#rest assured i have been thinking about dr who all the time though :)

[elizabethshaw]

need to get this all out somehow, so - thoughts and general ramblings on the new eight-liv-helen audios! under the cut for spoiler purposes: 

so! general overview - this boxset was. so so good. i really enjoyed last month’s release as well, but this was on another level for me entirely and despite listening to most of it past midnight (i was busy from about 8am until 11.30 at night. tuesdays are just like that every week unfortunately) and so probably not being in the best state of... anything, really, for it, i genuinely enjoyed this set so much and am in all honesty going slightly mad not being able to talk about it to anyone irl. anyway

episode-by-episode thoughts:

here lies drax

- this was a very fun one! now i’ve listened to the full set it does feel a little out of place tonally (this was very much a comedy and the other two. weren’t), but it was definitely enjoyable and had a clever plot

- i did actually do my homework for this one and listened to “the trouble with drax” the other week in preparation! (it was the first time i’d listened to one of four’s audios, actually, which was an interesting experience.) i feel like having that context definitely helped understanding a lot of the references going on, but i do wonder if i’d gone into this cold i would’ve enjoyed it a little more because it did feel at some points like it was retreading “trouble”’s beats a bit. hmm

- i did enjoy it overall though (it was very very funny), and i did like the way it all eventually panned out with all the guest characters being drax except the one character actually credited as drax. definitely appealed to my sense of humour

- there was something so deeply funny to me about the entire funeral scene, but especially the part with eight, whose experience of it up to that point had been all the guests turning up late and one of them straight up shooting the corpse, turning to liv and helen and going “this is exactly how i want my funeral to go”. what is going on in his head <3

- also shoutout to “can you legally shoot a corpse?” i have been wanting to make an out of context clips compilation for this era for ages now and if i ever do get round to doing it that line is definitely going in there

- “i think i want to scream” helen being a mood once again. this is how i have felt for the past 5 weeks at least

the love vampires

- this is currently very closely tied with “albie’s angels” for my favourite episode of both this boxset and this era of standalone stories with the team so far. it’s SO GOOD

- while i do definitely like the more fun, adventure-based episodes, i feel like my real niche with dr who stories is ones that really dig into the characters and this is a great example of the latter category. i was optimistic for this one anyway because, from my limited experience with his big finish work, james kettle seems like a really good writer for character-based stories, but it really exceeded my expectations for it. the character work (especially for helen) was absolutely brilliant!

- CANON QUEER HELEN FINALLY!!!!!!!  🎉 🎉 🎉 🎉

- i listened to the bit where that was confirmed when i was in public and let me tell you it was an absolutely huge effort to not completely lose my shit. i’m fairly sure i was grinning like an idiot the whole way through though

- honestly this whole episode was just fantastic for helen content generally. i am biased because she’s one of my all-time favourite characters, but that 100% drove the whole thing up in my estimation

- hattie morahan’s performance in this (and the next episode) was absolutely brilliant, some of her best in dw imo

- “great. van helsing in space” i don’t particularly have anything to add here i just think this line was fun

- liv’s first love as revealed by this episode is called petko. i looked the name up and apparently it’s bulgarian, and all i’m saying is that this is definitely adding to my “kaldor and slavic languages theory” 😌

- also like. liv’s scene with her respective vampire was so sad??? like i just got this feeling of overwhelming loneliness from it, and... yeah. someone get that woman a hug

- LOTS of thoughts about the scene between eight and liv where he gets her to promise to kill him if things go wrong. it’s actually shorter than i thought it was (went back and relistened for the purposes of making this bullet point), but there is a Lot to unpack there and i think it does highlight some of the stuff that makes their dynamic so interesting. i just don’t see that same scene happening with many other doctor-companion dynamics and, well... many thoughts

- “we’ll go out together. blaze of glory.” undescribable emotions™

- cutting away from the character stuff for a brief moment to discuss a) the atmosphere. the whole vibe of this story was so well-done, including the sound design, it felt really claustrophobic and creepy in the best way, really effective. and b) i thought the becoming were neat. i just think that’s a super cool name for an alien race :)

- “i sometimes think i can be a bit too... buttoned-up... emotionally.” “no... i- i wouldn’t say that.” “why? it’s obviously true.” eight my friend you are not helping here At All <3

albie’s angels

- okay so i’ve somehow got into a mindset where every time a new audio with this tardis team comes out i am absolutely convinced that helen is going to die in it. i thought this was going to be the episode where it happens and let me tell you i am so relieved that i was wrong!!!

- (i still reckon she’s doomed by the narrative though. this is a line of thought that’s really enough for a post of its own so i won’t elaborate here, but yeah. i am still not convinced her ending is going to be a happy one)

- this episode did however utterly wreck me emotionally (affectionate)

- really enjoyed the intro scene! i just like them getting to be silly together, even if it wasn’t for long :’)

- “didn’t we do enough damage to this decade already? put it another way, didn’t it do enough damage to us?” yeah :/

- albie was absolutely lovely :’) he was so sweet and kind and had so much love to give?? he may only be in one episode but i’d die for him

- also interesting to note how genuinely similar he seemed to helen? like they obviously have fairly distinct and different personalities but there were a lot of like, small mannerisms and stuff that they shared and it just really added something to their dynamic. they actually felt like siblings, really makes me wish that dw would do sibling duos like this more often tbh

- “helen chenka” i am trying so hard to be normal about liv/helen and keep my expectations for what’ll happen with them in check and every day i am tested. what the fuck. 

- actually you know what this entire episode had a LOT of liv/helen moments??? like i kinda just assumed the whole thing was dead in the water after stranded but now... i’m having a lot of thoughts. maybe that big finish tweet from august or whenever it was was right

- the snowball fight scene. i will actually be thinking about this forever. 

- the revelation that albie had been a few miles away from helen at most the entire time she was still on earth but neither of them had known and got to see each other totally wrecked me ngl

- and also the fact that his arrest was so close in time to the events of helen’s first episode! before this i’d assumed it had happened when helen was still fairly young, but now thinking about how her grief for him would have been so new and raw during “the red lady”... god this is actually destroying me

- (given that “absent friends” probably takes place a maximum of about two weeks after “the red lady” as well, the implication there that helen basically loses her entire family in the space of a few months is heartbreaking)

- “what else did helen tell you?” “not much. i don’t know if she couldn’t or wouldn’t. but after that conversation...” “yes?” “that was pretty much it, she... shut down.” “that’s our helen.” “she means a lot to me, you know.” “to both of us.” this whole scene was a Lot in general, but the way that both liv and eight genuinely care about helen so much?? the way that they’re recognising and acknowledging the fact that she’s not okay and in a good place mentally and hasn’t been for a long time?? the bond this team have means so much to me istg

- this episode said the real villains are homophobia and capitalism and it was right

- i was not expecting the lesbian weeping angels at all but you know what? good for them. i hope they’re living their best lives now

- roy gill really just went and almost single-handedly gave helen one of her best arcs in the entire show and i respect him so much for that. i hope he comes back as a writer for this tardis team at some point because he just absolutely gets what they’re all about. 

- the tragedy of it all combined with the ray of light in that albie and bailey got to be happy together, and that helen got to see her brother one last time... it was such a bittersweet ending and i feel like it was absolutely perfect for the story and for this arc as a whole 

- song for helen broke me completely. i was sobbing at it in a dark room at 2.30 am and honestly i feel like that says everything. 

so yeah. overall really really loved these three episodes!!! genuinely looking forward to where they’re going to go next with these characters, i feel like there’s some real potential for amazing stuff down the line :)

#bethan talks about dw #bethan listens to big finish #dw spoilers #feels like it's been a long time since i've actually posted any thoughts (or just. any original content oops) on here! #rest assured i have been thinking about dr who all the time though :) #(although admittedly it has been recently sharing brain space with the pleasant green universe audios bc i've been relistening) #anyway hope you're all having a good day!! sorry for rambling so much haha

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPxDC. Talon Dick. Part 2 of Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls

~Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you~

Danny was terrified when he got the body of Talon in his morgue. The Court of Owls was notorious for leaving no trace after work. But Talon, a young man only a few years older than him, did not look like a mindless killing machine at all. Of course, the first time he had a couple of stab wounds from his new acquaintance but after numerous assurances that his help would remain their little secret and that he would not inform his superiors that he had fucked up on the mission, Talon began to trust him a little. as one dead boy to another. In a few months, most of the Talons come to him for first aid, and of course he got attached to the guys. After all, Gotham is not Amity Park and without the other dead ones around Phantom felt a little lonely. It was nice to give these poor people a few quiet minutes. Danny’s assistant has warned him many times not to mess with the Court of Owls, but Danny are Phantom and from the first time he met one of them he was planning to lose his temper and beat the boys' bosses to free them.

Fenton was not prepared to lead the Court of Owls. Even if Danny got his education as a villain he never thought he’d work according to his profession. But leave a whole den? nest? of creatures turned into weapons he could not. Of course, the best choice after defeating the leaders of the Court would be to destroy the entire organization. But Danny couldn’t do that.

Talons were killers, means of intimidation, even if not of their own volition. They will be killed (again) or sent to prison for the rest of their lives. Talons needed safety and a good therapist, not all of this. Danny’s scared, and he doesn’t know how to take care of them, but the others won’t do it. People are afraid of everything different. They won’t care that these dead are just victims, they’ll only see monsters. He could be half-human, but now he has to think like a full ghost. Talons are dead like him. And they have been dehumanized, tortured, used. People can be cruel. To do the right thing, he has to protect them.

It was difficult for Danny to identify likes and dislikes of his new friends because they always had the same facial expression and were taught that they had no feelings. Bullshit. Danny’s parents also think ghosts have no emotions, but they just have wrong theories and do not manipulate them to make ghosts think the same. Well, maybe it’s because they don’t think ghosts can think at all, but still! So, Danny know that number three loves strawberry jam, and number five always steals some of his cereal, and number 11 always gets closer to the music column to enjoy the sound. And he also know that the Talons weren’t fully fed in their organization because they definitely have problems with their digestive system, and he is going to fix it. Vlad said that he had trouble taking human food for only a few months after the portal accident, and some of the Talons were dead for years and still use injecting nutrient solutions. When a Dead Man can’t have a couple of spoons of treats, well, that’s a crime.

He needs to find a way to consult with Frostbite and conduct a full-fledged health diagnostics for his 'minions'. And he needs to settle the paperwork so guys have a legitimate reason to live in the Infinite Realms.

~~~~~ Danny: Hey Jazz, I’m in trouble. When can you come to Gotham? This time I don’t mind hearing a little advice.

~~~~~

Even though Dr Fenton smelled like death and blood all the time, the smell was different. And this difference was enough that something dead inside them swore allegiance to this Owl at their will. Not that they had it, of course. Weapons don’t have free will. But at least pretending to be able to choose is nice.

The new Master was weird, but in a good way. Not that this Talon know more about what is good than any other Talon. Ah, Di- Talon had a headache. Anyway, serving him is right. They all feel it..And feelings matter!! Well, they are not supposed to have them too but… looks like the young owl didn’t mind.

Master was not angry at how Talon № 4 frowned when the master had to pull a bullet out of his shoulder, and he missed Talon's sweet laughter when it saw the battle of Signal and Spice King on TV. The only times he raised his voice to them were when they were trying to threaten people near the master. Looks like this owl wanted to instill fear on his own. Strange. Usually there was always an enemy of the court who had to be hunted down and destroyed.

~~~~~

Danny: See, when you kill people, you do not make it easy for me. First, I will need to examine the bodies and write the report of their death. Second, if their souls remain restless, they will become my problem again. No more trying to get the cashier to have a heart attack. He said they ran out of the product I needed, not that he’s cursing my family for the next millennium. No one wants to see any more angry ghosts in Gotham. Me after a 24-hour shift is enough, okay?

Talons were alarmed. So far the master had shown no signs that he might want to completely break one of the weapons. But what if this owl is planning on punishing them for all their mistakes at once when he’s really angry?

Talon is not supposed to show initiative or empathy. But Talon 12, who suffered an injury in the course of a mission with old owls, has not yet recovered. They inadvertently hid it when the leadership changed. 12 has not yet met Doctor Fenton, and they do not know whether the privileges of medical care are retained now when they belong to him. So far, the Master has been rather careless about their movements and a few of them have slipped away for a while to check on a fellow. They didn’t lie if they weren’t asked about another weapon, right? They shouldn’t be punished too severely when the Owl finds out. Talons were hoping that Doctor Fenton, who was not in a hurry to look at the document of the court, would allow them not to write off the damaged thing. № 12 was an old and experienced weapon and could train beginners even if it has only one hand now.

Well, that was the plan. Talons allowed themselves to become too careless. Terrible mistake. Even the Owl that is usually nice to them remains dangerous. They need to find a way to satisfy their young master. Young Owls always have anger issues, not that Talons can judge.

The youngest Talon shared information that he sometimes had flashbacks of a working red bird who always had a murderous expression until he got to the coffee pot fluid. And it's non-Talon past was never afraid of this bird. The chick could always be calmed with this dark liquid. Coffee is something that will return the master to the favorable mood!

Talons rejoiced at this remarkable discovery and decided to send one of them on a mission as soon as possible to get rid of the potential danger.

~~~~

Danny: Thanks for the coffee, man. Hey, you also took another drink, judging by the dollars in the check. I'm so proud of you! How it was? Good?

Talon thought for a second and nodded. Yes, it was good. He didn’t drink the drink himself but when a coffee shop employee wrote down his order with a trembling hand, a boy appeared in the door.

This boy, now almost a young man, he was from his memories. Another coffee was automatically added to the order.

On his way out, Talon walked up to the sleeping chick and gave a cup to him. Even without opening his eyes, the bat’s cub sniffed and sucked the drink. Dick chirped with delight and patted boy's head, ignoring the frozen people.

That's a true magic drink which is commanding the minds of the powerful of this world. Yes, it will help them for sure!

~~~~

Danny: See, Jazz, Dick’s making progress! He went to the coffee shop today. That’s great, isn’t it?

Jazz: First, don’t call him that, we’re still not sure that’s his name and not the way Owls used to insult him.

Danny: Hey, the fact that he hissed when you called him Richard proves nothing. I don’t like being called Daniel either, or, over my dead body, Dan. I have to call him something. They’re all Talons. What are your suggestions? Jazz: We’ll talk about this later. Now back to the coffee question. Danny, did you forget anything when you let Talon go for a walk? Danny: Which one? Jazz: Don’t play dumb! Did you open the news headlines today or not? This is serious! Danny: What? Shit...civilian clothes. I didn’t think he’d wear a combat suit for it. Jazz: Didn’t you give them outfits for everyday use? Danny: Yeah, I did! But they still wear their Halloween outfits. All the time. Look, it’s not my fault they take everything I say as an order. When I asked them to make the tea and our teapot broke, they broke into some guy’s house and stole it. Jazz: Which guy? Did you at least apologize? Danny: One of Hood’s goons. I’m pretty sure he’s already met Dick on patrol, 'cause the first thing he did called Jason and start crying about being followed. Lucky for him Red was at my house that night and went to calm goon down. But I swear to you, Dick was a little shit on purpose. Of all the apartments choose his? Nah, such coincidences do not exist.

Jazz: I could be happy that he’s getting more independent in his decision making but now I feel like I have to offer the poor guy a discount therapy course.

Damian: Drake, we need to talk. I know about your investigation. You suspect one of the Talons is our missing Grayson. I’m willing to provide some evidence in exchange for… Tim: I don’t suspect, I know that. Damian: What? Where from? Tim: Well, the quadruple somersault was a good hint. And the fact that the Red Hood ran from him through the streets screaming that he wouldn’t take lunch from a damn golden child is also a tip. Damian:...Not a word to my father until we know more, right? I don’t want my older brother thrown in Arkham. Tim: Agree. It’s not like he doesn’t have a memory problem. He wouldn’t have made Alfred worried if leaving was his choice. We need more information.

Meanwhile in Gotham, Alfred aka the only one batfam member with more than one functioning brain cell *on his way to his first grandson and future husband of his sweet angel Jason*.

Danny: Jazz, we need to clean this house right now. Jazz: Since when do you start spring cleaning? Danny: I don’t know how to explain, it’s not a ghost sense, it’s more an unexplained sense of danger. Where’s the vacuum cleaner?

