#// but all good things must end and the doctors have told me its better hers end in comfort sooner than pain in a couple weeks

[precognitiveignition]

gonna have to say goodbye to misses squish tonight

it feels almost as sudden for me as it probably is to you guys to hear

but this is just the way life goes sometimes

love ya fuzzball

thanks for everything

[inblazes]

Dear Son, The only reason this letter must be finding you is that I am gone. Most likely dead and for that I apologize. Know that I wouldn't have left you or Kaeya if I could help it, if Miss Adelinde gave this to you would be a surprise, yet she had grown curious after some time. But apologies for what this box may hold within it. A lot of my past sits in here, along with this letter you are reading now.

With my Demise will come many a face coming to the door, some you may know some you may not - don't question them much as much as I know you will want to. The less you know the better, the less you answer their own questions too will be safer for you, Kaeya, and Mondstadt as a whole in the long run. As Calvery Captain you must put the people first, and your curiosity second. Even if you never receive the answers you wish to know.

What I can tell you, which must never leave this letter or your lips, is that The Doctor used to be my colleague. I used to be the Eleventh of the Fatui's Harbingers. Whether he has weaseled his way to killing me one way or another would make sense, if that is how it came to an end for me. Or that the .. Delusion had.

Don't use it. I only use it when I have to now, considering the damage it has already caused myself in the long term, the mistakes and destruction caused by myself with it on my hand since I was gifted the thing by Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, back in the day. If you can help it do not use it, you've your vision. That alone should be enough to help you protect those you need to, to help your brother perform the duties of Knights of Favonious.

I'm telling you all this as I've clearly had no time in your adulthood to explain this to you as much as I wanted to. It's been too dangerous, and becoming more so with the Fatui within the city as of late. More seem to grow comfortable within the city walls. Keep eyes on them. There's more I would've loved to disclose but ... I cannot. The view of Her should never find your back, if you can manage that much I think I would've done a good job in raising you --- or that Kaeya has the sense and wherewithal to pull you back from something so utterly suicidal.

Please know that i'm proud of you. Always have been. Since the moment I laid eyes on you I knew I couldn't remain where I was, your birth was something special and provided me the strength to leave and go against what I had helped built. You bring forth a type of Dawn with your smile that not many can.

I hope you can forgive the lies. The truth of what I have been attatched to before you. If you cannot I understand, but even if you curse my name in death know that I still love you and always will.

Be good.

Best regards,

Sire Crepus Ragnvindr, Master of the Dawn Winery.

For years, that letter had gone unread -- stashed away in a lockbox filled with the rest of Diluc's closest treasures. Seashells, jewellery, childhood drawings, letters, pressed flowers, paintings, and photographs of days long gone.

Like his father's funeral, he had never been ready to face it head-on: actively avoided it and refused to acknowledge its existence.

Out of sight, out of mind, so they say.

One day, the young master told himself ( when he was willing to try and move on and make peace with what had happened to their family ) he would read the final words that his father had left for him, and begin to try to heal from the pain of being bereft of his beloved parent.

Except that what he found within the contents of that letter deeply disturbed him. He couldn't have possibly seen it coming... And as he sat, ready to try and let go of the past as his eyes scrolled through every line of handwriting, he felt his heart break anew. Each and every wish his father had held for him, he'd heartbreakingly failed to achieve in one way or another.

Worse still came the news that Crepus was a Fatuus -- and not just some lowly pawn on the bottom rung of the ladder, but the Tsaritsa's former Eleventh. A colleague of Dottore's. It blindsided him similarly to Kaeya's confession on that fateful night, his hands feeling numb as he grips the letter in hand with force, wrinkling it at its edges.

He was the son of a Harbinger, and the shame that came with it was one so deep that he was instant in the action that he took to denounce that shameful stain upon their family name.

It had taken him so long to be able to look upon his father's belongings and feel something other than grief. Now that same hurt resurges all over again, coupled with disgust, as he abandons that accursed letter upon the surface of his desk to erase any trace of him from the manor's walls.

Diluc tears through the home like a whirlwind -- frantic in his efforts to tear down every painting, every photograph... Not even the family portrait was allowed to stay, clattering down to the ground as its frame was torn from the wall in an impulsive rage.

If that was the late master's legacy -- what the Ragnvindr clan represented in this day and age, then he didn't want it any longer.

[hekates-corner]

Apothecary Diaries | WN Translation | Arc 9 - Chapter 18

Hi and welcome!

For a number of reasons I ended up here. I relay all that happens in the chapters, playing wine-aunt.

So, be warned, all the spoilers are down below. If you'd like spoilers, but less - my dm's/asks are open!

New here or missed a part? Check out the Masterlist.

Chapter 18 | Hitoban Pt. 3

There was an uproar in the courtyard but as soon as Jinshi, the mightiest man, told them to disperse, everyone returned to their posts. Once everyone was gone they checked inside the net.

“What *the hell* is this…..” - both Jinshi and Basen went wide-eyed. Based on Basen’s reaction, Narrator-Mao concludes that the bird must’ve escaped him before he could get a proper look.

The bird that Chue had caught was an owl (esp ural owl), about a foot long. However, it had a somewhat eerie look (kao) to be called an owl and they were taken aback by it.

It’s face (men) was white and round, as if it was wearing a mask (men). The feathers around the face were dark, so if it were in a dark place without spreading its wings, it would look like a floating mask (men).

But—

“It’s kind of small, isn’t it?” - It’s Tianyu who says it plainly.

I think Narrator-Mao goes on noting that even in front of Jinshi, the moon prince, Tianyu looks/is bold/imposing. The double mention of Jinshi’s titles is throwing my translators off.

Maomao nudges Tianyu with her elbow.

“Oh, I’m very sorry. You were here too, moon prince”

Maomao finds Tianyu pretty unfriendly. Of course she’d moved herself elsewhere.

Jinshi too wore a slightly hard/stiff facial expression. On the surface it was the smile of a heavenly being/he had the smile of a celestial being.

“There was an uproar. It would be strange if we didn’t notice. But what were you doing?”

Maomao thinks something that's either “shameless” or “hypocritical”

She goes on wondering as narrator what he (Tianyu) is going to say since he (Jinshi) even sent Basen to her.

Maomao steps forward because she doesn't know what Tianyu would say/reply.

“Okay. Lately, there have been rumors that strange things have been happening around this mansion. The military attaché with the medical officer had been consulted about this matter by a servant, so he investigated it while patrolling the residence. Today, I was consulted by that servant in the morning, but I was reluctant to ask the military officer, who had (just) finished his night guard, to directly investigate. His original job is to protect the medical officer, not doing chores.”

Maomao thinks “Let’s mix a little sarcasm in there”

She goes on adding something along the lines of “So I, as a court lady and medical officer went out to see if I could hear the story.”

Jinshi’s pretty much like “I see/Hm. Then what about the doctor next to you. There must be other work for a doctor to do.” (referring to how she couldn’t wake Lihaku but chilling with Tianyu’s fine) - His eyes sharp/cutting/discerning.

In her head Maomao’s like “Ah-” - going on as narrator that in the end it wasn’t good to involve Tianyu at all.

“I’m very sorry. I forced myself to follow her (he’s basically saying he forced his presence upon her). Maomao is better at dispensing medicine than a young medical officer like me, and I’m currently learning a lot of things *from her*. When I heard Maomao was walking around the courtyard, I thought she was looking for something to use as ingredients for herbal medicine, so I followed her.”

Mind-Mao’s like “This guy… …” - apparently Tianyu shifts the way he refers to himself, using second person now. She also notes as narrator that he apparently seems to purposefully misspell someone’s name on purpose (I think it’s hers?)

She feels like Jinshi’s eyes have become even more stern/steely.

“I see. I understand the general situation, but is it true that the real mystery is this bird/I have a general understanding of what’s going on, but the key question is, is this bird the true identity of the monster?”

Maomao’s like “Yes. Half of it.”

Maomao looks at the owl.

“There will be people watching us here. I’d like to change the location and ask for more details, is that okay?”

“Yes, sir.” - Maomao accepts Jinshi’s offer/request.

“I’ve never seen a bird with a face (kao) like this before.” - Jinshi gives the caged bird a serious/fixed long look.

From the courtyard they were led to the guest room used by Jinshi - there’s also another couple of rooms in use that Maomao notes you could hold a light/small tea party in.

Jinshi is sitting as the host, and around him are the usual: Suiren, Maomao, Taomei, Chue and bodyguard Basen. Narrator-Mao also has a feeling that Basen’s older brother Baryou is probably nearby but she doesn’t think he’ll come out.

For some reason Tianyu is also in the same room, smiling.

Maomao thinks that Tianyu should just say he has some job to do and decline.. but as narrator she knows that “if something seems interesting, he’ll follow you, that’s Tianyu”.

“Why did you think this bird was the true identity of the mysterious “Hitoban”?”

At Jinshi’s question Maomao closes her eyes. She has to be careful not to give Tianyu strange information. (one could also use suspicious or unexpected, etc)

“Okay - the first thing that struck me as odd/I thought was strange was the word “mask” (men). When I heard that people had seen “masks” on trees and buildings, I first looked around/checked the trees.”

Then she found the bird droppings which clarified that it wasn’t a small bird, but a carnivorous one of a certain size.

“Small bird were normally flying around the residence during the day, so I suspected that if there were carnivorous birds, they must be nocturnal.”

“I see/Hm. At that point you felt like the bird was the true identity of the monster, but what was the basis for that?”

“If you know this bird, you can imagine it. This is my first time seeing one in real life, but I knew that there were birds that looked like they had masks (men) on. They were drawn in an illustrated book of living things that I got at the pharmacy I used to work at.”

Jinshi, Narrator-Mao assumes, would probably know what the illustrated book is - it’s one of those taken from the Shi clan’s fortress. She also notes that he should be the one holding onto it now, so he can see it if he gets someone to bring it to him.

“The name is said to be: barn/masked (men) owl. If it was a normal owl, you wouldn’t think it had a floating face - but, above all, I feel like this owl has a slightly unusual color.”

Dark feathers. She notes that she thought most owls had black wings and a white belly, but this one’s almost entirely dark brown except the face.

“May I ask you a question?” - Tianyu raises his hand.

“Let’s hear it/Say it.” - Jinshi’s tone is a little more imperious/coercing than usual.

“It certainly looks like a mask, but isn’t it too small? It’s too pretty/cute to be a human face though/called a human face though.”

Tianyu looks at the owl in the cage. The owl didn’t act violent, it just looked sleepy. If they were to put nesting material in the cage it might sleep.

“Human eyes are ambiguous/unclear. I think that the presence of the white floating in the air is significant. Besides/Also-”

Maomao takes a piece of paper out of her pocket - when she’s looking for a writing utensil Chue quickly handed one to her. Narrator-Mao notes that she moves quick/works well. In addition, she often provokes Basen, who let the owl escape, by giving him an irritated look.

Maomao writes four dots on a piece of paper and shows them to Jinshi and Tianyu - they should be exactly where eyes, nose and mouth are.

“The human eye is designed so that when the dots are lined up like this, it looks like a human face. This is similar to the idea of seeing a persons face floating on a pillar/It’s just like the way people’s faces are often seen on pillars.”

“Understood. You found out the identity of the mask(men) floating in the night.”

Tianyu puts his hand in the cage and.. pokes/nudges the owl - it doesn’t put up/offer any particular resistance. Taomei(?) comes over with a plate with raw chicken on it.

Maomao thinks “Luxurious.”

As Taomei(?) offers the owl the chicken with chopsticks, it easily takes a mouthful (beakful? xD). It has no qualms about eating things offered to it by others.

“You found out the identitity of the mask (men). But what is the identity of the head (atama)?”

Narrator-Mao notes that Tianyu’s not a fool - he remembers exactly what Maomao said.

“Mask (men) and head (atama)? What does that mean?” - Jinshi’s asking for an explanation.

Maomao decided to speak again, including a review.

“There have been reports of sightings for the past 20 days. At that time it was called “men” or “kao”. However, it seems that the last few sightings are of a head (atama). Moreover, it was floating outside the mansion.”

“I suppose you are trying to say that “mask/men” and “head/atama” are different things. So, if this bird is the “mask/men” what would/will be the head/atama?”

“That’s the thing.” - Maomao glances at Chue.

“What is it? Do you need something from Chue-san?”

“It’s not Chue-san, is it?”

Maomao was thinking about the chronology. Witness testimony of the “atama” from a few days ago. This coincides with the date when Maomao and the others came to/arrived in Saito. And there’s one person who seems to be doing something strange.

“Pardon me. Chue-san has been with Maomao-san for the past few days.”

That’s right, she was away plowing the field with Maomao.

“This is just a hypothesis. However, just by looking at this owl, I feel like I figured something out.”

Narrator-Mao takes note of the owl eating chicken with its foot, spotting beautiful goldwork.

“Probably, but I think we’ll find it soon. We just have to leave a little trap.” Maomao grinned, patting the owl with its creepy face.

The next day Chue appears, alongside with her the distinctive sound of her footsteps.

Maomao had finished cleaning up the breakfast and was preparing medicine with the quack doctor.

“Are you a prophet, Maomao-san?” - Chue said/asked while blinking.

“I see that you found it. Have you been rough with them?”

“What are you two talking about? I have no idea what you mean.”

He’s a quack from beginning to end, but since it’s too troublesome to explain Maomao asks him to continue dispensing medicine - after, the tea should be prepared.

Chue, looking like she owned the place, sat on a chair waiting for Guen to bring the tea and sweets. (i’d like her balls, ngl xD)

“Okay. As Maomao-san said, I kept watch over the owls cage at night. Then, I looked to the place where the owl suddenly started making noise - there was a big problem/and lo and behold, there it was. I/We found someone dressed in black with a strange mask on.”

Chue seems to be having fun, drinking the tea that Guen was offering quietly - the sweets he brought were dried fruits from Saito.

“I couldn’t believe he really looked/was dressed like that.”

Even Maomao was surprised that it fit so well.

“So, is that suspicious person the one who raised the owl?”

“Correct.” - Chue makes a large circle. (i’d assume with her arms)

“Maomao-san, why did you think that the culprit behind the strange incident was the owl breeder?” - Chue asked frankly.

Maomao recalls/remembers the owls characteristics.

“Because it was clearly a pet owl. It also had the decoration/ornament on its legs and it didn’t seem to get angry in the cage, so it was eating the processed chicken without any caution. I thought that he had been taking care of it for many years, rather than just temporarily caught it as a pet.”

“Ah/Oh”

“And there was one thing that bothered me about the sightings.”

Narrator-Mao explains: The sightings of the “mask/men” were reported about 20 days ago, and the sightings of the “head/atama” was reported a few days ago. There’s one/some similarity.

“If it was twenty days ago, it must’ve been around the time that Empress Gyokuyous niece left for the capital.”

“Ah/Oh” - Chue seems to understand.

“Owl’s were originally one of the offerings brought to the capital/The owl was originally one of the offerings taken/to be taken to the capital. What if it somehow escaped?”

“Oh/I see. So did they decide to capture it now because the royal family was coming and they wanted to present it again? Is that the reason he put on such a strange mask so that no one can see his face?”

Maomao had an idea about the strange appearance - but it’s not a clear answer, just one of the guesses that Maomao makes.

“Maomao-san. Chue-san is a easygoing person, but I’m not a fool, so I won’t take Maomao-san’s opinon as just a story.” - Narrator-Mao notes that she’s basically telling her to keep it short - once she hears this she feels lighter/her mouth does.

“I think the mask and black costume are probably meant to resemble the owl’s parents.” - Chue tilts her head at Maomao’s words.

“Do you know what imprinting is?”

“Yes, Chue-san knows. When a bird is born from an egg it recognizes the first thing it sees as its parent.”

“Right. I wonder if the caretaker intended to release the owl back into the wild. I thought that they might’ve tried to avoid them remembering people’s faces.”

“Oh”

Narrator-Mao remarks that judging by the owl’s droppings, it was probably catching its own food.

“But in the end, it seems like it developed the habit of receiving chicken from people. If an owl with a funny face was accustomed to humans, rich people would buy it as a novelty, or give it as a tribute to a nobleman.”

“Do you mean that the person who raised it didn’t like that and let it free or let it escape?”

“It’s just an assumption.”

“However, the owl that was supposed to run away ended up living in the villa of Gyokuen-sama. And if the royal family were to stay there, it would be a big problem.”

“That’s just hypothetical.”

“If you call for the owl and are dressed as you were when you raised it, it will come - then catch the owl and release it far away.”

“Assumption.”

“I know.”

Narrator-Mao notes that to call the owl they’d have to blow a whistle or something. The owl responded, but couldn’t get out. (that’s when it went crazy in the cage while Chue was keeping watch on it)

She goes on that whether or not her assumptions are true, one thing has been learned.

“There’s no doubt that he’s an owl breeder.”

“I agree.”

Maomao and Chue laugh with a grin. The quack doctor watches the two evil spirits outside the mosquito net and is frightened. If he, like Maomao assumes, is a person that can raise birds from chicks, a certain problem will come closer to being solved.

“The wind reading tribe”, told by a former serf named Nenshin - a tribe said to have been surrounded by the dog clan.

Maomao thinks that they probably can’t survive just by holding festivals/rituals.

Also, if “we” think about how they exterminated insects, one answer emerges.

The “wind reading tribe” is said to have handled birds. Maomao recalls that a certain thing was once done with birds.

Communication using pigeons.

Similarly, if birds were used as a means of communication, the wind-reading-tribe would become adept at not only festivals but also about espionage.

Maomao decides to meet the suspicious person they had caught.

Notes | Chapter 19

Yeah.. it was an owl all along xD outside of Tianyu, this was the most confusing back and forth so far. If you stuck around or knew what the ending was gonna be, congrats!

Maomao calls Jinshi shameless/hypocritical because Lihaku had mentioned he's been involved in getting the job to Maomao yet acted like he didn't know a thing.

Yes, Jinshi was jealous and Maomao knows.

I'm sorry that the mansion and villa thing keeps switching, we all know it's just a pricey, fancy house at the end of the day

So, now it's officially confirmed for you and me that the "dog clan" was Nenshin's group. It was confusing for me, but yeah.

Hope you enjoyed and stay safe!

[merge-conflict]

wip wednesday

i have not been very productive lately and i'm frustrated about it so i'm sharing a little snippet of some more valentine whump for fun. she's alive but she's not happy about it. post devil-ending (canon-divergent)

content warning: severe emotional distress, voluntary medical sedative

“Alright. How about you just listen?” another pause. “I came here to talk with you, because I think you’re reacting very reasonably to something very unreasonable–”

grin wide. grimace. laugh like a bullet on pavement.

“–I suppose that’s a bit of an understatement. But you don’t have to be ashamed.”

