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sukiekagamine · 3 years ago

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Bad and Crazy episode 12 was perfect to me and here is why

1. It showed Suyeol's attempts at escaping multiple times in a hilarious way (I felt so bad everytime he got knocked out yet I laughed my ass off) and K, the ever loving boyfriend, cheered him on. I love how their relationship developed from watching the other being beaten up to actually supporting and worrying about each other. They have changed so much.

2. Suyeol and K sharing the tiny bed with their giant bodies. And talking about the past. Just chef's kiss. I know they did this because it's the last episode, but still, the nostalgia got to me. I didn't enjoy the violence at the first stage of their relationship (not because it was bad, but because I didn't expect it), but seeing it through the present lens changed it a lot. And how Suyeol phrased it was amazing: "Whenever I think about those moments, I feel like I can do anything." Like he had survived everything including K's antics, and now with K by his side, nothing could stop him.

3. And I noticed the reference to fire and water in the series. We all noticed how K was tied with water in Suyeol's memories, but what about fire? He pulled Suyeol into the burning apartment to save Gyeong Tae, appeared in a dramatic landing while brushing off fire on his shoulders, and at the end, Suyeol went into the burning house to save the boy too. While water was present to pull them to the lowest, fire was the ultimate background to elevate their coolness. Like both are dangerous, but fire is nothing to them. And they even had this conversation like "Wait, we're afraid of water, not fire!" and decided to jump into fire again, which was kinda funny to me.

4. I just loved how smart Suyeol was. Like, holy shit, I adore characters that outsmart the viewers. The fact that he was just pretending the past four months and still had that burning will to break free was the only ray of hope in episode 11 for me. And the part when he ground the drugs to put in the guards' drink? The part when he drew the prison map on his paper? Perfect, God, I love his brilliant mind just like I love K's combat skills. Suyeol went from the snakey coward in episode one to an absolute boss.

5. The last four months of training did him well. The confidence when he approached the doctor and when he strangled the nurses with his long, long, beautiful, elegant legs? Please. That would be the best way to die. And K had fun doing it! A special thing about K is that he had fun doing everything.

6. Suyeol's family. I was kinda annoyed at Dongyeol before, but now that he's shown how much he cared for his mom and Suyeol, I changed my view of him. Suyeol and his family's reunion was so touching. Dongyeol asking him if he was okay with those teary eyes and tight hug? Loved it. But damn, that whole sequence with mom was stressing me out. It hurt so bad seeing her like that. Jeong Yun Ho was cursed. Like, he would rot in hell for doing that to Mama Ryu. I could basically hear Suyeol's heart shattering in his chest at that moment.

7. Yun Ho's drive to do all of this - all of this manipulating, gaslighting children, murdering, isolating and criminalizing Suyeol, building a master plan - was to make Suyeol admit that he was Suyeol's savior and not K. It was so pathetic, but I liked how almost funny it was, because this guy is obsessed with Suyeol in such a pitiful way. He could have gaslit people into giving him fame, fortune or any other thing since he basically had superpowers now, but no, all he thought about was his first crush failure. I imagine him being beaten up by K for the first time and becoming mesmerized with how Suyeol could get out of his grasp. Yun Ho first appeared as a gay mess getting lost in Suyeol's eyes, and was defeated as a gay mess lost under Suyeol's fists (or forehead). He could have stabbed multiple times to make sure Suyeol was dead, or run him over with his car, but no, he had to be all poetic and make a fire and whisper into Suyeol's ear and whatnot. What a pathetic bitch. Oh, and the actor was phenomenal as well. It's like two completely different people - he was sooo angelic when he had his glasses on, like holy cow he's so suspicious but who could not trust those sparkling deer eyes, and suddenly when he took the glasses off he became a total typical psychopath that looked disgusting. The actor had my respect.

8. The last battle was spectacular. Unlike the one with Kim Gye Sik, where Suyeol fought thinking he was alone, he came into this one having K's words of 'trusting himself'. He managed to win the battle by himself, but he wasn't alone - K was there to support him all the way. And God, the moment when they reached out to each other while dying out and calling each other's names? POETIC CINEMA. And he didn't just faint like any other time! He actually got up and saved the boy and went over to beat up the bad guy! It was pretty unrealistic for a stabbed man to be able to bounce back like that, but man, do I love seeing a character getting up after a seemingly defeat. Suyeol's fighting skills were turned up a notch thanks to the time training with K, and I'm forever grateful. You've become so much better at everything, Suyeol.

9. And don't even get me STARTED on the break up scene. It was everything I expected, yet everything I could never expect to be SO GOOD. I have talked about my version of the ending once, but this was even better, because it kept K's personality on track. Even when the break up scene was heartbreaking, K was still that childish, hilarious character, and I loved that about him. The first part of the break up was predictable, with them parting coolly, kind of reminded me of Tenet. Suyeol did have teary eyes, which was amazing amazing amazing, because men crying wasn't seen as a bad thing on mainstream television anymore, thank God. It brought me a melancholic feeling, seeing K smiling and closing the door.

And then the MIRACLE HAPPENED. Suyeol ran after K. Like those scenes in rom-coms when the male lead chased down the female lead to confess his feelings and to stop her from leaving by giving her a kiss. It was EXACTLY LIKE THAT, with the same music and the same slow motion and I WAS DYING. The writer knew that was so gay but they just didn't care. And then when Suyeol opened the door, he saw K was ugly crying too? Oh my God. Oh, my, God. I was crying, but then I had to take a moment to laugh. Oh, K. Still the comedic relief that you are. And then Suyeol held out a hand, similar to when K held out a hand to help him up the first time he got lost in this very same corridor, and K wailed and ran into his arms.

Oh, God, I have no words to explain my love for that scene, it was exactly what I have been wishing for all this time and never expected to have it fulfilled, ever. Like, you have no idea how many times I've imagined them giving each other crushing hugs while sobbing. I didn't think that it would ever come true, but then here it was. And it was beautiful. It was heartbreaking, and breathtaking, but somehow relieving, like you know that K had to go, it's inevitable, but unlike Tenet when they parted with so much regrets, there are absolutely no regrets here. They were done pretending to be cool, they were finally vulnerable with each other to the point of crying like babies in each other's arms, and they got the hug that they deserved. No reserved feelings, no 'what-ifs'.

And if you watched the behind the scenes video for episode 12, you'd see that Wi Ha Jun was crying for real, and aside from crying, he said other things while he was sobbing too. He said (loosely translated) "My Suyeol, you have to stay healthy, okay? You must not get sick, you must eat and sleep properly, okay?" Other stuff like that. And Suyeol was nodding and smiling in tears to all that. Oh, Jesus, you're killing me but I'm thanking you for giving me this.

Oh, and the (kinda) fireworks? Please. I don't know about other dramas, but this. The producer gave us too much. It made the scene beautiful and so gorgeous and ugh, the slow motion. The angle. Everything. I'm dying.

10. The scene when Suyeol faced the Reinstatement Committee. The first time we saw Suyeol post-breakup, we saw how he honored and cherished K's memories. He wasn't afraid to tell them that K was with him, because unlike the first part of the series when all he wanted was to get rid of K, now he considered K an important part of himself and he was proud of it. He didn't even think having K was an illness. And when he thought of the time he shared with K, he smiled to himself without caring about keeping a perfect facade in front of his superiors. The pre-K Suyeol would be all bowing and fake smiles and fake laughs at moments like this. And I loved his decision to leave. He almost made it in the middle of the series, but had to go back because of the financial problem, and I was so sad back then, seeing him trying to be a good person but failed. Now K finally gave him one last push to get away from all this to reflect on himself and recover from what Jeong Yun Ho did to him. The last scenes when he came back as the Superintendent with a strong moral compass was so satisfying. It's like finally reaching the top of the mountain that you've been climbing and falling so many times.

11. The scenes when Suyeol thought of K while being on the seesaw by himself was devastating. It was lonely, and cold, and empty, and Lee Dong Wook's face was the saddest thing in the universe. He was a genius actor, really. It hurt, but I loved how it emphasized on Suyeol's feelings towards K. We saw how he missed K in the previous episode, but that was the longing for K to return. This time he knew K wasn't coming back and he was just there to heal himself from the wound of losing K. He was depressed, but he had accepted it, and grew to be better.

12. I love how the show didn't end with a hetero normative scene of Suyeol and Hui Gyeom going on dates, kissing and having sex or anything like that. In fact, the romance had been as little as it could be. We didn't even know if Suyeol and Hui Gyeom got back together or not. I'm glad it decided to focus on character exploration and development, and the lesson of trusting yourself, and the adventure of the characters, rather than the romance because admit it, there has been plenty of romance in K Dramas. If I wanted to watch romance, I would have picked Descendants of the sun or something. I'm here for Lee Dong Wook and Wi Ha Jun's acting, along with some action, some thriller, and I was rewarded. It's pretty surprising to see this in a K Drama, I expected the ending to be half as good as this.

In conclusion, I could not have asked for more from this ending. I predicted it to be so disappointing, but it gave me a pleasant surprise. It was everything I could ever asked for. Respect.

#wi ha joon #wi ha jun #bad and crazy kdrama #lee dong wook #bad and crazy #k bad and crazy #ryu soo yeol #made by myself #ldw

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cdroloisms · 3 years ago

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I have seen a few fanfics with this premise, so now I wanna see your hands drabble with it. AU where everything is the same except nobody knows that Dream is actually the youngest member of the SMP at 14-15 years old. Bonus points, revived Wilbur figures it out and makes some plans for how to use this knowledge to his advantage.

ooh yeah !! this au is one of my favorites - it’s a really interesting examination on the mindset of different characters in the server, plus just fun for just Angst Purposes. this is a little messy but i hope you like it!

tw: abuse, torture mentions, broken bones, branding mentions, trauma, emotional distress, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, mental illness, panic attack, mentioned death, dark portrayals of ,, most of the server, prison arc/pandora’s vault

“Hey. Thought I’d find you here.”

Wilbur turns at the familiar voice at his back, smiling.

“Dream,” he pulls him in to clap him on the back, ignoring the other’s full-body flinch at his movements. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me,” Dream’s words are biting, but he smiles as he says them - a small, bitter thing that stretches over his scarred skin. His new mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing the dark bags beneath his grey-green eyes, the varied scars that fall over the bridge of his nose and under his jaw to trace down his neck below his collar. Wilbur watches him as he walks forward to stand by his side with a small spark of fascination, enhanced further when Dream’s eyes narrow at him. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing- nothing,” Wilbur laughs. “They just really did quite a number on you, huh?”

Dream stiffens, then rolls his eyes. “Well, he did have seventy four days, or so I’ve been told,” he quips back, words dry. “Not that there was any keeping track in that hellhole.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wilbur smiles tightly, amusement coloring his words as the other scowls. “I kep track of my thirteen years quite well.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Dream huffs. “You have a cigarette?”

“I almost feel bad, y’know. You’re kind of underage, man,” Wilbur feels his smile widen when Dream glares up at him, eyes glinting dangerously from behind his eyelashes. “I don’t know if I should.”

“I was younger when you gave me one the first time,” Dream retorts immediately, not bothering to hide his annoyance, sharp-edged and acidic. “And even younger when you drafted child soldiers to fight in a war for your own glory. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Ouch, really know how to hit a man where it hurts, don’t you?” Wilbur mimes pressing a hand to his heart like he’s been shot with one hand, the other fishing through his jacket pocket for his pack. Dream rolls his eyes again, but stretches a hand out for him to press a cigarette and a lighter in his palm.

“Learned from the best,” Dream drawls, going quiet as he focuses on holding the end in the flame and then pulling the lit cigarette to his lips. He chokes, as he always does, on the first drag, sputtering slightly as the smoke seizes in his chest like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and Wilbur watches the little flickering light at the end of the stick in his hand as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Surprised I can stand the sight of these things,” Dream says suddenly, quietly, as Wilbur pulls out one of his own to light. He looks up, meeting Wilbur’s quizzical look with a faraway one of his own. “Quackity was a fan of making me his personal ashtray.”

He reaches up towards his collar, pulling it away slightly to reveal a collection of puckered circular burn scars that dot the skin of his shoulder to trace to the edge of his collarbone. Wilbur hums in vague sympathy and acknowledgement, breathing in a drag of his cigarette slow and smooth and feeling the smoke fill his lungs.

“Guess it didn’t make the cut of torture methods bad enough to become a trigger,” he laughs, sharp, the bitter punctuation of a joke he’d realized would fall flat halfway through speaking and fidgets awkwardly with the cigarette in his hand as he looks off into the distance. “I should make a tierlist. It could be...useful.”

The words are empty - Dream wouldn’t be able to stomach torturing anyone and they both know it; Wilbur cocks his head to the side curiously, deciding to press the point anyway.

“Useful?” He takes a deliberately heavy drag, blowing the smoke out slowly from his lips and watching as Dream flinches away from it. “How so?”

Dream keeps looking stubbornly away, the only indication he’s heard at all being the way his lips press tighter together. Wilbur laughs softly.

“You mean with Big Q, don’t you?” Dream’s hand, which never seemed to stop trembling since he’d left Pandora, starts shaking harder, the smoke rising from the cigarette clutched tightly between his fingers making a jagged pattern in the air. “I won’t judge man! He tortured you for- what, 72 days?”

“74,” Dream’s shoulders rise to his ears, his head pitching forward as his arms wrap around his torso in a futile attempt to hold himself, “74 fucking days, and no one gave a single shit.”

Wilbur hums, encouraging, trying to tamp down his curiosity from making itself too obvious in his voice. Dream had been closed off for as long as Wilbur had known him, his walls only rising more after they’d pulled him out, half-starved, half-dead from the depths of the prison, newly revealed face startling young even deprived of the baby fat that would’ve otherwise lingered in its corners. For the other man to actually say something, to give more clues into his head than his usual one-word answers and bitter sarcasm - Wilbur settles in place, raising his cigarette to his lips once again. This will be interesting.

“I just-” Dream’s voice cracks, and he goes quiet, looking down at the cigarette in his hands like it’ll give him the answers he’s looking for. “I don’t understand. They’re all perfectly fine with throwing me in there and leaving me to rot, with letting Quackity come in every single day to make my life hell, but all of a sudden because I’m fifteen that changes? Because I’m a “child”? Because that makes them feel guilty?”

His grip tightens on his arm, breath seizing in his throat. “It doesn’t change a damn thing and they all know it. All of them were perfectly fine with watching me die, with sticking me in that hell, with letting Quackity- fucking-” his free hand reaches for the long tangles of his hair, the sandy locks peeking out from between his fingers, “He did- everything he could fucking think of, carved words on my goddamn back, broke every fucking bone in my body just because he could, branded his fucking NAME on me I-” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I screamed for them every single day. All seventy-fucking-four and I was still calling their names and-” Wilbur reaches towards him, watches as his head snaps away once again. “It didn’t fucking matter.”

“Dream-”

“None of it mattered. All that matters is that I’m a fucking child, that I’m fifteen fucking years old. Not that they stood by while I died twice with no means of defending myself! Not that they threw me in a fucking torture chamber! All that matters is how old I am and I fucking hate them!” He shouts, voice breaking and dissolving into a choked sob, and Wilbur watches quietly as Dream swallowed back his cries, shoulders shaking silently. “I- I hate them. All of them. At least Quackity still treats me like normal- the rest of them just look at me with this- this stupid pity, I don’t need their pity, I don’t need anything from them, not anymore-”

“Dream. Look at me.” Dream’s head snaps over, fear flashing in the backs of his eyes before it disappears as fast as it came. Wilbur ignores it, shucking off his jacket and draping it carefully over the other’s shoulders. “They’re hypocrites, I know. That’s why we’re doing this, yeah? We’re blowing it all up to kingdom come. You know how it goes.”

Dream meets his eyes, a storm warring briefly over his face before he looks down. “It was never meant to be,” he says, sounding tired, sounding resigned, and Wilbur smiles darkly at the self-same bitterness that shadows the words, recognizing the ashy taste from when they had coated his own tongue.

“Atta boy,” he says, grip firm on the other’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow. You can keep the coat for tonight; it’s getting cold.”

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, quiet, and they both know it’s about more than just the jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

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crimeboyultimate · 3 years ago

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Alright I talked about this on another account already but I think it’d be good to summarize my thoughts here too.

The dream smp in the beginning, the first bit of rp that got popular was the L’manburg revolution, and there was a reason for it. It was exciting! It was new! Stakes were high, and everyone was so hopeful and determined and alive!

Even as things got dark in the Manburg era, there was still life. Fundy the spy! George’s marriage to Ninja! Sabotage, madness, the festival! Even in the deepest pits of the characters hopelessness, there’s reason to keep going. It was one of my favorite arcs, personally, considering how close to home Fundy and Schlatt’s almost familial relationship hits for me. How Quackity and Schlatt fall out, how their relationship rots. And how even with everything going wrong, they still keep moving. They don’t give up. As someone who’s mentally ill, that arc really meant, and still does mean a lot to me. Even through everything, there’s some little bit of hope left.

Then, c!Wilbur dies to the hand of his father. It’s a fitting end to his arc, but it’s still so terribly sad to the viewer. Then comes Ghostbur! He’s an amnesiac, he’s unsure and sad and alone, but he’s still kind. He’s disabled, in a way, but almost everyone doesn’t take advantage of that (aside from c!Dream, but he’d sacrifice anyone to get what he wants). He tries to make amends! c!Fundy resents him, but he doesn’t act like c!Fundy doesn’t have the right to.

I think, personally, that the exile was the turning point. c!Tommy, a child, is exiled. He took total blame for the burning of gogy’s gay little mushroom cottage, because c!Ranboo was new and he didn’t deserve to get caught up in c!Dream’s bullshit.

