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halloweenhoneylover · 4 years

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the struggle bus

summary: spencer is the kindest human alive, which makes things tough for the reader :/ (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 5.3k (a doozy kinda!)

warnings: i guess angst, but really just idiots in love (my fav trope). reader is kind of a hot mess. also, mention of overdose via multivitamin.

author’s note: hi, it’s been approx 4000 years since i last posted, but it’s just because i have no concept of ‘efficiency’ or ‘speed.’ but it’s okay. some of this is good, some of this is eh, make of that what you will. also, this is supposed to be #funny sometimes so uhhhh, keep that in mind. ALSO, the title is majorly stupid, but it was the title of the google doc, and i couldn’t think of anything else......anyways, love u!

For once, the bullpen was quiet.

Spencer was immersed in some case file, doing some work that you should have probably been doing as well, but it was approaching the late hours of the night, and you would barely be able to keep your eyes open if you came even close to trying to read or write. Your desks were situated against each other, so you shifted your gaze across the small divider to him. His sharp features were softened in the lamplight, a sight that tugged on your heartstrings, and you took a moment to just look at him. Most everyone else was gone or was too focused on getting their work done to pay attention to your reverie. Derek, if he were here, would dub you as ‘lovesick’ and shoot mischievous smirks and wiggling eyebrows in your direction, but luckily for you, he was not. Twisting carelessly in your chair with your feet propped on the desk, you chewed absentmindedly on a pen, lost deep in thought. “Hey, Spencer?”

“Yeah?” He continued scribbling on the file without so much as a glance towards you, but that was perfectly fine by you, more time for not-creepy staring.

“How many of my vitamins do you think I could eat before I died?”

At this, he furrowed his brow and neatly laid his pen down.

“That depends on what vitamin you’re taking. If you’re talking about iron supplements, the limit is somewhere around 20mg of elemental iron per kilogram of body weight. Any more than that will have incredibly unpleasant side effects like abdominal pain, persistent vomiting, rapid breathing, and coma. However, if you’re talking about Vitamin C, it’s virtually impossible to overdose, but you might get a bad headache if you supersede 2000 mg.”

“Okay, what about my gummy vitamins?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “While it still depends on what vitamins are included, eating a whole bottle of your typical multivitamin could easily result in death.”

You mulled this over. “So, I should definitely not go home and eat the rest of my gummy vitamins tonight?”

Spencer chuckled, “I’m not a medical doctor, but yes, I’d recommend that you don’t do that.”

Tossing your head back and letting out a small groan, you protested, “But Spencer, my gummy vitamins taste so good! And I have no food at home, so I guess I either die by overdose on gummy multivitamins or starvation.”

He couldn’t help but grin at your melodrama. It could be 12:06 in the morning, and you could still somehow make him laugh. He was starting to understand that he was in too deep, but he also had the startling realization that he didn’t mind drowning if it was in you.

“You’ve got quite the predicament on your hands there, (Y/N). Maybe you should go grocery shopping with me the next time I suggest it, so you don’t end up in this situation again.”

“Oh my god, dude!” you moaned. “I told you I was actually busy; I had to take Oscar to the vet for his vaccines! I try to be a good mother to my dog, and you know I’m not an anti-vaxxer. I’d never decline time with my favorite guy without a good reason.”

Spencer’s heart was doing somersaults at the thought of him being your favorite guy. He’d won plenty of awards and medals in his lifetime, but somehow, none of those measured up to the accomplishment of being your favorite. Pride and butterflies boiled in his stomach.

“Alright, fine, I’ll let it slide this time.”

You snorted, “I appreciate your unmatched benevolence, Dr. Reid.” Locking eyes with him, you tried to dampen the lava flow of heat in your chest that erupted when he looked at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen, but you failed miserably. You had to clear your throat and look away; it was becoming all too much. “Hey, I’m gonna run to the restroom. Don’t leave without me!”

As you dashed away, a thought crossed Spencer’s mind, and he stood up and set off down the opposite hallway.

You returned a few minutes later to an empty bullpen which made you frown, and your heart sank. You had thought he was going to wait, but guess not. Sighing, you tried to not let it sting too badly when you noticed a light on in JJ’s office. You knocked and pushed the already ajar door with a quick hello? before being met with an exhausted-looking JJ.

“Hey, (Y/N). I thought everyone had left by now.”

“Nope, not quite yet,” you replied, offering a weak smile. JJ noticed and wrote it off as fatigue. “You didn’t happen to see Spencer leave a couple minutes ago, did you?”

“Uh, no, I thought he’d gone too.”

“Hm, okay, thanks anyway!”

You prepared to leave, but she stopped you, cocking her head. “Why do you ask? Is he still here?”

Leaning your head against the doorframe, you sighed. “I’m not sure. He was here when I went to the bathroom, but he wasn’t at his desk when I came back. I’m a little disappointed. We always walk out together because we’re both afraid of the parking garage at night.”

A grin simmered on JJ’s face at that fact. “Well, I could walk you out if you’d like?”

“Nah, that’s okay; I don’t want to bother you.”

There was something behind JJ’s eyes you couldn’t identify as she replied, “Alright, then. Just let me know if you change your mind.” She definitely wasn’t thinking about how you didn’t want her intruding on a you-and-Spencer tradition. Not that she minded! She’d been rooting for you both since the minute you’d stepped into the BAU, and Spencer had looked like he was about ready to melt into the floor at the sight of such a pretty girl.

“Thanks, Jayje.”

Dragging your feet a little, you made your way back to your desk to gather your things, trying to fend off the disappointment. You had gotten your jacket on and were about to pick up your bag when you heard a (Y/N)! from down the hall. Well, that was certainly not JJ. Hesitantly, you called out, “Spencer?”

He finally emerged with his arms loaded with...something, you couldn’t discern what in the dim light. His face lit up like the Vegas strip when he saw you. “(Y/N)! I didn’t want you starving or eating all of your vitamins, so I went down to the vending machine and got you a couple snacks!” Arriving at his desk, he dropped the various bags and packets on his desk, and your eyes widened immensely.

“A couple? Dude, did you buy out the whole machine?”

Slightly breathless from his quick jog back, he waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing. And hey, look!” He picked up a bag. “Fruit snacks! Just like your vitamins, but without the part where you get really sick.”

You were astonished, to say the least. And minorly speechless too, as evidenced by your mouth that was gaping like a fish. “Spencer...this is so nice. You really didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it; I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me.”

At that, your face nearly split in two, and he mirrored your grin. You thought you might pass out at his kindness, and you knew you’d be thinking about this every day for the next two weeks at least. Your expression then turned mischievous, as you tried to tamp down all of the warmth bubbling in your stomach. “Do you want to help me try to fit all this in my bag?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

———

Garcia had been practicing her ukulele peacefully when she got the call. (Well, ‘peacefully’ might have been a stretch as she had threatened to smash the object on her coffee table when she simply could not get the finger picking pattern she’d practiced for what seemed like hours, but it was supposed to be a relaxing hobby, so yes, it was peaceful.) Huffing a sigh of relief when the caller ID said [(Y/N/N)!!] with the longest stream of heart emojis and not [hotch >:( ], she picked up with her usual air of cheer. “What can I do ya for, my loveliest, most bewitching—”

She was cut off abruptly by the sounds of your horrible, heart-wrenching sobs, and her brows furrowed in concern. “Oh no, my sweet! What’s wrong?” She had to wait a few moments for your tears to calm (somewhat) while you tried to wrangle in your breath, so you could form some sort of sentence.

“Penny!”—gasp—“Oh my God,”—hiccup—“it looks so bad!” With your last word, you tumbled into incoherent bawling once again.

“Dear, what looks so bad?” She held her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she began to gather up her things. Whatever was wrong, it was clear you needed some good, old-fashioned Garcia TLC, and she was ready to give it.

The sniffling subsided minorly, and you choked out, “Remember when we were talking the other day, and I mentioned that my hair had gotten a little too long for my liking?” Oh no, Garcia could see where this was going. “Well, I figured I’d spend our evening off getting my hair cut, and I went to that new hairdresser, and oh Penelope, it looks awful. I don’t think I can ever go out in public again.” With that, your tears resumed.

“Darling, you know I’ve been where you are, and I know it seems bad right now, but everything will be fine. Let me grab my scissors and I’ll be over faster than you can say, ‘Penny, I love you so much, you truly are my fairy godmother.’”

You paused before whispering into the phone, “Penelope, I do love you so much, and you are my fairy godmother. But please, hurry.”

And hurry, she did.

Garcia was knocking on your door a little over five minutes later, which was incredibly suspicious because she lived at least 10 minutes away on a good day, but in the state of your disarray, you were not inclined to care. She sat you down on the toilet in your bathroom, whipping out her hair care set (she had definitely spent a significant amount of time dabbling in cosmetology, and it was desperate times like this when it came in handy). Squeezing your eyes shut through most of it, she snipped here and there, trying to make the best of this...horribly atrocious cut (seriously, that hairdresser should be sued), and when she was finished, it was not as bad as when they started, but it still wasn’t great. The rest of the evening was spent watching cheesy rom-coms and baking in an attempt to get your mind off of your hair.

Everything was mostly fine until the next morning, when you realized you’d have to go into work like this, and as terrifying as that prospect was in a normal work environment, you also worked in a place with an abnormal amount of hot people. (And you happened to be developing feelings for one of those hot people, but your brain was insistent upon ignoring that for the time being.)

Already anticipating your worries, Penelope had sent a text without your knowledge to a BAU group chat that excluded you (she had one of these for every member, it just made surprise birthday party planning so much easier).

[penelope :)] please DO NOT MENTION (Y/N)’S HAIR!!!! she got a bad haircut and she feels really terrible about it and doesn’t want to think about it so do not talk about it!!!

[jennifer!] Oh, no! :( Lips are sealed!

[rossi ;)] rip.

Emerging from the elevator in the nicest work outfit you own (an attempt to distract from the monstrosity), you scurried to Garcia’s lair before anyone could see you. Once inside, you slammed the door shut, and leaning against it, you slid down and covered your face with the files in your hands. “Pennyyyyy,” you moaned. “I don’t think I can do this!”

She swiveled to face you with a look of empathy. “Sugar, I know you can. It—it doesn’t even look that bad!” But Garcia was a horrible liar, and if looks could kill, she would have been dead instantaneously.

Heaving yourself up off the floor, you came to sit in the seat next to her. “Can’t I just work in here today? And maybe for the rest of time?”

“You know I would love that, but those other lovely people on our team need you! Especially the young doctor, you know he’d be lonely without you.”

As if her mention had summoned him, Reid opened the door to their secret meeting, files in hand, and your eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. Garcia stared at him very intensely, attempting to telepathically tell him to not mention the hair, and you looked like a deer in the headlights, trying to figure out a way to hide yourself from him and possibly the entire universe. And poor Reid shifted his gaze between the two of you, helplessly confused as to what he had walked into. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Uh, no!” Garcia said in the least convincing manner.

“Okay,” he responded, not convinced in the slightest. “I just came to give you some files from Hotch.” So, he handed Garcia the papers and then turned to leave when you caught his eye.

And because he was not the greatest with technology, Spencer had not checked his phone that morning…. Meaning he had not seen Garcia’s text. So he looked at you a moment and cocked his head. “Your hair looks really nice today, (Y/N). Did you get it cut?”

This time, it was Garcia’s turn to glare (because read your texts, dammit!), and you fumbled for a response. As you scanned his face, searching for a sign that he was lying, that he was just saying something to make you feel better, you came up empty. He was telling the truth. He genuinely thought your hair looked nice. “Um, uh—yeah. Yeah, I did. Thanks for noticing.”

“You’re welcome.” He offered you a smile, which you returned easily (a fact that surprised you). “See you.” Retreating from the office because the vibes in there were weird, he shut the door, finally leaving you and Garcia alone again.

You were reeling.

You thought about when you had gotten dressed that morning, and you had entertained each outfit with great scrutiny, trying to come up with something that might draw attention away from your hair. In that half hour you’d spent, you had realized that you didn’t really mind looking bad in front of Morgan or Emily or Hotch or really anyone on the team. Almost anyone. With an increasing amount of discomfort, you had realized you didn't want to look bad in front of Spencer. Of course, he’d never judge you, but you wanted to look good for him. For your best friend.

And he told you your hair looked nice.

You smiled to yourself.

Garcia turned to you with a look of shock on her face. Had that been anyone else, she was sure you would have curled up in a ball beneath her desk and would not have left until every single other person had left the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but you hadn’t, and she smirked.

Oh, she knew where this was going.

———

To put it lightly, it had not been the best of mornings.

It seemed that everything that could’ve gone wrong did, so you burst past the glass doors of the BAU six minutes late with a coffee-covered shirt, mud-stained pants, soggy shoes, and a most miserable attitude. Hotch, while a sympathetic man, was still your boss with rules to follow and when you stumbled into the bullpen, gave a pointed stare between you and the clock, and you nodded sullenly. You understood his silent admonition, but knowing that he was even slightly disappointed in you, made your knees want to buckle. Swallowing around the slug in your throat, you set your bag down beside your chair and noticed a foreign object sitting on your desk. Interest thoroughly piqued, you reached forward to find it was a book with a satin ribbon tied on it.

It truly was a beautiful book with a deep crimson hardcover and the kind of deckled edges that you loved. Running your fingers along the rough-hewn pages, you finally noted the title, and you gasped. Beloved by Toni Morrison. Your favorite. The cursive words curved in black on the cover to match the ribbon, and you carefully traced the curling letters, wondering where this gorgeous book could have come from.

In the desk across from yours, Spencer watched the scene in front of him with a grin. He couldn’t help but feel pleased at the look of awe on your face as you inspected the book with careful fingers and a gentle gaze, and his heart swelled more and more the longer he looked. “Did you know that Margaret Garner, the woman the character Sethe is based on, her trial was used as part of an effort to dismantle the Fugitive Slave Act?” Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and those stupid freaking butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach as you realized who had gifted you the book. “The presiding judge didn’t accept her lawyer’s argument that the act violated the right to religious freedom, but it was still somewhat of a turning point in the movement to strike down the law.”

“I did not know that, but thank you. For the fact and the book.”

“You’re welcome.” He had to avert his eyes from your strong gaze because he thought he might melt otherwise.

“Please don’t misinterpret this as me being ungrateful because I’m so, so thankful, but why?”

He shrugged, “I was just in the book store, and it made me think of you.” No, he didn’t keep an eye out specifically for this book on his weekly trip to the bookstore by his apartment after you had briefly mentioned your love of Ms. Morrison’s metaphors. And he definitely didn’t ask the owner Alice if she would let him know if she ever got any new copies.

Frankly, you were at a loss for words. Combing back through your conversations with him, you tried to remember when you had talked about the book, but you couldn’t come up with anything other than a couple words tossed briefly here and there. Suppose it wasn’t really the fact that he had heard, but the fact that he had listened. He listened and remembered things about you, little things tucked in the back of his brain, and it was how he thought about you even when you weren’t around. So, you clutched the book to your chest tightly as if it could meld with your heart and let your thoughts rage with the implications for a minute before smothering your mushy grin and tucking the book into your bag.

(Later, you pulled it out on your ride home on the metro. Spencer had already gotten off at his stop a few minutes before, so you took this moment of solitude to revel in the glory of your new gift. Every time you smoothed a hand over the cover, your mind was overwhelmed with what-ifs. What if he felt the same? What if his stomach rumbled with the same butterflies when you looked at him? What if this means he likes you as more than…. And abruptly, you were doused in doubt once again, muzzling those dangerous, rearing hypotheticals. This was a path that would only lead to disappointment.

Those thoughts only got worse when you read his inscription, though:

Dear (Y/N/N),

I hope you find great joy in reacquainting yourself with the graces of Ms. Morrison’s elegant prose in this new copy. I was inspired by your praise and read this classic again, and I can say that I definitely understand your veneration of her story-telling. Hopefully, we can discuss it soon, so I can try to see all of the details that you so admire. You are always much better at appreciating the finer things in life.

She says that, “something that is loved is never lost.”

I hope you know that you will never be lost to me.

Sincerely,

Spencer

(P.S. I wrote this in pencil, so you can erase and have the clean copy you wanted.)

You would never erase it.)

———

“Hey, are you alright?”

You sat at your desk with your head in your hands. Your responding “no” came out muffled.

Spencer frowned and sat on the edge of your desk. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Running your hands over your face, you finally met his gaze. His eyes were soft as they searched your own, and the expression on his face was not of pity or frustration but empathy, and of course, he was just being his sweet self. Your eyes watered in response, and his heart clenched at the sight. You shifted your eyes somewhere else, anywhere else. “Uh, no.”

It was clearly a lie.

Furrowing his brows at your obfuscation, he scanned your face for any indication of what might be the problem. A small sigh. He came up with nothing. “Alright,” he conceded hesitantly. “May I ask what is wrong?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

You stared down at the files neatly ordered on your desk, trying to mentally shoo him away with the sheer force of your willpower alone. But Spencer Reid was a stubborn man, and you knew this, and you also knew he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were alright. So, you both sat in the silence of the bullpen that only accompanied the arrival of midnight. The glow of your lamp bathed the vicinity in a warm yellow, and the tick of the nearby clock rattled around your chest as you attempted fruitlessly to subdue your incessant thoughts. He was close enough that you could hear the soft susurration of his exhales as his eyes flitted about the room to give you some sort of breathing room, and you shut yours for a moment to appreciate this moment of peace before the inevitable catastrophe to follow.

“I’m—uh, not okay.”

Finally turning back to you with a mildly surprised expression (he didn’t expect you to say anything so soon. Or so bluntly.), he offered you one of his signature tight-lipped smiles as encouragement to continue.

“I’m kind of really struggling…” you trailed off, gaze empty, ensnared in your thoughts.

Ever the gentleman with persistence that could last a thousand years, he gently prompted, “With…?”

A strong gulp and eyes squeezed shut. “With you.”

Well, that was not the answer Spencer was expecting. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him, and he was hollow and shaken and in pain. Gaping, he fumbled hopelessly for an answer, trying to find some reason you could be upset with him. He had always thought you two were the best of friends; he’d never doubted that before. How could he have missed this?

Swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, he strained to ask, “Uh—um, what—what did I do?”

Upon witnessing his struggle, you quickly amended your previous statement. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m not mad at you, well, I kind of am, but you don’t need to feel bad, it’s not your fault.”

“I’m not really sure what to make of that.”

You huffed a sigh and covered your face with your hands in a poor attempt to try to hide the blush rapidly coloring your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I just—you’re so nice!”

Now Spencer was really confused. “You’re mad at me...because you think I’m nice?”

“Yes, Spencer! You’re so nice, and it makes me incredibly frustrated. You see this?” You picked up a book from your desk and waved it frantically. A little intimidated by your crazed look, he nodded timidly. “Do you recognize this book?”

“It’s a special edition of Beloved by Toni Morrison.”

“It’s the special edition of my favorite book that you bought for me because you know how much I love this book.”

Spencer looked like a deer in the headlights. “You always said that your book at home was so messy with your annotations and that a fresh copy would have been nice.”

“You didn’t even buy it for my birthday or a special occasion! You just saw it in the store and said that you thought of me and had to buy it. That’s so unbelievably thoughtful! Not to mention the fact that I can barely look at fruit snacks now without tearing up. And—and the other day! When I got my haircut, I hated it, but I came in the next day, and you were the first person to tell me you liked it. You weren’t even lying to make me feel better; I’m a profiler, and I know that you were telling the truth. And it took no effort or thought because Spencer, you are the most kind-hearted and compassionate and generous person I’ve ever met. You are so—so genuinely good.

“No, you are the best. You are the best person I know,” you stated with finality, holding his stare with an unshakeable firmness. It was the first time you truly looked at him all night, and his heart felt like it was going to expand past his ribcage and burst open like a balloon. Your resolve melted though and your voice dropped to a near whisper. “And you’re not just nice. You’re nice to me. Which just makes it so hard.”

You deflated, withering into your seat.

“Makes what hard?”

“It makes it so much harder for me to not fall in love with you.”

Stunned silence.

Until it was shattered by a hiccup, and Spencer finally noticed the tears leaking from the corner of your eyes, and he tried, he tried so hard to puzzle through all of this new information and the fact that you just admitted you’re falling in love with him, and for some reason, you’re crying? He couldn’t even get his stupid genius brain to come with a single word before you started stumbling into an apology. “I know that’s not what you want to hear because we’re supposed to be friends, and I know that you’re just a good person, so you’re nice to everyone. Believe me, I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t keep holding on to this by myself, and I knew if anyone would let me down easy, it’d be you.” You chewed on your lip and avoided his stare at all costs. “So, I’m sorry.” You sniffled.

The quiet that followed weighed heavy on your chest, and you couldn’t seem to breathe. You had expected rejection; you hadn’t expected complete silence. And this was somehow so much more unbearable. In a voice so faint you weren’t even sure if he could hear, you begged, “Please say something.”

A beat.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

A whisper just barely verging on hopeful, “What?”

“(Y/N), I—I love you so much.” His heart felt like it was in his throat, and his voice broke slightly as he stood. “You’re the first person I think about when I get up in the morning, and you’re the last person before I fall asleep. I dread going home at the end of the day because you’re not there. When you’re not with me, even if you’re in the other room, it feels like I’ve forgotten something, and for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out what I was missing, but it was you. You consume my every thought, which is saying something because I think a lot. Actually, it’s kind of funny,” he chuckled somewhat morosely, “I truly cannot comprehend the fact that you don’t know how much I’ve liked you, how long I’ve loved you because it feels like it’s so obvious and so potent that it seeps out of me, whether I want it to or not.

“And I’m nice to you because no one else is more deserving of kindness. I’d be lucky if you let me be the one to remind you of that, everyday. Because you’re the best person I know.” You looked up at him with shining eyes and the meagerest beginnings of a smile, and he just beamed right back. With a creased brow, he ventured, “You’re my favorite person in the world, you know that, right?

Failing to suppress your growing grin, you nodded your head meekly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

Spencer felt pleased with himself until he remembered that he had forgotten the most important part. “Would you like to get dinner with me sometime? Like a date?”

Standing from your seat, you wrapped your arms around his neck and burrowed your face into his chest, and he immediately reciprocated, clutching you as close as he could. “I would love that.” It came out muffled, but he understood well enough as he pressed his face into your neck. And you stood like that for a few moments, just existing together, and for the first time in a long time, nothing hurt. There was no worry of unrequited yearning or pain of terrible pining; there were just two people who finally knew peace. Knew that the person they loved most in the world loved them back. Neither ever wanted to leave.

However, sometimes necessary duties like breathing take precedence, so you pulled back from him enough to finally claim some air. Your hands slid down his front, resting on his chest, his on your waist, and you just stared at him. The most beautiful face you’d ever seen looking right back at you with the same expression of awe that made you realize just how lucky you were. And slowly, hesitantly, you both leaned in ever so slightly with heads wavering and tension buzzing. Gingerly and sweetly. Neither could commit, but no one could pull away from fast-approaching revelation.

Finally, a breath away.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nodded.

When your lips met, your chest heaved with your eager, romantic hopes and dreams bubbling up near your lungs, finally coming to fruition. His hands came up to caress your jaw, and you leaned into him. His touch was so gentle, but he also touched you with intention. For once in his life, Spencer Reid felt no hesitation, kissing the girl of his dreams. And you felt held by him. You were bursting at the seams of your existence, swollen with infatuation and tenderness, yet totally and completely encompassed by him. You could shatter into a million tiny, little pieces, and he would be there to collect every shard. How cheesy.

Both of you grinned into the kiss; the sickly sweet itch in your heart was contagious. You finally released him, and wanting to savor the moment, you tucked yourself into the crook of his neck, so his chin could rest on the crown of your head. “I love you a lot, Dr. Reid.”

He hummed in agreement.

It didn’t need saying.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #i hope yall see that the sentences that are syntactically similar and the parallel settings are intentional and are like stupid attempts at #motifs and that im not a stupid person :/#also #lol wtf was that ending #anyways #yo this may or may not be based on problems i be having irl #i just fall in love with anyone who is remotely kind to me #lmao #anyone else desperate for affection?? gang??#also r there any toni stans out there i luv my queen #is anyone out there? i just want friends ahh #ALSO DOES ANYONE ELSE HAVE THE OVERWHELMING URGE TO DEVOUR THEIR GUMMY VITAMINS????? IS THAT JUST ME????

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penguinwithitsarseonfire · 4 years

Text

Dancing Round the Kitchen

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2,017

Warnings: None

Summary: To pass some time, you and the Doctor attempt to bake some cupcakes. The Doctor, however, has forgotten how flour works.

Request: We haven't gotten any 13 from you in a while! Can I request something domestic? Like baking with 13 or dancing with her? Anything you'd like!

A/N: Established relationship because it's something I've never written before, and sometimes ya just wanna bake, y'know?

The flour had gone everywhere. You watched as it billowed in the air, dancing among the orange light that was cast by the soft glow of the TARDIS’ crystals. It was hypnotic, in the same way that they described car crashes to be.

For a moment, you would even describe it as beautiful.

Then gravity kicked in, and the flour landed. It settled into your clothes and your hair, it created a sheet of white across the kitchen bench, over your tools and into your bowl, and it coated the floor.

You stared at the Doctor. She was clutching the flour container like had just caught a child. The lid had fallen off the flour container and had landed by the crack in the floor – the very crack that the Doctor had only just tripped over.

The Doctor looked like one of those cartoon people who threw flour on themselves to prove that they were invisible. The flour was dusted into her hair, across her clothing, and had scattered across her face. She went crossed eyed as she inspected her nose, where a small pile had, somehow, formed.

Head to toe, she had been covered in flour, looking like a snowman.

The Doctor looked from the container, to the crack in the floor, and then to you. “Sorry.”

You burst out laughing.

The situation was just so absurd that you couldn’t help it. She had just gone to grab the flour. One moment, she was walking towards you, flour in hand, the next she had suddenly jolted, the flour flying through the air as she had stumbled. It had been a sight, and not one you would soon forget.

There was a moment where the only sound was your bubbling laughter, echoing off the walls that were now layered in flour, then, just as swiftly, the Doctor joined in.

You went up to her, brushing some of the flour off her cheek with the pad of your thumb, your laughter going into a weak chuckle. “Oh Doc, are you okay?”

The Doctor let out a soft laugh. “What, me? Yeah I’m fine, peachy.”

You moved your hand up, brushing some of the flour from out of her hair. It poofed up into the air, before settling onto her shoulders. “I wish I’d filmed that,” you said wryly. “Ryan would’ve gotten a kick out of that.”

The Doctor gawked. “You would not show the rest of the fam.”

You gave her a teasing grin, still brushing off the flour from her person. You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Would too.”

“That,” the Doctor said, and you got the sense that she would be pointing at you if her hands weren’t fill with the container. She paused for a moment, considering. “Y’know, I was gonna say that it was unfair, but, really, it’s completely valid of you.”

You gave her a soft smile and kissed her on the nose, then recoiled. You’d forgotten about the flour.

You eyed the container. “How much do you think is left?”

The Doctor hummed, inspecting it. “Maybe around 200 grams? Might be a little more, could probably stretch it out really, if we throw in some Norvadica power from Astrox.”

You squeezed her arm then ran back to the kitchen bench. You brushed the flour off of the recipe book, and read through the ingredient list. “This says 200 grams,” you said. “We can still make these cupcakes,” you turned to face her. “Without the nova-something powder from Astrox. I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh it’s an invention the Astroxia make in…” The Doctor hummed. “The 28th century. Replicates flour, helped end the Famine of Kings.”

You screwed up your face. “Famine of Kings? Sounds depressing.”

“Yeah,” The Doctor drew out the word and came up beside you. She scanned over the recipe page, then beamed. “Brilliant.” She leaned over you, and, with a flourish, tipped the contents of the flour into the bowl - only for another plume of flour dust to coil into the air. She coughed into her elbow, wobbling backwards. “I forgot it would do that.”

You gave her a blank stare. “Even though that was exactly what happened 30 seconds ago?”

The Doctor gave you a look. It was one you chose not to interpret, because annoyed seemed like an understatement, but she didn’t look angry, either. You gave her an innocent grin. “Just saying.”

She huffed out a breath, and blew out a strand of hair that had come lose. You sighed, tucking it back in. The chain from her earring shone in the light. Somehow, it had remained unharmed by the flour explosion. You watched it for a moment, your fingers ghosting over her ear.

“Y/N?” The Doctor said, but her voice seemed far away. “Were you listening to me?”

You jolted slightly, suddenly registering that the Doctor was talking. You gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I wasn’t, sorry.”

The Doctor gave you a knowing grin, and clasped her hand around yours. “I was saying that we should throw some white chocolate chips in. Make them extra chocolatey.”

You nodded. It was a good idea – granted the Doctor’s ideas often were good, but still.

You glanced down at the recipe. “Okay, I’ll handle the dry ingredients so we don’t…” you trailed off, debating whether you should say it.

“So we don’t have another flour mess,” the Doctor said. “And I’ll handle the dry?”

You nodded to her, giving her a small smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

The two of you worked in tandem. You combined the flour, the two different sugars, the cocoa powder, the baking soda, and the baking powder together – not questioning why the recipe called for two different baking powders. It was almost like a dance, you and the Doctor navigated around each-others spaces with ease, as it you had always been doing so.

