again. They were far from alone, the concrete providing an illusion that there wasn’t an endless tunnel with two men per cage.

“Spencer.”

He stood up, dropping the grip from his hair. His ears tuned into the noise from other prisoners. What he wouldn’t give for some silence right now.

“The poisonings were my fault.”

All air sucked from Spencer’s lungs as Oscar was suddenly upon him. He was smacked against the wall, Oscar’s hand over his mouth, his forearm pinning him into place. Spencer let out a cross between a gulp and a sob, caught into his throat as Oscar harshly shushed him. Spencer’s eyes looked around Oscar terrified, he struggled against him.

Oscar’s voice rasped with a spitting disgust, “You’re really fucking stupid!”

And he slammed his weight against Spencer again, his breathing heavy, his pupils dilated, “Don’t you fucking dare repeat that to anyone.”

Spencer’s head knocked against the resolute wall when Oscar shoved him once more, stepping back and creating distance between them. With the ache at the back of his skull, Spencer stared dazedly at his cellmate.

Oscar’s voice matched his haggard appearance when he said, “You’re a dead man, Spencer.”

The intimacy of his name striking right at his heart, Spencer worried that he would join Oscar in tears. But there was no time; a guard rattled his baton against the bars.

“What’s going on in there?” He bellowed into the cell.

Oscar clenched his jaw, “Nothing.”

Then he reclaimed his bunk and faced the wall.

“Into bed, inmate!”

Sparing a glance to the vulnerable position Oscar was laying in, unable to receive the look of gratitude, Spencer got into his bunk. The silence he wished for enveloped him and he longed for it to vanish.

He pressed his palm against his lips. It wasn’t the same as when Oscar did it.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His second meeting with Dr. Tara Lewis revealed that Spencer had manufactured his own memory and that he had been coerced. But the BAU needed proof of his innocence, and Spencer resumed his waiting game in the yard.

Oscar was taking a new route around the edge of the wire fencing as opposed to spending his free time in the gym. His shoes scuffed in the dirt, no doubt rubbing a blister into his heel (based on his gait), and his step weaved around the groups to avoid interacting with anyone. Wordlessly, Spencer joined him. Oscar looked at him but didn’t speak.

Spencer’s session with Tara had brought forward a question he had considered asking before. Tara had spoken about his mother, how life was before prison. Spencer missed being known, knowing someone. The rawness of that need hung off his frame with his jumpsuit. Oscar was probably still pissed off with him. But God, Spencer needed to cease this withdrawal from human contact more than anything.

“What did you do, Oscar?” He asked under his breath, “To get into prison?”

“I knew a guy; he was the worst kind of person to get caught up with. He did some things to me. So I beat him up, and I cut his pecker off.”

It all sounded so very rehearsed, and Spencer wondered if Oscar had been planning what to say since they first met. The two men continued to walk in step until eventually Oscar broke the silence.

“Yours isn’t on my to-do list.” The left corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke

Spencer lifted his stare from Oscar’s mouth, hoping the heat around them would mask his blush, “Did he die?”

“No,” Oscar ironed his lips back into a straight line, “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t regret it.”

“No.”

“Thank you for not telling the guard what I did.”

“What did I say about repeating it?”

Spencer pressed his chin into his chest, forcing his mouth shut. It naturally deflected the glares that were aimed in his direction from other prisoners as he and Oscar sat down at an empty table.

“It seems I only give you grief.”

But Spencer’s pity was cut short by that touch of a smile on Oscar’s face returning, “Your company somewhat makes up for it.”

The distractions ended. Spencer was once again aware that there was very little he could do in this place. He restrained his yearning to hold Oscar’s hand across the table, to feel his tender palm again, until he was back in his bunk with an entire night to think about what it might be like in a situation where Oscar wasn’t threatening him into silence.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was going to be another sleepless night.

Spencer reached his arm out of his foetal position and over the edge of his bunk. Oscar was likely still awake; Spencer was hoping that Oscar would ask him about what was up, like he usually did. Like he already had after Spencer’s mother had visited with her new care assistant.

As he waited, Spencer sniffed back his tears. He didn’t want anyone to see him cry, even if tears were supposed to be good for the skin – God knows his skin needed it after all that Dial soap. The red eyes were already hard enough to hide without the addition of damp cheeks. Grief weighed down his eyelids, but fear kept opening them – just in case.

Then five calloused fingertips touched the back of his hand. Spencer gripped the air, his wrist bringing his hand an inch in. But as the fingertips spread across his skin, he allowed them to continue. Oscar’s mattress groaned below him and his fingers linked with Spencer’s. The thumb wrapped around to press into Spencer’s palm.

Spencer almost whined when Oscar snatched his hand away, but a split second later his stomach dropped at the sound of a clatter down the hall.

Minutes passed like hours before the bottom bunk let out a familiar creak of Oscar rising from it. He rested his forearms against Spencer’s mattress, right beside Spencer’s outstretched arm. Goosebumps rose and the hairs stood on end, coaxing Oscar closer.

With a quick glance at the bars, Oscar whispered, “Your friends will get you out. They’ll help your mom.”

Spencer sniffed, “What happened to being a dead man?”

“I don’t think you – or your friends - are going to let that happen.”

“What about you?”

“I guess I could fall under ‘ally’ for once.”

“What if I wanted you to be something else?” Spencer’s arm shifted and his hand brushed their knuckles against Oscar’s stubbly cheek.

Oscar hinted at tilting his head against him, and Spencer couldn’t help but press a little firmer as Oscar said, “You should sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Oscar’s finger stretching out to brush the crook of Spencer’s elbow, “Me neither.”

Nevertheless, Oscar let Spencer go and got back down into his bunk just moments later.

Both men pretended to sleep until the fantasy became real. The whole time, Spencer was thinking about how hearing faith in his team from someone who had never met them – or even displayed an ounce of hope within his entire relationship with him – meant so much.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer had a new wall to force his back against. His left leg was not in a state to keep him taut against it, the throbbing ache a poor disturbance from his thoughts. Time, time, all he had was time to think and do nothing else.

About how his occupation in the government was leaked to what felt like the entire prison population.

How the note with the promise of invading solitary confinement lay screwed up by the door.

How Shaw had threatened him before bawling like a baby when the guards tackled him for stabbing Spencer.

How Oscar, with his jaw slack and eyes glassy, was outlined in Spencer’s blurring vision.

Oh, Oscar. Shoved back by inmates in the scuffle before he disappeared from view. He was only there because Shaw had made the first move. Spencer had seen Oscar reach into his pocket as he crept behind Shaw. No regard for his own safety. That was when Spencer grabbed Shaw’s hand and manipulated it into plunging his shiv into his leg and arm.

The night before, Oscar had been quiet, and Spencer figured that he had learnt that Spencer was an FBI agent. No chat before bed, Oscar just curled up under his blanket and read until lights out.

Spencer was patient. He waited long into the night before bringing out his toothbrush. There was no time for resting now; he scrapped the end of the brush against the edge of the bunk frame. Flakes of plastic snowed down onto the concrete floor, but he didn’t get out to sweep them beneath the beds just yet. That was a job for the morning – if it came.

Suddenly Oscar popped into his field of view.

“It’s better if you do it like this,” He said, taking Spencer’s hand in his and demonstrating the direction with which to carve his shiv, “And make sure you – never mind.”

“What?”

“Forget it. You’re a fed. They probably trained you with this shit.”

He took himself away and Spencer swallowed hard, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m not. Means you’re learning to protect yourself. I’m more grateful for that.”

Spencer’s hand still tingled from the way Oscar held it. The simplest of touches grounded him, and it was almost as if Oscar knew that. When they were called to lunch by the alarm, filing out of the laundry room, Oscar had gone out of his way to walk by Spencer and brush their hands together. Not a single break in his stride, the touch was brief but it breathed a sigh of courage into Spencer’s lungs and he went into the refectory calmer.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing away the stinging of tears with his head leaning back against the wall.

His palms flattened against his legs as he heard the key turn in the door. His eyes watched it creak open, revealing a guard

“Get up.”

Wincing, Spencer moved off the pathetic excuse for a bed, “Where am I going?”

No answer.

Spencer shuffled through the hallway with dread weighing each step down. The last fragment of hope was waning, but he clung to it as he was shoved into an empty room. Even as the guard closed the door behind him and his ever-vigilant eye was stuck on the glass of the window, Spencer held that hope close as he waited for someone to come in. While not necessarily a believer, he called to anyone - who might hear a sinner’s prayer - that he could touch Oscar once more before he was killed.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It had been a long time since Spencer had sat on this side of the table. On the job, visiting a suspect or informant in a case, but now his entire perspective had shifted.

He wondered if any of the guards recognised him now that he had a suit, a visitor’s badge, and a few extra pounds around his middle.

An instinct, he flinched at the buzzer. The memory had tormented him for weeks and hearing it fresh and raw against his eardrums was worse. Steps sloped into the room in a dull out-of-sync march. The prisoners found their allotted tables one by one, some with enthusiasm and others without.

Oscar dragged the chair across the floor before taking his place opposite Spencer.

“Hello.”

Spencer was completely torn between smiling at his presence – his voice – and keeping a composure so as not to draw attention from other prisoners. “Hello.”

Oscar wrapped his arms in each other, elbows pointed on the table, “Did you get to hug your mom?”

It was hard to forget the grip on Diana’s frail body, the relief seeping through Spencer’s body at her safe recovery.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good. I’m glad she’s ok.”

“She’s in a facility now, being taken care of full time. Did you get my letters?”

“I did, thank you. And did you get mine?”

“Yes. How is your new cellmate?”

“Some dipshit in for possession. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s fingers tapped on the table, and Spencer could see them trembling still. He nodded; his mouth pressed into a line. He couldn’t think of what else to say despite his many rehearsals beforehand. It felt wrong to talk about being out of prison, like dangling a bit of bacon in front of a dog before popping it into one’s mouth.

So he went straight for the jugular, “I’m getting you out, Oscar.”

Oscar frowned, looking almost offended. “Don’t say that.”

But Spencer continued, “I’ve spoken with your lawyer, Zoe; she’s got all this stuff ready for your appeal.”

“Spencer.”

“Your family completely support what we’re doing. I’ve spoken to them over the phone.”

“They wanna meet with me and your lawyer, properly coordinate. We can do this!”

“Spencer, stop!”

Said person stopped relaying his grand plans for the future. Oscar had barely raised his voice but he caught the attention of the nearby guards, already reaching for their belts. Oscar’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, his eyes not even crossing the threshold that separated him from Spencer.

His voice caught in his throat, “Stop it now. Don’t give me hope.”

Spencer blinked. A second time, a third, then he frowned right back at Oscar bewildered.

“Why won’t you let me fight for you?”

He didn’t get an answer immediately, so he kept talking.

“You fought for me, Oscar. You kept me alive in here. Let me do the same, get you out. You can’t stay here!”

It started subtle. But Spencer saw Oscar shaking his head at his words. He refused Spencer any more eye contact, not even when Spencer begged Oscar to look at him so that they could talk more about the upcoming appeal.

The buzzer sounded again and Spencer began to panic as Oscar rose from his seat. No way was their time up already. An urge to reach across, grab Oscar’s hand, make him stay, shot through him. It only stopped because he didn’t want some desperate grab to be the last touch between them. He tried to call after him, but his voice stuck in his throat at the sight of a baton being used to force Oscar into the queue.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer had walked the paths of the bullpen thrice now: once to get coffee, second to “get the right form”, and the last time he didn’t say why to his curious colleagues. Clearly none of those were the true reason but they left him alone. That was their problem. They never spoke to each other about what was wrong until it was too late.

The second his phone rang, he lunged for it. His slim fingers scrabbled to slide across the answer button and bring it up to his ear.

“Hello!” Instantaneously, his shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sorry for shouting. Look, I’m waiting on an important call, can I ring you back?”

Before the caller had time to respond, Spencer slammed the phone face down and began his route again, leaving it on the desk so that he wasn’t constantly checking the screen.

“Have you ever seen him so attached to a piece of technology?” Luke grinned at JJ.

“Never.”

“This con must be something.”

The phone went off again when Spencer was getting another mug of coffee. Its ringtone was loud but not loud enough to reach the break room.

Simmons raised his voice ever so slightly, “Spencer! Phone!”

A ceramic clashed with a sideboard, and Spencer appeared, his hip clipping Luke’s desk on the way over. In his frenzy, he found the wherewithal to check the caller ID before he answered, “Tony?”

Spencer had already begun powerwalking out of the bullpen, but he stopped when he heard a cry from Eliza in the background.

His friends and co-workers watched his expression falter from focus to frustration.

“I’m sorry.” His voice failed him, clearing it, “I’m sorry, Tony, for you and your family. Can I call you back?”

This time, he waited for confirmation and he stayed on the phone for half a minute longer to reassure the Dunnagan family on the other end that he would not give up. Once the call dropped, the phone did too – against the desk. Spencer folded his arms in on himself. His fingers were bent into claws, digging into the creases of his elbows. Upon realising what they were doing, he covered his face as if to weep, but there were no tears.

“Spencer.” JJ touched his shoulder

“The appeal didn’t even have the chance to be unsuccessful,” He dragged his hands across his face into prayer, “Oscar cancelled the hearing this morning without telling us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, “I don’t think I can be alone right now. Can I stay at yours and Will’s tonight?”

“Of course,” JJ’s hand smoothed out a wrinkle on his suit jacket.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Upon entering the attorney’s office, Spencer was embraced by Dakota. Eliza kissed both his cheeks, Tony shook his hand, and Zoe gestured for him to sit in the final empty chair.

Together, they discussed the plan for the appeal. It was to be fool proof. There was the added benefit of a recent sessions with a therapist; Spencer was still willing to go and talk about how Oscar had saved his life in prison. But Spencer was also fighting this disgusting urge to say that “none of that matters because an appeal panel won’t see him at all if Oscar keeps withdrawing”. He kept pushing it down to simmer in his stomach, away from his vocal chords.

He was almost glad when his phone began ringing, “Excuse me, it’s my boss.” Stepping out of the office, Spencer narrowly avoided another lawyer walking along the stripes of the carpet. “Hey Emily.”

“Hey. I know it’s one of your days off. I just wanted to see how you’re doing?”

“We’re just going over Oscar’s appeal.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Wow, he really walked into that one.

“I just keep thinking about how he sabotaged himself. I mean, doesn’t he want to get out? Why doesn’t he want to get out and be with me?!” Spencer swallowed back the lump in his throat, “And I know none of the team approve of him.”

“Spencer,” Emily had her parent voice on. An expert voice for someone who didn’t even have kids yet.

But Spencer just carried on in spite of it, “He’s a convicted batterer, not exactly the best option for a boyfriend and especially for an FBI agent, but do any of you know why he did it?”

His agitation was muzzled when Zoe poked her head around the door and Spencer softened his tone to apologise, to assure he would be back inside shortly. He waited until the door closed before he spoke again.

“Emily, Oscar is the only person who knows what I’m going through right now. He’s a good man, I truly believe that, or else he wouldn’t have helped me. And I need him to get out. I can’t stand knowing he’s in there for why he did what he did. Knowing he’s not getting the help he needs.”

It was then that Spencer realised, even as they were interrupted, that Emily had been waiting patiently for him to finish. She was now letting his words sit between the phone lines, likely mulling over what to say next. Spencer really fucking hated waiting.

Thankfully his patience did not need to wear itself thin, this one time:

“I do know why he did it. I had Garcia pull up his file when you went to visit him for the first time. Spencer, I’m glad this man has you on his side. Let me know how the meeting goes.”

“Thanks, Emily.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

As Oscar placed himself down opposite Spencer, he flinched in the plastic chair. Spencer fought his own wince at the sight of so much swelling, so many bruises, so many cuts, littering his face.

But he gave the tiniest of smiles in spite of the state of his face, “How did you know, Spencer?”

“Your mom told me. She’s a lovely woman.” Spencer flexed his fingers before linking them again, “I wish I had a proper gift to give you, but I was scared the guards would just confiscate it.”

“The card was more than enough.”

A bright blue card with balloons on it was tucked into Oscar’s pillowcase. Inside were as many notes on what he needed to say for the appeal as Spencer could fit around the “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” already printed into the card.