~~~~~

Talon №5 stood in the knitting shop in thought. What color would the little mistress prefer? It should remain useful even if the Owl does not give them direct orders. Knitting a cute sweater for mistress Dani would be a good start. Yeah, that color’s gonna be perfect. And maybe it should stop holding those needles like a weapon, it makes the cashier nervous, and he wants to pay without saving a civilian from losing consciousness.

~~~~~

Danny became a little alarmed when Talon threw himself at the old man standing on the porch. To his surprise, the Briton readily embraced the bird, and Dick let him. Talons who stood behind Danny happily chirped. Making their youngest member happy things always meant something good.

Alfred: Gentlemen, good afternoon. I guess I should thank you all for taking care of my dear grandson. Would you let me come in for a cup of tea?

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc au #talon dick grayson

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 26

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Fuck. I was addicted. I was done. I was his. The whole cliché fantasy about making love on a bear-skinned rug at a snowy mountain cabin in front of a roaring fire lived up to the hype; especially when my authoritative lover didn't leave a single part of my body untouched.

As I laid in the dim lighting on the living room floor looking up at the ceiling, I placed a hand on my throat where Dr. Miller’s had been as he dirty talked me through a thigh-shaking orgasm.

“Did I hurt you?” He placed a soothing hand over the highest part up my chest and drew his fingers up the sensitive skin of my neck.

I turned to him and smiled. “No.” My eyes closed when he let his fingers tiptoe down between my bare breasts before trailing off at my belly button.

Dr. Miller rested a hand on the curve of my hip and propped himself up onto an elbow beside me. He let the side of his face sit in his palm and stared down at me.

“This house was left to me in a will by a man named Lou Brackett,” Dr. Miller said, holding my stare. “He also left me a big inheritance because he had no family left when he died.”

Finally, some answers. Some. “Who was he?”

“I met him through my old job. I was in my late twenties, he was in his early seventies then and passed away of cancer a short time later. When I was notified that he left me all of this I didn't know what to make of it.”

“Were you close with him?”

Dr. Miller nodded. “But I wouldn't have expected him to give me anything in his will. Certainly not all this.”

“Maybe he looked at you like a son.. or a grandson.” I shrugged, “And if he had no family left, it's better than letting the state just take everything.”

He cleared his throat and nodded, looking at the fire for a moment. “I don't want you to be alone on campus anymore.”

I raised my eyebrows at the sudden subject change.

“I spend a little time in the library sometimes in between work and class,” I admitted.

Dr. Miller made a face. “Well, when it's dark don't walk alone. Even just for a few minutes. That's all it takes. Until this guy is caught I'd rather you not take any chances.”

“Okay.” I nodded.

“If I’m teaching and you can't find someone, text me and I'll act like I forgot something in my car and walk you to yours.”

“I'm really fine,” I assured him. “I know it's really close to home and-”

“I just can't stop thinking about you being alone in the bathroom on campus-”

I leaned up and silenced him with a kiss. My palm pressed into the back of his head and I took over his mouth with my own.

Our lips parted and Dr. Miller pulled me back to him.

“You have to tell me the whole story,” I gasped the words aloud but he kissed me hard again. "About the house. About all of it."

“Okay,” he promised in a whisper, laying me down on my back again.

My eyes closed and wrapped my arms around him as he kissed down my neck. “Okay.”

..

I wasn’t as concerned for my own safety the same way that Dr. Miller was. I wasn’t acting recklessly by any means, and I still got a chill when I thought of the incident in the bathroom, but studying over notes in the library didn’t exactly put me on high alert.

Dr. Miller, however, was like a hawk watching over its nest. My eyes practically bugged out of my head when I saw him enter the media center. Our eyes met and I smiled, though he moved around the space as if he had another purpose for being there. He conversed with the aging librarian, spoke with a few students who recognized him and then made his way to the table where I sat.

“Will you be alright to go back to the house tonight?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“You could always just wait in my office.”

“That would look suspicious.”

“No one would know that you were in there.”

I had the urge to stand up and peck him on the lips. I would have if we were at home but rather I just smiled. “It’s my home now, too, remember?” I grinned, “I have to get into a normal routine.”

Dr. Miller sighed and nodded. I knew he would have had me handcuffed to him if it were plausible; but it wasn’t. “You’re right.” His fingers subtly grazed over mine on the table top and he continued his walk around the library. That was about as much physical interaction we could have on campus. The fact that he had to touch me in some way made me smile to myself.

I tried to focus on the material I was reading, but my eyes kept scanning for him each time he ducked in and out of the stacks. Eventually he made his way back toward me, stuck a post-it note onto my book and smirked at me. 

I squinted my eyes and smirked back, staring at the message he’d scribbled down. It was a code to locate a book. K-353-K1521. 3rd row down. 24th Book from the left.

“What’s this?” I whispered, though Dr. Miller didn’t respond. He failed to hold back another devilish smirk and then wandered slowly away toward the doors of the library. I watched him go and he glanced over his shoulder at me before making his way back outside.

I waited a few minutes, so as not to make it obvious, and then rose to my feet with the sticky note in hand and began my little scavenger hunt around the area. 

What is this book he wants me to find?

I had to admit, I hadn’t searched library stacks for a book in a very long time, so navigating my way around wasn’t exactly second nature. Most of the time the research I wanted to do was all at the tip of my fingers via my smart phone or lap top. 

At the end of each row were labels with letters and numbers. I searched and searched, mostly blindly, until finally coming across K-353 - K1521. I had to admit, I loved the mystery and the games.

My eyes glanced upward and I reached up to the third row, beginning to count across from the left.

One, two, three..

I counted across, going slow so I wouldn’t accidentally skip over one and land on the wrong title.

Twenty-three, twenty-four.

I turned my head to the side to read the title of the book and then removed it from its spot.

Kama Sutra.

I laughed lightly to myself, and then glanced to my left and right before flipping open the book to a random page. I drew a hand over the back of my neck, continuing to grin as I browsed the illustrations on the page that went along with the Padmasana sex position.

As I began to read the description, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew who it was.

Make sure you read and do your homework, Dr. Miller’s text read, followed by a second one that made me laugh: Exam tonight.

I typed back, smiling as I did, and snapped a photo of the page I was on. I then decided to discreetly bring the book back to my table.

Should I check the book out? I wondered. I was so shy, I didn’t know if I could face the old lady behind the counter with the book in my hand. I decided to ask Dr. Miller, to which he replied: Take pictures of what you want to do then put the book back. I have a copy at home. I just wanted to get you thinking about it. Sometimes that’s the best kind of foreplay.

It certainly was. I began to flip through the pages of the book, taking pictures of things I wouldn’t mind trying. Dr. Miller was right. After just a minute or two I was already picturing what it would feel like to carry out some of the new positions with him. My face felt flushed and I hoped no one would interrupt the little task he’d put me up to.

My eyes lifted when I sensed someone had crossed past the aisle I was seated in and then I continued what I was doing until there were only about fifteen minutes until my class started. Dr. Miller would be right next door, and from the texts he was already sending me I could tell his thoughts would surely be in the same place as mine for the next several hours.

I finally closed the book and hurried back down to the aisle where I’d taken the book from, setting it back where it belonged. As I squeezed it back between two other books, I saw a pair of eyes peering at me from behind the stack in the next row.

“(Y/N).” They said my name quietly and I stepped backwards in response.

“What?” I swallowed hard and saw movement in the small spaces left available by the rows of books. I was tempted to run out of the aisle and into the main area of the library, though when Trevor emerged I placed a hand over my chest. “Trevor.” I felt relief, “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he practically squeaked, adjusting his glasses.

“It’s fine.” I hoped he hadn’t seen the book I was putting back.

“Are you headed to class?”

“Yeah, I am.” I gave a nod. “Are you?”

“Yeah. I am.” He smiled, echoing my words.

I glanced up at the windows on the walls. It was dark outside. Dr. Miller didn’t want me to be alone. “Want to walk with me?” I asked.

Trevor nodded. “Yeah. Yes. Just.. let me get my stuff.”

“I have to get mine, too,” I told him. “I’ll meet you by the front doors.”

He smiled again and adjusted his glasses before power walking awkwardly down the row. His eyes glanced upward toward the area where I put the Kama Sutra book away and I shuddered to think he might actually know what I had been looking at.

Who cares. I rolled my eyes at myself and then went to retrieve my belongings. I texted Dr. Miller to let him know I was about to be on my way and then strolled to where Trevor was already waiting by the doors, hugging his laptop.

“Ready?” He asked with another Howdy Doody grin.

I nodded and sighed as I stared at the building we were headed to across the green. “Ready.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzz

#joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!oc #joel miller x fem reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller professor #professor joel #protective joel

[statistically-spencer]

Fortunate Dream PT. 2

Summary: Your dream of joining the BAU was becoming more and more real. How will you handle sharing a private jet with your favorite characters?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (eventual), BAU members x reader(platonic)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one! I finished Calculus 1 in 4-weeks while also being in a musical so I ran out of time there for a bit. Enjoy!

w/c; 783

Part 1 here

As confused as you were, you were having a great time experiencing the relationship that dream-you had with the members of the BAU. Everyone seemed to like you just fine.

On the jet, you found a place to sit in the window seat on the opposite side of the isle, where Derek sat, leaving an empty seat next to yourself. Derek gave you an assuring smile. You wondered how many traits that you, and this version of you had that overlapped. Did the team know about your fear of flying? Did they know about your raging crush on Dr. Spencer Reid? Did they know that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing and that you totally should not be there right now?? 

Glancing up, you made eye contact with Spencer, who seemed to be walking suspiciously close to your row.

Oh.

You tried to act natural as he took a seat next to you. 

You didn’t have to act natural for long, though, because in an instant the jet began to roll forward, faster and faster.

You swallowed deeply.

“Are you okay, Y/n? I know you never like flying but you seem like something is really off.”

“No, I’m okay.” You lied, “I’m just... I just didn’t sleep much last night and I’m really tired.”

“Oh, well you know, there’s no need to worry about turbulence. If anything, we should really be concerned about-”

“Spencer, no offense, but if you’re about to tell me about how what we should really be concerned about is the onset of a thunderstorm, contributing to the possibility of microbursts, I’d rather not hear it.”

You heard a chuckle and looked up to see Derek standing next to you. 

“Oooh, she’s got you figured out, Reid. Better be careful.”

You blushed. You were only remembering something Spencer had said in an episode of Criminal Minds. Had that episode happened yet in this timeline? 

“Oh no... I was just... I just don’t need to be any more freaked out than I already am right now.” You cleared your throat. 

Spencer smiled at you, “We’ll be fine.”

You were trying to think of something to say to the man. Anything. This was your chance to talk to the love of your life and you were drawing a blank. You couldn’t think of one clever thing to say to him. You just kept looking up at him, and whenever you looked, it seemed like he was looking, too. Which was probably a good sign, right? Instead, it was mostly silent. With you making the occasional attempt to look fine whenever there was turbulence. 

In the midst of everything, you forgot that you were, for the time being at least, a real FBI agent. And, you were in fact, actually dealing with criminals. However, those facts became extremely apparent when Garcia phoned in with details about the case. 

It was hard to focus when Spencer was sitting next to you the entire time. Being so real. So cute. So... Good smelling somehow. 

“-Well, we know hardly anything about the suspect.”

If you had been in a laughing mood after hearing all of the gruesome details of the case, you would’ve laughed at Emily’s statement.

“Male. Thirty-five-”

You froze, realizing that you and Spencer were saying the same thing.

“...Keeps within his inner circle.” You finished, looking Reid up and down slowly.

A quick glance around the jet told you that this was not an uncommon event. In fact, the knowing looks that were being shared by the rest of the team said quite the opposite.

Spencer blinked, trying to come up with more information.

“Also he definitely has children.”

“Obviously.” You blinked, looking around.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Luckily, the look on Spencer’s face wasn’t disgust like you expected. He looked... Proud? Happy?

Wait a minute. You were so caught up in information about the case that you didn’t stop to wonder how you came to that conclusion. Was that normal for you? Were you also a super genius? Perhaps. It was highly plausible, now that you were thinking about it. You were obviously young like Spencer was. Why else would you be on the team at that age? Huh. You liked being smart. It was cool.

“We’ll need to split up upon arrival-” Hotch interrupted your thoughts, “Prentiss you’ll be with Morgan, you’ll share a room at the hotel as well. And Y/L/N, you and Reid will be staying in the other room.”

Oh.

You stole a quick glance at Spencer. The over-confidence you had both been showing had disappeared in an instant.

“You got it, boss.” You tightened your lips.

Why would you say that?

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #fortunate dream #statistically-spencer #criminal minds dream fic

[wingedcat13]

Synovus: A Wishing Star

[Canonically, this takes place before ‘Call Me Menace’ - which is why there’s a notable lack of Alexandria and Minerva in this segment. This was requested by an Anon, with the prompt of Synovus being asked for by a Make a Wish child, through the Make a Wish foundation.]

[Trigger warnings for childhood cancer, descriptions of illness and hospitals, and discussions of suicide. Reference is also made to the possibility of substance abuse. Unlike most of my writing, for this, I cannot promise you will find this ending happy.]

“Your name came up today,” Rosie called up to you, laboriously walking laps around the cafeteria.

“Of course it did.” You replied laconically, keeping a careful eye on her progress from a perch in the rafters. Your shadows were ready to catch and steady her if she stumbled, though you both pretended you were too occupied with your knitting. “I am an incredibly interesting person. On a completely unrelated note, tell Dr. Grouch that he will receive payment shortly.”

That wasn’t an epithet, ‘Dr. Grouch.’ It was genuinely the man’s name. Dr. Jeremy Grouch, a pediatric cancer specialist, who had the good fortune of being the best choice for you to kidnap when Rosie had finally told you why she’d been half-joking about retirement. He was no longer your ‘guest,’ having returned to the mainland full time a few weeks prior, but he still communicated with Rosie quite often.

A bark of laughter had Rosie pausing, out of breath, to brace herself against the wall. She turned to rest her back against it, but since she didn’t sit, you didn’t jump down to see if she was alright. Even if you had stopped knitting.

“Not for the money.” Rosie assured you, when she had caught her breath enough to reply without wheezing. “He thinks you’re more than generous.”

“Dr. Grouch could stand to live up to his name a bit more.” You tsk’ed, “I kidnapped him, forced him to work for me. He didn’t even haggle.”

Not that this would have done him much good in the beginning. Historically, you did not respond well to threats or extortion. But you did respect a good hustle, and you were fairly certain that Dr. Grouch had been aware he could’ve pushed for more of a reward once Rosie was declared in remission. He hadn’t taken the opportunity.

“He isn’t hurting for wealth.” Rosie pointed out. The sardonic note to her voice had made you smile. You and your minions were in the business of exploiting greed and committing evils, but that did not make any of you less inclined to judge others for anything less than your own morality demanded. And that often included each other.

But Rosie’s tone shifted, becoming something lighter, “He said one of his patients asked to meet you.”

“What?”

“One of his patients wants to meet you.” Rosie repeated patiently. “Wished for it, even.”

You forced your tone to remain light, glad you were up in the rafters where she couldn’t see your body language. “Well, there’s a rarity. How many people ever say ‘I wish to meet Synovus?’”

Rosie sighed. “Usually just people who want to kill you.”

“Are we certain that isn’t what the child wants? I’m assuming it’s a child, adults usually know better.” You picked up another stitch, fumbled it, did it again. This time it stuck.

It wasn’t the idea of a child trying to kill you that had you so… disoriented. You’d been responsible for the deaths of a lot of parents over the years - you wouldn’t be surprised if there had been hundreds of vendettas sworn against you, or all villain kind, or even the heroes who had failed to stop you, over the years. But kids - children - you had a soft spot for.

You remembered too clearly what it was like to be young, sheltered, and out of control of your life. It was debatable, some days, how much of that still applied to you in some way or another.

“I’d bet on the kid.” Rosie remarked.

“I-“ You twirled one knitting needle, intending to point it at her, and snagged it in the trailing end of your yarn instead. It didn’t matter, because she couldn’t see you. “- take offense on the child’s behalf that you would doubt them.”

“Oh yeah?” Rosie perked up, “Offended enough to defend their honor in person?”

Frowning, you set down your knitting again. “What are you asking me here, Rosie?”

“I want to know if you’ll honor the kid’s Wish.”