The Doctor was an enigma, sometimes. She was one of the most brilliant minds in the universe, could coordinate space armada’s, solve century old “unsolvable” maths problems, invent new chemicals as a side project, and yet, as she carefully measured out her own ingredients, you had never see her act with more concentration.

It was adorable, and, covered in flour, a look of absolute focus on her face, her earring glinting in the light, the Doctor looked mesmerising in a way you had never considered before.

You made a well in the centre of your bowl, making sure it was big enough to comfortable house the wet ingredients. Without a word, the Doctor was prepared with her own bowl, and she gently poured the mixture in. You gave her a small, delighted smile, slowly realising just how well you both worked together.

“How much does this need to be mixed?” The Doctor asked, looking to you, even though the recipe was closer.

Something in you warmed at that. The Doctor trusted you, in a way that was so innate that she turned to you first.

That was pretty extraordinary.

“Not too much, the just need a quick mix to combine the ingredients. You don’t have to beat the batter as hard because the cakes don’t have to work as hard to rise, as opposed to a big cake.”

The Doctor nodded diligently, and took the bowl, before frowning. “Okay,” she said. “This is different.”

You frowned, looking into the bowl. “What is?”

“The wet ingredients,” she explained. “They’re all in the middle. I’ve never done that before. Do I mix it differently?”

You knew it was probably overkill, but you couldn’t resist the chance to hold her. You wrapped your arms around her, getting flour all over her back, and rested your hands against hers. They were warm underneath you, and for a moment you revelled in the feel of it. You showed how to mix it, explaining the process to her as you did so.

“You introduce the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients slowly,” you said, and you moved your free hand slightly so you could grip another part of the bowl. “That way you don’t get lumps.”

“Oh,” The Doctor brightened, and she leaned against your front. “This is much more efficient. Is this why I always struggle with baking?”

Huh. You hadn’t thought about that – you actually hadn’t known she struggled with baking. You knew the Doctor was a good cook, it was essentially just edible applied chemistry, and you had eaten enough of her meals to know it was good, but baking wasn’t something you had ever really seen her do.

“Maybe,” you said, eventually. “Technique’s pretty important.”

She hummed, and rested her head against yours, still concentrating on mixing it. Eventually, it was mixed, and you had no reason to keep holding her.

You didn’t let go, though.

“And now we spoon it into the tray,” the Doctor said.

You rummaged for the white chocolate chips, which meant letting go of her so you could dust off the various bags that were still caked with flour.

The Doctor turned to you, affronted over the lack of contact, to find you holding up the bag of white chocolate chips. “Extra chocolatey,” you reminded her.

She grinned and you threw her the bag. With the same speed she gave to disarming bombs and writing out new code, she ripped off the top of the bag and poured all the contents into the bowl. She nodded in satisfaction, and mixed the chocolate chips in.

“Now they’re ready to spoon in,” you said, coming to her side and resting your arm against hers. Working together, you managed to get the batter in pretty quickly, with minimum spills, and soon the batter was in the tray, and the tray was in the oven.

“And now,” you announced, staring at the oven’s timer. It read 20 minutes. “We wait.”

The Doctor huffed, leaning against the kitchen bench. “I hate this bit.”

You gestured around the kitchen. “There’s stuff we could do. It’s only 20 minutes.”

“What could we do?”

You eyed the flour, which was still everywhere. “I guess we could clean?”

The Doctor screwed up her nose at the prospect. To be fair, there was a lot of flour. Then, she suddenly brightened. She held out her hand. “Come here.”

You took it gingerly, more confused than anything. “What’s up?”

You watched as she wrapped her other arm around your waist, pulling youclose. She started swaying side to side, and you let out a startled laugh. “We’re dancing.”

“We are,” she said with a small grin.

“There’s no music,” you said, still confused, but you let her lead.

Her eyes twinkled under the warm lights, and she twirled you around. “Don’t need it,” she said, and then, after a moment. “I’m with you, that’s enough.”

So you danced around the kitchen under the soft orange light, swaying to the hum of the oven, creating a distant melody that only you and the Doctor could hear. The pressure of her hand against your back was grounding, and you rested your forehead against hers.

The Doctor wasn’t good with words, she never had been, not in any face. But you thought, right here, right now, that this was her way of telling you.

In the way her eyes shone when she looked at you, as if you were brighter than any star she had ever seen. The way she held you as if you were precious, as though she cherished you. The way her smile was personal, like she gave it just to you.

She loved you, you knew she did.

So you danced with her, among the flour and the dirty dishes, with your heels clicking against the tiled floor.

You would still have to make the icing for the cupcakes, and you would still need to clean the kitchen. Store the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, find the homes for the ingredients the Doctor had haphazardly gotten out, and get rid of all the flour.

But for now, you danced, or swayed. Because you loved the Doctor.

And because she loved you.

#the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor #Doctor Who #DW #Elle: Speaks #opening Elle's vault #vault fic

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

It’s A Wonderful Life

Inspired by the only Christmas movie that I like and last night’s episode of Prodigal Son

A dangerous car wreck puts Hotch in tricky situation-- to stay or to go?

Part One of Three (and don’t worry, I already wrote part two and am editing part three so it’s done I’m just not posting it all in one go-- so you’ll actually get the whole fic)

Feat: autistic Reid and Jack (because I always thought that was what made the doctor’s appointment Hotch missed so important)

Aaron Hotchner wakes to the sound of his bedroom door slowly groaning, the old hinge creaking as it’s opened. If he hadn’t heard the faint, pattering footsteps beforehand, he might be fearful of what kind of intruders were trying to make their way into his home. However, before he can even roll to the edge of the mattress and offer his little burglar a hand up he’s being whacked in the face by a stuffed bear. Only able to grunt a complaint as a little fist grip tightly onto his pajama bottoms and-- “Hey, buddy.”

Jack looks nearly surprised to find his father staring back at him.

“You’re up early.”

Jack smiles, shyly leaning forward until he’s half laid across Hotch’s chest and half-buried down in the comforter. Placing one hand on Jack’s back, he leans up to see his alarm-clock. They’ve still got thirty minutes before the alarm goes off and the day must go on. Regardless, he sinks back into the pillows under him. Even if there’s no way he can go back to sleep, he can enjoy some pre-school-sized cuddles.

Thirty minutes is up too fast.

Carrying a squirming, unhappy five-year-old against his side he yawns and makes his way to the kitchen. “Oatmeal?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Oatmeal is the only thing that Jack will eat. It’s a… comfort food. The therapist, not the family one they go to but the one that specializes in autism, said that oatmeal was one of Jack’s comfort foods.

There was a bit of a debate about if Hotch should try to introduce additional foods with the oatmeal and now they’re working by trial. Oatmeal doesn’t meet too many dietary needs and having Jack fall underweight and little for his age was just another blow to Hotch. He understands that he can’t take these things personally-- Jack being nonverbal isn’t anyone’s fault. Jack being autistic is not some cosmic payback. It’s just a thing. Something that the two of them are working with.

It was just so much easier with Haley here too.

He’s a little cranky now but today is a good morning and Hotch isn’t going to ruin it by trying to encourage Jack into eating apples. He’ll cut up a few pieces of banana for Jack to either eat or ignore and be content when Jack eats his oatmeal and finishes his orange juice and that’s plenty. That’s good.

“Ugh.” This is the part Hotch struggles with. Speaking. For the language center of Jack’s brain to develop properly, Hotch has to speak more than he does. Silence is far more natural for him and he’d like to think the same for Jack. Speaking all the time, saying everything is tiring and he hates it. The thing is, he and Jack work exceptionally well sans spoken words. Jack’s ability to communicate is exceptional, Hotch has to work for it, but he’s five and Hotch doesn’t know any five-year-olds that are flawless at communication.

“Ah, thank you,” he signs the words too. His sign language isn’t actually that good but, again, they make it work. “Can you go to the chart and--” Hotch smiles, Jack already running over to the poster on his wall. Smiling as he pulls the velcro pieces off and puts the little drawing of a toothbrush and hairbrush over to the done side. “Thank you, Jack. You’re doing so good this morning. How about socks and shoes now?”

Jack gets to pick his socks out.

Reid’s idea.

Hotch had been very hesitant to ask Reid for any help. To acknowledge the one thing that they never talk about. In the face of everything that happened with Foyet and then with Haley he’d been left with no other choices. Strangely enough, Reid is the only person that has never made Hotch feel like an awful father for not knowing what to do.

Jack… kind of hates Reid, though.

“Oh, nice!” Reid says that Hotch should encourage the things that Jack likes. So, every morning he works a little harder to be happy when Jack picks out two completely different socks and turns around to search for his approval. “Do you know what color this one is?” Hotch asks.

Jack sits down on the floor, wiggling contently as he waits for Hotch to slip his socks on.

“Jack,” Hotch encourages, jostling Jack’s thigh to get his attention. “What color is it?” He holds the sock patently in his palm watching Jack get momentarily agitated. He raises his hand, ready to sign the word himself but Jack beats him to it. Clicking his tongue as he smiles and pats his lip with his middle finger.

The sign calls for the signer to form the letter “p” and then to tap or flick their middle finger against their lip but who cares about that?

“Good job!” Hotch praises and it’s so easy to be happy. Jack’s so fucking smart and he’s already so excited to tell someone. Jessica or Dave or whoever he sees first. “Pink! Your sock is pink!” The other has dinosaurs on it, it’s a favorite and Hotch finds himself washing it and its pair at least twice a week. He thinks it might have more to do with the soft yellow coloring of the sock.

Jack’s favorite color is yellow.

“You wanna go play with your rocks?” Hotch asks, slipping his hands under Jack’s arms and righting him on his feet. “I’m going to go get dressed, okay?” He waits, making sure Jack is going to go drag his tubs of rocks out before going off on his way. He can worry about limiting the number of rocks Jack takes with them later.

It’s Wednesday which means that he has to take Jack to the office for two hours until his program opens for the day. Technically, he should be in Kindergarten but Garcia found this program for him. He and Reid had gone to scope the place out. Hotch was way in over his head back then (and still is but then he’d been trying to cope with Haley’s death and getting Jack into school).

Though most of the things that the program had to offer were things he couldn’t understand Reid has taken it in. Explaining every little detail until Hotch understood not only the style of learning they were enforcing but why Jack had loved their foam furniture so much.

Hotch doesn’t know how he would have gotten through the last few years without the team.

With everything that happened with Foyet, he’s surprised that they can stand him at all. Maybe they shouldn’t. Their ability and drive to stay no matter what he did is commendable and he’s lucky to have a group of people that care about him but he has to consider why.

Why did they stay?

Morgan got a promotion, recently. With a short, strongly worded letter Morgan could have control of the whole department and he should have it. No one would think twice about snatching it up out of his hands.

He watched Reid struggle with addiction. Has hidden and protected Reid’s autism diagnoses from being filed on his record. His right hand, the woman he trusts more than any other agent, is a chronic insubordinate mess. For whom he has stepped on many toes. Despite his retirement and the push to fill the position in other ways, Hotch asked Rossi to come out of retirement. No one liked that idea but he did it anyway. There’s his decision to bring Garcia on despite her record, which had caused a lot of trouble.

JJ-- Well, she’s perfect so she’s probably the one they can’t use against him.

But how many times had Haley called JJ? Before the divorce and after. Even if they can’t use JJ against him, she probably hates him.

His life is a good and proper mess.

And now he has to go convince his son not to bring two pockets full of rocks with them.

He has to hike his dress pants up to squat down. If he brings himself down to Jack’s level it’s supposed to be more efficient for communication. That’s understandable. He’s certainly not going to stand over Jack. Jack’s hardly three feet tall, it can be a little overwhelming. Not to mention that’s over three feet of distance between them.

“Buddy,” he holds Jack’s hands in his own. “Buddy, you can take two.”

Two. Jack can count. Two just doesn’t sound like a bargain.

“Four,” Hotch caves. “Two for each pocket.”

Okay, he can live with that.

Jack hates his car seat but holding two rocks in each hand seems to soothe him enough to allow Hotch the chance to strap him into his seat. That and his sketchers hitting the seat’s bottom lights the whole car up in flashing blues and yellows.

Hotch glances back at him a few times. Sometimes Jack tries to put the rocks in his mouth. He’s never swallowed one, he just likes the cold way the rock feels in his mouth but if he does that while Hotch is driving it’s easy to understand how that might not end well.

He gets to an intersection in town, frustrated when he catches the redlight. “There’s no way this stoplight hasn’t ruined someone’s day before,” Hotch mumbles to himself. The thing gets stuck on red for an absurd amount of time. The lights are regulated, a fact Reid reminds him of all the time, but this one will stay on red for longer than two minutes. By the fourth minute, all patience is thrown out the window.

When the light turns green he glances back at Jack through the mirror, smirking. He looks back to the road still smiling. Jack is content, clicking his tongue, and watching the world pass by through his window. It’s like he can breathe-- he can stop for just this moment and know he’s doing something right.

He doesn’t see the other car racing across the intersection, blind with rage. There’s the horrible ripping of metal and the hiss of smoke and then nothing.

Turns out he was right.

That stoplight is going to ruin someone’s day.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #whump #hurt hotch #tw car accident #spencer reid

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Title: Tell Me That Your Soul Lies Now

Relationship: Sev/OC/Scorch

Warnings: Mention of blood and needles used in medical care

Summary: A Stowaway complicated what should be an easy night.

A/N: Based on a HC that Sev and Scorch both end up at Kyrimorut and adopted to Walon Vau. Love, Family, and the ties that bind come into play. I hope you enjoy!

The Midnight Duke was an unassuming Corellian life class transport, a pre Clone Wars relic retrofitted to meet clan Vau's very particular, discerning tastes.

Quick, fast, and armed to the teeth it got the job done ferrying Walon Vau’s adopted sons from one bounty to the next. The sons themselves were more than competent to take it from there with efficiency and expertise bred from a jar on Kamino and a lifetime of training by one of the most ruthless Mandalorians to ever exist.

Dust settles in a thick layer over the Duke’s matte black hull. Its exit from the outer rim asteroid belt had been… dicey and it would need a new coat of paint in the coming days.

It had a lot of things, typically a dead body in storage wasn’t one of them.

“Fek!”

“Wha-“ Scorch barely misses his brother’s arm as he snaps back a step, exposing the open cargo hatch for inspection with a put-upon indignation only he was capable of. There’s a duffle of ordinance, kit and-

“What is this?” Sev’s growl reverberates through his buyce accusingly. Scorch eyes the curled up figure draped in a thick layer of clothes reminiscent of the mining colony they’d just left.

“People-cicle.” What the hell did he expect him to say? He hadn’t stored a body away. He was in charge of the bounties. The heads of the two marks had been in the bounty bag which was now very empty and in need of laundering because A. Trandoshan blood stank to malachor and B. Human blood was just messy.

“Maker if I know.”

The sun over Kyrimorut was quickly beginning to sink down into the mountainous waste to their north and with it went the warmth of the late season day. They just needed to finish post mission once-over and they could take the speeders the five kliks from the airfield to the warmth of the karyai and a hot meal.

“Maker,” Sev growls again, “Buir is not going to be happy about this”

Buir. It still felt wrong to call the Sarge anything but Sarge. Scorch was sure he’d get used to it eventually. Sev had, oddly enough, but Scorch didn’t really question his vod’s rush to accept their former trainer as his father. The sullen commando had always sought Walon Vau’s approval. It was no worse than the vode of Skirata’s clan and their hero worship of their Kal’buir.

“We’ll dump it off and be done with it,” Scorch offers, “Animals will take care of it and that’ll be- wait.” A quick blink through his HUD menu brings up an advanced heat scan.

Sev toes at the body with his boot. “What am I waiting on?”

“They're still alive. I got a vital readout. It’s not much but-“ The two clones stand shoulder to shoulder staring at the prone sentient.

“I slot ‘em and we pretend we never saw a thing?”

“The old man’s gonna know either way. Not sure what gets us in more trouble.”

At his side, Sev grunts. Wal’buir knew things. It was uncanny and downright terrifying. As cadets they’d never been able to get one by the old Mando - not that Sev had ever tried - but Scorch had plenty and had more than a few scars to prove he’d been caught.

“Kriff.” Sev lets out an uncharacteristic laugh. “Bring it back and Skirata will probably adopt it.”

Scorch can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “or marry it off.”

“I’m not gonna carry it.”

The argument that he’d saved both their shebs earlier is about to leave his mouth when a small feminine whine rises from the half frozen sentient. “Well that settles it”

“Marriage,” they both agree in unison.

It’s been a while since he’s been around a woman not already wed or destined to be wed to one of his extended family. Suddenly the idea of carrying the unfamiliar being doesn’t seem so off-putting.

At least it wasn’t the bounty bag.

———

Buir was going to let them have it. Sev could handle the dressing down from Kal Skirata but he wasn’t sure he could handle it from Vau.

His stomach twists in knots. The early signs of panic, the ones he was intimately familiar with - brought about by the only father figure he’d ever known - were beginning to make themselves known. He can feel his heart rate picking up. The thick nerf hide sticks to each finger as his palms begin to sweat in his gloves.

He wouldn’t have been able to get away with slotting the grubby stowaway and dumping the body, of that he is sure, there was no good way to keep it clean. Either the Duke or he were going to be covered in it and the water pumps at the strip had gone out a week before. They’d brought the replacement back but it would take one of Kal’s boys to plumb it up.

“Ordo’s going to have kittens.” Scorch’s voice rings clear through his comms.

“Yeah, Bes is pregnant with what...” He rattles off the names of the clans ad in his head and begins assigning them to parents. “Number three?”

“Yeah, he’s always got a kad up his shebs when she’s carrying. This is going to royally piss him off.”

Sev watches as Scorch readjusts the woman in front of him. She’d started shivering after they’d yoinked her from her spot in storage. Still hadn’t woken but It was a good sign. Her body seemed to actively be trying to warm up. They figured they’d help it along and wrapped her snugly in a thermal sheet from the emergency kit. Before Sev had at least been able to see her nose, a set of dark brows and fluttery lashes, nothing too unlike those some of his sister-in-laws had, now it was only the closed lids of her eyes visible. For all intents and purposes she looked like a bantha wrap he’d gotten from a food cart last time they’d been on Coruscant.

Per the limited data from their HUDs she probably wasn’t in much better shape. She seemed stable, but it wasn’t guaranteed even with the vheh’yaims medical center and the clan’s skills she’d survive the long haul. They’d spent two days in hyperspace and she spent that time in a minimally heated interior storage compartment. The bloody marks along the hatch’s interior showed that she hadn’t had as comfortable a ride as they had. It was another thing they’d need to clean up but it could wait a day or two.

There were no ration wrappers, no canteens of water in the hold with her. They’d looked.

Hypothermia was her biggest issue but dehydration wasn’t far behind, and the ease with which Scorch had lifted her left him to believe that malnutrition had been an ongoing issue. The bulk of her was the thick rough clothes the miners had worn.

“We take her to Wal’buir before Skirata gets his turn. Let buir decide what to do.” The speeders rumble to life as they take off from the small airfield and head in the direction of home.

It takes less time then he remembered to cover the distance from the airstrip to the sprawling compound they called home.

“Look,” Scorch notes merrily, “they left the lights on for us.”

By the time they’re pulling up to the vheh’yaim Sev feels his breath coming rapidly.

“Maybe the old man’s having some ti’haar with the neighbors?” Scorch sounds hopeful as he pulls his buyce off one handed and clips it to his belt. “We get her into medical and then have to explain our fek up. Mij should still be here.” He hopes aloud that the family doctor was still rotating through before heading back to Enceri.

Mij Gilamar was a good a doctor as any clone commando, null, or trooper could ever hope for. If their guest made it through the next few days she’d do good to thank Gil.

Sev throws his leg over the speeder and grabs for his kit and the bounty bag while his brother jostles the woman into a better hold. The lights shine through the low windows peering into Skirata clan’s karyai and Sev can imagine his buir sitting by the warm fire drinking the potent Mandalorian liquor and busting Kal Skirata’s gett’se about something.

“Su cuygar Ad’ike.”

Or not.

Both men snap to. Instead of “Sir” an acknowledgement of “Buir” is barked. If Vau notices the near comical response he doesn’t let on. His golden eyes are narrowed firmly on the package in Scorch’s arms.

Sev isn’t sure he’s ever seen his brother lost for words and Scorch must decide today wasn't going to be the day.

“We brought a present. Heard Kal’buir is trying to settle Mereel down. Think this will work?”

Vau, emotionless stony Vau, stands for a moment before the hint of a sly smile flashes at the corner of his mouth. Sev’s heart jumps. The smile falls away with such quickness that had the man himself not trained him to be the best, Sev would have questioned if it had ever been present to begin with.

“Shall we get our guest set up? Maybe you boys can explain how you managed to bring home a stray while we do?”

Yeah they we’re in trouble. He can hear Scorch gulp through his comms as Vau turns away and heads towards the main entrance of their home.

Growing up with so many brothers, child soldiers who were destined to grow up too soon, Sev had never been privy to concepts like privacy. It shouldn’t irk him that eyes follow them as they enter the vheh’yaim, following their father through the one of the many different spokes off the main karyai toward medical. The low flicker of fire light catches on the rich golden plates of Mij Gilamar’s beskar’gam.

Without much more than a tired sigh, the silver haired Mando finishes his drink and rises from his spot near the fire to follow.

Sev finds himself thankful that even amongst the faces like his own, Ordo Skirata’s was not present. He wasn’t in the mood to hear what Kal Skirata’s golden child would have to say. He’d have to hear it eventually but he hoped he could at least grab a shower and hot meal before he had to deal with the Null.

Scorch elbows him in the side and Sev casts him a questioning glance. “In your head again, vod?”

“Just worrying about Ord’ika.”

“I would be less concerned about Ordo,” Vau remarks casually, “and more about me.”

To their left, Mij Gilamar huffs out a laugh as he motions for Scorch to lay the patient out. “Let’s worry about the aruetii first shall we? Where’d you pick this one up?” the doctor asks as Scorch begins to help him liberate her from the thermal blanket and then layer after layer of thick and dusty fabric.

“New asteroid mining station in the outer rim, Kappa Black,” Sev offers, “and we didn’t know we even had her on ship.”

It takes gett’se to openly admit that in front of his training Sergeant but Vau says nothing.

Scorch picks up where Sev leaves off as the last layer of outer clothes is tossed aside. Sev had been right. There really wasn’t much to the woman underneath the bulk of gear.

“We picked off the bounties. Cake walk.” The demolitions expert chirps happily but Sev can hear the well hidden undertone of anxiety in his voice. “We got in. We got out. Didn’t stop to sight see.”

Vau looks down his nose, glancing slowly from one to the other and then to the girl being hooked up to tubes and monitors. “It appears you didn’t stop to check your ship over either.”

“We had to leave in a hurry. She’d tucked herself behind gear,” Sev explains, knowing it wouldn’t be good enough, “We-“

A cry rises up from the bed as the woman’s eyes shoot open. He knows panic when he sees it.

“Fierfek!” Mij curses as his recently placed central line is caught along the bed and yanked from her neck. Fluids flow freely, mixing with a steady stream of blood as the doctor grabs for gauze and fights to press it against the puncture.

“Some kriffing help would be good,” he grunts as he manages to dodge a fist.

Sev steps in. He manages to grab both wrists in a single movement, pressing them to the bed as her lower body twists and her legs kick out. He tries to judge his own strength, his hands swallow her wrists.

“Restraints are in the drawer.” He hears Mij but his eyes are focused on the woman under him. “No! The other drawer.”

“Sorry Doc, gotta lot of drawers here.”

Sev ignores his brother as a leg swings wildly his way, its knee connecting with solid beskar along his back. She doesn’t even flinch. Sev positions his body over hers, swinging a leg over her hip and looping his feet over her thighs. She doesn’t stop fighting.

“Stop!” He snarls down into her face, voice coming out gruff and modulated through his buyce. Stark blue eyes focus in on him as she suddenly goes deathly still. They stand out against the warm tan of her skin, only a shade lighter than his own. Her hair is a tangle of unkempt curls and knots. She looks feral and wild, bears her white teeth like an animal. Sev adjusts his grip as she begins her fight again, thrashing and bucking under him.

“I said stop!” He snarls again, and something changes in her eyes. Fear flashes. Her snarl turns into a frightened “o” of surprise before he feels her muscles begin to go slack underneath him. He glances to his side in time to see his buir remove the hypo from her arm.

Mij grunts. A bead of sweat glistens at his grey temple. “Always prepared, right Walon? I hope you took into account her body mass because I don’t feel like dealing with a heart that doesn’t want to beat.”

Vau smiles, holding up the still half full syringe and flicking it lightly with a well manicured nail. “This isn’t my first time. Now Sev’ika, please climb off our guest and let’s try this again,” the black armored Mando says calmly.

———

“I don’t like it. It’s too convenient.”

Scorch rolls his eyes behind the mirrored visor of his buyce. Ordo Skirata has made himself known shortly after Mij had gotten their little stowaway stabilized. She’d be sleeping off the worst of her hyperspace sickness. If she did decide to wake again they could all be secure in the fact that Scorch himself had tightened down her restraints.

The hot brand Doc found behind her left ear had answered more than a few questions she wouldn’t be able to answer for a while. A slavers mark denoting property of the Mining Guild. Between that and her poor condition, Scorch couldn’t blame her for hopping the first ship off the asteroid belt she could find.

It did make them thieves technically, but he had strong feelings about people being property and it really hadn’t been the first time they’d creatively acquired something. He’d tried to ask Sev his opinion but he didn’t seem much for banter after they’d found the brand. Even Wal’buir had seemed a bit more disgusted than usual.

Then Kal Skirata showed up at the med bay door with his eldest in tow and a few of Omega’s commandos, Niner and Fi, trailing behind.

And now the adults were talking and it was his job to shut up .

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not at this point,” Mij was saying firmly, “I’m not about to put a sick girl out.” His eyes flash challengingly to the Skirata clan head. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind about it either, Kal.”

For his part, Kal Skirata has been fairly quiet, standing to Ordo’s side with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a contemplative look on his face. Every now and then Scorch would catch old Kal’buir trying to sneak a peek at their acquisition. Scorch also noted both he and Sev had placed themselves between the other men and the bed. He could think of a star cruiser worth of smart things to say, but not one could account for the near-defensive position Sev was taking or Scorch’s own flanking of his brother.

“Besany’s pregnant-“

“Oh really?” Scorch can’t help himself. The words just come out because kriff, was Bes never not pregnant? “I wasn’t aware.”

Sev snorts to his side as does Niner hovering behind the Null. Fi barely manages a suppressed smile as Ordo’s eyes narrow. Scorch rolls his shoulders, loosening the stiff joints up. It was always about Kal’s boys. It was always cowing down to Nulls. It got old fast. Next to him Sev’s neck pops as he rolls it.

“You got an issue, Scorch?”

“And if he does?” Sev’s voice cuts in.

It had been awhile since there’d been a good family tussle. It might be time to take it outside and fix that.

“Scorch. Sev.” Walon Vau’s crisp, aristocratic voice cuts through the tension and posturing “Stand down. It’s late and I’m tired.”

Kal tips his head to his Null son. “You too Ord’ika. Everyone is concerned for the safety of the women and children, but if I know your wife she would no sooner have us dispose of an escaped slave as she would one of your deserter vode.”

“We’ve had squads do worse to get here,” Niner adds levelly.

“True, ad’ika,” Skirata agrees pleasantly, taking a step toward the bed. Sev’s sudden step forward seems to reignite the tension as he blocks Kal’s line of sight. The older man casts an appraising look at the Commando and Scorch feels every muscle in his body coil in anticipation. Kal Skirata could play the good natured ba’buir all he wanted, but below the surface he was anything but. He was as cold blooded as it came before you got his family involved, but once you crossed one of his boys Scorch wasn’t sure there was a star system you could hide in that the old Mando merc wouldn’t find you in.

Scorch wasn’t sure where he and Sev placed in the family tree but he wouldn’t be caught unawares if it was time to find out.

“She’ll be our charge,” Vau says cooly, stepping between the two Delta commandos.

“And if she’s brought trouble with her, what then?”

“We let Sev slot ‘er and Mird will have a nice treat,” Scorch offers as if they were speaking of troublesome roba. The mention of Mird is enough to get a shudder from both Niner and Ordo and a wet sound of agreement from the creature itself as it slinks in between Fi’s legs.

The strill circles around its master’s feet before giving Sev and Scorch a cursory sniff.

“Walon,” Mij Gilamar’s voice is low with warning.

“Lord Mirdalan is an excellent judge of character.” The golden furred creature leaps to the bed with predatory grace. Scorch watches the strill stare expectantly at the sedated woman before turning twice and curling up on her legs. “See?”

Fi, who’d been quietly observing - for once - speaks up after a moment. “It may just be me, but I’m not sure Mird’s approval is necessarily a good thing.”

#delta squad #republic commando #star wars #clone commando sev #clone commando scorch #polyamory #no clonecest

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httpbread · 4 years

Note

Hey there again!! I was wondering if I could request another dialogue prompt scenario with Hanako x Fem!Reader again with #33 "I only ever thought there were two kinds of love: The kind you would kill for, and the kind you would die for... but for you, my darling, you are the kind of love I would live for" and #34 "I want you. All of you, and not just half-heartedly, wholly. And maybe that's selfish, but I don't care." It can be past Hanako or present, your choice! Thank you again!! 👻👻👻

Pairing: Hanako x reader

Words: 7048 (mistakes have been made)

T/W: death mention, injury mention,a bit angsty but with a happy ending

On god I’ve written more than 10k for this bad boy with the amount that i have edited and cut and rewritten but i have finally finished it. sorry it took so long!!

