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darthkruge · 3 years

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Poe Dameron x Reader ~ Take Mine

Summary || On your first mission as Commander of Blue Squadron, you take Poe’s X-wing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.

Warnings || Some injuries and a bit of blood? I didn’t go super in detail, though

Words || 2.2k

A/N || This is my first time writing for Poe and I’m so scared and I tried to be accurate and if it’s not I apologize but if I spent another minute staring at this draft I will scream. Special thanks to @poestardust and @buckysbeloved because y’all were both super fucking supportive and without that this might not have been posted! I am now officially adding Poe to the people I write for and while my requests for full fics are closed, I am more than willing to do little blurbs/hc’s or hear any and all of y’alls soft/angsty thoughts for that wonderful Flyboy. My status of requests gives more insight into all of this :)

gif credit

You groaned, shaking your head as you racked your brain for a way to get out of this. Your X-wing was supposed to be fixed a week ago, a solid few days before your mission was set to start. But, alas, Red Squadron had a bit of a rough mission coming off Hoth and needed repairs more rapidly than you, so your starfighter was put on the low priority list.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. You could be patient. Normally. But you had just been promoted to Commander of Blue Squadron and your first mission left in two standard hours.

You walked through the door of your room, trying to find a solution but continuing to come up empty.

“Sweetheart?” Your head perked up at Poe’s voice, the concern clear in his words.

“What happened, why aren’t you with the rest of the Squadron getting ready?”

“My starfighter isn’t ready.” You said, trying to make sense of the words as they came out.

Poe blinked. “Still?”

“Yeah, the other repairs are taking longer than usual and it’s not ready and it won’t be ready and I have to lead my team on a supply drop and try to not get everyone killed and I don’t even have my kriffing X-wing!” Your voice shook, the lack of control making you anxious as you paced back and forth through your quarters.

Poe’s hands found their way to your shoulders, steadying you. “Look at me, okay? Breathe for a second,” Poe gave you a slight smile as you nodded, closing your eyes as you took a deep breath. “Yeah, just like that. It’s gonna be just fine, we’ll figure it out!”

Now, the panic creeped back into your expression. “How?!”

Poe thought for a second, mentally grasping at straws before his eyes widened in realization. “Take mine!”

“What?!”

“Take my X-wing! It’s all ready to go and Black Squadron isn’t set to go on our next mission for another two weeks! You’ll be back well before then, it’ll work out just fine!”

“But- I can’t just take your X-wing, Poe!”

“Yes you can! Come on, I don’t really see what other options you have! Just take it, please? It’ll bring you good luck.”

You sighed, realizing he was right. “Okay, okay, fine!”

Poe smiled, leaning in to peck you on the lips. “Now, go! You don’t want to be late, do you, Commander?”

“Oh, no, definitely not, Commander! That would set a horrible example for my team!” You quipped back before leaning in once more. “I love you.” You whispered.

“I love you too.” He smiled back. “Seriously!” He said with a laugh, “Go!”

“Going!” You called over your shoulder as you ran to the hanger.

A week and two days later, that conversation was the only thing on your mind. You were desperately steering your- no, Poe’s- X-wing away from the fleet of First Order ships flying straight for your Squadron. Somehow, they’d learned of your plans for the supply drop and decided to swing by. How thoughtful of them.

“Okay, everyone. Just hang tight, shoot if you’ve got a clear shot but no one’s trying to be a hero, alright? First priority is getting home safe.” You said through the open channel.

You smiled as you heard your team voice their approval, ending their messages with a “Commander” here and there. Right now, all you were doing was hoping you were deserving enough of that title to get everyone back in one piece.

Looking to make sure everyone was in line, you felt your heart drop as you counted the starfighters. Everyone was there, minus one. Where was Snap? Craning your neck, you swore as you saw him caught on the right side, boxed in by two First Order TIE fighters.

You quickly opened a private communication channel. “Tallie?”

“Yes, Commander L/N?”

“Make sure everyone stays ahead of the TIE fighters, okay? Keep moving forward.”

“Y/N what are you talking about?”

You sighed, consciously working to keep your voice even and calm. “Snap’s stuck and I’m not leaving him. I’ll be fine, just a little bit behind you. Just… get them home.”

“But-”

“Please.”

You felt guilty for being short with her, but you had to do it. If you didn’t, she’d know how kriffing terrified you were.

After waiting a moment, she sighed. “Okay. Be safe, Commander.”

“Same to you.” You replied, shutting off the channel. You forced the tears back in your eyes and refused to let your thoughts dwell any more on your Squadron or that beautiful, dark haired pilot you knew was waiting for you.

You turned Poe’s X-wing and sent a prayer to the Maker as you made a bee-line for one of the two TIE fighters and fired, shooting one directly. You laughed, almost giddy at how spot-on the hit was.

“Commander?” Snap’s voice filtered through the communication system.

“Hang on, I’ve almost got it.” You bit your lip in concentration as you aimed for the second fighter. But right as you pressed fire, so did they. Your eyes widened as you quickly swerved. Luckily, the blast didn’t hit the front of the starfighter, or else you’d be good as dead right now. Unluckily, you gasped in horror as your ship began plummeting, realizing they had hit your engine.

You turned your head back, praying that this wasn’t in vain. You let out a breath, realizing Snap was now free and the other TIE was demolished, thanks to your aim. If you’re going to go down, at least you brought two First Order fighters with you.

As your X-wing came closer and closer to the ground, you screwed your eyes shut. Against your will, you remembered that at least your last conversation with him had been a good one. Your heart broke, realizing he’d probably find a way to blame himself for this, forever. That you’d never get married, never have the chance to settle down after the war ends. That you’d never again feel his lips against yours, never again experience the warmth of his arms or the comfort of his embrace. How could life work like this, how could it simply-

Your thoughts were cut off as your starfighter crashed to the ground, leaving you in darkness.

-------

“What do you mean, their starfighter went down?!”

Leia sighed, subtly but firmly gesturing for everyone else to clear the briefing room. “Blue Squadron’s supply run didn’t go as planned. There were first order TIE fighters waiting for them. I’m not sure of the specifics, just that Commander L/N’s X-wing’s communication systems went out. Snap said Y/N went down saving him and when he rushed back to their crashed X-wing, they were breathing, but unconscious and bleeding.”

Her eyes softened as she saw Poe’s heartbroken expression. “I’m sorry, Poe. I know you must be feeling helpless right now. But there is no reason to assume the worst, at least not yet.”

Poe swallowed hard, the tears making his throat heavy. “I’m-” His voice broke, the pain evident. “I’m gonna go wait at the hangar bay. They’ll make it home.”

Leia just nodded, not having the heart to tell him to try to prepare himself for the worst.

-------

When you woke up, you were in Snap’s X-wing, leaning against the wall in the small space. You groaned when you moved your hand to your head. Yup, you were definitely bleeding.

“Where are we?” You croaked out.

Snap’s head shot over to you. “Oh thank the Maker, you’re awake! We’re almost back at the base. Just sit still, okay?”

You nodded, already feeling a bit groggy.

“Y/N?!”

You gave an annoyed hum in response.

“Come on, Y/N, don’t fall asleep. Hold on a little longer.”

You nodded, fighting against every instinct you had to stay conscious.

“Kriff, okay. Talk to me, okay?”

“About what?” Your mouth felt like sandpaper and your head was heavy. Even as you leaned it against the wall, you felt dizzy, like you’d tip over at any second.

“Dameron. Tell me about Dameron, okay?”

Your lips unconsciously curled into a soft smile. And then your eyes shot open as you tried to physically shake the dizziness from your body. “The X-wing!”

“What?!”

“My, no, his X-wing! Poe’s, his- he’s gonna be so upset, kriff!”

“What are you going on about?”

“Poe, he let me use his X-wing and it kriffing crashed and-” You trailed off, running a hand through your hair and wincing as the movement aggravated your injured head.

“Y/N, calm down, okay? He’ll be fine, he’s not gonna care.”

You nodded, eyes filling with guilty tears as Snap finally pulled up to the Resistance Base. Home. As the X-wing opened, Snap helped haul you up as Poe sprinted over to you.

“Y/N!” He called, hands coming to hold either side of your face. He quickly put one of your arms around his shoulders as his wound around your waist, holding your weight against him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so-” You hiccupped, tears leaking from your eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright. Let’s just get you back to our room, yeah?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. He looked into your eyes and his concern compounded, no idea why you were so distraught.

“I crashed your X-wing.” You said, head hung in shame.

Poe was now just as confused as he was concerned. “I… I know, sweetheart. But you’re safe now, I’ve got you. Just a little more walking and then I can clean you up.”

“No! I, you don’t understand! Poe, it’s not just scratched up, it’s ruined. We had to leave it, it’s gone and it’s my fault and I’m so, so sorry.”

He just shook his head, still shocked that you thought he was upset about that. “Y/N, I know. But I’m not worried about that, I’m worried about you. Now would you please let me get you back to our room?”

You nodded but he didn’t miss how the guilt refused to leave your gaze. When you finally got inside, he led you over to the bed and got you to sit down.

“I’m fine, seriously.”

Poe quirked his eyebrow. “You’re bleeding from the head.”

He walked quickly into the refresher, coming back with the medkit you’ve used on him millions of times before. As he worked on disinfecting the cut on your head, you bunched your fingers in the bedsheets, distracting yourself from the pain of the gash. Noticing, he muttered a quick apology, taking a break to stroke his thumb across your cheekbone. Finally, he finished stitching the cut and gently placed a bandage over the area, smoothing out the edges.

When he looked up, he saw you lost in your own mind. “Come on, baby, talk to me.”

“You just… you loved that ship and you trusted me with it and you’d had it for so long and I can’t believe I wrecked it.”

Poe sighed, wishing there was something he could do to convince you that everything was alright.

“Sweetheart, it’s a kriffing X-wing. Why are you so worked up about it?” His voice was soft and free of judgment.

“I just feel like I let you down.”

“Hey,” He said, taking your hands in his. “You did nothing of the sort. I promise, I’m not upset, okay? I’m just glad you made it home to me.”

You looked up at him. “I’ll always come home to you.”

You scooted over and gestured to the bed, a silent invitation. Poe smiled at you and took a second to take off his boots and jacket before climbing in beside you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, careful not to hit your head while doing so. You leaned into him, your face resting comfortably in the crook of his neck as you breathed in his scent. He pulled back for a second, just to grab the covers and move them so they were all around you and up to your chin, just as you liked.

Under the blankets, you moved your hand so it was resting on his heart. You liked doing so, feeling the steady beating of it after a long mission. Poe was used to it by now and simply placed one of his hands atop yours, his thumb rubbing up and down.

“And you know it’s not your fault, right?” He said, breaking the silence

“Poe, I was literally the one that crashed it.” You reasoned, lifting your head up to look at him.

“They shot you down as you took out two TIE fighters! No one could have gotten out of that.”

“But you had so many memories attached to that X-wing-”

“-And we’ll make new ones.” He finished.

You sighed and nodded, a slow smile creeping onto your face that let Poe know that you at least somewhat believed his words. Inwardly, he cheered, quite proud of himself for getting through to you. Outwardly, he just tucked you further into his embrace and relished in the feeling of you safe, home, and in his arms.

----

tagging people on my permanent taglist + peoples who wanted a tag/might be interested? if i wrongly guessed you’d be interested please feel free to ignore sfklsj!!

@saltybreaddream @buckysbeloved @lolquarth @sodaoverstars @artiza-n @poestardust @beskar-tano @starwarsflowers @sunsetkenobi @90steaology @marvelinsanity @dracowars @collywobbl @dameronology @marvel-ousnesss

also: i added poe to my taglist and if you would like to be added to those tags, the link to join my taglist is in my pinned! if you’ve already joined my taglist, you can just fill it out again in full or just check poe’s name and either way i’ll know because the last question on the form lets me know if you’re new to the taglist or simply editing your previous answer :)

also i sent this fic to the queue because i have never been more scared to post something

#megan writes #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron x gn!reader #poe dameron x gender neutral reader

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blu-archer · 3 years

Text

Sharing is Caring?

Just some more AU sickness because why not?

snz based

Sickie: Tae - mild Jimin

Caretaker: Jimin [kind of?]

m/m [squinting at Yoonmin] and mentions of what I’m poorly portraying as ace. I’ve never tried to write about it before so forgive any misrepresentation please..

anyway...

Apart of this little universe; Flower shop and Bakery au

This piece mostly felt like me rambling, but it was kind of fun so I’m posting it.. sorry for any errors

Taehyung sniffled as discretely as possible as he wondered through the isles of the large supermarket, doing his best to avoid people even though he had made sure to grab a face mask before leaving the apartment to avoid spreading his germs. Technically they could be considered Jimin’s germs… but he wasn’t one to blame his platonic soulmate.

After all, they lived together. This outcome was inevitable.

So he hovered awkwardly through the store trying to move as quickly as possible by grabbing immediate necessities rather than the usual browsing of the shelves. And after the desperate sneezes that had surprised him by the canned foods and had kicked his headache into 5th gear, he wanted nothing more than to already be at home and back in bed.

The photographer paused a bit away from the freezer holding the ready-made meals – something that had become a must-have for the pair if they wanted to survive living together – waiting for the few people there to finish before he made his own snatch. He blinked lazily at the rows of boxes that he could just barely make out. He would have to grab a few, they hadn’t done ‘grocery’ shopping for the month and it had come back to bite them. The few supplies he’d gotten days before had dwindled to nothing in a blink of an eye. He’d woken up that morning looking for food so he could take his next dose of medication and had been met with a small portion of days old take out from the noodle place down the street and what was left of the soup Jimin’s boss had dropped off for him after he’d called in sick.

And Tae was getting really tired of soup, despite only being on his second day of feeling like warm death.

So he had taken the courageous, probably mildly stupid, step to go shopping. They needed more tissues anyway, and he didn’t really know anyone in the area that well yet despite having moved a few months ago so it’s not like he could make a plea for help.

Jimin had been thoroughly knocked out in his bed with a mound of extra blankets that hadn’t moved from their place since Yoongi had put them there after bringing the smaller man home from work the day before. So Taehyung had just scribbled a brief note and pinned it onto his door so that Jimin would know where he was if the slim chance of the elder waking up did actually happen.

A gap formed as a couple broke away from the freezer and Tae swiftly slipped in front of it, muffling a cough into his arm before he made a move to slide open the glass top. Taehyung was jolted from his actions as something – a body, definitely a small body – crashed into his legs, immediately reaching out with one hand to steady the child that wobbled upon impact even though his own balance wavered drastically. Thank god for fast reflexes, if he hadn’t dropped his basket and rested his hand on the freezer then he probably would’ve fallen straight on his ass. That would have been almost as embarrassing as the canned food isle incident just minutes before. This day just wasn’t getting better.

He had just barely looked down at the small boy who had almost caused his next disaster when his foggy attention was dragged away to the next rapidly approaching figure.

“Sehjoon!” An exasperated voice snapped before the small boy was pulled from Tae’s weak grasp. “I’m so sorry, he’s wild. Did he-“The man’s eye widened a bit and then he smiled, losing some of the tension in his body. “Its Taehyung, right? Jimin’s new roommate?”

Tae blinked, nodding slowly although he couldn’t really be considered ‘new’ since a few months had already passed, and it wasn’t the first time that he’d shared a space with Jimin. The man looked familiar, and he clearly knew who he was, which meant he was probably one of Jimin’s friends from work. Taehyung tried not to feel too bad about not remembering whose name went with which face, he was often busy with his own work when Jimin would tell him about what happened during his working hours, so he couldn’t be expected to remember too many details. It was a similar situation when he tried to explain to Jimin the different editing terms while trying to perfect whatever photos he had done. He couldn’t count the numbers of times he’d just watched his best friends eyes glaze over with some familiar vague nodding.

“I’m Hoseok, we met a while back when you first moved here.”

The man seemed to ooze happiness as he picked the boy up to rest him on his hip. Taehyung shuffled on his feet. He was a little unsure of what to say next. Usually he didn’t struggle with making conversation, but his head felt like it was filled with cotton, he couldn’t be faulted for this flaw of character right now.

“Sorry,” Hoseok chuckled, rubbing at his neck with his free hand. “Jimin speaks about you all the time and even Jungkook and Jin mention you every once it in a while, it kind of feels like I know you.”

“Uh…oh. Yeah. Jimin speaks about you a lot too.” Tae replied, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His voice coming out deeper and with the beginnings of the congestion he’d hoped wouldn’t come so soon in the day. He cleared his throat in hopes that it would help. “The florist, right? With Yoongi?”

It clearly didn’t help.

Hoseok’s smile faltered, turning more sympathetic. As if he had quickly pieced the obvious together.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He shifted the boy on his hip when small hands grappled to be let down. Hoseok dropped his smile for a moment to give a stern look of disapproval that seemed to work like a spell over the boy as he went silent and placid in the mans hold. “I’m sorry about Sehjoon here. My sister asked me to look after him for the day and I think she both underestimates my babysitting capabilities and overestimates her sons behaviour. I was actually sent out of work for a bit because Yoongi needed a break from this level of chaos… Hey, he didn’t hurt you or anything right?”

“Oh, no. No.” Tae gave a croaky laugh that irritated his throat. It already felt rough from the amount of coughing he’d done during the night and it appeared that he was nowhere close to being done with that. Turning away, he coughed deeply into his arm, twisting away despite wearing a mask, and winced at the spark of pain that had shot into him. God, he was so over this cold. “Sorry. He barrelled into me, but he would probably be at more risk of hurting himself than me. Has a hard head though. Definitely able to knock some people out with that.”

That brought a bubble of sudden laughter from the other man that left Tae slightly bemused and yet, it was an odd feeling watching Hoseok laugh. A warmth of sorts spread over Taehyung when the man tossed his head back and seemed to glow as his shoulders shook. It was more contagious than Jimin’s illness and Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the man as he began to tease his nephew shamelessly about being a new weapon of destruction. The boy simply whined and curled his head into Hoseok’s neck, apparently not seeing the same humour as his uncle.

“I should get him a leash to be honest.” Hoseok joked, but Tae had a feeling the glint in the mans eyes meant he was deeply considering it.

Taehyung didn’t really know how to reply so he just nodded slowly and turned his attention back to the freezer, recollecting his basket before just grabbing a few different meals at random and tossing them in with the juice and tissues he’d already gotten. Whatever it was he and Jimin would eat it whether they liked it or not. He had been out longer than he wanted to be by now and he wasn’t wasting more time on things that they probably wouldn’t taste much of anyway considering how this cold was progressing.

“Not much of a cook?”

