#And on a serious note I hope he makes a full recovery because it’s wrong to shoot someone

[incorrectquoteswwdits]

I found out who did it guys

[shadowbends]

DEEP DISH!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (OVER 15,000 WORDS)

It’s me again, folks. Do you enjoy good fanfic? We’re reaching the end of the line, but I’m here to hook you up! Whether you’re new to the fandom and diving into the ROTTMNT fic scene for the first time, or a veteran looking for content you might have missed, my hope for this project is to point you to something you’ll enjoy!

This rec list is the last of three and focuses on longfic in the fandom, with a word count reaching anywhere over 15,000 words. You’ll find a variety of fic here, from novellas to full-blown novels—some complete, but many still ongoing! Though it may be heresy on the streets of New York, this is the list you want when you’re craving something really thick to sink your teeth into: a sit-down experience exploding with flavor. Don’t have time for that, actually? Then consider checking out my previous rec lists as well!

NEW YORK STYLE, BABY!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (UNDER 5,000 WORDS)

STUFFED CRUST!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (BETWEEN 5,000 AND 15,000 WORDS)

DEEP DISH!! ROTTMNT FANFIC RECS (OVER 15,000 WORDS) — You’re here!

If you enjoy any of these fics, make sure to reblog and spread the love! Don’t forget to check out the other works by these authors; many of them have written multiple wonderful stories not featured here that are just as good. Additionally, consider leaving the authors a comment! I’m not always the best at that myself, but fic writers work hard and deserve all the love in the world.

With all of that said, it’s time for the recs. Let’s dig in!

Quick note: On previous lists, I separated the recs by the general time period they took place in. I’m not going to that here, largely because—uh. Well. Nearly all of them are post-movie! This fandom’s sure been active in the last couple of months, huh? Given that, I’ll be sorting them by a broader method, but yes. If you’ve not seen the movie, this is your warning that spoilers abound in the recs below. 

➤ ➤ ➤ CANON COMPLIANT

The Aftermath by Starrcrossrose

57,262 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 11/03/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Leo-centric)

Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort

It would’ve been easier to say what he was feeling, but he honestly didn’t know how. He wasn’t sure why, either. He knew his brothers would understand and comfort him and be there if he wanted them to be. Hell, Donnie’s surprise sleepover and everyone showing up for it in the living room had been proof of that.

Yet he still couldn’t do it. He’d tried to talk to Donnie and the pain on his brother’s face had been enough to make him never want to speak about things ever again. He didn’t want them to hurt the way he did; he wanted them to be okay and normal and happy.

You know they aren’t happy. Why do you keep pretending to be fine when the others aren’t either?

Leo squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his knees as he pulled himself into an even tighter ball. He wanted to go into his shell as much as possible, but at the same time, a searing energy was making his legs feel like he could run or swim for miles. He could just go and go and go until he collapsed.

Maybe… maybe that'll help.

Set a few months after the movie, Leo struggles with the long recovery time needed for his injuries to heal, both physical and mental. Unable to talk about it, he turns to unhealthy coping methods instead. The rest of the family is doing no better from the fallout of the invasion, however, with each of their own stresses mounting the longer things go unaddressed. That is until Chapter 8, when things come to a head...

There are a lot of post-movie recovery fics out there, each one unique. The Aftermath’s hallmark has to be in its slowburn foreshadowing, and excellent character writing. Throughout many chapters, we get a glimpse into the heads of just about every beloved character the series has to offer, including April and Casey Jr. Little clues to what’s going to go wrong are set up early on, but just like the characters, I was blind to how serious of a turn things were about to take until the problem finally reared its head. This fic does a good job of showing how important it is to talk to one another, even if it’s hard.

Aftershocks by Katiemonz, McBethins, octolingkiera, theashemarie, and this_kills_the_man

153,543 words, 12/15 chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Family Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

“Good game,” Leo said to Donnie, smiling at Mikey in the same sly way as before.

“Thank you, Leonardo, but as I’ve said Uno is—”

“But you still lost,” Leo continued. He swept the cards up and began to straighten them for another shuffle.

“Second place is hardly—”

“Honorary title,” Leo cut in again. “Mikey won, so we owe him.”

“Owe him what? I have—”

“Keep your money, Don. In this game we’re dealing in secrets.”

“Secrets.”

“Yeah, specifically what’s up in that brilliant, big head of yours after all that Krang shit. C’mon. You owe him one secret.”

Picking up from the end of the invasion but spanning the weeks after, the day’s been won, but no one came out of the Krang’s attack completely unscathed. There’s a lot of trauma to unpack here—unfortunately, talking about it is the last thing just about anyone in the family wants to do. 

Another recovery fic, Aftershocks is unique for being a story told from five perspectives (the boys and April), as written by five different authors. As the brothers avoid each other, each arc’s events end up having quite the different take depending on whose POV you’re currently following, even in moments where the same scene is being retold. Truly an ensemble fic that focuses on everyone’s trauma, I’ve especially enjoyed that April was included. As the longest fic on this list, Aftershocks is heavy on introspection and exposition, but the characterization always manages to shine through in the details. I especially love the scene I quoted above; “Trauma Uno” is totally a concept I could see the boys coming up with. 

A Tale of Spirits by unorthodoxx

47,202 words, 6/? chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Ensemble

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Crossover

"I need to find my brothers," Raph mumbles.  "That's if they're even here."

"And then head back to the spirit world."

"It's not the spirit world!"

"Right," Toph grins. "This so-called 'other dimension' without benders."

"There are no benders in my world."

Toph reaches and places a hand on scaled skin.  Huge muscles twitch under her palm and the spirit stops.  "No benders?"

"Yes!"

She nods.  "Like the spirit world."

Raph throws his arms up with a scream and Toph cackles.

For a crossover, this fic requires quite a bit of investment in the second fandom to follow; you’ll want to have seen all of ATLA Season 1, and potentially even Season 2 if you want to keep track of what’s going on, especially for moments when episodes are retold, but with the turtles added in. Additionally, the POV is solely with the ATLA characters. Is this fic worth recommending despite that? Abso-freaking-lutely. This might be one of the most creative crossovers I’ve seen in any fandom, and I’m absolutely hooked.

The plot is deceptively straightforward—the four turtles mysteriously appear in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender, separated and with no idea where the brothers are. Their arrival changes everything, with the people of the world seeing them as powerful spirits and guardians. I won’t spoil who ends up with who beyond what’s shown in the excerpt, but it paves the way for fascinating political intrigue and character development on all sides, our fave turtles included. Donatello’s position is perhaps the most fascinating for what may come of it, but everyone’s new groupings have been an utter delight. The banter feels charming and wholly in-character, and I can’t wait to read more. This is definitely a fic to keep your eye on, if you’ve not found it already.

Brother Dearest by Wardenov

69,666 words, 22/? chapters (last updated 11/03/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Donnie-centric)

Genre: Drama, Sci-Fi, Horror

“You came here looking for answers, weakling, because you messed with powers far beyond your understanding.” “I’m not-” She doesn’t let him continue. “Our brother may be dead, but the glory of our kind is that we are never truly defeated, not as long as our mark remains.” And as if to make her point, she raises a tentacle and delicately touches the glass - tendrils spawning from the point of contact, rapidly expanding across the surface like a frenzied contagion before freezing in place and crumbling under the extreme cold. “We cull the weak and assimilate those worthy, we bestow the blessing of Krang upon those who deserve it. You-” she spits, remaining tentacles scrambling to climb the glass where Donnie stood, “-you have stolen our gift.”

He says nothing.

“But,” she continues, sadistic smile returning, “your transgressions have ensured our survival. Our continued conquest. Whether you like it or not.”

Set a few months after the Krang’s invasion, things have seemingly gone back to normal for the Hamato family. Everyone’s doing their best to get by, and back to familiar routines and hobbies. Donnie, though? His newest project throws all of that into new chaos, showing that no matter how well-meaning, there are some things man (and turtle) was never meant to tamper with. 

I’m absolutely feral for this fic, and desperate to impress upon anyone seeing this why they should read it. It might be one of the very best fics the fandom has to offer. Seriously. You want plot and worldbuilding on par with the Season 3 we never got? Exploration of the Hidden City, and the Council of Heads that run it? High stakes, suspense, action, and family drama? Look no further, fam. Brother Dearest has it all, and every character (even Mayhem!) has a big role to play. April’s sleuthing, Mikey further develops his new mystic powers, Leo has some heavy choices to make as leader, and Raph isn’t as home free after the Krang invasion as he thought. Make no mistake, though, the star of this show is Donnie in his unwitting supervillain arc. Will his family be able to save him from himself? Only time and new chapters can tell, but this fic dug its claws into my heart and won’t let go, it’s so good. 

Drift and Chemical Reaction by Bronte

26,949 words, 7/7 chapters (split between two fics)

Character Focus: Donatello & Leonardo, Ensemble

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding

"Piña colada?"

"What the—?" Donnie cuts him off before he can finish, cramming a green and yellow striped straw between his teeth. Leo wears some of it, the yellow, smoothie-like drink dribbling down his plastron. "Wait, where did you—what is this?"

Donnie smirks. "Pineapple, coconut, rum. A taste of the tropics."

Leo blinks and glances down apprehensively at the ‘Better Late than Ugly’ mug in his hand. "...does this have alcohol in it?"

"Does this have—pfft, I would never. Do you know who I am? Donatello, upstanding citizen of Manhattan proper?" Donnie barks a laugh, tossing his head back before leveling him with a look. "Of course there is. As the Bard himself said, self-love, my brother, is not so vile a sin as self-neglect."

As two sides of the same story, these fics are being recommended together! Set after the movie, Drift is told from Leonardo’s POV, both during and after leaving the prison dimension, where Chemical Reaction tells the story from Donatello’s POV. 

The real charm of this fic, though? It has to be the banter. Reading this, I could totally hear the character’s voices in my head, which was only made better once the piña coladas came in. You think the twins are disasters; just wait until they’re drunk. These fics would be worth reccing on their own for that scene alone, but there’s actually a little bit of plot involved as well as Leo struggles to regain his ninpo, while Donnie... Well, something weird is going on with Donnie. Needless to say, both of these are a great read!

Every Night the Longest Day by ashtreelane

33,731 words, 13/? chapters (last updated 10/27/2022)

Character Focus: Leonardo & Family

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Medical Drama

“What’s wrong, Leo?” Raph asks from where he is curled around him, the snapper’s chin nestled on the top of his head.

“Can’t sleep,” Leo mutters. He smells worry, sudden and sharp, and when he opens his eyes Raph has whipped around to look at Donnie, eyes blown wide, looking for an answer. Donnie is looking at him too, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“We- okay. Raph, don't freak out. This is to be expected, remember?” Donnie is saying, his voice just barely on the wrong side of too calm. He’s freaking out too. Why? What’s happening? Oh, he’s being addressed now, he should probably pay attention.

“Leo, you were cursed six days ago to be unable to fall asleep. Your memory is suffering because of it, but we’re all right here, okay?”

Leo kind of knows what they’re talking about. He remembers it, he remembers that it happened, but the… events are… foggy. What- what had they been talking about?

“What are we talking about?”

When Leo is cursed to be unable to sleep, he and the family must wait for a new moon to break the spell through a ritual. Unfortunately, that new moon is nearly two weeks off. As Leo is forced to stay awake for days on end, his mental and physical condition quickly begins to deteriorate. Through it all, Leo’s family stays by his side to help him through it, beautifully balancing hurt with comfort through the beginning. As the story goes on and Leo’s condition worsens, though... Well. Things aren’t looking good, let’s say.  

I have such a soft spot for this fic, though. It’s grown quite popular lately, so many of you reading this list may have already heard it, but there was a point when I was following early on where the author was debating shifting the POV around or sticking with Leo as an unreliable narrator. I was really proud of them for sticking to their guns and going with the latter, and I think it’s paid off in spades. The way the author experiments with formatting styles and missing scenes really makes the fic stand apart from the standard whump setup, and turns it into something akin to low-key psychological horror. If you’re into that sort of thing it’s a lot of fun; even if you’re not, the moments of family bonding peppered throughout the fic are so wholesome, and definitely worth your time.

Fallout by GauntletKnight

50,677 words, 20/? chapters (last updated 11/05/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama

“We are here. We are alive. Raph and Mikey are downstairs. Dad and April and Casey are on the way. You’re alright, Leo. You’re safe. We are all safe. No one is here to hurt you…or us.” There is no special inflection to his voice, but his words are firm, unmoving. Leo shakes for a moment, squeezing Donnie’s hand…and then he blinks, his eyes clear and he tries to take a breath.

Violent coughs wrack his body as he tries to dislodge the blood that had built up from his sobs. Bright red spatters down his front and across Donnie’s hands as he holds onto Leo’s arm. Each breath is like nails on a chalkboard.

Draxum steps in instantly, checking the monitor for vitals. “I’ve gotta get to that punctured lung…or else getting this blood transfusion in him isn’t going to do anything.” He turns to Donnie, holding out plastic gloves, “Can you-”

Leo shakes his head, finally getting a rattling breath into his chest. “N-no…Don’s…not great with this kind of thing. S’ok…he’s so good at everything else he had to leave some for the rest of us.” He smiles up at Donnie like Donnie hung the damn moon and stars, his eyes still shining with painful tears. It’s…a weirdly genuine moment between the two of them…

Donnie doesn’t like it.

Set between the final fight and grabbing a slice in the movie, this fic follows the immediate aftermath of pulling Leo out of the prison dimension with a bit more urgency and attention to everyone’s injuries. 

As I’ve said before, every movie recovery fic I’ve found has their hallmark, and I’d say Fallout’s is its heart and emotion. By focusing on the aftermath of the battle where everyone’s stresses are still running high, there’s a lot going on here, and it makes for some tense, but evocative moments. The story is lightly focused on Leo’s mental state especially, but everyone is going through it and as the POV shifts every chapter, each character gets some focus as they work through their injuries and messy feelings. Fallout is very satisfying read, and one I often come back to over and over.

hamartia by Punable

40,364 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 10/30/2022)

Character Focus: Donatello & Family

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

It felt nothing like how he imagined dying would feel.

Donatello was a man of science, so it would have been foolish of him to have not, over the years, devised theories around what results certain situations would generate, what or who they might take out of commission, and what he would need to do personally in order to gain the best possible outcome. He would sometimes note down how he believed these situations might affect him or his brothers, both physically or mentally - he wasn’t an expert on emotions, far from it, but he could at least logically assume that getting, say, struck by lightning (one of his planned-for possibilities) would leave its own traumatic scar on any man or turtle that happened to experience it, so he’d dragged in April for those certain emotional areas and promptly abandoned her as a research partner when she’d told him he was being obsessive. He was not obsessive, just thorough.

He couldn’t help but feel as though some of that research time may have been wasted, though, as he lay on his side, his newest project slash rework shattered into almost unsalvageable pieces on the floor across from him. (And really, that felt almost like the harshest blow - how was anyone except him supposed to salvage that hunk of junk? Was that all that he was leaving behind?)

He felt it had been time wasted, maybe, because dying didn’t feel at all like the soft, slowing breaths of passing peacefully into sleep, or the fast tight gasping of someone going out from a bullet wound. If anything, it felt like he was breathing too deeply, every breath filling his whole body and stretching out every wound and puncture and fracture, oxygen making his head light (or maybe that was the blood loss). He didn’t feel at peace, and he certainly didn’t feel as scared as he thought he should’ve been, as he had read he should have been.

Mostly, it just felt like an inconvenience.

Donnie almost dies, and that’s just the start of this angsty tale. What follows is an interesting exploration of what Donatello thinks of himself and his role in the team, and his family’s growing concerns when he won’t give himself time to recover. Donnie’s brush with death has lasting consequences, and a large part of the fic is dedicated both to how much they affect him and how long he can hide it from his family (and the audience). Once the truth comes out, though? Oof. 

The newfound disability is handled well, imo, and you really feel for everyone involved. There’s a lot about mental health that the author just does really well in general, actually. The focus on family and everyone’s concerns for their brother is where this fic really shines, though, and there’s a lot of emotion that hits just right. Basically, the hurt is done so well, I’m looking forward to when we get to more comfort.

i go there with you by bobtheacorn

21,649 words, 15/? chapters (last updated 11/04/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Humor

"But seriously," Donnie says seriously, brandishing his tablet screen above Mikey's head and pointing at it, "I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you be Very Honest when I ask you to scale your pain using this -" He cuts his eyes toward Raph, who grins. "Emoji Scale. Which dramatization would you say you find the most relatable at the moment?"

"Okay, so defo… this guy," Leo says. He thinks he manages to lift his finger but that's all the juice he's got. "On the… left."

"That would be the thumbs-up emoji, Leo," Raph says cautiously.

"Awww," Mikey gushes, "Is that one because you love us?"

"Hang on," Leo says around another small huff of maybe-laughter, "You… can't prove anything. But also…" He moves his finger again. "Also this guy on the… on the far r-right. Like, for-real for real."

"Oh, the sad-angry-crying emoji, fantastic," Donnie says with a bit more pep, tossing the tablet and turning to Splinter, who's closest to the monitor, "Papa, would you do Leo a huge favor and smash that morphine button, please? Like, right now, immediately."

Set immediately after the invasion. This fic is a series of interconnected one-shots originally written for Whumptober, but by Chapter 9 breaks into its own thing. The whump remains a focus, but it’s tempered by a good dose of comfort and humor as well, which the author is a master of. 

If you want a recovery fic after the events of the movie that matches the feeling of the show, i go there with you is the fic to start with. The characterization and banter are spot on, as is the emotional whiplash. All of the characters gets some love and introspection in this one too, which is always fun.

Now That’s What I Call A Vacation! by WayWardWatson

56,238 words, 9/? chapters (last updated 11/06/2022)

Character Focus: Splinter & Family

Genre: Family Bonding, Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Splinter turned his attention back to Big Mama, the flirtatious mood from earlier dissipating. “I am calling in your favor.”

It was like he had slapped her with his rat tail with how she reared back in visible disgust. Her fangs clicked in irritation and she scuttled further down, closer to where Splinter was standing. “Remind me, when have I ever owed you a measly-weasly favor?”

“When you misused demon armor for profit that nearly resulted in the end of human and yokai kind alike?” Splinter evenly said. “Oh, and the time I rubbed your feet, all eight of them, when you were on bedrest.”

“I thought that was an act of love.”

“Kindness.” He corrected because his heart hurt too much when she said love. “I was being kind. Though, if you want,” Again, his voice dipped into a purr, splaying out his arms wide in open invitation. “You could be kind enough to give me and my family a free round trip to Japan? I know you can do it.”

More scuttling as a low hiss escaped her maw. “That is a big, dimbly favor to ask.”

“I thought we were calling those acts of lo- kindness?”

“Why,” She drew the word out as she finally reached the bottom and pressed her broach. Suddenly, a swirl of light engulfed Big Mama and, with a whoosh of mystic energy that smelt like nutmeg, he watched as her stature began to diminish. Just as quickly, the light fractured and then separated into small motes of bioluminescent dust, casting a dim, golden glow around them. Now in human form, Big Mama stepped in close enough to touch. “Do you want to go to Japan?”

Without thinking, Splinter’s eyes trailed down then up and he swallowed. His heart was beginning to pick up, but certainly not from fear. He took a moment to gather himself. “My children need a vacation.”

Splinter takes one look at the S2 finale and the movie and decides that’s it, this family needs a break. Deals are made, mystic disguise brooches are acquired, itineraries are made, and with that, the family (including April!) are off on an exciting vacation to Japan! As with all scenarios involving the Hamato Clan, however, nothing goes so simply.

You’re getting so much bang for your buck picking up this fic. A family trip to Japan is charming in and of itself—and the author has done so much research on the country that some passages feels like taking a tour of your own—but this fic actually has a lot going on for it. How they even get to Japan involves some fun mystic worldbuilding, and the cloaking brooches open the door to interesting commentary on body dysphoria. And of course, things take quite a turn when the fam runs into a figure from Splinter’s past who has questions he struggles to answer. A refreshing story with creative ideas, Now That’s What I Call A Vacation! also has an excellent grasp on all of the characters, in and out of vacation mode. It’s a darling read.

odd man out by cosmocrow

22,676 words, 4/? chapters (last updated 10/29/2022)

Character Focus: Future Leonardo & Leonardo, Future Leonardo & Casey, The Hamato Family

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama

“Master Splinter,” he greets, almost impressed by the fact that his voice isn’t wavering like he feared it would. “I’m sorry for barging in– like. Barging into your timeline? I– I can explain.” He really can’t, but that isn’t the point.

Splinter only raises a hand. “Don’t worry, Casey has brought us up to speed.” He turns to deposit the tray onto a cart, before folding his hands into the sleeve of his robe. Leonardo can feel those yellow eyes look him up and down as he straightens up again. Splinter takes a step closer, craning his short neck to be able to look Leonardo in the face. Melancholy dances on his features, but the rat smiles nonetheless.

“Look at you, you’ve gotten so tall, Leonardo.” The soft usage of his name almost makes Leonardo stumble. He hasn’t heard it from his father’s mouth in a long, long time. A familiar burn starts to prickle within his eyes, so he starts blinking in order to quell the itch, pressing his lips together, so his mouth won’t wobble. He isn’t sure why he’s trying – he knows that Splinter knows.

His father always knew everything.

Splinter steps even closer, lifting a hand from within the confines of his sleeves. Like a magnet, Leonardo bends down, so his dad can cup the side of his face. Gently, the old rat rubs his thumb into his cheek, just below his mask, over his red markings. Splinter’s sad little smile falls, and he tugs down the blue mask over Leonardo’s face.

“But,” he says softly, “you look so tired, my son.”

Several months after the movie’s conclusion, a familiar face from Casey’s averted bad future appears, just as everyone else is startling to settle back in. Predictably, this throws everything into confusion.

Tl;dr, Future Leonardo is sent back into the past and has to adjust back to a world sans apocalypse, and the family takes him in with open arms. Things between him and younger Leo are a lot more tenuous, but there’s a resolution early on that feels very true to their personalities—one less sure of himself, and the other who’s learned his lessons the hard way—that resonated strongly with me and made me fall in love with the story. Add to that some genuinely heartwarming moments with the family bonding, and you’re in for a good, if bittersweet time. 

Recoil by unorthodoxx

63,236 words, 10/10 chapters

Character Focus: Ensemble

Genre: Action, Team Bonding, Angst, Crossover

“Hey guys,” he yells.  “You might want to see this.”

It doesn’t take long for the three of them to spill into his lab.  Leo comes in first and drapes himself across the back of Donnie’s chair.  “What’s up?  You find the secret ingredient to Luenzo’s Pizza yet?”

“No,” Donnie scowls.  “They’re locked down tighter than Fort Knox, but it’ll fall soon.  They always do.  No fellas,” He enlarges the email, “We’ve been invited to a meet-up of sorts.”  

Raph’s hand settles heavily on his shoulder as the larger turtle leans in to read.  “Dear Genius Built…….Talk about…….agree to meet…..love…”

“IRONMAN!!?!?”  Mikey shouts.  “THE Ironman wants to meet us!”

“Wow,” Raph whistles.  “The Avengers.  That’s some top-level hero stuff.”

ROTTMNT crosses over with the MCU! Set in a world where both universes exist in the same setting, this fic takes place after the Krang Invasion, but fairly into the MCU’s history, long before the superheroes have their falling out. So long as you have any familiarity with the first Avengers movie, you’ll be able to follow the story fine, as it’s straightforward: the appearance of the Krang was as abrupt as their defeat, and Tony Stark can’t let sleeping dogs lie. After uncovering the turtles’ involvement, an in-person meeting is arranged to handle the fate of the Krang Key.

Most of this fic is just a fun excuse to let the ROTTMNT characters bounce off the MCU characters, and it’s fun to see who gets along and who doesn’t. That’s the thing I love in particular about this story—the author is true enough to their characterization that not everyone is friends by the end, in a way that makes whole sense. The Avengers are disasters themselves, after all. The plot of handling the key is done exceptionally well too, and there’s a lot of high octane action at the end that’s quite thrilling. If you’re looking for a good time, you’ll fine it in Recoil, and if you enjoyed it, there’s more where that came from! The author has planned out several other stories set later on in the same series, the first of which (where the turtles meet Spiderman) is already out. So keep an eye on that!

this kind of weather by ihaveathingforpink

21,526 words, 2/4 chapters (last updated 09/18/2022)

Character Focus: Leonardo & Michelangelo, Raphael & Donatello, Ensemble

Genre: Action, Hurt/Comfort, Crossover

“Well, if it is business you seek, Krang has a proposition for you. There are two turtles Krang wishes for you to…remove from the board as their tenacity has proven to be as obstructive as it is predictable. For our plans to proceed, it’s too dangerous for either to remain alive.”