“Kisses can’t fix everything you know."

This was exactly why she found herself sitting on the floor of the third-floor girl’s bathroom, the door locked and a first aid kit spread out before her.

"Amane-"

"Please."

The alcohol-soaked cotton ball falters in her fingers at the desperation in his soft voice.

"Can’t we just talk about something else?"

She peers up at him under her lashes briefly. Lucky or unlucky, the boy refused to return the gesture, staring stubbornly off, a crinkle in his brow and a weight in his lips.

(Y/n) looks back down at her work, but not without muttering, "Only when you stop bringing me all these cuts and bruises..."

She knows he’s going to huff and puff, so she interrupts before he can, hoping a change of topic might put him in a better mood, "Because of you, I talked to someone about medical school today."

Amane utters immediately, "Huh?"

"Tsuchigomori-san thinks I should look into becoming a doctor," she keeps her gaze fixed on the cut she was treating, delicately dabbing it clean with the cotton ball, "I’m inclined to believe him."

Her friend is quiet and so is she, working methodically as ever.

"You’re good at what you do..." he mumbles, scarcely loud enough for her to hear over the unending silence of the afternoon bathroom.

"I know," she responds, adding pointedly, "You give me plenty of practice."

Glancing up, she catches his sour look with her small, sly smile. Sour, sour, sour those eyes were. Like two little lemons glaring back at her. Not intimidating in the slightest.

"That’s low," he enlightens her, making her snort under her breath.

Was it really considered a low blow to point out the truth staring them both in the face?

She lets out a long breath, the air slipping slowly from her lips as she returns her focus to the task at her hands.

"It’s only because of you," she reaches over for the antibiotic ointment, muttering, "If it were anyone else, I never would’ve taken any interest in first aid."

Squeezing the small tube so it oozes the gel onto her finger, she then brings it to the back of his hand, ever so gently smearing it onto the cut, "I would’ve never even thought twice about what I was doing."

She never would’ve been so careful.

After all, she’d grown up always having to be cutthroat and serious to get things done. She never had time to just slow down and look at things. There were a million things she had to strikeout. She was meant to act better than a machine, quick, efficient, and perfect.

And yet...

Even if it didn’t come naturally to (Y/n), Amane showed her that there was a need in the world for that kind of softness she all too often crushed and buried away.

Unknowingly, he had taught her many things over the course of their sometimes rocky friendship, but most of all... He taught her that she couldn't get through all her life constantly acting sharp and rigid.

Her wandering thoughts fizzle with the feeling of his eyes trained on her.

"Because we’re friends...?"

For a moment, she forgets herself. She’d gotten lost in her thoughts.

The words left a bittersweet taste in her mouth regardless... Soft on him because they were friends... How peachy.

She avoids his gaze, retrieving a bandaid for the last of his injuries, "Because I care about you, Amane. I don’t want to hurt you, so it’s made me slow down and think more."

While her words were no lie, they were nowhere near the whole truth, either.

However...

A subtle curve tugs at her lips.

"And..."

She can’t help but tease him.

"I realized that every time I help some hurt stranger... that they’re just like you."

He scoffs lightly, those narrowed amber eyes snapping up to meet hers, "In what way? You’re saying every stranger and I are the same to you?"

She shakes her head with a small laugh at his flare of thinly veiled jealousy. Geez. Someone was feeling a little defensive today.

"No. They just remind me of you," she admits, gazing down at his hand for a moment, her own absently stilled, "and then I know that someone out there is probably worried sick about their idiot."

She knew she was always worried about him, at least.

"Oh..."

She brushes over this matter with a new one.

"I’ll be in school for a really long time," she comments, busying herself with unwrapping the bandaid crinkling noisily between her fingers.

"And...?" He trails off, waiting.

"No. That’s all," she carefully slides the bandage out and places it over the cut on his hand, ever so lightly smoothing it out, "I just wanted to hear your thoughts on it."

Despite whatever thoughts and situations faced them, they were childhood friends after all. It made sense that she would care about his opinion... but maybe not as much as she ultimately did.

"Well, I think..." he’s quiet for a moment, searching for words, "I think you’d make a great doctor."

This makes the smile on her lips grow as she looks up at him, watching him gaze down at their hands, a thoughtful look marking his handsome features.

"You’re already good at scolding."

This makes her pause.

‘Bastard.’ She wants to huff at him.

And yet, instead, she pulls his hand up, (e/c) eyes flicking up to meet his quickly narrowing golden ones. She pays no mind to the suspecting look on his face and places an ever so soft kiss the bandaid she had just applied.

(Y/n) watches in silent delight as that familiar rose color blossoms across his pale cheeks.

She slowly sets his hand back down, though not releasing it from hers, muttering finally, "I suppose so."

She then gives his hand a squeeze, smirking a little, "Maybe I’ll even learn how to get my scolding through especially thick skulls like yours."

She couldn’t just let him slander her like that and get off completely scot-free.

"Okay, now you’re just being mean," he decides, stealing his hand away from her to cross his arms over his chest. Which, he was right, but only a little.

She only continues to smirk at him, undeterred.

"Says you," she notes, amusement lingering in her lowered tone, "You want away from me so bad you’re skipping planets."

"The moon is not a planet," he utters, scandalized by her words, his eyes sparkling a little with the way they widen incredulously, only allowing more light in their golden-colored depths.

She waves her hand dismissively, biting back her teasing smile, "Ah, right, right. Dwarf planet, yeah?"

(Y/n) turns her head away, adding the sprinkles to the top of her deceit before he can hastily protest, "Well, I guess since you’re kicking me to the curb, maybe I should find some rich husband to keep me company during my studies. Someone new I can take care of."

"Absolutely not!" Amane declares.

He was right, of course, but she was more than happy to let him think so highly of her. Her sharp tongue would never allow such a thing.

"Why not? Can’t you see it now?" She tilts her head at him, bringing a pointer finger to each corner of her lips and drawing them up in an award-winning smile, "Me, a trophy wife, a trophy husband, both fabulously rich. Three dogs. Maybe a kid."

He wears a look on his face that’s quite the opposite of hers, "Of course I can."

The sudden admission makes her falter in surprise.

"I just don’t want to," his eyes avoided hers.

She slowly lowers her hands, before setting them back in her lap.

"Then you need to get your eyes checked," she retorts bluntly, "The day I find someone who can tolerate me is the day hell freezes over."

Her eyes calmly find the amber ones now trying to burn holes in her.

"You, on the other hand..."

She can’t help her adoring smile.

"You’re going places, Amane."

She laughs a little to hide the slight embarrassment gripping her, eyes drawing to the window, "I mean, more than just the moon. I could see you going anywhere you put your mind to..."

The sun looks like it’s beginning to set, casting brilliant shades of oranges and yellows through the window to make the bathroom.

Yet, the sunset puts no hurry in her unmoving feet. She was sure Amane would walk her home, dark or not. He may be stubborn, and they did argue a lot, but he was loyal.

"Not without you."

She blinks.

"I’m not going anywhere without you, (Y/n)."

She turns to look at him, feeling almost incredulous.

"That’s a funny thing to say," she utters, cupping her cheek, trying to play it off to soothe her beating heart, "I know we’ve been friends for a long time, Amane, but..."

Her face softens with a teasing little smile at him, "Aren’t you tired of me yet?"

However, he doesn’t smile back, almost glaring at her like she’s said something stupid- sort of like when she muddled facts about the moon, except missing that shock factor, now replaced with something more firm.

"No."

He looks down at his hands as she blinks twice.

"I want you."

Her lungs abruptly come to a silent halt.

"All of you, (Y/n)."

Especially when he’s suddenly moving closer, taking her face in his kind hands, "Not just half-heartedly, but wholly."

For once, no protests come tumbling past her lips. She couldn’t even think of any. She almost wasn’t sure she had any.

He swallows, giving away his nerves, but doing nothing to stop those big beautiful eyes from burning bright.

"And maybe- maybe that’s selfish, but I don’t care."

She forces her lungs to work again, almost robotically evicting the breath from her chest.

But she can’t look away from him.

Or keep the big smile from curving at her lips as she leans forward, ignoring her nervous heart as she places her hands on either side of his face.

"(Y/n)...?" He whispers, voice quiet but his pitch is higher than usual, giving away his fear if she didn’t see the obvious terror glittering in his eyes.

"Oh, Amane..." she closes her eyes, leaning her forehead against his, "You’re an idiot."

The slight hitch of his breath makes her audibly clue him in.

"I’m already yours," she won’t bite her tongue now. He opened up to her, and she’d be damned if she didn’t meet him halfway- if not further. "I’ve been yours for a long time now."

She pulls away- but only a little. Just so she can look at him again.

He still hasn’t seemed to have closed those eyes of his, trained on her unwaveringly, surprise dancing in their shimmering depths.

They meet hers, and her heart feels full.

"I’m not sure if I should be hurt that you just called me an idiot when I’m vulnerable..." he elucidates, making her grin further, "Or just be happy that you feel the same."

"Well, I’d say..." she slides her arms past his neck, coiling around him and drawing him in close like the snake she is, "Take what you can get."

He responds by pulling her just as near with a light tug on her uniform, tilting his head a little to seal their words with a warm kiss- and (Y/n) couldn't be happier to follow.

Neither of them could have ever guessed what had lied in store for them, however.

They were both so bright and ready to take on the world by each other’s side, with hands held and fingers intertwined.

Neither of them ever thought that the future would be three graves sitting in a neat little row next to each other, not even two weeks later.

Everything had slipped between their fingers in an instant. They were a snap- two fingers slipping past each other, perfect at first until the friction caught up to them. With just a single little bang, they were far apart once again, as though they had never met in the first place.

No fairytale wedding on the moon. No handing out lollipops to patients. No graduating. No nothing.

Every inkling of a dream they had built came crashing down abruptly, leaving nothing but carnage and broken hearts.

—-

(Y/n) tugged at the bandage.

"Oi!"

"Oi!" She mocks in a higher pitch.

The blond mean mugs her.

She spits his look right back at him.

"Baby," she comments tartly, looking back down at her work, "If you want to start making complaints, stop getting hurt, why don’t you?"

Just about every day this kid kept coming back to her!

Sure, she knew he was an exorcist and all that and a cherry on top, but she also knew one boy wasn’t getting into all of this trouble by himself.

Almost made her want to march right up to that bathroom and give that mystery a piece of her mind.

Mystery number seven...

That damned boy.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!"

"My bad," she quickly removes her hands.

Yeah. Okay. That time was actually her bad. That bandage was looking a teensy bit tight.

"Distracted, doc?"

Doc.

"No."

She looks down at his wrist, gently loosening the bandage on it.

(Y/n) (L/n) was not a doctor, nor would she ever become one.

However, the school had a funny way of taunting her, withholding her as the rumored mystery number eight- the medical mystery, it so happened.

Mostly, her job consisted of patrolling around and taking care of the living idiots. Fixing them up, popping a sucker in their mouth to shut them up, before she was on her way again.

The rest of her official job as a mystery consisted of gathering... specific- er, well, exotic goods, like mermaid scales for example, and things of that nature.

It wasn’t much, but it tended to keep her busy.

Well, that was a lie. Her job was all she had. Not to mention it wasn’t an easy one either. Sticking with the previous example, Mermaids weren’t exactly jumping all over the idea of showering her with their lovely little scales. Despite being a healer, her line of work got her into more fights than not.

"So... do I still get a sucker...?"

She blinks, looking up at the blond, realizing she was zoning out again.

"Hah?"

He smiles at her, nonetheless, a smile much like the sun, in the way that it makes her squint and look away.

"Yeah, whatever," she huffs, reaching into her apron.

She retrieves a handful.

"What flavor?" She shoves it at him, not at all intending to help him choose or find said flavor.

Okay, so maybe the candy wasn’t a required part of her job, but hey, a little bribery never hurt.

She’d much rather be rumored as the helpful little medic with the candy than the crazed doctor butcherer or something.

"Wh- Oi! Only one!" She slaps his hand away, glaring venomously as he laughs.

"Please, (L/n)-san!" He beams at her, bright as ever, not exactly begging, "The mokke are hungry too."

She looks down, not at all surprised at the gathering of pink bunny-like creatures at her feet.

"Right, right. Sorry."

She then promptly offers them the biggest smile she can muster, hoping to display just how sorrowful she was for them.

"Maybe I should start practicing my veterinary skills too!"

And just like that, they’re running for the hills, no more pink creatures crowding her, not even within her sights. It’s almost impressive.

She drops the smile along with the rest of the lollipops back into her frilly ivory apron in exchange for her usual deadpan expression, "Thought so."

But she notices there’s one particular annoyance left standing.

"What do you want, boy?" She drops a hand on her hip and her head to the side, (e/c) eyes narrowing "Got some internal bleeding or something I’m not seeing?"

He gives his head a shake, sending his spiky blonde locks bouncing.

"No. I was just thinking."

She comments immediately, "Well, I’m not into studying therapy either. Move along."

However, he only chuckles at this, amused as though she didn’t completely mean it.

"Aren’t doctors supposed to be nice?"

She looks up at the boy, and contrary to him, she is further unamused.

He only continues to smile at her, undeterred as ever, blue eyes bright with life.

"Maybe," she offers him a shrug, "I’m not a doctor."

(Y/n) decides she likes the way his whole face scrunches up when she pokes his nose, like she pressed some kind of button, "The only thing I am, is dead."

"Well, I think you’re very kind," he says, arguing his own point.

She flashes him a funny look. He was the one who implied she wasn’t nice. She just confirmed that theory. She agreed with him! So, why the hell did he feel the need to continue arguing with her? ... himself? She wasn’t even sure. What a weirdo this one was.

"You just show you’re kind in the way that you’re really mean and you nag a lot."

For a moment, the words make her falter.

For a moment, all she can see is loving amber eyes framed by long dark lashes and darker choppy locks.

For a moment.... they sound so much like something he would say to her...

"It just means you care! And you have a big repressed heart under all those sour looks!"

There’s a finger in her face, snapping her from those melancholy memories. She promptly brushes it away to reveal the scowl marking her lips.

"Yeah? Then explain why I don’t care, then."

But he’s on his feet now, waving away this idea as he grabs his bag, "You do. That’s why you help me all the time!"

No.

That was mostly so Teru didn’t exorcise that idiot no. 7. If he saw all the cuts and bruises Kou got from working under him...

Well, not that she cared about that idiot either.

As far as she was concerned, all these boys were idiots- and she was just going to calmly stay in her lane, away from them all!

That number seven boy was nothing to her except a poor excuse for a boss and distant memories.

The other blond was just a slightly taller menace.

And this smiling idiot was nothing but that. An idiot.

...

......

And… maybe just a little bit of a friend as well...

She waves to him.

"Don’t come back," she says to him.

Yet, he responds cheerfully, waving excitedly, "I’ll see you tomorrow, (L/n)-san!"

Tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes.

Week in. Week out.

It was all the same to her.

She did her job. She helped students. She got what she needed. She finished her work.

She kept herself busy and never glanced his way.

That was how it was.

That’s how it was supposed to be.

That’s how it always was.

"Long time no see, (N/n)-chan!"

But that familiar voice shattered any vague sense of order she had gathered over the fifty years since she had last heard it.

There’s a black patch on his cheek now, but changing the cover of a book didn’t change its wicked contents.

Nor did it remove the pages stained with her blood.

"You look well," he tells her, voice high with a giggle, "How old are you now? Sixty? Seventy?"

(Y/n) flinches as his lithe fingers brush her cheeks with unseen stains coating them, but she can’t move away. Her feet have sunken into the concrete below, holding her in place as her chest seizes, ever nerve lighting on fire with the need to disappear.

"You really don’t look it!" He tells her, and she can only watch as his lips pull up to reveal his sharp fangs, "Nope, nope! You don’t look a day past your last living one."

Her lips part almost desperately, but there’s a weight on her tongue and a knot in her throat that squanders any attempt for the words she already lacks.

"Or- well, your second to last day."

His fingers brush past her face to trace through her (h/l) (h/c) locks, a thoughtful hum trickling into her ears "You weren’t much to look at in your last moments, were you?"

As he pulls back his hand, her knees wobble, threatening to slip out from under her.

"Or should I say there wasn’t much left of you to look at?"

"T-Tsukasa-" It’s only one word but it leaves her nearly gasping, the weight on her chest more than paralyzing.

"Hmm~?"

She meets his eyes and finds her scarcely gathered will crumbling instantly.

Those big honey-hued eyes that could so quickly go from looking like someone she loved so dearly to narrowing, squinting as though he needed glasses, reminding her they belonged to something, someone different that was much more sinister.

"(N/n)-chan..." He says suddenly.

His voice is no longer light and airy.

It’s cold, detached, and the exact sound of all her hopes of coming out of this unscathed shattering at once.

"You know why I’m here, don’t you?"

"(L/n)-san!"

Kou wears a big smile as he marches into the elusive number eight’s boundary.

He was going to show her today!

Because today, Kou did not have a single bruise on him!

The second he finished up with Hanako and found his feet pulling him instinctively back to the apparition’s boundary, the realization hit him like a train.

Knowing he was perfectly fine, for once, he found himself practically racing to get to her boundary, ready to rub it in her pretty face that he could take care of himself! She’d know now that he was cool and didn’t always need her to baby him.

"(L/n)-san, you’ll never guess!" He throws back another patient’s curtain.

Only to once again reveal nothing but an empty hospital bed.

However, with half of the nurse’s office still unexplored, there was still plenty of possibility for the apparition to appear.

That’s what he told himself.

But deep down, a strange feeling was cuddling in his stomach.

(L/n) was always in her boundary right now.

She’d never admit it, but he knew it was so she could be here to patch him up after his duties with Hanako.

And sure, they didn’t always stay in the office when she fixed him back up, but they always met here.

So, throwing back the last curtain...

"(L/n)-san?"

His brows are knitted together as he asks the air around him.

Where the hell was she?

"I’m telling you! She’s missing! Vanished! Disappeared! Gone!"

Hanako draws a card from the deck sitting between him and the mokke in the third-floor bathroom’s window sill.

He places it down with the collection of cards littered in the space before him.

"Your move," he comments quietly.

"Hanako!"

He swallows.

Hanako should have known better.

He should have kept the boy away from her just as he kept himself away from her.

When Kou had first come to him about the pretty spirit he had stumbled upon- he had almost hit the nail right on the head, killing what could come from such an introduction instantly.

But he didn’t.

Because deep down, Hanako couldn’t keep away from her.

He needed some kind of tie- some measly form of connection to her- he longed for it, ached for it, craved it...

Until it came to him in the form of Kou, and his friendship with the medical mystery.

Kou was an open book. Especially when it came to (Y/n). One little question and he was rambling about the spirit. How she seemed, what she had scolded him about that day, how mean she was, how kind she was, how beautiful she was.

Jealousy would stick to his lungs like tar, making him feel sicker with longing than any cigarette would. The boy would talk about her like she put the stars in the sky- and would wonder to him just how she did it, a question he had been asking himself for over fifty years.

But on the other hand, hearing about her was refreshing. It was like a drop of water a second away from dying in a desert. He couldn't ever get enough of her. She was an addiction he could never quite get his fix of but sure as hell couldn’t get rid of either.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He was.

"I told you! She’s gone, Hanako!"

She was. She had been gone for fifty damned years.

Fifty years and he still didn’t have a single solid idea of what to do about it now.

"What if she’s in danger, or she needs help, or-"

"She’s dead."

The words leave a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. He’s not talking to the boy.

But he responds, none the wiser.

"And?"

His eyes flicker over to the blond.

Kou stands tall as ever, his fists curled tightly at his sides, a burning emotion in his icy eyes that he didn’t even want to unpack.

"Dead or not, she could still need help."

He couldn’t even help her the first time she needed it.

What was he supposed to do now?

"Please, Hanako," Kou pleads, voice low with despair, "If something happened to her I would never forgive myself."

Hanako sighs at this.

Something had already happened to her once and Hanako still hadn’t forgiven himself.

He pushes to his feet.

"Only a quick look."

(Y/n) choked on her own breath, shoes slamming hard against the linoleum floor she’d known her whole life. The hall she’d walk to her classes in, linger in with old friends before everything hit the fan. The halls that once only held the danger of being late due to bustling crowds.

Burning liquid seeped between her trembling fingers as she pressed them firmer over her wound, a sharp gasp pushing past her already parted lips.

She just had to make it to the nurse’s office, her boundary.

Tsukasa couldn’t kill her there. Not as easily anyways.

The staircase was within sight.

She struggled to wedge a glance over her shoulder, fingers slipping from her wound slightly, making her grip her shoulder tighter.

Tsukasa only gazed after her blankly, dull eyes looking black, narrowed as he advanced, efficient and deadly in the way that he moved along after her.

A cry caught in her throat as she whipped her head back around.

The staircase! That was-

Oh god.

A dirty shoelace caught under a frantic foot.

The staircase greeted her greedily, peppering her face with kisses as it yanked her into its arms despite her protesting choked scream, wet hand slipping right off her injury as she desperately searched for something to hold, something to grab, something to save her as she came tumbling down.

But nothing could save her.

Nothing could ever save (Y/n).

She slammed roughly against where the stairs met the wall and turned, thrusting her hands out instinctively to claw at the wall in hopes of stopping only to accidentally shove herself down the rest of the depths.

Her butt met the stairs first this time when she hit, and she could only watch in blurry horror when suddenly her feet were soaring over her head- the next moment managing to slam her face against the floor again.

Fate was cruel.

Her head was spinning as she fought the earthquakes consuming her, forcing herself up on her hands and knees to stare down at a bloody floor. She needed to get a grip and she needed to get one fast.

Yet- her movements were painfully slow as she sat up and back on her knees, blinking the clouds from her eyes as she tried to look up, past the ringing in her ears.

Tsukasa descended the stairs in a much calmer fashion, grinning as he hopped down the last two- or four if her vision was anything to go by.

However, in truth, there was nothing to be done.

Her pounding head had been clogged with honey. Her limbs felt tingly from blood loss and the revenants of adrenaline. She was struggling just to blink in place.

Tsukasa smiled at her almost sweetly.

"Are you done?"

But they both knew the answer to that.

This story unraveling between them has already been written before.

She lifted her hands up to the crouched boy.

His smile curled into a grin as he grew ever closer to devour her as a whole.

But (Y/n)’s hands stopped at his chest and so did he.

She pressed. Pushing him.

Away. Away. Away.

It’s all her foggy brain could come up with in that moment.

His chest vibrates under her blood stained fingertips with a warm laugh.

It’s burning.

Scalding. Scalding. Scalding.

"Oh, (N/n)-chan... is that it?"

A labored breath falls past her lips.

"Is that all you’ve got?"

She squints up at him under the harsh lights above, fighting to give him the nasty look she so longed to give him- along with a piece of her mind.

She forces her lips apart, taking in a shaky breath.

"(L/n)-san!"

Tsukasa hums, mirroring her surprise at the sudden interruption.

"Now you’ve done it," he tells her with a bored sigh, "You’ve gotten us both caught."

If he didn’t want to get caught, then maybe he shouldn’t always be trying to kill her.

That’s what she wants to snap at him.

But her face twists, body erupting into flame thinly veiled by the adrenaline rushing back into her veins as the cruel boy drags her up onto her unable feet.

"What did you do to her?!"

Adrenaline or not- she feels like screaming out as he pulls her bad arm around his shoulders, draping her like some kind of shawl, his other arm coiled around her waist with a vice-like grip.

"Oh, nothing much really!" His singsong voice makes her head ache, "Nothing compared to what I want to."

"Can’t you at least lie?" She hisses through her clenched teeth, wincing too hard to even look at him as she desperately tries to will the pain away.

"Lying is bad, (N/n)-chan!" He huffs and she doesn’t even need to lift her head to see his sour pout.

"So is being mean to girls."

Tsukasa and herself have very different reactions to this voice.

"AMANE!"

She blinks her eyes harshly, not able to catch herself from looking up for him.

The blur dissolves from her gaze, leaving her with the sight of an all too familiar boy.

Amane stands in the wake, cape flowing out behind him. Those short choppy black locks tucked under his cap, amber eyes almost glowing as they peer under the brim. They’re almost narrowed as sharp as the kitchen knife clutched in his hand, knuckles tinted white with effort.

She realizes then that she hasn’t caught such a glimpse of him in a while now.

Of course, the way their shattered connection- or lack of to be more precise- that wasn’t an odd occurrence at all. It was expected.

But she remained like a broken record player, the stylus still catching at the old cracks in her heart.

Even more knowing that this situation was almost all too familiar.

"Aren’t you the one who was always saying (N/n)-chan was special?" She flinches in surprise, snapped right out of her thoughts as a hand grips her face, fingers digging into the soft squish of her cheeks, turning her head. She blinks rapidly, meeting those inquisitive golden eyes. "So- she’s not just any girl."

A scowl makes its way to her lips as she tries to tug her face away from his unbudging hand.

"Let her go, Tsukasa. This isn’t about her and you know it."

Tsukasa looks away from her at this, releasing her head, "Oh, Amane. That’s rich."

His arm around her waist squeezes warningly, "(N/n)-chan and I are friends too, y’know! You should learn to share!"

What a damned hypocrite.

"Friends don’t hurt each other!"

She almost wishes her fun road trip down the stairs had fully knocked her out.

Swaying useless on her feet, pounding head victim to the yelling around her- it was almost more hellish than the stab wound in her shoulder and that was saying something.

"Don’t you listen, boy?" Tsukasa sighs as she lifts her hand, trying to be subtle.

Her shitty plan was to try and push him away again.

But he only snatched it up, before it could even reach him halfway, giving it a squeeze.

"(N/n)-chan and I share a special bond!"

Yeah, it’s called ‘death’- which is what all murderers and their victims shared.

She tries to wiggle her fingers free from him but he turns to her with an unsettling grin, "Isn’t that right?"

She does reply.

"Get off me."

It’s just not the one he’s looking for.

Tsukasa sighs, shaking his head with a pout.

She didn’t actually expect her request to work though.

But her head slamming back against the ground again is a sure-fire sign that he had let her go.

"Whoopsie daisy," he chirps as her vision swims.

She can vaguely make out his figure, towering over her.

But those eyes glaring down at her are unmistakable.

For a moment, staring up at him like this, panic stirs in her heart.

The sight was a carbon copy of the one as she was met with as she took her last breath fifty years ago.

The only difference this time was that she was already dead before her heavy lids sank shut.

It’s almost homely what greets her as she creeps away from oblivion.

Though, not what most would consider homely.

After all, the stinging smell of antiseptic and the blinding lights unavoidable even behind closed eyes were as impersonal as impersonal things could get.

But they were something (Y/n) knew well.

So, she wasn’t at all surprised when she finally willed herself to crack open her eyelids only to find a shitty poster staring back at her.

It was the kitten one.

‘Don’t forget to wash your paws!’.

(Y/n) is glaring at it miserably when she hears it.

"You’re awake."

"No shit," she croaks, but people always said she was ambitious- which is why she closes her eyes in hopes of falling back unconscious.

Anything to escape the shitshow she had escaped the first time by doing so.

Speaking of which...

"What happened?"

She almost doesn’t want to know.

He answers.

"That should be the least of your worries right now."

It’s not the answer she wants.

Her eye twitches, but she fights to keep them closed, still hanging onto the idea of sleep.

"You do realize when you tell someone not to worry they do exactly that?"

"I didn’t tell you not to worry. I just said that shouldn’t be your biggest worry."

She doesn’t respond.

He jabs.

"I don’t think you’ve ever stopped worrying for a second of your life."

She opens her eyes at this.

But not very much due to her glare which she turns her head to the side to give him.

Amane sits at her bedside, a chair dragged up next to her. He’s got his arms crossed resting on the mattress, his head nestled atop them.

Those eyes catch her own.

She looks away, a tired sigh slipping from her lips.

She looks for something to fill the silence.

Anything, really.

She just doesn’t want to be left alone with him. Left alone with her thoughts.

Left alone with thoughts of him.

"Who did this chop job?"

She finds conversation in the bandages wrapped around her arm/shoulder where Tsukasa had stabbed her. She sure they had never even so much as watched one of those stupid hot doctor shows before playing doctor on her.

"Me."

She looks up at him again, surprise pricking her.

She blinks at him as he holds her gaze again.

"You used to patch me up all the time... I must have picked up a thing or two."

"No, you didn’t," she squints at him, a scowl pulling at her lips, "This is the worst dressing I’ve ever seen- and I’m self-taught."

Her words linger in the air but are smothered by the silence after them.

They only gaze at each other for the longest time.

Before she watches the corners of Amane’s lips uncontrollably tug upward.

He quickly looks away.

"Really? I saved you and that’s the first thing you tell me?"

"Do better then," she turns away too, sticking her nose up as she utters, "Maybe open your ears and listen for once and I wouldn’t always have to scold you."

But she’s stunned, staring off as his soft chuckle sneaks into her ears.

When was the last time she had heard him laugh...?

She’s still as her hand is lifted.

Squeezed lightly.

"How do you feel? Can I get you anything?"