“Fuck you.”

like that, rapid fire. she was burning hot, all over, like molten metal. she was supposed to be dead. now she was a husk. empty. discarded.

“I mean that. I know you’re not feeling much like yourself, and that is not an easy thing. Not easy at all. And you were very careful not to hurt anyone else, Valentina–“

“No.”

“You were very careful, V. You’re a problem solver. But no one has told you what is happening, and that’s why I’m here. Do you understand?”

as if there was any doubt to what the problem was. a problem could not solve itself. just twist inward over and over until it was worn through, until it could be put out of its misery, the misery–

no weakness, not here. sharp tooth, silver tongue, smile like a dog about to snap.

“Yes.”

“Alright, the first problem– stay with me, V–“

teeth creaking like bone: the problem was, the problem was, the problem

“The first problem, V, is that everything has been thrown at you too quickly. We need to slow things down. This is going to help you feel a little calmer so we can talk. Here, now, I need you to look at me, because I’m going to show you how it works.”

it was bait for a trap but there was nothing sweeter than oblivion. nothing. (sharp and bitter and sweeter than honey. a body can learn to crave the knife. sharp and strong and quick, don't hesitate–)

the doctor was smaller than her voice suggested. plain-faced with the most dizzyingly blue eyes –like the sky, the sky, the badlands sky endless aching gone gone gone– mercifully professional, as though she were giving a recorded lecture and not facing some huddled scrap of wretched humanity. she was holding a mask, demonstrating the little canister attached, speaking in a buzzing drone, giving assurances–

the performance was unnecessary. the mask was light, soft, comforting against the bruised flesh of her cheek. a muzzle for the aching, snapping teeth of despair.

in and out, in and out, in and out.

all the sharp edges of reality filed down to something soft and smooth and tolerable. (you don't get it, but you will. you will. you don't get it, but you will. you don't get it–)

“Feeling better?”

the doctor did not smile. did not frown. what she felt she kept tucked up and behind her breastbone, her face smooth like the surface of a pond.

“Yes.”

no visible vapor in the word, and yet it still thickened the sound. finally, her soul unclenched. she wanted to cry but could not.

she could not. she could not–

“Very good. Now the second problem, V, is that you don’t know what’s going to happen. Do you want me to tell you?”

despite best effort there was always a time other than now. (still here. Still Here. it’s alright. stop looking.) her eyes were heavy. they could not ask for anything more than sleep. it was all she had to give. perhaps they would realize their mistake, let her slip under and never come back up. there were worse things than death.

there were worse things–

there were, the doctor’s eyes were saying, things that still needed to be done. must be done. would be done.

“…yes.”

[alfvaen]

Writing Exercise #3: Hovil

The writing exercise I did for this month's writers' group meeting; the challenge was simply to write something based on an existing fairy tale or children's story. I'm going to that by the end it's clear enough which story I was riffing on.

I sat in the front row of the stadium, fuming. I didn't even like her music, but she'd given me a free ticket. And she had a hostage. She'd been clear that I wouldn't get it back unless I showed up.

I'd thought I was hearing things, at first. Little voices, crying for help. Eventually I tracked them down to a rock in my snowy backyard. I brought it inside and brushed it off. The voices were grateful, and I promised to keep them safe. But my roommate Angela overheard and, she said, began to get worried about me. She urged me to go to therapy, or get checked out by a doctor. After all, if I was hearing voices, that could be schizophrenia, right? There was meds for that. I refused, though. And maybe I was wrong to do that. After all, hearing voices was a bad sign, you heard it all the time. But these voices weren't telling me to kill people. They were telling me to look after a rock. If they started to get dark, then I'd consider it. Unless by that time I was too far gone, I suppose. And then one day a few months later the rock disappeared. Angela insisted at first that I must have misplaced it, but eventually she confessed that she had taken it out of my bedroom while I was out, and tossed it in a rock garden with a bunch of other rocks. So I went to the rock garden, listened carefully, and eventually was able to hear the tiny voices calling for help, and track them down to the same rock, among thousands. The man down the block, whose rock garden it was, was very mad at me and chased me off with a hockey stick. I apologized to the voices in the rock. For the first time, I started asking them about themselves. They called their land Hovil, and themselves the Hovians, ruled by their Princess Lucinda. A great frost had come upon the land, and I was the one who had saved them from it. I wondered if the rock had originated in some warm climate, or maybe deep underground, and this was its first time in that kind of cold. (Yes, of course I thought it was weird that a bunch of tiny people were living inside a rock. Don't think that I took this all completely in stride. But the voices had a lot to tell me, and it was more complex than anything I could have made up. My imagination isn't that good.) I hid the rock better this time. But not good enough, apparently. Angela had enlisted the help of some of my friends, her friends, and friends of friends. And one of them was apparently good friends with the pop singer Daisy May. And between them they arranged some kind of an intervention. Which was why I was here at this concert. Because if I didn't, they said I'd never see the rock again. One thing I knew for sure, I wasn't going to see Angela ever again after this, if I could help it.

"Hello, Edmonton!" Daisy shouted, and was rewarded by ear-splitting screams in response. I crossed my arms and glared at her. "Now, there's someone special in the audience tonight," she said. "I'm told that his name is…Tim Horton?" Uproarious laughter. I sighed. Of course they would drag that up. Sure, my name is Tim. And one time in college I got drunk and ate an entire box of a dozen donuts, and then threw up. But it had been five years. I thought I had lived that name down. "Now Tim apparently has a little bit of a problem," Daisy continued. "I mean, I know a lot of us are going through a rough time right now. And I've always been a strong advocate for mental health. But sometimes that means…tough love!" She held out a hand and one of her entourage--not sure if he was a roadie, or security, or what--pulled the rock (my rock!) out of a pouch and handed it to her. "See this? No, it doesn't mean that my next album is going to be hard rock!" Scattered laughter. Yeah, that one didn't deserve it. "No, this is Tim's rock. He's gotten a little overly attached to it! He talks to it, and he says it talks back. And he refuses to seek help about it! So I think it's time for him to say goodbye. After all, it's just a rock, right? It's not full of little tiny people! So we're going to break it open and show him!" "No!" I yelled. I clawed my way onto the stage, and, of course, found out who exactly her security guys were. They quickly grabbed my arms and pinioned them tight. At least they didn't ziptie them, but one of them held my elbow in a way that was particularly painful unless I kept perfectly still. So I watched helplessly as a metal table was brought out, and a heavy steel rock hammer. Daisy took the hammer and seemed to be considering trying to break the rock herself, but apparently decided her petite physique was not up to the task and handed it to another security guy instead. Who must have had some rockhound experience, because he examined the rock closely, tapping it lightly, before nodding to himself and setting it down on the table, holding it in a certain position, and then giving it a hearty whack.

Instantly I, and Daisy, and the rockhound could see sparkling light coming out of it. "Oh, it's some kind of geode!" Daisy said. "At least…I think… Wait, what is that?" The rock split open, and it did look like a geode, at least at first, with sparkling crystals. But even under the hot glare of the lights shining on the stage, there was no way it should be that bright. And then the crystals started to grow. Within seconds they had doubled in size, and the rockhound stepped back in surprise. He reached out his hand to touch one of the crystals, and snatched it back bleeding. And still the crystals grew. Daisy and her band fled the stage when they were taller than she was, and the stadium was rapidly emptying. The security guys were swiftly enlisted to try to make sure the evacuation was orderly, and nobody cared about me any more. It was too late for me to put the rock back together, since there was clearly no way they could all fit back inside any more. The table had collapsed, and the crystals kept growing. But not in a spikes-everywhere, sea-urchin kind of way. It was like…like a city building itself. There were tall crystal spires growing everywhere, but there were paths between them. I walked down the paths as they grew, and soon I found myself before a crystal palace. And there was Princess Lucinda. She was lovelier than I'd ever imagined. "Tim!" she said. "Is that you?" "It's me," I said. "I'm so glad!" she said, embracing me. "The curse has finally been broken! You were so clever!" Of course, I had had nothing to do with the breaking of the rock, but then again it had happened because of me, so I decided to just take credit for it.

Hovil stopped expanding after displacing the entire stadium (where it went, I'm not sure, but it didn't leave a lot of debris behind) and most of the parking lot. Princess Lucinda (and Tim, her new Prince Consort) has been in diplomatic talks with the Prime Minister about recognition of their official status. Hovians are a little different, with iridescent skin and crystalline fingernails, and their ways are a little strange, but a person's a person, no matter what kind.

[casspurrjoybell-24]

The Alpha's Beta - Chapter 13 - Part 1

BOOK ONE: The Alpha's Trilogy

*Warning Adult Content*

Valium - Part 1

Alpha Silas Claymore

I got the call at around noon on the 28th from Dr. Victors.

The test results were back and he'd like to see me as soon as possible.   

As I made my way from the house, Simon 'who was out for a jog' spotted me and decided he wanted to join, that it was wrong for me to go alone and find out I was drugged.

Even if we already knew it.   

He seemed to be in a better mood.

He smiled more and talked more calmly.

Running did great things for him, it got his mind off all the demons that played in his head.

The office was empty when we walked in, Tara, Victors receptionist told us to sit since he was seeing someone at the time.

She smiled brightly at Simon who was wearing tight jogging pants and a tight blue jogging t-shirt with it.

Leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

He didn't seem to notice her as he sat down and continued on about Ellis' younger brother Ivan and all the fun they had, had at the mall yesterday.   

Ivan was by far the cutest kid in the pack, he's only eleven but his attitude is like a sixteen year old girl and his fashion.

Don't get me started on his clothing.

I saw him walking around the other day at the near by park, in a green kid-size football jersey with 'King 00' on the back and a pink tutu with black leggings and of course beaten up sneakers.

Ellis' mother was never a fan of gender rolls and liked to let her kids dress in what ever they pleased.

I can remember Ellis coming to school in pink tank top's and baggy jeans.

No one really cared how they dressed though.

Not just because at the time Ellis' father was the lead hunter and would kick anyone's ass who talked bad about his boys but because they were both well liked kids, never getting into  to much trouble and always able to poke fun at themselves if needed.

Everyone enjoys the spunk Ivan has and wouldn't dare make him upset because frankly he was far to cute to make cry.  

"Alpha. Simon. It's nice to see you both today. Come with me please," I hear Victors say, pulling me from my thoughts.

I get up with Simon and follow the doctor to the room at the end of the hall.

It looks like any normal doctors office.

Medical tools on the wall, charts with a human body and of course a wolf's anatomy too.   

After doing all the regular check 'my heart beat and my temperature' he asked if I felt odd.

Which thankfully after a goods night sleep, I felt 100% back to normal.

The doctor grabbed a file, placed it in his lap and looked at Simon and myself.

"Now, I need to ask you. Have you let anyone handle your food in the last, say four years?"   

I sit back in the chair provided, next to Simon and thought about it, then nodded my head.

"My father used to make me coffee in the mornings but besides that Simon would normally cook supper, after he moved out I started making my own. Why?"   

"Well," he says, clearing his throat.

"It seems for a good while, I could only assume your coffee had been drugged. We found high traces of diazepam, better known as Valium in your system, so much so any normal human would have overdosed long ago."

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to take in what he just told me.

My own father drugging me.

But why?   

"But,'" he continues.

"Whatever was given to you this passed week seems to have flushed your system. I say if you didn't ask me to take blood when I did I wouldn't have found the Valium at all. Though its normally used for an anti-depressant, the dosage you were given could have blocked emotions or thinking clearly."

"Now you seem like a level headed man Alpha Silas. So I can only assume you must have been given it to block emotions. Why? I have no idea. I also can't tell you what emotions were blocked. You may feel angry or tired in the next few days. So just be aware. Besides that, you seem very healthy."

I nod before getting up and shaking his hand.

Thanking him for doing all that he's done.

Then reassure him that I'm fine and haven't had any mood swings.  

It explained it though, why I didn't know Darren was my mate when we first met.

I felt a slight bond but pushed it aside as a Alpha/Beta bond.

When really it was the mates bond but the real questions still stands.

Why would my father drug me and why would these shifters want the drugs out of me. 

'And how did they know.'   

I mull everything over as I walk along side Simon, who has his ear buds in and is scrolling through his cell-phone, 'again'   

"So," he says taking one ear bud out and looking over at me.

"Have you been feelings any different?"

I shake my head and watch as two of the pack warriors walk by.

They nod to me and continue what they're doing.

Which is gathering all stray animals and taking them to the city for 'adoption.'

Thankfully the only animals that come near the pack are dogs.

Deer's, moose and other animals don't come to close because they can smell wolves and what smart deer would walk right into wolf lands.

We normally have to go a few miles out for hunting and even then there aren't to many.   

"The only thing I'm feeling right now is stress. After the pack meeting yesterday everybody seems to be a little spooked. I mean I haven't seen anyone out for a walk today and the kids all got drove to school, when they could have walked. I hate seeing the pack paranoid. They should all feel safe."    

"Silas we should talk about this. I mean. That man drugged your coffee for four years. I mean that has to hit pretty hard."

"No Simon it doesn't 'hit me hard' it's really no shock to me. Dad was crazy and unstable. He was probably trying to weaken me so I wouldn't become Alpha when I turned of age. You know how paranoid he got. We were all out to get him. He would have done anything to make sure he stayed in control."

Simon nods along but I can see the pain in his eyes.

I hate bringing our father up because I know all it does is cause him pain and nightmares.   

I try not to think about him either because his face still haunts my dreams.

Whether it be him smiling or the smirk he wore when he died.

I shake the thought from my head as I placed my hand on Simon's neck.

"Listen, how about I come over tonight and make supper, give you a break."  

He smiles and nodded before biting his lip.

"But be there on time or I'll start making it without you."

I chuckle shaking his head, knowing good and well he isn't joking when he says that.

[attemptinghaikyuu]

Joking About Dating A Friend But They Take You Seriously

A/n: woohoo, we’re doing another one babbyyy! I’ll never get tired of these sorts of situations honestly <3

G/n reader

Team Captains (most of them~)

Kuroo Tetsurou

He was walking behind you, about to tap your shoulder, witty conversation starter at the tip of his tongue one he totally hadn’t prepared a day beforehand, only to be hit with you saying “Wow, look at you! A fantastic boyfriend i have indeed.”

Reals back, all thoughts flying out of his head

All internal excitement dissipates as panic and dread take its place

You had introduced Kuroo to the guy you were calling your boyfriend, saying you were only friends and yet…

How come he didn’t know? Him and you were close to each other, right? Had he been so deep into your smiles and pretty eyes that he had misread everything? Maybe he had made up the little signs that meant you felt the same

It was probably his feelings making him a lovesick fool

That thought stuck with him the most because that made him pretty delusional if he got everything this mixed up

He has so many questions rattling in his brain, pinning him down, that he doesn’t realize you’ve turned around and are staring at him

It takes your hand waving back and forth in front of him to startle him out of his trance

His panic doubles, voice strained

“Ahh, hey there kitten. What’s new?”

It’s missing his usual excitement and he sounds strangled, you notice right away that he’s also turned away from you

“Tets are you all good? Are you sick, I could get you some medicine if you aren’t feeling well?”

“What no, I’m not- you don’t have to do any of that, I’m better than I could ever be.” He chuckles and he knows he’s not being convincing in the slightest

“Huh, I’ll get the truth out of you in a sec, I’m gonna say bye to my friend and then we can go, okay?”

“Don’t you mean boyfriend.” It comes out before he can stop himself

The bitter tone is so obvious he’s tempted to bolt, maybe start over as a circus clown

He’s positive he could pull that wig off

Your voice is laced with laughter when you ask if he really does need to go see a doctor

“And what boyfriend?” You pause, smile growing. “Are you talking about yourself or what?”

Now he’s flustered and confused. It’s not like you didn’t talk like that with him but you had a boyfriend now didn’t you or was that..?

“WAIT EARLIER YOU-

He takes a deep breath, he could be wrong, he needs to stay calm

“We’re, we’re you just kidding around when you said your friend was, well ya know?”

You laugh again and explain, slightly embarrassed by the mishap, that yes you were kidding around

He feels all of his confidence come back and asks the question that leads to you two finally dating

“If that’s the case and the spot really isn’t taken, how about I become your boyfriend?”

Bokuto Koutaro

He. Is. Crushed.

Everyone around him can feel the tense atmosphere and looking at his face is like a punch to the gut with his heartbroken eyes, he’s staring at you like you’ve died instead of said you loved your girlfriend

All bokuto had wanted was to give you a quick hug before he headed off to practice

Instead he has to deal with the weight of knowing you’re with someone else, that and the realization that he needs to put away his own feelings so he doesn’t ruin your relationship with the person you love

He had known he liked you for quite awhile, it was hard figuring out a time he should confess or whether that would make you uncomfortable

He’s glad he never tried anything since it saved him from the possibility of making things hard for you, seeing as how you would’ve had to let your friend down

Bokuto looks at you closely, there’s a grin on your face as you stare at her and if you’re happy then he can live with this

That’s what he firmly thinks

And so pulling himself up with a smile, he walks over to you with a solidly convincing amount of energy

He talks excitedly and almost exactly like he would normally

What he’s saying doesn’t sit right with you though

His words are depressing and he looks like he’s forcing himself to talk like this

You stop him in the middle of a joke, that wasn’t all that funny with the sad way it was being told, and ask if he’s okay

His smile gets even bigger, and now you can see it’s clearly fake as he gives you some excuse about training being harder on him lately

You decide to wait and give him a little space, you assume he’ll walk off to volleyball practice, and later you’ll be able to talk with him about whatever’s going on

When he keeps talking and it becomes clear he’s not moving, stalling for time, you ask if you can talk alone with him

“Bo, is um, did something happen? You’re upset aren’t you?” You question him cautiously

“Nope! I’m just glad I get to talk with you, it’s not something I’ll be able to do as often since you have to spend time with your girlfriend and all!”

His smile finally slips as what he said hits you both

You’re quick in explaining the mistake now that you know what’s eating away at him

He can’t believe his luck when he hears you say it was just a joke, it’s too good to be true

But he doesn’t care, he’s just happy

Doesn’t even let himself process it all before he’s asking you to please, think about dating him

You’re both glad his smile is back to normal when you say you’d love to

Kita Shinsuke

Keeps it together like the seemingly impassive and parent friend that he is

Hurts so much more then he wants to admit

Doesn’t want to believe what he just heard but if you say that you have a partner, than those are the facts and he can’t change anything

But shit, does he wish he could

He’s standing right next to you, a step away and if he took it you would be pressed against his side

That’s an impossible reality, a fantasy he needs to put to rest now that he knows your feelings for someone else

That step however, is ungraciously closed when you trip backward from what appears to be your partner moving their foot as you had moved forward, resulting in you falling onto Kita

Instantly flustered by it and is feeling so betrayed by his body when he automatically puts an arm around you to keep you upright

He tries to be respectful as he removes himself from your side, it isn’t right for him to be that close to you, he’ll just have to push down the disappointment he feels from the lack of contact

“Kita-kun! I’m really sorry about that, my friend” you give a pointed glare towards the person of your affection. “accidentally knocked me into you.”

