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mydisenchantedeulogy · 2 years ago

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Fragile Lines [Chapter Two] Charmer [Ignacio “Nacho” Varga]

Summary: Letting Chuck’s words eat at her, Ria goes to see Jimmy and has a brief run-in with a stranger wearing a button-down shirt.

Warning(s): family drama, tarot cards, heart-to-heart, and mentions of Wicca.

No Minor’s Allowed!!

Ria hated to be alone with her thoughts for too long. Sitting on her brother's words for nearly two weeks, she found that she could no longer ignore them. She hated to admit that Chuck was right, but a part of her wondered if Jimmy would go back to scamming considering his funds were now exhausted after paying off the hospital bills for the two young men he brought in. Seeing him become that person again – Slippin' Jimmy, a nickname that stuck after he used to slip and fall on purpose so he could get money from people – was not something she wanted. But she knew that if she expressed her concerns to him, then Jimmy would accuse her of taking Chuck's side.

Why must the two of them be so damn annoying?

Since when did it become the job of the youngest sibling to keep the family together? Sometimes Ria wished that she had stayed in Cicero with Benjamin. Then maybe she'd be happy and––

Get it out of your head. It's too late to be thinking about what-ifs.

Fucking Chuck! He knew exactly what to say to tear her apart. Ria groaned in annoyance and sat up on her bed. She had the day off, but so far all she had done was sit in bed and think about the argument between her brothers. There was no way she could enjoy her afternoon until she knew that Jimmy wasn't starting shit. But again, she didn't want to flat-out ask him for fear that he would retaliate. He already wasn't answering her calls.

Had he been plotting a scam that inevitably got the two skateboarders injured? Why else did he pay their medical bills? Curiosity was eating her alive.

Ria leaned over to her bedside table and opened it, taking out a deck of tarot cards bound with a rubber band. She was in some need of guidance. Having changed her religion in residency over to Wicca after the death of her mother, she found the concept suited her better. Besides, she rather enjoyed tarot readings; answers came easier to her. Taking off the rubber band, she held the deck in her hand.

How should I deal with the issue regarding my brother Jimmy?

Ria thought hard about her question as she put her energy into the deck. Once she was ready, she shuffled them; a lone card fell onto the bed between her legs prompting her to raise a curious brow. Normally she would spread the deck and pick a card, but this one seemed to jump out at her for some reason. She sat the others down on the bedside table and lifted the fallen card, turning it over. It depicted a burning tower with people falling from it.

Ria chewed on her bottom lip in thought. The Tower card upright represented misery, calamity, and ruin. She also knew it meant sudden change and higher learning, but to who. The question she had asked didn't seem to correlate, but perhaps she was overthinking it. Tarot readings were not an exact science; they were meant to guide one, not make choices for them. Humming, she took out her phone from her pocket and checked the time. It wasn't too late in the afternoon, so Jimmy was most likely in his office at Day Spa and Nail.

It wouldn't hurt to check up on him.

Getting off the bed, Ria left her room and hurried into the bathroom, getting dressed in an outfit she had sitting out, a Cami top and jeans. Brushing her unkempt brown hair and painting her lips a vibrate coral pink, she sauntered out the door of her apartment on 4th Street and got into her vehicle.

It took her no more than 8 minutes on I-40 East to get to the nail salon. She was right about Jimmy being there; his pee-yellow Suzuki Esteem was in the lot, looking worse for wear. Ria parked next to a faded black and orange Chevy Van, then got out and went inside. For a moment she stood near the door, searching for the shop owner, Mrs. Nguyen, but when she didn't see her, she walked towards the back where the office was, having been in the salon multiple times before; she always assumed Mrs. Nguyen didn't mind her stopping by considering she never chided her each time she did, so long as she didn't drink the cucumber water that was meant for the customers.

Without knocking, Ria swung the door open and sauntered in, almost bumping into someone seated in front of Jimmy's desk. Her eyes grew wide in shock.

"Shit! I'm sorry."

The person, a Mexican-American man wearing a button-down striped shirt, narrowed his eyes at her, then averted them to her brother.

"Don't you know how to knock?" Jimmy asked in annoyance. "I'm with a client."

"Don't you know how to answer a phone?" Ria retorted with a snap.

The client grinned and sat back in his chair as if he were enjoying the show.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Aria. Go outside, please," Jimmy stated.

He almost sounded desperate, a tone that concerned Ria. Dismissing it as a precaution considering the client in the room, she grabbed the handle and shut it behind her, standing outside. She hoped that she didn't mess up his chance at an actual client. Things at the courthouse were looking grim and she knew the little bit of money he earned wasn't enough to live on.

He won't let me help him no matter how much I offer.

Ria sighed and leaned her head against the wall. She wanted the best for Jimmy and Chuck, even though the latter thought she was playing favorites. Hell, she lost a lot moving to Albuquerque, including her house. Or rather Benjamin's house. She just wished that her brothers could see what all she sacrificed for them.

Hearing the door open, Ria stood up straight and averted her eyes, watching the client come out. She felt bad for interrupting their conversation, hoping that he didn't hold it against Jimmy.

"Um... I'm extremely sorry for barging in. My brother honestly needs a secretary to keep people like me from interrupting."

The client glanced at her, narrowing his eyes, then walked toward the exit.

What a charmer, Ria thought, turning up her eyes. All the attractive guys are massive dicks.

Jimmy sauntered out next, watching the charmless man leave before he turned his attention to her.

"What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I just came to talk," Ria answered. "And no, I could not have waited. You've already been dodging my calls."

Jimmy hummed.

"Are you sure?"

Turning up her eyes, she pushed past him into the office and sat in the chair the client had been sitting in. Jimmy shut the door and sat behind his desk.

"So," Ria drew out. "Was he a client?"

"The brooder in the button-down? He could give Sean Penn a run for his money," Jimmy teased.

She snorted.

"He was cute. I hope he comes back."

"Your taste in men needs some work," Jimmy stated with a disgusted expression. "And you're out of luck because he isn't coming back. I couldn't help him. You know, it may have been because you barged in here nagging me. Some men are turned off by nagging women."

Ria raised a brow in disbelief and flipped him the bird.

"That was extremely immature."

"Says the pot calling the kettle black," Jimmy retorted.

Touché.

Ria crossed her leg over the other and sighed. She didn't want to bring up the argument, but she figured that her brother had a right to know.

"This isn't a consolation, so I don't have to give you a dollar, but I expect you to keep your big mouth shut when I tell you this; it's strictly a family matter."

"My lips are sealed," Jimmy promised, raising his hands in defense.

Ria hoped so. She didn't want Jimmy to go back to Chuck and tell him that she cried to him about their fight.

"I went to see Chuck. He was upset after you left, something about not grounding yourself. But he asked me about the medical bill you paid for the skateboarders. Why didn't you tell me that it was going to set you back?"

Jimmy took an uneasy breath and tapped his fingers on the desk.

"Because it doesn't concern you or Chuck. He found the medical bill; I had no intention of telling him because I knew he'd get upset."

"He got more than upset. He's worried that you're 'slipping' again," Ria mentioned as she emphasized the word.

Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head a bit.

"And you came here to ask if I am?"

Ria shook her head in disagreement. She wanted to, but changed her mind; the Tower card came to mind.

"All I ask is that you let me help you if ever you need it. I'm your sister, Jimmy and even if Chuck is trying this tough love approach, I want you to know that you can come to me."

"Okay, noted. But he said something else to you, didn't he?" Jimmy asked with a curious look.

Ria took a deep breath. It didn't necessarily matter, but she couldn't lie to him.

"He brought up Ben. Said I moved because you asked me to, but that's not true."

"It's been eating at you though, so maybe it's a little true," Jimmy mentioned.

How could he think that? Ria narrowed her eyes in sorrow.

"No Jimmy. It's never been about you," she claimed as she sat on the edge of the seat. "It was a decision I made to be closer to you both, and it cost me everything. Yes, I am still a mess about it, but I don't blame either of you."

She still loved Benjamin, but he made it clear her family meant nothing to him. It was ignorant on her part not to work around the issue; her brothers were all she ever had and to want to separate her from them made her bitter. Ria was stubborn as hell and change scared her; she was still getting used to her new life even after being in Albuquerque for a year and a half.

Warm tears filled her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away.

"Just promise me."

For a moment she was scared that Jimmy wasn't going to react, but he brought in his bottom lip and shook his head.

"If something comes up that I can't manage, I'll call you."

Ria was content. She leaned back in her seat and smiled. The least she could do was change the subject.

"How is Kim doing? Are you two an item yet?"

Jimmy snorted.

"I don't ask you about your personal life."

"You probably shouldn't," Ria teased. "I've done things that would make the internet blush."

Her brother curled his nose in disgust, standing.

"I'm gonna get some cucumber water before you make me throw up."

"That is for paying customers only," Ria brought up, laughing as he walked from the room.

She leaned her head back and sighed. At least she felt a little better, but her phone felt like it was burning a hole in her jean pocket, begging her to make the call to her ex.

#better call saul fanfiction #nacho varga x oc #better call saul fandom #nacho varga

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teddy06writes · 4 years ago

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PLEEAASE 😭😭 I'm begging you for some hurt/comfort resolution for the last karlnapity x reader and sleepy bois brothers!! I just want them all to be happyyy. If the 3 lives was implemented, or if reader came back like ghostbur and the hurt is raw for the loved ones, the fallout and fixing, the love and regret i- (I loved the fic, your karlnapity are my favorite!! keep up the awesome work!! <3)

sapnap x karl x quackity x reader + sleepy boys x silbing!reader

trigger warnings: mention character death (it’s you, your the dead one) yelling, swearing,

requested by the anon above, another anon: “ngl after reading that angst fic I can picture y/n ( even tho I know y/n came back with knowing who the boys were ) coming back kinda like ghostbur knowing the boys voices but can't exactly place their names and who they are to them or something like that ?? idk my brain went think of more angst after that fic - also sorry this is just me rambling. love your work btw !!”

as well as @tobiostfu @theprocrastinatingshipper @pastelvixenbeauty and probably some more folks I might have missed

premise: this is a part two to the other angst thing from the other day, so I recommend you read that for context, this is a resolve (ish) to that

(y/n/n)- your nickname

“blep”- talking

‘blep’ thinking

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You had drifted the lands of the SMP, and L’Manburg for sometime trying to remember what had happened, and why everyone was always yelling.

You’d try to talk to Karl, after Alex and Nick had left, but he just ignored you.

Now you were perched on the top of the stage, looking out ‘why are the walls gone?’, and then looking down, confused, at the strange, cage like structure built at the center.

You heard a sigh, and turned to see Eret looking up at the cage as well, you hopped down off the stage and concentrated, “Eret?”

They jumped, looking around, “What the hell?”

You screwed your eyes shut ‘please see me please see me please-’

“(y/n)?”

You opened your eyes to see Eret looking at you in shock, “Eret! I’m so glad to see you! Everyone’s been ignoring me lately, and acting like I’m not here, and I don’t get it.”

“(y/n)?” His voice was shaking.

“Yeah, Eret. It’s me!” You giggled, “What’s going on here? Did I miss the festival?”

“(Y/n).”

You looked at her confused, “Yeah. W- whats-”

“(y/n/n)?” A teary voice behind you called.

You grinned turning around, running to hug him, “Karl! I missed you! Why did you keep ignoring me?”

He began to cry as you sailed through him, “(y/n/n).”

“Karl? Karl love why are you crying? Eret what’s going on?”

Karl all but fell to his knee’s burring his head in his hands, muffling his sobs, “(y/n/n)!”

You sat beside him, continually trying to wrap your arms around him, but instead they just past through, over, and over, and over and over again, “Wh- why can’t I- what’s- what- Eret whats?”

Tears similar to Karl’s began to roll down your cheeks, as you looked down at your hands, only now noticing how gray your skin looked, “What’s going on?”

“(y/n),” You could tell Eret was fighting to keep their voice from shaking, “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what? What’s going on?”

Karl sobbed louder, and Eret shook her head, “(y/n), I- theres a path, through the woods, behind- up behind the hill. I- I need you to go up there, as far as it goes, alright?”

You nodded, “Why?”

“Just go. I’m going to take Karl back home. Maybe- maybe don’t come back to his house for a while.”

Eret gently helped Karl up, and led him away, his sobs still echoing in your head.

‘what the hell is going on here?’

Slowly you drifted up towards the hill Eret had spoken of, ‘hey, pogtopia is this way! maybe I’ll go see Wil an’ Tommy an’ Techno! They’ll know what’s going on.’

You continued to drift up the path, humming quietly and wondering what Eret had sent you to look at, and why Karl had been crying.

You looked up and around at all the trees, trying to remember them. It was in bits and pieces, Tommy yelling about about freedom, Wilbur saying how proud Phil would be.

You remembered the forests burning, ‘who had done that?’, hiding in the woods after- after something- tnt, blow- after L’manburg had been blown up.

You stopped moving, looking down confused at the stone you had come across, it as large, flat and upright, and you looked at the words confused.

‘(Y/n) brave beyond words, hero of L’manburg’ there were various flowers scattered around, a sword stuck out of the ground, a flower chain wrapped around it’s hilt, there was a uniform jacket, one you vaguely recognized as your own and a bandana, also tied to the hilt of the sword.

Someone dropped something, a sword, “(y/n)?”

“Techno! I missed you! Everyone down in L’manburg is being wierd and when I finally got Karl to stop ignoring me he just started crying, and there’s this weird thing up on the stage and the walls are gone, and Eret told me to come up here, and why is my name on this headstone?”

“(y/n/n) I’m sorry,” Your brother fell to his knees, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean too! They made me!”

“What are you talkin about Tech?”

“How are you back here? I’m sorry! This is my fault I did this to you!”

You were surprised to see your brother crying, “What’s wrong Techno?”

“You don’t remember?”

“(Y/n)?” Another voice asked.

You turned, looking at Wilbur, “Wilbur what’s going on? No one’s answering me again, and I’m scared that they can’t see me again! And I’m really confused and I made Karl cry and I don’t get it!”

“(y/n) your dead, you died, you- how are you?” Wilbur stuttered.

“Wha- wh- d- dead? What do you mean?” You watched as Wilbur carefully placed himself between you and a still crying Techno.

“You died, a few days ago. (y/n/n).”

You sank to the ground, fading away so that your brothers wouldn’t see.

~~ “So you don’t remember anything?” The man with the rams horns asked.

You shook your head, “Not everything. Just a lot of things. Wilby says I’m dead, which I guess makes sense now.”

You’d continue drifting around L’manburg, for a while, trying to figure out what had happened on your own, and ended up sitting dejectedly outside the white house, you could remember making it with Tubbo.

“Well I’m Shlatt.” He shuffled around in his desk, looking for something.

“Shlatt?” You paused, trying to remember him, pretending not to notice to see the fear that flashed in his eyes, “Your.. you were here before L’manburg right?”

“Yeah, uh, here.” He pulled out a book and quill, “Uh, write down what you remember, that might help.”

You looked at him quizzically, “I can’t touch things, uh- or manipulate objects in the normal world with out using huge amounts of energy.”

He frowned and quickly picked up the pen, “You dictate then.”

You hummed, “Well, things I remember....”

Alex woke with a start, sitting up from where he was hunched over his desk, blinking at the harsh afternoon light that was drifting through his office window.

He still hadn’t been back to the house since the fight after the execution, and had been forcing himself into work to mask the grief.

“So is there anything else? It doesn’t seem like you remember much.” Shlatt’s voice was muffled by the wall.

“Well it’s a bit foggy towards the end, and the beginning Ooo! I remember Alex and Nicky and Karl too! I could never forget them!”

Alex froze at the familiar giggle.

“Yeah, you never used to shut up about your boyfriends.” Shlatt chuckled.

Alex was running down the hall and slamming the door to the presidents office open before he could register he was moving, “Shlatt am I going insane or...”

He trailed off as your floating grayish form turned to him, “Alex! I couldn’t find you! And I didn’t know what was going on and everyone was ignoring me then I saw Wil and Techno and they told me I was dead. and then I found Shlatt! And he’s helping me write down what I remember! Have you met Shlatt? He’s nice!”

“Shlatt what the fuck is this?” He spoke through you as if you weren’t even there.

“Your partner. Apparently no one around has been helping them sort things out,” The president stood up and moved around his desk, “Ghosts tend to forget things of there past lives, and no one was helping them, so I am.”

“Did you tell them what happened? Why there fuckin- floating around instead of being here with us?” Alex spat.

Shlatt sighed, “Quackity listen this is a delicate thing. Right now it’s be better to help them remember than just tell them. So go find your stupid boyfriends and tell them the situation!”

“I cant Shlatt, we broke up. They don’t want to see me.”

“Is that what you were yelling about?” You asked quietly.

Alex looked at you, shocked, “You heard that?”

“Yeah. You and Nick made Karl cry. And then I couldn’t do anything about it,” you looked down at the floor, “w- is it my fault y- we’re broken up now?”

Alex remained silent so you continued, “I’m trying to remember what I did. And how I died. But if I did something stupid, or something to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

You were crying again, and Shlatt glared at Alex, which somehow surprised you, “This is why is trying to fucking handle this. Leave. Tell the others or not I don’t care, they’ll find out eventually.”

“Wh- Shlatt they- How-”

“I said get out,” Shlatt said firmly, “At least let me try to fix things I’ve fucked up.”

Alex shook his head before turning and heading out of the office, only ducking into his own long enough to grab something before stalking out of the building.

Shlatt turned back to you, already starting to pick the pen back up, “So what else do you remember about.. uh, your last few days. What do you remember right before the end?”

“Did they really break up because of me? If I did something I should go apologized.”

“Hey, hey, no, it ain’t your fault. I’ll go yell at them later. Tell me more about what you remember about the festival.”

~~ “Why the fuck are we here Shlatt?” Tommy half yelled.

Tommy, Technoblade, Wilbur, Alex, Nick and Karl were all gathered in front of Shlatt in the holy land.

“So, some of you may know, some of you may not, (Y/n) is back,” He looked over all the faces, Karl already looking like he was about to cry, and Nick frozen in shock, “For the past week or so they’ve been wandering and apparently none of you have been doing anything to help them.”

“Ghosts don’t remember much from there past lives, so good job on all of you that knew, you left your partner or sibling lost and confused,” He dropped the book you’d written together on the table, “I did my best, they remember everything that's written down here. I couldn’t tell them much about what they forgot, because it’s not my place.

“If you guys want, I can keep talking to them, and doing my best, but incase you haven’t noticed I’m also the fucking president. I can’t spend all my time helping educate a ghost. They disappeared yesterday, after saying something about Karl and how they saw you fools yelling, so, this is in your court now.”

Shlatt turned a walked away, heading back towards Manburg.

With shaking hands Tommy took the book, reading aloud,

“Things I remember: Home, fire, Phil finding me, Wilbur never having seen a child before, Techno swearing he’d protect me, fire, Tommy trying to spar with me before he could walk right, Techno teaching me to fight, finding the SMP lands, L’manburg, fighting for independence, fire,

“the forests burning, seeing Nick for the first time, Babysitting Fundy, winning independence, Eret leaving, fire, destruction, L’manburg thriving, the sun, Tubbo and his bees, more people coming to the country, meeting Karl, finding Alex, when we got our act together and finally all started dating.

“Wil threatening Nick and nick not being scared, Techno threatening all of them and making them terrified. Pogtopia, the cavern The festival, the dunk tank, Techno almost crying, my boys, fire.”

He looked up at his brothers, “You knew they were back?”

“I was in shock,” Techno was staring at his boots, clearing his throat uncomfortably, “Y’know I swore I’d protect ‘em, but- I- I killed ‘em.”

Nick grabbed the book from Tommy, “We have to find them.”

“Fundy can you turn the page for me please?”

The fox nodded, “Course (y/n).”

Most of the shock had worn off, and now he was mostly just happy to see you again, even going and finding an old photobook Wilbur had given him a while ago.

“Oh I remember this!” You pointed to a photo, it was taken a year after Phil had found you, “There was a big fire across the field, and while they were taking care of it I got scared and ran away, Techno found me in a tree.”

Fundy laughed, “3 year old you got in a tree by yourself?”

“Yeah, furball, I was in a tree when Philza found me too.” You chuckled.

“Hey Fundy, have you...” Niki burst in the door, tailing off as she saw you.

You waved “Hey Niki.”

“Uhh, Your brothers, and your partners are looking for you.”

You frowned, “Are they still my partners if I’m dead?”

Niki gave you a sad look, “Come on. Sapnap hasn’t seen you and he’s worried.”

“They all fought because of me, I’d rather stay here,” You looked out the door warily, “I don’t want to make things worse than they already are.”

“They need you (y/n), you brought them together.”

You drifted around Fundy and towards the door, “Making things worse isn’t something I want to do.”

You went through the door, past the group of people, making your form fade as much as possible so as not to be noticed, from there you wandered down to the docks, sitting on the edge to look over the channel.

“Phil sent a letter, said he’s devastated your gone, but overjoyed your still here.”

You looked up at Techno, “How’d you know I’d be down here?”

“You always liked the water,” He chuckled, “Specially if there was a fire goin on somewhere else.”

“I don’t want to make things worse, if your here to take me back there.”

“I’m here to apologize. I know you don’t remember, but in case you do, I’m sorry, I had to do it.”

You laughed, “Your my big brother Tech, I doubt I’d be mad at you if I remembered.”

He smiled sadly, sitting down next to you, “Why do you think you’ll make things worse?”

You sighed, “Well when I first came back, I thought everyone was ignoring me. And when I found L’manburg again Karl and Nick and Alex were fighting about something I did, and then when Eret finally saw me Karl started crying, and then when I found you and Wilby you started crying and I just- I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Techno looked at you, “If anything it’s our fault. All of this.”

“Techno, can we talk to (y/n)?”

You froze at Nick’s voice, but your brother was already moving, and Your partners were taking his place.

“(y/n/n), we’re sorry-”

“Stop,” You cut Alex off, “Whatever’s happening stop. You can’t apologize to me for shit I did that I can’t remember.”

“(y/n/n), we aren’t apologizing for that, that's not even your fault. We’re apologizing for fighting as soon as you were gone.” Nick said.

“Please come back with us. Don’t disappear,” Karl’s voice was barley a whisper, “We can help you remember.”

You bit your lip, sobbing, “I don’t want to make things hard on you guys. I didn’t even want to come back like this! Before I woke up again, it was just darkness, and it was horrible. but somehow staying there for eternity seems better than this.”

All three sets of arms passed through you, all of your boyfriends forgetting they couldn’t hold you, only making you cry harder.

“I want to be resurrected.”

