#I’ll need more than untill next tuesday to recover from that

[voilaammayi]

the gloria scott has just properly and unapologetically annihilated me, I’ll be posting about it like my life depends on it as soon as I gather myself after whatever in hell was this

[sergeantsporks]

Dadrius Week 2024 Day 3: Secrets

Darius had made pancakes for breakfast.

This immediately set off every warning bell in Hunter’s mind, cutting through the lingering fog of sleep. Pancakes were for special occasions. Pancakes were for first and last days of school and flyer derby match days. Pancakes were for holidays and birthdays.

Pancakes were not for ordinary Tuesdays. Ordinary Tuesdays were days when Hunter poured himself a bowl of Kraken Krisps, or, if he was feeling special, made toast.

Don’t jump to conclusions, he told himself. They were probably just either a ‘thank you for saving me’ breakfast or a ‘sorry I tore open your arm’ breakfast. They probably meant nothing. Still, Hunter squinted accusingly at Darius.

"What’s wrong?” he demanded. His throat still hurt from getting half strangled yesterday, and his voice came out raspy, but at least talking was possible.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong?”

“Pancakes.” Hunter squinted at Darius. He still had on his silk sleeping cap, too—it was too late in the day for this. Hunter could recall on one hand the number of times he’d seen Darius emerge from his room not fully prepped and ready for the day. “And why are you still wearing your bonnet?”

“Hm?” Darius reached up casually—too casually, like he was pretending he’d quite forgotten it was there—to touch the cap. “Oh, I suppose I just wasn’t quite up for getting ready. Strange day yesterday and all.”

“Why pancakes?”

“Goodness, can’t I do something nice? I did maul you yesterday.”

He said it flippantly enough, but Hunter noted the way his eyes didn’t quite hold that same carefree attitude, instead flickering with guilt.

“Hm.”

Maybe it was just an apology breakfast. He could at least eat it before he grilled Darius any further. He took it slow. Darius had cooked these perfectly—Hunter could cut through them even without a knife. Which was good, since he couldn’t exactly hold a fork and knife at the same time right now.

Darius leaned back in his seat. “So, Hunter.”

There it was. He’d known it.

“Yesterday was…”

“A lot,” Hunter supplied. Why wouldn’t Darius look him in the eye?

“Yes, a lot.” Darius took a deep breath. “And I was thinking, that while you recover… here might not be the best place for you to stay.”

“What?” Hunter shook his head, ignoring the twinge of pain from his neck. “Is this because I skipped school? I’m sorry, I thought I’d be back in ti—”

“No. Hunter, this isn’t your fault. It isn’t because of anything you’ve done. I just think, for your recovery, it would be better if you stayed with Edalyn and Luz.”

“Wha—but—” Hunter sputtered, searching frantically for any reason to stop him. “You think it would be better for my recovery to stay with Hooty? That’ll be—it’ll be ten times more distressing. Obviously, I’ll need peace and quiet to heal, which won’t happen if I’m—”

“This isn’t up for debate. Luz is coming to get you at the end of her school day. You will go with her and stay at the owl house at least until your next healer’s appointment. Then we will reevaluate.”

“You mean you’ll reevaluate,” Hunter grumbled, “What happened to letting me make my own choices?”

Darius’ nostrils flared, but his body remained perfectly still and calm. “This one isn’t your choice to begin with. It’s mine. I think it will be better for you if you are not around me right now, and since I don’t want to leave you on your own, you must go to Eda’s. See, this is good, because otherwise, I’d go check into a hotel to keep away from you, and you’d be left all alone.”

“Better for me if—Darius, I’m not scared of you after yesterday! I know better than anyone else what possession can make you do—I know it wasn’t your fault.” Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true—an uneasy anxiety settled around Hunter if he didn’t keep his mind busy, especially when he looked at Darius. But he knew how he wanted to feel, never mind the lingering paranoia. “You don’t have to trade me off for some kind of—of peace of mind you think I’ll have!”

“Well, perhaps it is for my peace of mind.” Darius stood up, taking his plate to the sink. “I’m not discussing this anymore. I have an appointment—I’ll be back before Luz gets here. Please. Be ready to go.”

Darius stalked upstairs, leaving Hunter with a sour taste in his mouth. Why wouldn’t Darius listen to him? It was like he didn’t trust him to make good decisions, like he didn’t think Hunter was capable, like… like…

Like how he’d treated Hunter in the coven.

Well, not completely. Hunter could say that much—now, Darius brushing him aside ran with an undercurrent of caring, of concern for Hunter’s well-being. But still.

Darius had treated him like that, in part, because he’d been hiding his rebellion. He’d pushed away anyone who might be a threat to his cause, anyone who might discover his dangerous secret. He’d made himself unlikable, a distant, haughty, self-absorbed figure who couldn’t be relied on. Why was he doing that now? What secret was he protecting this time?

Xxx

Darius took a deep breath, pulling his sleeping bonnet off.

His hair still wouldn’t take its abomination shape.

In fact, every attempt to use magic had run him into a frightening wall—it was the same wall he’d felt when he’d first gotten his coven sigil. He could feel the magic blocked off, locked away behind a gate he couldn’t break. But now, now it was blocking off his abomination magic instead of the other eight.

Darius tossed the sleeping cap to the dresser, pulling his locs back into a ponytail. The bonnet had aroused suspicion, he knew that, but his hair would have drawn more. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was hiding his current lack of magic from Hunter, but it felt important. Some sense in the back of his mind told him that if Hunter found out, it would mean danger. For him or for Hunter, he couldn’t say, but it was definitely linked to that gem and to that little voice in his head that had told him to kill Hunter.

Still, Darius was starting to become keenly aware of just how much he used his magic. He couldn’t transform his hair, and he didn’t want Hunter to see. He couldn’t simply warp out of the house, and he couldn’t send an abomination soldier to check when Hunter was out of the kitchen.

Fine. He knew other ways he could disguise himself.

He tugged his old cloak out of the closet, a pang of nostalgia sweeping him off his feet. Sometimes he missed skulking around, having a secret identity, being part of a secret organization. If it weren’t for the looming pressure of the world-ending threat, it would have been… fun.

Hiding this from Hunter, though, going behind his back even when he’d promised to let Hunter make his own choices… the secret double life was less fun this time go round. Regardless, he swung the cloak around his shoulders, pulled the hood up to hide his hair, and escaped out the back door while Hunter opened and closed drawers in his room with a little more force than Darius thought was strictly necessary.

Steve waited for him around the corner with his motorcycle. He raised one eyebrow at Darius’ cloak. “Very inconspicuous.”

“Did you turn anything up?”

Steve shook his head. “Not much evidence, I’m afraid. Even Eber didn’t turn up a trail.”

“No familiar scents?”

“No Collector scent, if that’s what you’re asking.” Steve scratched his head. “I think he said… there was an unfamiliar scent, and he followed it as long as he could. But then it… disappeared?”

“Must have teleported. Unless Eber is emotionally close to the subject of teleportation—such as when I use my warp—he can’t tell where they’ve gone.” Darius scratched absently at his chest where the gem had been embedded. “Well—I’ve found some clue, unfortunately. My magic still hasn’t come back—any chance you’d be up for a bike ride?”

Steve drove much more slowly this time—of course he did, there wasn’t a life-ending threat this time. But still, Darius wished he drove a bit faster. He thought morosely that his abomination teleport would have them there already.

“How’s Hunter? He okay?”

“He’s recovering,” Darius replied stiffly, “I don’t believe he’s particularly pleased with me at the moment.”

“Because of the slicing? Man, that’s rough. It’s not like that was your f—”

“No. Not the injury.” Darius looked away, discouraging any other questions.

Steve pulled the motorcycle to a halt at the old Latissa police station. “Weird place for a visit.”

Darius rubbed his face. He already didn’t want to be here. “For better or for worse, we do have experts on missing magic now. It might not be the same as the issues they’re looking to solve, but…”

“They might be able to narrow the field,” Steve finished, “Any reason in particular why you’re looking at the building like you think you can set it on fire with your mind?”

Darius carefully schooled his face into a calm mask. “It’s fine.”

He pushed the door open, and had the immediate misfortune of bumping into Alador on his way out.

“No, we haven’t made much progress, yes, I will tell you when we do, we are working on it. And we need peace and quiet to do so.”

Darius rolled his eyes. “I’m not here for that. I’m here for… this.”

He pulled off his hood, his hair tumbling down over his shoulders. It had been ages since he’d gotten a haircut—he’d relied on his magic to keep his hair cared for and styled for so long, there hadn’t really been a need.

Alador stared blankly at him. “You’ve got your natural hair,” he said flatly, “What, did you want my opinion on the look? It’s better than the pile of goop you usually call ‘style’ if you really want to kno—”

Darius’ cheeks flushed, and he yanked the hood back up. “It’s not on purpose,” he hissed, “Something’s wrong with my magic.”

Alador straightened up. “Viney?” he called.

A young girl poked her head out of another room, spotted Darius, and almost immediately started glaring at him. “What’s he doing here?”

Oh. Yes, Darius recognized her. She was one of Hunter’s teammates. One of Hunter’s teammates who’d crashed his blimp.

He could have sworn he’d explained himself. Maybe that had just been to Willow and Gus. Or maybe, he realized, noting the Penstagram scroll in her hand, Hunter had reached out to his friends about how Darius was dumping him onto Eda. He wished he could tell her that it had been for the best—that he wanted to keep Hunter safe from Darius himself—but she’d likely just relay all of that immediately to Hunter, who would immediately try to get involved.

Well, wait a minute. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asked. Sure, he’d let Hunter have the day off, with the injury and all, but that didn’t explain why Viney was here.

It was definitely the wrong thing to say, though, because her frown only deepened. “I’m here as an elective,” she told him matter-of-factly, “It’s my healing class clinical. Jerbo and I are writing a thesis. Once again, what are you doing here?”

“He came here for help,” Alador told her, a small, smug smile twitching onto his face. Darius bristled at the sight of it, but pushed back the part of himself that wanted to launch immediately into an argument. That wouldn’t be helpful here.

“My magic isn’t working properly—isn’t working at all, in fact. I know it has something to do with some sort of hex cast on me yesterday, but I was hoping you could tell me more.”

Viney nodded slowly, twisting her earring around in her ear. “We-ell,” she drawled, “if it doesn’t have to do with sigil magic, I’m not sure how much we can help you. For instance, if it shares more similarities with the owl beast curse, we’re not going to be much use. I can try, though.”

She whistled sharply, and a griffin bounded to her side. Viney took a deep breath, and drew a circle, a blue circle with a wire of orange twisting around it—healing and beast magic mixed together, Darius realized. Viney’s eyes glowed, and so did the griffin’s—the two moved eerily in sync, pacing a circle around Darius. Viney made a couple of cawing, growling sounds like a griffin, and Darius could have sworn, inexplicably, that he heard Viney’s voice mumble from the beak of the griffin.

The glowing faded, and Viney sniffed, blinking hard. “Griffin senses can often pick up on magic trails witches can’t,” she explained, “Puddles is a great help.” She clapped her hands. “So! There’s good news, and there’s bad news. The good news is, I know exactly what’s causing the magic blockage!”

“That is good,” Darius agreed, “What’s the bad news?”

“It’s your sigil. It’s active, like on the day of unity.”

Darius’ hand went immediately to the mark on his arm. It looked… normal. The same way it always did, no golden veins sprouting up his arm. “No it’s not. It’s not glowing, and I haven’t keeled over yet.”

“Multiple spells layered on top of each other,” Alador offered, “One to drain the magic, another one to mask the effect.”

“It’s not as strong as the day of unity spell,” Viney explained, “It’s definitely the same magic, but I don’t think the intent is to kill you—only to siphon off your magic at a sustainable rate. You know, the kind of energy you’d use on a day-to-day basis, but not your actual lifeforce. There’s actually three spells squished together, but I’m not quite sure what the last one is.”

“Mind control,” Darius growled, “That part’s been broken, thankfully.”

Hopefully.

“Mmm.” Viney eyed him skeptically. “Well—there’s still traces of it. Like I said, I detected three different spells. Be careful.”

“So.” Alador tapped his chin. “Three spells—alright, so, they mind control you. Get you to do…”

“We don’t know. They didn’t get that far.”

I highly doubt they mind controlled me just to take out Hunter, given that he wasn’t even supposed to be there.

“Fine. They try and fail to mind control you, but there’s a failsafe built in, a spell that keeps going after the mind control is broken.”

“If they can’t use my magic, no one can,” Darius realized, “Oh, that’s devious, isn’t it? Makes perfect sense. If they can’t have me as a puppet, they certainly don’t want me as an enemy.”

“Hm. Well, like I told you, we haven’t figured out a way to reverse the sigil magic yet. Short of finding the person who did this, or waiting for the Collector to come back and see if they can reverse it, there’s not much you can do. Without the source…”

“I’ve got the source.”

Darius jumped. He’d forgotten Steve was even here. But the ex scout pulled a small pouch out of his pocket. “What did you…?”

“The pieces of the crystal. The source. I gathered up what I could—gloves on of course.”

Alador snatched the pouch from Steve’s hand. “We can get somewhere with this.” He glanced up at Darius. “Can’t promise it’ll be our top priority, but we’ll certainly give it a look.”

Darius acknowledged the statement with a cool nod, but turned towards Viney as a thought struck him. “Don’t tell Hunter I was here?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to worry him. And I don’t want him getting involved and trying to investigate on his own.”

“Mmm. Fair enough.” Viney crinkled her nose at him. “He’ll figure it out, though. I mean, with your hair the way it is, and the fact that Steve’s driving you places…”

That much was true. Unless… Darius sighed. “Alador, I have one last favor to ask you.”

“You are full of them today, aren’t you?”

“Nothing big, just a quick ask. You don’t happen to still have any of Odalia’s old concealment stones, do you?”

When Steve finally dropped Darius off—again around the corner from his house—Darius’ hair floated once again over his head. Or, at least, it looked that way. Darius checked once again to make sure the concealment stone was tucked out of sight, and finally went back home.

To his relief, Hunter’s duffel bag was full, and Darius noted an open drawer.

Much less assuringly, Hunter sat on the floor, leaning against his dresser with his eyes closed. His skin was paler than it had been this morning—shouldn’t the opposite be true? He should have cooked something else for breakfast, something with more protein and iron in it.

“Hunter?”

“Mm.” Hunter opened his eyes, although they still drooped considerably. “Oh—hi.”

“Are you alright?”

“Just… tired.” Hunter rubbed his eyes with his good hand. “I guess I just overdid it a little bit when I was packing. How was your… appointment?”

Even in his exhausted state, Hunter’s eyes darted across Darius’ face with an alert calculation that made Darius pause before answering.

“Fine,” he said finally.

Hunter’s eyes flicked up to his hair, to the old cloak he wore, and a small frown pulled at his mouth.

“You’re all packed?” Darius asked briskly, moving the conversation away, “You remembered your toothbrush?”