And so, c!Tommy is alone. He has Ghostbur, his almost-brother. Any visitors are scared off by c!Dream. Any progress is destroyed by c!Dream. For fuck’s sake, c!Tommy started building his pillars and staring into the nether’s orange-red sea. Hope is gone. Across the sea, the prison is being built, with its one solitary cell. The egg has surfaced, c!Bad and c!Skeppy are falling apart, the cult grows. That shit with c!Ponk and c!Sam happens. c!Punz is in love with a goddamn robot, apparently. Even so, most people don’t watch Punz’s streams, so for them, there’s no fucking relief. No hope.

Even c!Charlie, who lit up the server for the whole time he was present, dies. Micheal (pig) becomes a source of stress, c!Ranboo and c!Tubbo’s relationship starts to fall apart, c!Ranboo dies. Everything’s dark now, permanently. Every one of the ccs wants to be a part of this lore, so they’re all doing it. And it makes the dsmp heavy, it destroys the stakes. Why hope for characters when it’ll only get worse? Hell, we all know there aren’t stakes anyways, considering that everything’s scripted now, so cs are lead only by their respective ccs, which will certainly only be further down into the pits.

That, I think, is why the dream smp is dying. Everything is heavy, everything is sad, everything is hopeless, and there’s no stakes anymore. That suprise when c!Eret betrayed L’manburg? That was real! The pain when things failed, the rage when pets were killed, the determination to win and to keep going? That was all genuine, and it showed. Some of the ccs are good actors, sure, but we can tell that they’re acting. And besides, if I wanted to watch a child being horribly mentally abused and manipulated, I would simply hang out with my friends at their houses. I’m not here for horrible atrocities and neverending pain and the dull hollowness of a lack of hope, we have enough of that in the real world.

I want the escapism of L’manburg, of building a nation with your friends for your friends, the friendship and love in every block placed. And I think that’s a common wish.

#dsmpblr #mcytblr #dsmp #I’m not gonna @ eret bc I’m a coward but I’ll put it in her tag so she might see it #c!eret #eret #dsmp analysis

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orangepurin45 · 3 years ago

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𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫!! - 𝐂𝐨𝐩! 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐗 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐏.𝐭 1

WARNING: Guns, some Yanderish themes (Oikawa is protective of Bara-arms), Blood, Drug dealing delivery, 🔞triggering sexual content 🔞, Angst, Fluff?, Slight!IwaOi, Mentions of past humiliation & trauma (high-school bullying)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is my first time writing btw. Happy Reading! if not the exit is over there 👉🚪.

Papers sprawled all over the desk, strings attached each other to another. A loud sip from the bulky man and a paper flip to side then eyes rose up to the photo of you grinning like a mischievous fox with red lips and taunting eyes screaming "CATCH ME IF YOU DARE," vibe Hajime grit his teeth glaring at your dirty face.

L/n Y/n, also know as the dark phoenix, Japan's most notorious drug dealing, homicide, and man-woman torturer and murderer in the whole country.

Everyone fears you.

Everyone obey at you.

Everyone believes you are the end.

Everything they think, you were responsible of all of this.

"Iwa-chan! Chief wants you to-..." Tooru spokes but was stopped by the sound of Iwaizumi's chair screech. He stood up, shadow loom under his gaze as he walks out the door.

"Wait! Iwa-chan I was supposed to...!

SLAM!

Inform you, " he finished, his lips turned downwards at the cold room, his chocolate eyes scanned every detail of the room then stopped to your portrait of your scary taunting face.

"Thanks a lot, Y/n-chan... But I didn't know you were into kind of... mess, " he smiles sadly, tracing his fingers at your photo. Lips tighten softly at the flashback, of yourself and the other 3rd years. How ironic to see your sweet, sweet smile in the memories compare to your now scary one.

"But I'm not letting you hurt Iwa-chan...That's a promise!,"

He points at your portait, eyes of determination and protection to swearing to blood to bone of himself not want his childhood friend be hurt. He turned away as long he lives

He will never let Hajime's life on the line.

Blood splatter, and small packet of white powder in the sachet all over the floor. Blowing your gun, hot steam coming out of the hole. Soft red lips upturned wickedly, your loyal subordinates gathers the small plastic packets inside the black bag.

"Bring it on the trunk immediately," You grinned as they nodded, immediately running towards your car.

Although, all happiness and rainbows has to ended when your car exploded and a familiar gunfire break a loose killing at off your men in sight.

"Oh dear... here we go again," You giggled then smirked, eyes delighted to see the man, who is obsessed of you being arrested.

How cute! 💕

"DARK PHOENIX!!!," Hajime yelled, eyes filled with fury and justice glaring at your calm figure. His teeth angrily clench pointing his gun at you.

"What a pleasant surprise!... I never thought you were such a party pooper, Iwaizumi-san! I'm absolutely...hurt," you pouted furrowing your brows playfully at him, to which he just flinch remembering a memory, looking down at the thought.

But you took this opportunity to snatched the gun off of his Iron grip by sitting on his shoulder then do some acrobatics before jumping off his broad shoulders then before jumping back then throw him on the ground with a headlock.

"You know it was all good~ back in the day! My mom always taught me to take care of what mess it was...And that was me she was talking about, "

He grunt, trying to wiggling his way out of your grasped but no avail the tightness is stronger than he expected. You giggled when you heard him yelped.

“Let ME go this is instant! I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna rot in prison!,”

He shouted, throwing his saliva right at your face at each sentence he threat for you. But you only grinned, eyes in mischief and raising a brow at him.

“Oh please~ Cry me a river! Your the cop here aren’t you gonna do it but instead you’re just laying under me...shame on you Iwaizumi-san,”

Silence ... You saw how he looks down and saw sorrow at his face, seemingly remembers something, you hummed a growing smile on your soft lips.

“Ne, Iwazumi-san Do you remember the day Oikawa-san humiliate me?,”

He snaps out his trace, then looks at you eyes as larger as the china wares.

“You didn’t help me back then, instead you let him do what he did to me,”

Rains started to pour, as the steaming car slowly deflates it’s flame little by little by an hours. Hajime’s heart dropped at the statement.

Yes, It’s true he did only watched.

He just...didn’t know

He didn’t know what to do If he did help you back then.

Because of a certains rumors that you seduce your father, your uncle, other male students in any campus. That’s what Oikawa made up, He thought realising it.

You rejected Tooru because you view him as a brother only and nothing more.

“Isn’t because of Oikawa...was it?,”

“All of that wasn’t true SHUT UP!!,”

Unrealising you let him go and back yourself away from him, giving Hajime to sit up then slowly stood. He saw suprising seeing you hitting your head, slapping and punching your head. Snot and tears and all, pulling your hair out, heavily breathing then whimper and cries. Hajime was about to approach you giving the comfort you deserve, you deserve long time ago that he was going to give if he helped you.

But being a fucked out mentally ill you are, Throwing your head back flash of lightning. Red eyes and nose all bloodshot. Wet Hair stuck on your face.

“FUCK THEM ALL FOR BEING NAIVE ASS BITCH THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME!!,”

“Y/n I-,”

All of the sudden a hooded man engulf you in an embrace then took you, jumping in each delivering cubes. But before he left, he shot Iwaizumi by the calf making him grunt then kneel down to hold where the shot is.

“IWA-CHAN!,”

Oikawa runs afront of him, and by anger he tried firing his bullet back at the hooded man but failed when he fired back to disarm him then fled at the scene.

“That bitch had company I see... Iwa-chan are you alright,”

After the rage diminished into concern laced tone, he pulled Iwaizumi up throwing his arm over his shoulder. Gazing in greater concern at him.

Or Love, so to speak.

“Everything will be all right, Iwa-chan I already called back-up,”

Hajime grunt, he unlatch himself off Oikawa suprise at the action he give, he stumbled and winced but he then glared at Oikawa.

His heart ache’d at the facial expression, shattering to him into pieces.

“Get off me I can take care of myself, I’m not some type of baby being taken care of,” He explains, he took a second to look where you feld and the hooded man went, A breath escape his lips and just stumble ahead.

when the back-up came, they help him guide back inside the ambulance.

“I told you I can take care of myself! Lay off!!,”

“Japan needed you Iwaizumi-san...So you’ll be needing our guidance for now,” The medic discipline and explains The Cop as he guided Hajime at the back of the ambulance.

He click his tongue before the paramedics lift him up in ease onto the ambulance.

Oikawa on the other hand, chocolate-colored eyes darkens at the moment of Hajime's pained expression when he taken the bullet that strike his calf.

And the sorrowfulness of his face when he was about to hug you.

His staring directly at your self-hate state as if he was that main guy at a certain love story, but a fucked up one.

He wanted to comfort you so badly that he might forget you'll stab him by the back. He grit his teeth, his knuckles turning white at point of view of your being.

But first he had to make sure you will be torture to hell where you belong.

"Oikawa-senpai! Is everything is going to be alright?"

A turnip head guy pops out, eye'ing in concern at the ambulance where Iwaizumi resides in, left the scene. Tooru took a deep breath, as he face his youngest colleague with that well-covered smile.

"It's alright! There's no need to worry! Cause' He will have the greatest care in the hospital... For awhile I think"

"Oikawa-senpai... Your palms are bleeding"

Kunimi pointed out, staring boredly at the fresh wound that have his blood run down his fingers to his knuckles.

He hadn't realise in mad anger, he clawed his palm so bad at the thought of you gonna ruining Iwaizumi's life.

"Ahhh! My hand slipped in the strawberry jam! My bad hehe"

(；^ 3^）✌️even though it was rather darker than the sweet jam itself, Kunimi could tell it was a lie. He could tell the deep nail marks on his palm and blood mixing under his nails too.

"Uh... Okay I guess..." He pretend to buy it, much of Oikawa's satisfaction.

"Okay back to work! We need to investigate this piece of shit of a burning car!" He grin happily as he skipped towards the steaming car, not caring about the rain pouring down.

Hope you rot in hell Y/n dearest or else one touch on Iwa-chan and you are gone he thought with a deep frown thinking about you makes Oikawa sick upon his stomach but hopefully that one day, you'll be captured and rot in jail.

Or maybe suffer in death sentence because of the multiple crimes you make.

Hope you suffer He thought with sadistic grin.

-End P. T 1-

That was not I expected, but judge all you want all because of the grammar I've been working is still under- construction and I've been using writing stuff like this because of a certain mental stability I've got... Not all that set aside. Thank y'all for reading don't forget to leave a heart or not because due to my ungrateful grammar that make you sick... I'm sorry about that and I apologies for being born... Is all

-orangepurin45

#iwaizumi x y/n #slight iwaoi #first writing #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #x reader #criminalxpoliceau!#Minors don't interact #blood #imnervousethisismyfirsteverwritinghereintumblr #skskskksks #yandere oikawa

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walkerwords · 4 years ago

Text

“Half A Man” Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

GIF CREDIT: http://gph.is/2yFFwpT

Request: from @thanossexual Hi can I request "Half A Man" by Dean Lewis songfic Shane x Reader (but if you don't feel like writing for Shane, I'd be totally satisfied with reading a Daryl x Reader)! Thank you goddess ❤️

Word Count: 3033

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Half A Man” by Dean Lewis

Note: Sorry for the delay on this one! I hope I did this justice! Thank you for the request!

----------

I was wrong to say I loved her

I was wrong to think I'm right

But when I told her it was over

My darling I had lied

The thick woods of Virginia were like navigating a labyrinth.

With all the overgrowth, the once familiar woods were starting to look like a whole other world. You had gotten used to trekking through the deep woods, but when you were distracted, it was never easy. The Walkers were also not ideal, especially this far from the roads that lead to each community.

When you had left your lonely home in Alexandria that morning, you hadn’t told anyone where you were going. However, the look on Rosita’s face as she watched you exit the gate from her spot on watch, told you she knew exactly where your head was at.

I've been running from my demons

Afraid to look behind

It had been two years since Rick had sacrificed himself on the bridge. It had also been two years since Daryl Dixon left to be alone in the woods in hopes of finding his brother. You had been supportive at first and you still were, but every time you woke up alone in the bed the two of you once shared, your heart ached.

I've been running from myself

Afraid of what I'd find

You had met Daryl the day he and his brother had entered the camp at the quarry. You were best friends with Glenn and had followed him after the world had turned for the worse. Glenn was wary of the Dixons, but you had got on with them almost immediately, dodging Merle’s annoying comments with a laugh and connecting with the quieter brother whenever you got the chance.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to grow closer and by the time the group had found the Greene farm, you and Daryl were nearly inseparable. The romantic relationship didn’t start until after you had reunited after the horrors of Terminus and from then on, you made a promise to him that no matter where you were, you would always find each other.

But how am I supposed to love you

When I don't love who I am?

And how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?

Then, the war with the Saviors had happened and Daryl had been taken. It was obvious to everyone in your family that he was pulling away. You understood and you didn’t. You hadn’t been the one locked in the Sanctuary and tortured. You did, however, understand what it felt like to lose a brother. When Negan had brutally murdered Glenn in front of you as you tried to keep Maggie from collapsing, it felt as if someone had torn out your heart.

Cause I'm a sinking ship that's burning

So let go of my hand

Oh, how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?

It became clear to you after everything that had happened with the Saviors and then with Rick, that you and Daryl were never going to be the way you once were. However, that didn’t make you stop loving him. He lived in your mind and no matter what you were doing or who you were with, you were always thinking about the man you loved. Which is how you found yourself stumbling over roots and rocks to find him in his wooded getaway.

And now I'm stuck in this hotel room

By cold neon light

You made it to the river as Carol had suggested and followed it down. It didn’t take long to hear the groans of Walkers which you had anticipated. Following the sounds of death, you finally found them as they were tangled in some sort of wired contraption. It also didn’t take you long to recognize it as Daryl’s work.

He had been the one to teach you and the rest of the group about how to make the larger snares for the Walkers. They worked perfectly for when you were all on the road after Terminus and before Alexandria. You dispatched the rotting creatures quickly, your knife sliding into their skulls with ease. You pulled the corpses from their traps and made sure the snares were reset before continuing on.

I've been waiting for an answer

But it don't come tonight

A cold breeze rustled the trees causing you to shiver slightly. It would be winter soon and you couldn’t stop thinking about him all alone out here in the snow. Hell, you didn’t even like the thought of Negan alone in the cold cell either. You had been guilty over the past couple of years giving him extra blankets and such without Michonne’s knowledge. You figured Gabriel knew it was you, but he had never said anything. It wasn’t until last year that Judith started helping you. Regardless of what he had done, you didn’t wish the man to freeze to death.

After walking for a bit longer, you finally smelled the burning of wood, a familiar scent after all these years. You could see his makeshift camp from your spot in the trees. When he had left initially you knew he was running from his demons by living out here, but you had never expected for it to go on this long.

Stepping out of the tree line, you were met with the tip of a crossbow bolt. You stared wide eyed at it as you tried to keep your breathing steady.

“(Y/N)?” Daryl gasped as he quickly lowered his bow. “Dammit, I could’ve killed ya!”

“Yeah, let’s not do that,” you said, blinking quickly. He tossed his weapon down and turned away from you. You drank in the sight of him. He was still Daryl, but his hair was longer, mangy, and he had a few new scars on his face and hands. Your hands ached to reach out and push his hair off his face to see those beautiful blue eyes of his, but you remained where you were. “Daryl,” you began, but he shook his head.

“Go away,” he muttered.

“No,” you countered, stepping further into his camp. “I’ve given you space, Daryl, but I am done avoiding this.”

“Leave! Go back to Alexandria,” he snapped, kicking out at a stack of firewood. He was still keeping his back turned to you.

“Dammit Daryl!” you swore going over to him. “Would you just look at me please?” It took him a second, but eventually he turned and faced you. After another moment, he finally looked at you, his eyes finding yours. “Aren’t you even a bit happy to see me?” you asked.

Daryl sighed and shook the hair from his face. “Of course, I am,” he said quietly, “but I can’t do this right now.”

“Right,” you said. “I thought you were done pushin’ people away.”

“I thought I was too,” Daryl admitted. You could still see the hurt in his eyes, almost as if Rick was haunting him through and through.

“It’s been two years,” you whispered. “Please, Daryl, come home.” Daryl shook his head as he pushed away from you. Keeping your distance, you watched as he paced, his boots digging into the soft earth.

“I can’t face ‘em,” he said. “I can’t face...her.” He looked at you with sadness and you knew who he meant.

“Michonne doesn’t blame you,” you promised.

“I blame myself! I shouldn’t have let him go lead that horde by himself! I ain’t meant to be here. It should’ve been me by his side,” Daryl said and you ignored the pang in your chest.

“What about Judith, huh? Or RJ?” you tried.

“Don’t,” he warned, pointing his finger at you, but you didn’t back down.

“They look up to. Judith, especially, and then you go and disappear on her after she’s lost her father? And what about Aaron? Or hell, have you even been to see Carol?” you hadn’t realized you were yelling until he had flinched at the volume. You quickly stopped and controlled yourself. “I know you go to Hilltop for supplies.” The last time you had visited and Enid had mentioned Daryl, you were hurt, but had tried to brush it off the best you could.

“Ya don’t get it,” he said.

“Then explain it to me,” you pleaded, “because I can’t keep waking up every mornin’ and wonderin’ where you are or if you’re even still alive.”

And every bottle I had stolen

Lay shattered on the floor

What's broken can't be whole, anymore

“I’m broken, (Y/N),” he said with a shrug.

“That’s bullshit,” you countered quickly.

“Is it?” he asked, stepping closer to you.