Takeshi takes another sip before asking, “Turtles? As in the ninja turtles that reside beneath the city, whom everyone pretends doesn’t exist? The people of New York won’t be pleased if I do anything to harm their heroes.”

“Oh, I want you to do more than simply harm them. First, they need to suffer.”

“Suffering costs extra. I don’t do anything for free.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Yet you said two turtles when, last I checked, there’s four.”

“Ah, yes. They are of little concern to me. Krang only need you to get rid of two, and you must follow Krang's instructions precisely. Otherwise, you will fail. First, you will need to get rid of the little orange one; he may not look like much, but he’s one of the strongest mystic warriors of all time. I suggest you handle this one quickly—he can be quite slippery—but the blue one, Krang implores you to take your time.”

This story has one helluva hook. A surviving Krang puts a hit out on Mikey and Leo, and saying more than that would unfortunately spoil the twist of the first chapter. With just two chapters, though, this story is fascinating and deserves a lot more attention than it’s gotten. It has high stakes, great action, and is an emotional roller coaster that doesn’t let up. It’s also a bit of a crossover, though longstanding fans of the TMNT franchise will recognize these faces right away. That’s right, this is a crossover with Usagi Yojimbo! Besides characters of that series, though, there’s also a lot of familiar faces from previous TMNT series that Rise never got enough time to tackle, like Tiger Claw and Renet. 

You can probably guess from the latter’s name that things are about to get timey-wimey up in here, and you’d be correct. There’s an absolutely killer plot at work here, emphasis on the killer, and whether they want to or not the turtles have to take a divide and conquer approach to it while at one of their lowest points. Seriously, check this one out. 

Under Pressure by ParvumAutmaton

21,560 words, 4/4 chapters

Character Focus: The Boys & April

Genre: Suspense, Angst

“You know April, right?” The voice on the other end of the line asked. “You’re one of her gamer friends?”

Donnie blinked. The voice sounded familiar but that didn’t help him at the unholy hour where way too late morphed into way too early.

“And you are?”

“Her mother. Please, did she spend the night at your place?”

“No, she did not,” Donnie answered, forcing himself upright, his exhaustion evaporating with that question. “I believe she was planning on some extracurricular club activity yesterday afternoon. So we weren’t planning on seeing her.”

“I don’t suppose you know which club?”

“No, I do not.”

“Ok,” The waver Donnie heard in her voice implied that it wasn’t. “You will let me know if April gets in touch?”

“Of course Ms. O’Neil.”

The call ended.

Donnie stared at his phone.

One of the few fics on this list not set after the movie, this story takes place after the S2 finale on a dismal day when April goes missing. Investigating her disappearance leads the boys to a van and a lake, and an exploration on the dangers of cave diving. 

As you can guess from that description, this fic has quite the creative setup that’s both atmospheric and suspenseful. Be sure to heed the tags because it does get dark, but it’s still a great read, and the turtles’ determination to find their sister pulls at the heartstrings. 

➤ ➤ ➤ CANON DIVERGENT

big sister by Darth_Sunny

18,090 words, 6/? chapters (last updated 10/24/2022)

Character Focus: April & Family

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

April O’Neil wasn’t an only child anymore. She had four younger brothers, whom she loved with all her heart, and who she’d burned the world down for if anything were to happen to them. She’d fight every ancient mystic evil the world would throw at her if it meant keeping them safe. And if she couldn’t be there for them at the moment, she’d be there for them in the aftermath. She was their big sister, their oldest and only sister. : was the self-proclaimed protector, but even he needed someone to protect him and to help protect their younger brothers.

So that’s why, when she watched the portal close up, slicing the Technodrome in half, stopping the Kraang for good, knowing that he was trapped back in that prison dimension, April O’Neil felt her heart break into hundreds, thousands, millions of little pieces.

This one’s a fic following April’s perspective on the end of the invasion, from Leo’s sacrifice, to picking up Casey, and reuniting with the boys. It mostly follows canon, but there is a fairly major change revealed partway through that makes it canon divergent from the movie’s ending. It’s unclear if other changes will follow, but just in case it’s being slotted in the canon divergent category all the same. 

That’s not the focus, though. No, this fic is centered squarely on April and her relationship with the rest of the Hamato Clan. I love that it impresses how much April is a part of the family, and that the boys aren’t just her friends but her brothers, and that their pain is her pain. Watching the aftermath of the invasion unfold from her perspective is a fresh and evocative take. 

Like Father Like Son by eternalglitch

132,982 words, 25/? chapters (last updated 11/02/2022)

Character Focus: Everyone (Leo-centric)

Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort

“Here, Boss!” Huginn darted back across the room, wings straining, as he carried a very… familiar…

“Uh, wait up, no,” Leo said, eyeing the blue object as Huginn dropped it into Draxum’s waiting hand. “Do you even know where that thing’s been? Have you properly washed it at least?”

Draxum’s roots suddenly shift, dragging Leo upright until he’s forced to stand on his tip-toes to have any sort of purchase. “I happened to have had it offered to me by the mutant that you call Meat Sweats,” Draxum said, admiring the collar (for that’s what it actually was, even if Leo had never called it that when it was just a gift from his brother) in the light. “He was quite helpful once I mentioned what I wanted to use it for.” Draxum started to approach, the collar held aloft.

“So, what,” Leo bit out. “You’re gonna stop me from saying my one-liners? Big whoop.”

“I think you’ll find,” Draxum coolly said. “That this has been modified to do so much more than that.”

This fic needs no introduction. In fact, there’s a high chance some of you heard of LFLS before they even saw Rise; I’ve heard of people who only watched the show just so they could read it! It’s the most popular fic in the fandom for a reason. If that’s scared you off, though, or if you’ve avoided it for other reasons, let me tell you why you should give it a chance. 

The fic takes some of Rise’s best villains and settings, and explores the darker sides of them (do heed the warnings in the tags). Leo goes through the absolute wringer, but the effect his disappearance has on his family plays a central part of the story as well, with all of the brothers getting full blown introspection and character arcs. Donnie’s in particular hurts me. The emotions are high and the plot is juicy, with some of the tightest writing the fandom has to offer, including intelligent plans and dialogue. As far as hurt/comfort goes, this is definitely a slow burn with a lot of angst, but the author has promised a happy ending. Between that and consistent updates (it’s been going strong for two years), what more could you ask for?

Three Days to Live by Werepirechick

93,992 words, 13/13 chapters

Character Focus: April & The Boys

Genre: Cyberpunk, Action, Human AU

The heiress and former target lowers her hands, keeping them placidly by her sides. “K-tech is a vicious, unrelenting company,” she says, glasses gleaming in the room’s light as she lifts her chin in defiance. “The people who run it are the same. They don’t let people get away, and they don’t leave loose ends. You were all on their shit list as much as I am, the second you signed on.”

Leo shifts his stance, tightening his grip on his gun. “So what are you proposing?” he asks coolly.

“Like y’all said. I’m the heiress to the company. In three days I’m going to walk into a courtroom, sign the papers that frees K-tech from the control of my guardian, and walk out the richest, most powerful person in North America.” O’Neil smiles bitterly. “That is, if I can survive the next seventy-two hours. That’s where you come in.”

“You want us to guard you,” Raph states.

Ohhh, this fic is an absolute gem. You can’t say no to a good Human AU in this fandom to start, but to top it off with a cyberpunk twist? Trust me, this is a match made in heaven. The plot kicks off when the boys—hitmen in this universe—are hired to take out April O’Neil, an heiress to one of the world’s largest tech companies. When things take a turn, she makes them a deal: protect her for three days instead, and she’ll make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

The plot that follows is filled with danger, intrigue, and high octane action. The world is incredibly thought out and immersive, and makes for a great way to work ROTTMNT’s mystic powers into a new genre. The banter, though. If you’ve read any of Werepirechick’s other fics, you’d know that’s their specialty, and it’s no different here in Three Days to Live. While on the run from the powers seeking to destroy her, the boys and April bond and their friendship is perfection. The series also blends in characters from other iterations of the franchise, but it’s not too distracting, and for the most part remains firmly rooted in the Rise style. Do yourself a favor, and give this one a read!

Posted: 11/06/2022

[xtrrdnrypotato]

Bakugo x chubby reader

Katsuki Bakugo x chubby! female reader

TW: fluff, language, reader is insecure of her figure,

Note: This is my first piece so please go easy on me if I didn’t portray everything exactly. This is also a part of @heart-shaped-cheerios collab event, so go check her out. Also, I hope this fic makes you less insecure with yourself because whatever shape, form or size you are, you are perfect and you're the only one who can do you. Also, if some of the lines sound familiar to you, that's probably because I took some inspiration from Yagami Yato hehe anyways I hope you enjoy

WC: 2.7 k

You stared longingly at Bakugo again for the umpteenth time, your food untouched.

"Y/n!" your friend, Mina, called again, and your attention snapped to her.

"Oh, sorry, what was it?" you asked her, and you swore she looked so close to facepalming herself.

"I said, you still haven't touched your food. Quit daydreaming about Bakugo and start eating!" she said, almost yelled, and you shushed her quickly.

"Shh! Mina, don't talk too loud or he might hear you," you said, glancing quickly at the said boy to make sure his attention wasn't on you guys. Mina sighed exasperatedly.

"Y/n, how many times have I told you, just tell him your feelings. This is our last year in UA. If you don't tell him now how you feel, you may never get the chance to do so," she said, softer this time and you sighed.

"I know, but, you know how I feel about myself," you answered, looking down at your body. "And besides, he's probably not even in the slightest bit interested in me," you added as you took a bite off of your food.

"Hey, you never know! Who knows, maybe secretly, he's also daydreaming about you when you're not looking." You could clearly hear the mischief in her tone and you shook your head.

"Yeah right, as if," you mumbled as you kept eating, unaware of the vermilion eyes staring at you with a somewhat doting look.

It was your dreaded time of the day again. Training. You hated it when it's time for training, hated it when you don your hero costume, hated how you're fully aware you probably look round as hell in it, and hated the fact that Bakugo has to see you in it. But seeing Bakugo in his hero costume somehow made your hatred for training a little more bearable. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you almost missed it when Aizawa-sensei announced that you would have to go against Bakugo. Almost.

"Wait, what?!" you gasped as soon as you realized what your teacher said.

"Is there any problem?" Aizawa asked sternly and you gulped, shaking your head.

"N-none, sir."

"Good. Now, everyone, get ready," he said.

"Mina, Mina, Mina! I'm going up against Bakugo," you said to your best friend, clinging to her arm frantically. She immediately looked at you.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes! Oh, what do I do, what do I do?" you panicked as you thought of ways on how to avoid making yourself look like a complete and utter fool.

"Relax. Everything's going to be fine. Just, try not to look like a fool and do your best. Don't think of him as Bakugo, your crush. For now, think of him as Bakugo, someone you have to go against," Mina said as she rubbed your shoulders to help you calm down and that seemed to do the trick. With a deep breath, you nodded and smiled.

"You're right! Thanks, Mina," you said.

"Welcome, now go and get ready. You're up for one heck of a training," she grinned and you rolled your eyes playfully, thanking her once again before leaving to get ready.

Meanwhile, Bakugo watched as you started getting ready.

"Oi, Bakugo, quit staring at Y/n and get yourself ready," Denki teased, flustering the spiky haired blonde.

"Shut up! I'm not staring at her!" he denied as he geared himself up. Denki and Kirishima glanced at each other with a knowing look, before bursting into laughter. Bakugo looked at them with furrowed brows.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?!" he demanded. His eyes suddenly widened as Kirishima put an arm around him.

"Come on, Bakugo, no need to deny! We all do that, you're not alone," Kirishima said, to which Denki agreed.

"Yeah, dude! I always do that to Jiro," he said with a shit-eating grin. Bakugo looked at them incredulously before shaking off Kirishima's arm around him.

"Shut up, both of you!" He was about to deny more when Sero suddenly entered.

"Yeah, if you look closely, Bakugo's a bit softer with Y/n," he casually stated as he put on his helmet. Bakugo's eyes widened once more before he let out an exasperated groan and pushed his friends out of the way.

No, can't be. I'm not softer with her. Tsk, damn Soy Sauce Face.

"Next up, Katsuki Bakugo and Y/n L/n!" you heard Aizawa announce and you stood up nervously, sparing one last glance at Mina, who nodded firmly. With a sigh, you headed to the center of the gym.

"Good luck, Bakugo," you smiled at him and he responded with a simple tsk, before getting in position. As soon as you heard the signal to start, you immediately backed away from Bakugo, activating your quirk just in time for one of his explosions. You quickly attempted to kick his leg to knock him off balance, but he easily avoided your attack and landed an explosion on your back, sending you to the ground. Wiping the dirt off of your face, you stood up and decided to lunge at him. He easily avoided your attacks, until you managed to find an opening. As you were about to punch him, he suddenly grabbed one of your hands and flung you to the ground, face first. You could feel your stomach growling from lack of food this morning, but you still willed yourself to stand up and brace for one more attack. However, just as you were to get up, you felt your knees weakening and before you knew it, you fell to the ground, stomach hurting too much for you to make a move.

Bakugo was determined to prove to his friends that he wasn't soft for anyone, especially not with you, but as soon as he saw your knees starting to buckle, his determined look suddenly softened until he saw you on the ground, seemingly crumpling in pain. He stood there at first, shocked and unable to comprehend what happened, before he walked to you and started lifting you up.

You were curled up on the ground in pain, hands clutching your growling tummy, when you suddenly felt someone starting to carry you. You were just about to open your mouth to protest when you saw the face of the one carrying you.

"B-Bakugo?!" You gasped. He simply ignored you and started walking towards the door and you started freaking out internally. Oh shit, I'm heavy, I'm heavy!!

"Bakugo, put me down! This is embarrassing!" You hissed at him but he still looked completely unmoved.

"Bakugo, put me the hell down! I'm too heavy!" You complained again as you started thinking of ways on how to free yourself from him when he suddenly glared at you.

"Shut up, damn brat. Are you underestimating me?" he asked and you shook your head. Never did it once cross your mind to underestimate him.

"Good. Then shut up and let me do this," he said and you said no more, remaining silent until you reached the infirmary.

You couldn't help but wince as Recovery Girl kissed your cheek. Bakugo brought you to the infirmary, then left as soon as the old healing lady attended to you.

"You children, obsessed with being skinny and all. Look at what you're doing to yourselves," the woman reprimanded you as you remained silent. The silence was soon broken though when your best friend Mina entered the room.

"Y/n!! I was so worried about you. What happened? Are you okay?" she asked consecutively as she ran by your side. You waved her off with a laugh.

“Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry,” she answered with a smile. Mina seemed relieved with your answer, but her frown remained.

“Now, woman, you have some explaining to do to me. Why are you starving yourself?” she asked sternly and your smile slowly dissipated.

“How’d you know?” you murmured, avoiding your friend’s eyes. You heard her audibly gasp.

“So you are starving yourself. God, why Y/n?” she asked, sounding both exasperated and concerned. You remained silent, ashamed of yourself.

“Y/n, come on, answer me!”

“Because I want to be like you guys! You all have the ideal bodies, slim and curvy, while here’s my chubby ass. So I thought, maybe I could try starving myself so I could be more like you guys,” you retorted as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to leave your eyes.

Bakugo was about to enter your room when he heard another voice from inside. Tsk, Raccoon-eyes. Still, instead of leaving, he decided to stay outside the door, eavesdropping on the conversation. Tsk, I shouldn’t be here, he thought to himself despite what he’s currently doing. What he heard next though was something he never thought you’d say.

Mina gaped at you, aghast before she suddenly hugged you.

"What are you talking about, silly? You don't have to be like us, Y/n. Yes, you may be chubby, but that’s part of your charm,” she said in an attempt to comfort her.

“No, I..of course it’s easy for you to say that. Look at you,” you pouted, motioning to her slim pink body.

“I’m pink. Yes, I’m slim, but I’m pink. Despite how my body shape looks, I’m still pink, unlike you and Uraraka and others. But you guys still befriended me, right?” she asked and you nodded.

“Of course! I mean, you may be pink but you’re fun to talk to, and you’re nice,” you added, which made her smile sheepishly.

“You really think so?” she asked teasingly before bursting into giggles. Staring at her, you couldn’t help but snicker as well.

“But kidding aside, now you get my point?” Mina asked as she stopped laughing. Wiping the corner of your eye, you nodded.

“I guess?” you answered with a slight grin. Mina looked at you with an “are you serious” look and you giggled.

“Well, I think that’s the best I can get from you for now. But once you’re out of here, I’m going to whip you into shape! And I don’t mean physically! Got it?” she asked in a bossy tone, her hands on her hips. Your slight grin turned into a full fledged smile and you nodded. Mina’s serious yet playful look softened and she hugged you once again, before finally leaving you alone in the clinic.

Mina shook her head as she closed the clinic door behind her.

“She’s always so stubborn,” she muttered to herself. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Bakugo.

“Oh, Bakugo, are you visiting Y/n?” she asked. He didn’t answer, which made her grin.

“She’s up, don’t worry. Get in there, I know she’s also looking for you,” she added and the blonde looked at her with an inquisitive brow raised as Mina held her hands up in surrender and moved out of the way. With a tsk, Bakugo was about to enter when Mina talked again.

“You should probably tell her how you feel already. It’s starting to get out of hand, you know,” she teased. She can obviously see him tense up, before letting out a low growl and opening the door, quickly closing the door behind him, making Mina chuckle.

Your eyes were closed as you pondered your best friend’s words when you heard the door open.

“Mina, I thought-” you were cut short when you saw Bakugo enter. You quickly straightened and cleared your throat.

“H-hey, Bakugo,” you said with an awkward laugh.

“Wh-what are..you doing here?” you asked, seeing as he didn’t respond to your first statement. He remained silent and you were starting to get annoyed by his behavior.

“Seriously, why are you-”

“How are you?” he cut you short and you closed your mouth before responding again.

“I-I’m good. Recovery Girl told me I can go out by today, I just need to take a small rest,” you answered and he nodded thoughtfully. You tried to look for more things to say, but couldn’t find any and so you decided to shut up.

“I..” Bakugo said before pausing quickly, as if hesitating what to say next. He cleared his throat before talking again.

“I..overheard what you and Mina were talking about earlier,” he stated and you looked at him, eyes wide before shaking yourself off.

“You did?” you asked and he simply nodded. Great, now you’re probably thinking of how pathetic I am, you couldn’t help but think.

“Why?” he asked, breaking your train of thoughts.

“Wh-what do you mean..why?”

“Why would you try to change yourself? Why would you do such a thing to the point that it almost got you in trouble?” he asked, and you were pretty sure you could hear concern in his voice. You remained quiet though, embarrassed as you looked down to your hands.

“Why?” he repeated himself, firmer this time and you looked up at him.

“So you’d take a second glance at me!” you shot back and he furrowed his brows, as if he didn’t understand what you meant.

“I did that..so you know, you would notice me,” you paused, considering your words before resuming. “I’ve liked you for some time now, Bakugo, but I thought..you wouldn’t notice me or take a second glance at me, because of how I look. Because, let’s be honest, I pale in comparison with the other girls in our class. So I tried being like them, so maybe you’d like me back,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes. He remained speechless for a long time, and you sighed. You’ve only made a fool of yourself.

“Look, I know it sounds pathetic, so could you please just leave me-”

“Idiot,” he mumbled and you looked at him, aghast.

“Excuse me?” you asked, incredulous. After that confession, he’d just call you an idiot?!

“You’re an idiot. You’re an idiot for thinking that you need to be like them in order for me to like you. You’re an idiot for thinking that I wouldn’t take a second glance at you because of how you look. You’re an idiot for even thinking that I didn’t like you in the first place,” he added and you looked at him, confused.

“Wha-? What are you talking about?” you asked him, visibly confused.

“You really are a dumbass, huh?”

“One more insult and I’ll kick you out.”

“How could you not notice? All my friends have been telling me that I’ve been so obvious, but I guess I wasn’t obvious enough,” he answered and you only gaped at him, even more lost.

“What do you mean “obvious”? What the hell are you talking about?” you asked, starting to get annoyed.

“I like you, dumbass!” he finally yelled and your eyes widened, taken aback. He saw your shocked expression and decided to continue.

“I like you because you’re cheerful, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re helpful. I like you because you still manage to smile even after all the insults you get from others. I like you because you’re you. So when I heard that you were starving yourself because you wanted to look like the others, I knew I had to do something. You don’t need to be like them for me to notice you, because it’s you who I like. I wouldn’t like you if you were like them. And I don’t care if you think you’re too fat or too chubby or whatever because to me, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And you just need to see that,” he said, the words flowing out of him so effortlessly. When he looked at you, he could see tears in your eyes again.

“Tsk, making me say stuff like that,” he said and before you knew it, he pulled you in a hug.

“So don’t go trying to change yourself, okay? If you really want to, I’d respect that. But do it for yourself. Not because you want to be like someone else, but because you want to be you. Got it?” he said as he hugged you tightly and you couldn’t help but tear up more.

���Are you saying this because it’s what you really mean, or because you just pity me?” you asked with a slight laugh.

“Shut up, dumbass. You know I don’t do things half-assed, and I wouldn’t say all this stuff if it’s just out of pity, so you better appreciate it,” he mumbled and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I do appreciate it,” you answered and you swear you could feel him smile.

“Good. Now shut up..and let me hug you,” he said, holding you tighter and at that moment, you knew you couldn’t be any happier.

[lyrebirdswrites]

Shrödinger’s Nobara

So we got an update on how Nobara is doing. It was not the update I wanted to see.

My first impulse was to consider this a point blank confirmation of her death. I still think there’s a high chance she will not be recovering, and I would advise all Nobara stans to prepare emotionally for the possibility that she really is dead if you have not done so already. However, I also think it’s possible to make a case for her survival based on the information in this scene and the context from previous chapters, and I’m going to do my best to do so. Hopefully I can provide some comfort to anyone who might be freaking out over the implications here like I was at first.

Megumi doesn’t say she’s breathing or we don’t know or even it doesn’t look good - he says nothing at all. That does not fill me with confidence. But he doesn’t directly say she is gone either. This is a good time to remember the cardinal rule of character death; it’s not confirmed until we see the body. I think until we actually have indisputable proof of her death, we should continue operating under the assessment Nitta gave when he halted the damage caused by her wounds - don’t get your hopes up, but it’s not a zero percent chance.

I don’t consider Megumi’s pessimism to be indisputable proof. It’s damning, yes. But he is also highly subjective, inclined to assume the worst, and not an omnipotent force in the narrative. This isn’t me saying that the only reason there’s ambiguity is because she’s definitely still alive—that would be a wrong assumption to make. But if Akutami is still in two minds about what to do about her, or if he knows but doesn’t want to tell us, this scene is a neat way of sidestepping the need for a definitive answer right now. There’s enough plausible deniability in the framing of this exchange for Megumi’s answer to be read as she’s 100% dead, OR as she’s alive but in super fucking bad shape and it doesn’t look good. Whichever result it turns out to be, the scene can work in retrospect either way.

Which brings me to my not-retroactive interpretation of Yuuji’s immediate reaction. I think he would have been way more distressed if he perceived megumi’s silence as confirmation that she was without a doubt dead. He pulls himself together remarkably quickly for someone who full on had a mental breakdown mid fight at the sight of her injury. In the comments section over on readjujutsukaisen (credit where credit is due, not my analysis) commenter Asinine said “I think Megumi's non-response indicated the severity of her condition. I think Yuji's reaction revealed his pain followed by hope (clenched fist) she'll pull through.” That makes more sense to me than Yuuji thinking she’s actually dead and only having I get it!! to say about it before we rush on with the plot.

I’d really like to read the original raw version of this chapter, because it’s worth noting that the unofficial fan translation phrased Yuuji’s question like this: how is Kugisaki’s condition? It matters whether his question is past tense or present tense, because that positions Megumi’s answer as either past tense or present tense too. Megumi could be looking sad because, past tense, what happened to her was bad. Or he could be looking sad because, present tense, her condition is bad. I think the nuance there definitely affects how we as the audience should interpret this exchange and consequently Nobara’s chances. If anyone knows where I can read the raw scans please tell me.

Speaking of Nobara’s chances—structurally and narratively there is still more than enough room for her in the plot. When she was first taken out by Mahito, I figured she’d be fine because I thought her frequent references to people ‘messing up her beautiful face’ and her argument with Momo about scars on female jujutsu sorcerers/sexism in the jujutsu world were foreshadowing her having to live with that massive scar and a missing eye. If Akutami wants to continue exploring themes of feminism and sexism, as he has indicated through his characterisation of the broader zenin clan, Nobara now has a unique role to play in that aspect of the story: being treated differently after getting scarred.