Tae glanced to Hoseok who seemed to be shifting his weight as he looked towards the meals casually.

Sniffing lightly, Taehyung tried to suppress the desire to rub at his nose through the mask. He shrugged, his hand moving up to brush some hair from his eyes. “Never really learned. Jimin can’t either, but this is better than living off of take out.”

“I can see Jin rolling in his figurative grave.” Hoseok chuckled. “If you want I can mention to Jungkook how I ran into you, despite you clearly not feeling well. I can guarantee that you and Jimin will get visited by Yoongi and Jin with at least a months-worth of premade meals to be frozen because they heard from Jungkook that you were both malnourished and possibly dying.”

He blushed at the call out on being sick, but to be fair, he hadn’t thought he’d run into anyone that would actually talk to him or that this store would be so busy during work hours. He also didn’t doubt Jungkook’s ability to exaggerate, Jimin had told him about some previous examples that had at the time probably caused Jin a lot of stress. It mostly seemed innocent but very few could look into Jungkook’s eyes and not believe everything he tells them. Tae had only just started speaking to him more and he already knew that.

“Please don’t. I can’t even bear to look at soup after these past few days and I have a feeling that would be a strong contender of what one would give a sick person.” Against his original will, he rubbed a finger to his nose as it twitched with an itchy irritation. “I need to get home actually; we had no food left so I should try to get back before Jimin wakes up. And I am about ready to sleep for the next week.”

“Oh wow. So you really are in need of pre-made meals filled with some love and care.” Hoseok’s voice dipped into one similar to how he had teased his nephew. “Well, I won’t keep you then. You should get home and rest, but if you want to take me up on sending the s.o.s. message for food delivery, Jimin has my number.”

Taehyung thanked the elder man shakily, and even managed to get a small wave bye from the boy, barely having time to hear the small apology for bumping into him before he abruptly turned away and buried his face into his elbow.

H’EESH..hH’HEGXSHhh..

There was a startled ‘oh’ and then deep chuckles. Taehyung winced as he gave a liquid sniff with a low groan, feeling even more congested than before.

“ ‘cuse ‘be.”

“Bless you,” Hoseok laughed with a hand instinctively holding his nephew closer. He dipped his head in a small bow. “Sorry, it’s not funny. That sounded awful, but I got a fright and now I feel dumb for jumping.”

If he had blushed before, then this was him setting himself alight. That had never happened before, he’d never scared someone with his sneeze. Jimin was never going to let him live that down.

“I’ll leave you be now,” the man grinned. “Go home and get some rest. But when you feel better we should hang out some time. Jimin speaks about you all the time and I just think it would be great to see more of you… like with everyone. Welcome you to the city properly.”

“I…yeah. Okay.” Taehyung brushed his hands through his hair and took a starting step back, trying to hold back any more sniffling. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Feel better soon, Taehyung, and get home safely.”

*******************

HEESHHU..H’HIESHH…snfff.. … Heh..h..hhh..HHeGXTCHh…hnnxgGTSCHew!... nghHEHHSHH!!!

Taehyung panted out hot hitchy breaths as the tissue box was set in front of him as an offering. He laid a hand on the box to take it, his other hand hovered desperately over his face as he geared up for the next sneeze. His teary eyes had barely blinked open before they were forced shut once more, his throat and head pulsed with each sneeze that ripped out of him.

“Ble-e’hh-hh-ss yo-uishhhiew.. H’ingxtshh… hih’itishhew!”

Taehyung grabbed a few tissues and let Jimin keep the box as the elder coughed and crumpled into the seat beside him, before following Tae’s example of blowing his nose tiredly.

After shopping, Taehyung had managed a slow drive back to the apartment with multiple stops to tear open one of the tissue boxes he’d bought. It hadn’t helped much, and he had felt progressively worse as the minutes ticked by until he’d made it into the house, where he had promptly collapsed onto the couch with his tissues – only having to get up again to dump the food he’d bought in the fridge and freezer before sluggishly dragging himself to the couch once more..

When he’d been coaxed awake by Jimin gently shaking his shoulder, he had been met with a dim early afternoon sun and a plate a steamy food that had definitely been nuked in the microwave for longer than necessary. And from there they hadn’t really moved much, other than Jimin having forced some medicine into them and making tea before joining Tae on the couch.

There was some drama playing softly on their tv, but neither of them really had the energy to focus on it properly and Tae could barely hear the dialogue anyway once the congestion in his sinuses began to interfere with his ears. Jimin had dragged in a blanket from his room and draped it over both of them as Tae added to the pile of used tissues that had begun to form on the floor in front of them. Nothing seemed to stop the constant tickle that plagued him, nor his noses inability to do what he wanted. Tae was considering just stuffing his nose with tissues at this point. Since the trip to the supermarket his nose had turned into a mess that was seemingly draining the life out of him. Jimin had assured him that despite what he thought, it would get better, but he was sure that his friend was just trying to be his usual hopeful self. Always ready to reassure and look out for him.

At least they were suffering together. That was an upside. Jimin claimed to be feeling a lot better than the day before and it seemed to be mostly true, he was definitely being more active than Tae wanted to be. Although that could also have just a factor of the smaller man sleeping like the dead for almost 20 hours and Taehyung thinking it was wise to leave the apartment earlier. He was just deeply glad that he wasn’t alone again.

Tae hated being alone. Even when he was well, he’d tried living by himself before and it had eaten at him mentally. It’s a big reason why he had convinced Jimin to find a new apartment that they could share when he switched towns, instead of just finding a cheap single flat somewhere. Thankfully his Soulmate had been searching for something already, so he didn’t feel like too much of an inconvenience. Jimin had always teased him relentlessly for needing people but never wanting relationships, always just content with a friend to cuddle up to or hang out with. Yet watching Jimin and others grow into bonds and commitments always made him doubt. Jimin meant well with his chirps and edgy teasing, but it always made Taehyung worry about his future.

What would he do when Jimin finally moved on in life? It’s not like anyone would want to invest in a person that would never give themselves entirely to a partner... He would never fall into the trap of letting someone take what he didn’t want to give again, yet that was all everyone seemed to want from him. … Maybe he’d start up a cuddle site, or a hug program, he’ll think of a way to get the skin ship he needed without being a bother or a hazard to himself.

“You’re thinking too loud again…” Jimin whined hoarsely and sunk into Tae’s side, rubbing his cheek into the other shoulder as he curled into him. “Your brainwaves are hurting mine.”

“You’d need a brain to have brainwaves, you’ll be fine.” Tae mumbled as he ran a tissue under his nose with a sniff and yelped out a weary laugh when Jimin pinched at his ribs.

“Asshole.” The elder snipped, but the smile in his voice was evident.

It took no prompt for Jimin to snuggle even deeper into Taehyung’s embrace, relishing in the warmth despite the dampness that had begun to seep through Tae’s shirt. It would probably be wise for them both to get in the shower – at the very least to rinse off their sweat and germs – but they were far too comfortable to move. Tae felt as if his body had become moulded into the seat and the heat that was created between himself, Jimin and their blanket; paired with the medication he’d taken, only made him dozier. Even as his mind raced through various what-ifs of the future, his eyes gradually drifted shut up before jerking open with any sound or movement. Soft hands brushed soothingly up his side, edging him closer to sleep with low humming, and just as his eyes closed again there was a sharp knock at the door that caused both of them to groan.

“If we ignore it, they might think we’re not here.” Jimin whispered.

Ah…H’ERSHH! ..

“Never-“

HE’ETCHSHH!!

“… Never mind. Thank you Taetae.”

“Sorry..”

Another softer, more hesitant knock sounded through the apartment as Jimin pushed himself to his feet and handed control of the tissue box to Tae solemnly. He accepted it more desperately than he would have liked, but Jimin wasn’t going to judge him considering he’d been in the same situation just the day before.

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin tried not to shiver against the loss of heat. “I’ll go see who it is then.”

The photographer pushed himself up to sit cross legged instead off slouched down in the seat while Jimin left the room, so he could blow his nose as productively as he possible. Although his nose ached after so much blowing and he had immediately tumbled into a bout of coughing that had left him gasping and spitting into a tissue with a grimace, so he couldn’t really call it all that productive when it ultimately made him feel worse. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a yawn before considering just going to sleep anyway. From the front door he could vaguely make out Jimin’s voice – deeper and scratchier than usual – as he spoke with familiarity.

Hopefully it wasn’t their neighbour. She had been hounding them about tidying up their balcony that, quite frankly, wasn’t that bad. Sure, it had way too many dead and dying plants and the chair out there had definitely seen better days, but if she didn’t like seeing it, she didn’t have to go out of her way to look. It wasn’t like they shared it.

He leaned his head back to rest on the back of the couch and shut his eyes once more, trying to force himself to sink into sleep, yet it was now low grumbling and airy giggles kept him from rest. Irritated, he shifted so that he lay curled up on his side, tossing his heavy limbs around until he’d managed to get the soft, fluffy blanket over his body completely and tucked under his chin. Now if Jimin could get back so that he could at least have someone to cling onto, then he’d be ecstatic.

Muffled coughing grew closer until Taehyung heard Jimin call out to him just loud enough to not disturb his penetrating, consistent headache.

“Look,” Jimin practically collapsed on top of the photographer holding a small bouquet. He slid off quickly when the force of the landing set off Taehyung’s own thicker and hoarser coughs. “Sorry but look what Yoongi brought.”

Ah… so there was a definite hold on the ‘cuddle’ part planned in their day. Once he didn’t think his throat was going to rip to pieces, Taehyung blinked heavily at the various bright flowers that had probably been put together with more thought and precision than he could possibly imagine in that moment. Clearly Yoongi had decided to call in a delivery, he wasn’t really surprised. Jimin’s eyes shone as if he truly hadn’t expected the florist to stop by, and Taehyung didn’t think the elder really cared what he thought about it, he had merely fallen into an instinctive habit. Although, Tae would have preferred not to be assaulted with things that would possibly trigger his sinuses.

He scrunched his nose and pushed away the hand that held the glorified weapons. There were quiet steps and a gentle murmur from behind them that he would have brushed off as him hearing things, if only Jimin didn’t glance up with such a warm, wide smile.

“Beau’iful Chim.” Tae sniffed and rolled so that the blankets rolled higher to hide his face.

His cheeks were heated and Jimin turned his smile to him knowingly – albeit apologetic for letting Yoongi inside when Tae clearly just wanted Soulmate time. Jimin pressed a quick kiss to the small visible section of Tae’s damp forehead before getting to his feet with a stifled cough.

“I’ll put these in water... You really didn’t have to come and check on me, you know.” Jimin said softly as he walked towards their kitchen. “Probably safer to just call.”

“I’m not scared of getting sick, Jimin.” A low voice that could only be Yoongi, reassured as he followed the other. – So more than a delivery then.- “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday. Hobi said he ran into Taehyung earlier… Although from the looks of things he should have probably stayed home, poor guy sounds worse than you did – than you do.”

Jimin hummed, and Taehyung shifted to cover his head entirely beneath the blanket, trying not to listen to the couples conversation. Maybe he should just move somewhere else and let them have some space without having to hide in the kitchen. Of course Yoongi would have to accept the fact that he was entering an area of disease, but he seemed more than willing considering he was already in their home.

Tae gave a sigh and then a deep sniffle. He plucked a fresh tissue to wipe at the tender skin under his nose. It took a moment to work up the energy but eventually he was able to twist so that he practically rolled off of the couch. His knees and hand connecting a lot harder than he’d predicted to the floor, while trying to keep the blanket as steady as possible on his hunched frame. With sluggish motions, he tried to sweep most of the used tissues up with his hands and dumped them into the wastepaper bin kicked under the table, then after achingly persistent hitch started up that had left him feeling frustrated at the lack of relief – he considered the area clean enough before standing unsteadily. Making sure the blanket was wrapped tightly over his shoulders, he grabbed the tissue box to take with him – Jimin could find something else, he felt he needed them more. Then he had almost tripped on the way to his room and had muttered half-hearted curses at the blanket for betraying him and getting caught up in his steps, until finally he was able to collapse onto his bed.

Sure it was cold and probably smelt of sweat but it was at least more comfortable than where he had been lying and it had pillows that he could hug in replacement of Jimin. He buried his face into his arm almost immediately, sneezing harshly twice before he was able to bring a tissue to his nose and smother three more, breaking off into an exhausted, thick cough that left him feeling miserable and wanting nothing more to recollect the bottle of medicine he’d taken earlier and take the rest of it.

God, he really was so over this stupid cold.

#bts sickfic #snzfic #platonic soulmates #established yoonmin #jhope appeared #Tae suffers #im sorry #only a bit tho #alternate universe #photographer taehyung #florist yoongi #florist jhope #friendship?

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fndmxreader · 3 years

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fandom: harry potter. pairing: remus lupin x reader | the reader simps for lupin because isn’t that all what we do daily ? summary: connected to the self indulgent series where the reader is a slytherin muggle born witch working alongside the teachers at hogwarts. note: this series will bounce around a lot involving timelines, but a lot of them don’t really have a coherent story line anyway. movie setting: prisoner of askaban. pov: she/her pronouns.

you were looking off into the distance in a daze, end of pen in mouth as your writings came to a halt and instead getting caught up in thoughts. your summer hadn’t been great, if you were being completely honest : your muggle friends were getting on your case regarding being missing for a year, you knew at some point you had to pick : the wizarding world or the muggle one, living two lives was absolutely exhausting, living them meant being two types of people - like one example, you had accidentally used a levitating spell to put a cup back and last minute your friend walked in, smashing on the floor as your hand flinched down to your side.

“ what was that crash ? “ “ i put the mug too close to the counter, “ you had laughed nervously, quickly walking towards the glass to pick it up “ it fell off as a result ” “you’re clumsiness is going to be the death of you “

that was only one of the close calls, there were far too many to keep track of, including dropping hints to the wizarding world in conversation, only to stutter and try and say you were referencing a bizarre indie movie from overseas. at this point you were trying to pick would it be even possible to choose a side ? it seemed impossible just to pick one over the other, especially knowing that no matter what route you take it would result in an empty, hollow feeling left inside of chest. you’re not sure who you could go to for guidance, you weren’t familiar with any muggle borns your own age, and talking to a pureblood or half blood would go in vein, the latter would understand to some degree, but ultimately it’s not the same and with it being so complicated, listening to people who barely got it would be a waste of time and only twist the knife in gut.

“ everyone, i would like to introduce you to remus jo - “ that was all you really heard dumbledore say before ears blocked out the world like static, everything beyond the screaming in your head made everything else seem like a distant hum with no tune, a crackle of a tv that can’t quite catch signal. your pen tapped against your bottom lip, perching against it as you eyebrows knitted together in deep thought.

maybe professor dumbledore could help, he wouldn’t get it but maybe he could shred some light on the situation ? he was always good at that.

“ miss l/n - “

perhaps it’s all just being blown out of proportion, work leave would surely be something the muggles would understand that. even if they are after photos, work gossip and other details -

“ y/n “ between the firmness and the sudden block of your view as the men stepped into eyesight causes you to flinch, reeling away from nothing in panic as you try and grasped your surroundings once more, blinking up in a rapid succession that causes concern to flash on the two men’s faces. it takes a moment to register where you were, the surroundings, what the hell was going on in general...

“ huh ? “ your tongue pokes out to roll against your bottom lip, eyes wide as you stared up at dumbledore, only for sight to break away from the one your most familiar with to the new guy... you won’t lie to yourself, you weren’t ready for seeing someone like him, especially in your state. his eyes were beaming with life, amusement dancing behind dark hues as a faint smile tugged at lips, hands pushed far into pockets as eye contact seemed to lock, your lips part to say something, anything but much like before your brain seemed to short circuit, this time for an entirely and much more embarrassing reason, “ huh ? “ you repeated again, cheeks coming to life with colour as you kept looking at the new guy.

“ this is professor lupin, y/n. the new defence against the dark arts teacher - “ speaking slower now, and you’re rather grateful for the approach because you really needed things to stop going by so quickly, the whole world seemed to flash in front of you at lightening speed.

“ oh “ a pause, then it really began to register “ OH ! “ it was the most beautiful example of a pin drop ever to grace hogwarts’ walls ( yes, dumbledore will be thinking about it years to come ) - you jump up rather clumsily and hold your hand out to the man “ hi, sorry - i was just ... never mind, hi ! “ you repeated again, the embarrassment settling deep within bones, making itself at home in the creases of mind that would take weeks to weave out. but regardless of the mocking in head, you do your best to not feed it and give it anymore attention... at least for the time being. lupins much bigger hand wraps around yours, a firm but gentle grasp as he finally takes the moment to speak himself.

“ that’s quite alright, i can tell that we disturbed you. in fact i believe we should be the ones apologising, however professor dumbledore here insisted on the introduction - “ it came easily, between tone of his voice and the warmth of his hand, you’ve never felt safer, it was like being in a warm hug beside the fire on the night of winter; you mentally slap yourself for acting like a teenager towards a complete stranger. your eyes however, narrow towards dumbledore, in a way blaming you own pathetic display on him. a faint smile on his lips as he made up some excuse to leave the pair of you alone, not at all hiding the way his eyes twinkled with amusement at the scene that played out.

your hand flexed around remus’, far too busy sending daggers at dumbledore walking away than the fact you were still holding the older man hostage, not helping the murmured “ ugh, he can be such an arse sometimes - “

“ i believe that’s apart of the charm “ remus chimed, your eyes moving back to his as you smiled up at him once more, less tense than what your face was previously “ um, miss l/n ? your hand - “

“ oh, fuck, sorry - “ instantly your arms folded across your chest, the blush only darkening your cheeks “ i promise i’m not this socially inept, well, at least to this extent - “

“ oh, don’t fret. i’ve met much worse people, i myself tend to panic in social situations. they’re not my forte “ you shoulders relax, though you can’t help but note that he seemed surprisingly at ease even with the confession. your eyes dance around the staff room, much to your own relief they seemed to be back to focusing on their own work.

“ well, you’re doing much better than me if that’s any help. so, you’re teaching dark arts - ? “ then the conversation seemed to spark to life without much spluttering after that, eventually both sitting on the couch and bonding over lessons; including how you got your position in the first place, your arm rested on the back of the furniture as your body turned fully to him, the longer the pair of you were sat there, the more they progressed beyond work and more into personal ones, about experiences outside of hogwarts and within the walls, not helping the fits of giggles that bubbled in your chest.

