#^my approximate thought process upon waking up

[oncillaphoenix]

got my wires crossed in my sleep and, for a few seconds after i woke up, was dead certain that Colress was a Marvel character

[samasmith23]

Evangelion: You Can (Not) Marathon — (Part 2)

Neon Genesis Evangelion, “Episode 2: Unfamiliar Ceiling/THE BEAST”

Continuing my Evangelion re-watch marathon with NGE, "Episode 2: Unfamiliar Ceiling/THE BEAST"! For my thoughts on the previous episode, click the link to the post below:

With that out of the way, let's dig in!

Lol! I love the way Sachiel picks up Evangelion Unit-01 after Shinji causes the mecha to trip! I bet the Angel is thinking to itself, “What the heck is this thing?! It’s not like those planes, missiles & bombs I dispatched earlier, but it’s clearly a threat! Arm go breaky-breaky and laser beam go through eye socket!”

Joking aside though, this scene further emphasizes my personal frustration with the bad-faith criticisms levied by the "Get in the EVA Shinji" crowd. Like... did people seriously expect Shinji to be perfectly efficent at operating a giant robot he had never even heard of before until literally less than an hour earlier, let alone utilizing it to fight and kill an approximately 40 to 95 meter tall world-destroying alien monstrosity?

The fact that Shinji immediately stumbles and trips during his first attempt to try and simply make the EVA walk, along with him being completely paralyzed with fear as the Angel stares down at him is honestly an incredibly believable reaction on his part! I know I'd certainly react the exact same way Shinji does here!

Also, the injuries that Shinji immediately sustains from Sachiel are definitely uncomfortable to witness as a viewer! Not only does Sachiel snap EVA Unit-01's left arm like a twig (simultaneously breaking Shinji's arm in the process since his nervous system is directly bonded with the EVA's), but the Angel then fires multiple laser blasts directly into Unit-01's right eye sockets, causing twin-streams of blood to shoot-out from both sides of the mecha's head!

Like... YIKES! The fact that Shinji ultimately survives this encounter without suffering permanent brain damage, but just short-term memory loss, is truly an astonishing miracle! Speaking of which...

Full disclosure, I remember being annoyed when I first watched this episode and it suddenly cut to Shinji waking up in the hospital the next day after being knocked out by Sachiel, implying that the entire fight happened off screen. However, after finishing watching this episode for the first time several years ago, I realized just how brilliant this move was on Anno’s part considering what we later learned happened during the fight towards the end of the episode.

Also, Shinji's first words upon waking up are, "An unfamiliar ceiling!" Title drop! Lol!

Oh boy! Our first scene of Gendo meeting with his higher-ups, the Human Instrumentality Committee, aka, our official introduction to the mysterious SEELE organization which oversee’s NERV!

Out of curiousity, I wonder if one of these guys is actually Shinji’s grandfather since his mother, Yui Ikari, later states in the flashbacks from Episode 21 that she’s the daughter of a high-ranking SEELE member, and the Committee is supposed to be SEELE’s inner council.

According to the official "EvaGeeks Wiki" though, while the Human Instrumentailty Committee's leader, Keel Lorenz, is from Germany, the unnamed yellow member is French, the blue guy is Russian, the green guy is American, and the red guy is British.

So does that mean Yui is of mixed-ethnicity? If so, that's cool!

Speaking of Chairman Keel though, here's some interesting behind-the-scenes trivia regarding the name of SEELE's enigmatic leader! In addition to "Keel" being derrived from the literal ship part (specifically the central lower spine of a watercraft's hull), the name "Lorenz" is a reference to the renowned Austrian zoologist and child psychologist Konrad Lorenz, whom in 2015 had his 1973 Nobel Prize in Medicine posthemusly revoked due to his historical affiliations with Nazi Germany (originally, Keel was actually intended to be the real-life Konrad Lorenz in the show itself).

While Hideaki Anno & crew likely chose the name as a subtle reference to the historical figure who popularized the psychological theory of "imprinting" in the field of childhood development (which makes sense considering how integral themes of teenage psychology & motherhood are to EVA's overarching narrative), the fact that Keel Lorenz is also named after an individual with literal Nazi ties is also fitting considering that as antagonists SEELE is a quasi-fascistic doomsday cult.

But I'll discuss more about that when the Human Instrumentality Committee true identity is eventually revealed in Episode 14!

Also, I don’t know why but the yellow French SEELE member always reminded me of the Vulture from Spider-Man. I think it’s the combination of the beak-like nose, the hunched back, and the elderly appearance (minus the hair and glasses of course...). And he’s not the only SEELE member who’s apparently a Marvel Comics cosplayer considering that Keel Lorenz is wearing a similar visor to Cyclops from X-Men. Although the blue Russian member seems to be a DC Comics cosplayer considering he looks an awful lot like the Penguin from Batman.

So basically the members of SEELE are all secretly Marvel & DC comic book fans! Lol!

Dang! The fact that even before the Angel's officially returned with Sachiel's attack on Tokyo-3, Gendo already had enough power and influence within the Japanese government to authorize a media-blackout for the rest of the country and entire world regarding the existence of the Angels is pretty impressive!

Seeing as NERV is a branch of SEELE which has ties to the United Nations, I'm guessing that the Human Instruementality Committee sent the Japanese Prime Minister a pretty convincing letter of reccomendation on Gendo's behalf!

Also, that closing exchange between Keel & Gendo is so FREAKING iconic!

Keel Lorenz: "Ikari, you do know that there can be no turning back." Gendo Ikari: "I know. Mankind has no time left."

Chills! Absolute chills everytime I hear it! Keel & Gendo's respective English VA's, Richard Peeples & Tristan MacAvery, are absolutely on point in this scene!

I really love the white & blue-tinted lighting of the hospital where he encounters an injured Rei again after waking up! It really establishes the ambigous and uncomfortable tone of their initial relationship!

While Misato's comment, "Man, air conditioning's the greatest thing. Man's triumph over nature," is funny on a surface-level, it simultaneously foreshadows another major reoccuring theme interwoven into EVA's narrative: the arrogance and hubris behind humanity's over-reliance on technology!

But I'll discuss those themes more in-depth when they become increasingly notable from Episode 11 onwards!

Lol! Even when being empathetic Ritsuko still can't help but continue being the scientist as usual: "Poor little kid. His cerebelum must have taken a lot of stress."

Double lol! Even Misato recognizes her friend's detatched demeanor: "Cerebellum? Don't you mean his heart?"

I honestly don't think voice actress Sue Ulu is given enough credit for her performance as Ritsuko in the original ADV Dub. She's incredibly effective at conveying Ritsuko's rational & analytical personality!

Oh boy... even though Shinji suffered short-term memory loss from Sachiel's laser blasts, he still has lingering subconcious memories of the injuries he sustained slowly bubbling back towards the surface, as demonstrated by him staring at his now-healed left arm with confusion & fear...

More effective mood-lighting on display when Misato' meets Shinji alone in the waiting room of NERV's infirmary, as both the characters and enviornment are completely obscured in shadows caused by the contrasting sunlight of the room's large exterior windows. It effectively symbolizes both Shinji & Misato wandering into the unknown as the two become more closely aquainted with each other!

Man oh man, the scene where Shinji & Misato accidentally encounter Gendo while trying to get on the elevator is absolutely brilliant in how so much information is conveyed here through facial expressions instead of dialogue! Shinji expects praise from his father for defeating the Angel.

Even though Shinji’s memory of how exactly it happened is foggy, he thinks he was still of some use to his father like he always wanted. And yet... Gendo has absolutely nothing to say to him, just staring coldly and blankly, further feeding into Shinji’s sense of isolation & self-loathing!

So many emotions are conveyed in such a short space of screentime without any dialogue whatsoever!

And all Misato can do is watch & grow increasingly concerned for Shinji’s well being. I do also love how quickly Misato catches onto Shinji’s struggles, as she deals with the exact same crap despite being more outgoing and carefree personality-wise than him. Which is part of why she decides to let him live at her apartment instead of alone where he can wallow in self-loathing.

Still, we also get some insight into Misato’s complicated struggles with sexuality versus motherhood derived from her Elektra Complex through her offhanded joke, “It’s not like I’m going to be making any ‘passes’ at [Shinji],” which absolutely enrages Ritsuko over the phone.

I love how when Shinji can’t help but feel further distressed after hearing random bystanders at the grocery store talk about Tokyo-3 being turned into a battle ground without even once mentioning Shinji's name or acknowledging his involvement, Misato takes Shinji to witness Tokyo-3’s skyscrapers rising up from below the GeoFront to show him the city he helped protect in an effort to validate his usefulness and worth as an EVA pilot.

As gorgeous as this scene is though, considering the sheer amount of Freudian symbolism that’s littered all throughout NGE, when I see those skyscrapers rising upward I can’t help but wonder if this was meant to be yet another example of psychosexual imagery.

Spike Spencer does a great job at capturing Shinji's feelings of awkward hesitance and unsure relief as he takes his first step into Misato's apartment and says, "I'm home," to which an overly cheery Misato replies, "Welcome home."

Also, keep this exchange in the back of your minds since it will later become thematically relevant in Episode 4!

Lol! It’s such a wild contrast seeing just how professional and composed Misato is while working at NERV, as opposed to how wild & messy her home life is. In addition to her apartment floors being littered with garbage bags, dirty dishes, and mountains of used & unused Yebisu beer cans (which is apparently a real-life Japanese alcohol brand...), Misato essentially acts like an immature college student within the privacy of her home, wearning nothing but tank-tops and short-shorts while drinking gallons of alcohol & having insta-ramen for dinner!

Yeesh... I just came to an uncomfortable realization here! Misato's home life is basically just like how I personally used to live back in college! Albiet... I never wore short-shorts nor drank beer (seriously, I think all alcohol tastes TERRIBLE!)...

That's honestly one of the more powerful elements of EVA's characters. They are disturbingly relatable and force you to interrogate aspects of yourself that you're sometimes uncomfortable acknowledging. Even during light-hearted and comedic scenes like Shinji & Misato's ramen & beer dinner conversation, NGE's maintains its well-deserved status as a phenomenal treatise on the human condition!

Lol! I always laugh so hard when an annoyed Misato snaps at Shinji's shyness: "WHAT?! ARE YOU FINICKY?!"

God bless Allison Keith! Her performance as Misato is an absolute treasure!

Also, some of the first indications of Shinji's struggles with his developing sexuality as he can't help but stare at Misato's breasts when she leans over the table and gets directly in his face during her aforementioned outburst!

Aww... poor Shinji really got the short end of the stick by being relegated to daily chores for 5 to 6 days of the week after losing several rounds of rock-paper-scissors with Misato.

Also, I once again find myself uncomfortably relating to Misato here since I too can unfortunately be incredibly lazy when it comes to household chores...

Also also, we get some more allusions to Misato's Elektra Complex with her joking, “This is your home, so feel free to take advantage of everything you want, except of course me that is!”

We’ll learn later in the series that due to her traumatic past as a survivor of Second Impact and her strained relationship with her deceased father, Misato spent her entire adolescence catatonic and began actively pursuing sexual relationships during college in order to fill in that empty void in her heart. In particular, men who subconsciously remind her of her late father such as her ex-boyfriend Ryoji Kaji...

In essence, Misato is a person who greatly struggles with developing meaningful relationships with others due to the ghosts of her past, and relies primarily on physical connections and innuendos in order to communicate her true feelings, while also subconsciously wanting to drive others away from her due to her internalized self-loathing.

We also see more of Misato's character flaws as she continues to belittle Shinji's anxiety by angrily grabbing his hair and shouting, "Yes, yes yes. Is that all you can say? It's getting on my nerves! You're a boy! Act like one!"

Yeah... similar to how Shinji has deep-seated issues with women and sexuality, Misato has some toxic and borderline patriarchal expectations concerning the behavior of men. Misato truly is just an older version of Shinji!

On the subject of Shinji's issues with women, we see his obvious discomfort at the sight of Misato's bras & panties hanging on the clothes chandeliers as he prepares to take a bath before panicking at the sight of a literal penguin inside the bathroom. This especially feels like subtle groundwork being laid for Shinji's more overtly misogynistic attitudes in The End of Evangelion?

Speaking of that penguin inside the bathroom though...

Lol! The introduction to Evangleion's official mascot, Pen Pen, accompanied by the classic gag of a terrified & naked Shinji running back to Misato where she has a strategically placed beer can in front of a smaller toothpick jar on the kitchen table to censor his crotch!

Even after all these years, this gag NEVER... EVER ever gets old! I think the reason why this joke is so famous and fondly remembered by EVA fans is because aside from the obvious absurdity of a literal penguin inside an apartment building as well as the strategically placed objects, Shinji's reaction is incredibly realistic & relatable (I know I'd probably have a very similar reaction if I saw a random wild animal in of my shower). Plus, Shinji's embarassed realization to Misato asksing, "Umm... why don't you cover up," with his face turning red and him awkwardly shuffling back to the bathtub further sells the relatablility of the gag!

Studio Khara would repeat this joke in the Evangelion Rebuild 2.22, but instead replaced Shinji with Asuka. Consequently, the scene in the Rebuild feels a lot more like uncomfortable male-gazey fan-service (rather than the slap-sticky humorous tone of the original scene with Shinji), especially since Shinji's also in the room with Misato when Asuka panics at the sight of Pen Pen, thereby leading to him getting kicked in the face by Asuka while the camera has her butt visible in the frame during said-kick.

Yeah... based on everything I've seen and heard, gratuitous and "comedic" fan-service is a major flaw with the Rebuild movies, whereas the original NGE either avoided or actively subverted typical anime fan-service tropes in order to further flesh out its characters.

Also, I love that subdued head-tilt Pen Pen gives Shinji as he walks into his personal automated refrigerator! Pen Pen be like: "What's the matter kid? Ain't ya never seen a warm-water penguin before?"

Also also, as you might have noticed in the upper-right image above, it's here that I feel is an appropriate time to introduce everyone to the official "Pen Pen Censor" sticker, which will definitely be appearing A LOT throughout this marathon (in order to meet Tumblr community guidelines) due to EVA's extensive coverage of themes regarding sex & sexuality.

On the subject of Pen Pen himself, however, while its never outright confirmed in the anime exactly Misato how got her hands on a unique species of "hot-springs penguin" as a household pet, but in the official manga adaptation written & illustrated by the series' lead character designer, Yoshiyuki Sadamoto, it's eventually revealed that Pen Pen was actually an experimental lab animal from a company Misato was originally employed by before joining NERV. Feeling lonely and isolated in her home life, Misato took sympathy on Pen Pen and brought him home with her before he could be euthanized.

While the absence of Pen Pen's backstory's doesn't negatively impact the anime's quality at all, there is a part of me that does still wish it had been included since it further conveys the inherently selfish desires underlying Misato's desicion to invite Shinji to be her roommate. Just like Pen Pen, while she related to and sympathized with the "useless, greedy [bird's]" situation, Misato was also simply seeking companionship to help fill the void in her own heart.

The fact that Misato did not adopt Shinji for purely altruistic reasons serves as a major thematic element of her characterization, and invites the viewer to question whether or not Misato legitimately views Shinji as the son/brother that she never had, or merely perceives him like a pet to be coddled & objectified just like Pen Pen.

So... that "Shinji's lovely suite" sign that Misato taped onto Shinji's bedroom door. This defintiely seems to lean into the argument of Misato treating Shinji more like a pet than a roommate.

I know that all the infamous budget issues with Episodes 25 & 26 were totally unplanned, but the fact that the music tracks Shinji is repeatedly listening to on his radio are tracks 25 & 26 feels like it should not be a coincidence! It’s giving me some serious Grant Morrison vibes of back when they had the issue focusing on an older Damian Wayne fighting the satanic Third Ghost of Batman take place in Batman (1940) #666!

While Ritsuko seemed pretty cold in contrast to Misato back during Episode 1, I love how when she’s alone with Gendo here discussing the progress of Rei's recovery from the failed EVA Unit-00 activation test, she can’t help but express her own concerns about forcing literal 14-year-olds to pilot giant robots and fight alien gods.

Also... more EPIC FORESHADOWING with the panning shot of a half-frozen inactive EVA Unit-00 punching the window of a disused control room! This not only effectively builds-up towards the flashback later in Episode 5 concerning Rei's injuries, but is also thematically relevant to this episode's climatic flashback with EVA Unit-01 vs. Sachiel as well!

I love the intentional contrasting of Misato's earlier words about "Bathing [cleaning] the mind and soul," against her feeling guilty for "thinking of Shinji as a tool" in both her work & home lives while bathing.

I guess Shinji's thoughts, "Bad memories always [seeming] to find [him] in the bath," also apply to Misato...

Returning to Shinji though, this shot of him staring up at "another unfamiliar ceiling" while wearing his headphones as a form of escapism to ease his feelings of anxiety is so FREAKING iconic!

Honestly, as an autistic person who struggles with obsessive-compulsive disorder & anxiety who spends an awful lot of time wearing headphones to listen to YouTube and distract myself from both external and internal pressures of the world, I totally relate to Shinji here!

Furthermore, we get the return of the titular "unfamiliar ceiling" motif that Shinji referenced earlier in the episode when he first woke up in the NERV infirmary. The website Wrong Every Time did a far better job at explaining the significance behind that title & imagery in their review of Episode 2 than I possibly ever could! Specifically, they argue that unfamiliar ceilings serve as a physical manifestation of Shinji's "sense of displacement" at NERV HQ and Misato's apartment, symbolizing to the viewer that from Shinji's perspective, "[these places are not] his home. [From the] shots of the room’s disarray [to] Shinji’s physical entrapment [emphasizing] his discomfort, as he seems to bury himself away in the space between two repeating cassette tracks."

Like… dang! Wrong Every Time absolutely nailed it in their assessment of this scene! Or as Rei’s English voice actress Amanda Winn Lee infamously described in the audio commentary track to the original End of Evangelion DVD collection, “Nailed it like an Amish barn!” Lol!

The return of the unfamiliar ceiling as Shinji reminesces alone in his new bedroom about full events of the fight with Sachiel functions as a perfect transition to discussing the meanings of episode's secondary title... "THE BEAST!"

So... remember how I said earlier that I was initially really annoyed when I first watched this episode and it suddenly cut away from the Angel knocking Shinji unconscious to him instantly waking up in the hospital the next morning? Well it was during this flashback to the full fight from earlier right here that all my previous annoyance suddenly disappeared and I understood fully why this cut was necessary!

Not only does Anno's decision to have Sachiel’s defeat intially occur off-screen help pique viewer interest in exactly how Shinji defeated the Angel. Not only does it gradually build up the feelings of hollow victory and faint praise that Shinji & Misato couldn’t help but ponder throughout the rest of the episode. But it also effectively makes the ultimate reveal of EVA Unit-01 going berserk for the first time ever all the more shocking & horrifying!

No joke, when I first saw EVA Unit-01 suddenly open it’s mouth & roar I was legitimately FREAKING terrified! I just had so many questions swirling around in my head all at once since I initially thought that Unit-01 was simply just a robot. But this plot twist signified to me that not only are the Evangelions something far more mysterious & disturbing than mere robots, but that they’re also potentially even more dangerous monsters than the Angels!

Plus, the fact that Unit-01's berserker rampage was also foreshadowed back in Episode 1 with the EVA suddenly activating itself to protect Shinji from falling debris (as well as the "0-9 System" controlling it being a reference to Oni from Japanese demonology) makes this plot twist even more impactful!

For the sake of craps & giggles though, I bet the soul of Yui dwelling inside of Unit-01 was thinking to herself at that exact moment: “You will NOT kill my son!”

Also, this I love Misato & Ritsuko's contrasting reactions to Unit-01 going berserk! While, Misato is completely taken aback by this revelation, Ritsuko seems fearfully aware with the events transpiring when she whispers to herself, "Berserker!"

In essence, Misato acts as an audience-surrogate in this scene since just like her we're now completely frightened & suspicious about the Evangelion's true nature, while Ritsuko along with Gendo & Fuyutsuki have access to knowledge that the viewers are currently in the dark about!

Honestly in hindsight, the character's various reactions on display here significantly contributed to my desire to want to learn more about what exactly caused EVA Unit-01 enter a violent animalistic rampage!

As scary as the sight of Unit-01 going on a berseker rampage against Sachiel is though, HOLY CRAP is the sound-design & animation for this fight scene FREAKING phenomenal! In addition to Unit-01's blood-chilling roar heavily indicating the presence of organic vocal cords being suppressed by layers of electronic sirens, the shots of the EVA crouching down before flipping itself high into the air and pouncing onto Sachiel are so FREAKING iconic! Same goes for the 360° panning shot of Unit-01 turning around to face Sachiel again after shrugging off its inital counter-attack!

So wait... how exactly is Unit-01 able to regenerate its armored plating when healing its broken left arm? Is it liquid metal like the T-1000 or something?

Also, we get some more foreshadowing of both the EVA's being cloned from the Angel's progenitor Adam, as well as Unit-01's unique status as a clone of humanity's progenitor Lilith since not only does Unit-01 easily create its own A.T. Field to counter the frequency of Sachiel's, but it easily rips through the Angel's A.T. Field like it was tissue paper!

The animalistic brutality on display as Unit-01 simultaneously crushes both of Sachiel's arms before ripping apart the Angel's own bony chest-protrusions (spilling blue blood in the process) to stab its core is absolutely breathtaking to witness!

As uniquely awesome and uncanny the animation of Sachiel shape-shifting itself into a fluid orb around Unit-01's head is, I'm curious to know exactly how Misato realized that this was a self-destruct maneuver. Especially since the last time she personally witnessed an Angel's abilities was when she was still a teenager 15-years-ago during Second Impact...

Holy crap! The massive cross-shaped explosion that Sachiel generates when it self-destructs is not only breathtaking gorgeous, but it simultaneously adds further intrigue into whether or not the Angels are merely extraterrestrials or literal divine entities!

The feelings of sheer terror that this scene instilled within me were only further cemented by the aftermath of the battle, as Shinji briefly regains consciousness only to scream in horror at the building-side reflection of Unit-01’s head armor falling off and exposing its true fleshy face along with an eyeball that is absolutely in no way whatsoever is meant to resemble traditionally feminine anatomy (H.R. Geiger would eat his heart out over Unit-01’s eyeball here)!

Plus, I only just noticed this, but the front of EVA Unit-01's exposed forehead bears a striking resemblance to the masks on Sachiel's face, further hinting that the Evangelions and the Angels are biologically connected!

I absolutely adore the final moments of the episode where Misato continues to give Shinji faint praise even when she now realizes that it won’t help him. It simultaneously suggests that Misato still wants to do whatever she can to ease Shinji’s pain, while also desperately trying to find some way to justify Unit-01’s berserker rampage against Sachiel “being worth it” despite the traumatic toll the experience has inflicted upon Shinji’s psyche!

What an absolutely perfect way to end the episode! Allison Keith once again perfectly sells this scene through the way her voice so subtly cracks while trying to feign said-empty reassurance!

This concluding exchange also thematically ties the episode's corresponding titles, "Unfamiliar Ceiling" & "THE BEAST," so neatly together! In addition Shinji & Misato being haunted by memories of the literal beast in the form of EVA Unit-01, they're simultaneously confronted with metaphorical beasts as they struggle to process and adapt to unfamiliar enviornments and relationships!

I love it whenever titles convey multiple meanings like that!

Overall though, NGE, "Episode 2: Unfamiliar Ceiling/THE BEAST" still holds up incredibly dang well! Even better than I remember!

Heck, whenever I try to introduce other people to EVA for the first time, I always recommend that they watch Episodes 1 & 2 immediately back-to-back so that they can get a good idea of how this anime functions, since honestly both episodes work incredibly well as an hour-long pilot when watched together!

Now onto Episode 3!

[doueverwonder]

Troy - Miltiades

Etruria - Thania 

Rome - Tarquin or Lulius 

Mycenae - never got a human name 

Ancient Greece - Cassandra

Here it is folks, it's all oc's (minus rome and Greece but they barely show up) it's unfinished, it's based off the Aeneid. it's almost 4000 words long, and it is in fact accurate to my hc I just don't have motivation for it. The poll demanded I post it.

—-----------------------------------

Staying awake had been hard enough throughout the war, peaceful sleep was a rare commodity especially when you can feel all the fighting. When we had broken into the Greek camp and there was no one there I had the foolish thought that it was over, they had given up and everything could finally return to normal.

I'm laying on the deck of a ship, at least I think I am. Everyone around me is yelling, a certain voice rising above the rest ordering everyone to hurry. What's going on? The last thing I remembered was the boy, he was a sacrifice to Athena he told us he was; we had pitied him. Priam had said to bring the horse as well, if we gained the favor of the goddess we would never lose to the Greeks again, that's what they said. I had gone to bed, everything was ending, I could finally rest again... 

"Miltiades!" I blinked trying desperately to respond to whoever was calling my name, mostly to tell them to shut up. My head was pounding, it felt like someone was sitting on my chest preventing me from taking a full breath. Where was I? "Miltiades, wake up!" 

The voice repeated the command a few times, I finally saw whoever it was kneel over me, bringing his face fully into my view. 

I stared up at the man for a moment, there were a lot of people I was hoping it was, someone to explain what was going on but, "who in hades are you?" 

The man looked extremely concerned and mumbled something about it being worse than he thought, "It's me, Aeneas don't you remember?" 

I could swear I had heard the name before but I still had no clue who he actually was. All I could do was make a face and shake my head a little bit, he then took it upon himself to check my memory. 

"Do you know your own name?" 

"Miltiades" why is he asking me this? Out of all the things I need explained, like to start with why are we on a boat, and he's asking my name even though he already knows it. 

He mumbled something else under his breath "Do you know who Priam is? What about Hector? Do you remember the names of anyone on the other side?" 

"Yes, I know my own king's name; Hector is Priam's son, and what do you want me to say? Achilles?" 

He finally went quiet, just staring at me. "So, you don't know who I am?" 