Similarly, there are some interesting implications when it comes to her cursed technique and the current arc. Theoretically, she could use resonance on any of the newly awakened sorcerers/vessels and do some serious damage to The Brain, because they’re all strongly linked to him through the powers he gave them. She might provide an avenue to attack him later via that method—or Akutami might be deliberately sidelining her for the duration of this arc with the intent to have her recover later, because he saw this massive plot hole coming and he needs to thin out (cull) the crowd of awakened sorcerers first so she doesn’t have such easy access to a really powerful weakness in a major antagonist.

It’s also possible that he saw the plot hole coming and is killing her to fix it. But if that was the case, he wouldn’t have said in one of his interviews that he hadn’t made up his mind yet whether she was dead or not (?? That’s the translation I saw iirc, but I can’t vouch for its accuracy because I didn’t personally translate or cross check it myself).

Every other character’s death has been clear in a very gut punch kind of way, but ever since Nitta showed up this one has been SO ambiguous the whole way through. In my opinion, this scene does far more to increase the ambiguous tension than release it. It’s too vague. Akutami has been pretty good about giving his characters a fitting send off up to this point. I would be genuinely surprised if he broke the news about one of the main trio officially dying via one page in one chapter which doesn’t even give a status update though words, let alone through an actual drawing of her corpse/grave/ashes/funeral. Which loops me back to the cardinal rule of character death: it’s not confirmed until we see the body.

And let’s face it—if Akutami plans to keep Nobara alive, I am 100% sure he would drag the reveal out as long as possible and make it look as unlikely as possible in order to inflict Pain™ on his audience. Of course, if he plans to kill her off, the situation would look equally grim. But you know he wouldn’t hand us her recovery on a silver platter. Things seem bad (and like I said nobara stans this is your wake up call to start preparing for the worst case scenario now) but that doesn’t automatically mean that they are as bad as they seem.

In summary:

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 2.8k WARNINGS: hospital, injury, child trafficking, child abuse, hostage taking, guns, police, violence

author’s note: we have reached part 4!!! i think our couple’s relationship development is quite slow. please bear with me/them, they’re getting there!!! :’((( also, i am still very much thankful and overjoyed for the kind feedback that you guys gave for the previous chapter. i hope you guys are looking forward for this one. enjoy!!! :)))

four: let’s get you home, princess | masterlist

Wonwoo is not addressed as Your Highness inside the hospital premises. It’s actually rare for him to hear Your Highness ever since the royal decrees have been relaxed. His close friends, family and even colleagues have been calling him by his name or profession for the longest time. However, the King and Queen still must be addressed with utmost respect, regardless of who the person may be to the Royal Family. 

Things just got different when he started living and working at your kingdom. He had said that it’s okay for him to be called Wonwoo most especially by senior doctors who have been practicing even before he was born. But it was still awkward so they stuck with Dr. Jeon. These days, some young residents and interns still stutter and it just makes Wonwoo laugh. 

From time to time, Wonwoo is withdrawn from the hospital because of his duties as the Prince. Duties such as to make an appearance, attend a meeting or speak at an event. Said duties usually eat up most of his days in a week. Days where he could and should have been at the hospital, doing what he pledged to do until he dies. 

Wonwoo is loyal to the crown, but he is also committed to the people he promised to serve. 

The wedding planning has started and he’s relieved that you and him both have reached an agreement to hire a full-time planner that will arrange whatever the desires of your hearts may be. He’s grateful that just like him, you are happily married to your job. It’s a lame joke, but Wonwoo can never be bothered to care. So far as the wedding planning goes, you have been looking at venues such as hotels, private gardens or beach resorts. Initially, his parents offered to hold the wedding at their kingdom but you humbly requested to have it at your homeland instead. 

It was no issue to the King and Queen, definitely understanding where you were coming from.

Wonwoo admires that side of you. You seem to always know what you want and when you do, you speak up at the right time with elegance and confidence. He believes it’s the lawyer and princess in you altogether. 

The thought of you puts a smile on his face. He hopes you wake up soon so he can see you.

“Wonwoo?” 

His thoughts popped like a bubble when his name was suddenly called. He clears his throat and faces the owner of the voice. It was Soonyoung and by the looks of his grin, Wonwoo’s sure he witnessed him daydreaming. 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes and goes back to the charts he’s been reading. “What do you want?”

“That’s not how you return the favor of your friend who brought you a fresh batch of clothing,” his friend chides, bumping his shoulder against his tall friend. “You seemed to have had a great night, our Prince.”

It’s trivial, really. But Wonwoo’s cheeks blushed at the reminder. He will never tell anyone but staying with you yesterday until the early hours of today made him feel something he doesn’t know. It’s absurd how he can’t pinpoint what that something is, but he won’t deny that there is. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles like a child, ignoring the cheeky giggle Soonyoung emits. 

Speaking of Soonyoung, he was born in your kingdom and moved to the neighboring one when he was only a baby. Both his parents are doctors also who have the heart and passion to offer their services voluntarily. They were only set for a medical mission before going back in a month, but the King and Queen (Wonwoo’s parents) recognized and applauded their kindness, offering them a place to stay and permanent positions at their Royal Hospital. 

Being of the same age, Wonwoo and Soonyoung grew up together and became best of friends. 

It’s no question that he’s attached to the Prince wherever he goes. 

“Dr. Jeon,” another voice calls for him and this time, it sounded desperate. 

Wonwoo looks up and finds a young resident, looking disheveled and stressed. “What is it?”

“I have a young boy, 10-11-years-old, crying in pain while clutching his left arm,” she explains the basics before continuing, “He was brought by someone who seemed like his brother not older than 14-years-old. They weren’t accompanied by anyone.”

“Ask for their names and address,” Soonyoung suggests while standing straight and crossing his arms. “I’m sure we can find some contact details from the statistics office.”

The young intern shakes her head. “They’re not talking. All the older boy is saying, begging rather, is for us to help them.”

“X-ray?” Wonwoo asks and pumps some sanitizer on his hands. 

“The result is on the way.”

Wonwoo nods and starts walking to where the boys are. “Let’s see what we got then.”

The emergency department is always hectic and anyone that says otherwise is unbelievable. Regardless of what the case may be, Wonwoo stands that if they are brought here, it is an emergency. Usually, they range from new parents bringing their newborn baby who can’t stop crying in the middle of the night or some bringing their seven-year-old for a cast because they fell off the bike while playing with their friends. They all seem to be treatable and can be discharged in an hour or so. But sometimes, you can never be too sure. 

Wonwoo knows because he has witnessed it already. That one baby that’s been crying was actually fighting a fever and that one kid who fell from the bike? It was having trouble with his balance and movement. 

It’s not the first time that young children came to the hospital by themselves. They’re soon followed by their parents or guardian afterwards most of the time. Wonwoo supposes the kids this time around are in shock that they can’t form any clear thoughts at the moment. 

But Wonwoo doesn’t think that’s the case at all once the curtains were pulled open. 

“Oh my,” Soonyoung blurts out, surprised. 

Wonwoo expected two boys looking dirty and blushing from playing under the sun all throughout the day. He expected them to be silently crying for their mom or dad. He expected them to be at least healthy and on their way for a speedy recovery once they got treatment. But no, Wonwoo was wrong.

The boys looked awfully hungry and dehydrated. Their clothes were smaller than what their body looks like and the older brother is missing one pair of his shoes. He noticed bruises on some parts of their body. There’s even a nasty cut on the older boy’s bottom lip. 

Something’s wrong and Wonwoo is not a fool to not notice it. 

Wonwoo releases the breath he’s been holding and smiles genuinely. “Hello, I’m Wonwoo.”

Silence. 

He looked at Soonyoung before proceeding to meet the boy’s height who’s sitting on the chair beside his brother’s bed. “I’m going to take a look at your brother now, if you don’t mind.” 

The older one finally looks at him, his eyes dead serious. “That’s what they have been saying ever since we got here. Why can’t you just treat him already?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wonwoo tries to calm him down, noticing his tear-stained face and shaking voice. “Your brother will probably need a cast. We’re just waiting for the x-ray results to come out to know for sure. I just need to ask some questions, alright?”

The boy’s bloodied lip trembles as he nods his head. 

“I’ll go get the result,” Soonyoung says and leaves without forgetting to close the curtains.

“What’s your name?” 

“They call me Jung,” the boy answers, weak and unsure. He then points at his sleeping brother, “He’s called Sam.”

Wonwoo’s brows furrow in both confusion and doubt. Why wouldn’t they have official names? Looking at the brothers’ state all over again, it didn’t take Wonwoo long to comprehend what’s really going on. He turns his head to the resident and locks eyes with her, who’s already grasping the situation at hand. He then gives her a nod, signalling her to immediately call children’s services.

Once she leaves, Soonyoung arrives with an envelope. 

“It’s a fracture, but won’t need surgery,” He says happily and Jung sighs in relief. 

“But, you’re staying here for a while,” Wonwoo takes hold of the envelope from his friend. “We just need to run some more tests.”

Soonyoung looks at his friend with wide eyes asking, what are you talking about? But Wonwoo ignores him and keeps his smile in the hopes that the boy doesn’t grow any more agitated.

“Your brother is okay,” he assures Jung and squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll put the cast on his arm and clean the cut on your lip shortly. Stay here, okay?”

He pushes his friend out after the boy gives them a nod. Soonyoung was still glaring at him at the nonsense he spewed out earlier. Wonwoo puts a finger on his lip, gesturing for him to not say a thing yet until they move to somewhere more quiet. 

“What is going on?” Soonyoung whispered-shouts when they reached what seemed to be the fire exit. “What tests are we still running?”

“It’s a lie,” Wonwoo answers and smooths the lines on his forehead, thinking and thinking on what he should do. “We need to keep them here. I think… they’re victims of abuse and trafficking.”

Soonyoung’s jaw drops while his legs grow weak, making him stumble. This is nothing new to them. But even so, it still makes him sick to the stomach. He just nodded as he didn’t need to say anything else.

“I already asked for children’s services and they could arrive here anytime soon,” Wonwoo continues. “They looked like they escaped. I won’t be surprised if someone suddenly barges here, claiming they’re the parent or guardian.”

“What do we do when that happens?”

“We keep them safe,” he answers firmly. “No matter what.”

Every staff at the Emergency Room was alerted about the situation of the boys. Authorities were also called and they’ll be arriving soon. Wonwoo gave strict orders to not disclose any information about them to anyone who claims they are the parent or guardian. Any affiliation they assume is not acceptable unless they can prove it. 

The boys were transferred to a ward once Sam’s treatment was done. Wonwoo brought them some food, water and spare gowns to rid them of the excuse of clothes they’ve been wearing for who knows how long. It’s unbearable to imagine what they have gone through but seeing them get comfortable is enough to bring some peace to Wonwoo’s mind. 

He requested Soonyoung to stay with them or at least check on them from time to time and make sure no one goes inside their room other than the designated staff. He just needs the representative of the children’s services to arrive and they’ll start knowing what the next steps to take from there. 

Now that’s settled, Wonwoo can now go back to his routine and job.

Or not. 

“You’re Highness.”

His security detail stands before him, complete and blocking his way to the elevator that could bring him back to the Emergency Room. Wonwoo can notice the tense and nervous expressions on their faces like children about to admit the trouble they just caused. He had requested before that they be posted on the sides to not hinder him from working. They’re only to jump into action when it’s life threatening and by the looks of it they’re here in his face just to do that but he still asks.

“What are you doing here?”

The head of the group bows his head. “The Emergency Room is being held hostage by armed men. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Wonwoo’s heart almost felt like it stopped beating. “No.” 

He needs to move. He needs to go back there. He can’t just leave.

Wonwoo forces his body against the men standing firm on their positions, only to be held back. His head of security nods at his men to not let him go and carry him if they have to. 

“No, no, no!”

Wonwoo thrashes from their hold as he screamed for them to let him go. He can hear his security speaking to his mic to prepare the vehicle that would transfer him to safety but in that second all men drop to the ground and shield him when an ear-splitting clap suddenly reverberates through the walls.

A gunshot was fired.

Meanwhile, you were brought to the top floor of the hospital at one of the private rooms reserved for the members of the Royal Family when you insisted on staying. Jeongyeon and the rest of your security detail were more than distressed at your stubbornness, fearing for the earful they’re going to get once this is all over. But they would rather have that than leave you and neglect their duty.

“Your Highness, we really have to go,” Jeongyeon reiterates, still trying to convince you while shaking your shoulders. 

You shake your head and avoid her eyes. “No, we can’t just leave the people here. We can’t leave…” you pause then whisper softly, “Wonwoo.”

Jeongyeon nods. “I know, I know. But the Royal Police are on their way and the Prince’s security detail is already with him. The two of you cannot stay here any longer. It’s an order from His Majesty.”

You swallow the lump on your throat. You can’t think. You can’t process whatever the hell is ensuing downstairs. The lives of innocent people, your innocent people, are at stake. 

You just can’t leave. You have to do something. 

“We’re not leaving this hospital until those armed men are immobilized.”

Jeongyeon wishes to plead further but all you hear was ringing when the sound of what you’ve been fearing the most resonated inside the room. 

Security scrambles and moves at a speed of light to protect you with their bodies. They were screaming among themselves but you fail to register what they’re saying. You fail to hear nor see your surroundings.

Everything became a blur.

Everything became nothing as your heart beated a thousand times faster than normal and the only person running through your mind is no one else but the Prince who was beside you just last night but is now in imminent danger.

Please, Wonwoo. Please.

“Their Majesties condemns the hostage taking that occurred at the Royal Hospital,” Prime Minister Lee starts, looking straight at the camera. “Their Majesties assures and promises the public that they will be held accountable for the crime they have committed but most importantly for the distress and trauma they have caused the patients. They commend the prompt action that the Hospital’s Security and Royal Police have taken resulting in no casualties.”

“Prime Minister Lee!” A reporter raises their hand. “Can you confirm that His and Her Highness Jeon Wonwoo and Y/N were at the hospital when the hostage took place?”

“Yes,” he answers, “Her Highness, Princess Y/N, was admitted to the hospital yesterday after fainting at her office…”

You switch the TV off with the remote before throwing it on the couch. You walk to the window with crossed arms and watch the Royal Police vehicles leave one by one after clearing the Emergency Room and declaring it safe. It’s now back to its normal operations. 

Apparently, the gunshot was fired by the police, wounding one of the hostage takers. They took advantage of that distraction to finally hold them down and arrest them right away. There’s no official statement from the Royal Police yet as they are still investigating further. You make a commitment to get to the bottom of this.

They’re gone now.

But Wonwoo is still unheard of. 

He’s safe, they told you. But that didn’t stop you from biting your nails, walking back and forth and pulling your hairs from the roots. You need to see him. 

“Your Highness,” Jeongyeon calls for you and your head snaps up. She gives you a small smile before opening the door she’s holding wider.

Wonwoo enters with a tired smile and you almost burst into tears. You ran to him as fast as you could, but your legs were weakened by worry, you almost fell. It’s a good thing Wonwoo meets you halfway and catches you in his arms. 

You take every tangible thing about him. You take and you take as you hold his waist tightly and bury your face to his chest. “You can’t do that to me.”

Wonwoo sighs in content upon breathing in your scent and hearing your voice. He wraps his one arm around your waist while the other holds your head gently. He stays silent and just holds you for as long as he desires. After the horror that transpired earlier, holding you like this is what he desperately needed. 

“Let’s get you home, Princess.”

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Fourteen ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1754

Warnings: TW -- mentions of illness

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Can I just say, that I TRULY believe I have some of the best readers in the entire world? Each of you is so kind, so encouraging, and you take time out of your day to read this story!! Thank you, each and every one of you, so, so much! 

Immediately after leaving Cosima’s room, I seek out Baranor. I don’t want to leave her alone and must find a task to calm my mind. Though Cosima sounded sure of her ailment being non-severe, humans are so fragile. What if she were to sway like she did earlier but didn’t have me there to catch her? She could fall to the stone floor and crack her head open.

I freeze. Should I go back?

No. I stop myself. She said she would be fine, I have to respect that. Besides, I sigh, focusing on the bigger picture. I can check on her tomorrow. In the meantime, Baranor might have insight.

It’s still early, only five o’clock or so, and Baranor is exactly where I expect him to be — the healing wards. Like me, his is not prone to taking an extended period without work.

He sees me coming and greets me with a smile, passing along a small jar to another healer clothed in a robe of pale green. “We’re attempting to develop a new salve for burns,” he explains. “What brings you to the healing wards?”

I sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted under the stress of the last twenty minutes. So much could have gone wrong. “Cosima.”

Baranor’s brow furrows in concern and he directs me to what looks to be an extra office loaned to him — it’s already covered in his belongings and notes. He sits in the oversized chair behind the desk, clasping his hands in front of him. “What happened?”

I practically sink into the chair across from him. “We agreed to meet this evening in her room so I could begin to teach her self-defense. She seemed fine when I arrived — her usual personality, bright eyes, didn’t seem tired. One second she was laughing, and the next, gasping in pain. I-I mean, Baranor, you should have seen it.” I gulp at the memory, reliving the moment Cosima’s condition shifted. “All the life left her face and she swayed like she was going to faint. I caught her and sat her on the couch but she pitched forward and nearly vomited. She said she had a headache. When the sickness and pain faded enough for her to open her eyes, she looked absolutely exhausted. She said she wants to rest so I left her room and came straight here.”

Baranor nods, looking calm. “How long did the episode last?”

I concentrate on the memory, though everything in me wants to shy away. “Maybe three minutes?”

Baranor dips his head as if expecting this. “Humans are much more fragile than elves—you know this. If they do not sleep enough or get proper nutrients, they can become susceptible to headaches and mild sicknesses — even stress can have that effect on them. Sometimes headaches can be severe, in which case they are called migraines and usually come with nausea, dizziness, and more intense pain.”

My eyes widen. That’s terrifying. Such normal things that wouldn’t do much to an elf — stress, inadequate sleep, water, food — can incapacitate a human. How much more vulnerable to serious circumstances they must be — injury, for instance.

But Baranor only looks infuriatingly serene. I have to remind myself that he encounters things like this every day, even if he does typically treat ellyn. Mild fluctuations in health do not alarm him because he knows how they are likely to turn out and how to threat a patient if their health declines further.

“I will check on her in the morning after she’s had time to rest, but do not worry, mellon nîn. This is just something that happens to humans from time to time.”

I take a deep breath, leaning against the back of the chair. “Alright. Thank you. I’m sorry to burst in on your work.”

He waves off my apology. But, after a pause, he grimaces.

My stomach sinks. “What?”

He speaks much too slowly for my liking. “I do not want to alarm you, but there’s a chance Elrond might mention something to you or your brothers, and I’d rather you hear it from me so you are not caught off guard.”

I feel my eyes widening and attempt to reign in my expression. “What, Baranor?”

He sighs. “When we first encountered Cosima, she was as good as dead. Her fæ was so far gone, I had to expend serious energy calling her back. I…I had hoped that because she had actually made the choice to wake up that she would acclimate well—make a full recovery. When I dealt with her arm after the attack, I again used the power in my fæ to heal her. I noticed that there is still something…‘off’ in her own fæ.”

I feel my jaw lock. A roaring rushes through my ears. “Off?”

“Yes,” Baranor nods steadily. “Alex’s is the same way. Both the human spirits seem…torn, almost, or wounded. Like I said, ‘off’. I spoke to Elrond and he has agreed to work with them both. He believes their memory loss could related to the injuries in their fæs and, as we heal their memories, their fæs will repair themselves. Our working theory is that the memory loss is so severe it has caused the fæ to forget, almost like the memories were violently cut out of it. I do not know what that means but I think it likely originated when they arrived in this world, possibly before when they somehow transferred from their world to ours — it’s logical to think that had some impact on their fæs.”

I exhale slowly, taking all this information in.

It is alarming, to say the least.

A fæ should not be damaged…it could cause an elf to fade.

But humans are different, I reason. The health of their spirits isn’t tied to their longevity. Well — I have to correct myself. Maybe it is and humans just don’t live long enough to know for sure. I try to turn my focus back to Baranor — these worrisome thoughts are not helpful. “Do you believe this poses a threat to them?”

Baranor grimaces. “I cannot say for sure, but my instinct is that it’s not as long as they receive proper care — almost a physical therapy of sort, but for their fæs. Again, I would not have bothered you with this if I didn’t think Elrond might bring it up.”

I set him with a stern look. “Any information about the health of those in my care is of concern to me. I ask that you keep me updated.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

I stand, feeling like I need sleep but knowing my mind is racing too much to do so. I say farewell to my friend and catch an attendant on the way to my room, requesting that dinner be sent to my chambers. I don’t feel like eating in the company of the hall. Part of me wonders if I should have the attendant take food to Cosima, just in case she’s decided she’s hungry, but I remind myself that she is perfectly capable of requesting her own dinner. If she wishes to eat, she can arrange it.

That doesn’t stop me from tucking away a banana and some bread just in case she hasn’t eaten by the time I visit her tomorrow. Proper nutrients, enough rest, sufficient hydration, and low stress.

Right as I cut into dinner, Rumil swaggers in with a plate of his own. He snorts, joining me at the small table. “Great minds, huh?” He leans towards me, furrowing his brow and studying me more intently. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

I roll my eyes, trying to cover my anxiety. “I’m always pale.”

Rumil huffs. “Come on, what’s bothering you?”

I sigh. Rumil is probably going to hear it from Elrond or Baranor anyway, so I may as well tell him. I start from the beginning. “I visited Cosima this evening.” Rumil sits back in his chair, a strange look in his eye. Could he already know? How? “I meant to teach her to defend herself, but not long after I arrived, she—she just got sick. Within a moment’s difference, she was nearly collapsed on the floor.” I shake my head against the memories but dutifully recount the full story to my brother, including Baranor’s observations and theory.

By the end, Rumil slumps in his seat, staring over my shoulder with a distant look in his eye. He’s silent for a long time.

“Haldir I…I owe you an apology. Cosima, too, though I don’t think she’d understand why.”

I furrow my eyebrows. What could he be sorry for?

“I’ve been teasing you both lately and have been encouraging your feelings for each other. It was wrong of me — I didn’t consider her mortality and what pursing a relationship with her would mean. I won’t do it anymore, I promise. Can you forgive me?”

I blink. What? “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Rumil sets me with a dubious look. “I’m your brother, you can be honest with me.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. Rumil’s being ridiculous. And the youngest of my brothers — his age is showing.

He huffs, looking to the ceiling as if to request strength from the Valar. “Are you really so unaware of yourself? Of her?” At my look of annoyance, he groans, seeming like he wants to push it. I set my shoulders, making it clear that we will be discussing this no further.

Finally, Rumil shakes his head, turning his gaze to his meal. “Fine, I am sorry, I can see I’ve overstepped my bounds. Forget it.”

I return to my food, watching my brother warily. His shoulders sag and he looks almost…scared. His distress is apparent, even if his accusations are baseless. He brings his eyes back to mine and the grief there causes me to freeze. What is going on with my brother?

“But Haldir…Be careful. She will be dead long before this age is done, and that is if she chooses to stay in this world.”

My fork falls to my plate.

A hollow, aching feeling makes my chest feel tight.

I don’t even know what to say to that.

Rumil stands and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing briefly. Then, he makes for the exit. “I will leave you to your thoughts.”

And then he closes the door behind him and I am indeed alone with these terrifying thoughts.

A/n This one is shorter than the others I’ve posted, but I feel like it’s kinda dense and it was a good place to leave off. Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Also, if you have any thoughts/theories, I would love to know those! @eru-vande sent me one the other day and it was really fun!

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff

[mybg3notebook]

Astarion and Power - Part 2

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were made up to the game version v4.1.101.4425. As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information.

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in (post)

The number between brackets [] represents the topic-block related to (this post), which gathers as much evidence as I could get.

Astarion: abuser / victim

Disclaimer about interpretation victim/abuser: I’m not a fan of bringing the allegory to the plain explicit comparison with serious stuff from real life, but the fandom seems to focus a lot on this aspect and therefore I would like to share my opinion on it. This topic may be sensitive for some people. Be aware of it. 

If we are going to engage into the comparison abuser/victim, from the section (Backstory: Mortal Astarion) we can assume that mortal Astarion was developed as an abuser so far the facts we got from the game/interviews. There is little doubt about it with the bits of information we have in EA. Maybe the full game or a retcon of his past may change this in the future. 

As a vampire spawn, Astarion presents a duality abuser-victim that comes from the archetype of the “bad behaved victim”. 

(Squeezing him in the shoulder. You try to connect, to let him know he's not alone- but he twists like a snake.) “No, I don't need your pity. I don't need anything from you. Go back to your wet dreams and leave me be.''