It had been a week and a half since the day at the docks. You hadn’t gone back with them, though you had continued hanging around Manburg, talking mainly to Shlatt, and by now you just wanted to go back to the normal you remembered.

“Resurrected?” Dream looked at you curiously.

“Yeah. I want to go back. If I can’t stay dead the normal way and I’m stuck here then I want it to be normal. I want to hug my boyfriends, and ruffle my little brothers hair!”

The man behind the mask merely cocked his head, “So why did you come to me?”

“You’re essentially a god in these lands. I figured you might know someone or someway for me to be resurrected,” The mask shifted and you could almost here the plan formulating in his mind, “And if it ends up failing I don’t want it to hurt anyone else.”

The man sighed, “It would be a very complicated process. It’s been what, three weeks since you died, what ever was left of your body is going to be- less than in good condition.”

“What was left?” You questioned.

“Oh, (y/n), didn’t they tell you?” Had the mask been gone you would have seen the gleam of wickedness in his eyes, “You went off with a bang.”

“You’re planning what?” Shlatt yelled, incredulous.

You’d told Shlatt about the plan for resurrections, seeing as he was one of the only one who really still talked to you, “I have to do it Shlatt! I can’t stay like this! I want things to be normal! I want-” Your voice grew small, “I want to take back what you took from me.”

Fear flashed in the horned mans eyes, “He told you.”

“Even you wouldn’t,” You said dejectedly, “I thought you were my friend.”

“I- I was your friend, At some points at least.”

He watched as you floated away, “I suppose we’ll see once I’m back.”

As soon as you were gone Shlatt was hurrying out of his office, “Quackity! Quackity, some shit is about to hit the fan! You better call the idiots in Pogtopia!”

It didn’t take long for him to assemble your brothers and partners, frantically telling them the situation, “Dream is up to something with this people! He obviously is doing some manipulation shit!”

“Why do you even care Shlatt?” Tommy asked, “Your the bitch who killed them, so why should you care if they come back?”

“Sorry that the one time I’m willing to look past shit you don’t trust me?” He groaned, pulling a bottle from his coat and taking a swig, “Sorry that I’m trying to help.”

“How would he even turn this against us?” Nick asked, “Resurrections isn’t something he can do, he’d put Bad in charge of that, and we all know that Bad wouldn’t corrupt someone.”

“It’s possible that they won’t remember anything, at all, and people who’ve forgotten are the easiest to manipulate.” Shlatt sighed.

“We have to help them.” Karl decided.

Darkness, darkness, darkness.

You had finally found your way back to that dark abyss, though now it was filled with strange chanting.

It felt like you were bein dragged across the length of the universe, losing everything of your being along the way.

‘stop! stop stop stop! I want- I want to remember’ you begged the darkness.

The hell you found yourself in seemed to stretch, continuing for infinity, the darkness, called you, begging you to stay, to give up the last of your essence to it.

The chanting grew louder as you tried to scream, the sound lodged in a throat that no longer existed.

All at once you became nothing, and then you felt the weight of a thousand suns crushing you back down into a body.

~~ Your eyes flicked open, to a blinding white world.

“It worked! There awake!” You heard Bad yell.

You started to smile as you heard Alex yell, “Get the fuck away from them Dream, you can’t manipulate anyone else!”

You sat up, starting to look around, but still, you saw nothing but light, “Alex? Wh- It- why can’t I see?”

“They remember!” you heard Karl rejoice.

“Why can’t I see?” You asked again, raising your hands to your eyes.

“(y/n) what do you mean?” Nick asked.

“I can’t see.” You said desperately, reaching out you felt your boyfriends wrapping there arms around you.

“I think I know how to fix it!” Bad yelled triumphantly.

Everything went black again.

This time, your trip through hell was not as bad, though you seemed not to notice as your existence and identify was striped away again.

~~ Your eyes flicked open, the feeling returned to your body, and slowly you sat up, looking around at the odd group of people gathered around you, “Who are you?”

As soon as the world came out of your mouth a mousy haired man in a colorful sweater burst into tears, the man with the beanie next to him quickly pulling him into a hug.

“I- Who are you?”

“Do you not remember?”

You shook your head, “Remember what?”

you turned to the pink haired man, “I know you don’t I? I swear- I- I know I know you. Why don’t I remember you?”

A demonic looking man quickly closed a book, “You guys should clear out. a third party might be better for this.”

~~ The man- Bad, had explained basics of things to you, who everyone who’d been in the room before, and the said that you would have to stay at his house in the Badlands for a few days.

The next day was better.

‘holy shit it worked!’ you thought, looking down at your arms, ‘I’m back’

Quietly you got out of the bed, rushing through the room and towards the stairs of Bad and Skeppy’s house, “Guys! Guys it worked! I’m alive again!”

You turned another corner to see you brothers, looking at you shocked, “(y/n)? You remember?”

You grinned, quickly pulling your brother into a hug, “It wasn’t your fault Techno! You didn’t mean to it’s okay!”

“(y/n/n)?”

You turned again, “Karl! Nicky! Alex!”

The next thing you knew you were in a pile on the ground, your boyfriends all hugging you tightly.

They brought you home soon after, and from there you had good days and bad days.

There were days where you remembered it all, days where you found yourself lost and confused in an unknown house, and days where you could on recognize certain things around you.

Still, you were back with Nick and Karl and Alex, and you would make it through, together.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #sapnap x reader #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #sapnap x karl x quackity x reader #angst #sleepy boys x reader

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sugxrslushy · 3 years ago

Note

Marco and Ace poly or just Marco and their gn/male partner decorating Marcos office for Xmas please xxx love you xx

🎄a/n: Franky!! I’m glad I get to write something for you for this event, I’m always happy doing things for friends! I had fun writing this one and I hope that you’ll have fun reading it too <3 I hope your day is good and happy holidays

🎄includes: Marco & Ace (w/ a m!reader)

🎄summary: Marco’s office tends to be boring, but he’s not against decorating. on the other hand, Ace is excited to drag you into helping him decorate for the holiday drawing close

“Your office is so boring.” Ace groans, leaning dangerously far back in the rolling chair. You snorted, just waiting for him to fall out like he’s done plenty of times before. He kicks his feet up on the desk, his clucky boots thumping against the hardwood and Marco swats him off.

“If my office is so boring, why don’t you decorate it?” Marco replies casually but sends you a small glance asking for help. Leaving Ace in charge of decorations was a disaster in itself. He has too much faith in himself to go all out and it never goes according to plan. You shrug and try to keep down a smile.

“It’s no fun on my own,” Ace hums and leans the slightest bit further in the back, making you hold your breath as it creaks loudly. Sitting upright in a flas, Ace swings around in the chair to face you with a grin you know all too well. “Come on y/n, wanna help me? It’ll be fun!” He smiles bright and you muffle a laugh.

You clamber to your feet and nod, shoving your hands into your pants pockets. “Sounds good to me, you joining?” You ask Marco who is lost in organising his desk. He adjusts his glances and takes a moment to think, then nods with a smile.

“If you both bring up all the decorations then I will.” He places a paper down on his desk. Ace pumps his fist in the air, proud of himself for “convincing” Marco into letting you two decorate his office, despite saying nothing. You roll your eyes and lightly tug on his shirt to pull him along to get the decorations.

“Of course he doesn’t want to take the boxes up, what an old man.” Ace laughs and you lightly jab him in his arm. He gasps overdramatically and places his hand over the spot. “And I was going to offer to bring up all the boxes for you!” He jokes and pulls you down the last stair with him.

Despite his stubbornness, he still helps you bring up most of the boxes on his own, scooping them out of your arms even when you had it fine. You and Marco sometimes envied his never ending energy, but you didn’t need it yourself as long as he’s around. You drop the last box down and Marco finally joins you both.

“Let’s get started yoi.” He crouches down to open the first box and starts passing the two of you all the newspaper stuffed inside of it. Carefully handing off the more delicate decorations to you, you stand up to go find spots while Ace helps him in opening the rest of them. You placed one down on his desk and you could hear him chuckle lightly.

Kneeling down beside him once again, you start digging through the box filled with ornaments. You smile fondly as you pull out a couple of ornaments, varying in quality. You’d made them together a few years ago as a small present for each other. The one Ace made for Marco still thankfully had the tuft of yellow yarn at the top.

The ones you’d made for them were wrapped very carefully, both cherished dearly by your partners. One was for Ace, a medallion of a bull’s skull and the string was beaded with small red beads, mimicking the one he wore everywhere. The other was two birds, one you’d tried your best at painting blue to match Marco’s favourite colour. Ace said the other bird looks like a pigeon. And you can’t say he’s wrong. The little grey bird nestled in the wings of the other.

You felt someone behind you and before you could glance back at them, a hat was being placed on your head. You looked up to see Marco grinning down at you in the Santa hat he’d found. You picked a piece of fluff from it and returned the smile, trying not to laugh at Ace sneaking up behind him with an elf hat.

Marco didn’t give a fight as Ace pulled it down on his head. You both dissolve into laughter over how awful the pointy hat looked on him, Ace nearly in tears and doubled over from how hard he was laughing. “That’s literally the ugliest hat we could’ve bought.” You snicker and Marco nods in agreement after checking himself out in the mirror.

“You’re annoying.” Marco mumbles and goes back to trying to place tinsel along the room. You go over and join him, helping him hold up the shimmering material as he finds spots to place it. Ace wanders over and throws his arms over your shoulders, tugging you both into a tight and warm hug.

“Too bad you’re both stuck with me. You both love me too much to do anything about it.” Ace kisses you both, nuzzling in close and almost making you drop everything you were holding.

Marco carefully pulls you over to help him, helping you stay steady as you climb up the little ladder to hang some decorations up. His hands gently hold onto you and you lean up to reach the little hook to place them on. “Don’t fall because I don’t have taking care of my injured boyfriend on my to-do list today.” He jokingly says and you laugh lightly.

“You’re a doctor, isn’t that your job?” You reply and step down from the ladder, still holding onto his hand. It always fits so perfectly with yours, making it feel impossible to let go.

“Yeah, but also preventing injuries is part of it. So neither of you hurt yourselves for the love of god.” Ace replies with a quick ‘aye aye captain’ and you let your head fall against his shoulder. The room was half done but still looked lovely, admittedly less boring than before.

Marco motions Ace over and kisses him on the forehead, then turns around to do the same to you. “Still got decorations left, can’t leave things half done. Maybe we can watch a movie later.”

tag list: @cjm-cookiethief @acesmarigold @sanjithesimp @cyborg-franky

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #holiday wishlist event #portgas d. ace #ace x reader #ace x you #marco one piece #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco x you

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after-witch · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday Gift Part 2 (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Title: Birthday Gift (Part 2) (Yandere Overhaul x Reader)

Synopsis: You finally get up the nerve to ask your captor for a special gift--a birthday gift. Continuation of Birthday Gift Part 1.

Word Count: 3053

Notes: Yandere, emotional manipulation

“Kai, there’s…” You struggle to find the words. You hadn’t exactly felt confident about your request before, but faced with his deceptively impassive gaze, it is difficult to muster the courage to even ask.

He raises his eyebrows, and waits for you to collect yourself.

You take a deep breath and fold your hands neatly in your lap. You start to feel prim, good–deserving, even, of what you’re about to ask for.

“I wanted to ask about my birthday…”

His expression brightens--well, you think it does. You like to think that you’ve gotten good at reading his face over the past few months, and it’s helped you navigate your more… difficult moments. Emboldened, you continue.

“I want to see my mom.”

The words come out fast and unsteady. You wish your tone had been stronger, but maybe he’ll like that you don’t seem too demanding.

“Just for a visit, I mean,” you continue, looking to the side. You’re afraid to see his response. “Not forever or anything.” You scrape the bottom of your lip with your teeth, a quick and nervous gesture. “I just want her to know I’m okay?”

You glance back at his face and see that he looks… contemplative. Not angry, which is a plus.

Then, he sighs--in resignation, you think. And the thought is enough to make your heart feel like it’s jumping as you practically chirp at him from across the table. “Oh, thank you thank you! I promise it won’t be for very long, and, and maybe we could--I mean you could meet her, you know? If you want to?” You trip and stumble over your words, because you hadn’t had time to rehearse any farther than your initial request. You never imagined you’d get his approval and--

“Absolutely not.”

Your face falls and a knot develops instantly in your stomach. “Oh.” Your teeth gnaw on your lip again. “I don’t understand?”

You feel your cheeks heat up in humiliation and disappointment and suppressed anger as you watch his face go from impassive to--and you’re sure of it, this time--disappointment.

“I thought you had gotten past this, (Y/N). I really did.”

You swallow, thick and scratchy. “Past what?”

His eyes aren’t cold, but stern. The look he usually gets when he wants to lecture you. You don’t know if you can handle a lecture right now. “Past this silly desire to leave.”

The accusation stings, somehow. You didn’t say you wanted to leave. “That’s not--” you sit up straighter in your chair and force yourself to look him in the eyes. You want to be taken seriously, you want him to take you seriously. “I don’t want to leave.” (But you do, you DO.) “I just--I want to visit my mom.”

Your eyes flick around his face, searching for a sign of something. Compassion, pity even. But he keeps his look as paternalistic as before. Like you’re some silly girl who doesn’t know what she wants or what she needs, like you should know that asking for something like wanting to leave your captor’s fortress and visit your mom who thinks you’re missing or dead already rotting somewhere so she can stop worrying is ridiculous. You feel your carefully suppressed anger bubbling and you clench your fists until your neatly trimmed nails are pinching your skin.

“It’s out of the question,” he says. His voice turns softer. “It’s not safe for you out there. You know that.”

Your breath hitches. “But if you come with me, I’ll be safe, right?”

He smiles. But you know it doesn’t mean anything. “You’re always safe with me, angel. But I can’t risk losing you.”

You smile back, desperate, raising your shoulders up and leaning in across the table. “But you won’t lose me! You’ll be in the car--or in the same room or, or whatever you want! I’ll, I’ll--” your eyes flick to the table, trying to think of things that might appease him, might appeal to him. “I’ll stay by your side the whole time!”

Kai’s smile quirks slightly. It’s a mixture of pity and condescension now. Silly, silly (Y/N), it seems to say.

“(Y/N)… I gave you my answer. Please don’t drag this out any further.” You move to reply, and he cuts you off. “You can have something else for your birthday. New books. Some decorations. Something to start a new hobby, perhaps?”

You swallow again, but the look on his face and his tone tells you what you need to know: he won’t be moved, he won’t change his mind. You really are a silly, silly (Y/N), you think.

The tears that you didn’t know had built up spill over your reddened cheeks, hot and bitter.

“I want my mom,” you say, softly, bitterly. “I want to see my mom on my birthday. That’s what I want for my birthday.”

You wipe away fat tears and stare at him to see his reaction. He doesn’t answer you. He merely watches you, watches your breath hitching, watches the tears spill, silently. His mouth takes on a thin line, a look that says the discussion is over and that you’re being dramatic and ridiculous and childish and--it’s so damn domineering and hurtful that you want to scream.

Then he folds his hands together and rests his chin on them, like he’s waiting for you to stop having a tantrum.

That’s the tipping point. You can’t take it. You stand up, suddenly, and press your nails harder into your palm.

“I fucking hate this,” you spit. You search around blindly, looking for something, anything to release your pent-up anger onto. You settle for your chair, which you push onto the ground. It’s a feeble, ridiculous gesture, and you know this. The realization of how stupid you look makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you cover your face with both hands.

“I want my mom,” you force out. Your voice is tight and thin and scratchy. “I want to go--go get a pizza and watch a shitty horror movie in a shitty movie theater, I want to go to work and come home and do the dishes.” You sob into your hands as your knees buckle under you, and you collapse on the ground. “I want to leave.”

You sob uncontrollably until you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. The sudden touch flinches you out of your sobbing fit, and your hands jerk down, only to see Kai crouched in front of you. His gloved hand is on your shoulder, firm and grounding. You immediately begin to tremble as you realize what you just did. You had a fit and you swore and god, worst of all, you admitted that you wanted to leave. You knew what he would do--send you into solitary confinement. You’ll be all alone without books or baths and the fear makes you cry harder.

He shushes you, soft but commanding, and wipes away your tears methodically, until your cheeks are wet and empty.

“I know it hurts, angel. I know. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

You quietly tremble until your realize that he wants an answer.

“No,” you whisper.

His hand gently strokes your cheek. You can barely make eye contact.

“I take care of you. I make sure you’re healthy, don’t I?”

You don’t want to say it. But his questions leave no room to argue.

“... Yes, you do.” You can’t manage to bring your voice above a whisper.

“I give you plenty of things to do, ways to occupy yourself, keep you entertained?”

“Yes,” you force out. You want to shut your eyes.

“I’ve never hurt you, have I?”

You look away. The pause is uncomfortable. He hasn’t hit you, no, he hasn’t done the things you saw him do that night in the alleyway. But there’s more than one kind of hurt.

“No,” you finally whisper. You have no energy to argue. And you can’t go back in that room, you just can’t.

His finger lifts your chin until you look at him.

“Then you need to understand that I only do what’s best for you. That’s why you can’t have a visit for your birthday. You understand that, don’t you?”

You’re about to answer when his phone goes off. He swears under his breath and releases your chin before checking the screen. He sighs, clearly annoyed, and you wonder if the sender of the text message will end up in pieces.

“I have to leave, (Y/N). We’ll talk more before your bath tonight. Please finish your meal.” He picks up your chair and sets it upright. Then he holds out his hand, offering to help you up. You stare for a moment before taking it, and he easily hoists you to your feet. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, and swiftly walking through the door to his office. You hear the lock click behind him.

You sit down in the now-upright chair and stare down at your plate. You hate it. You hate that he calculates your nutrition out as perfectly as possible. You hate that he sometimes gives you a tiny paper cup with less than a dozen M&Ms as a reward for being on your best behavior. You hate the frustrating realization that you do feel healthier, physically, now that you’re not constantly eating junk and have free access to fresh, healthy food.

You shovel the food in your mouth, barely tasting it. Your silent tears mingle with most of the bites, anyway. After finishing every bite, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you. You’re not supposed to take naps after a certain time, but arguing and hopelessness is too tiring to resist; you curl up on your bed and drift into unconsciousness quickly after.

You gasp as you jerk out of a cloudy dream that slips from your mind in seconds. It’s dim in your room, and you quickly realize that someone (Kai, of course, only Kai ever comes in) has turned off your overhead room light. You blink away your sleep and confusion. The bathroom light gives you enough brightness to see something sitting on your desk--an unassuming cream colored envelope.

You slide your legs over the edge of the bed and sit, staring at the note in the low light. In addition to your mind feeling hazy from an unplanned nap that likely went on for too long, you feel confused for another reason: Kai didn’t wake you up to get you ready for your bath. Or for bed. You glance at the clock kept securely high on the wall. It’s after bedtime. Yet instead of freshly cleaned and clothed in whatever nightgown he’d picked out for you, you’re in your day clothes and, you realize, slightly damp from sweat. The break in your routine is surprisingly disorienting.

As you waken up more fully, the dull ache of pain from his rejection of your request resurfaces. You push down thoughts of your mom and home and stand up. You might as well open the note. It’s for you, after all, and it’s something to do--something else new, in addition to the unusual change in routine. Something to distract you.

As you sit at the table, you wonder if you should just go back to bed. You don’t want to read the note, but that doesn’t stop you from carefully opening the little envelope--no spit-seal, of course, Kai would never--and unfold the note inside.

“(Y/N). I know it is difficult to adjust. You are doing so well. You may take your birthday trip next year, if you continue to behave so beautifully. You can do your own bedtime routine tonight. I will see you in the morning.”

You can feel your stomach curdling, the dinner you’d had earlier threatening to make its acidic way back up. Next year… another year here… with him. The realization that he doesn’t even consider that you could escape between now and then scares you. The realization that might continue “behaving so beautifully” scares you even more. You shakily set the note down, and rest your cheek against the cool desk.

You can feel sweat trickle down your back. Stress must have made your warm. You want a bath. He said you could do your own routine tonight, after all. But the idea comes with complications, the number one issue being the water has to be turned on by Kai--so you’ll have to ask him to turn it on when you’re ready. Maybe you could write a note and slip it under the door? But he might not see it, which means you’ll have to knock on the door anyway. The idea of taking your own bath, a bath of your own design, briefly animates you.

You quietly knock on the door to his office. It takes a moment to hear a response, and you briefly wonder if you should be doing this at all. Maybe he’s gone to sleep in his own room. Maybe he decided you were being insufferable and that’s why he didn’t want to do your routine tonight. Maybe he--

The door opens slowly, and you crane your head to get a quicker look at Kai as he comes into view. His mask is back on, and his eyes widen, just a touch. He seems… surprised?

“(Y/N)?” He asks, and you can tell by his tone that he didn’t expect to see you until the next morning.

“I was just wondering if you…” You fidget a little. You can feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I wanted a bath.”

“Ah,” he says. “And you need the water turned on?”

You nod, and bite the inside of your cheek. “And the um, the stuff from the cabinets, too.”

“Of course.”

You hear him walk back into his office and retrieve the keys, which jingle slightly as he comes back to the door. You step out of his way and tentatively follow him as he walks in your bathroom, briefly glancing at the note he’d left on the way. There’s a strange anxious tension in the air that’s making you feel nervous, and you can’t shake the odd feeling that you’re being punished somehow, that Kai is annoyed or mad with you.

Even though he’s said nothing to that effect. He simply inserts the keys into the customized water panel and turns the water on for you. He then crouches down and unlocks the cabinet, taking out the basket of supplies--shampoos and soaps and little balls of bath bombs--and setting them on the countertop.

“You can use the hot or cold taps freely. Let me know when you’re finished and I’ll clean up.”

“Kai--” you say, without realizing it. It feels instinctive.

He looks straight at you, eyes impassive as ever. “Yes?”

His gaze makes you stare at the ground. You fiddle with your shirt sleeve. You don’t know why you say it. But it comes out quickly, softly--helplessly.

“Would you… would you set up my bath, like normal? And pick out my clothes?” You look up at him with what you hope are pleading eyes.

He raises his eyebrows.

“Please?” you say, barely above a whisper. “If you’re not busy?”

He waits another moment before answering you from behind his mask. “You want your normal routine?”

You nod, again chewing your lip. You feel childish, ridiculous, but… the routine has become comforting, and you want to be comforted. You want the dull ache in your heart to go away, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

The sight of Kai reaching up to take off his mask makes you want to cry. As he slips it off, you see he’s wearing a small, but approving, smile.

“Of course, angel. Now you just sit on your bed while I set everything just how you like it.”