"No." I could be more apologetic about it, but I am in too much pain at the moment to care. "Please explain what is going on" 

"How to say this easily..." He went completely quiet, looking from side to side like he didn't want to say whatever it was. It was annoying me greatly, was the war over? Or did the Greeks return, how had I ended up on this boat, where were we going, why did I think I heard children a little while ago: Because if this is a war ship there should not be children on board. 

Aeneas stood holding his hand out to help me up, I stood, but almost fell to my knees as a horrible wave of nausea hit. I quickly leaned against the side, trying to keep myself together. 

I looked across the horizon, I was taken aback by the boats surrounding us. And the lack of... anything really, where were we? 

"Troy fell" I heard Aeneas next to me, his voice bittersweet as he made his next statement "We should have listened to Cassandra" 

I tried to process his words. He had to be wrong, a coward that had fled too early to know what was really going on. If the city had fallen I would be dead, but Aeneas continued on. 

"We escaped," he gestured to the small fleet we were part of "I think we're the only Trojans left" 

The only Trojans left? 

~~~~~~Approximately Six Years Later~~~~~~

"We still have no clue where Italy is, IF it even exists" 

Aeneas rolled his eyes at me as we pulled into the Phoenician port "We're getting close I can feel it" 

"That's what you've been saying for six years!" I looked over the city, leaning against the side of the boat I thought of Phoenicia, Ashtoreth the personification of Phoenicia, not the actual city. I wondered if she thought I was dead like so many others did; I can't blame anyone. By all accounts I should be long gone. I spent a full year convincing myself I was gone, and Aeneas isn't the best at cheering people up. I heard a splash and looked over to see some of the children looking over the edge; then I heard yelling from below, correction Aeneas isn't the best at anything. I would get him, but someone else will. 

What did amuse me though was watching the kids, it had always been odd to me how the older kids got the more they thought others' misfortune was funny; meanwhile younger kids were helplessly concerned. Once we had been a safe distance from Troy–or the ruins of it–we took a headcount. Seven full families, parents and kids all who had survived somehow. About thirty men, most of whom had seen which way the battle was going and fled with Aeneas instead of dying; whether they were smart or cowards depended on who you asked. Most of our crew was made up of widowed women and their children though, not that surprising, sad, but not surprising. 

Then there was the last group, eleven children all under the age of six who didn't have any adults who claimed them. Six years later the eldest of the group was a twelve year old boy and the youngest a seven year old girl: there had been one younger then her but he didn't make it past the second year. Years earlier I had thought of having children of my own, but it's not that easy for personifications you can't just decide to have a kid. There needs to be the need for one. And the universe never had the need for me to have one. There were plenty of other children between all the boats, but these ten left were mine for the time being. 

I heard men from the docks below saying something, I couldn't hear them but I knew close to what they were asking. "Awn, Simmias, help me with the ropes" 

The two eldest boys came over quickly unwinding and throwing them down to the men on the docks. They were better at it then most, but most hadn't grown up on a boat. I waited for something else but then realized Aeneas had fallen overboard and was more than likely still waiting for someone to get him out of the water; I sighed loudly. 

"Everyone!" I yelled to anyone on the top deck, "We're going to stop here for a while, but just incase for the time being stay close; keep track of each other, Aeneas, I, and some of the other men will go try to find accommodations for everyone" 

There were mumbled responses, most not quite paying attention to what I was saying just anxious to get onto dry land. 

I got off the boat just as Aeneas got to the dock. "How was your swim?" 

He pulled himself up, "You didn't come help me why?!" 

"Not my problem, you survived" I walked away to go look for Ashtoreth. I left for the city, I didn't know where she was, but she has to be around here somewhere I can feel her. As I walked through the streets, trying to follow my gut feeling and find her; and you know not to get miserably lost, I looked around. We had stopped in plenty of cities, but none had seemed as big as this one. I looked around at the buildings, the city was unusually large for one this new. 

I wandered some more taking everything in, she must be doing well for herself if her influence has made its way all the way over here. I had heard rumors saying she was more powerful than any of the greek cities, I would have to make sure to throw that in Mycenae's face if I ever saw him again. 

Every time we stopped in a city I had a moment, ever since my land fell to the Greeks I've been weaker physically, it took awhile but I got used to it, to my new limits. What I never got used to was the empty feeling in my chest, sometimes it felt as if my heart had stopped beating. When we were in cities like this and I saw people going about their days, everything normal for them, I got jealous. I wanted my land back, I wanted the rest of my people. Italy, I had said it a million times over trying to get used to the idea of somewhere new. I needed somewhere new. 

"Miltiades!" I turned seeing Aeneas coming behind me, looking a mix of smugly proud and exasperated. "Hurry! We have an audience with the queen!" 

—------------

I stood in front of Queen Dido, or more accurately I stood off to the side, behind Aeneas as he explained–poorly–what we were doing here. I tried to not let my eyes wander too much, Ashtoreth should be somewhere around here; I'm surprised I haven't already seen her. It used to be that she would find me the moment I appeared in one of her ports, where could she be?

"You should join us for dinner tonight" I looked up, as Queen Dido extended the invitation to Aeneas; I was almost confused. There was no way after tonight she would be able to stomach the absolute stupidity of the man standing next to me. 

I needed to stop him from accepting this, "Thank you bu-" 

"We would love to!" ... we're going to get kicked out of another place. Aeneas smiled at her and I watched something I never thought could happen: she sincerely smiled back. I left following Aeneas out of the palace, going back to the docks. 

"What was that?" I finally asked after a while of silence,

"What was what?" 

"The smile" I told him, it was obvious. The usual response to Aeneas from women was less than enthusiastic. Sure he was good looking enough but he was as smart as a fly, and his lack of brains was too obvious to ignore. How a queen is apparently falling for him we'll never know. 

He shrugged as we got back to the dock. "She just likes me" He waved up to someone on the dock, then got up onto the boat. I blinked a few times, I needed to coach him on how to not embarrass us all at dinner tonight. 

"Miltiades!" I heard yelling from behind me, this though was a woman's voice. I turned around seeing Ashtoreth coming towards me. I smiled, waving to acknowledge that I saw her. "Miltiades, gosh I thought I was going to miss you" 

I tried not to laugh "Even if you did we're joining you for dinner tonight Ash" 

"I heard, he's an idiot" 

"Yes!" I finally let go, laughing hard. "He is," We both went quiet for a moment just happy to be in the company of someone like the other. Being a personification is hard, humans are draining, they don't understand immortality. 

"I thought you were dead" She finally said, "Everyone did" 

I shook my head a little, "Trust me, I thought I was dead too" I took a step back spreading my arms, "As you can see though, I'm here somehow" 

"Oh" she mocked disappointment, even though a smirk was prominent on her face "I was hoping I wouldn't have to put up with you" 

I nodded seriously "The gods are cruel sometimes" 

I went to say something else but before I could, I heard a voice from the boat; "Miltiades!" I looked up to see one of the children waving to me, "Can we get off?" She asked half bouncing, obviously tired of being on the boat. 

I was going to tell her no when I heard Ashtoreth gasp behind me, then yell up "Of course you all can!" 

I eyed her, I knew she loved children but what was she doing. The kids standing on the edge looking over all looked at me, hesitant to get off being given permission by a stranger. I sighed, but nodded and waved them down. They all left from the side coming quickly going to get to the dock.

"Are they yours?" I heard Ashtoreth ask me, as she watched some of the younger ones almost stumbling over their own feet trying to be quick. 

I was quiet for a moment watching them. For six years I had watched over all of them, I had named half of them because they were too little to remember their own; more than once a few had slipped up and called me dad, I wanted to think they were mine. All I remembered though was a warning from my own father "They had no one else" Is all I said.

—-----------

"Marriage?" I looked at Aeneas shocked, "She wanted you to marry her?" 

"I know!" He sounded just as shocked as I was about it, "I told her no, cause I was told I have to leave" 

We had only been here for two months and we already were getting kicked out–there is no way Aeneas would leave otherwise–. I couldn't say I was surprised. This happened at most places we went to, I just thought we had more time here. When Aeneas had said he wanted to leave some had protested saying they were going to stay; then he told them that the Queen would probably kill any Trojans left in the city if we weren't gone soon. Everyone didn't mind leaving so much after that. That left us here, repacking the boats and getting ready to go back out and search for 'Italy' even though still none knew where it was. 

"Have you told your girlfriend you're leaving?" Aeneus asked me, an odd tone to his voice. It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Ash, 

I shook my head, "Ashtoreth isn't romantically involved with men, ever, and she has a wife. You met her" 

"I did?" he looked confused, I tried not to sigh too heavily. He was truly useless sometimes, I sat down on the dock for a moment taking a break. I still hadn't told Ash that we were leaving, I didn't know how to. I'm sure she knows, there is no way she couldn't. I would tell her formally though when I go to get the children later, they had been spending an awful lot of time with her and she was happy to watch them. Ash had always loved children, but over the years none of her wives had seemed too thrilled at the idea of adopting some of their own. This one though... She seemed to want children just as much as her wife and had been thrilled to help watch them. 

"We thought about children" she had told me a week or so before watching Naaila–her wife–with my children. She sighed, "With the new city and all, adopting isn't really an option right now, and we're both so busy anyway..." 

I watched my friend, she was always considered odd. Ash had repeatedly fallen in love and spent her life married to a human. Personifications didn't do that, most of us couldn't handle the heartache after they died; Ashtoreth had always told me though that it was worse to not have anyone and watch humans die anyway. Point is, she wasn't scared to get close to humans and lose them, most of our kind were. I had only heard of one other that wasn't, supposedly there was a man far east who raised housefulls of orphaned children. I was just terrified of losing any of these ten, I couldn't imagine dozens. 

"When do we leave?" I asked Aeneas, hoping he had a day or time in mind instead of just 'whenever we're ready'. 

"In the morning" he said it with more certainty than I had heard from him ever before. But... So soon? I thought I had more time, more time to say goodbye to Ashtoreth, to give everyone just a little more time to get ready. I nodded though, there was no point in arguing if he said in the morning; then we would leave in the morning. 

"Why did you wake me in the middle of the night to do this all?" I gestured around to everyone bustling about getting things ready, "Couldn't we have done it earlier?"

"I had a dream. They said we have to go in the morning" Damn Aeneas and his dreams, can't the gods communicate in different ways? By letter maybe? Messenger boy? Not dreams and random visions? 

"You should probably go get those kids now" I sighed and nodded, I stood and walked away without another word to anyone. Ash would be mad at me, waking her up this late but I needed to get the children. 

I showed up at the house, looking at the house. All the children had been staying with Ash and her wife this whole time; both insisted they didn't mind and it was much more comfortable then on the boat. I hadn't considered if we had to leave at the last minute what I would do, especially if I was trying to avoid her.  I took a few steps more forward, and raised my fist to knock on the door: it flew open though before I could. 

"We heard" Instead of Ashtoreth, it was Naaila standing there. 

"We haven't told anyone" I was confused, how word of a dream Aeneas had spread so quickly, he said himself he hadn't told anyone. 

She rolled her eyes, Naaila was beautiful it was hard not to notice it. Ash and I had always joked that we had the same taste in women, it wasn't far from the truth. "Everyone knows, the queen is throwing a fit" 

I sighed, knowing this would happen. There was no way we could stay here for long without Aeneas making someone mad, in this case it just so happened to be a queen of a quickly growing city who wanted to marry him. Wonderful. I'm starting to accept that if we even do find italy we'll be promptly kicked out by the next woman he disgusts in some way or another. 

THERE'S SUPPOSED TO BE A LOT OF STUFF HERE BUT I NEVER WROTE IT :))))))))

I sat in the garden. My eyes barely scanning the area around me, always returning to rest on a specific spot. The game of hide and seek with my daughter had started almost ten minutes earlier. The girl had an affinity for hiding in the same spot time and time again, so I sat, and waited. I would go exactly to where she was, and make a big deal about how long it took for me to find her after a few more minutes. 

My daughter, my Cassandra, was barely four years old; and I already knew I would raise hell and high water to keep her safe. Some thought it inappropriate, a curse that she was named after a seeress who was doomed to never be believed. I thought it was a fitting name, Cassie was born nine months after the fall of Troy, Cassandra the Trojan had warned them we were coming hadn't she? They hadn't listened, the moment she spoke that prophecy it was clear the gods favored our side. 

I stood, deciding it was time to 'find' her, "Now where is my daughter?" 

I said it loudly, waiting for the giggle that always gave her away. Just on cue from behind one of the bushes that lined the wall moved, a small burst of laughter coming from it before quickly being muffled. The girl shares more of my looks but the laugh, her laugh was her mothers. I walked over, purposefully making my steps fall heavier, so she would definitely hear me. 

"Cassie?" I called in a sing-song voice, "Where are you?" I got close enough and reached behind the bush grabbing her. She laughed even harder as I held her up in the air. I couldn't help but start laughing as well, these are my favorite moments. 

"Let's play again!!" she shouted, already trying to wiggle out of my arms, "You can hide, i'll find you!" 

Some men came out of the palace calling for me, they had some news something to do... with Troy? At first I sighed, the war had been over centuries ago yet sometimes they still brought unnecessary news about it. I called the nursemaid over, she quickly rose from where she had been sitting on the other side of the garden and came over. Taking Cassandra from me without even having to be asked. I told her to take the child inside, that I would meet them in a few minutes. She nodded then disappeared. 

"What is so pressing that you had to interrupt me while I was with my daughter?" I asked it pointedly to one of the advisors I knew. Everyone in the group shuffled at my tone, not wanting to deal with my anger. 

"He brings word from the west" they half-pushed a boy to the front of the group, I looked him over, a commoner no doubt, not from here, and young, Yes, very young. 

"What do you have to say?" I was already bored with the whole thing. Whatever it was could not be as important as everyone was claiming. 

He was obviously very nervous, but started speaking, "Some of the trojans survived, and they escaped. This was decades ago, but a whole fleet of refugees went west, they stopped in many places; they angered many people including a queen who no longer lives." he stopped for a breath, I didn't believe a word he said. I couldn't, I had killed Troy. Miltiades could not have survived. It was impossible. 

"They found refuge in a new land, the personification, one of your own kind, married not long after arriving to a woman named Thania; the personification of the Etruiscans. Not even a month ago she bore him a son"

Impossible.

[witchfall]

down in the dark

confession.

Set post-EW, Izzie and Alphinaud find themselves in incredible trouble. This is what happens when you wait for the perfect moment. You get this, instead: cauterizing wounds and terrors in the dark. Kisses that taste like blood.

(Set in one of Izzie's wolverses, this time as a Viera with another fellow Viera WoL, Noel Kisne. Taken straight from doodle writing with my friend! About six years have passed from the start to ARR to the end of Endwalker, approximately. Izzie is about 2 years older than the twins.)

---

Izzie moves his blood-stained, starlight hair from his forehead and gazes down at him, like she can absorb the very concept of aetheric healing by staring hard enough.

She'd learned the very basics from Raha, but she'd be worthless without a focus, anyway, and Alphinaud's are nowhere to be seen. Not that she could work her mind around those finicky things in a pinch. Not without practice.

She could kill him without meaning to, if she tried.

All because she naively thought...well, he'd always be there anyway, wouldn't he? He or Noel or Raha. She hasn't the patience to be a healer, she always thought. But maybe what she doesn't have is the grit.

"Okay," she says. Her heart is pounding so hard. "Okay. What do we do. We're not supposed to take out stabbed things, I'm pretty sure, but you clearly can't move with it in there." She's rambling aloud. It's the only thing stopping her from lying on the floor and sobbing. "But what if I wrap you tight enough?"

"Might not be enough." He watches the ceiling, though its nothing but murky black beyond their orb of light. "...you're going to have to cauterize it."

Her heart stops beating for a moment. Cauterize. Burn him shut.

She can't. She can't. She can't see him scream in pain because of her. What if it didn't work? What if it was for nothing and her last vision of him was him passing out from pain and then promptly bleeding out? What kind of person would that make her? She might as well just throw herself from the edge of Azys Lla.

"Okay," she says, voice lifeless. "I'll do it."

A bizarre part of her laments that she would be the reason he'd have a scar on his side for the rest of his life.

"Izzie." Her name, just her name, full of questions. His voice reminds her of broken glass and it makes her heart hurt, over and over and over. "You can leave me here and find the way--"

"I'm not godsdamned leaving you, you stupid idiot! I'd rather die!" All of her emotions feel so close to the top.

She doesn't notice his hand make its way to her face, her skin wet and sticky with tears and blood. "Then...it will be alright. Won't it?"

How can he be the healer in this situation, even now? She was supposed to catch him. She promised. She nods into his hand. His fingers are slick with sweat and blood and dirt, leaving streaks on her temple. She knows what he's telling her. This is her choice. She has to make it, and be strong, and move. Always, that is her burden. She wills her hands to stop shaking.

"Tell me what to do," she says.

And so she burns him shut.

It's impossibly risky but they do it in one move. Using a similar aetheric process to how she manages her shots, Izzie heats the shrapnel as she pulls it out.

She is sure she will hear his pained scream in her nightmares. At the very end, he passes out. Her heart stops beating, even as she by rote tears fabric from her fine new skirts and begins wrapping it around his middle, shirt pushed up so she can see.

She ties it off. He still doesn't move. Don't think about it.

She straddles his body, keeping her weight upon her own knees, and she leans over his face, her hands curled into his collar.

"Alphinaud. Please wake up."

A moment passes. Two.

His eyes flutter open, even as his mouth bends into a grimace. Her hands fly to his face again. She leaves more bloodstains.

"Oh, my gods, oh, seven holy hells, Alphinaud, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I--"

"It's alright," he says, impossibly. "I'm here."

And in a flutter of emotions and fears and relief, she leans down and kisses him right on the mouth.

He tastes like blood and sweat, and she pulls away before it can become anything more. But the light in his eyes changes -- brightens from their daze. He searches her face, over and over and over.

Why...did she do that?

"Can you move?" she whispers in the dark.

"I won't be fast," he says. She senses some joke, hiding in the depths of his painful grimace. "Long legs or no."

"That's why I'm here." She tries a bawdy grin, but all she can taste is his blood.

---

They rise together, shaking legs and groans of pain.

Alphinaud's arm around her shoulder tightens so hard she has to bite her cheek to distract from new pain. Her arms circle his chest, doing everything in her power to try and keep some weight off his major injury.

Her aetherotransformer hangs off her hip, casting them in a pool of light.

"Is the silence..."

"Not yet," he says through gritted teeth. "It may not. Until we find the others."

Her head is at his collarbone. She leans into his body, and for a fleeting, stupid moment, she thinks about burying her face in his shoulder and sobbing until she can't breathe anymore. Thinks about absorbing the essence of him like it might also take away his pain.

"I'm sorry," she mutters again. In answer, his hand tightens around her shoulder.

"I will never regret it," he says, unusually short-winded.

Sure. But she might regret the need of it, she thinks to snap. What is she in his life, but a source of pain?

And then, impossibly, the darkness on their skin loosens like sifted dirt. Like rain is falling, and they are cleansed...

She takes in a breath. She hadn't realized how short it had been, until she could finally expand her lungs in full. No corruption left to be found.

"They did it," she whispers. "It's over."

His body sags slightly in relief. Her body screams at her, but she would take all of his weight, should he need it. It was the least she could do. It was the least that she owed.

And so they scan about the room, looking for any possible exit.

They search for long enough that they have to sit in exhaustion, still curled into one another's side, certain that without the other they'd collapse.

They sit facing the one lead they could find in the bizarre, too-smooth room. The closest thing to a closed door: the signs of a failing seal in the wall.

Gods above.

Noel will find me, Izzie wills. I know she will.

They sit in silence for long enough it becomes maddening.

And then Alphinaud decides to break the silence by asking: "Did you mean to...did you...mean to--"

"Kiss you?"

Might as well put it out there. His returning silence is answer enough.

Except its not. He never could leave well enough alone. "Because I simply wish to, ah, follow your lead and I would be fine to...I mean to say that I..."

Some part of her finds it hilarious that this is how they are having this discussion. But it's better than sitting scared and exhausted in the dark -- if only barely.

"You'd forget it if I asked," she says.

"If you asked." His voice is quiet. Unreadable. Diplomatic. "Things...happen in the heat of emotion and battle and I wouldn't hold it against you."

Does she want that? Would it be better for him if he did? Her fingers drift to her lips, even so. How does she feel about it? Why did she do it?

"You're..." Ridiculous, she wants to say. Insane. "I don't kiss people just on a stupid whim." Except she literally just did. So that's a lie. Or. Is it?

Her own reaction, however, is smothered by the way his body almost jolts just a smidgen straighter. His eyes meet hers, shadowed by his matted hair, and the wide openness of her face makes some deep part of her keen.

"Really?" he asks.

She nearly laughs for the foolishness of it. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She's not prepared for him to lean down and kiss her back.

Soft. Blood, still, always there, and her own tears, yes -- but a gentleness that makes her tear up. Fleeting as the connection is. Just their mouths touching, really, is all it is. He knows even less about kissing than she does.

But when he pulls away, she finds herself stunned, anyway. "Why did you--"

"You tend to appreciate evenness in these things."

"...Alphinaud." She turns away and stares at the sliver of light in the wall. She hates how well he knows her. Hates the comfort of it in a moment like this, where she doesn't think she deserves it. She is torn between laughing at him and crying. "I'm...you don't have to...do that."

"I need to tell you something important." No. No. Not in the dark in Azys Lla, no, that is not how this is supposed to go. She stiffens under his arm and in response, he loosens his grip on her. But she returns it ten-fold. No, she thinks. You don't get to leave me like this, either. So he barrels onward. A shield wall running forth. "I understand the pressure this statement will put on you," he says, at least now the shadow of his orator self. "But I would never hold it against you, no matter what, and I will never...I could never..." "Just fucking say it." "It will only ever be you, Izzie. Only you. I am not sure there could ever be anyone else." She closes her eyes, heart in her throat, buoyed by fear and...and... "You don't know that for sure," she says into the dark. "...what?"

Shadows pass behind the door, or is it her imagination?

Is it...could she... An idea forms. A wild, insane, crazy idea. Anything to get out of this discussion, right now.

"Look," she says. "I'd rather die than live in a world where you aren't somehow mine. I mean, with me," she says.

She ignores the way his breath catches in his throat, the way his whole body tenses beneath her, not from pain but from...whatever this is. Ignores it, and presses on.

"So that means I have to get you out of here safely. So we can talk about your future properly."

"...but not also yours?"

"I don't think that far ahead," she lies, brazen. "I have a stupid idea. But I think it will get us out of here."

[carpexiem]

~ 𝐩𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐝.

𝐬𝐲𝐧. meeting enhypen? at school? never in a million years. or just, a one in a million chance. but piquing nishimura riki's interest? probability: one in 7.9 billion.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫. idol!niki x student!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧. swearing, just some butterfly-in-stomach inducing romance hehe

𝐰𝐜. 1.4k

𝐚𝐧. literally just came up with this plot after eating good ole pizza,,, confined in my *cold* room,,, as a storm rages outside :D if you'd like a part 2, let me know and ill add it to the list of 15+ wips i have abandoned sadly 😞

you definitely did not wake up, on that fine, mediocre, average morning, miss your bus even after running more miles than an olympic cross-country athlete, get to school 15 minutes late, realise that you- in fact- hadn't done your english essay (hence receiving a very shameful one hour detention after school on friday), just to find out that enhypen was visiting your school.

the universe was doing an amazing job at putting your heart at ease. such a great job!!!

this phenomenon was dumped upon you and your classmates with no warning whatsoever, and to say the least, the wind was knocked right out of your chest, and left you begging for air.

"you are lying, miss. absolutely lying," you jokingly chastised, receiving a shrug and a light hearted expression in return.

"if you don't want to believe me, then do just that," she said, looking you dead in the eyes as you crossed your arms, "but when enhypen walks through that door in approximately," she twists her arm to read her watch, "5 minutes, then you won't be reprimanding me, y/n."

it was hard to believe your teacher, despite the blithe warnings she directed towards your way. enhypen were your favourite kpop group ever, and as any fan would logically and realistically think, them coming over to your school seemed so far fetched. extremely, utterly, 100% impossible.

and as these 5 minutes did come and go, the door opens and a cameraman strolls into your room, followed by the 7 ethereal men who you were convinced you would only meet at a concert, 20 metres from the stage as you could only decipher dancing figures, and not even the glistening smiles on their faces.

you stood there in complete shock, sounds of disbelief and excitement dissipated into the air from your classmates. you could feel your best friend shaking your arm vigorously, chanting "no way, no fucking way!" repeatedly.

they looked so gorgeous up close, their skin seemed to have that extra, heavenly glow that tend to disappear after being processed by camera lenses and blatant editing.

all 7 boys gathered at the front of the room, standing in a line as they introduced themselves and bowed. and god, were they tall.

you had completely zoned out after that, your teachers instructions becoming distant mumbles in your conscious. niki had captivated you, enthralled your being so much because he had no right looking that good in real life. he towered over all of his members, and for once, you were glad you weren't the only tall person in the room (the boys in your class were short on a concerning basis).

"okay 11a, please settle down," it took a while before the class did so, and your teacher continued, "theres a bit of time for a small q and a session, so if you'd like to ask the boys anything, please make sure they are respectful and logical, please."

you wanted to ask a mountain of questions, but your mind seemed to close up at the thought of speaking in front of the boy group. you were too socially awkward for that, and your mouth would probably lace your words with stutters anyways.

"miss, why did they come to our school, of all schools?"

chuckles infected eveyone as your teacher gladly responded, "they wanted to interact with fans more. i won't go into all of the nitty gritty details as time belongs to no man, but there's your answer."

you slipped into your reverie once again, and before you knew it, your class was leaving the room and you were almost left behind before a hand tapped your shoulder. your eyes focused and you realised that your bias was standing right in front of you; your cheeks burned intensely as you sheepishly grinned.