Hunter gave him a distracted thumbs up. “Your appointment, did it have to do with—”

“Steve is close to apprehending the culprit.” The lie slid off Darius’ tongue so easily it startled him. He should find lying to Hunter harder than this, shouldn’t he? But maybe old habits died hard, and, of course, this was to protect him. He had to keep his issues a secret, to protect Hunter from them. “That’s what the meeting was about. Steve’s been working hard to find out what happened yesterday, and he was giving me an update. He’s close. The situation is almost completely handled.”

Hunter eyed him skeptically. “…Right.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You seem…”

“It’s just the blood loss. I’m fine.” Hunter got to his feet, leaning on the dresser for balance. “Whoa—dizzy.” He took a deep breath. “I still don’t like that you’re sending me away.”

“I don’t like it either. Believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Hunter said lightly, but Darius could hear the sentiment behind his words clear as day.

I believe you about that. But I know you’re hiding something.

Darius shook himself. “Let me get your bag. Luz will be here soon.”

Hunter would go away, and would be safe from this mystery. Darius would resolve the issue on his own, perhaps with some help from Steve, Alador, and Viney. And then Hunter would come back. Maybe after it was all over, Darius would tell him the whole story.

But for now, it had to stay secret.

[bvannn]

Weekly Update December 22, 2023

Still recovering from the semester, going very slowly. I’m trying to do stuff but mood and body are being volatile. Probably dread and anxiety leading up to the surgery next Tuesday, but I have been updated that most likely I will actually be able to leave on the same day after all because they moved it to 7:30 in the fucking morning. Convenient I guess but also going to be messed up that whole week probably.

I did a good few drawings yesterday. If I’m feeling up tonight I might do more. I’m trying to do more of the soft shading in addition to the hard shading, so the hard shading isn’t as harsh looking. Did it in my new pfp and it looks really good on the ghosts in particular. Has had more mixed results on the others but that’s probably due to my color choices.

Going to try fiddling with comic thumbnails as well, hoping it’ll be a larger project for next year. I’ve been drawing the characters for my secondary story a little more than I probably should so I’m going to hope inspiration hits for the O’Malley kids soon, since art block is kinda cropping up in that regard.

Music: the main song I’ve been working on is done instrumentally for now, soundfonts did in fact fix everything. Specifically the Touhou soundfont, because of course it was that one. I’m hoping if I get more energy tonight I can record pieces for the next song. I’ll still need to fiddle with outlining and lyrics for the first song, but I can’t progress much further on it until I manage to snag a vocaloid or utau (or synthV or cevio I guess, but idk or care much about those). Next couple ones I try to bite at are going to probably be instrumental. I might throw boards together for videos for them but that will be low priority until the songs are done done.

TRGA: so due to circumstance I haven’t really had as much chance to work on it as I thought. I did start cleaning up Tim 1-4, but not too much beyond that. Mostly because the time I set aside for it has been allotted to tending to my mood and body, so hopefully after some rest I can start taking bigger bites at it. If I get messed up on painkillers next week that is the project I will be most likely to work on, so I’ll try to get actual big bites out of it. If I get myself back to doing a schedule, I can probably get shots done faster than I have, which is good because admittedly I have been probably more proscrastinatey than I should be. Tonight I’ll try to continue on it, until I get Tim completely cleaned up, and potentially also get started on his face or hands.

Next week will be unpredictable, due to holiday and surgery. I’m hoping I’ll be able to get that computer I’ve been teased about so I can try to actually unload all my music making stuff, and get a good opportunity to reorganize my CSP brushes. I went a bit crazy on Black Friday this year since music software sites apparently just have 100% off sales on some of their cheaper items, and I got like $300 worth of stuff for free and then some. Haven’t been using it because of storage space. Whatever, bottom line is I can’t really predict next week but I can try to put a schedule together tonight and maybe abide by it as best I can. Whatever.

[crisishauntline]

I think she finally heard me.

After spending all day processing on my own and with my therapist, M, Y, and my mom—while also checking in multiple times with L over the phone—I finally came to the conclusion that this shit has to end. I have been expressing my needs this whole time, and she can’t meet them. She is not a bad person but we’re not the right people for each other. And no matter how deeply I love her, or how deeply she thinks she loves me, she can’t force or blackmail me to be with her at my own expense.

So I told her that. Everything in my post from yesterday, everything I realized while processing with others about how she has been truly manipulative, narcissistic, and cruel—even though she doesn’t mean it. Intent does not equal impact. When I pointed out how my boundaries (therapist, drinking, personal space/time) have remained unchanged since the beginning and yet have to constantly be renegotiated and adjusted and apologized for each time they come up, while hers are constantly shifting and unsatisfiable, she took a breath. She said the way I explained it made it all just “click.” She said she felt stupid and like she had wasted so much time. And that she didn’t understand why it had been so hard for her to just believe she was loved by me, despite all the ways I have been telling and showing her—and that she finally believed me when I say I cannot physically, emotionally, or spiritually give any more than the 100% I have been giving her, and that it is both fair and necessary for her to find other sources for the support that I can’t give.

The only part I took pains not to say was that I was close to ending things, not because I felt forced to reassure her (or at least not just that), but because I’m still not sure I do. As I told her, I want to see her try. I want to see her healing. I want to see her thriving and whole. But I also need to be free to leave if that doesn’t happen. What she needs is to be chosen, and I can’t give that to her if I’m not free to choose something other than her.

And she understood, I really believe it. She repeated it all back to me and took accountability.

She’s going to take care of herself and give me space until I'm done editing this book. That means I have now through Tuesday to regain my balance and hopefully get this work albatross off my neck. Then she’ll come to my place Wednesday night, we’ll do couples counseling, go to bed, I’ll take her to her surgery in the morning, and then we’ll stay at the AirBnB for the next couple days while she recovers. We’ll figure out where to go from there.

I am cautiously optimistic, but I am trying to temper it by remembering how my loved ones have reacted when I share about this relationship. Today Y even called it emotional abuse. That feels strange. I feel lucky to have so many people looking out for me and ready to throw hands to stop someone from hurting me in the way she has been. But I don’t like the abuser/abuse framing. I don’t want this pattern to define her in that way, even if just in my mind.

All I know is Hozier’s Unreal Unearth is HITTING like no other this week.

[whoopsieintheuniverse]

Serving Up Smiles

AN: Yes yes hello. I wrote a more....canon Hawks vs a fanon Hawks. I didn’t characterize him as the suave spy a lot of people do, but if I get a request to do that I don’t see why I can’t. ^_^ anyway, enjoy the fic!

Hawks X fem!Reader

Flap, flip, thwap.

“Oh my God!”

Y/N squinted and looked up from her notepad. The couple whose order she had been taking squawked and clamored out of their seats, pushing past the waitress.

“Look! It’s Hawks! Can I have a photo?”

“Hawks! Over here!”

“I can’t believe it! Please sign my phone!”

Y/N sighed and turned around toward the ever-growing crowd behind her. She tilted her head, regarding the tens of people queuing to see the Number Two Hero, Hawks. For the past month, he had been stopping by every Tuesday night for a take-away dinner. Usually, it was fine; Tuesday was a slower night for the terrace restaurant Y/N worked at. However, today was a rare, busy night. Y/N shook her head.

“Hey-yo!” Hawks chimed. Y/N’s eye twitched as she watched him move through the crowd, posing for picture here and signing people’s items there. Soon, Hawks caught Y/N’s eye and muscled through the crowd of people to get to her.

“How’s my favorite server?” Hawks chirped. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I was doing fine, until someone dropped in and made a rush hour busier than normal. I need you to start giving me a heads-up, Keigo,” Y/N said. Keigo flushed red around his cheeks and shrugged.

“What can I say? I had a break, and I was hungry. Guy’s gotta eat, ya know.”

Y/N rolled her eyes before taking his jacket lapel and leading him to the front counter. The commotion had somewhat quieted down, with people still darting here and there to catch a better look at the hero. Keigo watched Y/N as she jotted a note down on a piece of paper; she handed to another waiter going into the doors to the kitchen, and then, she turned to back to him.

“There. Your order will be ready in a second. It’ll be fresh, too. I’ll see you later, Keigo,” Y/N said.

“Wait.”

Keigo reached out and grabbed Y/N’s wrist. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

This time, it was Keigo’s turn to look surprised.

“Nothing. I can’t talk to you?” he asked.

Y/N shrugged.

“You never stay long enough to talk. Don’t you have hero work?” Y/N asked. Keigo shrugged, and he took his hand back to place in his pocket.

“I can make time for you.”

Y/N lowered her head and felt her body heat up. She looked at Keigo and snorted.

“Sure you just won’t get tired of me?” she joked. Keigo’s smiled and shook his head.

“Positive, Y/N,” Keigo said. “Matter of fact, I wanted to tell you that I’m going to be off next Wednesday. I know you don’t work on Wednesdays, so…”

Y/N grinned.

“Is the Number Two Hero of Japan about to ask a waitress on a date?”

Keigo face erupted into pink. He shifted back and forth on his feet as he scratched the back of his neck.

“He is only if the waitress wants to say yes.”

The cook’s bell rung, and Y/N held up a finger to Hawks. She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with Keigo’s order.

“Well? Just gonna keep a guy waiting, huh?” Keigo chuckled nervously. Y/N said nothing, opting instead to print of Keigo’s receipt. She uncapped her pen and wrote on the back of the receipt as Keigo handed over his money to pay for his food. Y/N handed Keigo his food and placed the receipt in his hand.

“Pick me up 8?”

Keigo’s jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered and started to smile.

“Yeah! No, yeah. I-I’ll see you then!”

Y/N nodded and picked up her notepad, walking back to another table. The group at the table clamored as they saw Hawks following Y/N, and the whole restaurant’s chatter turned into a roar as Keigo’s wings started to flap.

“Wednesday at 8! See you then,” Hawks called out.

Y/N waved as Hawks took off. 

Enjoy my work? Consider supporting me on kofi: https://ko-fi.com/whoopsieintheuniverse

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Gains

Poly Sons of Ipswich x Reader

Word Count: 2,802

Summary: Trying to take advantage of their gym membership, reader starts working with a devastatingly attractive personal trainer. And his friend is pretty hot, too.  

The gym was still new for you but you had been coming consistently enough that you felt comfortable there. You knew what times equipment would be available and what times the crowds would be too much (week days 3-5:30 was like competing in the Hunger Games.)

Cardio always came before strength exercises because your muscles would be too fatigued otherwise. 

And on Tuesdays and Saturdays they played your favorite music on the loud speakers so you didn’t have to bother with headphones on those days.

Still, you weren’t an expert by any means. 

In fact, you were still hesitant to call yourself a gym-goer because you’d seen the workouts other people did and you definitely weren’t doing that. There was no strategy, you just did what you felt like doing on any given day. You were impressed by their discipline though.

Maybe, most likely, it would benefit you to incorporate some of that into your own routine.

The gym had a personal trainer program and you figured that would be the best bet—much easier than trying to figure it out on your own.

Poking around the website, you found the section that explained the process. The design was modern and intuitive, and it was easy to book an appointment: the only information you needed to provide was your name, the date/time, and what trainer you wanted.

The first two things were easy to fill out but the last had you a little stumped; you weren’t familiar enough with any of the trainers to request anyone by name even with the drop-down menu that listed out all of the choices. For a second, you were tempted to forget about the whole thing but luckily, there was an option for ‘no preference’ and anxiety levels dropped off as you selected it.

Appointment booked, you went on with the rest of your night, focus shifting to what sounded good to eat for dinner.

A week later, you found yourself in the gym’s front lobby, arms crossed and foot tapping. Since it was the first time, there was no harm in arriving early. The directions on the website had said to wait there for the trainer but so far there was no sign of them. Granted, there was still five minutes until the scheduled start so it would be unfair to start complaining about them just yet.

Rolling your neck to alleviate some of the tension, you paused mid-stretch, neck awkwardly craned like a gaggling turkey, when a man walked out. He was without a doubt the most attractive man you’d seen at the gym to date.

Thick dark hair that curled just above his ears. Warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile. Tanned skin that wrapped around arms that had just the right amount muscle: toned but not bulky. All in all, a good looking man.

You tracked him as he glanced around the area, looking for something—his eyes suddenly met yours and you straightened up in embarrassment—or someone. “Y/N?” he questioned.

You throat was so dry, it was painful to swallow. “That’s me.”

It didn’t seem possible but his smile grew even brighter. He stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Caleb and I’ll be your trainer today.”

Good karma most certainly at work here. How else could you explain being lucky enough to have the hottest guy in the gym be the trainer? Whatever the case, you weren’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

He gestured you forward with a wave of his hand and followed you to the main workout area. There was slight pressure to staying cool and collected with him behind you. 

“I’m going to start you off with some jogging to warm-up. Do you want to use the track or hop on a treadmill?”

“Treadmill is fine. It’s what I normally use.”

You stepped up onto the belt and fiddled with the settings to establish a pace you felt comfortable with. The machine started up with a loud hum and your arms and legs began to pump. Normally, you’d have your earphones in to distract yourself with music but they weren’t that day so that you could hear Caleb if he said anything to you.

Good thinking, really, since he did indeed start chatting.

“So how long have you been a member?” he asked.

Determined not to sound steady, you took a few moments to normalize your breathing. “About two months. But this is the first time I’ve worked with a professional,” you added at the end.

It was hard to hear his laugh over the treadmill but the hitching of his shoulders gave him away. “Thanks, but I’m not really a professional. I just have a training certification is all.”

Huh. Attractive and humble. If you weren’t careful, you’d develop a full-blown crush in no time.

“A certification sounds professional to me,” you insisted. There. That wasn’t flirty at all. You were merely sharing an opinion.

Jogging passed by faster than it usually did even without music. Evidently, all that was needed to make a run enjoyable was good conversation and an even better view. 

You powered off the treadmill and gradually transitioned to a walk and then a full stop. A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face but before you could wipe it away, only to stumble after being patted on the back by Caleb. 

Those muscles were not just for show.

You had mixed feelings about him giving you props for completing the warm up. On one hand, you were a little insulted because even you could handle jogging for ten minutes. On the other, it was nice to have him flatter you. And he seemed to type to mean his compliments.

“Thanks,” you said almost like a question as you plopped down to stretch.

“Really,” he insisted. There wasn’t any level of patronizing tone that you could detect. “You’d be surprised by how many people I work with that complain about running.”

“Really?” you exclaimed with surprise. “I wouldn’t say I love running but it’s not terrible. Better than swimming anyway.”

“Whoa, now. I’ll have you know that I was a big swimmer in high school.”

The friendly banter about the woes, or in his case, the highs of swimming got you through the stretches he showed you. Occasionally, there would be a pause while he corrected your posture but once you fixed your position, the banter started up again.  

Finally, you conceded, “I will admit that swimming did wonders for your shoulders though.”

He looked away with a bow of his head. He smiled but it was closed lipped, no teeth on display. Oops. That comment may have been a bit too forward. Rather than draw more attention to it, you diverted attention to the actual work out.

Seeming to be of the same mind, Caleb dropped it, too, and set you up at a weight bench. He must’ve have seen the doubt on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’m not going to have you squatting 300 pounds or anything crazy. Here. Take this and we’ll start with some dumb bell rows.”