“I forwarded them and the rest onto your lawyer. She should go through it with you.”

Oscar’s smile tainted by hesitation as it crawled off his face, “I don’t know.”

Spencer could see him withdrawing, hiding in his jumpsuit. But even then, Oscar’s expression wore his melancholy like a veil. It blocked out any semblance of neutrality from when he had first met Spencer. The state his protection was in, he wouldn’t last long at all.

“Before prison, I was really sensitive to touch, germs. But now-” Spencer stopped, his voice so quiet he nearly couldn’t hear himself as he finished, “I can’t wait to touch you again.”

Oscar shivered. His eyes screwed shut as if to protect him from what was being said. But Spencer persisted.

“What would you like to do for your birthday? If you could do anything.”

“Picnic in the park,” said Oscar after some thought, “Uh, a real big Cuban sandwich, with roast pork, Swiss cheese, lettuce, pickles, and ham. And chocolate covered strawberries.”

“What, in the sandwich as well?”

“Yes.” Oscar rolled his eyes, misty and threatening to spill, and Spencer felt a rush of panic. More emotion was only good for him. Oscar, left behind in his cell, this could be disastrous. But he couldn’t get enough of it, and he selfishly persevered.

“When you get out, would you let me hold you?” The buzzer went off, but Spencer spoke over it as he stood, “Please, Oscar, consider this appeal.”

“Ok, Spencer.”

From his place at the table, Spencer watched Oscar try to cover his emotions, but there was still a glimmer of a tear retreating as he joined the queue of prisoners heading back to their cells.

Before he stepped out the prison, Spencer slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes to hide how red they were from the guards.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Stood in the shallow shade of Eliza’s range rover, Spencer switched the bouquet of sage flowers from one hand to the other. Dakota had suggested them; she said her brother liked the colour most. Spencer wiped his free hand down his trousers before checking the time. He’d done that four times already. He hoped no one was giving him odd looks from the other side of the fence.

Utter relief was not usually how he would describe hearing that buzzer. But for the first and last time, he did feel a sense of respite knowing he would likely never be coming back here for such a taxing visit.

Then he remembered what that sound actually meant. His back straightened right up; his hand brushed through his hair and checked his breath once more.

Tony led the way out of the prison. He was clearly trying to remain casual but the glee seeping out of his body was just palpable. He had an arm around Dakota, kissing his daughter’s head so vigorously that her half-up hair was messed up. Clearly Dakota didn’t care though. Her hand was behind her and she turned to see the person holding it.

It was Oscar, arm looped with Eliza who clung to him like a crutch. Their eyes matched each other, shining brown like horse chestnuts.

Spencer found that he could no longer look away from Oscar. A breeze rustled through his hair. His face was alive with tear tracks and a grin that ached on his rosy cheeks. An old suit, one clearly meant for court and court alone, slouched on his shoulders. But for that short moment where he breathed fresh air and leaned his head on his mother’s, there was no weight to him.

Then Oscar found Spencer, fidgeting with his tie and his grip slacking on the bouquet, and all the emotion he had repressed for five years in prison custody were exploding into a supernova.

Oscar forgot Eliza’s arm, dashing around his family to run for Spencer. Spencer found himself matching the pace and the destination. His feet carried him quick until he and Oscar collided. A fierce hug crushed them. Oscar’s hand was constantly adjusting its grip on the back of Spencer’s head, and Spencer’s free one fisted at Oscar’s suit jacket, trying to bury themselves in his ribcage. Neither missed Oscar’s shaking, his sobbing. Spencer curled into Oscar, wrestling with his instinct to pull away. Lindsey and Cat, they ruined so much for him already; they couldn’t take Oscar too.

When they heard the footsteps of the Dunnagan family stop nearby, the men drew apart – only about a foot or so. Oscar’s cheeks were wet behind his wide smile and Spencer saw that one of his front two teeth was a little crooked.

Spencer then presented his gift in the small space between them, “For you.”

Oscar gently clasped the bouquet on the white ribbon that wrapped around the stalks, “No one’s got me flowers before.”

Spencer then vowed to buy flowers as often as he could for Oscar, and especially sage. He looked so good with purple.

The ride to Danny’s Food Truck had Oscar sat in the little middle seat, his sister on one side, Spencer on the other, and he held both their hands. His bouquet was cradled in his lap. The wet ends of the stalks dripped twice onto his suit trousers, just before his bouncing knee.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Once again, Spencer had lost himself in his work. When he was interrupted just an hour before, Oscar was there. He had waved a hand into Spencer’s peripherals but Spencer still jumped at it. He hated that his skittish behaviour was still prevalent, returning just as Oscar had started appearing in his personal life. In his apartment.

“Sorry, Spencer,” Oscar had said in a gravelly voice, “I just wanted to ask if you were ok with Randy’s for dinner tonight.”

It was two hours before they were due to have dinner.

“Of course, it’s your turn.”

“How’s the work going?”

“It’s good,” and Spencer showed him the notes he’d written so far.

Oscar had taken them into his hands and read over them. Meanwhile Spencer watched his micro expressions. The huff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth wriggling about as if to smile before flattening themselves out, all seemed positive as Oscar offered the papers back.

“Nice joke!”

“Right, joke…” Spencer accepted his notes back, “Where?”

“There,” Oscar leant over Spencer’s shoulder and tapped the second line of the first paragraph. Spencer noted that he smelt nice. So much better now the Dial soap was out of their care routine.

And it was now that Spencer found himself missing that smell. It was a nice distraction. Burying himself in his work was not a good distraction anymore.

He stood away from his desk and took his mug out to the kitchen sink. Despite trying not to look at the pieces of a vase half-wrapped in newspaper, Oscar’s wailing at the very start of their day together punctured its way into Spencer’s head. One particular thought posited that Spencer should keep one of those jagged pieces – just in case. Just in case of what?

Shaking his head, Spencer went and found the source of his chills: his living room windows were wide open, the curtains lifting gracefully in the breeze. Rain pattered against the world outside, some of its drops reaching the carpet. The smell of the rain was light in the room. It was almost drowned out by the sound.

He found Oscar passed out on the couch, his bare feet poking out from under the throw. His head was resting between his folded arms, one hand under the pillow. His headphones askew and playing “The Flower Garden (Extended Version)” by Joe Hisaishi.

Kneeling next to Oscar, Spencer touched his arm, “Do you want me to order for you?”

Oscar nodded, stretched out, then promptly fell back asleep. He would have trouble later tonight. But Spencer was glad that he finally found some respite. His seemingly endless apologies for breaking the bowl were over.

That was where the good news ended though. Spencer looked closer at Oscar’s hand, now unmasked. A medium piece from the broken vase rested in his loose grip. After some moments deliberating, Spencer eased it out and placed it with the rest of the vase. Then he went to his phone and dialled.

“Hey JJ. I hope it’s not too late, but,” Spencer tapped his nails against the plastic handset, “Would you mind coming over? Oscar is here, but I don’t know if he’s ready to help me through this.”

He smiled at the flowers he’d bought that day standing awkwardly in a jug before hanging up. He and Oscar really should move in together. Or at least he should invest in a sofa bed.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door, and Oscar was up on his feet. The sofa’s throw clung to him.

“I invited someone over,” Spencer said quickly, “Sorry I should have told you, but I didn’t want to wake you again. Do you want to wait in my room?”

Oscar stayed in place and shook his head, so Spencer went ahead to open his front door.

Two days apart was far too long. JJ embraced Spencer tight, rubbing his back as she rested her chin on his shoulder. She gave the best hugs. Maybe rivalled by Oscar, but Spencer would never tell her that.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A coffee would be great,” JJ shrugged off her jacket

He pivoted in a half circle, “Oscar?”

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

Spencer wasn’t really sure what happened in his absence – besides his stomach turning itself over and over. When he returned with two mugs, the only information he could garner was that Oscar had dropped the throw back onto the sofa that stood between them and JJ had inched a little closer

“Here!”

Oscar twitched at Spencer’s loud entrance, visibly relaxing by the time JJ had her mug of coffee in her hands. He adjusted the throw until it was back to its original position then crept towards the door.

Spencer frowned, ruining the quiet exit as he said, “Where are you going?”

Oscar thumbed in his direction of travel. “Bathroom.”

“Oh,” Spencer felt his cheeks heat up, “Good luck.”

He saw Oscar rolling his eyes but there was a flash of a grin and a tiny wave to JJ before he disappeared from view. Spencer’s stomach steadied itself, busying itself with sloshing his coffee about instead. His grip around his mug adjusted as he turned to JJ.

“He’s not what I was expecting,” JJ said. There was nothing malicious in her tone. In fact, if there was anything, she seemed pleased that Oscar had subverted her anticipations.

Spencer nodded, his mouth turning up a little smile, “That’s what I thought too. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“It’s ok, anytime.”

They sat together on the sofa, leaving the armchair free just in case Oscar wanted to join them again.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Moving in together was supposed to solve everything.

Neither Spencer nor Oscar explicitly said or thought that. But when their triggers persisted and their behaviour shifted dramatically still, they couldn’t help but be a little disappointed.

Spencer had another nightmare last night and woke Oscar up at around half past three. They couldn’t cuddle each other, but their hands would brush and the two men would avoid looking at the matching scars on their thighs – and Oscar’s on his stomach, Spencer’s on his arm.

“Would you have killed Shaw, if I hadn’t done anything?”

“Yes.” “Does that scare you?”

In the dark, he could hear the fear in Oscar’s voice

“No, because I think I would have done the same.”

Carried on as if he hadn’t heard, still scared of himself, “I wouldn’t do something like that now.”

Oscar spent the rest of the night on the couch, so he wouldn’t touch Spencer in his sleep. Words of his therapist spun around his head: “Prison twists and warps people until they’re worse than they were before. We can’t speak now for what we would have done then.”

It was a quiet day as a result of the restless night. Quiet was nice sometimes; it was something new for them to experience together. Spencer and Oscar had breakfast together, washed and dressed, before they went down to the communal laundrette together. Washing and drying clothes was too big a task to do alone, even now, and Oscar needed his shirt to be clean for his job interview in a few days. The nightmare Spencer had faded into the background as he tried to focus on something else.

Without realising, he said aloud to Oscar, “I wanted to kiss you in the laundry room.”

Oscar stopped stretching his damp pyjama shirt out, and it was clear that he had joined Spencer in reminiscing about their job in prison.

“Which time?”

“Every time.”

Spencer watched as Oscar let out a quiet “heh”, a shy smile playing on his lips. But Oscar cut it off quick before either of them could enjoy it, and he reset his expression to blank. The silence that followed swallowed them both whole.

“Oscar,” Spencer moved next to Oscar and, in clear view, touched him on the arm, “It’s ok. You can laugh.”

“I know.”

“You can smile if you want to,”

“I can smile,” Oscar repeated, his words grounding him next to Spencer, his hands flattened atop the dryer as it rumbled into life. His lungs took in a few more breaths to spread a thin layer of calm over him and he looked back at Spencer, “I can also kiss you if I want to, if you want.”

Checking the laundrette door, Spencer’s hand moved from Oscar’s arm to Oscar’s cheek, guiding him home. Their lips met in messy perfection. Short and sweet, with a sigh shared between them, Spencer was pleased to see the smile returned to Oscar by the time they separated. As tense as Oscar felt in his arms, even with the smile soon fading, Spencer could feel the tiniest slack in his shoulders now.

With the most burdensome chore out of the way, the two men returned to the flat. Spencer helped Oscar compose another covering letter to ship off to another job opening before they called Oscar’s family for lunch.

Facetiming was always a trip when they were calling the Dunnagans. Tony had a similar understanding of “technology” as Spencer, so when he answered the call, it was a close up of a nostril or a frowning muted face that greeted Oscar and Spencer on the laptop screen. Eventually Eliza saved them from an eternal farce. She brought them into her kitchen, bringing Dakota and her partner Ellis in on the call when it was time to prep for lunch.

Dakota led the way with a recipe from her restaurant, “If any of you dare share this with anyone, I’ll knock you out.”

Her laugh only sang one note before she slapped her hand over it and looked down at her screen with a face full of guilt. Oscar laughed it off, maybe a little forced, then he swiped at the nearest conversation topic – the world’s hottest pepper.

“Maybe you could stick in in your next recipe. Do a competition where if you eat all the spicy stuff, you get your name on the wall and get half off or something.”

And the call continued for a little longer.

Spencer was just testing out the new spices acquired in their online shop – because according to Dakota there was nothing is worse than being able to actually taste the chicken – when the screen froze. A tiny widget popped up to inform the men that the signal was too poor to continue the call.

Oscar wiggled the mouse, “Oh, God, your connection’s gone again. You mind if I try and find us a better provider?”

“Go for it.”

They clinked their wine glasses together, sipping with questionable responses to it. Oscar dared another sip while Spencer was satisfied with just the one, deciding instead to check on the chicken.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Oscar placed his wine down. “Are we boyfriends?”

In all their time together, Spencer realised they never once spoke about their relationship status. They just sort of… moved in together, shared a bed, held hands and kissed occasionally – without discussing what was going on.

He said with relative boldness, “I’d like to be.”

“I’d like to be too,” Oscar bit his lip, the smile distorting but still charming as ever. His arms swayed a little. “Can I hug you please?”

With a renewed sense of vigour, Spencer said, “Yes please.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer’s mind needed a rest; perhaps returning to the geographic profile after some time apart would garner a new connection. This case was driving everyone nuts, not just him, and it was only the third day in. he plucked his mug and headed over to the coffee pot for a top-up.

Whilst pouring his third cup of the morning, Spencer took note of his phone’s weight in his trouser pocket. He decided to lessen it, his hand reaching in and dialling for Oscar.

The call clicked after three rings then a boisterous laugh erupted from the speaker.

“Sorry, Spencer! This little one keeps jumping up at me! She barely reaches my knees!” Oscar’s voice was playful. Little claws clicked on a hard floor followed by a tiny yet indignant yip that was echoed by several much deeper barks. Spencer assumed this little one was a ring leader at the dog kennel, the one Oscar was trying to sweet talk.

“That’s ok. You sound like you’re having a good time.”

“It’s brilliant! They let me take four dogs out on a walk at a time!”

The ache in Spencer’s left shoulder from sleeping in an odd position alleviated just a touch. “Yeah?”

“I think I might try to get my licence back, so I can maybe drive them out to the countryside.”

“That’s brilliant news.”

“How’s the case?”

“I’m just taking a break.” Spencer sipped his coffee, burning the back of his throat. As he flinched, he caught sight of Luke’s hand, waving him back over to the conference room. “Sorry, Oscar, I have to get back to the profile.”

“I really like how you say ‘Oscar’.”

“I’m just saying your name.”

“I know,” and Spencer could very clearly hear Oscar’s smile in his voice – even over the constant din from the dogs he was caring for.

“I like how you say my name. See you later?”

“Hopefully. Take care of yourself.”

What a delight to see Oscar, after a rush of evidence flooding in and the pieces slotting together in a now-obvious profile. That evening in fact, Spencer made it back to his apartment at the same time as Oscar. He was carrying a plastic bag to mirror Spencer’s satchel. He didn’t feel like cooking and knew that Spencer wouldn’t be in the mood either; it was a few microwaved meals from the local store in his bag.

They ate dinner in the sitting room on trays - as a treat – and they partook in a very one-sided conversation about Star Trek. Oscar didn’t seem to mind, and honestly Spencer liked the freedom that came with talking here. It was like a hint of who he was before was bleeding through. Every so often though, Oscar would remind him that his food was going to get cold. Spencer would take a moment to eat before the next interesting factoid was inspired from the episode on the TV.

At the start of the next episode, his plate empty, Spencer noticed that Oscar’s gaze was a little restless as he finished his dinner.

“Is something bothering you?” He asked, adjusting his position on the sofa.

Oscar shrugged as he put his cushioned lap tray onto the carpet, “Not bothering me. I’m just curious about something.”

Naturally, Spencer said, “Ask me.” Maybe it was the difference between Vulcans and Romulans again.

“When you stabbed yourself while looking at me, before you got out, was that a substitution for sex?”