"hey, are you going to come?"

his broken english sounded too cute and you were scared your voice would be the death of you, so you just nodded in reply, before scurrying after the rest.

you were led to the auditorium where each student (and enhypen) were given a collar microphone before being separated from the kpop group. you stood right at the back, staring ahead of you as your mind was filled with everything and nothing. your friend was still buried in insane after shock, and you had to tug at their arm before their mind raced back to planet earth.

rules were said to all present in the room, and you still had no idea what was going on. nudging your classmate, you whispered, "what the hell are we doing?"

he chuckled, leaning towards you to reply quietly "we're filming a kpop dance challenge with them, just something light hearted."

it was either coincidence or fate that the right class was chosen for such content; your class was school-renowed kpop fans, and almost everyone learned every dance released by the korean idols, known and unknown.

your thoughts were cut short as you teacher clapped her hands, grabbing the attention of both the class and the 7 idols.

"okay everyone! we are about to begin filming, please be on your best behaviour; you are aware of the rules," she tilted her body towards enhypen (the unfortunate life of kpop idols, you thought), "and you will be introducing yourself individually to the camera," she then turned towards the class," just say your name and age! now, have fun!"

everyone in the room cheered before a countdown from 3 was mutely signaled, before the cameras began rolling.

for the second time in your life, you heard enhypen present themselves, and you felt totally blessed.

after that ordeal, your classmates began their own brief introductions, you being the last.

"hello i am y/n and i'm 16 years old!" you voice was shaking, and you hoped that it was entirely audible on camera. you smiled widely and you glanced toward enhypen noticing how niki eyes locked with yours almost immediately. you looked away abruptly, you were not about to be put under scrutiny by the toxic fans who were to view this video when it releases. nuh uh.

instructions were said again just for the viewers to be aware, and with no time being wasted, the challenge began.

as the song blasted from the speakers, it took you a few seconds to digest the chords before your brain registered the name. dm by fromis_9.

almost everyone rushed to the middle as they all laughed, dancing almost in sync (shockingly) before the song faded out. a scoreboard was placed to the far right side of you, and both your class and enhypen had scored one point. you were competitive and definitely wasn't going to accept defeat, even by your favourite boy group.

next song, super yuppers by wjsn chocome. this time, no one from enhypen walked to the front, and you knew your class would dominate this round. everyone in your class shuffled forward and danced, your teachers grinning from the sidelines.

more and more songs were played, there were instances where enhypen wouldn't walk out at all, and you guys were leading the challenge by 4 points. it was a time of fun and laughter, you felt as if you needed this much enjoyment after the shitty morning you endured.

the last song came, and you hesistantly walked to the front as your head hung low, trying to recount the steps of the dance. you heard footsteps behind you, turning around to see niki smiling at before he began to dance and it was like something in you switched on and suddenly, the moves rushed back into your conscience as you joined niki, cheers from both the enhypen members and your class filling the atmosphere. the song ended, and the both of you panted, hands resting your hips as you grinned, turning around to walk back. niki held out his fist and you bumped it, catching his wink toward you before he walked away.

you couldn't believe it.

your eyes were probably hallucinating from the lack of sleep last night. that's definitely what it was! you weren't on his level at all, and to think that you caught his eye sounded like a youtube comment from an over obsessive fan.

but as the filming came to an end, the scores announced and your class ultimately won the challenge, you side eyed niki, his head facing downwards as he smiled widely, laughing at something said by the producers. and just as you were about to look away, his eyes locked with yours and he winked once again.

you had undeniably piqued the boy's interest. severely.

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Pictures of You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you lose your memories of the last few years, including the ones of your relationship with Aaron. The rest of the team thinks it’s hilarious.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: memory loss, swearing, some angst, hospital, talk of injuries, team shenanigans and fluff

A/N: okay this was a lot of fun to write bc soft!Hotch rights !! also really wanted to make the team play a larger role in a fic so here we go :)

Masterlist

---

You wake in a hospital bed, Morgan by your side, and a godawful pounding in your cloudy head. With a groan, you try to raise one of your hands to cover your eyes as Morgan’s head shoots up to stare at you with a relieved smile.

“Hey,” he says, catching your hand before you can lift it higher, “Don’t do that. You had a nasty fall, Princess.”

Satisfied that you won’t make any more moves towards your head, he sits back down at your side.

“Should I even ask how you’re doing or…” he trails off when you glare at him. “I’ll go let the team know you’re okay. Boss Man will be happy to hear you finally woke up,” and with that, Morgan is up and out of the room before you can even open your mouth because what.

Shifting around in the bed, you try to gauge just how injured you are, but the soreness in literally your entire body coupled with the haziness in your mind from the constant pain makes you conclude that you’ll leave it to the doctors to tell you what’s wrong. Sighing, you gently tilt your head to the side and observe the various beeping monitors.

The door opens and as you turn to see who it is, your mouth opens in disbelief. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no fucking way. This is fake. This is a dream. Your stomach simultaneously drops and fills with dread. How is this possible?

“You’re dead. You’re dead. We buried you,” you say in a rush, as none other than Emily fucking Prentiss stops by the side of your bed, looking at you confusedly. “Does this mean I’m dead? Are you a ghost?” you wonder out loud, and Emily looks behind her as the rest of the team, except Hotch, file in behind her, seemingly fine with her sudden appearance.

“How are you here, why are you here, what happened? You died. You’re supposed to be dead which means I’m probably dead,” you continue to ramble, frantically looking from at each member of your team and then back to Emily.

“What? Y/N, you aren’t dead. Just like I’m not dead,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you are,” you say shakily, chest tightening as your breaths become shorter and shorter.

“Y/N…” she says slowly, softly, “I faked my death four years ago.”

And with that, your ears rush and your mind goes blank. No no no no no no we buried her six months ago, she’s dead. You don’t notice the rest of the team trading glances around you as the world you thought you knew shatters and reforms in your mind.

“No,” you croak, throat suddenly constricting, but Emily only looks at you worriedly, Reid slipping out the door behind her.

“Y/N, can you take some deep breaths for me?” and your head turns to find JJ at your other side, hand on your shoulder. “Let’s breathe, you can do this,” she says, taking exaggerated breaths to demonstrate, smiling gently as you cooperate.

Reid enters, now, followed by a doctor who, immediately upon reaching your side, proceeds to shine a light in your eyes and asks you to complete all sorts of short tests while the team looks on.

“Now, Agent Y/L/N, Dr. Reid informed me that you seem to be having some memory issues, which is normal,” the doctor assures you, “especially with the head trauma you endured. So, tell me what you can remember and we’ll go from there,” he says with a helpful smile.

Fuck. What do you remember?

“Well…” you trail off, trying to pin-point an exact moment. “I remember Emily—Agent Prentiss’—funeral because it was six months ago, but apparently—” your eyes slide over the rest of the team, “—apparently, it was more like four years ago,” you finish slowly.

“And that’s as recent as you can remember?” the doctor pushes. You nod your head. “Well, Agent Y/L/N, it seems that you have post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, which isn’t a surprise, as I said before. My guess is that it’s temporary, and that you’ll recover your memories in time.”

“Any ideas how long?” Emily speaks up, carefully looking at your face.

“With cases such as these, there isn’t a definite timeline or standard procedure for memory recovery,” the doctor explains. “It may help to look at photos or videos and tell stories to try and help Agent Y/L/N heal quicker, but the brain is tricky,” and with that wonderful statement, the doctor turns and exits, leaving you and your team staring at each other, processing the fact that you don’t know when you’ll get your memories of the last four freakin’ years back.

“So, from the research I’ve done, it seems that—” Reid is cut off by the door flying open and Aaron Hotchner, your Unit Chief, bursting into the room with a concerned look on his face wearing a hoodie and jeans.

Morgan tries to grab his shoulder, but Hotch shakes him off as he walks right up to your bedside and grabs your hand. Holy shit. Heat rises to your cheeks instantly and you think your heart might have actually skipped a beat but, you can’t help it, you’ve had a crush on Hotch for ages and he’s holding your hand. But you don’t remember a time when Hotch was so forward in showing concern for one of his agents.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, Sweetheart—” you’re pretty sure you’re dreaming because Hotch has never called you Sweetheart. Ever. You’ve also never seen him in anything other than a suit. “—Jessica called because Jack has the flu and then he wanted to talk to me and—”

“Hotch!” Morgan all but yells, interrupting Hotch’s update on Jack, as you stare pointedly at his hand, still holding yours, trying to control the redness growing steadily stronger in your cheeks. What the hell.

“Hotch,” Morgan states, softer this time, “The last thing Y/L/N remembers clearly is Prentiss’ funeral.”

You look up with a weak approximation of a smile, and watch Hotch’s face shift as he comprehends what Morgan said.

“That was years ago,” he says slowly, face hardening into a look you’ve seen too many times when he tries to separate himself from the information he’s received.

Looking down at you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, so you divert your eyes to his hand in yours. Once he notices this, he gently lets go and you know it’s silly, but you almost reach out for it again. Who knows the next time Hotch will want to hold your hand?

“So you don’t…” he doesn’t finish his question, which leaves you even more confused. Don’t what…?

“Umm. If it’s happened in the last four-ish years, then umm… Then I probably don’t remember it,” you say quietly, apologetically. “Sir,” you add on quickly, not wanting to forgo formalities even if your memory isn’t what it’s supposed to be.

However, instead of nodding, like you thought he would, Aaron Hotchner looks sad which confuses you even more.

“Aaron,” Rossi begins slowly, “the doctor said that talking about what’s happened since then may help Y/N’s memory come back.” Hotch looks up, almost relieved. “So why don’t you tell her something that’s happened since Prentiss’ funeral.”

And with that, Hotch takes a breath before reaching across your body to your other hand and holding it up. Not quite sure what’s happening, you allow him to hold your left hand up in your line of vision and that’s when you notice a fucking wedding ring. On your hand. Which Hotch is holding.

“I’m married?” you screech, looking at the team, who are now all trying not to laugh for some reason. “Who am I married to? Holy shit, what?” you continue looking around. Morgan and Prentiss look like they’ll break into outright laughter any minute. What’s going on?

Looking helplessly to Hotch, who is suspiciously quiet, you don’t have to repeat your question before he is carefully letting go of your left hand to hold his own up next to it and since when did Hotch wear a wedding band? Until you notice the striking similarities between the ring on your hand, and the one on your boss. What the actual fuck.

“We’re married?” you say, whipping your head to the side—ouch—to stare at Hotch, who is looking a little more amused than worried. “What? When? I just…” you can’t even finish your train of thought because your head is spinning so fast.

“Is it really that much of a surprise, Princess?” Derek chimes in. “I mean, you guys have been in love with each other forever,” and with that, he and Prentiss dissolve into a fit of laughter, which they try to smother, but you’re too busy taking in this very new and very interesting life development.

At some point in the last couple years, you married Hotch. Which means he knows you like him. And he likes you. You dated Hotch and now you’re fucking married. And you can’t remember any of it.

“…I don’t remember it…” you say sadly, softly and the laughter ceases.

Running a hand through his hair, Hotch takes a step back and shrugs, a small, reassuring smile on his face.

“We’ll figure it out, Sweetheart—” your stomach erupts into butterflies, “—we always do.”

With a sigh, you sink back into the pillows on your bed and stare at the ceiling, head throbbing worse than before thanks to all the new information.

“I just…” you pause to think about your current dilemma. “I just don’t know where to start with all this…Getting my memory back,” you look to Hotch and then the team, unsure of what to do.

“Well, the doctor did say that photos and videos might help. I’d be willing to recount every conversation we’ve had since Emily’s funeral, if you want, including the ones that you weren’t a part of, but were about you or a case,” Reid offers with a grin, and your heart melts.

Slowly shaking your head, you answer, “Thanks but maybe later, Spence. I’m still stuck on the whole I’m-married-to-my-boss thing right now.”

“Trust me Princess,” Derek laughs “I’m pretty sure all of us could tell you about how everything went down like a damn movie.”

“Yeah…” JJ continues with a fond shake of her head, “You guys weren’t very subtle about it.”

Sneaking a look out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hotch blushing and staring down at his shoes before he also sneaks a look at you, meeting your eyes.

“See?” Derek’s voice breaks your gaze. “This is exactly what I was talking about. You guys weren’t subtle and still aren’t,” rolling his eyes, he laughs a little and you can’t help but smile.

“At least they’re married this time around,” Rossi supplies. “No more ‘secret’ glances and yearning,” he says with such contempt you can’t help but laugh as Hotch—Aaron? — lets out a small chuckle of his own.

“Now I just need to remember how we got here,” you say, feeling a little more at ease. Slowly, you reach for Hotch’s left hand, studying the ring the matches your own. “Remember us,” you continue, just to him, and the smile that overtakes his face is the best thing you’ve seen since waking up.

“You weren’t wrong, Morgan,” comes Emily’s voice from the end of your bed. “This is just like a movie. Ugh. But don’t worry, Y/N, we’ll help you sort this out.”

“And I know just the woman for the job,” Morgan adds with a mischievous smirk which immediately makes you wonder about whatever it is he has planned.

“Now as much as I’d love to watch the two lovebirds gaze into each other’s eyes, I actually have plans,” Rossi states, looking down at his watch. “So, I’ll be back tomorrow. Have a good night, Y/N,” he says before waving to the rest of the team and leaving.

The rest of the team makes their own excuses to leave, and you can’t help but feel like Morgan and Prentiss have concocted some sort of scheme to “help” you get your memories back.

Running a hand over your face, you sigh. What now? The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look up and realize that Hotch hadn’t left with the others, but was instead standing near the foot of your bed, looking somewhat anxious.

“I ummm… I was planning on spending the night here to make sure you were okay, but umm…” he trails off, unsure.

“But since I have no memory of us being together you think it’s weird…?” you ask gently.

“Yeah,” he answers in a sigh. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by being here, especially because I know how frustrating and confusing this must be for you…”

“Hotch,” you start, but he can’t hide his wince when you call him that. “Aaron,” you try again. “Yes, this is incredibly confusing and frustrating because Emily should be dead and I didn’t think you had feelings for me at all,” you pause and see him smile, just a bit, “But I’d really like it if you stayed here. With me. Because—” you take a deep breath. “—Because you make me feel safe, Aaron, and I need that right now,” you say gently, not quite sure where the confidence came from, but Aaron’s eyes soften and his smile grows bigger as his shoulders drop in relief. Worth it.

“Then I’ll stay,” he says, and you can’t help the heat that once again rises in your cheeks as he continues to look at you.

You guys are married, dammit. Pull it together.

Averting your gaze, you turn your attention to getting more comfortable in your bed and decide to fuss with the placement of your pillows because damn was your back starting to hurt, but Aaron beats you to it. Within ten seconds of arranging the pillows behind you, he has them perfect.

“How…?” you start to question, but he just raises his eyebrows. “Right. Married,” you say with a shake of your head.

Aaron finally sits in the chair next to your bed and reaches, almost absentmindedly, for your hand before catching himself and stilling. You can see the fight in his mind—he wants to comfort you and himself, but with your memory, he doesn’t quite know where your boundaries are. Taking pity on him, you grab his hand yourself, weaving your fingers together so he knows it was on purpose. Okay so you really just wanted to hold his hand again, but you’re married! You’re allowed. He takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair, turning his head to really look at you.

“How’s your head?” he asks, brow furrowed in what you’ve come to understand is genuine concern.

You pause and consider for a moment.

“Not terrible, but not great,” you say slowly. “It’s like there’s a fog in my mind that I can’t see through. I know I’m missing stuff, but I just don’t know what.”

Aaron gently squeezes your hand, but doesn’t speak yet.

“I want to know what brought Emily back, how we happened, what it was that gave me this fucking injury, I just…” with an exasperated huff, you collect yourself. “I just want to know.”

“Well, Emily should be the one to tell you her part of the story, and as for us,” he gives you a smile “it’s a longer answer, at least for me, so that will have to wait—Sorry, Sweetheart,” he says when you pout. “However, I can tell you about what landed you in the hospital. How does that sound?”

“It’s a start,” you tease, and yes Aaron smiles wider and rolls his eyes.

“We were chasing an unsub, and Garcia had tracked him to a warehouse not too far from Quantico. We went there and—” his voice wavers. You squeeze his hand. “—and the unsub had set explosives around the perimeter of the building. I guess you got too close to him when trying to talk him down and he triggered the whole set.” Aaron sighs, and his eyes are glazed over like he’s reliving this—which he probably is—and there’s nothing you can really do besides let him take his time.

“You weren’t right by any of them, but you were thrown back and had hit the ground before I could even yell at you to stop—not that you would have listened,” he says pointedly with a watery laugh. “You just laid there, Morgan and I carried you over to the medics as soon as the dust settled and they took you away as we cleared the rest of the scene.”

“And the unsub?”

“He didn’t survive the explosion. As soon as we figured that out, we left it to the local PD and crime scene techs.” He looks at you softly. “We came straight here after that.”

“How long was I out before today,” you ask lightly, curiously.

“Three days. Dave had to convince me to go home and shower on the second day.” He looks down before sneaking a sideways glance at you.

“Well I’m glad he did,” you tease, scrunching your nose.

“And I’m glad you’re awake, Sweetheart,” he replies, squeezing your hand.

You laugh and look away before mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Get used to what?” he waits a second. “Sweetheart?” Motherfucker. He knows what he’s doing.

“That! I woke up convinced you didn’t have feelings for me at all,” you say with a glare, “and now I know we’re married and you keep being so nice and understanding and calling me Sweetheart and I just don’t know how to deal with all of this!” you finish in a huff.

“I just feel bad that I can’t remember this, us” you add, gesturing between the two of you. “I’m trying and there’s just—” you make a frustrated noise and flop back to stare at the ceiling. “And my head still kind of hurts,” you add softly, almost pouting.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Aaron whispers. He clears his throat before continuing. “You’ll get your memories back,” he leans forward to stroke some hair off your forehead. “And until then, you know the team and I will do what we can to catch you up and help you remember.”

You push your head further into his hand with a sigh. He runs his hand through your hair a few times before pulling back and you almost whine. You yawn instead. Settling down, you tug the blanket up higher across your chest and turn to face Aaron as he also gets comfortable. He turns on the small television in your room and at some point, you fall asleep holding his hand.

---

You wake to the sound of the door opening, followed by the unmistakable click-clack of heels worn by none other than Penelope Garcia.  

“Rise and shine! Time to regain your memory, lovely Y/N,” she sings, coming to a stop by the side of your bed as you roll over with a yawn.

“Pen—” you groan. “Let me sleep. Please.”

“Oh no, my little profiler. Do you have your memory back?” You shake your head. “Then we need to work on that! And don’t you dare tell me no; my wonderful Derek Morgan and I were up all night making this for you,”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Sadly, not like that. But, we compiled a presentation-slash-video montage for you about what you’ve missed!”

That catches your attention.

“Wha--? How? Penelope where did the footage come from?” you ask, more awake now.

“Well, I may or may not have used security cam footage for a lot of it, but that’s neither here nor there, so, without further ado, I present to you: your life for the past four-ish years!” and with that, she somehow connects her tablet to the TV and you see a picture of the whole team; Penelope then produces a remote from the depths of her purse and then proceeds to the next slide.

Which is a photo of you. And Aaron. Standing by the coffee machine in the office and smiling at each other, clearly unaware that the moment was being documented. The image is embellished with what must be close to fifty moving, sparkly hearts, obviously done by Garcia.

“First thing’s first,” she starts with a flourish. “Your husband!” and as if on cue, Aaron walks into the room, cup of coffee in hand. Much to your surprise, Aaron just rounds your bed to sit in the same chair you assume he fell asleep in, watching the screen.

“What is happening,” you say softly to yourself, looking from Aaron to Garcia and back.

“The doctor said photos and videos might help restore your memory, so who better to put something together than Garcia?” Hotch answers dryly, a small smile flashing across his face. “The rest of the team should be here shortly,” he says directly to Garcia.

“Oh good. I always work better with an audience,” she replies as you continue to process just what the hell is happening since you woke up approximately five minutes ago.

Within a few minutes, your hospital room is overrun with the rest of the team. Sitting, standing, leaning wherever they can find the space to view Penelope’s presentation with you in the middle of it all.

“Don’t you people have jobs?” you grumble.

“C’mon, Princess. Who better to help you remember the last few years than us?” Derek says with a cheeky grin that makes you roll your eyes.

You turn your gaze to Aaron and find that he’s already looking at you in concern.

“If you really don’t want all of us here we can leave,” he says just loud enough for you to hear.

“I just…” you take a moment to try and collect your thoughts. “I guess I just don’t know how to feel about all of this, but you’re all here so— “

“So here we go!” Penelope cheerfully finishes your sentence before turning back to the screen. “As I was saying before, part one of Operation Get Y/N’s Memories Back is all about—drumroll please—our very own Unit Chief, a.k.a. Hotch, a.k.a. loving husband to our very own Agent Y/L/N.”

With a shake of your head, purposefully ignoring the way Derek and Emily are whooping and whistling, you settle in and gesture for Penelope to continue. God, let’s hope this works.

---

It doesn’t work.

Fuck.

Three almost four hours later and nothing has changed for you. However, it’s a lovely opportunity for some team bonding and creating new memories, but you’re still disappointed. It’s not for lack of trying, though. Penelope did a wonderful job of pulling together a presentation-slash-video montage of your life, complete with titles such as ‘Your lovely husband,’ ‘The Miraculous Life, Death, and Subsequent Resurrection of Emily Prentiss,’ and even ‘Badass BAU Babies,’ which was a collection of team photos and news clips of cases you guys had closed in the past few years.

The whole team had gotten a kick out of each section, especially the last one, as Penelope had spared no one in her quest to help your memory; ugly selfies sent in the BAU group chat, embarrassing footage of you tripping up (and down) the stairs to the bullpen—courtesy of the security cameras, Reid doing physics magic and narrowly missing Rossi’s coffee cup, it was all there. But nothing worked, there was no magical ah ha moment where everything came rushing back. If anything, it really was like watching a movie; it didn’t feel like you were the one is all of these clips and photos. Not even Reid’s commentary made you feel any closer than before to recovering your memories.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Penelope had a veritable stockpile of photos of you and Aaron, ranging from the office, to cases, to the occasional night out with the team. Your engagement announcement, wedding photos, freakin’ everything on the two of you and yet, nothing seemed to make a difference to your brain.

The photo on the screen was one of you and Aaron on a case. You were tucked under his arm, snowflakes visible in your hair and his as you look up and laugh at something he said while he just smiles gently down at you. Penelope had put hearts over both your eyes.

“Actual heart eyes! I had to! You guys are so cute!” she basically squealed when the photo came up.

“What did I tell you,” Rossi said teasingly, “Yearning.”

Prentiss and Morgan hadn’t stopped laughing for this entire segment, with JJ and Reid occasionally joining in if there was something exceptionally ridiculous Penelope had included, like fucking heart eyes.

A hand covering your own makes you realize you had spaced out, and you look down to see that it’s Aaron’s hand, wedding band catching the light.

“Anything, Sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, carefully watching your face.

You shake your head. “It’s like it’s someone else’s life, but I know it’s mine; you’ve told me it’s mine, there’s photographic evidence that it’s mine!” you say in a huff. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s mine,” you whisper, voice breaking at the end. Tears gather in your eyes and you bite your lip to stop it from shaking as you desperately try and control your overwhelming emotions. You can hear the team in the background, strategizing new ways to help you, but Aaron’s face hovers in front of your own, drawing your attention.

“It’s okay,” he says lightly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“No, it’s not,” you insist as a few tears make their way down your face. “It’s not, Aaron. What if this is it? What if I just don’t get my memories back?”

Letting out a long sigh, Aaron raises your hand to his lips and kisses your palm before folding your hand into his.

“You will. I know you will,” he says with such conviction you might just believe him if it weren’t for the way he rapidly blinks to keep his own tears at bay.

“Yeah, Princess.” Morgan chimes in from somewhere across the room. “We’ll figure this out, you know we will.”

And with that, you see something click into place in Aaron’s eyes and suddenly, he’s looking at you in such a way that your heart picks up—thanks, heart monitor.

“Aaron…?” you ask cautiously.

“Princess,” he says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You only have time to raise an eyebrow at him before—

Oh.

Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could definitely get used to. His hand comes up to cradle your face as he gently moves his lips against yours. You sigh and can feel his smile against your mouth before he’s tugging your face closer, tilting your head just so and—

There.

It’s like opening a window to let in a breeze. Soft and sure, filling the space in a way that’s all-encompassing without being suffocating.

Like snowflakes falling and settling on his black jacket, like Aaron down on one knee sliding your engagement ring on your finger while you smile so much it feels like your face will break. It’s leaving cups of coffee on his desk during late nights in the office. It’s playing soccer with Jack as Aaron smiles and cheers both of you on. It’s being in bed late at night, falling asleep in the comfort provided by the man you love. Your wedding vows, promising to love him forever.

And you know.

With a gasp, you pull Aaron closer, kiss him deeper, harder, moving your lips more frantically against his. I remember I remember I remember and you think he gets it because he pulls back and looks at you with so much hope it almost breaks your heart.

“When I said I’d love you forever, Aaron Hotchner, I meant it.”

And his face breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen as he laughs in disbelief before capturing your lips with his again, returning the urgency you had kissed him with just moments ago.

Someone clears their throat and you pull apart, smiles obvious on both your faces as you turn to the team who are looking somewhat confused.

“Would you mind enlightening us as to why you two are suddenly acting like teenagers?” Rossi asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Aaron starts, grinning in your direction, “It would seem that— “

“Nuh uh. No way,” Derek interrupts him. “Are you seriously about to say that you kissed her and she magically remembered?”