He handed you a twenty-pound weight, the smooth metal cool against your palm. The weight was noticeable but not so heavy you struggled to hold it. A month or two of this and your arms would actually tone out pretty nice.

You peered subtly at Caleb behind you. You wouldn’t be at Caleb’s level, not just after a couple weeks but then again, you doubted most people could measure up to him even after working out everyday for a year straight.

Someone people had all the good genes.

You could’ve complained but found it much more enjoyable to appreciate the good view. In fact, it was the view that got you through the rest of the season.

“Thanks,” you panted around the mouth of your water bottle. A bead of sweat ran down your neck and you reached to wipe it off.

“You did great, really,” he said, the epitome of what a good trainer should sound like. “The scariest step is always to start so signing up for additional personal training will be a piece of cake.”

“Y-yeah.” Suddenly, your shoe laces fascinated you. “So…if I want to do that—more of this...do I choose you on from that list of trainers?”

“Sure thing. Or if you’d prefer to try someone else, all of the trainers are fantastic choices.”

“I think I’ll stick with you. As long as that’s not weird or anything…”

“Nope, not weird.”

You worked up the courage to look him in the eyes. Swirling irises of molten brown, you couldn’t help but be drawn into them. “Same time next week then?”

“Same time next week,” he agreed with a nod.

***

It had been a little over a month since you had started working with Caleb at the gym and what had started as one personal training session a week had turned into two, sometimes three. Improvement was happening steadily and you definitely felt a difference in your stamina.

Strangely enough, you were even proud of the small callouses that were starting to develop on the tops of your palms, under the fingers. They weren’t classically beautiful but at least you had proof of the work you were doing.

Having worked up the confidence, you’d also started doing some of the exercises Caleb showed you on your own. It was on one such day that you met him.

Another gym babe.

The first thing you noticed was his ass. Literally. He was in prime squat position and his short, though knee length and loose as they may be, could not hide his toned glutes.

You were embarrassed to admit that you were totally ogling him, like a dog looked at a prime cut of meat. You didn’t get star struck often, but damn.

The universe must have sought to punish you for the lack of propriety and your mp3 slipped through your sweaty fingers onto the moving treadmill, yanking the earphones out of your ears along with it as it flew backwards on the conveyor belt.

Recovering from the stumble your mp3 caused, you turned off the machine and gingerly picked out the music player, preparing for the worst.

Miraculously, the screen was still in tact and sounds was still coming through the earphones. You took another sigh of relief when you realized he was preoccupied by his own workout and hadn’t seen your embarrassing moment.

Something similar happened the next time you saw him a few days later: he was cooling down after having thoroughly trounced the heavy bag in the small boxing set-up the gym had. His arms looked so good in his cut-off tank (muscles and veins were all on display) that you froze with your mouth hanging wide open.

Another gym-goer did catch you that time but at least it wasn’t the god sculpted from marble.

You almost felt bad, like you were cheating on one of your crush’s with another which was ridiculous because Caleb was just a trainer and you didn’t even know the other one’s name.

Who knew that so much drama could happen in the confines of a simple neighborhood gym? Seriously, The Bachelor wished it could have as many good options as the gym seemed to.

***

You huffed as you pushed yourself up on increasing shaky arms. For a few seconds, you honestly didn’t think you’d be able to do it as your arms got stuck at a forty-five degree angle. Digging deep down, you managed to fully extend your arms.

“Nine,” Caleb counted. He was kneeling besides you on the yoga mat, counting, and adjusting your form here and there, while you did push-ups

Rather than descend slowly as was proper for push-ups, you collapsed to the mat with your arms squished underneath your chest. Rolled your head, you gave him your best pleading eyes and hoped he might take mercy.

That hope was misplaced. He gave a sympathetic smile and shook his head negatively. “Sorry, Y/N. We agreed on ten and by my count, you still have one more to go.”

“Can I not and say that I did?”

“Come on now. It’s only one more.” He waved his hands around like he was waving imaginary pom-poms. “You can do it!”

You managed a weak laugh. There was no way you could’ve say no. Your arms felt like they were burning but he looked adorable trying to be a cheerleader. An unbidden image of him wearing a cute male cheerleading uniform flashed in your mind and you thought he would pull one off well, what with his wide shoulders and sculpted legs.

Imagination got you through the last push-up and you groaned as you turned over on the mat, spread out like a star fish. “That was absolute torture.”

Caleb opened his mouth but was interrupted by a newcomer.

“Geez, man. You need to take it easier on your clients.”

Recognizing the voice, you found the other gym guy you’d been eyeing standing above you.

“Pogue.” Caleb held his fist out to the man who in turned bumped his with the trainer’s. Evidently, they knew each other.

Then they embraced in a full-on hug.

Okay, so they definitely knew each other. And it was hard to miss the parting caress to Pogue’s shoulders—what kind of name was Pogue anyway?—that was generally reserved for two people that were close.

Were they related? Dating, perhaps?

Your imagination fired up again and you wondered what they would look like wrapped even more intimately with one another…which was entirely despicable, you reminded yourself. There was no proof they were romantically involved, and, even if they were, it was none of your business.

The other two, who had been talking while you were maladaptively fantasizing, had continued talking and their conversation now turned to you.

“So who’s this?” Pogue questioned politely.

“This is Y/N,” Caleb introduce you. “They’re one of the people I work with.”

Pogue stuck his hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad Caleb hasn’t killed you off yet.”

“Hey! I am extremely fair with workouts, aren’t I, Y/N?”

“He is,” you said with a small smile, rocking on your feet. “Besides, he way too nice to ever become a drill sergeant.”

Pogue shoved Caleb lightly and Caleb elbowed him in return. “I know he doesn’t look like the type, but he was quite the drill sergeant back when we were both swimmers. He just hides the competitive instinct under his charming smiles.”

That peaked your curiosity. “No way, you guys swam together back in the day?”

“Spencer Academy was state champs three years running in our time,” Caleb admitted. “But nowadays I do my thing with personal training and Pogue more into MMA.”

“MMA?” you questioned.

“Mixed Martial Arts,” Caleb supplied. “You’ve probably seen him hogging the punching bags in the back.”

You most certainly had but you weren’t about to confess that to either of them. It would be too embarrassing and might even toe the line of harassment.

“You are more than welcome to share bags with me, any time,” Pogue grinned teasingly.

A thought hit and flowed out of your mouth before you could stop it. “You guys should give me a lesson sometime.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of thing,” Caleb said, surprise coloring his voice.

“Are you saying that you don’t think I can?” You weren’t sure what made you say it. It’s not like you were hardcore dedicated to trying it. 

Whatever the cause it had Pogue chiming in save the situation.

“What prince charming means is that we would love to give a demonstration sometime.”

Caleb down at his watch because of course he still wore one instead of just using his phone like most other people. “Damn. Our hour is up Y/n and I’m late getting my next client. But we can hit the punching bags next time, if you want…?”

“Sure. Uh. Does Wednesday work for you?”

Both of the men nodded and Caleb called over his shoulder as he jogged to the lobby. “It’s a date. Schedule it online and I’ll approve it.”

The word kept replaying over and over. Date. Date. Date, date, date. He probably didn’t even mean it like that but it didn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

Waving goodbye to Pogue wit a promise of seeing him next week, you bounced off to grab your phone from the locker room. There was nothing wrong with scheduling your next session ASAP.

It’s a date.

_______________

Pogue boxing does make a fetching image. Pogue and Caleb in the ring sparring together even more so. Debating whether to make a part 2. 

Caleb always seems to be the hardest for me to write so I hope he sounded okay in this. This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I decided to finally post it. 

Thanks for reading! 

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 23 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

hello my loves! Some of you may have already seen this, but I have news! This fic is officially complete. There are thirty chapters, so you still have seven left after today’s update. I’ll be keeping the usual Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule, so you have a month left of updates.

Now that I am done drafting this fic, my requests will be open while I begin to bank up new chapters of the Hotch x Reader Scandal!AU that I plan to write next. Please send in requests here. I would also LOVE if you could fill out this survey about the Scandal!AU so I can get a sense of what you all would like. I will make sure to write it in a way that makes sense, even if you haven’t seen Scandal! 

As always, thanks so much for reading, y’all are just the best. 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence, cursing, hospital mention

wordcount: 2.3k 

A little while later, Hotch sends JJ and Emily to the school to interview the classmates of the students who had been murdered, and you and Morgan head off to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Find anything interesting in the calls from the tip line?” Morgan asks you as he pulls out of the parking lot, and you shrug. 

“I need to go back through my notes. There were a couple kids' names that came up, but I want to go back and cross check for the names that came up more than once-- i figure if the name only comes up once, it’s kids pranking each other and I don’t want to waste our time on dead ends. Garcia’s looking into a teacher for me, though.” 

“We just need a couple more puzzle pieces, and then it’ll all come together,” Derek says, more to himself than to you, and you murmur out your agreement as he pulls into the examiner’s office.

“Cause of death for Mrs. Mack and Mrs. Sutton was a gunshot wound to the neck. The daughters, to the abdomen,” the doctor says, passing over her report. “The men were all strangled. The boys by hand, the men with a garrote.”

“Any idea what order they were killed in?” You asked. 

“My guess is the women first, one right after the other. Then the sons, and the husbands.” 

“How did he stop the husbands from taking him down while he killed the sons?” Morgan asks skeptically. 

The medical examiner points out a bruise on Mr. Sutton’s skull. “Looks like he was knocked unconscious, maybe by the butt of the gun or something in the home.” She explains.

“Thank you,” you said to the medical examiner, who smiled and left you both to your work.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Morgan asks you.

“White man in his twenties or thirties, snubbed by a woman he desired for another man, taking out the families he’s convinced he’ll never have?” 

“Call Hotch,” he said, taking off at a brisk pace back towards the car and trusting you to follow. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and discovered that Garcia was already calling you. 

“Hi Garcia, can you patch Hotch in?” You asked. 

“Already here bug, and trust me, you’re gonna want to hear this.” She told you, and you put the phone on speaker so Morgan could listen in while he drove. 

“What did you find, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“So, I looked into Marc Vexper, and it turns out this long-term English sub has something to hide-- he didn’t make a single card purchase on either day that he was out, and his phone was completely off from the moment he stepped off the school’s campus to the time he returned.” 

“Morgan and I are just leaving the medical examiner’s office now-- Marc fits the profile to a tee.” You interject. 

“Oh but wait, the high school of horrors doesn’t end there,” Garcia warns you. “I took a peek at Marc’s texts looking for clues about his whereabouts, and I noticed some too-friendly chats with Victoria Sullivan, a student in his AP Literature class. Her phone was on both days, and I’ll give you one guess as to where she was both days-- and it wasn’t school.” 

“You’re kidding,” Morgan sighs out. 

“So did he groom Victoria into doing it herself, or was she an accomplice?” Hotch asked. 

“The men were strangled, Aaron. There’s no way she could have done that herself.” You tell him. 

“We need an address, Penelope.” Hotch demands. 

“Already on your phone. The station’s closest.” She tells you. 

“We’ll meet you there.” Hotch says, and the line clicks. 

In a routine you’ve performed too many times to count, Morgan flicks on the lights and sirens as you mount your phone with the GPS sending you in the right direction. It’s all the same as it usually is, so why are you so nervous? 

**********************

Hotch elects not to put on his lights and sirens as he approaches Mr. Vexper’s house, not wanting to alert him that anyone had found him out. There are two cars in the driveway-- a modest sedan with a few dings in it, and a shitbox of an old jeep with a parking permit for the local high school on the back bumper. 

“The girl is here-- she might be a hostage.” Hotch tells Spencer, who nods. “We need to be careful. There’s no need for any other kids to lose their lives,” he says, quietly opening up his car door and gesturing for Spencer to take a back entrance while he takes the front. He climbs the worn wooden steps and peeks into the window, seeing nothing before he takes one hand off of his gun to swing open the front door of the home, where he’s met face to face with the Victoria Sullivan, standing on the main stairway of the home, gun leveled square at the middle of his forehead. 

“Victoria, put the gun down,” Hotch says slowly, raising his own hands as a sign of good faith. “I’m here to help you. Where’s Marc?”

Before Victoria can answer, Hotch hears the woosh of metal in the air and feels an overwhelming crack in his legs, falling to the ground as he yelps in pain. 

“Run, Vicky! You know where to go!” Marc yells, and the girl disappears from Hotch’s blurring line of vision as March continues to beat on Hotch with a crowbar, stomping on his legs. 

Hotch vaguely hears Spencer's running footsteps, and Marc takes off, running in the same direction as Victoria. 

Spencer falls to the ground next to Hotch, attempting to gently tend to his injuries, but Hotch weakly waves him off. 

“Go, go, save the girl, he’ll kill her next. I’m okay. Go,” he coughs out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spencer goes. 

Hotch groans as he gropes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling Garcia. 

“I need help,” he says once the line clicks.

****************

If Aaron lived through this, you were going to kill him yourself. You knew you were being irrational, you knew it wasn’t his fault, and worst of all you know that he hadn’t even done something you could be mad at him for, like going in without backup. This was just the job. This just happened sometimes. And you were absolutely fucking livid that it was happening to him. Not to mention scared shitless. 

Morgan had pumped the gas as soon as Garcia called, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Your leg bounced anxiously in the passenger seat. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Morgan attempted to placate you, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“You don’t know that,” you spat out. 

“He’s tough. He’s got a lot to stick around for. He’s gonna be okay,” He tells you, and this time you don’t argue.

When you finally pull up to the house, Aaron is on a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance. You throw yourself out of the SUV before it’s even fully stopped, calling out for Aaron. 

“I’m okay,” he sputters out as you climb into the back of the ambulance. 

“No you aren’t, you asshole,” you scoffed at him, your voice a little watery. “Tell the paramedics what happened so they can help you,” you said, stroking at the hair at the top of his head as your chin quivered. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching up for you and you see that his hands are bloody. 

“Shh, shhh. Don’t worry about me. Let them help you,” you calmed him down, trying not to let your tears interrupt the medics when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he loses consciousness.

 Aaron will live, and you suppose you won’t follow through on your threats to kill him. Once he’s in the hospital, they wheel him back to a restricted area, leaving you alone in a waiting room while the rest of the team finds the unsub. You call Jess, let her know what’s going on, but ask that she keep it from Jack until you’re back in the room with him and Hotch is able to talk to Jack himself. You didn’t want Jack to worry, and you knew that Aaron’s assurance that he was fine was the only comfort Jack would accept.

After a while-- it could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Emily appears in the waiting room..

“I was appointed to come check on you,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Not since they took him out of the ambulance. He looked… bad,” you struggle to find a word that explains the magnitude of it. 

“He’s gonna be fine. No gunshot wounds, just some nasty bruises. I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She consoles you gently.

“I hope you’re right.”

At that moment, a doctor appears in the doorway. “For Agent Hotchner?” He asks, and you walk over to him. 

“I’m Aaron’s partner,” you explain, the word “girlfriend” feeling entirely too childish for the scenario. 