“Fractured,” you reminded him, “but never broken. Don’t you remember that?” He paused as the memory flew across his mind. It was something you had said to him after the day at the farm when Sophia had come out of Herschel’s barn. Daryl had said that Carol had broken, but you assured him that she wasn’t. She was fractured, but she was never broken. It was something that you both continued to say throughout your time together. Especially after Merle and Beth died. At one point, it had offered him comfort and you only hoped that it did now.

“You remember my sister?” you continued. He looked away from you, but you pushed on. “She saved us when those Walkers overwhelmed the prison. She died protecting Beth and Carl and you helped me through it then and every loss afterwards. Why won’t you let me help you? Why won’t you let me in anymore?”

But how am I supposed to love you

When I don't love who I am

“I’m not the same, I ain’t right,” he said.

“People change, Daryl. You don’t think I get that? I’m not the same person I was five years ago let alone when all of this shit started. It took me a while to adjust to the new normal and fight for the future, but you helped me to do it. Not my sister, you. You are my person.” Daryl was shaking his head again.

And how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man

“I don’t wanna drag ya down,” he said. You slowly reached out to take his hand and when he didn’t pull away, you gripped it in yours.

“Who says that’ll happen? I know my limits, Daryl,” you told him. “You can’t tell me you’re happy out here,” you said softly.

“Of course not!” he yelled and snatched his hand back. Your palm stung from the absence of his touch. “Dammit, (Y/N)! I hate it, but this my life. Ya think I don’t feel bad about what I did to ya? Leavin’ ya like that? Yer always in my head woman!”

Cause I'm a sinking ship that's burning

So let go of my hand

Oh, how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?

His declaration shot through you and all you wanted to do was take him in your arms, but there was still that solid wall between the two of you. One that you weren’t sure how to break through. “Daryl,” you tried, but he kept going.

“Everywhere I go, I’m lookin’ for ya. No matter what I’m doin’. Ya wanna know why I go to Hilltop? I go because Jesus told me he looks out for ya! Ya say yer always wonderin’ if I’m still alive? Well so am I.”

“Then come home,” you said again.

“I can’t,” he said with pleading eyes, begging you to understand. “I ain’t...whole without him.” Daryl fell to his knees and you joined him on the ground as he hung his head.

You didn’t know what to say. You never wanted him to feel like this. Rick Grimes was the one person who never turned his back on Daryl. Probably the first person to ever treat him as an equal in his life. Even before the two of you were together, you knew that you would never have the bond the two brothers had. It was something too special to replicate. “I can’t fix myself,” he said. “How am I suppose to love ya?”

“There’s nothing to fix,” you told him, carefully. “It was never hard for us, Daryl. Don’t you remember when you went lookin’ for Beth? That was the first time you kissed me as we said goodbye. You told me that there was no guarantee we’d see each other again, but I knew you would come back. Then after Negan took you,” his eyes fell closed at the memory, “I knew you’d come back to me then too. That is how much faith I have in us. You can leave me for a decade and I will still love you.”

And no one can ever hurt me

Like I've hurt myself

“Don’t ya get it?” he asked, but his tone was much softer now. “How can I give ya all of me when I ain’t even myself anymore? It’s all too much pain,” he laughed bitterly. “And now? Nobody else can hurt me when I’ve screwed myself up.”

“Not true,” you disagreed, “You’re hurtin’ yourself, D.” You reached up and take his face in your hands. He visibly relaxed at your touch and you nearly cried as he leaned into your palms. You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his as the tears flowed from your eyes.

'Cause I'm made out of stone

And I'm beyond help

Don't give your heart to me

“Please,” he whispered, “please don’t love me.”

“I do,” you said through your tears.

“No.”

“I never stopped, Daryl Dixon.” He pulled back from you, taking your wrists and removing your hands from his face.

“Everyone around me dies,” he said. “Merle, Beth, Glenn, Carl! Now Rick! Who’s next? Judith? Aaron? You?”

“None of it was your fault, Daryl,” you said.

“It is, I shoulda done more,” he said. His hair fell into his face and you reached out to smooth it away.

“You’re not God, Daryl. You’re just one man. A man that I, and many others, love. Why can’t you see that?” Daryl shook his head, trying to lean away, but you placed your hands on his shoulders, holding him in place.

But how am I supposed to love you

When I don't love who I am?

And how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?

“I’m not enough for ya.”

“That is not up for you to decide,” you said plainly.

“(Y/N)...”

“No, just listen to me. I don’t blame you for anything. Beth was not your fault; Merle was not your fault; and Rick was definitely not your fault. What he did, he did to protect all of us. To make sure that Carl’s dream was fulfilled. Rick wanted us to be a new kind of world and so he did what he had to make sure we could still be that, that we could build something special. I don’t know what he would think if he saw how separated we all are now, but I do know that he wouldn’t want you to be out here alone chasing ghosts.

“On our first night in Alexandria, do you know what he said to me?” Daryl shook his head. “Rick told me that he would do anything to make sure you saw a happy ending. I am not about to let him down, are you?” A tear flowed down his cheek and you caught it with your thumb. “You’re not lost, Daryl, and I am not leaving here until you get that through that thick skull of yours.”

Daryl broke down in front of you then, keeling over. You caught him as he leaned into you. His arms snaked around you and you held him. “I miss him so much,” he whispered and your heart broke at the words. Holding him tighter, you ran your hands down his back, trying to rub some warmth back into his soul.

The fire crackled next to you as Daryl Dixon lay in your arms. When you had decided to go looking for him that morning, you had never imagined that this is the man you would find. “I miss him too,” you whispered. Daryl clutched at your back and you were reminded of the last time you had hugged him like this. It was when you were reunited at Hilltop after he had escaped the Sanctuary. You missed holding him like this and you never wanted to let go.

'Cause I'm a sinking ship that's burning

So let go of my hand

“I haven’t found his body,” Daryl said.

“I know and I am not saying we give up, but God, I need you,” you admitted. Daryl sat up at your words and hope entered his eyes.

“It ain’t gonna be easy,” he said and then trailed his hand up your neck, holding it gently.

“I know,” you said, your own hand covering his.

“I can’t face Michonne,” he said again.

“We’ll talk to her together,” you promised. Daryl let out a breath and then leaned in to kiss you. Your lips met his and you melted. It was the best hello you could have ever asked for. “I love you,” you said as you broke the kiss.

“I love you too. Never stopped and never will.”

“No matter what, Daryl, if you think you’re a sinkin’ ship, then honey, I ain’t ever letting go of your hand.” Daryl swiped at his own tears as he pulled you back into another kiss. You knew that the two of you had a long road ahead of you, but you were willing to take every step as long as he was by your side. Even if he thought he was only half the man he once was, to you, he was the only thing that made you feel whole.

So let go of my hand

And how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @yes-sir-hotchner

#walkerwords #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #reader insert #reader #twd #twd imagine #twd imagines #The Walking Dead #twd season 9

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years ago

Text

i never knew how much it would hurt to feel (this building collapse on top of me)

prompt: buried

whumpee: shawn spencer

fandom: psych

hi and welcome to my very first psych fic! i finished the show a couple weeks ago and finally get to write it! since this is my first fic there is a high chance the characterization is not the best and i do apologize but as i write more it will improve! i hope you like this anyway! (first part of the title is from some kind of disaster by all time low)

Shawn and Gus are poking their way through a falling-down, long-deserted office building on the outskirts of town, looking for clues about the latest murder case that they’ve gotten themselves assigned to. Gus pokes his head through a doorway and immediately recoils with a yelp, hands scrabbling frantically at his face.

“Spiders!” he shouts, and Shawn shines the beam of his flashlight on Gus’ face.

“Spider webs,” he says, reaching out to brush them away. “Ooh wait, what’s this - a giant tarantula on the back of your head?”

Gus slaps his hand away, brushes his own hand across the back of his head to confirm that there isn’t really a giant tarantula lurking there, and frowns at Shawn. “If we don’t find any clues soon -”

“C’mon, man, you know it’s a process. This building has two more floors we haven’t even seen yet.”

“Two more floors that look like they might collapse at any second.”

Shawn can’t argue with that, especially when the next step he takes makes his foot sink a couple inches into a rotting floorboard. He gingerly pulls it out and prepares to concede to Gus about the top two floors of the building.

“Okay, fine, we don’t have to go up -”

The ending of that sentence is drowned out by a horrific crashing noise, and before Shawn has time to process what’s happening, what feels like several tons of stuff is falling down on top of him in the single most painful event of his entire life. He screams, and dust and pieces of who-knows-what fill his mouth and he coughs and his chest burns and he can’t quite breathe right because something is pushing down on him and everything is dark -

Ah. That would be because his eyes are closed, Shawn realizes, in a moment of blinding clarity. He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly in the dust, and sees...a whole lot of junk. Chunks of plaster and concrete and wood surround him in a sort of enclave, and if he looks out across his body he can see what’s causing the issue with his breathing - a very large, very heavy piece of concrete, probably some kind of support beam. Excellent, Shawn thinks. Being buried alive in a mountain of old office is exactly how I wanted to spend my day.

He’s trying to distract himself from the pain with this line of thinking, which is half-working. If he can just not focus on how much it hurts for a few moments, until he can make his hands cooperate and grab his phone, or until he has enough air in his lungs to call out to Gus -

Gus! Shawn is trapped in his own personal bubble of debris, and Gus isn’t here. Which means he’s somewhere else, maybe hurt even worse than Shawn is, or maybe even dead, but Gus isn’t allowed to die, not like this, not -

“Shawn!”

Thank god you’re alive, buddy, Shawn thinks at Gus’ voice, and then he thinks, oh man, I actually have to yell back to Gus so he doesn’t think I’m dead. He takes as deep a breath as his constricted lungs will allow, which hurts like absolute hell, and shouts, as loudly as he can, “Gus!”

“Shawn!” he hears Gus yell again, as he tries to ride out the wave of pain burning through his entire chest. Don’t make me yell again, he thinks, forcing himself not to cough despite the large amount of dust that has gotten into his mouth, because he thinks the pain of that might actually kill him.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to yell again - he hears shifting noises and knows that Gus is getting closer. He tries to think of a way to let Gus know exactly where he is without opening his mouth again, and then realizes that one of his arms disappears underneath the rubble currently boxing him in. His hand doesn’t feel like it’s buried, though, so he thinks that it must be on the outside, and maybe Gus can see it. He concentrates very hard and wiggles his fingers, taps them on the ground, and hopes that Gus is as close as he sounds.

And he is. A few seconds of wiggling and tapping pass, and then Shawn feels Gus’ hand touch his own. “Shawn?”

Shawn curls his fingers into the best approximation of a thumbs-up that he can manage.

“Okay, um, don’t move,” Gus says. Got it, Shawn thinks. Don’t exactly have anywhere to go. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna get you out of there.”

This seems like a pretty good plan to Shawn, except for one thing. He shuts his eyes and prepares himself to speak again.

“911,” he whispers, and hopes that Gus can hear him.

“Oh. Right,” Gus says, and Shawn hears the sounds of him dialing, and then explaining that his best friend is buried under debris in an abandoned office building on the edge of town.

“They say it’ll be about twenty minutes,” Gus informs him. “You’re not buried very deep, so I’m gonna try and get you out before then, okay?”

Shawn gives him another thumbs-up, mildly surprised by Gus’...lack of panicking. Not that he’s complaining, because honestly he’s pretty close to panicking himself, and at least one of them needs to remain sane at all times.

He lies there and listens to the sounds of rubble moving and Gus making various noises of effort to indicate the very difficult work he is doing. All the while, though, he’s talking to Shawn about, talking how stupid this idea was in the first place, and how he could be at work earning money to pay for the new TV in the Psych office instead, and about a million other little things that Shawn would ordinarily groan at and find some way to change the subject.

Now, though, he’s content to listen to Gus and distract himself from the fact that he feels like he’s been run over by a truck carrying a mobile home and then had the mobile home dropped on top of him for good measure.

It doesn’t actually take that long for Gus to mostly unbury him. There’s still some rubble surrounding him, but apart from the giant concrete thing lying across his chest, he’s basically free. He gives Gus the best smile he can muster in his current situation and wheezes out, “hey.”

“Hey,” Gus replies, checking his watch. “Help should be here in about seven minutes, if that lady at 911 dispatch was telling the truth.”

Shawn nods as best as he can, then experimentally moves his freed arms to the concrete currently crushing his chest.

“Don’t do that,” Gus warns. “The 911 lady said it would be too heavy and that trying to move it by ourselves might hurt you worse.”

But it hurts, Shawn thinks, petulantly, and this must show on his face because Gus says, “don’t give me that look, Shawn. She said if that beam was gonna crush you, it would have already, so you just have to wait.”

He really doesn’t want to wait. Maybe this beam isn’t going to crush him to death, but it’s making it very difficult to breathe, which in turn is making it very difficult to stay calm, which is then making it harder to breathe -

He needs to relax. Maybe if he closes his eyes for a few seconds...yeah. That sounds nice. He lets his eyes slip closed and tries to take a calming breath that does approximately nothing. But not two seconds later, his eyes are snapping back open.

“‘Ow,” Shawn mutters, as loudly as he can, as Gus smacks him across the cheek with a surprisingly strong hand.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me, Shawn.”

“Won’t,” he promises, reluctantly keeping his eyes open. How much longer do I have to keep my eyes open for, exactly? he wonders.

“When’s...help?”

Gus anxiously checks the time, as though he hadn’t just anxiously checked the time like two seconds ago. “The lady said twenty minutes. It’s been fifteen.”

Five minutes...he can make it five more minutes. Right?

“Talk...to me.”

“I was talking to you, Shawn. Until you decided to almost pass out on me!”

Shawn slowly shakes his head. “Wasn’t gonna.”

Gus shakes his head in return, like he doesn’t believe it, which is fair. But he keeps talking anyway. Shawn wonders whether it’s even possible for Gus to run out of boring things to say to keep people awake.

True to the 911 lady’s word, exactly five minutes later, help arrives in the form of a firetruck and ambulance. The paramedics immediately get to work on Shawn. In other circumstances, he’d maybe try and fight them on the whole precautionary c-collar situation, but they also give him drugs and an oxygen mask, and both of those things feel absolutely wonderful, so he decides to shut up and let them do what they need to do - namely, free him from his concrete prison.

Even with the drugs in his system, it hurts, which is surprising considering they’re removing the thing that’s hurting him. But it hurts almost as bad as the initial collapse of the building on top of him had, and it hurts more than actually being pinned under it had. He screams for all of two seconds of intense pain, and then the weight is completely gone and the pain stops and he falls silent with an “oh” of pleased surprise.

The move onto a backboard and into the back of the ambulance hurts, too, but far less in comparison. Shawn makes it through both of those events with only minor wincing and whimpering, and soon enough they’re on the way to the hospital, and Gus is talking to Jules on the phone, and the only source of pain at all is the iron grip that Gus is keeping on his hand.

aaa thanks sm for reading! hope the characterization wasn’t too abysmal and i hope you enjoyed :) i plan to write plenty more psych whump in the future so if thats what you enjoy you’re in luck!!!

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump6 #buried #psych #shawn spencer #my writing #i say things #this was fun! its been a minute since ive written for a new fandom

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thefreakydeaky · 4 years ago

Text

Call Out My Name

Chapter One Title: All I Know

Characters: Negan x Plus Size Reader, The Saviors, The Wives, Eugene

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Gore & Violence.

Word Count: 2,930

Careful to avoid making any noise, you pressed down on the stainless steel lever.As discreetly as you could manage, you peered into the communal living space.Sherri and a few of the other wives sat together on the large sectional speaking in hushed tones. Your prison guard however, was absent. You grinned. Dropping all pretense, you stood up straight and let the door swing shut behind you.

“Good Morning.” You called out cordially.

Her eyes gave you an appraising once over. They paused at the sight of the old flannel you had on over your dress.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Negan’s first wife asked sternly.

“Where ever the wind takes me on this fine day, Miss Sherri.”

The remnants of a southern upbringing scolded you for being rude.You knew well that all of these girls had to put up with the boss man same as you,but you couldn’t risk getting caught just to be polite.

“He’ll be angry.” You heard her call after you, but Negan was always angry. So you didn’t let that stop you.

There was no way of knowing how long you had, but you intended to explore as much of the sanctuary as possible. You had been out of the room before, sure, but you had only seen flashes of the place as you ran past.Then there was the mini-mission you went on two months ago to find out what was making Joey late. Once you figured out what day of the week Pastry day was, it was simple.Third day of every week, Joey headed straight for the bakers and stood in line for a good half hour. You left when they handed him the sweet bread and found you could beat him back to the room.That was the most you had seen of the sanctuary since your arrival and was not the best way, you were convinced, to get to know and appreciate the beauty this place might hold.

The Sunlight felt nice for the first few seconds after you stepped out of your building, but soon enough the humidity ruined the moment.

You stayed on the greenery beside the road to avoid burning your feet, following the gravel path to the market place.Careful to avoid the baker’s side of the warehouse, you walked idly passed stall after stall of goods and services.

Your eyes caught on a table of battered shoes. You recognized the pasty ex-alexandrian running the table.Eugene, he was called.You knew this from the stories Tanya told you at dinner time.He was nothing but a blubbering wuss from the sound of it, so you figured you could handle him.You strode confidently to the front of the line and smiled.

“Excuse me?” You found yourself demanding not two minutes later.You glared at Eugene until he looked away.

“You don’t have credit.”

“The hell I don’t!”

“How many more times do you need me to say it?”Eugene repeated a smirk on his lips.

He leaned back in his chair looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“How fucking dare -” You started to shout, your voice ringing out through the warehouse.

Calling attention to yourself was the last thing you wanted to be doing you reminded yourself anxiously. You scrambled to come up with a different tactic.The corners of your mouth pulled up into a practiced grin that you never thought you would have cause to use again.