He gives a small smile at you, slightly unsure as to why you would address your partner as just your friend

If he’s being truthful, he doesn’t want to think about it anymore and that’s why he allows himself to shrug off the strange event

He acts like he always does in the next couple days, though the aggressive lilt in his voice that appears at any mistake he spots, gives away his frustration

His feelings are boiling over the surface and he realizes he needs to find a way to get over this

The best way to do that, he concludes, is to tell you his feelings so he can take the rejection and move on

A resolution that he puts into motion the next time he’s with you

He does it simply and tries to make it as small and meaningless as possible

“Thanks for listening to this, I know it must be difficult to deal with.”

You’re speechless and Kita wishes this could be easier but he steels himself for what’s about to come next

“I- Kita, I know you’re not and I apologize in advance, but are you a dumbass?” You’re expression is both mortified and happy and he really doesn’t know what’s happening

“I like you. I was messing around with my friend and I promise you, I will never be doing that again.”

Oh, Kita is so relieved and the first thing he does when you become official is pull you in for a hug

And he’s gonna keep pulling you in for hugs :3

Ushijima Wakatoshi

His surprise is on full display and he ends up staring at you so intensely you automatically come up to ask him what was wrong

Isn’t sure how to put into words how he feels at the moment

You are your own person, so he shouldn’t feel any right to being the one to call you his partner

Yet he can’t stop the disappointment from filling every part of him

Ushijima wants to be mature about this though, If you think that girl is good enough for you then he will live with the heartache

So he shakes his head and comes up with a small excuse for his behavior

He seems normal to most in the following week, quite and stoic, more silent around you than he’s probably ever been but nothing really out of place per say

However his annoyance with your girlfriend only grows when he sees that you are not being treated how most would in a romantic relationship

He’s had enough when he hears her tell you about this pretty girl she saw the other day

She’s all casual and smiles when she says it too

Walks over, taps your shoulder, and asks if you can talk in private

It wasn’t right and he was 100% calm when he explained why he thought you weren’t being treated right

And he definitely wasn’t a little jealous and using the way your girlfriend was acting as a way to see if he could prove he could treat you better

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t being completely rational when he was making his points as to why you should maybe, just possibly reconsider the whole dating your girlfriend thing

But the fact that she hadn’t held your hand was very important and he needed you to know that

He needed you to know that you shouldn’t have to listen to the one you cared for like that, speak of another person they found good looking, especially when the most attractive one was you

Ushijima doesn’t know how to take your silence when he finishes, and you seem… embarrassed?

Had he gone too far? Over stepped a boundary in his jealousy?

He was considering an apology for his rash behavior when you spoke up, though it was more appropriate to call it spoke down with the way you had your head lowered and voice quiet

“Toshi, did you mean all that?”

He’s not sure where this is going, he responds honestly regardless

“Yes, I meant it and I’m sorry if I insulted you.” He doesn’t apologize for insulting your girlfriend tho~

“Then you should probably know that I was only playing around when I said I was dating my friend. We’re not together.” You finally look into his eyes. “I’m pretty single and uh, if you really wanna help me in my dating problems you could date me, that’d fix them all.”

The slightest blush appears on his cheeks and when he reply’s with his yes, it’s almost like a happy sigh

He makes sure to show you how much he loves you everyday, he’s also still slightly bitter around your friend <3

Terushima Yuuji

Freaking out

He is having a hardcore internal screaming sesh

Walks away from you so he can pretend he didn’t just hear that

Also wants to make sure you don’t see him panicking

He finds a place where he’s alone, a field outside the gym he had been in, that is till he’d heard you talk to your boyfriend

Who was apparently, very entertaining if the way you had been laughing was any indication

Stands there, blank for a few seconds

Is so set on not crying over something like this because he knows that you’re amazing and shouldn’t be so surprised over you dating some other dude

He should go back inside and act like he always does, or maybe not since you are with your boyfriend

He’s being stupid, acting this overworked

It’s what he tells himself but he can feel a couple tears slip down his cheeks and there’s a sob bubbling up in his chest against his will

This didn’t feel fair

He wants to do something, he just doesn’t know what

Pretending he’s fine would be a good option if he could stop crying

It’s not looking feasible at the moment however

Takes a shaky breath and is coming to the decision he should leave you alone for now when he hears his name

Someone’s calling him, someone who absolutely cannot see him right now

He starts sprinting, but the thing about crying is that it’s pretty exhausting and before he knows it he’s gasping for breath, too slow to move out of your reach

“Terushima! Why would you-

You stare at his tear stained face, concern pulling your features into a deep frown and he desperately wishes he wasn’t the cause of it

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You ask the question softly, making it all hurt a little more

His eyes are closed when he replies. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty head with.”

“Whatever it is I won’t judge and if you want advice or someone to just listen I’m listening.”

“You, it’s really not..” he breaks. “Are you really with that guy?”

It’s none of his business, why’d he have to ask that?

Understanding lights up your face, and with the new information having connected the dots you move closer to him

“I’m not. He and I were joking, so please don’t cry.” He feels a hand wipe a stray tear from his face

“Would you maybe wanna go out sometime,” you laugh a little. “I hope I didn’t completely misread this, if I did I suppose we’d be matching.. and I wouldn’t mind so much if that was the case.”

He answers by grabbing your hand.

“That answer shouldn’t have been so cute, I’ll forgive you by taking you up on that date though.”

[shemarmooresfedora]

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Content/Warnings: swearing, mentions of mother abandonment

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

Chapter 4

“You have a call from an inmate at the Washington D.C. Correctional Facility. To accept these charges, please press 1. To decline-,” you punched in the 1.

“Hey Spencer,” you greeted him.

“How did you know it was me?” he grinned.

“There’s not too many prisoners calling me, believe it or not,” you teased.

“I was calling to see if you could do me a big favor,” he spoke.

“What’s up?”

“My lawyer has told me that JJ told her my mom isn’t doing so well. She’s in a facility for her schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s,” he informed you.

“How can I help?” you asked.

“Could you bring Callie to go see her? I really think a familiar face could do a lot of good for her.”

“Of course, I’m 5 minutes away from her school. We can head right over,” you stated.

“Thank you so so much. Also, she doesn’t know I’m in prison so tell Callie just to tell her I’m away on a case. She’s in a fragile condition so it’s best to just say yes to everything she asks,” Spencer explained.

“Will do. If you are able to stay on the line for a few more minutes, you can say hi to Callie,” you told him.

“I was the last in line so I should be able to. I’ve got 6 minutes left,” Spencer said.

A bit of an awkward silence filled your car.

“So…are there any more injuries I need to attend to before work tomorrow?” you asked.

“No, I’ve got some help,” Spencer spoke vaguely.

“Okay, that’s good, I guess,” you pulled the car to a stop as Callie hopped in the passenger seat, “Your dad is on the phone, Callie.”

“Hi Dad!” she greeted.

“Hey sweetheart. How’s it going?” he asked.

“Really good. At soccer practice today, Coach told me I’m going to be a starter next game,” she beamed.

“That’s amazing! I wish I could be there to see it,” Spencer frowned slightly.

“Which is why I bought a camcorder so I can record the whole game for you to watch later as well as other things you may be sad to miss,” you said.

“Y/N, as much as I appreciate all you do for us, you need to stop spending so much money. I feel bad, I’ll reimburse you as soon as I’m out.”

“Spencer, I’m a doctor who rarely goes out and my closest friend is a cat. I have some money to spare,” you assured him.

“Why are you going left here?” Callie asked as you made a turn that wasn’t on your usual route home.

“Your dad wants you to visit your Grandma,” you replied.

“Callie, she just needs a familiar face so talk to her about your new school, soccer, anything but me going to jail,” Spencer explained, “Okay, I have 30 seconds left. Bye, love you, sweetheart!”

“Bye, Dad! Love you too!”

“Stay safe!” you added.

-

You walked up to the receptionist's desk with Callie, “Hi, she’s here to see Diana Reid.”

“Hi Callie, long time no see! No Dr. Reid today?” she asked.

“No, he’s away on a case,” you smiled politely.

“Callie, she’s in her room, dear,” the receptionist directed you down the hall.

Once you were outside the door, you stopped, “I’ll wait out here. Remember, your dad is on a long case. You are staying with the LaMontagne’s. And just agree with the stuff she says to not upset her,” you reminded Callie, “I’ll be right out here when you’re done.”

Before you had a chance to sit down in the waiting room, the door swung open.

“Grandma!” Callie exclaimed.

“My dear Callie,” she hugged her.

She looked up at you, “Is this who I think it is?”

You thought back to Spencer’s words.

She’s in a fragile condition so it’s best to just say yes to everything she asks.

“Um yes?” you answered.

“Callie’s mom! Oh my! I haven’t seen you in ages. I forgot what you even looked like, I remembered you differently. Forgive me, dear, could you remind me of your name?” she asked.

You looked to Callie for help but she looked just as confused as you and shrugged. She must not know either.

“Y/N,” you extended your hand for her to shake.

“What a beautiful name,” she smiled, “Come in! Come in!”

“So Callie, how has my favorite granddaughter been?” she asked.

“I’m your only grandchild, Grandma,” Callie playfully rolled her eyes, “I’ve been really well! Y/N-I mean Mom actually got me into a better school and I’ve been keeping busy with soccer and clubs and hanging out with friends.”

“That’s wonderful to hear! Y/N, how are you doing?” she turned to you.

Shit. What the fuck were you supposed to say?

“I’ve been well,” you simply stated with a nervous smile.

“Are you and Spencer dating again?”

I suppose you had to agree to this too.

“Yes, we are,” you nodded.

“Well, I hope you are back for good this time,” she stated.

That seemed kind of back-handed but maybe deserved, you didn’t know Callie’s mom’s backstory. You just continued to nervously smile through the rest of the visit as Callie caught up with her grandma.

-

“Well that was awkward,” you sighed as you got back into the car after the visit, “I need a milkshake.”

Callie was silent all the way to the drive-thru and as you ordered two large chocolate milkshakes and fries.

Finally, she spoke as you parked the car in the parking lot to eat, “I mean you’re more of a mom to me than my own mom. Dad never really told me much about her. She must have left when I was a baby because I don’t remember her at all.”

“I’m sure your dad has his reasons for not telling you but you must know that her leaving wasn’t your fault at all,” you told her.

“Who would leave a baby and my dad?” she teared up.

“I don’t know, honey,” you pulled her in for a hug, “It was her loss though whoever she is because she didn’t get to see what an amazing girl you have become.”

-

“Reid, visitor,” the guard called out.

Please let it be Callie and or Y/N, Spencer prayed.

He needed a ray of sunshine in his otherwise completely dark week. He didn’t want it to be the team or his lawyer asking if he remembered anything else because he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He slumped out of bed and let the guard cuff him on the way to the visitor room. His pace quickened when he saw you waiting there for him, just as beautiful as always.

You smiled at first when you saw him but it morphed into a frown when you saw fresh bruises forming.

“Spencer, I thought you said you had help,” you whispered.

“Apparently not all of the time,” he mumbled.

You bit your bottom lip worriedly, “Well, I brought my med kit.”

You got up and started to inspect his face.

“How did the visit with my mom go?” he asked.

“Good, I guess,” you replied.

“You guess?”

“She saw me before I went to the waiting room. I said yes to everything she said but that included her thinking that I was Callie’s mom and that we were dating,” you grimaced.

Spencer sighed, “Oh god.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do,” you apologized.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. You were just doing what was told. Did Callie have questions?”

You nodded.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair, “I knew this day would come but I’m still not prepared. I just avoid thinking about it at all costs.”

“Do you want to talk to me about it and maybe I can help you put the right words together,” you offered.

“Um okay, her name was Austin. I met her on a case. She was a bartender. We were long distance for a bit. She got pregnant early on in the relationship. We decided to try to make it work. She moved in with me in D.C. and had Callie. When Callie was about 4 months old, she got overwhelmed and just left…just like that. I went to the park with Callie and came back to find all of her things gone and a note that just said ‘sorry’. I haven’t heard from her since. We were trying to force a happy ending that wasn’t there,” Spencer finished.

“Well lucky for Callie, she has one amazing dad and that is more than enough,” you reassured him.

“And a pretty kick ass foster mom,” Spencer smiled.

“I try my best,” you grinned.

A/N: i have a smut one-shot (not related to this series) coming out tomorrow and i’m very excited about it

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana-deactivated20210709 @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego @idonotexiste @beepbooptoop @tvandfanfic @mggsprettygirl @big-galaxy-chaos @navs-bhat @spencerreidsmommy @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm

series taglist: @ilovespencerreidmarryme @nani-2305 @obsessivelysearching @fantasynerd09 @bvttercupbby @britishspidey @ladyravenclaw @belledawnidk @annesauriol @smokey102 @lady-himbo @kaitieskidmore1 @westanspencerreid @manuosorioh @haylaansmi @unhea1thy0bsessions @meganskane @lovergirl24 @queenariesofnarnia @asexual-booknerd @spideyyypeter @yeehawbitchs @emma-is-a-nerd @lellsinthesky @itsdars @aliahemmings97 @xdsage @cutekashi @theodore-likes-frogs @girlgotattitude448 @royalestrellas @co0chiegrip1

[starlessea]

Doctor’s Orders (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Prompt: “Why’d you always have to spoil my fun?” and “You nearly died!” Requested by anonymous​, numbers #6 and #16 from this post.

Summary: Daryl isn’t too impressed when he finds you with a sling on your arm and a smile on your face.

Words: 1766

Warnings: Language, Injury.

There were many things you feared more than death. There were many things you feared in general. Whether it was heights or small spaces, or even spiders - those spooky, crawly bastards - you would easily admit it when you were afraid.

In this new world, death was inevitable. You didn't want to die; leaving your family behind was out of the question. Though, it didn’t frighten you, either. Rather, you often found yourself scared of the more mundane things - those things that you could control - over something that was completely out of your hands.

There were many things you feared more than death, and Daryl Dixon was one of them.

Denise had gone to get the man, despite your pleas not to. She'd been good enough to patch you up, and mend the small cuts over your skin. They were only shallow, so they wouldn't leave any scars. It was the sling you were more concerned about.

You knew when Daryl saw it, you'd be in for an ear-full. It wasn't that bad an injury, but Denise had still doped you up on some pain-killers before leaving to find the man. It was meant to be an in-and-out job, but things never really did seem to go as planned.

"Who're you trying to kill with that smile?" Denise teased, as she walked back through the doorway to the clinic.

You had barely realised you'd been grinning from ear to ear until she’d said it. She was alone for the time being, so you thought you should take the opportunity to cherish the peace whilst it lasted.

"Myself, apparently." You chuckled, but let out a wince soon after.

The small movement had reminded you to keep still. It was only a broken bone, and you'd had worse before, but it ached all the same. Denise shook her head in return, letting out a huff of air as she stared at you exasperated.

"You are the first person to come into my clinic beaming like that whilst injured." She muttered, and you sloppily shrugged one shoulder in response.

Then you heard the main door fling open, and slam into the wall - and sighed.

"Here he comes." You muttered, and braced for impact.

Daryl stormed into the clinic like he was on a mission. He was sweaty, and you noticed that he was missing his jacket. He rushed through the doorway and whipped his head around the room until his eyes finally settled on you, sitting on the bed in the corner. You offered him a sheepish smile, and raised your good arm to give him a small wave.

The man stalked straight past Denise and made his way to your bedside, standing over you in an instant.

"What the fuck were ya thinkin'?" He yelled.

It wasn't that you feared Daryl Dixon's temper - that, you could manage. What you feared was that certain look in his eyes, and you saw it now as you met his gaze. His chest heaved, and most would probably think it was from anger. But, you knew better than that. He'd probably run over here in a panic. That is what you could see in his expression - pure worry.

"Nice to see you, too." You joked light-heartedly, trying to mask your guilt.

Daryl glanced at you, letting his eyes trail over the shallow cuts on your face all the way down to your arm - which sat tucked away in its sling. He shook his head, and took small paces in front of you.

"Ya leave for a supply run-" he started, almost below his breath. "An' Denise comes to tell me ya jumped outta a movin' truck!"

His voice rose as he spoke, and his final words came out as a loud growl that made you swallow thickly. You were ashamed, but you also thought that the man worried too much. If it were down to him, he'd have you wrapped up in cotton wool everytime you left the gates of Alexandria.

"It wasn't even going that fast." You mumbled back, defensively.

Denise had her back pressed flat against the wall, inadvertently caught in the cross-fire. She was in too deep to leave unnoticed, and stood there awkwardly watching the exchange. You sent her an apologetic smile, before looking back up at the man.

"Why'd you always have to spoil my fun?" You teased, but felt like you might have stepped on a landmine when you saw him scowl.

Daryl threw his hands up in frustration, and narrowed his eyes at your injury again.

"Ya nearly died!" He shouted, his voice guttural as it cut through the room.

"Exactly." You quipped back, but instantly regretted it.

You'd only been trying to convince him that you were fine, but Daryl seemed inconsolable. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or perhaps the pain-killers, but you realised that you may have been acting a little too care-free. You weren't so much scared of Daryl as you were of hurting him.

"It's only a broken collar bone." Denise interjected, once she finally mustered the confidence to do so. "She'll be fine."

Daryl whipped his head around, as though he'd forgotten she was even there. He stayed silent, but you tried your best to help coax him.

"Listen to the doctor, Dixon." You reminded the man, but with a much softer tone this time.

Daryl stopped his pacing, and instead made his way back over to you. He closed the gap as he approached, and your knees knocked together with his from where you were sitting on the bed. You could still see the pain in his eyes, and it made you realised that you must be one of the things Daryl Dixon feared, too.

He rested his palm over your cheek tentatively, careful not to brush up against the fresh wounds that marred your skin. You leaned into his warm touch, and placed your own hand over his in return.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over me." You whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. "I promise I'll be more careful."

Daryl became like putty in your hands at that, and his expression softened like he'd only just allowed himself to relax. The entire time, it was as though the man had been running on pure adrenaline, and nobody could convince him that you were okay - even if he’d seen it with his own eyes.

In your peripheral, you noticed Denise looking at you - but she quickly glanced away when she realised she'd been caught. You could tell that she didn't want to intrude on the tender moment, but was curious to see Daryl so vulnerable at the same time.

The man stayed like that for a few seconds, letting your thumb rub over the back of his hand as he inspected your injuries some more.

"C'mon." He mumbled finally, and took a few steps backwards to let you stand up.