There was something in the way she said it that gave you pause. You mulled it over.

“When you say ‘wish,’ you don’t just mean a general expressed desire, do you.”

It wasn’t much of a question, but Rosie answered anyway, “Nope. I mean the Wish. Apparently they hadn’t wanted to say anything, because they didn’t think anyone would let them, but they were talking to Dr. Grouch, and asked where he’d been -“

You groaned. You’d been assured of his adherence to HIPAA, but hadn’t pushed too hard on the ‘never tell anyone where you’ve been, ever, on pain of excruciatingly over described death’ angle. Maybe you should’ve.

“- yeah, I know, but apparently he only told the kid and asked them to keep it a secret, and the kid ‘lit up like it was Christmas.’” Rosie relayed this information, complete with air quotes, without moving from the wall.

To avoid thinking about the idea of being anyone’s last, true Wish - the big W, the heart’s desire, the crown of a bucket list - you instead thought about how Rosie had trapped you. You couldn’t just disappear because then she’d be alone, and could still collapse. You couldn’t call her physical therapy completed for the day yet either, because she hadn’t finished this lap.

Evil, your minions. Absolutely evil.

You sighed, sure Rosie would feel it, even if she couldn’t hear it at this distance. “Very well.” You conceded, morose. “When are we meeting this little miscreant?”

—-

Hospitals were not easy for you to break into. Not when you were in costume, at least. You could get terrifyingly far in a white coat with a coffee cup and a clipboard, but that came down to timing and confidence and an aura of ‘fuck off, I am incredibly busy’ that you’ve always felt most doctors cultivated on purpose.

That didn’t really work when you were in all black with a cape and a helmet. And this was a children’s cancer ward, so it wasn’t like you could just wait till everyone went home. Windows didn’t open up here either.

So you’d had Dr. Grouch let you in from the helipad on the roof.

“You’ve taken the precautions I requested?” He asked, as you paused outside of the ward itself. “Fully clean, as you would have for Ms. Rosie? You will not touch anything you do not have to, and will call for assistance if she seems overwrought?”

“Yes, Dr. Grouch.” You replied, accepting another antiseptic wipe for your gloves. “I am here to answer a summons. That is all. I swear that your charge will not come to harm from me.”

You did not point out he had been the one to arrange this meeting. His face made a strange expression, as though he were surprised, and surprised at being surprised, and a bit disappointed in himself for that sequence of events. Still, he recovered quickly.

“At least I do not have to remind you to wear a mask.” He granted, in an attempt at levity. Luckily for you both, you didn’t actually need to reply, because he was already triggering the ward doors for you to enter.

While Grouch moved to the ward station, motioning to calm the various staff on duty, you moved with purpose for the room you’d been directed to earlier. Grouch was telling the staff that he’d found someone willing to stand in for you, as a way of reassuring them. You weren’t sure they’d buy it, but it really wasn’t your problem for the moment.

You moved quietly. You weren’t sure whether or which other rooms were occupied, and you didn’t intend to scare anyone who hadn’t requested to see you tonight. For that same reason, you double checked the number on the door you opened, and lifted it faintly on its hinges, that it would open smoothly and as silently as you could make it.

The room beyond was dim, if not completely dark. The corridor behind you was also dimmed for the night cycle, trying to give the ward’s occupants a chance at sleeping, though the ward station was still well-illuminated. You made sure its light wouldn’t give you a halo or shadow as you entered, and quietly shut the door behind yourself.

You aren’t familiar enough with hospitals to say whether this room is average or not. Tiled floors, the bed that is also a gurney, sparse furniture, windows on the far wall. There are signs of life here, in the form of some decaying flowers on the dresser, with several cards propped around their vase where the bed’s occupant can see. A television is mounted near the ceiling on an extendable arm, but it’s off for now.

There’s a few sources of dim light - the distant aura of the streetlights casts the bars supporting the windows on the wall across from the bed. A floor light illuminates the tile enough to show any potential tripping hazards. The odd blinking light on the medical equipment provides a dash of color to the gloom.

And in the bed, there is a lump curled on its side, as far as the IV line and monitors will allow it, blankets pulled tight over the shoulder and tucked near the chin. Dr. Grouch told you some basics about the patient before you reached this floor, so you know who you are supposed to be meeting. You feel bad for waking her, but you’ve been assured she doesn’t sleep well anyway, and is likely awake. Judging by the faint rustling of a body’s small movements, that judgement was accurate.

You are reminded of Dr. Grouch’s planned lie, out in the hall. You do not want this child to think they are being tricked. So you stay where you are, in the deeper shadow of the door-well, and you summon your shadows to life.

The window frame shadows make an excellent trellis for your branching additions - they stretch out, forming words in deeper darkness than the natural shadow from which they are woven. If you are mistaken, if this is the wrong room, if the girl sleeps, you won’t have disturbed them.

But you see the streetlight illuminate the planes of a too-sharp face as it turns to focus bleary eyes on what you’ve written.

Hello, Loralai.

At fourteen years old, Loralai should still have the roundness of youth. She does not. Nor is she quite skeletal, despite the advanced nature of her illness. It almost seems, in the half light, as though a slight push would be all that was necessary to send her in either direction: back to the hale softness of health, or further on to the sharp stillness of death.

She blinks. Her eyes widen, then narrow, then widen again. You belatedly wonder if perhaps she needs glasses. Or what if she’s dyslexic? Your shadow-words are hardly the easiest things to read. Damn it, Synovus, now is not the time for posturing and-

“Synovus?” Asks a breathless, whispering voice.

“In the flesh.” You reply, because you are a melodramatic moron. Still, your voice is quiet, and you remain unmoving.

There’s some more rustling. The bed is already mostly elevated, so Loralai doesn’t need to try and sit up so much as readjust how she’s sitting. There’s a click of a lamp - and then there’s a real light source in the room, even if it’s dulled by the lampshade.

You step forward as Loralai rubs the spots from her vision with one hand. There’s an IV catheter taped to the back of it from some recent event, the bruising around it just beginning to ripen. You don’t remember what that might mean, if anything.

As she gets her vision back and examines you, you turn your helmet, pretending to survey the room. Eyes bright with curiosity flick from the helmet to the cape to the patterns of padding over your torso. She does not seem scared, but then, why would she be? Dr. Grouch had informed you she was well aware her case was terminal. You may be a specter of death to some people, but this child has already started staring down the real thing.

“You are Loralai Weber?” You ask, turning back to face her directly.

She nods, leaning back against her pillows. You can see exhaustion on every line of her too-young face, but it seems not to have any power over her at the moment. “Yes. I didn’t think you’d actually come to see me.”

You gesture aimlessly, “I am not often asked for.” You reply candidly. “You’ve piqued my interest. And.. one could say I was in the neighborhood.”

Loralai’s expression brightens, “Are you going to attack the hospital?”

You frown. The prospect seems to excite her. Still, you keep your voice casual, noncommittal, “Not tonight, at least.”

“Damn.” Loralai sounds disappointed now. You muffle your amusement at her cursing as she continues, “Any time soon, maybe? Like, in the next week?”

She can’t see you raise your brows, so you tilt your head to one side, “You sound almost hopeful, Ms. Weber. Why could that be?”

Loralai averts her gaze for a moment, plucking slowly at the top blanket of her bed. This is the moment of truth, really. You spent hours trying to figure out what you might be asked for:

Could you kill someone for her? A doctor, a nurse, another patient who was really annoying? Or could you attack the hospital, so she could help you wreak havoc, and have the chance to feel as powerful as a Villain? Alternatively, what if she were the one to stop you? You were dreading the deathbed request that you ‘turn good,’ but that doesn’t seem to be forthcoming. Maybe she simply wishes to witness a hero battle up close, and needs you to initiate it. Or-

“I want you to kill me.”

You freeze. Most of you, anyway, as your stomach seems to have left out the ground floor entrance. You had not anticipated this. You feel like you should have.

Remorseless for your shock, Loralai continues, managing to look directly at your helmet face as her words spill over each other, “I know I’m dying, and that I don’t have long left, but I’ve been dying for months, and I just feel worse and worse every day, and I - I want to die fast, not slow. I want it to be over. You - you could make it quick for me, couldn’t you?”

You have not been inclined towards religion for a very long time. Yet, in this moment, you see the appeal of dropping to your knees and offering a fervent prayer of gratitude to whoever or whatever might be listening that you gave Dr. Grouch your word in the hall. You do not want to answer Loralai’s question, or know what your answer would be. You refuse to acknowledge the burgeoning answer within you.

The horror of it all still threatens to overwhelm you. The shadows in the room thicken, automatically reaching for you to provide shelter from unfortunate truths and uncomfortable conversation. This is why she asked for you. Because you are evil. Because you are terrible enough to meet a child face to face and kill them at their own request. Because you are not beholden to law, morality, or sympathy.

The black pit of despair yawns, and it is only by the barest shred of your willpower that you stay out of it - as awful as you feel in this moment, as much as you know you have only delayed your own suffering, the fact remains: you are not the one dying here.

It does not matter how you feel, looking at someone younger than you were when you finally found freedom, and knowing they will never reach the same age, the same feeling. It does not matter how you feel about their request. Loralai Weber sits in a hospital bed, terminal at 14 years old, and she is suffering badly enough to seek the Scourge of the West Coast.

So you scrape yourself together, and move to the end of her bed.

“May I sit?”

Loralai nods, brow still furrowed, and shuffles her feet so you can avoid accidentally sitting on them. You perch there, partially leaning on the rail at the foot of the bed, and watch her for a long moment.

“Yes.” You say, finally. “I could make your death swift. There is little you could do to stop me.”

You have Loralai’s undivided attention. When you stop speaking, she waits. The clearer it becomes that you will not say more, the further her face falls. “Could.” She says tonelessly. “But won’t.”

“No.” You confirm quietly. “I will not.”

“Why?” Loralai cries. She tries to gesture to herself, to the room that she’s in. “You’ve killed so many people! What’s one more to you? Why not me? Is it - do you want me to suffer, is that it? Would this be too merciful for you?”

You let her yell, and gesture, even when she comes within several inches of you. “No, Loralai. I do not want you to suffer. But nor do I think this would be an act of mercy.” You avoid addressing the issue of your body count.

Loralai looks offended and confused, gaping at you for a moment. “Does this look like a life worth living?” She demands.

Your answer is without hesitation, “Yes.”

The girl’s face contorts with incredulity, then despair, then anger. Her eyes are increasingly red-rimmed, and there’s a wet quality to her wavering voice when she responds, “Fuck you.”

Grimly, you brace yourself for much worse before the night is over. She hasn’t ordered you out yet, so you have to attempt to explain. Even if you cannot give her what she wants, you can be an outlet for her anger, and the face she cannot show to her doctors.

“There are cards on the dresser.” You point out.

“Classmates I’ve never even met.” Loralai responds flatly.

“Flowers, too.”

“Another parent bought some for the whole floor after their kid bit it. It’s a pity gift to make them feel better, nothing to do with me.”

“You still have family.”

“So they should get the honor and joy of watching me die? Paying a fortune for every extra hour I sit here and wait for it to be my turn?”

“It is worth it, to them.” You explain, matter-of-fact. “Every penny. Every extra shift. Every loan. Every night on your fold-out couch. How did you convince your mother not to be here tonight?”

Loralai flinches. “She has a bad back.” She mutters, “She - it’s better for her to be home, in a real bed. And so what if it’s worth it to them? What if it’s not worth it to me? Can’t I choose how and when I die?”

You sigh, “If that were true, the world would be full of immortals. And suicides. You realize that is what you asked of me, yes? An assisted suicide?”

Loralai draws back at the word, but doesn’t deny it. “It’s not like it would be anything new for you.”

The truth of that statement is painful. For a moment, you hear a distant ringing with no physical source. You are acutely aware of the shadows in this room - their patterns under the bed, on the wall, the sky behind the window, in the spaces under your skin-

“I am not your tool.” You rasp, before remembering that Loralai couldn’t possibly know about your past. She is a teenager. A hurt one. They always have a gift for striking true, even when they lash out blindly.

You take a deep breath, and suppress the shadows again. You don’t want to know how far up your arms they reached before you regained your senses. “And I will not be baited into killing you either. You are right - I’ve killed. Plenty. I will again. But I do so for my own reasons, and not because someone asks me to. You asked for me by name, Ms. Weber, out of all of the villains on the West Coast, so I’m guessing you know that.”

Loralai opens her mouth to respond - then looks away.

“You have every right to be angry.” You continue into the silence, “With me, with the people around you. With the doctors and nurses for how often they check in and the poking and prodding they do. With the kitchen for the quality of the hospital food. With your parents for not sparing you this life, or being overbearing in their concern, or not being able to balance what it is you really need.”

You pause. Loralai doesn’t respond. You continue, “I would be angry. I would be furious with every car that passed by and honked its horn, because I’m stuck up here dying, and they only care about the stupid traffic. And I would be even more angry about the fact I can’t tell anyone that without becoming the bad guy, who can’t take their situation with grace.”

“But you won’t kill me.” Loralai says finally, “Before I do something I regret. Or become a husk of myself.”

This time, it’s your turn to remain silent. Loralai turns to look at you, even if she can’t find your eyes in the mask. She’s crying now, but so far managing to hold off actual sobs, “Why can’t I be selfish? Just once?”

You offer her your hands, and aren’t surprised or offended when she doesn’t take them.

“You should be selfish.” You tell her, and the ferocity in your voice takes her aback. “You should be as selfish and greedy as you can. You should seize every moment - every conversation with your parents, every breath of conditioned air, every chance you get to actually smile. Even if you only get one more of those, Loralai, it’s one more than you would get if I did what you’ve asked. Dying isn’t selfish. It isn’t selfless either. It just is, the same way taxes are due and commercials always take too long and the drivers outside your window have road rage. It’ll happen whether you want it to or not. Don’t lean into it.”

Converse to your own advice, you lean towards Loralai, adding, “Kick the bastard in the balls.”

On reflex, she gives you a confused, watery half-smile.

“Yes!” You cry, as though this is a great victory. “Just like that! Rip and tear your joy from the universe.”

That wins you a snort - though the amusement doesn’t last.

“I’m not strong enough to do that.” Loralai deflects, turning a hand over in your general direction. “I’m not like you. I can’t literally steal happiness from - banks, or whatever it is you rob.”

“Banks.” You admit, “Though usually their corporate offices instead of the average buildings. Irrelevant, however: how many of my fights do you actually see me win?”

Loralai frowned. “Uh….”

You don’t leave her hanging long, “It depends on your definition of ‘victory’ really - but if I count it like the heroes do, where a victory is when I have my opponent in my custody, I haven’t won a single fight in over ten years. My track record is abysmal.”

(This is not strictly true - but it does count for your fights with heroes. Interpersonal villain matters you handle rarely make the news.)

“So, what, you’re bad at your job?” Loralai says bluntly, sarcasm tingeing her voice.

“I’m fantastic at my job.” You can’t help the rebuttal, it’s too much in your nature. “Because even if I don’t take down the hero who comes after me - and let’s face it, they’ll keep sending them endlessly, it’s exhausting - I still do what I set out to do. Sometimes that’s steal something. Kill someone. Make a scene. On bad days, just get out and away. And if you use that metric, well, darling, my track record is spectacular.”

Loralai considers this for a moment, staring into the middle distance between you. It’s impossible to figure out what she’s actually thinking of.

“Your metaphors suck.”

Well okay then. “My metaphors are elegant contrivances -“ You give up when Loralai gives you a look, and sigh instead.

Still, what you’ve said seems to have made some difference. Loralai has stopped crying, and she doesn’t feel as.. raw, as before. You hope it’s the right kind of difference, and that you haven’t just chased her further into a shell. You wait for her to break the silence again.

“So you think I should live, for the people around me?” She challenges, indicating the flowers and cards. You both know that’s only a fragment of your argument, but you’re willing to play ball.

“Nope.” You reply succinctly. “I think you should live for you and your own experiences. However, I think you are currently in a position where you have to see your joys in others before you can see them for yourself. If they anchor you, use it.”

She’s staring at you now, expression unreadable. “And you think that will get better.”

You almost answer ‘yes’ - but you know that isn’t quite what she’s asking. There’s a second half to that statement that is a question, left unspoken: ‘will it get better before I die?’

And for all of your lies, you answer her honestly. “I don’t know.”

Loralai nods. You want to clarify, to explain that even a chance is a chance worth taking. You want to give her some of your own rage at the world, the defiance that makes it possible to simply refuse to die. The conviction that let you kill a god.

No, maybe not that. You’re not sure that would be a blessing after all.