“My my,” Injecting sugar into your voice, you leaned across the table until you were nearly close enough to touch him.“Look at you! You’ve been runnin’ with the big dogs long enough to do a halfway decent impression, Eugene.”

Eugene’s shifty eyes widened. “You know my name?”

“Negan only ever talks about one genius with a mullet.”You lowered the volume of your voice conspiratorially, “How fortunate you are that my darling husband hasn’t seen through you yet.” You postured, taking a risk. “Maybe, I ought to help him see you for what you really are?”

“He will never believe you.”

“Why not? It wouldn’t make any sense for me to lie about a man I have never met. All i have to do is call into question your history with the people of Alexandria and make it seem like I feel concerned for his safety.”

Metal chair legs scraped against cement as Eugene pushed his seat back and stood.

“I’m g-going out for a smoke.Them shoes better be the only thing missin’ when I get back.” His trembling lower lip killed any affect his wrathful tone might have had on you.

You snickered at his retreat.

Your white dress fanned out behind you as you hurried away brown leather contraband on your feet, eager to begin your self guided tour.

Building after building of industrial rot, a few rusty tin shacks, and a sad row of herbs and spices later, you found yourself in front of the main building itself.

The Sanctuary’s weather beaten concrete face was made of cruel sharp angles. Her broken windows were yellowing jagged teeth.She stared brutally down at you until you couldn’t bare to meet her eyes anymore and turned, walking brusquely away from her frightening visage.

You turned the next corner only to freeze in your tracks.The wet raspy growling filled your ears before the smell hit you.

Walkers

Your eyes swept from left to right a few times trying to count, to keep track and then you realized, that they weren’t coming for you. There was a chain link fence separating them from you.Your brow knitted.They were tied down.They were, for the most part, stationary.Some chained up, some tied up, some stuck through with pipes. It took a twisted mind to come up with such a gruesome thing.

You wondered if Negan had come up with the idea himself.You shook the thought away. You didn't want to know. You made for the only corner of the god forsaken place you hadn’t yet visited.

The stolen too-big boots kicked up loose bits of gravel behind you as you headed for the backlot. Little did you know that you had an audience.Eyes followed your trek down the road from the loading dock behind you.

The field was inhabitted by broken wood pallets, a rusted up old mercury with bullet holes along the side, some old crates, a busted up head board, ruined tires, and tin sheeting. They lay rotting in the grass.Nearer the chain link fence, lay the final resting place for the few men who managed to stay on good terms with Negan until their last moments. Crude wooden headstones marked with paint stuck out in a bad attempt of making a row.

You slowed down as you reached the end of the pavement and waded into the living green sea of grass hoping not to encounter any snakes.The damp blades were staining the skirt of your dress, but it’d be worth the scolding. A long jagged claw snagged at your dress.You cursed. As you pulled it loose, you realized it was a foot and a half of wood that likely came off of one of the pallets.You tossed it aside and smirked.Now that you’d gone and torn the thing, he would be extra pissed. Hell if you were going to get him good and mad you had better do it well you thought, untieing the bright orange ribbon from around your wrist. Negan's latest gift to you. Each time you saw it, it reminded you of who you belonged to. You frowned as you let it flutter to the ground. It may as well have been a dog collar.

Negan was following you, keeping far enough away not to draw attention.He cursed Fat Joey for letting you out.That idiot was going to pay.He grit his teeth as he watched you wade into the tall grass.Flannel shirt or not you were ruining your dress.Where the fuck was he supposed to find you another dress as nice as the one you had on? The sight of you tugging on your skirt brought his eyes to your wrist. He saw you take off your bracelet and let it fall. Did you have any idea how hard it was to come by anything in bright colors these days?Of fucking course not!You were a spoiled selfish ungrateful untamable thing.He was not going to be taking it easy on you this time.He spotted you staring at the barbed wire topped fence and froze.

He didn’t have to imagine you attempting to clamber over the high fence, face full of determination fueled by spite.He would never forget it.Your last attempt to leave made it clear that you didn’t give a shit about your own well-being anymore.Negan cursed under his breath. God help you if you were stupid enough to pull another stunt like that.Yet he knew way down deep inside, somewhere primal, that you belonged to him.After three years and fifteen failed attempts to leave him, Negan had come to the conclusion that he had to do everything in his power to make you want to stay.

Despite the show and the accusations he had made, alternately burning and bashing some person or another, every time you fucked up Negan went easy on you.The second he’d laid eyes on you, he’d chucked his personal rule book out the window. He was afraid that this made him look soft and that burned his pride like nothing else could.

However, women with your body type had always been his preference and He knew, a figure like yours was a rare find these days. He wanted you. Negan wanted you badly. More than anything, he wanted you to want him to fuck you.It was a frustrating blue balls inducing shit show of a situation.Charming women had always come easy to him. It was his shit luck that you weren’t easily charmed. He followed you into the field. His eye caught the shine of the ribbon easily. As He pocketed the scrap of orange cloth, the memory of your first meeting came to mind.

Your hair pulled back into a braid, a lovely face, enough cleavage showing to catch his eye. Your faded jeans had holes in the thighs and your breathing was heavy from your attempt to out run The Saviors.

You looked so darn pretty kneeling before him.You’d had the audacity to meet his gaze. It pissed him off and turned him on in equal measure.Your eyes captivated him.They were burning with resentment, but no tears.Not his Y/n. You didn’t cry, didn’t beg, and didn’t flinch at the sight of Lucille.Not even after he’d dirtied her up a bit.Near the end of his speech,some traitorous switch inside him had flipped.

“Darlin’, You have got a look in your eyes that says you haven’t been fucked right in years.” He drawled smiling his slick easy smile.”Why don’t you come on home with me, I’ll show you how good it can be with a real man.”

“You expect me to believe that a bean pole like you can handle curves like mine? Honey, I would eat you alive.”

He laughed low and long.The genuine mirth startled everyone, but you.

“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that.I just wanna love you right.”

“Well, I am sorry, Mister Real Man, but your pick up lines are bad jokes at best and that mouth of yours...” You shook your head in disapproval. “So dirty.”

You were meant to be his. No doubt about it.

“Mmm, there are plenty of good things I can do with this dirty mouth and you are curious to find out, I can tell.”

Negan’s big strong hand had fisted into the collar of your flannel pulling you toward him. You stumbled onto your feet to keep from being dragged. Before you could catch your balance, his lips were on yours.

Unbeknownst to Negan, unlike his bat and savior show, the heated kiss he gave you impressed you.

He nipped at your lower lip and turned back to what was left of your group.

“We are gonna do just fine, Dollface. As for the rest of you sorry shits, You are going to bring me my stuff and then go out and get me something nice.”

His hazel eyes gleamed down at you. “We’ll consider it a wedding present.”

Your exclamation was drowned out by the saviors’ hearty laughter as you were forcefully led to his truck.

From the moment Negan made you a wife, you vowed that you would get away from him even if you died trying. After three years and fifteen failed escape attempts, you had come to the conclusion that making him hate you was the only way out of the wives club.

You rummaged through the crates and found quite a few empty glass bottles. They would do. You put them all in the same crate and carried it with you as you counted your steps. You waited until you were at least two yards away to throw the first one.

Thunk

Wading further into the tall weeds and grass he frowned at the unfamiliar sound.

“Well I’ll be damned.” You murmured to yourself as you bent to pick up another bottle.

You glared at the Mercury, closed your fist around the neck of the bottle, and swung. It grazed the roof, but landed on the other side of the car.

“Have you lost your freaking mind?”

Your shoulders tensed at the familiar deep baritone of your husband’s voice. You stood there clenching your teeth, frustrated with the intrusion.You schooled your features before turning to face him.

“Hey there, Sugar. What are you doin’ out here?”

Negan came to stand before you, but he didn’t ask the questions you had expected him to ask.Perhaps, Where in the hell did you get shoes? or How in the hell did you manage to escape a locked room with a savior standing watch?Instead, Negan swallowed his anger and made himself the very picture of patience.

“I could ask you the same question, Darlin’.” He replied.

You stared at him, curiosity battling the wrath within you.

“Well?” Negan prompted after a minute or two of your silence.

Your thoughts raced.

What the fuck?!Why was he being nice?!He should be letting you have it right now! He should be cussing up a storm!

“Just... keepin’ busy.”You said lamely.

“In the junkyard? Playing with glass? That’s a hell of a thing for a Queen to do.” He murmured.”You could have hurt yourself.”

You were disgusted by how genuinely concerned he sounded and cringed at him calling you “Queen”.For weeks now, you had been working on him, from picking fights, to ruining belongings, to giving him the cold shoulder.Until finally you’d been able to break out again.You wanted him good and mad and Negan was not cooperating.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Actually, I haven’t been here long.I walked the whole Sanctuary first then ended up here.”You shrugged and made to pick up another bottle.”It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Who do you think you are?”

You should have known his anger couldn’t stay contained for long.

“Beg your pardon?” You snapped.

“I said,” Negan growled pulling you toward him by your shirt collar, “Just who, in the fuck, do you think you are?” His eyes glowered down at you.

“Y/F/N Fucking Y/L/N.” You declared and kicked him.

The shock on his face turned to fury. Familiar though the expression was, Negan had never turned it on you.Adrenaline spurred you into action.You yanked out of his grasp and tore through the field.

“Y/n!” He bellowed.

You didn’t dare look behind you as you pushed yourself to run.

#Negan #negan x plus sized reader #negan x reader #the walking dead #twd x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #jdm x reader

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pparkerpoetry · 4 years ago

Text

Face Reality (Part 9)

Title: Confrontation and Avoiding the Truth (fear the strength of a father wronged)

Summary: A few of the boys go to confront their past. One decides to avoid it. And, at the end of it all, they fall onto Sam, their father. (Sam also kills a god, but that's unimportant.)

- Chapter One - Chapter Ten

Masterlist

____________

Occasionally, they’d all go somewhere, as a family. It was odd, such a big group traveling together, but they made it work. Other times, they’d travel in smaller groups, like when Sam had to go to the prison. None of them liked Warden Sam a whole lot, but they knew deep down that it was the same Sam that comforted them late at night. Tommy never went, though.

At least, not until now.

“Someone wants to visit the prisoner.” Sam said while they were all eating breakfast one morning.

The early morning chatter paused. Ranboo hummed a little nervously. “Maybe I’ll go with you today. I haven’t seen the prison in a while.”

Fundy sighed. “Who’s visiting him?”

“George.” Sam winced, knowing he didn’t particularly like the man.

“Guess I won’t go today, then.” Fundy mumbled, looking down and shoveling some more food into his mouth.

It was quiet for the rest of breakfast, just the clinking of forks against plates filling the silence. After Ranboo was done, he got ready, and met Sam at the entrance of their home. Right as the door opened, Tommy shuffled over.

“Could I come today?” He asked, wings circling around his body.

Sam nodded. “Of course you can. Are you sure you want to, though? You might have to see, uh, Dream.”

Tommy flinched at the name. “Yeah. I think I need to go.”

They left, then, and the journey was a soft show of how Sam and Ranboo cared for Tommy. They walked closer than Tommy probably would’ve liked, they bristled whenever they heard something. Tommy appreciated it, though, Ranboo could tell. His wings were relaxed and comfortable on his back rather than fluffed out like they were a while ago.

When they reached the prison, Ranboo caught a glimpse of blue on the horizon coming towards them. The three of them were safely inside before the visitor arrived, though.

As usual, Sam brought them to a little hidden room that could see the cell without being seen. Sam stood there whenever visitors arrived, so Tommy and Ranboo waited there while he guided the guests to the cell.

They watched as George walked over the bridge to look at Dream. Tommy looked down. He was starting to regret coming, so Ranboo put an arm around his shoulders. Sam came over a minute later, and they watched George.

The man had looked better. His posture was slumped, his hair swept to the side stiffly, like it hadn’t been washed in a while. He looked defeated.

“George.” Dream said, voice slightly wobbling in a way undetectable by anyone who was just casually watching the interaction.

George looked at the while mask for a second before sighing. “Dream. It’s been a while since I visited. Thought I’d see if you needed anything, make sure Sam’s treating you well. As well as he can, considering you’re a monster, anyway.” he shrugged, missing the way Dream folded into himself a little.

It was quiet. A painful, tense silence.

Dream broke it. “How’ve you been?”

“I left.” George said, looking up with tears in his eyes. “I left after the last visit and you didn’t care. I went with Karl and Sapnap, we had a fun time. Built a library. I was enjoying myself, but after everything you’ve done, I can’t be away from you. I hate you, but I still want what we had back.”

“George…” Dream groaned, silently begging him to stop.

“No. No, Dream. You are going to sit here and listen. After all the nights I’ve spent awake wondering if I should visit, you are going to sit here and acknowledge what you’ve done.” George snapped. “You spent years with Sapnap and I just to leave us at the drop of a hat for what, power? Why did you change? Was I not good enough? Do you hate me? Because after what you’ve done, I’m starting to think that there’s nothing left here for me.” It was silent again. When George spoke next, it was softer. “Say something, Dream. Say something, anything, and I’ll come back. I’ll stay. For you.”

“George,” Dream started, before trailing off into meaningless mutters.

He started begging. “Anything, Dream. Give me any clue that there’s a part left of the old you that I can save and I’ll stay. I promise.”

Dream stayed quiet, all the words he wanted to say biting the tip of his tongue. Instead, he said, “Then leave. See if I care. Our time is over, George. When I get out of here, I’ll be a stranger to the ones that I once loved.”

“I hope you burn in hell.” George whispered, turning away so that Dream wouldn’t see the tears he shed. He didn’t deserve to see how his words hurt. “Sam, I’m ready to go.”

Dream reached out a hand, but pulled it back. He needed to remember his plan. This was worth it.

“Bye, Dream.”

Sam had left Ranboo and Tommy to escort the broken man out, and once he came back, Tommy stood up. “Can I go visit him? I think… I think I need to talk to him.”

Even Warden Sam hesitated. “Sure.”

Tommy didn’t fill out the books, it wasn’t necessary. He finally stood above Dream, wings flared out as his anger grew.

“Hey Tommy,” Dream drawled. “Those wings are new.”

“Not really,” Tommy shrugged. “I just haven’t felt the need to tell you every little thing about my life, nowadays. No since you, you know, pushed me to almost kill myself.”

Dream wasn’t sure he liked how blunt Tommy was being. “But didn’t you hide things from me before? Isn’t that why you deserve that ending?”

Tommy scoffed. “Say what you will, Small D. I’ve got a family, I’ve healed, I’m happy. I’m not going to let you manipulate me when I’ve got the ending all heroes want and you’re here getting yelled at by George, for all I care, rotting until the ends of time. It worked back then, but not now.”

“But I’m your friend!” Dream crooned, trying to get under Tommy’s feathers.

“No you aren’t!” Tommy shouted, before pausing to calm down. “You hit me, you blew up my stuff, you abused me, Dream. You aren’t my friend. So what if it took an actual family and therapy to figure that out. You aren’t my friend, Dream, and frankly, I don’t think you have any.”

Dream hummed. “So you got smart. You gonna hit me? Get angry? Lose your temper and see how long it takes to hurt me?”

Tommy laughed at that. “No, I’m not. If you think I’m going to turn around and be as bad as you, then you’re dumber than I took you for. I’m not here for you, Dream. I’m here for me. I finally got myself back after all these years, and I came here to look you in the eyes so that you know how truly alone you are.” He paused as he started to turn around. “Y’know, I’d almost feel bad for you, if I hadn’t known that this was your own fault.”

Sam brought him back, and Ranboo smiled at the blond. “Do you feel better?”

The grin that Ranboo got as a response was telling. “I do! I feel like a big, huge man! I mean, I always was, but boy,” His wings stretched out further, proud, “I feel like I could take over the world.”

Ranboo thought about that for a while. How confident Tommy was, how relieved he felt. Ranboo wanted to feel that. Get that closure. He wasn’t sure he’d find it in Dream, though. They’d never spoken, after all. Not since Ranboo was accepted onto this server, anyway.

He found a way to get it when Karl was over one day, visiting. He’d always come alone, making an excuse as to why his fiances (husbands? Ranboo wasn’t sure if they got married or not.) couldn’t come.

They were having a picnic, all of them just hanging around snacking on food. Some of them couldn’t make it, but that wasn’t their fault.

Ranboo was sitting with his arms propping him up, staring up at how the wind moved the leaves of trees. It seemed so gentle, so relaxing, until the wind picked up and the rustling grew louder and violent. Karl was smiling, but the smile seemed to hide some uneasiness. He wasn’t sure what for, but he figured that if he'd been a time traveler in a unique timeline with little to no idea of what happened next, he’d be nervous, too.

His thoughts wandered to the green festival, how he’d been exposed as a traitor and almost executed by one of the men who wasn’t feasting in the meadow. He wasn’t sure why his mind brought it up, maybe because his mind picked up on the green around him, and as the laughter filtered into his hazy mind, they were contorted to screams.

“-you alright? Ranboo?”

Ranboo turned to see Karl looking at him funny. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“Okay,” Karl said dubiously. “If you say so.”

“Actually,” Ranboo spoke up, making Karl turn to him again. “Do you think I could go with you when you go back to your house? I think I want to visit, uh, Quackity.”

All conversation (or it seemed like it, at least,) stopped. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tubbo asked, looking concerned.

“Yeah!” Ranboo said, trying to sound cheerful. “I haven’t seen him in awhile. I want to see how he’s doing.”

“Sure.” Karl shrugged. “He and Sapnap went to the nether today, but you might catch them tonight. We have a spare room, too.”

So it was decided. Ranboo left with Karl that afternoon, but not without getting a tight hug from Sam and a package of snacks for the trip.

Quackity and Sapnap were already home by the time Ranboo and Karl arrived, and it was kind of comical how surprised they looked at seeing the enderman.