“ being a slytherin comes with the natural title of ‘dark pranks,’ most of us tend to live up to the name. people demonise us, so we give them a reason to continue it. that certainly doesn’t end at our humour, i think it shows more than ever in that aspect - “ you giggled again, head shaking “ i remember my friends putting a real snake in one of the gryffindors bed covered in animals blood, the girl panicked for weeks - but they started it ! “

“ i must say being a gryffindor myself, i feel like i should be offended on behalf of them. then again, my friends here were trouble makers as well. their pranks could... “ wrist rolled in the air, and while there’s a hint of pain twisting in features and a haunted look that seemed to cover bright eyes, there was still a fondness in how he spoke “ extremely, well and truly out of hand ? “

“ ahah ! “ it’s like a triumph, finger pointing at the others face “ you can hide behind the fancy wording all you want, professor. but you gryffindors can be just as over the top as the rest of us, if not more so ! “ he knocks your hand away from his face playfully, grin widening as mock offence does its best to take over features.

“ firstly, you may call me remus, second of all, i will agree with nothing you say, i would never stoop so low. “

your heart skipped a beat at the notion.

“ you may call me y/n, only when you admit i’m right - “

a nice joke to push down the giddiness of calling him by his first name the short hours of knowing him.

“ how very slytherin of you - “

“ how very gryffindor of you to point that out, remus “

the back and forth banter eventually came to a halt, as minutes ticked by it was time to go to the great hall for food and to sort out the new years. you and remus walked in a comfortable silence, a lightness surrounding you both as it showed in your steps, and showed in the way his lips remained locked in a subtle smile. you were left with one feeling... finally, dumbledore hired someone worthwhile. you would also give him a hard time for that awkward bow that he did at dinner.

#remus lupin x reader #harry potter x reader #hp x reader #teacher!reader series.#the man. the myth. the good doggie -#MSODHSOIDHSOIDH #harry potter corner.#god this took days to write i dont even know why im sorry im a sham

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

Text

Aaron Hotchner / Reminders and Reunions

Request: You and Hotch attend his high military school reunion together

Warnings: fluff, some angst, mentions of hotch’s dad, brief mention of what happens in “100,” some harassment by a dude, hotch saving the day, a little possessiveness from reader,

Word Count: 3.155

“Are you ready yet?” You called from the bedroom, slinging your laptop bag over your shoulder, as you glanced back at the closed bathroom door, "Aaron, just because you stop replying doesn't mean you can trick me into forgetting about the reunion."

"Are you sure?" You chuckle, turning as the door opened. You raised your eyebrows, watching him adjust his black suit coat, a crisp white button down underneath with a red tie — and you didn't miss the engraved silver tie clip you had bought him on your first anniversary, "because I have other ways of making you forget." He adds, raising an eyebrow at your gaping mouth and lingering stare.

And yet he can still make your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes, as he faces the mirror giving you a very nice view of his ass, “Nothing could make me forget this — not even your cute ass.”

He came close enough though.

He sighs, adjusting his tie in the mirror before you rise, walking around him and taking the tie from his fingers. You make quick work of fixing the knot yourself, a tired habit at this point because even though he was fully capable of doing it himself, he loved to have you do it. His eyes softened as he watched you, his fingers brushing down the length of your sides, pausing at your hips, “Do we have to go? More importantly, do I have to go without you? Can’t I just wait for you?”

“When you’re being honored at your high school for your service in the FBI? I don’t think so,” you smile up at him, your fingers finding his cheek. He leaned into your touch, despite his growing frown.

“It’s military school,” he corrected you, lips a thin line now.

“Yes, because you were a troublemaker — how could I forget?” He covers your hand with his own with a sigh, the corners of his mouths twitching, but still very much in a frown, “come on, I’ll be there soon enough. I just to—”

“Drop something off to the office, I know,” he finished. You hum, as your arms wrap around his neck, his large palms grasping at your waist, slipping to your lower back. His lips are only a breath away, his lips nearly ghosting your own, your fingers toying with the hair that rested on his neck.

“Tell me again how you know me so well,” he leans down, pressing a kiss to your now thrumming pulsepoint and he chuckles, the vibration sending a shiver down your neck. Another kiss pressed now to your collarbone, his fingers tug the collar of your shirt back, and he smiles against your skin.

“Might be the profiling,” he hums, as you tilt his head back up to look at you again, “might be the holy matrimony.” and you don’t miss the way the metal band of his ring grazes your cheek as he cups it.

“I knew I married you for a reason,” you smile against his lips as he kisses you, lips sliding together, parting as you giggled, “profiling makes being passive-aggressive so much easier.”

He scoffs, slowly walking you backwards towards the bed, the bag slipping from your shoulder, “And here I thought you married me for my good looks,”

“That too,” you murmur, as he presses you against the foot of the bed, “you’re doing a good job at that distracting thing,” and his lips find yours again, noses bumping, and your hands find his shoulders, finding it hard to say the next words that reluctantly leave your lips, “but you still have to go.”

“But we could have our own fun here,” his voice is husky, and you know he’s right — you can think of several examples from this morning alone of ways you two could have fun, several of which involve the very tie around his neck, but—

“Is there a reason you are so insistent on not going?” you tilt your head, as his gaze drops, “because we really don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it would be a nice way to reflect on how far you’ve come.”

“I’ve come far?” and you roll your eyes, before pulling him onto the bed, your leg over his. You only wished you could really articulate how far he’s really come, how far you’ve seen him grow, how far you know he will grow in the future — but you can’t. Not really. You could list the things he’s done, the things he’s accomplished, the things he’s gained, the things he’s lived through — but nothing would do it service, nothing at all. Because words were incomparable to Aaron Hotchner, and you supposed, your fingers tracing his jaw, that’s why you married him.

“I know you have — I’ve seen it,” your thumb brushes his chin, brushing his bottom lip and he kisses the pad, “and I can’t wait to see where else you go. But the reunion doesn’t have to be one of them, if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be a good reminder.”

He sighs, “I haven’t been there since my graduation — did you know that was one of the last time I ever spoke to him?”

And you purse your lips, watching the muscle in his jaw clenching, his fingers digging into his knee, “I didn’t know that — I knew you hadn’t spoken to him since military school but—”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “I didn’t even invite him — the school did,” he leans over, elbow propped against his knee, “It was the first time in my life I felt like I didn’t have to answer to him. It was the first time I was able to walk away from him and choose something for myself. And I chose to cut him out,” he rubbed at his chin, as your arms winded around his, one arm around his back and the other around his arm, “It wasn’t until he was sick, dying in the hospital that I ever saw him again, and by then...it was too late for words.” The weight of the words pressed against his chest still, a weight that would never ease from him, but your fingers intertwined with his, but one you hoped you could help bear.

“Aaron—”

“I don’t regret what I did, to him, at least,” he shook his head, eyes glassy, “do I regret leaving Sean there? Yes. Do I wish I could have seen my mom more? Of course. But,” his eyes flicker to the dresser, lined with photos of your family — of him, Jack, Haley, you, and the team, and then back to you, “it’s what got me here,” he presses his forehead to yours, “it's what got me to you.”

“If I have to thank that man for anything, and it’s very, very little,” he chuckles, as your fingers find his cheek again, “I would thank him for you existing, and for whatever he did or didn’t do, because you’re Aaron Hotchner because of it,” and then you shrug before adding, “and then I’d punch him in the face, but that’s besides the point.”

He laughs, leaning forward to kiss you, pressing both of you into the soft mattress, his lips tasting of the bitter dark roast he preferred dancing in contrast to the sweet taste of something unmistakably him, “I love you,”

“Right back at you,” you murmur, pulling him to you again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse under your breath, a colorful string of expletives that you hope no one caught wind of as you bustled down the street, only two minutes away from the venue, according to your phone. You promised to be there half an hour ago, but of course, someone had to screw up your paperwork, and it took five times longer to fix then it did to actually submit it.

Lovely.

And now you were late to the event that you had convinced Aaron to attend. His short, terse text message didn’t bode well of his time there without you, but you would be sure to make it up to him tonight. Trying to even your breath, you found the building, adjusting your hair and your clothes — you barely had enough time to change at the office. You were sure you terrified half the people in that office tonight, but you would apologize tomorrow — it was the only way you could get here on time tonight.

And you did, pushing the front door open.

Barely.

You found your way to the room where the alumni were dining. No signs present — didn’t think that would be helpful would they?

“Are you looking for the reunion?” a voice asked. You snapped your head to find a man standing beside you, a little too close for comfort. His snarmy voice matched his blonde slicked back hairdo, and his sleazy smile had you w “I couldn’t help but notice you looking utterly lost.”

“I am,” you take a step back, shoving your disgust away, “can you point me in the right direction?”

“I can, but I don’t believe I recognize you,” the man’s hands slips into his pockets, tongue darting out to lick his lips. You barely can hide your disgust, “You’re not crashing the party are you? It would very bad of you,” his teeth graze his bottom lip, his fingers running through his slicked back hair, “But I would be willing to teach you a lesson.”

“I’ll pass on the lesson,” you keep your voice tight, knowing you would catch more flies with sugar then you would with vinegar and right now, you needed this fucking fly to tell you where the reunion was, “I’m not crashing, I just need to know where—” he tilts his head, jerking it towards two double doors down the hall.

“It’s right through there,” and you head towards the doors, “I’ll see you in there.” he calls after you, and you shudder, right before you push through the double doors. A few eyes flicker to you as the door shuts softly behind you, but none of them Aaron’s.

You bit your lip, scanning the crowd for him. You hoped you didn’t miss it — not after you had persuaded him to come, not after how hard it was for him to be here. But you didn’t, you know you didn’t when you find him on the stairs to the stage, his presence and posture undeniably too Aaron to miss.

There’s a tapping on the microphone as the feedback reverberates through the room, “We wanted to honor a certain alumnus tonight,” a man’s voice booms over the microphone, “From here, he went onto George Washington University and then graduated law school summa cum laude. He eventually became one of the finest prosecutors in D.C. before joining the F.B.I.’s behavioral analysis unit, where he catches serial killers for a living. He is upstanding, true to his convictions, and represents the morals we wish our alumni to embody — Aaron Hotchner.”

He steps onto stage, and you catch his eye despite the flashing cameras and roar of the crowd — he had plenty of practice after all. His lips curl into a small smile when he sees you, a nod, as he steps beside the announcer.

“We would like to present to you with our distinguished alumni award,” he places the glass award in Aaron’s hand, shaking his hand with the other, as the room erupts into applause, “please, say a few words.”

He blinks, stepping in front of the podium, clearing his throat before he speaks, “The last time I was here was our graduation. Like many of you, I had been sent here — for one reason or another we all ended up here. And I have a lot of bad memories associated with this place, as do we all. But it was a jumping off point — it took us places, it helped us find the right people,” his eyes find yours again, “and it helped us become the people we are today. It’s a good reminder, a needed one,” he holds the award up again, “Thank you.”

The applause explodes around you, seats scraping against the floor as several rose to their feet, as he left the stage, walking over to shake his hand. You hang back, smiling as you watched him greet familiar faces. And you knew it was good for him to come here.

“Still here, huh?” an unwelcome presence finds you again, slicked back hair and all — he did promise that he would see you again. Persistent, like a rash. But now this rash has turned into a full blown infection, with drink in hand, the aroma of beer wafting with every word he spoke at you, “I still can’t place you.”

“That’s because you don’t,” you cross your arms, “I didn’t go here.”

“Oh I can place you,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, “how about in my bed tonight?”

You laugh, “I think you’re hallucinating,” still craning your neck to only find Aaron had disappeared into the throng of people by the stage.

Irritation begins to creep into his voice, “I think you’d ought to have a little more respect for the alumni here, if there’s one thing they teach you here is to have respect for everyone.”

“Well I didn’t go here, and the one thing I’ve learned is that people like you don’t deserve an ounce of respect,” you cross your arms, not bothering to look at him, “or acknowledgement. So why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone?”

A tension began to ebb at your nerves. Logically, you knew you were okay — a crowded room, full of other people, your husband included who was a federal agent and had his gun on him — but still. Still — he was still physically larger than you, and possibly stronger. And if you weren’t in this room full of people, it could be a much different story.

But I am in this room, you reminded yourself. You are.

“Come on, who could you have more fun going home with tonight?

“I have a few ideas,” Aaron slides beside you, his arm curling around your waist, FBI agent voice fully in action, his head ducking to press a kiss to your shoulder, “myself namely, but also every other person on the planet.

“Hotchner,” the man scoffs, “Hotchner, congrats on the award,” his lips are a thin line, “you gonna put that up on your mantle with all your report cards? I thought you were much too busy to grace me with your presence.”

“Never too busy for my spouse,” and you lean into Aaron’s touch, “something you should know well, Mason. Aren’t you still married?” as he tilts his head at the now dubbed Mason, who gapes at the two of you, as you grin brightly at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mason,” you hold out your hand, savoring the slack jawed expression on his face, “You’re married that’s nice. I see it isn’t going too well, and I wonder why that could be.”

“I didn’t know you got married again, Hotchner,” he crosses his arms, “try not to get this one killed—”

You surge forward, but Aaron holds you back, as you glare daggers at the fucking prick. You clench your jaw, your fingers fisting in the sleeves of his jacket. You needed to let him fight his own battles, and you knew he could — didn’t mean you wanted to punch him any less.

“You know I’ve dealt with worse bullies than you, Mason, before and after you started shoving my head in a locker, and I’m not scared of you anymore,” you squeezed his hand, and he intertwined his fingers with yours, as he slid beside you, Actually, it’s nice to see some things haven’t changed around here.”

The man surges forward, red in the face, but Aaron stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder. The room grows silent, and you feel the eyes of at least fifty alums dig into your sides, “Stop clinging to the past, and grow up,” Mason jerks his hand away, heading towards the exit, “I suggest you leave now. Unless you want to leave here in—”

“Fuck you, Hotchner,” he says as the door slams behind him, and the chatter creeps back into the room.

You scoff, swallowing the anger sitting on your throat, “Couldn’t even say it to your face,” you face him, his expression inscrutable as ever. Your fingers find his cheek, and he basks in your touch, a sigh on his lips, “you know you need a horse and a cape when you do that.”

He chuckles, and relief floods you at the small smile on his lips, “I’ll come more prepared next time,” he glances at the door that Mason had just left through, and your fingers find his, squeezing his hand.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes flicker back to you, “I should be asking you that.”

“He didn’t do anything besides make my ears bleed,” you huff, pulling him closer, his face in your hands, his eyes nearly glassy, “Now you didn’t answer my question — are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he shakes his head, rubbing his thumb across your cheek, “I finally have some good memories here, and I feel like I actually shut this chapter of my life closed after all this time. And this place doesn’t seem so scary now — it’s smaller than I remember. And so are the people.”

“Should we find Mason and see if we can prove that theory?” he snorts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment, before he presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, “do you want to stay a little longer or go? If we’re staying, I’m going to need you to say I love you a little louder in front of the group of women currently ogling you.”

“Jealous?” he laughs, kissing your forehead, tilting your chin up, as your hands slide around his neck.

“Possessive,” you kiss him, his lips smiling against yours, his fingers twisted in your hair to pull you closer, and your hand drifted to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thud under your touch, “Mine.”

“I think we’ve made that clear enough now,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your pulse, “Now, I think we should leave because I believe I was promised some fun after this.”

“Really?” you scrunch your nose, “I don’t recall.”

And he pulls you through the double doors and out towards the deserted parking lot, pressing you against the car with a kiss, towering over you, as you tugged him closer by his lapels, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, “Let me remind you.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagines

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umbraastaff · 4 years

Text

Till Death, Don’t Let’s Start

Chapter 1

“This is kind of a bad time.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Barry,” says the possessed collection of boulders that’s about to punch him. “Were you hoping I’d come back when it’s more convenient for you?”

The incoming stone ‘fist’ collides with a skeletal hand. It’s larger than the lich itself, and yet it stops in place, with a shower of red sparks where they make contact. “A lich can dream.”

“You’ll have plenty of time for that in the Astral Plane,” Kravitz says, trying again to slam down. This time, he meets an invisible shield and keeps pushing. He can feel the magic that’s blocking him, and it is unyielding.

“Right. Yeah. There’s big magic here,” Barry continues, as though Kravitz is an idea soundboard and not a deadly enemy. His free hand--the one that isn’t blocking Kravitz--keeps waving in complicated patterns, some of which the reaper can recognize. Divinations, spells not unlike Detect Magic. “Thought it was the--a--a grand relic, but it doesn’t feel right.”

“And yet you’re sticking around.”

“Well, I--Wouldn’t you want to know what it is?” Barry stares intently at the ground. “I know I’ve felt something like this before, but--but not here. I just can’t place it...”

A flurry of gigantic stones comes raining down on the lich. An outward blast of force repels them all. He huffs like it’s an inconvenience.

“Look, can’t you just...” his idly casting hand completes another divination. “...Wait. Do that again.”

“I--” That’s enough to bewilder Kravitz out of the next strike. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s--I think it’s reacting to our--look, I know you don’t give a shit. Just do your normal thing, easy! Throw more rocks, or something.”

Kravitz considers this. Chances are a hundred to one that Barry’s just doing some ineffable scientific bullshit, and it isn’t going to affect Kravitz at all. But he’s also a very smart lich, and it could just as easily be a trap. “...No.”

“What--okay--don’t hit me, then?”

“Are you really going for reverse psychology, after that?”

“No offense, my man, but you’ve fallen for worse.” Barry sighs, and he raises a hand into the air. Red lightning starts to gather at his palm, blindlingly lit and erratically sparking.

Kravitz steps back, cautious. “Excuse me? Give me one example.”

“That’d be telling,” Barry says coyly. “Anyway, no worries. I’ll do it myself.”

He slams his fist into the ground. The sheer volume of necrotic energy that sweeps through Kravitz makes him want to retch. He sees plantlife ripple miles away, shuddering from its power.

“WHAT in the HELL, Barry Bluejeans!”

“Shush!” Barry says quickly, casting another divination. “Ha! Yes!”

“Are you quite done,” Kravitz snaps, and doesn’t wait for an answer before hurtling another magicked rock.

It shatters as it hits the robe. Barry, still deep in concentration, doesn’t even flinch. “...Oh. No.”

“No?”

“No!” Barry repeats, flying up towards Kravitz’s construct ‘head.’ “We--We gotta go, bud, we--”

The ground begins to shake beneath Kravitz, rumbling and shifting in ways that feel unnatural for an earthquake. Flat earth starts arching into a hill, cracking chunks of dirt and felling trees as it does.

Kravitz starts to get the distinct feeling that he forgot something about this place, something from a terribly long time ago.

“--We gotta MOVE! KRAVITZ! Get outta those fuckin’ rocks and GO!”