As a slave under Cazador’s power, humiliated and physically and psychologically tortured, he becomes a victim. He displays many of the most common behaviours of traumatised survivors: dismissal of the actions he suffered (humiliation and cruelty), sensitivity or violent rejection of gestures of pity, paranoia (for the abuser to appear at any moment), reiterative dreams focused on the abuser or their tortures, pride that may reach into arrogance of having survived tough situations. Considering that survival mode is his default, he can turn any of these aspects into tools to manipulate any potential benefactor (he may care little about). As long as he has a protector, he would do anything at his disposal to keep pleasant and agreeable to that benefactor (this characteristic is a permanent, constant, and obvious trait in his character).

But he is not a mere victim, he is also an abuser. And this aspect has been studied in psychology and sociology: it’s not a surprise that a good amount of abusers were victims before. There is a psychological process that can make victims prone to harness as much power as they can in order to avoid the abuse, and in doing so they become abusers. The fact that they can inflict similar or the same trauma on someone else, shifts the power imbalance they had always perceived in their life: the ex victim—now abuser—finds psychological relief. They find a way to perceive themselves as not powerless anymore, and this process can cross limits, making them enjoy when causing the same torture they suffered before. This is the (extremely brief and simplified) process known as the transformation of victim to victimiser (in a general violence-related way, not necessarily focused on sexual abuse), which tends to affect, so far the statistics show, a group of victims. 

With this brief introduction of the topic from the real life (this is why I dislike so much these comparisons, serious stuff brought into a fantasy world always feels like dismissing the real life issue) we can understand that Astarion has acquired a twisted taste to enjoy the same torments he suffered on himself, but applied on creatures he considers lesser: animals and weak creatures [3,4,6,7,11]. There is pride in his survival [14]: he follows the philosophy: “if I could survive it, you could do it too, otherwise, you must perish”.

He enjoys humiliation [6,10], despite being one of the most sensitive aspects that could trigger a violent reaction in him when Tav tries to humiliate him (dialogue about the Bedchamber Master). He enjoys the power he can have over others, over their wills [11], and aspires to have the control of the tadpole, at first to be free of Cazador’s influence, but as long as the game progresses, his intentions become clearer: he wants to control the tadpole to become powerful: the most powerful vampire of Faerun and bend everyone’s will [12]. This aspect is also ironic and hypocritical since Astarion displays violent reactions against mind control or against any intervention of his mind, so it’s something that triggers him in particular (video here).

He also has a taste to enjoy cruelty on animals [4], maybe because of all the resentment he has against them for having been the only means to sustain himself (he is directing his cruelty and hatred to the wrong group of living creatures though). And he also finds entertainment in murder and bloodshed [2,3,13], just because of it, most probably because all these abuses are proofs that he is now “more powerful” than those suffering it. However, part of this could be explained due to the Dark Desires element of the vampirism, to be fair. But considering Astarion’s backstory, I would say that vampirism only deepens his already evil traits.

Also, as a comment aside, I like to highlight how all this characterisation defies the romantisation of the archetype of the “good victim”. A good victim is—explaining it briefly and oversimplified—the one who encourages to spread goodness, self-sacrifice; their pain is hidden and/or used to improve, tends to be a highly empathetic person in front of similar abuses they suffered. It’s the antipode of the “bad behaved victim.” Which is basically all what we see in Astarion: selfish, violent, whimsical, cruel, psychopath.

In conclusion, we can see Astarion as a vampire spawn who embodies the duality of Victim-Abuser. 

However I would like to note that this is not a char where we can see how the victim becomes an abuser exclusively. In Astarion’s case, it is even more twisted because in his past he was a victimiser. His character lies on a Schrodinger duality: he was an abuser when he was mortal, he is an abuser and a victim at the same time as a vampire spawn (his torments can be understood as poetic justice since Astarion embodied the—corrupt—Justice himself), and he aspires to retake his abuser position in the future (so far EA allowed us to see it or the description of his characters in Larian’s web page), enjoying all the potential that the power of the tadpole can give him to “bend the will of others''. 

Astarion’s story represents topics that should allow us to think about how abusers are created, how they could also be victims, and how victims are not always free of evilness. Astarion also embodies the concept of how far punishment makes sense, how you can punish the abuse if there is no justice, how to punish evilness when it’s placed to have control of the Justice itself. How could we understand the punishment of evil creatures when there is no repent but a deepening of their evil nature? And finally… Would any victim not desire for their abuser to have a punishment like Astarion’s? 

I like to think that Cazador also represents the “modern prison system”, where criminals are gathered in panoptic structures (in this case, Astarion’s mind), tortured in many ways, while society expects them to recover. There is also the concept of how and when recovery is not possible anymore, because let’s be honest, saving people from dark paths is not always possible. Real life psychopath, serial rapists, and a broad amount of creatures who revel in torture and murder are beyond salvation. If we consider Cazador and Astarion as mirrored figures, it makes us think about how much of all of his story is about the eternal cycle of violence and about evilness without salvation. Also, this reflection of one on the other makes us believe that if there is no salvation for Cazador, there shouldn't be salvation for Astarion either; if Astarion can be saved… Cazador should too (after all, we don’t know anything about Cazador’s story). So many things to think about.

All these aspects and topics to think about are what make Cazador-Astarion dynamics worth understanding with a realistic and dark perspective of evilness, without woobifying Astarion as sadly a big part of his fandom does. 

As a note of colour to finish this section, it’s interesting to re-read the paragraph I had written in the first part (Astarion and Power - Part 1) where I briefly described Cazador. If we replace Cazador by the word Astarion we will obtain a curious result:

>>>Astarion has a particular pleasure for control, especially the one related to people’s will (we can see this pleasure progresses over time, increasing it. His need for freedom turns slowly into wanting to have control on everyone, because with power he can do everything he wants to). He enjoys cruelty, humiliation, and torture (read the analysis post done (here), there are dozens of facts showing it). He enjoys playing psychologically with his victims. He also likes to give false hope, making his victims believe that there is hope, removing it right in front of them (the Arabella’s approvals about making her parents believe she is alive when she is not, Mayrina’s hope of reviving her husband).

There are so many questions left in the air: has Cazador imparted Justice? Is 200 years too long for a punishment? I don’t believe there is an easy answer here. First, because we are mixing serious real-life dynamics in a fantasy setup, with the twisted componen of vampirism (a fantasy element always considered an allegory of abuse, power, and rape) and second, despite the analogy is there, and the comparison can be done lightly, Astarion has a particular backstory, with a particular amount of meta-knowledge that makes those answers even more complicated. 

Astarion’s Pain and Shallowness

Back scars scene (full Datamining info)

A pair of videos that pjenn has posted about Astarion’s scars on his back (1) (2) shows that he needs help to read it since he can’t see it in reflective surfaces due to his vampire nature. We get from the narrator: 

* He might be sneering, but you can see pain in his eyes. He needs help, but doesn’t know how to ask. *

What we can infer from this is that Astarion, whether mortal or spawn, never asked for help, and if this is true, I’m confused. If he truly doesn’t know how to ask for help… what had been happening with all the previous interactions he had with Tav? Implicitly asking for help against Cazador? The only answer I have to explain why 25 hours of game with Astarion asking for help against Cazador are suddenly erased and now “he doesn’t know how to ask to”, is that all those 25 hrs are about manipulation. Not a true, honest, clean asking for help. There is not much to say about this scene since it’s entirely under work so far. 

Mirror scene (full Datamining info)

This scene is mostly about vanity and, again, manipulation. 

He doesn't remember the colour of his eyes, and he barely remembers his face. As a vampire, he can‘t see his projection nor cast shadows. He explicitly says that he misses vanity, and even though it may be an honest loss he feels, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to use this moment as another hook to throw at Tav to keep them under his control as well as testing how deep his charm has reached Tav (If Tav shows appreciation, Astarion knows he keeps them under his thumb).

This scene basically shows that, even though evil characters/abusers also suffer (maybe the game would make us reflect eventually about Cazador’s pain?), and Astarion is stating his pain for losing things he appreciated: petty vanity (he can’t see himself in a mirror) and his memories (he has no memory of the colour of his eyes and his face is vague), he is still using all these moments to keep on working on his survival manipulation:

“(Vanity) is an indulgence, I’ll grant you that, but a weakness? A well-presented face can open a lot of doors.”

He has a personal drama, as he stated it at first, and the focus of all his conversation is always about how what he lost was a means for an end too. 

If Tav is the one engaging into being his Mirror, Astarion engages to appraise the reach of his presence in Tav. If Tav simply states it’s a decent face, Astarion will push the engagement for that appraisal. If you mock him about his age and skin, he won’t be offended (after all the moment is not meaningful for him, it’s shallow), and he would insist on a proper praise, because he is trying to taste the ground. 

The moment was meant to be used, and Astarion did it. It was not special to him:

"Mirrors are not much use, but being reflected in someone's else's eyes? I could do much worse.

If we do not derail the conversation in the funny moments where you can mock his beauty, age and skin, we keep gathering more information about what Astarion values the most:

Tav: “Is it all what you want? shallow praise?” Astarion: "Hardly, there is also gold, sex, revenge, quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise."

There is another option in this scene where Tav says that vanity is a reasonable price for vampire powers, but for once, Astarion is not so eager about this power, because it comes with Cazador. He knows that the price is way much bigger. 

Tav: “Vanity is a small price to pay to have vampire powers”. Astarion: "To you. To me it's just another thing that Cazador took from me".

The only moment when you can get a more emotional reaction is when you mock him about age/beauty/skin. That is how shallow this scene is. If you are a githyanki and your compliments are a list of raw facts about his persona, even if they are good or bad, Astarion can’t appraise Tav with that, and gets frustrated. 

Personally I think this scene has little value per se beyond the comedy, and even less value in terms of lore when you have Disguise spell available for so many characters. Anyone can disguise themselves as Astarion and he would finally see what he looks like… so… more reasons to show how cheap and shallow this scene is. Maybe that was the intention. Maybe it needs more work since, after all, it’s datamining info. There is not much to say about this scene since it’s entirely under work so far. 

The concept of Redemption/endings 

Among the (Datamined information) we have a set of gems under the name of Drunk bear (1) (2) (3) scenes, which speak more about Astarion and his relationship with Cazador and Power.

Tav: “You can start over. You can be better than what he made you.”

Ast: “Exactly. I can be better than him. Stronger, more powerful, more- oh, you meant “be kinder”? Pet bunnies, that sort of thing? I’ve no objection to being nice, of course. Once I have the power to bend others to my will.

T: “You think power lets you do anything free from consequences?”

A: “Well… yes. You can’t look at the world and tell me I’m wrong.”

T: “The strong have a duty to protect the weak”

A: “They’re doing a piss poor job, then. The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no one came. No, it was the mind flayers that rescued me. They gave me a gift: the strength to take my own freedom. I’m embracing this power- you should too.”

T: “You are free now. That’s what matters.”

A: “Is it? What good is freedom if I'm always watching in the shadows? No. I will be safe when I'm powerful enough to grind cazador into the dust. Powerful enough to do whatever the hell I want.”

T: “Power corrupts. You’d do well to remember that.”

A: “Oh I hope so. A little corruption sounds fun. I spent centuries as the victim of a corrupt man. It was the mind flayers that plucked me away from that.”

So far we see in this scene, Astarion reinforces his evilness, his desire for power, not just enough to save himself from Cazador’s claws, but to control other people, even though mind control is a triggering effect when it affects his own will. I believe in this interaction we see the contrast of the story that Astarion narrates mainly: the abuser who found a more powerful abuser. We shouldn’t forget he comes from a past where he was a corrupt magistrate. These words have almost a hypocrite meaning here. Astarion was a magistrate, by definition, someone who held power and should have helped those in despair, but he was corrupt and did not care. When he became a spawn, he ended up on the other side of the imbalanced power. He was the one asking for a powerful entity to help him, and none came, suffering a similar fate of despair than those who sought in him the concept of Justice and Power Used For Fairness. Like Astarion’s victims found freedom when a twisted creature like Cazador was incorporated into this situation, Astarion was free when the Mind flayers saved him from Cazador. 

I will not repeat this again: Astarion, so far in Early Access, looks like the story that could explain why Cazador is who he is. These scenes bring once more, another of the many proofs along the game where we see that Astarion has not learnt anything from his torment, he has not improved, he has turned into a more twisted and evil man than he was when he was a mortal magistrate, and there is no intentions to become a little more sympathetic. 

This brings me to think that, at least in EA, glimpses of future paths for Astarion may all be related to different degrees of evilness. 

First of all, we need to remember that Astarion is an evil character, and if we assume that what Sven said in several interviews doesn’t change, Larian is going to break the style this worked in bg1 and bg2, not making big shifting of the alignment in companions. For this reason I think these endings would entitle variations of evilness.

Astarion keeps repeating over and over his opinion about power as the only means to have access to his freedom. And as long the game evolves, he began to reinforce the importance of having power to “do whatever he wants”. Considering his tastes (how much he enjoys cruelty and bloodshed) we can agree that Astarion “doing whatever he wants” is not a good thing for Faerûn. He finds murdering a fine show, an entertainment. Certainly Astarion is a child of Bhaal in his fullest. 

He even mocks Tav when they comment about looking for self-improvement. “I can be better than him. Stronger, more powerful, more- oh, you meant “be kinder”? (...) Once I have the power to bend others to my will.” This is Cazador speaking. 

So, considering these details, I would suggest (predict is a too strong a word for this) that we have chances to three different kinds of endings and their variations:

The first one, screaming in all what Astarion does: Astarion becomes a full vampire and ends up as the next Cazador. If his approval is high (or some hidden requirement is met) he can turn his lover into another full vampire. If these requirements are not met, in a spawn, repeating the cycle that Astarion suffered but now, on Tav. 

The second one could be with Astarion killing Cazador remaining as a spawn and an agent of chaos and bloodshed. Maybe his relationship with Tav may help to have certain control on him (since we had seen that Astarion so far has been asking permission to kill npcs when the situation arises, so the MC could be turning into a master of choice.)

The third one, finding the cure of Vampirism, and letting Astarion continue with his life of evil corrupted magister. 

Some people ask about the possibility of a Redemption arc. I hardly see it (especially if I keep in mind how bg1 and bg2 worked, they never offered a “real” redemption arc, just small shifts here and there.)

Redemption could be acquired, according to these fans, using two mechanics. 

Astarion feels compassion out of the blue. He starts to have guilt for his past sins and develops empathy, despising cruelty. How? Who knows, so far in EA it has not been seen even once a hint, a scene, a bit of meta-knowledge in that direction. Honestly, so far we’ve seen, this option seems impossible to me, because Astarion has tons of chances to use the meta-knowledge of his approvals and disapprovals to show regret and empathy, and never happened. His character was always focused on himself, his vanity, his pain, his entertainment (which implies constant approval of cruel actions and torments and humiliation to others, especially the weak ones), his survival. If there is a character more far away from empathy right now in EA, it is Astarion. How do you start a redemption arc without the character showing compassion? No way.

Cure Vampirism. Vampirism is a curse, and therefore in the Forgotten Realm can be cured. But this, under no circumstances, can be considered a redemption arc. There is no redemption at all. The curse is lifted, and Astarion can return to be the same cruel magister he was before. No arc about remorse and empathy. 

His character is the story of an abuser who found a greater abuser and became a victim of the latter, seeking to return to his previous power position but stronger. Despite suffering this abuse, that could be understood as poetic justice (more like accidental justice) at certain point, he never developed empathy for those sharing his conditions. In fact, he cares little to inflict on others what he has exactly suffered. I hardly believe there is something else going on “in layers” in him at the moment, since the meta-knowledge provided by the approval/disapproval shows otherwise. My point is, I see little material here showing change. But again, this is EA.

We can see how this exact detail is managed with Shadowheart, from her we know even less than with Astarion because her memory was erased, but so far, we know she has some soft spots that were never shown explicitly, so Tav is oblivious to this information while the player knows it. 

This post was written on April 2021.  → For more Astarion: Analysis Series Index

[escapist-dreams]

Fix it ~ Invincible Fanfiction

Summary: Rex's hand gets damaged in a fight. No one is willing to help him, so he helps himself.

Warnings: spoilers for both the Invincible animated show(episode 7) and comics(issue #40) concerning Rex-Splode, injuries(nothing nearly as graphic as the source material)

Word Count: 2.3k

This is my first Invincible fanfic, and one of the first fics I've written in awhile! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to tell me what you think about it! Constructive criticism would be appreciated :D

"We meet yet again, Invincible!" D.A. Sinclair shouted with his usual dramatic flair. He had escaped from the government facility a couple months ago and holed up in a sewer, making more of his fucked up 'reanimen' who the new Guardians of the Globe were now fighting.

His army of cyborgs were unleashed onto the fleeing crowd, more destructive than self destructive this time. Sinclair must've taken notes from his previous failures.

While they targeted the heroes, civilians were caught in the crossfire left and right. Dupli-Kate evacuated the remaining civilians while Shrinking-Rae fought off any cyborgs coming near. The rest of the team tried to disarm the cyborgs without killing them, which Mark made them agree to do before the fight.

Invincible went through one after the other, knocking out the cyborgs, one could tell he was holding back. Monster Girl knocked out a good chunk of them, but accidentally killed one or two with the strength of her monster form. One of them slammed her against a building, sending a big crack up the wall, no doubt affecting civilians in the upper floors. Shrinking-Rae rushed to save those in the building affected by the crack, while Monster Girl slumped against the wall, down for the count.

Rex-Splode made it past the wall of reanimen defending Sinclair and shot a projectile at his torso. He stumbled as the magnet hit his side and exploded, only grazing him but doing damage all the same. He cupped a hand around the wound, and when he regained his composure, looked directly at Rex.

"You'll pay for that!" With a movement of his hand, D. A. Sinclair ordered the cyborg to target Rex-Splode.

"Sure I will, asshole!" Rex smirked and raised his hand again, aiming for Sinclair's head. The cyborg intervened, lunging towards Rex, who dodged and backed away. He couldn't kill the guy, but he really didn't want to get beat to a bloody pulp today. He made a split second decision to shoot him in the legs to slow him down. He did so, but all he received for his efforts was the sound of a small metal impact. He'd missed the human parts, the projectile only slightly slowed the cyborg.

Just as he was about to shoot again, the cyborg grabbed his hand, crushing flesh and metal alike. Rex doubled over as a wave of pain hit him like a brick. He tried to push past it after a few moments, looking up just in time to see Robot come up behind the reaniman, knocking him out with a punch. Invincible grabbed a piece of metal from a street sign that had been crushed in the wreckage of the battle and bent it tightly around Sinclair, effectively trapping him. And since the cyborgs were all either knocked out or no longer under his control, the battle was over.

"You couldnt've done that earlier?" Rex complained as Mark tied up Sinclair, wincing in pain. Several members of the team gave him a familiar look of annoyance.

"Maybe if you weren't too busy cowering we would've finished this sooner." Samson stated.

"I wasn't--!" Rex began, but he doubled over again before he could finish, another wave of pain hitting him.

The rest of the team had sustained some injuries as well, but they were able to shake it off for the most part by the time they arrived back at the guardians' base.

"Hey Robot-" Rex tried to catch him before they fully returned to the group.

"It's Rudy."

"Right. Rudy, can you uh.." he pointed to his busted up hand, the blood dried onto the metal. Rudy made a wincing sound at the sight, then looked to their friends, who were in a group celebrating the won battle.

"Hm.. That's going to take a bit to fix, if you can wait I'll fix it in a couple minutes." he decided. Rex opened his mouth to protest, but closed it and nodded in agreement. The two rejoined the group.

They spent a few minutes having conversations in small groups, some about the fight, and some about completely different things. After about half an hour passed, Mark got up from his seat, explaining that he needed to get back home, as he had some homework to finish up. Slowly the group dissolved, rejoining their everyday lives. Rex ran to catch Rudy before he and Amanda left.

"Hey Rudy, can you fix this thing before you go? If you couldn't tell, it *kinda* hurts." Rex gestured to his hand, pulling the glove up a bit to show the broken metal and bloody skin.

"Can it wait, Rex? Me and Amanda are getting lunch." he paused, conflicted, "you can join if you want." he offered politely, but judging by the looks on his and Amanda's face, it wasn't an invitation.

"I'll pass." Rex sighed, unsure if he was more angry or sad about it at this point. Rudy shrugged as if to say "your loss", and he and Amanda left the base. Rex left as well a few moments later, Kate and Rae's conversation fading behind him as he made his way to his apartment.

Rex tried to ignore it, he really did. But god, it hurt. He must've been in shock before, but now that he had time to really think about and feel the injury, the pain set in. The metal of his hand had torn into his flesh and he was afraid to move it for fear of further lodging it into his arm. After awhile of trying to ignore the injury, Rex decided he couldn't take it anymore. If no one would help him, he would help himself.

Rex knew a thing or two about robotics since he got his powers from the devices in his wrists, and had been taught a bit at the facility for use in battlefield situations. So he got some spare tools he used for small repairs on his arms and got to work fixing his hand. It took just about all night, but by the end he was fairly confident that he'd at least helped the situation.

He must've done something right because next time the guardians fought a villain, he was able to shoot the projectiles from his hand. No need to ask Rudy for help. And the next time it was damaged, and he fixed it himself again. This time his aim was slightly off. He hit several walls, the ground, and nearly a civilian before his desired target, but it was fine, right? He hit the guy eventually, he missed the civilian, and it still worked decently well.

He continued to repair it himself, using the knowledge from his previous mishaps to improve upon it. It continued to have slight malfunctions, but it worked.

Until it didn't.

He aimed, and shot, but the small explosive wouldn't budge. It wouldn't leave his hand, something blocked it. The BB lit up as he tried to shoot, but it exploded in his hand.

"Fuck!" Rex yelled, throwing a magnet from his belt with his offhand and dodging out of the way of an oncoming attack.

The team made quick work of the enemy, but not before they got a few good hits in on Dupli-Kate and Monster Girl as well. Amanda was slumped against a wall while Kate Prime nursed an injury on her side.

Back at the base, Rudy was busy being at Amanda's side. She had a minor concussion, but overall she was alright. The excessive blood from a cut on her head made the injury look more serious than it was. They were thankful that she was alright, minus a bit of blood loss and a head injury.

Rex wanted to celebrate her quick recovery longer than he did, but hesitantly left after drinks were had and the party died down a bit. He knew he would have to work on his hand for awhile to get it in working order and get any sleep that night.

It was already much later in the day by the time he arrived at his apartment. Repairs went well for the most part. He had passed out before realigning the metal, but quickly aligned it before heading to the base that morning, presumably deeming it functional, which was an achievement in Rex's opinion considering how badly it was broken and lack of materials. He got hardly any sleep, but he wasn't exactly the type to usually get a full eight hours every night anyways.

The next day after training, Rudy approached Rex unexpectedly.

"Hey Rex, I noticed your hand got busted up pretty badly yesterday. Need me to fix it?" Rudy offered, glancing at Rex's barely-together hand with a hint of what might be worry. Rex scoffed.

"Oh no it's fine," he said, half proud of his work and half bitter at Rudy. "I figured it out."

Rudy gave him a curious look, pausing for a moment before repeating, "You 'figured it out'?"

Rex nodded, taking off his glove and showing off his hand, which he'd barely been able to peice back together the night before. "I figured it out."

He'd had to patch up the hand with spare metal parts and slightly off-size bolts, but it wasn't too bad of a job. From a certain angle, it'd look fine even. A bit busted up, used for sure, but functional. Now, from the angle of someone with as much knowledge in robotics as Rudy had, the sight was returned after a long pause with a vaguely annoyed, "this is going to take awhile."

"What're you two doing?" Amanda asked, walking into the workroom with a half empty carton of disguised booze.

"Rex tried to fix his hand. By himself." Rudy explained condescendingly after a pause that made it obvious he was focused on his work. Rex scoffed at the answer.

"I think I did a great job, thank you very much." And besides being proud of his attempt at fixing it, the way he phrased it made Rex sound like an idiot, as if he hadn't asked for help several times before deciding to fix the problem himself.

"You put the metal covering back in place just off enough to block the projectile, the bolts are all the wrong size, and part of it is still jabbing into your arm. This isn't even the right kind of.." he trailed off, clicking a new bolt in place before mumbling, "how did you even fight like this-?!"

"Well it's not like you bothered to help me when I asked.." Rex answered with the tone of an upset child.

"You didn't say how bad it was."

"I showed you! You saw it!" Rex nearly shouted, frustration and anger bubbling up in his chest and out his mouth.

"I would have fixed this easily if you'd asked sooner."

"I did ask sooner!"