“Hey, Ranboo.” Quackity started slowly. “Karl caught me up with what happened to you after everyone gave up searching. I… I’m sorry, man. I really am.”

Karl ushered Sapnap out of the room to let the other two talk. Ranboo spoke next. “I’d like to say it’s okay, I really would. I just… don’t you realize what you did to me back then?”

“Of course I do,” Quackity exclaimed softly. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t regret how I acted. I know it doesn’t excuse anything, I know that being almost executed is pretty traumatic, I wish I could’ve been better, you were just a kid, but-”

“Hey,” Ranboo interrupted. “We all have regrets. I’m getting help, and I think you are too,” The nod confirmed it, “I don’t think either of us are at fault for what happened. I think we can put it behind us. After all, being on this server causes a lot of stress.”

“You can say that again,” Quackity laughed, and Ranboo noticed small wings stretch out behind him.

“Oh, hey, Tommy has wings too,” Ranboo mentioned.

“He, he what???” Quackity asked. “Wings? Since when?”

They caught up more after that. It wasn’t perfect, but when Ranboo went back home the next morning, he felt happier. He felt content, and safe, and he was glad he’d gone.

Purpled didn't get such a luxury that night. His mind was plagued with the horrors that he'd lived through not even a month ago, though he wanted nothing more than to finally rest.

It all started when he dreamed of waking up. It seemed realistic, and well, he couldn't bear the thought of not waking up, so he believed it.

He woke up quickly. What had he been dreaming of? He couldn't remember. He knew that it had caused the sinking feeling of terror in his bones, though, and knew it was real from the exhaustion in his body.

His room looked different. Had the walls always been red? He wasn't sure. Why did he… what was he here for? Hadn't he fallen asleep in the room that they all shared?

Hadn't he?

Purpled got up and padded over to the door. It swung open before him, but he didn't recall touching the handle. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Yes, that was it. He was just tired.

He wanted to go to Sam. He'd had a nightmare, right? Yes. He wanted Sam. He wanted comfort. In his hazy mind, those were the same.

...When had he gotten to Sam's door? Hadn't he just been outside of his own room a minute ago? Nevermind that. Purpled wanted a hug.

He walked into the room. Sam lay there, still asleep.

"Sam?"

He did not wake. Purpled tried again, a little louder. "Sam?"

Nothing. Once more, "...Dad?"

Purpled was about to leave when something clicked in his mind. Why was it so quiet? Yes, why? Sam snored a bit, not loudly, but he was never this quiet. He walked over to the bed, and rolled Sam over.

Instead of a soft smile, there was blood on the corner of Sam's mouth, a blank stare, and red staining the sheets.

What was that weight in his hands?

Purpled looked down, and he was met with the glinting grin of a sword. He'd done this. He killed Sam. Why wasn't Sam respawning?

He backed away slowly. He had to check on the others, make sure they were okay, oh, god- he’d blacked out again. He’d done the one thing he was terrified he would, he’d killed Sam, oh-

The door to the room that they all shared loomed in front of him. Why was he dizzy? He stumbled into the room to see what had happened. Hopefully nothing, but oh, god-

Tommy lay on the ground, wing stretching towards the door, telling the story of a failed defense, feathers torn and dirty, stained red like Sam’s bed had been. Under one of his wings was Tubbo- but which had died first? Was it Tubbo, and Tommy was grieving the loss of the only friend that had been there since the beginning? Or was it Tommy who was the first to fall, selfless until the end, hoping that Tubbo might be spared?

Purpled didn’t know.

Ranboo and Fundy were next to each other, Ranboo’s head on Fundy’s lap as his purple blood spilled onto the ground as if in his last moments he was pulled close to Fundy, the one he’d spent so long saving and healing. Fundy’s eyes were blank, slumped against a bed, fur matted and tangled. Purpled wanted to reach out to fix it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when he’d been the one to do this.

He tried to walk backwards, try to desperately deny that any of this had happened, but his foot caught on something and he tumbled onto his back- it was a wing, oh no, it was Tommy’s wing that he’d fallen over, and now he was looking into those dead, foggy eyes-

The hallway came into view, and it didn’t offer any solace to the boy born and raised in violence and abandonment. Puffy and Niki were by the door, tight in an embrace that held no fear because they would be together, even in death. It was a story of love that had been ended by Purpled’s blade, and he couldn’t bear to look at it, but everywhere he looked strengthened the burning feeling that he felt rising up his throat.

There- Eret, crown fallen, splattered with what Purpled really hoped was just… paint? He turned again, and Karl- wait.

Karl was alive.

“Karl, thank god, you’re alive, please, are you okay?”

Karl startled and scrambled backwards to get away from Purpled. His eyes were full of fear, but that was better than blank-

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Purpled squinted. “I know it wasn’t supposed to happen, Karl, I killed everybody! That means pretty much everything that could go wrong, did! Why didn’t anyone stop me? Don’t you guys have, like… I don’t know, overpowered armor and weapons? I’m still in my pajamas!”

Karl shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, Purpled- I- this, this shouldn’t have happened! I know time! I know vaguely how this timeline ends and this isn’t it! I don’t know how, but Purpled, you’ve altered time in a way that I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist!”

“What do you mean?” Purpled spluttered. “Mess with time? I’m barely an adult!”

“What are you?” Karl asked fearfully, and Purpled blinked, and just like that, everyone but him was dead in the house. It was quiet except for his horrified sobs that began to echo as he stepped past Karl to leave and get outside. He couldn’t tell if there were any trees there, or even if the sky was blue, but it all seemed so real despite that, like someone was trying to warn him, disguising the future as a dream.

Wait- no, he remembered. He really wished he didn’t remember, he wished with all of the bones in his body and with all of the coins that he could throw down any mossy wishing well that he could forget, but not for the first time, the world looked down on Purpled and sneered.

His heart rate began to speed up. He needed to get away, he couldn’t let that happen here-

He was gone before he’d even realized it. There was a bag, packed, and though it took some time to make sure that he wouldn’t wake up anyone as they stayed in their slumber, Purpled managed. Before he left for good, he wrote a quick note so that they wouldn’t worry, and walked by Sam’s room to hear the comforting sound of gentle snoring. During movie night (he’d miss that terribly, he decided, but this was for the better. The better of them, not him, but wasn’t that more important? Wasn’t everything he’d done to get to them, to help them, to make sure they never stooped as low as he had?) he’d usually find it annoying, but as he shut the front door behind him, he couldn’t find the strength to care very much.

He was leaving them, and they very well might hate him for it, but he needed to do this. For their safety. And, as the sun struggled to keep it’s grasp on the horizon, staining his hair the same color he’d feared so much, he felt at peace. He needed to do this. Maybe if he repeated it enough, the feelings that he had would become genuine.

By the time Ranboo woke up, hours later, the sun now mourning the loss of one of her creations, he wasn’t the first to see Purpled’s note. He was the last, to be precise. The last to look at the tiny piece of paper, scribbled in handwriting that could only be Purpled’s. The last to have their eyes filled with tears.

Sure, he thought he was doing the right thing, but surely, surely he had felt safe with them. Safe with the family that loved him so much, the family that would stop at nothing to find him again. The family that could crumble so easily and erase all the healing that had been done, just with the loss of one.

The searches that followed made Ranboo uneasy. It reminded him too much of what must've happened when he had disappeared, and he hated that it was happening again. His motivations had been more selfish, (not selfish. He wasn’t selfish for leaving when he was underappreciated. He just hadn’t realized his importance in the lives of others.) but he hated that he must’ve put this much sorrow into the hearts of the ones that searched for him.

It grew dark as the results came up empty. Everyone returned to the house, saddened and disheartened, but then- and Ranboo wasn’t quite sure if this was a stroke of genius or a hopeless dead end that cursed him even after all this time- he knew where Purpled had gone.

Where would he have gone to escape everyone? To make sure no one would find him? To be absolutely sure that they were safe from him? Well, he’d already gone there.

The End.

(of what? His mind whispered. Another just-healed life? A family? What was this the end of? Everything he’d been living for?)

Blindly, in a haze of panic, Ranboo ran outside. He didn’t know what direction to go in, he felt hands pulling him back but suddenly they were gone, and he was deep in the forest. It happened again, and he didn’t quite register just how many times it happened until he was hit by a blast of cold-

Had he just teleported?

Nevermind that, his thoughts reminded him. Nevermind your power, nevermind the past that the cold will bring up, you have a job to do.

He stumbled to the shore’s edge, not caring how armorless he was. Diving into the water was painful, but the headache that was growing and the exhaustion setting into his body distracted him from it. His feet brought him to the room that he’d stood at, and for a second he could feel all of the blood rush from his face.

There, next to a now lit portal, was the god that had been part of the reason he had been so alone, and he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, let Purpled go through the same thing. No one deserved the fate that he’d submitted himself to all those years ago.

And, next to the glowing wings, was a familiar purple sweatshirt, the person it belonged to looking devastated and broken.

Purpled looked up, and met Ranboo’s eyes. Neither were sure which pair of eyes held more emotion. Ranboo’s, full of shock that he was right, filled with pain that Purpled never thought to stay, telling the story of someone who’s lived out this ending and never wanted to go near it again, but has. Or, maybe Purpled’s, thought to be the least fucked-up of the bunch, eyes flooded with the memories that never let him rest, sick of it all and just wanting his family safe.

Purpled’s, which held the story of an apology. “I’m sorry,” it said, narrated in a tear-filled voice though no words were spoken. “I’m sorry that it had to end this way, I really am, but it’s better this way.”

“Then why does it hurt?” Ranboo’s responded, bringing up the regret that the story had brought.

The hesitation it caused as one foot lifted into the air was enough time. Ranboo let out a screech, somewhere between a shout of No!, and the warble of an enderman. He wasn’t sure which one it was closer to, but he knew that he had finally done something right as he felt the weight of Purpled collide with his, falling to the ground behind the portal instead of into the dark expanse.

“Let me go!” Purpled cried, the tears streaming down his face. He’d been so close to making sure they were safe, why did Ranboo stop him?

“No,” Ranboo growled, holding down Purpled as he struggled and tried to escape. “I’m not letting you go there. Not when it’s done what it has to me. Not when I know what it will do to you. Not when I know that I almost lost myself, and that I’ll lose you, too. I couldn’t bear to lose you. Not after all we’ve been through.”

Purpled went limp, falling into Ranboo’s arms as they both cried. It had been a long day, they were tired, and they wanted to go home.

There was the issue of the very not amused god, though. They’d gone way off script, and he was sick of it. He wanted control back.

___________________

Sam wanted his sons back.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew where they were. He knew almost immediately after Ranboo had gasped softly and ran outside toward where he knew the snowy tundra was. People tried to stop him, but the teleportation was new. Something they’d have to work on, certainly, but there was no time.

He set off a little while later. He trusted Ranboo to deal with it, but figured they could use some backup to get home. Sam used his trident, and flew through the air. It would’ve been enjoyable if he wasn’t so worried about Purpled.

While he wasn’t sure what he expected, but seeing an angry god standing over his two children wasn’t it.

“Get away from them.” Sam said, hoping he wouldn’t have to get into a fight with a deity. Fate wasn’t on his side though. When had it ever been?

“Get away?” The god laughed. “I am powerful. I can shift reality. Create matter. Do you know pain, Awesamdude? I am made from the very essence of pain, and if you interfere here, you will learn of it.”

Sam had the audacity to laugh. He was scared, but he laughed. “Pain? You think I don’t know pain? How much of an idiot are you?” The laughter cut off, replaced with a cold, chilling voice. “I know more pain and hurt than you’d ever know. My story isn’t controlled by you, and neither am I. Now, get away from them.”

The deity would have been pouting, mockingly, had he a face. “You aren’t controlled by me? You really think so?” He crooned, reaching a hand out towards Sam. “How long do you think you can pretend that’s true?”

Sam felt his throat close, his lungs contract. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t get the air he needed-

The air rushed into his lungs, only for walls of obsidian to be built, crushing him and leaving no space to move.

“How long can you escape me?”

As soon as he mined the blocks, more appeared. When they ceased, lava was poured onto the stone and he felt the heat through the protection of his boots.

“How long can you survive in a world that I run?”

When the lava was scooped up, it was quickly replaced with a skeleton, shooting an arrow through the weak part of his armour. Sam hissed, and fell back in pain, feeling the gunpowder rise up his throat. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t. His boys would get caught up in the explosion and get hurt- Sam spared a desperate glance to them to make sure they were alright, but the deity caught it.

“How long do you think you can protect them? Who even are you to challenge me when I am the god of these lands, who writes your futures?”

A wave of rage rolled off of Sam with the strength of a thousand tsunamis at the thought of this slimy fingered fuck touching his boys, startling the deity and breaking the connection that had been held. Sam unsheathed his sword as he stood up, and pushed it into (what he assumed was) the body of the god.

“Me?” He snarled. “I’m their father. And if you think I won’t kill anything that’s standing in their way of a happy life, then you deserve everything that I want to do to you for preventing their safety.”

The god had a hard time breathing, but he spoke again. His head had no mouth, but the words were coming out slower, now. “I won’t die, if you do this. I’ll come back later, I’ll destroy everything you love. I cannot truly be killed.”

“You come and try.” Sam whispered into what he really hoped his ears were. “You come and try to touch a single hair on any one of my boy’s heads, and you see what happens. You can’t write my script because I’ve burned it in the flames that you’ve made of my past, so try and see what will happen if I see you again. I dare you.”

With that, the air was silent as the god disappeared, nothing left of him but a shining portal still lit and a message in the chat.

DreamXD has left the game.

He knelt down next to Purpled and Ranboo, who were trembling, still locked in a tight embrace. “C’mon, boys.” He sighed wearily. It’d been a long day, and he could check kill a god off of his bucket list. “Let’s go home.” He was holding his side and would limp back, but he repeated it.

“Let’s go home.”

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therenlover · 4 years ago

Note

heyy jac I first wanted to say you are amazing, thank you for going out of your way to give us tfatws content. it brightens up my day whenever I see you post. I was just listening to your zemo playlist and I’m one of those people who when I listen to a song I love to make scenarios in my head. I was wondering if you could walk us through some of your favourite songs on the playlist and tell us how you associate them with zemo. I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the songs. (if that isn’t too much hassle sorry if I’m being annoying lol).

Anon, you are currently my favorite person in the whole wide world. I absolutely want to give you my favorite songs on the playlist and tell you exactly what I see when I hear them, and you have given me an excuse to do so. This post will probably be long as hell, so I’m putting it under the cut.

Foolish To Think from A Gentleman’s Guide To Love and Murder

We all know Zemo is a baron, but like... we don’t know how powerful baron’s are in Sokovia. We also don’t know pretty much anything about his childhood or rise to power. I am a firm believer that he’s been ever so slightly unhinged even when he was still just a normal dude, so this is him deciding “you know what, I’m about to climb my way up the Zemo family ladder however I need to,” This, in my mind, is the epitome of fresh faced, 18 year old, canon Zemo ready to go fuck some people up for power.

If Music Be The Food Of Love arranged by David Dickau

During his rise to power, still just a normal dude, Zemo falls in love with his wife. I’m a big believer in the fact that, because Zemo was raised as royalty, he knows a whole lot of pretentious shit like Shakespeare and recites it to his partner to be romantic. The line “Though yet, the treat is only sound, sure I must perish by your charms unless you save me in your arms,” is what he used to woo her early in the relationship. So cute, it would be terrible if something bad happened to her...

Bogoroditse Djevo arranged by Arvo Pärt

This one is more of a scene I get in my head. It’s a Christmas tune, and I can see him, his wife, and their infant going to their first Christmas market as a family in Novi Grad. Just... walking from stall to stall, giggling at the performers, eating the food, buying little gifts for the baby to remember the occasion. It’s a calm before the storm.

The Swan by Camille Saint-Saëns

This song, in the playlist, marks the death of Zemo’s family. In the past, dancers have interpretted the melody as a badly injured swan, slowly struggling as they die but still being graceful and elegant as they do. As he searches through the rubble, his hope slowly dies, and in the end his hope dies where his family did. Thus begins his descent into madness in...

Daemon Irrepit Callidus arranged by György Orbán

Daemon Irrepit Callidus is Zemo’s descent into madness. From this point on, he slowly loses his softness. The tone of the songs is often much more modern, pulling away from his roots as a baron and man of high status and leaning into something more gritty for much of the Civil War era in the playlist. He has descended into hell and he believes there is no turning back from here.

Songe d’Automne performed by The White Star Orchestra

Reportedly (by Harold Bride, surviving Jr Telegrapher who was washed off the deck as the ship sank) this was the last song the orchestra played as the Titanic sank. Zemo is going nuts. ‘Nough said.

If I Believed from Twisted

This song, along with a few more, is an outlier in the Civil War era. It represents his reasoning for what he’s doing. I imagine this song is the feeling he has after he listens to his wife’s last voicemail. He’s doing everything for her, burning a whole superhero organization to the ground so that he can assure nobody else has to live through what he did, but he can’t deny that a part of him wishes he could just bring her back no matter how illogical that is.

How Does A Moment Last Forever (Music Box) from Beauty and the Beast

This is, again, a softer moment. He looks back on the time he spent with his family and tries to keep it safe in his mind. It anchors him to reality and keeps him focused on his goals. The end is coming soon in his mind, so he clings as hard as he can to those remaining memories of peace.

Dies Irae arranged by Giuseppe Verdi

He sets the Winter Soldier loose murders all the remaining soldiers in the Hydra base on his day of reckoning. Yeah, that’s basically it, it’s just hype music as he has his big moment.