“You think you can scare me with some Thaumaturgy-level, hokey?” Kravitz taunts, but it isn’t with all the confidence it should have. Then Barry reaches through him.

Kravitz feels his soul, his very essence, dragged forcibly into a vulnerable state. Outside of the protection of his body, held firm by someone who could destroy him from here. Instead, though, Barry flings Kravitz into the sky.

Disoriented, Kravitz follows his instincts, and cover manifests around the ball of light. His skeleton forms, and then the rest of his projected form. Below, the rocks he was possessing all fall apart, crashing down into the grass and rolling away as the earth keeps moving.

From below them both, there’s a deep rumbling. The volume is overwhelming, destructive, and it takes a few seconds to pinpoint what it is: a roar.

“BARRY FUCKING BLUEJEANS, IS THAT A--”

“Dragon! It’s a dragon, I-I fucked up, I woke it up!” Barry says quickly, panicked. “It’s gonna be mad at me, but if you get outta here, it might not pick up on your goddamn--scent or whatever it picks up on, I don’t care--”

“Sounds like we’re on the same side, then,” Kravitz says, still midway through his effort to regain his composure.

“I--what--you’re actually gonna help me?”

Kravitz summons his scythe. “No.”

“Oh, I see. You meant the--the, uh. You meant you’re allying with the dragon,” Barry says, flying further away. “Which is stupid, by the way! You’re fuckin’ insufferable!”

“Then quit! I can get us both away from the dragon, you know,” Kravitz offers.

Scales start showing between the breaking chunks of earth. They shine bright red in the sunlight.

“IT’S FUCKING CHROMATIC, KRAVITZ!”

Kravitz isn’t stupid. He knows how dangerous a dragon can be. But he also knows that he himself has a foolproof means of escape. And if Barry’s dealing with an entire dragon in the meantime, it could throw him off just enough to give Kravitz an opening. All he’s ever needed was one successful swipe.

The dragon rears its furious head, finally breaks free of the earth it slept under for centuries, maybe millennia. The lich that woke it immediately has its attention, and the attention of a dragon is something one never wants.

Barry dives and weaves between blasts of fire and gnashes of giant teeth. Kravitz keeps out of the dragon’s direct line of sight, but when he sees an opening, he flies in.

It’s the fastest and most serious way he’s ever seen Barry deflect him. His scythe goes flying out of his own hands, and a large chest manifests in the air just long enough to snap shut over the weapon. Then it’s gone.

“Nice try,” Kravitz says, summoning the scythe again. It doesn’t come.

Barry must have some powerful wards on that extradimensional box, if a reaper can’t summon a soulbound weapon from it.

“Well, that was my exit,” Kravitz says bitterly, now considerably more on edge. He stays further back from Barry and the dragon, trying to formulate a plan to deal with this without his scythe.

“I will make you a portal myself if you’ll fucking go through it!”

“What’s your goal here?” Kravitz retorts. Admittedly, it’s a little mesmerizing, watching Barry fly around in an almost practiced routine. Like he’s done this before, even though no dragons have threatened Faerun for far longer than he has existed. Still, even a lich like him won’t ever take down a dragon. “How are you going to stop this thing on your own?”

“Oh, like you’d suddenly up and make yourself valuable help?” Fire nicks him. “Shit!”

“Well, I wasn’t just going to leave a fucking dragon loose on the world after I caught you, and I’m still not going to do it now!”

“I-I can’t trust you,” Barry says, and he has the nerve to sound sad. “Stop.”

Kravitz suddenly finds that his body doesn’t much want to move. He feels, actually, that he’d be quite better off if he stopped, and didn’t move a single muscle, even though every other thought in his mind is screaming that he needs to move. He has the feeling that, if he had a need for air right now, his lungs wouldn’t even expand.

The dragon is no fool, but Barry can at least keep it going in circles. He throws strings of magic off himself, luring the dragon upwards, and striking at its neck and underbelly. Then it’ll face him again, and he’ll shoot into its mouth. Repeat.

Kravitz, forced to watch, sees the pattern complete a few times, though Barry’s smart enough to change up how he executes it each time.

When they come towards the reaper once more, he sees the dragon break pattern. Its head levels with Barry early, while he’s still facing away from it.

“Careful!” Kravitz shouts instinctively, drawing Barry’s attention.

And the dragon’s.

The dragon faces Kravitz, and now he can see the fire it was building up in its jaws to attack Barry. He can see its eyes, too: it is far too furious to care about attacking someone other than its target. But his terror won’t allow him to move.

Barry flies in front of Kravitz. Kravitz sees his skeletal face, hollow and shaded. And then all he sees is fire.

It goes right through Barry, but it doesn’t hit Kravitz nearly as hard as it should. It is searing, yes, painful beyond imagining, but it does not decimate him the way dragon fire should.

The same cannot quite be said for Barry. His form flickers and glows something horrible. The flaming energy boils from within, threatening to destroy him, and he... spins around.

The energy flies back out of himself, now in enormous tethers of red lightning that coil around the beast. The dragon’s flight gets closer to the ground, until it crashes into the ground, sleepy or subdued or both.

But Barry looks worse than Kravitz has ever seen him. He’s always so composed for a lich, and now he’s only barely holding himself together. But it still isn’t like what he’s seen from other liches. He’s focused: his mind is present.

He’s just... discombobulating. Falling apart from that blast, and desperately trying to keep it together.

Kravitz can see the dragon on the ground, thrashing and struggling against its bindings, soon to be free once more.

“Krav--Kravitz,” Barry says urgently, his voice splitting and shaking and fighting so hard to stay comprehensible. “I--I know we’re not--it’s--please,” he tries, like he’s aiming to speak a whole hour’s worth of words when he has mere moments.

He’s coming undone. He grabs Kravitz’s hand, and it’s now that Kravitz realizes he’s allowed to move again. He lets Barry take it anyway, even though it would be so easy to brush off that feeble, shaking grasp.

He feels something cool pressed over his index finger, and when he looks down to see it, something hits his chest. He’s shoved back, and he sees the rim of a portal, and realizes he’s being pushed through one of Barry’s making.

“Barry--” the sky is the same. They’re still on the Material Plane, just a different part of it. A place where the dragon isn’t. (Yet.)

Barry takes his hand again, claps both skeletal hands around it. “Please don’t fuck me over on this one, Krav,” he says, and then his form completely dissipates. Barry is gone.

Kravitz stares at where Barry was for a few moments. And then he looks around. He’s on the outskirts of some city, now on the ground. Not making a spectacle by popping out of a portal in the sky, at least.

He tries for his scythe. It still won’t come.

And on his oustretched hand, on the index finger, there’s a ring. Pale tracings of a tiny, complex sigil encircle the rim. And in the center, there’s a small, red gemstone.

[Part 2]

#the adventure zone #taz balance #taz kravitz #barry bluejeans #mine #writes #my writing #tbc?#till death dont lets start

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens one-shot - “Wrong Address” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Since Aziraphale won't let his demon come over during lockdown, Crowley decides to send him a special gift. It doesn't work out quite the way he planned...

... but that might turn out to be an unexpected blessing. (1655 words)

Read on AO3.

"Anthony J Crowley! Did you send me a care package?"

"Yes, indeedy, angel," Crowley admits, a smug smile tugging his lips up at the corners. He reclines in his throne, phone pressed to his ear, staring out his windows in the direction of his angel's shop, beaming at the smile in Aziraphale's voice.

"What a wonderful surprise! This has positively made my day! Whatever made you think of it?"

"Well, when you mentioned finding those cookbooks in your shop, you sounded so damned happy, I wanted to see if I could top it even if you won't let me come over so I can watch you eat your tasty creations... " Crowley mutters on the finish, still bitter at his angel's reluctance to bend the rules, especially since those rules shouldn't apply to them. There's no way either of them can get sick! "So when I saw this online, I thought it could be a way for me to be a part of your culinary journey."

"How very thoughtful of you," Aziraphale says apologetically. He's not trying to hurt Crowley. He would love nothing more than to have him slither over and share a crumpet or two.

But angels assigned to Earth stations are meant to be role models. What he does, he does for appearance's sake.

He must lead by example.

Though, to be honest, it's quite annoying being penned in like this for the good of mankind when humans can't see fit to sit on their arses for a few months until this whole virus bother blows over.

"So... " Crowley nudges as an expectant silence falls between them, each waiting for the other's next move.

"Indeed! Don't keep me in suspense!" Aziraphale says, rubbing his palms together. "What's inside?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. Like he's going to set up this whole surprise and then just spill the beans! "You won't know until you open it, will you?"

"Oh! You want me to open it now then? With you on the phone?"

"That's wot I was hoping. I want to hear your reaction. You know, since I can't be there and all."

"Okay. Give me a moment. I need to find a letter opener or a box cutter or... or something... "

Crowley sinks further into his seat, closes his eyes, and makes himself comfortable. Knowing Aziraphale and his unique organizational system, this could take a while. But listening to his angel hum as he roots through his desk drawers relaxes him. Crowley finds himself drifting off, lulled by the sounds of Aziraphale simply being Aziraphale. But he can't let himself get too cozy. It would be a shame if he knocked out and missed Aziraphale digging into his gift.

Crowley considers snapping his fingers and giving his angel a hand with the packing tape when he hears a dull pop! and a triumphant, "Success!" Unpacking noises follow - the crumpling of paper wrap being pulled apart, amplified through Crowley's phone, then a giggle that falls somewhere between nervousness and confusion. "Oh! Uh... "

Crowley sits up straight, peering into the distance as if he could see what Aziraphale sees from Mayfair if he tries hard enough. "Wot? Wot's going on?"

"I... I don't know how you intend on me making a meal with what's in this box. Or are you punishing me because I won't let you come over? That would be unnecessarily hurtful, even for a demon."

"Why?" Crowley springs up and stalks over to the glass, addressing the greying treetops below. "Wot'sss in the box?"

"Don't you know?" Aziraphale teases when he starts to suspect this as an honest mishap and not a ploy by his demon.

"Obviousssly I don't!"

"Let's sort through the contents together then, shall we?" Aziraphale reaches into the box, pulling out items one by one. "We have here a pair of silky black knickers. I think these would suit you more than me, my dear."

"You think so?" Crowley asks, annoyance replaced in an instant by intrigue over his angel's impression of him.

"Oh, yes. I think they'd be most flattering on you. And here we have something called a Ben Wa ball, some... " Aziraphale clears his throat before he owns up to the next one "... anal beads... "

Crowley snickers, more at Aziraphale's tight tone than the item itself.

"... a Do Not Disturb sign with an illustration on it that’s anything but subtle, and an object I can only describe as a gel-filled self-pleasuring device. Oh... this one needs refrigeration."

Crowley's mouth goes dry, his imagination running wild with that description, trying to conjure a vision in his head of what such a thing might look like, and where it would go, especially cold. He presses a hot palm to the glass and shivers involuntarily. "Oh my... "

"You sound surprised. Is this not what you ordered, dear?"

"No!" Crowley squeaks. Aziraphale stifles a chuckle when his voice cracks. "No, I didn't," Crowley repeats, fighting for composure while the rest of him itches to bust through the window, unfurl his wings, and fly to his angel.

He could probably make it to him before the first splinter of glass hits the pavement.

But no.

Boundaries.

Aziraphale's determination to not have Crowley over is about more than protocol. Crowley knows this. Angel set up boundaries. And even though his reasons for doing so are ludicrous, Crowley needs to respect them. "Is there a company name on the box?"

"Let me check." Aziraphale mumbles as he searches the package for a name. "This end up, handle with care... here it is! Tantalize Me - the premium adult date night mystery box. Ooo! That sounds interesting! Do you think there could be a murder to sort out in all of this?"

"I don't think that's what they mean by mystery, angel," Crowley says, hearing Aziraphale dive back into the box.

"A-ha! I think I've found the problem."

"And that is... ?"

"I'm afraid this package was meant to go to another bookshop on my same block. It's entirely possible they may have my box."

"I think you learned some information about your competition that you maybe didn't want to know."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

Crowley sighs. "But now I feel like a heel."

"Why is that?"

"I promised you a meal and I didn't deliver."

"Pun intended?" Aziraphale asks with a snort.

"Not," Crowley replies, less than amused.

"I don't think you can be blamed for a mix-up with the post, my dear."

"Bet I can... " Crowley says, thoughts shuffling back to that awful Horizon IT scandal he lazily threw together that went, unfortunately, better than he'd planned.

"There is one thing to eat in here."

"Really?" Crowley grumbles, turning away from the glass and leaning his back against it, an intense chill seeping through his clothes and into his skin, its sting matching his rapidly fouling mood. "What's that?"

"A tube of personal lubricant. And it's chocolate flavored!" Crowley's eyes widen when he hears the telltale snap of a flip-top lid opening, followed by a wet squelch. "Mmm. It's not half bad."

"Are you actually eating that?" Crowley asks breathlessly.

"Only a little. I licked it off my finger."

Crowley fumbles his phone, catching it before it crashes to the floor. "A---Aziraphale... "

"Listen to this! It says on the label that it tingles with body heat. Isn't that interesting?"

Crowley's eyelids flutter shut and he swallows hard, his entire body becoming a solid, throbbing ache. Aziraphale doesn't have body heat. Not all that much. But as a demon, Crowley is full of Hellfire. What would it feel like to have his angel spread that lube on him, press his body against him with his skin tingling like crazy? Jesus Christ! "Aziraphale... "

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?"

"Nothing. Except now I think you're punishing me."

"Carl and Tish Lloyd are probably expecting their package. They must have some big plans. I should send it on its way," Aziraphale suggests with infuriating rationale. "Shouldn't I?"

"Th---that wouldn't be good form!" a desperate Crowley argues. "You've already opened it! And sampled it! You can't give it to them in that condition!"

"That is true. That wouldn't be very neighborly. But what to do with it? That's the question... " Aziraphale wonders while Crowley dies inside, a moan trapped in his throat struggling to break free every time he thinks about Aziraphale licking chocolate-flavored lube off his fingers. "Did you want to... uh... try a bit? Of the chocolate goo, I mean?"

"Are you going to ship it over?"

"I guess I could do that," Aziraphale muses. "But who's to say it will get there? What with the post office making such tragic errors. No. I think there's only one way we can ensure that you get your fair share."

Crowley's brow furrows, his brain cluttered with mixed signals. "Are you asking me... ? Can I come over?"

"I have some conditions."

"Name them," Crowley says, prepared to bolt the second Aziraphale gives him the go-ahead.

"You can come over only if you can make it here without being seen. No giving the humans irresponsible ideas. I know that's your job, but I can't be a party to that. Deal?"

"Deal." A snap of his fingers and a second later, Crowley snatches the tube of lubricant out of Aziraphale's hand. He takes Aziraphale's right wrist gingerly in his grasp, squeezes a dollop of lube on it, then licks it slowly off, amber eyes locking on his angel's blue gaze. Aziraphale's whole body shudders from a single swipe of his tongue, Crowley's tastebuds tingling on the finish. He licks his lips, depositing a thin layer of the lube, which fires across his skin like firecrackers. He sees his angel tremble, sees the white glow of lust in his eyes, and he grins.

Crowley is about to enjoy the best meal of his life.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #azirapahle #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

Text

ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

#my bbys definitely do not seem the type to celebrate valentines day #but i had to make them try lol #lmk if u are interested in a part two!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

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hood-ex · 4 years

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Can you give any pointers for fanfiction writing? It's something I've considered trying, but I've never done creative writing and it's a bit intimidating. I'm mostly interested in writing Nightwing, and maybe having other characters (Batfam and Titans) but still always having Dick as the center.

Welcome to Fanfiction 101! I’m here to keep you from making the same mistakes I’ve made in the past.

Pre-Writing Process

There are some people who enjoy outlining the shit out of their story, and then there are people like me who just kinda make the story up as they go. Whatever you decide to do, try to at least have an ending planned out. That way while you’re writing, you can start to craft the pieces you need to get to the ending you have imagined. You can even work backward and plan your story out from end to beginning.

For example, let’s say I want my ending to be Dick and Damian hugging in a hospital. Okay, what pieces do I need to get to that point? Well, if they’re in a hospital then one of them needs to be hurt. Who do I want to hurt? Let’s go with Dick because I want this story to show how much Damian cares about Dick.

Great. Now how does Damian find out that Dick is hurt/how does he save Dick? Let’s say Damian is in the cave when the batcomputer gets an alert from Nightwing’s suit. The alert shows that Dick’s vitals have gone haywire. Damian panics, tracks down Dick’s location, and then both him and Alfie take the flying batmobile to save Dick. They find Dick and take him to the hospital.

Cool but how does Dick get hurt in the first place? Hmm, well, Dick usually always rides a motorcycle, right? So let’s say Dick gets into a motorcycle accident. How does he crash his bike? Maybe it’s because of the weather or because a baddie crashes into him. I don’t want to write a huge action scene so let’s say Dick accidentally drives over black ice, spins out, and crashes in a ditch.

And there you have it. A whole story right there from end to beginning. You can plan things out in a more detailed way before you jump in and write if you want. A basic outline like that ^ is usually enough for me to go off of. The details just come to me while I’m in the process of writing. Try and see what works best for you.

One-Shots vs. Multi-Chapter Stories

If you haven’t done a lot of creative writing, I would suggest you start off by practicing with one-shots. Now, one-shots can be shorter content, but on the flip side, there’s also one-shots that are like 50k words. Totally depends on what the author is willing to put into it in terms of plot, description, character development, etc.

I personally have a hard time finding the motivation to finish multi-chapter stories, which is why I usually stick to one-shots. Short one-shots can be easier because they don’t have to be super fleshed out. The action is quick, the dialogue is impactful, and the scene is memorable.

You can also just jump into the action when it comes to one-shots. You don’t have to do as much build-up. For example, I could jump right into a scene of Dick having trouble breathing like this:

Dick’s having a hard time making sense of things. Vaguely, he can hear Bruce shouting for Alfred. He can feel hands on him. His vision is going in and out. Then, suddenly, there’s silence. Dick wakes up, confused. Tim is sitting at his bedside, holding his hand. Bruce is close by, and when he realizes Dick is awake, he immediately goes over to him. Bruce explains that Dick had a bad reaction to a drug he was injected with. Bruce cards his hand through Dick’s hair to comfort him, and Dick reflects on when Bruce used to do the same thing when Dick was a kid.

End scene.

Okay, so, obviously a real story would have way more description than that, but you get what I’m saying, yeah? That whole scene could be the entire story and it would be enough. But if you have the motivation to do way more than that with a ton of character development and what not, you totally could prolong that one-shot into 50k words. Or just break everything up into a multi-chapter fic.