Spencer blinked several times. He could feel pinstripes forming on his forehead. He cleared his throat, took a sip of his water, cleared his throat again.

“No, no. I… um.”

Then he stopped because he realised he didn’t quite have an answer yet. His mind was busy straying back to that moment: the flare of pain in his leg and arm, the roaring of inmates around his head, and Oscar - an island of frozen calm amidst the chaos of Spencer’s actions. Eventually, Spencer found a semblance of a reply and he delivered it.

“I was just looking around, and I found you. I think I was looking for comfort.”

Seemingly accepting of this, Oscar’s attention moved back to the TV. His hands occupied themselves with each other. However, Spencer was not quite ready to let the subject go; he’d been thinking about this a lot lately.

“I’m sorry we haven’t…”

Oscar picked up what he was putting down, “Don’t be sorry, Spencer. Don’t ever, ever be sorry for that. I didn’t ask to guilt you. It was in the lesson you taught last week. I listened to it on my break today.”

The image of his Dictaphone on the desk at college - and another of it hanging out of Oscar’s rucksack’s front pocket – recalled itself in Spencer’s head.

“I probably could have asked you a bit nicer,” Oscar altered his position on the couch to bring his knees up to his chest.

“Probably.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Could you tell me more about the Romulans please?”

As Spencer restarted his speech, albeit with less enthusiasm than before, Oscar brought out his notepad from his backpack. His fingers pinched around the blue crayon as he scrawled Spencer’s facts, putting the differences into a roughly drawn table.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Seeing Oscar standing in the bullpen with a visitor’s badge was not what Spencer expected to see today. He certainly didn’t expect to see him sipping tea with Penelope and chatting away at Spencer’s empty desk. Oscar had clearly just arrived, still bundled up in his coat. The flowers Oscar had sent to the office that morning stood gorgeously arranged beside his oft-neglected computer desktop.

“Hi!” Spencer power-walked up to them, almost reaching a jog. Oscar met him halfway, but his pace decreased the closer he got to Spencer. It was the sound of the team drawing through the glass double doors that told Spencer what was going through his head.

He turned to his family, already gesturing behind him where Oscar stood, “Everyone, this is my boyfriend Oscar.”

Waving, Oscar had his other hand stuck deep in his pocket as he spoke, “Penelope gave me the rundown of your names. Nice to meet you.”

The team was rather tired from the case and obviously a little caught off guard by the fact that the felon Spencer had fallen for was just hanging around in their bullpen. But Spencer was relieved when they all greeted Oscar with a fairly warm manner, wished Spencer "happy birthday" again, before they shuffled off to their respective desks and offices. Penelope bid her farewell to Oscar with the promise of a movie night some time in the future. Then she hugged her Boy Wonder and returned to her batcave.

“Sorry,” Oscar said quietly, “I wanted to travel home with you. Kinda forgot that I would be running into your whole team.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, I wanted you to meet them.”

Spencer’s hand stayed in Oscar’s for the entire walk back to Oscar’s new car in the lot. While they parted momentarily en route, they found each other again when Oscar had to pull over during the drive home. The car that had swerved and cut in front of them became two red lights in the far distance, the sound of its engine and screeching tires muted by Oscar’s heavy breathing.

Oscar released the steering wheel and clung to Spencer’s hand, but Spencer could feel that Oscar was holding back, trying not to crush his fingers. He rubbed over Oscar’s knuckles.

“In, two, three, four,” Spencer counted, “Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

He repeated this five times and Oscar leant back in his seat.

“I was doing so well,” He said, his voice cracking in its quietness.

“You still are. We both are.” Spencer kissed the back of Oscar’s hand, “Come on, I’ll drive us the rest of the way.”

Two blocks later and they were about to enter their apartment.

Oscar stopped them though, just before Spencer’s key met the lock, “Could you wait out here? Just for a minute, please?”

Spencer complied, a countdown in his head clicking off the seconds as soon as his front door was closed to him. A smile crept onto his face as he heard Oscar clattering about the apartment. He wasn’t exactly being subtle; Spencer wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once Spencer was finally allowed in, he was greeted by a low-lit scene. Oscar was holding a match to the last candle at the table. He’d taken off his long coat to revealing a freshly ironed floral pattern. The stereo speakers were already humming Mozart. The crumpled takeaway paper bag by the pedal bin didn’t go unnoticed, but Spencer decided to focus instead on how the food was arranged on the plates - either side of a delightful floral arrangement.

“Oh Oscar, you already got me so much this morning,” Spencer said sheepishly, with the knowledge that he had avoided looking up the prices of his gifts so he could calculate just how much of Oscar’s third paycheque went into his birthday.

“I know, but I wanted your birthday to be perfect,” Oscar opened up one of the tubs, a wave of steam lifting gently with the lid, “It’s from the new Thai place down the road.”

Spencer hung up his satchel on his its hook, “I suppose I have been wanting to try their green curry for a while now.”

Once he had changed into something more comfortable (plus a hint of smartness), Spencer sat down with Oscar for dinner. Both men found that he was not immune to the romanticism of a candlelit dinner with his boyfriend, and Spencer more so. The effort behind it, the aroma of the lavender candle with the spiced food, the glow around his Oscar’s face as he went over the day behind them, it was all getting to him.

Of course, Oscar offered to clean up once they were done eating and talking – for now at least. Spencer still helped though. Any time with Oscar was time well spent. Even loading the dishwasher. Except now Oscar was staring at Spencer’s face, gaze fidgeting between his eyes and his mouth, and Spencer was worrying about it.

Christ, what was he meant to do to let Oscar know he wanted to kiss him without saying so? Pout?

“Are you ok?” Oscar’s brow creased.

Fuck.

“Yes,” Spencer said, quickly removing the pout from his lips, “I’m good.”

“Good.” Oscar swung their linked hands between them thrice. Then he let go of one to thumb across the corner of Spencer’s jaw and he closed the gap between them. Spencer felt Oscar’s recently applied lip balm on his chapped lips, those stupid lips that Spencer spent too much time thinking about. They felt so much better against Spencer’s and smiling with reckless abandon. So reckless, in fact, that the smile grew into a laugh, buzzing against Spencer and tickling him more than his facial hair.

Oscar pulled away, still giggling and apologising, “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you.”

“I know you’re not. You’d never laugh at me.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

A chorus of “hello!” harmonised in the doorway as the Dunnagans’ entered Spencer and Oscar’s apartment. Laden with gifts and food offerings, Tony, Eliza, and Dakota kissed and hugged their way into the sitting room.

Oscar and Dakota were the ones in charge, everyone else on some kind of prep duty while they ordered them about in the politest manner. Spencer was trying to be a good prep boy but Eliza was just better and faster, so he stuck to cleaning as they went. Oscar kissed his cheek while passing by; Tony had hung up a sprig of mistletoe just over their heads. Ducking away to avoid kissing his potential father-in-law, Spencer chased the sound of his phone ringing. He even ducked under it as if lowering his torso would avoid the mistletoe above him.

All five swayed ever so slightly out of sync as they bellowed the classics and groaned over the pop renditions. Spencer’s new watch hugged his wrist and ticked away each pleasant second.

“No, don’t hide your hair!” Eliza ripped off the Santa hat Spencer’s head and pulled up flattened tufts of his hair until it resumed its usual messy state.

“There! Never get a haircut, you’re too handsome for that.” She patted his cheek before taking another swig of her red wine – the same shade as her Christmas jumper and Spencer’s cheeks. Spencer looked to Oscar, not to protest but to see if he had Oscar witnessed this.

Oscar merely shrugged, “I mean she’s not wrong.” He finished off peeling the sprouts, handing them over to Tony for chopping, “I have to admit, it was one of the things that drew me to you when we met.”

“Really?”

Another nod in response, Oscar drew nearer, closing the conversation to everyone but Spencer, “You and your Bambi eyes and your hair and your perfect mouth.”

Spencer suddenly found himself unable to look directly at Oscar, as if he were the sun. An outsider looking in might infer that it was the gaudy red of his horrendous Christmas jumper that made his cheeks seem so pink. They would be wrong.

Spencer burst out, “It was Rossi on the phone. He wants to know if you’re still coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m not backing out. If I start to, I need you behind me and pushing me through the door.” Oscar’s shoulders twitched with his laugh.

“I don’t know, feels like you could toss me over your shoulder if you wanted.”

“I could. Technically.”

Spencer’s cheeks went scarlet at the thought of Oscar carrying him down Rossi’s driveway in such a way. But before he could ask Oscar to slow the flow of compliments, Dakota called to them across the room: “Aw, Oscar, you’ve got your own stocking?”

“Yeah, Spencer bought it for me, early gift!” It hung proudly on the bookshelf beside Spencer’s.

The table had already been set for the family. Dakota brought her own crackers, informing them that the snap had been removed. Terrible paper crown and horrendous jokes were passed around the five people before they dished up their Christmas dinner. Comically small in his hands, Oscar cradled the box of the primary coloured crayons in his palm and frisbeed the ruler with the shapes cut out over to Eliza.

The pigs in blankets were a little burnt, the nut roast barely touched, and there was so much left over that they would be eating ham and turkey sandwiches for days to come.

Spencer was so full of food and joy that it would be impossible to be carried on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He settled instead for being held in Oscar’s lap as they squished into the armchair, the rest of the family on the couch to watch the garbage Christmas specials. Dozing on his shoulder with a close-lipped smile, Oscar looked content. His yellow paper crown was crushed near the front, slipping down his left temple.

Oh, Spencer was grateful for his dedicated memory. He could match and topple all those memories of them in prison with times like these forever – and he planned on doing just that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x oc #my writing #r: male #wc: 10k+

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump 6: Insomnia

Alternate Prompt: Truth Serum

This one was co-written with the incredibly amazing @reesiereads!

Summary: While cleaning out the attic of an old mansion, Louie finds a golden amulet. It’s just his luck that it turns out to be cursed.

Trigger Warnings: violence, burning, self hatred, and brief suicidal ideation

1925 words

Looking around the dirty mansion, Louie found himself disappointed. There was nothing of worth around anywhere, not even the creepy, old attic.

“The Manor is better then this place,” he grumbled as the family picked through the boxes in the attic, “and that’s full of deadly artifacts!”

“What did you expect?” Huey asked him, glancing up from an old book he was flipping through, “no one’s lived here in centuries, and they probably took all of the valuable stuff with them when they fled the local wildfires.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, “but not even a penny?”

Then he saw it: a golden chain hanging loosely out of one of the many boxes around them. He could tell it was real too, with the way it shined as light filtered in through the small window at the front of the attic.

Huey trailed his eyesight, before frowning, “Louie I don’t think you should—”

“It’s gold, Huey! I’m not about to just pass that up.”

Walking over to the box, he carefully pulled on the chain. It revealed an amulet, made of real gold with a giant ruby at the bottom. “Oh my god,” Louie said, “do you know how much this is worth? Why would somebody leave this behind?”

Huey came to stand next to him, looking annoyed as he watched Louie slip the necklace over his head. “Probably for a good reason. Seriously, you shouldn’t mess with it.”

But it was too late; as soon as Louie placed it over his head the ruby began to glow a bright, blood red. He tried to tug it off, but the golden chain burned his hands, sticking to his body like glue. He met Huey’s eye, and while the duckling looked concerned, he also seemed smug, like he was proud to have been right.

Not being able to stop himself, Louie felt his mouth open and force out words he had never wanted to say out loud.

“I don’t think you care about me.”

Louie clamped his beak shut.

Why had he said that? Why had he said that?

He almost missed Huey’s quiet “...what?”, but it was there all the same.

“I don’t — I didn’t...” why had he said that? “I don’t think I’m worth anything.”

Realizing it must have been the necklace (oh god, it was cursed, wasn’t it), he clutched at it desperately, ignoring the searing pain. He had to get it off. He had to shut up.

“What’s going on?” Dewey asked, having noticed the commotion. The rest of the family followed him over.

Panic gripped him, tight and suffocating. Don’t say anything else, he begged himself. Just stay quiet.

To his horror, he found himself looking directly at Della. “I don’t think you love me.”

He watched in horror as her face fell, eyes squeezing shut as if she were forcing herself not to cry. Great, now he had hurt his brother and his mom. What was next? Would the necklace force him to hurt each family member one by one? Louie didn’t know, and he was terrified to find out.

“I-I think it’s the necklace,” Huey stuttered, hands clutching the book in his hands tightly, “it must be cursed somehow.”

“Then get it off!” Dewey yelped, looking at Della with large eyes of concern.

Before he could stop himself, Louie looked directly at his second oldest brother. “I think you love Mom more than me.”

He felt sick. “Stop,” he whispered, as if he could make the curse go away by will alone. As if his own vocal cords would listen to him. “Stop, god please stop—” he cried out as the burn only seemed to increase.

“Let go of the blasted thing, lad!” Scrooge all but demanded.

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, whimpering as it only seemed to bury itself deeper against his feathers.

“I think you see me as a nuisance,” Louie blurted out.

He could feel tears gathering in his eyes, hands clenched around his hood. He didn’t pull it up though, it wouldn’t change anything. Nothing could make him feel better until he got the stupid necklace off.

His hands hurt, feathers all burnt away to reveal a chain pattern against his skin. The pain at least gave him something to focus on, an escape from his own mouth and thoughts.

He knew he was hurting his family, that his words were cutting new wounds. That was why he had never said anything, all too aware at how awful his thoughts could hurt.

Huey stood off to the side, the book he had been clutching earlier now on the floor. He must have dropped it at some point.

Della stood to his right, a silent Dewey clutching her shirt. She was crying now, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

Scrooge stared at the amulet, his brow furrowed. Louie wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he doubted it was good.

His Uncle Donald just looked heartbroken.

“I think all I do is hurt people” he mumbled, tongue and beak moving of their own accord.

The truth was supposed to set you free. That's what all the wise old people said, at least. Them and the children’s cartoons that had to teach the kids good life lessons.

But as Louie kept going, words forming in his throat against his will, he’d never felt a greater weight over him.

His family looked so upset. Of course they did. Him and his stupid thoughts, things they were never supposed to hear, could only serve to cause other people pain.

And the words wouldn’t stop coming.

The amulet still wouldn’t budge, and he was beginning to be scared that it never would.

“I — uh—” Louie could feel another confession trying to force its way up his throat, and while he had no idea what it was, he would do anything to stop it from coming out. He grit his teeth, feeling his eyes start to sting from unshed tears.

It wasn’t fair, why was it always him? No one else (besides his Uncle Donald) were constantly getting hurt or screwed over by evil magical artifacts. No one else had ever been forced to reveal their darkest secrets and insecurities in front of their whole family. No one else had to deal with hurting their whole family against their will.

He could feel a sob rising in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out from his mouth just like his awful secrets. Louie hated that he cried so much, that he was so sensitive. The rest of his family was strong and capable, but all Louie ever managed to do was mess things up.

It went on for what must have been forever. Secret after secret forcing its way out, each one worse than the last.

Nobody was ever supposed to know any of this, but now there was no way to stop it. The amulet wouldn’t let him stop until every fear and insecurity had been spoken.

Huey had been right. Huey was almost always right. And Louie, true to his stupid, selfish nature, hadn’t listened.

Huey was so… ugh. He was so much smarter than Louie was.

Another confession spilled out, followed by a sob that he’d done everything to repress.

His family looked torn between standing there and actually trying to do something. He wouldn’t blame them for just standing there, though. After all he’d said, what he was still saying, he’d hurt them too deeply.

He didn’t deserve their help.

“I’m s-sorry,” he choked out, hiccuping as another sob wracked his body. I can’t s-stop I—”

I can’t stop hurting you.

His hands were still sensitive from the burns, and they stung painfully as he wiped tears away. The pain gave him a focus though, an escape from his thoughts and the awful situation.

He could hear someone crying, but it was hard to tell who with his vision swimming. It was getting hard to breathe between his sobs, his chest burning with the need for more air.

It hurt, everything hurt.

It hurt so much that he barely even registered it when it stopped.

A final confession — “Sometimes I think I’d be better off dead.” — and that was it. The glow of the ruby dimmed, the chain suddenly feeling much looser around his neck.

Louie, hands shaking, all but ripped the amulet off, sinking to the floor in defeat. It was off. But his family knew everything.