“Agent Hotchner is going to be just fine. His left leg is fractured slightly at the femur and the kneecap, but we’ve put him in a brace to stabilize the knee, and he should recover over the next eight to twelve weeks. He’ll need some physical therapy, and field work is out of the question until he is cleared, but he’ll make a full recovery.  He has a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but we’ve given him some meds for the pain and the concussion shouldn’t present any further complications.” 

No field work. Aaron was going to be pissed. “Thank you, doctor.” You said gratefully. 

“He’s been asking for you, if you’d like to follow me,” The doctor responds, and you allow him to lead you down a maze of hallways, leaving you just outside Aaron’s room, where his eyes are shut and his chest rises and falls slowly. Figures, you were sure he’d been up all night running through profiles in his head.

You sat on his right side, away from his injured leg, and rested your head against his mattress, near his hip bone. He looked so fragile like this, wrapped up in a thin blanket and a johnny, bandaged from his collar bone to his toes. You wondered, briefly, if he felt this helpless and frustrated the night that he picked you up from your old apartment. The tears well up against your will, but you allow them to fall, for a few moments. You had earned the right to care for him, to worry about him, to fret. You had earned the right to sit vigil at his hospital bed and try to force images of a lifetime lived without him to stop passing through your head. 

Aaron stirred, and you sucked in a quick breath, not wanting to wake him. He settled, again, and you rested your head back against the mattress, letting the gentle rhythm of his breath lull you to sleep. 

He twitches a little while later, and the sudden movement jolts you awake. His return to the waking world is slower, and you let him come at it at his own pace, not wanting to overwhelm him when he was probably already going to be in pain and disoriented. You hear him mumble out your name and you stand, placing one hand on his cheek and the other in his uninjured palm. 

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered to him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to look you up and down without moving his neck. 

“Am I--” you chided gently. “Honey, I’m fine. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” 

“My leg,” he tells you, trying to sit up, but you push back on his shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You broke your leg. You are staying in this bed until a doctor tells you otherwise.” 

“Fuck,” Aaron muttered out. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Is Spencer okay? And the girl, Victoria Sullivan?” 

“The team took them both alive. Spencer is fine, just a little breathless from his run.” You tell him. 

“When is it gonna heal?” He switches topics back to his injury. 

“You mean, when are you going to be allowed into the field again?” You asked skeptically, and he at least has the good grace to look sheepish. “Not for at least six weeks, more than likely closer to ten, plus physical therapy.” 

“God damnit,” Aaron sighs. 

“It could have been a lot worse, Aaron,” you point out softly, and he looks up at you. 

“You’ve been crying.” He says softly. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Don’t lie to a profiler,” He chides you gently.

“Well, I’m the woman who loves you and I’ve earned the right to cry when you’re hurt.” You said defensively, but not unkindly.

“Hey, I’m okay. Really, I swear. Come up here,” he urges you, and you roll your watery eyes. 

“I’ll hurt you,” you tell him. 

“You’ll hurt me worse if you don’t come cuddle,” he pouts. 

“Corny bastard,” you chuckle, tenderly sliding into bed next to him. 

Unable to shift and cuddle, Aaron settles for reaching out for your hand, which you allow him to take in his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of your palm tenderly. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, and you might start crying again right there.

“Don’t do it again. I was ready to kill you myself,” you warned him. 

“Noted.” 

“We should call Jack. I didn’t tell him what was going on, I didn’t want to scare him. Jess knows.” 

“I just… want to hold your hand for a couple more minutes.” 

“Okay, love. A few more minutes.”

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[whoacanada]

Zimbits - Bartender!Jack + NHL!Bitty AU

Prompt: Retired NHL player Jack Zimmermann takes ownership of a sports bar in Pittsburgh and accidentally falls for the Penguins’ (closeted) new left winger.

A/N - just the start, I’d like to get around to more of this; the basic idea was an It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia AU, but I couldn’t manage to make everyone that terrible so Jack owns and operates a gay sports bar and starts crushing on one of his patrons.

“Can’t believe you’ve owned this place since ’89.” Jack coughs, waving the dust away from his face. “Did you ever come back after we moved home?”

It’d be disingenuous to say Jack had been expecting anything other than cigars and whiskey when his father had invited him on a trip down to Pittsburgh to see Mario and glad-hand some Penguins sponsors. In fact, he’d kind of been looking forward to sulking and getting shit-faced, not limping around a condemned building dodging roaches and rats.

“It was an investment opportunity. That was the trend back then, famous athletes buying up restaurants and clubs — I had big plans for this building. Then your mother got pregnant and I realized I didn’t really give two shits about running a nightclub.”

“Realized you were pretty lazy, huh?”

As Bob laughs, Jack picks at the peeling, lacquered bartop, trying not to imagine how many decades of grime he’s just collecting under his nail, the situation made even more disgusting in such close proximity to the glittering gold championship ring his father had insisted he wear to their lunch meeting with the Penguins front-office suits. Jack flicks the gunk away as Bob levels him with a weighty look, hands braced in the air as if outlining a play and not offering a tour of a cobweb-filled dive.

“Here’s my thought,” Bob says. “The bar. It’s yours.”

Jack leans against the counter, taking some weight off his braced leg, and asks, “What’s mine?”

“This place,” Bob gestures around the room. “The whole building. It’s just sitting here, empty, the bar, the liquor license, there’s apartments and office space upstairs, we’d just need to do some renovations and —“

Jack can’t help himself. He barks a laugh and says, “I’m not moving to Pittsburgh.”

“How many times have you and I talked about opening a sports bar? I’d wanted to get this place fixed up so it’d be ready when you retired, but since the final — you could make it a gay bar, even, if you wanted!” Bob says quickly, offering another awkward olive branch. “A gay sports bar. I wouldn’t care.”

“A gay sports bar. In Pittsburgh,” Jack echoes, reaching for a chirp to defend himself, but he closes him mouth as he realizes a sports bar run by a Zimmermann might not be a terrible investment idea. “The building needs a ton of work,” Jack settles. “I just saw a rat.”

“That was a mouse,” Bob dismisses, not bothering to look at the rat still clearly in view. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Got a dollar?”

Jack pats his pockets, finds a spare looney and hands it over. Bob doesn’t hesitate, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket to exchange for the coin.

“Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of,” Bob looks around helplessly. “I actually don’t know what they call this place now. A Bar?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Jack swallows against the tightness in his throat, holding the deed carefully in his hands. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bob brings Jack in for a loose hug and they both ignore the soft squeaking coming from the backroom.

Five Years Later

There’s a man examining the announcement board in the vestibule, and Jack knows that posture: the forward hip cant, thick thighs, a small but definite bubble butt — guy’s a hockey player, and he has been for some time.

“Hey. Hi.”

Blondie spins around at Jack’s address. Not quite startled, but something close enough that Jack feels a twinge of guilt. “You interested in playing in our beer league? You look like you might know your way around a rink.”

The man quickly looks at his chest, as if expecting to find something displayed, but relaxes immediately. Jack fights a grin, he was once old hat at wandering into public spaces decked out in identifiable team merch.

“Bitty.” The man squares up to offer his hand; his accent is warm and distinctly southern, not at all what Jack was expecting. “You can call me Bitty.”

“Oh, with a nickname like that, you have to play, now, no excuses,” Jack gives Bitty’s arm a firm shake, surprised at how complementary his grip is; not just an overcompensating bro who’s walked into the wrong club.

“If only I had the time,” Bitty placates wryly. “Is this place new?”

“Been here a few years, but not long. How about you? Are you ‘new’? In town, I mean.”

“Moved for work,” Bitty’s smile is timid, eyes darting around the room looking for other patrons, up at the memorabilia and the various pennants. “First year. Slowly learning the area.”

Jack doesn’t miss the way Bitty’s eyes linger on the Pride flag draped from the second floor railing, but Bitty doesn’t mention it, and Jack isn’t in the business of prying.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to The Bar.”

“I saw that outside, do you not have a name?”

“We weren’t creative. The owner didn’t realize he was filling in the wrong line on the business license so we are literally called ‘The Bar’.”

“That’s actually pretty solid,” Bitty laughs, the sound lifting Jack’s mood easily. “I’ll have to make sure I come back and patron your establishment at a reasonable hour.”

“What you aren’t interested at getting sloshed before noon?”

Bitty laughs, and Jack is enough of an adult to recognize he’s got a tiny bit of a crush.

______

True to form, Bitty slowly becomes a feature of Jack’s early afternoons. The first few weeks, he does little more than quietly purchase a single domestic beer before tucking himself away in a corner booth, hunched over his phone, ball cap pulled low for discretion. Jack gives him space, and aside from a few curious regulars, Bitty is little more than another closeted young man seeking quiet sanctuary.

That is, until, hockey kicks up and Mario hooks Jack up with season tickets beside the bench. It’d taken time for Jack to get comfortable with being in an arena again, especially without the ability to step onto the ice himself, but he’s acclimated and learned to appreciate his new lot in life. He can be happy for his success and mourn the end of his career with equal measure.

(Doesn’t hurt he still gets asked for autographs on the regular.)

Bittle, the new forward traded out of Columbus, spins to whip the puck between Lundqvist’s thighs and the score is 3-2 with a minute left in the third. Jack stands to cheer with the crowd as Bittle’s pulled into a celly with his line mates, and the new angle gives Jack a good look at the man’s sunny face, complete with a familiar, bright smile and missing canine. Jack’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes Bittle is ‘Bitty’, and Jack can’t help but cheer louder.

________

After the game, Jack does his homework. Pulls up stats pages and articles on Eric Bittle. Looking to link the quiet hottie from his bar with the energetic man he saw tonight on the ice. If Jack wasn’t in love before, he absolutely is after watching highlights from Bittle’s time in Columbus.

The next time Jack finds Bitty slipping into the bar, probably between practice and a good nap, Jack makes his move; filling a pint glass, wedging an orange slice on the rim, and adjusting his shirt before striding to the corner booth as easily as one can with a titanium femur.

“On the house,” Jack says, setting down the glass gently. “Choice goal, Tuesday. Great bounce.”

Bitty’s grateful smile falters, turning into something guarded.

“What goal?” Bitty asks, voice steady, and Jack’s immediately alerted to his misstep. Jack casts a careful eye around the room and doesn’t find anyone watching, kicking himself for not thinking this through. He’s used to playing this game with guys who aren’t quite comfortable, who might be visiting with the wrong people, but he hasn’t had to do the closeted-pro-athlete dance in a while.

“You know, I must have been mistaken.”

“Happens all the time. Very sweet of you, though.” Bitty apologizes and pushes away the beer, but Jack waves him off. It’s the least Jack can do for calling the guy out.

“I should have known,” Jack tries to recover. “You’ve still got all your chiclets. But, between you and me, Bittle’s a spitfire, eh? Crazy soft hands. I’d like to meet him someday.”

Jack whistles low, rapping his knuckles on the table before turning back to the bar, moving slowly enough he catches the way Bitty’s cheeks flare pink at the compliment.

About thirty minutes later, Jack, half focused on counting down the till, nearly misses Bitty’s exit. He looks up to offer a parting wave, and Bitty returns the gesture, flashing a shy, incomplete smile; one canine missing on the left side.

________

“Anything new to report? Sales look good, think you might be able to take some time off and visit your poor parents?”

Jack slides open a window to let some air into his bedroom, not for the first time wishing he’d taken the chance to tear out a wall and convert a corner of the top floor into a balcony. There’s still time — his father never seems to wary of giving Jack renovation loans — but Jack loves his condo and hates the idea of relocating again, even temporarily.

“New distillery opened, cut a deal on some local gin. We’re working on drink specials, if you have any ideas for names I’m open,” Jack eases onto the windowsill and looks down at the line of people waiting to get into the bar. “And I met someone. Think he might be a hockey player.”

“No shit? Beer-league?”

“NHL.” Jack corrects, an edge of caution in his tone he knows his father won’t misinterpret. “Started coming around a few months ago, gave me a fake name. Went to a game last week, scored right in front of me.”

“Well, you going to tell me who or am I going to have to guess?”

“He’s keeping to himself,” Jack holds the curtain steady to catch sight of a particularly flashy person in a glittering teal gown, texting Holster to snag a photo for the bar’s Instagram. “Don’t go hunting.”

“Well, if he needs any help you let me know.”

“What could you do?”

“I don’t know. Talk to . . . someone. I guess.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” Jack placates, smiling at the saucy photo Ransom texts back immediately of Holster lifting their favorite Drag Race runner-up above his head like something out of Dirty Dancing.

“So.”

“Mmm?”

“Does this mean you’ve got a little boyfriend, again?”

Jack leans out over the railing and tries to see if the universe has blessed him with a sighting of his favorite new Left Winger. Sadly, it’s Saturday evening and the Penguins are in Dallas, so no Eric tonight. 

“Working on it.” Jack offers, rapping his knuckles lightly against the window sill and trying not to think about the way Bittle’s face lights up when he sees that Jack is working. “Think I might really have a shot at something.”

“Well, you know what Wayne always says.”

“I do,” Jack breathes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, taking in his one-of-a-kind view of the city. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Once he gets back.”

“ — You know, I’ve got the game on right now. I bet you $1000 I can tell who you’ve got the hots for. You have a specific type — ”

“Papa.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s the kid we just got from the Blue Jackets, isn’t it. Bittle? You always like the fast ones — ”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

[fruitcoops]

If you feel up to it can we pretty please get some more pre-coops PT sessions?

Oh, pre-Coops pining, I missed you. This is slightly different (and a bit fluffier) than the other fics. I hope you enjoy it all the same! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for mild sickness (coughing, sneezing, etc) and mentioned ankle injury

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, Sirius repeated in his head as he limped down the hallway, grimacing each time his crutches slipped on the freshly-waxed floor. It had been weeks since his last flare-up and as much as he hated the idea of losing a chance to see Remus, he hated the thought of waiting any longer to be back on the ice.

Sirius paused just outside the PT door to collect his thoughts. They had been doing this for months, but even the memory of Remus’ gentle hands on him still made his breath catch in his chest. He rested his forehead on the doorjamb with a sigh. I’m hopeless.

He frowned when he saw the closed door—Remus liked to keep it open, so anyone could pop in and say hello when they passed by. It was one of Sirius’ favorite things about him.

“Who is it?” a gruff voice called from inside when Sirius knocked cautiously. That’s definitely not Remus.

“Uh, Sirius Black?”

The door swung open and Moody gave him a quick once-over, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not scheduled until Tuesday.”

“My ankle is flaring up,” Sirius said, glancing over Moody’s shoulder toward the desk by the wall. All of Remus’ things were still there, thankfully. “I was hoping Loops could take a look before the weekend.”

Moody grunted and let him in the rest of the way. “Lupin’s out today, but I’ll poke around and see what I can do. Have you been doing your stretches?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.” The mere thought of disappointing Remus almost made him nauseous.

“Good.” Moody continued mapping his foot and ankle, keeping a careful eye out for any signs of pain.

“Where is Remus, by the way? Is he okay?” Sirius did his best to stop the worry from leaking into his voice.