The problem with writing one chapter at a time for a multi-chapter fic is that it’s hard to keep the motivation to keep writing each chapter. You write one chapter and then put the story to the side for a few days, and suddenly, you keep making excuses about why you don’t want to write the next chapter. To be fair, this can also happen with a basic one-shot, but yeah, tis the life of a writer. Don’t be discouraged if it happens to you. Trust me, it will at some point.

Character POV

Listen, I love writing in first person. In other fandoms, I used to write a lot of my stories in first person POV. I’ve got some bad news for you, though. Generally, people don’t like to read fanfics that are in first person POV. They just don’t. Nowadays, even I tend to skip over stories that are written in first person POV.

Third person POV is going to be your best friend. Get comfortable writing it.

Admittedly, sometimes it’s easier for me to grasp a character’s voice if I first write the story in first person POV. I then go back and change all the “I’s” and “me’s” to he, his, her, hers, etc. That’s just a little trick I do sometimes if I’m having a hard time getting a story started.

Characterization

If you’re not 100% sure how to write a specific character, try and figure out a few facts about them. Like if you want to write Dick then think about some key qualities of his. Sprinkle those traits throughout the story to make the character sound more authentic.

For example, I know Dick doesn’t like cucumber sandwiches. Sometimes I’ll have him or other characters mention this in the story. I also know Dick can struggle with perfectionism. I can make that something he has to struggle with in the story. It doesn’t have to be what the whole story revolves around, but if I just throw in some things here and there about how Dick is mad at himself for failing about something then that makes him feel more in character.

Character Interactions

At first, writing multiple characters interacting at once can be really difficult. It can fuck up the pacing of your story, it can be hard to insert each character enough to make sure they aren’t ignored, and it can be hard to make sure each character is getting a chance to speak.

If you find yourself struggling with this, try and just stick to two characters at first. Once you’re comfortable writing a conversation between them, try adding in another character. And another. And another.

The more you practice, the more you’ll be able to write multiple characters interacting in a scene in a way that feels more natural and realistic.

Genres and Tropes

When it comes to figuring out what you want to write about, you need to know what kind of content your audience wants. For example, fantasy niches (fairies, vampires, etc.) can be harder to “sell” in this particular fandom. There are people like myself who enjoy those niches, but just know that they may not be the most popular niches within this specific fandom.

What are some niches that the majority of fandoms do like? Hurt/comfort, sick fics, whump, fluff. Those kinds of fics are always in demand. People love it when their favs get hurt. People love it when other characters worry about their favs. People love it when their favs get hurt while protecting others. People love it when their favs are getting along and being affectionate with one another.

Go on AO3 and sort the fics in this fandom by “most comments” or “most kudos.” Now look at the most popular fics that come up and look at the tags they use. See what kinds of things those authors are writing about. Read their summaries and try to get an idea of what the stories are about.

Once you get an idea of which kind of genres and tropes are most popular, try and write a story that includes those genres/tropes. People will be more likely to read stories that have tropes they usually like to read about.

Now, of course, you can also just write whatever the hell you want without trying to appeal to your audience. This is what I do a lot of the time. Turns out that the things I like to write about tend to fall more in line with the tropes that are already popular in this fandom.

Spelling and Grammar

People really hate to read stories that have tons and tons of spelling and grammar mistakes. Make sure before you post anything, you put your story in Word or Grammarly (I use the free version) to check for spelling, grammar, and punctuation mistakes. Trust me, your readers will thank you for it.

Practice, Practice, Practice

I’ve been writing creative stories since I was 11 years old. The stories I wrote back then are absolutely shit compared to the stories I write now. So please don’t get discouraged if you write a story and you don’t feel like it’s very good.

Keep trying! Just like with anything else, the more you do it, the better you’ll be at it. There are so many things you’ll learn as you continue to write. Seriously, just recently, I realized I wasn’t always putting a comma in my compound sentences to break up the independent clauses. But hey, hey, now I know.

Pacing, characterization, and plot are also things that will improve the more you write. Writing drabbles (stories with maybe just a few hundred words) will help with this. It will help you learn to choose the most important scene or dialogue and write it in an impactful, emotional, and compelling way.

Okay, class is dismissed! If you have any other questions then feel free to send me another ask!

#writing #writing advice #fanfics #batfam

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shattered-catalyst · 3 years

Text

OCD Subtypes for the RPC

Part 1 is here

Well well well, we are back for Part 2 of the Roleplayer’s Guide to OCD.

Fellow Ocd Folks, I see you in those tags and I'm going to do my best to ensure those obsessions are represented here- BUT understand that physically it is not going to be possible to list every single one because I am one person. Regardless its incredibly brave of you all to rb and add things in the tags, I know its hard to talk about this shit and I see you. I see you.

Resultantly I typed this out and posted it in formatting to assist with accessibility in mind; if you cannot read it still ( I tried Im sorry!) i recommend the copy and paste method or getting the chrome extension bee-line reader.

There will be grammatical and spelling mistakes. Im sure spacing is odd some places, but you have to understand doing this is extremely anxiety provoking for me so Im just getting it done when I can.

Remember to use your critical thinking; not everyone has the same symptoms/compulsions/triggers and all that.

OCD is fluid. Its like liquid mercury. One day its a handful of subtypes another day its another different serving.

If you are in general squicked about certain topics even by mention read ahead with your own judgement. Remember us folks that have OCD have many disturbing and distressing experiences so if you are writing a character who has OCD and you can’t read about it just don’t give them that obsessive thought/ compulsion. Make sure writing is still a safe and enjoyable hobby for yourself first and foremost.

But ethically and morally I cannot and will not leave out the more disturbing bits. You have the ability to scroll by, I and many others do not get the chance to escape triggering content that our own mind creates.

So read ahead with your best judgement or at least skip around the squicky parts and educate yourself on what OCD is so people quite using it as a Obsessive Christmas/Corgi/Cat Disorder thing. Alright? Cool beans.

Okay so you made it passed post 1 and got under the read more. Give yourself a gold star for diving into this monster of a document.

Below is a crash course it is not meant to replace actual psychoeducation, personal research, or google. Honestly most of us do our research extensively but because OCD is treated so horribly by social media, media, and society in general.

I wasn’t sure where to throw these together because the education tools to learn fully about OCD are very specialized and thus very restricted. I found that many people DO have these experiences with OCD though so I will represent them throughout. I’ll also sprinkle some of my own experiences so you can get a good reference of a person who has the disorder and not just a randomly generated person.

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So OCD is made up of Obsessions, Trigger, Intrusive thought, Misinterpretation/feared consequence,Somatic and Psychological Anxiety, and Compulsions/Rituals.

Your character may not be able to list all of these. In fact if they aren't in ERP therapy they may not be able to puzzle these things out. But YOU as the writer should know them. Your character won’t be walking around talking to just ANYONE that they have OCD. Remember a huge aspect of OCD is it’s Shame. The disorder makes us feel intense shame regarding our intrusive thoughts, as a result OCD goes undiagnosed for years especially if it has pediatric onset.

We won’t tell anyone what we are experiencing or why we are doing x y or z. We act like nothing is wrong because to emotionally react is to admit to yourself- and therefore the world- that you have had this intrusive thought and are therefore by virtue a horrible person.[For further information I would suggest also researching PANDAS].

It may be noticeable if your character has an intrusive thought. They may wince or grimace or roll their eyes certainly, but they won’t open up to Joe at the cafe about how their brain is constantly torturing them. I apparently have a very noticeable eye twitch.

Depending on the nature of the intrusive thought it will get more or less of a reaction out of me. Its usually dependent on how distressing the intrusive thought is and/or if its a new one.

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You see OCD doesn’t sit still. It never looks the same. You’ll have your long haul intrusive thoughts that are with you for years but then you’ll have weird ass ones that just appear and demand their voice be heard yelling about cars hitting people or squirrels getting eaten.

Some people have similar ones! So while everyone is different there will always be someone out there with an intrusive thought similar to yours.

For instance; I bonded emotionally with a lady on reddit because we both have intrusive thoughts during storms that animals and the homeless are dying. We were both horribly relieved to find another person and also distressed that every snow or rain storm brings horrible images and whispers to your mind that while you are warm and snug in bed someone is freezing to death. And its all your fault.

Some days are better than others. As with all mental illnesses it isn’t CONSTANT ALARM BELLS. Some days it will be all alarms and other days it will be like a gentle whisper on the breeze. You can almost not notice it. Almost.

Obsessive thoughts run the gauntlet from ‘i will/could have/may/may accidentally harm etc’ something that you hold of value. This is any obsessive thought that you have: you think about repeatedly and not by choice, it is very anxiety provoking, it is unwanted, and unwelcome.

Mine run the scale from ‘squirrel will be murdered’ to ‘being responsible for harm’.

Compulsions or ‘rituals’ are any behavior done to alleviate the anxiety from the intrusive thought and trigger object. In short, compulsions and rituals are not fun. they are absolutely not logical, and we know they are not logical but we are forced to do them. Thats why its a disorder.

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To emphasize from post 1: magical thinking and the faulty link between thoughts and actions are hallmarks of OCD. Magical thinking can be anything from contamination to if I turn around three times or stare really hard at something the bad thing wont happen. Sounds weird and is weird and we know it is thats why its a disorder and not a delusion.

The faulty belief that thought=action is the biggest hurdle it is incredibly difficult to grasp, at least for me maybe some of you that have done further ERP can attest, that the mere concept of a thought not being the same as an action is completely and totally mind blowing.

Free will? Yeah thats terrifying. IDK about anyone else but free will is absolutely terrifying; what do you mean i could do anything i wanted?

Thats how you face OCD(WITH A TRAINED THERAPIST). You give in to ambiguity and the unknown. Its breaking that link between thought and action. Its incredibly difficult and draining. A five minute exposure leaves me in shatters for a week and two five minute ones had me ripping my nails past the nail beds with anxiety.

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Just a reminder: Do not have your character expose themself or expose folks with OCD to a trigger to “ help us get over with”. That is literally forcing someone with a mental illness into a break down and is not helpful. In fact its worse because a person knows about this intrusive thought and they tried to make it real. More shame and some trauma.

If you have OCD, more likely than not a family member or significant other has tried this with the purest of intentions. But it never works like that. Theres a reason that therapists get special training for this. If people want a post on ERP I can make one at some point.

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Actually let’s drag me with the squirrel thing as the example- fellow OCD Folks get out a pen and paper and try breaking down one of yours;

Obsession:Squirrel will be murdered

Trigger: seeing a squirrel

Intrusive thought: Graphic images of a squirrel being murdered by a hawk/ impaling depending on the day

Misinterpretation/feared consequence: Squirrel will be killed and its all my fault

Somatic and Psychological Anxiety:intense anxiety, palms sweating, heart racing,

Compulsions/Rituals: Must stare at the squirrel to prevent bad things from happening,

Now imagine if that is every time you see a fucking squirrel. You have somehow become completely and totally transfixed on a squirrel and nothing is going to pull your attention away or the squirrel dies- which your mind is giving you lovely images of btw.

Cute right?

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Below are the subtypes with general information/example thoughts/ and how some of these have impacted me socially because apparently some people dont understand that mental illnesses impact their social lives?? yall...

Social: This can range from ‘ i am constantly thinking i did something wrong so i have to ask for reassurance that we are still friends’ to completely unrealistic worries. Maybe its an intrusive thought that ‘ your voice is annoying them’ . There’s reassurance seeking, internal and external checking.

It makes friendships extremely difficult and exhausting. You’re not trying to get to know someone with an annoying frat boy egging on anxiety in your brain. This can also manifest as having strict rules for yourself and ethical codes.

My therapist likes to say she could give us (folks with OCD) a pile of hundred dollar bills and come back and they’d all be returned. Because OCD makes you so strict and morally confined. Which ISNT fun. Like I dont get pleasure over having to memorize the entire Code of Conduct!

Social Media: Its the bane of human existence some days and a lifeline the next. But what if everytime your follower count was an odd/even number it sent you into a panic attack. What if you spent all your time with intrusive thoughts that somehow someone misinterpreted a post or that someone is going to be harmed by a post you made about tapirs.

You may be forced to block people to get your number down or keep pornbots on your blog to keep your number what you like (see there is a use for them! We sacrifice those before actual users!) You may be refreshing your page every second because ‘what if you miss a message’. It's going to look a lot like ‘check check check check reassure yourself double check your posts check check check reassure check check FALSE MEMORY check your post etc’

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Clothing/Body Image: When its not Body Dysmorphia it can be OCD. Sometimes this looks like I obsess about a body part and therefore I choose my clothes/hairstyles to hide those. Some personal examples: as a kid I was sure that mind readers exist ( THIS IS AN OCD THING TOO I was so relieved to find that out) and that if i didnt wear a particular hat they would see all these horrible thoughts and it would be revealed what an awful person I was. So I wore the same dumb ass bucket hat for a year (or more I cannot remember but it was a long ass time).

I was once so fixated on being given a compliment on my eye color that I wore sunglasses (even at night) to a summer camp. And if any of those teen girls in that cabin that stood up and mocked me in a crowded lunch hall by singing ‘i wear my sunglasses at night’ you all owe me 40$.

Even younger still I had intrusive thoughts. Like say, if anyone noticed I was female that i would be kidnapped so I chopped my hair very short. I altered my appearance to be very androgynous and even switched to walking more masculine. Because omg if your hips move someones going to kill you thats just how it works. ( It doesnt help I later figured out I was a lesbian)

Your wardrobe may be impacted by OCD and yes so can your body image.

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Also yes the fear of mind readers is also a thing; i always thought I was somehow faking OCD because yes that is also a…..

Faking: Do you value telling the truth? Do you detest lying ? Boy Howdy do I have some news for you. OCD is going to try and convince you that YOU LIED. Whether it was on a chastity pledge to get a free sandwich or in a conversation you just HAD. This links a lot with false memory OCD.

Another aspect is OCD makes us doubt we have OCD and tries to convince us we have any other diagnosis under the sun and we are obviously faking our OCD.

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Sexual Orientation OCD; It is as it is called. Sexual Orientation OCD is what happens when your brain goes ‘hold on what if you’re not this orientation what if you are THAT’. It doesn’t matter where on the LGBT umbrella you fall you will have OCD trying to convince you otherwise. From compulsive staring at members of the same/opposite gender to compulsively reassuring or checking with yourself to ensure that ‘ no no you are in fact THIS orientation.’

This can range in behavior from binge watching porn, staring compulsively to check that there is OR is NOT attraction,self checking past experiences and memories, analyzing your clothing and your lifestyle in painful and intricate methods.

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False Memory OCD; False memory OCD is basically your brain sitting you in a noir interrogation room, handcuffing you to a chair grilling you. It demands that you did *insert bad thing here*. This can range from anything from something Harm based to pretty much *anything* from other OCD subtypes. Which is quite delightful really.

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Sensorimotor OCD; Sensorimotor OCD is obsessive body responses. These can be ‘ I have to cough really hard and really feel it right in my chest and if I can’t get it right I have to cough until I do’. This can be counting your heartbeats. Trying to check yourself that you in fact have a heart and checking and reassuring that it is still beating. It can be hyper-awareness of swallowing or even swallowing repeatedly. It is anything with selective attention; ie its an automated process but your OCD is forcing you to be aware of it.

Your OCD makes you aware of the sensation of, say, breathing, and then it convinces you that if you stop paying attention to it you will stop breathing. So now you’re horribly aware and focused solely on breathing and breathing alone. It keeps me up most nights with the pounding anxiety fueled by the pressure of ‘if you stop focusing on breathing you will stop breathing completely’ or waiting to feel that last heartbeat in your chest.

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Existential OCD; You ever feel existential ? Existential OCD is like having a very aggressive existential crisis that turns you into NEEDING answers IMMEDIATELY. This can look anything from hours panic scrolling the net to panic inducing anxiety because you don't know what happens after death. The thoughts are like foghorns on a misty sea.

This sounds basic and the only example i can give is as a teeny tiny 7 year old I had a panic attack in bed screaming that ‘ what if im a dinosaur and im asleep and i wake up and my whole family is GONE’.

To be fair I did like dinosaurs a lot.

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Harm OCD; This is pretty self explanatory but I will give more details. Harm OCD is OCD demanding that you will/could/can/may have/might harmed yourself/others/any living creature and that you alone are responsible.

This means anything from getting anxious driving over crosswalks because ‘what if you dont see one and hit someone and its all your fault and you hit someone go back and make sure you havent hit anyone’ to ‘im holding a knife so im going to accidentally stab someone’ to ‘ i didnt see my cat this morning and now im at work and think she must be dead and i am responsible for her demise.’

It can be as simple as ‘if i use a pencil i will stab myself in the eye’ or as complex as ‘ i may accidentally say a slur’/ ‘ i am going to say this horrible thing out loud if i cannot control myself.’ It can also be images of terror or racist/sexist/ableist jokes in your mind that repeat like a broken record.

(Please note from section 1 that this is extremely anxiety provoking and not something you would do. OCD preys on what we respect the most.)

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pOCD; Tumblr listen the fuck up because I am tired of seeing people get called shit on this website for having this mental illness. People who experience pOCD are not pedophiles, they do not get any pleasure or benefit. The thoughts and images are meant to induce harm to the person experiencing them. Children are normally the trigger for this and the resulting images can be very graphic. Again you aren’t attracted to children- thoughts of them getting harmed hurt you so your OCD makes you see them.

Know this so you can advocate for folks with pOCD in real life. Remember we are here. We are suffering and we are terrified of your children.

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Poisoning others/or in your food; Life isn’t medieval anymore but sometimes OCD demands we have a food taster or that we obsessively worry that we may kill someone with our cooking. Personally I struggle with colorblindness so I am constantly fretful over cooking any sort of meat so it’s difficult for me to cook it.

However this also comes as; obsessive horrible thoughts of your cooking kill someone or that you have somehow/accidentally poisoned someone’s food (even if you haven’t touched it or been within a foot of it ) or that someone has poisoned YOUR food even if no one has touched it except you. You’re going to be picking apart your food or unable to eat out at all.

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Emotional Contamination: It’s similar to magical thinking and this terrifying prospect of mind readers. Emotional contamination can manifest as anything from intense worry over somehow gaining someone else’s negative personality traits.

Or that somehow by interacting with any role of someone horrible will make YOU somehow also responsible for the horribleness. There is usually a person or a type of person that is a trigger, but it can also be location based.

This is one subtype where magical thinking and superstition are apparent.

For instance; as a teen if a male was in my space or had physical contact;like shaking hands,giving a high five, being in my room etc. I would have to go around and physically touch all the objects that I perceive they may have also touched as a way to cancel out their presence.