"You could've asked when I wasn't busy." Rudy spoke nearly absent-mindedly, focusing intently on prying part of the metal out of damaged tissue that tried to heal around it.

Rex hissed in pain before responding, "When were you not busy? I asked you like three times, you told me to wait!"

"I just told you, I was busy. Why didn't you go to Cecil for this?"

"Oh yeah, like I'm asking some creepy ass guy from the government to fix my hand- No fucking way!" Rex tried to ignore the hint of fear in his chest at the idea of some shady government operative poking and prodding at him in a blindingly white room.

"You'd rather bother me than ask someone whose job it is to fix things for help?"

"I'd rather ask my friend for help!"

"You could have asked when I wasn't busy." Rudy repeated, obviously struggling to keep his cool. "I'm not going to drop everything for you, Rex!"

"Yeah? Of course not, but I bet you'd drop everything for her." Rex pointed at Amanda, who had a front row seat to the argument standing in the doorway. The two locked eyes for a moment, then Rudy looked away to glare at Rex.

"At least she offers something to the team. She's an invaluable asset and I need to keep her safe." He didn't need to shout, his tone and words cut deeper than raw anger could.

"Well pardon me for wanting to be able to use my fucking hand--"

"Excuse me?" Amanda snapped, glaring at Rudy. "Rex is my friend, and I won't reciprocate your crush on me just because you look like him and aged down for me. I don't owe you shit. And being a dick to the guy whose face you stole doesn't make you more appealing."

"But I--" Rudy was at a loss for words; a rare occurrence. Scrambling to regain his composure, he blurted out, "But I did this for you!"

"I don't owe you shit for that." she repeated firmly. "And if how you treat Rex is any indication, I wouldn't want to be with you, if this is how you treat a long time friend who needs help."

"Exactly!" Rex agreed, relieved that Amanda stepped in. Rudy glared at him before catching himself and looking back towards Amanda, who sighed angrily.

"He couldn't have asked Cecil!?" Rudy reiterated, grasping at straws trying to 'win' the argument he'd already lost.

"He's obviously uncomfortable with that, or he would've done it already. Something you would notice if you bothered to give him a second glance." Amanda snapped back. "He came to you for help, and you lectured him for it."

"I.."

"Let's go, Rex. This asshole isn't worth our time." she decided. Rex followed her out the door to rejoin the rest of the group with a satisfied sort of pride in his chest. It felt nice to be defended by someone other than himself.

The door slammed shut.

[ikleesfiction]

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 2250 words Author note : My first dip on this fandom. Endgame would be Jay Halstead x reader. Jay will appear in the next part. Disclaimer

Part 1

You arrive at the swimming pool much later than you've wanted. You wish to get a few laps before the school kids coming for their class. But here you are, only begin to warm up, the raucous laughter of school kids echoing in the pool already.

You get into the deeper side of the pool, not wanting to interrupt the class or get interrupted. Starting your lap without forcing yourself. Ever since the incident, you have yet reached the perfect movement of your feet. Some day, like this morning, it was hurting so bad. Made you wish you don't have to get up from the bed. 

But after about forty minutes of light swimming in the pool, you feel like it's getting better. You think you could swim for another ten minutes before coming up. As a challenge for yourself, you swim deeper and doing apnea. From your periphery, you can see three kids get closer to the deeper side of the pool and swimming playfully. You reach the poolside and come up for air, trying to see if the boys are safe enough or if you need to warn the teacher.

All of a sudden, one of the boys puts his hand up. Panicking, as he tries to get more air. You cannot spot the kid's friends. When you dive and swim to the boy as fast as your feet allowed, you see the other two boys pulling their friend's foot down. Not realizing that their friend is drowning.

Once you reach them, you pull the drowning boy up, bringing him to the poolside. The pool guard and the school teacher are ready to help you get the boy out of the pool. The boy is coughing water and keeps panicking. They try to calm him down so he can breathe. Shortly enough, the boy calms down and breathing through his sobs. Still in the water, you feel the boy's friends approaching. They gape in shock, realizing that their friend was almost drowned.

We're so sorry, Owen! I thought you're ready when we pull you in!!" said one of the friends.

"That was a dangerous thing to do, David. I told you, right before we get in the water. Nobody should swim on the deeper side of the pool. But you three even played in here. Someone could get seriously injured by your recklessness.", chides the teacher to her students.

"Yes, Miss, we are sorry," says the other boy from the pool.

"Now, everybody gets out of the water. We have to stop the class. I need to bring Owen to the hospital to make sure that he is not badly hurt. David and Noah, I will call your parents to report your behavior. You too, Owen. I will tell your mom the same at the hospital," declares the teacher.

""I called 9-1-1, paramedics are 3 minutes out, to bring him to the hospital," says the pool guard. "Nice save, by the way," the pool guard continues to acknowledge you.

"Nah, just lucky I saw them first," you object. Looking at the drowning boy, Owen, as the teacher called him, "You're gonna be okay, kid," you continue to soothe him.

Owen looks back at you, and through his hiccups, he says, "Thank you." You return him with a smile.

A moment later, you see Gabby Dawson and Sylvie Brett arriving. They check Owen and briefly pack him up to go to the hospital.

"Hey girl, nice to see you here," Sylvie greets you.

"I don't wanna be ungrateful, but I wish I didn't have to see you here, Syl," you reply, slightly amused.

"Eh, what can you do, right?" She remarks jokingly.

"Alright, we're ready to go, Owen. Let's go see your mom at Med", Gabby informs her patient.

"I'll follow you there. I need to wait until the subs teacher gets here to take over the class," The teacher tells Gabby. "Thank you again for saving my student," She earnestly says to you.

Gabby and Sylvie notice the encounter and raise their eyebrows in question.

Gabby then rolls the gurney out while Sylvie hangs back and grins at you, "You saved him from drowning? How's the table turned! The rescuee turns to be the rescuer!"

"Shut up, Brett!" you whisper-yelling, feeling embarrassed.

As you try to pull yourself out of the pool, your left hamstring suddenly cramps. "Argh!" you shout and let yourself back into the water.

"You okay?" Sylvie inspects you.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine. I just need a cool-down lap, then I'll be okay. You better go catch Gabby before she leaves you here", you try to dismiss her.

"You sure you okay? Do you need a ride to go back from here? Your feet hurt because you sped up to save Owen, don't they?" Sylvie pries.

"No, I'm okay. It doesn't hurt much. Seriously, if it feels bad, you'll know, Syl. I won't shut up about my pain when I can badger you", you pull out another tactic to get rid of her worry.

"Alright then, you'll promise to go to your clinic if it gets worst, right?" Sylvie finally relents.

"Of course," you simply reply. You need Sylvie to leave soon because you want to give your left hamstring a massage. You are not going to do it under Sylvie's scrutiny.

"Okay, girl. See ya!" with that, Sylvie goes.

You have known Sylvie and Gabby, and also almost everybody from Firehouse 51, since that accident. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then Firehouse 51 got to rescue you. But the accident badly hurts your legs.

You were supposed to only stay in Chicago for 3 days for a business trip. But because of that accident, it becomes 3 months. You have to complete a series of treatments so you can gain full recovery of your leg movement. You cannot go back home. Your family cannot come to be with you for that long. You ought to rearrange your life and have been doing this treatment for the last couple of months.

You stay in the pool for another ten minutes before you could move with much less pain. Slowly getting out of the pool, then you go take a shower in the locker room. You decide that you need to go to the clinic, meet your physical trainer to check out your feet. It wasn't that you lied to Sylvie when you said that it doesn't hurt much, but you're on the last segment of your treatment. You don't want to take a risk and have to redo the treatment.

Now, if the treatment is successful, presumably you can leave Chicago in four weeks. As lovely as the city is, you don't want to risk staying longer in this city than you have to. You get a job that you love, that makes you travel all over the world. So being stuck here in Chicago, by yourself, feels like torture to you.

Firehouse 51 is very supportive of you once they know that you have to stay in the city by yourself to recover from your injury. They help whenever they can. Kelly Severide basically adopted you as his little sister since he's the one who pulled you from the incident scene. You're grateful for them, but it made you missed home more. At home, you are close to your parents. You're working with your best friends, surrounded by your favorite people. You still call them whenever you can. But their life continues while yours is stuck in Chicago.

You take a taxi to the clinic where you're treated. Crossing Chicago Med on the way, you remember hearing Gabby would take Owen here for further checkup. You hesitate slightly in front of the hospital entrance.

Maybe I can check on Owen one more time? Ensuring that there's nothing serious happening to him? You thought to yourself.

You ask the cab driver to pull over as you passed the hospital entrance.

You step to the ED nurse station, "Hi, Uhm, there's a boy, named Owen, that was brought here because of drowning. May I ask if he's doing okay?"

The nurse gives you a hard stare, "We cannot disclose any information about our patient to any non-family member, Miss,"

You scold yourself for being too soft-hearted. Naturally, the hospital will not tell you anything. For all they know, you could be a kidnapper, child abuser, or something similar.

You're just gearing yourself to leave, throwing an apologetic smile to the nurse, "Of course, I understand. Thank you,"

However, a doctor in dark scrub interrupted politely, "Who's asking?"

Looking up to the doctor, you see a "Connor Rhodes, M.D" embroidered on his scrub.

"Uhmm, my name is Y/N. I was there at the pool. He couldn't breathe for a moment when I pulled him out. I know the paramedics said he'd be okay, but I thought I could make sure, for my sanity, that Owen is going to be okay,"

The doctor and the nurse glance at each other, contemplate shortly before the doctor tells you to wait. He goes into one of the Trauma Rooms. You are just standing awkwardly at the nurse station, trying to be unobtrusive as possible.

Then a woman in a doctor's coat comes out from that Trauma Room, follows by another doctor in red scrub and Dr. Rhodes himself. Once they are in front of you, you can see "Natalie Manning, M.D" on the woman's coat.

"Are you the one who saved my son??" Dr. Manning stares at you with teary eyes.

"Err... I pulled him out of the water, yes. But the pool guard.."

"Before you can finish your sentence, you are hugged by the woman.

"Thank you so much! Thank you! I don't want to imagine what it would be if you're not there!"

Surprised by the hug, you're just awkwardly patting her back, looking at Dr. Rhodes and the other doctor behind her. You read, ".. Halstead M.D" on his chest, but unable to see his first name.

"Uhmm, I just happened to be there," You return, not knowing what to say. Dr. Manning lets you go from her hug after some time.

"Is he truly going to be fine? No water in his lungs?" you ask the doctors.

"We did a scan on his thorax. Nothing worrying is in his lungs. We will monitor him further. Hopefully, there'll be no sign of infection occurred. We can send him home tomorrow if all goes well," Dr. Halstead reveals.

"That's great to hear," you feel relieved after hearing that. "I hope Owen won't be afraid to be in the water again after the scare,"

"Well, I'm the one who's afraid to let him in the water now," retorts Dr. Manning. Her eyes are still watery, but her makeup is not smeared.

Stupid thing to notice, Y/N, you thought to yourself.

You pull out a pack of tissue from your bag and offer it to Dr. Manning, who receives it.

"I'm sorry I'm a mess. My name is Natalie Manning, Owen's mom. Here is Dr. Will Halstead, my fiance. You met Dr. Rhodes before,"

"Y/N Y/LN. Nice to meet you, even though the circumstance is not nice," you introduce yourself as you shake their hands.

"Seriously, thank you for saving Owen. How can we ever repay it to you?" Dr. Halstead sincerely says.

"Ah no, I did not do that or come here expecting anything. I'm just glad that you can let me know Owen is alright," you refuse.

"Why don't you come to our place for dinner someday when Owen is home?" Dr. Manning suggests.

"It's okay, doctor. There's no need for that.", you try to turn down their offer.

"Yeah, that's a great idea!" Dr. Halstead says. He pulls out his phone from his pocket. "Please put down your phone number here. We'll set up the dinner schedule" as he hands his phone to you.

You receive the phone, in reflex. "Truly, doctors, you don't have to do this. You don't even know me. What if I was lying to you?". These people were too trusting, you thought.

"His teacher told us what happened. Gabby Dawson also told us that her friend saved Owen. I could double-check with her if I ever doubt you. Not that I am, though," Dr. Manning explains.

"Dinner is the least we can do for you, Y/N. I could also ask my cop brother to come to dinner, in case you turn to be a villain", Dr. Halstead jests.

You snicker lightly. "Alright then, only a fool refused free dinner," as you put your number on Dr. Halstead's phone.

"Well, don't expect much from the dinner. These people are not known to be a good cook, you know", quips Dr. Rhodes.

"Just for that, Connor, you're not invited to dinner," Dr. Halstead points at him.

They laugh as you return the phone to Dr. Halstead. "I should go. Thank you again for letting me know about Owen. Hope he will back to the pool soon", say you with your cheeky grin.

"Thank you so much. You're such a good person. Saved my boy, came here to check on him, even gave me a tissue!" Dr. Manning lists to you as she dabs her eyes.

Dr. Halstead and Dr. Rhodes shake your hand goodbye. Dr. Manning gives you another hug before letting you exit the ED. None of the three doctors miss the limping on your left foot.

Next on this fic : Part 2

[elvenstar146]

Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds

Author’s note: I don’t own these characters but they are so much fun to write about.

Characters: Edward Elric, Winry Rockbell, Granny Pinako, Alphonse Elric

 Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds

                 Winry and Edward were living in their new home that was built on the Elrics’ previous home. They had just celebrated their first wedding anniversary, and Winry was 5 months along with their first child. Edward would stay and write at their house while Winry went to work at her grandmother’s.

Winry walked with their puppy, Eva, to her grandmother’s home, and arrived to a quiet house that normally would smell of breakfast and smoke from a pipe. “Granny? Are you up yet?” She yelled upstairs. ‘Maybe she overslept.’ Winry walked up the stairs to her grandmother’s door. She knocked, and asked if she could come in. No response. “Granny, I’m coming in.” Winry walked into the room and saw her grandmother laying in bed. “Granny, it’s late. We have some orders to work on.” She walked to her bedside and noticed the stillness. “Granny, are you okay?” She shook her shoulders and noticed that the elderly woman was cold. “Granny….” Winry felt for a pulse on her neck, and couldn’t find one. She brought her hands to her face. “No…. You’re not supposed to go yet. Granny, you said you would help me.” The tears started falling. She sat on the bed, and cried. ‘How can I do this without you? We still need you.’ Winry thought to herself. Her dog put her head in lap to try to comfort her.

Winry collected herself, and made her way to the telephone. She dialed her house number, and waited for Edward to answer. “Hello?” he answered, sounding irritated. “Edward! I need you to come to Granny’s house now!” she yelled into the phone, and started crying again. “Winry! What’s wrong?” “It’s Granny. She’s gone.” “Gone, what do you mean gone? Did she go into town?” Then the realization hit him. Winry was crying too hard to answer. “Winry, I’ll be right there. I have to hang up now, okay?” “Ok.” She weakly replied. ‘Oh shit!’ he thought. ‘This was not a good time for this.’ He thought about his pregnant wife while he was running to the house.

He found her sitting next to the phone still. She looked up at him and started crying harder. Edward sat next to her on the couch, and let her cry into his chest. He still couldn’t believe it. Edward trusted her judgement but once she calmed down, he went upstairs to verify for himself. They made the appropriate phone calls to the doctor and undertaker to make arrangements. Next was making phone calls to family and friends. Edward did most of the phone calls so Winry could rest. It was really hard to her to tell people without bursting into tears. He called Alphonse knowing there was no way he would be back from Xing in time for a funeral but Al did promise to be there when the baby was born.

Later that evening, Edward and Winry went home to rest. It had a been a long emotional day for both of them. Winry just wanted to go to bed even though she wasn’t sure if she would sleep. There was a light knock on the door shortly after they got home. Edward answered the door, and it was one of their neighbors offering their condolences, and a pot of chicken noodle soup. Winry met them at the door, and thanked them for the soup. Their neighbor told them if they needed anything, to let them know. Edward brought the soup into their kitchen, and made them each a bowl. He sat them on the table. They sat at the table but Winry didn’t start eating. “I’m not really hungry.” She said with her eyes staring into her lap. Edward was worried. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He took her hand. “Winry, you need to eat something. It’s not just you that I’m worried about.” He put their hands on her pregnant belly to remind her that it needed nourishment. “Please.” Edward was practically begging her. She nodded in affirmation, and began to eat. It was the most quiet dinner they ever had together.

Three days later, Edward and Winry were getting ready for the funeral when another knock on the door was heard. They had a lot of visitors from town visit over the past few days so it was becoming normal to have people constantly visiting. Edward opened the door, and he was surprised. “General Mustang! What are you doing here?” He also saw Riza and Armstrong behind him. “We’re here to pay our condolences.” They were in black suits and Riza wore a dress. Winry came downstairs after putting in her pearl earrings that Edward had gotten her. She was surprised, and offered them to come inside. Riza and Winry hugged. “You didn’t have to come all this way.” “We wanted to. We know this is hard for you.”

At the funeral, Winry held on to Edward at his side. She was crying even though it felt like she couldn’t cry anymore. ‘This is harder than I thought it was going to be.’ Edward thought as he held his grieving wife. Even his eyes got glossy. Granny was the one that had taken them in when Trisha had died. She was a grandparent to him, too.

Everyone at the funeral went to Pinako’s house. So many clients had shown up, and their friends from Central had come down. Winry asked Riza “Where are you staying tonight?” “We were going to get a room at the Inn.” “Nonsense! Come stay with us tonight. We would love to have you, right Edward?” “Wait, seriously?” He looked into Winry’s eyes as she pleaded him with just a look. “Fine, they can stay.” He couldn’t say no to her today.

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Edward and Winry and their Central friends went to their home for night. And the next morning, Edward got up and made pancakes for their full house. He wanted Winry to sleep in because he knew she hadn’t slept well. He heard her get up in the middle of the night, and found her reading a novel. At least she was eating now even if she had to be reminded. Mustang found him cooking, and was amazed that Edward knew how to operate a stove. “Well of course I can cook. Sometimes, Winry gets breakfast in bed.” Riza elbowed Mustang. “I wish I got breakfast in bed.” Edward smirked because he had gotten Mustang in trouble with his new wife. Winry came downstairs, and was happy to have breakfast made for her. They all made light conversation, and the new baby was an easy topic. No one really wanted to talk about why they were here to visit. Yesterday was an emotional overload.

Their guests stayed a few days because it seemed to cheer Winry up to have them there. Once they were gone, Winry had to learn how to live without her grandmother’s constant companionship. Winry would want to tell Granny something but then remembered she was gone. She cried a little every now and then but it was getting better. But the hardest thing was she was so tired. She would take a nap every afternoon but wake up in the middle of the night, and stay awake for an hour. Edward got used to her leaving their bed and reading downstairs a little bit to distract her mind. Then she would come back when she got tired again. He didn’t know if this was the pregnancy or grief, or maybe a combination of both. He noticed that some days were easier than others but some were still difficult. He knew they would get through this. He helped more with the housework and cooking meals so Winry could rest more.

A few months later, Winry was eight months pregnant. She had gotten back to doing her usual work and housework though she was having to adjust to doing certain chores due to her size. She was still having trouble sleeping but she wasn’t nearly as tired during the day. She smiled more, and Edward noticed that she was feeling better.

Edward and her were waiting at the train station for Alphonse to arrive. Al got off the train and hugged Winry first. He looked at her very pregnant belly. “Wow, Winry! You look amazing!” “Aww thank you Al. I needed to hear that. I feel huge!” The brothers hugged and greeted each other.

“I want to go to see Granny now.” Alphonse told them. They all agreed to go together, and bought flowers while they were in town. They arrived to the cemetery, and saw their family’s graves. Al kneeled down and put flowers on Granny’s grave. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here but I’m here now.” Winry put her hand on his shoulder. “She would have understood. She was really proud of the work you’ve been doing.” Bringing a medical alchemy back to Amestris had been one of their goals, and Pinako had been hoping to use it with her patients’ recovery. Now Winry would be able to use it to help her patient’s pain levels.

About 6 weeks later, Winry had her baby. It was few days early but the boy was healthy. Once mother and baby were cleaned up, the brothers and Winry looked at the baby in awe. “Hey little guy.” Al said to the baby. “Don’t call him little! It might bother him.” Edward said to his brother. “Edward, he is little, and so cute.” Winry said as she looked at the baby. Edward was annoyed because he knew he had lost. He took a serious look, and told Winry “You know, she’d be really proud of you.” “Edward, don’t make me cry.” She hit him with her free arm. “I’m sorry but she really would.” “Yeah, Winry. She also knew the baby would be early because brother’s the father.” Winry smiled at that. “I’m not that impatient anymore!” Edward defended himself. “His patience has gotten better.” Winry said with a smile.

Edward saw Winry’s smile, and reflected on how much her smile had changed over the past few months. It didn’t have a hint of sadness in it. The dark cloud had lifted slowly. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. The wounds can leave a scar. They had gotten through a dark period of their lives, and now the sky was clear. Winry would be a little sad every so often but there were still smiles and laughter to be had. Her heart had grown more. She had become wiser, and learned to cherish more because she knew that these moments were precious.

 Author’s note: My mom passed away 3 years ago. I thought a grief story would suit well to the theme of ‘Mending’. There is hope for anyone grieving. There is also help. I had to get help through my grief, and I have no shame in saying that.

[thedupshadove]

Scooby Doo Idea

Okay. The Gang were friends in high school, and while they all (with one notable exception. Stay tuned.) went to different colleges, they stayed in touch. They had had sort of an amateur investigative service running back in school, so when they all got out of their respective post-high-school obligations and realized that they all had no immediate plans (and privately, each of them realized that they all had emotional damage that made them reluctant to just go do adult life), they decided to take their investigative skills on the road, mostly as an excuse to semi-drop-out of society. Hey, it’s 1970. These things happen. But then, wherever they go they keep bumping into things that really do need solving. (“But where did they get the money for the van?” Daphne. “But all the food they have to buy--” Daphne. “But most people probably don’t pay them once their mystery gets solved--” Daphne. Daphne hasn’t even come into her inheritance proper yet, but her trust fund alone could buy Switzerland for cash.) Again, we are not trying to make this take on the series “modern” or “interesting” by having the characters constantly be at each other’s throats. They genuinely care about each other (and because this is me, will have settled into a full-on polycule before the series is over). It’s just that they all have,  from various sources, considerable emotional damage that they need to do their best to work through. (But we’re gonna do our best not to let them be defined by their damage. They still have [variants on] the personalities we know and love from the old cartoons.)

Norville “Shaggy” Rogers: As high school came to a close, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to major in at college...and then Uncle Sam called, and he never got a chance to decide, because it was 1966 and the war was hungry. After three years of Hell, he got shot in the shoulder just badly enough to qualify for a discharge home, where he spent the next year failing to shake it off. Luckily for him, he’s blessed with a fairly supportive, understanding family, but still, he’s been through things no teenager should have to, and he’s been left with scars far deeper than the one in his left shoulder. (Note to self: get as accurate a picture as possible of actual PTSD symptoms. Yes, he has nightmares, and yes, there may be the occasional flashback, but we need more than just those two cliché things. Let’s see, what do I already know? Well, he gets protective of people he cares about, he’s generally kind of nervous and jumpy [as is the standard for this character, but now with more of a concrete reason], his huge appetite may partially be a reaction to memories of starving in the jungle; now that food is plentiful, he eats, because he can’t entirely convince his subconscious that it’s going to stay plentiful. And for all his cowardice, when things get bad, I mean really bad, he slips into a sort of...detached competence. A fugue-like, hyper-focused calm in which he knows exactly what to do, and will put all his energy into seeing it done.) However, as I said, none of these people are entirely defined by their damage. When he’s calm, or at least comparatively calm (which sometimes comes with the help of pot) there shines through a caring, empathetic, gentle man with a surprisingly deep wisdom and a laid-back sense of humor. Also, in addition to his voracious appetite, he’s an excellent cook, and putting his energy into cooking is one of the things that can help calm him down after his symptoms get bad, and generally be a thing in his life that helps him heal. In addition to this, during his Year Of Failed Recovery, his uncle, who had a similarly hard time recovering after World War Two, suggested that he get a dog, advice which Shaggy took, which brings us to…

Scoobert “Scooby” Doo: What you need to understand about Scooby in this version is...he’s a dog. He’s very intelligent...for a dog. He’s very helpful in dangerous situations...for a dog. He’s surprisingly good at communicating with humans...for a dog. But he doesn’t talk, and he is not supernatural in any other way. He’s a dog. Nevertheless, he serves an important role in the group, not least of which is as Shaggy’s (though he’s never officially called this, as I believe the phenomenon was not a recognized as a medical phenomenon in 1970) emotional support dog. Like most dogs, he’s good at sensing what mood his people are in, and Shaggy is his people (and so are the others, eventually), so even though the actual training that emotional support animals get today didn’t exist for him to get, he can tell when Shaggy is in a particularly upset mood, and offer comfort. In addition, having an animal to care for gave Shaggy one more means of grounding. Plus, it doesn’t matter how well-planned your criminal scheme is, or how dedicated you are to it, if a big fuckoff Great Dane comes charging at you full-tilt, you’re gonna move. Most of his usual cowardice is probably gone in this version; in fact, if he feels that his people are in danger, he will not hesitate to square up and fight.