“Okay.” She says, after several moments. “Fine. I get to live. For now. But when I die -“ Loralai’s attention abandons the far wall and the middle distance, zeroing in on you, “- if my life gets any worse between now and then, if I don’t get any more good stuff like you’ve described, I’m haunting you.”

You believe her. “I believe you.” You say solemnly. “And there are few things in this world more terrifying than a teenage ghost. No, that isn’t sarcasm, I’m serious. Once-“

—-

You spend the rest of the hour telling stories of the teenaged ghost you’d met once in New Orleans, back when that wasn’t quite anyone’s territory. It’s not nearly enough time to share all of her stories - but it is enough that you remember her fondly, and smell the faint scent of bergamot and citrus that always heralded her presence.

When you spoke to her more regularly, you teased her about being a ghost who smelled like Irish Spring, and she ensured your cape got caught on everything it possibly could. You feel a tug on it, as you are moving to leave, and understand the prompt.

“Here.” You tell Loralai, unclasping your cape from your shoulders, and draping it over the bed.

“Does this have magic powers, or something? Is it bulletproof?” Loralai lifts it’s edge, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. She’s in higher spirits, but the bags under her eyes have deepened. She’s also cold, though you don’t think you’d be able to get her to admit it.

“Nah.”

“Then why would I want it?” Remarkable, how little your status matters to teenagers. You aren’t sure if it’s your curse or a trait of the species.

“Capes are cool.” You reply confidently.

There are other reasons too - it gives your ghost friend an anchor to stay with her better, it’s warm, it will remind her this wasn’t a dream. If her family needs to, they can sell it to cover some of the medical bills, since (unlike some heroes and villains) you rarely leave a trace behind, and collectors would love to get ahold of one of your capes. Actually, Tallflawes might even buy it at an exorbitant price, just to taunt you with it. But this isn’t a lie: capes are cool.

“Whatever.” Loralai says sleepily, resting back on her pillows, your cape tucked up under her chin. “Goodbye, Synovus.”

“Goodbye, Loralai Weber.” You say gently. You aren’t sure if she even notices your shadows flip the switch on the bedside lamp, returning the room to darkness. Your shadows muffle your exit back into the hall.

You leave as quickly as possible, after that.

—-

The good thing about being a dramatic fool on purpose, is that when you are having a public meltdown, it can appear as though you are simply performing again. The shadows contorting and swirling around you? Ah, Synovus, making an entrance. Disappearing between one blink and the next to the unobservant, because you’ve turned and booked it into the dark? A classic exit.

Your minions know you too well for that facade to hold. They also know you too well to ask.

You stalk down the halls, lights seeming to ripple in your wake with the amount of shadows you’re dragging, like a toddler with their blanket on their way to throw a tantrum. But you skip the training room. You wind up in the kitchen, as Oflok watches from a distance.

You spend an indeterminable amount of time staring at the collection of alcohol. You don’t indulge, because you are terrified of what might happen if you lose control of yourself. You know you are a walking bomb. Your minions can partake as they like, however, and today, reminded of how destructive you are, you want very badly to join them. To get wasted beyond memory.

“I want you to kill me.”

You get as far as reaching up one hand for a bottle. You don’t know which, you didn’t bother to read the labels. You lower your hand. Spin on your heel. And leave.

—-

It’s Rosie and Doll who hover in the corner, silent witnesses while you dig through the cabinets in the infirmary. You grab the first ampoule of a drug that looks like it would force you out of your mind that you can get your hands on. You have a tray laid out with syringe, bandages, tourniquet, disinfectant wipes, before you realize what you’re doing.

“Does this look like a life worth living?”

You walk out without a word.

—-

The grave at the bottom of the island is not well tended. It is not a monument to be remembered. This is the third time you have visited it since you stopped obsessively checking for signs of disturbances, in case it’s occupant decided to crawl back out.

You tell the empty space about Loralai Weber. What she looked like, what she asked of you, what that means. This time, you’re free to cry, though whether it’s for her or yourself, you’ll never be able to parse. By the end, you are screaming in the dark cave, knowing it’s all pointless at this stage in the game.

The man in the grave could heal himself, when he wanted. And very rarely, when he was convinced it was ‘appropriate,’ he could heal others too. He wouldn’t have counted Loralai Weber as ‘appropriate’ for his gift. You would. It doesn’t matter, though.

It’s the one part of his powers you never inherited.

—-

[Thank you for reading Synovus: A Wishing Star - if you want to read more of Synovus, you can find the rest of their stories on my blog, in the pinned post. Further, if you want to find out more about the Make A Wish Foundation, you can read stories of children they've helped (in rather different ways than Synovus) on their website, or donate here.]

[I do not have a personal story to share for Loralai's inspiration. However, I did tap into my experiences as a chronically ill individual, and the mental state I experienced both before and during treatment. There are still days I wonder as Loralai does - but I wholeheartedly believe as Synovus says: This life is worth living. It is for you too.]

#synovus #synoverse #Synovus: A Wishing Star #tw cancer #please dm me if you feel additional tags are necessary! #reader discretion advised #tw suicidal ideation #tw implied child death #tw self destructive behavior

[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 1: Sex toys(Feed My Frankenstein)

warnings/kinks: scientific experimentation, sex toys, use of drugs, drugging, semen collection, fake pussy, creampie word count: 1.6k pairings: Android 17 x Fem!Reader tag list: @beneathstarryskies, @ricflairdrip20, @witchofcustom. @xailem, @loki-love. If you want to be part of the tag list, please just message me or send an ask in my inbox.

Bright lights flash on his face. He feels a little panicked, but when he smells your perfume, he feels a little more calm. You smile when you realize he’s awake. Android 17 fights against the restraints that keep him firmly placed on the examination table. He trusts you, mostly. You are still Dr. Gero’s assistant after all. But with the way you treat him, 17 knows that you can be trusted. This is just frightening for him, though. He is worried that maybe you have some sort of sinister test waiting for him.

“Good to see you awake,” you say as you come closer to him. “Dr. Gero was beginning to worry.”

Flashbacks of a struggle and then being injected with something flash through 17’s mind. He knows that it’s because of his reluctance to these tests that he has to endure such treatment. Whenever 17 has to take a test, he always prefers it would be you administering it. Often it is Dr. Gero, who is so much more rough with him than you are. 17 shudders when you push back some of his hair.

“Are you ready for the male hormone test now? It’s really simple, and I think you’ll enjoy it.” You question him, and he sighs.

“Like I have a choice,” 17 spits out. He is completely restrained to the table. It’s a comfortable table at least.

You walk over to the desk in the corner and you begin typing something into the computer. A series of beeps and boops fill the air before a cylindrical device begins descending from the ceiling. 17 is confused by this device. You know what it’s for. Dr. Gero had you build this machine specifically with the thought of testing 17 in mind. This will be able to show you if the Androids are even able to have children. 

“This won’t hurt a bit. I’ll need to remove all your clothing.” You begin with his pants, undoing them as best as you can through the restraints. Then the shirt, which you cut off his body.

“Isn’t that just a waste?” 17 remarks sarcastically. You smile sweetly as you remove his underwear.

You gasp as you see the size of him. The length is slightly above average, but it’s the girth. He is quite thick around. You know you did the right thing getting the large size for the rings. You pull on some nitrile gloves and pick up your clipboard. 17 can’t even look you in the eyes right now. All his cockiness has been pushed aside for timidity.

“Such a large specimen,” you mutter to yourself. Gently, you grasp his cock in your hand and he hisses through gritted teeth.

“Hey! Be careful,” 17 moans loudly, unaware of how needy he really is.

You write down a few things on your clipboard before setting it aside. On the desk in the corner of the room, you procure a syringe and a bottle of some sort of pink fluid. 17 knows that you’re about to inject him with something.

“This is a virility drug. It’s mixed with sildenafil.” You explain to him. He swallows hard. He knows what this test is going to be for.

You inject him with the proper dosage and then you give him time to react to the drug. It doesn’t take long for him to get even harder than he was before. His cheeks are pink as the arousal takes a hold of him.

“How are you feeling now?” You ask him, scribbling more notes on your clipboard.

“How do you think I feel? You just injected me with probably the world’s strongest viagra. I’m horny as hell!” 17 seethes as he wriggles on the table.

“Yes, don’t worry about that. I’m here to test the potency of your sperm. So rest assured, you will get off.” He hates that he loves how smart you are. You never sugarcoat anything, and he loves the technical jargon you always use.

You set the clipboard aside once more before returning to him. With gloved hands, you grasp his cock. It’s leaking so much precum at this point, and you just touching him has him moaning softly. You love that you get to administer this test. You’ve been pining after him for so long.

“You’re very erect. It must feel pretty good to have my hands on it, yes?” 17 doesn’t even want to answer this. It feels heavenly.

You cup his balls and you realize how heavy they are. It’s a shame you’ll have to put a ring on both his cock and his balls for the first part of the test. It’s meant to test how long it’ll take for him to cum. But seeing as you need as much cum as possible, you need to make sure he lasts as long as he can.

“This might be a little cool to the touch,” you tell him as you grab both metal rings. You had opted for something better, but metal was all you were given.

17 whines as you begin fitting him with the rings. First, the one on his balls is put on. It squeezes a little bit, making them feel even more sensitive. Then you slip the one for his cock, smirking at how it is the perfect fit. He feels so lost in a thick fog of lust. He wants nothing more than a sweet release.

“I’m going to start the extracting machine now,” you begin as you walk over to the computer once more. “Unless you prefer I do this manually.” 

Though you are only joking. There’s no way you should get involved more than scientifically. Even if just the thought of jerking him off makes your panties so damp. Already you’re fighting off every urge to straddle him, push back your panties and ride him all day long.

A few more clicks of your mouse, and the extractor machine comes down fully. It opens up to 17 and shows him a fake pussy. He laughs when he realizes what this is. It’s a sex toy attached to a mechanical arm. It’s going to fuck him, and it’s going to make him cum. Just so that you can test his sperm, whatever that means.

17 doesn’t anticipate just how excited he is for this. Before he became an android, he was a loner. He barely got laid as it is, but this was going to be even better than he imagined. Now if only you could take off that damn lab coat, things might get a little kinkier in here. He thrusts his hips up slightly as the drug begins making him even more aroused. You rush over when you realize you’ve forgotten a step.

“I’m sorry 17, I haven’t even given you the proper lubrication.” 

His head is buzzing as he realizes what you mean. You pick up a bottle of generic water-based lube and you squirt some on your gloved hands. Then you grasp his cock again and you begin stroking him to make sure every drop is on his cock.

17 whines as you keep up a steady pace. This is mostly for your own benefit. You wanted to give him a little pleasure as well. His balls feel so tight already and he isn’t sure if it’s you or the drugs or the ring. It doesn’t matter. Everything feels so good right now. He feels like he could cum right away.

“There we are. Now, time to get you off.” You giggle softly, and his cock twitches at the sound.

17 moans loudly as the toy begins to swallow his cock. He can barely watch as he reaches so deep inside of it. It’s a slow pace to start, and he is quite grateful. He didn’t think something like this would feel so good. And to his luck, you remove your lab coat, revealing a tight sweater that accentuates your gorgeous tits.

“I knew you looked great under that coat,” 17 struggles to say. The machine begins jerking him off a little faster, and another moan falls from his lips.

You smirk at the display in front of you. When Dr. Gero first announced this test, you knew you had to jump on this chance. There was no way that 17 was going to let the doctor administer such an intimate test.

“Tell me how you feel,” you ask him. He rolls his eyes before whimpering softly.

The machine begins at a faster and deeper pace. 17 feels his heart beginning to race in his chest. This is too much. It’s way too good. It’s like this machine knows exactly how to make him feel so good. You probably studied his habits and programmed it to know how he likes to be ridden. This is all your fault.

“I feel fucking good, okay? Obviously I do.” He’s so shy right now. But it feels sensational. He can’t quiet the whines and the whimpers.

You reach over to cup his heavy balls, and that’s all it takes for him to fall off the edge. 17 cries out loudly, his orgasm taking hold of him completely. He mutters the sweetest little moans and pleading. It turns you on more than you could ever believe. You’ve never seen anything so sexual in your life. 

“Fuck yes! Fuck!” He’s moaning as the toy continues to milk him. Eventually, it slows to a gentle pace and it has 17 whimpering and shaking on the table.

You jot down a few more notes then you go back to the computer. The machine stops, leaving 17 on the table alone. His cock is still quite hard, you notice. Well, you did inject him with something strong after all. You walk over to him and strip off your gloves. You hover over him for a moment before smirking.

“Guess I’ll have to finish the job manually.” You say as you grasp his cock. 17 moans as you begin jerking him off.

‘Guess these tests aren’t so bad after all…’

#bacon.writes #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #kinktober day 1 #android 17 #android 17 x you #android 17 x y/n #android 17 x reader #android 17 x fem!reader #dragon ball #dragon ball super #dragon ball z #dragon ball smut #dragon ball z smut #android 17 smut #dragon ball super smut

[missmagooglie]

For the WIP Wednesday game, @infinitybits87 and @h-i-raeth requested a Therapy Baby snippet, so have some "Buck defending his poor life choices" paired with some "Firefam defending Buck"

“Buck as a father, I never thought I’d see the day,” Chim grins at him. “Though in hindsight, maybe we should have seen this coming. Which of your sexcapades resulted in this little bundle of joy? Did his mom have to reach out to you on Tinder?” “Oh, please tell me this child was not conceived in the rig,” Hen begs. “Was it snake girl?” Chimney asks. “I need to know if we have to prepare for a hereditary love of reptiles.” Buck laughs awkwardly. “No, she wasn’t anyone I met while I was on duty,” he says, trying to ignore the way Bobby looks skyward and mouths the words thank you. “It was, um. Do you guys remember when I was having a hard time after that roller coaster rescue that went bad?” “Of course,” Bobby says. “It was your first time losing someone on the job. You took it hard.” “Right, yeah, and you suggested I see someone for counseling,” Buck says. “So I went to her office, and it turns out she’d seen me on the news, and, um, I guess you could say we tried some non-traditional treatments?” He braces himself for laughter and teasing, but instead the room goes quiet. “Buck, are you telling us that Danny’s mother was your therapist?” Bobby asks, his face pinched. “It was only one session,” Buck says, his body curling defensively around the baby in his arms. He suddenly recalls the visceral hatred and disgust that came off Dr. Wells’ husband the day he had picked Danny up. The pure disgust he’d shown when he learned that Buck had been a patient of his wife’s, “and we didn’t exactly do a lot of therapy. It’s not like I was a regular patient of hers.” “That doesn’t make it ok,” Hen says softly. She says it in the voice she uses to reassure victims in the field, and Buck has no idea why she’s using it now.  “Look, I get that it wasn’t the classiest thing I’ve ever done," Buck says in an effort to downplay the whole thing, "but it’s not like we did something illegal." “At the very least it’s sexual misconduct,” Athena chimes in, and her voice is serious, too. “Depending on the circumstances, it could even be considered rape.” “Woah,” Buck says, stepping back in alarm. “Hey, no, it was very much consensual. I would never-” Buck looks around and catches Bobby’s eyes. “Bobby, I swear,” he pleads, “I know I did a lot of stupid shit, but I never did anything that the other person wasn’t completely on board with. I would never try to take advantage of-” “No one is accusing you, Buck,” Bobby assures him. “You would have been the victim. If your therapist slept with you, then as the patient you’re the one who was assaulted.” Buck snorts at the wild absurdity of that statement. “I think I’d know if I had been assaulted.” “If she violated her duty of care -” Bobby starts to say. Buck shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that,” he insists. “I flirted, she flirted, and one thing led to another. That’s all.” “Ok, let’s all maybe take a breath,” Eddie says, stepping in and stationing himself between Buck and the frowning faces all around him. “This is a baby shower, not an inquisition. Let’s just eat some cake and tease Buck about his very pretty baby sling.”  He plucks at the floral fabric wrapped around Buck’s chest – which Buck got for free on facebook marketplace, thank you very much – and gives him a reassuring smile. The rest of the crew chuckles lightly and are willing enough to move on to other topics of conversation - though not without some pointedly concerned glances at Buck - as the stork cake is cut and served.  “I’m stealing your kid,” Eddie says, plucking Danny out of his arms as soon as everyone’s attention has been successfully redirected. “Go talk to Bobby.”

#Fic: Therapy Baby #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #buddie #911onfox #911 abc #911 fanfic #therapy baby #how do i fanfiction?

[accidentalshifter]

Vampire Diaries/Originals-verse [Dawn Misplaced] DR:

⚜️ TW: My Mikaelsons are a ✨️ problem ✨️ and how they behave (or don't) will probably be unpredictable. Blood, sex, death, abuse, violence, & dark themes. I don't condone any of their actions, I'm just documenting them for science.

*Some things from previous posts might be reiterated upon in this one. Y'all this is super TLDR, be warned.