She can’t help but turn back to him.

She must look as sad as she feels because his face falls.

(Y/n) swallows, speaking up before he can.

"No. I’m fine."

But he still holds her hand in his.

Watching her.

Waiting.

But for what?

She was waiting too. Gazing right back. But she didn’t know either.

"I’m sorry."

She did know this wasn’t what she wanted, however.

He wears a deep frown, a vulnerable sparkle in his honey shaded depths as he looks down, holding her hand tighter.

"I knew he was back," he’s almost mumbling. If they were even an inch further apart she was sure she wouldn’t be able to hear him. "I just... I didn’t think he would find you so soon."

Her heart weighs.

She sighs, squeezing his hand.

"Amane, I’ve told you already."

She gazes down at their hands, telling him again.

"It’s not your fault. It’s not your job to protect me."

He never stays quiet after these words.

"It is. You should never have gotten hurt in the first place. I should’ve-"

She interrupts tiredly, "-Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. It’s been fifty years."

"You might be able to change the future- but the past is the past," (Y/n) reaches out with her other hand, gently hooking her fingers under his chin to get him to look up at her, "Amane."

He reluctantly shifts his eyes up to find her (e/c) ones gazing deeply.

"There’s nothing to be done. Let it go."

She watches his brows pull together.

"I don’t want to let it go," he says firmly, lacing his fingers with hers, "I don’t want to let you go."

She lets out a quiet breath, "I’m already gone."

He winces.

She’s unhesitating as she tells him, "But you weren’t supposed to be. You were supposed to live."

This was the part where he snapped at her. This was the part where they usually began to fight.

This was the part where they fought, got mad at each other, and then proceeded to avoid each other for the next ten years.

"Back then..."

His voice is low, tentative.

"I only ever thought there were two kinds of love."

She looks down, watching as his thumb runs along hers, listening to his careful words.

"The kind you would kill for," she immediately jerks her eyes back up to meet his, but he avoids her eyes, still looking down, "and the kind you would die for."

Well...

She guesses that was understandable to think given the rocky road of what their relationship had been.

"But I realize now... for you..."

He finally looks up at her, eyes gentle as they greet hers.

"You are the kind of love I would live for."

His words stun her.

So much that she’s genuinely speechless for the first time in a long, long while.

Amane seems to grow a little nervous with her silence, now looking down again, toying with her hand limp in his.

"Well..." she finally finds her voice.

And a scolding as she reaches forward to knock her fist atop his hat.

"It’s a little too late for that!" She tells him sternly, almost exasperatedly, "Fifty years? Couldn’t you have thought of that before you died?"

"Wh- Hey! Don’t be mean!" He glowers, trying to brush her whacking hands away.

But she leans forward just as quickly, yanking him ruthlessly into a hug.

"You idiot!" She huffs at him, despite the way she squeezes him tight.

It’s like a breath of fresh air- acting on age-old cravings like this.

Sometimes when you wanted something and found yourself longing for it- it sounded way better than what it actually was.

But this was exactly as she remembered it.

A big smile breaks out onto her lips, which she’s able to bury in the crook of his neck again, just like she once had. She melts like putty as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

"I know," he grumbles sourly, admitting defeat, "I’m sorry."

"You better be," she says, uncaring that her words are muffled.

"If I say I’m stupid will you forgive me...?"

She pulls away from him after carefully masking her smile.

He blinks at her stony expression, worries instantly finding him.

She can’t help but give into temptation.

"You know, I’m pretty sure I read in one of my biology textbooks that kisses make everything better."

His anxieties melt right off his face- leaving him almost offended for a moment that she was teasing him now of all times.

But he smiles, running his hand up along her back to cradle the back of her neck.

"Oh?" He pulls her in close, and she can feel his breath tickle her upturning lips, "Well- I may suck at bandages, but I’m actually pretty great at kissing."

"Yeah?" Her eyes flicker up to meet his under her lashes.

He responds by closing the minuscule gap between them, his movements almost too sweet as she melts into them.

He was right. He was pretty great at kissing.

#jshk #jshk x reader #tbhk #tbhk x reader #toilet bound hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun x reader #jibaku shounen hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun x reader #hanako x reader #amane yugi x reader #breadkinswrites

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elizaisthetruehero · 3 years

Text

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now Chapter 1

So, I started writing another Eureka fic. Even though I have a WIP that isn't finished yet. What's probably going to happen is I'll get stuck on one and then switch to working on the other to beat procrastination. That's the plan anyway.

But here's the AO3 Link, that I posted there last night, and forgot to put here and on FF.Net. I'm doing FF.net because Eureka is an older fandom, and I think there's a couple people there who never made the switch.

Summary: Jo rushes into the Sheriff's station after 1947, and is greeted by a Zane who does not remember proposing to her that morning. But they're definitely still together. It just seems that Jo can't figure out what they hell they are, and why he's still going on dates with other women.

Zane doesn't understand why Jo's suddenly done an about face, but if it gets her to stop acting like nothing's going on between them, he can work with that. He just wishes he knew why she looked so sad when she looked at him.

Chapter 1

Jo strode into the Sheriff’s station, heart hammering against her bruised ribs, terrified of what she would find. The statue had changed. God, she hoped that was the only thing they’d changed. It would be a ridiculous change they would have made, back in 1947, but one Jo would have no problem living with.

There Zane was, sitting in her cell like he’d been that morning, casual and cool, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and thrown it in his face. Hope bubbled up in her chest, and Jo could feel it showing in her smile. Maybe they’d be okay. She could feel the weight of the ring still in her pocket. They could still have their happy ending, walking into Café Diem, congratulations from all their friends, phone calls from their parents. Everything would be okay.

“Zane. I can't believe you're still here.”

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept thumbing through his magazine, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought after the way that I reacted,” she broke off sighing, not sure what to say about what she did that morning, or how to fix it. She’d never been good with words. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just thinking too much. You know, I... I do that sometimes and...”

He cut her off, disinterest in his tone, “Lupo, what the hell are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say, ‘Yes.’”

“Yes? Yes, you’ll what, stop hogging the covers? Seriously Jo, what’s gotten into you?” he asked as he threw down his magazine.

“What we, this morning, you,” she cut herself off, dread filling her stomach like a weight. She looked around the room and saw that while Zane was in the cell, it was empty. None of the trappings or reminders of how they met that had been there when she'd first walked in that morning, before 1947. No framed poster, no bedding on the cot, no damn Panini press, no, no Liza’s box. And… Oh.

The cell door. It was locked, likely with the key that was on her belt loop. Why the hell was Zane in a locked cell?

“This morning you kicked me out of your bed at 3 am when I asked you to stop hogging the covers. And then this afternoon you threw me in jail.” Her bed. She’d kicked him out of her bed. Not their bed anymore. They didn’t live together?

Jo sat down at her desk, no able to look Zane in the eye while she tried to process everything that had happened. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. You should be smarter than that," she said, forcing a smirk to her face, slipping into the familiar biting banter she and Zane had when they were fighting. Had she and Zane never gotten serious? He certainly wasn't looking at her the same way he had that morning.

“Look, Dungeon Master, when am I getting out of here?”

She played with her hands, picking the dirt out from under her nails, “I don’t know, what’d you do?”

“Nothing, you just like throwing me in jail,” she fixed her least impressed look in his direction, careful not to look in his eyes, but just above his head. If she did that, she might do something irrational and ill-befitting of a Deputy of Eureka. Like start beating prisoners. “So I unlocked a few cages, those monkeys deserved some freedom. Look, could you just let me out? I’ve got a date."

What? "Really? A date? With who?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting the blonde chick with the Ph.D. in Reproductive Biology. We're going to play doctorate," he smirked, without any of the soft and nervous affection he'd had that morning. Just the sarcastic bravado he’d had when he’d bought her lingerie to get under her skin. Did he even remember doing that anymore?

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Lupo, don't start acting like you care what I get up to or who with. We both know what's going on here, and what we’re not." No, I don’t know what we are, or why you’re sleeping with me but going out with other women. Why the hell wouldn’t I care about that!

She rushed to his cell door to unlock it, desperate to get him away from her, “Go. Get out.”

“You gonna taze me in the ass again?” and there was that grin, charming and handsome, that had caught her eye two years ago. Obsession with firearms can be a sign of an unfulfilled sexual appetite. I'm not saying that's you. But if it is, I'm at your service.She’d had to be talked out of shooting him back then. Now she wanted to shoot him, whatever blonde chick he was meeting up with, and maybe herself.

"Just get out," she snapped at him, blinking back tears that she couldn’t let fall. He walked out the door, facing her, clearly puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that she normally found cute, but right now, made her want to punch something. Anything would do.

The door shut behind Zane with a click, and Jo leaned against the cell bars, took a breath, and winced. She’d managed to clean up the blood on her face while Henry and Fargo were repairing the phones, but her ribs still needed to be taped, and the scrapes on her hands and head needed to be cleaned. She should still have an almost full tub of GD-grade bruise gel at home. Hopefully, it was still there.

Jo unlocked her door and stepped into her house, shutting the door behind her before leaning against it, letting her breath rush out of her. She took moment to close her eyes and just breathe after the chaos of the day that wasn’t even over yet. But she knew her peace couldn't last. She would have to go through her house to try to put together the pieces of the picture that made up her life, and figure out where everything went wrong.

Well, she had her minute. Time to face the music. She pushed off of the door, opened her eyes, and headed to the kitchen. She glanced around, her fingers trailing along the cool counter, taking it in. Didn’t look any different than it had when she had left that morning. Except…

She peered into the dishwasher and sighed in disappointment. Gone were Zane's plates with dried-on eggs, or his TARDIS-shaped mug, and she didn't think that was because he'd washed them already. They were probably at his old apartment, the one he'd barely spent any time at after they got together. Oh, they hadn't officially moved in together until after he'd gotten home from the Arctic, but that had been a formality, almost. Like he'd thought his question that morning had been. So let’s make it official. He’d really wanted to marry her. Spend the rest of his life with her, like she was the obvious choice.

Jo shook her head. She couldn’t think about that, the proposal that had never happened. She didn’t know how to fix the timeline, so she had to deal with this Zane in the meantime, if not forever. She really hoped she didn’t have this smarmy asshole forever.

She moved onto the living room. It looked like it had before Zane moved in, same décor, same pictures, and the same piano along the wall. The books on the shelves and her coffee table were just her books here, no physics journals or sci-fi novels or comic books. Just the thrillers and murder mysteries she liked to read on the rare occasion she had the opportunity. And, she checked the ottoman with the small storage space, some romance novels with shirtless men on the cover that she did notpull out in public. Zane had teased her the first time he’d seen her reading one, but she’d come home early one day and saw him on the couch, curled up with the blanket his mom had sent as a housewarming present, reading one. He insisted he was just being a good boyfriend, taking interest in her interests. And then he cracked a joke about the cowboy on the cover and positions. She’d been mad at him, but he made up for it.

She moved over to the stairs, heading up. At the very least, she would have to get changed and clean up, get 1947 off of her as quickly as possible. Hope that when she got out of the shower and back to town, Henry would have figured out a way to fix this.

Jo opened the door to her bedroom and stripped off her costume, heading straight for the en-suite bathroom. She showered quickly and efficiently, noting that, like most of the house, Zane's belongings were not there. She got out, wrapped the towel around herself, and headed to the sink to check the scrape on her temple. She applied GD's liquid band-aid to the cut, ignoring the sting, and went to put it away in the cabinet when she stopped, heart in her throat.

A used men's razor. She lifted it off the counter delicately, noting the short dark hairs caught between the blades. Zane's. Jo took stock of the rest of the vanity and felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn't felt since Zane spoke, back in the station.

Two toothbrushes in the holder. A can of his shaving cream. His aftershave, cap off because he could never remember to put the lid back on. She checked the shower again, and saw the bar of soap in the corner of the caddy, the kind that she never used, but, had clearly been used by someone.

Okay. Zane didn’t have any of his stuff downstairs, but he was over often enough that he had some space on her bathroom counter. Though not over enough for them to be exclusive. She really hoped she didn’t have to see him on his date. Her self-control was good, but not that good, she thought as she taped up her ribs and smoothed gel over her bruises. Those needed to fade, and quickly. The last thing she needed was someone asking what happened to her arms.

After giving the gel a minute to dry down, Jo walked back into her bedroom and got dressed, jerking open her drawers to see what was in each one. Her underwear, tank tops, T-Shirts and sweats all still in drawers. She yanked the last one open, wondering if it was empty if it was still being used for her sweaters, or…

Zane's clothes. Not all of them, his wardrobe probably had more than just a pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, a couple of V-necks and, a crumpled-up plaid shirt. But he kept clothes here. Not enough to be living here, which the bottom floor had told her. But clean clothes for those rushed mornings when he wouldn't have time to run home before heading to work. He'd probably shown up to GD too many times wearing yesterday's clothes, thick stubble on his face.

Who had suggested it? Had she cleared it out and offered it to him? Had he brought them over in a backpack or duffle, slipping them into the drawer with a nervous grin? Were they the result of lazy weekends spent in her bed, ignoring the world outside?

She pulled her jeans on before picking up her dirty clothes and bringing them over to her hamper, and right on top of her clothes, was a pair of his boxers. Just more evidence that Zane was part of her life, but she didn’t know how she fit into his. If she went over to his apartment, would she find similar signs of her presence? Travel-size versions of her shampoo and conditioner, a change or two of clothes, maybe part of a spare uniform? Would her robe be there, or, no, she caught herself. He was fucking other women. If she got cold over there, she’d borrow one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats.

And that was if she even went over to his place. She really needed to stop dawdling and get back to town so she could talk to Carter and Henry, see what was going on, and if they could fix this. And if they couldn’t, well, she’d been a Special Forces operative and was now a Deputy in Eureka. She could adapt. Maybe she could get Zane to adapt with her. Maybe, she thought as she slipped the ring onto a chain and placed it around her neck, not willing to be without it in case Henry found a way to fix this, maybe he’d even try to put this ring on her finger again. But that wasn’t happening tonight. Because she froze.

#eureka fic #eureka #jo lupo #zane donovan #a town called eureka

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janicho88 · 4 years

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In This Together Part 3

Pairing- Dean x Wife!Reader

Word count- 5821

Summary-Find out what these two have been up to for the last year. What obstacles are thrown at these two now?

Warnings- Possible sick reader, hospital/doctors, little language, little angst, fluff, implied smut, talk of possible infertility, pregnancy.

A/N-This is the third part of my first fic. It started as a oneshot but turned into more. The first part of this story was written, because I needed someone like Dean at the time. This miniseries I guess you can call it, is very personal to me. I’ve lived a majority of the first two parts. If you’ve read it you can see why I wanted someone like Dean to lean on. In this part I wanted to give the reader something I don’t know if I’ll ever have. Thank you for reading! Pictures found on google.

Part 1 Part 2

11 months later August 2021

Slowly opening your eyes back up, you were staring out the window of your fourth-floor hospital room. This time your window looked over the street below, every time you were on this floor you had a different view. Dean was still sitting in the bed next to you, you leaned your head on his shoulder as you thought back on the last year and everything that had happened.

October 2020 came around and your doctor let you go off your birth control. He knew you and Dean were trying, or more not trying to stop anything from happening. You knew nothing would happen right away and didn’t want to get your hopes up, you were also trying to stay positive that nothing was going to go wrong with you again. You were due a win.

You had been back to work for about four months now, there were still some things you were trying to get used to at the new store. Because of the two surgeries you could wear down easily and were mostly five days a week trying to get up to six. You had already rearranged the office and some of the shelves in the kitchen area to make it more efficient, but some of your employees kept moving things on you so you had to redo them. It would take a good year for your foot to be back to normal which was February, but it would never be pain free. As long as it was better than before you were happy.

Halloween was coming close and Sam and Jess invited you over to their house again. Since you and Dean didn’t have any other plans you decided to join them along with Dean’s parents. Jake’s costume this year was an adorably fierce lion.

With things still crazy in the world and covid still around there weren’t many trick or treaters. Unfortunately, this meant more candy for Dean. Being a Saturday night Dean didn’t have to work the next morning. and you went in later on Sundays, so you stayed for a while. After Jake went to bed the guys turned on the, All Saint’s Day, movies Dean loves. They weren’t exactly your favorite so at least he could try and drag Sam into his madness this way. Dean was enjoying his brother being a bit more into Halloween now that he had Jake around. You bid them goodnight just before midnight and took your sugar high husband home, he wouldn’t be sleeping for a while.

Thanksgiving was late again this year, so your parents had decided like last year to do their Christmas party the week before Thanksgiving again. Even though you were working less this year you somehow got distracted and got to planning late. This meant the first two and half weeks of the month would be filled with baking. The nice thing about the store you took over was the regular oven it had so you could do some of it there. Although first things first, you had to assemble your as baking list. The night after Halloween you were sitting on the couch with the Hallmark Channel playing its Countdown to Christmas. Computer in front of you with Pinterest pulled up. Dean walked in from the kitchen during a commercial.

“Hey Sweetheart, what are you up to? Anything good on?”

“Nine Lives of Christmas, is on. I’m looking..”

“No, Seriously Y/N? It’s the day after Halloween, and you’re watching Christmas movies?”

You turned and glared at him. “One, I have been watching Christmas movies whenever you weren’t around for the last week. Two, you like this one so hush. The guy is a fireman, your missed profession. Three, I’m trying to get into the Christmas mindset to put together my baking list.”

“Oh great, it’s that time of the year again. What crazy ideas are you going to come up with this year, actually wait, let me grab a beer first.”

You laughed as he walked back to the kitchen. Dean might give you a hard time with the Christmas crazy baking list you come up with, but you also know he very much enjoys the sweets you bake. You two had been dating since your freshman year of college and he was always your official taste tester. Although anything pie related was his favorite.

“I think I’m going to just do round sugar cookies again, while I was off after surgery, I watched a cookie decorating class that showed how to paint the frosting with food coloring and alcohol.”

“That sounds like a mess,” you threw a pillow at him. “I mean great Sweetheart, I’m sure they will be amazing.”

“Keep talking Winchester, see how big a hole you can dig. Here’s a recipe for mini pie like cookies, I co”

“Yes!”

“..uld try. Okay, adding to the list https://www.pinterest.com/pin/518406607102183606/

You were bound and determined one year you would get these cupcakes done; just not sure this year would be it. https://www.pinterest.com/pin/174584923040748115/

“How about Christmas Cheesecake Cookies?” You showed Dean the picture and this time he glared you. https://www.pinterest.com/pin/174584923040791076/

“Do you remember the red and green Krinkle Cookies you did last year? Your hands were dyed red and green and so was everything you touched while rolling them. I’m voting no more dyed cookie dough.”

“Fine spoilsport.”

“How about you put the computer away and come to bed with me.”

“You’re heading to bed already it’s only, oh. Be right there Babe,” quickly shutting everything off you chased after your husband to the bedroom.

The party was a little smaller this year, some people still weren’t all for getting together with people yet. It was mostly family and some close friends. Honestly, you preferred it that way, less entertaining you and your mom had to do, and the more you could relax and enjoy the night. The best part about having this early, was your baking was now done, you had even gotten Dean to get the decorations out and most of the house was done. You enjoyed cuddling on the couch with the Christmas lights glowing around you.

Thanksgiving was once again split between both of your families. You went to your dad’s mom for a late lunch and spent time with your family. Then headed over to John and Mary’s for well, for Dean dinner, you were still full, so you just picked at a few things. After cleaning you ladies joined the guys in the living room where they were watching the game and supposed to be keeping an eye on Jake. You and Jess talked sales you saw in the ads and tried to get gifts ideas out of Mary for her and John. Like your mom, she wasn’t very helpful and just said you guys didn’t have to get them anything. Usually you and your mom would hit a few stores tonight, but nothing was really open with everything going on. The two of you had planned for the next day to get a few things before you both headed for work. It was nice to spend time with just your mom anyways.

Every year December seems to fly by, it was the second week now and you had been feeling a bit off, and more tired than usual. According to Dean you had become a bit moody too. Which of course you snapped at him when he mentioned that. He’d been watching his step after that. One morning you were taking care of the dogs when you felt sick and had to run to the restroom. You didn’t go into work that day, since you didn’t want to get anyone else sick, but felt fine as the day went on. The next day at work you walked into the cooler and for some reason the dough smelled strong to you and you had to walk back out and get some fresh air. You attributed it to yesterday’s stomachache. Then the burping started again. Donna heard you at work and came over.

“What’s going on lady?”

“Something’s off, I haven’t been feeling well, I started throwing up and the burping restarted.”

“You know what you need to do right?”

“I know, but really Donna, can’t I catch a break. I don’t know how Dean is going to take it if the doctor tells me there is another problem, I don’t know how I’m going to take it.”

“Okay, well before we send you into the operating room again, maybe you should see what the doctor has to say first.”

“That would be the logical thing to do, I prefer worst case scenario.”

That night when you got home from work you told Dean what was going on and when you called your doctor’s office, they actually had an opening on Friday and could get you in then. Dean was unable to go since Benny would be leaving that morning for a weeklong trip to see his wife’s family for an early Christmas.

The day of your appointment arrived, the nurse, Julie that took you back was your cousin’s friend who first introduced you to this doctor. You two chatted on your way back to the room. When you got to the room, she asked what was going on and when your last period was. You explained your symptoms and how you were worried about another mass or fibroid. It had been over a month since your last, but you hadn’t been regular since your surgery and going off birth control. They took a blood and urine sample to send for tests before you saw the doctor. The doctor pushed near your uterus to see if he could feel any bumps around there. He wanted you to get an ultrasound, so that was scheduled for Monday, your labs would be done then also.

It was a quiet weekend for you and Dean. Monday rolled around and your appointment was that afternoon. Dean was supposed to meet you at the hospital, where the doctor’s office was located, but was stuck in a meeting with a new supplier. Since you were there for an ultrasound you were just supposed to see the tech who would do the test, but Julie was the one who came and got you. She took you back to the ultrasound room. When you were back, she told you the test results came back. You left the doctor’s office in a bit of shock after scheduling your next appointment. As you passed the mall on the way home you decided to make a quick stop.

That night during dinner Dean asked you what the doctor had to say. When he called you after your appointment you said you were fine and would talk to him at home you didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.

“I’m going to need follow up appointments for the next few months, but everything is good.”

“If it’s good why do you need follow ups, what aren’t you telling me?”

You got up and went to get the package you picked up from the mall, handing it to Dean you sat back down. He looked at you and back to the wrapped box.

“Open it.”

Ripping open the paper he looked at the open back and back to you. “Wait, what? Really?”

“Yes!”

You told Dean what happened at your appointment. The results came back, and you were pregnant. Because of your history though, the doctor still wanted an ultrasound just to make sure there wasn’t a fibroid or a mass there. They didn’t find any problems; the tech could just make out the embryonic sac the baby would be growing in. They figured you were around 5 weeks, and due around August 14th. Dean jumped up and grabbed you in his arms, tears were gathering in his eyes, he was so happy.

Later that night you were laying with Dean on the couch and he was going through his phone.

“Hey, the baby is about the size of an apple seed right now. An apple seed, that’s smaller than my fingernail!”

You looked over at his phone and saw he was going through baby sites. “Yes, that is tiny.”

“I can’t wait to see them in the activity walker car, they are going to love it like Jake does.”

“Dean, honey, you know we still have like 8 months till the baby is here, and then they aren’t going to be able to use that right away, right?”

“Yeah, well they still will one day.” He learned closer to your stomach, “right little on, can’t wait to play in the car walker daddy got you.” You had tears in your eyes watching Dean talk to your baby, you had been so afraid this day would never come.

Wiping your eyes, “I thought you said you bought that for Jake?” Knowing that was his excuse at the time, hoping one day it would by your child playing in it.

“Well, I, um,”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it.”

Sitting in the hospital bed you looked down at the little one in your arms, and still couldn’t believe how lucky you and Dean were to be here. Your mind went back to last year’s Holidays, and what happened after you found out you were pregnant.

The two of you debated on telling anyone about the baby yet, since it was early. As excited as Dean was you didn’t know how long he could keep the secret. You would only be seven weeks along at Christmas but decided to tell everyone Christmas Eve at your parents. You were going to tell them like you told Dean. You found some grandparent gifts for them to open. Since Sam had Jake it would be John and Mary’s second grandchild, but your parents first.

While playing games after dinner on Christmas Eve, you and Dean rigged a team game that had your parents all winning. Handing each of them the gifts you picked up Dean grabbed the camera to record their reactions. It took a minute before it sank in, but everyone was so excited for you. Mary and your mom rushed over to hug you while John and your dad congratulated Dean. The rest of the family joined in after the grandparents.

“The baby is the size of a blueberry now.” Dean proudly told everyone.

The two of you decided to have a quiet New Year’s Eve in. Your parents, Dean’s along with Sam, Jess, and Jake came over for dinner, and games. The guys ended up in the basement watching some competition, while you ladies were watching the New Year’s countdown and talking babies. On a trip upstairs Dean heard the conversation and informed everyone that the baby was now raspberry sized.

You had your 11-week ultrasound the Friday before Dean’s birthday. You scheduled it then because you thought it would be an early birthday treat for him getting to see the baby. They were going to confirm your due date, and there was a chance you would be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat. Dean looked over at you with a smile when you were walking up and threw his arm around your waist.

“What?”

“You’re starting to show, I can’t wait till I can feel him kick.”

“Remind me when this kid is playing soccer in me, how happy you are about it then.”

He put his arm around your waist as you walked. “Yeah, yeah, come on I can’t wait to see our little prune.”

“I can’t wait till next week, and we’re on a different food.”

Dean was so excited he could barely sit still in the office. They called you back and got you settled in the room before the tech came back to start. She started and was running the wand over your stomach when she found the baby and pointed him out to you. Dean grabbed your hand.

“Wow, Sweetheart, that’s our little one.”

“Yeah.” You both had tears in your eyes.

The tech turned on the volume so you could hear the heartbeat. “There it is, wait a minute.” She was moving the wand again.

“What’s going on?” You worriedly asked.

“There’s another heartbeat. Here, we have a shy one.”

Looking at the screen you saw another tiny dot.

“Wait, are you saying?” You looked over at Dean and he was looking at the screen it hadn’t hit him yet.

“Congrats, you’re having twins!”

“Wwwhat?” Dean finally tuned into the conversation.

“Happy Birthday weekend dad, you’re getting two babies!” Dean’s look of shock wasn’t one you would be forgetting anytime soon.

Leaving the doctor’s office, you both were a mix of shock, nerves and excitement. It was hard to tell which one was winning out right now. You had the family over to the house for Dean’s birthday on Sunday and you let him share the news with everyone. You also decided it was time to tell the rest of your friends.

You moved your gaze from the tiny bundle in your arms to Dean staring down at the tiny swaddled baby in his. Someone had Daddy completely wrapped around his finger. Sensing you watching him he looked up with a smile on his face. “Sweetheart, I can’t believe our babies are finally here, I can actually hold them and see them when I talk. You did so good,” he told you leaning over to kiss you. Dean had been constantly talking to the babies and trying to feel them kick before they were born. Ever since you got back to your room and the twins were brought in, he had one in his arms at all times, relishing in the fact he now could.

Dean wanted to go all out for Valentine’s Day this year. He said it was the last one with just the two of you, and last year it had been a week after your first surgery, so you just stayed home. Thankfully, you had a dress that had been fairly lose on you before, so you didn’t have to go find something new. Dean had reservations at a nice restaurant in town, where you enjoyed each other’s company and the food. You were beat by the end of dinner and headed home to cuddle on the couch. Dean was rubbing your stomach and talking to the babies while you watched a movie, you were running your hand through his hair.

“How are my babies doing tonight? Did you enjoy the nice dinner I took your mommy to? I can’t wait till I can meet you guys. A few more months, you have some growing to do. You guys are 14 weeks, that means you’re as big as lemons now. You would fit in the palm of my hand.”

The next month went by fairly quickly, both you and Dean busy with work. There were things around the house that would need to be done to get ready for the birth of the twins. It seemed like Dean was quickly lessoning what we would let you do without help so you wanted to get started soon before he had you completely sidelined. You had decided to turn your guest room into the nursery and move the spare bed into the office neither of you really used. You cleaned out some of the lighter things because you knew Dean would freak out on you if you moved anything heavy. One night you went through Pinterest looking for different ideas for the nursery before you rushed ahead with anything.

March 16th was your 6th wedding anniversary; you suggested a quiet night at home. Dean vetoed that since you stayed home last year, again because of you. He booked you a weekend stay at a bed and breakfast a little over an hour away near the beach. Being March, it was too cold to get in the water, but you spent time exploring the quaint little town and its cute shops. While you were walking the beach at sunset your first night you stopped to admire the view and Dean stood behind you wrapping his arms around your stomach.

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Babe. Thank you for doing this.”

“You know I would do anything for you.”

“I know, you have always been so good to me, and you’re going to be such an amazing dad. These babies are lucky to have you.”

“I love spending time just the two of us, but I can’t wait to meet these sweet potatoes.”

“Really Dean?”

“What that’s what the website says for 18 weeks.”

The rest of the weekend went very well, the highlight would have to be the last walk on the beach you and Dean took before you headed home. When you had stopped and were looking out over the water you felt a flutter in your stomach, and a few minutes later another faint one. That’s when you realized it was the babies moving. You told Dean and he kept moving his hand around to try and feel it too but was unable. He was still excited because it meant he would be able to soon.