Frederick “Fred” “Freddie” Herman Jones: His father wanted a strong son; an athlete; the golden All-American boy...and he got it, by Hell or high water. Genuine interest in his son as a person? Willingness to support unconventional hobbies? Any affection given without Fred “earning” it by living up to one of the many standards of “manliness”? Naaaaaaaahhhh. Which was a problem, because Fred showed early on that he had little natural inclination towards what his father wanted him to be. His interests lay in painting, a particular breed of fashion, and mechanical things (and not the car kind.) Well, Papa Jones didn’t want any egghead or sissy for a son, and his efforts to “correct the problem” were, by most estimations, excessive. The man had a fast and furious temper. (And Mom died when Fred was very young, far too soon to do anything to counteract Dad’s influence) So Tiny Freddie learned to lie and suppress and play his part, and he played it so well that it couldn’t help become genuinely part of who he was (and, because children are children no matter what their parents are like, the praise he got when he finally lived up to his father’s standards warmed his little heart in a way he couldn’t control, even as he hated how much he had to hide), but through it all, he kept up his true self in secret,  as much as he could, scheming and planning and hoping for the day when he could leave home and leave his father’s ideals behind. And he got into college (he got his father to accept an engineering major with only minimal cold disdain by pointing out all the possible connections to construction) and started trying to shed all of his father’s influence...only to find that he couldn’t, entirely. If you ask him point-blank, he will say that he knows his father was wrong and he’s not ashamed of his true self or his true interests, but getting out from under a lifetime of abuse is never that easy. After 18 years of being glared at and derided and shouted at and hit every time he did something “Poindextery” or “girly” or “weak”, the inner voice that does the same is something he has to face down and banish almost constantly. And as I said, some of the All-American Boy affect has just become part of who he is. His healthiest self, when he can find it, is the best of both worlds, with the gregarity and leadership skills of the Golden Boy combined with true embrace of the artist and inventor he is.

Velma Dace Dinkley: Her home life during childhood was just fine. The trouble came when those pesky peers showed up. She was short, and serious, and academic, and plain, and wore big thick glasses, and so she did not get along easily with the other children. She took things seriously, so when they teased, she took that very seriously, and lashed out, which only ostracized her more. Eventually, she buried the rage the only way she could: under layer upon layer of academia, forced apathy, and prickly snark. But underneath that, she was lonely. She didn’t feel lovable, or wanted, and she was frustrated by her inability to fix whatever it was that was wrong with her. Not that she was willing to admit any of this to herself, except in the dark and still of her bedroom at midnight. Who knows just how isolated she might have become if she hadn’t fallen in with the Gang during high school. As it is, she’s cynical, has a hard time dealing with or admitting to her own emotions, and is extremely distrustful of overt kindness or friendliness (the Gang get a pass on this because she knows them well, but if a stranger starts being noticeably nice to her, out come the quills.) She is, however, scary-smart. Smart enough to get PhDs in English and History in the time it took Fred and Daphne to get their Bachelors. And sometimes, when she’s around friends and feels safe, that clever, biting wit can be used for good, instead of to push people away “before they have a chance to hurt her”.

Daphne Anne Blake: What you have to understand is that the Blake family is rich. Wildly rich. Unimaginably rich. No, richer than you’re picturing. No, double that amount. No, on second thought, square it. The other thing you have to understand is that they have been this rich for slightly longer than America has existed as a political entity. So growing up a Blake certainly comes with privileges that most children can only dream of, but it also has its drawbacks, chief among which is that you will never, for one second, be allowed to forget that you are A Blake. And such was Daphne’s childhood. Grace, deportment, beauty, all the skills of a lady, perfection. Never a hair out of place, never a stain on that dress, never a sour note, never an uncouth word or gesture, don’t frown, dear, it wrinkles your forehead, but don’t laugh to hard, it puts lines around your mouth, and don’t you dare fall off that horse. After high school, she went on to Harvard for a B.A. in Psychology, because it’s important for even girls to be properly educated. And it’s all left her a scant hop skip and a jump away from being a nervous wreck. She needs everyone to like her all the time, she needs to look perfect, she needs to be perfect. But at least on some level, she doesn’t want to need to be perfect. She wanted to be able to relax, wanted to let her hair down, wanted to find an identity outside of being A Blake. Lucky for her, she’s the youngest of a large co-ed brood, and her parents suddenly decided that it was chic to have a child who was being slightly rebellious. So as long as she doesn’t get her name in the papers in a negative way, or overspend her allocated trust fund (which would be an impressive feat), they’re perfectly happy to titter at parties about how their youngest daughter is off roaming the country with her strange little friends. As to her quest to find herself outside of her family, it has and hasn’t succeeded. She’s mostly managed to reject generational snobbery and extend her gracious manners to one and all, but sometimes without thinking about it (or sometimes on purpose when they need it for a case) she slips into The Manner Born. And it’s been a long hard process puzzling out how much of the infinite lessons she can keep and use for good, and which she must discard. (For example, she’s certainly in no hurry to abandon her taste for the finer things in life, and if you’re going to make a life out of chasing down criminals, there are worse things than being a trained fencer.) No matter what she does, she’s always going to be a lady. She just hopes to become a true gentlewoman, rather than the paradoxical people-pleasing snob her parents were raising. Her biggest progress has come in the form of letting go of any residual feelings of superiority, and becoming less and less afraid to have and state her own thoughts and opinions, no matter who does and doesn’t agree with them. She’s working on that. Slowly.

Relationships

So, like I said, the endgame here is a full-on, everybody x everybody else poly situation. But even though they (eventually) think of themselves as a foursome, with no one pairing getting any precedence but rather the four of them being a group, it is true that within that group, there are six pairs, and each individual pair is strong enough that (if I may be morbid) if any two of them died, the remaining two would stay together. So here is a summary of each of the pairs.

Fred/Daphne: Ah, the classic pair. It’s a cliché, perhaps, but they really do have plenty to bond over.They both struggle with the weight of parental expectations, they both have a flair for personal style, and heaven knows they look good together. They spend a lot of time talking to each other and helping each other with the problems that come from their parents’ respective demands, but they also have a lot of fun enjoying together the more “preppy” things that Shaggy and Velma don’t like so much.

Shaggy/Velma: The other cliché, mostly a result of pairing the spares. However, it has its legitimate reasons to exist as well. Their senses of humor complement each other; Shaggy’s more overt clowning works well with Velma’s snark. As the two more “alternative” members of the gang, they also make sense as a couple in public. Shaggy’s earnestness, empathy and sillieness can help get past Velma’s shell, and her no-nonsense practicality can often help to calm his nerves.

Daphne/Velma: The third most popular pairing (or possibly even the second, however much I might want to kid myself about the ubiquity of my childhood OTP). On some level, Velma may be put off by (and might also envy) Daphne’s beauty and grace, but she can’t help but also be drawn to it, and be constantly delighted to find the intelligence underneath. Daphne, for her part, loves Velma for her intelligence, and is amazed by her forthrightness and assertiveness. In addition, Daphne has decided that Velma’s low estimation of her own desirability is unacceptable, and has taken it upon herself to shower her with all the attention she should have been getting all these years. She’s been put on enough pedestals of her own to know how to construct one for someone else, and has thrown herself wholeheartedly into singing “Dulcinea” under Velma’s metaphorical window. Velma’s reaction to this is...complex (which is to say, she would like to just let herself enjoy it, but can’t entirely shut off her reflexive cynicism).

Fred/Shaggy: They don’t always talk very much, but that’s okay. They enjoy the quiet. Shaggy appreciates having a leader-type around, and Fred takes comfort in Shaggy’s utterly accepting nature.

Fred/Velma: In some ways, they can get competitive, but it’s never vitriolic. It’s just that she’s never been one to hide her light under a bushel, and Fred’s reaction to how impressed he is with her is to want to impress her by trying to match up to her, and she respects him enough to not talk down to him or slow up so he can catch up, and so it spirals. She shows more and more skill at investigating and figuring out who the culprit is; he refines his plans and traps more and more. That’s why it so often seems ambiguous whether Fred or Velma is the leader; they’re sparring over the title.

Daphne/Shaggy: Well, he can’t help but be a little awed that such an obvious princess is into a guy like him. And he’s so unlike the boys shes used to that she can’t get enough of him. Their differences only make them stronger. And with her Psychology degree, she may be the one most equipped to actually help him with his symptoms. No, she’s not a therapist, but at least she knows the technical terms for what’s happening, and may have a list of possible treatments. And she revels in how few expectations he has.

@scoobydooservicedog You’re getting tagged because part of this relates to what you do (and because you seem cool and I kinda want to know what you think) 

[emachinescat]

I Shall Have Lived a Little While

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 26 - recovery

Summary: Sequel to "Pain Has an Element of Blank." The knights bring a broken Merlin back to Camelot, and he and Arthur are finally reunited. 

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Gaius

Words: 3,661

TW: mentions of slavery

Note: This is a direct sequel to my stories “I Should Not Dare to Leave My Friend” and “Pain Has an Element of Blank.”  I highly suggest reading those before you read this one, because you’ll probably be a bit lost if you don’t. :)  This is the full, finished version of the piece I posted on Day 26 of Febuwhump.  I hope you enjoy!

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, and/or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

You smile upon your friend to-day,

To-day his ills are over;

You hearken to the lover's say,

And happy is the lover.

'Tis late to hearken, late to smile,

But better late than never:

I shall have lived a little while

Before I die for ever.

- "You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day" by A. E. Housman

Arthur was days away from striking out on a quest to rescue Merlin while injured himself when the search party returned. Gaius had told the king many times over that he was not well enough to embark on a journey to find his stolen servant, that he should wait and let the knights handle it. He'd even placed a bodyguard over Arthur – Percival – but slowly, the king found his strength returning. He'd warned Percival in advance that he would be staying in Camelot only until he could move about on his own, and then he would ride out. If that meant fighting Percival and the guards to get to his horse and out of the citadel, that's just what he would do.

Ultimately, though, escaping his own castle ended up being unnecessary, because his men succeeded just as Gaius had predicted they would. Arthur was conflicted when he heard of their approach – of course, he was delighted that they were returning, Merlin in tow, though no one knew yet the severity of the servant's condition, only that he lived. Another part of the king gilded itself in resentment and shame, for he had not been there for his friend when he'd been taken. Arthur knew Merlin well, and understood that his servant would have been waiting for – expecting – the king to come for him, to lead the rescue. And Arthur had let Merlin down, had not been there for his friend when he needed him the most.

A third part of Arthur felt immediate relief that he would no longer have to drag himself onto his horse and ride out into unknown dangers, because he knew full well that his wound – a nasty, deep sword-cut across the ribs – had not healed as much as he was trying to convince Percival – and himself. Of course, Gaius hadn't been fooled for a moment. Neither had Gwen. But both knew that there was only so long they could hope to contain Arthur when Merlin was missing.

Arthur insisted on meeting the knights in the courtyard, and felt like he had just fought a dragon by the time he got there. His wound ached, his body felt weak and limp and heavy, and his breathing came in ragged bursts. Beside him, Percival took hold of his arm to steady him. Arthur glared, but didn't pull away. He tried to ignore the knowing gleam in the man's eyes, one he knew without having to look also resided in his Gwen's and Gaius's gazes.

Despite the pain and exhaustion from the exertion, Arthur managed to break into a stilted run when the knights, red cloaks announcing their return, rode into the courtyard. "Gwaine!" Arthur panted, because it was Gwaine who held Merlin gently in front of him on his horse. The servant was unconscious, but he was alive. Arthur looked up at Gwaine, who had yet to hand Merlin off to any of the now dismounted knights, and made no attempt to dismount himself. A stirring of dread plucked at Arthur's heart like a lyre.

"What happened?" Arthur asked, and his voice came out much weaker than he wanted it to. His eyes traveled back to his servant, taking in the drawn, pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way that Gwaine held him so carefully, as if afraid he might break. There was something else, something that Arthur could not identify, something that radiated a sense of wrongness. Arthur kept studying his friend, and for some reason, his gaze kept moving back to the servant's legs.

Gaius shuffled up beside the king. Arthur could sense the worry and relief coming off of the old physician in waves, but he did not turn from the unconscious servant. "Gwaine?" he prompted, as the knight had not answered his question.

But it wasn't Gwaine who responded. Gaius had already begun his cursory examination of his ward, and when he spoke, Arthur's head snapped around to meet his gaze. "His legs are broken, Sire. Both of them."

***

Arthur felt numb as he followed the knights, Gaius, Gwen, and Merlin back across the courtyard, up the steps, and into the castle. Both legs broken. Arthur knew at once that Merlin's injuries hadn't been an accident. He hadn't slipped and fallen and broken his bones. Of course, it sounded exactly like something clumsy Merlin would do. But Athur also understood the kind of people that had taken his servant. He had spent a large portion of his time as King of Camelot attempting to rid his kingdom and the surrounding areas from the influence of slavers. These were men who were ruthless, cruel, and unfeeling.

It was clear to Arthur that they had broken Merlin's legs intentionally, and at first the king was so stunned by the level of violence done to his servant that he didn't feel anything. He just couldn't stop thinking about how it might have happened. He didn't have to ask why. Merlin might have been scrawny and unassuming at first glance, but he was also incredibly stubborn and determined, and sometimes even clever, on the rare occasion he wasn't being a complete idiot. He would have tried to escape from his captors, Arthur was sure. Maybe multiple times. And to keep it from happening again, they'd shattered his legs, made sure he couldn't run.

They arrived at Gaius's chambers, and Gwaine carefully laid Merlin out on the well-worn patient's cot. Gaius shooed everyone out of the room, save for Arthur, who as king could not be "shooed" anywhere, and Gwaine, who dug his heels in and refused to budge. Arthur and Gwaine watched in tense silence for a while as Gaius examined Merlin further, checking to make sure his legs had been set properly, binding them, treating a nasty wound on the back of his head, washing the blood and muck and filth out of his hair, spreading salve on bruises and cuts and tipping potions down his throat.

Eventually, as Gaius fell into a rhythm, Arthur turned to Gwaine. "What happened?" he asked in a low, even voice. That numbness still froze his heart, but he could feel the anger beginning to thaw the icy disbelief. "Where did you find him?" The unspoken but obvious question lingered between them: Did you kill the bastards who did this?

The king had fully been expecting an enraged, ultimately triumphant tale of the knights discovering the slavers' hideout, bathing the walls with the blood of the men who had tortured their friend, and sweeping Merlin into his arms and carrying him home like the swooning maiden he was. But to Arthur's surprise, Gwaine hesitated, a faraway, almost uncomfortable look in his eyes. "I'm not actually sure," he finally answered.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "How are you not sure of what happened? Have you been drinking?"

Gwaine's response was serious and immediate. "Not on a quest this important. Not when Merlin's life was at stake." Arthur nodded curtly in approval, then waited for Gwaine to explain himself. The knight took a deep breath, then told Arthur everything that had happened. Along the way, Arthur noticed out of the corner of his eye that Gaius had finished with Merlin, and he stood stiffly, his spine as tall as he could manage, listening intently.

When Gwaine had finished, Arthur shook his head in confusion. "That makes no sense. He just appeared at the edge of your camp?"

Gwaine shrugged. "We thought he might have escaped and stumbled upon us, but with his legs…" He trailed off, dark, flaming eyes darting over to the servant as if to remind himself that Merlin was home, and he was safe.

Gaius turned around and joined the hushed conversation. Arthur thought he saw a flicker of something he couldn't quite place in the old man's gaze – it might have been understanding, or fear, or something else entirely – when Gaius urged, "Since we are at a loss to explain these things at this moment, perhaps it is best to find comfort in Merlin's return – and maybe, once he has awakened, he can shed some light on how he came to be in your camp." Somehow, though, Arthur had the feeling that Gaius didn't expect Merlin to have the answers.

***

Merlin woke the next morning. Gwaine and Arthur had both refused to leave over the night, and so Arthur had slept in Merlin's bed and Gwaine had fallen into a restless slumber slumped over the table in the physician's chambers.

Arthur awoke early, at first confused as to why he was in such an uncomfortable bed, then he recognized his surroundings and spent a few horrified moments trying to figure out why he was in his servant's room, in his bed, but then everything flooded back to him in a great rush, and he thought he might be sick.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed, the familiar deep ache in his ribs more pronounced after sleeping in such a hard, threadbare bed. Well, sleeping was a generous term. The king had only fallen into a fitful, anxious sleep in the early, still-dark hours of the morning and felt less rested than he had before he'd drifted off. It wasn't the discomfort or pain that had kept him awake, however – it had been his own mind, the boiling rage that had hit him full force as soon as he was alone.

The fury was accompanied by equal parts disgust and heartache, and his mind had been alive and seething with images of what Merlin had gone through, the pain he had endured. He'd actually fallen asleep once, only to wake up minutes later with a pounding heart and coiling gut, the crisp snap of bones in his dream much too loud and real in his mind. And when all of the emotions had been boiled down to their basest forms, the thought that resounded through Arthur's head was painfully simple: Merlin didn't deserve this.

Merlin was just stirring when Arthur limped his way down the steps into the physician's main chamber, right arm curled instinctively around his burning midsection. Gwaine still slumped over the table, snoring loudly. Gaius was gone, most likely on his early morning rounds. It was comforting to see that Gaius had thought Merlin well enough to leave more or less alone while he was gone. It meant that he was in no immediate danger.

"Arthur?"

Arthur hastened to his servant's bedside and eased himself carefully into the chair that Gaius had vacated when he left. Arthur responded with a smile and a whispered, "Hello, Merlin. It's about time you woke up." He wasn't sure why he kept his voice lowered, other than a desire to have a moment to speak to his servant alone, before Gwaine woke up.

Merlin looked terrible: His face was pinched in pain, his eyes glassy and legs bandaged and propped up on the mountain of pillows Arthur had ordered brought to the chamber. Still, he smiled at Arthur's light jab. "How… how did I get here?" His voice was weak and dry; Arthur saw a flagon of water on the bedside table and helped Merlin drink, holding his body rather more stiffly than usual to minimize his own pain at the movement.

Arthur's heart dropped a little. There went his answers. "You don't remember?"

Merlin shook his head, his eyes somewhere far away. "The last thing that I recall is…" He trailed off, his long fingers picking anxiously at his blanket.

Arthur leaned forward the tiniest bit. "What?"

"I was at the fortress. The, uh, bandits' hideout."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Do you know where it is? Could you lead us there?"

Merlin tilted his head to the side, confused. "Wasn't that where you found me?"

Merlin's words were like another sword in the gut. Merlin assumed that Arthur had been the one to rescue him, the one to lead the search party. And why wouldn't he believe that? That was what should have happened. If it hadn't been for Arthur's injury, it would have been him carrying his servant home instead of Gwaine. Of course, Merlin couldn't have known that. Arthur forced a smile that he hoped didn't look too fake onto his face and shook his head. "You weren't found at any fortress. None of the men who had taken you were nearby." Guilt gnawed at him for his purposefully vague description of the rescue party, but he shoved it aside. He would not take credit for what his knights had done alone, but he wasn't ready to divulge his own injury to Merlin yet.

"What do you mean? I know I couldn't have escaped on my own, I–"

"What?"

Merlin had cut off, the tiniest spark of something lighting in his eyes. He dropped his gaze. "Nothing. I can't remember."

Arthur had a feeling Merlin wasn't telling the full truth. He could have sworn that the expression on Merlin's face, for the briefest of seconds, was that of realization. As if he'd figured out exactly how he'd managed to get away from the bandits with two broken legs. But he let it go, for now.

"Well, you were found feet from the rescue party's camp," Arthur continued. "Lying in some bushes, unconscious. With your legs…" He didn't finish – he didn't have to. The pain lines in Merlin's face deepened.

Merlin scrubbed a shaky hand through his hair, then winced when he hit the cut. "Ow."

"Don't touch it, you idiot," Arthur chided.

Merlin rolled his eyes, settled deeper into his pillow, and regarded Arthur with something far too close to suspicion.

The silent staring got to Arthur far quicker than he liked to admit. "What?" he snapped waspishly.

"You talked about the rescue party like you weren't a part of it," Merlin observed, and Arthur sighed. Even when badly injured, the servant was annoyingly observant in the most inconvenient ways. Why couldn't he pick up on subtleties in situations where it would actually be helpful?

Despite his exasperation, Arthur was truthful. "It was a party of knights who brought you home," he admitted. "I was not one of them."

Merlin looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he said simply, "Oh."

"Merlin–"

"No, no. That makes sense," Merlin interrupted, and it was more like he was trying to convince himself than Arthur. "I'm just a servant. You're the king. You had many important… king things to do."

"King things?"

"Like being a royal prat."

Arthur smirked. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Merlin's insults while he'd been stuck in bed worrying about the missing servant. He didn't rise to the bait, though – not yet. "You know very well you're not just a servant, Merlin. You are…" He hesitated only briefly; seeing his servant being hauled away by slavers, then spending weeks wondering if he'd ever see his friend again had opened his eyes and battered down his defenses, and ultimately made it easier to say his next words. "You are an old, dear friend. And I feared – I thought I'd never see you again."

Merlin's eyes shimmered in the candlelight. He looked like he was about to cry. Arthur prayed he wouldn't. Then, Merlin smiled and complained, "If I'm such an old, dear friend, then why am I still scrubbing your floors and washing your undergarments?"

"It's your job, Merlin. Being friends with someone shouldn't stop you from doing your duties."

"Then can I have a different job? One that doesn't involve running after your every beck and call?"

Arthur chuckled. "Absolutely not. And don't let what I said go to your head. If you ever tell anyone I said it, I'll feed you to my dogs."

"You can try, but since I'm the one who's been walking them for years now, I think they like me more than you."

They shared an amiable laugh, but the unresolved issue of Arthur's role – or lack thereof – in Merlin's rescue still hung between them. Arthur sobered. When he next spoke, his voice was grave. "The only reason I did not ride out after you, Merlin, was because I was injured. Gwaine and the others had been gone for days before I finally woke up."

Instantly, Merlin's entire demeanor changed. Like he had been struck by lightning, every aspect of Merlin's frame snapped to alert. His face hardened, his eyes flashed, and he levered himself up onto his elbows. He gave off an almost frightening aura, one of worry, as Arthur had expected, but also of… fierce protectiveness? Arthur was touched, but also somewhat unnerved. Something akin to power sizzled in Merlin's blue eyes as they searched Arthur up and down for injury.

"What happened? Who did it? How are you now?"

Arthur blinked, then shifted uncertainly in his chair. "I… I took a sword to the ribs – I'm fine, lie back down – but it missed anything vital. One of the bandits who attacked us got a lucky hit in right as you went down. He's dead now, by the way."

The flames flared before dwindling down into embers. "Good. And you? Are you recovered?"

Arthur thought about lying, about telling Merlin he had never been better, but instead he said, "I'm well on my way. A few more weeks, Gaius says, and I should be as good as new."

Merlin eased himself back down onto his back, wincing as the adrenaline wore off and the movement pulled at his legs. Arthur glanced at the broken limbs and hesitated before asking the question he both desperately needed and ardently dreaded the answer to.

"Merlin… what did they do to you?"

Merlin's face, already whiter than usual from pain, took on a faintly green tint. "I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

Arthur wanted to retort, No, it's not all the same to me! But he took a deep breath, and thought about what was best for Merlin. He would have to talk about what was done to him eventually. Even if it wasn't to him, he would have to relive the terror and the pain and the memories. But he had just woken up. If he needed some time, then who was Arthur to begrudge him that?

Only, he had to know – "Just one thing, then," the king implored, and Merlin's eyebrows raised, surprised that Arthur was giving up on his quest for information so easily. "Can you tell me… did anyone do anything to you? And did they actually come to the point of… of…"

Merlin's voice was troubled, but he finished Arthur's question with a quiet strength. "Selling me?" He shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure. I know there was an interested party–" Arthur's gut rolled over on itself, and he thought he might be sick, "–but I honestly can't remember anything that happened after he knocked me out." He looked up at Arthur almost shyly. "I'm sorry, that's all I can remember. But to answer your first question, other than breaking my legs, they didn't touch me."