It's impossible to talk about this DR without talking about the unfinished fanfiction that sprang into my brain last year and refused to die; "Dawn Misplaced". After watching half a season of the Originals & relating heavily to the Mikaelson's generational trauma/cycles, this plot bunny appeared, assuring me that I should totally sin against the canon & create an alternate universe before I watched all of the source material...

So, William Webb and his adopted daughter Zoey St. Claire (Webb) was born. My OC had so much of myself inside of her that she was technically a self-insert or in shifting theory, a DR self. And William, now that I think hard about it, is probably a representation of my own generational trauma that I saw playing out in the show. Ahh, apologies for reading too much into that. Anyways!

Keep in mind that I had only watched season one and two of the Originals (and half of the first season of Vampire Diaries) before Zoey self-insert brain rot took full effect. Little did I know that many of my plot ideas for Dawn Misplaced ended up being explored by TVD in season three/four via Alaric Saltzman and The 5. (It was a trip watching those episodes for the first time recently with a friend) Like Alaric, William was a vampire hunter forced into action by tragedy & succumbed to the dark obsession inside of him that urged him to kill vampires at all costs. There's only one real difference between Alaric and William's slaying methods; killing innocent kids. Alaric at least had some sort reasonable criteria for who he'd murder. William Webb, on the other hand, was willing to slaughter a whole damn orphanage if it meant putting a stake in the vampire menace forever.

Zoey St. Claire was one of the seven children who managed to survive William's slaughter. Although, he insists it was a "necessary evil" for his experiment to work. You see, he'd run across a very old book that his ancestor, Will Webb (the first) had written, documenting a ritual meant to create a super slayer. A living weapon. Just as strong, fast, invulnerable to compulsion, and able to withstand a beating from a vampire. But was more intended for the sole purpose of killing The Originals. Yes, my DR self is fighting her intense instinct to murder her neighbors. (Are you getting that FNAF vibe? William Webb=TVD Purple Guy).

Basically, it's the Missing Children Incident all over again.

My super slayer idea was real close if not the same as "The Five." Of course, I'll never know because all Dawn Misplaced ended up being was this:

As I mentioned in previous posts, the waking dreams started with that simple plot bunny and did not stop. Growing a life all their own despite my best efforts to starve it, uproot it, and purge it from my memories. I've written other fanfics before, abandoning them when I eventually lost my muse, but this one? Like a vampire, refuses to die.

Half a year is a long ass time to keep having intrusive minishifts, so. My friend in fandom crime suggested I should give into my delulu and start yanking back on the tugs. Even if it is just all in my head.

Now, I'm not new to shifting practices. Since my childhood days locked in a bedroom, I've been super good at dissociating & exploring different realities within my dreamworld. But that's just it isn't it? This DR isn't really mine. Sure, the Dawn Misplaced elements of it are. Will and Zoey are. The rest of it, though? It's built upon a foundation I didn't lay. It's a sum total of the books, the TV series, & all of the dreamers who've dreamt of the Mikaelsons. Of course it's resistant to scripting and has a life of its own. I'm only one singular drop in a pond.

It's like...

So, while I can't control what the characters will do or the scenarios that'll unfold once I begin shifting to [Dawn Misplaced DR], I can control how I choose to react. I'll have to be more cunning than the plot. The only thing I seem to do okay with is "I'm back in my CR" and (recently) which location I get dropped into. Mystic Falls or The French Quarter. Idk, maybe I'm just a bad shifter even if I've been doing it for a while...

I'm going to have to be more stubborn than the sum total of the fandom itself.

*Using the Taglock Method has been helping me somewhat in focusing.

However, here's the scripts that I HOPE I can get to work:

⚜️ While in DR, I share the strengths & skills of Zoey St. Claire (Webb) as a slayer.

⚜️ Using Taglock Method bound to an epoxy ring I wear both in my CR and DR, I can eject myself from the DR when taking off the ring and enter it when wearing the ring. (This one seems to work)

⚜️ All houses owned by William Webb are a safe spot. (This one should work because it cooperates with TVD/Originals canon)

⚜️ Retain memories of CR self while in DR. (As long as I'm doing awake daydreaming, I seem to be able to do that)

...And what about an s/o, you say? 🫠 I think I've got bigger fish to fry. I'm not going to try and force anything to happen if it even does. After all, I'm no Elena Gilbert! Trying to date in the "real world" is already hard enough...

Additional BONUS LORE for DM that may or may not become relevant because my DR is an unruly child and it was only just ideas I'd casually thrown around in my brain for the fanfic:

⚜️ William Webb (the first) was an exorcist priest for the Vatican. His journals document the various "demonic spirits" he expelled and eventually spiraled into unhinged ranting. On the surface, at least. William Webb (the later) was able to decipher the super slayer ritual from these journals with the help of a witch probably.

⚜️ Either William Webb (the first or the later) was ex-communicated by the church for his inappropriate use of witchcraft against "the demonic spirits." He's become a boogeyman (much like Mikael) with a bad reputation that has preceded him and casts a shadow on all the Webbs.

⚜️ TVD/Originals seems to have werewolves and vampires, vengeful ghosts, witches, and hybrids. Along with doppelgangers & magic miracle babies. But what I noticed it doesn't have is angels. The seedling concept for my DR's super slayers are humans possessed by the blood & flesh of the archangel they were forced by William Webb to eat. Kind of have a zombie vibe to them, huh??? Can you tell I probably have religious trauma, LOL?

⚜️ William Webb's descendants eventually made their way to the new world during the time the Originals were in New Orleans and mingled within the same circles. The Webbs later settled down in Mystic Falls working as textile merchants of European fashions. You kinda gotta do what you can when you stop benefiting from the Roman Catholic church.

⚜️ While not technically a "founding family," the Webbs do possess a spot on the Mystic Falls council. For once, the shadow of their ancestor's legend pays off big time for them. Especially in a town plagued by real "demonic spirits." Originally, I thought the Webbs were ex-communicated from the town council but my first controlled shift (yesterday) into my DR revealed that wasn't the case. See what I mean by the DR choosing which bonus lore it wants to validate?

⚜️ In TVD/Originals it's mentioned that each and every supernatural creature in Universe must have a set of strengths/weaknesses. I had originally planned that my super slayers were disabled by sulfur, solar eclipses, and had a tendency to "go corrupt" if they broke an angelic virtue. However, what an angelic virtue is is open to interpretation. It likely is similar to what Dark!Alaric was.

⚜️ Elijah Mikaelson and a descendant of Will Webb knew each other. Elijah was interested in the journals of William Webb (the first) for whatever reason. Intrigue, maybe? Or maybe something more serious than that...

⚜️ The most recent William Webb (the later) hid his super slayer project from the Mystic Falls council. The majority of them, at least. I'm almost certain that if he told anybody at all, it was probably John Gilbert. Hell, given John's attitude and medical knowledge, he might've been in on it with William.

⚜️ William Webb (the later) raised the seven surviving kids to be hunting machines. Zoey is the last one standing who didn't corrupt & chose to turn her back on William at the age of 15, emancipating herself (legally) as soon as she could to live a "normal life." D.M. was going to take place after William's untimely death where Zoey St. Claire must return to Mystic Falls to settle her father's accounts and do something with the property she has now inherited.

⚜️ Zoey has vague, fleeting memories of her childhood in Mystic Falls. She (alongside her 6 other "siblings") only experienced a couple of years living there "peacefully" in the Webb estate before William took them on the road to hunt. Zoey was homeschooled much like the Umbrella Academy kids. It's nebulous at best whether Zoey (or the 6 other kids) ever met Elena in their childhood much less any other character living in Mystic Falls.

⚜️ Unlike her six siblings, Zoey never took to slaying vampires half as fervently as William wanted her to and rejected his doctrine soon after witnessing the corruption of the eldest of her siblings during a vampire hunt. Being a deserter earned her no points from Will or the rest of the Webb family. She is now more likely to sympathize with vampires than side with hunters despite her awkward position of being the last remaining Webb, having to be present for council meetings for as long as she is stuck in Mystic Falls settling Will's legal accounts, estates, & the things he left her in his will.

Some last, finalizing thoughts on this TLDR, DR Intro before I start actually documenting my shifts...

In my last post, I said it was all real. Shifting is real and it's really happening. Somewhere. And that somewhere is inside of me as well as outside of me as an objective reality all its own. Theoretically.

I wanna add a "yes, and" to this theory for the preservation of what little sanity I have left...

Yes, it's all real. And I'm pretty sure the thing that forged this pull, this...link...to the TVD & Originals-verse was/is my shitty childhood. I see a lot of my own family trauma inside the story of the Mikaelsons and the Salvatores. I think that by exploring this link and allowing it to show me things, the adventure I plan to embark on might give me an opportunity to reflect on my wounds. Maybe even heal...

If it's all real, then confronting my DR-self's trauma could help me find closure with my CR-self's trauma as well. And if I get to have anything from this experience, I'd like it to be healing.

It's a good thing I'm a vampire slayer then, right?

#desired reality #dr intro #desired reality intro #shifters #shifting blog #tvd shifting #tvd universe #shifting to tvd #shifting community #shiftblr #shifting realities #shifting stories #reality shifting #reality shifter #reality shift #shifting #shifting diary #shifting reality #shifting motivation #dawn misplaced: accidental's tvd/originals dr #accidentally shifted myself #oopsie #shifting to tvd is great until you have to deal with niklaus #shifting to desired reality

[raddocwrites]

Do you even lift, Bro Una

Una carries this crew. Literally.

“This really isn’t necessary,” la’an informed una as the commander approached.

“Of course, it is,” chapel contradicted her cheerfully from across the room. “You won the bet, didn’t you?”

La’ans eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember any bet.“

 “I also do not remember committing to a wager-“ spock started.

Ortegas loud sigh cut him off. She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her drink. “Whoever won the captains murder mystery dinner party, was to be carried in victory while the rest of us mere mortals cheered her name.” She shot them an impatient look. “It was in the invites.”

“It most certainly was not,” spock corrected her.

Uhura rolled her eyes and leaned towards him. “Just be glad we talked her out of insisting we call the winner the Supreme Investigative Detecting Queen of the Enterprise, for a week.”

Spocks eyebrow arched impressively. “Indeed. That would have been worse.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the captain mused. “It might have been fun.” The scowl la’an sent him made him grin even more. He leaned casually into his counter with one hand tucked into the pocket of his 1920s style trousers, the arm holding back the large, beige coat and his other rested on a thin strip of elastic that held up his pants, cleverly called-suspenders.

“What I want to know,” Dr Mbenga started, tilting the fedora he wore so it sat more roguishly, “Is how you figured out who the killer was?”

“Yeah,” uhura added. Her shimmery white dress was full of fringe and sparkles. It seemed to flap and dance every time she moved. She had a white headband that complimented the outfit perfectly. “How did you know?”

La’an just tilted her head. She was in black trousers, a dark blue button-up shirt with a black vest. Una had tried to convince her to wear a black fedora with it, but la’an hadn’t been sold on it. Though, looking at Mbenga now using the hat to such effect, made her wish she had. “I AM chief of security.”

Una rolled her eyes. “Yes. But the captain has been working on this for WEEKS. Getting the scenarios and the clues just right. How did you figure it out so quickly?” She wore a dark blue gown that was the same color of a midnight sky during a meteor shower, with a large, feathery contraption draped around her neck and shoulders. The feathers were silver and she had on matching long, silver gloves that went up to her elbows.

La’an raised an eyebrow then opened her mouth.”

“Wait!” ortegas cut in. “Don’t tell us.” The pilot had on a slightly oversized suit, hat and tie, which she assured them all was ‘peak gangster attire’.

“What do you mean, don’t tell?” chapel asked, confused. The nurse wore dark slacks, a white button up shirt only half buttoned and black suspenders. She had shiny black cufflinks that gleamed and caught the light as she moved her hands and matched her shining black shoes.

“Well, I think she should tell us. Because I, for one, would love to know how miss smarty pants figured it out so quickly,” pelia remarked over the drink she held in both hands. The diminutive blonde wore pinstriped trousers and matching vest over a red long-sleeved shirt. She also had a confusing amount of paraphernalia with her costume-pocket watch, several broaches, embroidered pocket square, jewelry and neck scarf. Everyone had the sneaky suspicion they were all genuine, but no one wanted to ask where/how/when pelia had acquired them. They all knew how the louvre was still calling about some painting…

“But if she tells us, it will ruin it for next time,” ortegas protested. The others thought about this.

“There will be a next time?” spock asked, slightly alarmed. He wore dark trousers with a dark blue button-up shirt, light blue suspenders and a matching blue bowtie. A grey, wool cap sat awkwardly on his head, but only because Christine had insisted he wear it.

“Of course there will be!” the captain exclaimed excitedly. “Next month im thinking of…”

But la’an couldn’t hear what the captain was planning for the next obligatory staff bonding session since una stood right in front of her and motioned for la’an to stand up.

La’an raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Una just smirked. “Its this or,” she made a small mock bow. “Supreme Investigative Detecting Quee-“

La’an held up her hands with an eye roll. “Fine,” she agreed and stood up. At least this way it would be over quickly.

Una grinned. She stood next to her friend, bent slightly, and grabbed la’an around the waist. She straightened and easily lifted the Lt to her shoulder, holding la’an in place with a steady grip on her legs. The room erupted into delirious cheers. Una carried la’an three times around the captains quarters on her shoulder, with the others roaring their approval.

By the end, even though she still felt a little self-conscious, la’an grinned giddily. She laughed and looked down at una. The sight of her friend, who normally towered over la’an, shorter than her made la’an laugh even harder.

Una grinned at the sparkle in her friends eyes. She winked and la’an squeezed her shoulder. Her friend leaned over and shouted, “Who was going to carry you, if you’d won?” she asked breathlessly.

Una looked over to spock who cheered somewhat stiffly, lifting the hat off his head and waving it methodically in the air. “I believe mr spock would have been called to fulfill that duty.”

La’an and una shared a look then they both burst out laughing. Finally, only somewhat regretfully, una set la’an carefully back on the deck. She kept a hold of la’ans shoulders in case her friend stumbled, but of course la’an was as steady as a rock.

La’an shot her that side eyed smile. “Thanks chief,” she said softly.  

Una smiled equally as soft and couldn’t stop herself from pulling la’an into a crushing embrace. Her friend hesitated only a moment before she returned it, then stood back.

“Come on,” una said conspiratorially. “Lets get out of here before the captain sets us to doing the dishes.”

La’an grinned and headed for the doors, not needing to be told twice.

#star trek strange new worlds #una chin riley #number one #una is insanely strong #being illyrian has its advantages #la'an noonien singh #drabbles

[angeygirl]

Vaguely incomprehensible thoughts from listening to Self-ish for the first time (mostly written in real time)

(and also I try an analysis at the end despite not understanding the words)

Self: Huh, that was a very chill intro song. Probably setting up motifs or smth I'll look it up later

2012: For a guy having a breakdown this is really funky. Noticing a theme here.

Cotard's Solution:

This... this intro is the end of Dr. Sunshine. Motifs! That's cool :D but alI can hear for the rest is "*Rabid screaming* Murder look like a suicide *Zombie sounds*" I've heard not to trust people who like this song so I'm assuming it has to do with the lyrics but these instruments are fire

Mr. Capgras:

What are these rhythms and why do I love them? Not sure what the vibe is but it feels, like... an old carnival or something? Let me guess, more identity problems? HOLY CRAP THAT'S THE DROP IN DR. SUNSHINE! (looked it up afterward while trying to make this post make sense, Capgras Syndrome is a disorder where a person believes someone important in their life has been replaced by an imposter, but in this case the imposter is imposter syndrome [I think])

The Song With Five Names:

Why does the song have five names anyway? Maybe it'll make sense when I actually can read along and figure out what's happening "Gotta get to the bottom of this"??? This guy keeps reusing things and it makes me so happy. That guitar though...

Hand Me My Shovel:

YES!!!

Fun fact "Hand Me My Shovel" was my first Will Wood song. Found it on a Wilson Higgsbury playlist (I think) and it actually scared me with all the screaming. Funny how it's a favorite of mine now that I associate it with Michael Afton. And it was on a William Afton playlist, ironically enough.

Dr. Sunshine:

Yeah... as far as I'm concerned this song is my traumatized OCs having a dance battle in some spooky bar in the south west or something while yelling at each other for no reason, all just dealing with their own problems by dancing and yelling and stuff.

"Who should I be then if I'll never be the same?" is the opposite of what "Self-" was saying. All that stuff about identity and it ends with "I'm no one now, there's no one now to be." No wonder it sounds so melancholy there. Plus the clock ticking... The title of the album makes so much sense actually

So "Self" was really calm but "-Ish" sounds angry and pained. the songs didn't really amp up linearly (as far as the music goes it's pretty high energy the whole time), but the story is still there.