He retrieved your gear which had been left on a nearby chair, and slung it over his shoulder before walking to the door. You followed after him with careful footsteps, feeling as the pain jolted up your body. You sent a smile to Denise, and thanked her, but she shook her head in response - humble as ever.

"Look after her, Daryl." She called out to the man, as she saw the both of you off at the doorstep of the clinic. "Doctor's orders."

Daryl was normally a gentle man. He wasn't the type to have to be reminded to take good care of you. But, sometimes, he seemed to forget his own strength - along with his patience.

"Oww!" You shrieked, and flinched away.

The two of you were in your bedroom, and Daryl had been left with the impossible task of getting you dressed. He'd done a good job of it so far, but when it came your shirt all hell broke loose.

"Stop!" You yelled again, but the man had your arm tightly within his grip. "You're killing me!"

He'd gotten the first sleeve on just fine - but the other one was giving him grief. You'd slipped your arm out of the sling, but had trouble lifting it high enough to get your hand through the hole. The man kept trying to get you to straighten it, but you saw stars every time he did.

"So, wha'?" Daryl grumbled, seeming at the end of his rope. "Dyin' suddenly ain't tha' fun 'nymore?"

You winced as you jolted away too suddenly. At one point, you'd tried to convince him to just button up the shirt with only one arm in it - but he'd shot you a look and muttered something about 'making a fashion statement' under his breath.

"I ain't killin' ya." He continued, noticing your look of pain. "Jus' stop movin' an' it'll be over quicker."

You tried to do just that, but your arm wouldn't bend in the way he wanted it to - and you cried out again.

"It hurts!" You told him, and recoiled away. "You're pulling too hard."

Daryl wore an expression of utter exasperation, and opened his mouth to snap something back. Except, there was a knock at the door before he could.

You jumped again, having not even heard anyone come into the house - and breathed out through gritted teeth at the discomfort it caused.

"What the hell is going on in there?" A voice asked through the wall.

"Glenn?" You replied, immediately recognising him.

Daryl shot you a look, and you could tell he blamed you for all this. You rolled your eyes in response, and Glenn spoke again.

"Rick sent me to get you." He called, still behind the closed door. "Did you forget we had a meeting?"

Daryl let the sleeve of the shirt drop from his hand, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Ain't forget nothin'." He shouted back. "Jus' runnin' late 'cos of princess pain tolerance."

"Daryl?" Glenn asked, and you snorted.

You saw the handle on the door twist slightly, but Daryl quickly elbowed it shut before Glenn could enter.

"We'll be there soon!" You explained. "Daryl's helping me get dressed."

There was silence on the other side for a few seconds, and Daryl returned back to you - looking over at the shirt like he considered just taking it off again. You giggled at his expression, before you heard Glenn clear his throat from behind the door.

"Right." He said quietly, but you still caught it. "There are some things I'd rather not know."

A/N I broke my collar bone before and it was so painful... I remembered the struggles of getting dressed and HAD to write a scene about it.

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

Tag List:

@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole @whitexwingedxdoves @potatochic2003 @suranne-doesstuff ​

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Howdy! I got an ask/react for the Fo4 companions! How would a romanced companion react to Sole (preferably female) doing things to make them feel 'stronger' or 'protective' over her? Some random examples: Sole "can't" open something and has to ask for help/Sole conveniently forgets her overcoat when she knows it's going to be cold out, etc. the little things :) (Extra thing: you don't have to but if you could go into a bit more depth for Deacon and Hancock's response that'd be great :D )

Okay, this was so. much. fun. I took a few... creative liberties with the prompt, but I hope it’s still in the realm of what you were looking for! And, of course, thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it!

Cait: 

     Sole pressed a cold cloth to Cait's cheekbone, and she hissed at the pressure of the contact on her swollen cheek. 

"Shit, sorry, Cait." 

"Eh, I've had worse licks than this."

"I know, but still… this one is definitely my fault." 

"It's hardly yer fault, luv, I'm the one who got meself inte this."

"How? I'm the one who started the fight." Sole protested, pulling her hand back so she could look her companion in the eye. 

"Maybe, but I'm the one who gave you yer drinkin’ problem, and that's what got us inte the fight in the first place." Sole chuckled at that, shaking her head. The two had had this discussion what seemed like a hundred times, both trying to take the blame for the constant slew of bar fights that they found themselves getting into. 

Tonight, it had been four intoxicated men who had decided it was a neat idea to discuss the details of what they’d do to Cait if they could get her drunk enough. While the redhead hadn’t seemed to hear, Sole had briskly made her way over to the group to give her two cents on these ideas of theirs. So, Cait had a point, maybe if Sole hadn’t had quite so much whiskey, she could’ve tried to solve the problem more... verbally. But alas, her confrontation had officially started with her fist landing at the temple of the man nearest to her, effectively knocking him out. And it had ended with Cait hauling Sole to her feet after disposing of the man’s companions. 

Cait picked absent-mindedly at the scabs forming on her knuckles as Sole brought the wet rag up to her face once more, dabbing at the blood next to Cait's lip. 

"God, how is it that you always end up with the injuries? All I got was a bruise to the cheek, and yet, here you are, looking like a human punching bag."

"I can tell ya that. It's cus it's always me rushin' in te save your arse. Why do you always take on more than ye can handle?" Sole snickered, not knowing if Cait found her own words as amusing as she had. 

"Because, I know no matter how many assholes I take on, you'll always be there to save me." Cait made a disgusted sound, rolling her eyes at that, much like Sole thought she would, before letting her emerald gaze meet Sole's eyes. 

"I wish you weren't, but yer damn right." Cait said, and Sole felt a little jump in her chest at the sentiment. Cait wasn’t the most tender person in the wasteland, but somehow, she always seemed to know what to say; to Sole, anyway.

The pair sat silently for a bit as Sole finished cleaning up her defender. Wiping down her bloodied hands, and the remainder of the crusted crimson on her face.

"Are ya done fussin yet? I'm tellin’ you, I'm fine. Can we just go te sleep already?"

"One more spot left." She told her, bringing the rag up to her bruised face once more. Sole's eyes fell to Cait's swollen lips as she drew the cool fabric over them, before leaning in to press her mouth softly to Cait's. Sole pulled away, but stayed close enough for Cait to feel her warm, whiskey-tinged breath fan over her as she whispered, 

"Thank you for saving me tonight. I really was way in over my head." Sole looked down, embarrassed at her admission, as Cait smiled at her. 

"It was my pleasure, luv. As you said, I'll always be there te save yer arse." 

Curie: 

     "You know, you don't have to come to me for something as small as zhis." Curie said as she examined the minor cut on Sole’s arm. “You could patch zhis up yourself easily!” 

“Well…” Sole felt heat rise to her cheeks as she searched for an explanation. She knew that every time she came to Curie for something like this, she was taking up the doctor’s precious time, but she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to do when Curie insisted on working all day when they were at a settlement? They usually came to settlements to relax, to help make repairs and look into any problems the settlers might be having, but Curie always insisted on doing check-ups for everyone in their vicinity. Sole loved her selflessness and dedication to her work, but… When were they supposed to spend time together? This is what I get for having a workaholic for a girlfriend.

“You know, infection is a big problem out here. I just thought it would be best to seek the help of a professional.” 

“Oh, of course, of course. How responsible of you.” Sole bit at her lip as Curie laughed at her. Well, she really has caught onto the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing.

 “Fortunately, you do not need to worry about infection in zhis, it iz not deep. But come here, with me.” Curie urged Sole off of the cot she was seated on and brought her to a table at the back of the clinic. 

“Wait here, se vous plait.” With that, Curie disappeared around the corner, and Sole stood around, twiddling her thumbs, as she tried to think of an excuse to get Curie off of work early. 

“I was going to clean my supplies with zhis, but we can do your arm first.” Curie said as she came around the corner, a bucket of soapy water in-hand. 

“Here.” Curie set the bucket onto the table and had Sole hold out her arm as she produced a clean rag from the pocket of her lab coat, and dunked it into the warm water. Sole watched as Curie wrung out the cloth, and brought it to the miniscule wound on her arm. 

It was comical, really, the care that Curie took in cleaning the cut that couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and was almost too thin to see. Another rush of heat made its way to Sole’s cheeks as she realized how ridiculous she must seem to the doctor, but Curie made no complaints as she used the other side of the rag to dry off her arm. 

“Zhere! It should be all better. I can wrap it for you too, if you’d like.” 

“Thanks Curie, you’re a lifesaver. But I don’t think you really need to wrap it.” The synth laughed at her as she threw the rag into a basket and picked up the bucket again. 

“Oh, mon dieu, I don’t know about zhat.” She shook her head, a pink tint coming to her pale cheeks at Sole’s flattery as she turned to go into the back of the clinic again. 

“Wait!” Sole said, reaching out her “good” arm to stop Curie before she could vanish around the corner once more. Curie looked at her, a questioning expression on her face. Sole stood, her hand still wrapped around Curie’s forearm, utterly at a loss of what to say. I just don’t want you to go. It’ll be another four hours until you get off. 

I think you should take a break?

Maybe you should have a half day?

Do you need some help here at the clinic? God, when did I become so damn clingy?

“Hmm.” Curie’s eyes pierced into Sole’s as a knowing look washed over her face. “I zhink I know what it is you want.” Sole just stared ahead, wondering silently if that were true. The doctor set down the bucket yet again, delicately taking a hold of Sole’s “injured” arm once more. Slowly, she brought it upwards, then lowered her head to place her lips gently over the cut. “Iz zhat better?” 

Sole giggled, still embarrassed, but definitely glad she had come to interrupt Curie’s work. I guess I can wait a little longer. Maybe make us a nice dinner for tonight...

“Much. Thanks again, Curie.” 

“Of course! Anytime, mon amour.”

Danse: 

     Sole sat at the kitchen table, draining the last of her coffee as her gaze fell to Danse, where he was seated on the steps outside the front door of her Sanctuary home. He stared ahead blankly, brows knitted together above his lusterless eyes as his hands worked to remove a spot of rust from a piece of power armor he had taken off his suit temporarily. Lately, the ex-paladin had been adept in putting on a show for Sole, making her think that he was okay, even after everything that had changed in his life over the course of a few hours. It had been over a week since he had found out about his true identity, and in that time,  Sole could tell that he had tried to remain strong. For whom, she wasn’t sure. She thought she had made it clear to him that she didn’t care about his “strength” in these times, she just wanted him to get through them, whatever the means. Yet, he only seemed to don this look of despair and hopelessness whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and if she tried to bring it up, he would always attempt to change the subject, or he would tell her not to worry and simply say that he was still working on “adjusting.” 

She hated when he didn’t talk to her. The seemingly insensitive man was always happy to listen to Sole’s problems and offer what advice he could, often suggesting that she discuss her own issues as a form of therapy. But God forbid she tries to get him to do the same. Sole sighed as she mulled over what to do, and noticed Danse’s head twitch to the side, listening, before his gaze dropped down to focus on his task.

He’s been working on that same spot for almost an hour. If it’s not out yet, I don’t think it ever will be. Sole looked around the room, trying to find something that could possibly serve as a proper distraction for Danse, and her eyes fell to the wooden stereo below the window in the living room. She had left it there because she simply didn’t have the heart to scrap the old thing. Too many good memories surrounded it. Memories of her and Nate, dancing the night away as the records spun on and on playing soft love songs until the sun rose; of her rocking Shaun in her arms as she mosied around the living room, listening to the nursery rhyme vinyls that she had received as gifts at her baby shower... But those memories, they were from another life.

Sole shook her head. This is about him, she thought, not me. I can deal with my shit later. Right now, I need to focus on Danse.

She huffed another sigh, this time a bit louder, and watched as Danse ceased his hand movements and tilted his ear towards her again.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to look at where she sat, and Sole tried to look melancholic.

“It’s just… You know… nevermind, it’s not important.” Just as she assumed he would, Danse stood up and walked inside the house, setting the piece of armor and the rag on the table, and pulled out a chair so he could sit beside her. He looked down at her hands, which rested on top of the table near her empty coffee mug. She could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead as he hesitantly brought one of his large hands to rest over the top of her own. Ever since he found out what he was, he’s been afraid to touch me. So... this is a good sign, at least.

“If something’s wrong, I want to know.” He said as he looked up to meet her gaze, his worried expression matching the concern she was feeling towards him. Sole took a breath to appear as though she was steadying herself.

“It’s just… being in this house. It’s great, I mean, it’s still my home and everything, and I don’t want to go anywhere else, but…” she trailed off, her troubled expression only half-feigned at this point, given the truth behind her words. His eyes never wavered, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Some things are harder to look at than others. And that damn stereo over there just has to be staring straight at me every time I sit down at the table, it’s the hardest one for me to see. It's just, it was a house-warming present from my parents. They gave it to me and Nate after the wedding, and now… well, there are no more records to play on it. They were all ruined, and even if they weren't, I don’t think the thing would work anyway. But every time I see it, it reminds me of the people I’ve lost. My parents… Nate… even Shaun.” Sole didn’t have to fake the tears that came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled the memories of her loved ones, and she knew Danse hadn’t missed a thing when he started rubbing her hand softly with his. They sat there in silence for a moment, as Danse tried to reassure her with his gentle touch.

Then, still remaining silent, Danse stood, reaching his hand forward to brush his thumb over Sole’s cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. He then turned towards the living room, but instead of going straight to the stereo, as Sole thought he might, Danse opened the side door that led to the covered driveway. She watched as he doubled back, now approaching the stereo. Sole wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do when she mentioned her problem to him; maybe offer to help her take the thing apart, or try and see if it still worked, or simply give her another perspective on how she should view the piece of 200-year-old furniture. Whatever she expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. 

Danse squatted down in front of the large wooden beast of a stereo, wrapped his broad arms almost all the way around it, and stood, lifting the whole damn thing up until he was standing completely upright with the stereo held firmly to his chest. Sole’s mouth hung open as she remained seated at the table, seemingly paralyzed by the shock of what she was witnessing, as Danse sauntered awkwardly towards the exit. A thick vein protruded from his neck as he twisted the piece of furniture to fit through the door, and made his way out into the driveway.

Sole heard a groan from outside, accompanied by the sound of something hard hitting concrete. She stood up, prepared to head outside and see what exactly he’d done with her “problem,” but before she reached the doorway, she heard him call from outside,

“You can’t still see it, can you?”

“Um… no. But Danse, is it-- I mean, are you okay? It took like, four people to bring that thing in when we first moved it to the house.” The brawny ex-soldier appeared in the doorway, his chest still heaving from the effort of wrestling the wooden monster outside. He nodded to her,

“I'm fine." He huffed, "You don’t need to go out there. I’ll take it apart later, if you’d like. Or we can store it somewhere for the time being.” She shook her head at him, a little smile touching her lips. Even after everything he’s been through, he's still always looking out for me. Even with something as small and insignificant as this.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that.” Danse looked down at his feet, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

“But thank you.” Sole finished, and his eyes came back up to meet hers. For a moment, she saw a spark return to Danse’s amber eyes as the smallest hint of a smile softened his expression, and Sole felt hope. Hope for him overcoming his grief in this time of crisis, and hope for herself in being able to move on from the memories that had kept her chained to her past for so long. Together, she felt like the two of them could overcome anything.

Deacon:

     “Yes. Two please.” Sole said as Takahashi voiced the only question he ever seemed to ask. The robot placed two bowls of scrumptious smelling power noodles in front of her, and she reached for the bag of caps hanging from her belt. As she looked down to count her money, she heard a clatter of bottlecaps hitting the counter beside her.

“Got it covered. Come on, let’s dig in.” Deacon grabbed a bowl in each hand and headed over to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

“I thought you were still trying to stay undercover?" Sole gestured to the Diamond City guard outfit that the spy donned. "Doesn’t it kinda ruin the illusion if you’re seen in public with me?” She said as she followed him over, sealing up her cap purse once again.

“What? You’ve never seen one of these guys at the noodle stand? Cuz I sure have. Just don’t talk to me, and I’ll be good.” Sole shook her head as she took a seat beside him, instantly deciding to ignore his request.

“Hey officer, I’ve got a question.” Sole swirled her chopsticks around the steaming bowl in front of her, before taking a bite.

“Yes, citizen?”

“Hold on--” she said through a mouthful of noodles.

Deacon laughed as he looked at her full mouth,

“Why--” He tried to talk through his bout of chuckling, “Why would you say you’re going to ask me a question and then take a big bite of food? What did you think would happen?”

Deacon thought he heard her tell him to ‘shut up,’ but it was hard to tell, given the noodles that filled her mouth, and the fact that she was nearly choking in her own fit of laughter.

Eventually, she managed to swallow her food successfully, and was finally able to get some words out.

"No, okay, serious question--" Deacon interrupted her with a snap of his fingers,

"Serious answer." Her genuine curiosity forced Sole to ignore him, and continue with her question.

"Tell me, why do you always pay for everything?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I am a law-abiding security officer. I always pay for the products that I intend to consume."

"I said serious, Deacon."

"Hey, shush!" He brought a hand up to Sole's mouth at the mention of his name, "What part of undercover did you not get?" She cocked a brow at his faked panic expression, noting the grin that he was trying to hide, as he lowered his head and turned back to his noodles.

"Like, okay," she continued, expanding on her inquiry, "whenever we go anywhere, you always pay for everything, and it's really odd. I've never met anyone in the wasteland who's done that, everyone's too busy trying to keep themselves alive to worry about paying for others. So, what? Are you, like, rich or something? I mean, c'mon, what's the deal? I have caps on me all the time, you know that, right?"

"Oh?" Sole saw his eyebrows rise above the tops of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her, "you don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my cold, black, heart, do you? No, I'm running a tab over here, honey. You owe me, big time." Sole narrowed her eyes at him, her uncertainty keeping her lips sealed.

"You mean, you didn’t know? Look, I don't know what to tell you," Deacon continued, "I thought you knew! Man, I'm glad you found out this way. Now it won't be such a rude awakening when the invoice comes."

Deacon turned back to his noodles, shaking his head at the thought. Sole's gaze bore into him, trying to figure out his level of seriousness. I really wish I was better at this. This is why I believed he was a synth for a month and a half.

"And if I don't have the money… you're not gonna call out a hit on me or anything, are you?"

“Hmm," he brought a hand to his chin, stroking his finger over it animatedly, "surely there must be some way you could pay me back…” He turned to look at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so, and she rolled her eyes, looking back to her noodles as she scoffed.

"Hey! What's with the face! I was talking about community service. Y'know, helping the children, and the elderly, all that good stuff. Get your mind out of the gutter, perv. And to think, I was going to have you volunteering at the children's hospital next week."

Sole instantly regretted taking another bite, as she tried desperately to fend off a fit of giggling in an effort to keep from choking again.