As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese

His plan has been carried out and now Zemo is simply watching as the world caves in around him. He’s succeeded in all of his plans, the avengers are crumbling, he’s listened to his wife’s voicemail one last time and now he’s ready to be dead. He thinks this is it. Well, until he’s taken into custody and locked up forever.

Leonardo Dreams Of His Flying Machine arranged by Eric Whitacre

My man Eric is coming in clutch once again. This is Zemo, brilliant mind and all, stuck rotting in jail. He has nothing but his dreams of grandeur to tide him over So, he dreams. He dreams of escape, of his family, of what waits for him once he dies. 8 years of dreaming pass before Bucky finally approaches as Lacrimosa plays.

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Fuck you, Mozart. You’re only here because you played in the show. Moving on.

The Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani

You cannot tell me that this isn’t what was playing in Zemo’s head as he escaped from maximum security prison and rolled up to that warehouse looking all hot and mysterious.

Sibella from A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder

Look who’s back! This time, though, I included this because I am adamant that Zemo fucks someone he used to know while he’s escaped and they have a big dramatic love affair. Like, he just does. I don’t make the rules.

WAP by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion

Zemo would just love WAP. He says all that woke shit, so like, he vibes with female empowerment and the idea of them taking back their sexuality. He also loves the annoyed look on Bucky’s face when he plays it, so it stays on the playlist.

The Man I Used To Be from The Count of Monte Cristo

Now, this one is more speculative, but I feel like Zemo will have a minor change of heart. he won't suddenly be a morally straight good guy to the bone, but I think he’s seriously rethinking his ideology and at some point, he might find a way to let go of a lot of the pain and remorse he’s been carrying around.

No More from Into The Woods

This song, in my mind, takes place at the Sokovian memorial. Zemo is there and he’s so tired of running and fighting and grieving. He just wants to be okay again but he doesn’t know how to. He has this mental moment where he’s asking his deceased father for help and yet the memory (ghost?) of his father, who he resented for most of his life, isn’t helping him straightforwardly. He has to figure it out for himself in the end. This line speaks to me most. “No more giants waging wars. Can’t we just pursue our lives, with our children and our wives? Till that happy day arrives, how do you ignore...”

and finally...

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep arranged by Laura Farnell

Of all the songs on this list, this one was the only one I was absolutely certain of including and I knew it had to be the last song no matter what else I included. Its contents, a famous poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye, could refer to either Zemo or his family. In the case that he visits the monument, it could be the feeling he gets there. Finally, he knows that his family is somewhere better, not buried under the rubble of his home. He’s finally free.

If he dies at the end of the series though, it takes on a whole new meaning. It’s about him, how he isn’t trapped by his mortal body anymore. He’s now everywhere, both a constant reminder to the world of the atrocities committed in Sokovia and a testament to how powerful a father’s love for his family can be. Once again, he’s finally free to reunite with those he loves, but this time it’s he who isn’t truly dead so long as people heed his life as a warning.

Wow, this was longer than I thought it would be even when I cut a few songs... I hope you enjoyed!

#jac rambles #playlist #zemo #helmut zemo

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

Text

north//chapter thirteen

genre: angst

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc

warnings: prison arc, blood, implications of being drugged, self harm under implications of being drugged, physical violence, mentions of abuse (lmk if i missed anyting)

word count: 8.2k

summary: spencer’s post-mexico hardships continue on, and get much worse, while amelia has a concerning experience in her own apartment

i hope u all like this chapter! enjoy!! like, comment, and reblog!! reblogging helps so much❤️

SPENCER

The feeling of abandonment is one that I'm far too familiar with. I hadn't expected to be completely abandoned by the FBI and to not have their support in this battle. I know that I have the support of my team and of Amelia, but when the FBI says that they won't support me and help me stay out of jail or prison, it's disheartening. It’s crushing. It leaves me feeling cold as I sit against a cinderblock wall.

Sitting in jail is boring. It is, by far, the most boring thing I've ever done in my life. I sit and stare at the wall all day while I regret my decisions and listen to the detainees around me scream and shout. The team individually comes by the visit but it's only for a short amount of time because they're working so hard. They're working on my case at the same time they're working on other cases that they would normally take and I know that they can't come to entertain me. I fully understand why, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could be home.

But Amelia never comes. I told her not to come. She doesn't need to see me like this. She has seen enough. I'm a completely broken mess, rotting away in a jail cell and I don't need her crying over me or providing more content for her nightmares. I asked Emily to relay this message to her and I was told she cried and didn't speak to anyone for a few hours. She's been staying in a BAU interview room and will only go home for a few hours every few days, and I don't blame her. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn't want to go home. But it breaks my heart to know how much Amelia is hurting without me and that I can't help her. I choose to pretend like she doesn’t exist so I won’t think about her. I pretend like I’m living the way I was before I met her. Alone, work-obsessed, with nobody but myself to confide in. It’s easy to forget her during the day when there’s a stream of sunlight flooding in from the tiny window to my right. But then I lay down at night and reach for her waist, or wait to feel her hand on my cheek, or crane my neck to kiss her, I crash back down to earth and remember that I can’t be with the woman I love because of my idiotic decisions.

Emily manages to get me in touch with an old friend hers who is willing to be my lawyer, a wonderful woman named Fiona. She's blunt and she knows what she's talking about and I appreciate that. And now that I have representation, we can move onto the trial and maybe I can go home. I try to absorb some of Amelia’s optimism and stay hopeful that I’ll be released on bail, but my own nasty pessimism rears its ugly head and pulverizes any sign of hope.

Fiona wants me to plead guilty to a crime I didn't commit. I'll only get two to five years as opposed to twenty-five to life, but how could I plead guilty? My memories may be blurry for the first time ever but I know I would never kill that woman. That medicine she was providing me with helping my mom. Why would I kill her? There was another person in that motel room and if my brain would just cooperate and just confirm that it was Scratch, this could all be over.

If I plead guilty then Fiona says I can be released on bail pending trial. Rossi said he would be willing to post my bail, no matter the cost. I'm grateful for him and his generosity but as I spend my time sitting and staring at the wall and the ceiling and the concrete and the mold, the more I don't want to plead guilty. I want to fight this. I have complete faith in my team and their abilities to find Scratch. We found him once and we'll find him again.

"I'm gonna fight it."

That's what I tell Fiona. Being the supportive lawyer she is, she nods and goes on her way, but she comes back far too soon. She doesn't return with a suit for my trial or a date for my trial or handcuffs so I can be transported to my trial. She comes back with Emily.

"Spencer," Fiona sighs, "the Mexican authorities found the murder weapon in the desert. The theory is that you threw it out the window in the car chase. The previous offer you didn't want is off the table. The new offer is to plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter and get five to ten years."

"Gosh," Emily breathes, hanging her head. "There's nothing you can do?"

"Your DNA is on it and the blade matches the blade that cut your hand," Fiona explains. "Spencer, if you don't take this offer, there will be no more offers. And if you lose your trial, you're going to prison. I need to know what you're going to do."

"I'm-"

"Spencer," Emily cuts me off. "Can we talk privately?"

Fiona nods and collects her things, leaving the room and Emily takes her spot. As soon as the door is closed, I shake my head at Emily. "I can't plead guilty to something I didn't do."

"You could do life in prison," she whispers, and I can see her eyes start to tear up. I ignore them.

"You guys will find Scratch. I know you will." I nod stubbornly, falsely confident.

"Yes, we will. We will never stop looking for him. But what if we can do that this month? Or this year? Or this-" she shutters, "decade? Because we sure as hell can't do it before your trial."

I look down at my hands, observing the bandages over my hand. It stings and burns constantly and I wish it would go away. "How's Amelia? Is she still staying at the BAU?"

"Mostly," Emily responds. "Her friend- Jenna, I think- has come by a bunch to take her home and back. She's stayed at Jenna's a few times but she stays mostly in the interview rooms and in Garcia's room. She's, um, well, she's mad at you, Reid."

I scoff out a laugh, rolling my eyes. "Because I won't let her come here?"

"Exactly," there's no humor in her voice. "She just wants to see you. She wants to see that you're okay and it might help you feel better to see her and talk to her a bit. You can talk out decisions like this with her. She's your girlfriend and you were planning on moving in with her and JJ told us you were supposed to go buy an engagement ring for her. She deserves to be involved in this and not at the BAU, suffering and crying and having panic attacks-"

"She's having panic attacks?" My eyes widen, my back straightening up as the red flags start popping up in my head. Is she okay? Have her attacks been so bad that they have warranted a hospital trip? How is her breathing? Has she gone nonverbal? "Wha- is she-"

"Yeah, she’s had some. She obviously had that one with JJ and Garcia and she had one on Monday and she couldn’t speak for an hour.”

"She usually goes nonverbal," I murmur, bringing my hands to my face and trying to avoid biting my nails out of nervousness. "Okay, okay, don't ever touch her until she can speak again. Keep a really calm and low voice and don't freak out because that makes it worse. Get her head between her knees and keep her sitting and get her water and-"

"Spencer, I know how to help a panic attack. We need to be talking about your trial," Emily protests.

"And after her attacks, she usually needs physical attention and she needs comfort and sometimes-"

"You're gonna go to prison, Reid!" Emily shouts, effectively shutting me up. "It's scary to accept but we have to talk about it! You could go to prison for a very long time if you don't accept this deal! Stop talking about your girlfriend’s panic attacks and talk about the situation at hand."

My face hardens and I drop my hands again, sighing. "I can't plead guilty. I just can't."

It's the answer she should have expected, and I'm sure she knew it was coming. Before I even finished, she was out of her seat and banging on the door for a guard to take her away. And yet again I'm left to myself and my thoughts, playing the blurry images over and over again, trying to make out faces and events and names. But there's nothing and I'm left to wonder if I'm going to die in a prison cell.

///

AMELIA

///

My dress has bunched up around my thighs but I can't find it in me to pull it down, even in a courthouse. My legs are full of goosebumps from the air conditioning and my denim jacket isn't doing much to help. I stare down at my lap, my hands resting there with Spencer's medallion between my fingers. The empty space on my hand between my pointer finger and thumb looks too empty and it makes my heart beat faster. I look from the medallion to my hand and back, and I suddenly want to rush out of this goddamn courthouse.

"Amelia," I hear Penelope's voice coming closer, and when I look up, the whole team is approaching.

"Hi," I smile weakly, standing and finally adjusting the hem of my dress. "You guys made it. How was the case?"

"Did they call Reid's case yet?" Luke asks, ignoring my formality question about the case.

"No, but they're about to," I shake my head, gesturing to an open door a few feet away.

They all start walking that way, but I don't follow. I make the decision to choose the horrible wooden bench over the even worse pew-like benches in the court. I had been so upset about not seeing Spencer, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Now that I'm faced with the idea of seeing him, I don't want to. I don't want to see him in handcuffs again, or sleep-deprived, or being told off by a judge or prosecutor. I know the BAU has virtually no evidence to support Spencer and that the judge isn't going to rule in his favor. I know that, the pessimist in me knows that. I don't need to see that.

"Amelia?" Dave is standing in front of me and I know it's him from his expensive looking shoes. "You're not coming in?"

"No, I don't need to-" I choke on my words, clutching the medallion in my hand, "to see this happen. I don't want to hear it."

"This doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you're not on Spencer's approved visitor’s list?"

"Maybe," It's taken me two years to learn not to lie to a profiler. "I don't know. But I don't want to see him, Dave. Please go. I'll be here."

I don't even need to ask. The look on their faces tells me everything. The way everyone holds themselves when they walk out and the way they glance around tells me what I need to know. Nobody looks up at me and nobody is running to me for a hug. Spencer isn’t at my side.

I chew on my cheeks and choke down my tears as I stand, meeting them in the middle of the hallway when they walk toward me. "So how bad was it?"

Stephen is the first fearless one to speak up. "The judge decided he was a flight risk,"

I furrow my eyebrows. "A flight risk? Seriously? My Spencer?"

Tara nods shamefully. "He didn't use his FBI passport, he didn't inform the bureau, the prosecutor claimed he had connections all over the world and could get a fake passport and go on the run if he was released on bail. The judge agreed."

"So what now? What happens to him?" Penelope moves towards me and grabs onto my hand, enlacing our fingers. If she didn’t do that, I might have fallen to the floor in a puddle of tears.

"He's gonna go back to the federal jail," Luke answers. "His trial is in three months and that'll determine if he goes to prison or not."

"Penelope?" I whisper and she just hums in response. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course. Whatever you need," Penelope nods, giving everyone a soft, slightly concerned smile before I lead her away.

///

"Um, seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Now?"

"Yeah, now."

"You or me?"

"Me. Why, do you want one? I'll draw whatever you want."

"No thanks."

I pull open the door and let Penelope walk in first, even though she seems incredibly hesitant, practically tiptoeing through the threshold. She manages to get me to crack a tiny smile, but that's the most she gets before I just revert to my sadness.

"Zav!" I call, noticing the front desk is empty. Nonetheless, I walk up and grab a post-it and a pen, starting to scribble little drawings.

Zav comes wandering from the back of the tattoo parlor at the sound of my voice, smiling. "Oh, hey there! Been a while since I've seen you. Here for some new ink? It's about time you added to your sleeves."

"Just something really quick," I tell him, picking up the post-it with the sixth design I'd drawn. "Not on my arm. On my hand, right here," I gesture to the empty space between my thumb and pointer finger.

"Sounds easy enough," Zav nods, then smiles at Penelope. "Hi, friend. Do I get the pleasure of inking you today?"

Penelope's eyes widen and she hastily shakes her head. "No, no, I'm just here with-- with-"

"No tattoos for her, just me." I save her from more stuttering and Zav puts his hands up in surrender. He winks at Penelope before sitting me in a chair and starting on the stencil.

“So,” Garcia asks over the buzzing of the tattoo gun, “what does this one mean? You've said that all your tattoos mean something. What's this one? And why is it so important that we do it now, after the trial?"

Careful not to disturb Zav's work, I reach into my pocket and pull out Spencer's medallion. I hold it up and show Penelope the compass, and she nods in a confused understanding. "When Spencer was in recovery, he was always told that north is the right way to go and obviously, going the right way is the road to recovery and being clean. Well, he told me that ever since he met me, he considered me to be his north or his reason to go north. I've been wanting this tattoo for a long time. Just never got around to getting it."

"That's really sweet," Penelope whispers, smiling at me. "How much pain are you in?"

"A lot," I answer through gritted teeth. "This one is right on my bone and those are the worst, but it's small so it's fine. It'll be done soon."

As anticipated, the tattoo is done within another few minutes. A compass rose with north labeled. Simple. But it’s beautiful and it’s the perfect reminder of Spencer while he’s gone. Temporarily gone. He’s going to come home. Soon.

He's going to jail. He's going to be sitting in jail for three months and I won't be able to see him, and then after that, he still might go to prison. No matter how much he reminds himself that I'm his north, and no matter how much time I spend at the BAU, no matter how many of his shirts I wear, no matter how many times I visit Diana and Cassie, it means absolutely nothing. The justice system is horrible and I know they have a job to do but why can't they see that my Spencer is innocent? Sure, he broke some protocol but all he was doing was trying to help his mom. It's not his fault that a serial killer was targeting the team and decided to sabotage his trip. He should be at home on bail and he should be searching for Scratch so his name can be cleared.

"Amelia?" Penelope's voice breaks me out of my trance and I notice that Zav has already walked away, probably to the front desk to ring me up. She rests her hand on my shoulder and gives me that same pitiful smile that everyone keeps giving me. "We're gonna get him out. We know he didn't do this."

"I miss him," I admit shakily, eyes locked on my new ink. "I know that I spend all my time at the BAU but everything reminds me of him. When I go home with Jenna, we pass by the cafe that me and him went to almost every day. Whenever I see someone carrying a revolver on tv or in the building, it makes me think of his gun. God, P, whenever I braid my hair, it makes me think of him. I functioned before I met him but with him, I was living and actually enjoying my life for the first time. But now that he's gone again," I look up at her, my lips quivering, "how am I supposed to live?"

Penelope opens her mouth to answer but then closes it again. She drags me into a hug, tighter than any hug we’ve had before. I let her squeeze the life out of me because it’s the only thing that feels similar to the way Spencer scoops me up and hugs me after being away on a case. "I wish I had a good answer. We're all hurting and we're all trying to get through this. As long as we lean on each other and you leave the crime fighting up to us, we'll get through this."

///

I stir awake, bundled up beneath a scratchy, knitted blanket and my head resting on a flat pillow. A yawn escapes my mouth before I even open my eyes, my body begging me to go back to sleep. I blatantly ignore it though, swinging my legs over the side of the couch and yawning again.

"Good morning, sunshine," Jenna comes wandering into her living room, holding out a cup of tea for me, "sleep well?"

I shake my head, sipping the not-well-made tea. "No,” I keep myself from scrunching up my nose at the odd taste, “I didn’t.”

Jenna gives me a tiny smile as she sits on the couch beside me. "Maybe you should try melatonin. I heard you watching tv at three in the morning." When I don't respond to her really smart and helpful suggestion, she moves on. "How's the tattoo?"

"Itchy," I glance at the covering of my tattoo, then shrug. "It's whatever. I'm used to it. What are you doing today?"

"Well, me and Frankie were gonna go do a shoot today. You should come. You haven't done any shoots in a while. I'm sure Frankie would love your help," Jenna encourages softly.

I shake my head yet again and take the last drink of my tea, then put the mug on the floor. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm gonna go to the BAU today. But I'm gonna shower first. I'll let you know what I'm doing tonight. Thanks for letting me stay here." And without another word, I stand and walk off to the too-bright bathroom.