He didn’t look up. He couldn’t bear to see their hurt or disappointed looks, so he just kept his eyes squeezed shut as he sobbed.

For a long time, it was the only thing he could hear. His cries — and they sounded pathetic, just like him — filled the room; he’d long since given up on trying to muffle them.

Then there were arms wrapped around his torso.

He flinched, opening his eyes slightly to look behind him. His vision was still blurred by tears, but he could make out the shape of Huey hugging him from behind. The older duckling was shaking slightly, but his grip was tight, as if he could hug all the awful thoughts out of Louie’s head.

“I—” Huey floundered for the words, seemingly unable to find the right thing to say. Louie wasn’t sure what he could say.

Gripping onto his brother’s arms tightly, Louie ignored the sharp sting of his burns. He felt like an imposter, getting a hug and having someone so worried about him. It felt great, but it was also wrong.

He didn’t deserve this.

Della was the first to find her voice. She kneeled in front of Louie, even as Huey continued to cling onto him. “I am so, so sorry,” she said, cupping his face gently.

Louie sniffled, but didn’t pull away.

“I had no idea you felt like that — I don’t think any of us did — and I’m so sorry I didn’t notice.”

“No, mom—” he said, looking at her through his tear-blurred vision, gasping for breath as he tried to calm himself down.

She hushed him, wiping his tears. “It’s okay,” she promised, “You don’t have to say anything.”

He nodded as best he could while she continued to hold him like that.

“I do care about you,” Huey finally said, arms still wrapped around him tightly. “I care about you so much, don’t you ever think that — that I don’t.”

Louie cried harder at that, leaning into his brother’s embrace, Della taking a step back so they could have a moment.

“Are you su—sure?” he choked out. Ordinarily he never would have let himself look so absolutely stupid and vulnerable and insecure, but the amulet had done most of the work for him.

“Yeah,” Huey said, “Never surer of anything. I love you so much. You’re my brother, Lou, how could I not?”

Slowly, the rest of the family packed in for a group hug. Even Uncle Scrooge, who really wasn’t that big on physical affection like this. But he was a part of it anyway, and Louie tried to take some comfort in that.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Uncle Donald said quietly. “I love you, Louie. We all do. And we are going to be okay.”

Weakly, Louie nodded. As little as he believed it, maybe they would be. Maybe he could apologize for all the awful secrets he’d been forced to spill. Maybe they’d forgive him.

But for now, all he could do was sit in his family’s embrace and cry.

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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 3 years

Note

Out of curiosity what is Deep City’s culture like?

Sorry for the long wait!

This got quite long XD And it isn’t even all I have, but I decided to stop before I had a 3k ramble at my hands people most likely won’t slog through. If any of you have any more specific questions I’d be happy to answer them!

For all that they are living in hiding, the citizens of Deep City are actually a pretty loud, colourful and dramatic bunch. They are a tight knit community where everybody knows everybody (or at least know someone who know someone, and so on and so on) and Noctis’ clinic is one of the social intersections.

(I can’t really write it because there are alreay so many OCs and other stuff happening to keep track of, but people don’t only go there to get treatment, but also for a hot meal, if they can’t procure one otherwise, and to gossip.)

Money as a currency fell out of favour quite early on. Favours and material goods are used as objects of trade instead. Most people not part of the Shadow Market have a ‘you pay what you can’ policy going on. The Shadow Market itself is a bit different.

Originally it was formed by merchants who would go out and buy stuff from outside Deep City and then sell it there. But the more secluded the Deep City people became, the less often those merchants ventured out. Instead they resorted to working together with the Insomnian black market (and theft), which is how it functions today. It became its own social construct within a social construct, with a leader and a police (sort of). Merchants who sell their wares there need to pay a fee for a stall.

Overall the society of Deep City is organized in castes, which function more like historical guilds than anything else. The Shadow Market is its own caste. Then there is one for farmers, for metal workers (the people of the Heap), one for public offices (which include priests, healers, teachers, nurses, any and all admin work, etc.), one for the people living in the old aqueducts, since they mainly trade in water, and one for builders (which include masonry, construction workers and most other heavy manual labour).

Creating a new caste is kind of a Big Deal, so new jobs get folded into existing ones most of the time. Because of this the castes have sub-divisions, so to speak, for the specific kinds of work. There is movement between the castes. If you change jobs, you change your caste, though it doesn’t happen very often.

As to what a caste acutally does: Well, they are a form of insurance. They make sure agreements are kept, that you have a roof over your head and enough to eat, they help footing medical bills and help taking care of family members should a person die. They also are part of ones retirement arrangement.

All offices needed to keep a caste running are elected, and they do that like the Senate in Ancient Rome. There are speaches for and against people that are put forth for elections (or put themselves forth), which can never last longer than 5mins.

Those six castes I named above? They are the biggest and most influential ones and form the Small Circle that is basically the government of Deep City. There’s a Big Circle as well, which encompasses all the castes, but the Small Circle is the fast response to crises.

Historically, Deep City was created during the Second Cultural Reformation under the 79th King of Lucis. (Who I named Lucius the Preserver.) The First Reformation already created a rift in the people, since it reinterpreted the Cosmogony in significant ways and discarded whole passages entirely.

The Second Reformation was essentially Bahamut putting his foot down. All temples but the big one for all six Astrals and the one for Bahamut were closed, books were burned, the Cosmogony was revised even more, the rank of the Senator was abolished as well as many old traditions. And to make sure it all stuck, the non-conformists were hunted down and killed.

So all who could, went to ground. Literally. Traditions transformed to fit the new circumstances, but the important part to the people was, that they kept them. They still burn all their dead, they still believe water is the medium through which a soul travels, they still know someone ferries the souls of the dead into the Beyond, even if they forgot who.

Most children generally learn how to read with the older versions of the Cosmogony, though there is no compulsory education, so it is not too uncommon to meet someone who is functionally illiterate. (Don’t know if it came through, but Fodio Lapis is in fact illiterate. He can read construction plans, but that’s it. But he’s amazing at math because of his job.)

So yeah, school is optional and many kids are homeschooled by their parents, relatives and/or a family friend. Kids are old enough to begin an apprenticeship at 13 and most get into the jobs their parents have, but not always.

Deep City also has a large slew of titles everybody has, that signify their standing in society. They are used when people are formal with each other and in official capacity. It’s considered a huge insult to call someone by the wrong title. So when you introduce yourself to someone new, you always use your title. (Yes, Cor unintentionally insulted Hiemi by calling her ‘Lady’ and not ‘Dame’, which is the title of a married working woman, who is also the female head of the family and/or has a business with employees.)

Fashion wise Deep City is a really mixed bag. Technically trousers are a practical thing for work and not worn anywhere else. But then you have the few people like Noctis who came to Deep City later and don’t really prescripe to the wearing tunics and togas thing.

Quite a large portion of their fashion is handmade from cloth or reworked second hand stuff from the upper parts of Insomnia. There’s this one silk maker in Deep City, who managed to make himself very wealthy.

Language wise it’s a bit chaotic. Technically Sol is the language in which they write down official documents, but it is rarely, if ever, spoken. What they speak is not quite its own language but also not quite a dialect of Lucian. Its this weird thing in between, but people from upper Insomnia wouldn’t understand someone going full tilt. The people living in the old aqueducts actually have their own language because they mostly keep to themselves. Other than that people are pretty much on a sliding scale on how much ‘proper’ Lucian they speak. Hiemi is actually very good at it from her people’s point of view.

#ask #priestess-accursed-heir #ffxv #dreams of our past #deep city #deep city culture #long post #geist answers

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

I’m Telling You We’re In the Matrix

Summary: Spencer finds himself awake in the middle of the night contemplating the state of the world. You ask him what he’s thinking about in the hopes that once he discusses it, he will be able to turn his mind off and go to sleep.

Words: 742

Warnings: Existential bullshit

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo 2020! This fulfills my simulation square.

Like a zombie, you slipped out from under the warmth of the blankets and into the bathroom. After taking care of business, you cracked the door open slowly, hoping not to wake Spencer, only to realize he was already awake. “Spence, what the hell are you doing up?” You mumbled, crawling back under the covers and into his waiting arm.

His hand glided up and down your side as he spoke. “My usual insomnia,” he said exasperatedly. “My brain is running a mile a minute.”

As someone who could sleep with a bomb going off in the background, you felt bad that he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing a million pictures before him. You wanted to go back to sleep, but you wanted to help. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking about. Maybe saying it out loud will allow you to let it go and fall asleep.”

Spencer kissed the top of your head. “Thinking about the Matrix,” he chuckled softly.

You’d just watched it the other day and apparently he was still mulling it over in his head. “Like the movie itself, or?”

“No, like I’m thinking of all the evidence that suggests that we are actually living in a simulation.” He knew how ridiculous he sounded, but he watched the movie after years of having not seen it, looked up a bunch of reviews are articles about the concept of the Matrix and now he couldn’t sleep. “For instance, you know the Mandela Effect?”

“Yea, a lot of people swear they saw news coverage about his death in the 1980s even though he didn’t die until 2013,” you said, amazed that your brain was awake enough to remember such a thing.

“Exactly,” he started, getting more excited as he spoke, “To some people it’s proof that whoever is in charge of our simulation in changing the events of the past. On top of that, there’s a famous physics double-slit experiment where electrons are fired at a photosensitive screen through slits in a copper plate, and usually produce an interference pattern that suggests wavelike behavior. But under observation, electrons behave like particles, not waves, and there’s no interference pattern, which means that our simulation is conserving its resources and rendering certain things only when it knows we’re looking at them.”

You giggled against him, finding the whole idea ridiculous. You believed what was in front of you and you had no doubts that Spencer felt the same, but if his mind was racing and this was what he needed to go to sleep, you’d listen. “What else?” You asked, yawning into his chest. “The one I’ve heard is that it’s not actually possible to prove we aren’t living in a simulation because any evidence that we could get would be simulated itself, but that’s such a shaky of evidence.”

“Exactly! Another one I’ve heard is that Earth exists in a ‘Goldilocks Zone,’ close enough to a star that greenhouse gases can trap heat to keep liquid water, but far enough award that the planet doesn’t become a hothouse. The fact that we live in such a sweet spot in the universe points to a simulation because our sim-designers would want us to succeed. I’m telling you we’re in the matrix.”

For another ten minutes are so, Spencer regaled you with any and every factoid he could that pointed to the existence of the Matrix, getting so into it at one point that you questioned whether or not he believed what he was saying. When his breath finally steadied out, you turned your head up and kissed the underside of his chin. “You feeling any better?”

Spencer yawned, stretching his arms out above his head. “Actually yea, a little bit. And don’t worry, I don’t believe any of that.”

“I would hope not.” You laughed so hard you snorted, which sent you into a fit of delirious, sleep-deprived laughter.

Gathering you to his side, Spencer giggled softly, sleep finally taking hold. “Thanks for listening to me ramble, my love.”

“Of course, babe.”

With deep breaths, you both began to drift off to sleep. “Oh, Spence?”

“Yea?” He groaned, on the cusp of sweet sleep.

You patted his chest and replied. “We’re not watching The Matrix again for a really long time.”

A small chuckle escaped him before he drifted off, leaving you to try and sleep amidst the symphony of his snores. It’s a good thing he was cute.

#cmbingo2020 #cmbingo #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dontshootmespence #i'm telling you we're in the matrix

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Romeo and Cinderella

i can’t believe i’ve never written about Joan’s affair with Henry before-- time to change that!

Word count: 4918

TW: Past statutory rape

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

The physical pain Joan’s body wielded could not compare to her mental pain. In retaliation to her attempt to silence the voices that had been whispering in her ears all night long, they began toiling over in her skull, laying a permanent fog over her thought process and making so many simple things--

Joan lurched over on the spot as she nearly tumbled straight down the staircase.

--like walking, for example, a dangerous act in and of itself.

She was so tired, physically and emotionally. It’s not like sleep ever came easy for her due to her frequent insomnia, but all these thoughts inside of her head just made it ten times worse. Everything seemed to be yelling loud enough for the damned to hear. Joan’s misty mind was filled to the brim with it, and the girl could swear she heard it echoing off the theater walls around her. A long, bloodcurdling scream that never ended.

All because of something she did out of desperation.

None of the others knew why she was acting like this. For all they knew, she was just being dreary from her lack of caffeine. Yes, that was it. Lucky little trauma-free, doesn’t-know-what-it’s-like-to-suffer Joan just didn’t have enough coffee in her system. What else could be going on? She didn’t have anything bad happen to her. Hell, she couldn’t even remember most of her memories, which was said to be a blessing by several of the queens, while they were all cursed. She should be thankful.

But she wasn’t.

Because she did remember the worst parts of her life. And, at first, she thought it was the horrific deaths of her queens, but then something else surfaced from her mind and she hasn’t stopped feeling ill ever since.

She was not a good person.

Joan staggered up the last step on the Stairs of Doom, but tried to make her momentary loss of balance look as natural as possible. She leaned against the wall for a moment, letting her eyes flutter shut. For once, reaching hands and grotesque naked bodies did not flash behind her eyelids. She panted like a tired dog and went to walk to her dressing room, but could not find the energy to move. The world was starting to blur together, sound and feeling becoming one.

Would it hurt to rest for just a minute? Just for a minute…

“Joan?”

That sound, a sound so beautifully sharp.

“Are you alright, Joan?”

A commanding tone, a beautifully sharp commanding tone.

A new feeling formed on the top of her head, one that gave the girl an ungodly burst of strength. In a split second she was upright, still trembling despite the warm temperature in the theater, and looked up at Aragon with what could only be known as relief.

“I assure you the chairs and couch are much more comfortable than the wall.” The Spanish queen said. She peered at Joan closely. “Are you okay?”

Joan said nothing in response; she didn’t even react to the woman’s presence. Her eyes were glassy, making her almost look blind.

Aragon sensed something was wrong. She bent down to Joan’s height, angling her chin to look up at her.

“Look at me, dear.”

Thoughts were trying to push their way through the fog. Thoughts that, if Aragon were able to read minds, she would certainly have smacked Joan for them.

Although it would not be unwelcome…

“Joan!”

Joan snapped her attention back to the Spanish queen, using her wobbly legs to make a small distance between them. The thoughts were still whirling in her mind.

Aragon is frowning in worry and confusion. She set a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“What has happened to you? You are usually more attentive than this…”

A simple thought was fighting its way through the fog.

Gut

Oh how Joan wished Aragon would just GUT her, if only so that these disgusting memories could repeat no longer.

“Why don’t you lay down?” Aragon suggested, guiding Joan into her own dressing room and over to the sofa, making sure not to accidentally tug on her obviously fragile body. Luckily, she’s able to get the young lady in waiting to lie down and rest until the others get back, but the peaceful reverie doesn’t last long.

Joan flinched hard and her eyes shot open. Everything was dark. She couldn’t remember where she was and she couldn’t see anything at all to even begin to piece it together. Two hands were on her shoulders, pinning her down and her heart leapt into her mouth. Where was she? Who was on her? What were they going to do to her?

Joan grabbed the wrists holding her down and twisted them sharply.

There was a cry above her and Joan used the brief lack of pressure on her shoulders to shove the hands away and push herself up. She didn’t know where the person was; her eyes hadn’t adapted to the darkness enough--it was so dark. why was it dark? wasn’t it morning? is she in their house? is she trapped? she’s so scared--to make them out, but they had made the mistake of sitting beside her and not on her to keep her pinned down, and Joan took her chance to escape. She dove left, hopefully out of reach of anyone in the room but she didn’t know where she was going and very quickly found herself on the cold, hard ground. She spasmed and strong hands pulled her up.

“Joan? Joan, darling, it’s okay.”

For a moment, Joan faltered. She had been expecting a man’s voice. This wasn’t that. She didn’t know what to do with this.

Joan blinked hard in the darkness, trying to force her eyes to adjust to it. Her heart was thumping in her chest and her whole body was tense, ready to make another blind run for it if she got a chance. Her ears strained for any sound of movement; any footsteps or a rustle of clothing that would tell her someone was trying to get closer. Hell, she didn’t even know how many people were in this room or how many could see her. She couldn’t hear anything over her own uneven breaths and the blood roaring in her ears.