Relief flooded through Arthur. "Honorable slavers?" he asked incredulously.

A hint of mirth touched Merlin's lips. "I think they were afraid of me," he whispered conspiratorially.

Arthur snorted. "Afraid? Of the likes of you? What were you going to do, kill them with your incompetency?"

"I have many talents that you don't know of," Merlin said mysteriously, and if Arthur hadn't known better, he'd think Merlin was being serious.

"You have one talent," Arthur deadpanned. "And that's irritating your king."

"Glad to be of service," Merlin joked.

"That would be a first," Arthur shot back. Then he said, "Merlin, I'm sorry I wasn't able to rescue you myself. I know you would have done the same for me."

Merlin shook his head. "You were injured, sire."

"That wouldn't have stopped you." He regretted the words, and the guilt that permeated them, as soon as they left his mouth.

Merlin studied him seriously for a few moments before responding with a slight grin, "Maybe not, but aren't you always saying I'm a reckless idiot with no mind for my own safety?"

"That, you are," Arthur agreed heartily. A beat. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me, too."

In the comfortable silence that followed, Arthur realized something – he couldn't remember the last time he'd heard a snore from Gwaine. Slowly, he turned around to see the knight still sitting on the bench, his upper body sprawled on the table, face-down. "Gwaine?" Arthur asked.

All was quiet for a handful of hopeful seconds. Then – "...Yes, Arthur?"

Arthur groaned. Behind him, he heard Merlin stifle a chuckle. "How much did you hear?"

Gwaine popped up to an upright position, cracked his neck, popped his knuckles, and sent his friends his most shit-eating grin. "Enough to wonder if you're actually engaged to the right person," he answered chipperly. "You two are so sweet."

Arthur felt the blood rushing into his face, and he steadfastly refused to turn around to look at Merlin, sure that the servant's face, too, would be bright red. "Why, you… I… that's treason!" Arthur exclaimed indignantly, even though it wasn't.

Gwaine shook his hair out of his face, stood, stretched, and ambled his way over to the sick bed. "Merlin, my friend. It's good to see you recovering."

"Thanks, Gwaine," Merlin responded, and Arthur did look back at him now, noting that a fierce blush was indeed just beginning to fade from his cheeks. When he smiled, first at Gwaine, then at Arthur, it was a tired smile, but a hopeful one, too.

"It's good to be home."

FebuWhump2021

Febuwhumpday26

Recovery

Resolution

Sequel

Whump

Hurt Merlin (Merlin)

Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Friendship

Hurt/Comfort

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Broken Bones

Sword Wound

Gen or Pre-Slash

Protective Merlin

Protective Arthur

Protective Gwaine (Merlin)

Protective Gaius (Merlin)

everyone is protective

Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Worried Merlin (Merlin)

Everyone Is Worried Too

Arwen Is Referenced

Heart-to-Heart

arthur shows he cares

Bromance

Epic Bromance

Mentions of Slavery

[elliemarchetti]

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 4)

I wanted not to publish this part until I had reached at least a dozen notes on the third, but I’m a clown and I wanted to share this so bad, so, here we are. Hope someone is still interested, hope someone could enjoy something so silly in this trying times. 

Tag list: @lilyharvord

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Words: 2456

The day passed practically as the previous one: Miss Samos and Lady Haven spent a few hours with Wren, whose health continued, albeit slowly, to improve, and in the evening Mare joined the others in the living room. The table game, however, hadn’t been organized and the General was writing to his grandmother while Miss Samos, sitting next to him, controlled the progress of the letter, of a considerable length, and continually diverted his attention with messages for the recipient and congratulations for her friend’s handwriting and the regularity of the lines which, together with the complete disinterest with which they were received, formed a curious dialogue, in perfect coincidence with the opinion she had of both.

“You write at an extraordinary speed.”

"I'm sorry to admit you're wrong, in fact, I write rather slowly."

"How many letters do you have the opportunity to write in the course of a year?" she asked, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the answer. "Many will be about business. I guess you’ll find them hateful. I certainly would."

"Your guesses are becoming less and less correct day by day, my dear Evangeline," he replied, sardonically, and although she didn't seem particularly pleased with the answer, she asked him to tell her grandmother that she wished to see her again as soon as possible, which she must have already done, given his reaction. A brief period of time passed, in which all three were silent, when she started again , this time asking him if she should fix his pen, but the General replied he was fine and that it was anyway a job he always did by himself. The more time passed, the more Mare could understand that young man, whose pride was gradually diminishing, revealing he was actually unable to converse or stay in a company, a sign he must’ve had a cold and rigorous childhood, without friends or confidants, full of mentors and teachers, books and lessons.

"You always write her letters so long and beautiful?” she asked, and just then her brother walked in, accompanied by Lady Haven, which annoyed Mare a little, since she still hoped he and Wren could soon begin an official courtship.

"They are generally long, but as for always being beautiful, it’s not my job to judge,” replied the General who, although he had registered the newcomers, didn’t lift his head from the sheet.

"For me, it’s a certainty: a person capable of writing a long letter can't easily misspell," interjected Lady Haven, who had quickly rushed to snoop in turn. Mare didn’t agree with her, anyone could write long letters, even with a not particularly large vocabulary and a bad grammar, yet she said nothing, determined not to draw further attention to herself and too interested in the conversation, which had shifted to the General's use of extremely refined terms, evidently also in the letters addressed to his friends, something in sharp contrast with the writing style of Mr. Samos, which his sister defined as a set of sloppy scribbles.

"My ideas flow so quickly that I don't have the time to express them, hence sometimes my correspondents can't understand practically anything."

"It means that you let your heart write and not your mind," Mare commented, "and this does you credit, because you show yourself vulnerable to the people you love, something in stark contrast to your character with the rest of your acquaintances."

Mr. Samos seemed surprised by the compliment, while the General didn’t seem to like it, but Mare wasn’t in the mood to endure his malevolent comments, which always showed an ill-concealed wickedness and a stubborn decision to contradict her, so, before he could reply, she asked him if he didn't care about the influence of friendship and affection.

"The respect for the writer often leads me to overlook possible errors of little importance, but I would do better, perhaps, to wait for Mr. Samos to write something for my eyes before judging."

"It wouldn’t be advisable, before pursuing this topic, to agree with a little more precision on the degree of importance to be attached to this letter, as well as on the degree of intimacy existing between the parties?" the General asked, and before Mare could reply, it was the person directly interested who interrupted the discussion, which almost resembled a quarrel, with a joke, bringing his friend to end his task , while the three young ladies devoted themselves to analyzing the music sheets placed on the grand piano that dominated the right side of the room. Lady Haven sang with her friend, and while the two were busy, Mare couldn’t help but notice how the General's gaze stopped very often on her. She certainly couldn't suppose to be the object of the admiration of such a great man and that he looked at her because he disliked her would be even stranger. Eventually, she could only imagine that he turned his attention to her because there was nothing more out of place and reprehensible, according to his ideas of correctness, in any other person present. The hypothesis didn’t bother her: she liked him too little to hold on to his approval. After playing some Italian songs, Miss Samos started something more lively, and soon after General Calore, approaching Mare, asked her if she didn’t feel the strong desire to take the opportunity to dance. She smiled, but didn't answer. He repeated the question, a little surprised from what could be interpreted as a shy reaction. The truth was that she had heard him the first time, but had found herself undecided on what to answer, as she was sure that her interlocutor hoped for her assent, so he could denigrate her good taste, but for her it was always pleasant to upset these kinds of plans and deprive people of their premeditated contempt, so she replied negatively, with the sole purpose of offending him just as she had been offended by his comment when he called her not beautiful enough to tempt him. He, however, was incredibly gallant and found himself thinking that if it weren't for her humble origins, he would’ve found himself in serious danger because that young woman had bewitched him like no one before. Though she seemed too busy at first to notice, Miss Samos saw everything, and her strong impatience for Wren's recovery was somewhat reinforced by a desire to get rid of Mare, which risked to seriously jeopardize her plan. In this regard, she tried to instil in Cal a dislike for her own guest, talking to him about the alleged marriage and offering him a glimpse of the happiness that would follow such a union.

"I hope," she said, as they were walking in the grove next day, "that you’ll give your mother-in-law some advice, when this desirable event takes place, about the advantages of holding her tongue, and that you can limit the younger girl’s desire to run after officers, not to mention the delicate subject of your lady’s presumption and impertinence.”

"Do you have anything else to propose for my domestic happiness?" he asked, but before Evangeline could answer they ran into Lady Haven and Mare herself, coming from another path.

“I didn’t know you were going to take a walk,” she noted, a little embarrassed for fear of having been heard.

"You treated us horribly," Lady Haven replied, glaring at her, "running away without telling us you were going out."

Then, taking the General's free arm, she left Mare to walk alone. The path had room only for three and when the young man realized the rudeness he immediately proposed to move to the avenue, but Mare, who had no intention of staying with them, replied laughingly, before walking away with a brief farewell, that they formed a charming group and that a fourth person would ruined the picturesque appearance. From the window, Wren, who had felt strong enough to get up, saw everything and decided that she would come downstairs for a couple of hours that night. Making sure she was well protected from the cold, Mare accompanied her into the living room, where she was greeted by her two friends with many manifestations of joy; she had never found them more pleasant as in the hour that passed before the gentlemen’s appearance, and the demonstration that their remarkable ability to converse weren’t limited only to describing precisely the receptions they had attended but it was also extended to reporting anecdotes with a sense of humour and laughing at their acquaintances made her feel invigorated nearly as much as Ptolemus’ attentions who, on his arrival, spent the first half hour poking the fire and made sure she sat on the side of the fireplace farthest from the door. When he finally sat down next to her, he barely spoke to the others, which Mare noted with great pleasure. Once they had tea, Lucas Samos reminded his cousin of the game table, but in vain: Lady Haven had learned, in a completely confidential way, that the General hated cards and the few times he had played it had been only to not offend them, so suddenly everyone had lost interest in it, and seemed much more determined to devote themselves to reading, although Miss Samos's attention was much more concerned with checking the progress of the one she wished to make her husband soon than to read her own book; she never stopped asking him questions or peeking the pages, but she couldn't draw him into the conversation as he just answered her questions and kept on reading.  Finally, completely exhausted from her attempts to amuse herself with her own tome, which she had chosen only because it was the second volume of his, she gave a loud yawn and said: "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I feel like saying that basically there is no entertainment like reading! How quickly one gets tired of anything other than a book! When I have my own home, I would feel really miserable not to have an excellent library. "

No one replied, then she yawned again, put aside what, in her words, should’ve been her new favourite pastime, and glanced around the room for some amusement when, hearing that her brother was talking to Miss Skonos about a dance, she immediately turned to him, reminding him that for some of those present a dance would be nothing but torture. It was evident that the dig was thrown at the General, but he let his friend answer for him and raised his head only when Mare joined Miss Samos, by invitation, to stretch her legs. The platinum-haired young woman invited him too but he refused, noting that he could only imagine two reasons for that choice to walk back and forth in the room, both of which his participation would interfere. Miss Samos was dying to know what he meant, and as Mare was of no help to her, she insisted on her childhood friend, who replied that the first reason was that the two women had suddenly become intimate and had private affairs to discuss, and the second was to be admired, which he would’ve been able to do much better while sitting.

"I've never heard something so disgusting!” exclaimed Miss Samos. “How will we punish him for such a speech?”

"Nothing easier, if only you feel like it," Mare said, perplexed by the fact that her interlocutor had taken her by the arm, as if they were great friends. "We are always able to torment and punish each other. Tease him, laugh at him. As intimate as you are, you sure know how to."

"On my honour, I don't know. I assure you that intimacy still hasn’t taught me to tease such a quiet temperament without losing in the attempt, and as for laughing, we shouldn’t expose ourselves for laughing for no reason. I suppose he can congratulate himself.”

"Miss Samos gives me more credit than how much is due. The wisest and best of men, or better, the wisest and best of his deeds, can be made ridiculous by a person whose main purpose in life is to joke."

"Sure," Mare replied, "there are people like that, but I hope I'm not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Extravagance and nonsense, tantrums and absurdities amuse me, I admit, and I laugh at it every time I can. But these things, I suppose, are just the ones from which you are immune."

"Maybe this isn’t possible for anyone, but in life I’ve always tried to avoid those weaknesses which often expose even a remarkable intelligence to ridicule," he replied, and it soon became apparent that a conversation of that rank would only take place between the two of them, though it also attracted Lucas and Elane’s attention.

"Even vanity and pride, then."

"Yes, vanity is undoubtedly a weakness. But pride... where there is real superiority of intellect, pride will always be under careful control."

Mare had to hid a smile, and Evangeline, who hadn’t understood what had just happened, asked her what the outcome of her study was.

"I am perfectly convinced that General Calore doesn’t have flaws. He himself admits it without a doubt."

"I've never demanded such a thing," he corrected her. "I have several flaws, but they don’t concern, I hope, the intellect, even if I certainly cannot vouch for my character, which I believe is very little accommodating, certainly too little in the eyes of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as much as I should, nor the offenses done to me. My feelings don't shift at each attempt to move them, my character could perhaps be called touchy and my respect once lost is lost forever."

"This is a real flaw!" Mare exclaimed. "A relentless grudge is a stain in a character, but as a flaw it’s chosen well, so I can't really laugh at it. In mine opinion, you’re safe."

"In every temperament there is, I believe, a tendency to some particular sin, a natural imperfection that not even the better education can defeat,” he went on, "and if in my case it may seem that I hate everyone, which isn’t true, in yours it certainly is obstinacy in misunderstand them."

Mare would’ve liked to continue that conversation, but Miss Samos, tired of hre inability to take part in it, proposed to make some music and after a brief moment of reflection, Cal decided that it wasn’t a bad idea: he was beginning to clearly feel the danger of giving Miss Barrow too much attention.

[hartleytrashaway]

agirlwithachakram replied to your post “i’m really torn between ‘hooray my beautiful son is back’ and ‘cool,...”

asdf,ansdf,nasd,mf RIGHT??? why is this show so straight in all the worst possible ways, how is it so fixated on talking about feelings of (SOME OF) the main characters to the detriment of getting into the big ideas that matter and inform their lives and traumas and why do they keep writing in hartley only to write him out instantly?

so i haven’t regularly watched the show since the end of s3 but didn’t they have some weird therapist mini-arc that didn’t go anywhere or actually address anybody’s problems? please correct me if i’m wrong. but i’m forever baffled by this show’s alternately glib and heavy-handed approaches to its extremely fucked-up characters. (even back when the show was good they really hand-waved a lot of shit away. jesse basically has no recovery time whatsoever from prolonged captivity and i’m still fucking uncomfortable about that.) it’s always had this inconsistent and wrong-headed approach to trauma despite dealing with some incredibly weighty issues. 

i absolutely think the show has been the most notorious one in the arrowverse for just so thoroughly shitting on the legacies of almost EVERYONE in the cast. the way they’ve just decimated the rogues has rankled me for years (see above re: glossing over serious issues, bc lisa snart is exhibit A), but they’ve also paid majorly important characters like wally, linda, etc. dust or sacrificed them on the altar of barry as golden god. i don’t even know who half the names are in the recaps anymore, and honestly, i don’t even care enough to look them up because i don’t want to get invested in someone the narrative will probably screw over for, idk, barry making stupid-ass decisions and being sad about it. (i get that barry is the main character, but don’t keep shoving teamwork and family down my throat as themes when you fuck over everyone in barry allen’s periphery.)

and hartley.......just a fucking case study in What the Fuck are Y’all DOING on This Show? there’s something about the constant betrayals of hartley that specifically hurt more than other characters. part of that is because the characters will create a problem for themselves that would be perfect for hartley to help solve (and they just forget he exists), but also hartley was set up with an incredibly intriguing backstory/identity/relationship to team flash, and the writers squandered literally everything about it. hartley is just as much of a victim as caitlin and cisco in terms of betrayed employees, and in many ways more of a victim because of the closeness of his relationship with harrison (regardless of whether it’s interpreted as platonic or romantic/sexual) and the viciousness with which harrison destroyed him. (it’s worth noting that it isn’t barry who beats hartley on the bridge in 1x11; it’s harrison, and his defeat is gruesome and brutal.) the show kicks the shit out of hartley, sometimes literally, and never reckons with the nastiness of the extra abuses they heap on a traumatized, isolated abuse victim. 

the ostensibly happy endings they give him are, like practically everything else, a nice sheen of Good News covering some really ugly content. 2x17 brings hartley back and gives him his hero moment and shows him happy and fulfilled...and then slips on a banana peel and slides right into the fucking trash by asking him to reunite with his homophobic parents. it feels even worse to show how crisis dicked over his timeline again. it cheapens his first and best episode by retroactively wiping out his pain and grief and desperate vengeance. the hartley we meet in 1x11 has been driven to this point by the continuous betrayals of the authority figures in his life and runs rampant because no one was there to temper him. it’s obvious that he’s alone in the world and has been for a while. sliding in a Cool Fix-It Boyfriend is a band-aid solution that disrespects hartley (and roderick, who exists only to be that good dick, i guess?) by stripping his history and motivations, again. i can’t be the only queer who fell in love with hartley because he was traumatized and ostracized and angry about it, and he gave voice to all those bitter feelings. every new retcon, every time they dangle a mention or appearance of hartley, only to squash our hopes with whatever stupid-ass narrative device they’ve got this time, becomes more and more insulting. 

like -- we get hartley meeting another harrison. this should be a fucking powder keg of a moment. i’ve been wishing that we could have seen this since s2, and i wanted so badly for hartley to be able to just unleash all the grief and hurt at someone who may not be the original harrison, but who still wears harrison’s face. and they just fucking whiffed it by having it be another opportunity for hartley to play the horny gay kid. on the surface: extremely in keeping with who hartley has always been, which is sarcastic, into tom cavanagh, and DTF. it’s one of those things that’s fine if you don’t think about it too hard, or if you go full lizard brain about it and just go ‘lol hartley wants to bang u.’ but it’s also so fucking deflating for hartley as a fully-realized character -- in one fell swoop, hartley’s supposed antagonistic relationship that has practically been his raison d’être in his past appearances becomes a blip on the radar so minor he can crack jokes about wanting to ride the cock express all the way to double-bang town. it invalidates his struggles and whisks away so much of what made him a rich, relatable character in the first place. 

anyway sorry i wrote a fucking essay you didn’t ask for. ima wrap this up even though i have a ton more to say, bc otherwise i will legit be here for hours getting mad about the fucking POTENTIAL this show has and refuses to take advantage of. 

[aurorasilverthorne]

Total Misunderstanding Part #1:

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Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!! Esteban, Shuriki, Armando and Fiero belong to Disney.

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Note: Elizaveta, Aléjandro, Llorona and Esperanza all belong to me. If you use them in fanfiction or fanart, please remember to give me proper credit as their creator. Thank you.

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Esteban wasn't prone to sleeping late. He'd been an early riser all his life, but he'd spent the night entertaining the queen, and had indulged in one too many glasses of wine.

I should've stopped at three...

But Shuriki had been in such high spirits and invitations to her bed were rare these days. Esteban had begun to believe Shuriki was losing interest in him altogether. The previous evening had assured him she still desired his touch.

Esteban groaned. His head kept throbbing like a pulse as he tried to go back to sleep and not think about the day ahead.

Dame Elizaveta Kapeka of the Northern Islands was going to arrive later that afternoon and that was troublesome. Shuriki always viewed other women as competition. Esteban should've been worried, but all he could think about was the noise their constant bickering would make.

I'm starting to sound like Shuriki.

Shuriki was probably still in bed sleeping off her hangover. He sat up slowly so as not to irritate his already nervous stomach.

Had he even eaten anything? He couldn't remember. Esteban was debating on whether they should just forego their meetings for the day when his bedroom door flew open startling him so bad that he fell off the bed. When he opened his eyes, Armando was standing over him, his expression that of a man on the verge of panic.

"Dame Elizaveta Kapeka is here!"

Of course she is...

Esteban hauled himself up off the floor. "Where is the queen?"

"Sleeping," Armando answered sheepishly.

Esteban gave the steward a half-hearted scowl then snatched his coat off the back of a chair as he headed for the queen's personal chambers. He managed to make it halfway down the hall before pausing to retch in a gilded vase.

Apparently he'd eaten something after all. Carrots, or corn maybe? Esteban didn't really care and he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

The drapes were closed and the previous night's candles burned down to the wick when Esteban stepped into Shuriki's bedroom. He nearly tripped over a pile of clothing before pulling back the curtains on the massive canopy bed.

"Your Grace?

Shuriki groaned.

"Elizaveta Esfir Kapeka of the Northern Islands has arrived."

"Who?" Shuriki asked her voice muffled by the blanket covering her head.

Esteban could tell she was still half asleep elsewise she would have launched into a tirade.

"Elizaveta? Older lady, silver hair pulled back in a braided bun? Green eyes? Any of this ring a bell?"

Shuriki pulled down the blanket to scowl at him. "Seriously, Estéban? We've met a plethora of women that could fit that description."

The chancellor sighed. "La Monstrua de Ojos Verdes."

The Green Eyed Monster.

Shuriki had thought she was being clever when she had given Elizaveta the cruel nickname. He wasn't about tell the queen most of the palace staff called her that when she wasn't within earshot.

Shuriki scowled. "Ugh, not her."

The last time Kapeka had come to Avalor to talk trade, she and Shuriki had almost killed each other due to an argument over negotiations. Shuriki refused to say why she detested the other sorceress so much, but she and Elizaveta were always vying for dominance any time they had to interact with one another.

Shuriki wanted nothing to do with it. "Leave me here to die."

Esteban huffed. "It's customary in Avalor for the ruling monarch to greet visiting dignitaries."

Shuriki buried her head under a pillow. "I really don't care about proper decorum."

Esteban folded his arms and began to tap his foot impatiently as he tried to figure out a way to rouse her. Then it hit him like a runaway carriage. "Well, if you aren't feeling up to it..."

"-Oh, thank Maru-"

"I'm sure Doña Paloma wouldn't mind helping with the dame."

"That money hungry hussy?!" Shuriki grabbed his cravat and yanked him towards her. "Estéban, I told you to stay away from her!"

"Mamá...? Papá...?"

Esteban and Shuriki both turned to see their seven year old twins, Aléjandro and Llorona, hovering in the doorway.

"Oh, my little darlings..." Shuriki cooed.

She released Esteban and held out her arms to the pajama clad children. "Come here..."

Esteban knelt to steal a hug from the little ones before helping them up onto the bed.

"Why are you fighting? Did Papá do something wrong?" Alé asked.

"We weren't fighting, were we, Estéban?"

Esteban shook his head. He couldn't help smiling when their children were around. "No, just having a discussion, that's all."

"About what?" Alé asked.

"Oh, nothing important," Shuriki answered, giving Esteban a warning glare to drop the subject. She smiled softly at the twins. "What are you two doing out of bed so early, hmm?"

"I don't feel good," Aléjandro replied.

Shuriki frowned. "You don't? What's wrong?"

"My nose is stuffy and I keep coughing. It makes my throat hurt, Mamá."

"My poor, sweet boy..." Shuriki pressed a hand to his forehead. "You're running a fever. Estéban, cancel everything that's on my agenda for today. If Elizaveta throws a fit about rescheduling, tell her to go eat sand. And have breakfast brought up. The children need to eat, especially Alé or his illness will worsen."

Shuriki was adamant about not using vulgar language in front of the children. She would've been spewing obscenities at Elizaveta by now if not for them. "Yes, querida."

"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?" Aléjandro asked, giving her the cutest look he could muster.

Shuriki quirked an eyebrow feigning displeasure, but her facade cracked, and she gave him a smile. "Oh, alright. The cold treat will help with your sore throat, but you'll have to finish the real food first. Only then can you have the ice cream."

Aléjandro nodded and smiled. "Si, Mamá. Gracias!"

Shuriki chuckled. "You're very welcome."

What she didn't tell the child was that she'd be lacing his treat with a medicinal potion to combat his illness. Shuriki had learned early on that the best way to convince a child to take medication was to hide it in their favorite desserts and not tell them it was in there elsewise they wouldn't eat it and she'd have to force it down their throat which was something she didn't enjoy doing.

Esteban knew it was probably a bad idea to make Elizaveta wait, especially given they intended to reschedule, but his son was sick, and he felt like it had been ages since he'd enjoyed a warm meal with his lover and their children.

Esteban even made breakfast. He cooked them guava-cheese empanadas and pão de queijo with atole and avena because they'd do less damage to Alé's sore throat when he ate them. He prayed the fruit he'd put in the oatmeal would strengthen the boy's immune system and speed up his recovery. He also prepared some green tea with honey and lemon in the hopes that it would keep Shuriki safe from the illness while she was caring for their son.