Going into the BAU used to always be a fun experience. I looked forward to seeing Penelope and lounging around in her lair, and I looked forward to leaving little gifts for Spencer on his desk, and I looked forward to greeting the team when they arrived home from cases. The BAU quickly became like a second home to me when I started dating Spencer and I went there at every chance I could. But now the BAU is a reminder of the situation at hand, and despite the fact that I'm spending so much time here, I wish I didn't have to. The constant reminder is painful. Seeing Spencer’s desk and all of his belongings arranged in the perfect way he needs them to be is maybe the hardest part. Every time I look through the glass doors, my heart breaks a little more.

I've come to learn that seeing the team huddled up and speaking in hushed tones is never a good thing. But it's the first thing I see when the elevator doors open. My eyes are locked on them before I even open the glass doors to the bullpen. Penelope's eyes are wide and she's clinging to Luke's side and everyone is just looking concerned. That's never a good sign. They are federal agents and have seen the worst of the worst. They should be able to have some kind of poker face, no matter the situation.

JJ is the first to notice me, and when she looks up, she almost grimaces. "Amelia."

Okay. They didn't get a case. This is about Spencer. Something happened with Spencer. Did he get beat up in jail? Did they find more evidence? If they found more evidence, then it's surely not in Spencer's favor. What did they find? What are they hesitant to tell me? Why does everyone look like they’ll burst into tears if I say one wrong word? What the hell happened?

I keep a few feet between me and them, clutching the straps of my backpack, my breath caught in my throat. "What's going on?" I ask, my voice quieter than I expected it to be. "Is Spencer okay?"

The team shares glances and Penelope bows her head, and all the horrible thoughts in my head intensify. Emily clears her throat and my eyes dart over to her. "Spencer," she speaks strongly and confidently, "was transferred to prison this morning."

Spencer likes to put a mountain of sugar in his coffee. Spencer can only fall asleep if he’s read at least two books while lying in bed. And, of course, only after he has received what he deems as a sufficient amount of kisses from me. Spencer prefers to take the train to work instead of driving. Spencer likes to hold my hand when we walk the street. Spencer orders swirled soft serve at every ice cream parlor. Spencer wears purple whenever he gets the chance.

Spencer doesn't fight. Spencer isn't violent. Spencer isn't a criminal. Spencer hates shooting his gun and he wouldn’t even walk around with it on his hip until I told him it didn't bother me. Spencer doesn't resort to violence to solve his problems. He’s the one who puts the violent people where they deserve. Those killers and rapists deserve to be in prison. Not the man who thinks it’s bad luck to wear matching socks. Definitely not the man who mumbles my name in his sleep and whines if he reaches over and I’m not sleeping beside him.

My Spencer doesn't belong in prison.

I'm stunned into silence for a moment and it's almost like I'm waiting for someone to tell me this is a joke. Spencer's not in prison with the worst of the worst. That he's not with the people that he has spent his life hunting and putting away. He isn’t locked inside with people who could be sentenced to life in prison, or in a cell people who will kill him just to have a new pair of shoes, or people who have nothing left to lose.

"He's-" I gulp but my saliva tastes sour and it burns my throat, "he's in prison?"

"There was overcrowding in the jail," Tara explains softly. "I know it's not ideal but-"

"He's-" I cut her off, my voice sharp, "he's in prison? He's in prison with the same people that you guys put away and he's-" my hands fall from my backpack and tears start to fall down cheeks, my eyes darting around until they land on Rossi. "He's with people like my-"

"Why don't you come with me?" Dave cuts me off, stepping forward, holding his arm out for me.

As I break down into sobs, he leads me into his office, sitting me down on a couch as he closes the door. I curl up into myself and cry, and cry, and cry for my boyfriend who is suffering immensely for a crime he didn't commit. He's locked inside a cage with horrible people like my father and he can't escape.

"Amelia, we're gonna get him out," Dave pulls up a chair in front of me, letting out a sigh that doesn't do much to convince me. "We're spending every second we can on his case and searching for evidence that will-"

"He's gonna be in a fucking prison," I sneer, lifting my head, revealing my smudging makeup and tear-stained cheeks, "with people like my father!" Dave sighs again, ducking his head. He doesn't say anything and I don't know what to make of that. "He's gonna be with killers and rapists and abusers and men who kill their wife and son and leave their orphaned daughter to be abused in foster homes!"

"Amelia, I don't know if this will help you at all but, just so you know, serial killers are not held in general population. Serial killers have their own specific wings and they don't get mixed up with the other inmates."

I scoff, staring down at my lap, watching as my tears drip onto my clothes. "Inmates. I guess that's all he is now, right? An inmate?"

"No, Amelia, he's not just another inmate," Dave shakes his head and leans forward, trying to offer me comfort by proximity, but it just makes me feel cramped and overwhelmed. "We're going to get him out of there. I promise."

His promise only makes me cry more. I'd do anything to hear Spencer make another promise to me. I'd do anything just to see him again, but Spencer didn't want me in a jail and I can't imagine he'd want me in a prison. I won't be able to see him, or hear him, or feel him until he gets exonerated. That's going to take days, weeks, months. It could take years. Could go years without seeing his smile and feeling his touch and listening to him ramble on and on about whatever random factoid surfaces in his brain.

"You should go back to work," I whisper, wiping my cheeks. "Sitting here and watching me cry doesn't help anyone. I'll go somewhere else and worry by myself."

I stand and adjust my backpack, but the whole world just seems wrong. It seems like it's spinning and it feels like I just don't belong here. It feels like I've slipped into a different dimension that I don't belong in. It feels like I should just be able to take a nap and wake up and Spencer will be right next to me, kissing my neck and telling me he has to go to work. I'm waiting for the day that I can experience that again.

///

SPENCER

///

I never thought I'd be in prison. Maybe that's a dumb statement, but it's true. I thought my closest relation to prison would be sending criminals there, occasionally going in to interview inmates, and seldom breaking up riots and breaks. I never thought I'd be forced into blues and shower shoes and thrown into my own cell. I never thought this would become my life. I never thought I'd be sitting out on the prison yard, surveying my fellow inmates and wondering who I should avoid and who I could trust enough to keep me alive long enough for me to return home.

"Sup?" A group of three men I recognize from previously stroll up to me, their hands tucked in their pockets, and that alone makes me more nervous than their confident aura. I rise to my feet when they approach me, not out of obedience, but just because I don't want them to hold too much power over me in height. "Got any bats?"

I furrow my eyebrows in the slightest. "Bats?" Maybe I should've listened to Amelia when she rattled off her slang. Amelia.

"Cigarettes," the same guy clarifies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, glancing towards his buddy next to him. I fight the urge to jump as the redhead slings his arm over my shoulder, standing uncomfortably close to me. If I wasn't in a prison, I'd rattle off how many germs he passed on to me just by doing that, but I know I'd get beat up for doing so. I keep my mouth shut.

"No, sorry, I don't smoke," it's my honest answer, but I almost instantly regret it. Will they kill me just because I don't have any cigarettes to give them? Is that how it works in here?

"Yeah," that same inmate keeps speaking, "I think I'm gonna quit." But then he narrows his eyes at me and takes a step closer. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," I answer, but I know my unsure sounding voice has completely betrayed me, "I'm o-okay, thanks."

The third man chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. "Does he look okay to you?"

The redhead leans in closer to me and it takes all my self control not to cringe. "Looks like he's gonna cry."

"Or wet his pants," the first man laughs, and the other two join in with their own chuckles. "Hey, we're just messing- out of respect, you know? It's all over the yard that you stole from Milos."

I quickly shake my head, finally gaining the confidence to shake the redhead’s arm off of me. Well, if they said they respect me, I might as well. He doesn't put up a fight when I do so. "But I didn't steal from Milos. That was my stuff."

"No," Redhead interrupts, "that was a tribute. Everyone has to pay when they join the group."

I glance between the three of them and they're all stony-faced, but I'm confused. I don't get it. What are they talking about? It's clear to them, but not to me. "What group?" I dare to ask the question.

The third man scoffs yet again. "You're kidding, right? Take a look around. They outnumber us.”

"So we gotta stick together," Redhead goes on, and it all starts to make sense. A gang. They want me to join their gang. Am I gang material? Is this a compliment? Is this some weird, sick, twisted, prison-style compliment? "In here, we're the minority."

They're serious, and it's obvious. There are no chuckles. There are no side eye glances. My profiler skills aren't going off and telling me that they're lying. They're serious. They want me to join a gang.

What would happen if I accept? Does that make me a target by the majority? Will that make the majority look at me and want to take me out? I have to survive three months, at most, in here and that's it. I have to do whatever I need to stay alive for three months, and that's it. But what if I reject them? Will that make me an even bigger target if I say no? Will they take that rejection lightly? I can't imagine they would. Which is the lesser of the two evils? Do I really want to join a gang during my three month prison stay? Would I want to join a gang at all?

"I'm not interested," I say quickly, and attempt to make a quick exit. "Thanks anyway."

Before I can even leave, they catch me. "No, no, no," the first guy shakes his head, his arm now around my shoulders, his jaw clenched, "that's not the way this is gonna go."

"Hey," the third guy interrupts, "Tony-O is over there and he's waiting for us,"

The first guy pats my chest and, thankfully, lets me go. "Okay, my man, we gotta go. But," the three start to back away with devious smiles that I've seen far too many times on psychopaths, "no worries, we'll catch you tonight."

They'll catch me tonight. That can't be good. My eyes follow them as they approach someone else, but when they start chatting like friends, I look away. But then my eyes land on someone I can't look away from because he looks familiar. I know for a fact I didn't see him in the room of cots, but I know I've seen him before.

Ever since the situation in Mexico, my brain has been a little bit slow to react and recall faces and facts, but suddenly, it comes to me. I squint my eyes as a name flashes in my head. Calvin Shaw. He was an FBI agent who killed a criminal agent who was working for a Russian mob. He turned himself in and he's been here ever since, but I studied his case in school and he's become an example at the bureau of what not to do.

He's here? At this prison? And why is he staring at me like that? Does he know who I am? Do I radiate federal agent energy? Amelia talks about people's energy's all the time. Maybe I should've listened to her. I'm realizing that maybe I should have appreciated her more than I did. If I get out of here, I need to lay down all my love for that girl as soon as possible.

The guards blow their whistles and shout for us to line up so they start the process of corralling us back inside. Some inmates are brought back to their cells while others, like me, are brought to rooms with a bunch of cots lined up.

Time takes forever to pass by in prison. There's nothing to do and there's no type of stimulation. I just sit on my bed and try to tune out the chatter surrounding me. I try my hardest not to let my mind wander off to my friends or my girlfriend or my mother because I'll go crazy if I start worrying about them. They're fine without me, I bet.

I sit on my bed with my knees to my chest and guard the box of things I'd fought to get back from another inmate, making sure they don't get stolen yet again. That decision to reclaim my things almost got me killed once and I don't feel like getting in that situation again.

It's nearly impossible to tell what time it is because there are no windows but eventually, a few guards come by to scream at us to shut up. Wilkins looks around as the room falls silent and then informs us that it’s lights out.

My heart starts to pound when the lights go dark and the guards walk away because, despite the darkness, I see three familiar men rise from their cots and stalk over to me. Like on the yard, I rise to my feet just so they don't get too much power over me. I know that I've made the right decision to do so when one man pulls out a makeshift knife he's clearly made from a bed frame or something he smuggled in. The panic and unfiltered fear settle in. My instincts tell me to run, but there is nowhere to go. I don’t have a gun to defend myself, there is no way to talk these men down like I’ve done to others in the past, there’s nothing I can do. I’m all on my own.

One guy smirks, stepping up to me. "It's party time."

The two other men quickly grab my arms and tie my wrists behind my back, then shove a sock in my mouth to keep me quiet and muffle the sounds of me screaming, just so a guard doesn't come in and interrupt. Is that good? Does that mean they're not planning on killing me? They're just going to beat me up?

They start dragging me off, into the connected bathroom and my screams echo even louder off the wall. I'm doing what I can to get out of the grasps of the men but I've never been physically strong. Maybe I should've taken the fit tests more seriously. Maybe I should've gone training when Morgan asked me to go. Maybe I should've taken my life more seriously.

"So," there's another man with a thick accent standing there already, his arms crossed over his chest, "you're too good to be with us? We offer you friendship and what do you do? Spit in our faces."

The redhead tightens his grip on my arm. "Thinks he can survive in here without our help."

"You," the man with the accent grabs the knife, "you need to show some respect," he brings the knife up to my face and traces the blade across my skin. I'm not sure what they're planning on doing to my face but I know it won't feel good.

"Do it," one guy encourages, smirking.

"Back off," there's another voice now, and the four men holding me stop in their tracks, "now." I turn my head to see who my savior is, and it's none other than Calvin Shaw. "Untie him," he says, and the guys behind me quickly do so, and take the sock out of my mouth. "Now get out of here," he tells me and gestures back into the main room. I hesitate, but Calvin gives me a pointed look. "Go on. Go."

I high tail it out of there, my heart pounding harder than it ever has before. I think it could positively burst out of my chest as I return to my cot. It dawns on me now how many people are in this room, and not a single one of them stepped up to help me. Nobody yelled for a guard or helped me fend off the gang or did anything at all.

So I sit down on my cot and I don't even lay down. I don't dare to go to sleep and I barely even blink. I'm even paranoid that, due to the position of my cot, there are people behind me that I can't see. I'm too freaked out. I'm too scared that those men will come back and kill me for real.

I've faced the scariest men and women in the world. I've witnessed things that I never should have and I've talked myself out of horrible situations. I can't escape this. I can't flash my identification or shoot a few bullets and then go home to Amelia. I can't do that. I have to spend every second of my life with my guard up, watching my back at the same time I'm watching my front and my sides just to make sure no one is coming for me. It's day one and I'm already panicked and I'm already lost. I just want to go home.

///

The next two days are like walking on eggshells. I'm constantly watching my back, front, and sides and I'm making sure to keep everyone in front of me at all times. I can't move my cot without risking a fight so I'm barely sleeping at night. I force myself to stay awake to guard myself and protect myself from any possible attacks.

I get to have a talk with Calvin at a time when the cell blocks are open, and he shows nothing but compassion for me. He believes my innocence, shares the story of his sentence, and gives me a book I've never read before. It feels good to have someone I can trust. I can tell he's powerful in this prison, judging by the way he told those gang guys to stop beating me up and they immediately complied. Sitting in his cell is the only time I allowed myself to relax in the slightest.

But that relaxation is short lived because soon the guards are telling us to get back to where we belong. We get cuffed and shoved along to our cells or wherever else, and I get back to my cot. I sit with my knees to my chest and prop my eyes wide open, despite how utterly exhausted I am. I've barely slept in the three days I've been here and I don't know how much longer I can stand this.

"Reid," my name is called by a guard along with a few other names, and we all quickly rise to our feet. "Grab your things and let’s go."

I quickly grab my little bucket of belongings that I've been guarding with my life and hold it close to my chest as I approach the guards. I'm thankful that they don't cuff us as they take us one by one into different blocks.

Wilkins, of course, is gripping my arm harder than he needs to be as he shoves me along a corridor. I keep my eyes forward and no matter how badly I want to see what prisoners I'm walking past, I don't let my eyes wander. I've already seen a guy beat someone else up on the yard just for looking at him and I'm not wanting that to be my future.

"Hold," Wilkins snaps, and I force my feet to freeze in their spot. Then I feel him shoving me inside with, again, more force than needed. "Now get in there." Once I wiggle my way through, not really fitting with the tray I'm holding, Wilkins shouts for the door to close. He gives me another look before stomping away, leaving me all alone in my new home.

I set my tray down on the little table beside me and immediately notice the book on the bed. It's the one that Calvin had told me about yesterday, and I guess he arranged for it to be in my cell.

"Hey," I suddenly hear Calvin's voice from the cell beside mine, "welcome to the neighborhood!"

///

AMELIA

///

I throw my backpack onto the floor of my apartment, locking the door behind me, groaning in pain with every step I take. I dread when I'll eventually have to walk up to my room, but I plan on avoiding it as long as possible.

I start on my walk to the kitchen for a drink, probably a huge glass of wine, but then I stop in my tracks when there's a small, cold breeze against my legs. I shake it off and drag myself into the kitchen. The window is closed and the plants on the windowsill are half dead. Of course, they are. I haven't been home enough to water them.

I grab a wine glass from a cabinet that's far too high for me, definitely placed there by Spencer, and fill it almost to the brim. I toss the entire drink back in seconds and then pour another drink. Once I have my second glass in my hand, I fill a new glass with water and start to feed my dead plants that are probably past the point of return. Once I've quenched the kitchen plants, I move to the bigger one beside the balcony door.

As I approach it, I roll my eyes. I've located the source of the breeze and it's coming from the cracked open balcony door. I’ve left the door open for two days straight. I shake my head at myself and pour the rest of the water into the plant before closing and clicking the lock on the balcony door.

I barely even realize that my hand starts to shake while I pour the water into the plant. I'm blinded by tears that I don't feel coming and something in my mind tells me that the more wine I drink, the less I'll cry. Drink more wine. Drink more wine. So I gulp down the rest of my wine glass and ignore it as my head starts to get fuzzy.

I throw both glasses into the sink and then grab the cracked open wine bottle, taking a long sip. Drink more wine. Drink more wine.

It smells sweet in the kitchen. Did I light a candle? What in the kitchen smells like bubblegum?

My body is moving around the kitchen and through the living room, but my brain is so fuzzy and everything is so blurry that it doesn’t even feel like I’m moving. I feel like I’m floating with my lids drooping closed, hands moving like they’re being told to. I nearly collapse against the couch, but it feels like I’m pulled back up and pushed back to my feet. Drink more wine. You want to drink more wine.

I grab the bottle and chug down the rest of the contents, my trembling hand dropping it to the ground. I barely even jolt when it shatters at my feet.