Easter was the first weekend in April, you split your time between your two families. Sam and Jess hosted this year. While you and Mary kept Jake busy the guys hid Easter eggs around the yard for him to try and find. There were only about ten, but it still took him a little while. He was more interested in playing with the colorful plastic egg then finding the next one. Dean stood beside you while Jess was helping Jake. His hand was on your stomach when he suddenly pulled it back.

“What was, wait was that?”

“Yeah, that was one of the babies kicking.”

“So awesome! I can’t wait till we are out there helping ours find eggs, take their first steps, holding them.”

“I think your order was a little backwards, but I know how you feel, Dean.”

You had a surprise to share with both of your families. A few days earlier you had gone for you third ultrasound. Since you already had the surprise of twins you decided to find out the genders. While you were sitting around talking after dinner you let Dean tell his family, you had told your earlier in the day. Jake was sitting in his lap when he started talking.

“Hey buddy, do you know how big your cousins are now?” Jake didn’t understand and just looked at his uncle. “They are the size of pomegranates.”

“Dean, Babe, he’s not even two yet, he doesn’t know what that is.”

“He’s Sam’s kid. Sam eats all kids of healthy shi.. stuff. I’m sure he has those around the house.” Sam just shook his head and glared at his brother.

“Do you think you want a girl or boy cousin to play with?”

Mary was looking between the two of wondering if this conversation was going where she thought. Jake never answered Dean no matter what he did to try and pull something out of him.

“How about one of each, what do you think about that?”

“Is that one you’re having?” Mary asked not being able to wait for any more of Dean’s game.

“Yep, we are having a boy and a girl.” Dean grinned proudly.

“Oh man,” Sam started, “a little girl is going to have you so wrapped around her finger.” They all congratulated you and Dean once more.

It was the second weekend in May and you really needed to get going on finishing the nursery or starting it. Who would have thought the hardest part was going to be picking a theme you and Dean could both agree on.

“Come on Y/N, what’s wrong with that idea?”

“Dean, I’m not letting your obsession with scaring your brother using clowns scar our children with a clown themed nursery. Not going to happen Winchester.” The mobile and matching blanket he found even creeped you out a little.

“How about race cars? No, I got it! Let’s paint Baby on a wall!”

“Um, nice thought. We were trying to keep it neutral remember? How about when they get older, and this little guy can appreciate cars almost as much as his daddy, you can do a car theme. Who exactly is going to paint Baby, or did you suddenly become Picasso?”

“I didn’t get to who was going to paint it yet in my planning. Fine we can do cars down the road. Where are your ideas?”

“You have already shot them down, you didn’t want to paint the chevron lines, the silver and blue was to girly.” You just shook your head and went back to looking. This was going just as well as picking out names.

Dean looked over at what you had pulled up. “I like that color.”

“Seriously?”

“What, I can’t like that?”

“No, I was asking do you seriously like it, because I do too?”

“Well we like it, but how about my little rutabagas?”

“Really Dean? Do you even know what that is?” mumbling something he turned back to his phone; you wouldn’t be surprised if he was looking up rutabagas. On the plus side you finally had the nursery plans worked out.

Jess, Mary and your mom threw you a baby shower the first weekend in June you were about 30 weeks now. They had the party at your parent’s house, this worked out nice for you since you lived closest to them and it would be easy to take things home. Dean and the guys could hang out at your house since they didn’t want to attend the party the whole time. Jake was almost 2 and very interested in the presents on the table. You all had to keep him from trying to climb up there. It was a great couple hours playing games and spending time with family and friends. Babies Winchester were spoiled greatly!

Dean did come down toward the end, you’re pretty sure though he just wanted food. You excitedly showed him the wonderful gifts people gave the babies and you. He eagerly described the nursery, told people how fast the baby was growing, and how they were now as big as cucumbers.

Your birthday was a few weeks later, and at 32 weeks you weren’t up to doing much for it. Your families came over to the house for dinner. Your parents and Mary had been around and helped with different projects in the nursery. John, Sam, Jess and your brother on the other hand hadn’t been over in a while, so they had not seen the nursey. Dean was eager to show them all

“This is where my little squashes will sleep.”

Jess looked at Dean and laughed, “It’s cute that you think they are going to sleep Dean.”

The majority of the nursery was done now. You had gone with the soft aqua color you both liked, along with white furniture and trim. You had gone with light grey and white chevron curtains and pillows to accent it, along with soft grey carpet.

The Winchester’s always did a big 4th of July BBQ, this year was no exception. Ever since Sam and Jess got married you rotated hosting it between the three of you. This year should have been yours and Deans’ but since you were 34 weeks along Mary graciously told you they would have it. The doctor had told you to really start taking things easier, so you were trying not to overdo it. Mary didn’t let you help much in getting ready for the party, but you did busy yourself in the kitchen at home making a few desserts and Dean’s favorite pasta salad. You were thankful for them taking over you hadn’t been getting much sleep and wouldn’t have had the energy to get everything done you would have wanted.

Dean was manning the grill talking with Sam, Cass, and Benny when you walked over to join him. You could hear him talking as you got closer.

“Right now they are about the size of butternut squash, although they could be slightly smaller cause it’s twins.”

“I could have sworn you called them squash a few weeks ago, or was that a nickname for them?” Sam asked his brother.

“A few weeks ago, they were squash, now they are butternut squash.”

“I wasn’t aware there were different squashes,” Benny added.

“You know Dean for someone with an aversion to vegetables I’m surprised by the number of them you have called your kids.” Sam teased his brother with a laugh.

“What will they be when they are born,” Cas asked.

“Babies, Cas, they will be babies.” Dean shook his head at his brother and friends catching sight of you waddling over. “And there is my beautiful wife, and mom to be.” Dean leaned down and gave you a kiss while his hand went to your stomach.

Night came and you were heading back to you seat next to Dean to watch the fireworks. When the first ones lit up the sky you could feel both babies start to kick, apparently, they were as big of fans as their dad. Dean moved you around on the bench so he was sitting behind you and could have his arms around you. When he felt the babies kick, he moved his hands around and started talking to them calming them right down. The last few weeks whenever they were really active at night Dean’s touch and voice were the only thing that would get them to settle down so you could get a little sleep.

They figured your due date was around August 14th, but since you were having twins, they would most likely be early. Because of your previous surgeries the doctor wanted you to have a C-section to avoid any issues. It wasn’t what you really wanted, but it was what was best. They scheduled that tentatively for Friday August 7th unless the babies had other plans. Which they did. You were laying on the couch Monday morning with some heat on your back to help with the pain you were having while Dean was getting ready for work. Just before Dean walked out you started to feel some cramping. You were fairly certain you were in labor now. Dean actually took it much calmer than you thought he would. He called the doctor’s office while you went to shower and change. When you came back, he had both you bag and the babies in the car, and called Benny to tell him he would need to handle the shop today.

Once you go to the hospital things were a bit of a blur. They checked you in, took you to a room to exam you and prep for surgery. Dean disappeared at one point and came back dressed in scrubs. Before you knew it, they were taking you back to the operating room Dean right beside you the whole time.

“It’s time to meet our pumpkins Sweetheart.”

You just looked over to him and laughed.

“It’s the last time I can say that.”

“I know Dean let’s go meet our pumpkins.” Dean smiled widely at you as you headed down the hall.

Dean was holding your hand and trying to keep you calm when the doctor asked if he wanted to cut the umbilical cord. He did and came back to standing next to you with tears in his eyes as he watched a nurse take your screaming son. The doctor went back to work to get your little girl and Dean once again cut the cord. He was pushed out of the way quickly because she wasn’t breathing. The nurse who brought your son over said that could happen with C-sections and she should be fine. It seemed longer than the few minutes it really was before you and Dean heard her little cries fill up the room, both of you letting out a sigh of relief.

After recovering you were finally in your room with Dean and both of your babies. Your families were here and waiting for your okay to come meet the newest members. Dean proudly introducing the babies to the rest of the family.

“I would like you all to meet Patrick John and Sophia Allison. You spent a few days in the hospital Dean right beside you the entire time.

After everyone left your little family alone Dean sat down next to you on the bed holding Sophia, while you held Patrick. The two of you both lost in your own thoughts and the babies in your arms before you looked over to him drawing his attention to you.

Once you arrived home your mom and Mary took turns coming over to see if they could help you or just let you get some sleep. Dean had to go back to the shop but tried to be home as much as possible.

The twins were two months old and not sleeping well through the night which was leaving you and Dean exhausted. You were both working during the day, and the twins were waking each other up at night which had the two of you getting up each taking one of the babies. You told Dean that you would get up and he could sleep, but he just kissed you as he walked by saying you were in this together no matter what. One night you had finally got them calmed down early and both of you sank down on the couch. Dean asked if you wanted to watch anything on TV.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could follow along on anything right now, but the back of my eye lids. How about we head to bed before the little monsters wake us up?”

“Knew I married a smart woman.”

Just as you settled into bed you heard Patrick start crying, and then Sophia joined in.

“Seriously.” Dean grumbled.

As you were trying to calm both babies down Dean was playing on his phone. All of a sudden you head Samuel L Jackson voice reading Go the Fuck to Sleep. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cb0t9TUNLpg

“Seriously Dean?”

“What? They can’t understand and I completely agree with it.”

Much to your surprise the twins were starting to doze back off. If this actually worked, you weren’t sure if Dean would let you hear the end of it. This was the quickest they calmed down for you, and also the start of hearing this every night for the next four months.

Things weren’t always perfect, but they were perfect for you. You had an incredible husband who always supported you and two wonderful kids who would keep you both on your toes. No matter what happened good or bad you and Dean were in this together.

Thank you for reading! For now this store is complete.

Tag list @talesmaniac89 @deanwanddamons @flamencodiva @whatareyousearchingfordean @winchest09 @waywardbeanie @emoryhemsworth @katehuntington @malfoysqueen14 @anathewierdo @superfanficnatural @akshi8278 @sandlee44

#supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester

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theawkwardterrier · 4 years

Text

Taking Care

Steggy Week 2k20, day 2 Prompt: Tropes, cliches, and symbols

Summary: Peggy gets sick. Steve shows up to help.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents for organizing!

Peggy’s immune system is notably strong and she’s far more likely to be the one nursing others than to need nursing herself. But this means that when she actually does start feeling under the weather, she ignores it, certain that it will simply pass or that she can overcome it by sheer force of will.

She’s actually able to pull it off for a few days, but once her eyes start watering so much that it takes her three times as long as usual to read anything and her coughs and sniffles become the soundtrack of headquarters, Phillips tells her that the war isn’t going to be lost if she takes a few days off to get well and sends her home.

“Perhaps I am a bit under the weather, but I can still—” she begins in protest but when she needs to take out her handkerchief partway through the sentence, Phillips simply points her toward the door and she actually complies.

She manages to fall asleep for several hours before waking jerkily, somehow less rested, her head muddled. The thought of food appeals not at all, but she is absolutely parched; she lies for much longer than she would ever admit trying to convince her body to stand and go to the tap.

Tea sounds absolutely wonderful at the moment but she can’t guarantee that she won’t fall asleep at the tiny table while the water comes to a boil, so she contents herself with several glasses of water. She is turning to return to bed when there’s a knock at the door.

Peggy doesn’t typically receive visitors here - in fact, she barely receives herself in the tiny efficiency she’s been renting for the past months. There’s a war on, after all, and she essentially uses this as somewhere to catch a few hours’ sleep before returning to headquarters. She isn’t even certain that anyone knows this address. Then again, it would be just typical of today to have someone coming to inform her of a fire or a gas leak while she’s in this state.

But to her surprise, when she calls a polite if stuffed-up, “Who is it?” through the door, the response is, “Steve Rogers.”

“I thought you were in Amsterdam,” she says, opening up and stepping back (it comes out as “Absterdam;” Phillips really was probably right to send her home.)

“We were until this morning,” he responds, following her inside and closing the door behind himself. “Only got back a couple of hours ago, but when I went to track you down with some documents, they said that you’d gone home sick so I—” Fully inside now, he peers at her more closely, and she thinks she should probably be embarrassed, but she barely has the energy to hold her dressing gown closed around her body so more complex emotion will have to wait.

“Right,” he says, his tone changing to a decisive firmness. “Okay. Back to bed.”

“But I—” she protests, mostly out of habit. The thought of even the thin single bed that came with the flat is so tempting that it should be featured in a Greek myth.

“I don’t think so.” He reaches over and gently touches her shoulders with both enormous hands, turning her around and directing her over to sleep.

“You aren’t meant to boss me around,” she tries, but it comes out around a yawn.

“I’ll keep it in mind for the future,” he says, and even through her muzzy head, she thinks there’s affection in his voice. “But maybe just listen for now, huh? I’m kind of the expert.”

The memory of that very lengthy file of his from boot camp comes into her head, but she can’t hold the thought there. Before she even has time to pull up the blanket, she’s crumpled into sleep.

When she wakes up again she isn’t certain of the time, though she feels much more clear-headed overall. A glass of water sits beside the bed, and she manages to sit up (the blanket slides off as she does; apparently someone put it on her) and drink it down without much dizziness.

“I can get you another,” comes Steve’s voice. “Or I can try my hand at a cup of tea.”

She looks around and finds him sitting at the table - the only place to sit, really - with a newspaper in front of himself. She clears her throat. “Do you have any experience with that?” The words come out clearly, which she considers a fairly good sign.

“Not really. It’ll probably be a good thing that you can’t taste much.”

“I’m actually—” she considers, realizing it with surprise for the first time herself. “I actually feel a bit peckish.”

“Good sign,” he says, standing. “Just a minute.”

“I don’t have very much here at the moment,” she points out, and then feels compelled by some lesson of hospitality or politeness or normalcy which her mother tried to impart to her to add, “I’m not about often. I usually end up in the mess back at headquarters or finding a bit to eat on the way between here and there.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not as if I could cook you up anything edible even if you had a full fridge,” he says easily teasing, as he comes over to her with a bowl of consomme and a saucer with a bread roll sliced thin and slightly charred from toasting it over the open flame of the stove. He hands her the bowl, places the roll beside the clock on the nightstand.

She studies him more carefully as he brings one of the kitchen chairs closer to her bedside. He had arrived in full uniform, but now his jacket hangs on the back of the chair he had been occupying, his sleeves are rolled to the elbow and he has his tie loosened. His hair is a bit disheveled. He looks wonderful, and she tries to forget how wrecked she must come off just now.

“Where did this come from, then?” she asks, taking a careful spoonful of the broth. It is a touch salty, noticeably warm but no longer steaming, and feels wonderful moving down her throat. She takes another sip.

“I ran over to the place around the corner. Told them I had a sick friend, and they threw in the roll for free.”

A sick friend. She rolls the words around in her head as she bites gingerly and thoughtfully into one of the small rounds of toast. Thinking of herself as sick is unfamiliar but it’s currently true and she can accept it as fact. Friend, though…

She and Steve have been courteous to each other since the incident with Private Lorraine, but don’t spend extra time together. Sometimes, though, their eyes will meet across the table during a strategy session, or they’ll each choose to deliver something to the other that isn’t strictly their responsibility. Just in those occasional moments, when she allows it, she remembers how determined he is, how quietly funny, how sharp and kind.

She thinks it might actually be nice to become real friends with Steve, but she doesn’t know that she’ll be able to forget the time when she thought that they might become something more, doesn’t know that she can stop herself from still hoping for the future.

“You must be a bit of an expert in the sickbed experience,” she says, eager to change the topic, only realizing once she has that it might be rude or bring up painful memories. Thankfully, however, Steve only laughs.

“It’s a little strange to have nearly gotten through winter with nothing happening. I keep expecting the flu or a nice case of pneumonia to sneak up on me.” His face twists into a slight sadness. “I was lucky, though, back then. My mother took really good care of me. Made sure I always had books and pencils, someone to call if she had to work, soup and crackers when I needed them...A couple of times, when things had been really bad, she got me an orange. We couldn’t afford it and I know that she missed dinners because of it, but she insisted on it so that—so that when I could taste again, that would be the flavor waking me up.”

The soup glides over the tenderness growing in her throat. Here, again, is the reminder of why Erskine was drawn to him, why she’s been drawn to him: because without considering otherwise, he uses the protection given by the serum to help those who need it, because he won’t ever forget the way it felt to eat an orange gifted by someone who scrimped and hurt for it but did it anyway because she loved him.

“I don’t expect you were the most compliant patient, if you’re being truthful,” she comments once she’s swallowed.

“What tipped you?” he says, mouth curling up into a grin. He spreads his hands. “I would have been an angel and stayed in bed, but when one person works twelve hour days, it's up to the other person to make sure the house is clean. Plus, Bucky's team really needed a second baseman."

She laughs too, though it turns into a bit of a cough at the end. As she catches her breath, she looks into the dwindling depths of her bowl. "I'm reminded just now," she says, "of how hard it can be to ask for the help you need, to give up control and let someone take care of you on occasion."

There's a quiet in the room with them, a ticking clock silence. Then Steve says slowly, "That's always been pretty hard for me too. But I think it's something I could get good at if I had the chance. If I came across the right person."

When she looks up, he's already there waiting for her with a steady gaze. An understanding passes between them, but after what's happened before, she needs more than that.

"I think it's something I could learn as well. Leaning on someone." She reaches over, covers his hand with hers. "I hope we both have the chance for it."

"So do I," he says softly, holding on until she yawns again. "Okay," he says. "Time to sleep again, I think. Doctor's orders, probably."

She screws up her face, but is actually tired enough to comply, lying down and letting him clear away her dishes to wash.

"I'll stay around until you wake up," is the last thing she registers before she drifts off. And even though she knows he must have a thousand things to do over at headquarters, when she wakes once again, he is still there, just as he is each time after.

#steggyweek20 #Steggy #Steggy fic #Peggy Carter #Steve Rogers

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lailannajacobs · 4 years

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Not About Angels

Pairing: bucky x fem!reader

Prompt: "I'm not human. I never was. So why are you expecting me to act like one?"

Warnings: Angsty with mentions of physical abuse

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: So this is my submission for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan mystery Au challenge, and like a complete idiot, my brain couldn’t find inspiration for an Au but came up with this instead. Who knows what happened, I sure don’t! Hope you enjoy it regardless! <3

September 5th, 2020

The hallways were too clean. It was strange that, despite every single change that had happened in your life over the past year, minor and drastic alike, the one change you couldn’t get used to was the hallways. That, and the cheery faces. Everyone was so damned happy to be here; to be heroes. You’d wipe the smiles off their faces if you could. Deep down, they were no different than you or anyone else. Behind the supposed moral codes and the fancy suits, they were no different than you, hiding in the shadows from the pain of doing what no one else wanted to do.

You supposed it was the reason they decided to make you a part of the team instead of taking you to the Raft. You could do what no one else wanted to do. But that wasn’t what they told you. They told you that you were here because you were the victim; that you were forgiven. You doubted your own victims would see it that way.

Some days, especially the first month they’d kept you here, you would have preferred prison. They’d kept you in a room without electricity, and the first time he’d walked in you’d almost killed him just to feel that familiar buzz in your veins. By the time you realized who he was, you were so weak the only thing you could do was wish you had.

There had been too many people asking you questions, not only about intel on Hydra, but also about how you were feeling. No one had ever asked you that. They hadn’t needed to start either. Every day the suffocation made you want to scream. Now…now their questions no longer held as much weight. They gave you space, eventually letting you train and go on missions with them. You’d changed your alliances because you knew they weren’t going to let you go back, but you hadn’t expected not to miss it. You hadn’t expected to stop wanting to run away so quickly; for everything to feel almost normal again. Or at least, almost as normal as it had been when you were working as an assassin for Hydra. Almost. The hallways were too clean.

Everything was too clean - too perfect. Most nights you slept on the floor because it was the closest thing to your bedroom back home. Only the longer you stayed here, the more you realized that it wasn’t a home - it wasn’t even a bedroom. You had never noticed before. For as long as you could remember, you had stayed in that dungeon cell, only taken out for training and missions before being locked back in. You’d been told that to be exceptional at what you did that you had to forgo the weaknesses everyone else relied on. You became exceptional.

Steps coming down the hall caught your attention and you stilled, waiting to see who it was. Wanda Maximoff approached with sure and easy steps, not one to be afraid of you, your skills or your powers. None of the Avengers were, but this inhuman had every right not to be. You were powerful. She was something else.

“You’re needed in the briefing room,” She said, not coming any closer than she had to.

You appreciated the distance more than she would ever realize. Out of every extraordinary being in this place, she was the only one who had an inkling of understanding where you came from. It was probably the reason you didn’t completely distrust her like you did everyone else.

Nodding, you followed behind.

“You’re not going to like this mission,” She began, her voice serious and free of any fake pleasantries others would have used to soften the blow, “There was no one else we could send with you.”

She didn’t have to tell you who you were being sent off with. There was only one person you despised enough in this place that it would merit a warning. Because a warning was all this was. You wouldn’t beg for a new partner or cause a scene, not when you might risk getting kicked off of the first mission you’d had in a month. You’d withstand his company for a moment of freedom; it was worth the price.

But as soon as you walked into the briefing room and saw that messy head of dark hair, you almost backed out on your promise and demanded to go with someone - anyone - else. He looked up at the sound of your approach, his piercing blue eyes following your every move as you took a seat at the far end of the table. He said nothing. He’d learned a long time ago, after a black eye and a broken nose, that you wanted nothing to do with him. He’d been lucky then that you hadn’t done worse. After taking you away from everything you’d known and having brought you to this place, there was nothing he could say or do that would ever make up for it.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Fury demanded, glancing between the two of you.

You and the Winter Soldier shook your heads.

“All right then. Let’s begin.”

Fury went on with the briefing, but you were only half listening. Most of your concentration was on the flow of electricity in the room, the constant hum calming your nerves. This room was surrounded on all sides by currents big and small, and every breath you took in was slower and longer than the last.

“YN!” Fury barked.

You reigned in your surprise too late, a bulb overhead shattering. You didn’t flinch or apologize.

“Yes, sir?”

“Were you even listening?”

You blinked slowly, “You want us to extract military files kept in a Hydra base off the coast of Maine. We leave tomorrow at 21h sharp. Should be a simple job. You want it done as efficiently as possible.”

Fury sighed, “Next time, there’s no need to blow apart another one of my bulbs. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“At least it was a bulb and not your hearts,” You replied, somewhat honestly and somewhat hoping to make them uncomfortable.

“You know,” He began, that one all-seeing eye dissecting you, “It gets a little hard to trust you when you say things like that.”

“I didn’t ask you to trust me,” You shrugged, “I didn’t even ask to be here and quite frankly, I’m still not sure why I am. But maybe you should ask the Soldier. He’s the reason I’m here, maybe he knows something we don’t.”

You stood and walked out of the room before either of them could respond. Everyone knew why you were here. Your skills and your knowledge were more useful than most of them would admit. That sure as hell didn’t mean you had to be friends with any of them.

March 4th 2020

When Bucky walked out of the emergency room hours later, he found Steve still waiting for him.

“How is she?” Steve asked.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, exhausted, “Stable. Though they don’t know how much she’ll remember of the last 24 - 48 hours. Apparently she was dosed with a some drug that impaired her short term memory. The doctor said that with the amount she was dosed with, it’s impressive that her brain can function at all,” Bucky shuddered but continued on, “We might have an active Hydra agent on our hands when she wakes up.”

“Let her get through this and then we’ll see what happens.”

“I hope so,” Bucky sighed.

Steve didn’t need to see the look on his friend’s face to know that some part of Bucky would always be trying to atone for the things he did before. Saving this woman was just one of those ways. Sadly, Steve was pretty sure she wouldn’t want or appreciate their saving. He’d read her file. She’d been a part of Hydra from the moment she’d been handed over by the foster system, barely able to walk ye.t. That wasn’t something you just walked away from.

Steve put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “She might not make it out of this, Buck. And if she does, there’s no guarantee she wants our help.”

“She’ll get through this,” He affirmed.

Steve nodded, though he winced on the inside. Buck would do whatever it took to save this woman. They were tied by something Steve would never be able to fully understand. The only thing he could do was stand beside his friend and hope she didn’t tear Bucky apart.

September 6th 2020

The documents were nowhere to be found. You didn’t know if Fury had gotten false information or if they had seen you coming, but neither of you had found anything close to the documents you were looking for. You knew Hydra well enough to know that if you hadn’t found them by now, they weren’t here. Hydra was too arrogant to hide their information. They firmly believed they would prevail, regardless of how many hits they took. Cut off one head, two more will take its place.

“What do you think?” He asked, breaking the silence for the first time since you’d broken into the base.

You shook your head, “It’s not here.”

He nodded his agreement and motioned for you to follow him out.

Jolting the electric currant in the building, the buzz hid the sound of your steps as you snuck back out of the compound. It was so loud, you almost didn’t notice the familiar hum of a human body seconds before the man’s dagger came at you. You managed to turn at the last second, catching the man’s dagger in the sleeve of your combat suit. The blade didn’t pierce the skin and you flipped the man over, breaking his wrist to make him drop the dagger into your hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the files we’re looking for are, would you? You asked, sending tiny shockwaves down his body.

He squirmed under your grip, eyes widening as he recognized you. All of Hydra knew who you were, even if you couldn’t recognize any of them to save your life. His eyes darted to Barnes for help, but quickly recognized him as well. You couldn’t help but see the irony in the pair of you, even if he was last person you wanted to be here with.

He was about to dislodge the pill they all kept in their fake tooth, the one the Avengers had taken from you the moment they’d brought you in, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily. Your current was faster than his movement, interrupting the signals going to his tongue and jaw. They’d made you do terrible things to perfect that kind of skill, it was only fitting that it be used against them.

“Please,” The man begged, the words garbled but clear enough for you to understand, “Have some humanity.”

“I’m not human,” You grinned, recognizing his badge as one of the many researchers and scientists, “I never was, remember? Don’t expect me to start acting like one now.”

You tried to plunge the dagger into the man’s chest, but Barnes grabbed your wrist before you could get close. He pulled you toward him so that he was the only thing you could see, those metal fingers a vice grip.

“You are human, YN,” He practically growled, “I don’t care what they’ve told you. You. Are. Human. But if you keep doing this, doing what they want you to do, you won’t be.”

“Who are you to judge?” You snarled.

“Someone who’s been there,” He murmured, loosening his grip, “You choose.”

You shook your head in disgust, “Stay out of my way, Soldier.”

You sent enough electric current through the man’s heart to knock him out cold, watching as he crumpled to the ground with a resounding thud. You didn’t know whether or not Barnes followed you out, but you didn’t care. He could do what he wanted. At least someone here could.

March 4th, 2020 - Hours before

“What’s going to happen to her?” Bucky demanded, trying not raise his voice.

He had no right to get angry at the doctors. They weren’t responsible for what had happened to her. A small part of him knew that neither was he, but it was hard to believe. If he’d gotten there sooner…If he’d been a little faster, more efficient, then she wouldn’t be in this mess.

“She’ll live, Sergeant Barnes,” The doctor replied, “But you need to get out the way and let us do our job.”

He was about to leave, but couldn’t help himself and blurted out, “She’s inhuman. I don’t know what her gifts are, but she’s inhuman.”

A nurse shoved him out of the room, “We know.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, pacing outside the double doors. He needed to do something else, focus on anything else, but he couldn’t. He knew what it was like to be at their mercy, flashes and glimpses of memories flickering through his mind, their seizing grip on his heart suffocating. He refused to let someone else die at their hands.

“Buck, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Steve approached, a file in his hand, “You might want to take a look at this.”

Bucky sucked in a deep breath and took the file. The few sheets inside were about the woman they’d pulled out of that hell hole. An inhuman, gifted with the ability to control electrical currents and an active Hydra agent from the age of five, under their control from the age of three. There was no known family listed, nothing connecting her to the living other than the people who’d locked her up and used her. Bucky grit his teeth.

A shock blast blew out one of the doors, glass shattering everywhere. Bucky ducked to the side, shielding his face with his arm. He searched for Steve, only reassured when his friend turned up on the other side of the hallway, nodding that he was fine.

Shouting came from inside of the room, and Bucky was moving before he knew what he was doing. He burst into the room, only to find her convulsing on the table, an aura of yellow current surrounding her body.

“Rubber gloves,” He directed, weaving around the scrambling doctors to reach her, “Now!”

Recovering quickly, the followed his orders without hesitation. He stopped at the side of her table and took in a deep, steadying breath. He was about to reach for her hand some someone held him back.

“You’ll get electrocuted,” The nurse warned.

“I’m used to the pain.”

Bucky took her hand in his metal one.

The pain was excruciating but familiar and Bucky winced his way through it, trying to provide as much comfort as he could. Hydra had tried to make him weaker and compliant, but the constant pain had made him stronger, exactly for moments like this.

The pain began to ease when his breathing shallowed and hers evened out. With their rubber gloves, the doctors injected her with a clear liquid and moments later, the current vanished completely.

“You can leave now, Barnes,” The doctor stated, taking off his gloves and signalling something to the nurses.

“No,” He adjusted his grip, interlacing their fingers even tighter, “I won’t let her do this alone. Not after you’ve just taken her abilities.”

September 6th, 2020

“What do we tell Fury?” Barnes asked as you walked into the compound.

“Not my problem,” You grunted, shoving past him, “Tell him whatever you want.”