"I can't keep up with you Deacon," she said as she swallowed her food. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"Eh, don't worry, I can pay for the funeral." Sole raised a hand and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he grinned at her.

"Okay, really, though. You do know I can pay occasionally, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm your partner, remember? I'm pretty much right next to you whenever you get paid.”

"So… then, why do you do it?"

"Do what?" Sole's nostrils flared at his obnoxious question.

"No? Joke didn’t land? Okay. Serious time," he flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, "I read about something… wasn't it, like, customary before the war to pay for stuff for your… friends?" Sole scrunched her eyebrows in thought,

"Friends? Not really. Significant other? Yeah, a little more common." She looked to where Deacon stared down at his noodles.

Is that, is he... blushing?

"But hey, I don't mind if you don't." She finished, tilting her head forward, in an attempt to catch Deacon's eye. She spotted a flushed little grin spread on his face, before he leaned his head back, restoring his cool composure.

"Oopsies, sorry about that, then. But I did warn you, I'm pretty new to this whole friend thing. So… you know, that's on you."

Hancock: 

     The ghoul lounged comfortably on the couch in the Old State House, idly playing with his combat knife as he waited for Sole to finish readying herself for their outing.

“Ahhh!” 

Hancock leapt from his place on the couch at the sound of Sole’s shriek, his combat knife instinctively falling into a position poised for violence.

He ran across the hall, crashing through the door and into the bedroom. Teeth bared and eyes wide, his head lashed from side to side in search of Sole’s assailant. He spotted her, cowering in the corner as she raised a shaky hand to point at the opposite side of the room.

Hancock’s glare followed Sole’s fear-stricken gaze, and he started towards the desk in the corner she had pointed to, but ultimately failed to see what it was causing her distress.

He turned back to her, an eyebrow cocked, as he raised the silent question of what had been the cause of her terror.

“On the desk!” She said, pointing towards it again, this time with greater intensity. Hancock slowly approached the corner of the room, knife still at the ready, as his eyes continued to search for any sign of… well, anything, really. An exasperated smile spread across his lips as his eyes fell to your attacker. A small, brown, spider picked its way through the objects littering the top of the desk, and Hancock had to hold back a laugh. 

“This is what had you all riled up? Oh, sweetheart, he’s just a little spider. C’mon now, he won’t hurt ya.”

“You don't know that.” She said firmly, her round eyes still trained on the desk. It had sounded like a joke, but her expression remained serious.

“Alright, you want me to get rid of him for you?” She nodded her head vigorously, and he chuckled as he turned his attention to the unsuspecting arachnid. He watched as it delicately stepped over a series of writing utensils, and Hancock frowned. Bringing his knife up to the top of the desk, he rested the flat of his blade directly in the spider’s path,

“That’s it, up you go, little guy.” He said quietly, as it stepped onto his steel vessel. Hancock twisted the knife around in his grip as the spider crawled around it, and made his way to the balcony. Once outside, he tipped his knife to the railing, encouraging the spider to crawl off the tip of the blade. Once the spider was safely making its way along the top of the railing, Hancock turned back towards the doorway.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “Now he can’t hurt ya, he’s all the way out there.”

“You… you didn’t kill it?” She asked, tentatively standing up.

“Nah, we only hurt the ones who hurt somebody else first, remember?”

“You don’t know that he didn’t hurt anybody.” She mumbled as Hancock sauntered over to her.

“Aw, give him a chance, maybe he can change, y’know? He doesn't really seem like the troublemaking type to me, anyhow.” He brought his hands to your waist, a smug expression playing on his face.

“Oh yeah, just like the way you always tell people you’ve changed?” She said, sliding her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulders. “Way I see it, you’re still just as bad an influence on me as when I met you.” She said, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, sunshine. Maybe I can't change any more. Maybe it's just my nature to be a bad influence on you.” He said quietly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he leaned into her. 

“Huh, maybe so. But bad influence or not," she pulled away from him slightly, to look up into his smoky eyes, "you really did save me back there. And, I know it seems silly... but I am grateful." His eyes softened at her little confession and, though he knew this too was silly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell in his chest at the thought of "saving" her. 

“And I’ll always be here to save you... from any spiders we happen to come across.” He pecked her lips tenderly, their close proximity practically forcing his mouth to hers. He should’ve known better, once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

“Even though,” He continued, as he pressed a kiss to her nose, “I’ve seen you,” then to her right cheek, “take down,” now her left, “deathclaws,” another to her jaw, “single handedly,” and now down to her neck, “I’ll be sure to handle all the unruly arachnids.” He whispered into the crook of her neck, before moving upwards again and pressing one more kiss to her forehead. He watched, grinning like an idiot in love, as a crimson flush crept up her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment she felt regarding her phobia, or from the heat of his lips on her skin, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either way, he found it irresistibly adorable, and with that, he set his sights on her lips once more. 

MacCready: 

     MacCready sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he counted his ammunition cartridges. There were four of the .308, six of the .50, ten of the 10mm, and a few of the .38. There certainly wasn’t as much as he’d hoped there’d be, but he wasn't worried. Sole always seemed to have ammo to spare, and she wasn't stingy with it like he was. It was yet another perk to being with her.

He gathered his full magazines together near the ammo bag resting beside him, so he could begin placing them inside in preparation for their next outing.

"How are you doing over there, babe?" He asked as he stored the outlying bullets in little bags.

"I think... you know what, nevermind. I'm good." MacCready ceased his action, turning to look at where Sole knelt on the carpet of her Diamond City home. A pile of bullets and empty magazines surrounded her, the stack of seemingly full cartridges was pitifully small compared to his own.

"You, ah, need some help?"

"... No.” 

"Mmhm, okay.” he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

“Well,” he continued, “I'm going to put my full mags in the ammo bag, why don't I grab yours too." The sniper stood up, and made his way over to her, bending down to grab the cartridges that looked full.

"Wait! No, these, um, these ones aren't done yet." MacCready's eyebrows furrowed, but the shadow of a smile began to spread to his lips as he realized what was going on.

"So," he said, kneeling down so he could see her pretty little embarrassed face. "You haven't finished loading any of them?"

“No." She said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. MacCready lowered his head so that he was looking up at her as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. A lock of hair was draped over her forehead, obstructing his view. He reached a hand up and gently pushed it behind her ear, leaning in to give her nose a small peck with his lips.

"You want some help?" He said as Sole raised her gaze to meet his, a small blush forming on her cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded yes.

"Alright, you know, you could’ve just asked. I might have said ‘no’ the first time, but you know me, I eventually would’ve come around." MacCready said as he set to work with the magazines that had appeared full, but in reality, only housed half of the amount of ammunition that they could fit within them. He snickered in understanding, it really was the second half of bullets that was hard to load.

"Thank you, sweetie. You’re just so much better at it than I am." She said as she watched his practiced fingers make quick work of what probably would've taken her another hour.

"Of course... but, you are paying me for this, right?"

"Ohh, I think we might be able to work something out." She said, a sly grin playing at her lips.

He just chuckled at her words, but she could've sworn his fingers starting moving a whole lot faster at her suggestive phrasing.

Nick: 

“Tell me, why is this now a regular part of my job duties?" Ellie asked as she finished sewing up yet another tear in Nick's trench coat. "You know you're just going to end up with more holes in this coat every time you leave the office, and I don't seem to recall you ever caring about this old thing's appearance before…" she trailed off.

Nick knew that Ellie was fishing for answers. One specific one in particular, but he liked the ambiguity of the situation. It was this little game he and his secretary would play. He would leave clues here and there that pointed to the nature of his and Sole's relationship and wait to see if Ellie would say anything. All while she continued to try and force the truth from him verbally. He wasn't going to lose this round.

"What? A private detective can't keep up appearances for his clients? I think it's just good for business."

"I think it's a load of bologna. You know we gave Sole her own trench coat after she saved you, right? She could just wear her own, rather than steal yours every time you two go out on a case."

"What kinda fun would that be? I don't mind it, it's not like I get cold anyway. And the poor little lady never knows how long we're going to be gone, so I don't think it's her fault when we're out after dark and she wants to wear it."

Ellie rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as she poked the needle back through the worn, beige fabric once again.

"She's got you so tightly wound around her finger, it's a wonder she doesn't call you 'Jared'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, it’s something I’ve read about, I guess it was a ring shop, or a jewelry company, or something before the war. I thought it sounded clever. Just humor me, won't you?"

The synth just shook his head, uttering a low chuckle as he watched Ellie tighten the thread, forcing the last hole closed.

"There." She said, tying up the last bit of string left over, before cutting off the excess. "It's done." 

"Perfect, thanks a million, doll. I'll see you soon, I've just gotta head out for a--"

"Date?" She finished the sentence for him suggestively, raising her eyebrows in question.

"A case. We're going to head out on a case, Ellie."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, here," she handed him back the coat, "now she doesn't need to worry about the cold air seeping in through all those holes. Let me know if you want me to insulate the damn thing when winter rolls around."

Valentine smiled, an uncharacteristically goofy smile, at Ellie's words. He was so obvious, why didn't he just come clean already? 

"Will do, I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. Thanks again, Ellie. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She said, turning back to the mound of paperwork still on her desk beside her sewing supplies.

“Ah well, I’ll get him to admit to it one of these days.” Ellie mumbled as she began sorting through the files in front of her.

Piper:

     Piper looked up at Scarlet from the table in the corner of the Dugout Inn, 

"Yes, so I think we'll both have a nuka cola to start off. Then I'll do the crispy squirrel bits, and she'll have the Salisbury steak." Piper pointed her finger to Sole, who was busy looking down at the table, before making a last-minute decision, "Aaand you'd better bring some of those snack cakes at the end, too." 

"Hm, as usual." Scarlet chuckled at that as her pen scribbled across the notepad in her hand. 

"But that sounds good, you two. I'll have that out in just a minute." The waitress grabbed their menus, Sole reaching up to hand it to her with a smile on her face before turning to peer at her partner from across the table. She waited for Scarlet to disappear around the corner to the kitchen before speaking.

"You really don't find it annoying?" She asked. 

"What?" Piper loosened the scarf around her neck as she looked questioningly at Sole. 

"I know that I ask you to order for me whenever we go out to eat, or drink, and it's gotta be getting a little old at this point, right?" 

"No, not at all, Blue!" Piper said as she took her hat off and placed it on the table, mussing her hair a bit with one hand. "This reporter actually finds it to be pret-ty endearing. It's like, the one thing you can't do. You’re good at, like, everything else, but this I get to help you with. It's a welcome change." Piper's hands dropped to the top of the table as she began absent-mindedly fiddling with her silverware. But her eyes stayed on the woman across the table as Sole smiled at her, still appearing a little embarrassed. 

"I don't know why I can't do it," Sole tried to explain, "I've just never been able to order for myself, even before the war. Just one of those bizarre anxiety things, I guess."

"Well, like I said, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it's cute." 

 Preston:

     Sole approached her Lieutenant, shaking her head at him, and she saw him sigh.

“No, the river just keeps going until it reaches a ravine." She told him, "And it’s too steep to climb down. Any luck on your end?”

“Hmm, not really. It's a little more shallow upstream, but it’s still about ten feet wide.”

“Damn.” She said, “We need to get across.” A settlement had sent a distress call across radio freedom almost an hour ago, if Sole and Preston took any longer, they might be too late.

“I guess we’ll just have to go for it.” She said, her face painting a picture of clear disgust at the thought of wading through the murky water.

“Well, let’s at least head upstream a bit. To the shallow part.”

“Okay.” Sole said begrudgingly, her footsteps unconsciously heavy as she followed her companion to the shallow part. Not shallow enough, I bet.

And she was right. As the pair arrived, Preston turned to Sole to gauge her reaction, noticing the way her nose wrinkled at the sight of the brown, swirling water.

Preston heaved a sigh, and started forward. Before he reached the waterline, he turned to see Sole still standing back, feet seemingly glued to the muddy ground. He couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at her, eyebrows creasing upwards as he watched her eyes look longingly at the far shore.

“Come here.” He said.

“I know, I know. Just start going, I’ll follow.” Preston chuckled at the exasperation in her voice. Instead of repeating his command, he simply walked over to her as her eyes remained locked on the other side of the river, when he reached her, he slowly pressed his hand to the small of her back.

“Hey, what are you--?” Before Sole could finish her question, Preston had scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak of surprise, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“Is this okay? He asked, the brim of his hat pressing against Sole’s forehead as he looked at her.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” Preston laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring she was secure before making his way towards the river.

“Hold onto me.” He said, and Sole wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Sole nodded to him, and Preston took a step forward, frigid water seeping in through his boots as he waded in.

“Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” She said, her eyes trained on the river as it raised up to Preston’s knees.

“I might be wrong, General, but I think I already am.” He said, the amusement in his voice faint as he gritted his teeth against the cold.

She felt his body shutter as he continued forward, the water reaching up almost to his waist, as he held Sole up higher to ensure it wouldn’t reach her. She let out a small sigh of relief as they reached the end of the channel. The water became more shallow, and Preston quickened his pace with each step that brought him closer to their destination.

Once completely out of the water, and past the muddy shoreline, Preston finally set Sole down gently. As her feet touched the ground, Sole kept her arms wound about Preston’s neck.

“Thank you, love.” She said, her voice soft as she addressed him as her partner rather than her Lieutenant.

“It was my pleasure, m’lady.” He said, briefly removing his hat from his head as he did so. Sole smiled at him warmly, but detected the faint chattering of his teeth, and when she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps littering his skin. 

“Oh, Preston…” Sole said as she pressed herself to him, rubbing her hands against his back and arms quickly, in an attempt to warm him with her friction. She felt hot air wash over her neck as he released a shaky breath of relief, leaning into her touch. The pair stood there for a moment, Preston syphoning off Sole’s warmth as she tried to repay him for his earlier act of kindness. Her hands slowed from her vigorous rubbing to a more tender sort of touch, before Preston’s head shot up.

“Shit, Sole, the settlement! We’ve got to move!”

X6-88: 

     This had become a common routine of theirs, and X6 wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Every time they were in Sole’s Diamond City home, she would insist on making dinner for the two of them. That, X6 didn’t mind too much; although, after consuming nothing but food supplements in the Institute for so long, it did take some getting used to. But eating the food wasn’t the issue, it was the making of it that had him perplexed. 

As far as he knew, Sole had been the one to install the shelves in her kitchen; and yet, every time she was in need of a spice of some sort, or a condiment, or one of her dishes, she would ask X6 for assistance, given that the shelves were apparently too high for her to reach. Why Sole continued to store her items on the too-tall shelves, he couldn’t begin to guess. But here she went again, asking him to reach for the box of blamco mac n’ cheese on the top shelf, the highest one, one that he could barely even reach. X6 decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” She asked distractedly as she focused on the strength of the flame burning on her stove.

“Why do you use these shelves?”

“What else would I use, silly?” X6 scrunched up his face at that, trying to hold back a verbal scoff at her wording.

“Would you rather I just store everything on the floor?”

“Well, no. That would… hardly be sanitary.” He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not. Did she think he was joking with her?

“Why do you ask, X?” She grabbed the box from his hand as he extended it towards her, and began tearing at the top of it with her finger.

“Well, it seems nonsensical to me, for you to continue placing all of your items out of your reach. What happens if I’m not here?” Sole placed a saucepan filled with water over the stove and turned to look at him.

“But you are here.” she said, shrugging, “What? Don’t you like helping me out in the kitchen?”

X6 blinked. What the hell did this have to do with what he liked?

“Well… I don’t dislike it. I’m just having trouble with-- I don’t-- I just... do you want me to fix the shelves so they are the right height for you?”

“No, I like them the way they are.”

X6 felt his eye twitch from beneath his shades. Confusion built up inside him, making the courser feel as though he might explode.

“Ma’am--” His voice faltered as he realized he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know they’re not practical, X. But you can reach them, and I like that about them. Even when I’m here alone, the fact that I can’t make dinner without you makes me smile.” X6 furrowed his eyebrows. That explanation didn’t help at all.

“Don’t you get hungry?”

“I'm not completely helpless, you know, I can usually figure something out.” She attempted to look annoyed at his question, but her grin gave her away. X6 narrowed his eyes at her, still not completely satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He was still just as confused as he was before.

“Huh.” He said, mulling over all she had said on the subject. “Perhaps... in that case, we should ensure that I am by your side for any missions near Diamond City. That way, I can be sure the future director of the Institute doesn’t go hungry.”

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, who am I to argue?” The left side of X6’s lip tilted upwards in an expression of amusement, and Sole openly smiled at him, laughing a little to herself as she turned her attention back to the boiling water on the stove.

“Can you hand me the pepper mill? Second shelf.”

“I know which shelf. But yes, I can.” He said, turning around to grab it, as Sole continued grinning to herself.

Now I just have to make sure he never looks under my bed. Sole thought. If X6 ever found the step stool she had hidden there, what would happen to her kitchen helper?

[honeyhenry]

Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie​ is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours” 

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement. 

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.” 

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him. 

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit. 

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs  to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-” 

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie​ @michelehansel​ @la-cey​ @palaiasaurus64​ @sassy-pelican​ @brandycranby​

Masterlist

feedback / ask me a question here!!

[a-room-of-my-own]

A while before the latest hoo-ha about Judith Butler, I had just been reading her again. Though she claims her critics have not read her, this simply isn’t the case. I read Gender Trouble when it first came out and it was important at the time . That time was long,long ago. She was just one of the many ‘post-structuralist’ thinkers I was into. I would trip off to see  Luce Irigaray or Derrida whenever they appeared.

I got an interview  with Baudrillard and tried to sell it to The Guardian but they  didn’t know who he was so its fair to say I was fairly immersed in that world of theory.  For a while, I had a part time lecturing job so I had to keep on top of it. Though Butler’s idea of gender as performance was not new , it was interesting.  RuPaul said it so much more clearly in a  quote nicked from  someone else “Honey ,we are born naked, the rest is drag”

What I was looking for again , I guess is not any clarity – her writing is famously and deliberately difficult-  but whether there was ever any sense of the material body. She wrote herself in 2004 “I confess however I am not a very good materialist. Every time I try to write about the body, the writing ends up being about language” . 

Butler from on high ,cannot really think about the body at all which is why they (Butler’s chosen pronoun) are now the high priestess of a particular kind of trans ideology.  The men who worship Butler are not versed in high theory. The fox botherer had a “brain swoon” at some very ordinary things Butler said. Mr Right Side of history nodded along in an interview. Clearly neither of these men are versed in any of this philosophy and would be better off sticking to tax law and the decline of the Labour Party. Butler is simply a totem for them.

Butler said in the Guardian interview for instance  “Gender is an assignment that does not just happen once: it is ongoing. We are assigned a sex at birth and then a slew of expectations follow which continue to “assign” gender to us.”