This includes wiping off myself to negate even the touch of family members. It really hurts peoples feelings, my father was especially hurt by this.

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Physical Contamination: This goes beyond physical dirt and grime. Most of us dont have spotless homes because if you’re having a fist fight with your brain everyday cleaning falls by the wayside just like it would for anyone else. Physical contamination holds 2 things: physical contamination obsessions AND compulsive cleaning behaviors/rituals. We believe that a small amount of a contaminate can cover large surfaces.

Oh, and did I mention its not JUST dirt/germs/viruses. The list is expansive but heres a mixed bag of what they can be: sticky substances,dead animals,glitter (FUCKING GLITTER),negative words or language,colors, numbers, surfaces in general, food, people, and activities. There is also a hyper responsibility to protect yourself and others from ‘contamination’.

Strangely there is a magical separation between the contaminated world and the ‘clean’ one. Spaces designated as clean would be a bedroom/bathroom/workspace where you are most active. That space is where the compulsions and intrusive thoughts occur. Its not I MUST CLEAN EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Otherwise I would be working cleaning houses because why the hell not amiright?

A real world example from a colleague would be a young man with physical contamination OCD is struck with such intrusive thoughts about cleaning that they refuse to allow anyone in their room or any animals in their home. But they are not able to even flush the toilet, take out the trash, wash dishes, or do garbage because of their intrusive thoughts.

The most famous would be compulsive hand washing but I feel it is important to also note OTHER aspects of physical contamination because everyone sees the hand scrubbing stereotype.

Other compulsions include intricate rituals, not touching the floor (i played X-treme the floor is lava during college. I couldnt let my feet touch the floor because it was ‘dirty’),excessive showering (2-8+ hour showers guys, 8 hour showers. Thats what we’re talking about.)

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Relationship OCD: This comes as no surprise that yes you will have intrusive thoughts that you are somehow harming/ will harm/ may accidentally harm your significant other. Whether that be by physical or emotional means. It can look like ‘ I may have lied to her about how much I love her’, ‘ i may not actually love her and I may be leading her on’, and ‘ I must be corrupting her’. These can extend to certain physical activities with false memory OCD as a cherry on top. A great finishing garnish to leave you feeling absolutely dismayed and unable to trust your own perception.

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Scrupulosity: Religion! Whatever that may be! Its a thing with OCD. With Scrupulosity obsessive thoughts run all over the board from; you committed a sin and forgot about it you monster to having to pray continuously/ a certain time/ until its right. What is right?Ask OCD that’s the only person who knows.

We are fairly certain my grandfather had OCD because he went to church for every single Catholic Mass. Every single day. Every. Single. Day. That’s not a healthy amount of attendance(I'm calling you out posthumously because I care Robert!). This can also look like: praying a certain amount of times. Praying until you do it ‘right’. Confessing every single potential sin. Cataloguing and dwelling over ‘sinful’ things.

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Symmetry or Just Right OCD: Symmetry OCD is the runner up for ‘most likely recognized on tv shows’ award.

Symmetry OCD convinces you that if *insert thing here* isnt symmetrical or ‘just right’ (a magical position or number of objects that makes 0 logical sense) that something bad will happen.

This can range from the known; rearranging things. But it also looks like buying more objects until you reach the right amount and even throwing out objects if theres ‘too many’.

It can range from ‘the walls are percievably not straight so now i avoid that room at all costs otherwise i will be trapped traveling the edges of the wall with my eyes otherwise it will fall in and murder us ALL.’ to ‘ this historical bust is one inch off to the left and now all i see is visions of it breaking against the ground.’

So that is what I have time for. 9 pages on subtypes and basic information. If you find yourself wanting me information all of this is easily accessible online. So go, be free and dont ever compare people to Monk again. Write Batman and Scott Summers with OCD. Give us ACTUAL representation and not throw away joke lines. We are here. Our suffering isnt funny. We deserve representation too.

#OCD #writing help #OCD resources.#*drops 10 pages onto your dash* whoops

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Harry can feel Draco trembling as they step into Azkaban.

It’s not just the coldness of the place, the damp walls and iron, the halls that still seemed haunted with the ghosts of dementors. It’s not the sound of the wind through the towers, the crash of waves against rock. It’s not even the shadows, stretching out towards the two of them, chased away only by the lantern that the guard carried as he escorted them through the prison.

Harry swallows, glancing a look over at Draco, the way he gripped Harry’s hand so tightly that Harry knew he’d find tiny cuts on the skin, made with nails pressed too deeply into the soft flesh. Draco’s breath becomes more and more labored as they approach a set of corridors, all heavy stone and dark metal, the flickering light from the lamp casting everything into sharp relief. Draco looks almost petrified, his eyes fixing to one cell near the back.

“I never got to see the water,” he breathes, quietly, so only Harry could hear him. “Thank god for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry manages. Draco shakes his head.

“It feels strange,” he murmurs; Harry can feel the rapid flutter of his pulse through the thin skin at his wrist. “Like it’s calling me back. Like someone will grab me and lock me back up again.”

Harry just squeezes Draco’s hand tighter, pulling him away from the cell he used to live in, for 2 desperate years after the end of the war. “I’ll die before I let that happen,” he says, and Draco’s face relaxes.

They turn another corridor, the keys on the guards’ belt so loud compared to the utter silence of the place. Harry supposed the heavy silencing charms drowned out most of the noise, the waves doing the rest.

“What’s your name?” he asks; the guard turns around, appearing almost startled at the question.

“Uh...Jimmy, sir.”

“Jimmy.” Harry gives him his warmest smile. “Thanks so much.”

Jimmy just nods, leading them through another set of corridors. They walk in silence for a few minutes, Draco’s hand still firmly clasped in Harry’s then -

“Here,” Jimmy says, setting down the lantern. He gestures at a small cell at the end of the corridor. “See those squares on the floor?”

Harry looks down at his feet - he can just make out the faint outline of a box near the cell door, made out of cut stone only slightly paler than the rest of the floor.

“Stand inside of it. The silencing spells don’t affect you if you’re in them.“ He hands Harry a small button, the surface worn from use. “Press it if you need me. I won’t be able to hear you.”

Harry nods. He turns to Draco, his breath catching in his throat as he sees the terror on his face, catalogues the wild toll of his heart.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice low. Draco cuts terrified eyes to him, his face made paler by the dim lighting. “Seriously. We can just go. Leave right now. Go home and we’ll make dinner and put on a movie.”

Draco swallows, hard. His hand still hadn’t left Harry’s - Harry squeezes it tight.

“It’s fine,” Draco says; his voice is remarkably smooth despite everything. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods. “Do you want me to wait?”

“No,” Draco whispers. “I need you.”

Harry doesn’t even hesitate. Draco steps over the line and he follows, into the square at the front of the cell.

Narcissa Malfoy stares back at them. She’s changed - there’s silver in her hair now, her skin even paler, devoid of the glittering jewels or fine silks that Harry’s always seen her in. He can see the thin bones of her shoulders and her arms: beside him Draco flinches back so much he almost steps out of the box.

“Mother,” he says, and even though he tries Harry can still hear the barest tremble in his voice.

“Draco,” Narcissa replies, in measured tones. She still looks like a queen, Harry thinks, her gaze piercing as if she was the one on the outside staring into a cage.

Draco swallows, hard and for the first time Harry truly sees how similar the two of them were. It was the same blonde hair and silver eyes, sure, but it was also the way they carried themselves, ramrod straight, masks made of marble snapped down over their true faces.

This could have been him, Harry thinks, watching Narcissa delicately clasp her hands on top of her lap. A broken prince in a rotting cage if he has been sentenced. Bile rises in his throat and he swallows, the silence between Narcissa and Draco like a blade.

Please, he breathes, watching Draco’s face, a mix between terror and desperate hope. Please don’t turn him away, scorn him like Lucius did -

“Why,” Draco chokes out, the words painful and raw. There are tears in his eyes, though his face remained as impassionate as always. “Why did you make me take it?”

Narcissa closes her eyes, the closest to a flinch that Harry’s ever seen. “Would you believe me if I said I was trying to protect you?”

“It hurt,” Draco breathes, and then the walls are coming down and Harry could hear the 14 year old boy inside of Draco’s voice, abandoned and neglected and in pain. “God, it hurt. Some protection, Mother, forcing me to kill and torture, having me be tortured myself - “

“We didn’t know,” Narcissa says, her voice still even. “We thought it would be the safest course of action. Given the direction the war was heading.” She clasps her fingers together. “Pardon me, Mr Potter, but if not for sheer luck the War would have been won by The Dark - Voldemort. At least the Ministry would be merciful enough to let you live, in the case that they managed a victory. With Voldemort there was no such protection.”

“Protection?” Draco echos, his voice deathly soft. Harry presses a hand to Draco’s lower back, a steadying anchor against the rising tide. “Is that what you think you gave me?”

Colour stains Narcissa’s cheeks as she says, “The Ministry would not want to kill someone so young, especially if they thought he was pressured - “

“Wrong,” Draco grits out, his body shaking. “You were fucking wrong, Mother. They were going to execute me. Set an example. Harsh measures, so this would never happen again.”

Narcissa blanches, her face leeching of colour. She clasps a hand to her mouth, eyes welling with tears. “Draco,” she manages, before her voice breaks. “Draco, I didn’t - I thought it would keep you safe.”

Draco stares at her for a long time, his expression haunted. Harry watches him, the single tear that slid down his face, the way his cheekbones were stained with a beautiful, rosy pink, his hair appearing almost silver in the dim light. He reaches down, wrapping his fingers around Draco’s; Narcissa’s eyes flash as she tracks the movement.

Draco stares back at her, hard and defiant as he deliberately links their fingers together. “Problem?” he asks coldly.

Narcissa doesn’t hesitate. “No,” she says, and then the tears start flowing, dripping down onto the stone floor of her cell as she sobbed. “No. Draco. My darling Draco. How could I have a problem?”

“Father did,” Draco says, his voice trembling.

Narcissa manages a watery smile. “Draco. My beautiful boy. You look so happy.”

Draco’s lower lip wobbles. “I am,” he says, and then his voice breaks. “Mother, I - “

Narcissa just swallows, hard, her eyes shining like Draco’s. “In the Manor,” she begins, then has to press a hand to her mouth to compose herself. “In the Manor. By my dresses - the silk ones that you always used to love to hide behind. There’s a loose panel with a star carved on it. You’ll find a box behind it.”

Draco blinks. “A box?”

“Yes.” Narcissa smiles, suddenly looking very young again. “Your father, before...before everything. He’s different, from the man I loved. I promise you that, Draco. I promise he used to be better.”

Draco shakes his head, eyes bright. “I can’t see it.”

Narcissa closes her eyes. “Our rings are in there. The ones he used to propose. I would like...I would like you and Harry to use them. When you get married.”

“Mother,” Draco begins, but Narcissa cuts him off.

“Remember,” she whispers, a mother’s whisper, all the lullabies and hugs and blankets pulled up to chins. “I’ll be there with you. Always.”

“Mum,” Draco chokes out, and then he’s sobbing, his arms reached out as if to touch Narcissa, separate by the impenetrable spells that lie across the bars. Harry swallows, hard, then steps out of the box.

“Jimmy,” he says; the guard comes over right away. “Jimmy. Can you lower the wards?”

Jimmy looks uncomfortable, eyes darting back and forth. “Sir - “

“Please,” Harry says, his heart breaking as he watched Draco and Narcissa sob. “His mother is going to be executed tomorrow. Let him say goodbye.”

Jimmy sighs, flicking his wand. “Okay. 10 minutes,” he murmurs, then walks back.

Harry steps back inside the box to see Draco’s hand reach through the bars, grasping Narcissa’s, both of them pressed up against the doors. Narcissa was stroking Draco’s head, her tears mixing with the soft sounds she was making, Draco shuddering in her arms.

“I love you,” she says softly. “You’re going to be wonderful - you know that right Draco? You two are going to be so happy together.”

She looks up, her eyes locking on Harry’s, eyes silver-bright and fierce. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” Harry says, and then Narcissa is pulling back slightly, just enough to look her son in the eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, and then sniffs. “I give you my blessing, Draco.”

“For what? Draco breathes back. Narcissa just smiles.

“Everything.”

#drarry #drarry angst #draco malfoy #harry potter #narcissa malfoy #drarry fanfic #draco malfoy angst #harry potter angst #draco malfoy x harry potter #narcissa black #lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #harry potter fanfic

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cinnonym · 3 years

Text

glories stream from heaven afar (heavenly hosts sing 'alleluia)

Written for Day 6 - Carols/Music of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

Kara is running late.

It’s not her fault, at least not in the strictest sense. Like, she did exit her cab more or less around the time she was due to be on stage. Which is to say, a trifle late, maybe. Marginally. And yes, that part may or may not be blamed on her (because traffic really is crazy during Christmas season, but maybe she could have anticipated that).

But. City hall? A joke. The amount of time Kara’s spent scurrying (literally, courtesy of the heels Kara’s stupidly decided on wearing) through what feels like miles of endlessly monotonous corridors could and should have been put to better use. Like catching her breath for example. Could be useful if she’s supposed to sing.

Unfortunately, it looks like there won’t be much breath-catching happening. While the next corner Kara rounds does seem to be the last one (like, there is a door ahead, but is it the right door?), the corridor stretching out in front of her for the final sprint is void of people. Which either means that Kara’s managed to get lost completely – or the gala has already started.

But no, the door is still blissfully ajar, a faint triangle of light spilling through the crack. It’s golden, and Kara knows, just knows, that it originates from a boisterous array of chandeliers. (Because, like, it’s city hall. Tax money has to go somewhere.)

Anyway, it’s not like Kara’s complaining. In fact, she’s rather looking forward to being enveloped in that soft light instead of feeling like she’s being stripped bare naked under the unforgiving stare of a spotlight. It’s about the atmosphere. Also, it’s almost Christmas for heaven’s sake.

So she speeds up, one last time, heels tapping a rapid staccato against the planks of the floor. She’s late, but it doesn’t matter (who needs vocal warm-up anyway), because the door is right there, and she is going to make it. She’s going to slip in unnoticed and a little out of breath, and she’s going to make her way upstage as if she’d been mingling with the crowd all along. She’s going to –

The door closes.

Kara is so near, her fingers can practically feel the cool brass of the handle already, and the door closes, right into her face. Literally. Because Kara’s spent the entire length of that last corridor gaining speed, and there is no way she can grind to a halt on the five feet something between her and the damn closed door. And so she slams, hands first, full body second, against the solid wood.

The crash is deafening, and for a split second, all Kara can think about is how it will be impossible to sneak in now. Then she rebounds, and her focus is redirected to trying to keep her balance. It doesn’t go very well (the heels were a bad decision in all aspects), in fact, it doesn’t go at all. Luckily, she still doesn’t fall.

This is mainly due to the pair of hands suddenly wrapped around her shoulders. A pair of very pale and very slender hands, which connect to equally pale and slender arms and ultimately –

“Golly!” Kara exclaims on a whim. There really isn’t much else to exclaim, because the woman (yes, woman, and already Kara is swooning over her strong grip) staring back at her is about as beautiful as words do not exist to express how beautiful. And not in an all-words-got-knocked-out-of-Kara-in-the-crash way. But in a real way. Like. A literal-goddess-but-even-more-beautiful way.

A literal goddess whose brow is beginning to wrinkle into a frown, before she opens her mouth (lips, Kara thinks, lipslipslips) to speak.

“Are you alright?”

And the thing is, Kara is. She has never been more alright than in this moment, wrapped up in a life-saving grasp, basking in the glow of elysian eyes. And she would like to tell the woman as much, because said elysium is starting to look awfully clouded with concern that Kara doesn’t want to be the reason for. She would like to nod, and thank the woman (because she does have manners, Kara, if nothing else), and then maybe ask her to elope together. Or something.

But she can’t. Because she cannot move, and she cannot speak, and she believes she might be experiencing what Alex calls Gay Panic. But she can’t be sure because not even her brain is working as it should.

The woman (the angel, the queen, the woman) seems to be panicking too, although Kara doubts it’s in the same way. Her hands squeeze Kara’s arms, and she’s shaking her kind of gently, all the while staring intently into Kara’s eyes, searching, presumably, for some reaction.

“Shit,” she mutters eventually, and somehow that’s what does the job.

Kara shivers right out of her trance. Something inside of her breaks like a dam, comes undone at the sacrilege of a swearing angel, and suddenly the words spill out of her in a flood.

“This might come as a shock,” she tells her saviour, who actually jumps at the sudden change, “but I am fine. Ish. Fine-ish. I mean, I did crash into that door pretty bad, but it’s nothing. Or, not nothing, I mean, will I have the biggest bump tomorrow? Probably. But I’ve had it worse. Like, one time I walked into a car, like, a moving one? It was in a play street though, so it wasn’t that bad, but I mean, it’s still a car, right? Anyway, I survived that too. As you can see. Didn’t even have a concussion. So, uh, who knows, right, maybe I’m indestructible. Maybe that’s my secret superpower or something.”

At this she grins widely at the woman. The woman doesn’t smile back. In fact, she’s sporting a stare that is a little to blank for Kara’s liking. She bites down on her tongue, hard, willing the words to stop before she’s sent to the closest asylum. She did come to sing, after all. Even though that’s decidedly not going well so far.

“Anyway,” she says cautiously, resisting the urge to wave her hand before the woman’s eyes. “I am good. And I actually came here for the gala? I’m supposed to sing…”

She is stared at for a beat longer, before the woman blinks. And blinks again. Then she shakes her head, quickly and forcefully, like she’s trying to dissipate unwelcome thoughts.

“You are not singing.”

It’s stated so matter-of-factly that Kara’s almost inclined to nod just because the tone indicates it. She catches herself at the last moment.

“Uh, yeah I am, that’s what I’m here for.” But then she falters suddenly. “Unless this is not the annual Christmas Charity Gala? Cause if it’s not, then I’m so sorry, I may have slammed into this door for nothing.”

There is a beat of stunned silence and then – heaven. The woman starts laughing, loud and prolonged, with her head tipped back and her neck on full display (and goodness, what a neck it is). When she stops at last, gasping for air as if Kara weren’t the one slowly suffocating on the spot, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes glowing.

“You’re right,” she says, faint traces of laughter still enriching her voice, “this is the gala.”

“Thank goodness.” Kara doesn’t trust herself to say more, lest she add an accidental love confession. It could happen. Kara is that clumsy. As has been proven.