You left without another word, not caring that you wouldn’t be there for Fury’s debriefing. You hadn’t found anything. Did you really need to be two people to tell him that?

When you made it to your room, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and stopped. That was another thing you hadn’t gotten used to yet; seeing yourself in the mirror. They hadn’t given you one in your room - your cell. It was almost as if you and the woman in the mirror weren’t the same person. The woman staring back at you looked tired. She didn’t look like she’d been eating three regular meals a day, exercised for hours each week and had a clean room with a bed and a bathroom all to herself. She had bags under her glossy eyes and looked like the only place she wanted to be was curled in bed until everything wrong in her world faded to black. She looked like someone who kept fighting but didn’t know what enemy she was fighting any more. She looked…sad.

You almost punched the mirror but held back. There was no reason to get sidelined from the next mission because you couldn’t control your anger. But you couldn’t stay here; not in this perfect room. You didn’t even bother with shoes and you walked out the door, your feet taking you to the one place on the compound you felt like you could actually breathe. You’d found it during one of your escape attempts the first month you were here. It had been the reason you’d turned around and come back.

When you pushed open the door to the small roof on the back section of some useless wing, you took in the first deep breath all day that didn’t feel like you were fighting against your lungs for more air. The leaves surrounding the immaculately kept lawn were brilliant shades of reds and oranges, set aflame by the setting sun. Here, you could pretend that you lived in some different world where the sharpest knife you’d ever used had only served to cut steak.

The door creaked open and you whipped around, combat ready even though they’d told you multiple times that you were safe here. Barnes stepped out and all that earlier peace turned to tension in your body.

His eyes widened when he saw you. You stared back.

“Sorry,” He ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t think anyone else came up here. I’ll go.”

“No. I’ll leave.”

Your mood had already been ruined. You could use a shower and then your bed. Unlike the other Avengers who spent their nights chatting away like one big family, there was nothing left for you to do but sleep. He nodded and walked to the far end of the roof, giving you space.

Your hand was on the door handle when he spoke up, “I made a promise to you, do you remember?”

March 3rd, 2020

You shivered, the stone floor cold beneath your skin. You tried to lift your head, but your whole body felt like it had gone through a meat grinder. Even opening your eyes was a task, the blurry slit barely enough for you to know you were in your room. Everything was grey and cold. Nothing felt right.

You couldn’t remember how you’d gotten here. Where was your bed? Where were your clothes? All you could feel was a flimsy nightgown over your underwear. Even then, you weren’t sure. All you knew for sure was that your body was howling in pain, blocking out almost everything else. You tried to clear your mind, but it was like a fog was settling over and you could barely form a coherent thought. You’d just been on a mission…What the hell had happened? Something had gone wrong, very wrong.

Instinctively, you reached for the electric hum inside you, but you couldn’t find it. Panic set in and you desperately reached deep inside, looking for that energy that was a much a part of you as your arm or leg was. You almost blacked out, but finally you found a small kernel of current, its energy fading by the second.

With every inch of strength you had left, you sent a jolt of electricity through your body. The fog cleared, but the pain came in with a black haze of its own. You were aware enough to realize that you’d been dumped on the ground, your bed nowhere to be found. You had done something wrong. This was what happened when you messed up. The thought took you by surprise, memories that didn’t seem to belong to you flickering through your mind.

A resounding bang sent you scrambling to the corner, terrified by what was coming, but you didn’t get far. Your leg didn’t work, and your arm felt like it was on fire, the pain making it hard to breathe. What little you could see, blurred and spun.

“Shit. How the hell is she still conscious?” A deep voice asked.

You tried to get further away, knowing that even if you didn’t recognize the voice that you had to fear it. Odds always were that you did.

“Hey, it’s all right,” A different voice murmured, sounding much closer than the last one. You flinched at his proximity, but he continued on gently, “We’re here to help. I know you have no reason to believe us, but I’m going to need you to trust me. We don’t have much time and I really want to get you out of here.”

You couldn’t be sure that this wasn’t another one of their tricks, but the man’s voice was so soothing and kind that you let yourself believe him. There wasn’t much fight left in you anyways. Not even the sound of gunshots rattled you; not when you were losing a battle to stay conscious.

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” He asked as if you could answer.

He waited a moment then slid his hands behind your knees and around your back. The movement made you cry out, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. He pulled you close, his comfort and warmth enveloping you tightly.

Unable to hold on much longer, you began to slip away, resting your head on his chest. The last you heard before you blacked out completely was his whisper, “I promise you’ll be safe now.”

September 6th, 2020

Despite how much you wanted to leave, you stopped anyways, but refused to turn around, “You never promised me anything, Soldier.”

“The doctors told me that you wouldn’t remember, and I understand that you don’t,” He paused as if he wasn’t sure he should continue, “I promised you that you were safe now. You should know that I did what I did today because I don’t intend on breaking that promise.”

Your breath caught on his words as if you remembered, but you never did. There were blank spots in your memory you’d never get back.

Not wanting him to see the effect of his words, you scoffed, “That’s hard to believe when I’ve put myself in danger multiple times on missions.”

“You can take care of yourself in the field,” He clarified.

You whirled around, “I can take care of myself. Always.”

“I know,” He stared at you, that look filled with more than you knew how to decipher, “But that doesn’t mean you have to.”

“And who put you in charge of me? Because it certainly wasn’t me,” You spat stomping over toward him, “You took me from my home and everything I knew. I was fine before you came along. You had no right.”

He met you halfway, eyes an icy flame, “I did. I did what was right because I know you. I know you don’t actually want to go back. I see past that anger.”

“Shut up,” You whispered, heart dropping in fear of the direction he was going.

He didn’t back down, “The only reason you think you want to go back is because you don’t know how to live with the guilt of everything you’ve done - of everything you think you’ve become.”

“Shut up,” You snapped, louder this time.

“You hate me and blame me because it’s easier than blaming yourself,” He pushed on, “You hate me because it’s the only steady thing you can hold onto.”

“Shut up!” You felt the panic taking over, your control slipping.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “I told you that I’d keep you safe, YN, so I’ll take the blame. I’ll let you hate me so that you don’t hate yourself.”

You reacted on instinct, sending electric currents through him like a taser that brought him to his knees. His head bowed between his shoulders, gritting through the pain. When he looked back up at you, he nodded slowly, almost as if to say it was okay and managed to choke out, “What’s a little bit more, right?”

His pathetic little laugh at the end shattered your anger and the current vanished. You’d seen the look in his eyes before - seen it in the mirror whenever you walked past one - that self-hatred for things you knew you’d done and for the ones you couldn’t remember but that you knew could only be worse. You’d known his story. Known he carried all the same things you did. Except you’d refused to believe it at the sight of his smile and the easy way he walked among the Avengers. You’d refused to see that he carried some of your weight for you, knowing perfectly well how crushing it could be.

His blue eyes never dimmed as he watched your intently. They never had. Not from the pain or from every burden he carried with you over the past six months because you couldn’t carry it alone. You didn’t know how to carry it if he wasn’t there helping you. This man…this man you thought of nothing more than your enemy had been the one person fighting for you when you didn’t think you could anymore. He’d gone through what you had and yet you punished him for making it out.

What the hell did that make you?

Your legs gave out, but he caught you before your knees could smash into the ground. He pulled your close, holding you tight in his arms, and for the first time in your life, you let yourself cry; cry for the people you’d hurt, for what you’d done to him and for the person you could have been.

You mumbled apologies over and over even though you knew it would never be enough. He stayed silent, listening, pulling you in even closer whenever he knew you were about to fall apart. A small part of you wanted to push him away, to stay strong, but the woman in the mirror was tired. There was no fight left in her. Not at the moment.

Eventually, when your mumbling was no longer coherent and you were utterly exhausted, you felt him stand, his grip on you never loosening.

You must have fallen asleep because he was placing you on your bed what seemed like seconds later pulling the cool sheets over you. The lack of warmth was jarring, and you curled into a smaller ball, your body shivering from all the crying and the hurt.

“Barnes?” You murmured, stopping him before he could leave your bedroom.

He turned, eyes scanning your body from head to toe as if he could physically see what was wrong, “YN?”

“Stay?” You whispered, your voice raw, “Please.”

He looked at you for a long time, a strange look on his face, “Are you sure?”

The only thing you could manage was, “I’m sorry.”

Barnes nodded and walked over to the bed easing himself onto it, staying far along the edge.

“Please,” You whispered again, unable to tell him exactly what you needed.

But you didn’t have to. His chest pressed up against your back, his arm draping over your torso and pulling you in closer. Relieved, a shattered breath escaped your mouth at almost the exact moment one did his, and within moments you fell into the deepest sleep of your life.

#idamc #bucky #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #Bucky angst #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #fan fiction #fanfic

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protagonistheavy · 3 years

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Got a new computer so I can play DBD again after a two week break. So, I'm new to both Pinhead and the new mmr system.

Wow. Both these things just suck shit. : \

The survivor experience is just terrible. I played upwards of ten games and each one just felt way worse than usual. The only good game I had ended with the killer disconnecting, so that's a great sign. Every other game was deeply unfun for at least one reason or another. The worst was a Doctor that had to tunnel, camp, and noed his way to a 3k + disconnect... Jesus Christ. I spent like eight minutes NOT playing a video game because I spent the entire time getting camped, then slugged (because he wanted to wait out the DS I didn't even have lololololol love these mechanics), then rehooked, shaking off tier 3 madness, and then getting mori'd. What a god awful experience. And no other game was significantly better -- except for one Pig game, but that doesn't count because, yep, they were just throwing and looking for boops.

It's bad out there man and it's personally depressing because I was sooo looking forward to coming back to DBD. : ( I guess I can still give killer a try, but I can't BELIEVE how much joy got sucked out of the survivor experience for me -- incredible, considering how unfun survivor could already be. But now I just really do feel like I'm making the game worse for myself if I'm not running the meta perks, there's NO space for even a little error.

At first I heard complaints about the new mmr system, and I heard counter-arguments to them saying "you don't have to care about winning so much, just enjoy the game." yeah well. except. you can't really enjoy a game when shit like this is happening lol. Like how am I supposed to enjoy the game... if part of my enjoyment is being able to at least SOMETIMES escape a killer? What if I LIKE to run some non-meta perks? Like I'm not saying "wahhh I wanna win every game" but I AM saying that I'd like to not feel PUNISHED for not playing hyper optimal. Seriously, this matchmaking just feels terrible! I'm literal bottom rank and I'm going against some of the best killers I've EVER gotten... At what point should my mmr be low enough that I'm getting killers I can fairly go against???? It feels like I'm constantly the dead weight being added into the lobby to counterbalance better survivors, it's so frustrating.

And god. Pinhead. This, is just bad. I seriously just groan when I hear that fucking box noise at the start of a game. This is, by far, the LEAST fun killer to go against I think. I guess maybe Hag could be worse, but jesus christ, 90% of this guy's power is just automatic. The fucking box is WAY too strong. Can anyone explain to me what the optimal approach to this shit is??? You see the box, you know SOMEONE has to go get it, but without comms, you don't know who is and who isn't going for it, which makes the whole team super inefficient. You'd think to go get the box immediately, but isn't it smarter to wait it out until the timer is almost up? If you want to stay efficient doing other things for as long as possible, it's better to IGNORE this thing until it starts becoming a problem basically. If no one gets the box in time, then everyone just starts getting slowed down and pulled off gens constantly without any way to stop it! How fun!!!!!!!! Sucks for you if you're in the middle of getting chased, because now on top of his fucking guided missile chains that he controls, there's just MORE chains coming after you nonstop. Oh you grabbed the box, like you're supposed to? Cool! Let's drop your item tee-hee-hee : ) and make you solve this puzzle box for like 10 fucking seconds w/ skill checks! Oh and all the while, a chain hunt is on you uwu!! So you keep getting ripped away from the very thing youre trying to solve! Oh and you never get a chance to ACTUALLY solve the box, lol no you fucking moron, because Pinhead can just IMMOBOILIZE YOU MID-SOLVING AND TELEPORT TO YOU FOR FREE. Are you a shitty killer player that can't find survivors? Then come play Pinhead, who just reveals survivors for free and gets to warp right to some of them! Nope, not because of any ACTIVE ABILITY he actually CONTROLS or EXPRESSES SKILL FROM, no you fucking troglodyte, it's entirely because his passive box shit just forces you to play a whole different game that's EXTREMELY frustrating to trudge through. Oh and guess what happens when Pinhead knocks down the survivor that had the box? Oh well instead of doing a weapon wipe animation, he picks up the box and solves it : ) which triggers a chain hunt to immediately begin! Wow! I'm having so much fun that for the sake of my health I need to go make myself more depressed to balance it out.

This is so absurd and not even getting into his add-ons that just make him even LESS fun; the chains that can injure you, and the one that makes the box almost impossible to see until the chain hunt starts? I'm sorry but what the FUCK? I'm genuinely getting the point where I sincerely wish we could just hard block certain killers lol I can very well see myself just DCing as soon as I hear it's Pinhead. This isn't fun, sorry Behaviour, but you wildly fucked up with this one. I think the most offensive part is the fact you have to drop your fucking item to solve this shitty box. That's just so cruel. Why does it have to be like this? Just let us keep our item bro! It's so unfair that in order to face a killer's base mechanic -- which they don't even manually control!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! -- and have to, HAVE TO, MANDATORY, you have to drop your item, KNOWING you're never going to see it again since Pinhead is going to teleport and chase you away! Jesus Christ, can we at least balance this out? Can we make it so you can't solve Jigsaw Boxes if youre holding an item? Can we make it so Legion's Frenzy attacks make you drop your item? I fucking HATED this mechanic with Nemesis, and that's LEAGUES more tame than Pinhead's stupid shit. At least when I set my item down, I'm not expecting Nemesis to outright TELEPORT to me because I used the fucking item he makes me have to use.

And hey something else that just pisses me off as a Pig main. Why doesn't Pig get ANY vision or advantage against someone who removes their bear trap? Hmm? Nemesis gets a killer instinct when someone uses a vaccine, Pinhead gets to see their location AND ALSO choose to teleport DIRECTLY TO THEM, so why can't Pig get SOMETHING?????? Oh would she become OVERPOWERED if she got a killer instinct on someone who removed a hat? Mind blowing how fucked up their killer design has gotten. Imagine what Pig would look like if she was released in 2021 -- absolutely she'd have some way more bullshit mechanics going on. She'd get aura vision on anyone solving a box; anyone she knocks down for the first time automatically gets a hat placed on them rather than her going through a weapon wipe animation; that timer would just start instantly, no fucking waiting for a gen to pop; no slow down at all while stealthing, in fact she just stealths passively after a few seconds of not attacking; if you fail a Jigsaw skill check you get injured. I'm not even exaggerating much when I say this is what Pig would be like if made today.

Yeah I think this mmr shit needs a rework, and Pinhead, wow, I dont even know what to say. Maybe Pinhead would be better if he got toned WAAAAAY the fuck down. Chain Hunts are way too fucking oppressive, the chains that appear need to be like 50% less frequent. And instead of making the box an item, it should just be an interactable object that you go up to, progress a bar, and solve. Remove the fucking chain hunt on the box holder, take away Pinhead's teleport, just let Pinhead get killer instinct on whoever solved it.

I really hope he gets reworked to something more fun. This really just sucks to go against and doesnt feel like any other killer. Please, man.

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spaceskam · 4 years

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alydon fic pt. 3

ao3 for the whole thing

“Michael Guerin, I am going to fucking murder you!”

“Alydon, put your gun down!”

Alex glared at the hole in the ceiling that finally opened after what felt like an hour of waiting. It was loud and then it wasn’t and Alex just had to wait. For a moment, he’d gotten worried that something bad had happened. But now that he could see that nothing had, he was pissed.

“You can’t just put me in a hole in the ground, you asshole,” Alex said, going to climb the latter even though he had one leg. His arms might hate him for it later, but he was running on adrenaline and it was sort of worth it for the look on Michael’s face.

Beside him stood a nearly comically large man with pale hair and transparent skin. Alex tried not to let shock affect him.

“This is your husband?” the clear man asked. Michael licked his lips as he looked between them.

“Alex, this is Alydon. Alydon, this is Alex.”

Something seemed to dawn on Alydon at that moment, his eyes widening as he looked to Michael. Alex held his head up high and let Michael levitate his crutches for him. He refused to have any form of shock on his face in front of this stranger.

“Alex? But… When you spoke of this man, you always said–”

“Yeah, well, surprise,” Michael sighed, finally giving Alex his full attention, “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just come back, act like things are normal, and then throw me in a fucking bunker, Guerin. You are such a fucking asshole,” Alex spat. Michael grinned at him, eyes soft.

“I really fucking missed you.”

Alex rolled his eyes but accepted the kiss to the side of the face Michael gave him. He helped him to his foot and gave him his crutches. Once he was balancing on his own, he focused more on the man in front of him.

Alydon was as tall and as wide as a door which was only slightly overwhelming. Taking him in, Alex noticed a brown scar-like tattoo of a circle that matched an exposed white one on Michael’s shoulder. He was trying to stay calm and not jump to conclusions, but a large alien had shown up at his house to try to kill his boyfriend (who was now calling him husband which was a different conversation altogether).

“What’s going on, Guerin?” Alex demanded, “Tell me everything. No distracting me this time.” Distracting was a loose word, honestly. Alex had happily gone along with the immediate overload of kisses. He wanted them. He still wanted them, but he now was aware that life was still happening.

So, Michael explained. He told him of his time on Ska, learning of his royal father, practicing his powers, his brethren ceremony with Alydon, meeting the queen, her bamboozling him into marriage, and his massive escape. Alydon filled them in that the Royal Army had been dispatched to find him and the only reason he’d been sent was because of his relationship with the king.

“Right, how did you find me so fast?” Michael asked. Alydon gave a guilty look.

“You are tracked, as am I,” Alydon answered, pressing to a spot beneath his collarbone. Due to his clear skin, the chip was easy to see when looking for it. Alex scoffed and hit Michael’s shoulder.

“How’d you get chipped and not even know it?” Alex asked. Michael shrugged but still looked at him like he was the entire world. That was nice to see. Alex wondered how long it’d last.

He hoped the answer was forever.

“Okay, how long until they notice you aren’t returning?” Alex asked. Michael and Alydon shared a look.

“Maybe another 24 hours if we’re pushing it,” Michael said. Alex sighed and pulled out his phone even though it was the middle of the night.

“I’m going to get both Kyle and Liz to come out here first thing in the morning, we’ll figure out how to get the chip out of you without disturbing it and we’ll go from there,” Alex said. He texted them both and set an alarm for 5 AM just in case he needed to blow up their phones.

“So… this should be a good time to ask if Alydon can stay with us?” Michael asked, giving Alex an exaggerated smile. Alex’s heart skipped a beat. Stay with us. Us.

He shook off the high feeling long enough to form a coherent response. “Like, permanently?” The two men nodded. “You want to stay on an alien planet?”

“I’m technically on an alien planet,” Michael pointed out.

“And I’m loyal to my brother,” Alydon added. Alex sighed and looked at Michael as kindly as possible.

“The sun could kill him, Michael, that’s a big risk. And, even if it doesn’t, how are you going to explain a guy with clear skin to people out in the world?”

“Me and Liz can come up with something, though. For now, we just keep him out of sunlight. He can even stay in the bunker during the day to be safe,” Michael insisted, “Please?”

Alex stared at him and found it impossible to tell him he wouldn’t let him stay. This was a man that had given Michael what he needed to heal. He didn’t want to be the one to take that away from him. So, Alex sighed and nodded.

“He can stay,” he said. Michael was quickly on him in a hug that Alex melted into. It was too easy to forget about everyone that had just been dumped on him. He missed this. On a deep, desperate, lonely level, he missed it.

Alex buried his nose in his neck and closed his eyes, hugging his shirtless body tight. He never wanted to leave that spot.

“Thank you, Alex,” Alydon said. Alex opened his eyes and looked over Michael’s shoulder to the man who seemed to have no discomfort while being left out of the hug. “I will repay you for your kindness anyway I can.”

“Well, right now, we just need to get you guys safe,” Alex said, still not letting Michael go.

“No, right now, we need to go to sleep,” Michael said. Alex closed his eyes again, hiding his smile against his shoulder. He couldn’t wait to be alone with him again. “The bunker Alex was in has a bed and no windows if you wanna sleep down there. We’ll cover up the windows and stuff in the morning before you come out. I don’t really know how the sunlight might affect you yet, so probably best to play it safe.”

“Lovely idea,” Alydon said. Alex didn’t have to have his eyes open to know the man was smiling. It made him hug Michael closer.

“There’s a ladder and we can leave the hatch open so you’re not, like, trapped,” Michael said.

“Don’t worry about me,” Alydon said, “Enjoy your reunion with your husband.”

Within a few minutes, they were in Alex’s bed and alone. Now that the initial shock of his appearance had worn off and the followup shock of him being fucking followed had died down, they could finally take it all in.

“Why does he think I’m your husband?” Alex asked softly as the door closed by itself. Michael scooted closer and Alex touched him wherever his hands could find.

“It was the only way I could really make him understand why I didn’t want to return to the queen,” Michael said, leaning his forehead on Alex’s, “But, on Ska, we’re technically married.”

Alex smiled and dragged his fingers over Michael’s arms and chest. “Oh yeah?”

“On Ska, everyone has, like, a chosen sacred item they have once they become of age. It’s something no one can touch‒unless it’s, like, a doctor‒and then, once someone else touches that object in front of their loved ones, it’s considered marriage.”

“How does that make us married?” Alex asked softly. Michael breathed in slow.

“My ship console,” Michael whispered, “You’re the only one I let touch it.”

Alex nodded and closed the space between them, kissing him as sincerely as he could. This was a fucking dream come true. He’d waited so long.

“I love you,” Alex said.

Michael laid him back, making everything about this situation 100% reality.

“I love you too.”

“I… You are the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.”

Alex rolled his eyes as Alydon grinned helplessly at Liz. She was half his size in every way, but he seemed utterly enamored with her.

“And I, you,” he said. Michael snorted, but stayed laid out on the table. Alex sat beside him, holding his hand as Kyle shaved a spot beneath Michael’s collarbone.

“You have to stay completely still until I get this out of you,” Kyle warned.

“No problem, Doc,” he said with a grin. Michael then closed his eyes and Alex felt him slowly relax, almost like he was going somewhere else entirely. When he didn’t respond to Kyle literally cutting him open with a scalpel, Alex couldn’t help but think that maybe he did.

“He’s in his mind,” Alydon said with no further explanation. Alex didn’t really need one. He simply leaned forward and kissed his hand.

Kyle worked very efficiently in removing the tracking chip from both Michael while Liz took blood samples from Alydon. She seemed like a giddy child with a new toy. And, perhaps that’s exactly what it was because he looked completely okay with being that for her.

Michael came back to the world after Kyle stitched him up after Alex said his name a few times. He took Alex’s spot and pulled him onto his lap with telekinetic ease that had Alex’s stomach tightening. Alydon replaced Michael on the table.

“Okay, before I cut you open, do you know how much you bleed, how thick your skin is compared to Michael’s, and how fast you heal?” Kyle asked. Liz was perched beside him with a notebook, eyes wide with excitement for the answers. Alydon simply grinned.

“I should bleed no more than he does, but perhaps use a thinner thread?” Alydon explained. Liz scribbled and Kyle nodded, switching his gloves before searching through his surgical thread. “I’ll heal fine.”

“Okay, I’m trusting you on your own body. Don’t blame me if you die,” Kyle warned. Alydon nodded.

Alex tried not to roll his eyes as Alydon acted all manly for Liz, refusing to flinch as he was cut open. Instead, he leaned his head on Michael’s and traced shapes against his arm. The night before played in his head effortlessly, every touch feeling like the first time and like coming home all at once. It was something he could’ve stayed in forever.

Now that he was home, maybe he could.

After stitching Alydon up, it left them with two tracking chips and limited time to get rid of them without causing suspicion.

“Does your ship have an autopilot function?” Alex asked during their brainstorming. Michael nodded, though both of the aliens in the room looked a little uncomfortable as they realized where he was going with it. “The best way to get rid of them is to put them on the ship and send it out there. By the time they track it and realize you’re not there, we could skew their directions off this planet.”

“Doing that means absolutely no option of returning home,” Alydon said slowly. Alex confirmed him with a nod.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, I understand,” Alex insisted.

“We could come up with some other way to send them out into space,” Kyle suggested. Michael shook his head.

“No, it’d take too long. That’s our only option,” he said firmly, “But I know how to get a spaceship done now. If we ever need to leave, we can make one. That one is probably easily tracked anyway.”

“Okay,” Alydon agreed.

Alex held Michael’s hand as they watched his ship leave with their tracking devices. It was for the best, they all knew it. However, it was impossible to feel the sadness coming from him.

“You okay?” Alex asked Michael. He gulped and nodded.

“I am,” he said, “I’m just really bad at letting go.”

“Yeah, I know how that feels,” Alex agreed. That at least got a smile.

“Okay!” Liz said as they came back inside, standing on a stool beside Alydon, “I have a couple ideas on how I can make him safer under the sun and out in public. Obviously, I’m going to need some time to make sure it’s all safe and stuff, but I have an idea that I think is gonna work.”

“She’s so smart,” Alydon added.

“What’s the idea?” Michael asked instead of listening to him.

“Chlorophyll injections,” she said excitedly. They all waited for her to elaborate. “Sort of like how some people need insulin, he’ll need chlorophyll to withstand the sun. It’ll help absorb the sunlight. I don’t know how that extra energy will affect him though, so we’ll need to do tests. We don’t need a giant alien on speed.”

“Chlorophyll?” Alex repeated, “Won’t that make him green?”

“A green alien,” Kyle mused.

“Well, I don’t know yet. Maybe so, but maybe it’ll just be a tint,” Liz said, shrugging off the accusations, “As for how to hide the fact he’s see-through… I think we’ll just have to use makeup.”

“Makeup?” Alydon echoed.

“Yeah,” she said, “Like, only on the parts of you that’ll be showing while in public. Your face, neck, hands, stuff like that just to give you a base color.”

“To hide the green,” Kyle added.

“Stop,” Liz said, “It’ll work.”

“We’ll see,” Alex said, “We have to see if he can even go outside at all before we worry about that.”

“Right,” Liz agreed, “I have blood and DNA samples, so give me a few days and I’ll see what I can do. It was nice meeting you Alydon.” They shook hands and Liz politely acted like she didn’t notice his heart eyes.

“Liz,” Michael said before she could leave, “Could you get Max to come over? And Isobel?”

Liz smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”

Things calmed down between the time Liz and Kyle left and before Isobel and Max could get there. Alex began connecting to satellites to make sure he’d be alerted if anything was coming for them. He was sure they wouldn’t, but you could never be too safe.

“So,” Michael said, his head falling onto Alex’s shoulder as he tapped away on his laptop, “You think Sander’s will give me my job back?”

“Probably,” Alex agreed, “And, I know you don’t really need it right now, but your airstream is out back.” Michael’s head perked up.

“Yeah? You saved it?”

“Of course I did. It’s a little messy and filled with your bunker stuff that wasn’t super-secret, but it’s still all yours. I wanted to make sure it’d be there if you came back,” Alex told him. Michael smiled.

“If?”

“You never told me what your plans were,” Alex shrugged. Michael sighed and kissed his cheek.

“Well, now I’ll tell you all my plans because they’ll all be involving you,” Michael insisted. Alex grinned.

He liked this. He liked having Michael. He liked the idea of Michael having a friend that was truly his. He liked his house feeling welcome. He liked that their threat level wasn’t fucking horrific, or at least not horrific in the moment.

This he could get used to.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #alydon fic #my fic

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f4liveblogarchives · 3 years

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Fantastic Four Vol 1 #224

Thu Apr 29 2020 [09:11 PM] Bocaj: The luckiest number of all [09:11 PM] Wack'd: knew i shoulda gotten 'spacegods' trademarked

[09:11 PM] maxwellelvis: That's an awesome title [09:11 PM] Wack'd: It's not the actual title it's just the cover copy [09:11 PM] Aleph Null: golden age vibes [09:12 PM] Umbramatic: wack'd, eddy voice: "i hate space gods" [09:12 PM] Wack'd: The actual title is "The Darkfield Illumination", which sounds like a Quatermass knockoff [09:12 PM] Bocaj: Or a really cool band [09:12 PM] maxwellelvis: Or one of those unseen Time War things Russel T. Davies loved putting in his scripts. [09:14 PM] Wack'd:

Doug: Hey, Bill, you can draw, like, animals, right? Lions and monkeys and stuff? Bill: *breaks into a cold sweat* Uh yeah sure

[09:15 PM] maxwellelvis: Why do I get the feeling he modeled for the lion, too? [09:15 PM] Bocaj: Not enough ass [09:16 PM] Wack'd: Oh fuck, is this terrigen? I guess maybe those are...inlions? Inmonkeys?

[09:19 PM] Wack'd: I guess at this point Moon Knight is still appropriate for kids? Also I feel like whoever's poster is riddled with darts is someone I should know...