You can’t help the weak, relieved smile on your face as you sigh and leave the bathroom, ready to sit on your bed and--as he wrote in his note, behave so beautifully. He wasn’t mad at you, he wasn’t annoyed, and things would slip back into normalcy any minute now.

The sound of the running bath, the promise of the gentle heat and rose-scented shampoo that awaits, covers up the pain in your chest. It makes it all the easier to rebury the awful realization that you’re well and truly trapped in this little world he’s created for you.

#yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #overhaul #yandere #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes #kai's such a diiiiiiiiiiiick #okay well something is up with the keep reading feature :;; so I apologize for the length on your dash #seems like keep reading works on the actual blogs but not on dash for some reason... oh tumblr

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years ago

Text

someone behind me was tracing my steps / maybe you’re better off this way

Fandom: Kamen Rider Ryuki

Characters: Asakura Takeshi, Kido Shinji

Songs: "After the Fall," October Project & "Passive," A Perfect Circle (playlist here)

Takeshi’s sitting against the wall, bleeding out, and the mirror guy—Kanzaki, right—is standing over him, mouth twisted in something he vaguely recognizes as dismay. “I can’t use this, there’s barely any energy left,” he says, not to Takeshi, and there sure as hell isn’t anyone else in the room. “I’ll have to reset.”

“Hang on a second.” Takeshi coughs and feels his mouth fill up with the taste of copper, which isn’t such a bad flavor when you get down to it. “What about my wish?”

Kanzaki doesn’t even look at him, already fucking around with the mirror. “You don’t want anything, there’s no point.”

“Sure I want something.”

“…what on Earth could you want at this point? It’s all going to be reset anyway.”

Takeshi grins up at him, knowing that it’s sure to be an unnerving sight with his teeth all over blood. “Lemme remember.”

“Out of the question. Giving one participant unnecessary foreknowledge would interfere with the procedure.”

“Nah, nah, I’m not gonna interfere with shit. It was just a hell of a time.” Takeshi looks up just as Kanzaki is looking down and grins his bloody grin a little wider. “I like to remember times when I had fun. Looking forward to doing it over again. Let me remember.”

---

It’s not until he graduates university that Shinji realizes that he’s missing something.

Slightly after, really. He graduates, he works some shitty part-time gigs, he does some freelancing, and then Ookubo gets in touch and offers him a job at Ore Journal. That’s all fine, but when he steps through the door of the Ore offices he’s hit with a wave of déjà vu so powerful that he nearly trips and falls face-first into Reiko’s desk. Fortunately he catches himself before anyone notices. It had been bad enough trying to explain to his mother about the girl who lived in his mirror when he was thirteen; he can’t imagine how the people here would react to, “I remember walking into this room for the first time at least eight times over.”

He gets a grip on himself, but the feeling of loss stays. He’s missing something, and he doesn’t know what. Sometimes he’ll get a glimpse of it, he’ll pass someone on the street or overhear a snatch of conversation and a fragment of memory will overwhelm him, but he never gets everything.

From the bits that he sees, he’s not sure that he wants to get everything. It might be better to be missing something than to remember.

---

Takeshi’s known that he’s missing something for a long time now, and whatever it is, he wants it back.

He’s not exactly an educated guy, but he knows himself pretty well, and the idea that there’s a big chunk of him missing is galling. He can feel its absence. He can’t tell what it is, it hasn’t got any kind of useful shape, no edges that he can detect, but it’s his. And since he wouldn’t just go carving out part of himself, that means he’s been robbed.

He doesn’t take kindly to being robbed.

Mostly, though, he can ignore it, the way you ignore a hole in the wall that you don’t feel like repairing yet. He does what he likes, gets what he wants, eats when there’s food, and doesn’t think about it unless he reaches for something in his mind and finds that it isn’t there.

And then he sees the journalist.

Some sweet-faced kid, he is, showing up at a bar that Takeshi likes and bugging the regulars about a local ghost story that Takeshi knows for a fact is bullshit. He doesn’t try coming over to Takeshi’s corner, because the bartender visibly warns him off, but he’s talking to everyone else. That suits Takeshi fine. He can just sit with his drink and watch and remember, in shards and splinters, tantalizing and incomplete.

Kido Shinji is what’s printed on the business card he swipes from the bartender once the journalist leaves, with the address of a tea shop written on the back in pen.

Now there’s a name that rings a bell.

He stares down at the card for a moment, not sure whether he’s pleased or furious, and then heads out. Guy couldn’t have gone far.

---

Shinji gets through the door and is immediately handed an apron and a bandana for his hair. “Dishes.”

“What—Ren, I just got here.”

“Yeah, and there are dirty dishes. I don’t have time to deal with them, there are customers.” Ren squints at him for a moment, frowning. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”

Shinji pauses in the middle of tying back his hair, uneasy. “I’ll tell you once there aren’t customers. Where’s Miyu—he’s still working, ok.”

Ren rolls his eyes. “Apparently that middle schooler who was here last week told all of her friends about him, he’s been busy all day.”

There are a lot of dishes piled up, and it keeps Shinji busy until Ren’s shooing out the last customers of the day. Atori’s different without the old lady, but it’s not a bad different; hopefully she’s happy in whatever warm place she moved to after she sold the shop to Ren. She’d certainly never seemed happy here.

He’s happy here. In a stable place, with a little bit of stable work apart from Ore, with people who inexplicably love him for reasons that none of them quite remember clearly.

When the last customer is out the door, Ren leans back against the counter, arms folded across his chest, and says, “So something’s bothering you, spit it out.”

Shinji frowns down into the dishwater. “I think someone was following me again today.”

“What, again? How long’s this been going on now, two weeks?”

“Three and a half. Ever since that thing I was looking into about the ghost, do you remember that one?” One saucer in the dish rack, start washing the next piece. “Maybe I pissed off the ghost.”

“You said there wasn’t a ghost.”

“Well, yeah, but what if there was and now it’s following me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not being chased by a ghost.”

Shinji glances nervously over his shoulder, as if he’ll see his ghost reflected in the tea shop window. “How can we be sure, though?” He picks up another dirty cup and starts to wash it. “Some of the things I remember…”

Ren’s arms wrap around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. “They aren’t here,” more softly and gently than he usually speaks. “No ghosts. Just you, me, and Miyuki.”

“No ghosts.” Shinji takes a deep breath. “You’re right. No ghosts.”

---

The place isn’t tough to break into. Decent locks, but nothing Takeshi can’t get past with a crowbar. He lets himself in and looks around the vaguely-familiar tea shop with interest before heading past the counter and to the back. Stairs lead up to the apartment above, and sure, they creak a little, but that’s nothing to worry about. After all, he’s still got the crowbar if he really needs it.

Upstairs, the place is chaotic in sort of a cute way, decorated as it is by three people with clearly pretty different sensibilities, fragments of three very different lives on display. It smells faintly of frying oil, too. Someone made something good for dinner tonight. On a whim, he checks the fridge, finds a container of leftover gyoza, and eats them absently as he contemplates the shopping list stuck to the freezer door. Eggs, rice, sliced pork belly, in neat handwriting that definitely isn’t Kido’s.

He finishes the gyoza and the tail-end of a carton of milk, leaving the empty containers behind on the counter and picking up his crowbar again as he heads toward the back of the apartment.

There are three bedrooms, and none of them are marked, doors closed against the darkened hallway. Checking each one would be a hassle, and might lead to more trouble than Takeshi feels like getting in right now. Instead he just remembers how jumpy Kido seemed even before Takeshi started following him and lets intuition lead him to the room closest to the fire escape.

The door swings open, and the first thing he sees is a cloth square on the wall. A covered mirror.

There we go.

Kido’s asleep, sprawled across the bed with his head tossed back and his hair spread out on his pillow, throat pale and exposed. Alone, which makes things a little easier. There’s a computer desk set up in the corner of the room; Takeshi grabs the chair from it, drags it over next to the bed, and sits, resting the end of the crowbar on the floor as he’s saying, softly and cheerfully, “Hey, Kido. Wake up.”

A shift, an irritated mumble, “Not time to—” and then one eye opening halfway and the jolt, Kido scrambling upright in the bed, one hand flung out to the side reaching for something that isn’t there.

What isn’t there?

Splinters reform into another regained memory: a deck of cards in an elaborate case, gleaming purple metal smooth and cool in Takeshi’s hands. There’s a name that goes with it, or maybe more than one, faint and still lost but centimeters from the tip of his tongue.

Kido’s gone white as a pan of milk, hand still empty because they’re in a world with no decks, now, no monsters that Takeshi suddenly remembers with fondness, not nearly as much fun, and Takeshi leans forward on his crowbar and smiles, friendly, like, and says, “Come on, Kido, I remember you being more interesting.”

---

Shinji can hear his heart beating over the ringing in his ears. There’s a bit of light coming in from between the mostly-closed curtains, just enough to see by, and with his hand coming up empty and his unwelcome guest illuminated so that only golden hair and white teeth are visible, he is assailed by memory.

He knows this man.

From the corner of the bar where he’d been looking into that ghost story, sure, the one the bartender had told him not to bother, but also from before, from ten befores or more. A killer, vicious and cheerfully so, dangerous to be around, but beneath the adrenaline thrum Shinji can feel another pulse, pity, pity, pity, perhaps misplaced but still there.

He fights to get his breathing under control and says, “Asakura. What are you doing here?”

“You took something of mine.” Asakura’s head tilts slowly to the side, semi-friendly grin still visibly. “I came to get it back.”

“I don’t have anything of yours.”

“Never said you did. I said you took it. Didn’t say I thought you had it.”

“That…you know that doesn’t make sense, right?”

“None of this makes sense, Kido. We live in a world that revolves around a guy like you.” Asakura leans forward, one hand darting out to grab Shinji’s chin, ragged nails digging into his skin. In the dim light his eyes are flat and dark and predatory as their gazes lock, only taking on any gleam as he drinks in…something, whatever he’s getting from looking at Shinji like this. Shinji nearly asks, in fact, but he can’t quite speak, and anyway Asakura’s talking again, still as cheery and conversational as he has been. “Used to be, I got the deck in my hands and I’d remember all of it. That was the deal. Don’t know how the mirror guy finally bit it, but whatever happened, you’re the key to everything now.”

Shinji’s considering shouting for Ren, because even if he did have a dragon at his beck and call, the mirror is covered. Then, of course, he notices the crowbar. And Asakura continues to look at him, searching for something that Shinji is apparently giving him.

“Pathetic.” Abruptly, Asakura lets go again. “You used to be fun, Kido.” He stands, shouldering the crowbar like a baseball bat, and heads for the open bedroom door, only pausing briefly to say, “Call me if you ever decide to get the band back together, yeah?”

Shinji remains frozen for what seems like a long time after he’s gone, dizzy with memory and his heartbeat noisy in his own ears.

He doesn’t remember the end of things. None of the ends of things, actually, and he’s not sure if the others know that it happened more than once, how many times they were put through the same wringer. Whatever it was, though, whatever he or they finally did, it was permanent.

He never would have expected someone to resent him for it.

Finally he finds the focus to move, raising a hand to rub at the sore spots on his jaw before getting out of bed.

Miyuki’s bed is disturbed by unoccupied, and this fills him with a banked and indistinct dread until he comes to Ren’s room and finds them both there, Miyuki sprawled as inelegantly as always and snoring lightly at Ren’s side. Ren is awake, barely. “Bad dreams all around tonight, I guess,” he slurs as Shinji closes the door, and moves over to make space. “Wha’ was yours about?”

Shinji curls up beside him and says, softly, “Just ghosts.”

---

Takeshi strolls down the middle of the empty street, crowbar on his shoulder, in such a good mood now that he’s very nearly whistling. It’s a damp night; the streetlights make shadows in the fog that look like old friends he now remembers, any number of enormous beasts stalking him as he walks. Which makes him want to laugh, and so he laughs, and the sound bounces off the buildings and the fog in an echo that could go on forever.

“Goddamn,” he says to a fog-reflection that shifts and changes with every step he takes, now a vast snake, now a rhino, now a stingray. “That was a good time, wasn’t it.”

The fog makes no reply, but the shadow continues to follow him down the street as the echoes of his laughter die away, and after a moment, feeling almost jaunty, he starts to whistle.

#kido shinji #asakura takeshi #fanfiction #30 day shuffle challenge

16 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Note

I need hotch whump. Dad rossi being a total dad and the team helping hotch through his deep seated emotional trauma. Just the team helping hotch be emotionally open and maybe some crying and him getting hugs n shit?? And if you can, at least 3k words cuz hes sad and needs to use his words

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

(Fair warning, I feel like I couldn’t get Hotch’s script right. He has a unique way that he speaks and I just feel like I missed that. I hope I didn’t drop the ball but I’ve been working on this non-stop so I’ve kinda passed a point in my ability to tell. Bonus, this fits really well for a fix-it for this post that I made that hurt everyone. You can find that post here)

Word count: 5,452

He can feel himself falling apart. His thoughts are more than often filled with deterioration and self-deprecating harm. He knows it’s getting worse but he excuses it. If he can rationalize his thoughts, condone them, and recognize them then there’s no need to ask for help.

Especially, when he doesn’t deserve it.

The breath is kicked from his lungs as he opens the file in front of him. He’d gotten the call from the Dallas police department that morning and fielded the consult to himself. Normally, this would be the type of case JJ would handle but as soon as he heard the victims were blonde’s in their thirties he couldn’t let the case go to her. Except, a very important factor had been left out.

They were all mothers.

He finds himself looking down at half a dozen women who all look too much like Haley.

Panic bubbles in his chest and a trembling hand pushes the case away. It’s not enough. He stands to his feet, leaning heavily on his desk to stop his knees from caving from beneath him. He’s paper left too long in the sun, warping. His print is no longer legible. His glue peeling away.

On the floor of his office, a step away from his desk, he falls to his knees. His breath is caught in his throat-- his tie an ever-tightening noose that leaves his mouth dry and his voice stuck. Logically, he can recognize his own symptoms. It’s a panic attack. Triggered because he’s never worked through his feelings. Never got over Haley. His incompetence.

His failure.

His brain can recognize that the pain in his chest shouldn’t kill him. His mind still draws the parallel to his own father. A chronic alcoholic who died in his office of a heart attack. An abuser. An asshole.

What was that the team had said about him?

JJ had called him a bully.

Reid said he was a narcissist.

The hurt in Emily’s eyes as she deduced he doesn’t trust women as much as men.

Morgan said he’s a drill sergeant.

So… maybe Hotch didn’t hit Jack. He’s never laid a hand on his son so he’s different from his father in that sole regard. He’s not a good father though. He’s not a good boss.

His team must loathe him.

Which means he’s not all that different from his father.

What does that leave? What does that make him besides a suit and tie? A terrified, sweat-soaked coward on an office floor.

And there’s no wonder that he’s never made the time to work through his problems. Who is to talk to? Haley had known of his father. Enough to leave that subject alone. Even when he sat bolt upright in their bed, lost to his youth spent outrunning the hands of his father. She’d comforted him enough to get him back to sleep, holding him to her chest but never inquiring. Never pushing.

The others have their own problems. Dave is a father without a son. Reid has a mother who’s taken care of for the better part of his whole life. Prentiss wants a child, a family so badly but she continues to have that torn from her grasp. JJ feels like she’s failed, Henry. Garcia is plagued by the images she sees daily. Morgan feels torn between his loyalty to this team and doing better for himself.

So when should he fit in that time for himself? When does he silence them to talk about himself?

His phone vibrates on his desk. It’s a low, hollow sound but it snaps him to attention. The kind of sound that he could not ignore any more than a cry of pain from Jack. A case, more than likely. Maybe even an email from the Director or Strauss requesting his presence.

His knees cave beneath him, a frustrated grunt leaving his mouth. He takes his fist and beats it into the carpet, hoping the pain that spikes up his arm will ground him. The world spins but he manages to stagger to his feet. Even if that means nearly losing his footing as the world dips suddenly. Curling that arm, pulling it protectively to his core, he manages to cross the room.

Except, there is no call to duty.

He’s greeted by a picture and an unknown number.

It’s a newborn baby in the lap of someone but the important detail is the hospital bracelet on picture taker’s wrist and the distinct newness of the baby. The sight invokes a pang in his chest, reminding him of when Jack was that small. A youth blind to injustice and death. Before Hotch had gone and messed it all up.

A moment later, his phone goes off again. A single line of text but he knows immediately what it means.

“Learning how to smile again... I hope you are too.”

Elle.

He's not sure if he’s meant to respond so he doesn’t. It does spark a certain flame in his lungs-- he wouldn’t call it a breath of life but for once the inhale his raged lungs pull in doesn’t hurt. He falls into his desk chair, cradling his phone in his hand.

“You know,” JJ’s voice breaks through the silence of his office. She steps into the room with that blatant disregard that most of the team has. A mutual understanding that he’s given them-- as long as his door isn’t shut, they’re free to come in.

As far as he sees, that openness is well understood by JJ, Morgan, and Garcia. He suspects their understanding comes from a creative source. A kind that Prentiss and Reid have taken their time in understanding.

He sees the way the two of them hesitate before knocking and announcing themselves. For what, he might ask if he did not already know the answer. The answer is on the tip of his tongue each morning as he shaves his face. It’s his last thought as he drifts off.

You don’t trust women as much as men.

“You’ve ruined me for all future employers.” JJ continues. Unaware of the fact that her audience is a bit lost.

I choose Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team.

JJ moves closer, her arms falling from their defensive place across her chest. She smiles, her eyes dancing between his. There’s a flash there, of what she’s uncertain but as soon as it’s there it’s gone. She sees the bone-tired, ragged look of his large frame and she wonders when the last time he got a good night’s sleep was.

“You--” Hotch’s eyebrow’s knit together as he stutters to put together what she’s said. “I--I ruined you?” His brain is still reeling from the panic attack. He’s too exhausted to put together whatever trivial meaning her words are meant to have.

JJ chuckles lightly, perhaps she should have opened that better. “You didn’t ruin me, literally,” she explains with a smile. Honest, she loves him like a brother but he can be as thick as mud sometimes. For someone who’s entire job revolves around understanding people, Hotch often misses the point.

Not that she minds explaining that to him.

“I mean,” she says, sitting herself down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She pulls her legs underneath herself, not afraid to take the time to get comfortable. “You’re too kind. You give so much to this team that if you ever leave I’m not sure how any of us will function without you.”

He blanches. This seems out of left field to him.

She smiles at his reaction, reaching across his desk to squeeze his hand. “Hotch,” she reminds him softly, “yesterday you brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You made it for me because you knew I hadn’t taken a break.”

He can hardly understand how making someone a peanut butter and jelly sandwich constitutes a pat on the back. He does it all the time for Jack. When he was making JJ one yesterday he’d ended up making one for Reid and Prentiss as well. The two of them poking and badgering him until he’d relented.

“Bosses don’t do that,” JJ assures him. “Not normal ones anyway.” Sensing that he’s not really putting this together, she rises from her chair. Stepping into his personal space she can see just how awful he looks. With all the tenderness she can manage, she presses a kiss to his cheek. Encircling his shoulders in her arms, she realizes that he’s trembling. “I love and appreciate you and I’m just… None of them tell you how much you mean to us. I just want to make sure you remember that.”

It takes him a moment but he hugs her back. Where his body is stiff with tension, she’s warm and soft. He breaks for just a moment, allowing her words to warm his chest before resigning himself back to his darkness. To his self-hatred.

JJ gives his back a quick rub before pulling away. “You need to take a nap,” she informs him. “You look like shit.”

He smiles, mustering up all his energy into convincing her that he’s not on the knife’s edge of falling over into darkness. “I’m fine,” he assures her. Besides, he motions to the file on his desk. “I’ll get some coffee and finish this consult. Then I’ll go home.”

She looks at the file in question and decides to save him the trouble. She picks it up despite his anxiety-filled voice calling her name out. What she finds shocks her but not for the reason he’d thought. These women do look like her but their resemblance to Haley is… “Oh, Hotch…”

He can’t look at her. “They…” he clears his throat. “I didn’t want you to see it because I knew they were blonde and that kind of stuff really gets to you but--” He’s said too much. He’s admitting that he knows they look like Hailey. Maybe even that it bothered him as much as it’s bothering her.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” JJ whispers, her emotions getting the best of her. Of course, he looks like shit. He’d done something kind to spare her and ended up looking at dead mutilated women who look too much like Haley. “You’re too kind for your own good.” She tucks the file to her chest, where she knows he won’t make a quick grab for it.

“JJ…”

She shakes her head. “Go home. Go get coffee. Take a nap. I don’t care what you do but you are not getting this file back because I promise that whatever seeing these women will do to me is going to be less damaging than seeing them is to you.” She doesn’t spare him a second more before leaving his office. Leaving him to do what he pleases just not allowing that file to be one of them.

She turns in the doorway to his office, offering him a smile. “By the looks of you, I’d recommend taking that nap.”

He doesn’t but her words stick with him for days.

I love and appreciate you. It’s most unlike the voice in his head reminding him that he’s a bully. A narcissist.

When he goes to bed, arms wrapped around his chest and tears threatening to spill down his face… he thinks about those four simple words. His cheek stings where she’d kissed him and for a moment his chest burns again with an unfamiliar light.

He remembers these words over and over.

He starts to believe them but that doesn’t mean he changes.

Then a case sends him home. His hometown is hardly an hour away from Quantico. Standing in front of the team, his hands buried in his pockets to hide the way they tremble, he tells them they won’t need the jet or the GPS. He knows where they’re going.

He knows it too well.

Prentiss doesn’t start second-guessing her boss until he pulls off the main road. Reid will testify, he second-guessed Hotch the minute the man told them he didn’t need a map and turned the GPS off. Neither says anything but Hotch is still aware of the weight of their silence. He doesn’t feel comfortable offering them the reassurance that he knows where he’s going so he chooses to say nothing. The whole car opts to not comment on how it is that he knows where he’s going.

“Detective Carter!” Garcia is the first person out of the second car jammed packed with the other members of the team.

In the second car, there was a lot of aired criticism. Ninety-eight percent of which came from Morgan but upon pulling into the station, thirty minutes before the GPS estimated arrival time, he can’t complain. It does leave him curious. It’s not often they drive to crime scenes from Quantico but they never stray from the GPS.

“I’m Penelope,” she explains to the older man. It’s clear the detective is taken aback by the sight of Garcia but the old man just smiles and takes her hand. Kindly he smiles and Garcia only beams that much more. “These are the agents I told you about.” She turns back to the others, lined up like a kindergarten class rather than a ragtag group of highly trained professionals. “JJ, Dr. Reid, SSAs Prentiss, Rossi, Morgan, and our prestigious and very handsome leader-”

“Aaron?”