“Joan, can you hear me?” The voice asked gently. “It’s me. It’s Catalina. You’re safe here, we’re at the theater. I’m sorry if I startled you. You looked so tired so I shut the lights off and closed the curtains to let you rest.”

Joan felt shivers cascade down her arms and over her thighs. No, it couldn’t be. She was taken.

“Joan, you’re safe here. It’s Catalina. We’re in my dressing room, remember? I brought you in here five minutes ago. You’re safe, darling, nobody’s coming for you. I’m going to turn on one of the lights now so you can see for yourself, okay?”

Joan winced as a lamp flickered to life and lit up the room. She expected to open her eyes to a king standing above her with a lust-filled smirk. Instead what she saw was a regular dressing room with makeup tables and vanities and chairs. And, there right beside her, was Catherine of Aragon, eyes warm and watching Joan with a soft smile, hands held low and in front of her, palms down, like she was trying to soothe a cornered animal. Everything about this was wrong.

“Catalina?” Joan croaked, surprised at how raspy her voice sounded. She hadn’t noticed how dry her throat was until her voice caught in the back of it and the name barely left her lips.

Still, Aragon’s smile widened but her eyes were still sad and Joan’s heart seized.

“It’s me, Joan. I’m here.”

“He’s here,” Was Joan’s immediate response. Something about this was wrong.

“No, sweetie,” Aragon’s voice was soft and calm and Joan’s heart was making a cacophony in her chest, harmonizing with her ragged breathing and her blood rushing through her veins and the hundred of awful thoughts shrieking inside of her head. “Nobody is here to hurt you. You’re safe.”

“No, I’m- I’m- I’m-″ Joan didn’t know how she meant to finish that sentence.

“Joan, honey, where do you think you are?” Aragon’s voice was still so gentle, so careful. Tiny movements, soft and delicate, like she was handling spun glass.

“Castle.” Joan was certain of it.

“You’re not in the castle anymore, Joan. You aren’t. You‘re free. You’re in London, at the theater we both work at with the other queens and Ladies.”

Joan looked back at Aragon. The woman hadn’t moved from her spot and her hands were still held out in front of her, low and palms towards the floor.

“Can you try again?” Aragon asked, keeping her eyes trained on Joan as she fought through the whirlwind of thoughts battering around inside her skull. “Where do you think we are?”

Joan looked around the room again and tightened her hands into fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving a trail of red crescents etched into her skin. She shivered, soaked in cold sweat, although it felt more like hot, sticky--

“I’m not…I’m not in the castle?” Joan tried but it was still a question. It wasn’t something tangible and real that she could cling onto and the words sat funny in the back of her throat and she felt like she needed to swallow them down again.

“You’re not in the castle, that’s right.”

“I’m not in the castle,” Joan repeated and it felt better this time. More solid. More like it could be true.

“You’re in London, at the theater, in my dressing room.” Aragon told her again.

“Dressing room,” Joan echoed softly.

“It’s okay, Joan. You’re safe. You’re in London and no one is going to hurt you anymore,” Aragon continued gently. “You’re having a panic attack, sweetie.”

No wonder why Joan couldn’t breathe. Her chest was tight and her ears were ringing and she felt like there was a target painted onto her back. She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, feeling just a touch safer knowing that no one could sneak up behind her when she was like this.

“Can you try breathing with me? Nice and slow, in through your nose and then out through your mouth.”

Joan forced her eyes to stay on Aragon as she shuffled slowly towards her, closing the gap between them. She held out a hand to Joan, but she couldn’t move to take it. Instead, she nodded stiffly to let Aragon know she had heard her and clenched her hands against the plaster. Her knuckles were stiff as she spread her weight from her palms onto her fingers, and Joan pressed more of her weight backwards until a dull pain blossomed in the joints. It gave her something she could trust to focus on. The pain was real, even if the rest was questionable.

She took a shaky breath in with Aragon and tried to hold it but her lungs were too shallow to match what Aragon was doing. Her chest burned as she tried to hold the air in place and Joan choked on the breath and gasped, forcing more air into her already full lungs. It felt like drowning, and Joan made a pained whimper as flashes of black spots clouded her vision. She was helpless, lost in the force of the ocean waves. She couldn’t tell which way was up or down or where the shore was and then suddenly, someone had laced their fingers around hers and Joan squeezed tightly onto her lifeline.

“-hear me? Joan? It’s okay, I promise it’s okay, nothing’s happening, you’re not in danger. You’re safe here. Can you even hear me? What do I do if you can’t hear me? Joan, I’m right here, it’s Catalina, I’m here and I’ve got you, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

“Catalina?” Joan rasped, and she felt the fingers intertwined with hers give a tiny reassuring squeeze.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s me, I’m still here. It’s just you and me, darling, nobody else. Can you open your eyes for me? Please?” Aragon’s voice was much closer to her ear now and slightly more frantic than it had been a minute ago. Joan could hear it tinged into her assurances.

She hadn’t even realized her eyes were closed until Aragon asked her to open them again. She blinked them open slowly, squinting in the light. She was still hunched against the wall but Aragon was next to her now, holding her hand. Joan was looking down at her own chest which was heaving with her efforts to breathe.

Aragon smiled at her effort and reached her other hand up to brush some of the strands back from Joan’s sweaty forehead. Joan closed her eyes and exhaled quietly, leaning into the gentle touch as Aragon fingertips dragged across her temple and sent shivers down her arms.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Aragon soothed her, brushing her fingers through Joan’s hair and over the shell of her ear. Joan fell silent, listening to Aragon’s breathing and tried to match her own to it. It was easier standing together like this, when Joan could know Aragon was really there.

And then, the door swung open.

“WE GOT DONUTS!!”

Joan dug her fingernails deep into Aragon’s knuckles when Kitty suddenly yelled while making her entrance. When the other queens noticed what was happening, Cleves lunged forward to cover her friend’s mouth before she could start babbling again. Aragon doesn’t even acknowledge their existence; she was too focused on calming the poor girl before her.

“Joan,” She called out softly.

Joan’s wide eyes were staring at the other queens in terror. She only looked away because Aragon gently redirects her chin to meet her gaze.

“Focus on me, honey. You were doing so well. Keep breathing.” Aragon says.

Joan tried, but her eyes kept wandering. She saw the faces of the queens and ladies in waiting through a blizzard of white and black--Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Maria. Maggie. Bessie. Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Maria. Maggie. Bessie. Henry--

Henry?

A sharp pain lanced in between Joan’s rib bones and her spine arched a little. White light blazed across her vision and she gasped, clutching desperately onto Aragon’s sleeves like she was a drowning woman in the middle of the ocean. All the while she’s sputtering out apologies, which makes the patient queen frown.

“Don’t apologize, darling,” Aragon said, gently brushing her fingers over the girl’s tear-stained cheeks. “You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Her hand moves to rest on the side of Joan’s torso, just below her breasts, which she makes sure not to touch (it’s out of common decency, but little does she know that the slightest brush of contact would send the poor girl spiraling).

“Breathe in. Ready?”

Joan tried to follow, but it’s incredibly difficult because of the pain, which she realized must be from oxygen starvation. She wasn’t getting enough air and her body was punishing her for it. She winced when her chest contracted and she nearly doubled over.

“Hurts...!”

Aragon lifted the pianist’s chin so they’re making eye contact and she frowned at how glazed over the ice blue eyes were. She moved her other hand to support the back of Joan’s skull, ready to catch or even cradle her if needed.

“I know, honey, I know,” She murmured sadly, “Can you try again? Breathe in,” A hopeful smile cracks on her lips when she hears Joan take in a ragged breath, “That’s very good, darling.”

The praise seemed to help because, slowly but surely, Joan was starting to breathe normally. She ended up curled up in Aragon’s arms, who held her gently, but protectively like a mother bird guarding her chicks.

Eventually, Joan was completely calm, but she’s clearly very exhausted. It’s been three days without proper sleep, and it’s really taking a toll on her. And, even though she’s scared of what her dreams may have in store for her, she closed her eyes and drifted off into an abyss of guilty horrors.

------

“They’re never going to forgive you, you know. Not after they hear the full story.”

“...”

“You were seventeen.”

“...”

“So tight…”

“...”

“You liked it. I know you did. Nobody else was ever that noisy and aroused when I got with them.”

“...”

“You did it for money, you needy little slut.”

“...”

“You’re a whore. An actual whore. Not any of my wives, not even Bessie. You. You are a dirty whore.”

“...I know.”

------

Joan had no idea how much time passed when she woke up, but she felt even more lethargic than before when she hauled herself off of the dressing room couch. When she staggered out into the hallway, she found that the entire theater seemed to be eerily silent. And empty.

Aside from the massive figure at the end of the hallway.

Joan screamed--she couldn’t help it. She ran, but He was there when she turned around to flee. His hands were as big and rough as she remembered. She clawed at them when they groped and pinched her, scratching like there were fire ants crawling all over her body.

“Get off of me!!” She screeched.

“Joan?”

Suddenly, Cathy was there in front of her.

“Woah, Joan. Hey, breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”

“No….no!” Joan cried, finally finding her voice. She thrashed her head around violently. “Henry! Henry is here!!”

Cathy’s concern probably increased by ten when she heard that. She frowned and gently felt Joan’s forehead.

“You’re a little warm… Here, sit down and following my breath--”

Joan went to scream again when she, too, stopped herself. There was blood on one of her hands. Too much blood. Sure, she had been trying to stop Henry from getting into her, but there shouldn’t be this much.

“Oh, Joan…”

“He hurt me,” Joan whimpered. Her knees buckled and she collapsed into Cathy's arms. “Hurts…!”

Cathy knelt to the floor slowly, then began to inspect Joan’s arms and stomach, which were marred with angry red scratches. Joan whimpered in distress and pawed for one of Cathy’s arms so she could hold onto her, but Cathy kept her leaned back away from her during the examination.

“Cathy-- Hold me--” Joan sobbed.

Cathy hesitated and Joan whimpered, thinking she was going to be denied, but then she’s being tucked against the queen’s chest. She instantly nuzzled into Cathy’s warmth, clinging onto her for dear life.

“Breathe, Joan. Breathe. Follow me.” Cathy lifted Joan’s head so it was properly resting on her chest and she could feel the rise and fall from her own breaths.

Cathy was unsure how she was going to stop the bleeding and get Joan to breathe normally when Cleves suddenly shouted down the hallway. She called her over urgently.

“Anna! Joan’s hurt!”

Even Cleves looked a little pale when she saw the scratches. She didn’t stick around long, running off to get some supplies and the other queens.

“Hallway,” She had said to Aragon and Jane, who were idly conversing (though more to Aragon), “Go the hallway outside the dressing rooms. Joan’s bleeding.”

That was enough to send Aragon to the location as quickly as possible, Jane on her tail. Anne and Kitty caught sight of them and followed.

“Oh my god,” Aragon muttered, gently taking Joan from Cathy. “Joan, baby, what did you do?” She looked at Cathy, “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Cathy admitted. “I found her scratching herself.”

“No,” Joan shook her head, “It was Henry. Henry hurt me. Please--please find him. He’s here.”

The queens exchanged very worried looks. Kitty tottered back into Jane’s arms, suddenly looking very frightened. Cleves came barreling back down the hallway with a stagehand in tow and supplies in hand.

“Honey, Henry is dead.” Aragon said gently, making Cleves perk up a little in interest, since she hadn’t been there for Joan’s outburst.

“He--he was reincarnated. Like us. That’s why I was scratching myself! Here’s here!” Joan’s voice became weaker as she choked on the tears and pain, “He-he was touching me. Here’s going to get us.”

“That makes more sense,” Anne said, then actually scoffed, “But why would he want you?”

“Why would you say something like that?” Kitty added, a slight growl in her voice.

“N-no, I--”

“Joan, honey, there’s no one here. Henry is dead.” Aragon told her, but she just shook her head.

“He is here.” It came out weaker, fainter as lack of oxygen intake started to have an effect on her.

Gentle hands cupped her cheeks and she looked up at Aragon, who had a worried, but fiercely protective look on her face.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Aragon said, “Follow my breathing. Like we’ve been practicing. In,” She took an exaggerated breath, “And out.” She exhaled.

Joan followed for a moment before her eyes darted behind Aragon, like she thought someone may be standing there. She looked back when fingers brushed her cheeks.

“Ah, ah, eyes on me.” Aragon chided gently, stroking some of the young pianist’s hair back. “Can you take another breath for me?”

Joan went to at least try, but instead she yelped sharply when something wet pressed against her right arm. She swung her hand around and nailed the stagehand in the jaw, causing him to reel backwards.

Usually, she would be apologizing immediately, but this was a guy touching her. Terrified fury blazes in her glassy eyes.

“Don’t touch me!” She snarled.

“Joan, sweetie, calm down. Nobody is going to hurt you.” Aragon murmured and the anger snuffed out almost instantly upon hearing the velvety voice.

With the anger, goes the numbness and Joan’s skin burned intensely in pain. She whimpered and pressed her face against Aragon’s shoulder. For a moment, she thought she heard Anne and Kitty scoff.

Aragon began to wipe the scratches adorning her body, and the rag felt like it had dozens of tiny teeth sewn onto it, grinding deep into Joan’s flesh when the blood was cleaned off. At least it was better than the antiseptic, which had made the pianist hiss in pain from the sharp sting that flared through her skin.

By then, she was easing into that dissociative state that usually came after panic attacks. Everything was numb and felt so lucid, but her chest continued to burn with the pain of holding back tears and her much-needed anxiety attack after that traumatic experience. She desperately wanted to cry, to let out all the emotions that came from Henry surely attacking her, but no one would believe her. It would be silly to bother other queens with something that they didn’t even think really happened.

“Are you okay?” Aragon asked softly, but Joan still jumped.

“I…I think I am now.” Joan mumbled, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me..”

It was Henry. He came over her--literally.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Aragon tucked a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, “Just come find me if you’re having that bad of a flare up, alright? You shouldn’t hurt yourself.”

“I-I didn’t mean to!” Joan yelped, her ears burning red. “I just…panicked…”

“Remember that we’re always here for you, love.” Aragon kissed the top of the girl’s head.

Joan nodded and was helped to her feet by Aragon. Everything spun around a few times before clearing up, but she still had to grasp onto the queen’s shoulder for balance.

“I don’t think you should go on,” Aragon decided.

“I can still perform!” Joan replied quickly, “I’m fine, really. Just give me a moment…or two…”

She wobbled and Aragon quickly grabbed her, grounding her. At this point, it’s not even the pain that’s making Joan feel like there’s cotton in her head, it’s the sight of Henry’s, whose face keeps flickering behind her eyelids.

“Joan, I really don’t think--”

“Please? I swear I’m fine. Besides, my dep isn’t here to take my place.” Joan said.

Aragon gave in, despite her nagging maternal worry for the young girl.

“Okay, can we now discuss what the fuck Joan said?” Anne said loudly. “What’s up with that? Bringing up our abusive husband. Are you trying to make US have panic attacks, too?”

“What? N-no!” Joan stammered. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me… I shouldn’t have said that…”

“Yeah, she shouldn’t have,” Anne growled, “But you still did. Asshole.”

“Watch your tongue.” Aragon warned lowly.

“Cut her some slack, Anne,” Cathy said. “She was freaking out.”

“She’s always freaking out!” Anne cried. “Seriously! And for over what? Some MD work?” She glared at Joan. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to suffer under Henry.”

But Joan did.

------

Joan was soaked in sweat by the end of the performance and her costume felt like it was glued to her clammy skin. It was strange, really. She didn’t even dance or sing or move around like the queens, she certainly shouldn't be out of energy, and yet here she was, damp, wet, and feeling leaky all over. The minute bows ended, she was off of that stage and making a beeline for the dressing room.

Joan struggled with her sweat-saturated costume for a few agonizingly long seconds. She wanted to change before Aragon came to check on her, seeing the queen made the guilt unbearable, but her process was halted when she felt a hand press against her back.

The intense fear came rushing back. It’s Henry’s hand. He’s here and he’s going to defile her again. He’s going to make her feel like an even worse person by making her enjoy it like last time. An unbidden whimper escapes the girl’s lips.

“Joan?”