“Got some sort of flu. Dumb kid takes the bus everywhere, so I’m not surprised.” Despite his harsh words, Moody had a fond look on his face. “He tried coming in, actually, but his voice was shot and he kept sneezing so I made him stay home. With the weekend, he’s got three days to recover.”

Relief slowed Sirius’ racing heart. “Good to know. Does he need soup or anything?”

Moody shrugged as he straightened up and patted Sirius’ knee. “Ask him yourself. Number’s on the board if you don’t already have it. Your ankle just needs some ice and ibuprofen, by the way—don’t stop using your crutches until next Friday.”

“Thanks, Moody.”

“See you around, Cap.”

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

As soon as practice finished, Sirius pulled his phone out of his pocket and proceeded to stare at Remus’ contact information for the next seven full minutes. Finally, he thumped his forehead on the steering wheel and pressed New Message.

Message To: Loops

Are you okay?

Moody said you were sick

A few seconds passed without a response and Sirius’ good leg began bouncing up and down. “This was stupid,” he muttered to himself. “This was so stupid.”

His screen lit up.

New Message From: Loops

Hey! I’m a little under the weather, nbd

Thanks for asking : )

“Oh my god,” Sirius whispered, holding his hand over his mouth. “Why did I do this?”

Message To: Loops

Yeah no problem

Do you need anything? It’s not safe to drive yourself

I have soup

Sirius groaned aloud and flopped forward again. “No shit, Black, everybody has soup.”

His phone was silent for a few moments before three dots appeared, blinked, and vanished. It happened two more times, until Sirius’ heart threatened to escape via his throat.

New Message From: Loops

That sounds really nice, thank you : )

A link popped up below the text; an address. His address. Sirius’ cheeks started to hurt and he realized he was smiling wider than he had since they last won a game, quickly starting the car and turning out of the parking lot.

Making canned soup wasn’t difficult—for the first time, he followed every letter of the instructions on the can. Burning it was not an option. Ten minutes and a warm Tupperware later, he was back on the road and following Google Maps down the busy avenues of downtown Gryffindor.

Remus’ apartment building was almost as cute as he was, but maybe that was just Sirius’ smitten brain throwing a party over the fact that he finally got to see it. Bright yellow with brick siding, it rose many stories above the street, and he hurried up the concrete steps to the porch, where a small buzzer sat.

Fenwick, Benjamin

Fortescue, Alice

Lovegood

Lupin, Remus

Sirius pressed the button. There was a crackle, a hiss, and finally a croaky, “hello?”

“Remus? Hey, it’s Sirius. Um, I brought your soup,” he stammered, suddenly tongue-tied.

“Oh.” Surprise laced the congested voice on the other end. “Oh! Okay, yeah, thank you. Come on up. Did I send you my apartment number?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Ugh, sorry. My brain is toast.” The buzzer clicked.

Sirius bit his lip and pressed it again. “Loops?”

“Yeah?”

“Your apartment number?”

“Oh my god,” Remus laughed. “I’m so sorry. It’s 6B, and the elevators just got repaired last week so you should be fine.”

“Merci.” Sirius opened the front door and carefully balanced his Tupperware on one forearm as he called the elevator and headed toward the sixth floor. Tinny music played through the speakers—if he strained his ears, it almost sounded like the Bee Gees.

The ride was quick; soon, Sirius was waiting outside a plain apartment door with his hand raised to knock, steeling himself to see Remus face-to-face. With a sharp inhale, he tapped his knuckles on the wood and stepped back.

The silver doorknob turned and then Remus was there, leaning on the doorframe in pajamas and fuzzy socks as he winced at the bright sunlight from the hall. His nose was bright red and his eyes were glassy with dark circles underneath; his soft curls stuck up in a cowlick on one side, but he smiled at Sirius all the same. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Sirius swallowed around the dryness of his throat and held the Tupperware out. “It’s chicken noodle.”

Remus blinked, then lit up when he saw the soup. “Thank you so much!”

“Ne rien. I’m sorry you’re sick.”

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said with a shrug. “I’d invite you in, but—wait, aren’t you supposed to be on crutches?”

Sirius blushed. “I couldn’t carry the soup with them. It’s just a few minutes.”

“If this wasn’t the sweetest thing ever, I’d lay into you about proper procedure,” Remus teased, reaching out. Their fingers brushed and Sirius winced a little at how cold he was. Would a hug be out of order? Remus curled his hands around the base of the container and sighed at the warmth. “God, I didn’t even know I was hungry until you brought this.”

“Glad I could help.” He could feel his pulse in his toes. “I should probably let you eat then, eh?”

That perfect crooked smile slipped a little. “Yeah, probably. I don’t want to get you sick, too.”

“Always looking out for me.” The smile returned and Sirius whooped internally. “Text me if you need anything else, okay?”

“You got it, Ca—" Remus sneezed into his elbow, then waved him off as they both burst out laughing. “Alright, alright, get outta here.”

Sirius made it halfway to the elevators before a thought struck him; Remus’ door was almost closed, and something jolted in his stomach. “Wait!” he called before he could think about it.

Remus poked his head around the edge of the door, looking confused and a little hopeful. Sirius wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him until he felt better, then kiss him all over his flushed face. I’ll make you soup whenever you ask. “Yeah?”

“I—I missed you today. When I went in for a checkup. It was weird having Moody mess with my foot.”

The edges of Remus’ eyes crinkled gently, making his freckles pop. “Missed you, too. See you Tuesday?”

“See you Tuesday.”

“Thanks again for the soup, Sirius.”

The noise that almost slipped out of his mouth when Remus said his name would have been wildly embarrassing—thankfully, Sirius managed to swallow it down and offer a mock-salute with a smile instead. He didn’t stop grinning all the way home.

[cloudy-minded-idiot]

closing time - part 2

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female reader

warning: none that I can think of

word count: 2,700-ish

a/n: just wanted to thank everyone who took the time to comment, reblog or like the first part 💕 your support truly means a lot to me. everyone who has asked to be tagged or requested a second part has been @-ed below.

previous part

"Who are you talking to?”

The question came seemingly out of nowhere, making you jump so hard you almost dropped the phone in your hand.

“Jesus, woman!” you swore, putting your free hand over your rapidly beating heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Natasha was fresh out of the shower, her wet hair twisted in a towel. The redhead was wearing an oversized grey hoodie and some sweatpants that you had found somewhere deep inside your closet. She looked adorable, you had to admit, like a kid wearing their parent's clothes. The sight strangely made your stomach flip.

“Force of habit, I'm afraid,” she smiled apologetically, carefully sitting down on the couch. Her face was finally clean, no more mud, blood, or grime sticking to her features. Except for the blue-ish bruise on her left cheekbone, and a small cut near her eyebrow, her skin was unfairly flawless.

“So, are you gonna answer my question?”, she plopped her feet up on your coffee table, shaking you out of your thoughts. With a shrug, you pocketed your phone, hoping she hadn’t noticed your staring.

“Just work. Called in sick until Tuesday. After all, I can’t let you roam around my apartment unsupervised. For one, you’re injured, for another, you’re still a stranger.”

On your way to the couch, you picked up the first aid kit from your kitchen counter.

“A stranger?” she repeated with mock hurt, putting a hand over her heart, “ You wound me. After everything we’ve been through, I really thought we were getting closer.”

Shaking your heart amusedly, you sat down next to her. Balancing the first aid kit on your thigh, you pulled on a pair of rubber gloves with a snap. You could feel her gaze on you, watching your every move. Nervously, you cleared your throat, a little uncomfortable with her attention.

“Let’s have a look,” you nod to her and she complied with your unspoken request, pulling the hoodie up just enough for you to access her injury. Gingerly, you removed the bandage, dumping it into the trash can and inspecting the stitched wound, quietly humming in concentration as you did.

“I think you strained it a bit with your morning escapades today but I don’t think you pulled any of the stitches,” you concluded after a moment. Your voice sounded more sure than you actually felt about your assessment, considering all your expertise came from the internet. But, apparently, your word was good enough for your patient.

“See, I told you. You worried for nothing,” she slapped your shoulder jestingly and you rolled your eyes, taking out a new bandage to re-wrap the wound.

“I wouldn’t say for nothing. After all, you have been stabbed and only received medical attention from an amateur,” you pointed out, giving her a chastising look when she tried to dismiss your troubles with a languid hand motion.

“I think you should be concerned by the fact that I seem to be more worried about your health than you are," you continued, undeterred, "How's the pain, by the way?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, waving away your concerns, “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I'll be fine”, Natasha insisted with emphasis, “Besides, I don’t like taking painkillers. Dulls the senses.”

If you weren’t as tired as you were, you might have argued a little more. Instead, all you did was sigh and give a curt nod to signal your understanding. You didn’t really get her at all. If she was just going to hang around your apartment for the next couple of days, then who cares if her senses are dulled? It wasn't like anyone knew she would be here.

You finished wrapping her wound, leaning back to observe it from afar. You were admittedly getting better at bandaging. So that was a plus point.

“Alright, that’s it,” you nodded pleased, starting to clean up. Natasha inspected your work as well, pulling her hoodie back down once she was satisfied.

“You’re surprisingly good. Have you ever done this before?”

Chuckling, you shook your head, closing the little dark green box on your lap.

“You mean have I ever stitched someone together before and let them take refuge in my home? No. Can’t say I have.”

She smiled at your sarcastic tone, rolling her eyes playfully, before smirking mischievously.

“Ah, I'm your first. I'm honoured.”

You flushed at the implication of her statement, trying to hide your embarrassment by fiddling with the first aid kit. Don’t overthink it. You do not want these kinds of thoughts right now. Not about her. Sure, she is beautiful and it is kind of fun to banter with her and she has probably the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen and her lips…

“So, what’s your verdict doc?” she nudged you back to reality, amusement in her voice. You cleared your throat, shaking your head to clear your previous thoughts away.

“You need rest. Lots of it. No putting unnecessary strain on your injury,” you explained distractedly, pulling the gloves from your hands and letting them drop into the trash can, “So, I forbid you from leaving the couch for anything other than using the bathroom. Like I said before, if you need something, ask me.”

“You forbid me? My, my, how bossy of you. Then again, your home, your rules.”

“I just don’t want you to make anything worse,” you replied earnestly, ignoring her teasing tone.

Natasha grinned, eyes sparkling, leaning dangerously close to you.

“It's cute how concerned you are,” she almost whispered, her breath ghosting over your face. You felt your heart speed up.

“Don’t tell me you care about this lil old stranger here.”

Needing to remove yourself from this situation, you practically jumped off the couch, trying to play your reaction off with an annoyed eye-roll and a huff.

“Don’t be so full of yourself. I just don’t want you to start bleeding again. Might end up ruining my carpet,” you explained, the words leaving your mouth so quickly, it was a wonder you didn’t stumble over them. You resolved to change the topic entirely.

“Want anything to eat? Drink?”

Without sparing a second, you walked over to the kitchen, idly opening the fridge and looking through it just to keep your mind busy and eyes away from her. The frigid air definitely helped cool down your heated face as well. So that was a nice side effect.

“Vodka on the rocks would be nice,” she quipped. You shook your head, well-aware that she couldn’t see you, hidden away behind the fridge door. Apparently, your silence was answer enough though, because only a few seconds later, she let out a concessive sigh.

“Fine. Water will do.”

Preparing her a glass, you carried it over to the living room area, nudging her foot with your leg to get her to take them off your coffee table. She complied begrudgingly, accepting the glass and draining most of it in one gulp. It was only when you noticed a single droplet running down her chin that you realized you were staring. Again. Very obviously. Immediately you averted your gaze, opting to eyeball the wall in the far distance.

“So, what are you gonna do today? Anything planned?”

What a terrible question.

“Not really,” you saw her shrug out of the corner of your eye, “But I do need to use your radio again. Would you mind grabbing it for me?”

“Uh, sure.”

You spotted the device on the tv cabinet. Handing it over, you made certain that it was plugged in for her, watching the red digits on the small display light up. For a moment you remained in place, observing her as she fumble with it, her forehead creased in concentration. Feeling awkward just standing around, you approached, anxiously rubbing at the back of your neck in search for something to say.

“Can I ask, what exactly is it that you do with it?”

She seemed to mull your question over, before patting the couch cushion next to her.

“Sit. I’ll show you.”

You do, making sure to keep a decent amount of distance between you while still being able to see what she was doing. Natasha showed you how to switch to a shortwave radio station and how to input messages to be transmitted. The static sound filled your apartment again, changing to a couple of high-pitched sounds once in a while when she enters a new code. It was fascinating, something that seemed entirely taken out of an old spy movie.

“So, you’re sending encoded messages to someone?” you summarised her explanation, intrigued, “Do you use morse code for the encryption?”

“Morse code. That’s cute,” Natasha let out a short laugh, shaking her head in amusement. The towel her hair was wrapped somehow stayed in place. She looked up at you with a cocky smile, her eyes meeting yours and taking your breath away for a moment.

“If I wanted all the other agencies in the world to know my location, then yes, I'd use morse code. No, this is my very own code. Only a handful of people know it.”

“Impressive. So this means you’re a spy, right?”, you asked as she continued working on her transmission, “Because this is textbook spy behaviour.”

Natasha didn’t reply. Not that you had expected her to. Yep, definitely a spy. That would also explain her injury and need to lay low for a few days.

“So, do all secret spies have their own encryption codes, or are you just special?”

“Oh, I think you’ll find that I’m very special,” she quipped seriously, not looking up from her task, “Once I'm recovered, I’ll gladly show you my special set of skills up close.”

You blinked, perplexed, cocking your head to the side.

“I’m not sure whether you’re trying to threaten or flirt with me,” you remarked, a frown settling on your face. The redhead turned the radio off, putting it down next to her and looking up at you with a big grin.

“And isn’t that just part of the fun?”

--------

Natasha, it turned out, had quite the talent for coming up with pick-up lines that could double as thinly veiled threats. You did your best not to show how flustered she made you, either changing the subject, feigning ignorance, or trying to come across as exasperated or annoyed instead. To be honest, you did rather enjoy her flirtatious remarks. After all, it wasn’t every day that such a beautiful and quick-witted woman hit on you, even if it was just in jest. She also had something rather mysterious about her that intrigued you. It was probably a spy thing.

She, in turn, seemed to grow more comfortable around you as time passed. Daring to express her emotions more openly without always relying on sarcasm or flirtation. The memory of making her laugh out loud for the first time - a real laugh that had her throwing her head back and crinkling her eyes - was practically ingrained into your mind. Even now, just thinking about it, brought a fond smile to your face and made your heart flutter.

You weren’t stupid. At least you liked to think you weren’t. No, you were fully aware of the fact that you were developing feelings for the secretive redhead. And you knew that it was a terrible idea, that you should fight it. After all, she would be leaving soon and you weren't likely to see her again. But resisting her charms was a lot harder than you had anticipated. Especially, when you had to share your small apartment.

So, instead, you decided to treasure whatever short time you did have with her. You cooked her your favourite dish, blushing when she complimented your skills in the kitchen. The two of you watched several movies huddled together on your couch. You had seen them all before but enjoyed watching her point out all the unrealistic plot points and inconsistencies, only to end up grinning like an idiot at the cheesy happy ending. You also came up with several bad and dorky jokes just to hear her laugh out loud again. It felt nice. Almost domestic and natural.