Prentiss had noticed Hotch’s hesitation the moment he put the car in park. He masterfully hid anything that might have given her a why but she’d still seen his stress become gradually more apartment as he got closer to the precinct.

“Jesus,” the detective shakes his head. He doesn’t give Hotch the opportunity to step away or even get a word out. The mood shifts as Hotch can’t hide the way he flinches as the man pulls him into a hug. “You were fifty pounds soaking wet the last time I saw you,” the detective admits.

Hotch can’t look at the detective and he can’t look at his team.

Mercifully, Prentiss calls out to the older man. “I hate to push here,” she lies, “I would like to get working as soon as possible. I’m not sure how many more dead girls I can stand to see.” There are a few mumbled responses from the team, all agreeing with Prentiss.

Hotch doesn’t notice. He stands in the spot the detective left him in. Eyes on the gravel, he’s struggling but he pushes it down. He has a job and the job has always come before physical comfort.

He hangs his head and he gets through the day knowing that he’ll be allotted his personal time in a hotel room soon enough. He can break down there.

And he does.

And then he has a nightmare that wakes up the entire team.

He’s shaking so badly when he finally opens his door that he can’t even play it off. They know.

“Let it out son,” Rossi whispers, holding Hotch tight to his chest. “It’s alright, it’s okay.” He rubs his hand down Hotch’s back. Something in his chest locking tight and stiff at the way Hotch melts, unable to even stand. Dave has always known, in one way or another, that Hotch’s childhood was a litany of things done wrong.

He’d seen the kid’s back, the crisscrossing pattern he’d only ever seen on dead people. Scars. Someone had hit Hotch so hard as a child to leave marks on his body into adulthood. If Dave had to guess, he’d say a belt. Given Hotch’s soft accent and tendencies, Dave knows he’d probably be right. Belts are loved by Southerners.

Beat the sin out of your children.

See if they ever come home.

Rossi looks at Hotch, the man struggling to pull himself back together. Sometimes they do come home and that’s worse.

“This place,” Hotch whispers, eyes falling to the carpet. “This town is…” His eyes move to the window on the adjacent wall. If the sun were up, he would be able to see the house he spent his youth in. The drive-way where his father bounced his head off the gravel for dropping a can of green beans. The window by the main door that his father broke smacking his mother against it. “It’s an awful place and I-- I will be glad when we’re able to leave it.”

Reid, of all people, is the first person to offer a condolence, a way out. He clears his throat, anxiously moving from foot to foot. “You could go back home,” he offers. “It’s not a long drive, you would be back with Jack before the sun even comes up.” Seeing that his idea isn’t being torn down but rather the others seem to agree this is actually a perfectly good solution, he continues. “You could work from the office with Garcia. We’ve all done it. I certainly wouldn’t think differently of you if you went home.”

Reid sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of Hotch’s bed. “This town gives me the heebie-jeebies, anyway.” His small shiver lightens something in Hotch’s chest because not even Hotch can twist the genius’s actions. Reid is being sincere and Hotch hasn’t messed up. They don’t hate him. They don’t think he’s weak.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Dave speaks up, shaking his head. “I feel it creeping into my bones.”

There seems to be a unanimous decision made in that immediate moment that no one’s going to push him. They’re not frustrated about being woken up in the middle of the night by his terrified screams. No one is going to force him to tell them about the detective.

They solve the case and rescue the last girl from the clutches of their UNSUB. This time, Detective Carter does his job. He doesn’t send an obviously beaten and abused boy back home to his father.

They save the girl the way no one ever saved Hotch but he doesn’t consider himself irreparable anymore.

He closes his eyes and remembers what it felt like when Dave held him.

Son.

I love and appreciate you.

I wouldn’t think differently of you.

He starts to feel loved and he’s so broken-- there’s something in his mind that just equates their affection for a need for him to be better-- he decides he has to prove he’s worth it.

JJ has formed a habit of squeezing his elbow when she passes him.

Rossi pulls him into one-armed hugs.

Reid brings him a coffee and smiles shyly when they pass one another in the halls.

But he can’t do anything right.

“Prentiss!”

He doesn’t clear the second room properly as they raid a house and all he can do is put himself between her and the danger. There’s only a split second to think about it. She’s a head shorter than him. So the shot that would take her head off hits him center mass.

There’s a sickening crack that rings through the room as he hits the wall behind them. His head bouncing off the wall. He doesn’t hear her cry his name out.

Prentiss’s hands shake but her own shot hits its mark. The UNSUB falls limply to the ground just as Hotch had. Despite every fiber of her wanting to double back and make sure Hotch isn’t dead, she moves forward. She can see her bullet embedded in the opposing wall. The hole in the UNSUB’s head is visible proof but she can’t walk away from him until she finds no pulse and moves his gun away.

“Agent down,” she calls shakily. Her knees almost give out from beneath her when she turns to see him.

All six feet of her boss is crumpled into a limp pile. His neck is bent, chin resting against his sternum. She can’t tell if he’s even breathing, the vest strapped to his chest swallows any movement that might or might not be there. “Hotch?” She calls, hoping that he'll stir. That he’ll make a noise or something.

She sees blood.

“Hotch is down,” she cries over the radio. “Hotch is down and we need medics.” She pulls at his tie, swallowing down her own need to cry. To sob as her friend’s blood covers her skin. “It’s a--a-” she pulls the tie around his neck free and the blood starts to flow twice as fast. “Fuck,” she places her hand over the wound. Her hot tears stinging her eyes. “It’s a neck wound.”

A death sentence.

She can feel his pulse against her palm. Each beat a little fainter than the last.

“Don’t you die,” she rasps. Her emotions are bubbling to the surface as her panic and adrenaline get worse. “Come on you stubborn bastard,” but her insults are laced with worry. “Hotch,” she pats his pale cheek. Attempting and failing to rouse him. On his cheek, her hand is left perfectly preserved by his crimson blood.

“Agent,” the medics come in. Someone puts a hand on her shoulder but she can’t pull away. She can’t let him bleed out. “Agent we’ve got it.”

I love and appreciate you.

Those words are the last thing Hotch thinks before his head hits the wall. He just has to hope she meant it.

“Hey.”

She has to wait days to wring him out. To give him a proper piece of her mind. They are supposed to be passed this. They did pass this a long time ago. Time and time again he’s proven that he does trust her. After Foyet, they’d become the semblance of friends. She considers him family.

Instead of offering him the immediate bitchfest he’s more than deserved, she offers him a passing-- “Hey, yourself.” Seeing him awake settles her but she has to be mad with him. She is mad with him. Even if she wants to hug him. He is her friend and she values him. It hurts to see him in pain.

After a moment, she looks up from the book she’s reading. Paying him just enough attention that she notices how uneasy he is. It makes her question her chosen silent treatment. It’s clearly not helping and the last thing she wants is to stress him out more. So she reaches between them and takes his hand. “You’re life isn’t less important than mine.”

Her words take him by surprise. She can see the words make their impact. His brows furrow in confusion but he doesn’t say anything. Not for a long moment. He’s stalling. “I didn’t say that,” is what he settles on.

She looks up at him and she’s disappointed. They’re profilers and he settles on deflection. She can’t say she’s surprised, he always chooses deflection. She’s just as stubborn as him though and she’s not afraid to push a little. “Your actions did.”

“Prentiss, I couldn’t--”

She lets go of his hand. For a moment, her anger gets the better of her. He gets the message and stops talking but the damage has been done. Of course, he’s not going to say that his life has less value than hers. He’s not stupid. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think it.

“We’re partners, right?” She sits forward in the chair. “You trust me?” She already knows the answers. She knows everything he’s going to do.

Hie scowls and he opens his mouth before he shuts it. He shakes his head as he says, “of course.”

She reaches back out to him, taking his hand again. His fingers are cold, his body still not fully recovered from the blood transfusions he needed. She needs something like this to never occur again. “Then it’s your job,” she tells him. “To cover my ass when I mess up and it’s my job to cover yours.”

He doesn’t look at her. He can’t. He could have gotten her killed. Can’t she understand that? She should be furious at him for putting her life at risk. Not trying to go over protocol. He understands, though, that she’s trying to make a point so he nods his understanding.

“I trust you with my life,” she whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you trust yourself with it?”

She’s right of course. If there was time for him to step in the way, there was time for her to move out of the way. A thousand things could have happened and, in the end, his actions weren’t warranted. This hits his chest in a tight, painful bundle. He has to look away from her. Clenching his teeth against the tears threatening to sting his eyes.

“Hotch, you gave me a family.” She squeezes his fingers, feeling her own emotions bubbling right back to the surface. It’s out of character, she can recognize that but something happened in that house during the raid. Something she never wants to happen again. “You are a part of my family, whether you like that or not.”

He turns to look at her, his mouth unable to tell her that he knows and he does like it but that’s okay. They’ve always been able to understand passing glancing. He offers her a lopsided, forced smile when she rubs her thumb over his rough hands.

“I love you,” she says with a roll of her eyes because she’s Emily Prentiss and she can’t take herself seriously for too long. She stands from the chair at his side and knocks the back of her hand against his shoulder. “And,” she adds, “don’t take any bullets to the neck for me, alright? I’m starting to feel like I owe you.”

He nods his understanding, still not trusting his voice.

Just as JJ did, she presses a kiss to his cheek.

Prentiss feels pretty safe at that moment. He’s high as balls and she doubts he’s capable of anything more than a grumbled complaint.

He’s full of grumbled complaints but this time he doesn’t offer her one.

He doesn’t spare Morgan the same courtesy.

“Hotch,” Morgan manages, taking a deep breath to stop himself from losing his cool. “I love you, man. You know I do but if you don’t stand still--” Honest, Morgan’s seen Henry and Jack behave better. The soft corrector does the job though and Hotch lets Morgan shoulder some of his weight. Leaning into Morgan as they walk.

He knows he asked Hotch to lean into him. He said it would be okay but to feel the way Hotch trusts him, the way he stiffens in pain instead of masking it… Morgan has to clear his throat. “Hotch?”

Hotch is limping the whole way. Getting shot in the neck sucks but hitting a wall and breaking ribs isn’t any better. Through gritted teeth, he replies, “yes.”

“Don’t scare us like that again, alright?” Morgan keeps the pace going, forcing Hotch to keep moving even when he pauses as Morgan’s words take him by surprise. Morgan’s on a roll, though, and he’s got to get it off his chest. He can’t let Hotch think that Morgan wants this. “I can’t… This team…” it’s harder than he wants to admit. “I’m not ready to lead this team. I don’t… I don’t want to, man.”

Hotch remains silent. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say but he’s exhausted and he’s not sure he’s got it in him to tell Morgan that won’t happen. It might.

“We left you the couch,” Morgan changes the subject. He steers Hotch through the opening of the jet, forcing him in the direction of the couch. As soon as Hotch is seated, Morgan excuses himself. He ducks away, taking his own seat and putting his music on.

A proper distraction from the emotions burning his throat.

David Rossi knew the moment he met Aaron Hotchner that he would take the world by storm. Through the years, Rossi watched that rip him apart. Being unyielding and selfless is good in measure but too often Rossi found himself holding the younger man together. His hands interlaced over a bullet wound, holding him upright as his lungs rebel from smoke inhalation, and, on more than one occasion, watching him push himself past the point of no return.

David Rossi also knew Aaron Hotchner was going to be a problem child. Unlike the other interns, Hotch was married, had gone to law school, and had a successful career. A state attorney turned federal agent… Rossi was initially skeptical. He got a wise-crack, no-nonsense, hot-headed nerd dressed in mediocre suits but, Rosis had to hand it to him, the kid had spunk. So Rossi put in the time.

He trained a prodigy and he watched that prodigy fail and break.

But Hotch never quit.

Not after Gideon and the bomb that killed nearly their whole team.

The Fisher King and Elle Greenaway.

Tobias Hankle.

New York and Kate Joyner.

Strauss.

Foyet…

On the jet’s couch, some twenty-- hell, maybe thirty-- years after their initial meeting David Rossi is gently combing his fingers through that bull-headed new kid’s hair. His thoughts are actively drifting away. Back to times when he was the Unit Chief and Hotch was a lanky kid. Prone to accidents of spilled coffee stains on crisp white dress shirts and knocking files off his desk with his elbows. Dave and Jason had an ongoing joke that the poor kid should have come with a warning label sewed into the ass of his suits.

He cracks an eye open, aware of a shifting presence. Emily. He offers her a small smile, “anything I can help you with, bella?” His voice is deep, bothered with exhaustion, and tinged with an unsettled sadness.

But that’s all part of the job.

They get the bad guys and stop them from hurting people. Only, sometimes they become the hurt-- the victims.

Hotch just added his name to another serial killer’s list of victims. His name is starting to appear a lot these days.

Prentiss shakes her head. She’d been sitting on the other side of the jet and for a moment it occurred to her that from her vantage point she couldn’t tell if Hotch was breathing or not. Panic struck her center mass and she’d risen to her feet, clearing half the jet to get to him. To be close enough to see his chest is rising. To see if he's still breathing.

“I thought he wasn’t breathing,” she tells Rossi. “I just… it freaked me out.”

Rossi nods his understanding and shakes his head sympathetically, but not for Emily.

He’s not sure what Garcia has planned but he’d put money down on the fact that Hotch isn’t ready for it.

Hotch is not even through the glass doors at BAU when the sound of heels prefaces Penelope Garcia shouting down the hall. He takes a step back, glancing at the others in confusion as they chuckle. Like they know what’s about to happen. He moves back to the hall, nodding his head at a rapidly approaching Garcia.

“Sir!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Garcia.”

She comes to a stuttering halt, taking a deep breath as she steadies herself.

Something about it, he can’t explain it, strikes him as humorous. He shakes his head and smiles. Next thing he knows she’s thrown her arms around him. Hotch raises an eyebrow, his confusion not muffling the smile still spread across his face. “Whatever was that for?” He wouldn’t lie by stating the feelings he has at this moment are anything other than happily surprised.

Garcia’s smile is a twisted happy smile laced with sadness being overtaken. “You stopped smiling for so long, I-- It just made me so happy to see you happy.”

And he realizes she’s right.

He hasn’t smiled in a long time but… slowly, his team has wormed their way into breaking that.

Son.

I love and appreciate you.

I wouldn’t think differently of you.

You’re a part of my family.

I love you, man.

"Please, " Garcia says softly. "Don't ever do that again, okay? You scared me--" she sucks in a breath and it sounds so much like an approaching sob that he reaches out and pulls her back into a hug.

"I'll be more careful, " he promises. "No more close calls."

She squeezes him gently, aware of his ribs. "Good, " she whispers, "because I'm tired of losing people I love."

And he remembers that next time he sinks. He reminds himself constantly.

Aaron Hotchner is loved. He has a family to come home to. They need him.

And he doesn't always have to be the strong one.

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league-of-thots · 5 years ago

Text

The Bee’s Knees

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

A/N: pretty happy with how this turned out! pretty nasty though so please read the warnings carefully. thanks @lady-bakuhoe for checking it over!

(sorry for double post it got fucked up on mobile :/)

Warnings: Smut, gun play, violence, dub-con, oral

taglist: @ikinabi, @redbeanteax, @marilla-eldriana, @kittykatkrissa

You’d always had a bit of a boring life. While your friends had been out at speakeasies and dancing with men and woman through the night, you’d had to take care of your little sewing shop. Repairing and making fine clothing you couldn’t afford wasn’t what you’d choose to do if you could, but it was what you had to do to keep yourself fed and safe.

You lived in a decent part of town, although that didn’t stop you from hearing gunshots every few nights between the law and the mafia. But then again, nowhere was completely safe from the mafia, especially with the bosses at the helm now. All of them were young, violent and eager to expand their territory and prove their worth, and the state of the city and surrounding areas were proof of that. But, nothing bad ever really happened to you, so you often ignored it and did what you wanted on your own time.

However, one day your entire life changed just from simply meeting Katsuki Bakugou, one of the new mafia bosses who’d come to power recently.

It had been a normal Tuesday night, except for the fact that you’d ran out of bread. Something so simple and you- albeit annoyed- went to the store despite it already being night. Getting there and getting your bread had been simple, it was getting home that had changed your life.

On a shortcut to get back to your little shop and home as quick as possible, you passed into an alleyway. Where you happened to run into three people, a blonde with his suit all messed up, someone with bright red hair and a lanky black haired man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Oh my god- they were all standing around a bloody and beaten body. You drop your purse in surprise and they all turn around sharply to face you. Not caring that you’d be leaving behind money and belongings, you run as fast as you can the opposite way, trying to get to a main street.

You hear them yelling behind you, telling you to stop but all you can think of is that they’re criminals, worst case they’re mafia, and you need to get away.

But they’re bigger, faster and stronger than you are. The red haired one catches up to you first, and he grabs your arm before you can get more than a block away. You try to scream, but as soon as your mouth opens up, his large hand prevents you from screaming and breathing too. You can hear them muttering about what they should do with you as your air supply is completely depleted and you start to black out.

You return to consciousness in perhaps the worst way possible, your headache from being choked out being exaggerated by the really loud yelling coming from a new man in front of the three you’d seen in the alleyway. You shake your head a little as you get your bearings and realize there's duct tape covering your mouth, and ropes tying your limbs to the chair you’re sat on. You begin screaming but the sound is muffled as because of the restraint covering your lips.

Two of the three glance back in your direction which seems to anger the leader who snaps in their faces and starts to yell at them.

“So you accidentally killed the mark instead of subduing them, and on top of that brought back some fucking worthless extra that now I have to find out what to do with. YOU’RE ALL MORONS. GET OUT!”

The three scurry out of the office and he kicks over a stray chair, cursing loudly and sitting behind his desk. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of him. Despite your fear and the obvious lack of self restraint and loud anger he exhibits, you notice he’s gorgeous and has a way of speaking that seems to draw people and energy towards him.

“What are you looking at extra? Hah?” He snaps at you. You just look at him wide eyed and shake your head, showing that you don’t mean anything by it. He snorts and rolls his eyes, and goes back to his paperwork.

You feel incredulous and can’t believe that, after all the fuss he just pulled he straight up ignores the fact that he has a live human captive in his office. You shook your head. How the hell were you supposed to get out of here? Your fear was starting to disappear and in its place annoyance was quickly surging up. You were tired, needed to sleep and had to wake up early tomorrow to get your shop in order. Yet you couldn’t even speak to the man because of the tape across your mouth. So you decide to grab his attention, and the first step of that was making as much noise as you could through the gag. Which unfortunately, wasn’t much. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

So you decided to make a larger uproar, and start shaking on your chair - which was great for making noise, however for staying upright, not so much. You clatter to the floor with a loud crash and let out a grunt of pain as your head hits the floor, your vision a bit blurry.

“What the fuck are you doing? Seriously?” The man in charge yells and starts stomping towards you and you wince in fear as he approaches. He pulls you and the chair upright by a firm grip on your hair, close to your scalp. At this point you’re crying from pain and a little bit of fear and embarrassment. “What do you want?” he asks, even though you can’t answer. You just look up to him with watery eyes, fucking helpless in the current situation..

He curses a bit looking at you, “You know I should just get this over and done with and kill you.” he says, almost conversationally. “You saw something you shouldn’t have and I need to tie up the loose ends of my business. Can’t be on top if we’ve gotten ratted out by a little lady y’know.” His grin is sharp, it reminds you of a wolf. Despite the situation and how close you are to death, you can’t help but be aroused by both his determined attitude and gorgeous features.

Suddenly he rips off the tape gagging you, and you let out a sob in response to the quick pain that burns around your mouth. “If you’re going to kill me, why are you playing around with me so much?” you ask, a little confused.

He just lets out a laugh. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even been around an upstanding lady such as yourself? Your reactions to things are so refreshing, everything's new and terrifying for you.”

You can hear your heart hammering in your throat as he pulls a pistol out of his pocket and holds it up to your forehead. Your eyes cross as you desperately try to keep the muzzle in sight, even if you know that it won’t make a difference.

“I promise I won’t say anything to anyone! I just don’t want to die, I have friends, I have a job, please, please don’t kill me!” You start pleading with him and straining against the restraints on your arms and wrists, crying because these could be the last few moments of your life.

He cocks his head to the side, emotionless, staring down at you from above - the light from a lamp hits his face as it turns, lighting up his blood-red eyes. When he smiles you feel as if you’ve already signed off on your death sentence, until he starts laughing so hard he has to bend over. It’s an ugly cackle but you’re too shocked at the rapid switch in behaviour to do or say anything about it.

“Oh my god- this is actually a great opportunity, I didn’t even think about it really, but - yeah alright. I’ll give you a choice, what’s your name?” he doesn’t wait for a response. “You let me use you how I please right now or die.”

What kind of choice did you have really? This was your only chance to see another sunrise, to see another normal day.

“Alright.” you get out, the word sounding sad and broken as it leaves your lips. At your agreeance, he backs off to his desk, placing the pistol down and opening a few drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. Out he pulls a wooden case. Inside another pistol, but this one is clean, more delicate looking and has a longer muzzle. He pulls some bullets from the case that it was in and loads the gun, one at a time, making eye contact with you.

What could he be doing with that? You think as he slowly walks towards the chair where you’re tied up, eyes stuck on his. He shoves the muzzle into your face.

“Open up sweetheart, this will go easy or fucking hard depending on your actions.” he smirks poking your lips with the barrel. You feel your teeth cutting against your lips as you resolutely close them. You aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of making this easy for him.

At least that’s what you think until you feel a blooming pain on the side of your cheekbone, the bastard had pistol whipped you and your mouth fell open in a scream. You feel something cold and metal shoved deep into your throat and you gagged harshly.

“I said, fucking OPEN bitch.” he seethes, shoving the gun deeper and you feel your air supply drastically restricted. “Now be a good girl and suck the gun off, my trigger finger is a bit itchy today.”

Sobbing in embarrassment, you begin to bob your head up and down the gun, shaking in fear. You close your eyes rather than have to look at the sick fascination on the man’s face as he sees you work the gun. You know he’s getting hard because of this and as much as you hate the situation you can feel your arousal growing knowing that he’s likely going to fuck you well.

A few minutes pass, the only sounds being wet noises as you blow the gun, the metallic taste of steel taking over your mouth and combined with your fear, making you want to vomit.

“Enough.” he says suddenly, and you drop your mouth open and take deep breaths trying to steady yourself as he takes it out. You open your eyes and feel your heartbeat race as he pulls out a knife in his left hand. You flinch as he brings it to your lower half, but instead of cutting into you, he instead uses it to rip through all your clothing and tears it off. He smirks as he looks at your cunt quivering as the cool air hits it.