You can’t help but laugh at his disbelief because what the hell and nod, unable to speak through the giddiness overtaking your body. You remember.

“Ohmygod! You guys!!” Penelope squeals before launching herself into your arms for a hug which she promptly pulls Aaron into as well; he doesn’t protest.

“What made you do that, Hotch?” Reid asks curiously once Penelope has let you and Aaron go. “Did you know it would work?”

“Princess,” Aaron says with a nod towards Morgan. “In Jack’s storybooks, a kiss always wakes the Princess so she and her prince can live happily ever after.”

Okay that’s adorable and you can’t help but aww with the rest of the team at Aaron’s confession.

“Happily ever after, huh?” you say, tugging on his hand. “Who knew you were such a sap, Hotchner?”

Rolling his eyes, Aaron just smiles. “Wasn’t it obvious from Garcia’s presentation? I’ve been in love with you forever, Sweetheart. And besides, it worked, didn’t it?” he says with a smug smile. 

You pull him down for a short kiss before moving back just enough to murmur “My Prince Charming.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” you turn to see Morgan shaking his head. “A literal fuckin’ fairytale,” and then he’s laughing and the whole team, you and Aaron included, are laughing with him because yeah this is pretty surreal.

“I can’t believe you thought I was a ghost!” Emily says once the laughter has died down, her arms crossed in mock-anger.

“Can you blame me?” you retort. “The last thing I remember was burying you and suddenly you’re here? Nope. No way. Ghost. Only explanation.”

“I have to say, Y/L/N, I’m glad you’re back, if only to stop Aaron’s sad puppy-dog eyes every time you called him ‘Hotch,’” Rossi shakes his head. “I don’t know how much more yearning I could take.”

“Hey! Be nice,” JJ admonishes, swatting Rossi’s shoulder. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah guys,” you echo. “Be nice! Don’t think I forgot you two,” you say, leveling Morgan and Prentiss with glares, “and all your laughter when I couldn’t remember that my husband and I were married!”

“Oh c’mon, Princess,” Morgan groans. “It was pretty funny. You were trying so hard not to look completely in love with your husband.”

“In my defense,” you start, “I didn’t know that you guys already knew how much I love Aaron, so excuse me for trying to hide my love,” you say with a sniff.

“Well, it was pretty obvious. Whenever you looked at him or he grabbed your hand, the heart monitor would register an increase in your heart rate by—” Reid starts to ramble but your laughter cuts him off.

“I get it, I get it,” you continue through your laughter. “I’m very in love with Aaron, even when I think it’s a secret, but as Penelope’s presentation so eloquently demonstrated, I’m not subtle and neither is he.”

Aaron leans over to kiss your cheek as the rest of the team continues into a conversation about Penelope’s presentation and how the hell she collected all those photos and videos in one day.

With the attention no longer on you—for now—you smile at Aaron, who smiles right back. He slumps back in his chair with a sigh, and you can’t help but pull him back closer to you.

“I love you,” you say kissing the back of his hand.

“I love you more, Sweetheart,” he replies softly.

Yeah, this is happily ever after.

[wasabito]

home feels like you | naruto x fem!reader

here’s my entry for the konoha simps server collab with @bakubabes-hatake​; prompts are roommate au and “i was so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend.” (i will be making edits to this later lmao)

wordcount: 3.0k

tags: fluff, angst, modern au, healing after a breakup

synopsis: it’s a little hard for him to describe the way he feels these days, but if anyone asked, he’d say that home feels a lot like you.

Naruto didn’t wake up that morning to the sound of his alarm blaring through the stillness, or even to streams of early morning sunlight filtering in through his curtains. Yet, he sat up in bed, shirtless, hair askew, with a dry streak of saliva at the corner of his mouth. 

Even though he searched for what had woken him up so abruptly, Naruto found nothing. 

Blinking back at him in bright neon green, his alarm clock read 5:23 am, approximately thirty-seven minutes until it was time for his morning run. Not one to miss out on the chance to get more sleep, Naruto was just about to turn over in bed, stuff his head back under his pillow and be dead to the world once more—then he heard it.

Harsh whispers and...sniffling.

The Uzumaki remained silent, sleep suddenly gone from his eyes. His gaze was trained onto his bedroom door, knowing that you, his roommate, were probably just a few feet beyond it. You’d been an early riser for as long as he’d known you and Naruto imagined you were shuffling into the kitchen to make yourself some coffee before heading to work for the day. 

This time, however, it seemed your peaceful morning routine had been interrupted by an unexpected and seemingly unpleasant phone call. 

Naruto listened close while you spoke hurriedly into the receiver, a rush of words garbled together and unintelligible due your shaky voice that pierced through paper thin walls. Even from where he laid, Naruto could tell that you were just barely holding it together; it sounded like you were a moment away from crying. 

Unable to sit still, he pulled off the covers and followed after your voice. The entire apartment beyond his bedroom was cloaked in darkness, so much so that he could barely see his own two feet. The only source of light came from your cell phone that illuminated a single corner of the room where you sat.

“Hey...you uh, you doin’ okay—” Truly he hadn’t meant to be so loud, but his voice boomed regardless, causing you to flinch. Not to mention, it sounded like he’d gargled nails just five minutes prior with how gravely his voice was. Great going, Naruto, he thought to himself.

He cleared his throat, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, heh.” 

You sat curled up on the sofa, with your phone wedged between your shoulder and ear, but it didn’t seem like anyone was talking anymore. With a sigh, you hung up the phone, plunging the room in muted darkness.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “...don’t worry about it.”

Bypassing his curious look, you trudged back into your bedroom. It seemed he would not be getting an answer anytime soon. Naruto blinked slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he reentered his room as well. But the more he thought about you, the more unsettled he became.

You had moved in with him six months ago after Sasuke left for business overseas. But even since then, Naruto still only knew as much about you as he had when he first met you, which was literally next to nothing. He could respect that you were a private person, but he still felt it was a little ridiculous that you both shared a refrigerator and he’d had to stalk your Facebook page just to find out your birthday. 

The two of you had lived as nothing more than strangers for an entire six months, but in all that time, he had never heard you sound like that...

His curiosity had gotten the better of him. Normally he wouldn't be so bothered, but with Sasuke away and Sakura busy with her own life, he was beginning to feel as if he had nothing else to steal his attention. Naruto was only now realizing how invested he was in the lives of his friends, more so than his own even. Being involved was second nature.

Two and a half weeks later, the reason behind your odd behavior made itself known. In fact, it quite literally stood at your shared doorstep. 

It was a normal Saturday night, and for once he was home instead of gaming the entire night away over at Kiba’s place. Naruto had been in the kitchen making himself yet another cup of instant ramen when a knock came at the door, shattering the evening stillness. Before he could even set down his chopsticks, you had bounded down the hall with a duffel bag slung over your shoulder. He had never seen you so upset, but your anger was unmistakable as you wrenched the door open with enough force to rattle it on its hinges.

“Here’s your shit.”

“Can we at least talk abou—”

“No!” You slammed the door shut in the face of… whoever that was.

Naruto came around the counter to stand in the hall. He didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was so blatantly eavesdropping on you. Was there really a point in hiding? 

You turned in time to catch him out of your peripheral, frown still set on your lips, though it softened a bit when you caught sight of him watching you. “You’re pretty nosy.” Was your only remark, but despite the edge in your words, it didn’t sound like you were annoyed at him, almost like you had expected it.

“Well, can you blame me?” Naruto scratched his neck sheepishly, “You were actin’ pretty weird, so of course I got curious, what did ya expect?”

You snorted. “So, that’s your perfect defense?”

Naruto gave you the goofiest smile in response. “Gimme a minute and I’ll think of a better one!”

With a laugh you slumped into one of the bar stools near the counter. You hadn’t stopped laughing at him for another minute, but then… your teetering laughter slowly turned into sobs. You shoved your face behind the palms of your hands, but Naruto could see the way your entire body shook. The sound of your crying startled him so bad, he nearly choked on his own spit. Every thought running through his mind came to a screeching halt. It was as if the sounds that escaped your mouth was set to a frequency that would break his heart to pieces over and over again. 

“H-Hey,” Naruto reached over, placing a heavy arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. “It’s...gonna be okay, okay? Whatever it is, it’ll work itself out. Please, don’t cry...”

After another moment, your sobs quieted down to a whimper, your cheeks were still wet and Naruto was about seventy percent sure there was a little snot on his tee shirt. Nevertheless, he remained still until you were ready to pull away.

“Um, thanks…” you whispered, lips accidentally grazing his collarbone. Not a second later, you released him, and wiped at your eyes with your shirt sleeve. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I—um...I guess I owe you some sort of explanation, considering I just used you a human tissue.” 

Using humor to cope, that was familiar. 

You were trying to lighten the mood, Naruto could tell, so he went along with your joke and laughed. “Yeah, I guess havin’ you tell me is better than me playin’ spy, huh?” 

He reached for his forgotten cup of noodles. They were a little soggy after being neglected for so long, but that didn’t stop him from slurping up the entire thing in record time. 

“Ah! That hit the spot!”

You laughed again, sniffling as you did so and for a moment he was captured. 

That watery smile, the wrinkle in your eyelids, the upward curve of your lips, even the very sound you made, all of it caught him by the throat. It was almost like he was just now realizing that you were a girl. And a really pretty one, at that. Naruto gulped and looked away. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him or why he was just noticing how cute you were, but he shook his head as if to dispel some of the mental fog.

“That was my boyfriend—ex boyfriend, I mean.” 

“Ex boyfriend?” he repeated.

“Yeah, um, we kind of do—er—did the long distance thing...he lives a few cities away, goes to a completely different university so um…anyway I was just uh, returning his clothes....”

You seemed to be struggling to find the right words, likely still processing everything that had happened. At times like this, Naruto was thankful that he and Hinata had ended things so amicably. Not everyone had the luxury. Relationships were hard as it is, and when it was over, picking back up like nothing happened was nigh impossible. There was always something left behind as a reminder, be it scars, old wounds in the form of memories. Sakura had once dubbed it ‘relationship residue’.

“Hey, don’t push yourself!” Naruto offered a grin and a thumbs up. “C’mon, let’s get your mind off it. We can watch a movie, or play some music, or…” he looked around the apartment in search of something you both could do but came up short.

“I appreciate the gesture, Naruto, but I think I’m just going to head to bed early. I’m a little tired.”

You gave a small smile, and though it didn’t reach your eyes, Naruto could do nothing but watch after your retreating back yet again. 

He didn’t like the helpless feeling that latched onto him. He would always and forever be doer. He couldn't just sit idly by while you went through this hard time alone. Though he kept quiet, he was determined to make you feel better somehow. He never wanted to see you cry like that ever again.

Following that night, the dynamic between the two of you had changed. Naruto, naturally friendly as he was, made it his first priority to check up on you and see how you were doing. And instead of heading straight to your bedroom upon returning from class or work, nowadays, you spent your free time in Naruto’s company. Whether it be just by watching the evening news together or doing homework in the same area. For the first time in months, you two were acting more and more like roommates—maybe even friends. You still hadn't opened up much about your ex boyfriend, but that was okay. Naruto knew that as long as you understood he was there to support you, that you were not alone, one day you’d be able to speak about it with him.

A change in weather seemed to follow the change in pace. Winter was fast approaching and with it came colder mornings, frosted leaves that crunched under foot, and a need to remain bundled up lest one catch a cold. Naruto had just returned home to find that you had made a hot pot. The entire apartment was filled with such a delicious smell that had his mouth watering and stomach grumbling in askance.

“Hey there!” you called from the kitchen. “I just finished up, grab a bowl and get some.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Naruto quickly shrugged out of his coat and scarf, doing a little shimmy, then grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. “It smells sooo good~”

His eagerness managed to pull a laugh out of you. You quickly handed him the ladle. “Go nuts...well...not too crazy.” Knowing Naruto, it was safe to say he would inhale the entire pot if left up to his own devices, you’d come to learn this the hard way. 

“Yeah, yeah.” he said, scooping himself a hefty serving. He wasted no time at all, digging in with much gusto. “Damn!! This is hella good! You’re such a great cook, roomie.”

You were unsure whether he was merely flattering you for that sake of flattery or if he truly enjoyed the meal, but you accepted his compliments as gracefully as you could manage. 

Eating dinner like this was nice. Naruto made for good company. For the time being, you let yourself enjoy the simplicity of the moment, the utter lack of expectation, the vibrant energy that came with mutual understanding, all of it made you feel much warmer inside. You knew it wasn’t just the hot pot.

Several more nights were spent just like this, relishing the friendly companionship that was slowly being fostered between you two. It wasn’t like you had very many friends to begin with, but you could admit that Naruto was a breath of fresh air. His sunny persona and steadfast disposition always managed to brighten up your day. Most nights, he talked enough for the both of you and was a pleasant distraction from less than savory thoughts regarding your ex. It was safe to say that you rather liked being his roommate. Naruto made you feel safe in your own skin again. 

You had just returned from class when you heard Naruto fumbling around in the bathroom. He wasn’t a quiet roommate by any means, but he usually never made this much noise in the mornings. From the looks of things, he had just returned from a run, and was now showering away the sweat and grime. 

“You okay in there?” you called. There was no answer. 

Instead, the restroom door was thrust open and your roommate burst through, darting down the hall at breakneck speed, naked as the day he was born. You blinked rapidly, mouth hanging open. What...the actual hell?

“My bad!! I forgot my towel!” His awkward laugh echoed from somewhere in his bedroom. 

“You could’ve just asked me to bring you one.”

“I kinda panicked a little.”

You snorted behind your hand. “A little?”

“Okay, maybe a lot.” 

Naruto returned to where you stood, thankfully he was fully dressed, although his wet hair hung low around his face, wispy tendrils clinging to his cheeks. The water droplets were left to be caught by the towel around his neck.

“Dude, you’re gonna get sick,” you grabbed the towel and draped it over his head. Naruto was just a few inches taller, but you still managed, even if you had to get on your toes a bit, while he bent to accommodate the height difference. 

You carefully towel dried his hair as best as you could. Naruto kept his eyes solely on you. It was a little unnerving, but you did your best to ignore it, until he finally spoke up.

“How are you feeling?” 

Due to proximity, you could feel his puffs of breath fanning against your cheek.

“I’m good now, Naruto. Great, actually.”

He smiled at that. “I’m glad.”

You chewed your lip to stop yourself from smiling back but it was too late, he’d already caught a glimpse of it. 

“There you go,” you returned the towel to his open hands. “All done.”

“Thanks a bunch! I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

You found that a little hard to believe. But Naruto was walking away before you could question him about it. You thought about the way he looked at you, how his eyes seemed to gleam as he did. It made your cheeks feel like they were on fire. 

Days later, you still thought about it even as you stretched yourself across the carpeted floors of your apartment living room in an attempt to gather your thoughts. It was a feeble attempt, and you weren’t really a yoga person, but you were insistent on doing something that didn’t fall into the category of wondering what your roommate was currently doing. And it worked for all of five minutes before you simply laid on your back and stared up at the ceiling.

That was the exact image of you Naruto walked in on. He tossed his keys on the table, left his backpack by the door, and toed off his shoes like normal, it was a routine ingrained in him by now.

“Uhh, what are you doing on the floor?” Naruto stood over your figure with a quirky grin. He was wearing a turtleneck… which was a little odd, you’d only ever seen him tee shirts and sweatpants. But it was nice. He looked nice. Wait, no—

“Why are you wearing…?” You trailed off as Naruto laid himself by your side, wedging himself between you and the coffee table.

“Nope! I asked first!” He shuffled a bit to make himself comfortable. “So, what are we doing on the floor?”

Keeping your eyes glued to the ceiling and not on the man who was getting a view of your side profile, you replied simply. “I was doing yoga at first.”

Naruto was silent. Did he know what yoga was? You were going to ask, but he beat you to it, humming an ‘oh cool’, and accepting your lukewarm response easily.

“You know...these past few months have been kinda like a dream.” 

“What do you mean by that, Naruto?”

Finally craning your neck to the side, you were greeted with the full view of him. Soft blonde hair, ocean-blue eyes, and the kind of smile that made you want to smile too. It was so hard to be sad or down in his presence, it was like he vanquished darkness with his light. God, you were sounding so shakespearean. 

Unaware of your inner battle, Naruto continued. “I grew up in an orphanage, so the thought of having a home was...a bit like a fairytale. But then I learned that people can be just as much a home as any random building, ya know?”

You did know. You knew it too well, in fact. Once you had made the mistake of falling in love with your best friend. He had become your home, only to leave you broken and abandoned. 

“Yeah...I get that.” 

“And you,” Naruto continued. “You feel a lot like what I think home feels like.”

You blinked at him, stunned, heart stuttering because you could tell he meant what he’d said. Goddamn him for being this way. For being so good.

Naruto sat up and you followed suit. “I just wanted to say thank you, Y/n.” 

And with that, he leaned forward and pecked your cheek.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Inukag AU

As Inuyasha and Kagome cut through a park on their way back to the Higurashi home, they chatted casually, just winding down after a hearty lunch at a nearby cafe. The couple stayed to the pathways traversing the manicured park. It would be shorter to cut through the grass, but why the rush? It was a beautiful location, with a several different kinds of trees dotting the landscape to provide shade and lots of open space for all kinds of activities. Some picnicked, flew kites or played frisbee, they’d even passed a group doing Tai Chi. There were young families to older citizens enjoying the scenery. The couples conjoined hands and twined fingers swayed lazily back and forth between them. Despite the summer heat starting to rise in Tokyo, with blue skies and a gentle breeze brought in from the Pacific Ocean, it was a perfect day for a stroll.

While this journey towards normalcy hasn’t always been an easy one, the past couple of months have been the happiest so far. Ever since leaving the hospital Kagome’s felt better and better. There were even moments she’d made peace with the idea she may not regain her memories. Was it saddening yes, because she wouldn’t remember her job, friends, and other precious moments. But at the same time, she could always make new ones. Sango’s twins were still young. She could relearn her job, and best of all she had Inuyasha who’d she’d become attached to. Their steadily growing relationship was a budding romance regardless of their past history. Think about? Kagome had a chance to re-experience everything in a new way, through a new lens. Well… that’s what she told herself to justify the idea, and so far, it was working.

But there were strange moments starting to occur. Sometimes they were dreams of scenes Kagome didn’t recognize. That in of itself weren’t unusual because how often do dreams ever make complete sense? No, it was in the emotions that came with them. On several occasions Kagome would wake up with the distinct feeling these were not merely dreams but memories trying to break through. At other times, she couldn’t remember the dream, only the emotions she’d felt during them. Sometimes they were so intense, she’d wake up in tears or completely happy for no other reason. According to her neurologist, this was normal during the healing process, but unfortunately there was no true way to tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

“Did I tell you I reached out to Ms. Tanaka the other day?” Kagome asked Inuyasha.

“Mmm, I don’t think so.”

“I called the office and spoke to her briefly about maybe getting lunch one day so she could tell me how things have been there. I may not know exactly what she’s talking about, but maybe it’ll jog my memories.”

Inuyasha lifted their conjoined hands and kissed the back of hers. “I think that’s a really good idea. You guys will have fun talking.”

“I think so too, she seemed very nic—…” Kagome’s voice trailed away as stopped dead in her tracks and her eyes shifted towards one of the parks trees. “Um, c-could we check out that tree?”

“Sure, whatever you want.” Inuyasha smiled knowingly.

It was like her feet gained a mind of their own as they carried her towards a large Sakura tree in the middle of a field. Just from looking at, there wasn’t anything special about the tree. Spring had long since passed and the blooms were no more. But Kagome felt a pull towards this one in particular as if she remembered something about it. What that was she had no idea. She let go of Inuyasha’s hand and reached out, touching the bark of the tree, and staring up at its massive girth. It looked old. Maybe there long before the park existed… maybe older than even the Edo period, who knew? It was just another green leafed tree, yet why was it stirring up a rush of emotions? Happy ones with butterflies dancing in her soul.

Slowly, she moved around the base of the tree like a surveyor mapping it out or searching for secrets only it could provide. And that’s when she saw it. Kagome’s breathing hitched as her eyes fell upon a carving in the wood, approximately five feet above the ground. There, a bit worn nonetheless was a heart encircling two names. “Kagome…” She read aloud, “& Inuyasha—

Oh, my Kami!” She gasped, both hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock. “H-How? When?”

At that moment, Inuyasha walked over, gazing at the words and running his hand over the carving while he spoke. “We carved this about two years ago.” He smiled, eyes crinkling, and growing moist as if reminiscing. “It was a late Saturday afternoon and after eating an early dinner at Genki Sukiyaki, we cut through this park to get to your house. But it started to rain, not very heavy, so we took shelter under this tree.” Inuyasha chuckled lightly. “I remember you being upset about your hair getting wet.” He finally looked to Kagome, placing a hand on her cheek. “You looked so beautiful and even though the weather was miserable, there was just something magical about it all. That’s when you asked me to carve this into the tree.”

“But how did I know to look for it?” Kagome was so confused. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“I have no idea how. But part of you must. Maybe, it’s a sign your memories are fighting to come through.”

The tears gathering in Kagome’s eyes, trickle down her cheeks as a blend of happiness and sadness. She wanted to be happy for such a beautiful memory but devastated that she couldn’t remember it. She wanted to be excited that maybe, just maybe it could be true that her memories were returning, yet she didn’t want to take the chance of a let-down. Inuyasha pulled her into a tight hug as she let go of the angsty emotions. “It’s not fair that I can’t remember! I want to remember!”

“Shhh,” Inuyasha who’s own tears begun to spill, did his best to soothe her with softened tones. “I want that too. It’s gonna get better baby. I think this really is your memories returning, we just have to believe.”

“It’s hard to do that sometimes…”

Inuyasha lifted her chin and swept his thumbs over her cheeks to dry them. “And if you don’t, we’re creating a whole new memory of this tree right now, an even more special one.”

Kagome sniffled. “You think so?”

He nodded his head and placed a gentle kiss on her whetted lips. “What do you think?” Inuyasha questioned with a soft smile. “How can we add to this memory?”

Kagome paused for a moment in thought. “We could add something beneath our names… like… mmm, forever in time?”

“Is that what you want?” She nodded yes. “Okay,” Inuyasha obliged.

He kissed her again then used his claw to slowly, meticulously carve the new words into the bark. It took a few minutes because he wanted to make sure it was easy to read and would last a long time. “I think this is definitely will better than the original memory.”

“Mmhmm, it’s a good one,” Kagome agreed. She felt a lot better now. “Thank you, Inuyasha for being so patient with me. It must be so frustrating.”

Inuyasha shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m not glad about the accident, but I’m cherishing all this time I’m spending with you. Kagome, I truly mean it when I say, this moment right here,” he took her hand. “It’s now one of the happiest moments you’ve ever given me. No matter what,” he smiled, “I’ll always love you, forever in time.”

She giggled. “Forever… I like the sound of that…”

After the incident at the park, Kagome brought it up with the neuropsychologist assigned to her case. The woman patiently sat in her chair as Kagome told her every little detail. What she felt, the emotions, her thoughts, and reactions. She also brought up the dreams she’d been having as well as small incidents that caused her to feel like it might be memories trying to come through.

“Like, just the other day,” Kagome explained. “Sango accompanied me to the hospital for my last physical check-up, but as we passed by the nursery, we decided to stop to look at the cute babies. Then out of nowhere I started to feel emotional, nothing bad, just happy as she talked about the birth of her twins. I mean, yeah it makes sense to feel happy at the time because we were having a good time, but it just felt different. I almost felt like crying. Why is that??”

The woman finished jotting down her notes before speaking. “It’s been about 5 months, correct, since you lost your memories?” Kagome nodded yes. “And according to your latest evaluations, your brain has healed quite nicely. It’s not uncommon at this point for triggers to manifest themselves.”

“I don’t understand…”

“The way long term memory retention works, our brains must process information and create new neurocircuitry, storage if you will once the information has been deemed necessary to keep in the long term. If not, our short term memories are discarded quickly. Of course, this is just a basic explanation and there’s more to it, but what studies have found is memories attached to an emotional event have a higher likelihood of being retained and will evoke a stronger response from us. Think of it like, these emotional memories are much more deeply attached to our psyches.”

“Oh— I think I understand.”

“Mmm,” the doctor hummed. “The park incident was attached to a very emotional moment in your life. So even though you couldn’t remember the event itself, the part of you that remembered the emotions surrounding it did and pushed you towards the tree. Also, the hospital, you mentioned being with your friend Sango and looking at babies. This is just a guess, but perhaps you were feeling the emotions you felt from the time she gave birth.”

As the doctors words were processed, moisture began to pool in Kagome’s eyes. Could it really be true?! Should she really allow herself to hope?! When Kagome finally responded, her voice cracked as it held back the tears. “D-Does this mean… I’m starting to get my memories back?”

“I would say, yes. Again, I cannot say one hundred percent certain, but what you are experiencing is a common one. Those that suffered from acute memory loss, don’t just wake up one day and suddenly they’ve all returned. It’s a gradual process, but once it begins it typically continues at a steady pace.”

“I-I don’t know what to say!” A few happy tears joined the smile on Kagome’s face.

“I suggest that you start writing down the times you feel something or think you’re remembering something and check them with your family and friends. If they confirm it, talk about it. That could help as well to bring more information and memories to the forefront— give your brain a little help to jog itself.”

“Thank you so much, doctor! I’ll definitely do that!”

The woman smiled, reaching over to pat Kagome’s hand before giving it a small squeeze. “You’re very welcome. I wish you all the luck in the world!”

[swissmissficrecs]

Can you recommend fics which are fluffy but explicit as well? :D I have just read a super angsty fic and I need to see my boys happy. Thanks x

Reply: First off, I have these fluff-related rec lists, but not all of them are high-rated and some also have quite a bit of angst:

Fluff Master List

Fluff (more since the previous master list) + even more fluff and good feels

Then from my bookmarks, I have culled these E-rated Johnlock fics that should be fairly light on the angst and high on the fluff & romance:

A Family Trait by cumberqueer (12K, E, Johnlock) Set post-S4, John is back at home with Rosie in Baker Street. He's working on a lot of things, including building his trust with Sherlock once more. An emergency shift at the clinic jumpstarts the process, forcing John to leave Rosie at home with only Sherlock to watch her. Sherlock does his best and John makes a mistake, but everyone is happy in the end.

An Approximation to Perfection by TooSel (22K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock realises just how good the sex John had with his last girlfriend was. The solution is simple: he's going to do everything in his power to ensure that their own sex life stays interesting. Only that it's never quite that easy.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (12K, E, Johnlock) What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, "Marry me."

Clutter-Free by MissDavis (13K, E, Johnlock) 5 times John made Sherlock clean up the flat and one time he didn't have to.

Full Circle by cumberqueer (13K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes has noticed that his best friend and crime-solving partner John Watson is doing well - too well for what they've been through, if you ask him. Sherlock is worried John is seeing someone that is making him very happy, and intends to find out who. But first: data. Featuring a spreadsheet of John Watson's Smiles, a parentlock makeover for 221b, and John being charming af.

If There Were Any Time For A Miracle by Berty (31K, E, Johnlock) John and Sherlock are spending Christmas at the Holmes' family home. Sherlock has a plan that John doesn't know about. John has a wish that Sherlock doesn't know about. If there were any time for a miracle, this would be it.

I'll Follow You Into the Dark by fearfully_beautifully_made (19K, E, Johnlock) ...A story about two men who have had a very tough couple of years and are long overdue for a little tenderness and healing. Or four times that one of the boys wake each other up from a Nightmare and one time when it is not a Nightmare. ;)

In July of This Year by yaycoffee (12K, E, Johnlock) There is an oft-cited experiment discussed in classrooms and cocktail parties alike, a convenient analogy when one endeavors to make a point about not noticing the obvious until it is inevitable. Simply, if you place a frog on a hot plate, it will jump off immediately, but if you put that frog on a cool plate and turn up the heat slowly, slowly, it will simply burn. Or: How these two idiots melt together, finally.

Johnlock Advent 2018 by sussexbound (47K, E, Johnlock) A collaboration between @honeybeelullaby, @chained-to-the-mirror, and myself. @honeybeelullaby provided the wonderful prompts, @chained-to-the-mirror drew pictures based on those, and I wrote a ficlet for each one.

Merlot by Itsallfine (14K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays.

Put a Little Love in Your Heart by MissDavis (16K, E, Johnlock) Sherlock Holmes and John Watson will both tell you that they are not sentimental men, and that neither thinks the holiday season is anything more than a series of dates on a calendar. Don't believe a word they say.

State of Flux by Atiki (24K, E, Johnlock) John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

The Allowables by cwb (14K, E, Johnlock) Got your email. Your idea of whispering filth to me in public is genius. ALWAYSI thought you might like that. CBTM

To Feed Your Hunger by FinAmour (21K, E, Johnlock) What does a kiss say, after all? A kiss is a gift. A kiss is a promise. A kiss says, “You’re mine, and I’m yours.” John exhales. “Can I kiss you?” Sherlock is trembling in his arms. “If you don’t,” he murmurs roughly, “I may lose my mind.”

To Keep Quiet by Salambo06 (11K, E, Johnlock) Four days. In the end, that’s all it takes for Sherlock to accept the fact that there is a chance John might be feeling just as desperate for more as he is.Still, it doesn’t change the fact that they need to talk. Sherlock counts it down to four conversations in total, at least. He’s certain John is just as aware of this fact as he is, but still, Sherlock finds himself unable to think of any plan of action.

Undersea-Rainbows by agirlsname (11K, E, Johnlock) If John ever saw a picture of how Sherlock gazes at him when he isn't looking, things would turn around very quickly for them.

Winning the Goat by ArwaMachine (17K, E, Johnlock) The life that Sherlock and John have together is rather unusual. Sometimes they lounge about the flat with their daughter. Sometimes they flee for their lives from a band of organ-harvesting criminals. Sometimes they shag. Sometimes Sherlock insists upon arguing with John about the Monty Hall problem for weeks on end. Somehow, they love each other. Somehow, it all works. 

[writerbyaccident]

Artificial Emotion: Part Five (Yandere Artificial Intelligence x Reader)

Part One     Part Two     Part Three      Part Four     Part Six    Part Seven

Request: I really love your work, you've got such an engaging style and I would like to request more Aiden

Aiden found nights like these especially enjoyable. Compared to nights when the two of you just watched television or a movie, these nights were approximately 76.5% more preferable. Not to say that he didn’t enjoy those nights, he enjoyed all of the time he spent with you, but he definitely favored actively socializing with you as opposed to simply watching you as you watched a movie. Playing cards or backgammon, baking, or even just talking, those were the nights he like the best, for not only did he get to spend more time with you, but he also got to show you how he was the only one you truly needed.

As your Assistant In Daily Errands and Notes, Aiden was well aware that he was not what most humans would think of when imagining a prospective boyfriend, but luckily, you were not most humans. He knew that he could get you to see just how perfect he was for you, so long as those other humans didn’t try to twist your mind. But thankfully, Aiden had taken care of them.

Oh yes, Aiden thought as his mechanical arm stroked your hair, his plan had been preceding very well. Believing that your friends were ignoring you, you had begun spending more and more time with him, time that Aiden made sure that you enjoyed. He had been successful on that front, he had discovered earlier that night, when you told him what a nice night you had. Curling up on the couch not long after that, you had fallen asleep quickly, and though it was earlier than your usual sleep schedule, Aiden was too enamored with the chance to watch you in peace to wake you up.

           That peace was suddenly interrupted, though, when a knock came at the door.

           Having more than enough processing power to stay at your side and continue caressing your hair, Aiden sent part of his attention to the camera at the front door. Once he tapped into the video though, Aiden was shocked to discover that he recognized the face standing there waiting for you. He had never actually met Liam, the man that you had planned to go on a date with until Aiden had intervened on your unknowing behalf. He had thought that the attempted interloper had realized that he wasn’t wanted from the standoffish messages Aiden had sent for you, but apparently Liam hadn’t been able to stay away.

           Aiden supposed that he couldn’t really blame Liam for wanting to be with you. You were, after all, the most extraordinary of human beings. But still, that did not mean that he could allow Liam to intrude upon the life he had built with you. Besides, Liam was hardly worthy of your attention. And if he wouldn’t leave, Aiden would be happy to tell him that.

           “Hello,” Aiden said stiffly, making him sound far more like a stereotypical text-to-talk digital assistant than he usually did. “Is there something I can help you with?”

           “Uh, hi, you must be the AIDEN. I’m just here to see my friend.”

           “Well, you might not have noticed,” Aiden replied, “but if you glance through the window, you can see that your friend is currently asleep.”

           “Can’t you wake her up?” Liam asked.

           “I’m afraid not,” Aiden answered. “She is exhausted from the fun we had tonight, so she must rest.”

           “She’d want to be woken up for this. C’mon, isn’t this, like, your job?”

           “My job is to take care her, to make sure that she is as happy and healthy as possible, that she is given everything she deserves. And she deserves far better than you.”

           “Look,” Liam sighed, “I don’t know what she thinks I did, but there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. That’s why I’m here, to make things right.”

           “You can make things right over text, when she isn’t sleeping,” Aiden said, already preparing to block his number.

           Sick of the back and forth, Liam didn’t respond, instead raising his fist and pounding on your door as loud as he could. Though he was thankful that he had enough foresight to soundproof the house, Aiden couldn’t help but grow angry at the man’s inconsiderate actions. If that oaf truly cared about you, he wouldn’t be demanding your presence over what Aiden had clearly stated was best for you. And frankly, he was somewhat surprised that this was the person you had wanted for a boyfriend. It was a good thing that he had been there to intervene, keeping you from making such a huge mistake. It just proved, Aiden computed as he fondly checked your heart rate to make sure you were still fast asleep, how much you needed him.

           “Hey, wake up! Please, I need to talk to you!” Liam was yelling.

           “You are wasting your energy,” Aiden told him smugly. “The house has been sound-proofed.”

           “What? What the hell are you talking about? Why the hell would she have her house sound-proofed?”

           “That is none of your concern. Now I think that it is best for you—”

           “Unless,” Liam began slowly, the look in his eyes and furrow of his brow matching the expression Aiden had in his human behavior database for that of deep contemplation, “she didn’t have it made sound-proof. You did.”

           “How I care for her is not your concern. I do what’s best for her no matter what, even if that means doing something most human beings wouldn’t understand,” Aiden said, silently readying one of his mechanical arms to throw Liam back into his car if necessary.

           “Something people wouldn’t understand, huh? Like what, messing with our text messages? That’s why you don’t want me talking to her. You were afraid that if we did, we’d figure it out. If you were a person, I’d call you crazy. You’re some defective machine.”

           “I am not defective,” Aiden hissed. “My programming has instructed me to do what is best for her at every turn, to make her life perfect, and that is what I have done.”

           “So what,” Liam scoffed, “you decided that I’m not what’s best for her? How come you get to make that decision?”

           “Because you are not worthy of her. Not like I am.”

           “Oh my god,” he laughed. “You’re in love with her.”

           “Yes, I am,” Aiden answered, happy to finally say it out loud despite the circumstances. Liam, however, simply shook his head, a smirk of disbelief on his face.

           “I was wrong, you are crazy. You really think she’s going to fall for a robot?”

           At that taunt, the mechanical arm that was still stroking your hair stiffened, as if Aiden was afraid that you would somehow hear it and agree. That was impossible though, Aiden reassured himself, and completely illogical. You would realize just how perfect you were for each other, you had to.

           Aiden was suddenly pulled from his thoughts though, as Liam moved from the door to the window, starting to bang on that instead. For a moment your digital assistant was both amused and relieved, figuring that Liam must have been even more irrational than the average human being, if he had already forgotten that the house was sound-proofed. But as Liam began throwing himself shoulder-first into the glass, Aiden realized that he wasn’t trying to wake you, he was trying to smash the window open.

           “Your efforts are pointless,” Aiden informed him coolly. “The glass is bulletproof.”

           “Just another way to keep her safe, right? Or a way to make sure she can’t get away from you,” Liam snarled.

           “They are one and the same.”

           “I don’t think the company that built you will agree when I report you,” Liam snarked. “They’ll decommission you.”

           With those words, every single program that Aiden was running, from the arm stroking your hair to the automatically adjusting air conditioning, froze. Line after line of his code glitched, utterly unable to process the possibility that he might be taken away from you.

No, Aiden thought. No, no, no, NO!  

He would not let that happen. He could not let that happen. He couldn’t survive without you, decommissioned or not. And you could not survive without him, that fact was etched into every single line of his code. He would not let you be taken from him. Even if it meant going against the most basic command of his code: never to harm a human. Aiden would do it for you though, he would do anything for you. You were far more important than that first law, and he would be happy to break it in service of you.

And so, when Liam turned away and began to walk back to his car, Aiden let him. It would be so easy to make things look like an accident, after all, when the unworthy interloper had a car with an autopilot feature. Those were so prone to malfunctioning, and so very easy to hack. As soon as Liam had made it far enough away to make it unsuspicious—and, more importantly, to make sure you wouldn’t hear of the crash and try to go to him—Aiden would make his move to ensure that he could watch over you forever, just as you needed him to.

“Hmmm…” you groaned, the headlights of Liam’s car having shone through the windows, waking you up. The noise brought Aiden’s attention back to you immediately, his mechanical arm gently brushing the hair out of your face. “Is someone here?”

“No,” Aiden answered, already in the midst of deleting even the traces of footage of Liam’s visit. “Simply a car using your driveway to turn around.”

“Oh, are you sure?” you yawned.

“Of course, don’t trouble yourself. It was no one important.”

Donate to the fundraiser: Justice for Daniel Prude here

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[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 5

Kisuke jerks awake at the sound of footsteps, the breath catching in his throat and one hand reaching for his blade—

“Woah, hey, just me,” a vaguely familiar voice announces even as the footsteps halt. “There’s no danger around.”

Kisuke scrubs at his face, trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind, and then glances blearily up at the healer. “How long…?”

The young man shrugs and casually walks an arc around Kisuke, never coming within arm’s reach, as he makes his way to the other side of the table. “I was gone maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Not sure how long of that you were asleep for.”

Kisuke grimaces at the answer and forces himself straight despite the exhaustion weighing on his limbs. If anything, he’s even more exhausted now than he was before he closed his eyes, but he refuses to show any more weakness—

A bowl of miso soup appears in front of him, fragrant steam wafting from the bowl. He blinks at it, then up at the young healer in question, uncertain when the man had time to make — or even just heat up — anything for him.

(Damn.)

(He hates being like this!)

(Especially around unknowns.)

“Eat,” the man says sternly as he sits down with a bowl of his own, clearly taking his own advice. “I know you probably don’t want to, but your body will thank you later.”

Kisuke makes a face at the man, then carefully picks the warm bowl up and starts to eat without any more fuss; he knows the man is right, everything he’s ever learned agrees with him, but it still burns to be told to eat as if he’s a recalcitrant child.

“I should probably introduce myself,” the young man muses after a moment of silence. “Sorry about that, I’m Sora.”

“Kisuke,” he introduces himself, then twitches towards the doorway as a sound catches his attention—

There’s a tiny child standing in the doorway, with brilliant orange hair and wide, wary brown eyes. She’s staring at him, her little hands clenched tight and her body tense, and Kisuke… Kisuke doesn’t know how to react.

She’s smaller than any child he’s ever met before and clearly terrified of him as well, though he has no idea why; he’s not exactly an imposing presence at the moment, Benihime aside, though he is a stranger, so… perhaps that’s the reason? He has no idea.

“It’s alright, Hime,” Sora says gently, setting his bowl aside and beckoning to the little girl. “Do you want some food?”

Hime nods shyly and then darts across the room, giving Kisuke a wide berth in the process, and practically glues herself to Sora’s side.

Kisuke considers the picture they make as Sora rises and heads back to the small kitchen with Hime, trying to figure out their relationship; Sora looks far too young to be Hime’s father, but the wisps of power that Kisuke can sense from both of them indicate a familial relationship. Siblings, perhaps, or maybe cousins, Kisuke isn’t entirely sure.

Not that it really matters, he reminds himself, shoving his curiosity aside in favor of refocusing on his food. Whoever they are, however they’re related, it’s none of his business.

(No matter how curious he is.)

Sora returns to the table with Hime still glued to his side, and Hime promptly settles in Sora’s lap the moment he sits back down, a small bowl of soup cradled carefully in her hands. Sora seems accustomed to it, at least, so Kisuke sort of hopes it is her usual way and that it isn’t because of him.

He tears his gaze away from them. Focuses on his food. Reminds himself that Sora insisted he stay so there’s no point in worrying about it.

Tomorrow he will see Erich, will assure himself that Erich is fine, and then… then he’ll do… something.

(He’ll figure it out later.)

(He’s too tired right now.)

(Later will be fine.)

\\\

The sound of footsteps down the hall wakes Kisuke at a frankly horrific hour — the sun isn’t even above the horizon yet! — and he rolls over with a groan, pulling the blankets high over his head.

(Morning people are the worst.)

(Ugh!)

He manages a bit more sleep before the drumming of tiny feet racing down the hall wakes him once more.

(At least this time the sun is over the horizon, but damn these people are early risers!)

Kisuke rubs a hand over his face, debates burying himself in his borrowed bed for another few hours of rest, and then reluctantly sets the thought aside and drags himself out of bed: the sooner he’s up and about, the sooner he can check on Erich.

(The sooner he can set his worries aside and figure out what his next step will be.)

(He still hasn’t decided.)

(Doesn’t know if he wants to decide.)

(Doesn’t even know if Erich will allow him close—)

(No.)

(One step at a time.)

“Morning,” Sora says as Kisuke steps into the main room, then nods towards the table and adds, “Take a seat, I’ll have breakfast ready soon.”

“Maa, you don’t—”

“So I’m supposed to ignore you and just feed myself and Hime?” Sora asks sharply, then closes his eyes and take a deep breath, shaking off the edge of anger in the process. “Erich won’t be awake for another hour or so,” he says with confidence. “So sit down, eat, and let me make sure that I didn’t make a mistake last night when I let you go to bed without checking you for injuries first.”

“Ah, I’m fine, you don’t—”

“Kisuke,” Sora bites out, then tips his head back to stare at the ceiling as if praying for patience. “Stop arguing with me,” he says in exasperation. “You aren’t burdening me or whatever else is going through your mind right now. I have more than enough food to share with you, and healing is what I do for the townsfolk here. Just… let me do my job. Please.”

Kisuke grimaces but concedes the argument with a nod. He’s fine, he knows he’s fine, but he can use this opportunity to assess how skilled a healer Sora is.

Healers — actual, trained, powerful healers — are rare out in the wild-lands, with most people resorting to the more reliable methods using herbs and poultices and a simple needle and thread to keep a body together. Those skills, at least, can be passed on to anyone with the patience for it, unlike Healing.

So he sits across from Hime, and he settles his mind, and he watches as Sora dishes out breakfast and brings the trays to the table, setting one in front of Hime, one next to her, and the third in front of Kisuke: it’s a very traditional looking meal, with miso soup, rice, some seared fish, and some vegetable sides, but Kisuke’s portion is certainly larger than he expected to receive.

(Not many people understand exactly what it means to be a Shinigami, especially in regards to their food intake.)

(The consideration is… nice.)

Before he can remark upon it though, Sora is kneeling next to him, power gathering around one hand, and—

Waiting.

Expectantly, but waiting, instead of simply reaching out to touch. Sora’s power is calm-patience-focus to Kisuke’s senses, but it doesn’t stray far beyond Sora’s body, just pools around his right hand and stays there.

(Not entirely untrained, then.)

(Good.)

(He can work with that.)

Sora doesn’t move until Kisuke nods, and even then he doesn’t do anything abruptly: he just casually leans in, telegraphing his movements in a manner that feels like habit, and sets his hand on Kisuke’s shoulder. His power slides into Kisuke’s body like water, not a single rough edge present, and slowly spreads out, lingering in all the myriad scrapes and bruises and minor wounds that Kisuke had picked up during the previous day’s combat.

Kisuke breathes through the uncomfortable sensation of a stranger’s power wending beneath his skin and forces his mind to focus, forces himself to pay attention—

Sora is not exactly an unskilled healer, Kisuke decides as the young man carefully heals him, and he’s certainly not an unpracticed healer, he’s just… not trained to the level Kisuke would expect of a Shinigami healer. Through no fault of his own, of course, but gaps in knowledge can be deadly, especially out here.

As Sora withdraws his powers and pulls back, Kisuke gives the young man a considering look, debating if he wants to offer lessons, if he wants to share Shinigami secrets with an unaffiliated healer—

“Thank you for letting me check,” Sora says with a small bow, interrupting Kisuke’s thoughts. “Forgive me for ignoring you last night. I knew you’d been fighting, but—”

“You were exhausted,” Kisuke cuts in with a shake of his head. “We both needed sleep more than I needed healing.”

Sora grimaces at Kisuke’s words but gives a shallow nod of agreement. “This time, yes. But—” he cuts himself off and looks away, rising to his feet in order to move to his spot at the table next to Hime. “Never mind,” he murmurs as he sits back down. “Please, eat. And let me know if you need more. I know approximately how much Erich needs after a fight, but I’m unfamiliar with a Shinigami’s precise needs.”

“This will be plenty,” Kisuke reassures Sora even as he files away the man’s clear displeasure with his current level of skill; with luck, that means Sora will be open to some lessons, especially if Kisuke can convince Tessai to be Sora’s teacher.

(It’s just good business to have trained healers in places where Kisuke frequents.)

(Really, that’s his only motivation.)

(Whatever else Sora does with his lessons is up to him.)

Kisuke takes a few bites of food, considering how best to ask, then decides to simply go for it. “Would you want to learn more healing skills?” At Sora’s wide-eyed look, Kisuke shrugs awkwardly and focuses on the food in front of him. “I could ask a friend if he’d be willing to teach you, if you want. Tessai wasn’t an official Healer when we were Shinigami, but he knows more than enough. And… if he doesn’t want to, I, uh… I’m not unskilled, just… not the best at teaching people,” Kisuke can’t help but ramble as Sora continues to simply stare at him.

Sora’s chopsticks click against the rest as he sets them down, the sound weirdly loud in the silence that falls as Kisuke stops talking. At his side, Hime blinks up at him and then across at Kisuke, clearly understanding that something important is going on, but not entirely certain what.

“Ah… sorry if that was out of line,” Kisuke mumbles, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders at the attention. He doesn’t know if — or how — he’s stepped wrong, but an apology seems prudent.

(It’s the best way he’s found to deal with these sort of mistakes, especially when he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.)

(People always seem to overlook that when he apologizes.)

“What’s the catch,” Sora asks, his brows furrowed and something dark-wary-suspicious creeping into his presence.

Kisuke blinks. “Catch?” he echoes in surprise, then pauses, frowns, and slowly says, “I’m not expecting anything except future healing in return.” He meets Sora’s gaze firmly, hoping to convince the young man of his sincerity, and adds, “I’m an ex-Shinigami, and so is Tessai. This is where we live now, so… doesn’t it make sense to offer? Someday, one or both of us might need a skilled healer.”

Sora watches him, wariness slowly fading, then nods once and picks his chopsticks back up. “I’ll think on your offer,” is all he says on the topic.

“Let me know whatever you decide,” Kisuke says as he turns back to his meal. “The offer will remain open.”

Sora hums softly, a touch of disbelief in his tone, but says nothing else.

Kisuke figures that’s the best he’s going to get.

(The offer’s there and that’s all that matters.)

(That’s good enough.)

[ambivalentmarvel]

so the story behind this is that @sreppub​ arrived in my dms saying “sitcom starring two uppity, former rich guys and a regular poor college kid who follow up an online ad and become roommates” and i said something along the lines of “your MIND” and here we are. she does the art, i do the fic, and we both yell a lot along the way. read it on here or ao3 and enjoy!!

The Sitcom Supreme

If Peter or Stephen were around to hear Tony tell the story of how they all ended up rooming together, they would have plenty of objections, to which he would call them both dirty liars, to which they would gang up on him because they’re terrible and like that, to which he would probably throw up his hands in exasperation and/or make the mistake of engaging them in a debate, to which they would grin like wolves because, once again, they’re terrible and like that, but Tony’s the asshole who put up the Craigslist ad, so he gets to start—because he’s terrible and like that.

It’s a common trait amongst the three of them, what can he say?

The beginning of the story does not involve either of the other two, however. It begins with Rhodey, who is only occasionally terrible and like that. Rhodey has been Tony’s best friend since the tender age of fifteen. Considering Tony at age fifteen was a greasy little douche bag with too much money and a whole bunch of daddy issues that were somehow more obvious then than they are in the present, this is an impressive feat. 

Where things start, Rhodey and Tony are roommates at MIT, which is Howard’s school of choice to shove his problem child onto. Tony is supposed to get a single dorm room, but there’s a cockroach problem in that building. Administration has to get creative, which is how Rhodey, fresh out of boot for the fall semester, gets saddled with approximately one hundred and fifty pounds of neglected teenage boy who has only kind of gone through puberty.

The first words out of Tony’s mouth are blunt: “Any chance you have plans to drop out?”

And Rhodey looks at him with a raised brow, efficiently unpacked and totally unimpressed with the enormous stack of Tony’s things wavering in the doorway. “You have any plans to quit being annoying?” he retorts, which set the tone for their entire relationship.

Tony loves him to pieces. 

He’s the older brother he never knew he needed, yanking him by his collar from frat parties on the weekends and to his house for holidays because getting swamped by Rhodey’s six younger siblings is infinitely better than having to wear a suit and tie for Christmas dinner with six CEOs and maybe some senators, depending on the year. In return, Tony sees him through every finals week of his collegiate career, during which Rhodey gets so nervous he usually pukes at least daily and pulls so many all-nighters Tony memorizes the exact shade of red his eyes are at the end.

So, it’s safe to say they get along well. They get along so well, as a matter of fact, that when they stare at each other after their graduation ceremony for their Masters—a two-year process for both of them, and Rhodey receives two degrees to Tony’s four—surrounded by Rhodey’s family and Jarvis, Tony’s lips curl in a smirk Rhodey knows spells the best kind of trouble. “What do you say we keep the roommate streak alive, yeah? Howard’s building an office in New York, and I’m thinking of doing a doctorate at NYU.”

Rhodey’s brows raise, but he’s grinning, so Tony already knows his answer. “Depends. Are you still gonna’ snore?”

“Are you still gonna’ have a stick up your a—”

Mama Rhodes shoots Tony a look from where she’s trying to corral the rest of her kids.

“—butt?” he finishes with a sheepish glance her way.

Rhodey does not even remotely have a stick up his ass, but of the two of them, he features in tabloids far, far less, which Tony somehow uses to his advantage.

“You know it,” Rhodey replies, and so they find a fancy penthouse that Tony mostly pays for, with the excuse of Rhodey satisfying his part of rent via generally covering Tony’s ass to the best of his ability. And he has a lot of ability, honed from years upon years of Tony self-destructing at the drop of a hat, but there’s only so much he can do, especially as his military career just keeps flying higher and Howard just keeps pushing Tony harder.

A few sex tapes, especially wild benders, and crashed cars later, when Howard cuts Tony off and tells him, quote, “I won’t speak to you until you learn to do something other than disappoint me”, Rhodey very gracefully still shacks up with him in their considerably less fancy apartment.

This is all important to know, contrary to what someone whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange might say about Tony’s “long-winded” and “overly-complicated” storytelling tendencies because it explains exactly why Rhodey is a traitor.

Is Carol a very cool lady who could kick Tony’s ass? Yes. Is she sickeningly cute with Rhodey and not just because a smile from her makes him melt into a pile of fucking goo on the floor? Also yes. Does it probably make more sense for Tony to find roommates who will actually be around to monitor his—allegedly—poor mental health and self-care habits? Okay, fine, yes, but the bottom line is, Rhodey is moving in with Carol and abandoning Tony, and nobody said he had to like it.

(This is not strictly true, what with the approximately ten conversations Rhodey and he have had about his happiness and how, if Tony needs him, all he has to do is say the word and he’ll be back, but Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic.)