Someone assured in his identity (Self) loses a large chunk of his memories (2012) and rapidly downward spirals into losing more and more pieces of himself (going to need to lump the other songs together since I couldn't actually figure out what they individually were about). In trying to reinvent himself, he feels he's replacing whatever he had before (Mr. Capgras) and goes digging deeper into himself to look for answers (Hand Me My Shovel). By the time he really does hit the bottom, he's panicking and grabbing at straws for stability, not really one thing or another; not stable but not unstable, not good but not evil, not sure but not lost. Not sunshine but not moonlight. (Dr. Sunshine) In the end he has more questions then answers. All the confidence is gone and he forces himself to just be. (-Ish)

Considering I have a hard time understanding lyrics the first time I hear a song I definitely missed something, but even with what I could make out the story was there. I've heard Will Wood wrote a lot from his experiences and I can feel that in this album.

#long post #liveblogging #I think #Will wood #Angey tries to do song analysis

[boldlyvoid]

No Longer Alone Together: Part 3

Part Three | Masterlist

December 5th: 

They slip back into normalcy quite easily. She goes back to her normal shifts for just 1 week before her Christmas break starts, and a similar thing was true for the kids, their last day was on the 23rd, however. 

Spencer is up at 6am, he answers the door for Emily and gives her a big welcome home hug. PJ sits with them in their bed for an hour, babbling and driving his little toy cars over the sheets while Y/N gets another hour in. Luna comes in around 7, and Spencer has to wake the other 2 up at 7:30 so they can have breakfast and get ready for the bus. They’re gone at 8:15, the first bell rings at 8:50 and they’d be home around 4. 

On Monday, she goes to her doctor before work to give a blood sample, she’s welcomed back by the secretary who has sat in the same wheelie chair since they had Atlas, she’s very happy to see Y/N again. 

In the doctor's main office, on the wall, all the healthy babies that Doctor Morison has delivered, have their photos hung on the wall. All three of her children are on there, Atlas covered in cake at his first birthday, Noelle all dressed up for her first professional photo with the chubbiest cheeks… and a newborn Luna sitting in Atlas’s arms with Noelle resting her head on her, hugging her brand new little sister with a huge smile. 

There’s going to be 4 up there soon… she shakes her head, thinking about it while she waits for the nurse. 

This time not even a decade ago, she was completely alone and crushing on some guy who kept coming into her wing of the museum. The one with the curly brown hair and the sweet blond boy he carried around on his shoulders to see the dinosaurs better. She spent over a year dreaming about being with a man like him… or just him in general. She wanted to mother his children and take them to the museum and live a happy life with someone who loved her… 

She has Paris to thank for the family she has now, if her dad didn’t take his girlfriend to France, she would’ve never had the courage to talk to Spencer… leave it to the city of love to be strong enough to bring people together even when they’re in the privacy of their own home. And then like magic, Taylor Swift wrote it into a song which plays in her headphones while she waits for her doctor. 

She has her blood taken, the nurse is lovely about it, and then she gets to talk to her regular doctor. They share a hug, it’s been a while since she’s seen her in person. They’ve been through a lot together… 

“So, you know this is considered a geriatric pregnancy now that you’re 40 and it comes with higher risks, right?” Dr. Morison asks. 

She nods, “yep… pretty nervous about it, actually.” 

“It’s not going to be too different, you’re just going to get poked a bit more often, but it’s just to make sure you’re both as healthy as possible,” she assures her. “How are you feeling, 9 weeks and 3 days is right when everything starts to get worse for you, usually…” 

She chuckles, “yeah… well, I’m not throwing up as much as I was with the others but I think it’s cause I was too busy, I wouldn’t let myself.” 

“Ah, I take it Spencer is back home now?” 

“How’d you know he was gone?” 

“I saw him on the tonight show on the ER TV of all places?” she shares with a surprised smile. “I bought the books too… I can’t believe it’s all based on real stories?” 

“Oh yeah, it was wild when he was still in the FBI…” she can’t believe it either. “He’ll be here for the ultrasound on Friday, though.” 

“Good… now, we have some extra tests that we can screen for this time around, I can go ahead and run them all with this blood test?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” she agrees easily. “I want to know everything.” 

December 9th:

And there he was beside her the day of the big ultrasound, with PJ strapped to his chest, taking his morning nap, heavy as ever for being 22 months old. 

They offered to take him every morning until the baby came, and then most days after that while they adjusted to having a newborn. PJ was an easy kid to watch, he was almost 2 after all, so he was in that peaceful stage between baby and toddler that they loved so much. It was a win-win getting to look after him. 

They don’t meet in the ultrasound room first. Instead, a nurse takes them back to that same office with the baby photos on the walls, nervous that something is wrong. 

Dr. Morison comes in with a smile, with nothing alarming in her presentation. And then she sits with a sigh and Spencer turns to Y/N with a look, reading her a lot better than Y/N ever could. 

“And who’s this?” She notices the baby on Spencer's chest. 

“Our nephew,” Spencer explains. “You know Laura and Emily Prentiss?” 

“Ah, Peter Joseph,” she knew exactly which baby that was. “Laura’s due any day now, isn’t she? I’m on call to deliver.” 

“We know…” Y/N can tell she’s stalling. 

There’s something she’s scared to say. 

“So, right to business, I guess… We ran your blood and found something,” she leads. “It’s not bad, it’s not life-threatening, but this baby does have 3 copies of chromosome number 21, meaning—

“They have down syndrome?” Spencer knows right away. 

Dr. Morison nods. “They do.” 

“That’s okay,” Y/N looks between Spencer and their doctor, watching their faces to make sure they thought so too. “They’re okay, otherwise, right?” 

“We have to do the ultrasound to make sure, but yes, they’re healthy according to all your other levels,” she assures them. “It’s highly common for women over 35 to pass on two copies of the 21st chromosome, actually 1 in 800 babies in the united states is born with trisomy 21 and as of 2022, the life expectancy of a person born with trisomy 21 is 60 plus years old… there is a high likely hood they will have some developmental delays and some physical disabilities too like sleep apnea or gastrointestinal problems… but we won’t know until they’re born.” 

“Okay,” Y/N takes a deep breath, accepting it easily, she always said she’d love every child no matter what. “um… do you know what their sex is on there?” 

“Oh, yeah, I have it,” she stalls, making sure Spencer has the time to catch up.

He’s quiet because he’s thinking about it all, he knows a lot about trisomy 21 in his brain. It was going to be an adjustment, but they could do it easily with him being home all the time and the child probably needing more support, it was going to work fine. Thinking about maybe homeschooling them to avoid bullying and ensure she learns to the best of her ability and any of the other kids could switch to homeschooling too. And he wouldn’t mind taking a huge hiatus from writings books, even if the publishers get mad. His family comes first. 

“Spence?” Y/N nudges him.

“Sorry. Please, go on,” Spencer realizes they’re waiting for him. “I’d love to know.” 

“You’re having another little girl,” she smiles, watching as they turn to each other with big eyes and matching gasps. 

“No way?” Y/N can’t believe it, she had an inkling they’d be a boy because this pregnancy was similar to Atlas’s so far but, clearly, she was wrong. 

“The tests don’t lie,” she jokes, letting them live in the moment for a minute. “Would you like to go see her?” 

“Absolutely.” 

They follow her into the ultrasound room she gets all undressed and on the table, nervous as ever to see her. Dr. Morison is quiet while she does the exam, watching the screen alone at first and then turning the screen on the wall on for them to see. She walks them through everything she sees, what’s normal and what she expected to see with the trisomy 21 diagnosis. It’s not as scary as she thought, the anxiety in her body fades as reality settles. 

They get pictures and pamphlets and book a million more appointments for different things over the next few months. It’s a lot to process, but thankfully they have a few months to get ready for everything. 

PJ’s back in his car seat, and the two of them sit in the front of the van, Spencer offers to drive home but neither one of them is really ready to go yet. They just sit there. Quietly. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know,” she can’t describe it. “I’m just worried about her…” she rubs her hand over her belly. “It’ll be difficult on us, sure whatever, but what about her? She’s going to have health issues her whole life and kids are fucking mean?” 

“Believe me, I know,” Spencer reaches over to hold her hand. “But she has two older sisters and a big brother to watch out for her alongside us. And like 10 cousins… she’s going to be very loved, very protected, she’s going to have a good life with us.” 

He’s right. He always is. He has a 6th sense for when things are good for them, like he can tell what was set out by fate and what was temptation just waiting for them to reach out and make their perfectly crafted stack of cards come crumbling down. 

They take PJ back to Laura, finding that Will’s truck is in the driveway, so he must be over too. Sure enough, they walk right in and find Will in the kitchen making Laura some lunch while she sits at the counter rubbing her big belly. 

“Hey!!” They cheer as soon as they see Spencer, although Laura doesn’t get up from her seat, she really can’t with how pregnant she is. “Welcome home!” 

“Hi,” he gives her a quick hug, “how are you feeling?” 

“Good, ready to be done, you know…” she shrugs. He’s heard it all, having witnessed the end of pregnancy many times already, he knew it was hardest on them. “How’s my little man?” 

“He’s good,” Y/N gives her a half-hearted smile while holding little PJ, still asleep and slowly waking up on her shoulder. “He slept a lot longer than usual cause we were in the car after his nap time and you know he loves cars.” 

“Where’d you go?” Will asks before Laura can get to it. 

“We had a doctor's appointment,” Spencer shoots her a look, wondering if they’re going to tell their support system now or later… he didn’t really have a choice, they read him like a book. 

“You’re pregnant again?” Will points at her, “I knew it. I had a feeling last week when we had lunch at the museum…”

“Yeah,” she takes a deep breath, “and— and we got news, it’s not bad news… we love her already no matter what, but we found out today she has down syndrome.” 

“Oh,” Will and Laura look at each other with the same expression. 

“That’s normal for people our age, though, right?” Will asks, “there are two boys with it in Henry’s class and a guy in my jujitsu club’s daughter has it, they’re all wonderful little kids…”

“Yeah, no, we’re excited, it’s going to be fine,” Spencer reiterates. 

“And you know Amelia from Grey's anatomy? Her daughter in real life has it too, she’s the sweetest thing,” Laura adds. “Did you guys plan this… is that why you’re so hesitant to be excited?” 

She takes a deep breath and bounces PJ slightly, soothing herself more than him with the simple rhythmic movement. “We don’t use condoms, never have, so technically we’re always trying… I’m hesitant cause— cause this is now a high-risk pregnancy on top of being a geriatric one. I have to do more tests, she’s going to go through medical problems her whole life, she’s going to be dependent on us for a lot of things well into her adulthood… and the world's not looking too good right now, so like, I’m feeling terrible like it’s my fault and— and,” she finally breaks down, covering her face as she cries. 

Will and Spencer crowd her, Will takes PJ from her and Spencer wraps her up in a hug, “hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I know, I’m just pregnant,” she cries harder, embarrassed more than anything to be doing this in front of their friends, but they were her best friends in the whole world. They would hear this at some point anyway. 

She takes a seat beside Laura at the kitchen counter, finally, Laura offers over half of her sandwich but Y/N doesn’t want it. Spencer stands behind her, rubbing her back gently, he knows they have to leave soon to make it back to the house in time for Luna to get off the bus, but she needs her people. 

“I’m just going to run home,” he whispers to the top of her head before pressing a kiss there, “you stay and chat.” 

“Okay,” she knows exactly why he’s going, the others do too. 

“Do you need anything while I’m out, Laur?” Spencer asks, offering to go out of his way for her in her time of need. 

“I’m good, just hurry back here with my niece, I miss her,” she teases, having a wonderful bond with all 3 of them actually. 

Once Spencer’s gone, the other two look at her carefully, “why didn’t you tell us?” 

She shrugs, “I didn’t want to believe it was happening until he was home, honestly.” 

“I get that,” Will understands. “JJ found out with Michael at work and told Spencer before me and I was genuinely pissed…” 

“I remember,” Y/N can recall the phone call they had after it. “I knew right away basically, but I didn’t take a test till last week.”  

“When are you due?” Laura asks more so she knows when they’ll all have to step up to take care of Y/N this time. 

“July 10th… Nichola Teslas birthday, apparently,” she remembers how excited Spencer got when he realized that, repeating it with a smile. “And she’s a girl and she looked really good, you want to see?” 

That was a no-brainer. She takes the ultrasound photos out of her purse and hands it to them. “How do they know she has down syndrome?” 

“The blood tests and that there,” she points at the back of the baby's neck, “the fluid build-up is a telltale sign.” 

“Ah,” they both follow along.

“And you’re okay?” Laura asks, “do you need anything?” 

She shrugs, “I feel fine… I’m just nervous and you know my anxiety is always 10 times worse when I’m pregnant.” 

“Look at me,” Laura takes her hand in hers and stares into her eyes. “You’re a wonderful mom, you and Spencer are so good to your kids, a special needs child isn’t going to be difficult for you. You’re going to give them so much love and accept them for who they are and help them grow into who they’re meant to be just like you’re doing with the other 3… she’s going to grow up very loved. That’s all you could ask for, right?” 

“Yeah,” she cries lightly again, leaning over and resting her head on Lauras shoulder, “thank you.” 

Its moments like this she’s so unbelievably thankful for Spencer and that trip her parents took to Paris. She would’ve never known Laura or Will without him, without that trip setting the dominos for the rest of her in motion. She’d never know true friendship and love like this without it. 

—

Back at home later that afternoon, they have to get the older two from the bus and head right back out to the doctor's office to get Noelle's cast off. Her doctor is so proud of her for keeping it on right and helping her bones heal to the best of their ability. She gets a special sticker for doing such a good job around the saw as they cut it off and then she asks to keep the cast… her eyes well with tears and she cries when mom says no at first.

It stinks, it’s gross, and Y/N doesn’t want it in her house, so they compromise and cut out her favourite signatures to put in a memory box in her room. She loved her cast. She told everyone about how she broke her arm doing a cool skateboarding jump in her cousin's backyard and how she didn’t even cry in the hospital. It was her proudest achievement so far and Spencer wasn’t even there for any of it. 

He goes into a bit of a spiral that night after the kids go to bed. 

He sits with Y/N in the living room, she holds her phone in her hands as she scrolls through tiktok’s with a Christmas movie on in the background and Spencer's head in her lap. Occasionally she’ll scratch the top of his head like he’s a cat and rake her fingers through his hair, it’s usually relaxing but he can’t stop stressing. 

“Do you think they’re going to grow up and resent me for missing the last month?” He whispers. 

“What?” She doesn’t mean to laugh but it does sound a bit ridiculous. 

“I didn’t even know she broke her arm until she was home from the hospital?” He cries, “and it was apparently the best day of her life?” 

“Thats just because I let her have a whole tub of ice cream from the corner store,” Y/N downplays it. “Seriously, Will would have called you too if you weren’t in Chicago… I wasn’t there right away either, you know?” 

“I just feel guilty,” he sighs, looking up at her from his spot in her lap. “I wish I was here for that, for you… I still can’t get over how much Atlas cried when he saw me again. That broke my heart.” 

“He’s a sensitive soul,” she coos, stroking his hair back out of his eyes. “Just like you… seriously, it’s one month out of the full 18 years you get to spend with them here.” 

“We only have 10 more with him—

“Ah! No!” She points at him. “I am not thinking about that night now. Believe me, I know the math and I hate it too.”

He turns his head to the side and stares at her tummy, “at least we get a fresh start again soon…”

“We should call dad and Diana,” she suggests. “they’re going to be excited.” 

“Where did they go this year, again?” Spencer genuinely forgets, his last few months were so busy that he’s barely talked to his mom and when he did it was about himself. 

“They’re on a cruise in Alaska,” she says while back on her phone, pulling up the photo her dad sent her of him and Diana on the boat the first day. “They come home on the 21st.” 

They started a tradition of trips for Christmas, but since becoming grandparents, they’ve always come home with a few days to spare before the big day. They didn’t want to miss any time with their grandkids, not when they didn’t know how much time they had left. 

“That sounds fun,” he’s envious. “We should take a trip before this baby, just me and you…” 

“When? We’re already taking the kids to Florida in March?” She reminds him, the whole thing was already planned with JJ, Will, their kids and Penny coming too. 

He shrugs, “we’ll find time… even if we just go to DC for 2 nights away. I miss this, just doing nothing together for hours on end.” 

“Me too,” she lets out a deeper sigh as she thinks about it. “We’re done after this baby, right?” 

“Do you want to be?” 

She nods, “yeah, I don’t think I can do this again… not with my bad eggs.” 

“You don’t have bad eggs,” he assures her, wrapping his arms around her middle and hugging her with his face pressed to her belly. “I know it's different and scary and it’ll be like being first-time parents again but that’s the fun part… I loved those first few months with just me, you and Atlas. Even with the sleep deprivation and getting shit on, I loved spending time with you and now we get to do it again.” 

“It’s taking everything in me not to google it,” she admits. “I want to know everything that can go terribly wrong but I also know thats the worst thing I could do to myself right now.” 

“Yeah, maybe don’t,” Spencer agreed. “We have another appointment in the new year and we’re going to learn everything then. It’ll be okay.” 

“You keep saying that.” 