“What’s this? Have you been hiding your enjoyment through your tears?” he leans down putting his face near yours and the gun beside up to your head as his fingers ghost across your lower lips. You bite your lip, you’re not allowing yourself to feel pleasured by this. He sees the determination in your eyes and smiles, always excited for any challenge that crosses his path.

He knows he always wins of course.

You feel him enter a calloused finger into your pussy, the slight stretch making you take a sharp breath as he moves it in and out, occasionally curling the digit. Against your will, your body responds to him, hips moving as much as they can while you’re restrained. When he deems you ready, he adds a second in, scissoring them to open you up. His thumb plays with your clit and you let out small whimpers as you feel your core heat up and start to tighten.

“You like me playing with your pretty pussy, don’t you? No matter how much you try to deny it, I can feel you tightening around my fingers, and I can see your eyes start to dilate.” as much as you want to shout that he’s wrong, you know he’s write. You’re not sure if you hate him or yourself more in that moment.

He suddenly pulls his fingers out and looks at you as you whine needily. “Wanna be full again? I have the perfect idea.” he puts the gun on a hook as he takes out the knife again and cuts the restraints on your arms. Immediately you reach to claw at any bit of him you can reach, but he grabs your hands and lets out a tsk in disappointment.

“I thought you were smarter than that. Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” he manages to hold your wrists together in one hand as he gives you a strong backhand across your face with the other, dazing you. Blearily, you realize he’s tied your two wrists together and cut off your leg restraints. He puts your tied arms behind his head and lifts you with one arm, as he picks up the gun once again and brings you to sit on his lap in his large leather desk chair.

He leans back with a self satisfied sigh as he moves his legs to spread yours further apart, watching as some of your juices drip out of your cunt.

“I want you to listen very carefully,” he says lowly, his voice a growl in your ear that makes you shiver. “What’s going to happen is that I’m going to put this pretty loaded gun up your pussy, and you’re going to get yourself off. If you can’t do that within a couple minutes, I might get impatient and pull the trigger. Got it, sweetheart?”

What else can you do but nod? You have no idea if you can even get yourself off only on penetration with the fear holding you stiff, but if you want to live you’re going to have to do it somehow. You clench in surprise as the cool metal is ruthlessly shoved into you without warning, letting out a moan.

His eyes are on you as you gradually start moving your hips into the gun, feeling it reach deep. His wrist moves in time with your movements, helping you out a bit. You try and force out the entire situation and the fear from your mind, focusing on the sensations. The cool metal providing you some sharp pleasure as you pump yourself up and down the muzzle.

You whimper as you start grinding down faster feeling one of the ridges on the weapon hit your clit every time you bring yourself down on it. You lose track of everything as you shut your eyes and lean your head into the man’s neck. He smells almost as good as he looks and you just let yourself go, losing track of time. You enjoy the sensations and soon enough you bring yourself to the edge.

You can hear yourself whimpering and cum with a shout, your juices flowing down the metal and onto his hand. You open your eyes after feeling spent, as he takes the gun out and sends it clattering onto the table. Making eye contact with you, he lewdly slurps the juices from his hand into his mouth.

“Sweeter than I thought. What a good girl you are for doing it right.” He says stroking your face rather condescending. “Now it’s my turn.”

He unbuckles his belt and shimmies them down as he stands up holding you in his arms. He then drops you onto his cock without warning, as you scream from pain and pleasure as he fills your needy cunt.

He chuckles, the sound much deeper than before. “That’s right I want to fucking hear you scream, better yet I’ll give you a name to scream out. Katsuki Bakugou.”

He lifts you almost off his cock and slams you down again, thrusting as you come down making you see stars. Soon you’re only crying his name out as you card your fingers through his hair and tug as you lose sense of everything else but the feeling of his cock in you.

“You take my cock so fucking well sweetheart, I haven’t even found a whore this good.” He practically cackles, speeding up his pace as he chases his own release. He slams your back onto the desk and you howl as your back arches, the pleasure he’s giving you covering up the pain of your body being banged up.

You cum shouting out his name, clamping down on his cock as he releases his load deep into you and takes heaving breaths.

He pulls out and lifts your arms over his head as he gets his clothing back on and straightens out his shirt. You want to move, run, get away, but you can’t bring yourself to even move. The most you can do is blink the tears out of your eyes and blearily look up to him.

“So now I can go right?” You ask, your voice shaking. “You said I could live if you fucked me.”

He just laughs. “I said you could live, I didn’t say your were leaving sweetheart.”

You wail as your heart drops and you realize just how utterly fucked you are.

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #tw: dubious consent #tw: violence #tw: gun play #smut #jays writes

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seasonofthewicth · 4 years ago

Text

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 9

AN: a slightly longer one today guys, got myself all emotional with the rowaelin here and i hope it gets you too

masterlist - ao3

------

“He was friendly when he first came in,” Chaol’s normally subdued tone was full of energy as he spun his tale, eyes wide with excitement as he looked towards Aelin. “But then so quickly he goes completely crazy, shouting and ranting so loud in my face that Maeve has to come in and see what the problem is.”

Yrene laughed fondly at her husband as she rested a hand on his shoulder where she sat across the wooden staff room table from Aelin, “You could hear it all the way down the corridor.”

Aelin laughed as she took in Chaol’s wide eyed expression and Dorian’s restrained laughter, Yrene’s gentle grin and Nehemia’s cool smirk.

Her first parent-teacher conference at the new school was this evening, and to her absolute delight, her friends were busy spinning their horror stories. Admittedly, she was nervous for the event, and even though it wasn’t her first time it was always an unnerving experience at a new school. It was her opportunity to introduce herself to the parents as Miss Galathynius and show them who she was, what she had, and to prove to them that she was the best choice for their children.

Realistically, she knew she had no reason to be nervous, her class were a great group of children, they all tried hard and engaged enthusiastically with her lessons, but meeting their parents for the first time was important. Making her first impression as an educator was important, and she knew that people sometimes unfairly judged her. At her previous school she knew some of the parents had made some unfair and incorrect assumptions about her but she had tried not to let it bother her. Had tried to brush off their barely hidden insults about her styles of teaching and even her choices of clothing. She couldn’t change peoples’ opinions but she could try to change their lasting impressions of herself.

Dorian had assured her that the majority of the parents at the school were great, most were pretty chilled out as long as their child wasn’t falling too far behind, which Aelin knew hers weren’t. That said, it was Dorian who had prompted the story time session in the break room, wordlessly picking up on her nervousness and launching into every horror story he could remember from his years teaching.

Since their ill-fated affair he had cemented his place in her life as one of her closest friends, rivalling only Lysandra in level of familiarity and they had spent an increasing amount of time together. From coffee runs to lounging around the loft watching movies she enjoyed every moment they spent together and she was comfortable that there was no remaining awkwardness from their brief tangle.

She hadn’t told anyone the outcome of their date yet, she hadn’t had much time to catch up with Lysandra since, and it wasn’t something she was particularly keen to tell her roommates. As much as she loved them there were times that their typical guy nature made her hesitant to share, and her failure to sleep with her date was not something she felt like sharing with them.

She was especially reluctant to share that piece of information with Rowan, he had told her to forget about their moment in the kitchen, and she had tried. It just hadn’t worked out quite as she had planned. But she was resolved, she would get over him, and if having him think she was dating Dorian told him she was, she wasn’t complaining.

“It took five minutes for us to even figure out what he was yelling about.” Chaol continued, flashing her an exasperated look.

“Which was?” Aelin asked, already grinning in anticipation of whatever ridiculous answer Chaol could give.

In her experience Chaol was a by-the-book teacher. She liked him, he was pretty smart, straightforward and an involved and ambitious teacher, she couldn’t imagine him doing anything deserving of being shouted at by a parent.

“Chaol had, completely unreasonably,” Dorian drawled sarcastically, tossing his unstarted apple between his palms, “decided to offer his students a quiz for the last class of the week instead of one more hour of curriculum teaching.”

Yrene sketched a mocking gasp and Nehemia held a hand to her chest as she rolled her eyes at the story.

“Could you imagine such a thing?” She laughed, eyes dancing with mirth as she grinned over to Aelin.

Aelin shook her head in mock horror at Chaol, unable to fully hide her smile as she laughed along.

“How could you?” She asked, half laughing at the absurdity of the parent’s rage and half at Chaol’s over the top attempt at a dejected expression. “You aren’t actually making me feel any better about later, by the way.”

Yrene reached over to squeeze her shoulder, “You don’t need us to do that, they will all love you I’m sure.”

Aelin needed more of Yrene’s optimism in her life and admittedly the woman’s kind smile was infectious. She was also right, why wouldn’t they love her?

------

The documentary on the television hadn’t fully captured Rowan’s attention, it was something about an animal in the rainforest and he had missed the part where it’s name was given, but it would do for a lazy afternoon while the rest of his roommates were at work. The afternoons were one of his favourite times of the day, he had the loft to himself to read or watch or listen to whatever he wanted in the usually shared spaces rather than his ordinarily messy and somewhat cramped bedroom.

Being the only one of his roommates to not work in the daytimes had its ups and downs, the freedom and space was a definite pro, but sometimes it could be lonely sitting around the loft on his own, and the days Lorcan was off with him after working a shift were often ones he enjoyed the most. His friend had a sarcastic and wicked sense of humour that worked well with Rowan’s relatively blunt demeanor. He’d never tell him that though.

Of everyone in the loft he had known Lorcan for the shortest amount of time. Technically, but he didn’t count the years of Aelin being in his periphery as knowing her. They had met through Fenrys, and Rowan wasn’t convinced that even Fenrys knew how he had come to be friends with the surly male, their personalities weren’t ones Rowan would have expected to be friends, but years later Lorcan had managed to cement himself as one of Rowan’s closest friends.

He checked the time on his phone as the sound of the loft front door caught his attention, none of his roommates should be at the loft at this time.

Seconds later Aedion came into view, already shucking off his tie before launching himself onto the couch next to Rowan with a deep sigh. Rowan slowly turned his head towards his best friend, waiting for him to reopen his eyes before raising his eyebrows.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” He began. “But why are you here?”

Aedion laughed before rolling forwards to sit upright on the sofa.

“Turned in the final piece for one of our biggest accounts this morning so we all got the afternoon off.”

“Nice,” Rowan nodded, Aedion probably worked the hardest of all of them in the loft. He worked for a marketing firm that had a bunch of high profile clients and he spent many nights in the office working overtime. Rowan shared those unpopular hours, but was grateful he didn’t have the early mornings too. “What are you doing for the rest of the day then?”

Aedion shrugged. “Thought I could spend some quality time with you my friend. Maybe find out what you wanted to talk to me about the other day.”

Aedion’s smirk was predatory, and Rowan felt like a deer in the headlights. He opened his mouth then closed it again.

He had been more than lucky to have gotten away with it for so long, he was surprised Aedion had managed the few days of Rowan saying nothing before giving in and straight up asking.

Since Aelin’s date with Dorian the man’s presence had become a regular feature of the loft, each visit reducing Rowan’s desire to admit any of his feelings about Aelin to anyone, let alone Aelin herself. He had tried to avoid being in the room when they were snuggling on the couch or had quickly changed the topic when he had come up in conversation.

Message received. He was at least glad that Aelin seemed happy, and it was his own fault that it wasn’t with him. He had told her to forget it ever happened and she had. Why Aedion wanted to make him talk about it now was anyone’s guess, he just wanted to deal with it alone. Preferably by not thinking about it, or at least trying not to.

“Oh nothing,” He brushed it off. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Aedion raised a golden eyebrow, unimpressed with Rowan’s clear denial and he winced internally. He should have known better than to assume Aedion would have been satisfied with that.

“Are you sure?” Aedion’s question was all too innocent. “You sure it wasn’t about anyone in particular?”

Rowan gritted his teeth, knowing he was just going to have to let this play out.

Aedion took a moment, pretending to ponder his next words and letting Rowan stew in his anticipation. “Not even my darling cousin?”

Rowan felt his cheeks begin to burn as he chewed on the inside of his lip. Aedion was a smug son of a bitch, smiling at Rowan like a cat who got the cream.

Rowan took a deep breath in. “Don’t fucking tell anyone, okay.”

Aedion’s expression dropped into something slightly more serious.

“Pinky swear,” Aedion grinned at him and Rowan flashed him a glare.

“I’m definitely not saying anything if you’re not being serious.”

Aedion cleared his throat, making a show of sobering his expression. “I’m serious, okay, now go.”

“So you clearly know something went down between me and Aelin,” That was as good a place to start as any he supposed. “How did you even find out about that?”

“Lysandra.” Aedion’s voice was almost dopey as he said the woman’s name. Gross, even though he was happy for his friend it was gross.

“Nice to know you and your girlfriend have nothing better to do than gossip about me.” Rowan frowned.

“Believe me, we have better things to do,” Aedion’s grin took over his whole face. “It’s just when we’re done we move on to pitying you…”

“I said be serious.” Rowan said bluntly, embarrassed enough as it was.

“Sorry, sorry.” Aedion held his hands up. “Continue.”

“There isn’t much more to be said.” He paused, realising the almost uncomfortable truth in his own words. “She’s moved past it anyway, like I told her too, so that’s it. We’re good, no danger of that.”

The look Aedion gave him was pure pity and Rowan looked away fast.

“Ro,” His friend’s voice was soft as he said his name, but he struggled for anything more, clearly reading Rowan better than he ever wanted to be read.

Rowan shrugged. “It’s fine, we’re all good.”

Aedion opened his mouth to speak but Rowan interrupted before he could get a word out.

“You need to tell her about you and Lysandra.” He could only see the secret ending in disaster, and now he was involved. He owed it to Aedion to keep the secret, but the guilt of keeping it from Aelin was eating away at him.

Aedion sighed, “I know. We will, soon. It’s just, when? You know?”

“You need to do it soon.” Rowan told him, feeling somewhat like a parent scolding a child. “You’re only going to upset her, and keeping it all a secret longer is just going to make it worse.”

Aedion looked down to the couch they sat on, avoiding Rowan’s eyes.

“I know.” He sighed.

“I don’t want her to get hurt.” It was as much as Rowan was willing to admit out loud.

“I don’t either.” Aedion’s tone was defensive and Rowan sighed.

“Now,” He began, pushing off the couch and standing above his friend. “I have a shift at the bar, you coming?”

Aedion half-smiled up at him. “Alright, but I’m not paying for any of my drinks.”

Rowan scoffed, “When do you ever?”

Aedion rose to his feet, shrugging, “Just making sure.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, feeling as Aedion always made him feel, relaxed and amused with the usual hint of mild irritation.

------

The evening had passed relatively quickly, all of the parents she had met so far had been lovely and were well engaged in their children’s lives and education which Aelin always appreciated. She only had one parent left to meet, the father of her student Evangeline, a bubbly young girl who Aelin adored. The young girl was inquisitive and tried hard with anything Aelin threw at them, a perfect student in Aelin’s eyes.

A knock on her classroom door sounded and she jumped to her feet, calling out for them to come in as she rose. The man who came through her doorway was striking, his golden hair shone and his green eyes were bright. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his tie was missing.

He held a hand out for her to shake and she caught a brief glance of a tattoo on his wrist, one that looked almost like a snake, peeking past his expensive looking watch.

“Archer Finn,” His voice was low and smooth, as he flashed her a polished smile.

“Aelin Galathynius,” She shook his hand firmly and smiled widely. “Please, take a seat.”

The man slid smoothly into the seat opposite her, and she forced her mind to focus on the task at hand, and reminded herself that this was one of her student’s fathers. No sign of a ring, her unhelpful mind added.

“Thank you, Miss Galathynius,” He folded his hands in his lap. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you about Evangeline’s progress.”

Aelin grinned. “As have I, Evangeline is a fantastic student, the passion she displays in the classroom is phenomenal. Her artwork-- she displays a level of true talent.”

“Yes,” His tone was clipped. “That is what I have been hoping to talk to you about.”

Aelin felt her smile freeze.

“Evangeline will not be participating in any art activities from this point onwards, I don’t believe they are of any value. To put it bluntly, they’re a complete waste of time.”

Aelin was frozen, paused in a state of shock at the man’s words.

“I unfortunately have to disagree--”

He held a hand up to stop her and she recoiled.

“Please, Miss Galathynius,” He huffed out a condescending laugh and Aelin felt her blood begin to boil. “As her father I believe I know what is best for Evangeline.”

“And what is that?” She asked dryly.

Archer Finn seemed to take a moment, raking his eyes from her head to her toe before meeting her gaze again. She could tell the look hadn’t been one of appreciation and she bristled.

“What Evangeline needs is a teacher who takes her education seriously, someone who understands that painting her pretty pictures is a waste of time.” The sarcasm in his voice had her clenching her jaw, but she tried to rein in her temper, remembering that she was still new to the school.

“Mr Finn, I--”

He held a hand to her face again and stood, buttoning his suit jacket as he did, and Aelin slowly rose out of her chair.

“Mr Finn, I have a masters degree in children’s education, I know the value of creativity in learning.” Aelin could hardly keep her voice steady as she spoke, barely concealing the anger the man in front of her had managed to unleash inside her in such a short space of time.

The man seemed to sneer at her words, looking down his nose at her as he frowned.

“You may well have, and I’m sure it was worth every penny to you.” He smirked at her, crushing her with only a handful of words. “Either way, Evangeline will be seeing a private tutor during your creative hours.”

The scorn in his voice burned her, hitting her in a deep part of her soul that wasn’t often exposed. She knew she was right, knew that she knew what Evangeline needed, knew that her methods of teaching had merit and worth. This sad excuse for a father was blind and arrogant if he thought he knew better than Aelin, but she was trapped. What more could she say to change his mind?

In her silence he had crossed the room to pause by the door before turning back to look at her where she stood dumbfounded behind her desk, clenching her fists at her sides and trying to compose herself.

“I’m glad we had this chat, Miss Galathynius.” With that he was gone, taking his smug and condescending atmosphere with him.

Her breath rushed out of her in a gust, burning her throat as she held back the tears that threatened to fall. She couldn’t believe him, Mr Finn. The audacity he had to walk into her classroom and speak to her like that.

She dropped back into her seat, resting both of her hands against the cool wood of her desk and focussing on all the knots and whorls in the wood, breathing deeply in and out as she centred her thoughts. She almost couldn’t believe how her evening had ended up and she let out a brief snort at the idea that maybe her story could now beat Chaol’s from this morning.

A knock at her door snapped her to attention, if Mr Finn had come back for another go at her she wouldn’t be able to bite her tongue this time. Her fears were sedated when a familiar head of dark curls poked around the door frame.

Dorian’s smile was bright and easy as he walked towards her, perching on the front of one of her student's desks.

“So?” He asked as he crossed his ankles in front of himself, the portrait of a male completely at ease.

Aelin only shook her head, unable to sum up her final visit in a few words.

“Have you ever taught Evangeline Finn?” She managed, hating how destroyed she sounded even to her own ears.

Dorian barely managed to cover his wince.

“Ah,” He sighed. “You met Archer Finn. How bad was it?”

She looked at the floor, holding back the flood that wanted to break through, she refused to cry in school over a parent, no matter how much he had riled her up.

“Bad,” She managed but her voice betrayed her, letting a crack rip through the word.

Dorian was around the desk and at her side within a second, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“What did he say?” Dorian asked, his tone gentle as if not to startle her.

Aelin sniffed. “Oh you know, the usual, dismissing my teaching and belittling my degree.”

She let out a self-deprecating laugh as she looked to Dorian whose brow creased at her words.

“Don’t listen to him. You know he’s not right.” She knew his words were earnest, but they couldn’t keep the doubt at bay and she shrugged out of his hold.

“I don’t know,” She looked away.

“Come on,” Dorian tried. “Let’s get a drink or something, take your mind off it.”

“Thanks, Dorian. But I think I just want to go home and be alone.”

Dorian’s mouth twisted as he considered it, probably weighing up whether or not to try again. Eventually he relented.

“Text me if you need anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

She lightly squeezed his hand before rising to pack up her things. His offer hadn’t tempted her, she did want to be alone, but maybe a drink wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

------

The bar was relatively busy, a few customers every so often had him drifting in and out of conversation with Aedion. Lorcan had joined Aedion at the bar not long after they arrived, grumbling about something or other that Rowan soon avoided, turning back to another customer after dropping off Lorcan’s pint.

A brief lull allowed him to drift back to his friends, wiping down a few spills along the bar as he went.

“It’s the fucking worst, all right.” The dark-haired giant complained, words muffled by the strong hand he ran down his face.

Rowan turned to Aedion for explanation who merely shrugged before lifting his empty glass to Rowan. He grabbed it and turned to refill it as Lorcan spoke again.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this, stupid regulations and reforms.”

Lorcan was clearly in a talking mood tonight. Rowan met Aedion’s eyes, a silent challenge, begging the blond man to speak first but Aedion just leaned back in his seat, taking a large gulp of his beer. Rowan flicked him the middle finger before turning to Lorcan.

“What is?”

Lorcan turned the force of his glare to Rowan who shifted against the unexpected heat.

“My stupid boss.”

“What about them?” Aedion finally joined in.

Lorcan sighed, a frustrated sound as if explaining it would be hard work. Rowan grinned a sharp flash of teeth at Aedion who rolled his eyes at their friend’s dramatics.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I want to drink.” Lorcan finished his drink in a final swig, placing the glass before Rowan ceremoniously.

Rowan scooped it up, sketching a mocking salute at his friend. “That, we can do.”

As he turned he spotted Fenrys making his way over from the door and he grabbed another glass to fill as the golden-haired man took his seat. He dumped the drinks in front of his friends with little finesse as Fenrys spoke.

“Why is Aelin sitting in the corner on her own?”

Aelin?

“Aelin’s here?” Aedion asked as the four of them turned to look where Fenrys had pointed.

Sure enough, Aelin was tucked away in a booth in the corner of the room. He hadn’t noticed her come in and Rowan could see the glum expression on her face even from a distance.

“Is she okay?” He managed.

“She doesn’t look okay.”

The three of them swivelled to look at Lorcan, matching looks of disbelief across each of their faces.

“Has she said anything to any of you?” Fenrys asked. “Anything to Lysandra?” With a look to Aedion who shook his head.

“Should we go over?” Aedion asked, an unsure twist to his mouth.

“If she wanted to sit with us she’d be here.” Lorcan said bluntly.

“Shut up, asshole.” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “I’ll take her a drink.”

-------

The glass of wine was cool in his hand as he made his way across the bar, skirting round tables of customers as he went.

“Hey,” His voice was soft as he reached Aelin’s booth, lingering by the edge of the table as she looked up at him.