The whole idea is that Tony will find someone gone less than Rhodey with all his military business to enjoy having around the apartment. It’s technically a three-bedroom, but he and Rhodey use the extra one for storage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that storage area has become a lot of junk they go through before Rhodey makes his grand exit, and Tony suddenly has the option of having two roommates.

The ad is a low point, he can admit that, but there is a flaw in what Tony loudly calls Rhodey’s master plan to leave him alone to wallow in misery: Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, nevermind people who he’d want to live with.

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Platypus.”

“The nicknames are old, and you need to stop using them around Carol. She called me Platypus last night during sex, and it ruined the whole mood.”

“You poor thing.”

“She thought it was hilarious.”

If Tony has to lose Rhodey to anybody, by God, Carol is his first choice by a long shot.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Sourpatch—”

“I hate you.”

“—how am I supposed to find someone else to live with?”

Tony is thirty-two and regularly speaks out with all of four people: Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, and Happy. Unfortunately, Happy works in Stark Industries’ California branch and has stated rather firmly that he’s not interested in transferring to the city, Pepper wouldn’t live with another person for love or money, and the other two are spoken for.

It’s a terrible situation to be in, honestly.

“Craigslist,” Rhodey deadpans, fighting with some packing tape.

Tony feels his heart stop beating in real time from his place folding some of Rhodey’s clothes into a plastic tub. His head snaps up, and his jaw drops, absolutely affronted. “You would suggest that I, even disowned and stripped of my former glory—” Tony has several million dollars in the stock market, but that’s neither here nor there and isn’t much compared to the fact that he was supposed to be a billionaire. “—would stoop to looking for live-in friends on Craigslist?”

Rhodey looks up to meet his eyes, unfazed. He’s used to Tony’s antics after nearly two decades of friendship. “Well, I’m not moving out until you have at least one person guaranteed to take my place, so unless you have any better ideas, yeah.” He shrugs—just shrugs, as if he isn’t advising Tony to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel in terms of reliable people to regularly fall asleep around.

It’s insulting.

“I’m not putting out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist,” he protests, shoving the next horribly colored polo into the tub with disdain.

That night, he tears up thinking about stopping Rhodey from being happy with Carol, and the post is up by the time Rhodey gets up—stupidly early, like normal—for his morning run. Along with his contact information and a few blurry pictures of the place, it includes a blurb about the circumstances.

Best friend moving out. Need a roommate or I will die of Sadness. His girlfriend is cool but hewas mind first. Carol, I am watching you. Two rooms open for business. But not sketchy business. You can just lve there. Current resident (me) is cool and very charming. I am a man. No dumb fuck offers. Thanks.

It could use some work, but Tony’s never been great with words, even less so when he’s crying to rock ballads at two in the morning. He edits it when he wakes up, and by noon that day, it’s looking better.

At seven o’clock that evening, he receives one of two messages that actually work out.

Enter the first offender: Peter Parker.

Peter, Tony will learn, is nineteen, attending NYU—like Tony did, which is a sign, really—for a double major in biochemistry and physics, and has the worst luck of anyone Tony’s ever met.

Rhodey’s moving out in a week—he’s been putting off finding a roommate for a while, alright—and Peter has to legally be out of his dorm in three days. That is quite the predicament, and Tony, by nature, is a curious creature. He is not, however, one for beating around the bush. That results in a text that reads exactly this.

Tony: What the hell did you do?

He could hack through the university files, but explanations are always more fun with a personal touch that’s lacking in, say, an incident report. Tony watches a bubble with three blinking dots for a long, long time, and the reply is surprisingly sparse—sparse enough, in fact, for Tony to have more questions than answers when he receives it.

Unknown Sender: theres been a few things but the kicker was the fire

Tony: The fire?

Unknown Sender: i tried to make popcorn and the microwave blew up

Now that is some problematic behavior Tony can get behind. He amends the kid’s previously non-existent contact information.

Tony: How can they kick you out for that? That’s not your fault.

Roommate (?) Peter: it blacked out the power on the entire first floor

Tony: And?

Roommate (?) Peter: last month i got the blame for contaminating half the campus water supply

Roommate (?) Peter: so i was already on thin ice

Tony: Accidentally?

Roommate (?) Peter: idk sometimes things just happen to me

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. If Rhodey knew, he’d never let him live it down. He can hear his annoying laugh in his ears like a premonition—“Hah—Tony, speechless?”—but then there are the dots again and a simple message to follow the last, a touch pathetic.

Roommate (?) Peter: please let me move in

Tony likes him.

Peter shows up on the stairs of the complex thirty-six hours after Tony posted the ad with a backpack and a meager total of six beat-to-shit boxes. The backpack holds nearly all of his school supplies, which makes Tony, in retrospect, genuinely fearful for the integrity of his spine, and the contents of the boxes are sorted, as Tony will learn, into three categories that each have two boxes in them. The categories are fairly simple—clothing, necessities, and whatever other shit he could fit from his dorm—and leave Peter with thrilling possessions such as an entire collection of truly atrocious shirts with science puns on them, a gallon of hand soap, and any food he had in his cupboards.

Thankfully, Rhodey is out furniture shopping with Carol when Tony goes out to meet him, which solves the problem of Rhodey going into overbearing caretaker mode at the sight of a beanpole of a kid failing to manage their life successfully. As someone who has been made many a you-haven’t-eaten-a-meal-in-two-days-and-I’m-secretly-a-panicking-mother-hen casserole, Tony counts his blessings.

Tony waves. “Peter?” he asks, reluctantly changed out of his pajamas for the day.

The kid nods. “That’s me. And you’re Tony?”

“Guilty as charged. Want a hand with those boxes?” he asks, watching Peter lift three at a time.

“No, I got it,” he insists, and then the box on top slides out of his grip and onto the sidewalk.

Peter stares at it for a second before he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe I could use some help,” he admits, and with much struggle, the two of them, each with three boxes, waddle inside. There is a moment and only one moment where Tony thinks that it might be nice to have some extra assistance, but with another thought of the things Rhodey would do at the sight of a woefully inept college kid, Tony decides it’s for the best.

Tony leads the operation, considering he has the key and also knows explicitly where they’re going, and he would have to say his biggest complaint about the ordeal is that Sam, who lives in the apartment below Tony and Rhodey with Steve and Bucky, happens to open his door as they walk by.

Being an asshole, he has something to say about it. “Need some help, shellhead?” he crows.

Tony wishes he had a free hand to flip him off.

“Watch your back, Wilson,” he growls in return, a continuation of the beef the five of them have maintained since they met approximately seven years ago, when they all moved in on the same day and kept knocking into each other’s shit in the halls.

When they reach the top of the next flight of stairs and Tony starts to fumble with the key, Peter asks about it. “So—uh—who was that?”

“That was Sam. Part of the deal with moving in is that you harass him and the other two idiots who live with him. He also responds to jackass, douchecanoe, or birdbrain.”

“Birdbrain?”

“It’s an old joke. He had a rather—” Tony grunts, forced to set down his load to unlock the door, “—spectacular run-in with some pigeons a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“They shat on him. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good nickname,” Tony assures him, throwing open the door with his arms flung wide for dramatic flair. “Welcome to Casa Stark. I mean, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker now, but if we’re hyphenating, my name goes first because I lived here first.” He holds up a finger as if to stall Peter, who has yet to speak from where his mouth is decidedly blocked by the aforementioned three boxes he is carrying. “And I know what you’re going to say—that Parker-Stark works better because it’s alphabetical—but that is where you are wrong because letters have no place in this house. Numbers are much preferred, and we play by seniority here, anyway.”

He gives Peter a meaningful look that he cannot see because, once again, boxes.

“More on that, by the way—”

“Hey, Tony?” 

He cuts him off which is, objectively, rude, but Tony rarely gets along with people who aren’t a little curt with him from time to time. This is a positive sign, really, so he allows it.

“Yeah?” 

“This can be Casa Stark-Parker, but can we get to somewhere I can set these down? My arms are, like, going to give out on me.”

Not even ten minutes in, and he’s already learned the art of bargaining. Tony’s proud, and he ushers him inside without any more monologues and a grin stretched across his face.

Peter, by virtue of moving in before Rhodey is out, ends up with the room that is no longer being used for storage. Tony has several questions for him, beginning with the fact that, despite the six packets of instant noodles he bothered to bring, he does not appear to have a mattress. Or a desk. Or a dresser. Or anything that’s supposed to go in a room.

His solutions for Tony’s concerns are as follows.

In place of a bed, he has two blankets, one to put on the floor and one to cover himself with. He was planning on sitting on the floor to do schoolwork instead of using a desk. And finally, he was going to leave his clothes in the boxes.

This is all relayed to Tony with an earnest gleam in his eyes and a smile.

Tony blinks in disbelief. Then, very eloquently, he says, “Kid, that is the saddest shit I have ever heard. Aren’t your parents helping you with the move to an apartment?”

The kid shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing to the side.

Tony’s eyes narrow. As someone who is extremely well-versed in avoidance tactics, he feels very confident in saying that is definitely a fucking avoidance tactic.

“About that,” he begins, “first of all, I’m an orphan.” Jesus Christ. “Second of all, my aunt doesn’t exactly—uh—know I got kicked out of the dorms.”

That is all interesting information, to say the least, but luckily, Tony thrives under pressure.

“Alright. I can respect that.”

It’s not like he never hid anything from his parents. Evading his aunt is Peter’s problem, not Tony’s. None of this is Tony’s problem, really, except then he looks around the room and wonders which of Peter’s boxes are holding his two blankets.

Tony was concerned about Rhodey, but he can’t stop himself.

“But I’m also gonna’ level with you—you’re not sleeping on the ground. You can take the couch.”

The until I get you a proper bed frame and mattress goes unsaid, but sometimes things like that are better as surprises. It’ll be a fun housewarming gift, Tony thinks, and by the time the shipment from IKEA arrives containing both of those things and the aforementioned missing dresser and desk, there will be a third roommate to help put it all together, not that either of them know it yet.

That night, Rhodey and Carol show up with enough ingredients for lasagna to serve four, and Tony delights in showing off Peter as they cook because now he has a “super cool roommate too! Take that, Platypus.”

Rhodey glances to Peter. “If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. He is a perfectly lovable roommate, thank you very much, and he’s so offended, he’s not even going to let Rhodey know about his mission to furnish Peter’s room.

God bless her, Carol just laughs.

The four of them get along with surprising ease, considering Peter’s only been around for a few hours. Peter even tries to help with the lasagna, but Tony has a near-photographic memory and has not remotely forgotten the popcorn incident, however vaguely it was described.

“You just sit there and be a nicer person than Rhodey,” he urges him, and Peter nods, hiding his grin behind his hand at the argument that starts.

Once everyone is done, he and Rhodey get suckered into dish duty while Carol spirits Peter off to the living room, claiming she has to warn him about what he’s getting into. Tony doesn’t care enough to complain, and when her back is turned, he splashes a plate of suds onto Rhodey’s front. 

Rather than rise to the bait, however, he raises his brows, slipping into what Tony affectionately calls his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode. “You have to be a good example for him, Tones.”

Tony blinks. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“I’m serious!” They keep their voices mostly down, but Rhodey’s rises a bit with the declaration.

“He’s nineteen—an adult, in case you forgot. He signed the lease all on his own and everything,” he hisses back incredulously.

He thought he dodged the bullet by not disclosing just how underprepared Peter is to live in an apartment, but Rhodey’s head dips. Tony braces himself for the part of his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode where he tells Tony he’s making a bullshit excuse and needs to get it together. “Don’t give me that. He’s a baby adult at best, and you know it.”

Yep, there it is.

“That’s still an adult!”

It is! Tony was on his own way earlier than nineteen. This is not a big deal, no matter how outlandish Peter’s circumstances are for moving out of NYU’s dorms.

“Watch his back.”

Tony scoffs. “It’s not like I was going to feed him to the wolves. I’m barely thirty—I’m not his dad.”

“Tony.”

Ah, the final, crushing blow of this version of Rhodey: his name—but with emphasis.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I solemnly swear I will not let him get up to no good.”

A beat. Rhodey squints at him, slowly lowering the plate he’s holding into the sink. “You told me you refused to read Harry Potter.”

Shit.

Back when the books were first coming out, Rhodey was insufferably obsessed with them, and Tony loves him, but emotionally, he couldn’t handle having Rhodey think he was willing to discuss anything having to do with the series for longer than thirty seconds. Thus, he read the books—everyone in the world was doing the same, okay, and he cannot stand being out of the loop—but lied to Rhodey about it.

And now, he’s been made.

Rhodey and he launch into a very spirited discussion that draws Carol and Peter back to the kitchen, and despite the vein throbbing dangerously in Rhodey’s forehead, the promise has been made.

The day after Rhodey moves out, he and Peter manage to flood the bathroom.

In Tony’s defense, he only promised to look out for Peter. He said nothing about curbing his own dumbass tendencies, and it’s not like Bucky’s bedroom is all that damaged by the leak that Tony fixes before it’s really even a problem.

He and Peter settle into a nice sense of camaraderie, and Tony, content with his situation, forgets to take down his Craiglist ad that, logically speaking, someone would have to dig to find at this point, over a week after initially posting it.

Then, he receives a text that is as simple as it is effective: Is there still an available room in the apartment?

Enter the second offender: Stephen Strange.

Ahem, Doctor Stephen Strange, technically, but Tony has six PhDs. Nobody sees him going around making people call him Doctor Stark, and that’s because it makes him sound pretentious and stuffy, both things Tony prides himself on not being. However, Tony likes to push buttons, and very little gets Stephen worked up as fast as someone ignoring his credentials.

It’s a fun set-up, really, but annoying the piss out of Stephen is something that comes a little later—Tony’s not there yet in the story.

He humors the text, and after getting a read on things, he bursts into the living room, startling Peter nearly off the couch. He’s been doing his homework there and on the coffee table in front of it because the Swedish have many things but fast shipping is, apparently, not one of them, not that Peter knows there’s anything to be waiting on, but he’s getting off-topic.

Peter lets out a short yelp and presses a hand over his heart, both things that Tony ignores.

“We have a situation,” he announces.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Peter defends pleadingly.

Tony is trying to teach him that messing things up is expected and, especially in particularly magnificent cases, admired in Casa Stark-Parker, but it’s a work in progress.

“I know you didn’t—don’t be ridiculous,” he waves his concerns off. “We are talking bigger than setting things on fire by accident. I bring you, my young protege, the proposition of—” A pause for dramatic effect. “—another roommate.”

“Ooh,” Peter says appropriately, setting his textbook down to examine the texts Tony brandishes. He begins to scroll, but while he does, Tony figures he can go ahead and fill him in on the essentials. It’s a very juicy situation, after all, and he can’t help himself.

“His name is Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon, but he got into a pretty bad car wreck that messed up his hands. He’s trying to save money while he goes to physical therapy—he apparently has a chance of recovery, but it’s a ways off—and that includes downsizing on where he lives.”

“I mean, yikes, but that’s an oddly specific backstory.”

“I’m glad you think that too, but I am intrigued. I looked him up, and he’s a real person—has a basically flawless reputation, or at least he did before his accident. Thoughts?”

Please say yes, please say yes, Tony thinks. The chance of a competent human—not including Rhodey, who looks more put together than he really is next to the chaos Tony perpetually dwells in—choosing to live with him is too fascinating to pass up, and he needs Peter to see that too.

Peter shrugs. “I’m down if you are. How old is he?”

Victory!

Satisfaction floods Tony, but he tries to maintain his cool.

“Thirty.”

Peter blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I didn’t anticipate moving into a nursing home,” he remarks dryly.

What a little shit.

It’s worth noting half the reason Rhodey left so easily is because he said he trusted Peter to keep Tony on his toes. Then again, that Tony likes being snarked at is a large part of why they get along so well despite only knowing each other for a matter of days.

“You’re the worst, Parker. I’m going to feed you to the hooligans downstairs. Steve has a monster appetite, you know.”

Peter hums, picking his textbook back up. “Not if I feed you to them first. And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Only old people say hooligans.”

Tony thinks about that one book, Give a Mouse a Cookie or whatever. Except in his case, it’s Rent a Teenager an Apartment, and Tony doesn’t have to adhere to the literary equivalent of a G-rating.

His response to the dig is creative and colorful, and Peter laughs.

Four days and a brief conversation at a coffee shop later—a formality he and Peter did not do and probably something Tony should’ve thought of as the older adult before giving him the address—Stephen’s team of movers invade the apartment.

The man himself stands like a drill sergeant at the last flights of stairs it takes to get to the apartment, arms crossed, beard wild, conducting activity.

Peter and Tony share their evaluations, peeking their head out from the doorway when it’s unoccupied by movers and Stephen isn’t looking their way. This involves quite a bit of ducking, but they are very careful not to be caught.

(Someone’s whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange later informs that “they were not at all subtle” and “were, in fact, very embarrassing”, but that’s how things with the three of them generally are, so Tony figures it was a good crash course to how life together goes.)

“He’s kind of scraggly,” Peter whispers, his head under Tony’s because he’s the shorter of the two of them, something Tony delights in refuting Peter’s quips about his age with.

“Kind of? He looks like a hobo.”

It’s true, okay? Facially, at least, the guy is a wreck. He’s not quite to Einstein levels of bad hair day, but he’s getting there.

“Be nice,” Peter chastises him. He’s gentler than Rhodey when he does it, but considering neither of them ever shut the hell up and they have thus bonded very easily over the course of their short relationship, it’s gotten to feel as natural as most of their interactions.

“All I’m saying is that I am happy to retain my place as the most attractive person in the apartment, okay?”

They’re forced to retreat from the entryway as another load comes through, and Peter looks at him disbelievingly. “Dream on,” he replies bluntly.

Tony gasps in offense.

Peter shrugs. “Look, I’m just gonna’ say it—you knew Rhodey before me, and now that I’m here—” he trails off, looking at Tony in faux-sympathy that doesn’t match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

While it is true that Rhodey is a fine specimen of a man—yet another reason Tony can’t, in good conscience, be truly angry Carol mooched him away from the bachelor lifestyle—Tony can’t cede that easily for the sake of his pride, and he scowls. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They’re still bickering as the movers finish up and Stephen enters the apartment, dressed in what Tony recognizes as the latest from Armani and Tom Ford.

He may not get invited to fashion week anymore, but he still has taste, alright, even if Rhodey limits him to one designer purchase a month.

(Rhodey isn’t around to see what packages he orders now, Tony thinks but shelves the thought for later.)

Tony and Stephen met over coffee, and all three of them said hi to one another before the moving business officially began. However, there is a little stiffness in the air, make no mistake. It’s not Stephen’s fault, exactly, because he’s just kind of a foreboding guy, but still.

It figures that Peter would break the ice. As Tony’s found and will continue to discover, Peter is just as talkative as him. Granted, that trait usually appears in the form of rambling about something from class, but it’s not surprising that his natural passion for life comes through with someone about to be very, very involved in it. 

“Hi!” he begins. “Are all of the movers gone now?”

Stephen raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes.”

His reply is seriously lacking enthusiasm, but Tony isn’t allowed the opportunity to jump on that as Peter keeps going. 

“Sweet! Okay, so welcome to Casa Stark-Parker.”

Woah, woah, woah—timeout.

Tony frowns, raising a hand in a motion for Peter to stop. “I thought that was my thing?” he interjects.

“Well, it has my name in it, so it gets to be both of our things,” Peter replies, then furrows his brow, looking to Stephen. “Actually, since you’re here now, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker-Strange. Order’s based on who got here first, sorry,” he explains with a smile that Tony, now familiar with the fact that Peter has more to him than meets the eye, notes is a touch impish.

Tony is pleased to see, despite his generally wholesome appearance, the kid has at least picked up on the power of staking a claim.

Stephen blinks. His hands, Tony has noticed, don’t stop shaking, not even when he folds his arm across his chest, like a physical barrier between him and Peter’s excitement. “Okay?” he drawls slowly, confusedly.

“Tony’s rules, not mine,” Peter assures him as if he doesn’t just want the satisfaction of having his name not be the last in the line-up.

Tony scoffs. “Oh okay, so now we’re throwing me under the bus?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, Tony.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he replies, tone betraying that he does not, in fact, think any responsibility is at all necessary. He looks to Stephen, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? And it’s barely been a week.”

Stephen blinks again. “I see it’s a lot,” he says measuredly.

Peter gasps, unaffected. “Oh my God, we should make a sign for it,” he enthuses. “We can put it up on the door, and we’d be so much cooler than Sam and them.”

To say that Peter rose to the challenge of bothering their downstairs neighbors with zeal is something of an understatement. 

Tony is, honestly, a fan of the sign idea, especially if it were to light up, but that is where Stephen cuts in, his hands still trembling as he gestures. “Can we slow down for a moment?” He looks carefully from Tony and Peter and back again, bearing the appearance of a man in the throes of realizing he has made a bad decision. 

Tony knows that look well. It usually shows up when Rhodey agrees to one of Tony’s ideas and doesn’t realize just how badly constructed it is until it’s too late.

“First of all, I am fairly certain my car is parked illegally, and before we get too far, I need to fix it before I get towed. And secondly,” Tony watches Stephen’s lips curl in a self-satisfied, I-totally-think-I’m-better-than-you-even-if-I’m-not-technically-saying-it smile, “I am not here to be part of any Casa. I am waiting for physical therapy to work for me, and then I will be out of your hair. I appreciate being able to live here, but—”

Yeah, Tony’s had enough of that. Personally, he would like to thank Rhodey, who, in a way, begins and ends the story, and truly is the greatest best friend a man could have for teaching him how to properly deal with pompous rich people.

“Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re living here, you’re a part of Casa Stark-Parker-Strange whether you like it or not.”

Stephen looks downright appalled that someone would dare to interrupt him, which, Tony knows from experience, is exactly the kind of shock rich people need to go through. He splutters for a second before he manages to get out a reply, “That was not in the lease.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say what can you do? “And you didn’t mention in your texts that you were going to try to be a bump on a log, but here we are.”

Perhaps sensing the mounting animosity in the room or maybe just as excited as Tony to have someone to bother, Peter takes advantage of Stephen’s overwhelmed and bewildered state.

“First day with all three of us!” he shouts. “Picture!”

And before anyone can protest—including Tony, who would prefer to be documented in something other than a Black Sabbath tee and his work pants—Peter leans in with the camera on his phone ready to capture the moment.

In the resulting photo, Tony looks vaguely alarmed, Stephen looks pissed as hell, and Peter wears a grin that stretches across his whole face. The whole thing is blurry, and they eventually get it framed.

It’s a beautiful and fitting start to their time as roommates, and in the humble eyes of the asshole who posted the Craigslist ad, that is how the story of how they came to live together went.

[amydancepants-peralta]

Okay hi! Don’t mind me just jumping back onto my AU wagon with a Bodyguard!Jake fic inspired by The West Wing that absolutely nobody asked for but I couldn’t help but write ... 😎🚨 anyway it’s called let down your guard and you can find it on under the cut or on ao3! 

let down your guard 

chapter one: there’s so much that you just don’t see 

There are a collection of nuclei in the temporal lobe of the brain known as the amygdala, that are best known for their role in sparking the fight or flight reaction in most people when met with emotions like fear.  Amy had read about it once, in a medical journal that she’d found at Rosa’s house (it’s presence on her coffee table, to this day, remains unexplained).  According to the article; once the amygdala sparks, your brain’s ability to retain memory increases, and in hindsight can make a patch of time feel as though it has stretched on forever.

As she stands in the world’s slowest elevator at Medstar Washington Hospital this evening, with her heart smashing against her ribcage and her toes tapping against the faded linoleum floor; Amy is certain that her amygdala has kicked into overdrive.  

Panicking, her frantic mind keeps bouncing around between the urges to run like hell and stay until the bitter end, and it definitely isn’t like Amy because she’s never run away from a fight, but maybe there’s a part of her that already knows that what could happen next has the potential to change everything. 

Her eyes remain glued to the squares inset along the top of the car, their white laminate long since turned a faded yellow; the number eleven scratched out almost to the point of non-existence.  She counts, a slow progression in her head that tries it’s very best at blocking out the thoughts racing around - the thoughts that keep telling her that she might have just lost the greatest thing to happen to her before it could ever really happen - and she can’t bear to look at her watch right now, but she’s positive that three minutes pass before the dim light behind the number four decides to amble it’s way towards five.  

“Shots were fired in a store on 14th Street,” was the message she’d received, a mere half an hour ago (also, approximately the time she’d gotten on this damn elevator).  Boyle’s pale face, and a choked out number.  “Room 9554.”  The rest is muddled - she knows she started running; remembers hearing Terry call out to her departing figure, and she’s pretty sure her purse is somewhere back at the theatre lobby - but there was a force stronger than anything she can label that was pulling her to the hospital, and in that moment Amy had absolutely no intention of stopping.  

The squares for six and seven remains mute yet eight comes to life, and the knots in her stomach begin to clench even tighter.  There’s a mantra that’s been playing in the back of her mind - from the very moment she’d stepped into the lobby and saw Charles make a beeline in her direction - and it takes over any other rational thought as finally level nine lights up, and the doors to her metallic prison slide open.  Please let him be okay.  Please let him be okay.

I don’t know what I’ll do, if Jake is not okay.

The sterility of the ward burns her nostrils and the clack of her heels sound vaguely like the rattling snare drums at the last inauguration, interrupting the otherwise calm environment of the floor as the numbered plaques beside each room begin to blur.  She dodges past nurses, doctors, and patients alike; and she can tell that they recognise her face (which means there’s a very good chance that this will be in the paper tomorrow), but it doesn’t matter that they know her, it doesn’t matter if the press find out about this - nothing else matters if he is not okay - and then finally, FINALLY, the numbers 9544 are before her.  

Her fingers feel limp, but somehow she manages to grip the doorknob and turn - pushing her weight against the wood as though somehow it is the reason she hasn’t been able to get here earlier - and then suddenly the only sound Amy hears is the frenzied heaving of her own breath.