So yeah? That’s a fairly basic view of the social construction of gender though I take issue with the assigned at birth thing ,which I will come back to and why I started reading her again in the first place.

This phrase “Assigned sex at birth” is now common parlance but simply does not make sense  to me. I am living with someone who is pregnant. I have given birth three times and been a birthing  partner. I know where babies come from. There is a deep disconnect here between language and reality which no amount of academic jargon can obliterate. 

Babies  come from bodies. Not any bodies but bodies that have a uterus. They grew inside a woman’s body until they  get pushed out or dragged out into the world. 

The facts of life that we are now to be liberated from in the form of denial. Only one sex can have babies but we must now somehow not say that. The pregnant “people” of Texas will now be forced into giving birth to children they don’t want because they are simply “host bodies”. The language of patriarchal supremacy and that of some of the trans ideologues is remarkably close, as is their biological ignorance.

There is no foetal heatbeat at six weeks for instance. When a baby is born , doctors and midwives do not randomly assign a sex, they observe it and they do it though genitalia. 

There is a question over a tiny percentage of babies ,less that one percent with DSDs but even then they are sexed with doctors having  difficult conversations with parents about what may happen later.

Somehow, though when I read the way in which this is now all discussed it is clear to me that the people talking have never been pregnant, never had a foetal scan, never been near a birth , never miscarried, do not understand that even with a still birth babies are still sexed and often named. 

If you want to know the sex of your baby you can pay privately and know at 7 weeks ((*49-56 days from the first day of the mother’s last menstrual cycle). A 12 week scan will show it. That is why so many female foetuses are aborted . I have reported on this. 

Talking to paediatricians about this is interesting because they do indeed have to think through these things that we are being told are not real eg. that sex is just a by-product of colonialism for instance.  Sometimes pre-conception , geneticists will be looking at chromosomes because certain diseases are more likely in men or women. Males have a higher risk of haemophilia for instance.  

One doctor told me “When babies are premature, the survival advantage of females over males is well known throughout neonatology. This is sometimes something we talk about with parents when there is threatened premature labour around 23 weeks' gestation and options to discuss about resuscitation and medical interventions. In fertility treatment (or counselling around fertility in the context of medical treatments) it is pretty inherent to know whether we need to plan around sperm, or ova + pregnancy.”

She also said that if she involved in a birth that “assigning” isn’t the word she world use. “Observed genitals a highly reliable observation, just like measuring weight or head circumference which is also done at this time. “ Another doctor said that anyone involved with a trans man giving birth  would be doing the best for the patient in front  of them. 

Sex then is biological fact. A female baby will have all the eggs she will ever have when she is first born which is kind of amazing. It is not bio-essentialist to say that our sexed bodies are different nor is it transphobic to recognise it.

Except of course in my old newspaper ,The Guardian who are now so hamstrung by their  own ideology they have got their knickers in such a twist they can barely walk.  They completely misreported the WiSpa incident , basically ignored the Sonia  Appleby  judgement at the Tavistock. Appleby was a whistle blower ,a respected professional concerned with safe guarding. She won her case. The cherry on the cake this week was an interview with Butler, themselves (?) in which they went on about Terfs being fascists and needing to extend the category of women.

Does anyone EVER stop to think that most gender critical women are of the left, supporters of gay rights, often lesbian and that this is not America? We are not in bed with the far right. This is bollocks. Just another way to dismiss us.  

As we watch Afghanistan and Texas ,to say Butler’s words were tone deaf is to say the least. But they didn’t even have the guts to keep the most offensive stuff in the piece and overnight edited it out without really explaining why : the bits where Butler described gender critical people as fascist. Perhaps because the person their “reporters” had  defended against  transphobia at WiSpa turned out to be a known sex offender,  perhaps because someone pointed out that Butler was throwing around the word fascist rather like Rik Mayall used to do in the Young Ones. 

All of this is rather desperate and readers deserve better. When I left that newspaper I said that I thought and expected editors to stand up for their writers in public. Instead they go into some catatonic paralysis. I may have not liked this interview but it should never have been cut. Stand by what you publish or your credibility is shot.

But this is about more than Judith Butler and their refusal to support women . Butler is not really any kind of feminist at all. What this is about is the large edifice of trans ideology  crumbling when any real analysis is applied. Yes, I have read Shon Faye’s book and there are some interesting points in it and I totally agree that the lives of trans people should be easier and health care better . I have never said anything but that.

What Faye does in the book is say that there can be no trans liberation under capitalism so there will be a bit of a wait I suspect. 

Yet surely it is the other way round and what we are seeing is that trans ideology (not trans people – I am making a distinction here ) represent the apex of capitalism .

For it means that the individual decides their own gendered essence and then spends a fortune on surgery and a lifetime on medication to achieve the appearance of it. Of course lots of people spend a lifetime  on medication but not out of choice.  Marx understood very well that the abolition of our system of production would free up women.

Now it is all about freeing up men. Who say they are women. Quelle surprise.  

 Nussbaum’s famous take down of Butler is premised exactly on the sense of individual versus collective struggle “ The great tragedy in the new feminist theory in America is the loss of a sense of public commitment. In this sense, Butler’s self-involved feminism is extremely American, and it is not surprising that it has caught on here, where successful middle-class people prefer to focus on cultivating the self rather than thinking in a way that helps the material condition of others. “

Such thinking now dominates academia. There is simply an unquestioning  rehearsal of something most of know not to be true thus Amia Srinivasan writes in The Right to Sex  “At birth, bodies are sorted as ‘male’ or ‘female’, though many bodies must be mutilated to fit one category or the other, and many bodies will later protest against the decision that was made. This originary division determines what social purpose a body will be assigned.”

What does ‘sorted’ mean here? A tiny number of intersex babies are born. A tiny number of people are trans and decide to change their bodies. The feminist demand to challenge gender norms without mutilating any one’s body no longer matters. What matters now is this retrograde return  to some gendered soul. This is not something any decent Marxist would have any truck with . Of course one may change over a lifetime and of course gender is never ‘settled.’ We are complex people who inhabit bodies that often don’t work or appear as we want them to.

But not only is there a denial of basic Marxism going on here , what becomes ever more apparent is  that there is a denial of motherhood. Butler said “Yet gender is also what is made along the way – we can take over the power of assignment, make it into self-assignment, which can include sex reassignment at a legal and medical level.”

Self-assignment is key . One may birth oneself. No longer of woman born but self -made. This is a theoretical leap but it also one that has profound implications for women as a sex class. We are really then, just the  host bodies to a new breed of people who self-assign.

Maybe that is the future although look around the word and there isn’t a lot of self-assignment going on. There are simply women shot and beaten in the street, choked to death or having  their rights taken  away. There is no identifying out of this , there is no fluidity here . This is not discourse. It is brutality and do we not have some responsibility to other women to confront male violence ?

Instead the hatred is aided and abetted by so called philosophers describing  other women as Terfs. It is utterly depressing.

The sexed body. The pregnant body. The dying body. The body is in trouble when we can’t talk about it . I thought of Margaret Mary O’Hara’s  beautiful and  strange lyrics and what they might mean. I await my child’s return from the hospital as hers is a difficult pregnancy and thank god they are on the case. The sex of the child she carries does not matter to me at all .

It simply exists. Not in language but within a body. 

Why is that so difficult to acknowledge? 

[juniorgman187]

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments. 

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events. 

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt. 

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it. 

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate. 

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend. 

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts. 

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me. 

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong. 

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point. 

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun. 

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.” 

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us. 

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room. 

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug. 

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself. 

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?” 

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.” 

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery. 

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me. 

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction. 

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime. 

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today 

Grant: don’t need to. 

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me. 

“Who keeps texting you?” 

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business. 

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.  

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!” 

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it. 

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it. 

“No one.” 

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going. 

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me. 

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously. 

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet. 

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing. 

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?” 

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?” 

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.” 

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’” 

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. 

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.” 

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid. 

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him. 

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub. 

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance. 

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly. 

“No, sir.” 

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me. 

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him. 

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field. 

“You are not going in without a gun,”  Reid ordered. 

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again. 

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in. 

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me. 

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling. 

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?” 

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more. 

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?” 

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”  

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return. 

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent. 

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out. 

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.” 

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red. 

This war was far from over. 

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good. 

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them. 

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing. 

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly. 

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.” 

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied. 

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.” 

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked. 

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all. 

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.” 

What you feel. 

I clung onto those words. 

What was I really feeling? 

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me? 

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me. 

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast. 

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me. 

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely. 

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added. 

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier. 

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked. 

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer. 

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence. 

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too. 

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _ 

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation. 

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way. 

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual. 

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?” 

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew. 

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.  

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken. 

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. 

“A dating app, actually.” 

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this. 

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?” 

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.” 

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.” 

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now. 

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung. 

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed. 

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice. 

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though. 

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.” 

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?” 

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling. 

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead. 

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face. 

He felt sorry for me. 

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book. 

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.” 

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.” 

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.” 

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words. 

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t. 

But I should’ve. 

_ _ _ 

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being. 

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end. 

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat. 

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would. 

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative. 

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?” 

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it. 

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction. 

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.” 

_  _ _ 

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however. 

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it. 

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this. 

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were. 

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now? 

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me. 

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic 

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them. 

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones. 

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head. 

You deserve more than that. Much more. 

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said. 

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened. 

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see. 

“I asked you first.” 

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.” 

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before. 

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know. 

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me. 

“What? What is it?” I urged. 

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?” 

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth. 

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.” 

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?” 

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was. 

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” 

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second. 

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed. 

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that. 

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize. 

That never came. 

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust. 

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments. 

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness. 

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.” 

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).” 

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either. 

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up. 

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too. 

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I. 

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well. 

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field. 

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room. 

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon. 

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?” 

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet. 

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer. 

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it. 

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.” 

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?” 

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart. 

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat. 

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.” 

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here. 

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?” 

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes. 

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least. 

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity. 

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though. 

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something. 

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.” 

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar. 

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me. 

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me. 

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again. 

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. 

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.” 

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image. 

“Always, trouble.” 

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know. 

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help. 

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.” 

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation. 

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her. 

_ _ _ 

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left. 

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied. 

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety. 

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D. 

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful. 

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright. 

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened. 

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?” 

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?” 

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.” 

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before. 

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?” 

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before. 

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit. 

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority. 

She was my priority. 

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear. 

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver. 

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms. 

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand. 

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms. 

She was so cold. 

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute. 

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again. 

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all. 

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.” 

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car. 

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way. 

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly. 

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible. 

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there. 

I need to be somewhere I feel safe. 

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _ 

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself. 

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize. 

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever. 

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?” 

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly. 

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?” 

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.” 

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.” 

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too. 

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that. 

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind. 

“You’re smart. Figure it out.” 

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence. 

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?” 

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?” 

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point? 

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt. 

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?” 

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth. 

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’ 

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never. 

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him. 

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything. 

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us. 

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet. 

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting. 

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid 

tag not working: @gloriousmuffinempathstudent 

[airis-paris14]

See You Again

A/N: Just something short I never posted. It probably sucks, but I thought I'd share anyway. WE OUTSIDE YALL. (Please be outside RESPONSIBLY. COVID is still a thing. Please get vaccinated and or wear a mask.) Love Y'all.

Masterlist

“My King,” Okoye called, handing T’Challa a bag he forgot. “Next week.”

“ I know Okoye. I promise I will be ready to leave.” Okoye nodded before reboarding the jet. The king watched before beginning the short walk up to his friend's front door.

He rang the doorbell before staring up at the building. It’d been years since he’d last been in this apartment. Freshman year of college to be exact. Anaya’s parents had invited him to spend Thanksgiving with them after finding him and their daughter studying together on a surprise visit to their daughter's dorm. They weren’t in the room, lucky for them, but it seemed that her parents were invested in a dream that wouldn’t come true. Not that either of them was ready to admit they couldn’t be together either. At least that early on.

So much has changed since then. They graduated. Got two Ph. Ds respectively and then moved on. Anaya became a celebrated fashion historian and critic, and T’Challa a king. Halfway across the world, they’d reconnected by chance in Paris and hadn’t let go since. Somewhere T’Challa had been holding on to a silly notion that maybe he and Anaya could give being together another go, but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.

Same as his ringing of the doorbell had been. Worried, the king began knocking on the door. “Quit your racket! She’s not here!” An elderly woman crooned from her front porch. “Pardon?”

“She ain’t here! The baby called.” The woman chuckled to herself, “Ran outta here like a firecracker. Her two friends following close behind.”

“She was pregnant?”

“Don’t know how you missed it sonny, big as a blimp, carrying high though. My bets on a girl you know,” she paused to size up the young king. “And you must be that no good bastard baby’s father. Walking out on her like that you know I should-!”

“Ma’am, I promise you I am not him. As much as I wish I could have been,” the king mumbled the last part.

“Well then now’s your chance son. The real father ain’t here, and I hate to see that child grow up without a father figure. What’s keeping you from claiming that child?”

“A lot more than you’ll ever know..” T’Challa looked up, despair written across his face. The woman's gaze softened. “You’ll never know till you try. At least go and see her. I mean you came to her house. All dressed up with flowers and a bag of gifts. You must really care for her.”

“I do.”

“She’s at the university hospital.” The old woman instructed. “Thank you,” the king nodded. “Anything to see her happy, ever since her parents died she’s been sitting up in that house all alone. Make it right.”

Two hours and four phone calls later, T’Challa pulled up to the hospital in his hired car. The driver opened the back door of the SUV to allow the king and his baby present out into the air. He nodded at the driver before making his way up to the reception desk. “Hi, how may I help you?” The woman looked up from her computer. “You must be looking for our maternity ward. This your first?” She nodded at the gifts. “You could say that,” T’Challa chuckled.

“May I have your name and the patient’s?”

“T’Challa, and Anaya Johnson.”

“Great, Ms. Johnson is in room 408 in the maternity wing. Go down the hall, on the left, there will be an elevator. Take that up to the fourth floor, make a right and it should be the fourth door down. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” the king smiled hoisting up the big teddy bear, careful not to crush the flowers and various other bags. “Would you like an escort Mr. T’Challa?”

“I believe I can handle this one,” The king insisted. “Very well, and congratulations.”

The king frowned. “Thank you.”

Four floors up, and three doors down, T’Challa finally stood outside of room 408. He took several steadying breaths before knocking. “Who is it? A familiar voice called. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door before it carefully creaked open.

“T’Challa?”

The king smiled in surprise. “Tella? Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” The brown skin woman beamed, opening up the door, her eyes widening slightly as she saw all of the gifts.”She said she hadn’t heard from you in months.”

“Yeah, I was on my way to visit Anaya and her neighbor told me she was here, having a baby.”

“Yeah, um come in. She and Jean went for a walk, the doctor said it would help with contractions.” Tella grabbed the bear from T’Challa and moved to set it in a corner, while he found space to set down his other gifts. “So how’ve you been? We used to get status updates from Anaya for you. Then you just vanished.”

“Well, there is a lot I haven’t told you all. Wakanda is a monarchy, and my father, and his father, and his father, and his mother, and her father, and his mother, and so on, have all ruled our country. Now it is my turn.”

“To rule?”

“To rule.” The king nodded. “So you vanished because you became king?”

“I vanished because there was a coup, an attempt on my life, which was almost successful. The coup sent my country into a civil war,” The king explained.

“T’Challa, this doesn’t even sound real,” Tella interrupted. “I mean, how is anyone supposed to believe you?”

“May I see your phone?” T’Challa stopped her.

“T’Challa,”

“Just let me prove it to you. I did not ghost Anaya by choice. I still want to be with her.”

“After all this time-”

“Please, I know it seems implausible, but let me show you,” the king reached out a hand.

“Fine T’Challa-” Tella handed over her phone. “Ask siri,” the king instructed.

“Seriously?” Tella frowned. “Just ask her.”

“Siri, who is the king of Wakanda?”

Her phone glowed before responding, “T’Challa Udaku was crowned King of Wakanda after the passing of his father last summer during a United Nations Assembly. I found this article online from the New York Times and several other sources.”

“T’challa if this is true, I mean since this is true, the prospects of you and Anaya getting together is now even more impossible. Why are you here?”

“Because she is my friend, and I love her. She is having a baby, and I will support her.”

“You are not its father!”

“Don’t you think I know that? Do you know how much it hurts me to know that I’m not? That I may never be the father of any of her children.”

“This isn’t about you T.”

“I know, but the child’s father is not here. I am. Even if he was, I still would be, because she is my friend too Tella.”

“I just do not want to see her hurt. Don’t give her false hope T’Challa.”

“On the contrary, I believe it is she who gives me false hope,” the king sighed. Tella pulled him in for a hug. “Just give it time, and who knows, you’re a king now aren’t you?”

“That I am,” T’Challa nodded as the room’s door squeaked open. A nurse helped Anaya back into the room and T'Challa couldn’t help the way his eyes widened at Anaya’s pregnant form. His heart erupted in butterflies, imagining if that had been his child. Tella slapping his arm startled him back to reality. Tella jerked her head towards where the nurse was trying to help Anaya and maneuver the IV stand back into the room with her. T’Challa hurried over to wrap an arm around Anaya’s waist and grab her other hand. The nurse smiled in thanks and surprise. No surprise could top Anaya’s expression. She gaped as T’Challa shot her a smile. “Long time no see,” The king teased as he helped her further into the room and onto her bed. A grimace stole her smile as another contraction hit.

“I’ll grab Dr.Ben and she’ll be right in to check on your progress, Ms. Johnson.” The middle-aged black woman smiled at the expecting mother. “Thank you,” Anaya smiled before turning back to her best friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to surprise you, only to find out from your neighbor that you were in labor,” The king smiled.

“Mrs. Patterson told you where I was?”

“I guess so,” the king frowned. Anaya and Tella laughed. “What did you do to her? Mrs. Patterson doesn’t like anyone. Especially men.” Tella explained.

“She did almost try to beat me up when she thought I was your ‘bastard baby’s father’.” T’Challa told the two women who groaned. Anaya grimaced her way through a contraction and T’Challa stepped over and offered her his hand. The mother smiled at his touch and threaded her fingers through his as the contraction dissipated.

“I’m gonna go find Jean in the gift shop,” Tella excused herself, leaving T’Challa and Anaya alone. “What’s been going on with you King T’Challa,” Anaya teased as she tried to push herself into a seated position.

“Nothing much. The world of politics cooled off for a while and I wanted to apologize for being awol these past months.” T’Challa helped rearrange the pillows so she could sit up. “What about you soon to be umama?”

“Well, this has been my life pretty much, still don’t know how I’m going to manage working at museums and shows towing this one around.”