But in the end, Tuesday came sooner than you had hoped. All night long, you had laid tossing and turning in your bed, dreading what would happen.

The sun was not yet out when you heard the now-familiar sound of radio static coming from your living room. Suddenly very awake, you practically shot out of your bed and hurried out the door.

Natasha was already dressed to leave, hair pulled back into a braid. A few locks had escaped and framed her lovely face. She looked up when she heard you enter, putting the radio aside.

“Morning,” she greeted with a small smile, “You’re up uncharacteristically early. Did I wake you up?"

“It’s fine. Didn't sleep well anyways,” you assured her, brushing a hand through your hair. A moment of silence.

“So. It’s Tuesday, huh?”

“Observant as always. My colleague will be picking me up shortly if that is what you’re asking.”

Dread filled you. While you knew this moment was coming, you suddenly found yourself wholly unprepared for it.

“Then the air is clear again, right? Successfully laid low?”, you asked, fumbling with your hands as you rambled on, “That’s good. Great.”

The redhead quirked an eyebrow at you, shouldering a small duffel bag as she approached you.

“It is indeed great. Means I won’t be targeted the moment I step outside your door,” she commented casually. As if possibly being assassinated wasn’t a big deal.

“Right. Good,” you nodded in agreement, unsure what else to say to that. She stopped directly in front of you, regarding you curiously. Your pulse spiked.

“Need me to check out your wound again? One final examination before you’re dismissed from the hospital?” you offered. Natasha shook her head.

“I’m fine. You did a great job, doc,” she flashed you a big smile, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me these past few days.”

Face growing warm, you make a throw-away motion with your arm.

“No need to thank me. I really enjoyed spending time with you,” you tell her genuinely, meeting her green gaze. Her expression softened. she took another step closer. Your breath hitched at her close proximity.

“Me, too. But I’d still like to express my deep gratitude."

Something mischievous flashed in her eyes. Before you could ask her what she meant, she had already cupped your face and pulled your face to hers.

The moment your lips met, every other thought you had vanished from your mind. Electricity shot through your veins, your skin tingled where she touched you. After a moment you caught yourself and returned the kiss, pressing back against her, your hands carefully settling on her waist.

For a while, nothing else seemed to matter. Breathing, thinking, everything appeared rather trivial in comparison to this feeling of her lips on yours. It wasn't until a loud knock sounded on the door, that you broke apart. You were both breathing hard. Your eyes met and the smile she gave you had to be the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

“My colleague’s here", she whispered, somehow breaking through the fog in your mind. Right. She was about to leave. You swallow against the lump that formed in your throat. Still unable to find words, you just nod, taking a small step back. You tried to keep the sadness off your face and most likely failed miserably.

To your surprise, she laughed, shaking her head.

“Don’t look so glum. This doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

“It doesn’t?” you asked hopefully. Natasha gave you a look full of adoration, pulling a small slip of paper from her pocket.

“I'll probably be busy for a few days, but I have nothing planned next week,” she pressed the paper into your palm. Unfolding it, you saw a phone number scribbled on it in blue ink. A big grin overtook your face as she continued.

“I'm sure we can work something out. I'd love to take you out.”

You meet her eyes, butterflies going wild in your stomach.

“Take me out as in on a date, or…?” you asked jokingly.

Wordlessly, she pressed a small kiss to your cheek.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

___________________________________________

taglist: @blackxwidowsxwife @fishlikestuff @madamevirgo @chickenhavewisdom

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper - Part Twelve

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of drug use, fluff, smidge of angst? Length: 1.7k Notes: Managed to whip up this bad boy during a quiet moment today and should probably make y’all wait for it but I don’t really do posting schedules (as you’ve noticed) so enjoy. Not beta’d, not proof read, I’ll die on this messy hill.

Series Masterlist

Surprisingly, life didn't change too much after that night. Frankie continued to run his acreage and oversee the making of this year's cider. With some encouragement and support from you, he was starting to expand the business and already had a few pubs in the closest city clamouring to have his product on tap.

Meanwhile, the improvements on the house were nearing an end, for the indoors list anyways. The first thing Frankie had helped you do was to install your new soaker tub, immediately followed by christening it by making soft, slow love to you inside of it.

There hadn't even been any water, your impatience to be close to each other wouldn't allow for that. You had just stripped out of your coveralls, convenient work-wear for people who fucked like rabbits you had to admit, and sat in his lap with your arms and legs wrapped around him. His hands guiding your hips in a slow rocking motion, breathing each other's air as your open mouths hovered in a not-quite kiss, only breaking eye contact when you threw your head back as you came.

Autumn passed quickly and Winter had gripped Vermont, cloaking the countryside in a heavy blanket of white. Christmas was a cozy affair, you and Frankie had been asked to join Jacquie and Mark in their family's merriment. It had stirred something inside of you, watching a functional family laugh, sing, argue, eat, and love with such abandon. 

It was everything you'd dreamt, initially, for your future with Brad. Now? Now you were starting to picture that future with Frankie's face as the patriarch, you just haven't built up the nerve to broach the subject yet. 

You'd started working at the bakery, enjoying the early mornings surrounded by rising dough and sculling back coffees with the adorable older ladies who ran the place. You'd also begun doing the books for Morales Acres and Catfish Brewery. Frankie was a veritable genius but he claimed he had no patience for keeping receipts and tracking numbers.

You had a sneaking suspicion he was playing dumb in an effort to give you more time together but you really didn't mind. Your break-of-dawn mornings at the bakery had you tired, but after a full day of renovating or bookkeeping, you were downright exhausted and ready for bed by eight pm. This, mixed with Frankie monitoring the brewing, bottling, and distribution of his cider and networking at bars and pubs throughout the state meant the two of you rarely saw each other.

All of your hard work in your own house had made you a popular friend to call when someone needed decorating advice, or a helping hand once they realized they couldn't tile their kitchen backsplash solo. You never charged for your time, although payment had initially been offered until work had got around that you preferred a good meal and conversation over money. I mean, sure, you could use the cash but it just didn't seem right. And you loved helping people and making deeper connections with the town you now truly felt you belonged in.

Tuesday evenings had become an unofficial date night for the two of you. The bakery was closed on Wednesdays and bar owners tended to be less interested in business halfway through the week, something to do with the rush of the previous weekend having worn off and the worry of setting up for another one starting to grow.

This meant you could stay up late, enjoy a proper homemade dinner, maybe even watch a movie or share a bottle of wine while soaking in your big ass tub. It usually ended as a sleepover, your house being the preferred location; Frankie's loft was perfectly fine but it did lack a certain homey appeal.

This pattern, this life, that you'd created for yourself was making you happier than you'd ever been in your entire life. You weren't one hundred percent content, not yet anyway, but the path to getting there was on a direct trajectory. You still wanted to finish your college degree, maybe switch it over to horticulture. Building a greenhouse and selling flowers was still a pipe dream but something your heart truly longed for, something that Frankie was constantly encouraging you to do.

"Look, hun," he had called out to you a few weeks ago while supposedly researching the new line of bottles. "There's an auction next county over and they have all this confiscated stuff from a grow op that got busted!"

"What?" You'd made a face and laughed at the absurdity of it all. "What on earth would you use from a pot farm?"

He just gave you a salacious wink as an answer.

Frankie had been open about his past drug abuse and while some recovering addicts may want all mention of it banned from a conversation, Frankie found levity in treating the topic like any other person would.

It had taken you a couple of hours to realize why he'd brought up the auction. It had hit you with a jolt, knowing that he’d remembered your rambling from on top of the Ferris wheel. You didn't realize he'd been listening when you'd told him about your idea of taking over the flower stand at the market once the current couple retired.

Your heart had swelled and there was a concerted effort to prevent the sudden onset of tears from running down your face. God, you loved this man, maybe one of these days you should tell him...

This particular routine was working well for the two of you. It gave each of you your own space to relax, destress, enjoy the shitty tv shows you were too embarrassed to watch in front of another living person. It also forced the two of you to take your relationship slowly, communication being a constant learning curve. You were both really good and telling each other when you needed time alone, when you were feeling stressed or sad. You each had learned the tells for when the other was angry or just hungry, if it was hormones or if there was something that was actually pissing you off.

The thing you each seemed to struggle with was expressing the softer side of the relationship. Neither of you appeared to have the Words of Affirmation love language skill, yet you both craved to hear it. You showed how much you cared for Frankie with your acts of service; helping him with the boring side of the business, baking, deep cleaning the loft, even scrubbing out the massive fermenter in the Catfish Cider warehouse.

Frankie, on the other hand, showed his love through physical touch. At first, you had assumed it was a staking-his-claim kind of thing but then you noticed how he'd do it all the time. A hand on your lower back while walking, caressing your hand with his thumb when driving in the truck, carding his fingers through your hair while you watched tv.

This week's date night found you at his place, relaxing in the loft after a busy workday. You were making dinner while he 'helped' by sneaking bites of the prepped ingredients, arm slung around you with a hand in your back pocket.

"What're you looking for?" He asked, taking advantage of your distracted searching through his cupboards to sneak a few more pinches of grated cheese.

"A can opener!" You replied, exasperation raising your voice an octave. "I could have sworn I saw a white one around here somewhere..."

“No, pretty sure that one's yours. I don't think I have one?"

"Frankie," you deadpanned "how did you survive as a bachelor without canned food?"

"I ate a lot of take-out?" He looked indignant at your laughter, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Can you stop judging me long enough to eat some burritos?"

Smoothing his playful scowl with a kiss, you sat down at the counter and enjoyed your first meal together of the week.

An idea was formulating in the back of your mind, though, and you barely tasted anything. As the evening progressed, the idea grew and you were liking it more and more. The final straw was you not having a toothbrush in his bathroom anymore, having forgotten that it had fallen off the counter and into the trashcan the last time you'd spent the night.

Using his, with a strange mixture of distaste and nonchalance, before making your way over to the bed, you began to plan how the conversation could go:

Hey Frankie, so you know how I have a big house all to myself? Yeah... And it had everything we need in it? Yeah... And there's more than enough room for two adults to store all of their things? Yeah... And I wouldn't have to use your toothbrush ever again? Yea- wait what? I think you should move in with me.

It wasn't very romantic but it was the most likely, considering your dynamic. Just as you were crawling into bed and snuggling under the arm he'd raised to allow you to get closer, his cell phone rang.

"Hello? - This is he. - Yeah, biological. - Oh god, when?"

The immediate change in his tone from questioning to horrified caught your attention, sitting up to face him you grabbed his free hand, silently letting him know you were there for support.

His eyes were out of focus and a panicked expression was slowly morphing his face as the conversation went on, but he gave your hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement.

"Yes, in Vermont. Do you have my address? - Okay, good, good...okay - When? - I'll have something ready. Umm... does she... does she remember me? - Oh. Okay, thank you."

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Frankie sat staring into nothingness for what felt like hours. His side of the conversation and the way he was reacting had you rattled. You could guess as to what was happening but weren't sure if now was the right time to pry.

"Babe? Is, is everything okay?"

Silence.

Gripping his hand tighter and rubbing his back you sat with him for a few more minutes before trying again. You didn’t want to push him but your heart was constricting in your chest from nervousness and concern for him.

"Can I get you anything? What do you need?"

His hand was now completely dead in yours; eventually, he turned his head towards you, eyes never fully focusing, and shook his head.

"I- she- fuck... I think you should go.”

Part Thirteen

[lsvdw-blog]

Not a Minute More: Part 5

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings; Rating: Severe bodily injury, Mentions of blood, Angst; Mature, 18+

Premise: Everyone is in the fight to save lives and they finally find out what happened to Serena.

Author’s Note: This is very heavy - I apologize in advance 😭 Thank you to my girl @choiceskatie for pre-reading 😘 I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

~ Monday, 3:00pm ~

The explosion at Harvard labs reverberated throughout the campus and the surrounding suburb. The ER is swamped, an all hands on deck situation. Ambulance after ambulance arrives, wheeling in more patients before departing. Doctors and nurses are being pulled every which way, trying to help as many patients as promptly as possible. But they’re quickly becoming overwhelmed. Empty boxes of sterile gloves line the walls, medical equipment wrappers scatter the floor. They can barely hear each others’ shouts over the cries and less severe injuries are left unattended as the dire patients are intubated, defibrillated, or ushered off to an OR.

Ethan, Naveen, and Serena’s friends are on the ER floor, moving as quickly as they can, doing as much as they can, hoping their training and expertise is enough. But every time someone enters the hospital, they can’t help but pause for a beat and stare, hoping it’s her.

~ 4:00pm ~

Patients are referred to by their room number, blurring together. Everyone is exhausted, limbs heavy, grabbing yet another cup of coffee to keep going.

“Incoming!” A handful of nurses and doctors leave their stable patients and rush to the entrance, receiving the new bout of admittees.

“What’ve we got?”

“Two individuals, one male, one female, recovered just outside one of the classified Harvard labs. They’re unconscious, but stable. We didn’t see any obvious injuries, but that doesn’t rule out anything internal. The site of the explosion just cleared enough for us to work our way there,” one of the EMTs respond.

Ethan’s ears perk up at this new piece of information, but before he can corner the EMT, there’s another shout.

“We need an OR room stat!!!” Everyone turns towards the automatic doors at the familiar voice.

Rapidly pushing the side of a stretcher, is Rafael, his face ashen.*

Reclined on the stretcher, is Serena.

Ethan feels his world stop, the noise and hurried movements of the ER fading to black as his eyes trail over her. She’s covered in blood, drifting in and out of consciousness, and breathing through an oxygen mask. There’s several visible gashes on her head and body, but the most alarming thing is the large piece of metal protruding from the side of her abdomen.

She slowly turns her head towards him, as if she can sense his presence nearby.

As they lock eyes, he regains his senses, and rushes to her side.

While the paramedics continue to push the stretcher, he reaches for her hand and clutches it over his heart. "Baby, can you hear me?!"

She blinks groggily at him, acknowledging his words.

"H—," she swallows. "...Hurts," she manages to squeak out.

He nods continuously, his other hand reaching up to brush her blood-matted hair away from her face. "I know, baby, I know. Help is on the way. Until then, I need you to stay awake, okay?" He lifts her hand and kisses it. "Look at me, focus on me, and stay here with me," he urges. He relaxes a fraction of an inch when he feels her lightly squeeze his hand.

"Dr. Ramsey, I need you to step back!"

He shakes his head furiously. "I'm scrubbing in."

"The hell you are! We both know you can't be in there." Harper watches him closely. He's hunched over the stretcher, keeping pace, knuckles white from gripping Serena’s hand, eyes never leaving her face.

Harper sighs and her voice softens just a touch. "Let me do my job."**

He knows Harper is right, but Serena’s eyes are searching his and the thought of leaving her side makes him sick.

"E…"

"I'm here, I'm right here," he responds, tapping their entwined hands over his heart, hoping she can feel the heart that beats for her.

"I lo—," she lets out a breath and her eyes close.