The clipped answer earns her a curious look (maybe Kara’s superpower is making a fool of herself in front of beautiful women after all), before the woman blinks and her whole expression changes. The lopsided smile slides into a smirk. The amused glint in her eyes turns allusive. And the slow bat of her lashes is downright predatory.

“You still shouldn’t perform tonight.” Her voice drops an entire octave. “For safety reasons.”

Kara swallows. Hard. Her mouth feels like a bucket of sand has been emptied into it. She isn’t sure if her heart rate will ever go back to normal. She swallows again.

“Oh?”

The woman smiles as if she’s all to aware of Kara’s struggles (not that Kara is doing a very good job at hiding them, probably). She nods slowly.

“Yes, see, I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you – “ her eyes drag over Kara’s body, which promptly starts tingling “ – during or after the event.”

“Huh,” Kara makes. Her cheeks are probably on fire, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she appears to be absolutely delighted with Kara. Somehow, that gives Kara the courage to say her next words.

“I think I deserve to be given a try.”

She immediately buries her face in her hands after that, not daring to look at the woman as she waits with bated breath for a reaction. She is not disappointed.

A throaty chuckle vibrates through the air, a murmur of “very well,” and suddenly a new scent reaches Kara’s nose. It’s heady and laced with spice, and it infiltrates her brain like heavy liquor. And then there is the faintest touch at Kara’s ear, and a low voice wading through the haze.

“Sing for me, stranger.”

And oh, Kara does.

(She only learns later, during the gala, that her saviour is actually Lena Luthor. Like, the Lena Luthor. Her mind shatters a bit at the information, and she wonders if she’s managed to misread the mood completely, or what. Because there’s no way National City’s most influential woman sort of maybe hit on Kara a little. So Kara’s attempt at flirting back must have been totally out of line.

But before she even has the chance to spiral, Lena catches her eye. And she tilts her head and winks sort of teasingly at Kara, and yeah, no woman crosses her legs like that without any ulterior motives. Kara hopes.

She promptly misses the first line of Silent Night.)

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #sc fanfic #sc #christmas #christmas fic #my writing #music #supergirl

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firerose · 3 years

Text

Angstpril day 28- The day her love died

also on ao3

This is my last fic before I have to take a long writing break ( I have exams), So feedback would be very great :)

Hazel loved winning the war games. The Cohorts allies and enemies alike stood around her cheering and congratulating each other.

It made her happy to see them like this, so joyful after the giant war.

Dakota her Centurian colleague patted her back appreciatively.

“Good fighting out there Levesque.“, He complimented with pride in his voice.

Hazel could not suppress her smile.

Dakota was one of the Romans who took wargames a bit too seriously.

“ Thanks, you weren‘t bad either!“, She told him with a very stern tone.

Thomas rosewood, the Centurian of the first cohort walked up to them with a mocking grin.“You know you will never lose the wargames as long as Frank‘s Praetor right?“, He asked looking at Hazel with playful anger.

She felt her cheeks heating up.

She knew about the theories that the first and second cohort had made up to justify the many victories the fifth cohort won since they had started war games again. One of the popular ones was that they just lost because they did not want to hurt the Praetors girlfriend.“ My relationship with Frank has absolutely nothing to do with your fighting skills. Maybe Fortuna just isn‘t at your side for once.“, She explained reasonably.

Thoma‘s opened his mouths speechless at her words. He hadn‘t expected that she would use his godly mother against him.

Hazel felt satisfied and turned to look for her boyfriend.

Frank eyes wandered the crowd in search of Hazel. Reyna and Jason were busy with yet another talk about old times. Jason had come to Camp two days ago to talk about temple designs but he had most of the time just talked to his old friends especially Reyna.

He spotted Hazel walking towards him through the masses and quickened his steps.

He got slowed down a bit by all the people that wanted to talk to him but he did not mind.

Frank enjoyed giving them compliments or just having small talks with them.

That gave him the feeling that he was just another one of them and not one of their rulers. He suddenly felt a grasp on his arm.

When he turned his head he saw Alice a twelve-year-old shy member of the fifth cohort, smiling at him gratefully.“Thanks for training Praetor Zhang. It was a great help.“ She said softly and Frank felt moved.

“No problem and I already told you that you can call me Frank.“, He responded hoping that all of the younger demigods would learn that someday.

Alice wrapped one arm around him and leaned onto his chest but Frank did not complain. He had a soft spot for new Campers especially the ones who came with little confidence, like Alice.

“I‘m sorry it‘s just that you did so many impressing things! You are a great Praetor!“.Alice whispered and Frank felt thankfulness washing over him.“Sadly your Praetorship ends here.“, She told him with the same sweet voice.

Frank had barely time to process her words when he felt a sharp pain stabbing right into his chest.

He gasped in pain, his hand grasping the shaft of the dagger that had been pushed into his heart. Alice still held it with her small hand. He tried to back away, tried to breathe but all his body allowed was pain. He already felt his world fading and so his eyes met Hazels one last time. He did not want to leave her so soon. He had imagined a long happy life with her but as always fate was cruel.

The last thing he registered before darkness overtook him was Alice ripping out the dagger and Hazel screaming.

Hazel saw Frank fall, she saw the bloodred dagger in Alice's hand and yet she still did not want to believe it.

Alice had been her friend, almost like a little sister. She had come to Hazel with her doubts and Hazel had always cheered her up.

This girl could not have killed Frank, she could never hurt a fly.

There were shocked gasps around her as her friends had noticed what had happened.

“Nooo!“, Reyna yelled in fury and stormed towards Alice her weapon raised and Jason close behind her his blue eyes as hard as hers. Dozens of others followed their example and a terrible suspicion hit Hazel. What if this girl hadn‘t been who she claimed she was. What if this all had been a trick and the others had figured it out?

She looked at Frank‘s motionless body on the ground and the pain in her heart quickly turned to anger.

Whoever this girl was she was going to pay.

Hazel yelled out her despair and started running, ready to impale her boyfriends killer with her sword. Alice simply smiled at her attackers and with a wave of her hand they were all thrown back, crashing down on the hard ground.

The demigods who hadn‘t attacked stepped back in horror as they started to realize that the monster maybe was more than they could handle.

Hazel‘s whole body ached from the impact and when she tried to face her enemy again, a blinding white light forced her to close her eyes.

When she opened them again her mouth opened in horror. A woman had replaced Alice, a woman that Hazel knew and that she had hoped to never see again.

She had golden hair that was braided in an ancient Greek style, her black robes mirrored her dark eyes that were full of hate.

No, she could not be here, was trapped in her maze, she could not be here.

“Pasiphae?“, Hazel asked her voice trembling in fear as she, rose to her feet. Jason who got up next to her gave her a shocked glance.

“ Of course my dear you. Did you think I would stay in that hole you threw me in?“, The sorceress mocked amused.

Hazel felt tears forming in her eyes.

Yes, she had thought that had trapped Pasiphae forever, that she had kept her from harming anyone. She had wanted a peaceful life so much that she had not focussed on potential threats.

Now Frank had paid the price for her weakness, for her naivety.“You should have stayed there. I will send you back to the fields of punishment for what you did! Frank was a good, kind person and you murdered him like a coward!“, Reyna spat but Hazel stood close enough to see the girls shimmering eyes.

She had loved Frank too, not like a partner but like a brother.

Her words were meant for Pasiphae but Hazel felt them burning into her heart.

Frank had been a good person, that was why she had fallen in love with him and now he was gone. He would never kiss her again, would never smile at her again.

Her gaze wandered to him. His face was turned away from her and she felt the urge to turn him just to see his soft brown eyes.

Pasiphae gave Reyna a pitiful look.“ Don‘t be foolish. I‘m the most powerful with who walked this earth and you are just a pathetic child of a minor goddess.“, She tuned to Hazel the sadism in her eyes making Hazel‘s gut fill with dread,

“But murdering your sweet boyfriend was not that satisfying to me my dear. I have many cruel spells mind if I try them on your friend?“, She asked and her hand went up in flames.

Some of the Campers screamed, the younger ones clinging onto the older ones.

Hazel felt guilt as she saw them. Pasiphae was only here because of her, if any of them got hurt it was her fault.

“You will not hurt any of them !“, Hazel demanded as loud as she could. Pasiphae did not seem intimidated by her.“Well then have a good night daughter of Pluto. I will enjoy watching you suffer.“, Pasiphae mused and then disappeared in a blast of hot white flames.

The Campers were in too much shock to move but Hazel took her chance. She ran to Franks side and kneeled next to him. Her hands were shaking as she gently touched him. He was still warm, maybe just maybe there was still a chance.

“ Frank?“, She asked softly a part of her told her that it was pointless, that he was dead but the denial was a strong emotion.

She gripped his shoulders and turned him around so she could see his face. She was hoping for closed eyes, for a sign of his shallow breath.

Instead, she was greeted with two cold eyes whose light had died already.

Hazel flinched as if someone had hit her and that was how she felt.

“No…..No please…no.“ She muttered over and over again her throat filling with sobs.

She couldn‘t lose him. She had only known him for six months, they deserved more time.

„Come back to me Frank please come back.“, She pleaded and tears fell onto his face as she leaned over him. He did not react, of course, he only stared at her and the eyes that she had loved so much already haunted her.

“You can‘t die like this! After everything we went through…please you can‘t…….“ Hazel begged her sobs finally breaking out of her. She collapsed over Frank‘s body, corpse and buried her face into his chest like that would close the bloodied stab wound.

She suddenly felt arms wrapping around her and even though they were gentle she felt panic rising in her.

“NO, LET ME GO!“ She yelled as she was gently pulled away.

She pressed her lips on Frank‘s, a last desperate attempt to feel his warmth again but again there was nothing only darkness and she felt the dark rising inside her as well.

“It‘s okay Hazel I‘m here … it‘s okay.“, Jason told her softly while he slowly leaned her onto his chest for comfort. Reyna and Dakota joined him sitting down to tell Hazel soft words that they knew were not working.

Hazel did not resist anymore, she was too weak. She let herself sink against Jason closing her eyes to block out the cruel reality that she now lived in. Her heart was broken and in between all her grief, the sweetness that so many people loved was washed away by a deep hatred.

No one noticed that change until Hazel opened her eyes opened again hours later.

They looked empty, dead just like Frank‘s like he had taken Hazel‘s light to the underworld.

Dakota searched them for the sarcastic girl had joked with only hours ago but the longer he searched the more he realized that she was dead.

Hazel Levesque and Frank Zhang both had lost their lives that night and when Hazel finally spoke again her tone was hard and her words were a desire for revenge.

"I will find Pasiphae and I will kill her.“

@chaos-company @qperseusjackson-jasongrace @emilydaughterofapollo @fictionalnormalcy

#angstpril2021 #the light died in their eyes #Percy Jackson #heroes of olympus #dark hazel #ao3 #fanfiction #major character death #day25

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disastermages · 3 years

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this is chapter 14 of the au where Xiao Xingchen raises Wei Wuxian

Xiao Xingchen didn't know what he expected. Part of him had known that his grandmaster would be accompanying them to Gusu, but he still hadn't fully grasped it by the time they were leaving the inn, the six of them walking with Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan at the head of the group with A-Qing walking between them, and Baoshan Sanren bringing up the rear.

Another, smaller part of him had expected his grandmaster to take charge like she had on the rare and special occasions that she brought him and Cangse along on her shorter journeys down the mountain, her back straight and her shoulders square as she led them through towns, showing them how to pass through without calling attention to themselves. She’d shown them the signs of disturbances, too, stopping whenever the opportunity struck to let them see examples as close as she dared let them get.

He and Cangse had been competitive when it came to identifying whether something was a haunting or a possession or just a simple monster. Their guessing games kept going until Baoshan Sanren announced that she’d had enough of their arguing, but they’d always picked them back up the second she stopped listening.

He doesn’t realize that he’s smiling until he feels Song Lan bump their shoulders together, “Is something funny?” The question comes quiet and soft, the smile on Song Lan’s face smaller than usual, though it still makes Xiao Xingchen’s breathing come easier.

“Just remembering something, that’s all.” Xiao Xingchen murmurs back, the tandem motion of the both of them swinging A-Qing over a mud puddle is muscle memory as she giggles. “My sister and I used to bicker whenever our grandmaster would take us off the mountain with her, it drove her to the point of using a silencing spell on us once.” Xiao Xingchen explains, his shoulders shaking slightly as Song Lan huffs out a laugh of his own, his smile starting to reach his eyes just a bit more.

The silencing spell incident had been one of their worst punishments, the two of them forced to follow along behind Baoshan Sanren silently until the spell lifted on its own. “Do you think she misses it? I think we could get A-Qing and A-Xian to bicker for a little while.” Song Lan teases and Xiao Xingchen snorts before he can stop himself, nearly dropping the horsetail whisk as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth.

“She might use the silencing spell on all of us if you aren’t careful.” Xiao Xingchen warns. Normally, Lan Wangji would’ve been exempt from any possible use of the silencing spell, but Xiao Xingchen had seen Baoshan Sanren pull him aside before they’d left this morning, her hands behind her back and her face strict. No matter how hard he tried, Xiao Xingchen hadn’t been able to make out what she was saying to him, though he’d seen Lan Wangji nod a few times.

He’d offered him a small, sympathetic smile when he and Baoshan Sanren had finished speaking, and if Lan Wangji had relaxed minutely, Xiao Xingchen didn’t call him out for it.

Silence never falls over them completely as they walk, Wei Ying’s chattering turning into comfortable background noise as he and Lan Wangji talk to each other and Xiao Xingchen tunes most of the conversation out, only stopping once to lift A-Qing onto his hip when she begins to look drowsy, Song Lan’s hand stroking over the back of her head softly as she buries her face in her father’s neck.

They’d woken up with her in their bed, wriggled in between the two of them, though neither of them could remember letting her in the night before, but the only thing they’d been able to do was smile at each other as they took turns trying to rouse her from her sleep.

It had felt suspiciously normal, and it still did, so normal that Xiao Xingchen can feel the change in the air on his skin, prickling like static and sending Shuanghua into a low hum in the back of his head. His grip on A-Qing tightens on instinct, his eyes squinting as he looks around them, Song Lan’s hand grabbing onto his sleeve as he does the same, bringing their group to a standstill on the road despite neither of them being able to identify any immediate threat.

“Uncle Xiao?” Wei Ying calls, and Xiao Xingchen turns his head towards his voice slightly, unable to turn his head completely, though he sees it out of the corner of his eye, the smile dropping further off his face as he begins to pry A-Qing away from his neck.

A group of fierce corpses were staggering towards them, their clothes ragged and their hair hanging in loose, messy strands around their faces. They’d gotten used to running into them over the last few weeks, following trails of them to see where Xue Yang had been and trying to guess where he was going, though usually, there were only one or two instead of the group of six or seven dragging their way towards them.

He doesn’t have to tell A-Qing to find a place to hide, though he still makes a point to stroke her cheek before he sends her off, watching as she ducks behind the trunk of one of the trees that line the road, smiling tightly and nodding as she peeks out from around it.

They find their positions, Song Lan pressing against his shoulder and Lan Wangji pressing against Wei Ying’s, Baoshan Sanren falling into step easily beside them, calling her sword out of her own qiankun pouch, though she doesn’t unsheathe it yet. Her eyes are hard, but the rest of her remains relaxed as she plants her feet.

“Corpses usually don’t group together like this,” Wei Ying points out, his voice low as they allow the corpses to come closer, their hands having long since turned into claws reaching out and pawing at them even though they were still a few yards away. “Do you think Xue Yang’s been through here?”

“It’s possible,” Song Lan answers, the frown on his face deepening at the thought, “unless he’s learned how to expand the range of the Yin Iron.” That still wouldn’t explain the sudden grouping, though Xiao Xingchen doesn’t say it, his own face going still as he draws Shuanghua out. Fierce corpses usually bumbled around on their own, wandering aimlessly until they stumbled over a living person, or worse, an entire family of living people.

“A-Ying,” Xiao Xingchen says, hearing his nephew draw Suibian without seeing it, “Uncle Song and I are going to try and scatter the group, can you and Lan Wangji handle the stragglers?” The corpses wouldn’t truly be dangerous unless he and Song Lan ended up surrounded on all sides, but the four of them had taken down enough of them to have a system worked out by now. “Grandmaster, could you-”

“I’ll go where I’m needed, Xingchen.” Baoshan Sanren decides, her face betraying nothing as she draws her own sword out, the blade shining as though it were brand new.

Without another word, Xiao Xingchen nods and he and Song Lan move forward, Fuxue and Shanghua moving in tandem with each other as the two of them work through the crowd, cutting down two of the corpses as they carve a path right down the middle of the corpses, splitting it in half and only barely seeing it as Wei Ying and Lan Wangji take on one half while Baoshan flits through and cuts down the other half on her own. The expression on her face borders on annoyance, rather than an actual challenge as her blade cuts through another corpse, sending it crumpling to the ground.

Spinning around, Xiao Xingchen catches one of the corpse’s arms as it reaches towards Song Lan, his free hand finding his husband as Shuanghua stabs through the corpse before he kicks it away. He doesn’t register that Song Lan has blocked another corpse from making contact with Xiao Xingchen until he’s forced to turn around again, Fuxue sending it sprawling backwards. It trips over a stone hidden in the grass and doesn’t get back up again as Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan press their backs together for just a moment before they both push forward, cutting down the rest of the corpses until none of them make an attempt to rise again, cracks over their flesh healing before their eyes.

Xiao Xingchen opens his mouth to speak, but before anything can come out, A-Qing is crashing into him and calling out for Song Lan and himself, her fingers winding tight into his robes as she looks behind her. “A-Qing?” Xiao Xingchen says, kneeling down quickly and then frowning again as two more corpses come stumbling out of the woods, their movements somehow clumsier than their predecessors.

“They’re acting as though they’ve been dead longer than the other ones.” Wei Ying points out, coming to stand beside his uncle, but holding out his hand for A-Qing and nudging her behind him when she takes it without a second thought. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t stop himself from moving to stand in front of the both of them as he stares ahead.

There were visible signs of decay on these corpses, their movements stiffer and parts of them beginning to wear and break away from the rest of their bodies. How long had these corpses wandered? How long ago were they risen from the dead to torment those who had probably been their neighbors? Xiao Xingchen is almost certain that he doesn’t want to hear the answer as he holds Shuanghua up in a defensive position. Fierce corpses usually didn’t reach this stage in their lifespan, they were usually cut down a few moments after they were risen, or they fell limp to the ground like puppets who’s strings had all been cut.

He means to let the corpses come to him before he takes Shuanghua to them, but Baoshan Sanren appears in front of them first, her blade slicing through both of the corpses cleanly and easily, their shrieks cutting off as the last of the forced life leaves them completely.