[09:20 PM] maxwellelvis: It might be a self-portrait? [09:23 PM] Wack'd: Can't find any photos of him looking like that, but I did find a lot of his modern art, and I got to say if you get a chance look him up. Dude's come a long way from "competent comic penciler by 70s standards". Not gonna get off-track by posting a bunch of it but I do have to share his Into the Spider-Verse poster [09:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Bocaj could attest to that. [09:24 PM] Bocaj: Nice [09:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Dude penciled "Demon Bear!" [09:24 PM] Bocaj: Yes [09:24 PM] maxwellelvis: Also, noice [09:25 PM] Wack'd: This doesn't really seem like the most efficient way to collect gas, but what do I know, Reed's the scientist

[09:27 PM] Wack'd: Anyway, the Four's powers all start malfunctioning, which given their current activities nearly kills Johnny. Ben is thrilled to find he's developing some fleshy patches where his rocks should be. [09:29 PM] Wack'd: "Elsewhere", some viking-looking dudes are upset their god is dying, and think it's "some treachery from the outside world." [09:30 PM] Aleph Null: they got corona [09:31 PM] Wack'd: The Four take a trip to the North Pole, because the Fortress of Animalitude has been linked to the gas, somehow. [09:32 PM] maxwellelvis: I think we can safely say that Doug Moench has come a long way as well, from this kind of plotting. [09:32 PM] Wack'd: Johnny decides to explore on his own and then naturally his flame dies. And then he's captured by vikings. [09:32 PM] Aleph Null: ...is johnny storm a himbo [09:32 PM] Wack'd: Mad Max vikings, I guess.

[09:33 PM] Umbramatic: this is not jhonny's day [09:33 PM] Bocaj: Mad Maxings [09:33 PM] Wack'd: How do they know that's Johnny? He didn't even bother to make it 4-shaped!

[09:34 PM] Bocaj: Looks like the on off symbol [09:34 PM] Aleph Null: 🎵 “johnny johnny” “yes papa” “getting kidnapped” “no papa” “sending flares” “yes papa”🎵/deadmemes [09:35 PM] Wack'd: Some real Mark Trail pull focus in this first panel--obviously those flowers are much more important than the characters. Also: important viking political drama.

[09:36 PM] Wack'd: Also typing it out I just realized Mark Trail's name is a pun and now I'm angry. [09:36 PM] Umbramatic: ...fuck [09:37 PM] maxwellelvis: Hrolf reminds me of a lot of guest characters on Doctor Who; they tend to either get killed by their evil boss, or take his job after he dies. [09:38 PM] Wack'd: That argument is basically entirely there to set up Wiglif and Hrolf's beef because before any patrolling can get done the Four arrive to rescue Johnny. Fight fight fight [09:39 PM] Wack'd: It's probably been too long between issues for me to say that's for sure, but I feel fairly certain that this is the first time we've seen Sue Looney Tunes someone and I don't know why it doesn't happen more often.

[09:40 PM] Wack'd: Eugh

[09:42 PM] Wack'd: So Reed realizes fighting with their powers like this could get them killed and decides to surrender. [09:43 PM] Aleph Null: @Wack'd boy that’s an unpleasant looking halfway stage! [09:43 PM] maxwellelvis: Yup [09:43 PM] Wack'd: I guess this is, like, a Savage Land for vikings?

[09:44 PM] maxwellelvis: This is the sort of set-up I'd love to see the Doctor in. [09:45 PM] maxwellelvis: They'd just be all over the place looking at everything, probably seemingly just fooling around but spreading the seeds for the climax, y'know, Doctor stuff [09:46 PM] Wack'd: So! The Four meet Korgon, the Blind God of Fire! He shoots eye beams that create the energy that allows this place to run. But he's getting old so his eye beams malfunctions and the energy they produce leaked across the globe. So. Hence the mist. [09:46 PM] maxwellelvis: That's not good. [09:47 PM] Wack'd: I feel like whatever Korgon says next is gonna give Reed an actual hear attack

[09:47 PM] Bocaj: I love how all over the place comics can be [09:47 PM] Bocaj: Wait is that Old Man Cyclops [09:48 PM] Umbramatic: "how's this, Squidward? I made it with my tears." [09:48 PM] maxwellelvis: Can't be, his eye beams produce heat. [09:48 PM] Bocaj: Some of the times [09:48 PM] maxwellelvis: Cyclops' only shoot out pure kinetic force. [09:48 PM] maxwellelvis: Havok brings the heat. [09:48 PM] Wack'd: Punches from the punch dimension, yes. [09:48 PM] Bocaj: Sometimes cyclops’ are heat based. He used to be solar powered [09:49 PM] maxwellelvis: He's still solar-powered I thought. It just turns into kinetic energy rather than heat for some reason. [09:49 PM] Wack'd: So! Once upon a time, Korgon was a lowly villager in a viking kingdom who fell in love with a princess. They ran away from home together to elope. [09:50 PM] Wack'd: Then an explosion happened. [09:50 PM] Bocaj: As ya do [09:50 PM] Wack'd: "But why?" "It sounds cool."

[09:51 PM] Bocaj: It does [09:52 PM] Wack'd: Reed compares it to the Tunguska Explosion for some reason. I guess between that, greenhouse gases, heart attacks...Moench is just very invested in grounding this in some kind of reality. [09:52 PM] Wack'd: I wish I knew if he was doing a good job. [09:52 PM] Aleph Null: there’s a hidden viking kingdom [09:53 PM] Bocaj: Is this lost vikings [09:53 PM] maxwellelvis: Did this event leave behind a crater, @Wack'd ? [09:53 PM] Wack'd: We are not told [09:53 PM] maxwellelvis: If it did, then it ain't like Tunguska, Reed. [09:53 PM] Wack'd: I'm guessing he didn't crawl towards the explosion to check! [09:53 PM] Bocaj: Coward [09:54 PM] maxwellelvis: That's the weirdest thing about the Tunguska event; no crater, so whatever it was, it wasn't a meteor impact. [09:55 PM] Wack'd: Anyway, Korgon tries to carry his love back home, but she doesn't survive. He's spared blame for her death because he's blind and they feel sorry for him, but then his eyes start glowing and he gets banished. [09:55 PM] maxwellelvis: So it either burst in the air or it wasn't a meteor. [09:56 PM] Wack'd: He's told he'd been "struck down by the gods as punishment for his forbidden love". [09:57 PM] Bocaj: Those who the gods wish to destroy they first give glowing eyes [09:58 PM] Wack'd: He walks the Earth, find folks who've never heard of his kingdom, and they follow him as a god. Then he uses his laser eyes to make an ice fortress. [09:58 PM] Wack'd: The zoo animals and motorbikes and bed surrounded by TVs came later, I guess? None of that is explained [09:59 PM] Wack'd: I guess sometimes the Vikings leave their ice fortress to go shopping and get exotic pets and just nobody questions it [09:59 PM] Wack'd: In fairness, this Earth has far weirder things than North Pole Vikings [10:00 PM] Bocaj: Yeah [10:01 PM] Umbramatic: way weirder [10:01 PM] Wack'd: God I hope someday these comics get better at talking about disability

[10:02 PM] Bocaj: 😬 [10:02 PM] Wack'd: Anyway, we cliffhanger on Korgon telling our heroes that they have to Fix him or be put to death, which I'm sure we all saw coming [10:02 PM] Bocaj: Nobody ever says please [10:03 PM] Wack'd: Wonder what his plan was if the Four never decided to investigate. Just die, I guess [10:03 PM] Bocaj: Do they have memes in lost Vikings savage land? [10:03 PM] Wack'd: I can't tell if they're supposed to be futuristic or just up-to-date for 1980 [10:04 PM] maxwellelvis: The bikes look futuristic [10:04 PM] Wack'd: Oh, also the end of issue text promises we are getting a very special guest star [10:04 PM] Wack'd: Three guesses and the first two don't count [10:05 PM] Bocaj: Tigra [10:05 PM] maxwellelvis: Gabriel [10:05 PM] Wack'd: ...Thor [10:05 PM] Wack'd: It's vikings guys c'mon [10:05 PM] Bocaj: I would not have guessed

#1980 #Doug Moench #Bill Sienkiewicz #The Main Book

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

Distress

"I trusted you."

"I said I’m sorry Pipes, what more do you want?"

"I was gone for a weekend, Pen. I loved them more than anything in the world," Piper clamoured as they walked in to the conference room. "And now they’re dead because of you." Hotch and Gideon watched the heated discourse between Piper and Penelope.

"I didn’t mean to kill them."

"So, it’s my fault you poured the wrong amount of water on Felix? I left very specific instructions."

"It was a mistake and I said sorry. I even bought you a new one."

"What? You’re just gonna replace Felix? What about Jemima? No, Penelope, you didn’t even tell me. There I was, enjoying my weekend in New York with my sister, not knowing that Felix was dead and Jemima was broken. You know what, I hope all your future cat children die so you know how it feels." Emily just stared at them. "Don’t look at me like that. She killed my children and then replaced them. You watched me water two fake plants for 3 1/2 weeks!" Morgan sniggered. Even Hotch was smiling. "You know what, Penelope, payback’s a bitch," she huffed.

"Houston’s Fifth Ward accounts for a large percent of the city's growing homicide rate, due to gang violence and a bustling narcotics trade. Although in the last 48 hours, there have been 3 distinctive murders in the ward. "

"Distinctive?" Morgan raised his eyebrow, handling his cup of coffee, perched on the table.

"3 men, 3 different socioeconomic groups, All killed on the street with their necks snapped," JJ answered, pointing to the 3 bodies on the screen. The small group of gathered agents looked back as they heard the footsteps of the tall, lanky agent lumbering towards them, sipping from his mug, holding pertinent case files close to his hip. "There appears to be no other injury," JJ continued as Emily glanced at the young doctor who plopped down next to her. Piper couldn’t help noticing the dark circles under his eyes. "And there's no apparent connection between the victims or motive. The ward's detectives are inundated with homicides. Gang violence is a big problem. Shootings, armed robberies, it's an everyday occurrence, But this type of street attack Is new to them," she finished, conscious of Reid not making eye contact.

"Could it be gang related," Emily suggested. "Maybe some new type of initiation rite?"

"The gangs in the ward use guns. In fact, no known gangs exhibit this type of M. O."

"What about dope? These guys come up with pretty freaky ways of killing the competition to get their message out," Derek pointed out.

"Except there just doesn't seem to be any connection between the victims and the drug world. A homeless man, a construction worker and a security guard," Piper contradicted.

"Just 3 dead men and no witnesses."

"We’re looking for a homicidal serial criminal in a neighbourhood populated by criminals. The challenge will be separating him from the rest," Hotch deliberated.

"So, we have no evidence, no apparent interaction between the unsub and the victims pre or post-mortem and an indistinguishable M. O.," Spencer scoffed, speaking for the first time. "Should be simple."

^-^

"Our life is made by the death of others." Leonardo Da Vinci

^-^

On the jet, the group mulled the case over. Though Piper wanted to focus on the case, she couldn’t help noticing the tension in Spencer. He was sitting in the corner as opposed to his usual seat in the centre of the jet, pen and pad in hand. Scolding herself for overthinking things, she moved her attention to Morgan. "What’s bugging you?"

"We got a construction worker, an outsider in the community. We got a security guard. That's an authority figure. And then we got a homeless man," he said, gazing at the pictures in his hand. "That’s a powerless victim that no one would notice missing. So who's he targeting?"

"Let's see if any of the victims frequented the same stores or sites."

Spencer rubbed his pen in his hand. "He used blitz attacks," Spencer ruminated. "which means he most likely lacks the interpersonal skills he needed to coerce his victims into coming close. He also used the element of surprise, which means he may have stalked his victims prior to killing them."

"Well, if that's the case, I want to go to the last crime scene To see where he may have been hiding."

"I want to see the neighbourhood for myself," Gideon added. "I’ll go with you."

"Good, the rest of us will go to the precinct and set up shop. Bishop, I want to know everything about our victims."

"There may not be a lot about our homeless victim," she speculated. Though she didn’t like it, many states didn’t like homelessness statistics and preferred to stay blind to them. "I’ll need records from homeless shelters and everything Social Security may have on him."

"Get Garcia to help you with it."

"I'll map out the area and see if I can find any places the victims would have visited in the neighbourhood," Reid offered

"Good, maybe we can find a connection between them. I'll help you with that," Emily added.

"I can handle it," he retorted. Morgan and Bishop looked at him strangely.

"I wasn't suggesting that you couldn’t," Prentiss tried to correct herself.

"Isn’t that what 'I’ll help you with it' means?"

"Reid," Hotch intervened. "Prentiss will help you with the geographical profiling."

"Fine."

"Remember, this is a high crime area. Be vigilant. Nobody goes anywhere alone." Piper sat up straighter at Hotch’s words and glanced back at Spencer who was looking down at his file, failing to subtly itch his face. Shaking herself, she looked back down at the three victims she was supposed to know. She kept profiling the wrong person and she had to focus on the case.

^-^

Reid scanned his blueprint of the city, his back to Prentiss’s eyes watching him and Bishop glancing at files and scribbling under the three pictured victims. Emily turned as JJ walked in holding a plate of, "Homemade cookies?"

"One of the detectives' wives made us cookies," JJ answered, chewing on her own. Piper gasped, abandoning her profile for the sweet baked goodie.

"I worked in Texas for a year. No-one ever made me a cookie." Piper grumbled. "I just got offered play doh food and mud pies from my neighbour’s kids when I’d babysit."

"Yeah, I guess that's what they mean by southern hospitality."

"What are you saying?"

"Southern hospitality," Emily repeated, smiling.

"I need to concentrate... How can anybody hear with all this work going on?" Reid scrambled to close the window.

"Well, you're gonna have to get used to it," JJ said. Reid’s new attitude wasn’t lost on anyone. "Construction crews are working around the clock."

"Yeah, we saw it on the way in." Emily added. Piper’s eyebrows furrowed at Reid as he scratched under his chin.

"City's trying to return to its splendour, and that means that Houston's poorest are being kicked out of their homes," JJ explained, waving her cookie as she talked. Piper mulled it over as Gideon and Morgan walked in.

"Unsub might be homeless. Appears to have been living in a building next to where the security guard was attacked." Piper wrinkled her forehead.

"These are the locations of the last 3 murders,” Spencer pointed out to Gideon, “all near abandoned buildings."

"He knows the neighbourhood, he may have been recently displaced," Hotch said, gazing at the map.

"Could be a motive. Construction worker, security guard at a construction site," Emily suggested. "Payback?"

"What about the homeless man?"

"We get a lot of beefs down there among the homeless. That one could have just been a fight about space or food," the detective offered.

"Let's get a list of residents who've been kicked out of their homes by the gentrification," Gideon said. "You and Reid check out the shelters," he told Prentiss.

"We’re on it. Unless…" She got up. "You okay with that Reid?"

"I'm fine with that."

"We should check to see if there are any mental hospitals in the area, maybe someone who was recently released into the streets," said Hotch.

"JJ and I can do that, maybe narrow down the number of released residents," Piper offered. JJ wiped her hands and grabbed a pencil.

"Morgan, can you cover the police records for the last week? If it's someone who's been recently made homeless, He might have stolen food, comfort items, blankets, toiletries. We might be able to track a pattern of theft."

^-^

"I have no idea what’s gotten into Spencer. He’s never been like this with Emily." JJ was pacing next to Piper who was checking backgrounds.

"I mean, he was abducted by an unsub who had a split psyche and then watched him die. That changes a person." She grabbed another cookie.

"That much?"

"Mhmm. I mean, I can’t even imagine still doing this job after that. I’m surprised he didn’t just leave after what happened."

"You expected him to quit?" Piper put her pen down.

"When Gideon told Garcia to shut down the audience Hankel was getting, I yelled at him. I was about to quit, and I wasn’t even the one he took." She snorted at JJ’s expression. "The point is, the job asks us to do things beyond just catching the unsubs. It asks us to ignore our morals for the sake of saving someone else. Spencer knew that. All I know is that the guy, despite appearances, is strong. He just needs time to adjust and Emily’s the one taking the heat," Piper smiled sadly.

"Hey, Hotch," JJ called as he walked in. "We’ve been looking at the medical records and there’s a possibility he wasn’t admitted at all. More than half of these people were admitted by a parent or sibling and at least 70% against their will."

"You know what bugs me?" Piper tapped her marker on her chin. "Snapping a person’s neck is theoretically the most efficient way to kill someone, but you’d have to incredible strong to do it."

"What do you mean?" Hotch looked over at her.

"To break a person's neck fatally in theory would involve swift flexion and extension with rotation, whilst neck muscles are relaxed and with ridiculous force." She got up and stood behind him. She gently placed her hands underneath her ear, her rings cold against his skin. "If you twist someone’s neck," as she proceeded to demonstrate, "their body moves with the head." She let go. "The other, unlikelier option is he faced them." Piper moved in front of him. "The unsub could have placed the bottom of his palm under his chin, like so," she demonstrated, "and shoved upwards. We’re looking for someone strong, possibly with some form of physical training. He’s efficient," she said. "even if the patients all relapsed during their release and were homeless at the same time, none of them have the clinical efficiency of the killer."

^-^

"Just got back from the local homeless shelter. The administrator hasn't noticed anyone new displaying aggressive behaviour," Reid informed Hotch.

"I just talked to Gideon and Morgan. They think that he's killing to protect some makeshift shelter of his own."

"So are we ready for a profile yet?" Emily looked to her boss.

"We’re missing something," Hotch ruminated. "How did this homeless man learn to kill so efficiently?"

"You know what we need?"

"We need to get lucky. We need him to make a mistake," Hotch murmured to them.

"So what, we just let him keep killing until he does something out of character?" Reid questioned before walking off outside.

"Hey, Hotch," Piper popped her head out the door. "Should we check places that provide military skills?"

"Emily can do that, I need you to do something for me. Personal favour," he explained. As Emily left to the break room, Piper walked up to Hotch. "I need you to check on Reid. Something’s up and I think he’ll talk to you." He started to follow Emily.

"Boss," she stopped him. "I can’t promise to tell you if he does say something." The young woman left to comfort her friend.

^-^

She found Spencer sitting on a bench outside and plopped down next to him. She waited quietly for a few minutes before starting. "Did you know different drugs and substances will have different withdrawal symptoms and timelines, depending on how they interact with the brain and body? Drugs are absorbed and remain active in the body for differing amounts of time. It’s referred to as the drug’s 'half-life.’ It, uh, relates to the different withdrawal timelines for each substance."

"I’m fine."

"Let me finish. With prescription opiates, withdrawal starts in 8-12 hours, peak in 12-48 hours, and lasts 5-10 days. You think I haven’t dealt with addicts before?" She made eye contact with her colleague, in pain at being unable to help. "The irritability, lateness, the itching, the odds that you haven’t slept since I got you back." Spencer sighed. "I’m sorry. I don’t want to yell at you Spence, but I want you to talk to me." He looked at her.

"I didn’t want to be-"

"Babied? It’s better than having a friend think you hate her."

"Hotch wouldn’t have let me back on if he knew."

"Tell me something." Piper touched his shoulder gently. "How long have you been clean?"

"Since the incident," he murmured.

"I want to help Spence, but only if you let me. And it’s fine if you don’t want it. Plus, if you think Hotch is never gonna find out, you’re not as brilliant as I thought you were. Just promise me you will get some help." She kissed him on the cheek and held her hand out.

"What are we doing?"

"We’re walking to the coffee shop there and getting a round for everyone. You’re going to give Emily one and say you’re sorry, that you haven’t slept well. And then, when the case is over, you’re coming over to my place and we are going to watch reruns of Doctor Who. Sound good?" He smiled weakly and took it.

^-^

"Please help my daddy!" JJ heard the young girl scream and flitted over to see the father with blood streaming from his nose.

"Can I get some help here, please?" JJ yelled over to the officers.

"Please... Call my house to come get my daughter. Please."

^-^

Emily and Hotch sat next to the little girl, Bishop leaning against the wall in the corner listening intently.

"Maria, esta bien," Emily consoled her.

"Is my papa gonna be ok?" She looked at Hotch hopefully as she asked in a small voice.

"Yes," answered Hotch, hands folded, elbows resting on his knees.

"Maria, could you answer a few questions for us?" The little girl looked up at Emily. "It would really help us find the bad guy." She nodded ever so slightly.

"Did he say anything to your papa?"

"No," she answered faintly.

"What were you and your papa doing before the bad guy came?"

"Papa took out the garbage. And then he jumped out... And he hit my papa. I was screaming at him. I thought he was gonna hit me, too. But then he stopped... And he looked at me funny." Piper moved, interested.

"Did he look sad, Maria?" She nodded at Piper.

"He did say something. Not to my papa, to me," Maria remembered. "He said, ’Are you ok? Why are you crying?' And then we ran." Piper looked at Hotch. She nodded to him and rushed to the others.

^-^

"We’re looking for a tall, white, married man, probably with or working around children in which case he has a home but won’t go," Piper mused.

"Why?" Spencer looked at her.

"Could be amnesia, linked to head trauma."

"Hospital records?"

"For this level of amnesia?"

"Stroke, brain inflammation, respiratory distress, Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome, tumours, degenerative brain diseases and seizures."

"Too many and some of them are too common, what about dissociative psychogenic amnesia?" Piper noted. "It’d affect him sporadically, but if he’s constantly around a trigger reminding him of an event that caused emotional shock or trauma, he could react-" She stopped as Spencer smushed her lips with her finger.

"Listen." She pulled it away. They listened to the banging and crashing of rubble and bricks "The construction work," he discerned.

"What does that sound like to you if you had amnesia?" Before Spencer could answer, JJ entered.

"Garcia’s on the line for us," she announced.

"Thank god, I was about to kill myself after listening to their IQs," Emily sighed in relief. Piper scowled and narrowed her eyes.

"All right, cowgirls and boys. I've got the comparison satellite images of the before and after pictures, and I found something. Check it."

They leaned over Piper and Hotch’s shoulder to observe the screen.

"Do you see it yet?"

"Yeah, the SOS," Hotch pointed.

"Oh, I’m so thick," Piper walked away, slamming her palm against her head. "How did I not see it?"

"Huh?"

"The SOS, the chaos outside, the amnesia, his efficiency, we need to be looking for a war veteran."

^-^

"He thinks he’s in a war zone."

"The constant drilling sounds like gunfire. It’s an auditory trigger," Piper piped up from behind Hotch.

"The quick strikes are consistent with trained military," Morgan connected from the phone. "He believes he’s eliminating enemy soldiers."

"He must have served in a place that looked or sounded like this ward. He may not even be aware he’s killing innocents."

"Now, how’s that?" The detective asked.

"When soldiers suffered from anxiety, depression, and flashbacks in World War I, it was called shell shock," explained the ex-history teacher. "In World War II, it was referred to as battle fatigue. Now we refer to it as PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, a side effect of which is slipping into dissociative states."

"The mind divorces itself from reality so it can cope with the trauma," Reid continued.

"He’s reliving a memory. He's trapped in his head in some war zone, hiding and defending himself from the enemy," Gideon considered.

"We should check missing persons reports, JJ," Hotch announced. "It would have been filed recently, the last 2 or 3 days."

^-^

"Why do you keep doing that?" Emily looked at Piper refilling her cup of tea.

"Doing what?" She leant down to grab the container of sugar.

"Back in there, when you figured out he was a war vet. You called yourself thick."

Piper twirled the spoon in her TARDIS mug. "Umm, I get, like, this inner voice. It just keeps um…second guessing me. Don’t you feel it?"

"What, a voice? No," the young woman replied.

"That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the… uh, doubts." She glanced at the room. "It wasn’t as loud before this job."

"What’s it say?" Piper made eye contact.

"That I’m never going to be fast enough." She forced a smile and walked away.

"Piper, Dana Woodridge and Max Weston are here," the detective notified.

^-^

The group stood before the two witnesses, the unsub’s wife and best friend. Piper looked at Hotch, unsure of how they were going to break this to them. Unprompted, Dana Woodridge told them how this kind of thing didn’t happen to them. It happened to others, on the news, while they would eat dinner and sit in shock for half a heartbeat before continuing on with their lives. She swiped at her eyes before continuing about her husband being on his way from home, calling her to say, "We need to talk." The poor wife didn’t know what to do when her husband didn’t come back home that night. Max laid a hand on the shoulder of his best friend’s wife for comfort and continued for her. They talked about how they filed the missing report the next day, how they were both in combat as army rangers, talked about Mogadishu. He looked away as Dana confided in them about her husband’s behavioural tics. "He has a hard time with loud noises," Dana explained. "He can't be in crowds. He has nightmares and wakes up in cold sweats. The smells are the worst. If he smells something burning, Like a barbecue or gas or fire... He gets sick. It really only got bad about a year ago." Max walked out after Gideon’s intense stare regarding the events in Somalia.

^-^

"Roy and I... We were escorting a UN Aid caravan to a refugee camp. Our convoy was ambushed. The front received heavy fire, but we were in the rear, So we managed to escape. We hid for 2 days in and out of abandoned buildings that. Insurgents were looking for us. One night I was sleeping, Roy kept watch. When I woke up, there was an AK 47 pointed right at me. A child. He, he didn’t know. Couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12."

"Then what happened?" Gideon asked him.

"We finally found a radio. Fixed it, called for an extraction."

"Did you put out an S. O. S.?"

"Yeah, we used rocks to put an SOS in the dirt so the Blackhawks could locate us. Look, If this is Roy, you're not gonna find him. He's trained and skilled at survival. He knows how to hide."

"We think he has a gun."

"Well, he doesn't miss."

^-^

"Spence, what are you working on?" Piper asked the doctor poring over his prized map.

"3 days ago, police shut down the freeway at 5 pm for 10 minutes. Cars were stalled and Roy must have tried to exit on the surface streets. Sadly, he ended up in an unfamiliar area with a flat tire. He was changing that tire when an 8 story building on market imploded 5 blocks away. He heard the explosion and reacted like a mortar bomb had landed nearby."

"This explosion must have triggered his dissociation," she nodded.

"And since then, he's been stuck in that state. Running when he needed to, sleeping when he could, camouflaging himself into his surroundings, and hiding from his perceived enemies."

"He’s relieving the worst moment of his life. He's gotta be terrified," she shivered a little as she spoke. Sipping on her cup of tea, she watched Spencer answer his phone.

"Yeah, what do you have?"

"Why isn't Derek answering his phone?"

"He’s probably stuck underground somewhere."

"Underground?"

"I’ll explain later."

"Oh, okay, so, I finally got through all those recent police reports he asked me to check, which, by the way, it was no hopscotch through the park, because that precinct you are at is kind of tragically behind on their paperwork."

"Yeah, they're undermanned."

"Oh, Jeez, really? I can't imagine what that feels like. Oh, no, wait. Yes, I can, 'cause…" Piper sensed her going off topic and swiped the phone from Spencer’s ear, putting Garcia on speaker.

"The point, flower assassin?"

"Okay, okay, I’m sorry. He told me to look for anything unusual, And it's all usual. Minor break-ins, apartment burglaries, Televisions, stereos, car thefts, and smash and grabs. Common stuff in the world of burgling."

"Nothing a guy lost in the streets might use for survival?"

"No, nothing reported. Like I said, it's all petty. There’s…um…some vandalism at construction sites. Communications radio missing from one of them."

"Wait… Did you say radio?" Reid did that thing where his neurons fired and he came up with something brilliant.

"Yeah. Construction Foreman reported that one of their Trucks had been broken into and a hand Held radio was stolen. Yesterday, 12 hours ago, is that what you're looking for? Reid?" He’d already turned the phone off and ran to find Hotch.

^-^

Roy Woodridge is 6 foot 1, 195 pounds and 44 years old. He has brown hair and was a former army ranger. It was imperative they didn't try to apprehend him alone. He wouldn't understand what was happening. He may try to defend himself. Piper heard Gideon’s voice as she sat cross legged on her perch next to the coffee machine. He's armed, and he's an excellent marksman. He had a nest of sorts right near every murder scene. Piper tapped her paper cup absently. There was a burglary of a two-way radio from a construction site recently, which could have been Roy since they’d only used UHF radios in the army back then. She faintly heard Gideon say that Roy was looking for help, that he'll keep trying to contact operations command. Her head snapped up at Hotch’s next instructions."Detective, can we get a dozen UHF radios set up in this room, and each of them tuned to each of the preset channel frequencies?" With the help of Roy’s best friend, they’d established that they needed to be very careful with the communication. The two friends had set up specific responses to contact OpCom in order to avoid hostile interception and establish 'no danger' signals, with specific names to identify their squad to the operator. She reminded herself of this like a mantra, going step by step through their profile, as they rushed to the SUVs, wearing her navy Kevlar vest. They would find him. He’d be safe. He’d get help. No-one would get hurt. She rubbed the silver ring on her finger as they drove to the construction site. They would save him.

She hopped out of the vehicle with the others, hand resting on the Glock hooked to her waist. There was no need for discussion. Hotch stood just in front of Piper, Gideon in the front and Derek on the side. It was a silent agreement that Gideon and Max would calm him down, Piper would only step in if absolutely necessary. She was fine with that. They were backed up by a SWAT team and three snipers. The disheveled army ranger stepped out from the crumbling building in front of them. He’d stepped out with a pistol in his hand, relief in his eyes. The construction worker a few feet away from them started drilling and the next few events were a blur, the only thing certain being Piper’s drumming heartbeat. Gideon yelled at the workers to stop. Roy’s vision blurred. Piper heard squeaking, and a young boy cycled towards them. The ranger whirled back. He yelled for him to get out. "It’s just a boy Sergeant, it’s just a boy." Roy’s brown eyes glanced back between the armed and the innocent. Before Piper could utter a word, the ranger turned and started running for the boy, Morgan sprinting after him. Piper followed, blood pounding. Before her eyes, the unsub fell to the ground, a bullet ripping through his back, and she ran faster.