His heart jolted at the expression she wore. Her beautiful blue eyes were wide and red-rimmed, her plush pink lips twisted into a pout. She swallowed before speaking and the hurt in her voice tore his heart again.

“Oh. Didn’t think you’d notice me here.” Her voice was quiet as he dropped into the seat opposite her and pushed the glass towards her.

“It’s kind of my job to notice who needs a drink,” He said equally quietly, leaning forwards and pressing his arms against the table between them. He had hoped his words would bring a smile but Aelin pursed her lips, debating, before reaching towards the glass and taking a sip.

At least there was that.

“You don’t-- I mean, you don’t have to answer... If you don’t want to, but,” He didn’t usually stumble over his words so much. “Are you okay?”

Aelin’s refusal to meet his eyes pretty much answered his question, but he still waited for her to speak.

She blew out a breath, the air teasing the fair strands of hair around her face as she looked towards the ceiling then back down to him.

“Not really.” She said as she looked away from him again.

He spared a glance over to the bar where his friends sat, watching him and Aelin, each with expressions of concern. Even Lorcan for all his grumbling before Rowan came over.

“What happened?” He asked as gently as he could.

Aelin took a sip of her wine, glancing around the bar and spotting their friends who quickly jumped back into their own conversation before resting her gaze back on him.

She shrugged, putting her glass back on the table before speaking.

“One of my student’s parents basically told me I’m a shit teacher today.”

“Aelin no,” The words left him in a rush, utterly raw in his desperation to reassure her. “Aelin, you have to know you’re not a shit teacher.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her pout still standing strong.

“What did they say?”

“Just that my degree is worthless and that I don’t know what’s best for the kids.”

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

If he ever saw the asshole who had said those cruel words to Aelin he’d-- He didn’t know what he’d do but it would hurt.

“Aelin, don’t listen to them. That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” Her question, in combination with her soft sniffle shattered him.

He reached out to lightly grasp one of her hands in his, gently toying with her delicate fingers.

“Of course not Aelin. You’re an incredible teacher.”

She drew her hand back to take another sip of her wine.

“How would you know?” She asked. “You’ve never seen me teach.”

“I don’t need to Aelin. I know you, and you’re everything a good teacher should be. Kind, caring, patient, passionate-”

“Okay,” She interrupted.

“I’m serious Aelin, promise me you won’t believe a word that asshole said.”

She scoffed, looking away from him yet again.

“Aelin?”

“Okay, I promise.” Her tone was resigned, but at least she had agreed. He didn’t know how much help he had managed to be, but he hoped at least a small part of her had listened.

“What are you doing sitting alone anyway? You can always come to us with things like this.” He knew without a doubt that the others would agree.

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and Rowan’s fingers itched to follow the motion but he held his hands together, now under the table. She shrugged as a faint blush crossed her cheeks and Rowan fought the warmth blooming inside him at the sight.

“Come and drink with us.” He said, nodding his head towards where the others were sitting at the bar. “Salvaterre’s miserable too so you won’t be alone.”

At that, Aelin’s lips twitched as the hint of a smile ghosted across her face, it was the closest he had seen all night and he’d take it.

“Why?” Her voice was quiet.

“Other than the usual?” He joked and she finally cracked a real smile, small but still there, and the relief that flooded through him was like lightning. “I think it’s something about his work or his boss, I don’t really know.”

He slid himself out of the booth and held a hand out to her, his final request, if she really didn’t want to join them he could accept that, but he knew he’d still keep an eye on her for the rest of the night.

Thankfully she stood, grabbing her things and leading the way over to their friends, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. Over her head he saw Aedion flash him a thankful smile. She flopped onto a stool next to Fenrys as Rowan slid back behind the bar.

“So,” She turned to Lorcan, barely missing a beat. “What are you crying about now?”

Lorcan didn’t hesitate before lunging into his story, his own subtle way of making sure Aelin was alright and not dwelling on her issues.

“My new boss is an asshole. Turns up in Rifthold fresh out of headquarters in somewhere called Perranth, and thinks everyone should just bow down or something. Now, first of all, I’ve never even heard of Perranth,” He paused to take a bitter swig of his beer.

“Me neither,” Fenrys chimed in.

“It’s in Terrasen,” Aelin said after a sip of her own wine. The heaviness from before didn’t weigh on her face anymore and Rowan turned to serve another customer, hiding his smile. “I think I went once when I was a kid.”

Lorcan frowned at her but Rowan could tell it lacked it’s usual heat.

“Whatever,” Lorcan continued. “The point is, I’ve worked here for years, I know Rifthold and how things are done. Captain Lochan has been here all of five minutes and apparently knows all the improvements we need to make.”

The curl of Lorcan’s lips as he hissed his boss’ name prompted a small laugh, the guy must be a total hardass to have Lorcan so riled.

“What’s wrong with the improvements?” Aelin asked and Lorcan sighed.

“Nothing is wrong with the improvements,” He muttered and Aelin finally laughed, the tinkling sound washing over Rowan and settling into his bones.

“So what’s the problem?” Aedion asked after a moment, the question that they were all thinking and Lorcan shot him a glare, this time not lacking any heat.

“The problem is the Captain. So controlling and everything has to be done in exactly their way, constantly on me about my reports as well.” He rolled his eyes, clearly over talking about his boss and Rowan couldn't help from poking the bear one last time.

“Why don’t you invite the Captain here? I don’t know any problem a free beer couldn’t solve.”

“Absolutely not.” Lorcan said, shaking his head.

“Well I, for one, want to meet the famous Captain Lochan.” Fenrys grinned. “Especially if it would annoy you so much.”

“Don’t.” Lorcan said, a hair’s width below a growl.

“Why not?” Aedion joined in and Rowan watched the smile settling on Aelin’s lips at their friends’ antics.

He shook himself, laughing along as Lorcan slugged Aedion in the shoulder.

“Maybe find something to take your mind off it?” Fenrys suggested and Rowan knew where he was going would be fun. “Get a pet or something?”

“Just watch me, boyo.” Lorcan bared his teeth around the grin threatening to take over his own face. His pretend displeasure only just winning the battle.

The smile on Aelin’s face struck him again in its beauty, and he forced his attention away from her and back to the idiots now suggesting outlandish animals Lorcan could bring home as a pet.

He bit his lip as Aelin suggested a lion in response to Aedion’s tiger and thanked the gods again that she was smiling.

------

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@tottenhamboys20

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@elriel4life

@bamchickawowow

@woollycat22

@claralady

@illyrianwitchling

@SHINYA-HIIRAGI

hmu if any tags don’t work

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years ago

Text

Painful Use of Powers

Tim and Jon are having a friendly discussion that is rather rudely interrupted when Jon accidentally Beholds something. They powers of the eye have faded after the world is back to normal, and it makes Jon very ill.

Cw panic (not detailed), vomiting (he vomits static so like.... not anything gross just weird), food mention, baby shark

This prompt is from the bingo on my tumblr, feel free to send a prompt, a character, and let me know if you want a drawing or a fic! The starred ones I already have prompts for, the crossed out ones are ones I have already posted. Bingo by @celosiaa!

“It’s… been pretty strange. About half the people I talk to remember everything about… well, you know. And the other half don’t seem to remember anything at all. Just remember before… and then remember after. I have to wonder if it’s a trauma response thing or ….some weird eldritch thing. But… not actually that curious, if you know what I mean?” Tim is sitting on the couch next to Jon. Once upon a time, they maybe would have been flush with each other. But it had been a long time since they were that comfortable together. Jon hopes that one day he will feel safe enough to lean on Tim again.

Jon half swallows a partial laugh. Not a particularly humorous one, just a huff of air, really. “I’m curious… of course I am. I just… try to avoid thinking about it. Curiosity is a little dangerous for me… Which is irritating because being a teacher is about Learning as well as teaching. And apparently it is down to me to try to revive these children from the fatigue of rote memorization without an independent will to learn!”

“Ha! You inspiring people to learn! Are you sure you don’t just give them that glare of yours and tell them when the homework is due after babbling to them for an hour about whatever. Bet they don’t get a question in edgewise!”

Jon gives Tim that very glare. And Tim laughs properly. Which fills Jon’s chest with hope. He shouldn’t hang on the every positive response he gets from Tim… but he does.

“Actually I read something funny the other day! I was on twitter and I found a threat that had a theory that one of those stupid kids songs brought about the Eyepocolypse! One of those ones that you sing over and over again until every adult that ever met you just wants to clobber you…. I think it was the baby shark one… Whatever the fuck that is.”

Static fills Jon’s mouth. Buzzing through the air. And he Knows the song. The words. The many many many versions.

B̠̼̙͙̘͚̺̓̋̿͑̓͘͟͞ả̶͎̜̙̩̖̋̈́̆̂̚ͅḇ͕͓̘͖̦̫̥͂̊͂̀͂̇̇̂̚͜͢y̟̬̳̱̦̘͖̗͑͑͛̀̚͝͞͞ s̘̠̪̠͎̻̯̰̏͂̒̍̒̏͞ͅẖ̴̢͕̙͕̟̤̯͆̊͂͐̆͜ą̛̙̞͇̹̪̖͕͈͆̽͗̇͋̍͘͘͜r̡̛͍̹̳͉͕̱̝͔̾̒͛͊͐̾̿̕͠ͅķ̯̼̀̉͒͆̌̈͜͢͡ d̷̪͙͓͔̞̗͂̋̀͆͆̕͜͞ơ̵̲̩̦͐͋̊̔̉̑͢͢͠ͅ d̜̳̜̺̣͓̟̿̽̔̽̑͜ͅo̸̙͈͇̠̣͐̿̾̂̏̇̚̚ͅ d̸͍̞̹̫̤̀̑͒́̒͊̔ǫ͚̮̳͇̤̰̦̖̀̋̋͂͌̋͑͢͡ d̲̜̹̤̘̝͖͗̀͑̆̽͢ǫ̴̛̤̤̗̝̯͒͆̂̿̀̐͝ͅ ḍ̶͈͇͖͔̫̯̥̄̃͋̄͌̀̇̑͛͋͟ö̢̖̥̯̹͙̱̓̀͋͗͟͡ d͔̬͚̤̩̯͛̽̏̈͘o̪̼̬̯̮̼͌̈̎̐́̕ b̷̢͙̮̱̹͓̎͑͂̊̋̋͛̊͋̇a̗̩͍̩̲̾̇̄͐̾b̮͇̖̣̭̫͎̂̽̅̾́̄͠ỷ̷͚̘͕̫̲̩̠̮̬͒͆̾̃̅͑̓̄ s̲̳̖̼̩̙̓̿͆̉͛̃͒͝͠͡h̴̡̺̯̮̼̙̜̋̓̋͐̿͢ͅa̴̳̩̲͓̱̞͊͊̓̑̄͢ͅṟ̷̨̛̬͎͕̮̖̣̜̎̌̂̎͢k̟͍̱͍͛̅̉̏̑͑͌͡ͅ d̸̥͓̻̗̩̮͖̓͛̀͒̈̉̀̕͞o̹̭͓͎̤̝͆͂͆̈́͗d̵̙͕̼̖͔̬͚͕̞͂͑̒̀͢͞͝͞o͖͕͉̘̠̹͑̂̂̽̌̋͜ḑ̢̟̙̝͋̈̾͌̆͐͋͂̓̌͜ơ̛͖͎͖̱̳̘̓̽̒̔͌͐̔͒͢ḑ̵͍̱͙̘̙̇́̃͡͞o̴̧͓̼͔̜̣̲̻̔́̓͒͗͂́͜ͅd̨͓͈͎͚͕̳̝̩̿͋̂̔́̔̈̇̓͜ȍ̷͕͙̝͎̙̼̣̃̍̏͘̕͟͞d̴̩̩͖̙̘͕͓̼̯̊̿́̾͋̄͘̚͞ŏ̞̤͉̱̝̯̔̄̅͊̑͟ w̴̰̥̱̲̦̤̘̠̑̅̉̓̀͢ę̶̛̬̗̗͓͍̟̏̀̓͗͑͢ṇ̙̟̳̅͑̾͆̈́̀͋͢͞t̵̠̯̫̙̘̺̳͋̋̍͒͂̍̌̐̋ f̸̻̭̫͚̮͐̑̉̄̍̓̂͝ȯ̢̨͔͍̥̲̌̅̋̂͋r̢͔̥͈͎̭͔̼̹̀̿̀̂̊̈́̊͜͠ ả̢̡̛͉̙͓͎̩̈̈̑̇̒͢ͅ ş̺̦͍̣̬͔̭̲̅̓͑̿͗̍ͅw̺̺͉͙̩͚̻̣̜̪̿̍̽͒̎̀̚͝í̢̺̥̩͖̹̣͖͚̈́̿̐̏͜m̶̜̯̺͙̯͒̔̈́̍͞͡͠ d̶̢̨̡̛͓̖̥̱̩̹͊͒̔̽̈̎̽̚ò̤̤̪͎͔̺̽̍̋̅̆̔͠d̳͎̥̟̺̰̰̘̿̌̐́̄̌ơ͔̣̝̱̪̟̪̑̒̿̑͆̂̓̍̃d̢͎͖͖̭͓̭́̌̇̊̇̀͗͛ơ̴͖͓̤̝̘̯͓̐̊̓̾̕͜d̷̤̺̫̙̠̜̬̈̆͐̽̚͟ő͕͚͖̳͙̭̞̜̓̊͊͘͘d̴͈̲̰̬̘́̈́̓̚͠ȍ̶̠͙̜͖͉̱̥̄́͛͌̌̈͟d̳̜̮͓̀̓͒̈̌̅͌͢o̺͕̙̺͔̫̍̾̾̍͊

The knowledge floods his senses. Too many words. Too many songs. And he can’t stop it until he has experiences every annoying children’s song and rhyme and poem at once and he can’t take any of it in and he can’t thinkcantthinkcantthinkcantthinktoomanywordstoomanytoomany

sharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharkDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDo

The static crackles in the air, and Jon’s vision goes dark.

Jon wakes up and throws up. Or would, if his insides hadn’t turned to static. As it stands, static floods his mouth and echos around the bin that has been shoved hastily in front of his face.

He thinks vaguely this must be an unpleasant experience for whoever is guiding him upright and holding back his hair.

Even so, it is miserable for him.

This is one of the least pleasant experiences of his life. Which is saying something.

It hurts. It feels like he is being turned inside out and his head sawed in two.

Once his body is done, his eyes are leaking static is well and he slumps further, head still in the bin, breathing hard. He groans, pitifully.

He allows himself a minute. A minute to try to process the information overload that sent him into this state. To try to feel more real and less like a manifestation of buzzing energy.

He can’t drag his eyes open. He doesn’t even want to try.

Then he remembers Tim.

Tim who is almost certainly the one rubbing his back.

Tim who just witnessed Jon Behold something.

Tim who thinks Jon has this under control.

Jon is supposed to have this under control.

But does he? Does he really? Because this Does happen. Not too often anymore, but it does. Jon can’t always.

Sometimes a weak compulsion threads through his words. Sometimes he something slips through into his subconscious. And sometimes, the floodgates open like they just did, and Jon’s body is not equipped to deal with that now, if it ever even was. (Which it wasn’t. He remembers lying on his office floor… sick and shivering for hours before Basira found him at his desk, having finally found the strength to stand, plagued by a raging headache.)

Tim wasn’t supposed to see that he is still like this… this… monstrousness that hasn’t gone away. It hasn’t. Just a bit weaker. Still out of control and he should have this under control by now! It’s been years!

And he can’t think anymore because it hurts too much, and even the gentle hand on his back is too much like hitting. Like scratching. And he knows it is just oversensitive skin and he knows that touch is fine and grounding and good, but his brain can’t tell the difference anymore. Not after years of hurt have been visibly pressed into his skin. And not when merely existing is rending his head in two.

He is breathing hard with a solid band of panic crushing his lungs. And he’s gagging around more static. And static is streaming down his face and he can’t let Tim see him like this. he can’t. He can’t! He doesn’t want to lose Tim again. He can’t do it again! Not when things are so close to good that it hurts.

He tries to get up. To hide, but it sends him retching again.

Tim is alarmed. Not about Jon’s use of powers. He’s… something close to okay with that. Well… not Okay okay with it. But it’s still… just Jon. It doesn’t happen often. And Martin warned him Long before allowing them near one another, the second conversation they had after Tim ran into him in the grocery store and had to go through the awkward business of ‘yes I’m alive, sorry I didn’t say anything, also here’s Sasha who you thought was dead. What do you mean you almost got yourself killed because you were left with nothing to live for?’ That had been…. a conversation to remember.

In any case, Tim knows that Jon isn’t entirely human. Mostly human, at this point. But… not entirely. Sometimes things like this happen, although Martin hadn’t said anything about….. all the static. Something about ink? Something about some minor compulsion. And that Jon is… not cagey about it… but skittish. That he still expects to be punished for this thing that he clearly can’t entirely control. He knows that Jon occasionally Knows things on purpose and gives himself migraines. Much to Martin’s worry. But accidentally Beholding… well it looks worse than a migraine to Tim. This looks painful, and like it’s quickly devolving into a panic attack.

Which… Tim has a sinking feeling is because he is there. This would be…. the third one he’s caused. At least that he knows of.

There was the time that Jon was under the weather and compelled him by mistake. There was the time when he’d finally gotten comfortable around Jon again and had started joking and something in the tone of his voice or the volume had sent Jon into a messy spiral. And now this. He’s been so careful. He wants his friend back. And they were finally getting somewhere with easy visits without Martin moderating. Finally.

And now Jon is sick and hurting and afraid and Tim is probably just making it worse.

Jon flinches away from his hands with a whimper, and his theory is strengthened.

He stops. Timothy Stoker takes consent very seriously. “Do you want me to let you go? Can you sit on your own?”

Jon whines again, forehead resting on the edge of the bin. Dreadfully pale and face crackling with a static that Tim guesses to be sweat or tears… possibly both.

He would absolutely let go of Jon if he was sure he could safely do so, but… Jon looks as if he might just topple over as it is. Best not to disturb him too much. And if he looks uncomfortable with the arrangement, then Tim will try to fix it. However he can.

Until then, he ought to call Martin. But he can’t get up without dislodging an unsteady Jon. And Jon doesn’t look up for sitting in on a conversation.

He sends a text instead.

There’s been an incident. We’re okay, but if you could come back here soon… Please come back soon.

Jon cries. And so does Tim. Softly. Briefly. So many steps they have taken together, and there is still a journey before them.

Martin’s home. Jon would cry with relief if he wasn’t already crying. Finally real tears instead of trails of static. Every time he’s tried to move has made him sick. He eventually gives up and leans against Tim. Shivering slightly. He wishes he could get some painkillers, but…. he can’t even sit up. Not even far enough to let Tim get up.

He did find it in himself to weakly sign for Tim to wrap an arm around him.

It’s grounding. And solid. And warm. And real.

But now Martin is here. Speaking in low tones to Tim. Hands on his face. Jon leaning into Martin’s warmth. Martin wiping his damp face with a warm flannel.

“Hey, sweetheart. Jon, what happened?” Martin.

Jon doesn’t want to open his mouth. Insides still unhappy static. He signs, “Baby Shark.”

Tim chokes on a laugh.

It jostles Jon, which causes him to groan. But… but. A laugh is good. It isn’t derisive. It’s… just warm. And very Tim, as he once was when they were together. As he is, now.

Tim stays for dinner. It’s takeout. And while Jon is still queasy, he manages a little bit of soup before falling asleep. Still leaning on Tim, Martin cradling his legs.

#the magnus archives #tma #whump #jonathan sims #timothy stoker #tim stoker #martin blackwood #cw nausea #cw food #cw fainting #cw panic attack #cw vomiting #emeto warning #words #my words #my writing #my fic #art #my art

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nokiawrites · 4 years ago

Text

ʙᴜɴɴʏ ʙᴜɴᴄʜᴇꜱ(ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ x reader)

(Boss-Intern/Hybrid AU)

Warnings: Smut, Cat Hybrid!Female!Reader, Bunny Hybrid!Izuku, (Everyone is pretty much hybrids) Im also rlly bad at warnings

Part2

Summary: Your new bunny Intern with the silvery voice has caught your attention once again, but who knows if this time you can get to him first.

The quick pitter patter of my feet as I walk through the parking lot to the elevator are drowned out by my thoughts.

My every waking thoughts constantly running rampant of that that green haired ball of energy. So sickeningly sweet yet enticing. Our newest Intern, Izuku Midoriya. The bunny hybrid who held the whole world in their eyes. Just the same as the last time you saw him.

You slowly enter the elevator and press the button for your floor number, tail swaying from side to side slowly. Standing there idly humming to yourself as the lift slowly rose to your floor. ‘PING’ the loud sound of the lift arriving snaps you out of your daze. The doors slowly open and you step out and begin making your way to your office.

Besides the soft hums of conversations and typing it is rather peaceful in the cubicles. “Hey (y/n)!”. Well shit. You turn to where the voice came from and lo and behold the man whose been on your mind, standing there in all his glory. He smiles brightly at you, ears on the top of his head at full height. You look at him blank faced.

“Please stop calling me by my first name during work hours, people will think we are friends.” You spit at him in a hushed tone. You turn away and begin walking away. He follows behind you closely, he begins giggles. “I mean of course were friends dummy.” He says to you in full confidence. “Well im sorry to burst your fucking bubble, were far from friends, you work for me and thats all.”

You make it to your office and kicking your heels off. His ears drooped some. “Well its ok (l/n), No need to be a bitch about it.” He huffs at you also walking into your office closing the door and plopping down on the sofa. “Me?! A Bitch?!” Your head does a perfect 180 and you scowl at him.“Yea, you.” He plops a gummy bear into his mouth. “Where the hell did you get gummy bears from?! You know what, doesnt matter, stop eating in my office. I have work to do.”

You shuffle over to your desk and plop down in your seat, pulling out your papers and beginning to work. Your ears sit upright. You can hear loud Chewing. Ignoring it was not even an option. You can hear it over your on thoughts at this point. You look up with a huff and there izuku is. “You chewing to loud dipshit.” For a bunny hybrid he is loud as hell.

Your becoming irritated. A knock on your door turns your attention away from the green haired male laying on your sofa. “Come in” you mumble. Your assistant Tsuyu walks in. “ Ms(l/n), Mr Todoroki wants to know if your meet for later today is still on?” She shuffles through papers in her hands. You take a minute to think, ‘do I really want to have to deal with Enji’s shit today? nah’. “ Tell him i would like to reschedule for next week, and Tsuyu, take a rest of the day off I got it today.” She nods her head and walks out quietly shutting the door behind her.