"Rookie?" Her head lolls to the side.

"SERENA!!" He squeezes her hand multiple times, but her hand remains limp in his grasp.

As they push through the doors to the OR, her hand is ripped away from his. He reaches for her, but is stopped by Naveen and a few security guards he called for backup.

"LET ME THROUGH!! SERENA!!!" His voice cracks over her name. He continues to fight, leaving the security guards no choice but to drag him back towards the ER entrance.

Naveen stands in front of him. "ETHAN! You're not in the right state to be in the OR! Serena needs you to trust in Harper and her team. She needs you to be here when she wakes up! And you can't do that if I have to lock you down!"

Naveen takes in the man before him. Ethan's normally perfectly coiffed hair is in disarray, strands falling in his eyes. Cheeks flushed from the effort of screaming and battling the guards' hold. Hands and clothes covered in blood. Serena’s blood.

Naveen's heart plummets at the realization and it aches for the man he's come to consider a son.

Ethan stares down Naveen, chest heaving. After a few seconds, he gives a curt nod. Naveen waves his hand and the guards let go.

As soon as Ethan has range of motion, he walks to the nearest wall, and punches it. He walks away in a huff, leaving a room full of stunned individuals, and a gaping hole in the wall.

~ 8:45pm ~

Ethan sits with his head hung low in the waiting room, elbows resting on his bouncing knees, hands clenched together. Different people have come through, taking turns checking on him. He only mumbles or moves his head in response. The assortment of food and drinks brought to him remain untouched. He refuses to go home, sleep, or even change out of his bloodied clothes. Each time there's slight movement in the direction of the OR entry, he immediately turns towards it, only to be disappointed.

Naveen has been watching from afar, waiting to take his turn. He meanders over, silently taking a seat next to Ethan. He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. He sits calmly, patiently.

After ten minutes, Ethan lets out a shaky breath.

"She needed me," he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard.

Naveen remains quiet, waiting for Ethan to continue.

“She left me a voicemail… said she was scared, that she wanted to hear my voice. I’m supposed to be her protector, but I didn't even pick up the phone.” He buries his head in his hands.

Naveen leans forward, gently placing a hand on Ethan's shoulder.

"My boy. You couldn't possibly have known what was going to transpire today. You can't hold yourself responsible. Don't think I haven't seen the way you look at her, treat her. How you're always standing slightly behind her, a pillar of support during patient interactions, ready to step in if need be. How you consistently have a gentle hand on her, guiding her through the busy corridors. How you wait to leave together so she doesn't have to take the T,*** despite the fact that your shift ended hours earlier. You do protect her, every single day."

"But when she needed me most!” He shakes his head. “I wasn't there. I failed her. Miserably.” He runs his hands through his hair.

"She is everything to me, Naveen, everything. She's shown me what it means to be loved unconditionally, that vulnerability isn't a weakness. I no longer see the world in strictly black and white, or even in shades of grey. I see hues of red, purple, green, the whole damn rainbow, all because of her. She's made me a better mentor and doctor, a better son, a better man. I can’t even imagine where, or who, I’d be now without her. I wasted so much time running from my feelings, when committing to her has been the best decision I've ever made.”

He takes a steadying breath.

"She's the love of my life and now… not only may I never get the chance to tell her, but I also may never get to see our future together," his voice cracks and tears stream down his face.

He swivels his head slowly to face Naveen. "I can't lose her. I just can't."

Naveen nods solemnly. "I’m worried too; I don’t want to lose her either. One of the best surgeons in the country is leading her case. You know Harper and her team will do everything they can and we know Serena is one hell of a fighter. She has to be, to have gotten past your walls and to deal with you on a daily basis,” he teases.

It does the trick, as Ethan chuckles through his tears, nodding in agreement.

“She really is something, isn’t she?”

“She really is,” Naveen responds with a twinkle in his eyes. “And that’s another reason why I have faith. She's a warrior, having fought so long for you, for your relationship, and she knows you’re out here, waiting for her, waiting to be reunited and happy together. She wouldn’t give up now.”

Naveen locks eyes with his protégé.

“The two of you? The story is far from over. I know that in my soul.”

Ethan holds Naveen’s determined gaze, drawing strength from it, and sits up a little straighter.

“Thank you, Naveen. It means more than you know. And… I’ll take care of the hole in the wall,” Ethan grimaces.

“Don’t worry about it, my boy. I’m just relieved you didn’t do more damage,” he laughs. “And if we’re being completely honest, I’d be more shocked if you hadn’t punched a wall.”

Naveen gives Ethan a wink before he stands and walks back towards his office, leaving Ethan shaking his head in amusement, feeling a bit lighter and more hopeful.

~ Tuesday, 1:30am; 1 Day Since Attack ~

Ethan had finally dozed off, albeit uncomfortably, in a waiting room chair, when he felt a petite hand gently shaking him awake. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, coming face-to-face with Harper. He bolts up.

“Where is she? How is she?” Ethan’s eyes are frantic, searching Harper’s face for any sign of information.

She remains silent for a few beats.

“She’s currently being moved to the ICU.”

“She’s alive?”

Harper nods. “She’s alive.”

Before Ethan can breathe a sigh of relief, Harper continues.

“But Ethan… it was really bad. The piece of metal in her body was larger than we thought. It spanned from her kidney to her lungs. It was only two centimeters away from puncturing her heart. Additionally, it was so embedded within her body that every time she took a breath, it dug itself deeper. This isn’t even mentioning the bits of shrapnel she had in other places.”

She squares her shoulders, bracing herself for what she’s about to tell her friend.

“At one point during the surgery, she flatlined.”

Ethan gasps and his eyes widen.

“For a very short, and scary, moment, she was gone.”

Harper’s words hit Ethan like a semi-truck and he has to sit back down to try and calm his thundering heartbeat. Harper crouches down in front of him, eyes softening.

“But we were able to bring her back and I strongly believe that the brief lack of oxygen will not have any lasting effects.”

“However, she has been through a lot in the past twelve hours,” she gently places her hand on his shoulder. “She’s still in a coma and we cannot say for certain if she’ll wake back up.”

Ethan tightly shuts his eyes and balls his hands into fists.

“I assure you, Ethan, that we did everything we could. But now, it’s up to her, and her body, to decide if she wants to rejoin us.”

A tear slips down Ethan’s face.

“Can I see her?” His words come out soft, broken.

“No visitors until she makes it through the night. But, you can see her through the window.”

Ethan is unmoving, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Harper stands. “Come on,” she tilts her head slightly. “Let’s take a walk.”

Ethan follows suit and they make their way through the waiting room, side by side.

~ 2:00 am ~

Before Ethan knows it, they’re in the ICU, Harper having coyly led him in that direction. She comes to a stop in front of a room.

“This is her. If you need anything at all, you know where to find me.”

Ethan stops her as she begins to turn away, looking at her earnestly.

“Thank you for saving her, Harper. It means…,” he sighs. “Everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she responds, eyes fixed on Serena through the window.

Ethan gives a weak nod.

“She’s a stubborn one. I have a feeling she isn’t done with us yet.”