“Where’s the father?” T’Challa asked softly. A tear formed in Anaya’s eye, “He doesn’t want to be involved. We were drunk that night and you know…..”

“You don’t have to explain,” T’Challa squeezed her hand. “Thanks,” she murmured. “What are you having?” The king inquired, sweeping some box braids back over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I wanted to be surprised.”

“Your neighbor thinks it’s a girl,” T’Challa laughed. “She’s been telling me about me carrying high since it became visible I was pregnant.” Anaya laughed. “I guess we’ll find out today or tomorrow.” T’Challa chuckled. His face quickly fell as she slipped into another contraction. He tried to help her breathe the way he’d seen on television but ended up making her laugh. “You’re really bad at this,” Anaya reclined back onto her pillows rubbing her stomach absentmindedly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” T’Challa smiled. “It’s two quick ones and long out. Not in out in out,” Anaya explained. “I’ll do better next time,” T’Challa promised.

“How long are you visiting, you don’t have to stay. It could be another day or so before I give birth.”

“I’m here for the week, until next Tuesday. And Anaya I want to stay. Besides, I can give Tells and Tonya-Jean a break to walk around.”

“Thanks,” the pregnant mother smiled. Her face contorted as another contraction washed over her. “There you go,” T’Challa soothed as she squeezed his hand. He helped her breathe through and eventually, she settled back. “At this rate, it’ll only be a couple of hours until they’re here with us,” the mom to be sighed. “Then I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me be here,” T’Challa kissed the back of her hand. Sweat had gathered on her forehead and he reached for something to dab it away. “I want you here as long as you can be, distract me.”

“Why? You are not enjoying the miracle of life.”

“Says the man not currently pushing a baby out of his body.”

“Fair enough,” he raised his unoccupied arm in surrender. “Tell me about Wakanda and being a king,” Anaya asked, groaning through another contraction.

“Well,” T’Challa started.

Eight hours later, the room was silent. Tonya and Tells had gone home to catch up on sleep. Anaya was sleeping off her exhaustion and the king of Wakanda sat rocking a sleeping baby girl. Well, she was sleeping. Sydney Iesha Johnson’s big brown eyes fluttered open and stared at the man holding her. She stretched out her tiny body and T’Challa’s heart soared at the feeling of her moving around in the swaddle.

“Hi pretty girl,” he whispered. “Hi,” he cooed, smiling as she yawned. “You are so beautiful, just like your mommy. She was the most beautiful girl in the world and now she’s tied with you.” He rocked the infant softly. “T’Challa?” Anaya croaked. “Hey,” the king stood up and walked the baby over to her mother. “She was fussy in the crib, and the nurse suggested I hold her, I hope you don’t mind,” he rambled. Anaya laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “It’s fine. I love seeing you with her.

“You know I’m here for you right? Both of you now,” the king searched her eyes. “I know I’m not her father, and I’ll never try to be that for her, but she’s a part of you and that makes her important to me.”

Anaya teared up and nodded.

“I want you to move to Wakanda.”

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

[ikroah]

Whiskey river, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me. Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I got, take care of me. —“Whiskey River,” Shotgun Willie (1973)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #15 - Vegas Outskirts

Collaborative Issue! Guest Colorist: @malpaislegate​ / @socksual-innuendos​

Archive Links

«« First | « Previous || Next » | Last »»

Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

MAN that’s gotta hurt!! Volume 2 kicks off with a bang, literally if you count the gunshot and honorifically if you count Socks’ knockout color job on this issue. Look at those lovingly rendered bullet wounds!! Muah!!!

It’s been a relief having a month off from the comic as I handled a bunch of other things but there’s a lot to look forward to in Volume 2, as you can probably tell from that very forboding fist clench at the end there. Will Agnes and Cass get the revenge they’re looking for? Can they make it big in Vegas? Will it keep right on a-hurtin’? Find out next ish as Cass leads Agnes to meet the first of their new “friends.”

Original Pencils:

The pencils for this issue are like an autopsy report of all the things that can go wrong with your art if you don’t plan ahead and pay attention. Listen, friend, to my tale of woe, and learn from my mistakes so they don’t become yours!

First, you can see a lot of places where there’s floating objects, empty backgrounds, and incomplete heads. Part of this is because I always intended to just copy and paste repeated elements across each panel instead of drawing them multiple times, but other times I was forced to just because of my lack of planning. The top three panels on page two, for example, required me to draw the background I’d use for them on a separate page.

Second, you can probably tell that I actually had to flip the two raiders around in the final lineart because I forgot to keep the hands their were holding their guns in consistent—and since I couldn’t flip the middle panel on the second page without ruining the composition, I decided to flip all of their other appearances so that they’d be lefties. I doubt you even can seamlessly wield those particular guns left-handed.

Third, the size of the cart that Agnes and Cass are kneeling behind changes CONSTANTLY and is dramatically oversized from the third page onward. After inking these pages, it took a lot of work to correct the inks and shrink that cart in each panel, but fortunately it came out looking good.

And finally, I completely redrew the second panel on the fifth page because it wasn’t until I had already handed he pages off to my colorist that I realized having a second profile shot of Cass so soon after a first one was just...redundant and lazy-looking. So I went back to my sketchbook and whipped up a much more unique, striking angle (I also just wasn’t satisfied with the quality of my art on that panel, so I’m very glad I redrew it). But again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass and my redraw attempt wound up taking up a lot more space than I thought it would, so after inking it I had to basically surgically remove it from the other inks.

I’ll be honest with you folks: part of the reason that I work in such simple, thick, high-contrast lineart is because it’s very easy to make corrections and adjustments with stuff you could technically color in Microsoft Paint.

Transcript:

EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE MOJAVE, morning. AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand over the wreckage of a caravan, scattered over a dirt road.

CASS: Hell.

EXT. SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE MOJAVE, midday. Looking over a second wrecked caravan, at the bottom of a ditch.

CASS: Fuck.

EXT. PRE-WAR HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF VEGAS, mid-afternoon. AGNES and CASS survey a third wrecked caravan.

CASS: Shit. The proof is in the pudding. Or the pile of ash, rather. These attacks were done with Van Graff guns for Crimson Caravan caps. I'm sure of it.

As CASS explains her theory to AGNES, a short distance from the caravan two RAIDERS peer at the two of them from inside a barn at a ruined farmstead. They have snake-bite tattoos on the sides of their shaved heads and are holding rifles.

CASS: The scorchmarks and residue in the wreckages? That's energy weapon shit. Plasma and laser. Silver Rush special. Not like it'd be the Brotherhood. And Crimson Caravan must have bankrolled this fucked-up little hunting trip themselves.

The RAIDERS move out from the barn, sneaking up on two passers-by who’ve stopped at the caravan wreckage.

CASS: That explains why they bought me out...they needed the last loose end to saddle up back west with a tidy sum.

(NOTE: *Agnes delivered it and Cass signed it in IKROAH #7—Lou.)

CASS: It's a racket, Agnes: torch the local competition and it's win-win for both the f—

SFX: KRAK

A gunshot rips out from one of the RAIDERS’ rifles and sears across CASS’ shoulder.

CASS (gasping): —uckers.

CASS slumps down beneath the overturned caravan wagon on the road, clutching her shot shoulder.

CASS: —Aaggghghhhhhhh.

AGNES: Cass! Are you—

CASS: Fuck! Agnes, get down you moron!

AGNES ducks behind the cover of the wooden caravan wagon just as another gunshot splinters the top lip of it.

SFX: DTHWAK!

The RAIDERS advance on CASS and AGNES’ position, firing at them from off the road.

SFX: KRAK

AGNES leans over the top of the wagon with her pistol, returning fire.

SFX: BTAK BTAK BTAK

AGNES lands a shot right in one of the RAIDERS’ guts, and she drops her weapon and falls down.

SFX: SPLUT

CASS, leaning out the side of the wagon, takes as careful of aim as she can with her shotgun by holding it with her good arm. Trembling, she fires, connecting with the other RAIDER.

SFX: KBLAM

The would-have-been RAIDERS are dead.

AGNES: ...were those the Van Graffs?

CASS: No. Just some vultures.

CASS leans back behind cover to sit against the bottom of the overturned wagon again, wincing from her shoulder injury.

CASS: Ugghhn.

AGNES (slipping off duffel bag): Cass, your shoulder—

CASS: Yeah, it's been shot. I'm pretty fucking aware.

AGNES (unzipping bag): Quick, can you take your shirt off—

CASS: What!?

AGNES: —so I can dress the wound, Cass!

CASS: Oh! Good! So you weren't coming onto me on what remains of Griffin Wares Caravan.

CASS starts removing her shirt while AGNES produces a bottle of something from her duffel bag, and dampens a rag with its contents.

CASS: And since when are you a fucking field medic, anyway?

AGNES: 2269. NCR Certified.

CASS: What?

AGES: Yeah. I've been one kind of doctor or another since I was six.

CASS: What?

AGNES: Now hold still, this is antiseptic.

CASS: Since you were six!? I...shit, wait, hang on, Agnes—

AGNES pressess the rag onto CASS’ shoulder wound, and CASS winces instinctively. But, confusingly, there isn’t any pain.

CASS: ...isn't this supposed to sting like hell?

AGNES: No, not really. It's an acetic acid solution. Vinegar, basically.

AGNES begins cleaning the wound with the rag.

CASS: I thought you put alcohol on wounds to clean them.

AGNES: That's...a common misconception. It's good for tools, maybe, but too strong for skin. And it can complicate healing if you apply it directly.

CASS: So you're telling me, all my years, I've been wasting good whiskey only making my boo-boos worse?

AGNES: I mean...it's better than nothing in a pinch, but...

CASS: Well, then. Thanks for the lecture, doc. Can you just pass the whiskey anyway? Shoulder still hurts like hell regar—

AGNES hands her the whiskey bottle. She’d already gotten it out.

CASS: —dless. Oh. Thanks.

AGNES unspools a roll of bandages in her hands, then begins wrapping it over CASS’ shoulder and across her chest..

AGNES: So. It's a relatively minor wound, more of a deep graze than a real gunshot.

CASS: You'd know all about real gunshots, huh?

AGNES (unfazed): Uh-huh. I can suture it if necessary, but for now, these bandages will be fine. Just hold still. How do you feel?

CASS: I feel fucking pissed, Agnes!

AGNES recoils, taken aback slightly.

CASS: As I was saying before I got shot in the shoulder—which, however "minor" the wound, is real fucking close to my head, Agnes—this wasn't some random attack. These caravans, my caravan, got hit by the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan. It ain't just some tragedy anymore. Now I've got names. Places. Faces.

AGNES resumes bandaging CASS.

CASS: I told you—ow! Don't pinch my tit, dammit—

AGNES: I said hold still.

CASS: —I told you, when you told me about this guy who shot you...when I let you drag me out of that fucking outpost...and when we went to Boulder City...that I would do the exact same thing in your shoes. Now, it is the exact same thing. This fucker shoots your eye out, these fuckers ash my caravan...these same fuckers I sold my own goddamn name to on a piece of paper. I mean...what else are we doing out here, Agnes? Getting shot at by Khans and Raiders just for kicks? Are we just fucking around?

AGNES finishes bandaging CASS, then leans back, pensive.

AGNES: No...no, I really guess we’re not.

CASS: That's what I thought. Your friend in Vegas can wait. Help me get mine, and we can get that shitheel together, and that's a prom—

CASS raises her arm  to shake her fist as she speaks, straining her shoulder injury.

CASS: —mmmmmmghhhh. Ooww, oww, oww, oww...

CASS grabs her shoulder in pain while AGNES looks off in the distance and stands up. She looks out towards the horizon—towards VEGAS, and the pre-war casinos and hotels that still gleam and glitter in blinding sunlight.

Her fist clenches. Her brow furrows. Her body tenses, all over, staring at that city, that place.

The caravan wreckage remains alone on the highway, brahmin bones long picked clean by scavengers.

AGNES SANDS IN: IT KEEPS RIGHT ON A HURTIN’

VOLUME 2: MAKE IT BIG IN VEGAS

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Wilfords Demands: Separated

Summary- 5.6k Curtis x You. Curtis lost the tournament and has been cast back to his original home, the tail end. You are now contained in Wilfords precious engine to see the crazy ramblings of Snowpiercers Leader. You also must find out Curtis’s fate and you believe you can find him, if you can just get beyond that door Wilford likes to disappear into. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Stressful situations, spitting, hitting, demeaning talk, threats, language. You also find out what happened with Curtis’s other children, its dark and upsetting. Proceed reading with caution. Thats as descriptive as Im going to get in that warning. 

Chapter 6 / Wilfords Demands Masterlist 

As you were dragged away, you could hear the cheers echoing off the steel walls. You could feel the overwhelming sensation of panic settling in your chest. It was all consuming as you started struggling against the man dragging you behind Claude, trying to pummel your fists against his padded chest and scratch at him. 

“Let me go! CURTIS!” you screamed, resorting to trying to bite at his hand wrapped around your upper arm. Claude scoffed seeing you give the guard a hard time and snapped over quickly, open palmed, she slapped your face to stun you. 

You panic turned to white hot rage at the woman, turning on her but the man tightened his grip, stopping all your movements. 

“For once in your miserable fucking life, will you stop it?! Jesus Christ you are not worth the effort Wilford puts in you. You don't even make a good whore.” She spit in your face before turning back to open the door to Wilford’s chambers once more, jerking her head to direct the guard to bring you in. “He will be back soon, make sure she doesn’t do something stupid can you? Just don't hurt her, Wilford will have both our heads if anything happens to the precious prize.” 

She sneered out the last words at you, You spat at her with a smug smile when it landed on her face. She screamed in disgust and wiped at her face with her sleeve. “Tail Ender Pig, you are all so disgusting.” continuing to mutter as she left the room, the guard released you, standing at the door and his eyes followed you as you were sure to put distance between the two of you. 

Wilford’s area was the same as before. More luxurious than the others, you went towards the engine, the furthest you could get from the guard when he barked out. “That's far enough.” 

Flipping him the bird, you moved to sit in a nearby chair, rubbing at your belly protectively. 

Right now the anger was the only thing controlling your fear. You had no idea what was going to happen to Jace, was Curtis even still alive. You couldn’t think like that, because you would lose it if Curtis was dead. 

He promised you that he would find a way, swore to you. 

But promises made were not always kept. You swiped at your face furiously to hide the tears, thinking about Curtis would have to come later, when it actually could sink in. For now Curtis was still alive, he would come for Jace, that was all that mattered. 

Time seemed to stretch, tension building when you heard the door shift open. The guard stepped aside and Wilford walked in, followed by Grey who was bloody, limping and spotting several cuts and bruises. 

I hope you feel every single one Curtis gave you, you hissed in your mind looking at him before turning away. 

“Well look at you sweetheart, told you we would be getting to know each other better.” His hand came to stroke your cheek and you jerked away, making him laugh. “Soon enough you will learn not to pull away.” Grey said while Wilford handed him some towels to clean himself up. 

“As promised, she is your prize. You just have to wait till after the birth.” 

You shifted in your seat, your hand still protective over your stomach to face Wilford, ignoring Grey for now. “Where is Curtis?” 

“Well she isn't going to be much longer till she spits out that spawn for you. I don't mind waiting.” Grey spoke over you, ignoring your question. 

“Weeks Grey, not long at all.” Wilford flipped to a calendar, and to your disgust you saw where he had appointments set up with the doctor. Your name, some others, you shuddered at it. 

“Is Curtis still alive?” You started again, but both men ignored you once again when you finally gave a scream, willing them to at least acknowledge you. 

Wilford blinked at you calmly while Grey scowled at you. “Curtis really didn't teach you any manners did he? Know what we are doing first.” 

You hitched your chin, refusing to back away from him in fear. 

“Curtis is no longer your concern Y/N.” Wilford started. “You won't be seeing him again.” 

Your eyes welled up at these words and your face pinched trying to process these. You can't break down right now. Jace needs you to keep it together. 

“Fine, but this child is my concern. I need to know what his future is going to be.” 

Wilford broke in a grin at this one, rubbing his hands together. “Of course, you spent all this effort supplying me with Curtis’s child. I have high hopes for this one.” 

Fuck you were going to be sick, listening to him. “I want to raise him, he is mine as you said.” 

Grey cocked a brow, his arms folding over his chest with a laugh, Wilford joining him. “Ah- no. This child is mine. I already have a name. Trust me, that whole Jace Tyler was cute and all, I heard all about why you wanted that name but no. Joseph Wilford the second will become my successor. Hopefully. Curtis was always my favorite.” 

You spared a look at Grey who’s features clouded slightly but then went back to victorious. “Well Curtis is washed out, past his prime now.” He pointed out and Wilford shrugged a bit. 

“Happens to all of us. Why I needed Y/N to get pregnant rather quickly, before the tournament. I'm still taking a risk, but such a pretty thing who's a survivor from the tail end. I like Joseph’s chances. So for now Dear, your stuff is being removed from Curtis’s quarters, being moved into Grey’s. For now though you will be staying with me. Grey, how about you go get cleaned up, celebrate your victory.” 

Grey gave one final swipe of his towel, smirking. “I think I will just do that.” Cold eyes swept over you, possessive now. “I will see you real soon.” Sure to run his fingers over you again and grasp your chin tightly when you tried to pull away, his touch hurt, bit into you as he dug fingernails into your skin to mark you. “Keep up that act, I like breaking women in.” 

Letting you go with a cruel laugh, he left the engine. Wilford seemed oblivious to your distress. “Come Dear, let me show you your cot. You need to rest. Most certainly, can't have you stressing the baby.” He tugged you to a stand, leading you to a corner near the engine humming and pushed you to sit. “See this is pretty good.” 

You couldn't help it anymore, everything you had hoped for had shattered in moments. You curled as much as you could away from Wilford rubbing your back and sobbed into your arm, mourning Jace’s father. 

Curtis first noticed the pain. It riddled him hotly with every sway of the train's movements. His fingers curled against rough fabric underneath him. When he tried to move pain seared through him everywhere making him grit his teeth and sink back into the hardness beneath him. “Don’t try to move mister, Mama said you needed to stay still.” came a young boy's voice near his ear and Curtis strained his neck to look next to him, nothing but shadows and more darkness filling his vision but then movement caught his attention. 

A boy, young by the looks of him but it was hard to tell without proper lighting. Big eyes stared at him though as the boy crawled closer to him. “Where am I kid?” Curtis grunted out as the boy lifted a gelatin block to his mouth and took a bite. 

“This the back of the train Mister.” He shoved the block at Curtis, setting it on his chest. “I will go get my Mama. You can have some if you're hungry.” The boy smiled and crawled away, dropping away from sight and scurrying off. Curtis curiously picked up the block and sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose at the smell and set it off to the side. With a groan he tried to sit up again, but gasped again in pain. “Fuck!” 