"Roy!" she yelled. No, no, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She slowly turned his body to face her. Blood dribbled across his cheek.

"It wasn’t safe." Piper felt tears stinging her eyes.

"I know." The dying man glanced towards his best friend. Piper felt warmth trickle across her palm.

"Is the boy alright?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Piper replied. A tear lingered under her cheek. "Relax." She felt the man go limp in her arms, a strong hand on her shoulder. She faintly heard Hotch calling the guys at the station, but still she didn’t move, her hands still grasping his arms, her watery gaze locked on the sergeant’s glassy eyes.

^-^

Piper was remarkable at compartmentalising. She’d kept her job as a counsellor, despite her mother’s death. She’d kept at her Ph.D’s despite her father’s disbelief. She’d taught young children, despite volunteering at a hospital where a kid died every week. But this was different. She was afraid to blink, never mind close her eyes, lest she saw that broken man’s glassy eyes. Roy Woodbridge, a name she hadn’t even heard of until this week, had locked onto her gaze, the last face he would see. Was it fair? It should have been Max, or Dana. Then he would’ve been at peace to say the least. She gazed at the building as she sat on the green bench, breaking her gaze only to see the dark SUV in front of her. "I expected you 15 minutes ago."

"Mustn’t be that good a profiler then." Hotch took the seat next to her. "Construction’s taking the rest of the day off to honour the victims."

"You know, the first recorded war was 2700 B.C. Mesopotamia. Probably were earlier wars, but... Writing hadn't been invented yet. Almost 5,000 years of killing each other," Piper scoffed, looking at her fingers.

"One thing human beings have been consistently good at," Hotch noted. "We did everything we could for him, you know."

"Sometimes knowing that just isn't good enough."

"I know."

^-^

"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace," Thomas Paine.

^-^

Piper was wearing her Harvard sweatshirt and laid out ice cream on her coffee table. Cushions? Check. Ice cream? Check. Comfy clothes? Check. Hot chocolate? Check. The doorbell rang and Piper ushered Spencer in. “Which doctor?”

“Figured we’d start with 4. Your favourite.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #bau #hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #gideon #jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #bau x oc

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lizzybeth1986 · 5 years

Text

Quick Thoughts on TRH Book 1 Chapter 4

• Hello guys! I’m trying to finish this early because I’m shifting house (not too far from where I’m already living, and closer to kiddo’s nursery! 😁). Fingers crossed I can finish it prior to us shifting.

• Before I begin, I feel I must apologize for neglecting to place a trigger warning for discussing infertility, considering I posted screenshots of Hana’s scene referencing that last chapter and spoke at length about it. The people who have discussed it on my posts have been unfailingly kind and sensitive in their approach to speaking about it, and I failed to display the same sensitivity. I will make sure I don’t repeat that mistake in the future.

Content Warning: The end of this QT will feature a discussion on last week’s Hana scene in the doctor’s office, so TW for discussions on infertility.

• Screenshot Credits:

@pixieferry for Hana + the Abhirio YouTube channel

@thefirstcourtesan + the BizzysChoices YouTube channel for Drake

@boneandfur + Abhirio YouTube channel for Maxwell

• I’m also halfway through a QT for Book 1 Chapter 5. Thought I’d revisit the original series while I was at it. What do you guys think?? If you’re interested do mention if you want to be tagged! You can check out my QTs for the first four chapters from my Masterlist, linked on my bio 😀

• Short chapter, this. I’m pretty sure all the deep digging into history etc will happen idk in Texas. Coz Texas is where Drake’s maternal home is and this entire series - TRR Book 2 onwards - has just been a massive Drake’s-ass-kissing exercise for the writers, let’s be honest. But at least right now, we will get a feel of what the rivals who want to corner us into an alliance look like, sound like, and want.

• Title: Courting Crowns

Does this chapter alone need an alternative title? Does it really?? You might as well rename the entire series no, since just one LI seems to matter. Call it The Grumpy Commoner’s Pub Trail instead (@callmetippytumbles came up with this phrase in an ask on Lily Spencer once).

• I know I sound bitter but how else do you expect me to sound when the writers are THIS blatant about their favouritism. And tbh they’ve been doing that Book 2 onwards.

• So the chapter begins where we left off - the MC meets up with all the LIs in the solarium. They confirm that the people responsible were the paparazzi, and the angle they’re trying to spin is that the Queen of Cordonia/Duchess of Valtoria is an irresponsible woman who is somehow magically pregnant (even in a Hana playthrough!) AND being careless. Thank you Cordonian paps, I’m sure you know my body better than I do.

• Madeleine speaks of doing “damage control” while Bertrand “gallavants away” to Texas as if we were never busy doing damage control for her during the Unity Tour.

• LMAO @ all the responses to “I’ll show them how serious I am about producing an heir”. Especially the Maxwell MC 😅

(Screenshots: @pixieferry for Hana, @boneandfur for Maxwell and BizzysChoices YouTube channel for Drake)

• Liam we know that shy retiring gentleman act is the biggest sham there is. I’ve read your diamond scene.

• Alright so now we prep for the Ball. MC will oversee party arrangements, Drake will check with Mara on security, Hana will help with decor, and Maxwell will make sure there is plenty of bubblyyyy, wiggly letters and all. No idea what Liam is doing. Mysterious King things, I suppose.

• It’s now the night of the Ball and Hana (thank God) is helping us get ready, having already gotten ready herself first. What’s interesting (and not in a good way) is WHAT she’s wearing:

To your left is a screenshot from my playthrough, where Hana is wearing her beloved handmade traditional outfit. To your right is a screenshot from a playthrough @thefirstcourtesan did, in which Hana wears the understated LBD she wore for the MC’s bachelorette in Vegas (whether she was the bride or not). The interesting bit is that I bought the scene where Hana got her outfit back, and @thefirstcourtesan didn’t do it for that particular playthrough.

What’s more, is that I noticed in the previous book…that while the outfit on the left was an option during her wedding, it definitely wasn’t an option for the final ball in Book 3 if you didn’t pay to secretly take it from Lorelei - Hana pretty much chooses her costume gala flower gown in that case.

Are you telling me that if I don’t buy to get her own handmade outfit back, you’ve basically taken it out of her hands???

I’ll get into why this could actually be so messed up later.

• Even if Hana doesn’t have this particular outfit, why does she have to go for something so toned-down?? This is something she last wore (by default) to a bachelorette party! Why couldn’t they choose to put her in her Costume Gala gown instead? That would have worked for such a huge formal ball. At the very least it would have worked better than her LBD.

•

Not gonna lie, this annoyed me a fair bit. One, could it really have been that hard to do some of the work for this, MC? Like I said in my previous QT, the MC still doesn’t seem to take much effort to read up or ask questions about what’s going on, however powerful a figure she is. Two, I am done, done, with how much work Hana has to be doing on the MC’s behalf without getting much credit in return. She’s been doing this since Book 1. In the first two books I could somewhat understand - the MC was new, she had no idea where to begin looking, Bertrand and Maxwell weren’t exactly the most efficient support system to integrating into Cordonian society, everything was unfamiliar. That’s now not the case. She is a powerful, influential figure who has all the resources possible to understand the situation if she really wanted to. But she is still waiting on people to spoonfeed the information to her, and a friend like Hana tends to get very, very little in return.

• When I first saw this scene on my Liam playthrough, I was wondering how the Hana equivalent would look. I mean, she was dealt with a pretty heavy emotional blow the previous day. Would it still weigh on her? Would the MC check in to find out how she was doing?

Nothing of the sort happened. It was the same scene, except perhaps for a reference to Hana being a duchess. So I thought, well, maybe since it’s a heavy conversation, they’ll probably integrate it into the diamond scene, right? After all, I’d just seen a Drake scene that dealt with his reasons for agreeing to Liam’s request. Surely Hana would be given a similar courtesy?

• Okay so Hana’s research yields these results regarding our guests:

- King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella of Auvernal: Bradshaw is the kind who likes to get his way, apparently, and Isabella likes people with a sense of humour.

- Queen Amalas of Monterisso: is mysterious. That is all.

- Other Leaders: from distant countries, basically just coming to the part to have a good time.

• I think this is interesting in terms of the sheer variety of people we’re needing to handle in one party alone. All of them with different personalities, aims and agendas. Unlike Cordonia, which operates on particular codes of conduct that we are now used to, we have to pick up the subtle cues Hana gives us to figure out what works for which royal. We’re definitely being kept on our toes this chapter, and I like when that happens.

•

Ooo blingy. Very nice. Green and gold is an amazing combination, the applique on the gown is beautiful, the illusion neckline is nice, and I like seeing small pearls weaved into such a fancy outfit! Honestly we should have had something similar to this in Fydelia last book, rather than being expected to waltz in that green minidress. The only downer is that Hana’s free outfit COULD have been just as opulent but they opted to dress her down instead. And that’s not the first time they force her to dress down for occasions where she could dress like a star.

• The guys are dressed up for the occasion too. Liam in his official outfit with the medals and sash, Drake in his grey suit, Maxwell in his formal black suit sans tie. Only if you’re with Hana, do you not see your LI in their full regalia at the stairs (since we already took a good look at her at the boutique). Whichever LI you are married to (if male), you will greet at the stairs, entering the hall with them.

• Following your entry, you and your LI split up to meet and talk to your guests separately. There’s not a lot we see of our LIs’ interactions, as this chapter is mostly focussed on the MC’s first impression of these royals.

•

So you have three characters established as the most powerful (Bradshaw and Isabella, and Amalas. I recognize the sprite for Amalas as being similar-ish to Vasquez’s girlfriend in The Senior, but with different hair and styling. I read somewhere that Bradshaw’s sprite is also from another character in another series?), one character that’s there as a nod to another series (Princess Marguerite from The Heist: Monaco, who I like to believe is living her best life and happily romancing Miranda), and the other ‘distant kingdom’ characters for which they used sprites from other books (Erin from HSS, Khaan from PM, and Scarlett from VoS).

• Rather than going chronologically, I’m going to first go from the royals that were added more for extra flavour and a party atmosphere, to the royals the narrative actually focuses on:

- King Eirik: Very easily to please. Just remember the guy’s name. I’m not exactly sure he’s used to that (or Khaan Mousavi is on the run from Eros again and wants to make sure the MC won’t suss out who he really is).

- Lerato and Lesidi: So you can choose to please either sister, because each of them have different opinions on what matters. (I’m guessing Scarlett decided to give her brother in Washington some tough competition. “You’re contesting for a Senate seat? Well sucks to be you because I’m going make myself a goddamn princess!!” At the very least I know she upgraded from Tanner). Lerato can’t stand Constantine (like normal people), and is appreciative of efforts that better the lives of Cordonians. Lesidi is younger (you’re supposed to be in school Erin!!) and really just loves a good party. So as long as you move away from the chest-beating “Cordonia’s strength” response, and opt for either a noble cause or just plain good fun, your royal reputation will be fine.

(Honestly the least PB can do is replace Scarlett’s S necklace with something else if she’s just going to be a convenient sprite. Or give all her doppelgangers S names, idk).

- Marguerite: She is an out-and-out romantic and that’s definitely the vibe they’re going for here. She’s also amazing and sweet with the MC, unconditionally offering friendship and advice. You don’t get reputation points with her since she’s lovely to you anyway, but you do get to ask her what her opinion is on either Bradshaw and Isabella, you and your LI as a couple, or the other royals. The answer to the first question seems the most important, hinting at a future role perhaps. She warns us to be careful around them.

- Bradshaw and Isabella: The approach for these two is interesting. I hated the characters (esp Bradshaw, which I’m sure was what the narrative wants me to be doing) and their acting like I’m PANTING to marry off my unborn child to one of their twins - but the overall scene with them I found interesting. Bradshaw seems to operate on extremes - either you grovel in front of him or you aggressively push back, he likes both approaches. He doesn’t seem to have an appreciation for diplomacy and would you fight with him rather than give him a neutral response. Isabella likes seeing a sense of humour in people, and seems to enjoy it if you tell her that “when no one’s trying to kill me, this place isn’t so bad”. In any case, the only way to keep up with both is to take turns choosing answers that will interest them. I found the guessing quite challenging and fun, not so much the insinuations that I would arrange my child’s marriage before they’re even conceived.

- Amalas: Perhaps the most intriguing, and that’s probably on purpose. They’re clearly highlighting her as the underdog in this court, the mysterious Queen no one knows about (although the Black Widow reference does hint at her at least being suspected of killing her husband? Since the female black widow spider is famous for eating the male after mating). She makes a persuasive case about how Monterisso and Cordonia are “cut from the same cloth”, are both small (how many climates and landscapes does Monterisso have) countries with amazing wealth, that Auvernal wants to push into an unequal alliance with the promise of their military prowess. Amalas’ suggestion is to join hands so they can find strength together and push back against the kind of intimidation Bradshaw is showing them.

• Queen Eleanor was from Auvernal? So Liam is half-Cordonian and half-Auvernese? That must be interesting. I wonder if we will possibly see more about these foreign relations during Constantine’s time and what it must have been like. Also why do I hear practically nothing about Constantine from this exchange? They mention Eleanor, but refer to only her - especially when they’re talking about her hospitality and treating them with respect. There’s nothing much to make out of it yet (though you have at least one other person openly expressing a negative view of him), but it’s an interesting point to note nonetheless.

• QUEEN ESTHER NOW HAS A NEW CORGI!!! Since the first was named Joy, I thought I’d name the lady corgi Hope xD

• I know the narrative is writing Amalas as this mysterious, seductive figure (it’s working on me, okay! 🙈) the underdog and the cool person that everyone wants to know and be friends with - but all said and done, she advocates these bizarre ideas to make kids have betrothals on their cribs too. She’s just a little more persuasive and a little less heavy-handed about it. So I have my doubts still.

• It’s also kind of interesting that there is no specified sex given for Amalas’ child? Is customization possible for both her child and ours?

•

(Screenshots: Abhirio’s YouTube channel for Hana and Maxwell, BizzysChoices YouTube channel for Drake)

Aww @ all the LIs’ reactions to the new corgi!

• So…the MC comes out of these interactions with multiple nobles and royals either exhausted, frustrated or worried, and the LI comforts her in whatever way they can, reassuring her that things will go well. She can either feel majorly annoyed about having to deal with so much royalty, be weirded out by the kind of attention the baby she hasn’t even (possibly) conceived yet is getting, or she’s afraid the alliances won’t happen. Either way, the LI is there to help her, and suggests they sneak out and spend a little time together before dealing with the guests again.

• The basic format for this scene is very, very similar for three LIs: Liam, Hana and Maxwell. The MC agrees to sneak out, the LI takes her to the bedroom (or in Liam’s case, they have an tiny extra scene where Princess Marguerite is passing them while they’re making out in the corridor). They begin a fun, sexy game of their choosing, which the MC enjoys and which eventually leads to them sleeping together. This is followed by a short conversation after which the LI and MC go back to the hall.

This is the breakdown for each LI:

- Liam: After almost being caught red-handed making out in the corridor by Princess Marguerite, Liam and his wife make it to the bedroom. Liam plays Twenty Questions with her, quizzing her on details about the rulers she met. For each answer she gets right, he gives her a kiss (well…he kisses her even otherwise because she is impossible to resist). Once they’ve slept together, the couple then briefly discuss both their honeymoon period and then the decision they will need to make regarding alliances. The last bit is spoken about in an extremely vague manner.

- Maxwell: Immediately after the MC accepts, the two enter their bedroom and begin to do a little roleplay. Maxwell pretends he came into the bar where the MC worked alone, and that she isn’t a waitress (the player gets to choose her role: a spy, a museum curator or a jewel thief). Once they’ve slept together, they chat a little before going back to the guests, and one of the things the MC can opt to mention is that Maxwell “will be a great dad” even if he’s a fun uncle type. Oh, like that conversation Maxwell and his MC never got to have back on their honeymoon? 🤔

- Hana: Immediately after the MC accepts, the two enter their bedroom and do what the MC calls “an ice-cream strip game”. Either one has to taste an ice cream and correctly guess the flavour, and if they don’t get it right, they have to shed an item of their clothing. This includes fun flavours like bubblegum, rum-and-raisin and lemon sorbet. Hana then heats things up by running a little ice cream down the MC’s neck instead of letting her taste. Once they’ve slept together, the couple chat for a bit, after which the MC thanks Hana for everything she’s been doing for her. Hana is sweet and humble and the MC can optionally tell her how incredible she is but somehow the events of the previous day never come up (again, more on this later).

(Screenshots: @pixieferry for Hana and @boneandfur for Maxwell)

• HOWEVER, not only is the format of Drake’s diamond scene different, but so is the location! Drake’s diamond scene begins with the couple wanting a moment alone - the MC even takes a bottle along and there is some light hearted teasing about how he isn’t the only person in the relationship who drinks. This is followed by a four minute long makeout scene somewhere in the foyer (to give you an idea of how much time that took - Liam’s corresponding makeout scene lasts barely a minute), and the MC - to get them real privacy - takes him to that HUGE kinda dilapidated area that we once took Hana to, in Book 3…presumably to ravish each other and then watch the sunset. Which is exactly what they do.

Shortly after this, Drake and the MC enjoy the sight of the sun setting, and then discuss their future and one important aspect of Drake’s past - his changing attitudes towards nobility. The MC at this point gets to ASK him why he agreed to Liam’s proposal. He has this to say:

(Screenshot from @thefirstcourtesan)

I mean…that moment wasn’t exactly OOC only for Drake. Hana and Maxwell pretty much would have had the same questions too, but there hardly are even given the space to ask those questions. Yet somehow the team had the time and the energy to delve into just one character?

Drake gets to expand on what seeing Savannah’s family makes him feel. Drake gets to speak about his loyalty to his friend and his changing attitude to the nobility. He is lauded by the public and the press for doing and saying the bare minimum. And now, he gets an LI scene that allows him to speak at length, while the other LIs are restricted to maybe a few lines.

• I really do feel conflicted about Drake’s big scene about his loyalty to his best friend,and his issues about nobility, happening in an undercroft where Hana was once supposed to have her own big scene about family and selfhood, last book - one that we never got. Because the writers didn’t care enough.

• We now return to the Ball, and after mingling for a while, the MC gets to see what almost everyone else is doing.

King Bradshaw is bemused by Maxwell’s love for dance offs and desire to be a court jester (I know Brad but that’s basically what the writers reduced him to).

Kiara LOVES Queen Amalas’ pantsuit because it is “elegant, yet bold” and a pleased Amalas tells Kiara she should try wearing one (I’d love to see how that looks honestly 😃).

Marguerite is talking to Drake and Hana. Drake isn’t very happy that someone besides him is monopolizing this conversation and Hana is LOVING IT (same, sis, saaaaame).

•

@ Drake: This is literally your life now. You knew you would have to deal with a press meet last chapter and you knew there would be a goddamned ball where you’d have to do networking this chapter. Be prepared from now on and stop complaining, Jesus.

@ Hana: I love it when Hana trolls people, and I feel it she doesn’t get to do it often enough. Remember her impressions of Drake in Fydelia during Unity Tour. They should let her do one for everyone in the group. Please let Hana troll people more. Let her troll all of Cordonia!!

• The night winds down, and we get to see who we have impressed and who we haven’t. As I’ve mentioned earlier, Isabella’s attitude towards you hinges on your sense of humour, Bradshaw on your ability to push back and fight for what you want. Amalas on your uniqueness and that je ne sais quoi feel that seems to set you apart from the others. The other royals on different aspects: either your ambition and desire to serve the people, or the ability to let loose and have a good time! We get to know all of this on their way to the door.

• I’m glad Olivia didn’t show up here. Can you imagine just how mad she’d get if she heard all this nonsense about having marriage alliances done before these children were even born?? She’d suffered in a situation very much like that, and I think she’d be damned to let what happened to her happen to another kid. You’d need to hold her back from using an axe against these people.

• Whatever the outcome is, the MC expresses her worries to the LI, the LI comforts her and then suggests they make a road trip to America since Savannah and Bertrand are getting married there (another trip…seriously??? Please for the love of God just stay in the country/duchy and properly RULE it for once!!).

• Next set of chapters is clearly going to be taken over by the Walker family, and we’ll talk and hear about nothing else for the next couple of weeks.

General Thoughts:

• …why is no one asking where the paparazzi came from? Our paps? Their paps? Which magazine was it. Why are you so intent on making your characters look so stupid PB. They’re so stupid. My head hurts.

• Why are they saying I was in a hot tub I never saw a hot tub in that villa.

• I know some questions should be unanswered for future plot…but…you don’t think a SINGLE person would be wondering who sent them in the first place? Considering the last time photos of us were taken without our consent it was pretty much from someone who had an agenda?

• So…over the weekend I tried to do a fail playthrough of my own for Book 1 (I was dying guys I was dying. So much secondhand embarrassment. How did I survive that 😭). And since I was doing this so soon after I finished this chapter, I kinda ended up making parallels between Queen Regina’s first meeting with the suitors in Chapter 5 there, and how especially the Bradshaw/Isabella/Amalas meetings went here.

I remember distinctively that displaying a “sense of humour” was actively discouraged (Regina even says “fools use laughter to cover up their own ignorance” in the same tea party), and how highly qualities like stoicism and diplomacy are held in esteem. Bradshaw and Isabella are the antithesis to that (Bradshaw also shows slight similarities with Regina in terms of liking a challenge. During the croquet game in Book 1, Regina makes it clear that she “detests those who don’t have the stomach to stand up to me”. Bradshaw, too, seems to have more respect for an MC who stands up to him…but in perhaps a more patronizing way)

Interestingly, if the press has labelled you “Mystery Woman” in Book 1, Regina points out that “no one can remain a mystery long when they’re a public servant and must attend to the people”. Yet it is almost impossible for Hana - whose research skills are clearly on another level - to find any information about Queen Amalas.

• Tbh I kinda love that shift. By branching out and navigating through the landscape not just in but around Cordonia, the MC gets a broader view of what politics is like around this area. She gets to read the other person’s cues and behaviour, compare it with the information she has been given, and make an informed decision on what would work right with them. I hated the overall presumptuousness from the main players, but I definitely enjoyed the dynamics.

• I wonder if we will see Regina again at some point! I'm doing my Book 1 playthrough and she's kinda growing on me this time.

• The diamond scene was good on its own…until I started checking the other routes. And that’s been the case more and more often with TRR. You start out thinking “great, a nice love scene with teasing and seduction and your LI showing you just how good they are in bed, with some tender moments afterwards”. Then you look at other playthroughs and realize (if you’re a Liam stan) that their scenes were shorter and there was less to talk about. THEN you look at a playthrough like Drake’s…and find a completely different backdrop, a completely different format and an issue that his fans were complaining about being addressed. In detail. I’m a Liam stan, there is at least a little more I know I’m going to get (besides my LI being happy and not making stupid decisions in a playthrough where he is single). Hana and Maxwell get practically nothing, the writers aren’t even pretending to scrape the bottom of the barrel to give them content.

• If they’d really bothered to even this out, they could have used the end of these scenes to answer important questions. Liam could maybe tell us exactly what his experience of dealing with these kings and queens have been like, since he has had more experience with them in terms of diplomatic relations. He could speak about how it feels to have these sort of powerful, invasive figures make constant demands on him, and how that would weigh on him. After all these are the kinds of people he might have had to work with ever since Leo abdicated. Or what about Maxwell? In the livestream the writers claimed that he “grew into fatherhood”…How? Where? Why was this journey not worth showing? This diamond scene could have focused on what his turning point into that growth was, especially since Drake got that space to talk about it.

• I got two very, very bitter reminders of that horrid scene they gave Hana in Book 3 Chapter 15, in this chapter itself. One was - as I told you - the fact that if you didn’t buy this scene (that wasn’t even worth TWO diamonds, much less the 15 you could spend on it), her handmade outfit disappears after the wedding. She doesn’t have it as an option for the ball in the finale, she can’t wear it this chapter and is instead made to dress herself in a very muted style (which honestly kind of reminds me of how she was constantly treated like the “wedding planner” or “bridesmaid” rather than the bride, at her own damn wedding).

I assumed, this entire time, that even if you didn’t get the outfit in Book 3…the improved relationship with Lorelei shortly after would mean she’d get her dress back (since the reason she had to take away Hana’s clothes from her didn’t even exist anymore). Why would a Hana who HAS this outfit (at least up until the wedding) be coded as no longer owning it or considering to wear it if you didn’t buy that scene? I see no reason why it would be around and she’d not want to wear it. Her love for that outfit wouldn’t lessen just because she wasn’t running all around Valtoria to retrieve it.

So what should I assume? That Hana and her parents maybe made peace with each other but Lorelei still took her most precious item of clothing anyway? And now Hana doesn’t even get to wear it now for special occasions to represent her other home? She has to opt for an outfit she wore for a bachelorette while her wife/friend is (optionally) dressed to the nines? Just so you can stroke your ego about how this shitty diamond scene from the last book will now be of some use?

I mean…just the fact that getting back together with her parents but not getting stuff that is HERS back…I don’t even know what to say.

• TW: I speak about Hana’s scene with the doctor from last chapter again here.

• The other reminder of what a trainwreck that scene was, was definitely Drake’s diamond scene, which takes place in the same secret spot. If you didn’t buy the scene, then this was a place the MC just discovered, and if you did, she mentions seeing this place with Hana. I recall, while buying this scene, waiting and waiting for Hana to say more about that grandmother who made her dress with her, or about how her views on her parents have changed…or literally anything. But nothing much actually happened rather than a very shallow conversation and a kiss if you were her fiancée. Now in the same spot, I see Drake get a special scene with special dialogues exploring facets of his journey (and by now I’ve completely lost count of the number of times I’ve seen this happen). In the meantime, Hana gets a scene where her MC does the barest minimum - saying ‘thank you’ for all the preparations Hana’s been making the last few days. Which brings me to my next point.

• You can’t expect me to believe that two women who love each other, and who are supposed to have supported each other through difficult situations (this is true for Hana, and for the MC on the few occasions the story allowed her to)…would simply return to normal? After receiving the kind of news Hana got in the previous chapter??? That the woman going through this painful experience wouldn’t struggle with it? That her partner would not bother to check on her? (and at no point does the MC do so in this chapter). One could always argue that perhaps they could leave such a discussion for future chapters…but, as I said in detail the previous QT, the writing team has had a track record of choosing to never address very serious issues related to Hana’s own story, to the point where they were on the verge of encouraging a possible romance with someone who harmed her in her single playthroughs. If they were able to make Drake’s scene so different, why couldn’t they do the same to Hana considering her own, self-confessed, emotional state last chapter in her playthrough? Instead in that particular scene, she thanks her for everything, even referencing the same doctor’s appointment where they got this news - and it sounds patronizing considering the fact that Hana’s pain is (again!!) seen as not important even to speak about. Why couldn’t the MC at least ask after her and see how she’s feeling, and comfort her in this scene?

And if that wasn’t going to happen - why force that situation on Hana at all??

• One thing we need to keep in mind is that even when one DOES NOT want children, being told that you don’t even have that choice, or option, can be painful and in many cases traumatizing as well. I had two incredible reblogs last chapter that spoke about this in detail, from people who experienced similar situations, and I feel that unless a writer is ready to commit to that storyline and route, unless they’re prepared to write it sensitively rather than brush it under the carpet, they should not place that character in that situation. This is extremely offensive given their track record.

• This is why, when they say bullshit like “oh we would have preferred to do separate books for each LI but ended up with no choice but one book” (I’m paraphrasing), I find it so hard to believe the team. No one was forcing them to create the issues for Hana that they did. Those were narrative choices they made…and when you make such choices it’s YOUR responsibility to resolve them properly, otherwise don’t go there! Don’t have Madeleine bully her - or Olivia still mock her after they’ve become friends - if you’re simply going to allow these white (let’s never forget this. The white women in this book get away with all kinds of bullshit) women to get away with it with little-to-no pushback from Hana herself. Don’t force her into an emotionally abusive parent-child relationship if your only resolution for that is they say sorry a couple times and still have the same toxic expectations of her. Don’t rob her of her choice to physically carry a child if in the next chapter you will force her to act like nothing happened. I doubt ANY of these writers would care enough to actually write separate routes/books for anyone other than the LI they’ve always been pandering to.

• Apparently 3 writers in the team claim they would date Hana. Mmhmm. Sure. I can so see that in the way you write her, team TRH, I can so see that.

• I…love some of the characters in this series, and they’re the reason I’m still sticking around and trying to make these write-ups. But I won’t lie that it is exhausting, and frustrating, to keep highlighting these issues and barely be heard - and if the series keeps this up…I might not be able tho sustain the energy to keep writing these. I hope that doesn’t happen…but it is a very real possibility and I think I should let you guys know in case things do go that way.

• Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen - but if it does, I’ll still be working on my Book 1 QTs (my failplay brought up some insights that I found interesting!) and there’s plenty of fanfic ideas that I’d love to get back into. Let’s see how things turn out!

#long post #the royal heir #anti the royal heir #trh quick thoughts #trh qts #infertility tw #bullying tw

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