None of them move for a long moment, all six of them waiting to see if anymore corpses would come stumbling out after them, but when nothing comes and the static feeling on Xiao Xingchen’s skin fades, he turns and kneels down again and opens his arms for A-Qing, checking her for injuries as he rises.

“Not a scratch on her.” Baoshan Sanren says, her voice almost proud as she comes to stand over Xiao Xingchen’s shoulder. “A-Qing, it’s very important for a rogue cultivator to know when to ask for help, do you understand that?” Baoshan Sanren asks, her tone lapping into something that almost makes Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders relax with the familiarity of it.

“A-Die and Baba told me that before,” A-Qing answers, nodding her head seriously, “only Xian-gege forgets to ask sometimes.” Wei Ying makes a scandalized noise at that, reaching over and poking at his sister’s cheek despite the look Xiao Xingchen gives him.

At his side, Xiao Xingchen hears Song Lan snort, his fist covering up the smile on his face, though Xiao Xingchen makes no attempt to hide his own, shaking his head as he bumps A-Qing further up onto his hip.

A-Qing and Wei Ying didn’t even need their nudging to start bickering and teasing each other, but Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan had both known that.

The fire is burning low in front of her, but Baoshan Sanren only barely makes a move to stoke the flames, the sun would be coming up soon, and they would be moving on as quickly as they could, there’d be no point in keeping a fire going only to put it out again.

She’d sworn she’d never go back to Gusu, she’d told herself that she would never set foot in Cloud Recesses again, but she’d also promised herself that she would never forgive Lan Yi, hadn’t she? It had been the first of the promises she’d made to herself that she’d broken, her eyes suddenly feeling heavy as she stares into the embers. She doesn’t notice Wei Wuxian until he’s almost standing next to her, a twig cracking underneath his foot and drawing Baoshan Sanren out of her thoughts before she can follow the spiral any further.

“You’ve either stayed up far too late, or you’ve woken up very early, A-Xian.” She sighs, sitting up straighter as he watches her from a few feet away.

“A-Qing woke me up, she talks in her sleep sometimes.” Wei Wuxian says, the smile on his face doing absolutely nothing to cover up the lie he was telling.

It’s almost refreshing, he doesn’t look that much like Cangse when he tries to tell a lie. He might look like his father, but Baoshan Sanren couldn’t say that with any sort of confidence, she’d never met the man, it wasn’t her place to wonder what he might’ve looked like when he was telling a lie. “Are you going to stand there and watch me until sunrise, or are you going to ask me whatever question that’s brought you here?” She throws another handful of kindling onto the fire as she speaks, letting it catch and bring the fire back to life before she throws a few more sticks in.

Wei Wuxian takes it as an invitation to sit himself right next to her, tanned skin and dark eyes seeming to glow in the firelight. “Uncle Xiao told me that talking about Lan Yi was forbidden on the mountain.” Wei Wuxian starts, looking nervous, even as his grandmaster pokes at the fire in front of them. She wants to laugh, what did he expect her to do? Push the same rule onto him?

“We aren’t on the mountain,” Baoshan Sanren reminds him plainly, but then she stops, “but if we were, I might have you carry water down from the stream for the next week.” She means to tease him, and she hopes that it shows on her face. It had been one of Cangse’s least favorite chores, and maybe one day, she would tell Wei Wuxian that.

Whether or not he knows he’s being teased, Wei Wuxian still laughs and leans back on his hands, the smile on his face making some of the sternness she’d forced on her own to drop away. “I guess I just wanted to ask you why? Uncle Xiao said that you loved each other.”

“We did.” Baoshan Sanren answers and it feels too much like a confession, perfect posture relaxing as she closes her eyes for just a moment. “You and your Lan Wangji remind me of the two of us, in bits and pieces.” She hadn’t intended on telling him that, but the words are coming faster than she can stop them. “He seems dedicated to you, and you light up when you look at him.” When she looks over, her grandson is smiling to himself, his own hands on his knees, his fingers tapping against them restlessly.

“I didn’t expect her to notice me, my clan was the smallest one attending the lecture that year.” Baoshan Sanren laughs, shaking her head at the memory. She’d been enthralled with Lan Yi, from the way she wore her hair, to the cut of her robes around her body, to the way her hand held her sword.

“How did she notice you?”

“I sprained her cousin’s wrist while I was sparring with him. I didn’t always know my own strength back then, A-Xian.” Baoshan Sanren grins with the admission and they both laugh, “The boy’s father, her uncle, wanted me expelled from Cloud Recesses right then, but Lan Yi defended me, she told her father the truth about the sparring session and that I hadn’t done it on purpose.”

The memory comes back, shiny and new as though it had only happened a few days ago. Lan Yi had wedged herself between Baoshan Sanren and her uncle, her face furious. Baoshan Sanren might’ve loved her then, too. “I thought I had made things worse for her, her father had no sons and he’d already refused to name his brother’s son the sect heir, but she insisted on sitting with me while I had to copy all 1,500 of the Lan sect rules 600 times.”

Wei Wuxian’s face falls then, his eyebrows knitting together as he frowns, “There are 3,500 Lan sect rules, though.” For the first time in a long while, Baoshan Sanren laughs, her shoulders shaking and a smile pulling across her face as she looks away from him.

“There are things Lan Yi and I did that you’re too young to hear about.” She might tell him one day, though. She might tell him about the time she’d shared the wine she’d brought from home with Lan Yi and the two of them had ended up in a brothel in Caiyi Town wearing nothing but their under robes and shoes. Or about the time she’d nearly fallen off the cliffs near the waterfall, only because Lan Yi had kissed her suddenly and the tree they were leaning against had given under their combined weight.

“Your mother might’ve added onto the rules too, you know, I heard that she passed through Cloud Recesses at one point.” It wasn’t the complete truth, she’d heard the tale about her daughter shaving a main family member’s beard off, and a few more about her sending unwanted suitors packing with little warning besides her sword slid between their legs.

The smile comes back to Wei Wuxian’s face then, a touch more mischievous when he looks at her, “That’s what Uncle Song said, but Grandmaster Lan wouldn’t give me an answer when I asked him.”

“A serial rule breaker? In their upstanding lecture? A-Xian you should be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting such a thing.” Baoshan Sanren teases, trying to pretend to lecture him, though she can’t keep a straight face, even if she tried.

The sky begins to turn pink and Baoshan Sanren sits back, looking just over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “I wish you and Lan Wangji better luck than Lan Yi and I had.” Baoshan Sanren says seriously, her eyes focused on the figure in bright blue as Lan Wangji emerges from his tent. “I think you may already have it.” She couldn’t be jealous of them, she wouldn’t, they’d managed to stay by each other’s sides this long, she was proud of them. Lan Wangji hadn’t even looked afraid when she’d pulled him to the side and made her expectations of him clear.

“She talked about you when I fell into her cave with Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quickly, and Baoshan Sanren looks up at him with wide eyes, something in her chest already twisting, “she sounded like she missed you.” She wants to laugh again, he’s trying to comfort her in the same, well meaning, but clumsy way she’d seen him comfort A-Qing, the smile on her face turning rueful as she nods.

“She might.” She agrees, blinking the feeling away, “She might also know that I’m coming to tell her “I told you so” a hundred years after the fact.”

The last time Baoshan Sanren had been in Cloud Recesses, she’d been escorted to the gate by Lan Yi’s mother and a handful of senior disciples and ordered to never return. Lan Yi’s mother had blamed her for what had happened, and Baoshan Sanren had allowed it, rather than letting the woman blame herself or Lan Yi for it.

They still had another day’s travel before they reached the gates of Cloud Recesses, and Lan Yi’s mother could no longer bar her from entering, and Baoshan Sanren isn’t sure if she wishes she were able to or not.

Lan Wangji moves to the front of the group as they draw closer to Cloud Recesses, holding onto Wei Ying’s hand until he walks too far for either of them to keep it up, though when he does glance back at him, Lan Wangji gets a smile in return, his throat feeling suddenly thicker as they climb the steps.

He’d hoped they would have longer together before he would have to return, but they’d had two months without the watchful eyes of his uncle on them. Wei Ying’s uncles had allowed them to be alone together, something his uncle wouldn’t have even considered once he knew the extent of their involvement.

“Lan Zhan, are you alright?” Wei Ying’s voice is a whisper, sounding as though he were standing beside him, rather than walking between his grandmaster and younger sister behind him, though, when Lan Wangji turns his head slightly, he can see one of Wei Ying’s papermen perched on his shoulder, holding onto the strand of his forehead ribbon to stay in place.

If they’d been walking alone together, Lan Wangji might’ve taken the paperman into his hand, it would’ve been more stable, but for now, Lan Wangji can only sneak another look over his shoulder. “Fine,” he thinks in answer, eyes flicking to his shoulder again, if he wasn’t careful, Wei Ying’s paperman would wind its way into his hair again, “only wish we had more time together.”

“This isn’t goodbye, Lan Zhan, we still have to find Xue Yang and bring him back to Qishan.” Wei Ying reminds him, the paperman pulling at his ribbon impatiently now, the same way Wei Ying did when no one was looking at them, the silk wound between his fingers while they both pretended they didn’t know the meaning of what he was doing.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji answers out loud, inclining his head as they reach the top of the stairs and the two disciples guarding the gates bow to him quickly, his uncle and brother appearing at the other side of the gate as though they’d been summoned. Lan Wangji bows to both of them, ignoring the smile on his brother’s face when he rights himself. He has no intention of answering Xichen’s questions until they were locked away in the Hanshi, away from the possibility of their uncle’s lecture.

The six of them are admitted into Cloud Recesses quickly, his uncle’s mouth falling open when Baoshan Sanren is introduced, and Lan Wangji swears for a moment, he pales, though he says nothing about it. His uncle recovers quickly enough anyway, bowing deeply to her and Baoshan Sanren returns it, thanking Lan Qiren for hosting not only one, but two of her disciples in the past.

There’s a look of mischief that Lan Wangji recognizes all too quickly.

“You didn’t think to write to us about this?” Xichen teases, leaning into Lan Wangji’s space and Lan Wangji only blinks.

“Grandmaster Baoshan only joined us a week and a half ago, haven’t had time.” He says simply and his brother gives him a look before he smiles again, a chuckle coming from deep in his chest.

“I’ve missed you, Wangji, Uncle has too.” Lan Wangji knows his brother is speaking honestly, but all he can do is nod, glancing up to where his uncle is speaking with both of Wei Ying’s, their faces serious. “How is Young Master Wei?”

“Wei Ying is Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji answers proudly, turning to face his brother and almost buckling under the weight of his smile. He wouldn’t be able to escape without answering questions now.

Xichen doesn’t get the chance to ask any of his questions though, after a few more moments of talking, they’re all moving again, setting out towards the backhill, and Lan Wangji takes the chance to walk beside Wei Ying, his brother falling in step behind them after they leave Qing Sanren in the care of a senior disciple.

“A great bit of research has gone into understanding Ancestor Yi’s condition,” Xichen announces, walking to the front of their group and taking on the duty of disrupting the ward hiding the entrance of Lan Yi’s cave long enough for all of them to walk through single file, the paths below them still just as slick and icy as Lan Wangji remembered them to be. One hand goes to hold onto the cave wall and the other wraps around Wei Ying’s wrist, genuinely hoping to steady him in case he slipped.

The caves would have been difficult for Qing Sanren to navigate, as it stood, the paths were most likely never intended to hold all of them at once, stray rocks and icicles giving way as they make their way down. “We’ve found that speaking with her more frequently aids in keeping her tethered to this world, though, we haven’t found a way to reverse the effects of the Yin Iron quite yet.”

A guqin can be heard as they begin the last level of their descent, a chill settling through all five layers of Lan Wangji’s robes, his eyes lifting to the front of the group just in time to see Baoshan Sanren’s shoulders draw together tightly, her step faltering for just a moment, but not long enough to allow Wei Ying’s Uncle Xiao to run into her back.

Lan Wangji can only throw a quick, backwards glance to Wei Ying then, his hand tightening around his wrist as they press forward.

“Lan Yi.” Baoshan Sanren sighs to herself, her hands hanging limp at her sides as she watches Lan Yi’s fingers move over the strings of the guqin, a rabbit perched on either side of her and nibbling at her robes.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t believed them, because she did, she wanted to, she’d wanted Lan Yi to be alive, but she’d been preparing for the worst. She’d been prepared to come down and find that the Yin Iron had eaten away at the last of her spiritual cognition.

Baoshan Sanren almost doesn’t feel the water seeping into her robes and boots as she takes a step into the pool. It should chill her to the bone, but she doesn’t feel it. She doesn’t feel anything until her splashing breaks Lan Yi’s concentration and she looks up, her hands still frozen in place over the strings of the guqin.

“A-Shan?” Lan Yi calls, looking as though she were the one seeing a ghost standing right in front of her. “A-Shan, are you here? Or have I fallen asleep again?”

“I’m here.” Baoshan Sanren answers too quickly, stopping in the middle of the pool as Lan Yi stands, gathering her robes in her hands and Baoshan Sanren’s heart stops. Those were the robes she’d worn into the cave the night it had happened, the bright cerulean had burned itself into Baoshan Sanren’s memory through the years. She hadn’t weighed the possibility of Lan Yi being trapped in those robes for the rest of her existence. “How have you been?” She hears herself ask, instead of saying anything useful, watching as the water just barely ripples as Lan Yi walks through it, though the chill doesn’t seem to touch her.

“I should be asking you that question.” Lan Yi laughs, though it sounds like a sob, “You’re the one who’s been wandering and taking disciples while I’ve been sitting in a cave.” There’s only a few inches left between them now, close enough that Baoshan Sanren could set her hand on Lan Yi’s hip and feel her underneath her hand if she allowed herself.

“My disciples are why I’m here.” Baoshan Sanren answers honestly, cold shooting up her arm and into her shoulder as Lan Yi’s hand wraps around her wrist, and Baoshan Sanren glances back, shaking her head as she watches Wei Wuxian wave awkwardly at the both of them, standing entirely too close to Lan Wangji for an unmarried couple in front of their families.

“I have to destroy the Yin Iron, A-Yi.” Baoshan Sanren says carefully, swallowing thickly when Lan Yi looks back at her, her eyes wide and her hand tightening around her wrist.

“You can’t.” She decides, shaking her head as a frown replaces the smile that had been on her face too quickly. “You can see what happened to me, A-Shan, the both of us can’t be trapped here.”

Baoshan Sanren is the one to reach for her now, shaking off the hand Lan Yi had wrapped around her wrist and putting both of hers on Lan Yi’s shoulders. “I’ve already done it once, A-Yi, I can do it again.”

“It’s true!” Wei Ying interrupts, his voice too loud against the cave walls as he steps away from Lan Wangji, though he doesn’t step into the water with them. “Grandmaster crushed one piece in her hand, she’s had time to recover without any side effects.”

Looking between the two of them, Lan Yi doesn’t look any more convinced than she had just a moment ago, clasping her hands in front of her instead of reaching up to touch Baoshan Sanren again. “I’m tethered to it, Baoshan, can you let me go in the same breath you’ll use to destroy it?” She isn’t asking to be cruel, Baoshan Sanren knows that, but it still sends an ice cold hand down her throat to grasp at her heart.

“There’s nothing else here that you can tether yourself to?” Baoshan Sanren asks, her eyes scanning through the cave, and only finding the guqin and the Yin Iron. She’d hoped to see Lan Yi’s sword somewhere in the cave, maybe buried in the ice, but the longer she thinks the more clearly she remembers seeing it carried out by senior disciples and handed over to Lan Yi’s mother as she wept.

Baoshan Sanren’s hands had been slapped away the second she’d reached to touch it.

“My guqin cannot hold my spirit, I’ve tried.” Lan Yi smiles sadly, her eyes looking wet when Baoshan Sanren manages to catch sight of them again. “Whatever holds my spirit must have some sort of importance, it can’t be something simply picked up off the ground, I’ve learned that much while I’ve been here.”

Stubborn silence fills the cave, and Baoshan notices for the first time that Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren had eased out of the cave some time ago, leaving the six of them to plan and agonize on their own. Baoshan Sanren almost envies them, being able to leave under the guise of giving them privacy.

“I have this,” Wei Wuxian offers, his voice much quieter as he pulls something out of his robes, a jade pendant held tightly in his hand, and Baoshan Sanren’s eyes flick back up to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan gave it to me before I left with Uncle Xiao and Uncle Song.” The two of them come closer to the edge of the pool then, and Wei Wuxian tosses the pendant to Baoshan Sanren, the catch made easy as Lan Yi’s hand finds hers again.

Looking at the piece of jade in her hand, Baoshan Sanren wonders if this had been the only thing Lan Wangji had given her grandson that day.

“Lan Yi? Will this be enough?” Baoshan Sanren holds the pendant out to her, watching as Lan Yi drags her fingers over the carving, her fingers twitching around her own.

“I believe so,” Lan Yi breathes, looking up at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji as though she expected the offer to be rescinded as quickly as it had come. “Young Master Wei is truly alright with this?” She asks, and Wei Wuxian smiles at the both of them.

“I can break down the ward if I need to get back in.” He says and Lan Wangji gives him a look that she swears she’s only given Lan Yi before.

Lan Yi takes the pendant into her own hand then, pressing it to her chest and squeezing her hand tightly. “A-Shan?” Lan Yi asks, leaving most of the question unsaid, and Baoshan Sanren allows herself to smile and nod.

Neither of them get another word out before the earth above them shakes, shouts echoing down to the lowest level of the cavern, and Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji all move back towards the path they’d walked down.

“Xingchen?” Baoshan Sanren calls, the softness in her voice dropping away into the usual sternness she’d worked hard to keep.

“This is what it sounded like the last time we were under attack.” Lan Yi announces, her eyes staring up at the cave ceiling, as though she could see through it, distantly, they can hear voices calling out names, and Baoshan Sanren watches as the four of them make a move towards the entrance of the cave.

“Sect Leader Wen was correct,” Xiao Xingchen says, turning his head and looking at Lan Wangji, “Xue Yang has returned to Cloud Recesses.”

#the untamed #mdzs #mdzs fic #wangxian #songxiao #xiao xingchen #wei wuxian #song zichen #lan wangji #wei ying #lan zhan #song lan #baoshan sanren #a-qing #lan yi #as usual the ao3 link and links to the other parts will be in the reblog to my main #in light of recent events ive decided to use ao3 until a better alternative is found and when it is i will hop myself over there and move my #fics and stuff over there but until then ill keep using it and ill keep spreading awareness and pushing back against that specific policy

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