Shuriki was waiting for him when he brought in the food. She'd retrieved four year old Esperanza from her crib so she too could enjoy eating with her parents and siblings.

Esteban blocked young Aléjandro's view of the ice cream bowls so that Shuriki could stir a vial of healing potion into the already half melted treat then feign resignation as she handed the child the bowl.

Aléjandro ate every bit without questioning his mother's motives. If he'd asked, Shuriki would've just fibbed and claimed she'd let him have the sweets first due to him giving her the puppy dog eyes. They couldn't risk him getting too full off the empanadas or the potion would upset his stomach.

The boy was half way through his second empanada when he began yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "Mamá...I'm tired..."

Shuriki bit her lip to suppress a triumphant smirk as she pulled him close and stroked his hair. "I know, child. Close your eyes. I'm here. No harm will come to you."

Alé tucked himself up against her side and buried his face in her shoulder. At first, she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then the boy lifted his head. "I can't sleep, Mamá. Sing for me, por favor?"

Shuriki groaned. She wasn't a fan of music or dancing due to having a problem with sensitivity to noise. She'd gone so far as to ban both from Avalor, but had allowed Esteban to keep a guitar. Shuriki had also let him teach the children how to dance. She'd even sung a lullaby or two back when they were infants in the hopes they'd fall asleep. She'd been in desperate need of rest herself, of course, elsewise Shuriki would've taken a dagger to the throat rather than be heard singing or seen dancing around even if it was for her children who were the only people she loved more than Esteban or herself.

"Why would you want that?" she asked. "My voice sounds terrible when I sing."

"But I like when you sing, Mamá."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"It helps me sleep and makes me feel better." He gave her another one of his puppy dog pouts. "Por favor, Mamá?"

Shuriki sighed. "Fine..."

The sorceress closed her eyes trying to gather her thoughts. The Northern islanders didn't have too many lullabies as music, dancing and art were all considered nonsensical frivolities. There was a song she did remember from back when she was a child. Her mother had sung it to her on the rare occasions when she was ill.

Now is the time for the wolves and thrushes, to sing to the moon from the forests and rushes.

Sleep, my love. Sleep my only dear, in the dark.

Fragile and magical shadows will suddenly start to appear, lovely and lyrical, a frightening miracle, within your ear.

Carefully raising their voices, in a chorus loud and gracefully clear,

Over and under, the multi-toned, wonder of dreams endear.

Why are they singing, calling, and braying all night long?

What are they trying so hard to convey with their haunting song?

Sometimes when somebody loves you, they say and do things you don't understand.

And there in the harsh truth lies the proof of a parent's love.

Aléjandro fell asleep midway through the song. Esteban sat and listened to Shuriki sing while she stroked their eldest child's hair.

He tended to forget just how hard her childhood had been. The Northern Islands was a dark, cold place with authoritarian laws and an intolerance for failure of any sort. It was a miracle that she'd survived what with the horrid weather and the unrealistic expectations heaped onto her by her parents, peers, and the royal family she'd once served.

Shuriki laid Alé down beside her and curled herself around him to cuddle and protect the child while he slept.

"Put Esperanza back in her crib, and make sure Llorona gets back to the nursery on your way out, would you, Estéban?"

Esteban nodded. "Si, mi amada."

"But I want to stay with you," Llorona pouted, "I don't want to go back to the nursery. There is no one there for me to play with."

"Nonsense. You've more than enough toys to play with," Shuriki said, "And the last thing I need is for you to catch whatever it is your brother has. Now run along..." Shuriki was only half listening or she would've realized it was the lack of playmates not the quantity or quality of toys upsetting her eldest daughter.

"But, Mamá-"

"I said no," Shuriki snapped.

Shuriki hadn't meant to be so harsh towards the girl, but the damage was done. Llorona recoiled at the sharpness in her tone before retreating over to Esteban who was putting Esperanza down for her midmorning nap. Shuriki wanted to tell Llorona to come back, that she was sorry for having lost her temper, but the girl had bypassed a preoccupied Esteban and already left the room before she had the chance.

Shuriki sighed. "Estéban, would you-"

"I'll check on her on my way back to my office," he promised, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "You just focus on Esper and Alé right now and leave everything else to me."

"Thank you."

"You're muy welcome, mi corazón."

"I didn't mean to shout at her," Shuriki admitted. "I just...it's so frustrating at times..."

"I understand what you mean," he assured her. "Llorona is going to be fine."

"Are you sure?"

Esteban nodded. "She's always been a resilient child. Give her an hour or two and she'll have forgotten all about it."

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.15

if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own

Chapter Fourteen

This is the fifteenth chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Derek & Emily called Spencer for a consult, and with him off his antidepressants, things very quickly fell apart.

In This Chapter: Hotch & Penelope pick up the pieces.

tw: depression-related exhaustion, disordered thinking, reference to last chapter's breakdown, discussion of medication

Word Count: 4K

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

(Quick Note: A couple of chapters ago I referred to Spencer's psychiatrist by she/her pronouns, but I forgot that I assigned that character he/him pronouns wayyy back, so I've decided to go with that one. I just wanted to address that in case anyone else caught it like I did! I apologise for the mistake & any confusion it might have caused.)

AARON

"Find my hand in the darkness and if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own." — Tyler Knott Gregson

Aaron doesn’t fall asleep until well into the small hours of the morning, finally lulled into a cold dreamless sleep once he’s cried himself out. He keeps as quiet as he can, but he knows he won’t wake Spencer up anyway: he’s completely exhausted, and he’s out cold. It’s a small consolation, but he tries to take a small bit of comfort in knowing that his boyfriend is at least getting the rest he needs.

He wakes up only a couple of hours after he falls asleep, and despite feeling completely exhausted, he sets about the things he needs to do. The first thing he does is call Strauss to request a family day — thankfully, the bureau’s been a lot more understanding of his situation since Haley died — before texting Derek and telling him that he needs to take charge of the team if they get sent on a case. Then he calls Jess and asks if she can collect Jack from his sleepover at lunchtime and have him until the evening.

With the technicalities sorted out, he makes a phone call to Spencer's psychiatrist. At this point, if he has to drag him kicking and screaming, if Spencer never talks to him again, if it calls an irreparable rift in their relationship, it won’t get in the way of him getting Spencer the help he needs. After an emergency appointment for 11am is booked, he collapses onto the sofa and calls Penelope.

“Hotch? It’s not even 7am, is everything alright?”

Just hearing her voice, hearing someone ask if he’s okay, is enough to push him over the edge. “No,” he admits into the phone, not even trying to disguise the emotion in his voice.

“I’m on my way,” she says immediately, and he can hear a flurry of activity start up on the other end of the line. “What’s happened, Hotch?”

He breathes out shakily, running a hand down his face. The early morning sun, the bustling city below him, the bright apartment all seems so contrary to the current situation. “Spencer hit a breaking point last night,” he says shakily, unsure exactly how to word it. “Derek and Emily called him to consult on a case, and they were as brisk and focused as we all are when we’re working, but he’s out of practice; he’s not used to that way of doing things anymore. It triggered him and sent him into what I’m gonna guess was a panic attack? But honestly, Penelope… it looked like a breakdown.”

“Oh God,” she says quietly, and the sound of her exiting her apartment reassures Aaron a little.

“I had no idea how to handle it,” he says, dissolving into tears. “He locked himself in the bathroom and was literally tearing his hair out… there were clumps of hair all over the floor. He was screaming at me to leave, telling me he wasn’t good enough that he forgot his place? I had no idea what he was saying—”

Penelope interrupts him. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Well, when I first found out about his depression, Spencer told me something about how he didn’t feel like he was good for anything except his brain and IQ, you know? He said that he wasn’t cut out for friendships or relationships and I’m pretty sure he called that his ‘place’. It’s stuck with me because of just how awful it sounded.”

“Fuck,” Aaron mutters, sniffing as a fresh wave of tears come to his eyes. “So Emily and Derek consulting him for their case triggered those thoughts again.”

“Sounds like it,” she agrees. “They’re gonna feel so guilty.”

Aaron knows she’s in a tricky situation: her girlfriend and close friend sending her best friend into a near-breakdown, and for a brief minute he feels guilty for roping her in before reminding himself that she wouldn’t be anywhere else if Spencer needed her.

“Yeah, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do about that,” he sighs. “I thought about not telling them, because Spencer doesn’t need everyone knowing about every step of his recovery; it’s personal, right? But more secrets between everyone… I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like a good idea. Especially not for something this serious.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” Penelope promises. “Look, I’m in my car now. I’ll be there in 10, okay?”

He sighs in relief. “Thanks, Penelope.”

They hang up and he drops his phone next to him before staring up at the ceiling for a minute, rubbing his temples. Forcing himself off the sofa, he considers putting the coffee machine on but he doesn’t want the sound of the bean grinder to wake Spencer up, so he settles for a cup of instant coffee instead, putting a slice of bread in the toaster as well.

By the time he’s finished his second slice, Penelope’s letting herself in.

“He’s still asleep?”

He nods, watching as she dumps her handbag on the armchair and walks further into the apartment. It’s always strange seeing her without her usual colourful outfits and makeup on, and although he’s gotten used to it in the past year as they’ve rallied around Spencer, sometimes it still reminds him of seeing her in her casual clothes for the first time when she got shot a couple of years ago.

“I’m just gonna grab some breakfast and a tea,” she says quietly, helping herself to everything in the kitchen as she always does. “You go and sit down, I’ll be over in a minute and we can discuss a game plan.”

He obeys, closing his eyes against the headache coming on, but it’s only a couple of minutes before Penelope’s sitting in the armchair opposite the sofa with a cup of chamomile tea and a slice of marmalade toast.

“Right, the first thing we need to tackle is convincing him to get back on his meds,” Penelope says seriously, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Spencer up.

He nods. “I know. I’ve made an emergency appointment with his psychiatrist for 11am, it’s just a case of a) getting him there and b) making him listen to him.”

“The problem is that he sees going back on medication as admitting defeat or failing at recovery. We need to have a really honest, frank conversation with him about it, but I just don’t know how we’re gonna get him to believe us.”

“Maybe we should use our own experiences? He doesn’t think any less of me or think I’m weak when I take pain medication when my injuries flare up. He wouldn’t think any less of you for accepting pain meds throughout your recovery after you were shot. He doesn’t think less of his mother because she relies on psychiatric medication.”

Penelope nods. “He has a twisted perception of himself. One rule for himself, another for everyone else.”

Something about her words makes Aaron feel suddenly, desperately sad. He’s always been sad for Spencer and what he’s gone through, and he’s been crying most of the night, but the realisation, the reassertion, of just how much Spencer hates himself, what his brain’s put him through over the last two years cuts deep, winding him.

“I just wish he could see himself the way we see him,” he says sadly, another tear spilling down his cheek, as though he has anything left to give.

Penelope’s expression tells him she feels the same.

Hotch goes in to check on Spencer as the clock approaches nine, and his heart breaks for the thousandth time when he finds him staring listlessly at the wall again.

“Morning, baby,” he says gently, making his way into the room.

Thankfully, it grabs Spencer’s attention, and he turns to look at him, misery and self-loathing written all over his face. He doesn’t say anything, but he holds eye contact with Aaron long enough for him to understand that it’s okay for him to be there, and he makes his way further into the room, climbing onto the bed. He’s not expecting Spencer to immediately latch onto him, burying his face in his t-shirt as he clings to him like he’s going somewhere, but that’s exactly what happens.

“Penelope’s in the living room,” he murmurs, carding his fingers through Spencer’s hair. There’s no expectation for him to reply, so he lets the words settle over them as they lay quietly together; the calm after the storm. Aaron hopes it won’t double as the before as well.

After a good couple of minutes, Spencer shifts, and Aaron follows his lead as they shuffle out of the bedroom towards Penelope’s contemplative perch on the sofa. Spencer heads straight towards her, curling into her side and drawing the warm comfort Penelope always has to offer.

“Oh, baby genius,” she whispers, kissing the top of his head. “You’re okay. We love you so much.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because Spencer immediately withdraws, curling in on himself as he starts to cry.

“Hey, hey, Spencer,” Aaron soothes calmly as he rushes over to his side, “what’s going on?”

Penelope starts to apologise but Aaron shakes his head and she settles for resting a gentle hand on his side instead.

“Can you tell us what’s wrong, Spencer?” Aaron asks, a knot forming in his stomach as he hopes against hope that this won’t turn into a repeat of last night. “We can’t help you unless you talk to us.”

Spencer takes a ragged breath in, turning his face slightly towards Aaron’s direction, and his chest clenches at the bags under his sore, red eyes; his pallid skin. “I’m sorry,” he says shakily, wiping at the tears on his face.

“You don’t have to apologise, Spencer. You just need to tell us how we can help you,” Penelope says gently, her hand rubbing small, consoling circles on his side.

Spencer meets his eyes, his face crumpling as he does and Aaron, in that moment, is reminded distinctly of a star collapsing in on itself. Spencer heaves a painful sob as two more tears spill down his cheeks. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

The admission seems obvious at surface level, but the magnitude of such a statement isn’t lost on either Aaron nor Penelope.

Aaron sighs sadly. “Come here, baby.” Spencer falls gladly into Aaron’s embrace, sobbing dejectedly into his shoulder, sounding so tired and defeated that it’s painful to listen to.

Once he’s finished crying himself out, Aaron and Penelope switch places, Aaron moving to sit on the sofa with Spencer propped up against him and Penelope settling into the armchair.

He approaches his next words carefully. “I’ve made an appointment for you to see Dr Parker at 11am. Penelope and I will take you, and we both think that you should talk to him about going back on the venlafaxine.”

To his surprise Spencer just nods tiredly, no longer crying and instead resuming his blank staring.

“And we also think you should consider talking to Derek and Emily about what happened yesterday,” Penelope suggests quietly, an encouraging expression on her face.

Spencer looks up at her, emotions flying across his face as he processes her words and how he feels about them. Briefly, he looks like he’s about to argue, about to shout or get mad, but he quickly deflates. “They’ll feel guilty,” he says miserably. “Not their fault.”

“Your relationships with everyone have come a long way, Spencer, and that’s great. But everyone is still fragile and affected by everything that’s happened in the past year, and keeping secrets like these is only going to hurt everyone more.”

Spencer’s still and silent for a moment before he nods reluctantly.

“I think that maybe,” Aaron ventures cautiously, “you should avoid doing any consulting work for a while. It’s clearly damaging for you and is always going to come with potential triggers, and when you’re already feeling sad and vulnerable, it’s really just a catalyst for an event like yesterday evening.”

Spencer nods at that, too, and Aaron wishes he could take his acquiescence as a win, but he knows it’s coming from a place of defeat and despair, and he’ll never take any consolation in that.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Aaron says. “We have about an hour until we need to leave, so why don’t we get you some food, get you into the shower, and then you can rest for any left over time? Does that sound okay?”

At Spencer’s agreement, Penelope heads to the kitchen to whip him up something a bit more nutritious than the toast they both settled for, while Aaron takes him to the bathroom to wash up.

“Are you alright on your own?” he asks as he sets the shower up for him, Spencer perching on the edge of the bath as he waits.

Instead of answering his question though, panic suddenly crosses Spencer’s face and he looks at Aaron urgently. “Jack!”

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says soothingly. “Jess is gonna pick him up from his sleepover at lunchtime and have him for the afternoon. I’ve taken a personal day and unless a case comes in, Penelope will be here for as long as we need her. Everything’s in hand.”

“But it’s Jack’s spring break! You should be spending time with him, not herding me into the shower—”

At the first sign of tears, Aaron is quick to step in, reassuring him as best he can. “Hey, I will spend time with him, alright? He was already going to be with Sam all morning, and he’ll be dropped off before dinner, so Jess is only going to have him for a couple of hours. And if you’re feeling well enough once we get back from the doctor’s, then he can come home early, but right now, your health is the most important thing we need to deal with, you hear me?”

Spencer nods reluctantly, but he can tell that the thought of cutting into Aaron’s time with Jack is only fuelling his self-loathing. Having to accept that there’s nothing he can do about that, he makes sure he’s okay in the shower before heading out into the kitchen to find Penelope.

“I can’t tell if that went well or not,” she says quietly, not looking up from the frying pan currently cooking eggs and bacon.

Aaron sighs, leaning against the counter top, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door. “I think it went about as well as it could.”

“I texted Emily and Derek, and they’re going to pop over this afternoon if we don’t get a case,” she says. “If Spencer’s not up for it, we can rearrange, but I thought it was better to be prepared.”

“No, you’re right, thank you for doing that, Penelope. What would I do without you?”

“Aw, stop it, bossman,” she says, grinning as she nudges him playfully.

He smiles. “I mean it.”

“I know. But I’m happy to help you guys out. I’d do anything for Spencer, and I know he’d do anything for me.”

“Without a doubt.”

Spencer emerges from the bathroom a few moments later, clad in a white t-shirt and some tracksuit bottoms Aaron is pretty sure are both actually his, damp curly hair a mess on his head. He can’t help but smile despite himself; his boyfriend looking so damn cute will always be a small pick-me-up on even the worst of days.

“Penelope’s cooked up a storm for you,” he says as brightly as the situation allows, guiding him to the sofa and tucking him in with a couple of blankets to get him as comfortable as possible.

He gets a small smile at that, and a murmured ‘thank you’ when Penelope brings him over a plate of bacon and eggs, arranged as perfectly as he’d expect with Penelope serving as cook.

He flicks the TV to the discovery channel, managing to catch the beginning of a documentary on big cats, and he counts it as a win when it catches Spencer’s attention, hoping it takes his mind off the pain he’s feeling just a little bit.

They spend the next forty minutes watching documentaries with Spencer before Penelope notices the time and begins herding them out the door towards the parking garage.

“No way,” Aaron laughs as she heads towards her car.

“What?”

“You are not driving, Penelope,” he says, laughing even more at her incredulous reaction. “I’ve seen you; you drive like a maniac. We’re taking my car.”

She pouts. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Does this mean I have to sit in the back, too?”

He just levels her with a look that has her sighing dramatically and flinging herself into the backseat, but when he looks over at Spencer and sees a smile on his face, he’s suddenly even more thankful for Penelope.

They sit in the waiting room while Spencer has his appointment and try desperately not to make each other more anxious than they already feel. Penelope flicks through fashion magazines at a pace that tells Aaron she’s not reading a single word, and Aaron reads over and over the case notes he’d bought with him to pass the time, no more going in the second, third, eleventh time than it did the first.

Finally, though, Spencer emerges from Dr Parker’s office with a script in hand and they both sigh a small breath of relief at the idea that he’s finally getting the help he’s been needing so badly.

“Okay, baby?” he murmurs as Spencer reaches for his hand on the way out of the psychiatrist’s office, and something loosens in his chest when Spencer nods and smiles, looking happier and more relaxed than he has in weeks.

Derek and Emily come over just after lunchtime, and Penelope gets up to open the door for them, Spencer and Aaron not moving from their position on the couch, Spencer resting his head in Aaron’s lap as one of his favourite sci-fi movies is playing on the TV.

When he sees who it is, though, Spencer moves to sit up slightly, still keeping himself folded into Aaron’s side.

“Hey, Spence,” Emily says softly, taking a seat in the armchair while Penelope comes over to perch on the arm, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend, “what’s this about?”

Both Emily and Derek look confused enough that Aaron knows Spencer will be able to tell that neither he nor Penelope told them what happened last night, willing to give him a last minute out if that’s what he needs, as well as full control over the narrative.

Derek comes over to the sofa and sits next to Spencer, keeping enough distance between them to keep Spencer comfortable, though he still rests a warm hand on his ankle. “What’s going on? You can tell us anything, pretty boy, you know that.”

Spencer looks to Aaron, and the expression on his face conveys what he needs immediately.

“Yesterday, your consult with Spencer on the methanol poisoning case triggered an… event,” he explains, trying to choose his words carefully. He wants to tell the truth, but he also doesn’t want to sound like he’s blaming Derek and Emily or use language Spencer wouldn’t be happy with. “It was a breaking point of sorts and as such, he decided to go back on his medication.”

Relief tied up with confusion are the first emotions he watches play over Emily and Derek’s faces. Everyone’s been hoping Spencer will return to his medication, but he knows they’ll want more information as to what exactly happened and why they’ve been asked over.

“An event?” Emily asks, sounding a little hesitant.

Before Aaron can answer, Spencer speaks up, his voice a little tired and croaky but convicted nonetheless. “It was a breakdown,” he says plainly, not sugar-coating his words. “I was in a bad place already and I was out of practice with what a time sensitive case entails, and it sent me into a tailspin. It reminded me of all the feelings that working in the BAU caused that year, and I couldn’t handle it. I lashed out at Aaron and…”

“The details don’t matter,” Aaron rescues his tailed off sentence. “The fact is we thought that more secrets were only going to make things worse in the long run, and you needed to understand what happened last night since Spencer going back on his meds was bound to raise questions anyway.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer interjects, his voice anxious and urgent. “It wasn’t your fault, it’s just the way of the BAU and if I’d been on my medication like I should’ve been in the first place it wouldn’t have been a problem, it was just a horrible medley of circumstances. But I’ve decided that I won’t be doing any consults for a while until I can get my head on straight again. It may be that I’m never able to do them without being triggered, but we’re going to play it by ear.”

Aaron smiles at him proudly, kissing the top of his head as soon as he buries back in for a cuddle.

“Oh, Spence,” Emily sighs sadly. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t even think. We were so caught up in the case we didn’t even stop to consider you and how you’d interpret things.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says again, this time from his place on Aaron’s chest. “I’m sorry that it had to be you guys that triggered the breaking point.”

“We should’ve been more considerate,” Derek says firmly, his expression filled with regret. “The last thing I’d ever want is to make you feel the way I did last year, and even though other circumstances contributed to what happened last night, we still failed you, kid, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“It’s fine, seriously. In a way, I’m glad it happened. Something had to give, and I’m glad that I can look forward to finally feeling normal again. I talked to my psychiatrist this morning and even though… it still feels a little bit like giving up, I feel better about it. And we’re gonna work on my attitude to medication in the next couple of sessions until I feel more comfortable about it.”

Aaron knows how much Spencer hates talking about his recovery, so it feels like a big step for him to be so personal and vulnerable in front of four different people, even if they are all virtually his family at this point.

“I’m proud of you, Spencer,” Emily says earnestly, and even though Aaron can tell she still feels guilty, at least it’s no longer the most dominant emotion on her face.

“Me too, kid. You’ve been through hell and back and we’re all so proud of you for getting to where you are.”

Spencer smiles gratefully, but Aaron can tell he’s exhausted from the events of the morning, so he sends a look to Penelope and she shows Emily and Derek out, but not before giving Emily a kiss and being teased by Derek for it.

“Right, baby,” he says as the apartment quietens and it’s just the three of them left. “I think you could do with a nap, don’t you?”

“Don’t wanna leave you,” Spencer mumbles tiredly, clinging to his t-shirt.

“Well how about I come and sit with you while you sleep, yeah? You go and get tucked in and I’ll be in in a minute, I promise.”

“You better.” It’s not much, but it’s the closest to teasing Spencer’s come in weeks, and he’ll absolutely take it.

He gives Penelope a warm hug and disappears into the bedroom.

“Looks like I can leave you to it,” Penelope says quietly as soon as the door’s closed behind him.

Aaron looks at her seriously, before wrapping her in a rare hug. “Thank you for today. I mean it. I don’t know what we would’ve done this past year without you, Penelope, but we sure as hell wouldn’t be where we are now. I’m always gonna be thankful that Spencer has someone as wonderful as you to call a best friend.”

“Hotch,” she says tearily, “I love you both so much. You don’t have to thank me, but it means a lot that you did.”

He smiles at her. “You should go back to the BAU. Go and find Derek and Emily who are no doubt beating themselves up and tell them they’re being ridiculous.”

She gives him a mock salute as she smiles back. “You got it, boss.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Keep me posted,” she says as she gathers the last of her things and heads to the door. “Let me know how he’s doing tonight and I’ll pop round after work to see him tomorrow, okay?”

“Perfect.”

As soon as she’s gone, he climbs into bed with Spencer and wraps him up in his arms, feeling — for the first time in weeks — a distinct conviction that everything is going to be okay.

Chapter Sixteen

Soooo, we don't hate me anymore? I really enjoyed writing this part of the fic, I'm such a sucker for third act angst and the resolution is always so satisfying to me, so I hope I managed to give you guys the same feeling. Only one more chapter to go, and then we're done wtf, how did that happen? I can't wait for you to all read the happy lil ending I wrote for you! See you next Saturday, for the very last time :( If this chapter has brought anything up for you and you're feeling unsafe please check out this link <3

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