Whose voice was that? It didn’t sound like a man.

“Joan.”

It was so soothing.

“Joan, honey, it’s Jane.”

Jane? That seemed less believable than Henry being there…

Joan snapped out of her daze, and that sent her reeling from a headrush. She probably would have collapsed if it weren’t for Jane looping an arm around her back and holding her upright. She pushed against the queen a little, but ultimately gave up.

Jane frowned deeply down at Joan and brushed some hair out of Joan’s face. Her eyes widened when she cupped one of Joan’s cheeks.

“Oh dear. Sweetheart, you’re burning up.”

Joan blearily stared up at her for a moment, barely reacting. Then, she moved her head so it would rest on Jane’s soft chest. Shivers start to rack through her achy body, despite still feeling hot and sweaty.

“You need to get home. Come on, let me help you out of that costume.”

Joan really didn’t want Jane to see her in her undergarments, she still didn’t even know why Jane was doing then when she was sure the queen hated her, but there wasn’t much she could do to resist. So she had no other choice but to let the woman undress her. She couldn’t stop herself from trembling, though.

“Shh, shh,” Jane soothed when she heard the poor girl whimper again, “Deep breaths, honey. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m almost done.”

Jane couldn’t help but examine Joan once she got the damp costume off. Not in a sexual, needy way at all, but more in the way of a worried mother checking her child for injuries.

Strange. She wondered what these scratches down her back were from.

“C-can you turn around? Please?” Joan asked so softly Jane almost missed it.

“Of course, love.”

Jane did as she was asked, giving the frightened girl some privacy to pull her regular clothes back on. She would have left the room completely if it wasn’t for the nagging feeling that she shouldn’t leave Joan alone.

The doorknob suddenly wiggled, and Jane didn’t react fast enough to stop some of the others from bursting inside. Anne was chiming loudly, which just about caused Joan to jump out of her skin.

“Hsst!” Jane hissed, glaring at them and then nodding towards Joan, who was trembling even harder now.

“Oh, woah! Shut your eyes, you guys! Don’t look at little Joey while she’s naked!” Anne yelled, smirking devilishly, which didn’t make the situation any better. By that point, though, Joan was gone.

“Will you shut it?” Jane snapped, “You’re so loud. I’m sure the people left out in the auditorium can still hear you.”

“I was just saying.” Anne fired back.

“We weren’t going to gawk at her.” Cathy spoke up.

“I definitely wouldn’t.” Kitty agreed. “Like there’s anything good to look at.” She and Anne giggled.

“Joan?”

Jane was turned away from the queens and now knelt down in front of Joan, who had managed to wrestle on her clothing (although her shirt was definitely inside out). The girl’s eyes were glazed over and she doesn’t even seem to acknowledge anyone anymore. She was lost in a trance of terror.

“Joan?” Jane tried again, this time louder.

Nothing. Joan continued to just tremble and heave her breaths. Jane picked up one of her hands and placed it against her chest, something she usually only did for Kitty. Kitty noticed this and sneered in envy.

“Joan, can you feel that? That’s my heartbeat. Try to use it to ground yourself, honey.” Jane murmured, rubbing her thumbs over the girl’s knuckles. “You are here. You’re safe, I promise.”

But she wasn’t.

“Joan?”

Joan wheezed, and then her eyes fluttered shut.

“Joan!”

The young pianist fell unconscious into Jane’s arms.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #six fanfic #joan on the keys #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #katherine howard #anna of cleves #catherine parr #king henry viii #henry the eighth #romeo and cinderella #tw: statutory rape

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dream-wreck · 4 years

Text

Count On You

Surprise! “Count On Me” has an unintended part 2.

Chapter 2 Title: Count On You Rating: G Word Count: 1,668 Description: When the office door closes, Neil can be alone in his own world. That's not always a good thing.

…..

Of all things, Neil missed spaghetti the most. Jarred red sauce, fifty-cent pasta, pre-grated parmesan (if he was feeling especially bougie). Nothing could beat it. He didn’t miss the reflux, but he’d deck his esophageal halls with ulcers if it meant eating a real meal, a heaping bowl of comfort food that would leave him full and sluggish and knock Insomnia flat on its back.

Neil ran his thumb over a medicine-purple protein bar wrapper, smoothing out the perforated ends between the flesh of his thumb and index finger. The yellow POWER BAR logo rippled and glimmered under his office lights like a cheap trick.

Clearly, the graphic designers had no idea that their chosen font and colors made the meal replacement look like a cartoon villain’s mind-controlling sugar bar. This one was supposed to taste vaguely reminiscent of peanut butter, which he’d discovered was easier to stomach than the artificial vanilla flavor that stuck to his tongue for hours after the fact.

He tore the wrapping down the middle. The sickly brown bar revealed itself, shedding its tacky cape.

He took a vengeful bite out of the bar, feeling as triumphant as he possibly could while chewing something that tasted like cardboard soaked in old peanut oil. Just last week, these weren’t so bad. He could stomach them and they had tasted pretty decent.

I was thinking of you the entire time, he’d eventually say to a heaping bowl of angel hair pasta and marinara.

Eventually. One day, soon. When all this was over, Neil could quit skipping meals and popping pain pills like tic tacs and Mentos.

The single bite of bar began to disintegrate in his mouth the same way a bad piece of gum chewed too long turns into a compound of sand and slime. Neil choked the mixture down and lunged for his water bottle. Empty. He turned to the mini fridge and pulled out an ice cold energy drink that had been sitting on standby, untouched, for months.

“Don’t tell Eva,” Neil said, snapping the tab open in the vacant room. The drink went down cold and sweet, washing the gritty paste from his tongue. He’d regret the caffeine in an hour or two, but for now, the familiar bubbles were worth whatever he had coming later.

A lot of things had become worth it recently. He banished the pitiful excuse for a protein bar to the bottom drawer, sitting down in his desk chair, staring at the paperwork that so desperately needed filing. A fib, of course. He’d never filed paperwork on time in his life. Lying to Eva....Neil had yet to discern if that was worth keeping any secret.

What secret? In the end, what could be worth keeping from her? That Neil Watts was mortal? Extraordinary, but mortal. Extraordinarily mortal.

He thought of Eva sitting outside the men’s room while he retched, stretching to keep pace with him in the hall, reminding him about the simple things. There is so much said in reminding someone to take care of themselves in the little ways, to drink water, to take time. Neil wished he were a better listener, that his pride would crumble for a day or two, long enough for him to set good habits and be honest -- with himself, with Eva, with everyone.

Fluorescent humming grated his ears, burned his eyes. He felt new sickness swelling. He shut his eyes to the room’s blue white.

He’d worry a lot less if Eva would just let it drop. She cared too much, that was her problem. She was usually good at hiding it. At work, of course, surrounded all day by dying people and their repressed traumas, you need to find a way to push through it all without completely breaking down, balancing visible empathy with healthy detachment.

Crying in front of the clients doesn’t get the job done, and it certainly doesn’t look good on evaluations.

Their particular line of work called for expert compartmentalization. Eva had mastered concealing a naturally compassionate disposition behind cold professionalism, efficiency, and control. It was never just another day at the office for her, even if she’d sometimes seem unfeeling when the chips were down.

Neil knew her too well. She always wanted to help. She was a problem solver, always trained on an objective, never one to dwell, to stutter-step, to second guess. She never let things lie. Why should a problem go unsolved?

He used to hold that against her, that she couldn’t let things be, that she could get a little control-crazy when things shifted from their right places into wrong places, drifting away from order like moons out of orbit. But she wasn’t the one who had to cheat on her entrance exams. And between the two of them, she seemed to have her life under control.

Neil Watts had looked to Eva Rosalene for a lifetime of answers. He could count on her for anything. She always came in clutch (he’d been watching a lot of Esports streams lately, picking up on the lingo during his late night nausea fits).

It wasn’t a question of whether or not Eva cared about him. It was a question of, if Neil truly believed in Eva Rosalene, why on God’s green earth had he not told her a lick of truth about what was really going on? He dove down for a good answer, or even a scrap of a convoluted selfish reasoning, but resurfaced empty.

In his coat pocket, a little blue bottle pressed against Neil’s thigh. He crossed his arms, but he only grew more aware of the light pressure resting there. It annoyed him, more than anything, like feeling a strand of hair brush along your skin, but just when you think you’ve swiped it away, there it is again, brushing just light enough to frustrate, to aggravate, to piss you off. Neil bounced his knee, trying to shake the coat off his leg, but the bump beneath the white cloth just moused its way back and forth, prodding.

He should do that paperwork. Listen to music or something to pass the time.

His stomach roiled. Neil slipped a hand into his pocket. He closed his fist around the smooth bottle, ran his thumb over the cap, catching his thumbnail along the ridges there. Comforting, he thought. The action really did calm his nerves.

Eva was across the hall. Fifteen steps away. A knock away. A conversation away.

Neil didn’t bother to set a stopwatch so he never knew how long he sat there, his thumb running back and forth over the ridges in the lid while his mind wandered, imagining the many ways that conversation could go, the look on Eva’s face, the disappointment. Daydream Neil started crying, but Real Neil didn’t think that was very dignified, so he started from the beginning, approaching Dr. Eva Rosalene in her office. Figuring she’d probably be busy, he reset to the cafeteria. A nice talk over lunch. When Eva burst into tears and people from the surrounding tables looked their way, Neil chose the park, even though they weren’t in the habit of going to the park together and never had been. But it was quiet, undisturbed. A gorgeous day in this self-revising simulation. He guided Eva to a bench. They sat down. Eva told him to take his time, that she knew something was wrong, that she was glad Neil could finally talk to her. Yes, he was ready. It would be amazing to finally say it out loud. To someone else. To confide. To confess….

He opened his eyes to the harsh light.

Confess? What was that word doing, flitting about in his stream of consciousness?

An email notification pinged on his desktop. He moved to open it with a click. It read:

If you’re up for it, they’re showing Inception and the Cowboy Bebop movie tonight. It’s the weirdest double feature ever so I have to go, it’s the law.

Popcorn’s light on the stomach, right? Let me know, my treat. --Eva

Perfect. He could talk to her then. Simple, easy as that. All that melodramatic daydreaming over nothing. He could talk to her then. Besides: free food.

Neil’s stomach suddenly felt very, very empty. His usual nausea felt like he was too full and ready to burst.

But it suddenly felt as if something small inside were eating away at everything, the lining and the tissue and the bile, hungrily consuming out of a gluttonous jealousy that which consumes. And when there would be nothing left, that small something would eat the air and the Nothing until an impossible vacuum remained. And Neil would also remain, nothing more than a container to conceal a parasitic anomaly, cursed never to be filled again.

His hand closed around the little blue bottle. The pills inside stirred, knocking against the walls of their plastic prison.

The emptiness in his stomach slowly spread into his hips and ribs, knees and neck, his head and the space behind his eyes, until his whole body felt hollow and the hollow spaces felt sore.

This moment was nearly one of those moments that change everything. Very important, nearly pivotal, but not to be realized, lacking the crucial self-awareness that would have sent things this way and that, particularly along different this-es and better thats. The manner in which a single rock falls prevents or triggers a landslide.

Neil drew the bottle from his pocket, poured two little white pills into his palm, tossed them back. They scraped down the dry walls of his throat, as though clawing for a foothold, before eventually settling in the cavern of his stomach, and almost instantaneously, the pain began to dwindle.

Neil didn’t stop to consider the impossibility of this. If he had, it would have made all the difference. But he didn’t, so it did not, and things seemed to remain relatively the same, the distant sound of tumbling rocks drowned by electric humming.

--------

Chapter 2 end notes: Ended up somewhere unexpected, as writing usually does. My fingers like to run without me sometimes. Pleasant surprises though! Thank you for supporting "Count On Me"! You all are the best :)

Wubnjeft

...

I've been reading a lot of science fiction lately.

#lol it was all supposed to stay a one shot #that never happens #count on me #count on you #rosawatts #to the moon #finding paradise #eva rosalene #neil watts #fanfiction #finding paradise fanfiction #drug use #imposter factory

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deepend-swimmer · 4 years

Text

Empty walls can't hear you scream, can't see you languish

Summary: Robin has absolutely no idea why Steve Harrington became her best friend, but he really is the only one worth the title. Steve doesn't think anyone else could carry the struggle that is being his best friend, but Robin does an amazing job at it. After the summer of 1985, they share everything, or at least she thinks they do, and tonight might show her that it really doesn't roll that way.

Warnings: anxiety and eating disorders, self esteem, self worth and self image issues, bad way of coping with trauma

Word count: 2.8k

a/n: I'm going to put the ao3 link as a reblog so it doesn't bug the tags! Also don't worry guys, it's more about Robin and Steve's friendship than anything else

***

The high trees' crest danced feverishly with the strong October wind of Hawkins. Loch Nora's wide and illuminated roads screamed in silence in the dead of the night.

It had become a routine for Steve and Robin to have sleepovers. The shift on the Family Video would be barely over and Robin would already be on the Beemer's passenger seat, drumming the rhythm to her mixtapes that had made home on Steve's radio. They would split their nights over their places, none of them really wanting to admit the real reason behind spending so many nights over. The lurking nightmares of underfloor basements, monstrous needles and a reverberating thick accent. Just like Steve doesn't like to admit Robin was completely the friend he had begged for deep inside his entire life, he also wouldn't confess to shaky hands, terrible retaken habits and profound longing.

The thick incompatible haze of sleepiness and insomnia wrapped Steve's bedroom in a stupor. Maybe it was the way his ceiling appeared to be spinning in intricate patterns or how heavy his eyelids felt or the now so constant discomfort on his insides. Maybe it was just the never ending rumbling of his mind battling itself. There were many possible reasons why he opened his big mouth without thinking about it before, why he let that torturous question slip up like an effortless sigh.

"Robin, do you think there is something wrong with me?"

If he hadn't said her name on the beginning of the sentence, Robin would have thought she wasn't supposed to have heard it, his voice barely above a whisper. Steve wondered if she had heard him at all, but the response was almost instant, the mocking tone laid below every syllable.

"You'd have to be more specific than that because there a bunch of messed up stuff about you."

Robin thought for a moment that Steve had dropped the subject, the silence growing uncomfortably from their shared pillow.

He answered so quietly that she wondered if he wished she would hear him at all.

"I don't know, it's just that sometimes I feel like no one can love me."

He could feel the pillow shifting below her head and her grey eyes now piercing his face.

"What do you mean, dingus?"

Maybe if it wasn't so late. Maybe if he hadn't bottled this up so much. Yeah, maybe he wouldn't be telling Robin these stuff if he had a tiny little bit of self control.

"I don't know, it's just that no one sticks around, you know?"

His hands meet just above his chest, tracing his fingers with a feather touch as he voices out deeply buried thoughts.

"I mean, parents are supposed to love and care for you so much that they would take a thousand bullets for you, but I can't remember one time I wasn't alone on this huge house."

He can feel Robin pulling herself up the other side of the bed, no longer looking at him from their usual opposite position, heads meeting in the middle of the bed. She sits up, legs crossed, and Steve avoids her gaze by staring at his hoodie strings as though they are the most interesting thing in the world.

"But that's because they are working, isn't it? They are trying to provide to you."

Robin was never good at this kind of conversation. Deciphering russian messages was one thing, but emotional talk was never her specialty. Steve had always been the sensitive one.

"But it can't be just work. We've always had money Robin, I don't get why they would need to work so much."

Steve knows that old money doesn't really mean anything if you don't work to maintain it, don't get him wrong he is not trying to be ungrateful, but something had always been out of place about that.

He continued twisting the hoodie's strings around his fingers as he kept on, Robin's heart aching as she hears his answer.

"They think I haven't connected it, but they 'work' every Christmas time. Maybe they think I'm not smart enough to piece together their absence during holidays and the souvenirs from new places that appear some weeks later when they get back... Sometimes it feels like they don't see enough of a reason to try and stay."

Steve doesn't tell her about the things his father says, not only because those are bits that if you let out there is no taking back, but also he is pretty sure that if he voices a single one of them the night will be taken by trying to dry his tears.

Robin works the best with what she has, trying her hardest to make sense out of it, to find a way to stop making it hurt. She doesn't realise how insensitive she could have been till too late, after it had already left her mouth.