The glass, it feels like I have a voice whispering instructions in my ear. Pick up the glass. I fall to my knees and grip a piece of jagged glass in my hand, watching blood come to the surface and stain the clear surface. Tighter. I oblige, watching a drop of blood fall to the floor. A drop stains my jeans. Go to the stairs.

I toss the glass aside and crawl to the stairs, collapsing at the bottom and dropping my head onto a stair. I bring my knees to my chest, my cries fill the apartment as I slump down, my whole body shaking as I sob. I'm not sure how long it takes me to fall asleep on the staircase, but I do, and the alcohol keeps me asleep the whole night, something I haven't been able to do in a while.

///

"Amelia? Hey, are you here? I hope you are, the door's unlocked."

I whine as I'm roused from my sleep, and as I start to move, I'm expected to be comforted by my duvet. But instead, I go sliding down two steps of my staircase, groaning as I hit my hip. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes as I process the intense pounding in my head.

"Are you-" Penelope comes and stands in front of me, freezing when she sees me, "whoa, you look awful."

I let out a humorless laugh, rolling my eyes. "Gee, thanks."

She observes my surroundings- bloody hand, smudged makeup, messy hair, wrinkled clothes, tear-stained cheeks, sleeping on the stairs. It's not hard to tell what's going on, especially for someone who has been hanging around profilers for over a decade. I'm sure everyone on the team can see that I'm spiraling, and it's obvious to Penelope too.

"How'd you get in?" I ask, shakily pushing myself to my feet and grabbing onto the railing to steady myself.

"Well, I knocked and you didn't answer but the door was unlocked. I came to check up on you because I know you were really upset yesterday. I, well,” she pauses, wringing her hands together, “I'm not really sure what I say but I'm really sorry if I-"

"No," I cut her off, shaking my head, hugging the railing and trying to hide my bloody hand from her view. She looks utterly heartbroken, but I'm not sure what the cause is. If it's because of Spencer or because I lost my cool at the BAU, I'm not sure. "I should be the one apologizing. It was my fault. I overreacted. Um," my eyes wander down to the ground and I ignore the few pieces of random broken glass that have trailed towards the stairs, "I was just kinda upset. Then when Dave was talking to me, he promised that you guys would get him out of prison. Promising was kind of mine and Spencer's thing. Him saying that just made it so much worse."

"O-Oh," Penelope's eyebrows pop up, "I had no idea."

I nod and fall back onto the stairs. "When we first met and he told me he didn't shake hands, I went home and I just thought about how we could do something similar to shaking hands but not actually shaking hands. One of the options I presented to him the next time we saw each other was pinky promising. He liked it and it just stuck. Promising just became our thing." Penelope stares at me, her lips turned downward and her hands laced in front of her, head bowed. “Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Yeah, of course,” Penelope just slightly perks up now, lifting her head and giving me an attempt at a smile. “If you need anything, let me know. And make sure to double check that your door is locked.”

“I will, thanks,” I turn on my heel and start stumbling up the stairs, clinging to the railing for support. My brain is pounding against my skull and I can’t keep a thought in my head for more than a second. My hand is throbbing.

“Hey,” Penelope pauses at the door, looking up at me, “did you light a candle?” I shake my head. “Hmm. It smells like bubblegum in here.”

TAGLIST

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stefciastark · 4 years ago

Text

Captured ~Webpril Day 17

A/N: Sorry for the late update and a shorter chapter! Last night was a long long night with assessment, and this upcoming week will be interesting. This one I found super difficult to write but I enjoyed the challenge. One day I'd love to expand on a storyline like this :) This is a combined prompt fill for Charlotte_Stars on AO3 who wanted to see Peter getting saved by Tony from the Raft. Hope you guys enjoy xx

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

“You might want to hurry up, Tony, I’ve got two - no three bogeys coming in on the radar.”

“Hold tight, Happy, I gotta get the kid out.”

All Tony heard over the radio was a sigh and then the firing of jet engines as Happy began to manoeuvre the aircraft away from the immediate radar range of the Raft, and to likely deal with whatever threat was going to burst through the cloudline.

He had never been more furious yet more afraid for Peter. The level of sheer stupidity to act out of bounds in strict violation of the Sokovia Accords had landed him in superhero prison, all in the name of doing some ‘underground information gathering’. It was out of character for Peter, and once he had the kid back safe, they were going to have a tête-à-tête about what the hell had been going through his head. Tony was even more furious, however, at the prison’s lack of leniency, especially considering Peter was fifteen years old. The Raft was keeping a minor prisoner, and Tony wasn’t of a mind to tolerate that level of bullshit.

The rain pattered harshly over the suit, and he was glad when F.R.I.D.A.Y’s systems filtered out the white noise. The only sounds he needed to hear were voices and footsteps.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, get me inside.” The large circular landing platform at the centre of the facility’s exterior had not opened to greet him. He hadn’t really expected it to.

“On it, Boss.”

Ironically, breaking into the Raft would most likely land him in the Raft if he wasn’t careful. Then again, ‘careful’ wasn’t really on the cards for Tony.

The landing pad unfurled in response to F.R.I.D.A.Y’s disarmament of the frontline security systems, its large metal jaws opening to reveal about two-hundred metres of darkness that would eventually culminate in a high-security, architecturally hideous - yet somewhat effective - prison.

If they didn’t know he was here before - but with Happy circling around the prison, that scenario was unlikely - they did now.

Standing at the edge of the abyss, Tony did not hesitate in the slightest before diving in, slowing his descent moments before his landing with a few well-timed micro-blasts of the repulsors.

Eyes locked on the first of many security doors, he began Phase 2 of the rescue operation.

------------------------------------------

Peter traced circles mindlessly on the white sheets, the mattress feeling like stone beneath him. He may as well be sitting on the floor. The fabric of the blue uniform was stiff and sharp against his skin, the facility obviously needing to be introduced to the concept of fabric softener. The shade of blue was his marking as a prisoner. His marking as an ‘incarcerated enhanced individual’. He missed the days when he was just an ‘enhanced individual’.

A metal tray laden with an ambiguous mystery concoction of ‘food’ lay untouched in the opposite corner of the small room. The only thing Peter had taken from the tray was the small plastic cup of water, which did nothing to quench the burning in his throat. When he got out of here he was absolutely going to leave a bad review. ‘Room service and hospitality leaving something to be desired.”

Although it had only been a matter of days since his imprisonment - a reality he had yet to come to terms with - it had felt like at least a month. The once a day serving of whatever nutrient-poor food they did provide tasted like cardboard and mothballs, a flavour Peter didn’t particularly want to re-experience, and he wasn’t sure in the first place how a flavour like that even happened.

One guard stood on the opposite end of the circular room by the heavy security door, gun in hand. Peter, being the only one held in the facility, didn’t exactly need half of the Raft’s personnel to supervise him.

The guard frowned in response to a voice that crackled over the radio. Readjusting his one-handed grip on his weapon, he placed his finger on his earpiece. Peter heard his uneasy reply. “There’s been a breach in Section 2A? Copy that, I’ll-”

Peter heard the static cut in over the guard’s communications, the bearer of the news having suddenly lost connection with the radios.

“Hello? H-hello?” No response from the other side.

He could faintly hear the sounds of gunfire and the clangs of metal coming from...fairly nearby? Peter could only guess, seeing as the reinforced walls and specially made superhero-proof architecture of the place made it almost impossible for him to tell. Standing up from his prison cot, he approached the bars of his cell.

His heart pumped faster, fingers trembling with the adrenaline already flowing through his veins. He had no web shooters, no suit. He felt profoundly useless. It was only a matter of time before whatever threat was coming through those doors found Peter, and he had no way to defend himself.

The guard was now trying in vain to leave the room; swiping his access card, scanning his fingerprints, or entering his pin number did nothing to release the latch on the door. Whoever was coming in was smart; keep the guards separated, and assume almost complete control of the computer systems. The technological infrastructure was theirs to manipulate.

With a pitiful whimper, the guard jumped back from the door as three gunshots went off before being followed by a loud bang.

The door slid open.

Before the guard could raise his gun with quivering hands, a blur of red and gold grabbed the firearm’s muzzle and bent it upwards, rendering it completely useless. Tearing the weapon away from his hands, Peter’s rescuer introduced the butt of the soft machine gun to the side of the man’s head. Falling unconscious - but still alive - to the ground, all went silent.

“Back away kid, it’s going to get hot in here.” Tony had made his way over to Peter’s cell, and what looked like highly concentrated flames of a welding torch emerged from his palm.

Scrambling back from the barred door, he shielded his eyes away from the sparks that flew from the metal before becoming a molten lump on the ground. Peter thought it was kind of ironic how a prison cell meant to keep people with special abilities in wasn’t in the slightest fireproof. He thought wryly that that would probably be a top-priority upgrade to the facility after today.

There was now a gap in the bars wide enough for Peter to walk through without bending over or contorting his body in any way. He was free.

Leaving the room behind without a single glance back, he wrapped his arms around Tony’s suit, the cold metal feeling warmer than anything else he’d felt in days. Tony’s armour-clad hand rested gently on the back of his head, a comforting weight that grounded him in reality.

“You came for me.” Peter stated, not really certain why he felt surprised.

“What did you think I was going to do, let you rot in jail?” The helmet had receded, worry lines prominent on Tony’s brow. This kid was going to be the end of him.

The comfortable silence was broken by Happy’s agitated voice breaking over Tony’s comms. “If you guys could leave the sweet reunion for later, we need to go. Now.”

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oh-theres-a-woman · 5 years ago

Text

War Melodies on the Gramophone

A/N: Once more, the attention on my stories are greatly appreciated and bring fullness to my heart. Today, I give you another story. Maybe one more tonight if I’m feeling inspired enough. This one is set before the time of season one, in the beginning, then finishes at the start of season two. Please feel free to share, comment or request something else. Much love! xxx

Taglist: @zodiyack , @itsfrancisneptun , @shelbys-we-get-the-job-done & @fandom-fucking-shit

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby X Female Reader

Word Count: 1733

Edit: PART 2 is available now! Enjoy everyone. Thank you for all the love! It really means the world and so much more.

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You were a combat nurse on the Western Front, through the muddy earth that was mixed so heavily with blood. Time was spent patching up the boy’s and broken men to be blown back to hell once more. Shooing them away to meet the bullets and fire of the enemy. Ones that were too far gone were buried or sent home to your mother England.

How you longed to see the homeland once more, to be away from the thick smell of death, blood, rot and mud. To sleep a full night without being awoken by the shaking earth. When shells hit. Cries and wailing men who longed to be home like yourself. If one ever thought that war brought glory again, you’d daringly and happily throw them in the cot to drown. This war had already reaped too much to bestow glory and make one enjoy the angst and grief felt.

You stood outside on one of your rare breaks, lighting a cigarette. Prescribed by yourself for the clear nerves and torment that was suffered here. It was at that point you didn’t quite know what the white apron looked like anymore. So stained with blood and no matter how much you tried to wash it. Forever the bloody thing seemed stained an awful shade between red and pink. Hands quaked as you held your stick, inhaling taking in a momentary taste of nicotine instead of the dense air. Flicking ash off onto the sodding earth, where your eyes wandered out to the men that were working away carrying wounded up to the field hospital.

“How bad are they today, boys?” You asked on approach, tucking the fast-burning cigarette with no filter between sore chapped lips. Wisps of your hair bellowed around your face in the cool winds. Whipping the scent of strong sulphur into your nostrils. Making them burn more than they did with the smoke.

“Pretty bad, [y/n].” Said one of the lads guiding men into tents to be seen. What was one to expect? That they had been less torn than others? It seemed no longer hope to see men in one piece. Accustomed to the horrors of the lame, limbless and insane. Every day was another picture printed in your memory saying otherwise.

Snubbing out the cigarette out with the heel of your boot. You watched as the embers tried to dart outward but were suffocated by the mud. That mud suffocated everything, even yourself…

Stepping back into the tent, your eyes wandered to the bodies laid out on beds. Nurses and doctors hurrying around making this expendable. Every effort to save a life meant something. Thrown back into the line of rapid work. You didn’t even notice how the tent dulled the sound of everything going on outside.

You were stationed in the bed of another English man. Working on the shot wound in his chest. Removing the piece of metal from him with excellent care. Honestly, it was a wonder what your little hands could do when they stopped shaking and got to work. He was a tunneler by the way he was dressed and how dirt, not mud, clung to his body. “What’s your name, soldier?” You asked in a country accent telling the man you hailed near his birthplace of Birmingham.

“Thomas, Thomas Shelby.” He commented in a weak voice, it was dry and rough. Like a voice after having a few too many cigarettes or held up in a state of grief. You knew there was certainly enough of them both here. “What’s yours?” He asked as you began to clean the wound that had been inflicted on the flesh of the man’s physical body. Moments in these, people would normally say a prayer muttering that his spiritual form won’t be maimed and infection wouldn’t take root and rot his soul. However, spiritually be damned in your eyes.

It had caused too much pain and hurt to believe in a place like this. Surely the man below you didn’t believe either. It was too hard to believe in them all. All of you were going to meet a grim end or be taken prisoner, that’s what you thought. A lot of little boys playing soldier and big boy heroes were going to be left broken and shaken. A scar on the generation and age of which you come from. Likewise. You’d go home broken if you did at all.

Lulled back into the context of the conversation, but the man’s dry smoker’s cough. You looked into his crystal blue eyes and then spoke. “Miss [y/n], a pleasure to meet you, Mister Shelby.” You did speak honestly, it was always nice to meet the soldiers, just a pity in what manner of meeting them. The pains they must suffer to be bought into the off-white field hospital tent. Carefully, slipping a tablet under the man’s tongue. “That’s for the pain, we’ll have you patched up in a jiffy, I promise.” You told him calmly. He only weakly gave a nod then grunted in pain.

Delicate fingers and tools finally released the bullet, tossing it onto a tray. Then working quickly on the mend. Cleaning thoroughly, and stitching the wound. Pressing the area to stop the final bleed. You left him to rest for a time before they sent the officer away in need to the bed again. No one seemed to have the luxury of resting too long in a war. Instead, you made your mind up to watch over the man and make sure that the wound was healing.

Often climbing down the deep pits of the tunnels, you met with a lot of the men down there. Checking on their wounds and health. Doing the assessment in rare sparing time. It made a bond grow between you and the Birmingham man known as Tommy or Tom by friends. He gave you a pet name too. It was sweet and made you feel somewhat more alive in the fuss and pain. Seeing the tunnelers began to be something you itched for every day. A breakaway from the noise-cancelling tent or the sulphur thick air above ground. To be hidden down in the humid tunnels underground. Talking with men, making sure all was well.

At war’s end, you stood with many young women and men. Watching as the last of the bullets were fired. Shells rattling the earth. It happened to be some time since you’d seen the likes of Thomas Shelby. All the tunneler boys in truth. Shelby left a soft place in the final piece of softness in your heart though. He held the merit and dreams of most men that had been fighting in the beginning. However, France had killed the boy within him with made your soul mourn for the boy-child spirit that would be left in the bloody mud of the Western Front.

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Goodbyes of that day still remain even over a year on from war’s end. Some paranoid people believe another war is to come from this one. Of course, you hope not. Yet, the state of the tied up affairs in the war wasn’t neat and tidy. Germany did suffer harsher conditions than most. Mostly due to the prejudice caused by the cousin nation, losses made people angry and craving blood. The blood you still spent long wholes mopping up and cleaning as a stationed nurse in a London hospital.

Preparing however for the new transfer to Small Heath, Birmingham a place that you’d long forgotten. But not that man that still weighed heavy on your heart. Come Saturday evening, the train into Birmingham wasn’t packed, nor quiet. It had been situated that there would be a small townhouse that you’d be staying at with other registered nurses in the area. The unmarried ones, at least. Holding your bags you walked to the address, shown to a room by one of the lovely ladies you were living with. All present had proposed a night at the Garrison for drinks in celebration of your arrival.

The jolly frolic in the evening didn’t seem at all a bad idea. More so, refreshing. You hadn’t taken many chances to enjoy yourself anymore after the war. So, this would be an ample opportunity. So, all dolled up and pampered. You strolled down the streets with the ladies gushing and giggling with the Small Heath gossips. Many fans of the bad boys in town, the Peaky Blinders.

You didn’t remember why this name meant anything. Shaking away the thought, in the time of being merry and joyous. Listening to tales and laughs from the girls. Sipping on your drink, the air alive with cheerful drunkards or the occasional fight that had the girls and yourself pushed up against the bar to get out of the crossfire. Unknown to you who was watching from the private booth door. Struck dead like he’d seen a ghost after all this time. A time when the war left a feeling of wanting to forget in his soul.

Thomas Shelby swallowed the bile rising in his throat, stepping out of the salvation and privacy of his private booth. With one goal at that moment. To come to you. At wars end, he came searching for you. But never had a name to go off. He remembered the little pet-name he gave you. Nothing else. Well, he remembered your beauty but not your full name.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in dusty ol’ Birmingham, aye?” He asked with a cock of his brow, a rise in his voice. Holding a sure hope. A wilder smile tugged on your cheek. Truer than anything expressed for the entirety of the whole night. Stepping forward daring you touched him, then followed with a sincere searing kiss. That shocked most of you company, patrons and Tommy’s family in the private booth.

“Off to pick up a man I left down in a dark hole,” you said smoothly. Voice sweeter than the drink on your lips. The smell of tobacco, lilac perfume and drink clung to you. Tommy looked smart and handsome. Just as you pictured him if you saw him again one day. In the following moments, no one spoke when the pair left the bar, once more in the cool of the night. Walking hand in hand. No desired destination. Just anywhere away from people. Just you and Thomas focking Shelby.

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