A couple of minutes goes past uneventfully. “You know you cant always be mad at me.” The human bunny hybrid speaks. You chuckle at him “Thats a good one.” You continue doing what you were doing. Izuku sits up from his lying down position. “Im serious, listen we both made mistakes. So we have to let go to help ourselves grow as people.” You sit your pen down and you look at him. “Are you fucking kidding me? We both made mistakes? You fucking cheated on me, and WE made mistakes? You must be out of your rabbit ass mind!”

You jolt upwards, now standing making your way around the desk to the sofa. “Hey I said sorry, okay.” He says as you stalk closer to him. “ Do you think sorry is going to fix the fucking pain i felt?” Your ears are completely pined against your head as you his at him. “well what do want me to do?” You take the tights off of your legs and ball it up, throwing it. You begin to slide you panties off. griping them in your hand tightly. “If your really fucking sorry you’ll make mommy feel good.” Izuku turned pink.

“You know I cant do that, you know im dating Ochaco.” You shake your head. “Do you really think I give a fuck about that home wrecking bitch, do what your told unless you want you darling little Ochaco to know that her boyfriends boss is his ex girlfriend and that you dick still gets hard to the thought of my cunt on your face?” He freezes. “Your probably fucking hard right now aren’t you. You sick fucking shit. Getting off of calling me mommy” Before he can react you stuff your underwear in his mouth. “go ahead, can you taste mommy on it?” He says something unintelligible and nods.

“Good because that is the last time you will ever fucking taste it.” He reaches to take the panties out of his mouth. You slap him with force before he can. You can tell he’s gonna bruise later. His phone rings. its Ochaco. He looks up at your form questioningly. You nod. “Pick it up” He does just that. As he talks you begin to unzip his pant. His breath hitches. keep talking, you mouth to him. You pull out his hard length. He twitches in your hand. gracious amounts of precum falls onto your hand. His tip red with a purple hue. You flatten you tongue and run it from base to tip and stopping to suck on his mushroomed head.

He chokes on his spit “uh yeah im fine Ochaco I just choked on my spit, but i have to go, yeah ill t-talk to you later bye.” He rushed to hang up his phone up. You stood back up, taking in the view of him. He looked so perverted with his dick out leaking and pulsing. But he looked so innocent with his flustered face. You wanted to corrupt him. He reaches out and cups your naked core. Massaging your folds. You lean into him, beginning to straddle him. He rubs his fingers against your wet entrance, slightly teasing you. He pushes his two fingers into you breaching your warm walls. You reach both of your hands around to his back. Your hand grabs his shoulder. The other one slowly going down his back. You grip his tail.

“(y-y/n) you know my tail is sensitive.” He removes his fingers from you and grips your hips with both hands. You smirk against his neck. “I know.” You snatch his cotton ball of a tail with your hand. His hips thrust up into yours. His dick ruts against your wet core. The humping motion causing his dick to stimulate your clit. Your feeling hot, you can feel your heart beat in your pussy. “Come on baby, fuck mommys tight pussy. You have my permission. He whines out starting to rut harder against you. You lift yourself lining izuku’s meat rod to your dripping core. You begin to slowly go down, Not used to the feeling of him inside of you yet. Izuku grabs you hips and slams you down onto him before you could intervene.

Izuku begins to get into position, he braces his feet on the floor and grips you with both arms, beginning to thrust up into you. You can barley keep your eyes open. His curved dick keeps beating at your walls. You reach down to you clit and begin to rub it trying to satisfy that building pressure in your abdomen. You gush out on him, he humps you through it all. You push off of him with a huff. “Mommy?” He whines out at the loss of your heated walls. walking over to your desk you sit on the edge and spread you legs giving him a good view of your box. “Come on baby, come get what you want.” He practically jumps out of his seat and rushes to you, lining back up with you and pushing straight back into your depths. you wrap your legs around him. He starts fucking into you like he was out for revenge.

You throw your head back moaning out as his tip hits your g spot. Your tail raps around his leg. “Say you love me more than Ochaco.” You breath out. No answer. He keeps fucking into with the speed of a jack rabbit. You santch his hair pulling his head back. He moans out as he gets closer. You grab his face between your fingers and pushing your foot into his hips causing him to stop thrusting. "Tell me you love me more than her, fucking say it. your tail begins flicking the more agitated you get. Looking at you doe eyed he stumbles over his words "You know i cant say that, i love both you and Ochaco the same." You scoff looking away in disgust. "If that was fucking true you wouldnt be balls deep in me while your girlfriend is at home waiting for you."

You look back at him in disgust for the second time today. Pushing him off of you. Causing his dick to fall out with a wet sound. He whimpered at the loss of your heat. "kneel" you bark at him. Ears pined to the top of your head. Midoriya drops to his knees his ears lifeless against his head. "Know show mommy that your sorry for being a shitty boyfriend who cant even keep his dick in his fucking pants." "m'sorry" he mumbled.

" Stop being a little fucking bitch and actually apologize!!" You yell at him. He just stares up at you. Hissing you hop off of the desk pulling your skirt down and snatching him up by the collar of his shirt, " If you dont want to be here get the fuck out, go the fuck home. Why are you still here if your in love with her?" You begin to push im towards your office door, eyes filling with tears. “ill have you transferred to another buliding." You begin putting yourself back together and getting dressed. "N-no, im sorry." He squeaks out after almost a eternity of silence. You wipe the tears out of your eyes, putting a stern face on.

“well i have no other choice, your fired.”

#bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha #izuku midoria x reader #mha izuku #reader x midoriya #reader #reader x bnha #reader x #reader x izuku #bnha smut #smut #i mean its ok #just needed to put it out there #bnha fanfiction

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offtopicoverload · 4 years ago

Text

Disney Princess - 3

i told you id get it out anon, didnt i? but legit, so sorry this took for fucking ever, i get distracted :)

Chapter 2

M Rating (i bumped it up cuz of drinking? am i meant to? and no warnings)

Aurora x f!MC (Rylen Damen) (if you haven't been here in a while, i changed mc to an oc, but same personality)

~3k words (not super long, but i got a jump on chapter 4 so that should be out soon)

Read on Ao3

Aurora Emery is relieved.

It's strange. Very strange, the way her shoulders feel less tense and the way her thoughts are less clouded as she winds through Edenbrook’s halls, steps light as they lead her to Harper Emery’s office. She adjusts her coat outside the door, smoothing out the lapels delicately before stepping inside.

Harper’s sorting through papers on her desk, only glancing up as Aurora sits across from her, palms flat on her thighs to quell her nerves. There’s tension lingering in the air, thick as it attempts to weigh down Aurora’s shoulders, attempts to counteract the result of the trial.

The pair sitting across from each other haven’t spoken since the fight in the atrium, the only communication being a brief, agitated text. Aurora’s foot begins tapping beneath the desk, muted by the carpet resting under her feet as the silence drags on and on and on and on.

“What did you need?” Aurora rushes out, her anxiety getting the best of her as her fingers twitch in her lap.

Harper glances up from her paperwork momentarily, meeting Aurora’s gaze, then sits back in her chair, hands folded atop her desk. “I thought it best we discussed what happened earlier,” she answers coolly, the slightest irritation in her expression.

“What’s there to discuss?” Aurora counters, squirming in her seat slightly.

Harper sits up, straight as an arrow, with tense shoulders beneath her coat and fingers knit together, resting on the desk. “If you’re not happy with me, Aurora, I’d like to know how to fix that.”

A sigh sinks Aurora’s own shoulder, sinking her further into her chair, “Aunt Harper -”

“Aurora,” she cuts her off gently, “I never want you to resent me or hate being around me. If that’s starting to happen, I want to correct it and be the best aunt I can be.”

“It’s just -” Aurora’s shoulders slump, any fight dissolving from her. “It’s overwhelming. When you give me as many assignments as you can, just to spend twice the time to keep you updated and involved. It’s exhausting.”

Harper nods along, falling quiet. Her hands find a pen, twirling it, twisting it between idle fingers. She nods again, more resolute this time, “I’ll try to step back some more, give you space.”

“Are you going to go back to practicing?”

She sighs, “Aurora…”

“You’re not happy sitting in this office, I know it,” Aurora frowns across the desk, folding her arms in defiance. “You’re always upset when you get home and take every opportunity to do some real work.”

“This is real work,” Harper frowns right back.

“No, it’s not.”

“Aurora…” she warns, eyes flickering with growing anger. “My career does not concern you.”

“And mine doesn’t concern you, but you’re still involved.”

“Then I’ll stop being involved. We can cut ties entirely, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I said,” Aurora bites out.

Harper sighs, her head falling into the cradle of her hands as a quiet permeates the office, mingling with the leftover irritation. “I think you should move out,” Harper finally says, not moving.

“Why?” Aurora’s asking before she can help herself, surprise widening her eyes and dropping her jaw.

“Being this involved in each other’s lives isn’t working, Aurora,” she gestures uselessly. “I love you, but we’re both adults and don’t need to be getting into petty arguments.”

“So I’m getting kicked out?” Aurora asks indignantly, her expression some odd combination of frustration and betrayal.

“Of course not! Just - Let’s take a step back, okay?” Harper attempts to gesture placatingly, waving her hands down.

Jaw clenched tight, Aurora spits, “Fine,” standing quickly and exiting from the office, letting the door fall closed with a thud. A nurse glances up from across the hall, and she barely musters as scowl before hurrying down the corridor. Her hands mess with her coat, adjusting neurotically as she navigates the winding halls.

She’s not quite sure where she’s headed, just that it has to be far from her aunt’s office and the woman still sitting within it. It has to be far away from the nagging voice in the back of her mind, telling her she just can’t handle this workload, she’s not cut out for it. It has to be far away from the anxiety that sat heavy in her gut in the hearing, an inexplicable bubbling of nerves.

Her feet eventually lead her to a waiting area, where family members and patients awaiting treatment sit, the air heavy. A woman’s sniffling in a corner, a few tears escaping just to be wiped away by the tissue in her hands. A young boy plays with a toy car on the floor, a teenager keeping watch over him a few feet away. A man sits with his hands clasped tightly, knee jerking anxiously with wildly roving eyes. There’s a dozen stories within this room alone, each wrought with upset and grief.

And that’s why she’s here, why she’s dealt with that workload for so long. Why she felt that anxiety tug at her over Edenbrook’s fate. Why she wants and needs the best for herself, her aunt, the staff as a whole. A notification shakes her phone in her pocket, and she tugs it out, finally tearing her eyes away from the stories before her.

It’s from the other source of that anxiety, the person she was dreading seeing go most, purely because Rylen can help these people just as much as she can. ‘I know you’re allergic to fun, but everyone’s heading to Donahue’s tonight. Figured you might wanna come :D’

She frowns down at the message, glancing up at the waiting room one last time before turning down the hall, typing as she goes, ‘Only for the drinks.’ It’s an easy, comfortable quip, one that comes without trying.

Grey dots pop up in a single second, a chime quickly following, ‘Of course. I’d never presume it’d be for me, Princess ;)’

Aurora rolls her eyes at the emoticon, sending out a response as she arrives at a nurse’s station, leaning against it idly. ‘Good.’ Her grip slackens as she stares at it, one finger tapping the side of her case, a slow, steady beat, while her lips twist to the side. ‘And good job, Damen.’

‘Thanks.’ It’s quick as usual, and even without the smiley, Aurora knows it's there, reflected in Rylen’s own device screen.

Now, to survive the last of her shift - headache-inducing patients, stacks of paperwork, gossiping coworkers and all. She straightens up, exhaling deeply and setting her shoulders, teeth gritting in determination.

---

Aurora arrives to a bustling bar, attendings and interns alike shouting and drinking, dancing and laughing loudly. A few glance her way as she cautiously steps up to the bar, ordering a beer as quick as she can, but she doesn’t bother with them. Once the bartender moves on, she slips through the thick crowd, finding a small, empty booth in the back corner.

She slumps into it, pulling her phone out just to occupy her time. She taps open the message that’s been waiting for her since she left Harper’s office: ‘I’m sorry if I upset you, but you should be more independent.’

With a huff, her phone slams against the table, and she chugs back her drink, leaving the booth for another. And another. And another.

“You came!” a joyful voice chimes, earning a short glance from Aurora.

Her attention quickly snaps back to where it’s been occupied lately, apartment listings she doesn’t have much interest in. “You always did like stating the obvious,” she grumbles. “You don’t have to check on me, by the way. I’m used to being alone.”

Beer sloshes in its bottle as Rylen slumps into the booth beside her, glancing over Aurora’s shoulder at her screen. “You moving?”

“Yes. And you’re nosy.” She slides away from Rylen, who puts even more space between them. “I’ve been staying at my aunt’s place all year, but we both think it’ll be good to have some space.”

Rylen nods enthusiastically, slouching back against the seat to look out over the bar. Elijah and Bryce are cheering on Sienna and Jackie as they down a row of shots, Sienna’s arms raising in victory when she slams her last glass down. “You know… we have a room opening up,” Rylen’s elbow nudges Aurora, a mischievous light in her eyes as they meet Aurora’s.

Aurora eyes her suspiciously, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yeah,” Rylen’s smile somehow seems to grow, glinting as she picks at the label on her beer bottle. “I mean, I have to ask my roommates but… it’s not like we can afford the place on our own.”

Nodding, Aurora turns to her own drink, tapping her nails against the side in contemplation. The faint sound can barely be heard through the bar’s sounds, but it’s enough to focus on, to drown out laughter and music to.

“Think about it,” Rylen’s nudging her again, pulling her back to Donahue’s. She glances up, finding Rylen smiling softly as she stands, gripping her beer loosely in her palm.

Aurora nods, still tapping lightly, “...I will.”

---

Rylen appears before Aurora’s eyes, collapsing across from her with a thud against the booth’s cushions. “So’ve you thought ‘bout it?” Her arms fold on the tabletop, chin resting on them as she gazes up with bright, shining eyes.

Blinking, Aurora looks up, setting her phone down and eyeing Rylen and her flushed, red cheeks. “About…?”

“Moving in! Duh!” She grins, not a hint of trepidation, of reservation, all teeth and deep smile lines. Her head lolls to the side, cheek pressing into the fabric of her shirt, “So…?”

Aurora sighs, rolling her eyes, “Maybe. I need more than a single night.”

Bottom lip jutting out in a pout, Rylen tries her best to be irresistible, “Boo. You should just say yes.”

“Why do you want me in your apartment anyway?”

“Okay, so,” she sparks to life, jerking upright as energy overflows from her. “One:” she flicks a finger out, leaning over the table. “We need help paying rent. Two: We know you, and strangers are weird. Three: You’re pretty cool and we all like you already.”

“Really? Even Jackie?”

“Well…” Rylen’s voice pitches up as her head bobs in consideration, “She likes the help with rent, but she’ll come around. Swear it.” She draws an ‘x’ over her heart, slumping against the back of the booth.

Aurora only shrugs, picking her phone up again to occupy her hands and mind, “I still haven’t decided.”

Rylen hefts a world-weary sigh, her shoulder rising and dropping dramatically, “Fine. But decide soon or we’ll have to find someone else.”

Aurora nods, attention already returned to her phone and the scrolling of her email inbox. Across from her, Rylen falls quiet, gaze wandering distractedly, seeming to snap onto anything and everything.

Abruptly, her gleaming eyes fall back on Aurora. “Gimme your arm,” her hands reach across the table, keeping their distance but waiting expectantly, palms upright.

Aurora obliges without thinking, allowing Rylen to carefully take her wrist, pushing her sleeve up her forearm, fingers barely brushing her skin. A shiver ripples down Aurora’s spin before she shakes it away, schooling her expression into distant curiosity, “Why?”

“Just checking you haven’t broken out in hives.” Rylen smiles easily, thumb brushing Aurora’s wrist unconsciously, light enough to send goosebumps breaking in a tidal wave.

“I’m not actually allergic to fun, you know,” Aurora barely manages a glare, her attention continually slipping back to the fingers still tracing random patterns on the inside of her wrist.

“Can never be too careful.” Finally retracting, Rylen’s hands fall to her lap, and despite the heat of the small, crowded bar, Aurora’s skin feels colder for it. Her goosebumps disappear, and she retracts her own arm, fidgeting with her glass.

She avoids Rylen’s eyes, staring into the random cocktail she ordered intently. “Don’t need your concern.”

“Everyone needs my concern.” Rylen doesn’t react to the slight edge in Aurora’s voice, the unspoken warning to keep her distant, like a snake’s rattle, “I have great concern, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will,” Aurora’s teeth grit together, grinding ever so slightly.

The corner booth falls silent as Rylen watches her carefully, watches her race the rim of her glass and stare at the colors inside. “...If you really don’t want to be here, you should go.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Aurora’s dark eyes flicker up, finding an earnestness in Rylen’s she hasn’t seen since that day in the supply closet. It’s not unwelcome either, it’s reassuring as Aurora takes in the crease between her brows.

“Never,” she shakes her head adamantly, “Just don’t want your night to suck.”

“I’m fine,” Aurora shrugs awkwardly, picking at one of her nails. “But thanks.”

“‘Course,” hazel eyes crinkle as Rylen smiles, nearly squinting with the force of it, and Aurora can feel herself relaxing under the full brunt of that smile. The spell breaks as Rylen stands, “I’ll go but lemme know if you need anything,” tapping the table in a short burst before sauntering off.

She joins a group by the bar, throwing her arm around a giggling Sienna’s shoulders as Bryce speaks animatedly, Kyra interjecting periodically. Occasionally their laughter and shouts manage to float over to Aurora’s corner, and every burst of Rylen’s voice draws her eyes.

It’s late when Donahue’s finally starts emptying out, loud clusters of doctors filtering out the front door, most a little uneasy on their feet. One of the interns spilled a drink on another earlier, their raised voices effectively ending the night for most.

Aurora’s nearly slipped out behind a few of the quieter attendings when someone stumbles into her from the side, arms wrapping around her waist as a face is buried in her shoulder. Dark hair tickles her nose as she glances questioningly to the culprit, beaten to the punch by a mumbling against her, “Thanks for coming. Even just for booze,” before she’s released, a flushed, very drunk Rylen leaning against Rafael for support.

He smiles kindly at Aurora before carefully putting his arm around the woman waving to her and leading Eylen away, down the street after their other friends. Tugging her jacket tighter, Aurora turns the opposite direction, scanning the cars for the ride she called thirty minutes prior.

---

Aurora’s keys jangle as she unlocks her apartment’s front door, dropping them on the nearby tabletop before shrugging out of her jacket, bag still slung over her shoulder. She stretches her back, pops sounding as she stalks further into the apartment with a sigh, head bowed in exhaustion.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming home at all.” Harper’s voice rings from the kitchen, her arms folded on the countertop.

Gaze snapping over to her, Aurora straightens up, “I went to Donahue’s. Damen invited me.” The response is quick, nervous as she stares down her aunt, the very same aunt she fought with twice today.

“Rylen? I heard about that.” Harper speaks over her shoulder, crossing the kitchen to scavenge in the fridge.

“Yeah,” Aurora shrugs, crossing her arms beneath her chest awkwardly. “There were a lot of staff there.”

Harper pulls out a water bottle and an orange, messing with them idly as she bumps the door closed with her hip, “Did you have fun?”

“I guess. It was pretty typical.”

With a nod, Harper snatches ibuprofen off a counter, stepping up to Aurora and depositing the items in her hands. She smiles softly, squeezing Aurora’s shoulder as she steps past her, before disappearing down the hall, “Take care tonight.”

Aurora blinks down at the things in her hands, somewhat surprised by the peaceful interaction. She follows a beat later, juggling the objects until she can dump them on her bed, door slammed shut behind her and bag dropped to the floor. Staring up at the ceiling, she listens to the quiet, dark apartment, and the bustling of the city outside, blocked from her by a closed curtain tonight.

A buzz sounds, an increasingly familiar buzz. Aurora jerks upward with a sigh, grabbing her bag and rifling through it until she finds her phone case. Her screen appears blurred as it lights up, and after rubbing her eyes, she opens it to the expected message.

‘Thnks agan . drunk but youre a perfct princess :DDDDFDD’

Typing slowly, carefully, Aurora crafts her response, still grinning at the virtual smile she was gifted. She smiles too much when she’s been drinking, but maybe Rylen deserves it more than most. Or maybe she’s drunker than she thought. ‘You’re a pain but the drinks were good. Thanks.’ she finally settles on.

And with that, she puts her phone on silent, plugs it in across the room, nearly collapses into her bed, and begins messily peeling her orange in little pieces. A half hour later, she’s tucking into bed, eyes fluttering shut with the image of Rylen’s loopy, relaxed smile branded on her eyelids.

#oh dp #aurora emery #open heart fanfic #choices fanfic #aurora x mc #rylen damen #this one was funnnn #and next chapter should be longer and building up yknow

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toosicktoocare · 4 years ago

Text

Set after Martin gives his Jane Prentiss statement and is now sleeping in the archives.

(Also, that’s where I left off, so forgive potential shit characterization/inaccuracies. I’m obviously still painfully new to this, and it’s going to take me a HOT minute to catch up, but I’m enjoying it!)

Jon’s half-way through a statement, teetering between getting lost within the panicked narrative and trashing the written document for it’s apparent lack of rationalization and validity, when the door slams open hard enough to rattle the walls.

Martin’s standing in the doorway, absolutely drenched through yet beaming from ear to ear. It makes Jon’s eye twitch, and he rests his index finger on the stop button of his tape recorder, just in case.

Martin’s shoes squelch loudly as he walks into the room, and behind his lips, Jon grits his teeth sharply, thinking of the mess he’ll have to clean from the droplets of water all but pouring off Martin.

When Martin starts prattling on about a potential lead from a statement Jon had assigned him a few days prior, Jon wordlessly presses “Stop” on his tape recorder and rests both palms atop his knees under his desk, his fingers curling around tightly until they’re digging into his knees. Still, he holds his composure and silently waits for Martin to finish.

“I know I’ve interrupted you,” Martin sputters, “but I really think we have something here, Jon.”

Jon sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He considers chastising Martin for dwelling on a case he deemed close two days ago; however, he has to admit that Martin’s findings have piqued his interest, enough that he may consider reviewing the statement with Martin’s updated information, that is if he can find a long enough gap within his work day to squeeze in this unplanned development.

“You’re drenched,” Jon mutters, eyes slowly honing in on a drop of water that’s clinging to a damp strand of Martin’s hair, pooling toward the end, until it drops and slides down his temple. “You’re making a rather soggy mess of my office.”

“Ah, sorry!” Martin leaps to his feet and backs toward the doorway, and Jon carefully watches Martin’s face pull in different directions of conflict.