“‘Cause I mean it,” he didn’t know what else to say. “We’ve gotten through some terrible things and made it this far. This isn’t a terrible thing, if anything, I’m glad that out of the 1 in 800 babies in the US born with down syndrome, it’s our baby who has it. She’s a baby who’s going to need a lot of love and who else loves like us? No one. We have a huge family, the kids will love her, Penny and Laura and Will, they’re going to love her and offer to spend just as much time with her as they do with the others. My mom and your dad are going to spoil her rotten and you know it. It’s going to be so absolutely okay.” 

She doesn’t mean to tear up but she does, overwhelmed with love. “I’m glad she’s ours too.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

[al-the-remix]

I think people are just making jokes because they're relieved that Geno isn't leaving after all! It's meant to be light hearted :)

Yeah, I mean this in the least offensive way possible, but I really do not care whether people are joking about this or not. I am not feeling lovely light-hearted at the moment.

The main issue I have with how this was handled had to do with the fact that this happens every year. Literally every year. This is why I dislike the time period from post-draft to pre-season so thoroughly. No one seems to have retained the lessons they learnt a mere 365 days ago. Yes, the fact that Geno had reached the end of his contract this year made the likelihood of him being traded higher than average. Still, the organization has had close to a decade to build a relationship and understanding with Geno that should negate these sorts of issues. The fact that there’s new management is not a good enough excuse, not when there’s been so little turnover in the rest of the front office. 

In my opinion, Geno was the only one who reacted in proportion to the events at hand. The Pens had two choices this year; they either drop the core players who’ve reached the end of their contracts (which we already knew they weren’t planning on doing) or they make a commitment to keep the ageing core players and prioritize them riding out the rest of their careers together, which is what the fans want and the players want and what the organization had communicated that they wanted but did not transition it smoothly into practice. 

Considering the history of how they’ve fumbled negotiation and communication with Geno in the past they should have gone out of their way to make him the first player they locked down, not the last. Obviously, they did not. They gave Tanger six years at six, then waffled over giving Geno four. Committing to Tanger until he’s 41 is not any less unreasonable than committing to Geno until he’s of a similar age. Both are injury prone and approaching 40, and it’s impossible to foresee how the future will unfold.

By going about things the way they did, they made it seem as if they’ve been claiming they want Geno as well as Tanger all along when in actuality they only wanted Tanger (and Rakell etc. etc.) And because Geno is not stupid he picked up on that and felt upset and disrespected, rightfully so after everything he's given to the team.

If that’s not the case, then they really managed to screw up dealing with a player they wanted this badly. So either they’re dishonest or they’re incompetent, neither is a flattering look for the team. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am very pleased that Geno is back and that Sid hand a hand in it (even though it shouldn't have had to escalate to that point,) and I’m excited about the upcoming season. Other people are allowed to react however they want, but so am I and the last thing I am at the moment is amused. I'm amused like 99% of my life. Right now I'm irritated and will be for a while.

TL;DR  If I hear a single rumour or Yohe article about a potential Geno trade or someone having to fly out to wherever Geno is to assure him that yes, they really do want him--and no, they mean no disrespect--the subsequent post-season I’m taking a sledgehammer to everyone in the organisation’s computers. Lol, your privileges have been revoked. 

#asks

[middleearthpixie]

Hit & Run

Armitage Summer Splash #24 - Thanks as always to @lathalea & @fizzyxcustard for this!

Trope: Accident 

Quote: “I need to see you.”

RA Character: John Proctor (Modern AU)

Relationship: John Proctor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Car accident

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,277

***

You didn't really know what happened. One minute, you were at the intersection of Main and Percival Streets, on your way to open the shop and the next? You heard the crunch of smashing fiberglass and shattered glass, saw the inside of an ambulance, and that was all you could remember.

Now, you were in the hospital and at first, everything hurt. But now? Now you floated on a soft cloud in a gentle haze of whatever painkillers they’d given you. Pins had been put into your ankle and something had been mentioned about physical therapy once you had time to heal, but you really only recalled bits and pieces of it. 

“Sweetheart?”

You struggled to open your eyes. An uphill battle at best because you were just so very tired. It took several attempts before you won and you offered up what was probably the sleepiest of smiles as your eyes finally focused on John’s face, above you. His dark hair was windblown, his blue eyes filled with concern while his hand moved gently over your hair, his thumb brushing your forehead.

 “What happened?” His deep voice was soft, almost a whisper to match the gentle strokes against your forehead. 

You slowly shook your head, letting your eyes close since the fluorescent hospital lights hurt them. “I—I’m not sure. I was on my way to the shop. And someone came out of nowhere and hit me…They must’ve… must’ve run the light because I know my side was green.”

His thumb went still. “Did you see who?”

You licked your lips. Despite the IV giving you fluids, your lips felt dry. “It happened so fast. I never saw who… but it was a black… a black SUV.”

“It’ll be on the police report.” Warm lips brushed your forehead. “I spoke to the doctor. She said you’re going to be fine in time, but I think you’re going to have to let Kerry run things while you recuperate.”

You managed another smile. “I think she will do just fine. She did when we were in Hawaii.”  You forced your eyes open again. “I’m supposed to pick up Ben and Sam and—”

“I already talked to Eli,” he assured you, his thumb moving lightly along your forehead again. “He’ll pick his brothers up and then head into work. His boss understood when Eli told him you’d been in an accident.”

“Oh, thank God…” The boys were from John’s first marriage, and they lived with you. It had been rocky at first, but as your relationship with John grew more and more serious, they eventually warmed up to you. Even John’s ex-wife, Elizabeth was no longer as icy as she’d been in the earlier stages of your relationship. You would never be friends, but you’d developed a cordial enough relationship that if you’d called her and asked her to grab the two younger boys from middle school, she’ d have done so and not held it over your head.

“You just need to rest,” he told her, rising from his chair. He bent over and his lips were soft as they moved gently against yours. Then he pulled away, and murmured, “I’ll be back in a bit. I want to make sure the boys get home okay and they’ll probably want to come up and see you.”

“When can I come home?”

“Dr. Ehrings wants you to stay at least tonight, but she seemed pretty sure you could come home tomorrow.”

You nodded, even though the last thing you wanted was to stay in the hospital overnight. You hated hospitals. They were too quiet, too creepy at night, and they had that hospital smell that no one liked. Still, you were in no shape to argue, even if you wanted to. “Okay.”

“Get some rest, honey,” he murmured, his beard scraping against your chin as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be.”

He winked, then straightened up and with a soft sigh, you closed your eyes, asleep before he left the room.

In the hallway, John’s tranquil smile melted away. His hand clenched into a fist that he shoved into his trouser pocket. His heart had stopped two hours earlier when Anna poked her head into his office to tell him you’d been in an accident. He couldn’t get to his car fast enough and as he drove toward Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital, he got on the phone with a friend of his who was with the local police force. You were broadsided by woman driving a black Range Rover.

He’d paced the small surgical waiting room, waiting for news on you. All he knew was you had numerous cuts and bruises and you’d broken your ankle. None of your injuries were life-threatening, thanks to your car’s side curtain air bags and crumple zones. You were actually incredibly lucky, all things considered. Still, he was on the verge of madness when Dr. Ehrings finally came out to tell him you were out of surgery and would be moved to your room after you spent some time in recovery. 

Now, his hands almost shook with rage as he strode down the sterile corridor toward the elevator. He waited until he was outside, in the warm air of a late spring afternoon. The cherry blossoms had bloomed, as had the dogwoods and the lilacs planted along the Emergency Room’s outside perimeter were just budding to life. 

He dug out his phone and dialed, lifting it to his ear when a woman said, “I thought I’d be hearing from you. I need to see you, John. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Are you kidding me?” he growled, “I know exactly what you did and don’t you even think to give me some bullshit story. I know it was you. Black Range Rover. Did you think no one would figure it out? Do you think we’re all stupid?”

Abigail laughed. At one time, that sound would have tingled along his spine, but now? It made him see red. “You know what was me? Are you feeling all right John? You sound… upset…”

“Upset? Yeah, probably because I am. This was the last straw,” he told her shortly, striding toward the parking deck. His BMW was on the second level, but if he stepped into the shadows, he’d lose the signal. “You’ve gone too far, now, and I’m not playing this game with you. Leave us alone. Do you get that? I don’t want you.”

“Why do I think you don’t mean that, John?” Her voice held that coquettish coy note that he’d grown to hate. “How many times did you tell me to leave you alone before Beth caught us? And each time, you came crawling back to me, didn’t you? Each and every single time.”

“Not this time.” He switched the phone to his other ear. 

“Oh, really? Does your girlfriend know—”  

“Wife,” he broke in, unable to keep the tone of triumph from his voice at her stunned silence. “Yeah, you didn’t know that, did you?”

“Wait… your—your wife?”

“My wife. We were married last month, Abigail. And if you come near her again, I promise you, I will kill you. Is that clear?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“You’re quick. I’m warning you. Leave. Me. Alone.” He hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, ignoring it as it rang immediately. He ignored it the entire way back to his car and as he pulled out of the parking deck and steered back toward his office, he knew exactly what he had to do next. 

***

Like it? Love it? If so, please love it, leave a comment, reblog it, or do all three! 💜💜💜

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @ggfamert @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

#armitage summer splash #Richard Armitage #John Proctor #The Crucible #John Proctor x Reader #John Proctor x OC #John Proctor x You #John Proctor Modern AU

[my-strange-attraction]

I think the reason I’ve been so inactive on this blog recently, aside from being back at college and busy, has to do with the slow move away from aspec labels I’ve been doing over the years and how it feels much more like a betrayal now that I’ve finally put it out there and changed the labels on my bios and all that. I preach a lot about fluidity within labels and fluidity of labels, but when it comes to applying it to my own life I’ve had trouble. 

From the moment I identified as ace (pretty much a full four years ago at this point) and then aro (two and a half years ago) I’ve felt constricted. I’ve struggled, if you look back on this blog, several times with feeling like I need to let go of the idea that I will ever find romance or have a partner in that way, and though I think it’s healthy for everyone to consider that they might not find a life partner ever, I think viewing it as an objective truth really troubled me because, well, I do want it. 

I’m a romantic at heart, and for the longest time, even though I know all the aspec terminology for romance/sex favorability and I’m very well aware of how diverse the community is and I’ve actively helped to spread that information, I always had this idea in my head anyways that ace/aro people can’t want sex/romance even if they do enjoy it while it is happening. 

Obviously that’s not true and a label can’t stop you from wanting whatever you want or feeling however you feel, and I think many people who have the exact same feelings I do still enjoy the aroace label, but I needed a change. Not just for how I see myself, but for how others see me as well. I struggled against the ace label initially all those years ago because, even having never had a crush before in my life, I was still worried that if I labelled myself that way I would be telling others I’m not available, and cutting off my chances of ever dating at all.

I don’t think the label has actually done that. In fact, it saved me from a really awkward situation with someone I was friends with for a short time last year who ended up being really toxic for me, so it has helped me avoid bad situations that I might have fallen into due to my desire for a relationship. But I had to say goodbye to it, which was what my last post (that wasn’t a reblog or an answer to an ask) was about. 

God I’m rambling so much. Back to the original point of this post: I haven’t been posting so much on this blog, because leaving behind my aspec labels made me feel guilty. I started this blog and built up the community around being aspec. And I may have abandoned all the previous branding that connected it to being an aspec blog at this point, but it’s still the community. It’s still what I’m known for. And I don’t want to abandon my aspec content, but I also want to post about my other queer experiences that don’t have to do with being aspec specifically. And honestly posting about aspec things is still a bit uncomfy for me right now, just because I left behind the labels for a reason and I feel like posting about them associates me with them.

This is not to say I’ll never post about being aspec again or that I’ll only post about being generally queer. I don’t know honestly what this is saying, but I like to be very open and honest about my experiences relating to me being queer on this blog, and this is the explanation I felt the most need to make. 

Tl;dr I am queer now, not aspec. This does not mean I don’t still have aspec exeriences, but I’m feeling disconnected from them currently and felt the need to change my label. I will probably be posting less about being aspec rather than just generally queer from now on, but rest assured, I always will answer any advice asks like please still ask me about aspec things I am a fountain of information and advice! You can still think of me as an aspec blog, I just felt the need to post this explanation as a sort of announcement about why my blog might seem different going forward.

Sorry even my tl;dr was long. If you have a problem with it, you must be new here, hi I’m cloudy and my original post tag is cloudy rambles and that’s all you really need to know to understand my posting style. If you made it all the way here, thanks for sticking with me! If you didn’t, I understand, haha. I will try to post more from here on out now that I’ve explained myself, because I really do want to come back to this blog and this wonderful community. Some queer confusion/ struggles just have to be dealt with less publicly than others, I guess. Or just less in real time. But I’m back now, I hope!

#long post #queer #labelling #personal #cloudy rambles

[ask-the-reaper-conspiracy]

(A soft whistle at the barred window of Dr Sithe’s cell. A faint rustle of clothing. A little parcel, wrapped in cheesecloth, slips between the bars. There’s a letter tied to the outside, addressed only to “Mama”. It’s Maria’s handwriting.)

Dearest Mama, The woman with the Green Comma of Secrets assures me that this letter will reach you unopened and unread. I would not otherwise risk committing the following to paper. I thought about All Hallows’ again last night. Your face, my mask. The two of us the same. You didn’t understand why I cried, I think. I didn’t understand it myself at the time. I thought I must be sad, but I didn’t know why. It only came to make sense the other day: Miss Wilson told me that sometimes one cries when one is overwhelmed by happiness, or relieved of a great burden. I can only suppose that that was what happened to me. When you first gave me my mask I know you never knew how much it would mean to me. You didn’t know how much easier it would make the day to day task of being Maria. Lights hurt my eyes less when I wear it. Scents hurt my mouth less when I wear it. People cannot see my face when I wear it, so they cannot see when I make the wrong expressions and become angry with me. But of course it makes me look stranger than ever, doesn’t it? You didn’t want me to wear it all the time, especially not at work. You didn’t want people to think I was strange, because people so often fear what they don’t understand, and try to destroy what they fear. I made myself difficult to protect. I have thought for a long time that you must resent me for being such a strange creature. It seems to cause you no end of trouble. I could allude to the incident I must not talk about, of course, and all the events that followed from your attempts to protect me, but that was far from an isolated incident. My mask was part of it too. But then you wore it for me, and we were the same, and I suppose I felt that perhaps you don’t resent me quite so much after all. I suppose I felt that you might accept me, even just a little, exactly as I am. I can only hope that I was not mistaken. Certainly I hardly deserve the acceptance I desire. I have been such a difficult child to my Mama. One might say I have been almost an impossible child. This you can hardly deny. If I were not Maria, you would not be in chains. Is it not my duty, then, to set you free? Upon that subject I have some good news. The court has agreed to hear your appeal. We have as yet no date for it, which is to be expected - upheaval in the wake of that (I stretch the term) man’s removal from office continues to cause delays - but we are assured that you and those who would speak for you will be heard in court. Now the real work begins. The team has assembled at home, from where I pen this letter: Asogi-san’s notes occupy a good quarter of the office as I write, and Miss Lestrade keeps her feet off my desk only under protest. Your dear sweet husband, meanwhile, keeps his thoughts occupied by learning to bake. He wants to smuggle a treacle tart into Barclay for you. If he manages not to burn it, I shall ask the bearer of the Secret Comma to take it with my letter instead: baking we might teach him, but subterfuge I suspect we may not. I feel a little lighter for having written this down. Whether our mysterious friend can stay long enough to take a reply I do not know, but it will be enough for me to know that you know my thoughts. I am not an easy Maria to understand. I would like to be a little easier, just for my Mama. I shall write again by official channels as soon as I have news less vulnerable to prying eyes. In the meantime, rest assured that everything at work and at home is in hand. You may have raised a peculiar sort of child, but you did not raise an incompetent one - and, strange though she may be, she means to make you proud. I am, and forever shall be, Your loving daughter Maria