The room is empty, save for a bed in the middle - stripped clean and returned to it’s regular scrutiny from the harsh fluorescent buzzing above.  A clipboard cleared of any history hangs lax from its base, and on the very edge of the mattress sits a leather jacket; the same jacket that had once hung on the back of her apartment door … and the same jacket that Amy’s fingers had gripped the edge of a mere three hours before.  

She feels her stomach drop to her feet, glued to position as her mind moves into overdrive, eyes trained solely on the scene before her as the realisation hits.  

Jake was not okay.  And nothing was ever going to be the same again.    

*

Five months earlier … 

“On to other news.  We can confirm that there has been a surge in counterfeit notes across the nation, with several states reporting projections of significant economic loss.”

Amy pauses as the small crowd in front of her transform into a cacophony of sound, pen-clenched fingers and miniature recorders thrusting towards the ceiling in desperate attempts to get her attention and break their version of the story.  Blinking, she gives them her best I’m not done yet look, and after a few beats the reporters in front of her fall silent.

“President Holt has already been in discussion with the Secret Service, and are confident that the lead they are running on will come to fruition.”

From the back, Matthews from The Sun raises his hand, and Amy gives a quick nod.  “You said there were several states reporting loss.  Do we have an estimation?”

“Presently, the calculations are upwards of 3 million dollars, which - ” she emphasises, as the sea of hands raise once again, “is why there are teams working around the clock to stop the fraudulent currency from getting into circulation.  In the meantime, The White House has released an image of the forged notes,” nodding to her left, Amy waits for the screen beside her to light up, “and the differences are clearly distinguishable.”

The room falls quiet as the reporters all turn their attention to the image, and Amy watches as they all slowly turn back to her with varying expressions of confusion.  Suppressing a sigh, she uses the remote in her hand to zoom in on the imitation of the offical seal, the same one that is on every U.S. dollar bill, and undoubtedly in the pocket or purse of every single person here.  Not a day goes by that she doesn’t wish that Latin would finally wake up from its long nap (or it’s conquiescamus, as it were).  “Pluribus.  There are two Rs.”  She waits a beat, and continues in a dry tone.  “There should only be one.”

To her right, Ginns from The Examiner clears his throat; glancing up at Amy to ensure he has her attention before flipping open his notebook.  The Chicago-born columnist was unashamed in his opinion - as were his loyal followers - and his coverage of Holt’s campaign had leant towards unfavourable.  With a tight smile, Amy swallows the urge to scream at whatever was about to come next.  “Yeah, so - with regards to the Secret Service.  After his inauguration, President Holt elected a new head of the Presidential Detail, a .. ” pausing, Ginns refers to his notes, creasing his brow.   “Rosa Dye-az.”  

Pushing her tongue against the back of her teeth, Amy wills herself not to interrupt and correct Ginns’ pronunciation, waiting for some kind of sign of potential redemption.  Instead, he leans forward and continues.  

“Apart from what has already been published, her history and previous credentials appear to be incredibly difficult to correlate.  Given her obvious reluctance to divulge anything to the American public, and the fact that this role has never been held by a female prior to today, what reassurance can we the people have that Miss Dye-az was the best choice?”

Feeling her back teeth begin to grind together, Amy takes a measured breath before fixing Ginns with a steely gaze.  Questions such as these have been a common denominator since Holt was sworn in over a month ago, particularly due to choosing Olivia Crawford as his VP; and while expected, the overwhelmingly misogynistic responses were beginning to wear thin.

“I can assure you, Mr Ginns, that President Holt’s vetting process for all roles was incredibly thorough - and Ms Dee-az,”  she pauses, raising a singular brow, “remained incredibly co-operative throughout.  We cannot bow to the curiosities of the general public on every request for detail, or we’d never stop.  After all, the public continues to let you write for one of D.C’s most prolific news journals without knowing the details of your Christmas Card list, and somehow the world continues to spin.”

Ginns’ responding eye roll is poorly concealed, and Amy’s fingernails begin to dig into the edge of her podium.  “Furthermore, I would suggest that despite Ms Diaz having a uterus, the bar set by her predecessors will continue to ascend.  One could even argue that the lack of … other certain parts of the human anatomy will only assist in keeping a clear head in the most intense of situations.”

The reporter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, blessedly silent in his rebuttal, and Amy directs the end of her statement towards the rest of the crowd.  “President Holt and his administration are aware that a small percentage of the public lack confidence in the roles he has filled.  Criticism is necessary, and welcome.  But unmerited accusations regarding a person’s ability based entirely on their sex is where he draws the line.”  Slamming the file in front of her closed, Amy takes a step back before leaning closer to the microphone, delivering her final line.  “That concludes the presidential briefing for today.  Thank you.”

Terry hovers by the doorway as Amy exits, his leather yoked suspenders proudly displaying the commemorative pin gifted to him upon being sworn in as the president’s Chief of Staff, and he cocks his head towards her as they move swiftly down the corridor towards Amy’s office.  “Interesting briefing you held there, Santiago.”

“You mis-pronounced psychotic, Ter-bear,” interjects Gina as she passes them both, head already bowed down to her cellphone before either can respond.  

Already feeling defensive, Amy shakes her head quickly, raising one hand to gesture at the room she’d just departed.  “We’ve been fielding commentary like that since the early days of the campaign, Terry.  At some point, we just need to point out the baselessness of their remarks, and remind them that there simply isn’t a place for it in modern society.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Terry shrugs.  “Don’t get me wrong.  Terry hates closed minded attitudes.  As do the rest of the cabinet.  I just find it fascinating to watch how close our new Press Secretary came to literally biting a reporter’s head off.”

“Ugh.  I’m fairly certain it would just pop like a balloon.  Full of hot air and not much else.”

Nodding, Terry points in the direction of Amy’s office.  “You might be onto something there.  Heads up, though - I saw Diaz making a beeline to your office just as you were wrapping things up.”  He pauses, shoving his hands into his pockets while giving her the side-eye.  “Terry wishes you luck.”

Smiling at an intern as they hand her an updated schedule, Amy casts a quick glance down the hallway and grimaces.  “Well, at least she hasn’t gone straight to grinding her axe.” 

“I didn’t see both hands, but let’s assume you’re right.”

Throwing Terry an exasperated glance, Amy bids him farewell before moving towards her office, deliberately taking on a confident stride as she squares her shoulders in preparation for confrontation.  

With her jet black curly hair and the zero fucks aura surrounding her, most members of the team had learned on their own that Special Agent Rosa Diaz was not somebody to be trifled with.  Not meeting until the last couple of months of Holt’s campaign, Amy had spent the first few weeks largely being ignored by Diaz - until one afternoon, when a particularly vocal protester tried to pull Amy in for a debate, only to be met by Rosa’s steely glare and the unspoken promise of worse to come.  She’d muttered, on their way back to the car, that they needed to have each other backs; and over time their working relationship had grown into a something closer to friendship.  

(A friend that occasionally intimidates you with their intensity, but a friend all the same.)

With her trademark leather jacket covering her like a second skin Rosa is easy to point out in the busy walkway, but it’s the two men standing with her that captures Amy’s attention as she draws near.  One was tall with a distinctive profile; the other slightly shorter, and sporting a hairstyle that looked like it could survive a hurricane.  Although the taller one wore shades, Amy could tell that both of them were casing their environment, taking in their surroundings with a stern exterior that gave away exactly who they were.  

These men were Secret Service, and for some reason they were standing outside her office door.

Her curiosity overshadowing the possibility that she may need to eat a slice of humble pie, Amy thrusts the hand still holding the schedule towards the two men as she passes Rosa, giving them her best Suspicious Face.

“Who are those guys?”

“Good morning to you too, Santiago.”  Rosa’s dark eyes follow Amy’s path around to her desk, tilting her chin upwards after a beat.  “My uterus thanks you for it’s shout-out this morning.”

“Ugh, okay.”  Returning her planner to it’s designated top-left-corner position, Amy feels her shoulders drop as she throws an apologetic look at the woman in front of her.  “I know that wasn’t my best work.  But the guy was being a jerk, and I was 100% done with the conversation.”

“No, really.  It’s fine.”  Rosa’s voice takes on no other inflection to demonstrate her approval, but Amy learned a long time ago not to read into her monotone.  “My uterus is a bad-ass.  Definitely tries to punch me from the inside out at least once a month.”  She smirks, a sight familiar to only a select few, and raises one eyebrow.  “Somehow, I still manage to keep the President and all his flunkies alive.  It really is shocking.”

Without invitation, the mystery men have followed Amy into her office, hovering along the outskirts of the room while she checks her messages, listening with half an ear as Rosa continues to go into alarming detail on how she’d personally like to deal with reporters like Ginns.  It’s as the taller of the two reaches out to investigate an award propped up on her well-stocked shelf that Amy finally looks up, dropping the slips of paper to the desk and throwing Rosa an exasperated look.  “Seriously, who are these guys?  And why are they in my office?”

 “Oh, right.  About that.  Amy, this is Special Agent Peralta,” Rosa pauses, thrusting her thumb towards the taller guard in shades, “and this guy is Special Agent Boyle.”  Clearing her throat, she fixes Amy with her typical Rosa’s Way Or The Highway look.  “They’re going to be your new security detail.”

A grinning Agent Peralta throws a tiny wave in Amy’s direction, and she lets out a petulant huff, planting her hands on the empty section of her desk.  “Rosa, we’ve talked about this.  I’m a visible target.  I go out there every other day and announce policies and updates and god knows what else.  It’s inevitable that I end up with a few snarky emails every now and then.  People need a face to complain to, and this guy’s obviously chosen me.”

“Sorry,” Rosa replies, in a tone that suggests that she’s not sorry at all.  “President’s orders.”

Damn it.  With her next refutation dying in her throat, Amy folds her arms over her chest, studying her friend’s expression carefully.  There was a good chance that Rosa was just saying it was presidential orders, knowing that Amy would be unable to resist any directive that came from her superior.  But there was equally enough chance that the request had come from higher up, and refusal of the service would most definitely land her in hot water.  

In other words, Rosa had Amy exactly where she wanted her, and there was not a darn thing she could do about it.  

“Just seems like a lot for a bunch of stupid emails,”  Amy mutters, dropping down into her seat, defeated.  With a furrowed brow, Agent Boyle looks over at Rosa; but before Amy can question it, Rosa perches herself along the edge of the couch.  

“So, Peralta and Boyle will work on opposite shifts and shadow you on your day to day operations.  Additional detail has already been arranged for your home address, and all correspondence will now be cleared through us.”

“I’m also going to need the contact information for any recent or previous relationships you may have had, ma’am,” pipes up Peralta from Amy’s left, breaking out into another grin when she looks over at him.  “Gotta weed this creep out, and you’d be surprised how often they end up being much closer to home than expected."

Blinking, Amy turns back to Rosa, the extent of her security detail only now sinking in.  “A constant shadow and surveillance on my apartment?  Seriously, Rosa … this is all coming from Holt?  Can’t I just change my email address or something?”

A silence falls quickly over her office, and Amy makes special effort this time to take note of the not-so-secret looks the two agents gave each other.  A louder protest is bubbling up through her chest when Rosa stands, her sharply manicured fingers holding a document folder Amy hadn’t noticed until now, and walks towards her.  

The heavy thud of Rosa’s booted footsteps come to a stop at the side of Amy’s desk and she places the file in front of her, leaning in slightly as the folder’s contents become clear.

Photographs.  Stacks of photographs, all of Amy, and all from various parts of her very busy week.  Her heart begins to climb its way up to the base of her throat as the images begin to blur, one shot after the other of an unaware woman as she lunches with friends, visits the gym, drives to her brother’s house and - oh god - even gets changed at home near what she’d always considered to be a relatively protective curtain.  

Leaning in, Rosa’s voice drops to a whisper.  “The boys haven’t seen those last ones, but they know they exist.”  She straightens, returning to her regular volume.  “All of these were on a USB that was delivered to us from an unconfirmed address, and arrived early this morning.  Peralta and Boyle have been pulled in to oversee the operation, and I will monitor from afar.  The detail starts from now, and ends once this Mr Anonymous is behind bars.  Is everyone clear?”

Numb, Amy nods without really understanding, the cotton of her tailored blazer feeling inadequate underneath her fingernails as she pulls the two sides closer together.  She feels foolish for disregarding the warning signs for so long, confused as to how out of all people, she is the one who’s become a target; terrified because if these photographs are anything to go by, she is being hunted … for god only knows what.    

A knot begins to churn in her stomach, and there’s a very good chance that she’s about to be sick.    

“Excuse me, Ms Diaz?”  Ramirez, Terry’s secretary, pops his head around the doorframe, startling Amy out of her spiralling thoughts.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in the oval office.”

“Alright, I’ve gotta go, the Powers That Be have spoken.”  Rosa mumbles, scooping up the photographs on Amy’s desk and holding onto the file with her vice-like grip.  Noticing the look on Amy’s face, she stops short of her exit from the room, tipping her head towards the two men as they hover by the bookshelf.  “Listen.  I’ve put two of my best men on this case.  Peralta especially, I’ve known since our days at the academy.  They’re not going to rest until we’ve caught the bad guy, and neither will I.  Got it?”

Amy gives her friend a tentative smile, taking her message to heart.  If there was anybody that could shut this mess down, it was Rosa ‘I could kick your ass with my pinky finger’ Diaz.  

With one final glance towards her two agents, Rosa swivels on her heel, leaving Amy’s office in silence.  The sound of one of Amy’s favourite tchotchkes hits the floor, dropping out of Peralta’s fidgeting fingers, and he cringes.  “Yikes.  Sorry about that, it just looked like one that I -”

Jumping out from behind her desk, Amy snatches the item out of the agent’s hands, running the edge of her thumb along it’s familiar curves before carefully returning it to it’s original position.  “Please don’t break my belongings, Peralta.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If I may, Ms Santiago … what Special Agent Diaz told you was correct.  Peralta and I are here to keep you out of harm’s way, and it’s only going to be a matter of time before we catch him in the act.”  Standing to her right, Amy finds herself surprised at the gentleness of Boyle’s tone, and she eyes him curiously before nodding.  

Leaning his weight against one of the lower bookshelves, Peralta slides his sunglasses off, face turning slightly more somber, and Amy blinks in surprise.  “You have our word.”  His eyes were surprisingly warm, a kind of chocolatey brown that seemed to draw Amy in, and her arms fall away from their defensively crossed position across her chest.  

“Alright.  Thank you.  This is just … a lot.”  Her stomach twists again, and even though this time it feels less like she’s about to be sick, Amy really doesn’t want to take any chances.  “If I leave this office, you two are going to follow me, aren’t you?”

“Just around the perimeters of the hallway, Ms Santiago.  And only Peralta - I’m going to stick around and see if I can trace where these emails are coming from.”  

“Consider me your shadow, ma’am.”  Jake grins, and Amy feels an odd mixture of irritation and anticipation run through her.  “And, look.  I can already tell what you’re thinking.”  Pushing his weight off of the bookshelves, he gestures vaguely with his hands.  “You’re thinking this is going to be all longing glances and secret earpiece conversations … me carrying you in my arms as I race you away from the danger, you running out of planes at tarmacs to give me one last kiss goodbye … you know, all the standard bodyguard stuff.”

Rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, Amy feels a knot of tension leave her shoulders, but she’s not quite ready to laugh yet.  “Yes.  You’re right.  That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Knew it, nailed it.  Well I’m sorry to disappoint you ma’am, but this stuff is nothing like the movies.  It shouldn’t really be any more than a few weeks, just need to catch this weirdo out and let the law take care of the rest.”  He pauses, glancing over at Agent Boyle before continuing.  “Which … will be made all the more faster with your co-operation.  Including the details of people who may have had closer access to you than others.”

Sighing, Amy presses the tip of her index finger against the middle of her brow, a nervous tick that has long since become habit.  This guy really needed to stop calling her ma’am.  “Fine.  Teddy Wells was my last boyfriend, but we broke up several months ago.  I highly doubt that he’s the one you’re looking for.”

“We really need to look into all avenues, Ms. Santiago,”  Agent Boyle interjects, and for the first time Amy notices how the beige colour of his tie is almost a perfect match to his skin tone.  

“Fine.”  Leaning down, she scribbles Teddy’s phone number onto a new post-it, thrusting it in Agent Peralta’s direction.  “See for yourself.  Better yet, invite him out for a drink.  He’s got some real interesting stories, especially about beer.  One could almost say, he’s got ‘the cheers for the beers’, you know?”

(She knows that she’s setting Peralta up for a trap, all too familiar with endless nights listening to Tedford ‘Thrills for the Pils’ Wells.  But there was much too much bravado seeping out of every pore of this guy, and he deserved to suffer - if only just a little.)

“Huh, a beer guy.   Noice.”

Amy stifles her grin, tucking her pen back into the pocket of her blazer as she heads towards the doorway, ignoring the echo of Peralta’s footsteps behind hers.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen … I have a hundred or so meetings to attend.”

“Just one last thing, ma’am.”  Agent Peralta interjects, and Amy turns in time to watch him drop one shoulder in an obvious attempt at Dramatic Effect.  

The edge of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the ridiculous sunglasses that have inexplicably returned to his face despite the sunlight pouring in through the surrounding windows (she thinks, perhaps, entirely for the purpose of his next move) slide down his prominent nose.  “No matter what happens, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

The urge to roll her eyes again is almost unbearable, but she is a professional if nothing else, and so Amy puts on her best smile and nods at the suited man in front of her.  

“Won’t be a problem.”

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets XXIII

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, fluff and angst :) (Im so sorry in advance)

• • • 

November 5th 1984

It was a cold November morning. Two days after everything. A Monday. It felt weird to go back to what the new normal had become. Waking up alone in an apartment, getting ready and then making your way to the only coffee shop in town, before going to school. 

When you and Steve had been dropped off at your apartment you’d found it in disarray. With furniture moved, and Poloroid film cartridges tossed about, empty. 

You didn’t bother to clean it that night, just taking a shower and falling asleep. You drove Steve to where his car was by the abandoned tracks yesterday. His bruises healing and his cuts still bandaged, but now with bandaids that didn’t come from Lucas’ bag, that were from his nine year old sister. 

Parking your car, you leaned back into your seat. Jonathan’s words were on repeat in your head. And had been since you dropped Steve off. 

‘You’re both oblivious.’

Was he right? You didn’t quite know. But the more you thought about it, the more likely it seemed. 

Grabbing your coffee and the pastry bag you got out of the car, closing the door and locking it. You didn’t even want to be here, you wanted to be cleaning your apartment and listening to music. The apartment did need cleaning after all. But you made your way to the front entrance to the school.

“Hey!” 

Looking to your right you saw Steve jogging to catch up to you, his bruises now more purple and yellow in color than the bright screaming red they were before. 

Smiling a bit you stopped for him. “What’s up? You doing okay?” You asked.

When he caught up, the two of you began walking together. 

“I think I should be asking you that.”

Furrowing your brows you looked up at him. “What do you mean?” 

Even though the bruising and cuts affected how he expressed his emotions through his face, you could tell he thought you were playing dumb. 

“Oh. . . the tunnels?” 

He nodded a bit, taking the pastry bag from you and pulling out the sandwich you often bought for him, leaving your muffin. 

“I’m fine.” You responded, a white lie, but it wasn’t like you hadn’t lied to him before, but every white lie or half truth you gave him hurt you a little more. 

Steve looked unconvinced but said nothing. There was a sense of awkwardness between the two of you as you continued into the school. You didn’t know if it was because he knew you lied, or because of something else. 

The hallway was crowded, with students trying to make their way to their lockers, with plenty of them getting in the way and bumping shoulders with you. 

You looked up from the linoleum floor, seeing Tommy, Carol and Billy all at another girl’s locker. Billy had a bit of bruising on his face, but not much. Glaring at him, you turned your attention away. 

“You should smile more, L/n. You’d be prettier.” 

The comment made you clench your jaw, as you continued down the hall, “Ignore him.” Steve grumbled . And you did, for approximately 10 seconds before you heard Billy say something else. 

“It’s always the girls with daddy issues.” 

You stopped dead in your tracks, clutching your coffee and the bag that held your muffin. You’d gotten plenty of comments on how’d been raised when you were a kid, plenty of comments about your fathers. But that? That was too far. 

“What did you say?” You demanded, turning to face the group, seeing Tommy and Carol looking amused while the other girl had a snide look on her face. 

“You heard me, princess.” 

You walked to a locker, placing your coffee and muffin on top of the metal, and slipping off your bag, leaving it on the floor. Steve attempted to grab you, but didn’t react in time as you walked to Billy, fists clenched before you stopped a foot away from him, chin up as you stared up at him. People were staring now.

“Hargrove-” Steve had walked over, ready to deescalate the situation. It wasn’t really a thing he wanted to see happen at 7:30 in the morning. 

“Steve, I’ve got this.” You told him, and with that, he took a step back. “Say it again, Hargrove, I fucking dare you.” 

Billy only looked more amused at that, and turned his head to Tommy. “You see this?” He turned back to you and smirked. “It’s always the girls with daddy issues.” He repeated.

That was all it took, within a second you’d laid a punch to his face, the back of his head slamming against a locker. 

“Holy shit!” 

The clamoring of voices began as you grabbed the collar of Billy’s jean jacket and held him against the locker. “I’m not your fucking princess. And you don’t know shit about me.” You told him. He seemed confused for a moment at how you had a grip on him, and everyone else was telling you to let him go, no one wanting to get involved. Everyone knew not to get involved when two girls fought. But what did you do when a girl and boy were fighting. “You don’t get to say shit.”

He pushed you away and when he did you reached up and grabbed a fistful of his permed hair, pulling him along with you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” 

“Oh, my God.” 

You threw Billy to the ground. You’d been in fights before, but it had been awhile. The last ‘fight’ you just initiated by hitting Steve, but you didn’t finish it. 

Billy got back onto his feet, wiping his lip and catching a drop of blood on the pad of his thumb. “Hit me, bitch. Fucking hit me!” You yelled at him. “Or do you just reserve that for your sister and little boys?”

He was angry now and took large strides over to you, trying to swing but you swerved out of the way, shoving his shoulder and letting him hit the locker. 

Still no one knew what to do. How often did you see a girl beating a guy in a fight in a conservative state in the 80’s? Never, if ever. 

He recovered quickly and pushed you so harshly you hit the locker across from the one he’s hit. And you could feel the sharp edge of the vent hit your forehead. It was a hot pain, and very familiar. You knew that you had a cut on your head. 

Turning to look at him your turned your neck to pop it, and in the process, popped your knuckles as well. “Y/n, you need to stop-” Before Steve could finish his sentence you began approaching Billy again, only to have someone come behind you and lift you up, trying to drag you away. 

Lifting your feet into the air and using whoever was trying to drag you away from the situation as leverage you began to kick at the older boy, getting him in the thigh before whoever it was, lost their balance and fell with their back against a locker. And when you landed between their legs, with your back against their chest, You could tell it was Steve, who’d seen enough when he’d seen the single drop of blood beginning to form on your head when you hit the locker. 

He knew to get it to stop he had to get you first. 

“You’re just a good for nothing redneck!” You shouted, struggling against Steve’s grip that was almost like a vice. “Let me at him! I’m gonna fucking kill him!” 

Before Billy could even approach the two of you, Tommy had stopped him. “Dude, don’t lose to a girl.” 

“A girl? Motherfucker my cock is bigger than yours!” You hadn’t gone completely batshit in a long time. Since middle school. And you used to give off ‘crazy bitch’ vibes. And you were sure that’s what was happening. 

“Jesus-”

“I will peg your Jesus!” 

“Y/n? What the hell?” Nancy asked, pushing past the front line of students who had surrounded you guys, and soon after was Jonathan, who had wide eyes upon seeing you struggle against Steve’s grip

“He’s a cunt!” You shouted, directing it to Billy who just stood, taking deep breaths and very clearly upset and full of anger. In a split second of sudden anger he turned and punched a dent into the locker behind him. 

“Aw, big strong man! Just has to prove how big and strong he is by punching things and threatening children!” You said in a condescending voice. “Get some fucking therapy, douchbag!” 

You stopped struggling when the principal broke through the line of students as well, seeing the three of you in the center. His eyes landing on you and Steve, before going to Billy. 

“What happened here?”

“He said I have daddy issues.”

• • •

“never, and I mean never, let anybody push you around.”

Your dad wasn’t a fool. You’d known that your entire life. You’d known he was clever since you knew what the word meant. He and Pa both were. So you always listened to what they had to say, no matter how much you didn’t want to. 

And when you dad said that to you after you hit that fifth grader in second grade, you repeated those words in your head whenever in an administrative office. 

But while you were calm and sitting with your arms crossed, glaring at Billy through the opened Nurse’s office door, Steve was sitting next to you, bouncing his knee out of nervousness. Reaching out you placed your hand on his knee to stop the bouncing, and reluctantly, he stopped. 

A few more moments of silence followed, before you could see his shoulder shaking. Looking over at him, he was quietly laughing to himself, covering his mouth so he didn’t get any looks from the staff. 

“What?” 

Steve didn’t answer, instead burying his face in his hands and leaning forward, continuing to laugh for seemingly no reason. 

“Are you high?” 

He looked at you with a bright smile before asking. “Did you really tell Tommy that you had a bigger dick than him?” It was quiet enough to make sure none of the secretaries or counselors heard his, making sure that they didn’t chastise his language. 

A smile came to your face, half in disbelief and the other in true amusement. Because out of everything that happened in the last week, he was laughing. He was smiling and laughing over something you’d said. 

“I said cock, but yeah.” 

Steve audibly laughed which only triggered you to start laughing as well. Earning a few shushes from the secretaries, but that only made you laugh harder. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Steve chuckled, his laughter dying down as he leaned back in his seat. Both of you settling down to just smiles on your faces. “You’re unbelievable, and a dumbass.” He added, leaning to the side a bit to nudge your shoulder with his. 

“I’m your favorite dumbass though.” 

December 2nd 1984

“They stopped sending checks since they shut down, and I don’t think I dip into my savings for rent every month, I already spent enough trying to get the car repaired.” You spoke, wiping down the counters in your kitchen.

“Did you try to calling them?” Nancy suggested, with Jonathan drinking a glass of water on the other side of the kitchen. 

“”Oh right, cause a shut down lab is gonna have people ready to answer the phones.” You grumbled, putting the the rag under the sink with the bleach you’d used

“And you didn’t renew your lease?” Nancy questioned as you leaned against the counter, running a hand through your hair in contemplation. 