"I don't know, Steve, maybe you are just overthinking it? I'm sure that they care about you."

It was never her intention to let Steve silently wallow in the hurt from opening up, but she had absolutely no idea on what to answer him, on how to comfort him. Robins knows that might be visible as she says it and a big part of her screamed at herself to shut up, to find the sensitivity inside and realise how she might be dismissing his pain.

Still, Steve found himself caught in a dead end. Maybe they do care about him, maybe they really don't and there is no way for him to know it. There is no way to prove his point further because when it came to them Steve wasn't even dignified of an answer. For a lot of people Steve wasn't worthy of a heads up. For some people, the ones that mattered, Steve wasn't even worthy of an explanation, so it's no surprise he brings her up.

"Okay, what about Nancy then?"

Once Robin had been informed of the basic business that went on with them, she had taken quite a distaste for the "Prissy". It isn't a big surprise her next question is filled with disdain, one that for a miracle someone wasn't directing to Steve.

"What about her, Steve?"

For maybe the first time that night, he moves from his position, finding comfort in taking the pillow they had been using before to his chest as he leaned into the bedhead. Robin takes a worried notice of it before he continues on.

"She doesn't even acknowledge me anymore and I go by her house every single day. I mean, we spent the best and most terrifying year of my life together, Robin…"

Nothing could have ever given away how hurt he still was by Nancy. That's the thing about Steve, there isn't really a way of finding out what's really going on in his head unless you nag it out of him and even if Robin had been his best friend for months, that isn't something she quite learned yet.

Steve doesn't really know why tonight was the one he decided to let it all out freely, but that doesn't hold him from proceeding, voice breaking all over.

"She said she loved me, she made me believe it and it was all empty words. I don't know... I- I am a better person now because of her, but I don't know, it feels like now that I'm not pretending anymore, no actually likes me for who I am. And I thought that maybe if I was a little bit more like I used to be, someone would like me."

The first tears come after he voices out his most buried belief.

"I guess I'm just too pathetic to be liked."

The highly deprecating tone in his voice gave Robin goosebumps all over, worse than the ones she had locked into the basement of her nightmares. She only realises she said it out loud after it's over.

"You are being too harsh on yourself."

Perhaps he is, would not be the first time or the first person to do so. And perhaps because he knows she is right, that he is in fact being way too harsh to himself, his defenses build up and it's old Steve all over again. Lashing out at the ones who care because after all he can deal with neglect and scorn but care it's too much of an unknown, dangerous ground.

"Am I really? This whole summer, I've been trying to get one person to like me, only one and no one from the entire county of Hawkins wants me." He huffs at the absurdity of it, the mockery of his fallen reign crushing what was left of him. "I just kept wondering what was wrong with me or if maybe I should restore the greatness of King Steve."

He does let a wet laugh out by that, yet it feels anything but funny. It makes the room heavier, almost as if that laugh had taken a big huff of air with it, leaving the bedroom more and more suffocating. Suffocating the words out of him, a desperate attempt to exchange his murderous thoughts for air. Steve is just so eager to get one proper breath he lets his greatest secret slip like fucking small talk.

"I don't know what was so great about him, if it was the hair or the clothes, or maybe I just looked better, leaner, taller- I don't know. I spent days wondering what could make me go back to that. And I tried, Robin, I really did. Every single thing that crosses your mind I tried."

Steve knows that there is no point in hiding anymore, knows that now that is out it will viciously taunt him and easily bring him to his knees like it's been doing for the past months. He tightens his arms around the comforting softness of the pillow, hands very focused in his ridiculous wounds and voice dripping in poisonous self imagery.

"Maybe I should be trying harder."

He shuts up after that, breathes in the air he fought so hard for, wallows into his echoing secret.

Robin watches Steve play with the scabs near his knuckles and thinks. Connect the points. And maybe she should have known earlier, she has seen those signs before at school. Maybe it was true after all, that you only see the signs when you are looking for it. For God's sake, she was able to decode a russian spy message, but didn't put up together bathroom breaks and all the excuses for an upset stomach?

Now, watching Steve shut himself in shame and fight so goddamn hard to not shed tears, she feels bad for mocking his little quirks, like the stupid obsession with that hat and his bloody hair.

She couldn't have known though. How would she know that the reason behind his profound hatred for company policy was deeper than common sense? That maybe he cared for his hair so much because that was the thing he loved most about himself, maybe even the only thing.

Steve probably didn't mean but he smashes the remaining of both their hearts as he breaks in the silence and lets it out in the most wavering tone Robin has ever heard.

"I guess... I don't know... Am I that unlovable Robin? Is there something so crippling wrong about me that makes people incapable of loving me?"

Despite the heavy atmosphere, it's still a surprise for both of them when Steve lets out an agonizing howl. He didn't know beforehand that would be the tipping point, that one single opportunity of being heard and paid attention to would be enough to open the faucets. He only knows that this terrible hefty feeling deep down his guts allows him to do only one thing and that's weep his eyes out.

It takes the second hiccup for Robin to get out of whichever trance she was in. It's hard to approach him when he is like this, she knows because she has seen it way too many times before.

When Steve is too anxious he finds it grounding to press his feet together, a little intricate coreo going over and over again till his trembling ceases. It's safe to assume that his cocooning comes from the weight of oversharing, knees so close to his chest she doesn't see how it could be comfortable. The hands covering his tearful eyes are no news, but they still break her heart, he only does that when it pains too much to acknowledge his existence, trying to hide the exterior in order to hide himself.

She addresses that first, carefully and delicately pulling the fists away from red eyes.

"Dingus, look at me?"

Steve only answers by shying away even more and hiding his face into the pillow squished between his legs and his chest.

"Okay then, are you listening, paying attention?"

The tiny nod is more than enough for a response. Robin breathes in deep and holds his shoulders as she starts saying it.

"I love you, alright? You are the bestest friend I have ever had."

A very low sob wraps its way past his chest, the pillow, the elephant in the room.

"Those kids? They adore you, dude. Dustin probably has an altar of you somewhere."

It's easy for his chuckle to turn into a whimper and as it does she wraps her arms around him. Steve just melts into her embrace.

"You are loved, tons of it, you've got believe me."

He wants to shake his head. He wants to deny, deny, deny, but the truth is that he knows. He knows she is right, Robin always is right and that's what aches so much. Deep down knowing it is true and still somehow losing the fight against his own mind telling him it's bullshit. That it has always been bullshit. That he will never be anything other than bullshit.

"I'm just so tired of not seeing it."

Once again, he doesn't know if she will hear him, past the wavering of his voice and the safety of his pillow. She still somehow manages it, acknowledges it by hugging him tighter.

He takes his head to her shoulder so she can actually hear him properly this time.

"It's a constant fight in my head, one part keeps remembering me about all of you, but the other is just so goddamn convincing."

He remembers when it first started, freshly new into Hawkins's middle school. Steve didn't know what it was back then, but the anxiety pumped through his veins as easily as blood. He remembers the feeling going away when, after working himself up for so long, he would throw up in the disgusting bathroom stalls. He remembers thinking that he could anticipate that relief if he just threw up earlier, just had to get through the discomfort of forcing it. He remembers thinning away, worrying teachers and counselors, but not his parents, never his parents.

It kept on like that till he found out basketball had the same effect, draining his cells from the jitters as if it was nothing. He built up after that, gained muscle back, got good at basketball, became the best at it, became the king. For some time, he didn't even care if he was loved, because he was desired. It was the easiest thing to ignore the forever lasting longing of his heart when he had the loud cheers, lustful looks, whispered praises and moaned reassurances. He could ignore the little voice telling him he was unlovable when he had a fucking reign. It wasn't so easy when that started crumbling under his first love, foul pictures, crimson pools and false hearted promises.

Now, he didn't have basketball anymore. No kingdom. Only huge needles, heavy accents, grisly flowery monsters, missing, dying kids.

Steve can't help but flinch once Robin's hands make their way through his hair. He feels even guiltier when her sigh resonates through the room.

"I didn't know you were hurting so much and I'm sorry I didn't realise, I'm sorry I bugged you about it." Steve notices he had never heard her voice tremble before. "I've probably made it worse."

"You didn't…"

He hopes she sees how much he means it, how much he trusts her, not only right now but since the beginning of summer.

"I just, I don't even know why I do it, it's just natural at this point."

It's sadly true. It comes almost as a second nature by now, Steve is just too deep into it to be any other way. He sniffles into the back of his hands, he knows Robin finds it disgusting but he couldn't care less right now. Apparently, she doesn't either since she only responds sincerely.

"It shouldn't be, Steve. It doesn't have to be anymore."

He hopes she is right about that too.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #ao3 work #mine #deaif #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #robin buckley fic #dave writes

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eldri-sv · 3 years

Text

2 - Shinsou

Kaori Shinsou has always been fascinated by people's minds. She is one of the best students in her Criminal Psychology course at U.A. and - being the lucky girl she is - her professor is not only one handsome dude, but is also working on the case of the serial killer Stain - a case that has been going on for years. As she is about to become Professor Aizawa's TA during the next term, a lot of other interesting cases start popping up all over the country... AU, OC x Aizawa

Trigger warnings: insomnia, stress, mentions of death

(possibly incomplete, if you’d like something added, please let me know)

You keep me up at night

(Florence + The Machine - Big God)

Kaori Shinsou had trouble sleeping, as usual. She was tired, that wasn't the problem. She had no nightmares. She was just not able to turn off her brain for some reason. Thoughts kept racing through her head and she couldn't stop thinking and she couldn't sleep. They were stupid thoughts, too. Not even worrying. Just stupid thoughts. Kaori tossed and turned and then gave up.

She grabbed her phone from the night table and checked the time. It was 4 am. She would have to get up in two hours anyway and get ready for university. There was really no point in lying around and waiting. She might as well be as productive as she could. She closed her eyes and let out a loud and annoyed groan.

Then she opened her eyes and quickly sat up. She crawled out of her futon and turned on the lamp on her desk. There were a bunch of opened books and half-written essays lying around. Kaori had made it a habit to start her essays the first day they got them and finish them with minutes to spare. At least that way people couldn't say she should have started earlier.

She knew exactly Professor Aizawa wasn't buying it, but he seemed to get some sort of amusement out of her trying to be organized and repeatedly failing. She looked over the half-finished papers absent-mindedly. Maybe she could actually finish one ahead of time for once...?

Kaori shook her head to herself. No. Not like this. She couldn't go and write papers while she was still in her pajamas. Maybe she should just get dressed for university already. It wasn't like she was going to go back to sleep anyway.

With another sigh she got up from her desk and walked to her wardrobe. She grabbed a pair of knee-highs and some fresh underwear from her closet and then proceeded to grab some clothes from her pile on the floor. Kaori was glad at first when she realized she didn't need to wear her school uniform anymore, but she quickly found out that life had been much easier when there was one less thing to worry about.

So she stuck to wearing skirts and knee-high socks and blouses a lot of the time, simply because she was so used to herself looking like that. She just couldn't imagine anything else looking even remotely decent on her. She tried a few styles and had at this point assembled a wildly diverse range of outfits, but she still felt most comfortable in something that resembled a school uniform.

She quietly opened the door to her room and snuck outside through the hallway. Her parents would get insanely mad if they knew she hadn't slept again. Kaori had been telling them her insomnia was fine again, mostly so she didn't have to take the sleeping pills her doctor would prescribe for her. They made her sleep like a baby, but she hated the side effects that caused some random memory gaps in her brain. And she really couldn't use that while she was in the middle of university.

As she was passing her little brother's door she heard a loud bang coming from the room. Not loud enough for her parents to hear it, but Kaori had learned to hear even the tiniest sounds. Especially when it was as quiet as it was right now. She knocked at the door, careful not to be too loud. There was no reply.

She carefully opened the door just a little bit. Her brother was lying in his futon, eyes closed and his hands folded over his chest. He looked like a mummy. No one slept like that and he should have known better. She looked over to the desk. The lamp on it was still glowing a little, as if it had just now been turned off. There were a lot of open books on the table as well.

"It's just me, Hitoshi. No need to panic." she whispered. Hitoshi Shinsou opened one eye and visibly relaxed when he saw it was only his sister.

"You gave me a fright." he said to her and quietly sat up again. Kaori grinned a little. Hitoshi had a similarly severe case of insomnia as she did and he also had no intention of taking sleeping pills.

"Can I come in?" she asked. Hitoshi nodded slightly, it was barely noticeable. Kaori slipped inside the room and closed the door, conscious of not making any noise whatsoever. Not that their parents were easy to wake. For some reason the insomnia genes seemed to have skipped them, but they were wildly rampant in both Kaori and Hitoshi. Or maybe their parents were just too exhausted after their work at the hospital.

"Can't sleep?" Kaori said to her brother, as he got out of his futon and went back to his desk. She sat down on one of his side tables. It was more of a rhetorical question since both of them knew that he couldn't sleep. And it wasn't like Hitoshi even wanted to sleep. He had other plans.

"No. You, too?" he replied. Kaori nodded and glanced over the books that were open. They were her old Criminology books. Hitoshi had tried to get into the Criminology course himself, but hadn't made it. It was a really close cut for him, too. All he wanted was to get into Criminal Psychology like his older sister. He had made the cut for the Psychology course and was now studying and tormenting himself relentlessly to get the best grades he could possibly get, in order to transfer into Criminology next year.

"Late night study session, I assume?" Kaori asked him.

"Yeah. I can't slack off. I finished all my assignments for Psych, so I have some time to catch up on all the Criminology stuff. And since I can't sleep anyway..." he answered and grinned. Kaori chuckled and shook his head. His hair was sticking out wildly in all directions and she just knew he wouldn't even bother with it before going to university. His eyes were as tired as usual, which made his grin look almost scary.

"You do know you can get into Criminal Psychology with a Psych degree, right?" she remarked.

"Yeah, but I don't want to." he replied.

"Why not?"

"Because that's the route people go who aren't good enough to get into Criminology and are too lazy to try and get in the next year. And that's what it'll look like on my CV, too. And I know I can do better, because I really only had a blackout during the entrance exams. And I'm shit at interviews."

Kaori smiled at him. She always admired how determined Hitoshi could be and how he could look so unmotivated at the same time. He had always been the one working harder for what he wanted. Academics had always come easy to both of them, but more so to Kaori. Hitoshi really had to crunch to keep up.

"I assume you're heading into uni early today?" he asked looking at the scrambled up clothes in Kaori's arms.

"Yeah, just trying to kill some time, so mum and dad won't get suspicious, in case they hear the shower." she said and yawned. Fuck, she needed a coffee. Extra strong and black, without any fancy milk or sugar or any of that shit.

"They won't wake up. I heard them come home at around 2 or something. They'll be fast asleep by now." Hitoshi replied. Kaori nodded.

"You taking the car?" he asked.

"Pfft, no."

"Are you sure? Did you look at the weather outside?"

Kaori got up and went up to the window. Was the weather really that bad? When she looked outside she saw heavy raindrops falling against the window. Judging from the puddles it had already been raining for quite a while. Kaori sighed.

"You know I hate driving." she said.

"Not my fault mum and dad managed to convince you to take the driving test." he replied and shrugged.

"It's just a little water, you won't die from getting a little wet..." Kaori answered, sounding much less convincing than she would have liked to. She knew exactly how much she hated to get wet and sit in class while feeling uncomfortable about just everything. Plus, it would get really cold and she might fall asleep during class from that.

"You know you don't mean that." Hitoshi said with a triumphant grin. Kaori sighed again. She knew that she would be driving the moment Hitoshi had brought it up. He just had a way about him to get people to do what he wanted. He used to be a real brat with that, but once he was mostly through puberty, he had gotten much better with it.

"Why don't you drive for once? You've got your provisional license and I would be qualified to come with you, you know." Kaori suggested.

"You really want me to drive your car and be on the passenger seat while I do that? Are you... are you okay? You know you can talk about it, if you're feeling suicidal, right?" Hitoshi replied. Kaori grabbed a pair of socks from the floor (hoping Hitoshi hadn't worn them yet, because... ugh) and threw them at his head, barely missing it. At least she messed up his hair. If there was even a way to mess it up.