She turns and walks down the hall a ways, before glancing back. Ethan has one hand on the glass, watching Serena wistfully. She hopes that doing everything she could was enough.

~~~~~~

Disclaimers:

*I kept Rafael as an EMT because I wanted to include as much of the crew as possible and having a friend wheel Serena in adds to the angst deliciousness.

**I know Harper is a neurosurgeon, but I wanted to include her badass self and a bit of her platonic friendship with Ethan. So slight Harper AU!

***The “T” is what the locals in Boston call the subway.

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 8: Visions

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

help lol. this was actual torture. We haven't even gotten to a point where it splits and holy moly. Enjoy! Next update is Tuesday! Much love and gratitude, guys. Hope you like~

Part 7 Part 9 Chapter Index

You woke up with a splitting headache. You stared at the ceiling of the infirmary and as you shifted and sat up, you could feel the bruises from the past two days rearing their ugly heads. It had been ages since you’d been so bruised up from practicing. It was fine. Nothing you couldn’t walk off. One of the monks returned to you upon seeing you awake. An older woman took the seat next to you and without a word, took your pulse and checked your eyes and fingernails.

You were used to this by now. The monks were good at what they did, better than some doctors that you’d seen over the years. You had faith in their knowledge and care. “I’m worried, Y/N.” The monk spoke carefully, motherly. You avoided eye contact. Your mother had used that tone when you’d first gotten sick. It was a tone you hated. Pity. “Since you’ve arrived, you seem to have trouble clotting. We’re running some tests.” You sighed but nodded and the monk gently clasped your hand, aged fingers over your bruised ones. “Don’t worry too much. It’s probably from the poison.”

“You’re probably right.” You had this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that it wasn’t the case. You had to be optimistic but that wasn’t always easy. “Thank you for everything.”

“You can stay here if you’re worried. Your old space is still furnished.”

“No, no. I should head back to my room and get some rest.” You stood and stretched. You’d spent more than enough time in the infirmary. Your side was stiff and sore. Still, all things considered, you felt better than you had expected to. Other than the annoying headache, you were as good as new. The monk wished you well and then you left the infirmary and blindly walked back to your room. Even as you opened the door and stared at your bed, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not without having nightmares at least. It was cold that night and the gust of wind coming through the window made you shiver. You pulled one of the coats from your collection of hanfu over your shoulders and then left your room.

There was no sleep for you that night. You walked through the temple and unconsciously made your way to the fight pit. It had been cleaned up since you’d last been there but was abandoned for the night. You walked through the sand to the other side and sat on the edge of the cliff. Reaching into the folds of your clothing you pulled free the flower that Kung Lao had given you earlier.

You admired the petals again and brushed your fingers over each of them, counting them. Ten. You contemplated that children’s game of plucking petals in wonder of love but would have hated to ruin the flower. Then you tucked it inside of your hanfu for safekeeping. The wind made you shiver even as covered up as you were and while you were weary, you tried to familiarize yourself with the layout of the other side of the temple. It was like counting sheep, you supposed except you were counting windows and judging distance.

You felt his energy before you heard the footsteps approaching. Kung Lao. It was the middle of the night. What was he doing awake?

“You should be resting.” He stood next to you, hands behind his back. You didn’t look up at him. You didn’t need to.

“I am resting. This is resting.”

“It’s cold out. Liu Kang’s going to try to kick my ass if I let you freeze out here.”

“That’d be fun to see.” You yawned. He sat down next to you, resting his hat to the side of him against the wall. Silence followed and you shivered, pulling the hanfu tighter around you.

“You didn’t tell me how badly I hurt you.”

“I didn’t realize until I was getting changed. I don’t blame you or anything. Seemed silly to try and chase you down.”

“I forgot that I hit you. You just… took it. I should have been more mindful.”

“I told you that it was fine. I forgot. We were excited about my arcana.”

“The monks said you lost a lot of blood.” Kung Lao stared out at the temple, just as you did, avoiding eye contact. Why? You wanted the answer but didn’t want to ask. “Takes time to recover from that.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m fine.”

“It is a big deal. I’m not one to make a big deal out of it if it isn’t, Y/N. You should know that. From what they told me you shouldn’t have lost that much blood in the first place even with the circumstances. It was stupid to go into the springs afterward, by the way.”

“Don’t judge me. I haven’t been thoroughly clean since you left me here. Excuse me for wanting to relax.”

“You lost so much blood. I’m judging a little.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on the secret, Y/N.”

“They think the poison did something to make me bleed that heavily. Not sure if it’s true or not.” You considered that maybe it wasn’t just that. As you stared down at your folded legs, you remembered a time as a child where you’d scraped your knees and they had bled and bled into the night. You’d gotten sick and then in trouble for getting sick. Your parents had only been worried but it had felt like you’d done something wrong as a kid. This was all too familiar. “I haven’t told Liu yet.”

“And why not? I thought you two had become close friends.”

“We have but I haven’t seen him since I found out for one.”

“…and?”

“He worries about me too much, perhaps.” You didn’t think that was a bad thing, but you didn’t want to be his burden either. You knew your own limits. Besides, he’d had that nightmare the other night of you dying. You didn’t want his worry for you to keep him awake any more than it had.

“I can see why he’d be worried. You’re precious.” Kung Lao’s voice was serious and that instantly set you on edge. Even as kids, he had rarely sounded serious.

“Kung Lao…”

“I know that it’s been years since we last saw each other, Y/N. We don’t really know each other anymore but I would very much like the chance to get to know you again. I’ll try not to worry about you too much but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d like that very much.” You smiled and then closed your eyes. The wind whipped over the edge of the cliff and you shook off the chills.

“You really should rest. That’s the best medicine or this sort of thing.”

“I told you, I am resting.” You yawned. “You should rest too. It’s late. Why are you awake, anyway?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Took a walk. Found you. Liu Kang would kill me if I let you stay out here alone.”

“I’m a grown woman and I’ll do whatever I want, Kung Lao. I’m not ready to go back yet. I’m enjoying the chill and calm.”

“Then I’ll keep you company.” They sat peacefully for a time. Then Kung Lao talked to you, told you about his trip to search for the flower that he’d brought you. He really had gone well out of his way to find it. You were glad that you’d kept it so precious and safe. It would fade, you’d press it in a book again, and keep it for as long as time would allow.

Then he yawned and you saw him falling over and falling asleep. He leaned against your shoulder and you laughed and gently shook him awake. His weight was knocking you over. He sat upright quickly, blinked away the sleep, and then wiped his mouth. He’d even drooled.

“Go to bed, Kung Lao.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” He yawned and placed his hat in his lap.

“And I don’t want you drooling on my shoulder.”

“…you know, that’s fair. I’ll go to bed.” He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “Sure you won’t join me?”

“You go. I’m still enjoying the quiet.”

“Could be fun?” He teased and you swatted at his leg at the suggestion. “Your loss. Promise me that you’ll get some rest eventually, Y/N.”

“I promise. Go to bed. Cold and alone.” You teased without looking back at him. He walked away, leaving you alone on the edge of the fight pit. You waited until his energy was out of reach and then took the flower from within your robes again and smiled. He really was sweet, even if he was a bit abrasive. You tucked the flower away again and leaned against the stone of the wall nearby. A few more minutes and then you’d get up and you’d go to bed. Kung Lao was right. You shouldn’t have been out there alone all night. It was frigid.

Before you knew it, you were being shaken awake. You jumped and grabbed the wrist of whoever was shaking you but your vision was blurry.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Liu Kang’s voice soothed you but it was laced with worry. You blinked desperately but there were black spots in your vision. Liu was crouched before you, searching your eyes, and pushing your hair from your face. “Focus on me, okay?”

Your ears were ringing and your heart was racing.

“What are you doing out here? You’re freezing…” Liu brushed his hands down your arms to try and warm you and then he stopped to take your pulse on your wrist. “Your heart is racing, too. Are you okay?”

His voice was drowned out by a high-pitched screeching, ringing from one ear to the next, then completely deafening you. You grasped your ears to try and force the sound away and skittered away from Liu Kang’s grasp. You couldn’t feel his touch anymore, couldn’t see him. Closing your eyes tight, you willed away the sound, the discomfort, the sudden fear, and pain.

Then there was silence.

You opened your eyes and when you did what met you was hazy, as if a violent sandstorm raged in front of you. There was blood splattered across the fight pit, and behind the pillars you could see people fighting. Darkness rose from the ground, filling the gap between pillars with swirling, thick smoke. From the shadows, a man emerged, regal and terrible, long dark hair, gold armor, dark cloak fluttering behind him. There was a wicked smile on his face and as he stopped, he turned to look right at you.

The whites of his eyes went black and with a raise of his hand, armies of horrid warriors with rows of teeth exposed on their faces, all the way up to their ears rushed forward. They shrieked and charged through the temple. You tried to scream, to cry for help, to run at them but you couldn’t move. It was as if you weren’t there. Yet the man with the dark eyes looked right at you. He saw you. Panic gripped your chest and you tried to close your eyes, but there was no closing them, no looking away. There were flashes of pain, of agony on the faces of people you knew and others that you didn’t. They were losing.

The darkness of the fog surrounded you and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw the lantern lit halls of the temple. You were being carried down the hall in Liu Kang’s arms. Panic gripped you and you struggled to ground yourself. “No! No!” You shouted and tried to get out of his arms and onto your feet. “Liu!” Ink was dripping down your arms and over your fingers. Liu Kang’s arms and chest were soaked in it.

Liu nearly lost his grip on you and he stumbled, the first time you’d ever seen him lose his footing. You wriggled free out of his arms, needing room to breathe, to feel less confined. Liu let you go and you fell to your knees then scooted away from him until your back met the pillar. You leaned your head against it, trying to catch your breath. Ink stained the stone beneath you with every move and you willed the magic to fade. You didn’t remember summoning the ink. It had a mind of its own.

Liu made his way to you and grasped your arms as if he needed to touch you. He searched your eyes, his face rigid with concern. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” you whispered and he breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head. “I… I saw something.” The harsh reality of those words shook you to the core. You had never wanted to say that again, never wanted to think that you would again see things that were beyond your sight.

“You were having a fit, you were… shaking and struggling to breathe and…” Liu Kang didn’t seem to hear you. He was panicking, something you didn’t think that you’d ever live to see. “Then you exploded with ink.”

“Liu, listen to me, please…” You made to touch his cheek but he was still holding your wrists.

“We have to get you back to the infirmary.” He made to lift you up and, arms free, you grabbed his hands and forced him to stop.

“No!” You shouted in desperation. “Liu, listen to me.” He stopped and relaxed just enough that the panic left him.

“Y/N, please,” he whispered, worry thick in his voice. “You’re freezing and…”

“Please, listen to me, Liu. I saw… a man with dark eyes and he… he burst through a wall of shadow with an army.” You tried to recall the rest of what you’d seen but your brain was buzzing again with panic. The visions were tangled like a mess of Christmas lights.

“…you had a vision?” Realization was thick in his voice and yet it was laced with wonder.

“We were in danger. You were in danger.” You weren’t sure how you knew he was in danger. The vision had been fuzzy, but your worry for him was exceptional. “Kung Lao was… and there were people I didn’t recognize, Liu. You were all in danger.” Liu Kang stayed quiet as though there was a war raging inside his head.

Then he pulled his hands free and held his right one before you and lit it on fire.

“You’re freezing, Y/N.” He was still worried but his nerves seemed to have calmed enough for him to stop trying to drag you away. “I need you to go to the infirmary for me. We can go from there.”

“Just stay here for a moment with me. Please, Liu? Then I’ll do whatever you like.” You breathed a sigh of relief. The heat from the flame was too much. He was right. You were too cold. The fire felt like an assault. You kept your eyes fixed on his face. “I need to see you. I need to know you’re okay.” It was true. Besides the panic of having seen something like that for the first time since you were twelve, you had found yourself worried about him.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Liu Kang extinguished his flame, picked up your hands and urged them to his cheeks. Your ink-stained fingers left smudges on his skin. “I’m okay.” He assured you. “I’m right here. No one is attacking anyone. It’s just us.”

“Just us.” You repeated, searching his face. He was covered in ink but no worse for wear. You brushed your fingers over his face, down his jaw and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Then you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him close in a hug. He’d put his worry, his panic aside to comfort you and you couldn’t have been more grateful. His arms slipped around you in return, pulling you tighter to him. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” He pulled back just enough to be face to face with you, voice a calm whisper. His hand rested on the side of your neck, tips of his fingers against your cheek. “What else did you see?”

“It’s a jumbled mess.” You furrowed your brow. You didn’t want to see it again. The panic you’d felt had been the kind of panic you hadn’t felt in years. You’d felt helpless, useless. Like a prisoner of your mind. “I don’t know where to begin explaining it. I wish I could just show you.”

“Lord Raiden will help you make sense of it.”

You let your hands rest on his strong upper arms and nodded. He was warm and you were absolutely freezing, it was better than the fire he’d used. Liu’s eyes were searching your face and he pushed your hair back, hands tangled in your tresses. The danger you felt still clutching your chest was immeasurable. You grasped his arm and in your mind’s eye you could see his face, filled with anguish and pain. You wanted to keep him from that. Liu Kang didn’t deserve that sort of pain.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft and concerned and you focused again on his eyes, wide and staring at you with worry. He was only a few inches away now and you held your breath, for fear that you would disturb him. Liu’s fingers brushed up over your cheek and his thumb brushed over your lower lip, parting your lips just slightly.

Heat rose from deep within your stomach, through your chest, and right up to your cheeks and the agonizing few seconds that passed afterward nearly killed you. Time stopped as his lips met yours, smooth and perfect, a slow and deliberate kiss that made your whole body ignite as though Liu’s fire had passed through you with that touch of his lips. If you hadn’t been seated, your knees absolutely would have given out.

His warm fingers ran up your cheek, through your hair, and to the back of your head, where he held you ensnared in his kiss. Breaking through the panic that had rendered you useless, you allowed your lips to part further, tilting your head into that gentle kiss, the intoxicating scent of soot and ink colliding between you. Your hand had found his shirt and your fingers tangled in the cloth, pulling him just a bit closer.

The soft and tender thing that the kiss had begun as shifted into something deeper, more primal. A desperate display of affection that you had both resisted for far too long. His hands moved from your hair, over the sides of your neck, down your shoulders, the coat of the hanfu falling away, but getting stuck behind you as you were pressed harder against the pillar.

Your lips collided, and a soft, deep half growl half moan emerged from deep in the back of his throat and you felt the pressure of his kiss, pushing your bodies closer together. You found your hands at the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, your heart racing so hard you were light-headed. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but his lips, his hands pulling you closer, traveling down your arms, over your sides, grasping you tightly.

Tilting your head to the side, you invited him to kiss you deeper, more intimately, but then pain shot through you side beneath his touch so completely that you bit his lip and pulled back with a gasp. It was like breathing for the first time, like the world suddenly came into view as Liu Kang pulled back in surprise, sucking on his lower lip that bled just enough for you to notice the color of blood on his flesh.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to struggle to breathe, to find words. As he urged his hands to pull away from beneath your hanfu he stared at his hands. One of them was stained with blood. Your blood. You shivered and with the loss of the heat of Liu Kang you were again freezing. The kiss felt like a distant memory already, a memory that was too far away, that you wanted to once again be lost in.

“I’m okay.” You finally managed words but they felt out of time. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you swore that you would stop breathing and die right there. If your last moment was that kiss with Liu Kang then you were okay with that.

“Your lips are blue.” He brushed his thumb over your lips again and you felt your stomach twist back into knots. Then he pulled back his hands and lit both of them on fire, holding them closer to you to warm you. The heat was overwhelming. “We need to get you to the infirmary and speak with Lord Raiden.”

“I’m exhausted, Liu.” You couldn’t think of walking anywhere. You weren’t sure your legs would work. Between your vision, the blood loss, and the recent memory of Liu Kang’s lips, you weren’t sure you’d ever walk properly again.

“We can sit for a minute. But not for long with you bleeding like this.” His whispers were still so intimate; for you and you alone. You nodded and let him warm you until finally you stopped shaking. Even so, your thoughts were still racing. Focus was nearly impossible, all things considered, and yet the thing that kept racing to the forefront of your thoughts were his lips. Liu Kang was watching you but when you looked back to him, he averted his eyes.

There would be plenty of time to wonder what the hell this had meant, but for now you had a laundry list of things to do.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)

[softandweto]

Help

I know I should put this up somewhere else, but I can’t. Tumblr is my only option and I need all the help I can get right now please.

I had to make a GoFundMe because there’s nothing else I can do. Please spread the word and the link is right here. I’ll be putting the same info in the GoFundMe under the Read More for those who want information up front.

Hello, I hope this finds any who visit well. Before I get into the reason for me making this, I’d like for you all to know how we got here.

My name is Xenia and my boyfriend and I have been living together for nearly a year now. At the beginning, things were going very well. We both had a stable income, and while that trailer was not the best place, we were secure and didn’t have to worry much about finances. Then, March came around and Covid hit us hard. I lost my job as a Teaching Assistant for Special Education, and my boyfriend’s job got more dangerous as a Med Tech working in a nursing home. I was unable to find a job for months, and things were starting to take a bad turn. 

We had some friends living in the state next over who had offered the both of us to move in with them. My boyfriend would have to go back to CNA work, however, as that would be the only license of his that could transfer to the state. My license as a Teaching Assistant was originally for that state, so it seemed to be perfect. After weighing all our options, we decided to make the move and take the risk.

Once again, things were looking well. We both got a new job within the month, and only had to worry about paying a combined $600/month outside of our car payments. With all this, we were able to put up with a lot of things. A majority of the house leaving the place in disarray for the both of us to handle. The racism that we didn’t catch up on until the end. The disregard for my dogs and their health. The fact that, despite how behind the house supposedly was on bills, they could afford to continue to finance new furniture and electronics while we could barely afford to pay the rent and our own food. We could put up with it because we were with friends. No way they would do all this on purpose.

Eventually, after two months of living there, it became too much and they used every excuse possible to force us out of their home and ostracized us. Suddenly, we were the issue. It was our fault their dishes continued to pile up. It was our fault they felt too anxious to leave their rooms. All their problems were now because of us. We had no other choice to move in with my mom and my brother in our old state. Once again, we were out of jobs and couldn’t find work no matter where we looked. I eventually found a job as a server again, but he was unable to find any work despite his CNA credentials.

When October came around, I was working full time for a server minimum wage, while my boyfriend had finally gotten some good news and was starting to work. We scrimped and saved for two months and were finally able to get enough to get our own home. A trailer in a small suburb just outside town was freeing up early December. At first, the price for the rent seemed impossible to make. But, I had received an email from a work from home position I applied for. Early January, I would be starting with them for more than minimum wage.

Things were finally coming into place. Things were once again looking up and we could taste the stability. Then, after a week of being moved in, we decided to enjoy a meal together made in our own home. All the stress, all the craziness we had put up with, it was worth it. But, we couldn’t taste our food. We started noticing the coughs when we were moving, but didn’t think much of it till then. We got tested, and our fears proved to be true. We had Covid.

It was brutal. It felt like suddenly we’d lose everything. The two weeks we spent in quarantine was like our own personal hell scape. Within the first week I was notified they were training someone else to take over my Shift Lead position. A title more than anything, since the pay did not change and minimum wage was all I could get, but that didn’t stop what I knew was coming next. A few days later, I was let go. Tossed aside like an inconvenience. For my boyfriend, they just put him out entirely. For the third time in one year, we were both out of a job. But now, we could face eviction.

We recovered from Covid, and just in time too. I was able to start my new job, but two weeks of no pay had put us out tremendously. One company hired my boyfriend, but we would shortly learn that they would never actually give him any hours. December and January have tested us on what we could and couldn’t live without. We had to forgo a majority of necessities.

We couldn’t set up a disposal service. We had to leave mail to pile up. Living off Dollar Tree groceries. Go weeks without gas. Pawn what we could just so we could make rent and utilities. Now, with February ending, all of this has caught up to us. 

Months of garbage have piled up so high we’ve designated a “trash room” just to keep it out of the way. Toiletries have been out for weeks, but we can’t even afford groceries so soap and cleaning products are out of the question. Our propane is almost completely gone. All the cans of food we had stockpiled are a day away from running out. And we can’t afford our bills. Not with all my checks being used to barely keep us alive.

My boyfriend has recently started a new job, but they won’t pay him in time for us to pay our bills. Which is why I’m reaching out to y’all for help. We have both done everything in our power to keep ourselves above water, but now we can no longer keep it up on our own.

Here is a breakdown of our situation as of today:

My recent paycheck is completely gone after using it to get some of our bills stabilized, but they are already getting back into the red with how far behind we are.

Our car payments are coming up as well as insurances. One car payment is my full check, and we won’t be able to pay for one of them, much less their insurance

We were able to get rid of four bags of trash thanks to some helpful neighbors, but it’s starting to pile once more and I’m worried bugs will start to come out

Internet and Electric must be paid within the next few days in full or risk disconnection. With these two gone, I can’t make any money whatsoever

Food will be out as of Tuesday and with no money left from my check, we’ll be unable to get any groceries for who knows how long

We just ran out of Propane which is used to keep water hot as well as to cook

I hate asking for help and not letting people know what the situation is or what the money will be used for, so I will do so now.

I am asking for 2500 which will leave us with a touch of extra money for things like groceries, toiletries, and vehicle maintenance that is greatly needed. The breakdown is as follows:

$550 - Rent

Rent is due on the 12th of each month and requires two checks to meet. Last month we were able to pay in two separate payments, but our landlord has said that it was the only time and March forward it will need to be in full each month.

$650 - Car Payments

Both cars are $300/month, but we’ve passed my boyfriend’s due date and have incurred a late fee. My car is due on the 6th and if it’s not paid in time, they will repo.

$500 - Insurance

Both Insurances are ~$250 each. Without the insurance, the cars will also risk repossession and my boyfriend needs the vehicles for transportation

 $235 - Internet + Electric

I’ve lumped these together since they are both necessary for my job as well as being ones that need to be paid by this Tuesday or they will disconnect

$100 - Propane

$100 gives us enough propane to last a month. Without this, we can’t shower, do laundry, or even cook

$120 - Disposal + Mail

Disposal and Mail service needs to be set up as soon as possible, but to be honest they are low on my priority list compared to everything above.

$345 - Groceries, Toiletries, Cat Care, and Car Maintenance

With the extra money we can comfortably get through a month with little hassle. I know that more bills will be due later on, but once my boyfriend starts getting steady checks again We can at least make it through on our own with this little extra

I know that right now, things are very tough. I may also come about as rather...presumptuous and hopeful that maybe, just maybe, people can help us out in our time of need. I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you see this and are unable to help us out yourselves, please spread the word as much as you can. I cannot allow us to fall after everything we’ve been able to get through this horrible year. Please, if you can give even a dollar, that’s one dollar closer to getting out of this hole.

Thank you, and I hope that you all have a safe and happy time going forward.

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

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On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.

"We were together Jon. I loved you."

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood.

*

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."

Dead, cold silence fills the room.

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.