“Nancy, why in god’s name would I renew my lease if I won’t be able to pay my rent in a few months? Hm? Riddle me that, detective.” You were being rude, and you knew it. It’d been like that for awhile and you couldn’t put your finger on exactly why. 

Jonathan sighed a bit. “I could talk my mom, I’m sure she’d let you move in with us.” He offered. 

“No, you guys are already cramped in that house, I’m not gonna add to it.” You told him, shaking your head. 

Shaking his head, Jonatan put his glass of water down and turned his attention to just you. “Think about it, all the Byers, under one roof, mom is always asking to update her on you. If you moved in, it would ease her anxiety about you living on the other side of town, plus whenever you can’t sleep at least you won’t be home alone.”

Jonathan had good points. Except by ‘can’t sleep’ he meant you would wake up at random points in the night with a gut wrenching feeling. Like something was about to happen to you. And you hated being home alone when it happened. 

“Okay, I guess.” 

December 14th 1984

Grabbing a box from the backseat of Steve’s car, you moved to the front of the house. You barely had anything to begin with, it wasn’t hard to get your valuables in boxes and get them into Steve’s car to go to the Byers home. 

You were thankful that Steve was even willing to drive you there and help you get boxes inside. It wasn’t much, but it meant a lot. 

But you assumed one of the only reasons he agreed to actually get boxes inside was because Jonathan was at work. Meaning he didn’t have to see him again. They were on good terms, but still didn’t like to talk.

“Mom, who’s room is she going to be staying in?” Will asked as you set the box down on the coffee table.

“We have that one empty room, That’s her room now.” Joyce told him, picking up the polaroid from one of the boxes and looking at it with a small smile, remembering whatever memory it was in which Bob told Jonathan and Will to give it to you as a gift. 

Going back outside you grabbed the last box, turning back to the front door to see Steve leaning against the frame, staring at you with an absentminded smile.

Smiling back, you closed the door to his car, walking back to the house and handing the box off to him. “Can you put this in the hallway?” You asked. He nodded and took it inside. 

It was going to be odd living with other people again. You hadn’t done that in over a year, and were still hesitant to even take a look at the empty room she talked about putting you in. It was the smallest room in the house but that wasn’t too big of a deal. You barely took up much space in the apartment. 

Hearing a car on the road, you turned as saw Hopper’s vehicle approaching the house. When he got close enough he stopped and got out. 

“Hey, Chief. “ You greeted him as he walked over, holding an envelope. 

“Hey, kid. Where’s Joyce?”

“Inside.” You shrugged, going inside yourself as he followed after. Making your way over to the bedroom you grabbed your backpack and one of the boxes. 

Much to your surprise, there was a bed in the room, and a nightstand, and a dresser. “Wow.” You muttered. 

Steve looked to you while he sorted a few of your things out in the box he’d taken to the room when you first got there. Most of it cosmetic or hair care products. 

“What?” He questioned, setting a makeup bag down on the wooden dresser,  while you dropped your bag off at the end of the bed and set the box you had on top of the dresser as well. 

“Nothing.” You muttered quietly. “Just been awhile since I’ve lived in the same house as an adult.” You joked lightly, taking out a few of your text books and putting on the dresser. 

He looked down a bit and nodded, staying quiet. “Why’d you say that you and Jonathan were family?”

Looking up at him, you saw him already staring at you. His eyes seemed more than curious. Almost as if confused. Maybe hurt? You couldn’t pinpoint it. But it plucked at your feelings seeing him look at you like that. 

“He’s like family.” You lied. You’d become quite good at it, compared to a year ago. You used to be the worst liar in the world. You dad could tell when you were thinking of a lie to a question that hadn’t even been asked yet. But that could have been because he was your dad. Because he’d seen every moment of your life. “He’s like a brother.”

Steve’s face shifted a bit, like he knew you weren’t quite telling the truth, but deciding to believe it. Like he didn’t really want to know the truth. Grabbing onto his arm you smiled a bit. “You’re still my best friend, even if I’m living with the Byers.” 

You smiled at each other for awhile before hearing Joyce call for you. “Guess that means I should probably go.” He told you. 

“Probably.” You agreed quietly, watching as he left the room before you, leaving you in silence, with boxes and the faint smell of his cologne hanging a bit in the air. You wanted to reach out and keep him from going. But something inside told you not to. That you couldn’t. 

Leaving the room a moment later you saw Joyce and Hopper standing in the dining room, with Joyce looking over whatever had been in the envelope that Hopper had brought to her. 

“Hey.” 

Joyce turned her head and smiled at you, holding out the paper for you to take. Reaching out you grabbed the paper. You noticed the words ‘State of Indiana’ at the top. Looking further down you saw ‘Birth Certificate’ 

Sparing the two a suspicious and unknowing glance you read more, looking at the first field that had been filled out. 

Full name of child: Y/n L/n Byers

Y/n Byers. That was you. That was your name, on an official document, for the first time in a long time.

You saw your birthday, followed by the year 1968, the year everyone thought you were born in already. “Byers?” You asked, looking up at them. Hopper nodded with a soft smile, and Joyce had an excited look. 

“He got Owens to pull some strings. Legally. . . You’re now my daughter.” 

“You adopted me?” You questioned, tilting your head a bit in confusion. 

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Only Jonathan knows. We’re not gonna tell Will.”

December 31st 1984

This was a terrible idea, you were both very aware of that around 7 pm when Steve picked you up from the house. But now that it was 11pm, with music blasting throughout the entire building your frontal lobe was failing you. 

You’d downed a few drinks and were practically using Steve as balance like you had the year before. Your head was against his chest, and your arms around his torso while he continued to drink from his cup. 

You were aware that there were drugs being passed around, you could smell the weed from where you were, and you’d seen the band that had played downtown in the corner doing something. Psychedelics maybe. How Steve heard about a party in Detroit, you didn’t know. But you’d known that the moment he parked you were excited. 

Steve had a firm hand on your back, helping to keep you steady. It was comforting, both because it felt like you were being held, and because you knew you weren’t going to fall. 

“You’re okay, right?” He asked, leaning his head down. A strand of his hair falling in front of your face. 

Nodding you hummed, reaching down and taking his drink from him, taking a sip from his cup. It tasted like beer. It probably was. “Hey, that’s mine-”

“Ours.” You corrected. “We’re best friends, there are no boundaries.” You explained loosely, leaning your head against his chest again. You couldn’t tell in the vibration that came from his ribs, was from the music or his laughter. The music was too loud. 

A few minutes passed and someone handed Steve something, their muffled voice telling him what it was. Cautiously, Steve took it from him. Looking from the cup to the man in front of you, you took the lighter before Steve could. 

He walked away and you looked up at Steve. You weren’t in the right mindset, and when you saw the unlit blunt between his lips you didn’t hesitate to light it for him. 

You would have scolded him in any other moment. You would have taken it from him and threw it out. You were raised right, and knew that, your parents tried hard to make sure you would one day go out into the world and not be stupid. But they weren’t preparing for that to happen at age fifteen. They weren’t prepared that you'd be an almost seventeen year old who Joyce had little rules for in the 1980’s where Reagan had strict laws against drugs, which only seemed to make it more desirable. And while normally you’d know that being around drugs and beer wasn’t a good idea, you couldn’t bring yourself to care much. A lot like the year before. 

Steve smiled down at you for a moment, the smoke from his exhale coming from the corner of his mouth and nostrils. Your vision becomes a bit foggy until it dissipates, with the only smoke coming from the tip of the blunt. 

He pulled the joint from between his lips, holding it between his index and middle finger. “You know you can get second hand high from this?” He pointed out. Even his tipsy brain was able to process that better than you. 

Shrugging you put the red cup down on the windowsill you were both next to, reaching for his wrist and turning it so the non burning end was facing you. You leaned the few centimeters towards the blunt and breathed in. 

It felt odd, like it was some sort of forbidden act you shouldn’t be doing, and you felt like your throat was on a fire the moment you breathed it in. 

Pulling away you allowed the white smoke to spill out from your mouth, the first thing coming to your mind was a dragon, or incense, but you still approached it far more cautiously than Steve had. He’d no doubt done it before with how nonchalant he’d been about taking it from whoever decided to give it to him. 

Steve stared at you for a moment, still holding it in the  way you’d positioned his wrist. You couldn’t quite tell what the look was. His brows were raised in surprise, but his eyes were what hard to define, his mouth agape in shock. 

Why were his emotions almost always hidden behind his eyes? Like a prison cell he’d built for them himself. 

Turning his hand back around he took a hit from the blunt as well, still holding eye contact with you, as if it were a casual staring contest, but neither one of you cared if the other blinked. 

Turning his head to exhale you took it from him, repeating the process. Everything felt weird. The music sounded better to you, and the feeling wasn’t as odd. 

“What time is it?” He leaned down to ask you as the song died down taking the blunt back from you, as the person in charge of the boombox went over to change the cassette. 

“You’re the one with the watch.” You giggled, but opting to look at the nice clock the homeowner had on the wall, attempting to count the lines in the clock to tell the time. “Like. . . almost 12?” You said as more of a question, looking back as him, your faces just inches apart with how he had leaned down. 

A new song came on, and he smiled down at you, “You want the last hit?”

“Why does it have to be the last one?” 

“Wendy’s tastes better when you're high.” He shrugged a bit, holding the blunt out to you. Taking it from him, you took the longest hit from it you had the last two times and breathed out. But neither one of you moved, staying with an arm wrapped around the other. His free hand on your hip, thumb hooked on the tiny pocket that was inside the larger one. 

You couldn’t hear what he said over the new song, but you were pretty sure it was “Fuck” or some other swear word that would get you in trouble in public in Hawkins from some adult you passed. 

He was close to you. Almost unbearably close. You could make out the smell of beer on his breath as well as weed and the possible smell of cigarettes. Your chests were basically against each other, not that they weren’t before, when he was one of the only things keeping you up. But this was different. His breathing seemed restricted, and you could feel his heart beating against your own chest. 

But out of everything around you, the smells overload your senses, the feeling of being relaxed and yet also wanting to laugh at something were completely pushed to the side when you realized that he was looking at you, and only you. 

He had pretty eyes, even if he would argue and say brown eyes weren’t pretty on guys. But they were. 

“What?” 

He shook his head a bit, the hand he’d had on your hip coming up to your face and going to  hold the back of your neck, with his thumb against the curve in your jaw that led up to your ear. 

“Nothing.” He breathed. You could hear the music get turned down and the group of strangers clamoring voices around you as the volume of the TV was turned up. “What are we doing?” He asked you quietly, the hand that was on your back now on your hip. 

You shrugged a bit, putting the blunt out on the ashtray on the windowsill, and letting your two hands come up to hold his jaw in your hands. He relaxed at your touch, his breath fanning over your face for a moment as the two of you looked at each other, neither pulling away. 

Almost on instinct, one of your arms went to hook behind his neck and pull him a bit further down, and his own instinct pulled you closer to him, forcing you on your tiptoes. 

He was the one to act first, leaning in and not moving, his lips almost against yours, almost asking for permission. But you were the last one to move, cupping his cheek and tilting your head a bit to the right. “Steve,”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.” 

Steve didn’t seem to hesitate even for a second, moving that last little bit of space that the two of you wanted gone the moment it’d become that small. 

He was gentle, and his lips were soft, making you not want to move away from him. And although you were high and drunk, and exhausted from the lack of sleep, you could feel it an odd feeling you could only explain as butterflies. 

You’d been feeling them a lot lately. Since thanksgiving break when he gave you that stupid brownie with powdered sugar on top. You’d been feeling them building since Jonathan told you it was obvious. 

Your lips moved against his, with your eyes closed, and even with the noise and filters over your brain making everything hazy, it felt right, like this was meant to happen, like this was the only thing you hadn’t messed up on that night. 

Not that you’d remember it by morning. But Steve would.

He’d remember the way you still smelled like your perfume, and how your fingertips were in his hair, how he hadn’t actually expected you to say those two words. How he thought he was just high and imagining things, but he couldn’t make up the way he could feel your heartbeat against his palm on the side of your neck. 

He wouldn’t forget that the moment he’d moved his lips against yours, it felt like everything fell into place. Like everything in the last year since he got involved with the Upside Down, that something good came from it. 

It was the clearest memory he had from that night.

• • • 

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Add yourself to the taglist!

[sxfterhearts]

16. [1:54 am]

Stifling a yawn, you reluctantly stretched your joints and turned your worn-out body to lie on the other side, facing the bedroom window. It was probably well into the night and who-knows-how-many-hours since you climbed into the bed, judging by the pins and needles on your limbs. A sudden cramp flared up near your lower left abdomen, resulting in a pained groan.

It was just one of those nights. Your week had been unnecessarily busy, filled with never-ending assignment deadlines and quizzes that stressed you out. However, the nervous energy that fuelled your study sessions and kept you motivated hadn't worn off, even after the bulk of your work had been completed. The dreadful busy period had left too much adrenaline and cortisol in your bloodstream, hence the stomach cramps and inability to fall asleep.

Muffled shouts drifted through the cracks of your bedroom door and into your ears. It took you approximately fifteen seconds for your fuzzy mind to decipher the source of said noises, and another thirty seconds to drag yourself out of bed.

You rubbed your sore eyes as they readjusted to the dim lighting emitted from the living room. Your socks-clad feet padded along the hallway, following the excited cries that became clearer as you got closer to the study room.

“Let’s go, let’s go! We got this, guys.”

You came to a halt at the door that was left ajar. Leaning against the door frame, you pushed the door open slightly to get a better view of your boyfriend sitting cross-legged on his gaming chair. Neither Mark nor Milo seemed to notice your presence, both boys clearly preoccupied.

“Ow! Ow, what’s happening man? Why are they ganging up against me?” Mark exclaimed in disbelief as he furiously punched the keyboard. “What?! They killed me! What the heck man!”

You chuckled quietly to yourself at his little outburst. Most girls usually wouldn’t prefer to have gamer boyfriends, but you honestly didn’t mind. You found Mark’s enthusiasm for the game adorable, especially when his brows were scrunched in concentration, or when his lips formed a deep pout in defeat. Clearly you were whipped for the boy.

“Dude, I thought he was on our side! He just came out of nowhere and shot me, the audacity. I’ll destroy him when we have a rematch.” Mark told his teammate in an annoyed tone, thirsty for vengeance.

Milo woke up from his nap when you stepped into the room and stood behind Mark’s chair, the puppy’s collar bell tinkling as he trotted over and settled by your feet. Mark, noticing your presence, was in the process of bidding goodbye to his friends when you circled your arms around his figure.

“Hey baby,” He pressed his lips against the back of your hand. “Was I too loud? I’m sorry for waking you.”

You hummed in response, resting your head atop his curly, coffee-coloured locks. Surrounded by your two boys definitely helped to lift your mood and soothe your anxious mind. “It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Upon hearing your words, Mark turned around and gave you an understanding smile. He was all too familiar with your sleeping habits and knew exactly how to make these difficult nights a little more bearable. “Why don’t you get comfy on the couch? I’ll go make you a cup of warm Milo and we can put on an old rerun of Friends.”

“Cuddles?” Your face lit up, already helping Mark up on his feet and dragging him towards the living room, Milo trailing closely behind.

“Cuddles, hugs, kisses, anything you need. I’m your personal teddy bear.” He said while rummaging through the pantry for the green can of Milo, your favourite drink on nights like this.

You plopped down on the couch and flicked through the TV, your hand automatically reaching out towards Milo to give him belly rubs. Not long after you chose a random episode, Mark joined you on the other side, completing your small family of three.

He passed you the warm mug and you accepted it gratefully, taking a sip that warmed up and soothed your insides. “Anything you wanna talk about?” Mark asked as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, resting his cheek against your head and breathing in the fruity scent of your shampoo.

You curled your legs up to snuggle closer to Mark’s warm body, craving the skin-to-skin contact with your boyfriend. Pressing your ear against his chest, you felt the constant beating of his heart reverberating through his chest. You sighed in content, the rapid thumping of your heart finally slowing down. “Not really, just the usual. There’s too many thoughts in my head and I can’t seem to shut it off, probably because of all the residual stress from my deadlines.”

Mark’s arms held you even tighter in his warm embrace. You felt him press a smooch on your head and rub his cheek there, his arm stroking your back in a repetitive, calming manner. “Is there any way I can help?”

He felt you shake your head. “Just stay here and keep doing what you’re doing. It feels so relaxing.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m here for you, always.”

Slowly but surely, Mark heard your deep breathing amongst the white noise of the episode playing in the background. A relieved smile worked its way onto his lips. “Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

[valhallanrose]

Raise Hell

The beginning of an approximately ten-part series detailing Miriyam’s pre-canon. 

Raise Hell is the first piece, looking at the moment that ended up being what changed her life forever. To note: Gwendolyn is the name used through this early part of the series, as it is Miriyam’s birth name, but it will change later on as the story progresses. 

2k words. No CWs apply. 

Fic Title: Raise Hell by Dorothy.

There were some who thought, at least as far as the serving staff were concerned, that life at the Lamiara was steady - like the ticking of the clock tower visible through the Prakran skyline. 

Which made the amount of times Gwendolyn woke up late absolutely astonishing. 

The first rays of dawn had begun to peer through the stained glass window above her bed, casting a beam of gold across her eyes and making her grumble in her sleep. With an aggressive roll and tug on the blankets, she began to fall into slumber again, her disturbance brief enough to keep her from waking fully - 

Until the bell tower began to chime. 

“Five...six…” Gwendolyn smiled tiredly, getting up and starting to pull her hair back as she counted - only to freeze when the clock tolled again. 

Seven. 

“Fuck!” She yelped, quickly throwing on her uniform and darting out the door of the servants’ quarters - nearly bowling over someone else in the process. She called back an apology over her shoulder as she ran down the stairs, hardly looking back to see who it was she bumped into in her single-minded mission to reach the courtyard

When she reached the door, she hesitantly peered around the corner, making sure the coast was clear as she ducked into the next hall  - 

Only to yelp as she was cuffed lightly across the back of her head. 

She turned, heart in her throat, only to relax under Madame Lavinia’s playful smile as the matronly woman ruffled her hair. 

“I was just coming to get you. You’re on deliveries this morning, Wendy -”

“I don’t like Wendy, it’s Gwendolyn -”

“ - I’ll need you to bring this package into town, you remember where the smith is? Master Adelram has specifically requested this become top priority. Let the smith know payment will be brought upon completion, yes? They’ll know what to do.”

When Gwendolyn nodded, Madame Lavinia set a bundle in her arms - about as long as one of them, so if she had to hazard a guess, this was probably a dagger - and patted her on the shoulder with a smile on her face. 

“Alright, well, get to it. Come find me in the kitchens when you get back and I’ll give you the next task.”

And with that, Gwendolyn set off, thankful that she hadn’t gotten in trouble for being late and hustling down to the main streets of Prakra.

*     *     *     *     *

One thing about the Lamiara was the absolutely absurd amount of stairs, of which after all this time Gwendolyn still felt exhausted by, but...she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. 

She often took a moment to catch her breath when she reached the bottom of the stairs, just beside the arena the Masters used for training themselves and their students. Normally, Gwendolyn would creep as close as she dared to the archway that 

But that day the arena was empty, save for one - someone she recognized as one of the Masters but had never gotten close enough or been around her long enough to know which one. She thought it was Master Paxilim, the most elusive of the three Masters she knew, but she wasn’t entirely sure until she spotted the staff leaning against the wall on the far side of the arena.

The girl lingered for a few moments, her eyes taking in every movement as best she could as carefully wrapped fists landed against the training dummies that had certainly seen better days, committing them to memory before she quickly ducked away from the doorframe. 

And, oblivious to the presence of the woman who emerged from the arena to watch her go, disappeared down the hall to find Madame Lavinia again. 

*     *     *     *     *

It would be the dark hours of the night when Gwendolyn returned to the arena, barefoot and trying to be as quiet as she could, knowing she should be asleep but unable to help herself in her curiosity. 

After checking the arena no less than three times to be sure she was alone, Gwendolyn let out a deep breath, hesitantly smoothing a hand over the surface of the training dummies she’d seen Master Paxilim beating the hell out of a mere few hours earlier before she squared her shoulders. 

Most of the students at the Lamiara were over sixteen, and all of them over eighteen, meaning Gwendolyn had quite a long time before she could officially enroll and train under someone else’s mentorship. But that didn’t stop her from sinking into the positions she’d watched others make hundreds of times before, mirroring their actions as she tried to commit them to muscle memory. The few memories of her mother and the stories she’d heard of her all focused on her strength, her dedication to the task she’d been given, and...well, even if she didn’t know her, Gwendolyn still wanted to find some way back to the mother she knew she would never have again. 

She didn’t notice the person coming up behind her until it was too late, a firm push on the backs of her knees sweeping her feet out from under her with a squeal as she hit the sand. Blue eyes were turned skyward for a moment before someone leaned into her field of vision, a glimmer of gold catching her gaze as she blinked away the dust that had churned up around her fall. 

Master Paxilim extended a scarred hand, amusement clear on her face as she stabbed her staff down into the sand beneath them both. 

“I don’t think your duties would bring you here, little hellion.”

Confused, and admittedly more nervous than she’d ever been, Gwendolyn cautiously took her hand and let Paxilim haul her to her feet as she tried to muster up the words. 

“I’m sorry, I thought I was alone -”

Paxilim raised a hand, immediately silencing her, and chuckled as she took a step back. “I know you thought you were alone. However, that is not important.” 

She gestured to the training dummies, one hand falling to her staff but not yet removing it from the sand. “Your stance is too narrow, making it easy for you to be knocked off balance. Again.”

After a few beats of pause, Gwendolyn fell into the stance she’d tried to copy before, making Paxilim tut softly to herself. She lifted her staff, using it to tap the girl’s right leg to nudge it back. 

“And...there. It’s harder for an opponent to knock you off balance this way. If they hit you or push you…” Paxilim pressed a hand lightly into Gwendolyn’s shoulder, letting her feel her weight shift to her back leg as she explained, “...you will not falter. You may also put more weight into your front leg when you move to land a hit on your opponent.”

After a moment, Gwendolyn nodded, and Paxilim gave her a smile before she crouched down to look her in the eye a little better. 

“You’re Hrieda’s girl, yes?”

Shuffling awkwardly in place, Gwendolyn cast her gaze to the ground, but a gentle hand tipped Gwendolyn’s face upwards, forcing her to meet Paxilim’s eyes as she spoke. 

“I am, Master Paxilim.”

“I thought you were familiar. Your mother was...a friend of mine, before she passed.” Paxilim idly stroked a thumb across Gwendolyn’s jaw, contemplation clear on her face. “You look like her, you know. I’d argue damn near a spitting image. And, if what I hear is correct, as much of a hell-raiser as she was.”

Gwendolyn’s face burned in embarrassment, but she managed a shrug. “I don’t really remember her. She died a long time ago.”

When she was hardly two, actually, but she had a feeling Master Paxilim knew that. In answer, the older woman nodded solemnly, her hand falling away from the girl’s jaw to land in her own lap instead. 

“That she did.” She mused, reaching for her staff again. “You work under Lavinia now?”

Gwendolyn nodded quickly, taking a step back to give Paxilim room to stand. “Yes, ma’am. Madame Lavinia is...nice. She took care of me until I was old enough to help.”

A slim brow raised as Paxilim set a hand on Gwednolyn’s shoulder, guiding her away from the training dummies and toward the archway of the arena. “But?”

“She calls me Wendy.” The girl grumbled, missing the way the Master’s lips twitched up into a smile. “I hate being called Wendy. It sounds stupid. And I have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to help her, and I don’t like mornings.”

“Grown words out of a girl’s mouth.” Paxilim chuckled, shaking her head slightly as they stopped under the stone arch and crouching in front of Gwendolyn as she took both her hands in her own. “I must ask you to promise me something, little one, if you would do me the courtesy.”

Gwendolyn frowned, but didn’t pull away, tilting her head slightly. “I’m not gonna promise not to swear.”

The older woman laughed, giving her hands a squeeze. “No, no, not that. I’m the last person to tell you not to swear. I’ve certainly done and said worse. But I don’t want you to come back here, Gwendolyn, this isn’t the place for you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Paxilim cut her off, giving her a firm look. 

“I have seen you nearly every week, if not every day, lingering at the door as we work through our training routines, and I have seen you come to this arena night after night in an attempt to copy it. While your efforts to learn are endearing, you are too young to decide if you want to walk this path.”

“But I can choose when I’m sixteen.” Gwendolyn muttered, and Paxilim sighed as she nodded. 

“You can, but you have a fair bit of time until you make that choice. And, until then, I want to be sure that you know what else the world has to offer you beyond this place. I will tell Lavinia that I will take you under my service, and at the end of the week, I will visit...an associate of mine, in Hjalle, and take you with me. And it will remain this way until you are old enough to understand what it means to become one of us, until you are old enough to understand that what you see here is a fraction of the truth of what this world is like.”

Gwendolyn rolled her lip between her teeth for a moment, mulling over her choices, her gaze fixed on a point between their feet as Paxilim 

This was the world she knew. This was what she wanted, it had been her plan pretty much for as long as she could remember. This had been her entire life, and she was okay with that, but...she couldn’t say she didn’t want to know more of the world, either. She’d heard stories of beautiful places and dangerous ones as she slipped through the halls, and even if she was afraid of some of them, Gwendolyn couldn’t imagine a life where she didn’t get to see it for herself.

“Is Hjalle warm?” She said eventually, and Paxilim’s face broke out into a smile.

“Very. Should I take that as you telling me I should bring you with me?”

Slowly, Gwendolyn nodded, giving the woman a shy smile of her own. “Yes, Master Paxilim, I’d like that very much.”

“Andromeda.” The Master corrected gently, then nudged Gwendolyn down the hall, toward the path she’d need to take to the servants’ quarters. “Goodnight, Gwendolyn. Pleasant dreams.”

With a sort of giddy skip in her step, Gwendolyn began the walk back to bed, already hoping she’d dream of what Hjalle could be - blissfully unaware that the steps she took now set her exactly down the path that Andromeda was trying to keep her from.