"You're such a dick sometimes, you know that?" she said. Hitoshi just shrugged, pretending he didn't care. Kaori knew that he cared, he just didn't like showing it. He had always had this whole tough exterior thing going, but he was really a big softie at heart. Kaori knew because she was similar.

She remembered how distraught Hitoshi was when their cat died after they had gotten her as a kitten 14 years ago. He was crying in his bedroom for days and even skipped two days of uni for it. He barely ate. He had loved that cat more than life itself and he kept saying that he still wasn't ready to move on and get a new kitten. (Kaori knew that he had been looking at some ads online, though. She had caught him during lunch break in the canteen one time, when he wasn't fast enough to hide his phone.)

"Fine. I'll drive. If we die, it's on you, just for the record." Kaori said. Hitoshi gave her a heartfelt smile.

"Thanks, sis. I'll make sure it'll be mentioned at our funeral." he replied. Kaori glanced at the clock hanging at Hitoshi's wall. It was ticking loudly. She had always wondered how Hitoshi wasn't annoyed by this, but he kept insisting that it was relaxing him. It was 4.47 am. Even if her parents would wake up, it wouldn't be too early to find a suitable excuse. She walked back to the door.

"I'll go and take a shower then, I guess. Don't study too much, Toshi." she mumbled on her way out.

"I'll be fine."

#inside your mind #aizawa #fanfiction #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa #aizawa x oc #quirklessau #aizawa fanfiction #hitoshi shinso #shinsou #shinso #hitoshi shinsou #insomnia #university

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amarabliss · 4 years

Text

Oaths and Hearts - 18 (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

So this is a crossover between FFXV and Dragon Age Inquisition.

You fell through a rift into the fade fighting the demons you swore to protect your world from. When you popped out you were no longer in the lands of Ferelden instead trapped in Insomnia. The gracious king allowed you to say recognizing power when he saw it. One thing led to another and now you were part of the procession of the prince to his wedding years later. Before the final battle, after years of fighting, losses, and love…your friend…your king…Noctis has asked you to change it all…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Ignis yawned as he walked onto the site of construction. He took in a deep breath before raising his coffee up for a drink. His peace was broken by Gladio giving his two cents, “Duel wielding is illegal in some countries.”

Ignis turned giving him an exasperated look, “I know for a fact that duel wielding is completely legal in Insomnia, but I suppose you’re referring to my coffee and thermos.”

“Rough night still?” Gladio looked at him with concern.

“Her contractions are getting more frequent.” Ignis brought the cup up again, “She nearly said it was time last night.”

“She did?” Gladio’s eyes widened before he smiled, “Wow…It’s hard to believe you’re going to be a dad soon.”

“Did it happen? Are we uncles!?” Prompto ran up to him.

“Do you really think he’d be here if Y/N had the baby?” Noctis walked over wearing a safety hat on smirking, “Better get used to sleepless nights buddy.”

“So, I have been reminded daily.” Ignis sighed before setting his thermos on a bench, “Enough about me, where are we in the project?”

“Iggy…” Noct stepped close to him, “we do have a handle on this. You can go and get some rest.”

Ignis smiled at him, “I appreciate the concern, but I am getting enough rest. Y/N assures me we still have a couple of weeks…”

He looked at them all staring at him. Gladio was the first to speak, “Did you…read that in a book?”

“I…no…she just…I trust her.” Ignis set his empty cup down, “She is a woman after all…”

“Ignis, babies aren’t like calendars…” Gladio sighed shaking his head, “I can’t even remember the amount of false alarms my mom and dad had with Iris…and she was early…like three weeks early.”

Ignis stared at him a moment before shaking his head a little, “This is different.”

“You’re delusional!” Prompto rolled his eyes before smiling, “Regardless…I have the camera close by so we can get all the pictures we need when our little man arrives.”

“Our?” Ignis watched him and Gladio walking toward the contractor.

“Yeah…” Noctis smiled at him, “You’re the first of us to have a kid. We’re excited and knowing your baby is a little man…expect many gifts and a spoiled rotten kid. At least for a little while…”

Ignis looked at him, “You are Luna have talked then…”

“More then that.” Noct blushed a little, “She has her duties and I have mine, but…we can’t help wanting more then just our kingdoms and responsibilities.”

“Well…in time, you’ll get your wish.” Ignis put a hand on his shoulder, “You’re both young yet…”

“You say that as if you’re so much older then I am.” Noct laughed as they both walked to catch up with the others.

“In terms of maturity, until recently…” Ignis smirked chuckling as Noct glared at him a little.

The work was hard and honest. Rebuilding took manpower they didn’t have and everyone had begun to wear thin. But hope was in the future.

Luna had convinced Altissia to send aid sooner than later. The boys capture of the crystal had made a significant impact in how the world viewed Insomnia's young king. Not to mention the flocks of Insomnian citizens returning home. Everyone wanted to help.

It was the beginning of a new world view. Status barely mattered, just assisting your fellow man was enough.

Ignis looked up at the bright blue sky wiping is brow. Noctis had decided that rebuilding the hospital and other public venues needed to be priority one. The people rallied behind and progress was good despite the lack of supplies and people.

“Ignis!” The alarmed cry from below Drew is attention away from a flock of flying birds. It was Libertus and Tor running up to the work crews.

“Right here…what’s wrong?” He pushed through the crowd to get to them.

“Its time.” The both told him breathless, “She…Y/N…she’s…”

“What?” Ignis felt his hair practically stand on end as he shook his head, “No…no we’re supposed to have more time…we…”

“Iggy…” He looked at Gladio who stepped up next to him with Prompto, “it’s time…”

“But…nothing’s ready. I was supposed…I…we don’t even have a crib…” Ignis frowned putting a hand to his forehead.

“Hey hey!” Prompto waved his hands at him, “You only have one thing to worry about right now and that’s getting to Y/N and helping her. That’s your job right now.”

Ignis looked at him finding a strange comfort from his words before he nodded, “Right…yes, of course.”

“So, let’s get you there as fast as we can.” Noctis stepped up next to him putting his arm around Ignis’ shoulders, “Hold on.”

Ignis had warped before in short spurts when he and Noct performed maneuvers in battle. Galdio and Prompto both said that it made them sick afterwards. Ignis didn’t find he had that problem until now as his nerves fell into overdrive.

“Breathe Specs.” Noct reminded him as they landed already halfway to their destination.

Ignis looked at him seeing sweat drip down his friend’s face, “Noct, I can manage the rest.”

“Nonsense…” Noct shook his head warping to the next spot taking in a deep breath, “I can get you a bit closer.”

“Noct…” Ignis gently pushed him away toward a bench, “Sit…call Gladio and Prompto to come pick you up…”

As he turned away he heard Noct speak, “You’re gonna be great…just…breathe.”

Ignis looked back at him giving him a sturdy nod before turning back and taking off in a run. Every single step felt like fire began coursing through him. He didn’t know how to be a father…his was taken from him when he was young.

Not that his father hadn’t done well…but he remembered Roderick. His father was kind and gentle, but always seeking the truth and never giving up to find it. Brief images of riding his shoulders through their home, a proud smile, dancing in the kitchen…

He burst into the Citadel rushing to the stairs feeling his legs beginning to burn. As he pushed the door open, he heard a loud wail and he felt his stomach drop. He walked forward pushing through people standing in the hall. Nurses, doctors, patients…

“Y/N…” He heard Dr. Reed speaking, “Y/N you have to calm down…”

“What’s going on?” Ignis pushed forward and a nurse intercepted him as Dr. Reed turned around, “Dr. Reed…”

“Mr. Scientia…” Dr. Reed stepped close to him, “There’s been a…complication…”

“Complication…” Ignis eyes jumped to the open door as something crashed inside and you let out another groan, “Y/N!?”

Dr. Reed put his hands on Ignis’ chest with the nurse, “I can’t let you in there.”

“Ignis…” Your voice sounded weak and scared.

“Get out the way.” Ignis began pushing through them but was held back, “Move!”

“It’s too dangerous!” Dr. Reed raised his voice, “If I let you in there, there is a chance you will not walk out.”

“I don’t care, my wife needs me. Now move.” Ignis voice was low as he glared at the doctor feeling their hands move off him. He adjusted his shirt before stepping into the room.

His eyes widened as the scorch marks on the walls and floor. All the medical equipment was strewn about away from you. You were standing gripping onto the bed railing shaking.

“Y/N…” He began to step forward, but you raised you hand toward him.

“Stay back…” You turned shaking your hair from your sweating face, “…you…you have to leave.”

He stood still staring at you, “Y/N…I will not leave you. Not now…not ever…”

“I-I can’t control it…” You cringed putting you hand to your stomach letting out a painful groan. He took your distracted state to his advantage stepping right over to you. Your eyes opened and you started shaking your head, “No…No Ignis…”

“Shh…” He took your hand tightly in his as his other reached up pushing your hair away from your eyes, “We knew this might happen…”

Your face contorted as tears slipped down your face, “It’s so much worse…it’s so…”

“Shh…” He kissed your forehead, “We’re going to do this together…people with magic have been having babies for thousands of years from your land, you said so yourself.”

You let out another loud guttural groan as contractions came upon you, with it came an uncontrolled spell of chained lighting. It erupted through the floor around them. It was as he expected, his proximity to you protected him from the spell.

“Dr. Reed…” Ignis looked over at the door, “Be ready with everything you need for the baby…we’re doing this alone until we need you…assist with advisements only, do not enter unless I tell you.”

Dr. Reed confirmed as Ignis began turning you toward him have you hold onto his shoulders for support. You hands dug into his shoulders painfully, “I shouldn’t have….done this…mages shouldn’t…there’s too much chaos…I could hurt someone…you…our baby…”

“None of that…you are exactly as you should be…now look at me…” He brushed your hair away from your face, “You’re strong…”

“No…” You shut your eyes hanging your head again.

He lifted your chin looking into your eyes, “Yes. The strongest person I know. You fell through worlds, lost everyone and everything you ever knew, adjusted to an insane new lifestyle…with insane new people.”

“Y/N…you don’t remember but you traveled in time itself to save your family…the one we’re starting here and now…” He pressed his forehead against yours and smiled, “For a daughter we will one day have…so believe me when I say, you can do this.”

“Ignis…ooo….” You balled up his shirt in your hands as another contraction overtook you.

“It’s time.” Dr. Reed spoke from the doorway, “You’re going to have to push…I…I suggest laying down…”

“No…” You shook your head, “No…I…”

“It’s alright…we can stand…” He looked around the room before helping you toward a chair, “Brace yourself on this…I’ll need to be below to catch him.”

You nodded as you took in a deep shuddered breath grabbing onto the chair with one hand, “If…”

“I won’t let it come to that.” He took your other hand pressing it to his lips shutting his eyes. You wanted him to put you under if it came to it. You had researched c-sections, and even Dr. Reed had considered it but felt your concerns weren’t merited.

He could see Dr. Reed was reconsidering his position as he looked back as he reached for some gloves, “Doctor?”

“Ignis, you’ll need to reach up and check her cervix…based on her contractions…I’m positive she’s ready, but to be sure… insert two fingers…” He walked Ignis through what he was and wasn’t supposed to feel. Based on what was described back to him Dr. Reed confirmed full dilation, “The next time you feel a contraction you need to bear down…deep breath…and push…Ignis you’re going to see the head first…and gravity will probably work quickly.”

Ignis looked up at you as begin letting out quick short breaths trying you best to remain in control, “Darling…we do it now…just let go and think of Ulric.”

You nodded as you adjusted as the contraction wracked your body. He saw the immense strain you began to put on yourself as you pushed letting out a warrior’s scream. He could indeed see you taking down hordes of demons and dragons for those you loved in that moment. The moment you were becoming a mother, the joining a league of strongest forces the universe could create. His focus shifted quickly from your face to the small life beginning to join them in this world.

The process repeated. He hardly acknowledged the lights shattering above them as the storm you let loose raged everywhere around them. His heartbeat was so loud as he couldn’t hear his voice as he instructed you for one final push.

Then everything happened so fast…he was holding his crying son in his hands. Tears flooded into his eyes as he spoke, “He’s here…he’s here…”

“He…Ig…Ignis…” You looked back at them both.

Ignis saw your small smile before your legs started to give out. With precision reflexes he was up catching you with his one arm, “Y/N…”

“Go, go!” He heard behind him as he set your tired form into the chair. Nurses and Dr. Reed rushed into the room around them.

One nurse made eye contact with him taking his son from him to be examined. His eyes went back to you as they carefully lifted you to the bed. Dr. Reed confirmed everything had gone well as you began to come back eyes cracking back open when Ulric began to cry.

“…mm…my baby…” You reached up weakly and Ignis took your hand.

“He’s right here…just one more moment.” He whispered moving in to kiss your forehead, “You did so well my love.”

“Here we go…” A smiling nurse came back holding Ulric in a clean blanket as he cried, “meet your momma…”

Tears flooded his Ignis’ eyes again as you were handed him. Instantly his son’s cries disappeared as you pressed your cheek against his head, and the most miraculous sight occurred. A spell he’d only ever seen you use once to save everyone in battle rushed over everyone in the room.

Every nerve that had been set afire calmed in his body as tingling warmth replaced it. He felt energy being restored, as did everyone else who had their anxiety shooting through the roof. A knight’s resurgence…a revival.

You looked up at him as the calm feeling fell over everyone in the room, “Ignis…he’s wonderful…”

“He is…” A nurse handed him some towels to clean up before he leaned back to his family touching and kissing them both, “You both are…”

After sometime everyone shuffled around before taking Ulric back to be put in the nursery to give you time to be tended to. Before you were wheeled away you grabbed his arm, “Don’t leave him…”

There was such fear in your eyes, he could not refuse you. He followed the nurse down the hall looking in the bassinet at his perfect creation. Having no traditional facilities yet, they had converted a small office into the nursery.

“Would you like to hold him again, dad?” The nurse smiled at Ignis as she finished reswaddling him.

“I…” He wasn’t really given the option as she placed the boy back in his arms. He choked up looking at him, “I love you…I love you so much.”

Ulric fussed a little as he brought him up kissing his little hands. Staring at him made all time seem to stop that he didn’t notice three onlookers standing in the doorway until he heard the sound of a shutter. He looked up seeing Prompto snapping photos grinning just as big as the other two.

“How long have you been there?” Ignis walked over to them.

Noctis beamed up at him, “Oh…just fifteen minutes or so…”

“You should have said something.” Ignis bobbed his arms up and down as Ulric began to move a little, “But that’s beside the point…everyone…meet Ulric.”

“Wow…” Gladio whispered reaching over touching Ignis’ arm gently, “You did good.”

“I’ll say…hey little dude!” Prompto whispered, “I’m your Uncle Prompto…and I’m gonna be your favorite!”

“Nah…his uncle the king will be.” Noct nudged the blonde a little getting everyone to chuckle.

“We got him something.” Gladio stepped out into the hall before coming back inside holding a bag.

Ignis watched as the boys smirked at him before pulling out a book, “Oh…well it’s a little early…”

“Well in time he’s gonna want to know about everything…this is just a fun way to do it.” Gladio stepped in opening the book to show Ignis, “It’s yours and Y/N’s story minus some parts, plus others…see…”

Ignis looked at a beautifully illustrated child’s book showing how you met them all including Nyx, but everyone was drawn in a cartoonish way. Gladio flipped through it and it showed you both going on a date in Altissia, then fighting side by side to save Noct all the way leading up to being brought home.

“It’s wonderful…thank you…” He looked at them all before turning to Noctis who had nonstop been staring at the small child in his arms since he walked over, “Would you like to hold him?”

“Oh I…” Noct began to shake his head.

“There is no one I would trust more with son.” Ignis told him gently handing him over, “Support his head…”

Noct looked at Ulric and smiled before looking at Ignis, “So how’s it feel? We heard it was a special type of delivery.”

Ignis sat down looking up at them, “I never anticipated delivering him myself…but I can’t imagine doing it any other way…When I held him…it was…it was like everything inside me began to reset and reform…there’s really no words…except that I love him. I love him and I would do anything for him.”

He lifted his glasses off his face wiping the sudden tears away as the boys crowded around him in support. Everything was finally right in the world. Everything was just as it should be…

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