(The cheesecloth parcel contains a miniature treacle tart, about the size of the Doctor’s palm. It is heart-shaped. The edges are a little darker and crunchier than they ought to be, but it is nevertheless delicious. Looks like he didn’t burn it after all.)

(.... You've proved yourself capable of learning, Lovett. There is hope for you yet.) (But this letter...) (Of course I remember that All Hallow's Eve. I remember thinking that I must have made some grievous misstep, at the time.) (I suppose not.) ".......Maria..." "To think that she's made this much progress. To read her words here, I hardly feel worthy of it." "As for you, listen to me--" "I---I cannot possibly form an appropriate reply for you to take back without spending the whole night." "But..." "Please tell my daughter that I send my thanks, and that I... I look forward to seeing her again." "And inform my husband that it would behoove him to practice his baking more." "I will graciously dispose of the failed attempts."

—————–

Relevant ask

Check this page for credits

#courtney sithe #maria gorey #mr. sithe #interactions #courtney's maria #post game #((NEW INSTALLMENT DROPPED

[cophene]

032 || ☆ ⁺ « STILL A SPACE FOR HIM.

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them  a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and pretty-faced crew notes : sci-fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.3k+

★˚⋆ HE’S LIKE SOME KIND OF OLD, eye-patch Sleeping Beauty.”

You just managed to catch yourself from slapping Narancia upside the head. Mista snorted. Fugo sighed from where he was bent over the healing pod console.

“Is he going to be alright?” Bruno asked, hovering by the foot of the healing pod.

“Should be,” Fugo murmured. “He was only hit with a tranquilizer dart. Whoever shot him didn’t want him dead.”

“He was still shot, though,” Abbacchio pointed out.

“It’s likely they just wanted to incapacitate him to get the Stand Arrow. They probably needed him to tell them what to do.”

Polnareff was currently in one of your ship’s healing pods, an oxygen mask over his face. You were glad he hadn’t keeled over dead back on the ferry. You were on the last leg of the job. You couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong. 

Arrangements had been made with Zero. He had been neither glad nor excited to hear that you had the Stand Arrow. All he’d told you was to meet his ship at Bend Gate I. Maybe he was saving the excitement for when the Arrow was actually in his hand. That was fine. Right now, you could be excited enough for the both of you.

Your entire body thrummed with the need to see the Arrow. To hold it and assure yourself that it was real, that all of this had been worth it. So far, though, Bruno had been keeping the case on his person, and you didn’t want to have to ask him to see it.

You didn’t want to talk to him at all if you could help it.

“There’s nothing to do but let the tranquilizer get out of his system,” Fugo said finally, pushing back from the console. “He should be good to meet with Zero by the time we get to Bend Gate I. He’s otherwise unharmed.”

Bruno breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you, Fugo. You’re always good in a crisis.”

Fugo looked uncomfortable. “It’s no problem.”

“We should leave Polnareff to rest, then,” Trish said. “Let’s go talk in the galley.”

“Oh, Narancia,” Bruno said. “Why don’t you leave Coco Jumbo back here? Polnareff might want to talk to it once he wakes up.”

[ I DON’T HAVE ANY DESIRE TO TALK TO SOMEONE WHO ABANDONED ME. ] Coco Jumbo said with a touch of disdain.

“He created you, though,” Mista said.

[ I WOULD PREFER NOT TO THINK ABOUT THAT. ]

Bruno looked amused. It was such a familiar expression you had to look away. “I’m sure if you give him the time, Dr. Polnareff will fully explain the circumstances around you, Coco. He talked about you often. He holds you in very high esteem.”

Coco said nothing to that. Nonetheless, it allowed Narancia to set him on the table next to Polnareff’s healing pod.

“You talk to Coco like it’s alive, Bruno,” Trish said. “You don’t find that a little weird? It’s just a computer.”

“I have a habit of thinking about anything that can talk as alive, I guess,” replied Bruno. “It’s an easy mistake to make, considering how much personality Coco has.”

Everyone filed out of the med bay and to the galley. You hung back, watching Mista sling his arm over Bruno’s shoulder, and Narancia start laughing at something he said. Fugo nodded when Bruno directed a question at him, and Trish actually blushed while asking a question. It threw you off, the way your crew could still act this way around Bruno. Comfortable. Familiar. Like Bruno hadn’t been gone all of this time, and you had just been waiting for him to come back.

Bruno still fit with the crew. Not completely, but there was still a space for him. You felt betrayed, somehow, because you had spent so long trying to move on from his absence.

He had left. Not disappeared. And it was a difference only you were aware of.

Nearby, JoJo’s confusion and Abbacchio’s curiosity were palpable. At least not everyone was glad Bruno was back. You wouldn’t have been able to take it if they were.

“Who is that?” JoJo asked gingerly, looking sidelong at Bruno. “I thought he was just a guide back on Tritus.”

“He’s a former crew member of Passione. The Captain’s right-hand man.” Abbacchio answered for you. He gave you a look. “He disappeared a while back. Most people assumed he died.”

JoJo’s eyes widened. “Really? Then what’s he doing back?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” you muttered.

“Are you … I mean, can we trust him? Does he know we’re working for Zero?” JoJo asked.

“What are his goals exactly?” Abbacchio said. “He wouldn’t be back unless he wanted something. Not after being gone for so long.”

You scowled. “Ask him yourself. How am I supposed to know?”

Once your crew arrived in the galley, Trish and Mista went off to grab drinks and snacks for everyone. You felt a pang as everyone unconsciously resumed the positions you’d taken so long ago. There was a seat open between Mista and Bruno, one you would have taken without thought. Now it only made you uncomfortable.

You opted to squeeze in next to JoJo and Trish instead. She gave you a confused look, but thankfully, no one said anything.

Once everyone had a carton of Coco Jumbo in front of them, they looked at you expectantly. You remained stubbornly silent. You’d thrown everything you had to say Bruno away already. You’d resolved yourself to the fact that he would never hear it anyway.

Mista cleared his throat. “So … Bucciarati. You’re back.”

Bruno smiled. “Yes. For now, at least.”

Narancia made a noise and Fugo glared at him. Looking at him, Bruno’s forehead creased. 

“Narancia, what happened to your eye?”

“What, this?” Narancia pointed to the bandage around his eye. “Oh, you know…”

“He had an eye infection and never told anyone,” Fugo said curtly. “Now it’s so bad he’ll need a cybernetic.”

“Fugo! What the flack?”

“It’s what happened. Haven’t you already hidden it for long enough? You would think we’d find out before you crashed our ship.”

“I didn’t crash anything! I just—”

“Speaking of which, how is the Passione?” Bruno interrupted. He was still the defuser, even now. He glanced around the galley. “It looks different than I remember.”

You’ve been gone a long time. What do you still remember? you nearly snapped, but managed to restrain yourself.

“We had a situation,” Trish said, waving her hand. “This isn’t really the Passione anymore. Just a ship that looks like her.”

Bruno’s face fell a little bit. You couldn’t help feeling happy about that. Even if Bruno had named the Passione, that didn’t mean it was still around.

“I don’t think I properly introduced myself,” Bruno said to JoJo. “Everyone here knows me as Bruno Bucciarati. I was a former member of the crew. What’s your name?”

“You’re still a member!” Narancia exclaimed. “We’re glad to have you back, Bucciarati! You’ll always be one of us!”

You clenched the carton of Coco Jumbo in your hands.

“It’s nice to meet you,” JoJo murmured, reaching across the table to shake Bruno’s hand. “My name is JoJo. I only joined the crew recently.”

“You have a Stand ability?” Bruno asked casually. JoJo blinked at this, taken off-guard.

“Uh, yeah. I guess I do.”

Bruno nodded at this. “That’s good.” Then he turned his attention to Abbacchio. “And what are you doing here, Inspector? I have to admit I nearly got a heart attack, seeing you just standing there.”

Abbacchio glanced at you. “The Captain and I reached an agreement. We’re working together for the time being. All of this is strictly off the record.”

“Is that so? I never would have guessed.” Bruno took a long drink from his milk carton. “What are you up to right now? Why get involved with Coco Jumbo and Dr. Polnareff and the Stand Arrow?”  

And so, in stops and stars, one person butting in where another cut off and at times, everyone yelling over one another, the story of how your crew accepted a job came to light. You were embarrassed that your crew had to admit how empty your credit account had gotten and how much you’d struggled. What Bruno thought of this, he made no sign. In fact, he barely reacted at all. He kept his face carefully neutral, and you wanted nothing more than to punch it.

Why couldn’t he just give you the Stand Arrow and leave? Disappear like he’d done all this time?

The one thing you were grateful for was that everyone carefully made sure not to mention Zero by name. He was just someone rich interested in the Arrow. Also someone capable and competent enough to deal with the Arrow. Everyone seemed to know that Bruno would be opposed to handing over the Arrow to Zero, and you couldn’t afford to delay.

“... and that’s basically it,” Mista finished. “That’s why we need the Arrow.”

“I’d expect nothing less from you all,” Bruno said. He sounded almost fond. “It seems like you haven’t changed at all.”

“We’re thieves. We steal,” said Narancia, shrugging. “It was only a matter of time until we started going after the Stand Arrow.”

“We’re all Stand users, after all,” Trish agreed.

“But what happened to you?” Fugo asked. “How are you back? We had no idea where you went.”

The words were like needles. You kept your gaze on the table, unable to look at anyone.

“You don’t really want to hear about that,” Bruno said. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“We thought you were dead!” Trish said. “Do you have any idea how glad we are that you’re back? Of course we want to know. Whatever you’re willing to share.”

Mista punched Bruno’s shoulder. “We have time. All we’re doing is waiting to get to the Bend Gate. Plus Asswipe and JoJo are just curious as we are.”

You could feel Bruno’s eyes on you. You didn’t look up. It was his story. He didn’t need your permission.

“You all probably know that one of the escape pods was mistakenly ejected while I was working on repairs,” Bruno hesitantly began.

“Yeah, about that. What made you think that was a good idea?” Narancia cut in. “Even I wouldn’t have been brave enough to do repairs by myself. The buddy system and all that, you know?”

“I thought it was going to be an easy repair. I wouldn’t have gone out otherwise.”

He was lying straight to their faces. This was the narrative he was going to stick with, you realized. He would never tell them that he had meant to abandon them. That he wanted nothing to do with the crew.

Bruno had wanted to leave Passione. He’d wanted to leave so badly he’d been content to fake his own death. This fake story he was spinning put a bitter taste in your mouth.

You hated him for it. You hated that Bruno was here at all. You didn’t really know what loyalty made you keep quiet. You could out him in front of the entire crew. They deserved to know the kind of self-centred, backstabbing flackbag he really was.

“A passing ship flagged down my escape pod a few hours after. They were kind enough to allow me passage with them to the nearest planet. There, I tried to make contact with you, but I was caught by the Galactic Authorities.”

You almost snorted. Abbacchio’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing to refute this. It seemed like he was going to play along too.

“I was retained for some time. The GA’s questioned me thoroughly, offered to pardon my crimes if I told them where all of you were. I refused.”

“You should have told them!” Trish said. “Even if we were all caught, we could have helped you escape.”

“You didn’t use Sticky Fingers to escape?” Fugo asked, slightly suspicious.

“They had very strict security on me. And even if I managed to escape, I had no way of contacting all of you without tipping off the GA’s.

“After a few weeks, I reached an agreement with the GA’s. They seemed to believe me when I said I had no idea where you were. Which was true. I didn’t.” Bruno smiled ruefully. “They allowed me to go on the condition that I would never return to Passione or make contact with you. If I did, they would arrest both myself and my father.”

“Bastards,” Mista hissed.

“I hope you can understand. I would have done anything to find you all again, but I couldn’t let anything happen to my father. I was forced to stay away, and for that, I apologize.”

Everyone was really buying this, weren’t they? Since when had everyone become so gullible?

“My father and I relocated. I found work with Dr. Polnareff on Tritus. And I’ve been there ever since.” Bruno shook his head. “Sometimes, when I was feeling bold, I would find an article or newscast about you. You don’t know how much I missed you all.”

You looked around at the crew. Narancia was pressing a fist to his mouth and Trish’s eyes were misty. Fugo was looking down at his lap and Mista had his eyes closed, breathing deeply.

You had to leave. You couldn’t watch this. It was one thing for Bruno to lie, but to do it to the crew who had trusted him like family?

“I think I’m going to turn in now,” you said, rising from your chair. “Let me know when we get to the Bend Gate.”

“You’re leaving?” Narancia said.

“Just tired. I’m going to try to get what rest I can.”

You left the galley before anyone could say anything else. Once you were in your own quarters, your thoughts were too scrambled to sleep.

You couldn’t think about Bruno. You just had to focus on the Stand Arrow and Zero. They were the only things that mattered. Everything else could be dealt with later.

You wished there was a faster way to get to Zero. How pleased would he be? How grateful? All of this would be worth it as long as he was happy with you.

Just as you were drifting off, there was a knock at your door. You were tempted to ignore it, but reluctantly sat up and crossed the room to answer.

It was Bruno. You nearly shut the doors in his face.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you said coldly. “You might be on my ship but you are not one of my crew. I don’t owe anything to you.”

Bruno leaned his shoulder against the doorframe—a deliberate motion to keep you from sliding the doors shut. “I know that. But what about as a friend? Do you owe me anything then?”

You clenched your jaw. You let him into your room, if only so that your conversation wouldn’t disturb the rest of the crew.

“You have some nerve coming here and acting like everything is fine,” you said in a low, seething tone. “I can’t believe you would betray the crew’s trust like this. Why don’t you tell them the truth? Why don’t you tell them that you abandoned them and never thought to come back? The ones who treated you like family? Who always had your back? Who would’ve done anything to get you back?”

Bruno’s face tightened into a frown. “You let me go, Captain. I think you’re forgetting that.”

“I’m not your Captain anymore, you flackbag.”

“I made a request to leave and you granted it. I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”

“I didn’t expect you to leave like a coward. You didn’t tell anyone. You made it look like an accident. You had every opportunity to reach out and explain what happened and you didn’t.”

“I knew you weren’t going to let me go. I could tell you wanted me to tell everyone so that they would make me feel guilty and change my mind.”

“You should feel guilty! You turned your back on the people who trusted you most!”

Bruno threw up his hands. “I didn’t leave because I hated the crew! You have no idea how much I cared about the crew. How much I still care. You have to stop acting like I left because I wanted to betray everyone. I left because I was unhappy. There was nothing you or anyone could have done to change that.”

You stopped short. You didn’t know what to say to that.

“Even though I cared about you and the crew, I wasn’t completely happy. I knew, deep down, that stealing wouldn’t be a long term commitment for me. I grew up near the sea. My entire life before Passione revolved around the sea. I missed it like a physical ache some days. It’s where I truly belong. It’s where I’m really happy. Even if I missed the crew, I missed the sea more. And besides, I knew you would be fine without me. I wouldn’t have left if I knew it would leave you at a disadvantage.”

“But it did—”

“You’ve got along just fine without me. I did what I could but I could tell you didn’t really need me.”

“We did need you. You were the one who kept all of us together. Do you know how hard it is to plan things without you? To carry out heists and escape and—” You swallowed. “I didn’t know how to act without you there.” That was all you could get out. You couldn’t say everything else. How much you’d missed his presence, his faithfulness, his steadfastness. You couldn’t say there had been a time when you had been convinced…

That the two of you might been something more. 

Bruno turned away. “You make people feel needed. That’s a part of your job, Captain. But I wasn’t needed. You didn’t even follow the last bit of advice I gave you.”

“You mean the job with Zero? It’s going completely fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? Look around you. You’re making mistakes you never make. You lost the ship. Went into the Black Zone. Got swindled. Blackmailed. Followed. You’re never this sloppy. Zero’s already got his hold on you and you don’t even know it.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know. You weren’t there. You don’t know half of what this job is.”

“Don’t I? I worked for Zero, Captain. You’re handing one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy to a madman. You should be horrified. Instead, you’re falling over yourself to hand over the Stand Arrow. Since when do you act like that? Since when do you steal things for buyers that will cause harm?”

“Zero isn’t going to cause harm. He’s a capable, intelligent man who’s going to safeguard the Arrow and prevent it from falling into the wrong hands!” You could feel your chest getting hot. “You should be ashamed for thinking about Zero that way. After everything he’s done!”

Bruno stared at you. His blue eyes darkened as he seemed to realize something. 

“Captain, don’t tell me—”

A wave of exhaustion rolled over you, so powerful that you swayed on your feet. Dark spots crowded your vision and you didn’t have the energy to straighten yourself as you fell back.

Despite everything, Bruno caught you before you hit the floor.

His voice was urgent. “Are you alright? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Your eyelids were like a set dumb bells. All of your limbs went numb. You were so tired. All you wanted to do was sleep.

“Bruno … I think … I think—”

Your head lolled to the side and your body went lax as you slipped into unconsciousness.

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

#kismetva #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #sci fi au