“I’ll go grab some napkins! Be right back!”

Before Jon can utter a word, Martin’s disappeared from the doorway, the faint sounds of his shoes squeaking fading to dull echoes against the towering walls. Jon sighs deeply, stiffened shoulders all but deflating against a weight of annoyance and something else he can’t quite pinpoint.

He turns his focus, instead, to the details Martin’s verbally shared, and he finds himself turning to relocate the filed statement when Martin returns with a handful of crumpled napkins and a rather sheepish expression that’s paired with tinged-pink cheeks.

“I’m really sorry about the mess, Jon, but I’ll have this cleaned up in no time!”

Martin drops to his knees and begins mopping up small puddles of water, and Jon watches silently, eyes narrowed and taking in the soft shudders that seem to shoot up and down Martin’s spine and the sodden clothing now so tight, it appears as if a second layer of damp, clammy skin that has to be rather uncomfortable.

Jon clears his throat. “Martin.”

“Almost done-”

“-Martin,” Jon presses, lips snapping tightly around each letter.

Martin freezes, hand mid swipe, and he pulls a hesitant gaze toward Jon.

“Go change,” he nods toward the doorway. “I can take care of this.” He watches Martin’s mouth open and close slowly, and he can almost hear Martin’s rapid thoughts.

“Go,” he repeats. “I’m very busy.”

Slowly, Martin gets up to his feet and wraps his arms around himself with a small shiver that Jon frowns at.

“If you’re sure-”

“-I’m sure,” Jon finishes, and Martin nods, a word of genuine thanks falling off his lips as he exits the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

Jon spares a glance toward the wad of napkins on his office floor, nudges it around with his foot halfheartedly, and decides it can wait for his mind keeps wandering toward the information Martin provided. He drops back into his chair, a newfound course of energy pulling at him, and begins reviewing the statement, plugging in Martin’s information as he goes along.

---------

Jon can hear Martin’s loud keyboard tapping before he approaches the small, open office. By sound alone, Martin’s typing furiously, and Jon ponders briefly over which statement Martin could be working so intently on when he finally pops into the doorway, leaning lightly against the door frame and knocking softly on the opened door.

Martin jumps violently, almost knocking a cup of tea over when both hands shoot up from his keyboard and bang loudly against his desk on their way to cover his face. It takes a few long seconds, Jon notes, for Martin to move his arms away from his face, one hand slipping to rest against his heaving chest.

Jon studies Martin’s wide, panicked eyes, and... oh, right. The worms, and Jane Prentiss, and the repetitive door knocking. “My apologies,” he drags out. “I didn’t intend to startle you.”

Martin swallows thickly; Jon watches the slow bob of his adam’s apple.

“No, it’s quite alright. I guess I’m still a bit bothered by... well, you know.”

Nodding, Jon crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side slightly, contemplating if Martin’s voice has always held that color of rasp or if something else is going on. He drags a slow gaze to Martin’s face, to his flushed cheeks, to the damp perspiration clinging lightly to his temples.

“-Jon? Are you alright?”

Jon forces his gaze to Martin’s eyes, wiping the image of his too-rosy cheeks from his mind just as quickly as he honed in on the sight. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“I was just asking if you needed something.” Martin casts his eyes to his hands folded in his lap. “You don’t often stop by.”

“Ah, yes,” Jon mutters, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to come tell you that your findings today redirected the statement’s narrative enough that I’m willing to reopen the case file to explore further outcomes.”

“That’s good!” Martin’s beaming again, such an odd, warm contrast to his poor pallor, Jon thinks.

“I’m glad to have--” Martin’s voice hitches, and he turns to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm-- “helped,” he finishes, sniffling, and Jon unwillingly takes note of the congestion thickening Martin’s tone.

Jon only frowns at him, and Martin laughs lightly, nervously, and he snags a tissue for his nose. “Sorry, I’m feeling a bit worn down after, well,” he gestures helplessly to the pile of wet clothes in the corner of his office, and Jon’s eyes fall to the clothing, and he can’t help but shiver slightly.

“Right,” Jon mutters, turning from Martin’s office. “Well, good work,” he adds, reluctantly, and he starts out of the office, choosing to not address the loud “thank you” that echoes from Martin’s office as he starts back to the archives.

---------

Jon’s focus the remainder of the day is wavering, voice abruptly halting every time he hears the faint echoes of Martin’s coughing or sneezing. Twice, he almost slips from his office to send Martin home for he’s too loud and distracting, but then he remembers that, for the time being, this institute is Martin’s home.

He organizes, instead, for his last hour, teeth gritting harder and harder the sicker Martin sounds, and it’s a few minutes near closing time when he picks up on Tim and Sasha talking with Martin through the gap below his door.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come stay with one of us?”

Sasha, Jon thinks, sounding quite concerned.

“You really do look and sound terrible, Martin. You’d be much more comfortable with one of us.”

“I couldn’t impose, but I do appreciate the offer. I’ll be quite alright here. Thank you, though.”

Frowning, Jon listens to the two reluctantly leave Martin, and he listens to hear Martin shuffling down the hall, presumably to the small room with the cot he’s been sleeping in.

He should leave well enough alone, let Martin get his rest, but when he leaves his office for the day, bag heavy with his tape recorder and statements, he hesitates, feet faltering just a few steps before the makeshift bedroom. He can hear the cot creaking under Martin’s weight and seemingly restless shifting, and that odd feeling from before, the one he’s yet to pinpoint an appropriate word to, comes back, swelling hot in his chest. He steps in front of the closed door and raises his fist to knock, thinking better of it and calling out instead.

“Martin. I’m coming in.”

He opens the door slowly to see Martin struggling to sit up on the bed and coughing into his fist.

“Jon, what’re you-”

Jon holds a single hand up, signaling for Martin to stop talking, and Martin does, coughing instead, deep, wet coughs that Jon almost wishes to shrink away from. He can see Martin’s muscles straining against each cough, and when Martin catches his breath, he shoves himself upright fully on shaking arms and drags the light blanket over his shoulders.

“Sorry, I guess my little run in the rain’s left me rather poorly.”

Jon finds a small stain on the rather hideous area rug, and he stares hard at it, fingers tightening around the strap of is bag. He, of all people, knows how uncomfortable this room can be, as he’s only managed a few hours here or there at the most. He can’t begin to fathom Martin being able to rest comfortably in here, not while taken ill.

He just only wishes Martin would’ve taken Tim or Sasha up on their offers because then, he wouldn’t be standing here, feeling somehow responsible for Martin.

“Jon?”

“If you’d like,” Jon starts, swallowing thickly, “you may come spend a night, or two, at my apartment.” He braves a glance up to see that Martin’s face is frustratingly unreadable. He looks, Jon thinks, concerned, confused, and something else that just doesn’t make any sense.

“As I told Tim and Sasha, I don’t wish to impose. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” But, even as Martin utters such politely practiced words, he shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around his frame, and he coughs quite a bit, always excusing himself.

“You aren’t imposing,” Jon says, sighing. “I’m not... I won’t force you, of course, but I have experience sleeping roughly on that small cot, and I can only imagine how dreadful it would be while ill.”

He’s not sure why he’s pushing, guilt maybe? Even though, he reminds himself, he did not instruct Martin to pursue follow-ups with this particular statement. Martin did that of his own accord, so really, Jon thinks, he should be angry by the blatant disobedience from one of his assistants, and yet, somewhere, he’s glad for Martin’s unruly persistence. He just wishes, now, that Martin would be a little more attentive to the weather before running off on one of his escapades.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I wasn’t,” Jon snaps, turning on his heel as Martin slides off the cot to gather a few things to take with him.

---------

“I’m not taking your bed, Jon, and that’s final.”

Jon slips his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He and Martin have been dancing around the same argument, back and forth, for the last fifteen minutes. He offered his bed because he knows how uncomfortable his couch is, and Martin all but threw a fit at the notion. If Jon weren’t completely annoyed, he’d find this pushy side of Martin rather interesting as it’s a clear contrast to how Martin acts around work. Still, he can’t dwell on the many sides of Martin Blackwood at the moment because said man is quite ill, his condition seeming to worsen every minute, and he won’t just take the damn bed.

“Fine,” Jon spits out sharply as he disappears for some extra blankets to make the couch into a makeshift bed, slapping Martin’s hands away when he tries to help.

He wordlessly gestures to the couch when he finishes, eye twitching against aggravation, and Martin sinks onto the couch, sighing, to Jon’s disbelief, in relief as he pulls two blankets up to his chin, his face relaxing for the first time in an hour.

“This is nice, Jon, thank you. Seriously.”

“See if you can still say that tomorrow when your back’s twinging in pain,” Jon mutters as he moves to turn off lights. He’s quiet when he flicks each light switch, hearing soft snores after only a minute at the most. He can’t imagine how exhausted Martin must be, having barely slept for two weeks when... he experienced an uncertain and unfortunate situation, not quite ruled to be Jane Prentiss just yet. Pair that with the uncomfortable cot, fever, and a cough, and Jon’s surprised Martin hasn’t dropped sooner.

He starts toward his bedroom, stopping by the arm of the couch where Martin’s head is resting. Without thinking anything through, he reaches down and ghosts a feather-light touch of his palm to Martin’s forehead, frowning sharply at the heat and making a mental note to inquire about medicine in the morning.

Martin sighs contently under his touch, and he jerks his hand back quickly, his heart thumping oddly fast against his rib cage, and stalks to his room to quietly record.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #sickfic #whump #whumpfic #my writing #my tma writing

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years ago

Text

Part 2 of MCU/Twilight verse

“That MCU crossover I’m writing that actually hasn’t mentioned the MCU at all yet.”

Alt 7: Found Family

Rating: T for swearing

Words: 2,551

Summary: Twilight X MCU crossover. The Snap doesn’t just kill humans. What happens next?

Notes: Is this even Whump-y enough to count to Whumptober? I don’t know, everyone’s grieving. I made myself watch Endgame again and I found something useful. I know it probably feels like I wiped out a lot of characters, but there’s method to my madness. I’m desperately resisting the urge to make some obvious corrections to the MCU, and I’m pretty sure the last two chapters are going to be needlessly self-indulgent. And yes, I need a title.

Part One here

two. survivors

What happens next?

It’s a good question, and one Alice used to be able to answer. Her predictions have… well, they haven’t stopped, but there are less. Maybe she’s not saying everything but he doesn’t press.

They stay in Forks. It’s the easiest option, really. They have resources at the Forks house - all of Jasper’s computers, Rose’s cars, Carlisle’s medication stash. And for, now, it makes sense to keep up the masquerade - the orphaned Cullen kids, in that big old house.

And Seth Clearwater. Neither of them have made more than polite inquiries about the Quileute reservation, because what can they do, really? They weren’t allowed on the land, and nothing they offer will be accepted. Seth doesn’t want to talk about it either, so they just… don’t. Not yet.

The first announcements and news reports are hard to listen to - half of all living creatures. Humans, animals, plants, sea-life… just gone. Then there are the people who survived, but died in the aftermath; the patients in surgery with the dust of their surgeons sinking into their chest cavity, the passengers on an airplane, the school bus with no driver. The news plays on, listing losses and catastrophes until he loudly asks if Seth wants to play Xbox instead.

Alice goes with them, and sits crosslegged on a recliner, watching them.

“Carlisle would have liked that,” she says suddenly, when Emmett realises the error in picking a war game - should have opted for a racing game instead.

“Liked what?” he asks, as he gets up to change the disc. Seth doesn’t say anything, playing with the recliner buttons instead.

“‘Half of all living creatures’,” she quotes. She’s been wearing one of Jasper’s t-shirts under her cardigan, and the scent of his brother is fading the longer she wears it. “Carlisle would have appreciated that. That the universe thought we were living creatures. Might have convinced Edward that we weren’t total monsters, either.”

Seth looks up at her, confused. “Why wouldn’t you be living creatures?” he asks, concentrating at the recliner tips him right back.

“We don’t breathe or age or change,” Alice says, a smirk playing around her face as Seth yelps when the entire chair begins to tip, but luckily it doesn’t fall.

“But you eat,” Seth accepts the controller Emmett passes him. “And you’ve got families. That means you still count.”

“I wish we didn’t.” Emmett doesn’t realise he’s said those words aloud until he realises Seth and Alice are both staring at him. He wants to explain that if they didn’t count, then there wouldn’t be five vases lined up on the mantel (three empty) full of dust. That he wouldn’t be sitting here playing Xbox with Seth Clearwater, and Alice wouldn’t be wearing leggings and her husband’s t-shirt, looking brittle and tired. That he wouldn’t go into their room every night, and bury his face in Rose’s clothes to keep himself from going insane.

But he doesn’t need to. They both understand - Alice sits with Seth when the boy sniffles and tries to hide it; Emmett hears Alice padding around Jasper’s office, having a conversation with thin air, questions asked to silence. If there was some loophole they could grab with both hands and exploit, he knows he and Alice and Seth would take it, humanity and life and all those upright and moral things be damned.

“Just what everyone needs,” Alice muses, leaning back and stretching like a cat. “A world where humans and animals were cut in half but the vampires weren’t.”

And she’s right. That would be a mess. The fucking end of times.

“That would be a cool movie,” Seth says absently, focused on the screen and forcing Emmett’s car off the road and into a ravine.

Alice watches them play for awhile before getting up. A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door and low voices. Charlie Swan, with Carlisle’s phone. Emmett lets Seth win a second race, focused on the conversation Alice is having - why it took Charlie so damn long to bring the phone, how they’re holding up; his irritation at the delay it took to get Carlisle’s phone is tempered when he hears the genuine concern Charlie has for Alice. He doesn’t know much about Bella’s father, but he seems like a good guy.

Not that Alice needs to act the part - she looks broken. Most of the time he feels like he’s seeing a part of her that he shouldn’t be seeing, that the loss and grief that becomes her is somehow shameful to witness; it’d be less awkward to see her naked than to see her twisting Jasper’s t-shirt in her hands with that glassy look of hopelessness she tries to hide.

Alice feels the same about him; that Emmett without Rose is devoid of that joie de vivre, that endless good humour, the extra joke. He feels tired in his bones, deflated, and distracted with the space in his chest that Rose used to fill. He feels like an old man, when he was never finished being a young man, never made it to middle-age.

But they are trying. Especially with Seth in the house - he’s taken over the bedroom that Esme planned to give to Bella, mostly because it didn’t stink of vampires as much as any other room; and neither of them wanted to dismantle Esme’s studio or Carlisle’s office. It wasn’t really much - a mattress and boxspring, a dresser and desk. Alice had given him a laptop to use, and found some new bedding for him, and occasionally even remembered that a fourteen year old boy shouldn’t be eating pizza six nights a week, and probably needed more boundaries than they were giving him. But Alice isn’t maternal, and her attempts at forcing vegetables and a bedtime on Seth usually get forgotten within a day or two.

Charlie Swan leaves, and he listens as Alice puts Carlisle’s phone into his vase, and then he focuses on the game so that Seth doesn’t think he’s letting him win because of pity or anything.

—

It’s not until late summer than people start bothering them. Parents of classmates who suddenly don’t have any children of their own to worry over. Colleagues and acquaintances who feel some kind of lingering responsibility. Busy-bodies, usually a part of some self-aggrandising self-appointed community group butting into everyone’s grief.

Alice ignores the early attempts to interfere, to crack open both the metaphorical and literal door for anyone who isn’t Charlie Swan. She’s taken to doing the oddest tasks, but Emmett doesn’t ask. At the moment, she’s painting every single door in the house with a swirling pattern of flowers that is tiny and detailed and fills up the day. Esme would have a conniption if she saw her lovely doors like this (he remembers when Alice and Jasper first arrived, and her art projects ran afoul of Esme - she had apologised and channeled that manic energy into embroidery instead; there’s a pair of unspeakably ugly curtains hanging in the Vermont house from one panicked week when Jasper went off with Peter and Charlotte).

Then the harassment starts - both her and him, since he’s apparently considered her ‘guardian’. Alice hangs up the phone numerous times wordlessly before being so outstandingly rude to Mrs Newton that both he and Seth stare at her before Emmett remembers he’s actually supposed to be in charge - as far as the rest of the town knows, at least - and calls to deter any more visits or phone calls or casseroles because Alice isn’t well and the disruptions are upsetting her.

If Carlisle or Esme were here, they’d think to send Mrs Newton flowers or something as an apology, but they aren’t, and no one can get Alice to apologise when she doesn’t want to, and Seth confided in him that she’s crying when he’s hiding in the garage and Seth is totally at a loss over what to do about a crying girl that isn’t Leah, so maybe they’ll just leave it at that. Give the town something new to gossip about.

But it does spark sudden realisation in both Cullens about a topic that has been long forgotten - school. Alice and Emmett have both graduated, but Seth had not. Seth had another four glorious years in high school, even if the Res school is down to double digits of enrolments, and probably won’t even run every weekday.

Seth whines and begs and negotiates until Alice stamps her foot and demands to know what Sue Clearwater would say and that makes Seth all small and miserable, and Alice hates herself and Emmett solves the problem by making a large donation through one of their anonymous charities to the Res school so that Seth can at least do online learning, and apparently that’s a huge deal that is on the local news, and that makes Alice and Seth laugh because only Emmett would stop a teenage boy’s whining by revolutionising a tribe’s educational provisions with a cheque large enough to sustain a small city for a year.

But it’s good help - it means the children who suddenly have no parents and have to raise siblings can still study; it means that half-empty classrooms don’t necessarily mean half-empty classes; it also means that other tribes with larger losses and no way of schooling are invited to join them.

That’s one good thing they’ve managed.

He also fixed the backdoor as good as new, so it should be two, but he’s pretty sure that doesn’t count now that Alice has painted flowers blooming and dying all over it.

At some point they both bully Seth into going home again, to get his own stuff - clothes and bedding and photos and all those things you look for when you’re in a house that isn’t yours. He yells at them, they yell at him, and he storms off. But now there’s a photo of him with his parents and sister on his dresser, and a bunch of books crowding his desk, and the world’s most beat-up DS under his pillow. There are more photos, somewhere - Emmett knows that because Alice knows where they are and then one day there are two framed photos joining the vases on the mantle - one of Sue and Harry Clearwater on their wedding day, and one of Leah laughing. Neither of them knows what happened to Sue or Leah precisely on that day, but Seth doesn’t bring the ashes with him, so they don’t ask.

Summer folds into fall, and what’s left of Esme’s gardens wither up. Charlie Swan checks on them every few weeks, sounding tired. There’s a lot of work for him right now - mostly community and social issues, like scared and orphaned children hiding, people struggling with money, grief, religion. There’s been some shortages of food, since there’s less being grown, less people to process and package and ship it, and a little town hours outside of Seattle is not a priority to whomever is deciding where to send a milk delivery.

They order Seth’s food from high-end places online that deliver them quickly and quietly; Alice starts choosing long-life and bulk items, and no one needs to ask because it’s obvious things will get worse before they get better. Seth holds a pretty intense grudge against the powdered strawberry milk, though.

But food shortages are the least of their worries, as Alice uses the dining room wall to start taking nonsensical notes, and Emmett’s heard enough stories to know that losing a mate can be… well, he’s not having much fun, but the very last thing he needs is to wrangle Alice if she’s lost her mind. Dead or not, he knows he could never lay a hand on her even if she did go nuts out of love for his family, out of respect for Jasper, and out of this funny bond they’ve somehow formed, being the last ones left.

The notes turn into lists, lists of everyone they’ve ever known, in her swirling handwriting. Even people they know are gone, like Bella, goes on the list.

Then she starts striking out names, like she’s slashing with a knife - Carlisle, Esme, Jasper, Rosalie, Edward, Bella, Charlie, Sue, Leah, Sam, Jacob, Paul… Slash, slash, slash.

Then it starts getting interesting. Peter and Charlotte are gone, but so are half the goddamned Volturi (Alice smirks as she crosses out Caius, Jane, Alec, Dimitri because imagining Aro on his throne with grief-mad Marcus and only the minions is a pretty picture indeed). Carmen and Tanya have survived, but Kate, Irina, and Eleazer are gone. Garrett is alive, but Randall and Mary aren’t. J Jenks didn’t make it either, which makes things… difficult.

Alice scowls darkly as she scratches out Maria’s name, and Emmett wonders if it’s because she didn’t get to do the honours of destroying the Mexican harpy herself. Or because wherever Jasper is now, so is Maria, and Alice is left behind.

Finally, she is done, and the list is nearly balanced in living and dead. Alice’s left eye twitches, and whatever she’s thinking she doesn’t say as she stands up.

“Alaska and then Mexico, then,” she says to him, and he gives her the Look that he gives her and Edward and Jasper every time one of them forgets that not everyone has a gift and some of them have to use their words.

“We need to check on Carmen and Tanya; I think they need us,” Alice explains, still examining the list. “I saw that we need to go. And then we’re going down to Mexico.”

“Maria’s dead,” he gestures at her list, and Seth wanders in stuffing his face with Pringles, and turns white at the sight of Esme’s freshly defaced walls; evidently Motherly Wrath is something universal across all of the species.

“Maria’s dead, and left behind a bunch of fresh newborns,” Alice sounds tired. “There’s no one left for clean up, Em, no one who knows. And it will be bad if we don’t step in soon.”

There might be something cathartic in that for Alice, undoing Maria’s life’s work. Maria’s lands weren’t exactly in the wealthiest or most populated lands these days - Jasper kept a secret map that wasn’t at all a secret - and if going down there and taking off a few heads saves a mother or father or child, then maybe it’s worth the hassle.

“Fine. Alaska and Mexico,” he agrees, and Seth cheers.

“Road-trip!” he declares around a mouthful of chips. Alice rolls her eyes.

“I’ll make you up a passport,” she says, not even bothering to argue with the younger boy that he’ll be joining them. “We’ll take the Jeep, Em - Rose just finished it.”

The words hang in the air for a second, and he nods in agreement. There might be something in that, taking the last gift-gesture-offering Rose ever did for him on their End-of-the-World Road Trip. Alice can rip the heads off newborns, he can drive around in the SUV his wife carefully and lovingly put together just to please him, and maybe he’ll buy Seth a beer in Tijuana.

Closest thing they’ll ever get to therapy, he supposes.

#my fic: jar of hearts #alice cullen #emmett cullen #seth clearwater #twilight fic #i should check the jalice prompts again for ch 3 #but is this crossovery enough for a crossover?#like we're aggressively not talking about the avengers yet #we'll get there #i promise the roadtrip isn't just an excuse to run into captain america buying a milkshake or something #there is plot and purpose #we are above that sort of cloying and anemic meet cute #in this fic at least #others not so much

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