“Fuck is right.” A woman came into view, carrying a lantern with her to light up her way and sat at the edge of the bed. The little boy crawled in on the other side and grabbed at the gelatin block to bite into again, squeezing it a bit in his small hands, humming happily at his food. 

“Mama, I thought you said that's a bad word.” 

“It is Timmy, but he's allowed to say it. Go on now, shoo. Let me talk to this man.” she waved her hands at him and yet again the little boy, giggling this time climbed upwards into what looked like more bedding above Curtis. 

She watched him with a soft smile till the boy was gone, then turned her attention back to Curtis. “That's my baby Timmy and my name is Tonya.” 

Curtis frowned a bit at the name, then it clicked. “I remember you…” he grunted and Tonya smiled with a nod. 

“I remember you to, but back then you were still a youngin’. Barely 17, still young and hot headed. If you are back here, I’m assuming you're still hot headed?” Tonya chuckled as Curtis tried once more to sit up, and she pushed against his chest to press him back down. “Whoever did this to you did a number on you. Mostly your ribs and possibly your shoulder. You are gonna have to just stay put for a while.” 

Curtis worked his shoulders and she was correct, the pain in his collarbone and down his back was enough to make him see sparks. “Yup, I have to agree. And not hot headed… There was a tournament and… Fuck.” This time he surged up to a sit with a yell, holding onto steel grating above him, gasping. “I have to get out of here right away. They took her and I promised to keep her safe, keep our son safe.” 

Tonya shook her head confused. “Who? What are you talking about? You should lay back down.” 

Curtis stubbornly swung his feet over the edge of the bunk and moved to sit on the edge, looking around. More and more of it was familiar. In the years he had been up front, none of it had changed. Except there was less crowding then before. 

“Y/N, she's up at the front and in serious trouble. Fuck.” He swore again and pushed to a stand, bracing his hand against the framework and tried to make sense of where the door was. Tonya was right next to him, following along. 

“Wait, Y/N? She's up there still alive?” 

“Yes.” Curtis weaved among other people and Tonya tried making him stop. “She was in my care, Wilford… “ He came to a stop at a steel door, looking it over to see any way to open it. “Wanted her to get pregnant with my child. Once he has what he wants, he is just gonna throw her to monsters.” he hissed while pressing his hands against the door. 

“You are not getting that door open Curtis.” Tonya wedged her way next to him and made him turn around, being as week as he was at the moment. “You are telling me shes pregnant? Our Y/N is pregnant?” Her eyes glowered at him and he squared his shoulders slightly. 

“Yes, due anytime now. I told you, she was brought to me for a reason. It wasnt what either of us wanted but…” He turned back to the door and up towards the ceiling, looking for cameras or anything to get someone's attention. “... It turned into something more. And I need to get to her now.” His gaze turned intense looking at Tonya. Her hands were at her hips accusing but then her gaze softened a bit and she sighed. 

“There is no way out Curtis, don't you think we have tried? Its a box, a prison. This is hell on earth and you are now stuck in it with us.” 

Curtis could feel his breath quickening and his heart racing. 

He had to get out of here, he had to get to you. 

Time seemed to turn meaningless while you stayed with Wilford. He had the doctor monitor you daily, check constantly for the moments you went into labor. But you shut down, not talking or acknowledging the others around you unless you were forced into it. Wilford though didn't seem to notice. He talked all the time. Rambled joyfully about everything to do with the engine. Tinkering away at little things in it, tightening screws and bolts. Running inspections. “Dear this whole train keeps us alive. And it needs so much care and love.” He would sing softly as his hands stroked along the metal wall. “Just a gentle touch for our sweetheart here.” 

You would curl up your legs onto your cot, or try to, it was hard with your belly. He was fucking crazy the way he spoke to the engine. The constant hum of the engine and the spinning didn't help either, it made your head pound till you felt like you were also going to go a bit mad in the room with him. 

The nights though were the worst. The engine would seem louder without Wilford’s constant chatter. You would stretch on your cot across the room from Wilford, who slept in a large plush bed. It was hard, almost impossible to get comfortable and relax. It wasn't because the cot actually bothered you, you spent years either in a hard bunk or leaning against a wall in the tail end. 

Instead you were used to sleeping with Curtis. His body would be pressed in against yours, his arm wrapped around you to hold you close and your head would be cushioned on his chest or shoulder, or a hand draped over his stomach. He was warm and safe. That is what you missed. Your hands would rub your belly, sniffling to yourself. You refused to let yourself cry in front of Wilford. But in the night when your only company was the hum of the engine, you let yourself talk to Jace about Curtis. 

How much you missed his father, letting yourself mourn for him because it was the times you thought maybe he actually didn't make it. Those thoughts you cursed yourself, because he couldn’t be gone. He hadn't even gotten to meet his son. The nights were the hardest, the only time you didn't have to pretend to not exist and it would become overwhelming. When it became too much you would sing softly to your belly. 

Don't take my sunshine away. 

The only thing unusual about the engine was the door. Just a door near the spinning blue lights that made the engine come to life that you studied. It was better than going into a trance watching the blue orbs circle slowly. Wilford would once in a while disappear into the room and wouldn't come back out. Just a few times you leaned just right in your cot when he disappeared into the room, catching sight of computer monitors. That had to be how Wilford was watching all of you. 

That made you shiver, the idea Wilford watched you and Curtis doing everyday things. You didn't even want to think of what else he spied on. But more importantly if you could get in there, maybe you could find Curtis. Or see if he was still alive. 

One morning Wilford was cooking what you guessed was supposed to be breakfast. The smell of onions, potatoes and eggs was making your stomach roll viciously. Curtis had always made sure no eggs made it into the room. Wilford wasn't quite as considerate. You were just coming out of the bathroom, having rinsed your mouth out when the smell hit you all over again. Luckily nothing was left to come up. 

“Sweetheart, just think when I have Jr, I will have him ready to take over the engine.” Wilford said cheerfully, sliding eggs onto a plate with a sickening splatter. Your stomach did another roll, and you did your best not to gag. It didn't click with his Jr. spiel, since you never thought of your son as anything other than Jace Tyler. Wilford slid a plate on a small table near your cot for you. “Go ahead eat, I want Jr big and strong like his sire. Make his Poppa proud.” He turned away and you ignored the eggs, recalling his earlier statement. 

“Take over the engine?” 

Wilford made a show of cracking another egg into a bowl, holding up the shell. “Did you know these would be extinct if it wasn't for me? Something so simple… “ He studied it before tossing it into a nearby garbage bucket. “No more chickens. Or oranges like you have in that glass next to you. Fresh squeezed by the way. No more bread.” He picked up two slices of thick sliced bread. “Nor butter, because cows would be extinct.” He dropped them into a pan to crisp and sizzle. “Everything Y/N would be extinct, if it wasn't for our Snowpiercer.” he flipped his eggs and slid them onto his plate. 

You remained quiet, refusing the eggs, the toast and the juice he had set on the table, watching him. 

“But I won't last forever. I can fix this train, but there is no way to replace my body parts. So next best thing. Make the perfect replacement.” He went to his table and sat down. “Why I searched you out for Curtis. Women in the front, been ruined in less then twenty years we have been on this train.” He said disgusted as he started to eat, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewing. The yellow burst of yolk on his lip certainly made you gag this time, covering your mouth while trying to turn away. 

“No, I needed someone smart enough to survive but also untouched.” His grin turned cool as his eyes raked over you. “You survived the tail end, were strong enough to survive the lockbox as well as stunning, how you came out of there a virgin I don't know. But it worked out for me. Perfect for Curtis. All his other children before, just weren't perfect enough.” Another forkful of runny eggs and toast. You were struggling trying to wrap your mind around what Wilford was saying. 

“W-what happened to the others?” You asked shakily, scared of the answer. 

“Ahh, they didn't work out. We tried, sometimes the babies wouldn't shut up, other times they got to a certain age and would struggle with the motor skills. There were a few who got sickly.” Wilford shrugged as he sopped at his plate with his bread and popped that into his mouth. You though, your arms circled around yourself protectively as the horror of what he was saying made your heart race. 

“You just- got rid of them?” 

“Of course, I can't keep them if they can’t be useful. That's when it clicked. Curtis, he was fine. He's everything I wanted, big, strong, smart. Until you came along, he thought logically. It's a flaw, his falling for you, made him weak. But nothing I can't overlook I suppose. So many other perfect qualities in a leader. It was the woman.” He carried his plate to the sink and approached you. You shrunk back on your cot and he cupped your face in delicate warm hands, hands that never did hard work. “I needed a strong woman to match. All the front end bitches I paired with him threw off weaklings. You Sweetheart are going to give me the perfect prodigy. I considered switching Curtis for Grey for a while, but ahh he is too volatile to throw me a good son. No, it had to be Curtis and You.” He brushed your cheek gently and then grasped your hair to yank you forward towards the plate of food. “Now eat this gift I give you, because I need that baby to come out healthy.” 

Claude entered the room, clipboard in hand with a smile. “Sir if you're all set, we are ready for the inspection in the greenhouse.” 

“Oh yes Claude, be right there.” He beamed as he pointed at your tray of food with a snap of his fingers. “I want this gone.” Turning he made his way to Claude, the two of them chatting as they left the room, leaving you all alone. 

Your heart raced and breathing came out in a rush. With a swipe of your hand, you pushed the plate and glass off the table to shatter against the floor in a mess, screaming in a shrill burst. Overwhelmed with what he informed you, you couldn't hold it all back anymore, your scream just got shriller and tense to bounce all around you from the steel walls. Your voice ended up giving out with a croak and you dropped your heads into your hands sobbing at the fate of your son. 

You can't let this happen, just can't. This isn't what you or Curtis wanted for Jace. Your head lifted and eyes were wildly looking around the room, trying to figure something out. Attacking Wilford would do nothing. You could possibly hold him at knife point, but it would only be a matter of time before you were captured again, and it would just be worse for you and Jace if you had managed to kill Wilford. No, it needed to be more permanent. Something that would overthrow the whole train. 

Your eyes fell to the door, the door with all the monitors and control panels. You needed to be in that room and that's when a plan started to form. 

Although Curtis couldn’t find a way out of the tail end didn’t mean he wasn’t busy. Curtis started to get to know more about the tailenders, those who were ready to fight for there freedom, those with special skills that could be used in a revolt, listen to the stories of the horrors they have had to do to survive. It became more then simply getting back to you, now it was about getting these people out of here as well. 

Curtis started timing the guards coming through, trying to figure out how to work the inspections and feeding times to his advantage. After all this time, they should be fairly slack, rituals loose purpose after a while. 

But he didnt see his opening. No matter how many times he timed the lengths the doors were open, how long they stayed, how hard the cart full of the blocks were to manuever. It was all so precise, the same everytime and there eyes were watchful, always willing to bash a tailender should they step out of line. 

There was just four counts when all the doors were open and Curtis could see down the length of the train. It just wasnt enough time to get through several train cars. Tonya was perched next to him, listening to him count under his breath. 

“Curtis, don’t. We’ve tried that. It just ends with them culling us.” She hurriedly whispered back to him. Once they left he turned to her. 

“Then what Tonya? Y/N might have had Jace and tossed to Grey. Who even knows what will happen to my son.” Some frustrated tears caught in his lashes and some managed to escape, making a track down his now sooty dirty face. He dropped his head into his hands and Tonya rubbed at his back, trying to be supportive even though she delivered the harsh reality. 

“I know Curtis…I’m sorry, I just don’t want you going on a suicide mission. Y/N needs you, so does that little boy you got coming.” 

Curtis took a ragged sigh and stared back up at the camera beeping above the door, flipping it off before pushing to a stand and disappearing out of sight to continue trying to figure out a way to get back to you. 

You waited, you could be patient. You learned a while ago when you first joined Curtis to watch, it was also the harsh lesson he taught you in the beginning. It was how you got to know him as the man you cared for today. You were quick to learn that Wilford wasn't predictable. He would go into the room at random times. Sometimes for hours, sometimes for a few minutes. 

No matter how much you looked around the engine from your perch on your cot, you couldn't see where there were any cameras in the engine room. But you were still wary. Thinking maybe he was trying to catch you doing something, spring out of that room with a gotcha. 

But you were smarter. No, you were patient. Storing it all away. 

The worst was when Grey would come around. He seemed to turn into Wilford’s pet, always coming in to chat with him or ask favors. Oftentimes he would sit across the table, staring intently at you with a sneer. His eyes roaming you up and down like he had a right to take you whenever. These times you would hitch your chin up and stare back at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction that he won. 

Maybe he did win your body. But you refused outright to give him any satisfaction in that. It didn't matter though, for Grey you were just a prize. You didn't matter to him except what you could give him. 

“She must be due soon, right?” Grey drawled out, moving to a stand and approaching you. In your bid to defy him, you didn't move an inch to draw away from him. His hand fisted in your hair, twisting viciously to have you look up at him. “Excited right? I'm sure it gets a bit boring just sitting here on your cot, waiting for time to pass with that little bastard inside of you.” 

You work your mouth to draw out some spit, hocking it at him as best you can at the unnatural angle. It earned you a loud smack, whipping your head to the side. Not a word dropped from you in pain as you glared up at him. Grey leaned in closer, his hand wiping at his face and wiping his hand clean in your hair he still had fisted in his other hand. 

“Nasty little thing arn’t you? Treat Curtis like this? Or did you just drool all over his cock every chance you get?” His fingers bit into your cheeks as he pressed harshly against the hinge of your jaw, wrenching your mouth open. “Don't worry, soon this will be all you know.” He spat in your open mouth, making you heave and try to pull away from him as he lewdly groped his crotch, laughing at your distress. 

“Grey, leave her alone… you will have her soon enough.” Wilford finally interjected, beckoning Grey forward towards the room. “I got something to show you anyways, step in here.” 

Grey snickered at you before sauntering over, passing through the door and Wilford followed him in, closing themselves in. You grabbed at some of the bedding, bringing a corner of a blanket to your mouth to try to tear at the fabric. You just needed a little bit. 

Your teeth ripped into the cloth and stitches, wrenching at the fabric till you could feel it weakening. 

Another pull, another twist and you could feel the fabric starting to give. Your eyes darted back to the door. “Come on…” You whined out and then there was a distinctive rrrriiippp… 

Balling the small bit of fabric in your fist, you got up to approach the door. Careful you pressed your ear to it, trying to listen over the engines humming, but it was pointless. The whoosh whoosh whoosh of the spinning mechanisms made you sigh in exasperation. You didn't want to ruin your chance by not being prepared.

Pressing against the wall, you tried to think about what you knew. The door was pressured close to guarantee a seal. Your eyes roving up to the mechanism that worked the door. It also made it close slow. You could wait a good five seconds after they left the room to do what you wanted. You could pretend you were passing by to go to the bathroom, seeing the door was just beyond your main target. Stepping back a few steps, you paused. Eyes on the handle, waiting for them to walk back out, swing the door wide open. 

It felt like hours till the handle jiggled and sure enough it swung wide open with both men leaving, laughing about some shared joke between one another. You started counting just like the way your Grandpa showed you when you were a kid playing hide and seek in the apple orchard.

One Mississippi

 You stepped forward as if you had been striding from your cot, which neither of you bothered to give a glance. The door clicked into reverse. 

Two Mississippi

Your chest clenched seeing the door start to close, the two men were a step away from you now where you could pass between them and the door. 

Three Mississippi

In passing, you rolled the ball of fabric in your palm, your hand brushing against the inside of the door jam and nimbly shoved the ball into the hole that would seal the door shut. Continuing on past. 

Four Mississippi

You paused at the bathroom door, your hand giving a shiver of anxiety while listening before opening the bathroom door. Please don't latch, please don't latch…. 

Five Mississippi

The door shut, but there was no distinctive click the door handle locked. You glanced over your shoulder to see it looked sealed. You yanked on the bathroom handle and escaped into the bathroom, covering your mouth as a gasp of relief escaped you, tears brimming your eyes at knowing it worked. Now it was just hoping Wilford left before he found out what you had done. Sinking to the floor, you took several breaths to try to calm your racing heart. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes, your hands pressed against your belly, whispering. “Jace, we are gonna find your daddy and figure it out from there. Right kiddo… we got this. We are going to be okay.” 

After giving yourself your pep talk and you weren't feeling like Wilford was going to figure it out and bust through that door, you made your way back out to see Claude had joined Wilford and Grey. 

“Well I need to go do my inspections.” Wilford motioned towards to exit, Grey took a glance at you shuffling back to your cot. Coldly he looked you up and down, obviously checking you out. 

“Will be seeing you soon Y/N.” You didn't respond, looking away as you lowered down onto your cot. He left and Wilford reached out for a clipboard Claude was holding, scanning over several papers. “What's the numbers on the tailenders?” 

“High hundreds. We took a count this morning. Its getting overcrowded once again.” 

“Ahh, I know it was getting bad once more. Gonna have to do something about that.” Wilford sighed. “Just need to get creative about it.” You did your best to keep from retaliating. “And how's our special guest there?” 

This made you perk, curious as to who he would be talking about. “Oh settling in nicely, like he never left.” Claude retorted as the door opened, and you couldn't stop the flutter of hope. Maybe it was Curtis.. Could be Curtis they were talking about. The door slammed shut and you started to count. 

Wilford could stay away anywhere from ten minutes to an hour. As anxiously as you wanted to run to the door and go in the room of cameras, you couldn't do it too soon. Wilford would just rush back in and stop you. All this effort, lost. 

So you waited. Counting like before till you were sure it had been a good ten minutes. Easing off the cot, you approached the door and rested your hand to the door handle. 

God let this work. You screwed your eyes shut and started to ease back, the door moving just as easily as if it was properly unlocked. Not even a turn of the handle. Slipping inside and pulling out the fabric from the hollow spot in the door, you let it shut you in. 

Camera, so many grainy moving pictures, it made your head thump with the intake of information. You started moving from screen to screen, searching faces to try to find Curtis. No matter how many you looked through, searching the garden cars, over to the kitchen crew, entertainment cars full of kronole high individuals, none of them had Curtis. You made your way down the line, cars with animals, people making equipment, prison cars. Still no Curtis. You bit at your lip, your fingertips pressing against screens, like you were crossing off people. 

“Come on Curtis, I need you to show yourself.” You passed to the last row, people all from the tail end. You leaned in close, mentally crossing off sections till you stopped at the door. It was a flash of familiarity that brought you back to that screen. 

“Jace… I found your daddy.” Your voice broke in relief, seeing him studying the door and camera, scowling up at it. You remember that look, the one that he was frustrated with his situation. You had never been so relieved to see him looking pissed off. “Thank fucking god you are still alive Curtis.” You fell back to sink in an office chair. “Now how do I get you out?”